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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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꒰ྀི 𝒯𝒲𝒪 𝒲𝒪𝐿𝒱𝐸𝒮 & 𝒜 𝐿𝒜𝑀𝐵 ꒱ྀི

🔔 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐟 ۫ ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ 11.7k word count , established poly relationship , black fem reader [ she ﾉ her prnz ] , bratty reader , daddy doms eren + ony , mentions of reader being little [ not physical , more of a personality thing ] , not mentioned age gap [ reader is 21 , eren + ony are 25 ] , physically ill reader , dacryphilia , spanking as punishment , oral sex [ all receiving ] , eren has a dick piercing , kinda mean doms eren + ony , slight degradation , one [ 1 ] facial slap , pet name usage [ ex. mama, ma’, baby, pa’, papa ] , daddy kink , anal . [ prequel ]

milkie’z note to you .ᐟ ۫ ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ dis took a leetol while but it is here :3 n i hope u luvvv . minors + ageless blogs do not interact !

you feel it the moment your lashes flit, aiding in the movement of your heavy lids opening so that your fuzzy eyesight can gradually begin to focus.

a few feet away from the california king sized mattress your body lolls upon, the curtains have been tugged just the slightest bit open, allowing you to make out the elegant, refined crystals of ice that are devised along the windowpane — frosted and powdery. snow.

tick . . tick . . tick.

you inhale an extensive breath through your nose, or at least, you try to. only a silver of air is able to enter your diaphragm, in addition to when swallowing, a thick burn substitutes the usual smooth ease within the duct of your throat.

no. no, no, no, no, no.

you huff, lifting your upper half by stretching out your arms and resting some weight on your palms. an immediate aching, dull sting begins to throb at the surface near both of your temples.

you had felt it throughout the night before while your body relaxed and renewed — the sickness, the pain, the irritation. you’re climbing out of bed with a scowl painted on the petals of your lips, palming your head and squinting while walking slowly towards the bathroom. the cotton of the oversized tee you wear is airy and thin. it belongs to one of your boyfriends you’re sure and usually you’re ecstatic to don something so loose and comfy to bed, especially a piece of clothing belonging to one of them, however . . it feels uncommonly itchy today.

makes you whine and hurry to snatch it off over your head and toss to the floor as you sit on the toilet, emptying your full bladder.

you’re left in nothing but your skimpy, little panties as you brush your teeth — movements sluggish and slow as the pounding in your head only seems to get worse upon the illumination of the warm, bathroom lighting shining down onto you.

your fist smashes against the light switch with more force than necessary to shut it off as you spit out a mouthful of teal, minty flavored foam into the sink, hazily watching frothy bubbles swirl into a curlicue across shining, white porcelain and down the drain. distantly, you wish it could’ve been you — whirling away, into inevitable darkness and quiet, if even for a day.

your electric, pink toothbrush is plopped back into the holder, right between a black and blue one.

you don’t need to look as you snatch your satin, fur trimmed, rosy colored robe from off of the bathroom door’s hook. your footsteps drag against cool, dark mahogany as you lug your tired body downstairs and while you’re holding onto the rail of the wide spiral staircase that opens up into the large opened area of the living space and kitchen, you’re suddenly aware that you had left your plush, teddy bear, house slippers up within the bedroom.

your toe is touching the landing upon the realization . . .

within the open designed kitchen, standing in front of the electric stove while flipping a thick piece of french toast in a skillet is eren.

you catch his eye first and you notice how a large smile instantly spreads itself across his soft lips at the sight of you. “and the princess arrives,” he richly sings.

at the sound of dragging feet, ony turns around from where he rummages within the fridge. it only takes them both a second to notice your current state. “awe, baby girl.” ony’s rounding the island where you take a seat at to gather your face within his hands. one holds you by the bottom of your jaw, your face planted within that area between his thumb and index while the other touches your forehead.

you’re frowning, physical contact usually your favorite way to be shown adoration and love, not appreciated today. you pull your face away from his touch, mewling.

ony doesn’t take too much offense to it, “you’re sick, ma’.”

“yeah, no shit.”

while you sniffle and snatch a paper towel from the roll to dab your dripping nose dry, a swift look is shared between eren and ony. to a stranger, it would’ve been seen as just a glance, however, you’ve known both men for too long. you take heed of eren’s obscure eyebrow twitch and ony’s responding furrowed ones.

they don’t like you cursing, you know this, howbeit, ony decides to give you a pass. the golden glow that seems to habitually reside within your skin has been paled, your eyes are heavy and sunken in, and your body shivers even while the heater within the highrise loft you all share sits at seventy six. you look like you hadn’t got a lick of sleep, although both eren and ony had been on either side of you the entire night.

“fuck, lemme go check if we have some tylenol or something.”

before eren can move, you’re shaking your head, “i checked already,” you huff. “there’s none or dayquil or robitussin. we don’t even have fucking vicks.”

ony folds his arms, “language,” his voice, deep and quiet, utters out. “this is your third time getting sick within ten weeks. ‘m sure you used it all up two weeks ago when you caught a fever.”

he’s right. he’s always right and while on better days, you appreciate that — his wisdom and intelligence — today, you just want to shove him away and bury yourself in a hole to keep from hearing that familiar lilt in his voice as he proves you wrong once more.

you heavily sigh, leaning your temple on your palm and that elbow on the cool island counter, turning away from him.

ony pushes himself back upright, leaning in to kiss your head while rounding the counter once more, “we’ll pick up some medicine today while we’re all out.”

“we’re all?”

you’re tired. your body aches, your head pounds, and you can’t breathe without sounding as though you’ve ran ten miles. you don’t want to even step a foot outside of your front door.

eren’s dusting powdered sugar across two pieces of french toast, cookie cut into hearts, that lay beside two patties of chicken sausage and scrambled eggs sprinkled with warm cheese and green onions. “yeah, mama,” he retorts softly, aware of your headache. “we both gotta go check on our shops and you have that meeting with your dean, hm. plus, you mentioned something about, uh—“

ony fills in when eren can’t exactly remember, “—you needing to go to that bookstore across town.”

goodness.

they’re right. you’ve been searching all throughout the web for a textbook needed for an important class this semester and while it’d been seemingly wiped from the internet or being sold by scalpers looking to make a profit of five times the amount of which they bought it for, you managed to finally find the book in stock at a quaint, little bookstore about forty minutes out from where you all lived.

you plop your head into your arms, feeling the common sensation of warm tears burning as they rise to the surface of your eyes. “hey, none of that,” eren makes you lift your head so that he can peck your lips. you grumble, swiftly turning your head when he pushes in for another one so that it lands upon the chub of your cheek.

“ ‘m gonna go eat in the living room.”

while usually you chirp a sweet ‘ thank you, papa ‘ and sit between the two men during breakfast, today, you grab your plate and slide out from your stool until your feet meet the floor. it’s as though you purposely drag the soles of them all the way to the family room area, knowing just how ony felt about that particular sound, until you make it towards the settee.

onyankopon thinks he feels his eye twitch.

he doesn’t say anything until the sound of bubbles, blossom, and buttercup’s voices playing from the heavy bass sound bar of the television is able to drown out the volume of his. “i know i’m not fuckin’ trippin’.”

“chill,” eren chuckles. he replaces your seat at the island, slowly chewing on a piece of sweet strawberry.

“nah, pa’, fuck that—“

“—you already know how she is when she’s sick,” while raking a hand through the waved, shoulder length tresses of his hair, eren pauses midway to scratch his scalp. even he doesn’t seem to confident in his words. “plus it’s still morning. let her shake it off.”

ony doesn’t do well with attitudes. not from you, not from eren, he doesn’t even tolerate them from himself. he gives a swift suck of his canine, side eyeing you before taking a generous bite of his toast. “she’s on strike one—“

“—already?” eren smacks his lips. “c’mon, man—“

“—i’m telling you right now, her lil ass is on strike one, eren.”

not always, however often the mediator between you both, eren takes a look at you over his shoulder. you sit upon the middle cushion of the u - shaped bellini sofa. you look so small from where him and ony stand — sweet and cute. “she’ll get it together,” he mumbles. “just be patient.”

when breakfast is done and the dishwasher is loaded, the three of you begin your own routines of getting ready. being that ony had already showered hours ago after his six am run, he only needed to slip into his fit which’d been a pair of thick, black sweats, a plain tee, black puffer coat, and his ‘ black cat ‘ fours, while you and eren washed up together. he also took it upon himself to put together the both of your ensembles, as well.

eren in a grey hoodie, black northface coat over it, and black cargos with a carhartt beanie and you, not owning a single pair of pants, in a pair of thick leggings whose shade matched beautifully with your skin tone, knitted pink skirt, and matching, heavy coat whose hood had been rimmed with fur.

that nasty scowl still rests upon your pretty face come you exiting the steamed bathroom with eren in tow. onyankopon can’t help but notice the defeat that shines clear across his boy’s face, albeit, still and all, he lets his words echo between his ears. ‘ just be patient. ‘

“c’mere,” he orders you softly. this is an everyday routine, him or eren lathering cream upon your body then dressing you up.

you pause midstep within the middle of the room, “. . i can do it—“

“—i didn’t ask you, ma’. i said, come here.”

you puff out your cheeks, frowning, allowing your feet to carry you to where ony sits upon the edge bed. he widens his legs to pull you in closer and you watch him drizzle your favorite birthday cake scented lotion within the cup of his heavy hand.

he begins the process at your leg, easy and slow, making you lift your little foot to rest upon his knee so that he can massage the moisturizer within the sole of it, up your calf, then thigh. quietly, he repeats the same to your other leg, then atop of your butt, your hips, tummy, arms — he doesn’t leave an inch of you untouched.

ony regards how you fight the urge to relax. your muscles would ease before you were tensing up again. and his eyes continuously look up into yours, gauging it all, trying to figure you out. what’s got his baby so upset? aside from you being sick was it another physical pain? mental? emotional? he watches you merely stare back down at him, all mean and viscous — you’re about as intimidating as a baby bun.

he doesn’t want to pressure you into telling him what was wrong. you don’t feel good, he’s aware, but he knows something deeper lies within that excuse. it shines bright within the deep brown of your eyes, clawing to reveal itself. “leg,” he mumbles, opening up your underwear. it’s white and cotton, little pink bow snug upon the trim of it in front. you stick one foot through the hole then the other, feeling him pull it up until it fits upon your hips. “good girl.”

a chill runs up your spine — warm and thick. you sniff, swiping your finger underneath your nose. eren notices from where he stands a few feet away while layering his jewelry.

he adjusts his watch upon his wrist as he walks over to the nightstand, sliding open the drawer to pluck a few kleenexes out from the box inside. “hm.” you hear his voice, you feel his body behind yours and watch his arm stretch out into your vision. “blow.”

you’re grumbling underneath your breath while leaning your face toward his hand that holds the napkins, inhaling a breath before huffing out some air through your nose. mucus shoots out, thick and viscid, consistency similar to honey. you grimace in disgust, turning your face away after two more.

“good job, baby,” eren sighs, sparing a quick glance at the mess.

yeah, you’re sick alright.

he tosses the dirtied napkins away, padding to the bathroom to wash his hands while ony zips up your coat. “you doin’ your make up today or no?”

you don’t answer his question, only push him away to go to the corner of the room where your vanity resides and take a seat.

not talking. he wants that to be strike two, he desperately does, nonetheless, he knows he’s getting a little bit ‘ palm ‘ happy and being unfair. he’ll consider it strike one and a quarter.

voice quiet, eren asks, “which car are we taking?” while adjusting a few silver rings on his tatted fingers.

ony takes a look at him — from the low bun that sat at the nape of his neck under his beanie, tatted neck, to the blinding white forces on his feet. he doesn’t have to say anything, he simply stands to walk over, not caring much about catching him off guard when grabbing him by his neck to pull him in for three soft pecks. “y’look good,” he mumbles onto the sweet skin of his lips. he tastes the vanilla of his chapstick — sugary and cloying. “we takin’ my car.”

he hears eren groan, quiet and soft, “keys,” he mutters against ony’s own.

“pocket . . get ‘em out.”

eren sucks his teeth, slipping his hand down the pocket of ony’s sweats, watching his boy slowly begin to smile over his bottom lip. “y’feel ‘em?”

he doesn’t answer his question, merely slips the ring of the keys onto his index finger, not missing the hardening rod of his cock, jumping against his palm. “you a fuckin’ menace, man.”

you take your sweet time completing your make up routine, switching out your purses, putting on your leg warmers and boots — nevertheless, both men remain considerate and forbearing. eren gathers you into his side, throwing his arm over your shoulder to pull you in for a forehead kiss while you all walk down the quiet hall towards the elevator and yet, you remain stoic, arms folded and face even. “you look pretty, baby.”

“mm.”

eren rolls a piece of the inside of his jaw between his molars, “. . wanna sit in front—“

“—back.”

you slink yourself away from his side, quickening your steps to brush past them both. given all of your quips and smart comments, a seed of dread plants itself right within the base of your stomach at the scan of eren’s working jaw and heavy lidded gaze. you’re aware that it takes a bit more to drive the brunet up a wall. while ony’s a ticking time bomb, always three seconds from exploding, eren’s temper is more of the beginnings of a trickling stream of water before a tidal wave.

both frightening, both gut wrenching — one more monstrous and rare.

still, you shake off that fear when you’re seated in the set behind the passenger, head leaned upon the cool glass of the window.

eren’s tattoo shop is only a twenty minute drive from the condo. you’re a hair away from drifting off into that placid swithered state of consciousness and not when you hear the unbuckle of seatbelts.

“c’mon, baby.”

you whine. ony’s blacked out range rover has seat warmers and a reclining option — you’re comfortable. “no, i wanna stay here.”

eren’s pulling open your door not more than a second later. a sharp, bone chilling wind flies over your body, sending your teeth chattering and aching legs curling. he’s leaning over inside of the truck to unbuckle your seatbelt for you, dodging your squirms and shoves all the while, “i don’t know how long i’m goin’ to take in here. you gotta come.”

you’re snatching away from him come his hand taking yours. you all but slam the car door when you’re out, not missing the chance to glare directly into onyankopon’s dark eyes as you do so, then you’re stomping your little feet up the cemented ramp that leads to the door of eren’s shop.

“that’s her second strike.”

a low chime signals your entry. you utter soft hi’s toward mikasa, sasha, and armin on your way towards the back where you know eren’s office is.

nobody misses the extra weight in your steps and how quick you do so. looks are passed between the employees and all is silent, aside from the dull buzz of machines whirring, until ony and eren are stepping inside, dusting snow off of their coats.

“what did the two of you do to her?”

mikasa’s eyes are slitted with her rising suspicion. never has she seen you so irked. you’re normally a sweet, little thing — offering them homemade pastries and pretty charm bracelets beaded with their nicknames. you don’t normally brush past them so quickly.

“not a damn thing,” eren releases a heavy breath.

ony chimes in a quiet, “yet,” while plopping down within the leather seat near beside the door.

sasha hums from her stall near back, eyes focused on the piece she works on in efforts to get her shading precise, “baby girl looks about ready to kill someone.”

ony scoffs, adjusting his sox cap atop his head, “lil ass can’t even swat at a fly let alone kill somebody.”

chuckles fill the room.

“no, no, wait. she’s so little.”

“fuckin’ tiny thing.”

“and she’s walkin’ around huffin’ and puffin’ like she ‘bout some’n.”

you hear them all. your nails impale into the fleshy meat of your palms as you sit at eren’s desk, jaw clenched. the utter disregard of your feelings not only makes tears fizz up the rim of your eyes, however, goes straight to your heart which pangs a sharp zing and shoots up more rushing blood to agitate your migraine further. you just want your bed.

sniffling, you lay your head down upon the desk, closing your eyes to block out the built in ceiling lighting. you can hear a set of footsteps padding towards the room. you keep your eyes shut.

it’s the both of them.

you can smell eren’s cologne — rich and woodsy — and hear the material of onyankopon’s coat rubbing as he moved his arm.

“jus’ leave her,” eren mumbles. you hear him powering up the apple computer in front of you then the mouse rolling. “i gotta check these invoices.”

you move your head, creaking your eyes open. he leans over you, one hand on the back of the large chair you sit in and the other directing the mouse here then there across the desk. the blue light of the computer illuminates the handsome features of his face and you take heed of his eyes, a gorgeous teal, leaning towards a more mossy green, darting across the screen. his face is focused and you notice how he nibbles along the inside of his bottom lip which makes his dimples play peek a boo within his cheeks.

when your congested sniffle rings through the quiet room, you quickly shut your eyes again before eren can catch you staring.

ony’s voice is quiet when he says, “we gotta pick her up some soup. i know her fuckin’ throat is killing her.”

“yeah, duke’s? — on the corner of rose and lakewood — shit has the best wild rice and mushroom soup. think it also helps detox.”

“mm, for real? we’ll get her that then.”

it doesn’t take eren long to answer a few emails, send in invoices, take a call, then lock his computer. you’re back nuzzled within your seat in the car by the time the clock strikes eleven forty five.

periodically, ony glances at you through the rear view mirror while he drives, noting how you had your body turned towards the door and hood pulled up over your head. he can’t see your face . . and that irks him. he’s sure this will sound selfish of him, but for so many suns, the only things able to soothe him, motivate him, keep him going has been both yours and eren’s faces — your features pretty and delicate in your own respected ways. in ways he can’t describe, when he gazes at you both, ony all but wants to give you the entire world.

you know when you arrive at his auto and detailing shop when you hear connie’s voice at the window.

“fuck you doin’ here, bossman?”

the car settles in park as ony frees himself from the seatbelt, “gotta check on y’all niggas and pick up some shit. aye, where’s braun?”

his voice fades away once he gets out of the car and heads toward the interior of a garage. you curl in closer within your seat, letting out a sweet mewl when that ache settled within the tissue of your muscles makes itself known once more. “we’re almost done, mama,” eren sighs. he loathes seeing you like this. “your campus, bookstore, then the pharmacy. couple more stops.”

you groan, “i know, eren.” you don’t need him to remind you that it’s going to be at least two more hours until you’re back home nuzzled within your warm bed.

the brunet rolls his lips within his mouth, contemplating his next choice of words. it’s an inquisitive globe rolling from left to right within his head — left being his more empathetic half come knowing the reaction that’ll sleeve over your attitude if he were to say it, however, the right not caring and wanting to see you choke up. “. . . ‘yan has you on strike two.”

“what?”

you’re lifting your head come the statement pushing past eren’s lips and into the interior of the quiet car, eyes round with shock as your heart staggers on its next beat. eren doesn’t even turn his head over his shoulder to look at you, only unwraps a caramel apple flavored sucker he’d slipped out of his pocket, prior to sticking it within his mouth, “mhm,” he slyly murmurs. “one more and you know what that means . .” and it isn’t always solely ony that calls the strikes, although more aberrant, eren can too.

“. . b-but ‘m sick—“

he shifts his head from left to right. eren had known you’d pull the excuse. the hard candy clicks against his teeth as his tongue moves it about within his mouth, “— don’t matter. i know you’re feeling tired today, pretty girl, but you gotta fix that attitude.”

you want to.

you want to scream and huff and kick and throw a good, old fashioned tantrum because, ironically, you do want to be good. you want that aerial, golden halo above your head each time your boyfriends take a glance of you to remain, however, it’s as though that part of you has taken a leave for the day — you couldn’t find her even if you tried. that golden ring has been reformed into tiny, red pointed horns taken home within the bubblegum pink and black beach waves of your sew in and a thin, forked tail at the base of your back. you huff and fold your arms, returning back to your previous position. “ ‘s not fair.”

it’s not fair.

you want to blame your crankiness on your cold, even so, you know that wouldn’t be true. and at the view of eren pulling out his phone, reclining his seat back, and widening his legs — a lounging position to showcase his content within the situation, that little spark that’s been lit inside of your tummy only flares brighter. your tone is a snap as you hiss, “that’s not fair, eren.”

“mhm.” he ignores your tell tale, beginning signs of a fit to reach inside the middle console where he knows ony keeps a packet of cough drops. the packet crinkles as he slips his hand in, grabs a few, then outstretches his arm behind himself, “here, baby.”

you sneer at his hand, making an entire show of grumbling and droning until you’re opening your own, allowing him to drop them within it.

you don’t know how long ony has you both waiting — you’re only to quietly watch through the window as he moves throughout the lot, admiring the work of an iridescent, pearl wrapped lamborghini, directing an employee there then here, holding a clipboard which he flipped through quickly prior to handing it back into the hands of reiner.

cool melon, eucalyptus, and peppermint oils soothe the channel of your throat as you suckle on a cough drop, watching him stand with his arms folded a few minutes later. his eyes are locked onto the light blond spheres of jean’s own who had been seemingly explaining something while gesturing to a bentley a few garages away.

you notice that the inside of the car is completely barren — the seats have been taken out.

ony’s face is morphing. eyebrows dropping, corners of his lips pulling low, and his chin is tilting the slightest bit higher. tiny pimples rise along the surface of your skin as you regard his demeanor. it’s familiar.

upon eren taking a rendezvous trip with his friends to vegas for two nights without letting either of you know, as soon as he had came home and stepped foot across the threshold, ony had been there — same stature, same facial expression, same guise. and when he begins to speak, jaw grinding and his tone more clear while pointing between the car, jean, and himself, you don’t have to say it because eren already notices, “shit,” he mumbles, looking out towards the scene. “pa’s pissed.”

the conversation ends with jean giving a firm nod, eyes casted not downwards but close enough. you read his lips before he walks off, ‘ i gotchu, boss. ‘

ony rubs a hand down his face, shaking his head for a split second, prior to calling something out to connie then making his way towards the truck.

the edges of your teeth penetrate the now flattened disc of the cough drop laying against your tongue to break it into tiny pieces and you’re swallowing the balm come ony slipping in and then shutting the car door.

“wassup?” the emeralds of eren’s eyes are flicking all over his boy’s face, examining it for a better read of the emotions ony’s too good at concealing. “talk.”

ony shakes his head, smoothly reversing out of the large lot, “nun i cant handle, pa,” he murmurs after a sniff, pressing the resume button located upon the steering wheel to recommence lucki’s leave her softly playing through the speakers.

“nah, quit that,” eren lowers the volume even more. “you always do this shit — let stuff pile up and stress you the fuck out then you come home and hole yourself up in a room, only to blow the fuck up at a pen dropping.”

as big on communicating ony is, when it’s boiled down to himself, he doesn’t hold the same regard. what’re things he wouldn’t put up with from you and eren are some he also does, though doesn’t expect to be nor appreciates being, called out on. it’s an interesting topic to delve into upon you realizing that ony had been the one to really throw himself into learning more about the relationship dynamic you all shared near the first couple months of you all making it official — watched videos, read books and articles the sizes of novels — all efforts unneeded when he plainly stated, ‘ shit is jus’ like monogamous relationships with more communication. we need to communicate above everything else for us to work. ‘

through the corner of your eye, you watch confliction dance upon the handsome features of ony’s face — he takes off his cap, scratches his head, puts it back on, rolls his lips into his mouth, then huffs out a breath through his nose. “that gt s? client wants white interior with grey trimming. was expected to be done by the end of this week, at most, eight days from now, but j put in the wrong request. we have that shit shipped from fucking developers in countries a day ahead of us,” he explains, pupils locked on the road ahead of him. “so now we gotta put in the fucking request again, wait for them to ship the material, have it come here and do what we need to do. shit pushes us out like two weeks, maybe more.”

eren lets himself soak it all in. it’s a stressful situation sure, but, “you said this is a loyal client of yours, right? what, like, this his fifth car bein done by you?” when a confirmation is given, eren relaxes, “. . ‘m not gonna lie, ‘yan, if he wasn’t, you’d be fucked. let him know all this, he should understand.”

the drive to your campus is more quiet than usual. what had been slight conversation and laughter between the two men on the drive to eren’s shop is now tensed. a stranger could see how taut ony appears now, mind elsewhere as he rubs the short hairs hanging from his chin, eyes focused though mind far some place else, while he drives.

you’re a quiet thing come the truck falling into park in front of your university’s administration building. “c’mon, ma.”

it’s a short meeting — you’re congratulated on your achievement on making the dean’s list, told your attendance needs just the slightest bit more work, and aided in the process of choosing which few classes are needed in order for you to receive your degree come the following semester.

“damn,” ony’s mumbling while scanning the sheet of your transcript you’d given him after exiting the office where he and eren sat in the chairs beside. “all a’s, a couple b’s. good job, mama, we gotta get you somethin’.”

the decision between an all expense mall trip or a vacation is screeched into a halt come your rolled eyes and snide comment, “well, duh. ‘m not a fucking dumbass.”

you’re positive that the world goes completely silent.

you had expected a firm ‘ language ‘ or even a quick spank when shielded behind the heavy body of ony’s truck — you’d expected him to be the one to do so, albeit, it’s eren who presses you back against the trunk. your gasp echoes off of the wet, cemented walls within your campus’ near empty underground parking garage.

your eyes are rounded with panic come the hand around your throat, squeezing it. concurrently, eren’s face is completely barren of emotion when he says, “third strike.”

you go to squirm your way out of his hold, wiggling and pushing, however, he’s pressing you closer against the trunk, angling his head down. you’re left to keep yourself still, fear rushing through your veins near the speed of light come the sight of his warm breath being expelled into frigid air as he speaks, foggy and thin, “stop fuckin’ playing with me and get y’lil ass in the car . . now.”

his hold on you is heavy as he directs your steps around the car, to the backseat. you watch him open the door and given your trembling knees and shallow breaths, you’re whining, “eren, quit it,” as you climb in.

“it’s been over three nonstop hours of your smart ass mouth, mama. i’m sick of it. you already know what you in for later.”

you’d thought that he wouldn’t be serious, nonetheless, at the reminder you’re pouting your lips and shaking your head, “w-wait, no, ‘m sorry—”

“—i bet.”

you don’t want to be reminded of your last reprimands — the no touching, the bounding, the spanks.

your tears are a play on their emotions, both men are aware, “i didn’t even do anything that bad today,” you’re mewling come on the drive to the bookshop.

ony glances at you through the rear view’s reflection. he sees your folded arms, pouted, shimmering lips, the fire that still dances beneath your eyes. you never learn your lesson. “sure about that, ma’?” he asks, taking in the way you barely nod as you gaze back at him. “you already know how we feel about that cussin’ shit—“

“—that’s not fair!”

“i’m not bouta explain this shit again ‘cause you already know why,” he calmly retorts, eyes refocused on the road. “you slammin’ doors, stompin’ all over the place, ignorin’ people — and you seriously don’t think you did anything wrong?”

the last syllable of the word is popped as you quip a quiet, “nope.”

“alright.”

ony decides to go that route, too. that oblivious route, that arrogant route. you’re aware both him and eren are men of their word, he doesn’t understand why you’re so keen on pressing a huge, red button on their nerves labeled ‘ don’t touch ‘ — damn near slamming your fists on it, actually.

the bookstore errand is quick and eren goes alone into the pharmacy to pick up your medicine, followed by a vial of vitamins in efforts to build up your clearly fragile immune system.

home is after a soup and tea grab and you purposely drag your feet on the way to the elevator, pouty and mean faced while both men intentionally walk behind you, annoyingly patient.

“don’t make me throw you over my shoulder, mama.”

your bow studded, acrylic topped middle finger acts as a silent reply to eren’s statement. you figure that since you’re already so deep within the pool of their vexation, why not swim out even further?

given the façade of your big and bad girl shield, as soon as the front door to the apartment is open, you’re fighting to make a run for it.

“eek, no!” you’re squealing when eren grabs you by the waist mid sprint and tosses you akin to a lump of produce over the firm hill of his shoulder. “eren, i swear—“ your threat is broken by a coughing fit. the sound of mucus rings clear within everyone’s ears and you’re letting out a harsh sneeze upon your butt being planted in a seat at the island. “y-you both — so mean.”

“shit’s gonna make you drowsy.” onyankopon’s pouring the thick, turquoise colored cough syrup within the small cap provided, disregarding your comment. he fills it to the brim before handing it to you. “swallow.”

you’re obeying, shockingly, turning your nose up and wrinkling your brows come the taste.

“here.”

eren holds out three gummies, pink, orange, and purple, in the shapes of organs — intestines, heart, and lungs. you’re popping them within your mouth quickly to chase the bitter flavor of the medication, needy for the soup that ony begins to grab from within a paper bag. how quick they are to take care of you softens your heart. you wish you’re able to exude that feeling in the forms of your usual kisses and hugs and smiles, nonetheless, you merely grab your bowl of soup to quietly begin to eat without another glance given.

you hear them begin to move around — doors shutting, tv powering on, sighs from the long day being expelled from heavy chests. “fuck do i wanna make for dinner?” eren mumbles from his position in front of the fridge. “wait, nah — yan’?” his voice rises to catch ony’s attention from upstairs.

you can hear him walking towards the landing that overlooks the first floor while mumbling, “yeah?”

“dinner. i want you to make that salmon.”

ony’s soft, dark chuckle makes your heart swoon, “nah, you want me to make?”

eren’s smile makes your tummy swarm with butterflies,“ ‘m not beggin’, man.”

“aight, jaeger,” he utters, stepping away from the railing. “fuck it.”

when you’re done with your soup, eren and ony are both upstairs. the effects of the medicine has already begun to sink in, blurring your sight, lidding your eyes. you’re sniffling as you slowly slug yourself inside of the bedroom where eren sits upon the edge of the bed, cleaning his shoes, and ony showering in the bathroom.

at first sight of you, eren’s softening. he simply can’t help it. you’re too precious, you’re too pretty. given all your whines, you’re still his baby. “c’mere, bug.”

you’re sagging within him when he opens his arms, feeling him plop you down on his lap so that he can pull off your shoes, leg warmers, then the rest of your clothes. it leaves you in your undergarments which you’re comfortable with and you go to crawl underneath the weighted duvet and lay against your pillow, letting the soothing arms of sleep envelop you.

”did you ever have intercourse in this office?”

”. . . are you serious? ugh — where? . . where . . . . where, dwight?”

”seems like you already know where.”

you wake to the sound of a soft chuckle. it flows through the canals of your ears and compels you to flutter open your eyes, fixing them upon eren whose body lays right beside your own.

your sniffle is the sound that makes him look down at you from his position of being propped up on one, flexed arm. “hey,” he gently mumbles, eyes checking your face for signs of any discomfort. “finally up?”

you give a leisure nod, rolling over onto your back to slowly pull your arms above your head, fingers interlocked, then arch your back upwards.

“big stretch.”

ony turns his head over his shoulder from his position seated at the edge of the bed, wine red durag tied tight upon it, to watch you. you give a long moan as you do so, hearing a few bones crack as they realign themselves more comfortably within your back. eren shifts beside you, moving about until a glass of cool water is being transferred into your hand, “c’mon, drink.”

the world outside is dark and the heavy, white curtains that normally shield the wall of a window beside the bed are wide open. city lights — studs of whites, yellows, blues, and reds glimmer and wispy, grey clouds akin to stretched cotton shift slowly across the skies.

gratefully, you sit up to gulp down the water, releasing a soft sigh when all done.

“good girl.”

you rub your eye with your knuckles as eren sets the glass down upon the nightstand and ony turns himself back forward. “you sleep good?”

“mhm.”

you find yourself reaching over to climb your body atop of the brunet beside you and he lets you. “shit,” you hear the grin in his voice as he starts to rub his hand along your back. “what’s this? . . i thought i was so mean earlier?”

you feel a sweltering burn flourish from your cheeks to your nose. you bury your face into his shoulder, refusing to say a word.

“mm, you get some food, medicine, and sleep in you and now you actin’ right?” eren thumbs with the lace of your underwear and hastily, earlier’s affairs fly through your brain, frame by frame corresponding a montage. “can’t say it doesn’t make sense. ‘s all you ever need now’days, hm?” the door slamming, the swears, the molten heat glowing bright within eren’s eyes as he called out your final strike.

you’re shifting your body to rise up on your palms and look at him, however, eren’s heavy arm is suddenly pulling you back down, not allowing you to move.

“don’t do it,” his utter is delicate. “don’t even try it.”

you kick out your legs come the sound of the tv shutting off. no longer does sound drown out how your breath begins to quicken and the beginning trills of your whimpers. it’s all happening too fast, you need to breathe, “w-wait, wait—“

“—you couldn’t have thought that we forgot, baby girl.”

ony’s tone is soft. it’s adapting that pitch where he speaks to you as if you were nothing but a stupid, little thing who doesn’t know left from right — as if your head had been filled with nothing but glitter and moondust.

eren’s humming, letting his palm slowly slide from your back to the cheeks of your ass. his fingers knead the soft flesh, similar to dough, squeezing and rubbing, occasionally rolling. “was gonna have you write lines, maybe force you to do some housework with no clothes on — take it easy on you, but . .” air is pulled within his mouth through his teeth. a sharp sound is heard followed by the wind whistling as his palm cuts through it to quickly fall down onto the round globe of your left ass cheek. the way you immediately burst into tears is simply delightsome. “at the way you was talkin’ and actin’ today, i knew you wouldn’t have learned your lesson.”

your head is lifted by the back of your neck so that you can face ony who now stands beside the bed. you’re sniffling, sweet brown eyes laminated with tears, “o-ony . . ‘rennie, please.”

“you beggin’?” he’s smiling over his bottom lip, teeth white and flawlessly aligned. “awe, shit. she’s beggin, baby.”

eren lets another swat fall. you squeak, hands instinctively reaching out to cover your skin from another. “wanna move ‘em or do we have to hold ‘em—“

“—m-move, i’ll . .” you swallow, shaking your head. you don’t want that. “i’ll move them, ‘rennie.”

ony lets you go, allowing your face to fall back inside the pocket of eren’s neck. you hear him murmur something about ‘ lube ‘ and the simple word signals your toes to curl because you’re aware of the harsh, blissful decadence you’re sure to endure come only minutes from now.

“no counting,” eren mumbles against your ear. “gonna stop when i feel like you’ve had enough.”

the spanks he rains down on your ass are nothing short of cruel and quick. unlike ony, eren doesn’t have a rhythm. he doesn’t subject you to alternate hits upon each cheek at a steady clip, no, he’d swat three against your right, two on your left, one near that pretty cusp where your thigh and ass met, then another near the inside of it.

you’re sobbing, pulling at the hold his singular hand that the both of your wrists eventually find themselves locked into.

your skin stings — it burns with the onslaught of a calloused palm employing just enough strength to blossom bruises upon the gentle canvas.

midway, eren lifts up and swings his legs to plant his feet on the floor, leaving you laid over his lap. the position makes it easier to keep your squirming under control. he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted to watch the way the brown, plump orbs of your ass recoil and bounce back with each hit, too. “awe,” his chuckle shakily breaks the syllables of the word. your weeps underlying the thick smacks of skin on skin were absolutely adorable. “you can take it, my love. ‘s what you wanted. this had to be what you’ve been needin’.”

you hate his words because you’re aware that there’s a tiny shred inside of you that knows they’re true. with each jewel shelled tear that manifests from the rinds of your eyes and drips down your sweet cheeks is a stress relieved. as you tense with each hit, you also melt against him, weakening, and your mind drains just a bit more along with it.

“mmm,” eren’s voice is a deep hum as he pauses for a moment to roll your warm ass against his palm. “there you go.”

he lands another spank, watching your body jolt. you no longer fight, only cry.

“spread her.”

ony’s voice is similar to a bucket of cold water being splashed against you after a week of baking in a sauna. you feel eren release your wrists, prior to your hips being yanked up to assemble you onto your knees, back curved in. “that‘s right,” ony’s mumbling as the familiar cap of a bottle opening rings inside of your ears. “lift that ass up.”

when rough hands are spreading you open, you’re whining, trying to get a look at what was happening though all you were able to see was eren’s bare, tatted arms holding you and ony standing behind. “w-wha’ — daddy, wait—“

“—spit on it, baby,” he’s mumbling to eren.

a glob of warm saliva is shot onto the tight, winking hole of your ass before being rubbed in with a thumb. both sensations induce a warm shiver that takes over your spine, provoking your fingers to grip the sheet underneath you. “mhm,” a sleeker finger, a rougher one, does the same before it begins to sink inside, nice and slow. you whine, clenching, kicking out your feet.

both men watch how your hole swallows the digit greedily, all the way to the knuckle, pulsing around it. ony isn’t impressed. he makes the ring of muscle loosen by stroking his middle finger in and out until he’s able to pushing in his ring right along side of it.

your pussy thumps underneath, little hole leaking out a trickle of translucent sap that thickens into an orb at your clit.

“gon’ fuck that attitude right outta’ you, mama. don’t even worry about it.”

you find yourself pushing back into his hand, dizzy and gone as you whine, “d-don’t have an attitude anymore, pa’.”

another smack to your ass. you whimper.

“yeah, i know.”

eren spits once more, watching the liquid slip between ony’s fingers, only to get pushed inside of you upon an inwards thrust. the way your ass swallows the appendages is prizewinning. it’s shocking because, “when’s the last time we fucked it?”

ony’s eyes are focused on his fingers as he murmurs, “ ‘bout three months ago, right before that fuckin’ halloween party.”

eren thinks he’s drooling come that orb at your clit beginning to lengthen into a sticky, dangling thread between your legs. “mm, shit, ‘s right,” he lets his mind flash him back. “fuckin’ lola bunny costume.”

you had wore nothing but a tiny, cropped basketball jersey with matching shorts whose hemming stopped right after the half cup of your ass. eren thinks it had been the tall, clip in bunny ears and matching ball of fluff that did it for him, contrarily, ony’s undoing had been the thigh high socks.

they had taken you on the floor within the foyer like two rabid animals. you’d been two hours late to the party and couldn’t sit down in fear of wincing in front of the wrong person.

when you’re able to take almost four fingers is when ony and eren let you go. you fall onto your back against the bed, feeling your undergarments being slipped from off of your body after. it leaves you bare, chest heaving, and limbs trembling.

both eren and ony wear nothing but sweats. tatted skin is displayed — black ink against dark brown and olive dusted skin. “bring that ass here.”

when you find yourself in a position that has your head hanging from the ledge of the bed, face only inches away from ony’s groin, you know exactly what to expect. “daddy, be gentle.”

he can’t help but laugh at your statement. the absolute nerve of you. had you been gentle earlier? gentle with your words, your tone, with eren and him? “open that shit.” his cock springs from the inside of his sweats come his thumb pulling down the waistband to rest underneath the heavy sac of his balls. you admire it up close — the dark mahogany of his shaft and the multitude of veins pulsing across it, the dark rouge of his leaky tip where a thick dewdrop of precum sits — it all makes your clit thump, rushing with blood, hardening and swelling.

come your mouth slowly creaking open, ony has to wait until a large enough gap is revealed for him to push himself in. you choke as he groans, eyes rolling back and closing at the feel of your throat spasming. “fuck, ‘s exactly what y’lil ass needed — dick in y’mouth to get that attitude in check.”

he gazes at your plump bottom lip and the way your throat bulges as you swallow him down. you sweetly snivel, pretty fingers lifting to your tits to pinch your nipples between two of them, rolling and pulling.

you feel a weight settle between your legs as two hands force your thighs apart.

soft hair tickles the insides of them as eren leans down to peck a delicate kiss against your clit, watching your pussy greet him with a splurt of warm cream. he hadn’t wanted to give you what was clear you craved so quick, but damn, it’s hard. he can’t help himself come his tongue swiping out for a taste and partaking in that sweet, tangy flavor distinct to only you. he hums quietly, aligning his top lip near the base of your mound while the bottom of his jaw rises up and down as his tongue strokes wetly over your clit, suckling and swallowing.

you whine around ony’s cock, knees bending around eren’s head.

“nah, focus,” he mumbles, wrapping his hand around your throat while his own form a slight hook so that he can begin to rock his dick, smoothly in and out of your mouth. “f-fuck, yes — there you go.” the sight of it drives him mad. you’re taking him so swell — gurgling, slurping, and chugging. the insides of your cheeks are soft while the duct of your throat is tight and ridged. he has to give a little push each time his dick pushes inside to work it through. how such a sweet mouth can fix the nastiest things to say baffles ony completely.

he can tell that this was what you’ve been needing, can tell that all that backtalk was the usual angel in you banging against the charade you’ve put on all day to come out. ony knows she’s not all the way free, nevertheless. you’re not pleading as much as you usually do, there’s no clawing, desperate hands, and high pitched squeals layered under sweet cries of titillation.

when he pulls his dick from your mouth, you don’t beg for it back, only pout.

ony slaps his tip against the plump skin of your lips, over and over. smack. smack. smack. he lets strings of his precum drip over them, your chin, your cheeks, your nose. he wants you to feel degraded — wants you to realize that you can never win the battle against the two of them when it’s heavy sighs and bratty banter as your defense.

you’re whimpering, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed, body twitching and little frown pulling at your lips. you look about two seconds away from tears, ony loves that.

“ima let you handle her, pa’,” he mumbles, swatting a firm enough smack against the side of your face to get you to open your eyes once more. “break her in. make’er cry.”

the smile on his face unnerves you.

“yeah?” eren shoots a blob of spit on your pussy before sliding up to hover above you, one hand pressed into the mattress beside your head, and the other beginning to toy with your clit. “bet.”

with them both above you, you soon begin to fall into your place. “wait—“

“—wait, wait, wait,” eren drones in a low mime of your voice, lifting himself to snatch you in closer. “no more waitin’, baby. you fucked up. if you knew you couldn’t take this shit, you shouldn’t have dished it out.”

he folds you up, firmly pushing your legs until your knees press into the thousand dollar sheets your head lies upon. shoved into a position so callous has you almost eyesight with your own cunt.

you see the way a bead of slick clings onto your lip before beginning a mocking trail down the crease of your thigh. it’s humiliating.

“mm,” eren bites his lip. similar to ony, he doesn’t take his sweats completely off, merely pulls them down just enough to tug his heavy cock out.

your eyes are hazed over as you watch his ruddy tip begin to rock along your slit. those three, little silver barbells, pierced within the mite of skin and running vertically underneath his frenulum induce a needy moan, “daddy, please.”

“quiet.”

he takes his time, using his thumb as a hold to keep his fat crown in place as his cock strokes your clit up and down, up and down. your pretty lashes flutter as you close your eyes and grab hold of your thighs. “yeah,” he hums. waves of his hair fall down over his shoulders, blanketing his face. his eyes appear brighter within the darkened lighting of the room. “lean into it, mama — you feel it?”

“mhm.”

a few feet away, ony pushes open the sliding door so that he can step out onto the balcony. he stands within the threshold, between the platform and the bedroom all in efforts to keep a keen eye on you both while he sparks a blunt he holds between his lips, hand cupped around the flame ignited from his lighter.

he can’t see much — only eren’s flexing back and your little feet but he knows when eren slides inside of you.

you gasp, loud and long, and your toes tense before they curl.

“oh, shit.”

eren groans at the sensation of your walls — grooved, warm, and soppy — hugging the circumference of his cock as he pushes in. you don’t deserve the usual soft, sweet kisses eren’s prone to leaving across your lips and fluff of your cheeks when he has you in a position so vulnerable, no, you deserve his hand wrapped around your throat and the deep, hard thrusts he’s immediately pounding into your cunt as soon as he deems you ready for them.

the way a trickle of drool begins to slip down your face from your opened mouth and your eyes scroll back into your head as you take it shouldn’t be so fucking attractive.

the music of slapping skin, long moans, and squeaky sobs ricochets off of the walls into ony’s ears. he considers weed a wondrous drug — the best of the best. too many times has a blunt saved him from stressing himself out into a stroke, from either dealing with his job, his family, on the occasion, you. he adores it because when the effects of the drug start to catalyze, he’s able to focus on one, or rather tonight, two things only. you and eren.

his eyes hone in on the thick, umber curls of eren’s hair, free from its usual elastic and running down to stop at his shoulders. a gorgeously etched tat of a faceward, teeth baring dragon, bordered with branches of cherry blossoms inks the entire canvas of his back. shades of pinks, reds, whites, and yellows ripple harder and harder the firmer he fucks you.

“move y’fuckin’ hand, ( ❤︎ ).”

despite his words, eren pushes your hand away himself from pressing against the front of his pelvis. your entire body shivers as if you were a withered leaf in the fall. “s-so deep, papa,” you’re mewling, back arching upwards into a semilune as he presses in nice and full once more. feeling his tip tapping at that familiar textured barrier nestled far inside of you, you press at him once more, “unh, t-too deep . . c-can’t take — noo.”

“ ‘s not your decision,” eren takes a moment to stroke his thumb across your bottom lip. he’s pleased to watch your tongue curl around it so that you can pull it further into your mouth when he leans forward and begins to fuck you harder. “f-fuck — pussy’s made for me, hm. bet you know, mmph, better now than to act like that.”

your g spot is found when your legs intertwine around eren’s slim waist so that you’re able to tug him in further. your hips tilt up which allows his pierced tip to begin stroking the roof of your pussy, right up against that magical little button.

tears are immediate. no longer are words capable. what some you do churn in your brain get lost on the brisk trip through your nervous system and out your mouth, leaving nothing but intelligible babbles to leave your lips.

“there we go,” eren’s groaning, breaths hard and chuffed as he trades his rhythm for a more steady pull out then quick slam in. “c’mon — f-fuck yes — take it, mama. take it for me.”

ony hears you squeak as your charm studded nails drag belts of red across his hips. you’re cumming. he hears it in your tone. he commends eren for breaking you so quickly. you’re weeping and sniffling, fingers holding onto his biceps as you sweetly sob for him to ‘ give you a second. ‘

eren quiets you with a kiss. his lips move smoothly against yours as his cock fucks you through your orgasm — not slowing nor stopping. “you’re so pretty,” he mumbles into the heat of your mouth, hips circling on the thrusts in. “ungh . . fuck, you’re s-so fuckin’ pretty.” this is supposed to be about teaching you a lesson, but, when you look up at him like that, with your eyes shimmering with tears, body trembling, lips parted, you look like you feel so good, eren can’t help but let a praise slip in here and there.

“mm,” you give a loopy, little smile with your eyes closed simultaneously when a splash of wetness squirts out around his dick. “y-you’re, oh, prettier, daddy.”

eren huffs a chuckle into your neck, “g-gonna, ‘m gonna cum. you ready?”

you interlock your arms around his neck, nodding into his shoulder, “m-mhm.”

he wholeheartedly adores how your pretty, little pussy likes to begin to flutter around him — muscles pumping across the thick pillar of his cock, trying its best to work his nut free come each time he warns you of his release. eren doesn’t even think you intentionally do it, your tiny cunt is just always so desperate and hungry and needy for it that it happens involuntarily.

“m-my pretty girl,” he huffs, bowing his forehead against the bouncing hill of your tit. your fingers find his nape and they scratch along it, overwhelming only the best parts of eren’s brain. his eyes are rolling back, he even thinks a trickle of drool is slipping down the corner of his lips. “fuckin’ — ohhh . . shit. gonna be our wife, hm? jus’ ours?”

“only yours.”

the words quake over the trills of your hiccups, moans, and the sound of slapping skin. you make sure eren can hear you when you mewl out a more quiet, “only daddies’,” into the cusp of his ear, not at all stunned come the immediate feeling of thick warmth pulsing into you soon after. he holds you tight, arms wrapped underneath your back to completely hold you against his chest as his hips continue to rock and pivot, pressing his dick in deeper, making sure his cum sticks.

“mm,” you loll your head to the side, sweetly sated and dazed. “love your cum.” potent, sweet, and a pearly white. birth control is your only savior because you know it’d only take a single load of his to knock you up, if not by twins, then maybe triplets.

“i love you,” he mumbles in reply. you feel a soft peck at the center of your rib cage before his head is lifting so that he can mimic another upon your gentle lips. “so much.”

you don’t want him to pull out just yet, however, ony’s quiet “baby boy.” prompts eren’s attention.

he lifts up on a hand while the other slips between you two so that he can cautiously begin to slide his cock from out of you. “mm, yeah, pa’?” he breathes softly, eyes locked on your swollen clit — pink and smooth.

“need you to do somethin’ for me.”

you watch eren slip off of the bed and walk, clearly weak limbed, over to where ony stands by the balcony door. he utters something to him, low and incomprehensible. eren seems to understand because he gives him a nod, prior to leaning into him for a kiss after ony takes a hit of his blunt.

“don’t get me fuckin’ started, jaeger,” ony utters, watching him inhale the smoke stolen from his mouth.

eren breathes it out through his nose, soft smile playing on his lips, “nah, you didn’t even ask if i wanted a hit, ‘yan. fuck you.”

blame it on the weed because in another case, ony would normally be lightning quick in snatching him up, albeit, he can only take a small step toward eren before he’s quickly dodging him to head for the closet.

around his blunt, ony delicately utters. “nun but two fuckin’ brats i got, man,” before stubbing it out and shutting the balcony door.

his steps are slow and lazy as he walks over to where you lay. the moonlight enshrouds you beautifully. he’s able to see the sheen of sweat that glazes your forehead, the still glistening luster of eren’s saliva over your nipples and neck — the cum that drips out of your battered, little pussy.

how eren’s able to ruin you, so brisk and effortlessly at that, stupefies ony. and though he knows you’re sensitive, all of you know how easy it is to play your body like a fiddle, ony still just can’t help but think regardless, if any other person were to be in their shoes, they wouldn’t be able to do what the two of them can — you prove this statement correct each time the three of you find yourselves in a predicament like this.

“you know you fucked up, right?” the question is more of an assertion. you tense when ony grabs you by the ankle to tug you more to the edge, then by the waist to flip you over.

“mm-mm.”

maybe you did. you’re aware your attitude could’ve been . . considerably better today. still, it isn’t your fault that she wanted to come out and play — the brat in you, that is. it’s not.

you hear eren walking back toward you both when ony yanks your hips up so that you kneel, breasts pressed against the bed and back arched. he hands him something.

eren wants to slip in a ‘ take it easy on her ‘ because he sees what type of timing ony is on. he’s a backshot kind of guy, sure, nonetheless, usually he prefers to see your face — have you ride him, bounces you on his cock while he stands up, the occasional full nelson.

you have fucked up.

and eren had known ony was upset, but he didn’t know he’d be this pissed.

how his lubed up cock ends up pounding that sweet, little hole above your pussy is beyond all three of you. how you managed to slip and end up prone bone between the fat wand of a vibrator on your clit and ony on top of you is also a mystery unsolved.

words are impossible, making a sound is damn near vain when you feel the swaying, solid sac of ony’s balls smacking against your cunt with each downwards thrust of his dick inside of your ass. each time you find one of their heavy cocks buried inside of a cavern so tight and small — you think you go a little bit brain dead. you don’t want to move from your spot in fear of feeling him pull out. you wish you’re able to keep him here, inside of you until the end of your days, when dusks blur into dawns and the world whizzes past you.

“you know what he wants, ma’.”

eren’s presence only worsens that aching whirl of a feeling inside of you. you sob around the fingers that he slips past your lips — cheeks stained, eyes puffy. still, you look up at him when he lifts your chin, “say it,” he softly demands, emeralds drilling. “. . say it.”

“ ‘m . .” you swallow around a cute yelp when ony splits the glossed cheeks of your ass far apart to watch his cock continue to push in that tautened ring. “ooh — ‘m sorry, daddy.”

ony huffs around a short laugh, swatting a leaden smack upon it, “now we fuckin’ talkin — so, now you wanna speak up.”

eren has pulled a twig from the dam. when the words finally leave you, they don’t stop. “i’m s-sorry, i’m sorry — f-fuck, ‘m sorry, please. papa, please.”

“we know, we fuckin know,” ony appreciates your apologies. he genuinely does. but your ass feels too fucking good around his dick and still, four sorries? he thinks him and his boy deserve a couple more. “we might jus’ forgive you, mama.”

he feels you cumming. you shudder underneath him, little hands grappling for eren and him at the same while. he’ll let you have that. it’s the second of many.

“u-unh, hng . . hnggg,” eren watches you cry. you lay your head atop his thigh, suckling and drooling across his fingers as tepid gems of tears drip down to your temple. his cock stiffens against his sweats. you appear so pretty to him — a living princess out of a fairytale — only his. only ony’s.

“say i’m sorry for bein’ a brat,” he whispers, letting his thumb slip through the warm cascade along your cheek.

“i’m s-sorry . . . sorry f’being a brat.”

eren smiles, “a big brat.”

“a b-big brat.”

ony leans his head down to kiss beneath your ear, “sorry for cussin’.”

the vibrator moves underneath you — manages to find that perfect angle upon your clit that has your feet kick out and you give a squeal, “ ‘m sorry f-for cursing, daddy.”

“for not usin’ y’good girl manners . . for actin’ like a fuckin’ nightmare.” ony lowers his head to watch the supple cheeks of your ass continue to bounce as you babble out each regret.

you make it hard to be strict with you because you’re so good. you don’t fight back and whine and pout. you do as they say — no complaints or rolled eyes. just how he likes you. ony licks his lips and lifts up on the knuckles of his fists, “bouta’ fuckin’ cum,” he grits out quietly through his teeth. your walls are gripping him, your pussy is thoroughly soaked, the view of you and eren — it’s no question as to why it hits him so quick. “you know better than to try that shit again, hm? you know fuckin’ better.”

you do. you wish you were able to tell him so, however, your brain becomes too occupied — splitting to focus on the sensation of his fat cock splitting your plump, little ass in half and eren’s tatted hand, slipping his from out of his sweats to begin to stroke right before your face.

their thrusts are in tandem. quick, smooth, and long. you feel ony’s lips against the curved shell of your ear, you feel eren’s free hand still gripping the bottom of your jaw to keep your face in place. your mouth drops around a drawn out sob when that vibrator begins to stroke itself back and forth along that pert and hardened swell of nerves. “t-tongue out, princess. stick that fuckin’ tongue out,” eren’s thumb rubs across those piercings as ony grabs a nice handful of your ass to roll between his fingers.

“ready t’catch this nut, baby?”

they don’t give you much of a warning. warm, milky ribbons of ony’s cum shoots inside of your ass first before eren’s following to sweetly varnish the surface of your cheeks, tongue, nose, and chin. the sounds they make push you over your own edge once more — soft moans, hard groans, hisses, and sighs. you buck up into ony for more, trying your best to siphon him dry as you suckle along eren’s tip, whimpering and pliant.

“u-unh, fuck, shit baby — wait, wait,” eren’s hips are quivering as he pulls himself from your lips. your responding pout makes him breathe out a trembly laugh. “too sensitive. hold on.”

you feel that vibrator slip from under you and the buzzing cease as ony shifts from atop of you.

“d-don’t go yet,” you mewl, gripping onto his hand. “stay in.”

you don’t want to give up the feeling of being full so suddenly. you hear ony chuckle as he slowly stands, making you follow him by grabbing your hips and pulling you back up onto your knees. “ima plug you up, mama,” he mumbles. “be still for me, alright?”

you consider the pull out worse than the push in. your face is turned away from them both as you give a low whine come the laggard tug of his dick being freed from your hole, inch by inch.

ony admires the way it winks up at him when it’s empty — stretched and tender. he doesn’t want a drop of his cum to fall. he pushes in a heart base, pink tinted, glass plug to replace him, watching you swallow it, needy. “there we fuckin’ go.” he kisses the base of your back, flipping you over to gather you inside of his arms as eren reaches in the nightstand for a few wipes and cooling lotion.

“you did good, princess.”

you feel a cold wipe being rubbed across your face then one along your thighs as you lay your head atop of his shoulder, eyes closed, “ ‘m a good girl,” you mumble quietly. you just had a bad day, is all.

“the fuckin’ best girl,” eren adds on with a kiss to your temple.

ony pecks your lips, “you number one.”

your loopy, little smile of satisfaction lets both men know that what they’d said has been what you’ve been dying to hear all this time.

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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ℛℰℬ𝒰𝒦ℰ .ᐟ

꒰ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . . ꒱ 3.5kay word count , black fem reader , set in university , frat boy ﾉ football player ony , sex on the floor :o , mean ony [ for a bit ] , mentions of infidelity [ more of miscommunication ] , pet name usage [ ex. mama, baby, lil girl, daddy, n pa’ ] , pouty crybaby reader , ony says da n word [ duh ! ] , creampie , breathplay , somewhat . . dacryphilia .

belladonna's note to you .ᐟ . . . surprise >< ! ! ! ! i know dis came out of no where but ‘ve been wantin to write abt ony 4 so long ): i hope u luvvv . n title of work is inspired by dis song ⭐️ !

“keep fuckin’ movin’ . . — i want you to. keep fuckin’ movin’ and watch what i do to ya’ lil’ ass.”

you’re a good girl. you’ve always been.

you obey your parents, you maintain a three point eight grade point average in your university classes, when the moments presents themselves, you help an elderly cross the street, and help a small child grab a ball that somehow got itself wedged within a thorny bush. you try your best to give a sweet smile to passerbys while you’re out on your daily morning jogs, you tip your waiter an extra twenty on top of your pretax bill, and you recycle!

you’re a good girl — some will even label you as the best girl.

and how you got yourself caught in this situation here? bent over on all fours, on the floor, being mounted by your usual passive, soft spoken boyfriend like an animal in his bedroom within his fraternity house — his, puzzlingly quiet fraternity house should you add, being that almost everyone had been home when you initially stepped foot over the threshold twenty minutes ago, is a baffling mystery’s still pending conclusion you aren’t too sure of.

your soft knees burn against the material of your lover’s murakami rug underneath you due to the continuous back and forth motion of his weight pushing against and off of you. you’re aware that a puddle of drool is devising beneath your cheek. you feel the cool dampness of it — god, it’s gross. it’s disgusting.

“o-on’ — god, i c-c,” you don’t think you’re able to breathe. your lips shape around the opening syllables of his name, though they’re unable to fully form due to the never ending compress and expand of your lungs trying to suck in as much oxygen as they can. “onya’!” you squeal out his name when he releases a rough huff while adjusting himself more fully over you, one foot flat on the floor, the other leg still bent as he kneels.

his cock is . . .

you’re sure that words won’t be able to fully and accurately describe it. each time you find yourself a little bit tipsy with your friends — a little bit tipsy and needy, you go on a spiel about how perfect he is.

“you said, and this is like, the most fucking exact quote ever,” ymir’s face had been smoothened over in her usual deadpan as she fluidly sliced up a banana for her habitual post workout smoothie. “ ‘god, he’s jus’ so pretty and he smells so good and his dick — should i? mm . .’ and you laughed like a fuckin’ maniac right here. ‘okay, okay i will, its . . it’s huge,’” she tossed the fruit in the blender while you buried your face in your palms while squealing and shaking your head. “don’t wanna hear it anymore? cool. i didn’t wanna fucking repeat it.”

it is huge.

and it’s heavy. you practically feel the weight of it cumbering down inside of your squelching, chubby pussy — working and pushing right up against the spongy nub of your g spot.

you hate that he’s so . . angry. you feel how hard his large, soft hands grip your waist. usually, they touch you so delicately. they wipe your tears, fix a braid out of place, carefully adjust a shirt’s strap. they don’t spank you this hard and snatch you back into place when your body begins to slip.

onyankopon’s known for having a bit of a dark side, everyone on campus is aware.

what everyone sees at parties and lectures and quads is what they get. he’s quiet — doesn’t speak unless spoken to and keeps his opinions to himself. he’ll lounge on a bench with his friends, fists shoved in his billionaire boy’s labeled hoodie, legs spread wide agape to accommodate you upon his lap and he’d just . . . listen. rarely would he offer a laugh or comment — the most is a wide, handsome grin displaying all of his pretty, white teeth ( a glistening gold cap covering the bottom row at social events ) or a slight scoff at the mention of something irritable.

the country’s beloved, college quarterback star only fetes his hidden rage and anger on the field. opposing teams are the target of such . . and sometimes his own mates.

you’ve only had a first hand witness to such after meeting him following a losing game outside of the locker room, still dressed in your cheer uniform. you heard him yell for the first time, loud and livid . . his smooth voice echoing off porcelain walls and cold steel.

it had made you jump and recoil . . flinch back when he came walking out the doors, last of course, and automatically reach for you for comfort.

you hadn’t mean to, not at all, but would he shout at you like that, too?

ony didn’t appreciate that.

from then on, you were to meet him at his car . . a sleek, black on black hellcat, passenger seat decorated with your own pink trimmed cover and sewn in name.

this leaves you both here . . today.

you had ace’d an exam, received a more than beautiful check for your hours in working at the campus’ library along with a few tutoring sessions on the side, you were happy.

albeit, walking through his frat house’s doors and greeting ony who’d only given you a swift look up and down from the cute, gyaru - like beach wedges on your feet, the tiny, denim flared skirt on your hips, and gingham patterned crop top adorned upon your chest, you knew he was upset.

“what — hnnggg, please — w-what’d i do?” you drag out the last word through a slurred whine when he swats a specific slap against the back of your soft thighs. not even your ass . . he wants you to feel this shit tomorrow.

his breaths are hard. you can’t see him but you know his eyes, dark and drilling, are staring directly into the back of your head. “don’t play fuckin’ stupid, ( ❤︎ ),” he grits out quietly. “please don’t.”

he takes hold of the globes of your ass, spreading them far apart, making sure you feel the cool air glide over your holes. it feels colder than usual because you’re so wet. “ ‘s my fuckin’ pussy, yeah?” he pants out. “shit, ‘s supposed to be . . . givin’ my shit out — y’got me lookin’ like a fuckin’ bitch out here, man, look—“ his own words seem to ignite the roaring flames of his anger.

you squeak when he reaches down to grab you by the front of your throat, squeezing it just hard enough for you to gasp on your next inhale.

an inkling of fear plants itself within the pit of your stomach. what does he mean? what is he talking about? “ ‘m not.” tears paint your face, sticky and warm. your make up is ruined. no fair. you were so excited for the beach date you planned for the both of you . . you’d even picked out fat, ripened strawberries and dipped them in chocolate to harden the night before yourself. you even got a heart shaped pizza customized with his favorite toppings to shape out the both of your initials on it! “ ‘m not, i swe—“ you hiccup. “—ar . . ‘s yours, daddy. m’pussy’s all yours, i p-promise.”

ony thinks you talk a big game. you sound so genuine. how do you do that?

he’ll buy into it, “yeah,” he licks his lips, bending you further back, deepening that arch until it looks somewhat painful and he tilts himself forward.

he makes you look at him like that, from upside down and he admires the tears that shine across your soft cheeks. he huffs a scoff at the sight of your drool laminated chin and your shuddering body. “yeah, i bet,” he murmurs. “good girl ( ❤︎ ) . . fuckin’ cheerleader . . top ten on the dean’s list . . . gettin’ over and fuckin’ playing paradis university’s star quarterback ony asare,” his thrusts have slowed. he tilts his head, face a calculated blank, “think i don’t know what typa’ shit you tryna’ play with me, lil’ girl?”

you wish you could take a peek inside of his brain — finally get an understanding as to what he was talking about. “ ‘m not playing you, ony,” you realize now that the tears on your face were not only a cause of overbearing pleasure, but pain as well. you can hear it in ony’s voice how much he’s hurting and you hate that he won’t allow you to fix it. “w-what did i do?”

ony has stopped moving. he keeps your face in his hands and you see a muscle in his jaw tick as he tries to keep from speaking.

“nah,” he murmurs.

you sniffle, soft lips pouted, “talk to me, pa’.”

“no.” he lets you go and you fall forward, quietly catching your breath.

“yes.”

“you know what the fuck you did.”

“how do i know if i keep asking you?” you give a soft, little whine, making a move to pull yourself off of his dick to face him but he keeps you where you are with a firm smack to your ass.

“i saw you with my own two eyes smilin’ in your ex’s face . . i saw you invite that nigga into your apartment.”

god.

you knew that decision would come back to bite you in the ass. you bow your head, eyes closed. “ony . .—“

“—if i catch you in a lie, i’m done with you. you hear me?” abruptly, his voice doesn’t carry that edge anymore. he’s quiet and soft . . he nearly sounds like your ony again, which queues you in on the realization that he’s telling the truth. “gon’ be y’last time with me . . near me . . touching me. and i put that on everything i love.”

“ony, we didn’t do anything,” you turn your head over your shoulder to gaze into his eyes, making sure he read how genuine you were.

ony’s been the only person to recognize your tale ticks. you both know this.

“i found a box of his things buried in my closet that he never picked up, i swear,” your voice is a meek little thing . . broken and weary. “i dunno, to give you peace of mind, ymir was even home that day. i know you both share your own bond and we both know that she wouldn’t lie, not even for me. we didn’t do anything. he picked up the box and left . . wasn’t even in my apartment for three minutes.”

ony licks his lips, looking away from you for a few seconds. when he begins to slowly shake his head, you crumble.

your heart feels like it’s disintegrating within your chest as you go to speak, breath gone, “p-please, i would n-never do that to you,” you weep and go to pull off again but he keeps you still, once again. “onya, please.”

“lemme think, man. relax,” he places a palm at your lower back, right between the piercings that puncture the deep dimples at the base of it. he needs you quiet for a moment.

he saw that three days ago. while on the way to surprise you with your favorite food and that new marc jacobs tote you’ve had in your wishlist just because, he saw a familiar head of black curls and knew who the person had been.

your fuckin’ ex.

you and ony have been together for about twelve months. you dated jonah your freshman year of uni and the both of you hadn’t even lasted more than six, however the shit he did to you during the time was foul.

ony doesn’t like him. not one fucking bit. the only thing keeping him from sending a punch hard enough into the fucker’s face to knock him into a coma is his scholarship and, above all, you.

so, to see you open your door for him . . clearly willingly, dressed in that tiny ass, cute nightgown, give him a smile . . and step aside to allow him entry into your home had made ony feel a rage unorthodox to earth’s atmosphere. he felt sick to his fucking stomach.

wanted to block your number and socials then and there though could never get himself to do it. you were so excited for your date today, blew up his messages with your precious emoticons and exclamation marks that same night like nothing ever happened.

still, above all, you were telling the truth. ony can tell . . he feels it radiating off of you. your sweetness and how good you are, it’s palpable. regardless, you were right, too. if he still even felt a seed of doubt, he can ask ymir. the most blunt person the both of you knew — doesn’t hold shit back for anybody, best friend or not.

“. . . cross your fuckin’ heart,” he murmurs, side eyeing your pretty face face, foliated with woe and sorrow.

“i swear it to the stars.”

god, he feels so stupid now.

he rubs a hand across his tapered waves, bitter embarrassment slowly spreading across his chest similar to a crack in an icicle.

fuck it.

he suddenly presses you back where you were, hearing your little squeal of shock. “was gon’ have me transfer to another school and shit,” he huffs, jaw clenching once more at the thought. “would’ve had me cryin’ like a fuckin’ wimp . . you scared me, mama . . fuck.”

he can’t imagine losing you. ever.

“ ‘m s-sorry,” your toes coil tight within your wedges as he resumes that same brutal pace. you think his thrusts are hitting even harder now that he’s finally gotten a quiet mind for the first time in days. “s-should’ve never . .” you can’t get your words out but ony knows what you’re going to say.

he licks his thick, soft lips, pinning the bottom one beneath his top row of teeth, “should’ve never let that fed into your apartment . . should’ve took that box and burnt up all his shit, mhm . . i know.”

yeah.

he gets it.

you melt underneath him, successfully opening up your pussy even more, letting him batter it senseless. you feel yourself weakly gushing out your juices, feel a few droplets racing down your inner thighs to your knees, feel it packing into a paste at the foundation of his thick cock.

“unh, shit,” ony lets his head fall back at how perfect it all feels. “f-u—uuck . . gimmie this shit. take it, mhm, take it.”

your hips start to move. not back and forth but in smooth circular motions. ony watches how your fat, soft ass cheeks bounce off of his sculpted abdomen, how the skin ripples and pleats akin to hard ocean waves the stronger he fucks you.

to simply imagine another person in his place . . .

ony feels a murderous fervor burn inside of his chest. no longer opting to hold his tee out of the way, he pulls it up to bite down on the bottom and hold you more by the sides of your torso. his rhythm slows but he digs in deeper.

the steady smack . . smack . . smack sound of your skin meeting drives your brain into an empty void. “ohhh . . shit,” you moan out, honing in on the sensation of his balls, heavy yet firm, slapping against the throbbing bulb of your hard clit. “don’t s-st . . god, ony’ you’re,” you shiver, burying your face inside of your arms. you feel out of body. you can’t finish your sentence, he hears you begin to cry — all broken and full of mindless babbles and he smiles around his shirt.

“there we go,” he murmurs. “i’m diggin’ this shit out, mm? . . tell me how it feels, beautiful.”

your soft voice is but a quite whimper when you give a ‘ so good. ‘

ony reaches behind him for the neck of his shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it to the side, prior to pulling out and swiftly turning you over onto your back.

the position change is so sudden. you blink, watching the world oscillate until you focus on him. you watch him lean down before he kisses you . . soft and slow as his hands part your legs open at the thighs. “put it in for me,” his low voice murmurs against your glossed lips. immediately, you comply, reaching between you both for his dick.

it throbs in your little hand, hard and wet with your slick. you tap his fat mushroom tip on your entry before letting it slip inside, mouth dropping at the instantaneous feeling of pleasure of his shaft splitting you wide open. the both of you groan out your little sighs, not bothering to separate your lips an inch. you can’t explain how happy you feel — with him, underneath him, touching him. “i l-love you,” you mewl when he’s dropping his dick in and out of your soppy center. “o-only you, pa’ . . i mean it.”

he nestles his face in your neck, breathing in a deep inhale. you smell like vanilla and jasmine. “love you . . m-maybe too fuckin’ much,” he admits quietly into the skin there. ony can’t help it. you’re everything he’s ever wanted and more.

he feels your cunt clenching down tighter and tighter, it only spurs on his own release, allowing his body to tense more and more. “hold it,” he breathes, pressing the pads of his fingers into your skin tighter. “hold that shit, baby . . wait.”

“i can’t,” you’re gasping while your nails prick against the rippling muscles of his back, splitting smooth, dark brown skin and revealing oozing plasma. you feel the muscles in your legs spasming. you know it’s going to hit you hard. “oh my god.”

ony starts to maneuver his hips, pivoting them with each inwards thrust, letting himself get lost in the feel of your ribbed walls, soft, gushy, and tight, massaging his dick, almost deliberately trying their best to work his nut free. “you f-fuckin’ dangerous, man,” he whimpers out your name, heavy hands grasping for the soft cheeks of your ass to begin to lift your hips and make you meet him halfway. “f-fuck, ‘m gonna . .”

“metoometoometoo.”

the both of you work desperately — recognizing that you’re both on the edge of something phenomenal. “cum in me,” he hears your pretty voice gasp in his ear. “please, daddy . . c’mon. gimmie it.”

dangerous isn’t the word, it doesn’t even cover half of what you are.

ony feels his toes curl and his muscles tense. his eyes snap tightly shut. “gotdamn,” he feels it. “. . . fuck!”

you cum when he does, legs escaping his hands to wrap tightly around his waist. you hold his hips in with your thighs, keeping him still. stars dance behind your eyelids as you hear your release audibly pour out of you and down the seam of your ass. you feel ony’s cock pulsing as he pushes out shot after shot of thick, warm cum, letting it all gather in that tiny crevice behind your cervix.

“s-shit, baby, wait,” ony’s hands are gripping at you. it’s as though he’s trying to pull you closer and peel you away.

your voice is dazed as you reach for his handsome face, rubbing your thumb softly across his bearded jaw, “shh, jus’ feel it, pa’ . . don’t i feel good?”

he fights it for about a second more.

he’s never came inside of you before . . inside of anybody.

but fuck, he feels you working it out of him, clenching and releasing. he feels how good it is.

he lets himself relax.

“. . h-have to buy y’lil ass a plan b now,” he groans, feeling the beginning factors of sleep begin to pull his eyes low. how immediate it is scares him. you fucking scare him. ony lets his body relax on top of yours, on the floor.

the way you rub his back is comforting. he can feel your heart thudding hard within the cage of your ribs. he’s sure the beat of it matches his own. “mhm,” you quip quietly. “. . our date?”

he groans, pecking a soft kiss underneath your jaw, “let’s take a nap, mm? a lil one . . gimmie thirty minutes.”

it takes over ten minutes for you to lift the both of you up off of the floor, complaining about how ‘gross’ it’d be for you guys to doze off there but you make it for his bed, collapsing down with your body on top of his now. your eyes are closed and your breathing is calm when you feel him kiss the crown of your head, “sorry for . . accusing you and shit,” at the sound of how bashful he sounds, it makes you want to smile. “wasn't cool. i gotta work on that.”

“you do,” you pout and lift your head to look up at him. “wasn’t nice.”

he licks his lips, eyes closed, smirking a bit, “y’got me outta’ character . .” at only the simple thought of his demeanor an hour ago, it all makes him want to shun himself away to spare the humiliation. “i don’t do all’lat.”

your responding giggle is precious, “you don’t do all’lat?”

“nah.”

“coulda fooled me.”

ony lifts his arm up high, eyes still closed, before letting it fall with little to no finesse, so that his hand can crack down onto your ass with a thundering smack!

you yelp out a high, whiny, “ony!”

“ ‘m sleeping. shh.”

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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𝒜𝑀 𝐼 𝐵𝒜𝐵𝒴?

✧｡˚ a shy nympho camgirl seeks a partner to help her film content on a dating app. soon, meeting up with a handsome man who’s willing to do anything for the pretty girl he chats with.

𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 𓇼 14k. pwp, lowercase intended, age gap ꒰ toji is 36, reader is 24 ꒱ submissive reader, pleasure!dom toji, bondage ꒰ belt ꒱, check ins, heavy praise, overstimulation, aftercare, unprotected, videography, oral ꒰ f + m ꒱ , squirting + kreaming, spanking, choking, hair pulling, mild degradation, intimacy on high, toji is intimidating, manhandling, masturbation, daddy kink srry not srry, pet names ꒰ baby, girl, pretty, sweetheart, angel ꒱ minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

౨ৎ — ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 ꒱: this took me so long to finish y'all but im super proud of it. one of my favorite works so far so i hope y’all enjoy. ♡

you hold your notebook in your hands, a bright pink color with numerous doodles sketched onto its cover, your pen on the back of your ear as you slowly cross off a list of things you needed to buy while browsing on your laptop. your room is quiet aside from the soft sound of music playing from your stereo, beyoncé’s cowboy carter album playing from start to finish while you slumped into your soft pink duvet hiding beneath a white canopy slip. the air is crisp how you like, a fresh, chunky strawberry is chewed between teeth, and your skin is freshly scrubbed and moisturized, only covered in a matcha green two piece short and tank set. a laptop sits on your thighs as you cross your legs, twirling your left calf as you bury your back into your mountain of plushies.

this was frustrating. you never realized how hard this would be to find someone to fuck, let alone film content with. you’d made a profile on hinge a week prior to now, and most of the matches weren’t close to peaking your interest. most of the men seemed like creeps, some too old … giving very much grim reaper. and others, too young, freshly adults at that. you think you’ve made yourself appealing enough. cute profile with full faced pictures, personality traits, daily interests even … but it somehow didn’t attract those you truly wanted.

Keep reading

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟

masterlist. next chapter.

SEMBLANCE WAS THE WORD TO DESCRIBE GETOU. his provision of love came in a various of ways—some of his feelings true, others a grey area. but the relationship he had with vice had been somewhat twisted, and it wasn't considered love.

at least that's what he thought towards the end of everything.

usually, starting off new came with perfect qualities. but ending up in the interestingly haunting city of new orleans, that came with a surge of consequences. it all started off with a simple smoke, an inhale of toxins evaporating within the lungs of his body, only half of the gas being exhaled into thin air from the pen he holds. the tall man leaned against the wall of the school’s hallway, phone pressed against his ear as his long fingers toyed with the object in his hand. many people gazed at him—notes of curiosity or attraction, some hadn’t recognized him on this campus, nor had they ever seen a man with such a stringent face structure.

his eyes were scarily dark, lids drooping over the pupils he dangerously lowered. his face sent off a variety of emotions. whether it be the fact that he was mad, or he was just completely inattentive to his surroundings. he appeared unfazed by movement of people around him. they glanced as his lips moved, a fairly light pink, almost mimicking his olive skin tone. his mouth moved with a quickness; a seduction.

once he ended the call, there had been no indication of what the conversation had been about. whether he had been talking to a lover, or ending someone's life just by muttering a few passive words. he had been standing in the same spot for almost ten minutes now. he wanted to bring himself to move, but a sudden flurry of two bodies flown in front of him—almost right on time. as if it were all supposed to happen.

“you know i still want your fine ass brother on my roster.”

a feminine, somewhat deep voice whispered in the distance from what he could hear, making the man watch as two beautiful women emerge from the entrance of the girls bathroom. both bodies halted as one leans against the wall with books held to their chest, the other shifting in their spot to adjust their tight jeans.

"the hell, i thought you were texting that boy on the football team?"

the voice of this woman nearly makes his blood warm. it's soft and sultry, and now he's engaging himself into their conversation.

"i'm texting several on the football team. yet the quarterback is the finest."

"and he's probably the worst one," the other girl replies.

from where he stood, he could spot alluring long dark hair that grazed the middle of her back. as desperate as it sounded, he craved to see her face—for her to make eye contact with him and feel the attraction he does.

"jealous, vice?" the girl teases with a smile.

vice.

"girl, you wish," vice laughs softly, the two now strutting away opposite from him towards their class.

from this angle, getou catches a glimpse of her side profile. a face so beautifully pure but could be so shamelessly damaged. milky brown skin, his lips tremble from the urge to sink his teeth into it. it was almost preposterous. his eyes went wide when he observed the way she walked, the salacious switch of this woman's hips in her vintage dereon jeans making him twitch in more ways than one. curvy body adorned with a gold belly chain around her waist and a cropped black baby tee. colorful bangles decorated her wrists along with rings and two rows of necklaces, complimenting the infinite amount of colorful ink along her body—from the top of her neck, all the way to where his eyes wished he could see more. he wanted to see all of her.

his head begins to spin with erotic possibilities, illicit and passionate thoughts running through his mind about what he could do to her. it was ridiculous. he didn't even know the girls name, and yet here he was, fantasizing about fucking her like the demon he knew he was. he takes this moment to follow behind the two women after standing in his position for too long, surprised his feet didn't drag behind like a lost puppy.

the classroom where they sat happened to be the same one he's enrolled in, coughing briefly to focus his conscious on what's important, and that was finding his seat.

"i still think this tattoo would look better on the side of my ass," alani pouts, sliding her phone for vice to look at a sketch of a cherry blossom thorn as she suggests, "or maybe the back of my thigh?"

"either way you're gonna scream like last time. and that was only angel numbers, on your wrist. no shading.” vice replies, wanting to focus on this idea she had for her own thousandth tattoo, pencil moving swiftly.

alani sighs, knowing she was right. clicking off her phone, she grabs her pink cup filled with ice water to sip as she scans the class, watching it slowly clutter with students for the upcoming lecture. her eyes abruptly lock onto the man who made his presence known from afar.

"ooh, girl. what the fuck," alani suddenly begins to choke, her hand covering her mouth as she coughs aggressively. vice shoots up in a panic, confused and patting her back with worry.

"bitch, are you okay?" vice's eyes widen, alani nodding her head and breathing heavily.

"do you see that man?" she emphasized, finally catching her breath after she drinks her water, discreetly motioning towards a man sitting on the other side of the class near the front. vice wants to smack her for being so dramatic, eyeing her like she's a hardheaded child before adverting her eyes in the same direction.

this man she spoke of finally caught her eye. an immediate attraction rushed through her as quickly as it left, and her stomach did a little flip. compulsive eyes that dwindled a fragile obsidian tone. flawless long black hair that nearly past his elbows, drifting along his brawny jaw and rested on the back of his black crewneck tee that accentuated his muscles. his mane was partially tied up in a manbun on the back of his head, nearly covering the gauges within his ears. lips distinctive, yet captivating, duplicity hiding within them. and now, they were arrogantly raised in an amused smirk, towards her, feeling her glance.

"i wanna do bad things to that man," alani speaks in an almost feral manner, both women staring with somewhat opposite emotions. vice is disinterested, immediately going back to doodling artwork in her notebook.

“yea, he’s cool. i'd sit on his face."

"i second this quote! adding that to my roster!"

as vice laughs at her response, class begins. she wasn't necessarily looking forward to the debate they were going to have today. the previous day before was pretty heated on the topic of genocide and ethnic cleansing. she catches a mere glance at what the professor writes with chalk on the viridescent board. her pencil sat absentmindedly between her plump lips, eyes drawling back to the man once again, shoulders broad as he relaxed himself against the seat. when the teacher ended up calling her name, she hadn’t even realized. he really was . . . nice to look at.

"miss persephome," the teacher repeated encouragingly, eyes now posted upon her skin as her slumped position peaked up, "yes?"

"the discussion, need i remind you since you seem so interested. is love a realism or is it underlined with sexual desires?" she began, causing the noiseless class to gently snicker as she continues, “i'd like for you to elucidate your debate on it."

she raised her eyebrows. allowing her pen to fall from her lips and in between her fingers, she replied, "elucidate? uh . . . sure.”

she begins, “it's simple, love. we fall in love by personality, physicality. the flutter of their eyelashes, to the smile upon their cheeks. i would say that it's possible to love someone without physical contact, because if you really love someone, sex is only a desire, rather than a necessity. you fall in love by their soul, not by the forefront distraction of their body.”

a low and sarcastic chuckle was what caught vice's attention. her eyes turn directly towards where the sound echoed from, and oh, it was that fine ass of a stranger. the teacher was now captivated by the circumlocutory silence sitting on the right hand side of the room, seeing as he now teetered a ring in his slender fingers so casually.

"getou, you seem amused. is there anything you'd like to add?" the professor asked.

getou. that’s his name, she thinks. why does she care?

vice softly frowns at him, watching as he says nothing. he looked at the teacher, lightly shook his head, and made no effort to verbally disagree. this bothered her.

"you laughed for a reason. this is a seminar. say what you gotta say," vice stares at him with impatience. his eyes lock into her's, intently boring into her cranium. the little flip in her stomach returned without her permission.

"i just think it's bullshit," he shrugs.

"uh, alright. i understand y'all are adults. but let's exclude the profanity—"

"bullshit how?" vice interrupts, raising her brow in a threatening manner.

"do you really think that love overshadows sexual desires? are you a child?" getou charges back.

"um, no. i never said that. do you think that love is not a realistic thing? are you in high school?"

"i don't have to fuck you to be in love with you. granted, any person could overshadow being in love with me by the way i fuck them."

"oh, for real?” alani instigated, shifting her eyes back and forth. she's intrigued by their banter.

"just based on that observation, i wouldn't fuck you,” vice snarls.

"i doubt that."

the professor cuts them off. "okay! that's enough, and wildly inappropriate. we'll pick this up another time. everyone may write their opinions on paper,” she concludes.

"oooh, i love him already," alani bites the tip of her nail, a wide grin as she twinkles her fingers in his direction.

"i can’t stand his ass already,” vice disagrees.

she stands from her seat along with everyone else in the classroom preparing to exit out the door, feeling slightly embarrassed for causing class to dismiss early, but not embarrassed enough to apologize.

“girl, you’ll be alright. let’s go before i miss my opportunity to get them digits!” alani schemes, pulling vice by her backpack who still glares at him. the way he now politely stands to the professor and begins talking to her, it’s as if they didn’t just have that back and forth. it pissed her off even more.

“ugh, he a scholar or something?” alani speaks impatiently, seeing as he continues to talk to the professor, both her and vice now standing outside of the classroom.

vice pulls her phone from her pocket as it buzzes, glancing back up to her friend as she speaks, “the promo team for homecoming is looking for me. do i have to stay with you while you shoot your shot?”

“you don’t wanna see me win? maybe you really are jealous,” alani never knows when to stop playing as she teases, vice becoming visibly more irritated.

she starts, “girl—"

her voice goes into a stifled shout as she feels a bump within her shoulder. her eyes meet with those same dark eyes that glance back at her, that same shit-eating-fucker smirk appearing along his face as he continues walking. that sets her off. she flies forward, winding up her fist as she then feels alani quickly pull her back, sighing dreamily as she speaks, “yeah, that’s my baby daddy. cheer up, would you?”

yeah, okay.

୨♡୧

vice stands back as she tilts her head, staring over the various amount of colors that spread along the brick wall, trying to figure out which of them compliment each other more. brent faiyaz soothes into her mind from her earbuds, the lazy pony tail she created swinging as she turns her head from the end of the wall to the beginning.

the art department had requested for her to help decorate their seasonal wall, her artistic skills one fortunate fact about her that surpassed around the campus. it made her feel confident, but that confidence immensely disheveled if that relevancy pertained to her as a person.

this was her safe haven, a place for her to crawl into her fantasies and never have to come out. the tips of her fingers were similar to a rainbow, sprouting in different splotches of paint. but she didn’t care. this made her happy.

as she raised herself on her toes and added another swirl to the burgundy brick, her fantasies poofed into thin air as she felt her earbud be snatched from her head, eyes shooting daggers as her best friend now stood in front of her as she grinned, “busy?”

“expeditiously.”

“spell it, dummy.”

“A-L-A-N-I, dummy?” she refers to her as.

“whatever, you done being mad? i got tea to spill.”

“i was never mad at you,” vice clarifies, “what’s up?”

“i got the tea on my new little project,” alani smiles, shaking the pom-pom’s in her hand, vice taking full notice of the cheer uniform she wears, figuring she’ll be going to practice soon.

“your dumbass lil’ project? yeah, not interested. can i go back to listening to brent now?” she reaches for her her earbuds, alani shaking her finger as she pulls back farther, “you’re gonna listen to me!”

vice replies, “yes, alani. i’m listening?” chuckling slightly.

“word on the street, he’s a hoe,” she starts.

vice raises her eyebrows, “a hoe ass hoe?”

“a dog ass hoe,” she clarifies, “scratching and barking, girl. been going to school here but did his classes online before coming on campus. the bitches knew him before he even stepped foot on the grass! well, not the grass, disrespectful to the ancestors. but you get my point,” she speaks.

“i'm becoming bored,” vice sarcastically smiles.

alani’s smile drops, “you’re so fucking annoying sometimes. anyways, he’s an only child, doesn’t do relationships—commitment issues, perhaps?— probably has mommy issues, too.”

“hmm, great. so every other man on this damn campus. this is the only information you gathered in less than four hours? i thought better of you,” vice shakes her head.

“since when are you so interested in him?” alani raises her eyebrow.

“you wish i actually was. i’m just saying, you’ was acting like you had piping hot tea. that was sugar water. and he seems pretty…on-paper to me,” she shrugs.

alani sighs, twirling her hair in her finger as she says, “you can at least admit . . .the bitch is bad!”

vice laughs, “he in fact is. but i don’t care.”

“oh god. get over yourself, persephome. we get it. you got your heartbroken and you haven’t been the same since, you like older men, you wanna find true love and all that. is that why you got so mad in class?” alani prods.

vice’s amusement drops. alani knows her best friend all too well, even if that meant pushing her buttons to get the truth out. vice rubs her hand over her face as she sits it under her chin, holding her arm by the other as she mutters, “alani, get the fuck away from me unless you want two broken legs before practice.”

“ooh! i hit a nerve,” she points out, “whatever. you so damn pissy! you need to do some prayer or something, have a dick shoved so far in you that it wipes away all that attitude,” she raises her middle finger, swinging her body around as she makes her way back down the hallway as she calls, “deuces! i’m heading to practice.”

vice watches as her best friend playfully sways her hips, shaking her pom-pom’s as she sings down the hall in a cheer-chant, “vice needs some dick! vice needs some dick!”

she shakes her head, unable to help but chuckle at alani’s chaos, knowing that she loved her deeply anyways.

it was now near six in the afternoon and vice’s fingers were stained with paint as she carried her supplies towards her car, stomach growling from the lack of food she’d eaten today. she forgot her grandmother had expected her company by now, also preparing to cook up a good meal. she always kept vice fed no matter how big she’d get. the thought of stuffing her mouth with curry goat and white rice nearly made her trip. removing her keys from her black telfar, she unlocks the passenger door to her all white 370z nismo to settle her supplies in. it was the love of her life after her art—customized to her preference with silver hearts carved into the rims, matching exhaust pipes and a black carbon fiber wing spoiler.

vice took advantage of her family’s inheritance and splurged on her dream vehicle before she entered college, a gift to herself. maintaining a 4.0 gpa on top of balancing her title as class president for three years straight should be honored with a present, wanting her first couple of years in college to be more lax than anything. exhausted from the long day she’s had, she buckled herself into the drivers seat and inserts the key into the ignition, hand gripping the cherry blossom stick shift before hearing the one thing she dreaded to hear right now out of all times. her car wouldn’t start, that god awful scratching with dying wind sound ruining her day further.

“fucking hell. why?” vice whines, wanting to bang her fists on the steering wheel in anger. knocking her head back, she blows a raspberry before aggressively swinging the door open, reaching underneath the wheel to pop the hood of the car.

irritatedly climbing out, she circled to the front of her current tragedy, lifting the hood and hooking open the lever to inspect the issue. she’s not exactly sure why it’s acting up right now. she just had it looked at a few weeks ago.

“damn, that’s all yours?”

a voice had spoken nearby, vice wanting to crawl into a fetal position and scream once she recognized it. barely having a full conversation with this man, yet she memorized his voice. she slumps her head before darting her eyes towards getou. she has no chance to reply as he then says, “lemme see.”

then, he’s standing next to her, tall and brooding as he leans over the engine to catch a quick glance. vice feels the way her heart raced at the close proximity. relax.

“holy fuck, you have a z06 engine! that shits like fifteen grand.”

“you’re a little too close,” vice deadpans, almost hurting her back from how hard she tried to lean away from him while still, in a dumb way, protecting her car with her hand holding it. as if he could steal it.

“relax, i’m trying to help,” getou scoffs, ignoring her burning stare. irregardless, the combination of smaller frame, soft eyes and full lips are hard to ignore.

“your battery died from running it too long,” he states.

“i knew that. i have a brother that knows about cars,” she tries to brush him off, rolling her eyes as she wants to shove him out the way.

“you gotta lot of attitude stored in that pretty face of yours, huh?”

"do you not remember what happened in the seminar earlier?"

getou thinks back, kind of forgetting. oh, yeah. that.

“do you really think it was deep enough to have this underlying hatred towards me? you don't even know me."

again, he’s bothering her further.

“oh, i do know you. all i have to do is open my ear to the girls bathroom and i'll hear everything i need to know about you."

"you shouldn't believe everything you hear,” he finalizes sternly, licking his lips before he’s motioning his hand to shoo her away. if he was actually willing to help, she’d accept it if that meant he’d get out of her face.

“do me a favor, rev the engine while i tweak this shit,” he keeps his focus downward.

“it's wrong?" she steps aside to allow him full access, doing as he says and sitting halfway inside so she could still hear him over the noise. her foot applying on and off pressure to the brake as she turns the key.

getou’s jaw clenches as he chews on his gum, lowering his head to inspect deeper. he then slightly tilts around the hood as he replies, “no. you just shouldn't believe everything you hear."

“your reputation sums up your opinion in class earlier a lot better now. you know, how you think sex overshadows love. that’s all you’re used to.”

after moments of him solely focusing on her car rather than her, he then raised an eyebrow, almost amused at the girl's probing.

“so that’s how you feel, huh? that you can confide in a person without the conceptualization of sex?”

“call me a romantic, poetic even. if you think that's lame, i don't care,” she shrugs.

“nah, it's cute. i just disagree with you,” getou inquired, trying to keep the conversation unceremonious as possible.

now vice is getting fed up, releasing the break altogether. “so what’s your fucking take then?”

“you chose love because you believe in fairy tales and happy endings. you said that sex is more of a desire than a necessity. but, how can love be established without the need for sex? sex is raw, pure . . .a bond that creates when people in love interlace, its a string that’s hard to ignore. the infatuation for that person you love ignites your soul. you can love a person for their personality, for the way that they laugh or make a funny noise when upset. that’s whatever. but you can’t fall in love with someone without fucking them. no matter what you say, sex is a staple necessity in a relationship. in my case, i’m too fucking hypersexual to be with someone who isn’t as sexual as i am. who doesn’t crave for that burn of desire. that need to feel you drag your nails down my back, my lips against your skin, your voice in my ear . . .small, broken and begging. you know how much a person loves their significant other based off of that continuous desire.”

and like the introvert he was, he simply went back to his calm yet vexed expression, awaiting for her response. in the midst of it all, getou had managed to start her car, vice unaware of what magic stunt he used to activate the battery. apparently, rubbing his palms together to create heat and electrifying her battery did the trick. still stunned by his answer, as he can tell, she swallows, watching as he wipes his dirty palms on the denim of his jeans.

“thank you,” she clears her throat, managing to be gracious of his help. the least she can do. getou nods, unhooking the latch for the hood before slamming it shut.

“i’m just confused,” getou starts up again, jaw still shifting from the now old gum lodged between his pretty teeth.

vice stares at him with curiosity, wondering what monstrosity is going to come out of his mouth now. “about?”

he bites his cheek to kill the smile wanting to breach against his face. “so sitting on my face, does that go with your little bullshit morality?”

like clockwork, vice finds herself in that same puddle of irritation she felt from the first interaction with him. frowning, she fully sits inside of her car, slamming the door shut, ignoring the sudden smirk arising on his face. her car is running without a problem, catching a look at him through the window to see him pull his pen from his front pocket to take a few puffs, the eye contact from the two of them intense. hidden with a smidge of unexpected attraction, even. vice rolls her eyes, shifting her stick and purposely swerving her vehicle around him in a swift donut, nearly hitting his ass, getou still so enamored by the girl named vice.

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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DONT STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE! DONT STOP TAKING ABOUT GAZA!

DONT LET THEM MAKE YOU FORGET!!

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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Don’t fucking look away from Rafah, don’t look away, if you are willfully looking away then you should be ashamed of yourself.

Fuck the Met Gala, it means nothing but a distraction for those of you who are willingly looking away.

The Palestinians need our attention, they need our support, they need us to witness and remember and help when it is asked for and when we can.

All Eyes on Rafah, All Eyes on Palestine!

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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My name is Diana, and I write to you from Gaza, where every day is a struggle in an ongoing conflict. The 24th of June will always haunt us the day our home was bombed, taking from us my beloved dad who was the breadwinner and our last born brother and our sanctuary. We fled to relatives in Egypt through the hands of well-wishers to relatives who have been our lifeline, but now they too are struggling. We're at a loss. Your help, no matter how small, could be our saving grace. It'd mean the world a glimmer of hope in our darkest hour.

sending nothing but positivity your way and i truly wish you freedom and peace in the coming future. it’ll always be FREE PALESTINE 🇵🇸

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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This was fine art.

━━━ 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒. a.h

warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, murder mystery, aki is a chef, oral [ f + m.], sneaking away, marijuana use, praise, fingering + finger sucking, aki's tongue is pierced, sexual acts happen quick, mentions of depression, brief mention of emotional/physical abuse, reader is desperate for help/attention, parental neglect, grooming, minors aren’t allowed.

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; another old piece of mine i never fully finished and now posting yrs later!

“okay, i'm out!" aki is shouting as he tosses his white chef coat over his shoulder, book bag on the other, the cool breeze of spring blowing through his raven hair the minute he opened the tall glass door that led to the front of the restaurant. his friend, also a coworker, is busy, in the mix of gathering dirty dishes and clearing trash bins but still sends him a farewell, a quick, 'see ya tomorrow. good job today!' till he's off to his bus stop. he was thankful he got out early, just before five in the afternoon meaning the sun hadn't set yet.

he sighs, extremely worn out, in dire need of a steamy hot shower and a greasy pizza while laying in the comfort of, finally, his own apartment he worked entirely too hard to gain. the commute to his place in brooklyn, new york became rather annoying due to rush hour traffic at this time. having to take the bus then switch to the 'n' train, hopping off and walking fifteen minutes until he finally reaches his destination. his second goal was to afford a vehicle to save him money instead of wasting it on expensive monthly metro cards.

aki's lived here his entire life, growing up in the bronx, not much different. he loved new york, but not their uppity expenses. the fact that he's paying nearly two grand for a 600 square-foot apartment with no in-unit laundry nor a gym at that, was nonsensical. did he want to reside here forever? yes. he'd feel homesick if he ever were to leave. having the opportunity to travel seemed like a much better alternative, that way he'd still have his home but be anywhere in the world doing what he loved, and that was cooking. aki hayakawa was twenty-six years old, earning his master's in culinary arts at the culinary institute of america, also known as the C.I.A.

his ultimate dream was to open his restaurant, which he would name after his tragically deceased mother. a terrible accident in which he dreads the memory of. falling endlessly into a black hole, hearing nothing but the sound of his own fear, the breaking of his bones when it interacted with brick interior, the feeling of his heart thumping excessively against his chest as he continued to drop deeper like a rock that was chucked down an empty well. this emotion he knew all too well; failure. when he lost his mother, it felt as if the world crumbled beneath him, malicious dark vines slithering up to grab him by his ankles and pull him down a bottomless pit of nothingness.

he tasted the agony, the anger, the sadness, and even the hate from the fact that she was gone and never coming back. countless tantrums, anxiety attacks, and depression summed up the apathy of it all. it took him six years to realize that drowning in pain would never help him gain the strength that he knew she wanted him to have. by letting her witness the pain he was going through from above, he was hurting not only her . . but himself. so to overcome the tragedy, he kept himself busy with cooking. going to school, earning his degree, and the current job he had with his best friend since middle school.

school was probably the greatest thing he'd ever done to reinvent who he was as a person. cooking is a delicate yet challenging obstacle to undertake, yet, it's so therapeutic to him. the nature of it all, being able to witness what he can do for many people, bring laughter and happiness—it's a beautiful thing. when aki was small, he and his mother would give back to people all the time. whether they were donating clothes to the homeless, or feeding small pigeons pieces of bread on a sunny day as they flew to the gray pavement, awaiting a feast. they always cared about others. they would experiment a lot, going to food markets just to come home and whip up a good meal which they would then donate to the less fortunate. that's when he learned how humble he felt to give back to those in need.

he wanted to show his mother his achievements, to push himself and become a world-renowned chef, just like gordon ramsey—without the aggression. he wanted his name plastered on articles for his extraordinary talent, talked about on tv, in fact, given his own cooking show on foodnetwork. aki grew up watching that channel, an obsessive enticement his mother could never break the young boy from. he was making recipes at the age of twelve, and learned how to cook at eight. eggs were the first thing, usually everyone's first, then as time progressed, he grew from simple pasta dishes to revitalizing gourmet meats, and anything french. just recently he schooled himself on how to create wine. every day he learned something new, and that was the beauty of culinary.

"hayakawa! come here!" star yells as soon as she sees the tall man emerge through the front door, ready to start his morning shift, raspy voice laced with slight panic, instantly making the man run to her out of worry.

"what's wrong?" he furrows his brows.

"look who just fucking walked in," she grabs his bicep, pulling him closer to the front counter. aki curiously follows where her finger points, seeing a slim man with black curly hair dressed properly in a white and black suit. silver and sapphire rolex on his wrist, his pale green eyes scanning through the lens of his glasses at the menu while he sips his water. expensive.

"i have no idea who that is," aki blinks, making star gasp.

"he's alexander bodari, one of my favorite authors of all time. remember the novel i told you i was reading, about this girl who was kept in this lunatics basement and almost murdered?"

aki's eyebrows raise. "the book dylan bought you for your birthday, right?"

"yeah! that's him. oh my fucking god, i'm so nervous, whew," star begins to fan herself, nearly having a breakdown. aki grabs her shoulder and chuckles.

"chill out, star. you don't have to serve him if you don't want to."

"of course i do! i just. . . can't," she frowns.

"you can, you've done it many times before. this isn't the first celebrity we've come across."

star sighs, nodding. "you're right, i can do it."

"good girl," aki smiles, patting the top of her head. star catches his wrist and scowls.

"fuck off."

"aki," another voice calls to him, this time it's the head chef, also known as his boss. aki greets him with a small, 'good morning, chef' before waiting for his response.

"i'm guessing you know that alexander bodari is here," lane says, arms crossed over his broad chest. aki nods. "i want you to cook for him."

aki and star share a glance of shock.

"uh, why me. where's dylan?"

"he's not feeling well so i gave him the day off. you're the only one here that's near his level, and he's a higher-up man, so i want you to cook for him. star will cater to his needs. we're kinda short-staffed today, and i trust you two will handle it properly."

"yes, chef," they say in unison.

star was only a waiter, working here for four years while aki earned his position two years into her time. the last thing the woman could do was cook, ironic since she worked in a restaurant with very talented people. lane would've asked her in a heartbeat if she was as skilled as aki. aki was known for making dishes at the top of his head, so if anyone asked for a special, he was the one to ask. before they began to serve anyone inside, aki gave star a small prep talk before sending her out. eventually, she got through with taking his order without stuttering or sweating. when she walked back into the kitchen, actually shoved the doors open with a joker smile on her face, aki cocks his head at her.

"you—"

"he wants your special!" she screams, doing a goofy dance, and skipping in her spot.

aki's face drops. "are you deadass?"

"yes! when he was looking at the menu, he saw your four courses on the back and chose your mom's stew! fucking a, man!"

aki is still frozen, weakly giving star their signature handshake, smile slowly easing onto his face. "my mom's stew? seriously?"

"yeah. chop chop, get to it."

aki was persistent. no one's ever ordered his mother's stew, which made this day very special for him. even if the dish was only on the menu for a month, it still meant a lot to him. he made sure there were no distractions, taking a tender chuck roast and cutting them into cubes, seasoning them well while throwing in worcester sauce, balsamic vinegar, garlic cloves, bay leaves, and beef broth. making a slurry with flour and water to thicken the stew. adding onions and potatoes. it was a simple yet fulfilling dish he looked forward to every sunday.

"deep breaths," star whispered as she carried the steaming tray of stew plated professionally on a porcelain oval-shaped bowl. in a way, it felt like she was telling not only herself but him. it's a rarity that people order his courses, and serving this to an author, a bestseller, a man worth millions, made him giddy. he was cheesing like an idiot, pushing star out the double doors to the dining area.

although as soon as she walked out, that's when doubt clouded his gut. did he put too many seasonings? is the meat tender enough? what if he doesn't like it? will he write about it on his author blog? god, he hoped the potatoes weren't hard. he had only tasted the broth, it tasted just like his mother's. what if. . .

"aki," star walks back in, an even wider grin on her a-symmetrical face this time. he blinks, realizing that he's been standing here for three minutes now. "he wants to see the chef."

he's dumbfounded. "me?"

"no, lane. yes, you!" she's squealing like a girl, and sometimes he forgets she is one, even underneath her blunt features and boyish sense of style.

he's clearing his throat now, strolling mindlessly towards alexander bodari's table, greeting himself and waiting for his constructive criticism.

"you're aki hayakawa?" the man questioned, lifting his glasses back onto his face.

"yes, sir."

"i just have to say," alexander chuckles, softly clapping his hands. "this may be one of the best stews i've ever had."

the tenseness in aki's shoulders relaxes, and he's sighing with relief, alexander noticing and laughing. "i'm really glad to hear that, sir."

"did you create this on your own?"

"it's actually my mother's recipe. it's my favorite. every time i make it, it reminds me of her."

"that's really ironic because this reminds me of the stew my mother used to make," he grins. "yours is the first that i haven't seen carrots in."

aki laughs. "my mom hated cooked carrots."

"mine did too," he fixes his collar. "is this your restaurant?"

"no, no. i'm just a cook here. i plan on opening my own soon. i already have my master's."

his brows raise. "wow, that's amazing. wow old are you?"

"twenty-six, sir."

"well, you're definitely going places," he compliments and aki feels even more satisfied. "say what, i'm having this pre-book release, about a hundred guests. i was wondering if you would like to cater the party. i'll pay you however much you want."

it's like the whole world collapsed on his chest. he'd never gotten an opportunity like this, especially this big. to cook for so many famous people at once was a blessing. he could really show off his skills if he took this offer . . . and did. after thanking him, exchanging contacts, and then handshakes, aki lets the man finish his meal before jogging back into the kitchen to scream about it to aki, lane, and the rest of the crew. alexander offered star to come along to serve, but unfortunately she couldn't, seeming as she'd be out of town for family matters that day.

alexander, of course, knowing she was a big fan signed a copy of his book she already had in her bag and letting her know she could help the next time he had an event. that made her happy enough. the two of them couldn't wait to finish their shifts today, taking the train to star's place and planning dishes all night, even cooking them to get them just right. alexander was hosting the party at his penthouse down soho. and aki had a week to prepare himself.

୨♡୧

cashmere sweaters, silk gowns, and jewelry that most likely cost more than his savings account roamed the lovely terrace of alexander bodari's home. every inch of it screamed filthy rich. rows of tables were set outside, the dark night sky making the moon shun brightly amongst the glass centerpieces filled with calla lilies and moss. white cloths, sterling silverware, and porcelain dinnerware. the terrace itself was elegant; freshly cut bushes trimmed as squares, a marble three-tiered italian water fountain placed in the middle. roses, dandelions, tall plants ranging from bamboo, snake plants, and pothos. alexander was very in touch with nature and his spirit. it's crazy he writes about the things he does.

speaking of, the book he was presenting that would be released in august was titled, 'to riven a magnolia.' he wouldn't quite reveal what it was about yet, wanting it to be a surprise, but did read an excerpt from the novel. aki only paid half attention, big words throwing him off plus he wanted to set the food table properly so guests could take what they wanted after his reading. aki didn't go all out since only seventy-two people were available to make it, and he didn't want any meals that would make anyone too full to converse, so he kept it simple yet exquisite. each guest received a slice of japanese fluffy cheesecake with a side of strawberry and mandarin orange tanghulu. beef wellington, and a six-sided cream garlic bread.

he received praise all night long. people gasping and thanking him for the food, giving him all sorts of compliments making the man blush like a child. at one point he held both sides of his face in his palms when a woman and her husband approached him to talk, way too shy, and the woman flirting with him didn't make it go away. eventually, her husband dragged her out of his sight. the night went on, classical music played as people sipped their champagne and talked about their wealth, their yoga classes, their thousand dollar dogs, golf, marketing . . . aki hopes he never becomes this way.

as he's pouring an elderly lady a glass as she rambles about baking, he notices a woman he's barely seen all night. he's disoriented, eyeing this girl leaning up against a vintage roman painting reaching the ceiling once the lady departs. brown eyes; the first captivating part of her body he captured. they appeared lonely, bored perhaps as they scanned through the crowd of people, soon landing on another pair, his own. the godly woman stared at him longingly. aki had no business nearly losing his shit under her gaze. wow. she was truly stunning.

one feature that stood out the most were the freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to the swell of her cheekbones. pretty. her black hair styled protectively in butterfly locs that grazed her collarbones, seeing the industrial piercing hiding behind a piece. her lashes were long, naturally extended. heart-shaped lips were full and pouty, the upper lip brown while the lower, salmon pigmented. an emerald satin mini dress loosely clung to her alluring brown skin. cowl neckline, ruched waist, and an open back partially revealing the red dragon tattoo painted on the side of her hip. black suede gucci heels strapped prettily around her ankles, showcasing her white painted toenails. a three layered gold necklace on her chest. this woman, you, were the rationale of celestial.

it was the moment you smiled at him, tilting your head slightly to the side while tapping your ombré acrylic nail amongst the glass of your champagne, calling to him while he thoughtlessly followed, that aki would realize he had made one of the worst mistakes in his life.

"you're pretty."

it's the first thing you say when he walks towards you, offering a piece of cheesecake with a cheeky smile. aki is taken aback, chuckling nervously, palms already clammy the minute he approached you.

"pretty?" he's perplexed.

"that's what i said," you say, taking the gold fork from his palm and cutting a slice to taste, widening your mouth while maintaining eye contact. the man swallows.

"uh, i've never gotten that before. thank you."

you're too busy eyeing him to say a thing. even if he dressed in simple black skinny jeans and same color tee, a silver necklace tucked beneath his shirt, sable combat boots, and a white apron around his waist . . he looked damn good. his eyes were blue, somewhat smoke gray, dark hair long and straight, the top half tucked into a small messy bun on the back of his head. a few loose strands swaying around his cheekbones. he was tall, shoulders broad, forearms and hands slightly veiny. you gazed at his hands holding the plate for you, wide and rough, fingers long.

"you don't seem to be enjoying the party," he says, knocking you out of your daydream.

you hum with displeasure. "he's a fake."

aki furrows his brows. "sorry?"

"alex, he's unoriginal. most of his novels are stolen by people he pays to keep quiet," you side-eye him while downing the last drop of your champagne, slowly licking your lips. his eyes flicker there for a split moment.

"how do you know?"

the question makes you quiet, tapping your glass. "think of it like this; everyone starts off as a cocoon. eventually as time goes by, we evolve into butterflies. the cocoon represents our innocence; the purity and unawareness of what's to come in life. once we sprout into butterflies, we become tarnished, facing the real world and learning to adapt to its cruelty. life can be beautiful, but it's always painful no matter how happy or dismal we are. it's our choice to fly in the direction we want for ourselves even when the harshness of life beats us down. butterflies only live for so long. we disintegrate after inhumane amounts of stress, loneliness, or tragic events that take a toll on us, removing the power of staying beautiful. we show beauty to the public but don't feel it when everything around us is falling apart. but we can't make life harder on ourselves by dwelling on what we can't have rather than pushing for what we can have."

aki is speechless, half-understanding what you meant. "are you saying alexander is a butterfly that can't fly?"

"he's more like a mosquito, latching onto those who want to sprout into a butterfly but sucks the nutrients from them for his pleasure. he's a fraud. he'll never be a butterfly because he simply can't."

"did he steal from you? is that why you resent him?"

"no," you bluntly state, although aki doesn't believe you.

he takes the fork from you, cutting you another slice before holding it towards your lips, waiting for you to bite. you looked like you needed it. the drowsiness in your eyes may have indicated that you were tipsy. you giggle, shaking your head before he feeds you, your big eyes captivating him more. "is there something you want?"

"you."

aki nearly chokes and he's not even the one eating, your bluntness throwing him in a spiral of emotions.

"am i beautiful to you?" you lean closer, aki swallowing, scanning his surroundings. most of everyone remained in the living area, the two of you far behind a wall near the glass door of the terrace. he could smell your scent better, a sweet smell of caramel. soft skin shimmering with glitter.

"very."

"so what's stopping you? you got a girlfriend or somethin'?"

"n-no, it's just. i barely know you."

"that's part of the thrill," he watches as your small wrist turns and your palm is flat outward. "come upstairs with me."

like any man would, his feet walked on their own, stupidly following behind you up the black marble staircase, hand in yours as his eyes watched your hips switch.

"what's your name?" that should've been the first thing you asked, idiot.

"[♡]."

"i'm aki."

"i know who you are."

that's right, alexander introduced him to everyone after his reading right before supper. things felt like they went too quickly. aki didn't know who he was at this moment, completely floating out of his body and letting you take over like a spell. he was entranced. one thing leads to another, you're locking the door to one of the four bedrooms here. aki's sitting on the bed while you walk around, talking to him more about anything. his age, his aspirations in life. nonsense, basically. until he notices something.

a room with an open bay window revealing the late-night city of new york, stars in the sky, skyscrapers high. the breeze is warm, the air making the fabric of your dress rise just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pink thong you wore. he's gulping, your legs shifting and a grin coming on your face as you see the tint of red blush across his cheeks. you're leaned against the window, toes pressing into your other foot, a gold anklet with the first letter of your name clasped on your skin. your shoes were off, and in between your two fingers sat a blunt, maybe about three inches now since you were too busy talking, letting it burn away.

once you flick it out the window, you fully turn to face him, sharp nails skidding up your thighs teasingly slow until the hem of your dress rises fully, and he's staring at the belly button piercing you have. your thick thighs, your curves, and your nipple when you moan and lift your arms to stretch and one of the straps falls down your shoulders.

"oops," you're pouting, and aki's had enough. he got it now. he understood why you wanted him to come up here. the liquor buzzing in your veins, and going straight to your clit like a drug. you wanted him the moment you saw him. you needed him, for more reasons than one.

aki was always one to put a woman's pleasure before his own. so when he saw you drop to your knees to crawl towards him, dainty hands trailing up his clothed thighs until you're undoing his belt and he's biting his lip. . . he was drawn in further. pulling him out of the confinement of his jeans, holding his pulsating dick in your hand, darting your tongue out, and pressing it flat to the aching head. he's squeezing his eyes shut when he's deep in your throat after a while, moaning around him and twisting your hand along as your mouth glides. his hand is in your hair, gathering some of it in his large fist while leaning back a bit to see those gorgeous eyes of yours stare into his, slightly watery. he liked that. he liked you.

"nnn, baby. like that," he's throwing his head back, jaw slacked as he tried to keep his voice down, not daring to let too much slip out regarding the guests below them. eyes back on you, he's watching as your hips gyrate in the air, desperately needing to be touched.

it's so foreign, this level of intimacy. it's been so long since he's had his dick buried deep in anything. sure, he masturbates like any other human being, but it's a rarity. he's so consumed in work that by the time he goes home he's knocked out in slumber, not even thinking about grabbing his fleshlight to fulfill his pleasure. the last time he had sex was at the beginning of his freshman year of college. it was some girl in his cutlery class who invited him over for late-night drinks, leading to more than just that. it was frequent until he realized he was failing courses because of the distraction and had to get back on track, so, he called it quits.

now he's pulling you up, feverishly pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, lips smacking, tongues bumping. you're keening when his thick fingers clasp around your throat as you straddle his waist, clinging to his shirt you eventually pull over his head. it's as if the both of you forgot that people were here and might hear you, but neither of you cared. aki's not even scolding you when you're moaning too loud the second he has you beneath him, your clothing still on, barely, and his jeans and briefs clinging to his ankles, your knees to your chest as his hot mouth latches around your puffy clit, back arching off the plush mattress.

the metal from his pierced tongue rushing against you as he holds the back of one of your thighs to keep them up, grunting and swallowing your arousal. you're whining so much it has his dick twitching, pulling on his hair not helping either. you're rocking your hips with urgency, legs twitching after he lifts his head to spit, collecting his saliva with two fingers before curling them into you, holding your stomach down while he shakes his fingers. that alone has you convulsing around him, tears in your eyes as you whimper his name and squirm helplessly, his lips kissing your inner thighs.

coming down from your high, aki's already propping himself behind you, turning you on your side while he laid on his, leveraging your head with his forearm underneath your neck, fingers in your mouth you suck while glaring at him. he curses, monotoned voice rasping, "don't do that."

"do what?" you hum, wrapping your lips around them again and moaning.

aki clenches his jaw, lifting your right leg to open you up before slipping inside, hearing you gasp as you adjust to the stretch. both of you groan in unison, turning your face to the side to kiss him while your nails clawed at his hip, then his ass as he rolls into you, too horny to be gentle and snapping his hips hard against your ass, grunting, "i heard you, girl," and drilling faster. your eyes scroll to the back of your head, aki swallowing the breath out of you as he sucks on your bottom lip and chokes you, the two of you whining in each other's mouth, muffling the noise although the skin interaction didn't cease.

he's brutal, a different person when in this form of bond. dropping your leg and reaching between to rub at your clit, heavy breaths on your neck as he hides his face there. you can easily smell the citrus scent of his shampoo, his scent overall a main attraction when he stepped toward you. . . like lavender. when he's nearing his climax, he gropes your chest, slurring, "be a good girl and cum all over me, baby. can i feel it this time?" and you nod, doing just as he says, his taunts and praises making your gut swim with butterflies.

you try not to scream as he licks and bites your neck sloppily, dazed. instead, you grab a pillow nearby and stuff part of it in your mouth, aki's face hovering over you as tears leak from your eyes and you cum hard, harder than you ever had. aki holds you close by your waist, taking a few more pumps before he furrows his brows and slowly pulls out, cumming on your flush skin with a hiss. by this time, his hair had fallen down his face completely, and even in your fucked out state, you reach up to rake through it with a lazy smile. aki chuckles, kissing your forehead before building the strength to find a cloth to clean you up. luckily, there's an en-suite bathroom, giving him access to warm water and toiletries.

fixing his posture in the mirror, he's rubbing his face and adjusting his clothes to appear as he did when he arrived; neat and professional. although what he just did wasn't so classy of him. he fucked some woman he barely knew at a millionaires home. work, he was working. not here for personal pleasure. he wanted to slap himself for being so easily enraptured. no one had to know about it. he only hoped not a soul downstairs heard what went on.

he's good to go, done scolding himself and turning off the bathroom light before stepping out. he finds you perched up, sipping a miniature bottle of crown royal you found in the bedside mini-fridge, sniffling your nose and blankly staring out the window. aki comes forward, gently grasping your thigh and gliding the wet cloth over your skin, the silence awkward.

"dandelions.”

aki's eyes slowly drift to your face, staring in confusion. "what?"

he notices how eerily slow tears built up in your eyes, gripping the bottle harder before exhaling. "dandelions," now you're finally looking at him, the coldness on your face making him anxious. "that's where his body is."

your voice is like vanilla. it's one thing about you that he grew infatuated with. it's one of the many reasons he was captured by you, brought to where he was now. standing at the bedside as he watched tears pool down your broken face. body? what body? he grew cold, nervously eyeing you as you sniffled, standing to fix your hair, dress, and walking around the bed to slip back into your heels.

“wait," he goes to grab your arm when you try to walk out the door. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

the deadness in your eyes scares him even more, and he's panicking when you say, "alex."

“alexander?!" he shouts, dragging you away from the exit, hands on either side of your shoulders as he eyes you, his own wide. heart pumping drastically. "what did you do? where is he?"

"by the dandelions on the terrace," blunt, again. as if you aren't phased at all by his reaction. "follow me."

he's stunned, unable to fully process what you were telling him. he already assumed the worst when the term 'body' came to light. though his heart raced heavily in his chest, his feet blindly dragged in your direction. cautiously watching your every move in case he had to protect himself. fuck, he didn't have any weapon. then again, he's sure he could easily handle you, knock you out if he needed to. lock you in a closet and alert the hundreds of guest just below their feet. that's right, there are still people here. and if you mentioned alexander, how the fuck and when the fuck did you have the time to . . . kill him?

"[♡]," he began to speak your name, but your head was in the clouds, ignoring anything that came out of his mouth as you cut into a passageway that led to a grand master bedroom, then facing the terrace you spoke of. he was nervous, your neck turning to eye him as you step onto the gravel, blankly staring down at something. he couldn't see from where he stood, matter of fact, he didn't want to see.

"he's here," you say. "he's here."

aki has no choice but to advance forward, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut from the upcoming scare of a human’s body. and not just any human, the alexander bodari. a flaccid arm sticks out from beside a bush, palm facing the sky, details of a struggle bruised into his hand as the skin in the area seemed peeled. aki’s heart drops the closer he gets, hand covering his mouth as he stares down at the lifeless body laying in a pool of blood. the aluminum wire draped around his neck stained with blood gave aki the answer he needed when it came to the cause. you strangled him to death. the question remains; who are you and how were you affiliated with alexander? most importantly, why’d you kill him?

“i don’t understand,” is all he can get out.

“the proof is in his first novel,” you utter, and he’s still confused. “the story about the woman who’s trapped in the psychopaths basement? it was about me.”

aki couldn’t grasp the thought of you being the woman from the novel star always talked about. that you had been the victim of his story. that it was a real life phenomena. that he met you, slept with you, and now you want him to, what . . . cover up a murder in a house filled with two hundred guests?

“he painted this image as if he was the most prestigious man on the planet. he made money off of real events. events that played out by torturing me, and using me to get his ‘creative juices flowing.’ he needed a test subject. he was a sick man who deserved to die,” tears pour down your face, the anger in your tone thick and pent up from years of pain and sorrow. “he was my father’s partner. my father despised me simply because of my resemblance of my mother and my rebellion against him. when he died from heart failure, in his will, he married me to alex.”

“that’s fucking. . . sick. i didn’t think that was possible in this day and age.”

you scoff with agreement. “yeah. he watched me grow from a preteen to making me his wife. sick bastard for sure.”

aki wants to vomit from this information. still unable to wrap his head around any of it. his hands sit on his hips as he stares up at the sky and blows a raspberry, try to keep his nerves together. you watch him with sadness, and maybe regret. you weren’t intentionally planning for this to happen. though part of you wanted someone to save you. to see the real you and rescue you from this torment.

“i know this is probably the last thing you expected to happen. i apologize for dragging you into this. i just didn’t know what else to do. i felt hopeless. and i refused to let his popularity run by making another fortune of a sick novel.”

“did he attack you?” he asks.

“he didn’t,” you clarify. “i think i just finally snapped. granted, tonight of all nights wasn’t the correct setting.”

aki makes a face that reads ‘fucking clearly’ as he rubs both palms down his face. he doesn’t know whether to run and call you insane or feel sympathy for a victim. but, murder is murder. and now, standing here with you, that’d make him an accomplice. as scary as that was, he couldn’t risk his future career. but he was stuck in a pickle. he wanted to help you.

“there are clear signs of struggle, so we have to make it look like an accident,” aki suggests, but immediately, you shake your head in disagreement.

“they won’t believe that. he’s one of the wealthiest men in new york. it’ll be a huge investigation.”

“then the only answer would be to tell the truth,” he finalized.

“the . . truth?”

aki nods, pulling you toward him and stepping away from the body, chills still going up his spin and goosebumps on his arms. “listen to me, you can tell the world exactly who you are and what he’s done to you. you have proof. transactions, marriage certificate, i’m sure there’s documents for days in his computer that can prove what he’s put you through. there’s evidence somewhere.”

“and if i tell the world, who’s to say they’ll believe me?”

“i believe you,” aki says. your eyes fill with hope, and thankfulness. “people will have their opinions, but we know the truth. do you have anyone else that can be your alibi?”

you think long and hard, until it hits you. “the maid. she’s been working for him ever since i moved in after my father died. she’s fed me, helped me heal wounds . . even get rid of his unborn child i lost after too much stress.”

“jesus christ,” he bows his head in disbelief. “where is she now?”

“luckily, the kitchen. the woman with the braided red hair. she promised me she’d always protect me. after his book succeeded he became nicer to me, gave me a ‘real’ marriage. she was like his mother, always scolding him when he raised his voice at me or wouldn’t let me live my life. it’s all so depressing.”

“okay. it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” aki comforts you as you begin to sob once again, cradling your head in his chest.

the night ends in the blink of an eye. aki takes you into another room and wraps a blanket around you as you sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the police. he finds the woman you spoke of, pulls her to the side and informs her of the tragedy above. she herself looks relieved. not at all shocked by what played out, as if she knew you’d go through with it. aki guesses he truly was a horrible man. and to think he would’ve worked for him in the future. the police arrive shortly after the woman goes to check on you, insuring that everything would be okay, and that she’d stick to the full story. the police instructs everyone the leave the premises, aki being questioned for a full hour, this home becoming a crime scene, and all of their faces full of black ink on the daily news the next morning.

aki will never forget the chilling smirk on your face as they removed alexander’s body from the terrace. it was . . haunting.

#I was engaged the whole time #this is what I’m talking about when I say FICS

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

Text

DO NOT get me started on what he did to miss twigs 😤

⤷‧₊˚ ʚ₊˚‧ ✿ ꒱ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 / a late night chat between the soon to be married couple.

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female reader, her/she pronouns, black reader (with descriptors), influencer!reader, profanity, mentions of insecurity, wedding nervousness, mentions of microaggressions/racism, mentions of online harassment, angst, usage of y/n, unedited because i'm posting this so late and i will fix it over the weekend, mdni

╰┈➤ song for this part: your best american girl, mitski, bonus songs: flaws & all by beyonce, all because i liked a boy by sabrina carpenter

masterlist

You felt like you were running on autopilot. Granted, you had a wedding planner and a lovely assistant helping you through one of what’s about to be the most important moments in your life—but you still felt stressed. You tried to blame it on that you were getting married soon and everything wasn’t going as planned. Surely, that was a lie. Everything was perfect down to the gift bags you were going to give to guests. So what was the problem? What was wrong with you?

You were about to marry the love of your life in two days. That’s what you wanted, right? You dreamt of this day since you said yes to the big question. You imagined your life with him. Kids, if that’s what you guys wanted. Or maybe a pet. Travel to different countries was a must. It’s what you deserved. You deserved to be loved by the person who gave you the world.

But, a lot of people online didn’t agree. That’s what was wrong. You broke your own social media break and got your feelings hurt. Correction, it felt more than your feelings getting hurt. This felt more painful. Going online seeing masses after masses of comments claiming how you don’t deserve your fiance felt gut wrenching. You’ve received hate before, the usual comments influencers get.

Go get a real job.

You don’t even have a real job.

The usual that you can just delete and go on about your day.

But these comments weren’t like that and they just kept coming. You didn’t think it was this bad and usually your assistant would clean up your social media for you. But you just been so busy with the wedding and things just got out of control. Your hands shake with each scroll holding back tears of hurt and anger. How can someone say such things about a person they didn’t even know?

Does she really deserve to be with someone like him?

She can’t possibly think he’ll want to marry her.

He was supposed to marry someone like him.

You sat on your walk-in closet floor flipping through the wedding planning book she practically held onto since he popped the big question over a year ago. Even though you can feel your fairytale ending in the palm of your hand, it felt like it was slipping through your hands like golden sand. Your own insecurities and doubt was clinging you down and the only thing you can do is attempt to calm yourself down by reminding yourself that Ushijima Wakatoshi wouldn’t have gotten on one knee to ask this question. He wouldn’t have watched you compile your dream wedding in this flimsy journal book for nothing. He wouldn’t do that to you, right?

Maybe you were just overthinking. You’ve received hate messages regarding dating Ushijima but it never got this bad. It was a quick block and then you went on with your life. You locked your phone as soon as you heard footsteps and the calls of your name. Bringing the corners of your sweatshirt up to your eyes to wipe away any form of your crying because you didn’t want Ushijima to see you like this. He never knew about the messages you received because you thought he wouldn’t have understood.

“Babe?” His voice calls out in the apartment, he was close—usually knew if he didn’t see you lounging in the living room on your fourth Bob’s Burgers rewatch, you were either in the closet hiding away another pair of shoes you’ve brought or in the study working on something.

“Babe..” His head peaks into the closet seeing you. He parted to brag about how well his final fitting for his suit went, but when he saw how puffy your eyes were—worry decorated his face swiftly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he stepped in at the sound of your sniffling.

“It’s nothing, I just was going through the planning book and got emotional. Can you believe that we’re getting married. I’m so excited…and emotional.” You let out a weary sigh and glance down at the book in front of you to avoid his eye contact.

He was good at knowing when you were lying. He once figured out that you planned a surprise birthday party for him in less than three minutes. That’s how well he knew you. So why couldn’t you tell him this simple thing? Why couldn’t you let the love of your life know that many people in the world just didn’t like the thought of you two together?

“You’re lying to me. Come on, let’s get out of here so we can talk.” He extends his hand that you abruptly took because he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. If you don't come, he’ll throw you over his broad shoulders and carry you out.

“I’ll make you some of that tea you like.” Ushijima suggests. He stops mid walk to the kitchen to turn to you, large hands cupping at your warm cheeks. “You can tell me what’s wrong when you’re ready, but we’re not going to bed until you speak to me. I refuse to let my soon to be wife go to bed upset.” He pecks you on your forehead before strolling into the kitchen to make tea.

You took a seat in one of the stools basking in the silence alongside the noise Ushijima was making while making tea. You were searching in a sea of words on how to explain the situation. As you sat playing with your own thoughts, you could hear Ushijima go on about the final fitting for the wedding. That included all of his groomsmen and his best man. From the way his face lit when he talked about the wedding, it brought a form of warmth upon you. Like a freshly dried blanket was pulled on your body after being in the cold all day. You enjoyed this look on him.

Relaxed…Calm…Happy…In Love.

The cup of tea was sitting in front of you and you knew that you didn’t even have to add extra things into it because he always made you the perfect cup of tea to your liking.

“Waka, I’ve been getting some hate comments lately. Well, a lot of them.” You let out a sigh. “I know I can always block them and just go on about my life, but these ones were much different than the others.” You sipped from your mug before watching him take the seat next to you.

His body turns towards you so that he can have your full attention. You didn’t expect him to talk, but he was a good listener.

“They’re saying I don’t deserve you.” You started. “Or things like how can you be with someone like that? Or you should be like someone like you.” Your bottom lip quivered and you were trying not to cry. “They see that I’m black and deem me unworthy of their prince charming, their favorite volleyball player…I just don’t understand.”

The warmth of Ushijima’s hands calmed you immediately. The second his hands were on yours, you felt your heart that felt like it was aggressively attempting to claw out your chest calm down. But it didn’t stop tears from dribbling down your cheeks.

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me? How long has this been going on?” The pad of his thumbs wipes away your tears before he’s pulling you off the stool and in between his thighs to embrace you.

Ushijima wasn’t very much a social media type of person. He hardly even liked during press days for the volleyball team when he had to. He knew he had some quite aggressive fans, especially fans of the opposite gender. If he would have known about the hate she was receiving, he would have put an end to it immediately. His face was hot in embarrassment from his own fans' behavior, but also anger because his wife to be was upset—hurt and practically on the verge of a panic attack.

“I just didn’t want to put you in an awkward position. They’re your fans. They practically help you get endorsement deals and shit.” You mumbled in his neck before pulling back to look at him, you expected the look he was giving you.

He was on the brink of saying fuck them. That they didn’t sign his checks nor gave him his volleyball abilities. You can sense his harsh words staining his tongue and even you were too afraid to pitch in that maybe it wasn’t worth it to bring it up. For all you know, your assistant were already adding people’s name to block chains. The messages were most likely getting deleted right now as you were having this conversation with him.

“Fuck, Y/N. I don’t care. You’re about to be my wife in less than forty eight hours. If they can’t accept you for you and for me, then they’re not a fan of mine.” Ushijima said. “Give me your phone. It’s time for you to get some rest.”

“Waka…”

“You have an early and busy schedule tomorrow.” He let you go and picked up your mug of tea to lead you to the bedroom.

“I don’t want to blow the situation out of proportion. It won’t be good press for the wedding and-”

“I don’t care, Y/N. This is a situation to be blown out of proportion..” He walks into the bedroom and you watch as he’s pulling the blanket off the bed and motioning for you to get in. “Get some rest.”

“Please don’t get on social media causing any drama. ” You mumbled as you practically got tucked into bed like a little kid.

“You know I’m not that knowledgeable about those things.” He assures you before he pecks your lips, your cheeks, and lastly your forehead. “Sleep well, okay.”

You went to argue against his words, but instead decided to get some rest. Especially when it flashed through your mind that you had an early appointment with the wedding planner to finalize everything. Pulling the cream colored duvet further on your body, you fell into a brief slumber until you can hear Ushijima’s voice from the master bedroom’s bathroom.

“How’d the hell I put this phone on this tripod? She makes it look so easy when she’s taking her photos.”

You rubbed the sleep out your eyes and you didn’t want to get out of bed, not wanting to disturb whatever tasks he was doing. Deciding to stay in bed just to listen to his late night rambles because the sound of his brass voice calmed you. You turned your back away from the bathroom, pulling the blanket further on your body. Wanting to stay up so you can cuddle, but the long hours of planning, wedding dress try-ons, and then the online harassment. finally caught up to you. You fell right back to sleep without hearing Ushijima’s words.

“Okay, I figured this out. I think I’m live. Tendou why are you the first person in my live, that’s so creepy. Okay, more people are joining. Now that I have an audience, I want to address something before I get married. The love of my life, the woman I’m about to marry, has been receiving hate. Not just typical hate about her career, but hate about her race from a group of individuals who are supposed to be my fans and supporters. Many of you know I can be a private person, hardly even post on this account. Many of you, get a glimpse of my life because of my fiance. I’m as important in her life as she is in mine that she’s comfortable enough to have me a part of her career journey. It’s extremely disappointing, disrespectful, and frankly ignorant as fuck reading about the things that you guys have said about her and our relationship. We’re getting married in two days and I don’t need any more ignorant people's opinions on my relationship. Go get a life, a hobby, hell—I would even say adopt a pet, but I wouldn’t even want a pet in some of your spaces if you’re spewing nonsense publicly like that. Moving forward, I will be standing alongside Y/N no matter what, and anymore hate messages will get you blocked and reported. Goodnight everyone and Tendou.”

⤷‧₊˚ cuties that wanted to be tagged | @salaciousdoll @honeybleed @threezzyo @diamondoidxx @shyartnerd564

@superslutny @bloodysamaritan @ryukenzz @starlitsawamura @stingsslut

@owoasis @kristvns @chrrypink @hon0vi @miiyahmonae

@peachesncats @jellymantra33 @markleedreams @theinnerthoughtsofalonesomegirl @oneeew

@motherofozzsworld

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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This was amazing to read !!!!!!!!

The way that this happens to REAL LIFE (remember not just fics people) black women and sometimes their spouses don’t address shit is crazy! Not my mans Waka tho☝🏽☝🏽

⤷‧₊˚ ʚ₊˚‧ ✿ ꒱ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 / a late night chat between the soon to be married couple.

╰┈➤ song for this part: your best american girl, mitski, bonus songs: flaws & all by beyonce, all because i liked a boy by sabrina carpenter

masterlist

Go get a real job.

You don’t even have a real job.

The usual that you can just delete and go on about your day.

Does she really deserve to be with someone like him?

She can’t possibly think he’ll want to marry her.

He was supposed to marry someone like him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he stepped in at the sound of your sniffling.

Relaxed…Calm…Happy…In Love.

The cup of tea was sitting in front of you and you knew that you didn’t even have to add extra things into it because he always made you the perfect cup of tea to your liking.

His body turns towards you so that he can have your full attention. You didn’t expect him to talk, but he was a good listener.

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me? How long has this been going on?” The pad of his thumbs wipes away your tears before he’s pulling you off the stool and in between his thighs to embrace you.

“Waka…”

“You have an early and busy schedule tomorrow.” He let you go and picked up your mug of tea to lead you to the bedroom.

“I don’t want to blow the situation out of proportion. It won’t be good press for the wedding and-”

“Please don’t get on social media causing any drama. ” You mumbled as you practically got tucked into bed like a little kid.

“You know I’m not that knowledgeable about those things.” He assures you before he pecks your lips, your cheeks, and lastly your forehead. “Sleep well, okay.”

“How’d the hell I put this phone on this tripod? She makes it look so easy when she’s taking her photos.”

⤷‧₊˚ cuties that wanted to be tagged | @salaciousdoll @honeybleed @threezzyo @diamondoidxx @shyartnerd564

@superslutny @bloodysamaritan @ryukenzz @starlitsawamura @stingsslut

@owoasis @kristvns @chrrypink @hon0vi @miiyahmonae

@peachesncats @jellymantra33 @markleedreams @theinnerthoughtsofalonesomegirl @oneeew

@motherofozzsworld

#the way my heart broke for Y/N girl #ushi is so cute trying to set up that tripod😭😭

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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interact if you would like to be tagged in this. posting it on monday (04/29/24) 6:30pm est !

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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◟ ⟡ ˓ welcome to my mlist. below are links to mini mlists which will hold the work to said fandom you decide. thirsts are open &. pls read my guidelines.

FILMS.

— spider-verse — kick-ass⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — we need to talk about kevin ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — tasm ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — fight club ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀— lords of chaos ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — diary of a wimpy kid⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — saltburn ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — gran turismo

SLASHER FILMS + FRANCHISES.

— house of wax ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — scream ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — american psycho ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀— fear ( new )

SHOWS.

— you ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — euphoria⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — the bear ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — the night agent ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — the last of us ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — the punisher ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — stranger things ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — the walking dead⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — snowfall ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — outer banks

K-DRAMAS.

— bloodhounds ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — alice in borderland

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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hate that there isn’t really any representation of black women getting to have their female rage moment. bc only white women can scream and be mad and it be seen as acceptable or invigorating, right?

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ somewhere along the way x nanami kento

✧ summary being a high school principal while trying to open up a bakery shows great difficulty for nanami kento, especially when his ex-fiancée broke off their engagement. however, somewhere along the way, a new (or maybe not so new) woman stumbles into his life—y/n.

✧ content warnings reader is described as a black woman who uses she/her pronouns. shy!reader, florist!reader x principal!nanami. CHAPTERED FIC. jjk modern au told in first/dual POV. late twenties reader and early thirties kento. tropes included — friends to lovers, friends with benefits, unrequited love. this story will contain depiction of sexual activities and usage of profanity. just a fluffy and domestic romance between nanami and reader. art credit to: ilameys on twitter :)

✧ authors note well hello lovies. here I bring you another chaptered fic, and this time we have my other husband—nanami kento. this is the same nanami that is in words i’ve finally said, but keep in mind the this is NOT the same reader. aleena is the reader name I gave that’s in WIFS. so ALEENA is WIFS y/n. this one won’t be too lengthy. no more than fifteen chapters. it’ll also be fast paced as well since i don’t want it to be too long. you ever watched one of those shojo romances where the side characters get a their story? yeah think of this as that. i hope you guys enjoy. keep in mind updates will be slower for this since it’s aligned with WIFS. your interactions, such as reblogging, liking, and commenting this post would be greatly appreciated. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ MINORS, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS—DO NOT INTERACT.

CONTINUE FOR THE CHAPTER LINKS

one. nanami

two. reader

+more chapters to come!

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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Reblog if you’re over 20 and still read/write fan fiction.

I’m curious!

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diamondoidxx · 1 year ago

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━━ 𝑘𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 .ᐟ satoru + getou.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 2.9k. fem chubby reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, black coded, threesome but getou’s our boyfie so boyfriend’s best friend trope!, anal + vaginal penetration, oral [ f ], handjob, a few lil gay moments teehee, getou is kinda insecure, satoru takes most of the lead, spitting, choking, check ins, impact play, praising, condom use, cockwarming, creampie, potential polyamory?, minors aren’t welcomed!

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; dedicated to my bestie bc she harassed me about a getou + gojo fic since i never continued impure :/ <3 @thecoochiefairy

their postures are statue-like once you step foot out of the bathroom, both men eyeing you from head to toe, getou instantly standing to his feet with clammy hands he rested on his hips. satoru remained seated, legs spread as he groaned and pulled at his soft snow hair. they were lost for words. while they were busy finding a bar to grab a drink at the mall, you wandered off in search of a lingerie set, finding a simple pearl white babydoll, sheer mesh bodice, an open flyaway back, and matching panty set. it made you feel pretty, so you wore it for them.

their silence made your heart race nervously, playing with the fabric as your eyes flicker between the two faces, waiting for a response.

"you like it?" your voice is quiet as a mouse.

"i love it," they say in unison. getou blinks, forgetting he was here, honestly.

"you're fuckin' gorgeous, baby," satoru finally stands, being the first one to walk towards you, cupping the side of your face in his palm. you grow hot immediately. "stunning."

even though you've never had the slightest sexual encounter with satoru, the way he had your mind running wild with imagination was near insanity. of course, it was wrong to think of another man while clearly in a committed relationship. but, it was impossible when he was always around you. making jokes here and there about clearly wanting to fuck you. the infatuation was clear as day. you hated your attraction to him. that's why you had to do this, why you wanted it. both of them at once. your feelings were mutual towards them equally, and the sexual tension would never ease unless this happened. plus, it was your birthday. and as your gift, you asked getou for this one thing. your puppy dog eyes making him unable to object.

"give me your hands," you hold out both of yours, getou swallowing and coming forward to gently clasp your small hand, satoru doing the same before you smile and turn, the men stumbling behind you with their eyes on your ass, guiding them towards the bedroom.

a rush of confidence sparks through you now. you've been wanting this for so long, so it's only right that you show them. closing the door behind them, they stare ahead, looking down to see your fingers delicately skid across their abdomens, lifting their shirts and moaning at the abs on both of their bodies. they were toned, buff in the arms but nothing steroid-like. deeply cut v-lines and slim waists. you nearly drool from the feel, desperate to clutch their waists as they fucked you hard without a care.

"baby," it's clear you're referring to getou by the purr in your voice, tits pressed firmly against his side as he looks down at you with a clench of his jaw.

"mhm?" is how he responds, trying his best to remain complacent.

"take control," you bat your lashes. "it's your pussy before his."

getou groans, satoru's grin is sadistic, finding himself clasping your wrist, taking your attention from your boyfriend and burning his eyes in your own, tugging you near him. he caresses your face admirably, humming.

"aren't you obedient," satoru's palm slaps against the side of your cheek as he chuckles, and to getou's point of view, it's absurdly violent. you've never felt this spark before, the action making your heart thump with excitement. the look on your boyfriend's face was pure anger, that deadpanned expression only meaning that he was ready to snap. satoru tries to do it again, but is stopped as soon as getou catches his wrist forcefully.

"are you asking to die?" getou seethes, satoru only raising a brow, no remorse.

"you're really blind, huh?" satoru laughs, side-eyeing you. "she likes it. don't tell me your sex life is that dull."

getou inhales, releasing his wrist once you touch the side of his face reassuringly, smiling hazily. "i like it, it's okay."

he's stuck. not sure how to respond nor react. there's so much more he has to know about you. teach himself about. even though it's only been four months into your relationship, he feels like a stranger, uneducated about your sexual desires. now he's concerned if he pleasures you enough or not. maybe this was a lesson. maybe he should let satoru do most of the work and observe while still being present. watch your reactions to things he says or does that rile you up. there was nothing wrong with being taught.

"tell me what you want," getou clenches his jaw, grabbing the back of your head and tugging softly. getou was extremely soft and caring during sex, and although you were fond of it, sometimes you wanted him to be the opposite. "i'll give you anything. just say it."

warmth fills your chest, so entranced by his sweetness. your eyes lock with satoru's, "wanna ride his face."

satoru tongues his inner cheek, looking you up and down once more. " 'course you do."

getou has his eyes on you the entire time, those big eyes of yours wide with anticipation. "can i?”

"don't ask me with that innocent tone. you're anything but," getou grunts, taking you back by his side possessively. "come sit on me."

you follow like a lost puppy, getou taking his seat on the middle of the bed, one leg propped up as you crawl on your hands and knees to him, your face in his hands he caressed gently with his thumbs, kissing you and admiring you a while longer. satoru stands behind you, tilting his head to the side to capture a picture of the cute set on your body, his hands on your ass he brings back to rub the outline of his jean-clad cock against, groaning.

"fuck, you're really soft," his hand gropes your ass hard and it makes you whine, getou watching as you bite your lip and brush back against satoru who's dry humping you through the mesh thong you wore. "my dick is so fuckin' hard right now."

you swear your clits pulsating like a goddamn vibrator, moaning into getou's mouth after he kisses you, his eyes dark and pointed viciously in satoru's way, shoving his tongue in your mouth, barely paying you attention. he's watching satoru, making sure he takes care of you, doesn't hurt you. because if he did, he'd have to hurt him. satoru chuckles from the quiet obvious threat, molding your flesh in his rough palms. you're arching your back like a cat, panting in your boyfriend's mouth who's aware of your body sensitivity. the smallest touches leaving you feral. a cool breeze of air hits your soaked core as satoru pulls your panties to your knees, raising them so they're off fully, needing access to every region.

"fuck, that's a nice ass pussy," satoru grins, knitting his dark brows together, crystal blue eyes darting between getou and your weeping cunt. you yelp when two of his fingers brush over your clit, sliding it up to your core he taps a few times and hums. then he's bringing his fingers to his nose, liking the smell before he's sucking them off. "damn, this really all yours?"

getou rolls his eyes after satoru whistles, not waiting for him to say anything, which he doesn't, blocking him out anyways. it's all about you. he wants you and he's gonna stay focused on that. he's lowering to his knees on the ground, positioning your thighs so they're spread wider, barely preparing you before he's literally kissing at your cunt with tongue, like full on making out with it. you shudder instantly, mouth dropping and gripping at getou's thigh as satoru grunts and slurps up your juices, thrusting those same fingers into you. your eyes widen partially when his tongue trails up to your puckering hole, spitting, then kissing it up, bobbing his head up and down the entirety of you.

"ooo, my god. . ." you gasp, grinding back against his face, blindly tugging at the waistband of getou's jeans, getou studying you as your face turns in ecstasy, fumbling with your hands as you pull out his cock, whimpering as you spit into your small hand before wrapping it around to pump. getou clenches his jaw, placing his hand over yours to stoke it together, his bubblegum lips pouty as he kisses you hard, swallowing your moans.

"like fuckin' candy," satoru kisses your clit hard, lips wet before he's sucking on it hard, tongue moving everywhere, skidding over your thighs as he laps you up with a deep ‘fuck’, jaw moving side to side and his hand spanking your ass slow like he's drunk, the impact hard. it's a pattern, his spews of fuck become monotonous the more he eats at it.

fuck. spank, then moved his mouth. fuck. spank, then applies more pressure with his tongue. fuck. spanks you ten times harder, then growls. it was driving you mad, unable to stop shifting your ass.

"he's not gonna stop until you cum," getou says, now holding your throat in his hand, your face contorted as you whine.

"not once," satoru counters, getou looking over your shoulder with a brow raised, eyes trailing back to yours without disagreement.

"more than once."

"m'almost there," you cry, his mouth all too good, never reaching an orgasm this quickly.

"are you?" getou hums tauntingly, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. you nod, your breath hitching as he bites your lower lip and sucks, blood rushing. you jerk your hand faster, keeping it on the tip like he liked, getou folding easily, hips twitching.

"gonna give it to me?" satoru asks, never ceasing his assault, in love with the way your knees buckle.

"nnn, yea," you chew on your lips, already fucked out. not prepared for what they had in store for you next.

"yeah?" satoru mocks your tone, stuffing his fingers into you and moving to your desired pace. your vision goes static like an old television when you cum, falling forward to rest your cheek on your boyfriend's chest, both the men half stripping throughout your fixation. getou stops you from pulling at his dick, afraid he'll cum too quick. you have that affect on him.

satoru doesn't stop when you cum, he keeps going, more than once, he said. and he meant it. it's worse when getou pulls you up to suck on your neck, tugging at the hardened buds of your nipples , both men touching you at once was filthy, your head buzzing and your mouth nonstop with pornographic sonances. satoru takes his breath when he stands, licking you off his lips as if you were the best fucking dessert he's ever had. while you're left breathless, getou and satoru are pulling off the rest of their clothing, achingly hard they couldn't stand it any longer. you could read them well, especially getou, knowing when he's near done.

getou lays on his back and he pulls you on top of him, your messy face still so adorable. satoru grabs the bottle of lube and two condoms stashed in his drawer before coming back to the bed, brushing the white hair from his face and staring down at you as you turn to look behind yourself, teasing him by grinding your hips midair. satoru snickers, climbing on the bed and resting on his knees. he looks at getou.

"you go first."

your smile is lazy, hugging your man by his neck and cradling your face between it. getou holds out his hand, satoru passing him a condom, the gold packaging being torn with his teeth before he's tossing it aside and sliding it down his cock resting on his stomach.

"lift your hips," getou rasps, hands calloused on either side of your thighs, helping you up till he's sinking you down on it, stretching you good like he always does. you whimper by his ear, clenching your cunt around him once he's fully inside, swaying your ass, belly to belly as you grind and say his favorite word he liked to hear most of all from you; his name.

after satoru's secure, he spreads the lubricant over himself and then some on his fingers he uses to prep you. your cute little hole tensing when the heat from them grazes you, satoru telling you to take a deep breath and relax yourself before he's pressing against the unused entrance. you gasp when he managed to get them in, carefully thrusting past his knuckles. his fingers were as long as getou's. getou tries not to lose it, your pussy warming his cock with little to no movement. satoru continues to prep you for two more minutes, wanting to make sure he eases the discomfort just a bit.

"satoru," you whimper his name, giving him permission to take his turn.

it's a clear signal, and he doesn't waste time, towering over you and pinning down your lower back to arch you a little more. getou soothes you by caressing the sides of your legs, as well as smoothing them over your back. satoru aligns his reddened cockhead to your hole, kissing up your back as he gently pushes into you, inch by inch. the unknown stretch burns, getou turning his head to whisper comforting words to keep your mind off the pain, lifting his hips to fuck into you. the mixture of pain and pleasure has you clawing at his shoulders.

halfway in, satoru decides to bring you up, clutching your chin and getting his turn to taste your lips, sliding, slowly, deeper inside the longer his mouth moved with yours, getou observing you both.

"it's good? you're good?" satoru says in between breaths, hips so close to touching your ass.

"m'good. move, please."

it's enough to make both men move in sync, satoru biting at your neck with his face scrunched up, eyeing getou beneath you. the pain subsides, and all you feel are the tingles in the pit of your stomach, dragging out your moans as they both pounded into you, satoru finally getting deep like he wanted since you relaxed more.

"jesus, fuck . . . mmm," for some reason, the erotic expression on satoru's face makes getou blush, biting his lip as he watches the two of you lose yourselves. how you scratch at his shoulder and the elicit eye roll satoru does. getou never thought he'd feel like this, or like seeing you fuck another man so much.

"you look pretty as fuck taking both of us," getou grunts, smacking at your tits and you keen in shock. satoru must be getting to him now. you scream as the two men fuck you like they'd lost their sanity, gushing around getou's cock while satoru aggressively knocks his dick into you, both following each other's rhythms for you. your skin clashing, pouncing back on them.

"shit," getou whimpers, hips stuttering as he cums inside his condom, chest heaving erratically. you rush your hand over his hair, tugging and riding them still. satoru has his arm around your neck now, slamming his hips against your ass which makes you let go of getou, holding onto his forearm as your tongue lolls out and satoru switches positions.

you're lifted off getou, satoru tossing his condom off to slide into your sluice cunt, groaning and closing his eyes from the new feeling.

"cum inside me," it has getou stunned since you've never said that once, deathly afraid of the idea of pregnancy. maybe you gained a breeding kink overnight. he wonders what videos you researched prior to this that sparked this sudden fantasy to be dominated by two men, two roommates, two new best friends.

"was doing that anyways," he licks the shell of your ear with a malicious cackle. "bet you'd let me fuck you raw every day if it meant I'd get to fill you up."

"yess, baby," you weep, out of your mind entirely.

"baby?" satoru whistles, glaring at getou who only blinked. what's up with you? were you under his spell or something? "i like that. you tryna' make one with me?"

"get smacked," getou threatens.

satoru only grins, grabbing your chin and pressing his nose to your cheek, keeping his eyes on getou. "don't wanna be a daddy with me? it'd be fun. I'll push the stroller and you hold her hand so she doesn't trip with the other kid in her belly."

"cut it," getou seethes.

"you're no fun," satoru pouts, still fucking you back on his dick like it's nothing, your head spinning. his attentions back on you. "say it one more time for me."

"baby," you slur, swallowing the extra saliva built up in your mouth from drooling, giggling when he groans in approval.

"good fuckin' girl," satoru hisses, yanking you back hard, like some rag doll, your screams softening the longer he prolonged, balls slapping against your sticky clit and your tits bouncing so cutely in your babydoll set.

you slap your hands on getou's torso once you cum for your third time, tone drowning out by satoru's who growls and paints your tight walls white, your legs frantically twitching as you fall forward, getou swallowing, endlessly fascinated by you as he rubs you to cool you down.

"wanna watch it drip," satoru keens, raising your ass and holding the dip of your spine down, licking his lips as he watches the way his cum glides from you. "damn, i think it's my birthday, honestly."

you're spent, still shaky and barely having air left in your lungs. satoru leans over you, kisses your cheek with a loud 'muah!' before doing the same to getou, only he kisses him on the lips.

"don't kiss me, asshole!" getou splutters, palm over satoru's face as he shoved him away. you giggle weakly into your boyfriend's chest, reaching behind yourself to keep satoru pressed to your back for warmth, the three of you snuggled up comfortably.

“thank you babe,” you smile, elated.

“you’re welcome, baby,” they say in unison.

getou rolls his eyes, a petty grunt released. “she’s not talking to you.”

“s’okay, her pussy did,” satoru cackles, kissing your cheek with tongue to piss the black-haired man off even further. he remains silent. this time.

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