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getoistic · 4 months ago

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I’ve had a sleepless night, and all I can think of is fucking soft subby sleepless roommate Gojo to unconsciousness. (1.7k words) (18+)

art by me, referenced art donaldson from challengers | artblog: @wrtchdrtt

“Oh, you poor baby, insomnia strikes again, huh?” Your voice drips with derision as you enter the living room in the wee hours of the morning. It was a rare occurrence for you, but Satoru, on the other hand, seemed to live on the couch, rarely using his room.

During the day, he pesters you. He yaps mindlessly as he sits on your bed, content with your noncommittal hums in response as you work on your desk.

You found yourself drawn to the living room at the most inconvenient times, half in deep sleep, half aware of frustrated pacing and soft murmuring outside your door.

As a result, you found yourself growling at the man-child as he pouted to the sun and back.

And yet you were close to breaking, your sarcasm thinly veiling the truth. You wanted to take care of him.

His lips were puffy and abused, he was anxious— he chewed on them when he got like this. His wide, pretty cotton candy eyes pleaded at you. He was so sweet that your teeth ached just from looking at him.

He wanted something—pouting and whining like a cat denied cream.

“‘M so tired, ‘n I can’t sleep.” He grunted. Still holding a wall, not knowing if it was safe to break.

Your bare feet padded against cold marble floors, sleep shorts sliding up your ass. You slid your hands out of the pockets of the zip up hoodie you had stolen from him. “Want me to fuck you to sleep?”

He frowned, on edge. Eyes shifting all over you, settling on your cold gaze. “Don’t fuck with me.” His pout soured.

“I’m not. You have all this pent-up anxious energy about you, and it’s putting me on edge to see you so tense. We’re friends. Let me help you relax.”

“You’re serious…” his lips twisted to the side, contemplating your offer. “If I say yes…I know it can become a requirement for me to sleep; I am needy like that.” His cocky grin was sweet, and you couldn't wait to see it wiped clean, to hear him whining with pleasure..

“Then we can just consider ‘fucking to sleep’ as part of our night routine. Now come on, the night is running away from us.” You turned and pranced to your room, knowing he would be quick to follow. Not having to turn back to feel him beside you, unnaturally silent footsteps and all.

His eyes shifted as they anxiously flitted about the room as if it was the first time in your bedroom. He was nervous but you had been prepared for that.

He had been your roommate for years, friend for longer, so you knew what it was like for him to be fully hard. Right now, he was at best half-mast.

He needed to lose that chip on his shoulder. Needed to let go. You yanked on his hand, cocking your head to get him to sit on your bed. He stayed put.

You pursed your lips as you slid onto the bed, slipping your legs behind you, flimsy shorts not leaving anything to the imagination.

His eyes locked on your lap, gaze intense and transfixed. He was a proud man. “Why are you so tense? Come on, Toru, you’ll never sleep like that. Let go— it’s just us here. No one’s watching but me, pretty boy. What are you so afraid of?”

He sighed, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion. You watched with rapt attention as he slid off his shirt in one swift movement before crawling to the edge of the bed. Holy fuck. His stomach pressed against the mattress, legs curled around the bed’s edge, his upper body sprawled next to you. Your hands quickly slid into his scalp, fingers threading through his soft, light hair, nails scratching his sensitive skin. He whimpered, back arching in response, sleep pants bunching around his hips and thighs. His head shifted to rest completely in your lap.

“You are so beautiful, Toru. I’m so glad you trust me with this.” ou gently curled your fingers around tufts of his pale hair, pulling his head back slightly. Your other hand glided gently, stroking down the side of his head toward his cheek.

He complied with the movement, turning his head and raising his gaze to meet yours. Your heart clenched with need. You loved him—your roommate, your close friend—and you needed him in ways that went beyond the platonic and sexual— you needed to make him yours. “Pretty boy… Look at you, so soft for me. Tell me, Toru, how long has it been since anyone has had you like this?”

He sighed in response.

“I need a verbal answer, baby.” You gently swiped your thumb against his cheek, amused at his pout.

“No one, I don’t trust anyone but you, you know that.”

“Yes, but it’s nice hearing it from your pretty mouth. Come here, let me kiss you. Let me kiss those beautiful lips of yours…”

Your hands ghosted over smooth, flushed skin. His muscles shifted as he moved, taut with tension. He knelt beside you. You hummed in pleasure as his arms wrapped around your waist, your own around his shoulders, pulling him close.

He tasted sweet like you knew he would. You licked into his mouth, tugging at soft hair strands. He shivered, your kisses prompting soft dulcet sounds from deep in his throat.

His grip was tight on your waist, his fingers skimming underneath the large hoodie— touch needy and warm— clenching and unclenching against your skin.

“You can— mhm— touch, you know?” You panted between kisses, giving him all the permission he needed to slide long fingers up your sides, body shaking when his hands found your bare breasts. You felt his hips jerk beside yours. You sighed in contentment as rolled your nippled between his fingers, swell of your tits supported by his palms.

“Fuck— please!” He chants your name like a prayer. And ever the benevolent lover, you take heed to his pleas. You force your weight on top of him, bracing your hands on his shoulders and sliding one thigh over his lap.

“Arms up, pretty boy.” You slide your fingers under his cotton shirt, pulling it over his head and pressing his back against the mattress. You focus on the next task, curling your fingers under his sleep pants and sliding them down his long, lean legs.

His pretty flushed cock is finally yours to touch. Your ass resting right above his knees, you have him spread out in front off you like an offer. You brace one hand on his hip, the other closing around his cock. His hips buck up, and he lets out the most delicious, needy sound. Your cunt clenches with need, cotton panties drenched through by that point.

Precome dribbles from his tip, and your thumb swipes at it, smearing it over his cockhead, fingers curled tight around his length. If this is what it takes for him to writhe under you, hands curling around the bedsheets…

You shift forward, resting your clothed core against his erection. His body jerks, hands flying toward your hips. Your whole weight falls on his cock, and you knew it would be good, but

“Please, please— move” Words accompany his needy groans of pleasure. His hips buck up against you. You throw your head back as you roll your hips. The friction is so good. But you need more.

You lift your hips, his eyes flashing toward you with betrayal, you quickly ease away with a soft kiss to the corner of his lips.

You slowly unzip the hoodie, letting it fall from your shoulders. He licks his lips, hands rejoining your nipples. Next you crook your thumbs under the waistband of your shorts and panties, sliding them off, you hear his breath hitch in response.

Your hips hovered over his, his voice is soft and whiny, “So beautiful. Those shorts haunt my dreams. I— please,”

You smiled softly at your boy, “Needy Toru. You should know I wear those shorts just for you.” You didn’t give him time to respond, gripping his length, aligning it to your center and pressing down. Your boy was huge, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you plunged down. Jaw slackened as you sank into him fully. “God— fuck— Toru— mmh…”

You still for a moment, adjusting to his size. Your boy is impatient, his hips jerk softly, hands kneading your breasts.

He stares up at you with wide dilated eyes. So pretty. Your own are hooded. You begin to move slowly. Your moans and his pleas echoing through the room.

“Please, please, fas— faster!” Hands moving from your moving tits to your ass, prompting you to move faster, hands planted on his chest, you moved your hips up and down, head thrown back, you let yourself feel. God, it was heavenly; it was bordering on painful how he split you open.

You felt him move, didn’t care enough to open your clenched eyes, until— fingers pressed asgainst your clit. Your hips stuttered, cunt clenching around him. He whined loudly.

“’S so good, you feel so good…” His voice came out in broken segments.

Your pace grew frantic, chasing the precipice. He moved again, back lifting from the mattress. Lips searching your neck, he kissed your collarbone harshly, before lapping up your neck, his fingers moving fast against your clit. Your limbs locked as he pushed you off the precipice pussy clenching harshly around him, he panted against your neck following your fall. This time, when his back slumped against the mattress, you lay with him, chest to chest.

It took you a few moments to come down. You kissed him in the glow, he tensed underneath you.

“We forgot a condom…” His voice was breathless, and you could read his barely-hidden, pleased tone. You laughed.

“I’m on birth control, and you know that dummy.”

“Damn—guess I’ll have to find another to trap you into being stuck with me.”

“Idiot, you’re mine now. No take backs, we signed a lease.”

He hummed pleased, yawning loudly. No need for round two then.

And he was so sweet, finally asleep underneath you. Now that you finally had him, there was no way you were letting him go. He was yours, whether he liked it or not.

He did. He really, really did.

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changetyre · 2 years ago

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THIS IS YOUR FAULT! || LN4 Ⓢ Ⓦ *Drabble*

SUMMARY: You thought the hardest part of your unplanned pregnancy would be the lack of sleep maybe the nausea but you would've never thought the ridiculous increase in your libido would be what was proving the most challenging. (Lando Norris x Pregnant!Reader)

WARNINGS: ***Smut 18+***

A/N: This drabble is quite short but I am willing to write other parts of this couple if requested ;)

_______________________________

"This is all your stupid stupid fault." You whined as you spoke to your boyfriend on the phone after ranting to him for 10 minutes straight.

You heard him giggle on the other side which only made you angrier. "I'm almost home darling."

He reminded you of the fact he had literally only gone to the store down the street because you were craving some sour candies after Lando had eaten you out for the second time today and it was only 12pm.

"You're a goddamn professional driver for fucks sake it should only take you half a second to speed down the street in your stupid orange car and get back." You continued whining.

You felt like your body was literally screaming for your boyfriend to put his hands on you and relieve you from this need to feel pleasure...again.

"Baby I didn't take the car just to go to the store that is 5 minutes away walking." He laughed again.

"I hate you." you almost cried.

This is what the first months of pregnancy were looking for you, You thought that after being knocked up by your boyfriend by accident during your 2-year anniversary would be enough sex for a while but your body thought otherwise.

It was honestly ridiculous the frequency with which you needed to relieve yourself but you were incredibly thankful for the fact that you got pregnant on the penultimate race of the season and this horny symptom had only shown up after the season ended so you had your boyfriend home most of the time and for a few months.

At first, Lando was concerned with how needy you were even thinking something was wrong but after a visit to your OBGYN where she found his concern funny, she reassured you both that this would be normal and the antidote was pretty self-explanatory.

After this Lando quite enjoyed being so needed and being able to inject you with the medicine needed so often and initially for you it was fun too until it just started getting frustrating.

Yes, Lando had the exact skill set required to pleasure you exactly the way you needed repeatedly and bring you satisfaction rather quickly but the frustrating part was the fact that the satisfaction only lasted an hour or 2 sometimes even less, and sometimes Lando wasn't home to help which had you crying at times because relieving yourself was never nearly enough.

Lando had become such an expert at landing a helping hand that sometimes he would even be in meetings while secretly fingering you who would lay in front of him with your legs spread wide open. Sometimes he would even be eating you out while on a phone call shushing you when he would unmute his phone to keep talking.

"I love you too darling." You would've started crying if Lando hadn't come right through the door after this.

"FINALLY!" You called dramatically. "Eat!" You yelled pointing at your bare pussy where you had laid on the couch.

"With pleasure." Lando laughed setting the bags down.

"WAIT!" You yelled before he could walk forward. "I want my sour gummies." You extended your hand.

Lando could only laugh again at your antics reaching for them in the grocery bag and tossing them to you before finally kneeling down in front of the couch.

"Anything else M'lady." he joked.

"No, now eat." You pointed again in between your legs as you both began eating, you your gummies and Lando you.

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1drabble #f1smut #f1 drivers #f1 smut #lando norris #lando norris x reader #norris #changetyre #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1fic #smut

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scoutofmymind · 2 months ago

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re a trois-lasan possible fic: all three of them are bisexuals but reader has only been with women before 🫣

As the World Caves In — {Hasan x Luigi x Reader}

Tags: bisexual!everybody, roommate reader, hurt/comfort, m/m/f, threesome, sexual orientation invalidation!!!, come eating, handjob, boys kissing, fluffy, sortofvirgin!Reader, everyone is a streamer, pet names, TURKISH pet names, there’s too much going on to tag everything

Wc: 8,240

🎪⭐️AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT⭐️🎪

Uhh yall ever seen that stream where Hasan’s dad sets off the fire alarms and he goes “ahhh c’mon Baba” ?? Bc if you haven’t here it is. I think it’s so cute idc so I made his dad bring him back candy from home 🇹🇷 (bc he’s a sour bitch)

This is a LOOOONG one. I also added texts and a tweet (NOT X ) because idk why not. This has only been edited and proofread once.. do not blame me for mistakes teehee. Enjoy angels 🪽💋

"You've only been with women," Hasan muses through a mouthful of Turkish sour candy his Baba brought back from a visit back home, sprawled across the couch like he owns it (because he does), one leg dangling off the arm. "How do you even know you like guys?"

You catch yourself shifting between staring at him in disbelief and looking to Luigi for backup, but the latter hasn't even glanced up from his phone, though there's a telling tension in his shoulders that suggests he's listening.

"Lu," you appeal, gesturing at Hasan with barely contained exasperation, "are you hearing this bullshit?"

Luigi hums softly, "mm?" glancing up momentarily from his phone where he's engrossed in Trotti's latest article, Designing for Mars' Harsh Environment; and the way his brow furrows suggesting he's been lost in the technical aspects of atmospheric pressure design and radiation shielding.

"Hasan is implying that I'm not actually bisexual." You watch as Hasan's shoulders lift in that theatrical shrug of his, lips pursed in feigned innocence, expression saying 'who, me?' but the slight tension in his jaw betrays him. "As if he's somehow appointed himself the grand arbiter of everyone's sexuality. Like he's got a PhD in Who Gets To Be Bi, or some shit."

Hasan sucks his teeth, and it's the same dismissive sound he makes when dealing with trolls in his chat.

"Well, I've sucked dick and eaten pussy," he says, tilting his head at you with that same combative energy he usually reserves for debate lords on twitter. His voice has that edge to it, the one that says he thinks he's won something. "Can you say you've done that?"

The silence stretches between you, thick with irritation and something darker, his "Right" landing like a challenge, smug and entirely too self-satisfied.

Something twists in your chest — an achingly familiar sensation, echoing that first moment of realization about your sexuality.

It's that same cocktail of emotions; fear threading through your ribcage, confusion clouding your thoughts, but this time the shame hits harder.

It's different when it comes from someone who should know better, someone you considered safe.

You let the silence stretch, not trusting your voice to remain steady while part of you wants to list every crush, every lingering glance, every moment of clarity that brought you here — another part, the part still nursing that old wound, refuses to justify your identity to someone who should know better.

This is different — this is Hasan, and somehow that makes it worse.

"That's enough." Luigi’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and final. He doesn't even look up from his phone this time, just delivers the words with the kind of casual authority that suggests he's already bored with Hasan's take.

But his dismissal, however effective at silencing Hasan, skims right over the damage already done.

He misses the way your jaw is still clenched, how your fingers haven't loosened their grip on your arms, the slight tremor in your breathing.

The wound is already open — Hasan's words finding that tender spot where doubt used to live — and Luigi's quick defense, while appreciated, doesn't quite reach the deeper hurt settling in your chest.

"I'm going for a drive.” you say, voice steadier than you feel. Your keys are already in your hand — you don't remember reaching for them on the hook by the door, but there they are, cool metal looped around your pointer finger.

The house you all share suddenly feels too small, too close.

Usually, the lived-in chaos of three people's lives tangled together is comforting — Luigi's engineering journals scattered across the coffee table, Hasan's streaming room, your plants in every window.

Right now, though, it's suffocating.

"Hey, wait-“ Hasan starts, but you're already closing the front door behind you, pretending not to hear the way Luigi mutters "nice fucking job." as you leave.

The driver's seat of your car feels like refuge, and you start the engine before either of them can think to follow you out, though you catch a glimpse of movement behind the living room curtain as you pull away.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket almost immediately.

Then again. And again.

It's not even about Hasan's ignorance.

Not really.

It's about how quickly you were thrown back to being fifteen again, questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself and how easily someone you trust can make you feel like you're still trying to prove something.

You're not angry exactly, but you're not ready to face Hasan's awkward apology or Luigi's well-meaning but slightly detached attempt to mediate.

Your phone hasn't stopped its intermittent buzzing.

At a red light, you glance down to see multiple notifications from Hasan.

You switch the phone to silent and toss it onto the passenger seat.

The light turns green, and you take the coastal route automatically, muscle memory guiding you toward the overlook where you used to come and think before you all moved in together.

The overlook is empty when you pull in, just your car and the endless stretch of ocean ahead. You cut the engine but leave the keys in the ignition, letting the residual heat from the vents fight against the evening chill.

Below, waves crash against the rocks in a rhythm that's more felt than heard through the glass.

Your phone screen lights up again on the passenger seat — a separate message from Luigi this time.

The thing is, you know Hasan.

Know how he gets when he thinks he's right about something, how that energy sometimes bypasses his better judgment. Know he'll probably spend the next week trying to make it up to you with coffee just how you like it and random acts of thoughtfulness.

And you'll forgive him, because that's what you do in this weird little unit you've built together.

But right now, watching the last of the sun sink into the Pacific, you let yourself sit with the hurt.

Let yourself remember every dismissive comment, every raised eyebrow, every "but how do you know?" that came before this moment.

Let yourself feel fifteen, sixteen, seventeen again, just for a minute, before you have to go back to being an adult who understands that sometimes the people we love can be thoughtless without meaning to break something.

The dashboard clock blinks 7:43 when another text comes through. This time it's a photo from Luigi — Hasan sitting at the kitchen table looking miserable, clearly mid-rant about how he's "such a fucking asshole." And there’s something both comforting and irritating about seeing him process his guilt in real time.

Like, yes, you deserved better than his casual invalidation, but also, this isn't actually about making him feel better about feeling bad.

You switch the engine back on, more for the heat than anything else.

A few more cars have pulled into the overlook —couples and others seeking solitude, all keeping their respectful distance; It reminds you of the first time you came here, after telling your best friend you thought you might like girls, too.

How she'd said "cool" and kept painting her nails like you hadn't just shifted your entire world on its axis.

Your phone lights up again.

Despite everything, you feel the corner of your mouth twitch.

Trust Hasan to stress-cook his way through an apology, knowing full well the way to your heart will always be carbs.

You rest your forehead against the steering wheel, letting out a long breath that fogs the lower windshield.

The irony isn't lost on you — how Hasan, of all people, managed to trigger this particular flavor of insecurity. Hasan, who once went on a two-hour stream rant about bisexual erasure in media. Hasan, who literally has a pride flag hanging in his streaming room.

Your phone buzzes one more time. Luigi again.

The laugh that escapes you is small, but genuine.

The door barely clicks shut behind you before Hasan's there, all frantic energy and guilt-ridden affection. His hands find your face immediately, thumbs gentle against your cheekbones even as words tumble out of him. "I'm so fucking sorry," he breathes against your forehead between kisses, "I'm an absolute dickhead, I know, I'm the worst-“

You stay still in his hold, not pulling away but not melting into it either.

Over Hasan's shoulder, you catch Luigi watching from his spot on the couch, his expression careful, assessing whether to intervene.

Hasan's still murmuring apologies into your hair, and something in your chest aches at how genuinely distressed he is, but another part of you wants to hold onto the hurt just a little longer.

"I made pasta," he says softly, almost pleading. "And I swear to god I'll never say stupid shit like that again-“ He stops when you open your eyes to meet his, really seeing the hurt that still lingers there. "Fuck," he whispers, thumbs still moving gently across your soft skin. "I’m sorry.”

You suck in a slow breath and nod at him, side stepping toward the kitchen to grab a bowl from the cabinet, filling it with pasta that looks promising while behind you, Luigi and Hasan both stare at each other, coming to realize this likely won’t be fixed in a few hours time, or even a day.

And they were right.

You retreat into solitude, not exactly avoiding them but not seeking them out, either.

The ocean becomes your hiding spot — paddling out alone into the early morning swells, finding peace in the rhythm of waves rather than Hasan's encouraging calls or Luigi's excited whoops. When hunger draws you into town, you choose quiet corners in familiar cafes, picking at your food while mindlessly scrolling through social media, the empty chair across from you a silent companion.

It's not running away, you tell yourself.

It's just... processing.

You finally acknowledge the inevitable — you can't keep playing specter in your own home forever.

Still, when you push through the front door, exhaustion pulls you straight to your room like gravity, the soft click of your bedroom door feeling like surrender as you sink into the bed that's become both refuge and prison these past forty-eight hours.

The immediate gentle rap against wood is inevitable, like thunder after lightning.

Luigi's voice filters through, soft and hesitant, accompanied by the dull thud that tells you he's resting his head against your door. "Hey," he says, the word carrying the weight of two days' worth of unspoken conversations. "Can I come in?"

You remain curled in your defensive position, watching shadows shift under the door.

Part of you wants to maintain the silence, but Luigi's always been the easier one to face.

Your exhale feels heavy in your chest as you answer, "Yeah."

When the door opens, Luigi navigates your room like he's crossing a minefield, each step measured and deliberate until he settles beside you on the bed where his arm finds its way around you with practiced ease, and the familiar weight of him against your back is like a raft in the endless sea, pulling you back from the depths you've been drifting in.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable yet charged with everything unsaid.

His fingers brush your hair back with a tenderness that makes your throat tight, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. "You been taking care of yourself in here?" he asks softly, and you can hear him taking in the hurricane aftermath of your room — clothes scattered like debris, yesterdays coffee still on your nightstand, the general entropy of someone who stopped caring about order two days ago.

"Depends, is taking care of myself a spectrum that needs validating, too?" The words come out dripping with acid, but Luigi doesn't flinch. He's weathered your storms before, knows the difference between lightning meant to strike and lightning meant to illuminate.

"I think yes, actually.” he murmurs, continuing to card gentle fingers through your hair.

Each stroke pulls away another layer of your shield, exposing you inch by inch until you're left with nowhere to hide. Still, you keep your gaze fixed on the wall, as if the cream-colored paint holds answers to questions you haven't even formed yet.

It's easier than meeting his eyes, than seeing the understanding there that you're not sure you deserve.

"Fuck off," you whimper, retreating into your sweater paws like a wounded animal seeking shelter, waiting to die. "Just leave me alone." The words lack their usual bite, suddenly sounding more like a plea than a command.

Luigi's arm tightens around you in response, a silent refusal of your request. You can feel his resolve settling in like a physical weight — he won't budge until he's at least patched the surface wounds, even if the deeper cuts still need time to heal. "I'm just fucking with you," he whispers, and normally this would be fine — you've always been able to take his jabs, throw them back harder, even.

But something fundamental has shifted, like a fault line finally giving way, and Luigi recognizes the tremors. Now isn't the time to prod at fresh bruises, not when the initial impact is still reverberating.

"What he said wasn't right." Luigi burrows his face into your back, his words vibrating against your spine through the worn fabric of your comfort sweater, which just so happened to be one you’d stolen from Hasan’s closet ages ago and never gave back. "He was incredibly wrong for it. And I promise, he realizes that." The sincerity in his voice only feeds the bitterness coursing through you.

You wrench away enough to fix him with a glacial stare, lips curling into something cruel. "Oh, did he say that while he was bending you over the kitchen counter again?" The words come out like shards of glass, designed to cut. "Claiming he's so fucking bisexual when the only pussy he's gotten in like two years is yours."

It's a low blow and you know it — weaponizing their romance, their secret-to-everyone-else-but-you intimacy, turning it into ammunition.

But right now, you want it to hurt.

Luigi sucks in a sharp breath like your words branded him, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "There she is." The fondness in his voice only makes your chest ache more.

You curl tighter into yourself, letting him pull you back against his chest, his arm around your middle feeling like the only thing holding your pieces together. "His bullshit god complex is fine when he's talking to a billion eighteen to twenty-somethings thirsting after him on the stream, but-“ your voice drops to something vulnerable, something raw, "there's no room for it at home."

You feel Luigi's chest vibrate with a low hum of agreement, his chin dipping in a slow nod against your shoulder. In that moment, you both understand that some boundaries, once crossed, require more than just an apology to rebuild.

"And he cancelled his fucking stream because he has to 'sort some shit out'?" Your laugh is all broken glass and razor wire. "Are you fucking serious?"

Luigi shifts behind you, and you can feel the moment he realizes you haven't seen what he has — Hasan pacing holes in the living room floor, running hands through his hair until it’s mussed into wild curls, the self-loathing written in every line of his body.

"You know, he only said that becau-"

But the dam has broken now, two days of silence exploding into sharp-edged storm of words. "One and a half million people losing their shit over his armpits, and he has to come at me for never fucking a dude?" Your voice cracks with the absurdity of it all, the hypocrisy burning in your throat.

The irony isn't lost on you — Hasan, who built his platform challenging toxic masculinity, somehow becoming the very voice he fights against in your own home.

"Well, baby, I think it's-"

"What does that have to do with him, anyway? Other than the fact that he was trying to prove he was more bisexual than me." The words taste bitter as they leave your mouth, and you hear their childish edge even as you speak them, but the floodgates have already broken.

"He's not even fucking out, either. And if I wanted to hit below the belt like he hit me, I would tell him that much." Your breath catches, sharp and painful as you teeter on the edge of something unforgivable. "That at least my audience knows-"

"It's because he wants to fuck you."

Your tirade dies in your throat, jaw clicking shut as your brain frantically attempts to process what you've just heard and the anger that's been fueling you suddenly stutters, like an engine running out of gas.

"He what?"

Luigi's sigh is gentle against your neck, his hand moving in soothing strokes along your thigh. "Did you actually not hear me, or-" There's a hint of knowing amusement in his voice, like he's watched you slam headfirst into a wall you didn't even know was there.

"No - I -" The words catch as you wrench yourself upright, staring down at Luigi who's sprawled on his back now, watching you with that impossibly gentle expression that somehow makes this whole thing worse. "I fucking heard you."

"Oh. Ok." His response is casual, almost lazy, but his eyes never leave your face as you both fester in the silence. It's a peculiar moment — you, processing this seismic shift in understanding, and Luigi, looking like he's finally set down a burden he's been carrying for ages.

The dynamic between the three of you had always walked a blurry line — something your viewers had picked up on long before you'd bothered to examine it.

Your Twitch chat would explode whenever Hasan wandered shirtless through your frame, or when Luigi's casual touches lingered just a breath too long when he offers to feed you a bite of his croissants.

Their viewers weren't any better, clipping every loaded glance, every playful flirtation, crafting theories about the true nature of your household's relationships on its own SubReddit.

You'd never felt the need to define it, to box it into labels. The kisses shared with Hasan had come easy — pressed against kitchen counters after too many drinks, or sprawled on Hawaiian beaches with tabs of acid dissolving on your tongues. With Luigi, it was even more natural, affection flowing between you like an old married couple at times.

But you'd always attributed it to the comfortable freedom of chosen family, to the way certain substances and settings made loving your friends feel as natural as breathing.

Now, though, you're forced to wonder if you've been willfully blind to something your audiences saw clearly years ago.

"So all those times..." you trail off, mind racing through months of interactions with new context — the lingering touches, the heated arguments that felt more like foreplay, the way his eyes would track you across rooms. "When chat would spam those emotes during our streams..”

Luigi's laugh is soft, knowing. "You mean when your chat goes feral every time Hasan walks by and flexes? Or when his chat loses it whenever you wear his merch to sleep?" He props himself up on an elbow, gesturing to the sweater on your body in that very moment, watching your face process. "They've been seeing it for months.“

You think about the clips that circulate — moments caught on stream that seemed innocent at the time but now feel charged with meaning.

The way Hasan's hand would find your waist during group photos, how he'd get particularly aggressive in defending you from chat's criticism, those late-night streams where his gaze would linger just a bit too long.

"But you and him-“ you start, then stop, uncertain how to frame the question.

"Me and him what?" Luigi prompts gently, though his expression suggests he knows exactly what you're struggling to articulate. "Are together? Kinda. Not really. But that doesn't negate-“ He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Look, we've never been conventional, the three of us. You know that."

You sink back down beside him, mind spinning. "So when he came at me about being fake-bisexual-“

"He was projecting. Hard." Luigi's fingers find your hair again, resuming their soothing rhythm. "You know how he gets when he's fighting feelings he's not ready to deal with. Don’t forget, he spent a whole week two years ago ranting about parasocial relationships on stream right before he realized he actually had his own fucked up obsession with me before we met.”

"So this whole identity crisis meltdown was actually about-“

"About wanting you? Yeah. And feeling guilty about wanting you, because of me, because of his public image, because of a million other things his anxiety-riddled brain came up with."

You let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. "Jesus Christ, we're all fucking idiots."

"Speak for yourself," Luigi's tone is playful, but there's an undercurrent of something more serious. "Some of us have been very aware of what's going on. Just waiting for the other two to catch up."

The thought of Luigi watching this whole dance play out, understanding both sides while you and Hasan circled each other like cat and mouse makes you groan. "How long?"

"That stream where you both got into it. The one that ended up all over LSF.” His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair. "The way he looks at you when you’re fired up, passionate — I knew. And I knew you were just as drawn to him, even if you were both too fucking stubborn to see it."

As if beckoned, there's another tap at the door — lighter than Luigi's had been, less confident, but heavy all the same. "Hey," Hasan begins, his forehead pressed against the door just as Luigi's had been moments before, "can I come in?"

You look at Luigi, and then at the door, hoping that maybe he'd make the decision for you, but it seems he's in no mood to rescue you any further. His dark eyes meet yours with quiet understanding — this is your move to make, your decision to call. The weight of it settles in your chest, alongside the echo of Hasan's voice, uncharacteristically small through the wood.

“Come in.” You decide eventually, your voice light, unsure, terrified of ruining anything further than it may have already been.

The sight of him when he opens your door is warm, his body as large as usual, but he looks much smaller somehow, his features soft with solemn, his cheeks stained red from the last two days of worrying — it’s breathtaking in a way, seeing him in a new light, bound to you with new purpose.

Luigi stays propped on his elbow, his fingertips grazing gently over your forearm as he waits for his world to heal, or to cave in.

"Please forgive me." Hasan scrubs his hands over his face, glasses abandoned somewhere in his room, leaving him looking strangely naked and boyish without them. "Or tell me you'll never look at me again. Just-“ he sucks in a shuddering breath, "Let me live or put me out of my misery."

You can't help but note his theatrics, the way he wears his heart on his sleeve like a Shakespearean tragedy.

But there's nothing artificial about it — this is purely Hasan, who's always felt everything at maximum volume; you’ve seen it countless times in the way he rants about politics until his voice goes hoarse, how his eyes follow Luigi across rooms, and how he throws his whole body into laughing at your jokes.

Despite how deeply his words had cut you two nights ago, despite the ache that still sits heavy in your chest, you know his pain is just as real. He's been wrestling with his own demons these past few days — torn between his undefined limbo with Luigi, his growing feelings for you, and the fear of destroying the delicate ecosystem the three of you have created.

"Come here." Your voice comes out barely above a whisper, softer than you've ever spoken to him, but your arms reach out with more certainty than your words. He stares at the offered embrace like it might be a mirage, like you might snatch it away the moment he moves and the hesitation in his usually confident movements makes your heart clench.

Finally, he breaks, crossing the space between you in those long strides of his. The bed dips under his weight as he slides in, fitting himself into the space between you and Luigi like he's afraid of taking up too much room — so different from his usual sprawling presence.

Then he's folding himself around you, his broad frame covering yours completely, face buried in the crook of your neck as he holds you like he's memorizing the feeling, like you might dissolve into smoke if he loosens his grip.

The quiet settles around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft sounds of breathing and the distant hum of city life through your window.

Hasan's weight should feel suffocating, but instead it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the last few days where everything felt like it was spinning out of control.

You feel Luigi's hand slide up your arm again, a tender point of contact that bridges the gap between all three of you, and then his fingers trail higher until they tangle in the short hairs at the nape of Hasan's neck, and you feel the larger man shudder against you at the touch.

It's intimate in a way that makes your chest tight — not with jealousy as it might have been before, but with something else, something expanding and undefined.

"I'm sorry," Hasan mumbles again into your skin, his lips brushing against your collarbone with each word. "I didn't mean to- I wasn't trying to-" He struggles to find the words, and you feel his frustration in how his fingers curl tighter into your (his) sweatshirt.

You wait, patient now in a way you couldn't be during the argument, letting him find his way through the tangle of his thoughts.

"I know," you murmur, because you do. You understand now what you couldn't see through the red haze of hurt before — how his fear of disrupting the careful balance between the three of you had made him lash out, pushing you away before you could reject him first.

How he'd been watching you and Luigi dance around each other for over a year now, the same way you'd been watching them, and Luigi and been watching the two of you, everyone too afraid to acknowledge the growing tension, the deliberate touches, the prolonged glances across the dinner table.

Luigi's hand leaves Hasan's neck to cup your cheek, turning your face toward him. His eyes are dark and serious in the dim light of your bedroom, searching your face for something, and whatever he finds there makes his expression soften, the corner of his mouth lifting in that quiet way of his that always makes your heart swell.

"You could have just told me." The words come out softer than intended as you look at Luigi, one hand absently trailing along Hasan's spine where he's still draped over you. "Both of you."

There's a weighted pause, and Luigi meets your gaze with that gentle steadiness of his, though you catch the slight tension in his jaw. "Well," he says finally, "I just did."

His voice carries a note of something — not quite defense, not quite apology. His fingers trace abstract patterns against your shoulder, and you know he's thinking of all the times he'd tried to bridge this gap before.

It was never his place to unravel Hasan's heart for him, though Luigi had always been the bravest of you three when it came to matters of love — quick to affirm his feelings for you both, ready to acknowledge the way his affection spilled over boundaries you'd all pretended to maintain.

Even now, watching him watch Hasan, you can see that same careful love in his eyes, patient and unwavering.

Often, Luigi would wonder if you truly didn't see it or if you were choosing to look away — if maybe that was easier than acknowledging the way Hasan's eyes would linger on you both over morning coffee, the way conversations would stretch into loaded silences, the way touch had become its own language between the three of you.

A year of each of you being just out of reach.

"Tell you what?" Hasan lifts his head from your neck, and this close you can see every detail of his face — the constellation of freckles across his nose, the slight crease between his brows, the vulnerability raw in his eyes.

He looks at you first, then Luigi, and you feel the moment his heart rate spikes, the thundering pulse where his chest meets yours. It's strange, you think, how someone so large can suddenly seem so fragile, caught between fight and flight.

You look between them — Luigi's knowing half-smile, Hasan's deer-in-headlights stare — and something warm unfurls in your chest. Your arms tighten around Hasan instinctively, leg hooking over his thigh as if to keep him from bolting. "You handle crushes like a middle schooler," you murmur, and the words should be teasing but they come out tender instead, wrapped in all the affection you've been carefully compartmentalizing.

Hasan's breath catches audibly, and you feel the tremor that runs through him, see the way his pupils dilate as he processes your words while Luigi huffs out a soft laugh, reaching over to brush his knuckles against the dimple in your cheek, the gesture achingly familiar.

You throw caution to the wind, tired of the performance, tired of pretending. With one arm still wrapped around Hasan, you reach for Luigi, fingers curling into his shirt to draw him closer. His eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning just before your lips meet his.

It's nothing like your previous kisses — those hazy moments colored by tequila shots or mushrooms on a beach in Hawaii, always with plausible deniability come morning.

This is deliberate, clear-headed, a statement as much as it is a kiss.

You feel Hasan's breath hitch against your neck, feel the way his fingers tighten in your sweatshirt.

But he doesn't pull away — if anything, he presses closer, like he's afraid to miss a moment of this as Luigi makes a soft sound against your mouth, something reverent and wanting.

When you finally break apart, Luigi's eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. His thumb traces your lower lip, and you feel Hasan shudder against you at the gesture.

"Fuck," Hasan breathes, and the raw want in his voice makes you shiver. His eyes are fixed on where Luigi's thumb still rests against your lip, tracking the small movement like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. There's color high on his cheeks, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his tshirt.

Luigi turns his attention to Hasan then, and you watch the silent communication pass between them — years of friendship and something-more-but-not-quite spiraling into this moment. "Your turn," Luigi murmurs, and the gentle command in his voice makes something warm pool in your stomach.

Hasan hesitates for just a moment, his eyes darting between you both as if seeking permission one final time, and you answer by sliding your hand up his neck, into his hair, guiding him down until his lips meet yours.

Where Luigi was sure and steady, Hasan kisses like he's drowning, like he's been holding himself back for so long that now he can't help but pour everything into it. His weight shifts fully onto you, pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you feel Luigi's hand slip between your bodies, resting over Hasan's thundering heart.

When you break apart, Hasan's eyes are glassy, his lips parted. Luigi makes a soft sound, something between appreciation and want, before he's leaning in to capture Hasan's mouth with his own.

You watch them kiss above you, mesmerized by the way they fit together, by how right it feels to be caught between them like this.

"Mm," you hum, fingers finding the hem of Hasan's shirt. You lift it slowly, deliberately, giving him time to object if he wants to. "I get to prove my bi-ness to the king himself." The words come out soft, teasing but tender.

Your hands smooth up his sides as the fabric rises, and you feel the shiver that runs through him, see the vulnerable look in his eyes that says he can't quite believe this is real as his expression shifts from dazed to stunned, the full meaning hitting him, his eyes darting between you and Luigi as the pieces click into place. "But you haven't-"

"I know," you murmur, nuzzling against his cheek, feeling the slight rasp of stubble against your skin. “No need to remind me again.”

Your right hand finds Luigi's shirt, drawing him in for another kiss — brief but full of promise, and when you pull back, you meet Hasan's wide-eyed gaze with a soft smile. "Who better, though?"

Who better than these two men who've become so integral to your life, who make you feel safe and wanted and understood?

Hasan makes a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "No pressure or anything," he manages, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays how affected he is by the idea.

Luigi's hand slides up Hasan's back, steadying in its nature. "We'll take care of you.” he says, and though his words are directed at you, you feel Hasan relax under his touch.

"Please," you whisper, and you're not sure what exactly you're asking for — their hands, their mouths, their patience as you learn their bodies. Maybe all of it. Your fingers return to the hem of Hasan's shirt, this time with more purpose. "Off. Both of you.”

Luigi's smile turns knowing, and he sits back just enough to pull his own shirt over his head in one smooth motion and Hasan follows suit, though with less grace.

The contrast between them; Luigi's lean elegance and Hasan's broad strength, it makes your core rattle and your teeth chatter.

They're different from what you're used to — where women were soft floral notes and gentle exploration, Hasan and Luigi are warm spice and intent. Their hands are familiar, but transformed now by purpose and care.

You find yourself cataloging the contrasts.

The slight roughness of palms, the broader spans of fingers, the way they move with a reverence that's both tender and hungry. It's new territory, but you're finding that different doesn't mean daunting.

Luigi notices your contemplation. "Still with us?" he murmurs against your shoulder, and you nod, tilting your head to catch his eye.

It truly feels like time slows and speeds all at the same time and eventually, there’s nothing left between the three of you besides skin and eager breaths — there’s a mouth pressing kisses to your side, right across your ribs, and another pair of lips trailing down past your hip bones, right between your thighs that are nudged apart with an eager chin.

When you open your eyes to look down, you're met with a sight that would make renaissance masters weep — Luigi's elegant hands mapping the curves of your body, his green eyes dark with desire as they hold your gaze.

Hasan worships your inner thighs with desperate, reverent kisses, his usual boundless energy transformed into something achingly tender, and they work in perfect harmony — Luigi steadying one trembling thigh while Hasan lavishes attention on the other, both of them treating you with a gentleness that they always have, but different now.

"You ok?" The question drifts up through the fog of anticipation, and though their voices are usually so distinct, right now you couldn't say which of them asked. You manage a nod, fingers finding Hasan's wrists and holding on like a lifeline as your brows draw together with barely contained want; you can feel the heat in your cheeks, the desire making your blood sing.

"Mhmm," you whimper, the sound more desperate than you intended. "I - fuck. I'm ok." The words come out breathless, broken.

They interpret your response as permission, their worship transforming instantly into raw hunger.

Luigi's mouth traces a passionate path across your body — lavishing attention on your nipples before trailing heated kisses from chest to neck and back again. Meanwhile, Hasan's strong hands encircle your thighs, spreading them wider as he tastes you. His tongue works in deliberate patterns, the wet heat traveling slow from your entrance to your clit.

Each touch is a careful study of your reactions — the way you arch when teeth graze skin, how your breath catches at the perfect pressure. They decode you like a language, discovering which caresses make you shiver and which make you melt. Every mark they leave feels intentional, every kiss calculated, as if they're composing and using your body's responses as their score.

And you love all of it.

Luigi's fingers trail through Hasan's hair as he works between your thighs, the tender gesture drawing a deep hum against your sensitive flesh. "You sound so pretty like this," Luigi murmurs against your ear, his voice honey-warm and intimate. “Still ok?” Your only response is yet another desperate and trembling nod as Hasan slowly presses a single finger inside you, his touch careful but insistent.

His lips worship the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and when he looks up to meet Luigi's gaze, there's something primal in their shared glance that makes your pulse quicken. "Fuck, Lu," Hasan breathes, his voice rough with desire.

Your body betrays your limited experience — every flutter and tension around his finger confirms what you'd thought was just a myth about first times. The way you instinctively clench around him has Hasan moving with exquisite care, his concern for your comfort evident as he presses sweet kisses to the rest of you, as if to apologize.

He lavishes gentle attention on your most sensitive spot, his tongue eventually moving in careful circles while he watches his finger ease in and out of you; the sight of your body gripping him so tightly, combined with the velvet heat of you, draws a low sound from his throat, “Tell me if it’s too much, baby.”

The stretch when he adds a second finger makes your breath catch — his thick digits creating a fullness that your own explorations never prepared you for. Instead of voicing the keen building in your throat, you anchor yourself by gripping Luigi's arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath your trembling fingers.

Luigi presses close, his temple hot against yours, each ragged exhale searing itself into your memory. "That's it, sweet girl," he breathes, his voice dark velvet against your ear. "Tell me how good it feels." The raw need in his tone makes your entire body flush with heat, caught between his whispered encouragement and Hasan's relentless attention below.

Your breath comes in sharp gasps as Hasan's rhythm intensifies. His gaze remains transfixed, drinking in every reaction while Luigi cradles you, murmuring devotions as if you're something precious and divine. "I- fuck — so fucking-“ The words fracture as pleasure builds, your thighs trembling wider as your fingers reach to tangle desperately in Hasan's dark curls. "Please, I'm about to-"

He withdraws his touch with careful reluctance, making a show of bringing his glistening fingers first to his own mouth, then to Luigi's waiting lips.

The sight of them sharing the taste of you sends electricity down your spine, almost enough to tick you right over the edge.

“Not yet.”

Clearly, this is merely the prelude.

"Please," tumbles from your lips once more, the uncertainty crystallizing into clarity. "Fuck me."

They move in perfect synchronization, a wordless understanding passing between them.

Luigi takes position while Hasan settles beside you, his hands mapping gentle paths across your skin, lips trailing warm kisses from your cheek to the hollow of your throat.

The stark difference in their sizes suddenly illuminates their choice — Luigi's perfect proportions versus Hasan's overwhelming abundance.

Luigi teases you with exquisite patience, drawing his length along the slick of your entrance to your clit until you're trembling, your fingers instinctively seeking out Hasan's curls, pulling him closer as your breath catches with each careful stroke.

Hasan's hand slides between your thighs with purposeful tenderness, guiding you to open wider, his touch is steady and sure as he helps position you for Luigi, who's transformed into a vision of desire — cheeks flushed pink, breath coming in soft pants as he aligns himself, and when he finally presses forward, it's with such care that your heart nearly rips in two.

He treats you like something precious, something that could shatter with too much force; in this moment, their strategic decision becomes even clearer — they've chosen the gentlest possible introduction to this new pleasure.

Despite Hasan's innate gentleness, he knows his limits — the decision to let Luigi guide you through this first experience speaks volumes of his devotion to you, and in turn, his devotion to Luigi.

The recognition of his own intensity, and his choice to put your comfort first.

Both boys release deep, resonant sounds of approval as Luigi settles fully inside you, his eyes searching your features intently, reading every micro-expression as pleasure begins to eclipse the initial discomfort. "You doing alright, askim?" Hasan's whisper is tender against your ear, and your eager nod is accompanied by your hand finding his cock, hard and desperate beside you.

The evidence of his arousal coating your fingers only emphasizes how much restraint he's showing for your sake, but Luigi’s response to you is electric — both from being buried inside you and watching you come undone.

His grip on your hips tightens as his thrusts grow more confident, more purposeful, and your plea for more sends a visible shiver through him, though your strokes along Hasan's length are uneven, the combination of your touch and the scene unfolding before him draws deep, guttural sounds from his throat.

The initial discomfort melts away entirely, replaced by waves of pleasure that have you making sounds you've never heard from yourself before — soft whimpers evolving into breathless gasps and high, needy cries as Luigi finds his rhythm.

"We should have had you like this ages ago," Luigi breathes, dipping down to capture your lips before turning to kiss Hasan, who's come completely undone beside you, his usual composure dissolving into heavy breaths and desperate sounds. "Taking it so good.” Luigi praises, his voice thick with adoration.

A sharp breath hisses between your teeth as an absurd thought flickers through your mind — what those dedicated internet sleuths would make of this scene, those who parse every glance and gesture between you three.

How different from their careful analyses is this reality.

Then again, you know there’s plenty who have imagined this exact scenario.

Luigi's breathing grows increasingly erratic, and you instinctively pull him deeper, wanting to feel every tremor, every twitch of muscle; Hasan reads the signs as clearly as you do, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth as he whispers, "Gonna make Lu come, hm?."

Your brows knit together as you watch where your bodies join, mesmerized by the sight of yourself taking his cock like your body was built for it.

Hasan's voice is rough with need when he asks, "Where do you want him?”

Your wordless answer comes in the form of clinging arms and a pleading look at Hasan, who considers only briefly before giving a subtle nod. "Oh," Luigi breathes, understanding washing over his features. "That’s my baby."

The sensation is foreign but instantly addictive — the flood of warmth deep inside your body, Luigi's movements becoming languid and tender as he works through his release. His kisses turn messy and desperate against your lips, punctuated by breathless praise. "Y’did so good," he pants between kisses, "so perfect.”

Their transition is seamless again — Luigi settling beside you while Hasan returns to taste the evidence of what came before, his tongue moving with dedicated purpose, savoring the mingled essence of you both. "Ready to go again?" Luigi murmurs against your skin, teeth grazing your chin with playful intent, his satisfied smile suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Mhmm,” you find yourself mirroring his expression, every wall you’d ever built long gone now, washed away downstream, never to return.

Hasan feels different from Luigi, the stretch making your thighs tremble as a low whine ripples from your core, your hands grabbing for anyone, anything to hold onto as you curse, “Jesus fucking-“ your lungs filling with ragged breaths, the fullness you feel this time different from his fingers, or even from Luigi. “Goddamn.”

“You’re ok,” Luigi whispers, reaching to smooth your hair out of your face again, his thumb grazing your cheekbone with a tenderness he’d only reserved for the two of you. “Just takes a minute.” He assures, and Hasan barely has a quarter of himself inside you then, only taking it inch by inch every few moments that pass, watching as your expression shifts. “Doing so good, sweet girl.”

Eventually, Hasan begins to move his hips, his rhythm achingly slow but surprisingly controlled, his eyes cast over you like you’ve always meant everything, and finally, he gets his fill — again, the ache that settled and washed away with Luigi does the same after a few minutes getting adjusted to the size of Hasan, your hips in his hands as his pace becomes a bit more substantial, his eyes still scanning over you like you’re sacred.

“So fucking-“ Hasan hisses softly, his jaw slack as he watches his cock disappear inside of you, only to reappear again, the slick heat you’re imparting onto him glistening between you. “Fuck, baby.”

There’s more worship done to your body than you’d ever experienced before, kisses to your chest, your neck, hands holding you tenderly wherever they possibly can and eventually, Hasan holds back nothing, his hips rutting into you with a newfound purpose.

The purpose?

To completely wreck you.

And that’s exactly what he does, your eyes becoming unfocused, your body harnessing a mind of its very own, the same squeals from earlier eventually becoming silent, dying in the back of your throat before they can see daylight.

Everything blurs into soft kisses and sweet murmurs before Hasan's control finally breaks. His hips snap against yours with years of pent-up longing — all that time spent holding back, terrified of losing what matters most.

When the next dose of warmth floods you, it's the final push that sends you tumbling over that precipice you've been hovering near for what feels like forever, shattering into a symphony of sounds you never knew you could make — soft whimpers dissolving into desperate cries, every nerve ending sings an alien song you hardly understand.

Their instant kisses trace delicate paths across your flushed skin while lingering aftershocks ripple through your body like electric currents, each tender touch and whispered affection wrapping you in waves of pure adoration as you bask in feeling more cherished, more completely loved than you've ever known possible.

Luigi nuzzles against your ear with feather-light tenderness, his lips brushing your earlobe as he whispers words that feel like sacred devotion, each syllable a prayer offered at your altar — holy, yet tinged with sweet desperation as he trails kisses along your jaw, "We love you so much, would never let anything hurt you."

And Hasan presses close on your other side, his face nestled against yours as if trying to memorize every detail — your scent, the softness of your skin, the gentle rhythm of your breathing — etching this perfect moment into his soul like capturing light, his whispered words mirroring Luigi's devotion, "Never want to know a life that doesn't have you in it like this."

Your mind drifts hazily through the layers of his meaning — whether he's speaking of his long-standing connection with Luigi, this moment you're sharing, or perhaps your chosen path in an industry that puts you on display for the world to dissect.

Which pieces of your intertwined lives is he holding closest?

Scattered across the internet are countless interpretations of your dynamic — elaborate theories spun from fleeting glances, artwork born from imagined moments, stories woven from fragments of on-stream interactions, and you’d always dismissed it as background noise, just the natural consequence of putting yourself in front of an audience, the predictable result of human nature seeking patterns and meaning.

But there's an unsettling truth that rises to your chest — somehow these strangers on the internet had pieced together what you couldn't see in yourself, had mapped the contours of your heart before you'd even begun to explore them.

And that is more than enough to cause anyone to spiral.

(I’m sorry I’m afraid you crash out after this)

#req #Lasan #giiiiirl get ready #sorry I’m posting so late!!!!!!#hasan piker fanfiction #Luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x reader #hasan piker x reader

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revasserium · 9 months ago

Text

you

hayato suo; 5,844 words; fluff and angst, semi!dark content, obsessive behavior, stalking, emotional manipulation, stalker!suo,big brother!togame

summary: fool me once, shame on me. fool me twice, shame on you.

a/n: this was written for both @pixelcafe-network's challenge friday prompt (i got the song 'shinunoga e-wa' which... well.) as well as @peachsukii's wonderful horror event! pls proceed with caution!

It is not a healthy obsession.

But obsessions rarely are.

The first time he sees you is through the hazy mist of a Monday morning, walking to school with Sakura and Nirei trailing behind him, bickering about a possible pop quiz in Japanese Literature that afternoon. Suo grins, his fingers laced behind his back as he nods along. He’ll do fine even if there is a pop-quiz. He knows, he knows —

And then, there you are, caught in the glimmer of sunrise, your cheeks brushed pink by rosy-fingered dawn — standing across the street, a tinkling conglomeration of phone charms dangling from your wrist. You’re turned to one side, laughing with someone he can’t quite see — and in that moment, Suo Hayato learns the meaning of the word jealousy.

He thought he had known it before but he knew then that every emotion he’d felt prior to this has been a mere shadow, a weak and straggling imitation of the real thing — curiosity, jealousy, fear, want —

“Suo-san?” Nirei’s voice is an unwanted interruption to his intense study of you, but he has a reputation to upkeep, so he turns and grins.

“Hm?”

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Sakura supplies over Nirei’s hitched hesitation.

Suo turns back towards where you were standing just a second ago, but you’re not there anymore. For a stomach-wrenching moment, he thinks he’s lost you, and he scans the street desperately for the shape of you until — ah — there.

“Who is that?” Suo asks, taking care to keep his voice casual, leaning over to bump Nirei with his shoulder. Nirei goes red at the contact before whipping out his little black booklet and flipping through the pages, clearing his throat.

“She just moved here!” Nirei supplies after announcing your name, “seems like she’s good friends with Togame from —”

“Shishitoren,” Suo finishes, his voice falling flat. His eyes catch on the sweep of your skirt as you casually loop your arm through Togame’s, leaning into his body as he ruffles your hair. Suo wonders, briefly, if he’d have been able to beat Togame had they been paired together in the faceoff and for a second, he resents Sakura for being the one chosen to fight him.

That night, he dreams of the softness of your touch, the tenderness of your palms, warm against his, and the intoxicating sweep of your eyelashes. He dreams of the milky skin of your thighs, of the candy-cane sweetness of your breath when you lean in to whisper something in his ear.

He wakes up sated and tempered, and he resolves to find out everything about you.

And it’s not difficult, not with a friend like Nirei.

You’re a childhood friend of Togame’s, a recent addition to the Shishitoren roster, though you’re not a fighter yourself. You remind him of Kotoha and he can already imagine you quipping back at his good-natured banter, how you’d flick your bangs from across your eyes.

He wanders across the borders on purpose, just to see you, but he’s good enough to stay out of sight. Though, even if he were found out, things between Boufuurin and Shishitoren are good now, aren’t they? There’s no reason he shouldn’t act as liaison, and build some new bridges between the two, is there?

“You were so serious for a while, Jou,” he overhears you say, hidden behind a hedge at a nearby park, his back pressed to the large tree under which you and Togame are, the pair of you on the park bench just beneath it’s shade.

“Was I? Yeah… guess I was. Went through a bad patch there,” Togame’s voice is deep, churning Suo’s stomach till it goes sour. Suo wonders if you like guys like this — all whisky and smoke and lazy Sundays. Somehow, he thinks you’d be more into guys like him —

Guys who would hold your hand like it’s the only thing they were put on this earth to do right. Guys who might kiss you and keep kissing you till he’s sure it’s perfect. He feels a gut-deep hatred of Togame, of the careless way he slings his arm around your shoulders, or the way he reaches out to ruffle your hair, mussing up your bangs.

Suo closes his eyes and leans back against the thick tree trunk and to anyone else, it might’ve looked like napping, or an afternoon meditation session. But in the theatre of Suo’s mind, he can see the way he would comb his fingers through your hair, how he’d treasure each silken tress, how he might press his nose into the crown of your head and breathe in deep — he can almost smell the citrus and coconut scent of your shampoo — he’d seen it when he paused by your house earlier that week.

It had been such an easy thing, and you’re so, so trusting. Leaving your front door unlocked, hurrying out because you were late for an afterschool cram session. Suo had followed you all the way from underneath the train tracks, telling himself that he was only watching out for you, like any good gentleman might do. He couldn’t exactly count on the ruffians from Shishitoren to look out for you — not like he would.

He’d slipped into your small house, easy as pushing through the door. And immediately, he’s caught by the scent of you — the slightly musty smell of wood and tatami mats, the floral, milky scent of your body cream, the damp trail that undoubtedly leads into your bathroom, where you’d just taken a shower (he’s sure; your hair was still wet when you ran out the door). He’d wandered through your house as if walking through a dream, lingering over the plastic wrappers in your garbage, from convenience store sandwiches. He frowns — a girl like you should have a more balanced diet, and he makes a mental note to change that.

He’d gone from room to room, pausing over this and that, tracing his fingers over the corners of your cabinets, the thin wooden railing along the steep flight of stairs leading to the second floor. He’d paused by your bedroom just to take it in — the girlishness of it, the pink bedsheets, patterned with tiny flowers, the stuffed animals toppled one over the other, the indent where you’d probably sat as you dried your hair. It’s not as neat as his own room, but there’s an orderliness that pleases him. He smiles as he notices a pair of discarded sleep shorts, crumpled by the bed; he toys with the idea of picking it up before thinking better of it.

Not now — not yet.

He takes careful stock of your medicine cabinet in your bathroom, memorizes the shampoo and conditioner bottles. He uncaps your favorite bottle of perfume (the one that’s almost finished) and breathes in deep, his senses sizzling within him as he feels his body prickling with heat, a swirling desire crystalizing at the base of his stomach.

Carefully, he unscrews the top and dabs a drop on each of his wrists before capping the bottle and placing it back exactly as it was.

And now, sitting here, listening to you and Togame talk, he feels a deep sense of satisfaction as he pulls a fresh bottle of the perfume from his pocket, turning the little bottle over and over in his palm. He’d found it easily enough, it’s a well-known brand, and not overly expensive.

“Oh — thanks for the fruits, by the way,” you say, “it had all my favorites!”

“Ah… fruits?” Togame asks.

“Mm — the basket that was sitting outside my door… wasn’t it from you? Or maybe Chouji… but anyways, it was nice! I had almost finished the lychee in one sitting — had to stop myself before it gave me a stomach ache.”

You laugh and Suo basks in the sound.

Togame chuckles, though there’s a distinct note of uncertainty that makes Suo’s lips twist.

“You used to eat them until you gave yourself nosebleeds,” he says, and there’s the distinct sounds of a tussle. You yelp, the sound dovetailing into a laugh as the smile slips off Suo’s face. His eyes snap open — he can almost see it, how Togame might reach over to pinch at your cheeks, how you might duck or swat him away.

Suo himself would never be so unruly.

“I gotta get to the bookstore — I’m covering for Momo’s shift today.”

He hears you getting to your feet, Togame following suit. Togame offers to walk you but you decline. And then you separate, each going your own ways. Suo waits till he’s sure you’re both gone before slowly getting to his feet, tucking the bottle of perfume back into his pocket.

The bookshop is a quaint little thing, tucked into a row of storefronts, all family owned and run. He takes a deep breath before ducking in, hitching a pleasant smile onto his face.

“Welcome!” your voice is bright as silver bells, “can I help you find anything today?”

Suo makes a show of looking around, eyes scanning the rows and rows of books, and then the manga section in the back. He points.

“Actually, yes — there’s a manga series that I love and I’m waiting for the next installment.”

You grin, “Sure! What’s the name? We don’t carry a huge stock, but I can definitely check for you!”

Suo delights in the blush that seeps into your cheeks as he mentions the name of your favorite shoujou manga (he’d seen the volumes at your house, the latest volume left open on your bed).

“O-oh! You like that one too?” you ask, your eyes scanning his face, as if this all might be a joke.

“Yeah!” Suo answers, linking his hands behind his back as you round the front table and lead him towards the manga section, “I think the art is nice but mostly, I like the slow development of romance between the two main characters — even though you know from the beginning they’re meant for each other.”

He’d done his homework; it’d taken a few days for him to read through the entire series, but he’d done it. For you, he would’ve done that and more.

You turn towards him, eyes wide and bright and excited.

“Yes! That’s so true! Here — this is the newest one, just came out three days ago —”

Suo takes it, letting his fingers skim by yours, reveling in the way your skin feels against his. Of course, he’s already read the latest volume, but he clutches it to his chest anyway and follows you to the front, content to listen to you chatter about the series and the reasons you love it.

“— just… I know it’s a shoujou series, and the main guy is meant to be lovable but — it’s just so realistic! Like he’s not perfect, but he just wants to do his best to protect the girl, y’know? And it’s so cute —”

Suo nods, reaching into his pocket for some cash.

You flap him away, “You can have that one! Think of it as a bribe — to keep you coming back for the next one,” you say, twin patches of darkness riding high in your cheeks.

Suo schools his expression into a bashful grin, “Are you sure? I can pay — I mean, I’d never turn down a gift from a pretty girl but —”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fiddling with your fingers, “I’m sure! Just… promise you’ll come back when you finish it so we can talk about it, okay?”

Suo nods, curling his fingers into the cover of the book, his heartbeat in his throat.

“Alright then. It’s a date.”

That night, he places the manga volume and the bottle of perfume next to each other on his shelf, leaning back to admire his handiwork. He brings his wrist up to his nose, taking a long breath — it’s not the same, the perfume against his skin as it would be against yours, but it’s enough for now — enough to pretend.

It does not take long after that, not with his frequent visits to the bookshop (he’s long since memorized your work schedule) and the growing friendship between Shishitoren and Boufuurin — it’s almost easy. Too easy.

And you are so perfect, so naive — so easy to manipulate that Suo almost feels bad — almost. When he leans in to kiss you for the first time, the pair of you tucked in the far stacks of the bookstore, him under the guise of helping you reach the upper shelves, he nearly loses himself in the way you gasp against his lips, your fingers curling into the front of his uniform.

He feels the reckless hunger that has been threatening to tear him apart every night since he first saw you that morning across the street coiling up the back of his throat as he curls his fingers into your hair and presses you to him.

When he forces himself to pull away, he’s pleased to find your eyes glassy, your lips dark and kiss-bruised, slick with spit and parted. You’re panting, your chest heaving with the sheer force of the kiss.

Suo leans down to press his forehead to yours.

“Finish your shift… I don’t want to distract you from your work.”

You nearly whine as you bury your face in his chest.

“What if — what if I want you to distract me?”

It’s a horribly cliche thing to say — in fact, Suo is certain that it’s a line lifted straight from your shoujou manga. He swallows down a groan at the thought of pushing you into the back closet and having his way with you then and there but — he reels in his mind and takes a breath, shaking his head.

“Finish your shift first,” he says, playing the part of the ever-considerate boyfriend, “then… I’ve got a present for you.”

He tugs away to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger, before pulling away completely and bending down to pick up a stack of books that still need to be shelved.

You heave a long sigh, but don’t complain as you follow after him, trying your best to hide a smile that nevertheless pulls at your cheeks.

Outside the bookshop, Suo presents you with the bottle of perfume.

“I know it’s not very expensive but… for some reason, the scent made me think of you,” Suo says, his voice the perfect timber between hopeful and hesitant. You gasp, looking down at the label.

“Hayato! This is my favorite perfume! How… how did you know?”

Suo shrugs, smiling that enigmatic smile of his, “I didn’t — I just… I saw it at the store and thought of you,” he lets the heat flush into his cheeks, pursing his lips in a perfect imitation of bashfulness.

You throw your arms around him and press your lips to his cheek.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! And I was so close to finishing my own bottle too! Ugh — this is just too perfect!” you sink back to your feet, your arms still looped around his neck.

Suo lets his hands settle around your waist, laughing as you smile up at him. And then — you’re tugging him down by the collar of his uniform, your lips finding his, and all coherent thought leaves him again.

It isn’t till someone coughs that the pair of you pull apart.

“Ah… if it isn’t Suo-san,” Togame’s voice is at once amused and slightly suspicious. Suo peers over your head and shoots him an unassuming grin.

“Togame-san — it’s been a while.”

“Jou… I didn’t know you were coming over today,” you say, ducking your head as you surreptitiously wipe at your lips with the back of your hand.

“I wasn’t, but I found myself in the area so I thought I’d drop by,” Togame’s eyes flicker between you and Suo before settling on you. There’s a curious tick to his eyebrows as you refuse to meet his gaze.

You chew on your bottom lip for a good second before saying, “So… you guys have met before, right?”

Suo nods, “Yep! It was quite a meeting, but I think we all came out of it pretty okay.”

Togame lets out a low chuckle, “Sure. You could say that. How’s Sakura doing?”

Suo shrugs, “He’s fine — but there’s not much that’ll get him down. I heard Tomiyama-san’s doing much better now too.”

Togame bobs his head, tucking his hands into his pockets, “Yeah, he is. Uh listen… I didn’t mean to intrude or anything — just wanted to check in on my uh — friend here —” he jerks his head in your direction, smirking as you blush, looking anywhere but at his face.

“I’m fine Jou — I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Dunno, you still act plenty like a baby sometimes.”

You pout, eyes flashing as you turn to glare at him. There’s an easy tease in the lilt of Togame’s voice that sets Suo’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t like how close you and Togame are — never have — but he supposes there’s nothing he can do about it. Not right now, at least.

“Okay well we were just leaving —” you say, tugging on Suo’s sleeve.

“Yeah? Where to?” Togame asks, casual as anything, sauntering over to keep pace with the pair of you as you start down the street.

“Uhm…” you start, clearly not having thought this through, but Suo swoops in gallantly, reaching down to lace your fingers through his in a smooth, familiar motion.

“We were going to her place — to watch a movie.”

“Yeah?” Togame peers at you from over the rims of his tinted shades.

“Yeah!” you answer, perking up as you give Suo’s hand a grateful squeeze, “there’s one we’ve been meaning to watch —”

“The Talented Mr. Ripley,” Suo supplies, easy as anything.

You blink up at him, startled, but he only grins. A moment later, you blush, eyes flickering back towards Togame.

“Y-yeah — that one —”

Togame’s gaze ping-pongs between you and Suo, his brows ticking up ever so slightly.

“Yeah… I’ve seen that one — about a guy who pretends to be someone he’s not, right?”

You frown, but Suo squeezes your hand.

“Yep, that’s the one. It’s got a great roster of A-list actors, and the cinematography is really good.”

Togame nods, his eyes settling on you. You lick your lips, nodding along with Suo, flashing Togame a smile that he doesn’t return.

He walks all the way to the end of the street with the pair of you before pausing, cocking his head to watch you turn down the right with Suo at your side. You glance over your shoulder and catch his eyes; there’s a strange glimmer in them that you can’t name but it roils your stomach and makes your heart sputter like a blown out candle in your chest.

You don’t end up watching a movie at yours, but you do laze against Suo’s chest, his fingers threading through your hair as you flip through your favorite volume of your shoujou manga. Suo shifts, his nose pressing into your hair.

“I’ve always loved the scent of your shampoo — you’re almost out though, right?”

You nod absently, “Yeah, I need to buy more…”

You flip another page, and then another. In the intricately drawn manga panels, the protagonist blushes as the male lead traces his fingers along her jawline, tipping her head back for a kiss.

Suo trails deft fingers along your jaw, twisting you around. The manga falls face-down on the worn tatami mat as he covers your lips with his. There’s always been a ferocity to his kisses, but while at the bookshop, he tried to keep his decorum. Here, however, he makes no attempt to mask his hunger, his urgency as he digs his fingers into the skin of your cheek, holding you so tightly you nearly gasp at the sting.

You’re breathless when you pull back, and so is he, his eyes unfocused, his fingers curling into your hair till you wince.

“H-Hayato?” you ask, pressing a palm to his chest.

“Hm?” his single eye flickers wildly over your face, as if desperate to capture the image of you, as if might never be enough just to see you, but to carve you into his memory —

“How… how did you know about my shampoo?” you ask, tilting your head, a tiny frown creasing your forehead.

“What… what do you mean?” he asks, tugging you back down to graze his lips along yours, his words soft and distracted. You groan as he kisses you again, hoisting you up till you’re sitting over his lap, your thighs straddling his.

But you pull back, shaking your head, laughing as he chases you.

“No — I was just — I don’t think I’ve ever told you about my shampoo running low.”

Suo’s frown mirrors your own, his expression one of perfect, innocent confusion.

“Hadn’t you? Maybe I saw it the last time I was in the bathroom.”

You purse your lips, but decide not to think too hard on it. You’d probably mentioned it to him in passing — you’d spent so much time together in the past few weeks. It’s not an impossible thing.

He does so love to listen to you talk, about anything, about everything.

It isn’t till he leaves much later that night that you flick on the light in your bathroom and pull back your shower curtains.

There sit your shampoo and conditioner bottles, lined up along the wall just as they’ve always been. And, just as you remember — the bottles are definitely not see-through.

Little things start to go missing after that — your favorite hair tie, one of your well-used pencils, a single earring, a pair of sleep shorts. Though when you complain to Suo that you seem to be losing more things than usual lately, all he’d done was grin and take you to the shopping center, promising to buy whatever it is that you’d lost.

He helps you pick a new hair tie, a new set of pencils, new earrings that sparkle just as well as the first pair. You blush as he leads you towards the loungewear section, but he presses a reassuring kiss to your temple and tells you that he likes shopping with you — for you.

He whispers against the shell of your ear that he likes the thought of you in things he’s picked out for you.

You shiver at his words, all thoughts about your lost items forgotten.

Togame, though, does not seem to share your optimism about the relationship.

“Dunno — I thought he was alright when I first met him but — even then…” he trails off, casting his eyes up at the light-specked canopy of the large tree you’re both sitting under. You’d wanted to do a picnic before the weather gets too cold for one, and he’d begrudgingly agreed.

You reflect, vaguely, that you’d been seeing less and less of him these days too.

“You’re just mad that I’m spending more time with someone from Boufuurin,” you say with a determined, teasing smile. Togame fixes you with a look over his customary shades, holding your gaze till you flush and look away.

“Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”

You huff, folding your arms, “He’s not that bad! He’s actually really nice to me!”

Togame chuckles, “I believe it, it’s just… nice isn’t exactly the same as good.”

You scowl at him, “What does that even mean?” but something crystalizes in the back of your mind, hardening into a dark speck of suspicion.

You try not to think about it, try not to let it invade your thoughts — but sometimes, when you’re at the bookshop, or even when you’re home alone at night, you’d feel it — the sense that something isn’t right, that someone might be watching you.

But every time you’d turn around, you’d find yourself alone — the bookshop empty, the house quiet, except for the ancient creak of wood and the shuffle of tiny little critters beneath the floorboards.

“Why do we never go to your place?” you ask one day, over steaming bowls of noodles, the wind outside howling something fierce. Suo looks up, blinking.

He swallows his mouthful of ramen and wipes his mouth with pristine, practiced motions.

“Ah — it’s honestly a little embarrassing but… my place is a bit uh —” he shrugs, “a bit messy.”

You frown, “But… you told me that you hated mess. And there was that one time you offered to help me organize the books at the bookstore alphabetically because you said that’s how you organized them at home… right?”

Suo stares, something very much like annoyance flickering behind his eye. But a second later, he lets out a bright laugh.

“No, you’re right! It’s just — it’s not very clean right now — but if you want to see my place, you’re more welcome to see it.”

You nod, trying to convince yourself that you’d been worried for nothing.

“Yeah, I’d love to see it! And you don’t have to clean stuff up for me — I won’t judge you, I promise!” you grin, and lower your eyes back to your own bowl of ramen.

“Sure, you can come over tomorrow if you’d like,” Suo says, watching you slurp at your noodles with an indulgent grin.

You nod, flushing as you almost choke on your mouthful of noodles in your eagerness.

“Y-yeah! I’d love to! We can — we can watch that movie you were talking about.”

“Hm? Which movie?”

“Oh — that one you mentioned to Jou that one time —”

Again, that flicker of something like annoyance, sharp as a knife’s edge, and gone just as quick.

Suo’s smile is impeccable as he calls for the check, “Oh yes — it’s a great movie, one of my favorites. And I think you’ll like it too.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will! Our tastes are so similar,” you say, grinning as the waiter brings over the check and Suo sets a stack of immaculately folded bills on the table.

“You don’t always have to pay for things, you know,” you say as he laces your hands, the pair of you ducking out into the mid-autumn chill. He reaches out to pull on your collar, adjusting your muffler, tracing the line of your cheek with an affectionate finger.

The muffler, he’d given to you as a gift only two weeks prior, saying that he’d seen it at a sale. It’s your favorite color — but just last week, you’re sure you’d passed by a storefront with the exact same muffler, touting the season’s latest fashions, with a price tag that had made your stomach drop clear out of your body.

You’d convinced yourself that there’s no way he’d spent that kind of money on a gift for you. You’re both still in school — where would he have gotten the cash? Briefly, you consider that he might’ve stolen it.

But you quickly discard that line of thought as well, berating yourself internally for doubting your own boyfriend like this.

“I know,” Suo says, grinning as he leans down for a kiss, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” And he sounds so earnest, so utterly besotted that you don’t have the heart to doubt anything else.

“You’re too good to me,” you say, shy as the pair of you start on the now familiar walk back to your tiny, two story apartment.

“Banish the notion,” Suo declares, his voice gallant, and you laugh. But he tugs you close to wrap an arm around your middle and press chilly lips to your cold-kissed cheek, “there’s no such thing.”

You flush with a delighted warmth and lean into the comfort of his embrace.

The next day, Suo brings you to his place, just as he’s promised. And just as you’d expected, it’s impeccable to the point of derision. You bite your lips, looking around at the immaculate walls and floors, the perfectly lined shelves, the cupboards stocked and stacked as if by a rather neurotic military sergeant.

“So… I’m guessing you cleaned?” you ask, setting down your bag by the door and toeing off your shoes.

Suo laughs, nodding, “Just a bit, yes.”

“A bit?”

He grins, leading you into the living room, where a tea service is set up and water is already boiling in the kitchen.

“How… what —” you’re at a loss for words as Suo kneels by the low table and washes the tea with the boiling water.

“Can you blame me? It’s my girlfriend’s first visit to my place — I had to make it perfect.”

By the time he puts on the movie, you’re already heavy with an amazing dinner and sleepy with hot tea. You lean against him, drowsing as the movie picks up and a gorgeous, dirty-blond man chats up an equally gorgeous platinum blond woman.

“Mm… which one’s the bathroom?” you ask, your voice sleepy as you totter to your feet.

“Just down the hall — second door to your right,” Suo calls.

You nod as you patter down the dark hallway, keeping one hand on the wall to steady yourself. At the first door, you twist the knob out of reflex, only to find it locked.

Frowning, you twist it again, feeling the old lock jiggling in the door frame.

Suddenly, all hints of drowisness gone, you go still, a strange, vibrating giddiness welling up inside you at the thought of seeing Suo’s bedroom.

Why would he keep it locked? What embarrassing things might you find?

You twist the doorknob slowly, putting pressure on the bottom of the knob till you feel the lock give and the door swings open into a dark, nebulous space. And with one last glance over your shoulder, you slip inside.

The bedroom is small, and neat to the point of sparseness. There’s a writing desk sitting beneath a small window, and a small bookcase tucked against the opposite wall, next to a chest of drawers.

There are no posters on the wall, but there does seem to be a map of some sort. And at first, you think it’s one of those artistic print-maps of Tokyo or some bigger city, but as your eyes adjust to the dimness, you notice tiny little flag markers, and streets that are all too familiar.

You creep closer, as if drawn by an invisible string, until you’re almost nose to nose with the map — and seeing it clearly now, your breath deadens inside your chest.

You know these streets because they’re the streets of this city — of your city, and Suo’s as well. But it’s the thin lines that connect a series of tiny flags that makes your chest go cold — spot markers of your house, your cram school, the bookstore you work at, your favorite shops and restaurants, even the park that you and Togame always go to on weekends.

And the thin lines between them — the routes you take, day in and day out, all meticulously mapped.

Dizzy, you spin around, your eyes catching on the bookshelf, where a series of little trinkets sit in succession —

An empty perfume bottle, a volume of shoujou manga, a hair tie, a pencil stub, and a single glimmering earring.

Blood thunders behind your ears as you brace yourself against the writing desk, the wood creaking slightly beneath your palms.

Your eyes catch next on the chest of drawers, and a single article of clothing crumpled, sitting at the very top — a pair of sleep shorts, thin and worn and trimmed in lace.

Yours.

“I thought you needed to use the restroom.”

You jump at the sound of Suo’s voice, soft and calm and unnaturally steady.

You press a hand to your mouth to stifle what would’ve been a scream as Suo steps into the room and closes the door with a snap behind him.

“You know… it’s not very good manners to go into someone’s bedroom without their permission.”

You lick your lips, shaking your head.

“Hayato… what —” but you can’t the words — because there are no words. Instead, you gesture at the strange collection of baubles on his shelves before turning back to motion at the giant map tacked to the wall.

Suo nods, his hands laced behind his back, his expression amiable.

“What… is all this?” he asks, taking a few steps towards you. You scramble back, but find yourself already cornered against his writing desk. He makes no sudden movements, even as you look wildly around for any kind of escape route, your heart battering against your ribs, a scream building just beneath your lungs.

“It’s… a testament, I suppose,” he says, opening his arms, sighing, “to my feelings for you —” he takes a few more steps, closing the distance between you and him in a single, shuddering heartbeat.

His eye glitters almost red in the iridescent darkness.

“Because… don’t you see?” he asks, his voice now nothing more than a whisper as he reaches out to cup your cheek. You go still beneath his touch, as a deer caught beneath the bright beam of a hunter’s light.

“It’s always been you…” he says, crooning the words into your ears as he trails his fingers along the line of your jaw down to your throat, his thumb dipping into the hollow there before his fingers dig themselves into the nape of your neck.

You let out a soft whimper, feeling the hard crescents of his finger nails as they sink into your skin.

“I love you,” he says, his voice smooth as silk and sweet as poison, “and I wanted — no… I needed you to love me too.”

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isabeauwolf · 2 months ago

Text

Law x Plus Size Nurse reader 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 1: Dr Grumpy's got a crush

You were beyond tired.

Working as one of the nurses for the newest, high tech, fancy and affordable famous hospitals in The Grandline was a dream come true for some.

You?

Sure, it paid well. Fantastic. You worked and studied your ass off to get through nursing school. Somehow everywhere wasn't taking in new fresh, faced newbies. It made you lose hope. Tempted to go back to your old jobs by working as a librarian's assistant and busting tables on your days off.

After the last straw you decided to turn in an application for "Heart" General Hospital after making a bet with Nami that you wouldn't get in. Why?

The Head Director and Doctor Trafalgar Law is known to be an extremely professional and hardworking, overachieving and rude... highly attractive asshole.

The Surgeon of Death, Dr Heart Stealer was a Miracle Worker in his field, becoming one of the youngest and wealthiest, most sought after doctors on this side of Grandline. Knowing he came from The North Blue with his fellow coworkers and childhood friends, Penguin, Shachi and Bepo was cute.

Oh, you had seen him on the covers of magazines, one of the hottest and most eligible, rich and sexy bachelors on the marriage market.

Of course, you were a fan. Okay, a fangirl. Maybe, he was your teenage crush... Obsession... Still is. But that's beside the point!

Two years and you still couldn't believe you got in! Trafalgar Law had been away to conduct your interview, so the task had been handled by his Chief of Staff Bepo, the polar bear mink. Without a second hesitation you asked him for a hug which he gladly returned!

You had heard the rumors. He didn't play around when it came to his job, people's lives and was a hard ass to everyone. You do mean everyone.

And yet... Somehow. You could have sworn Dr Heart Stealer was extremely and unfairly targeting you. That he hated you since day one. You couldn't figure out why?

Oh, you would be nice and civil. But you weren't going to roll over and cower in the corner, hell no. So you would challenge him, bite back, your own childish, stubborn and bratty spiteful nature showing its ugly head whenever you were the most tired.

Seriously? What the hell did you do to earn the ire of Dr Grumpy, insomniac?

Doc's going to give himself an early heart attack or aneurysm one of these days you can see it. And frown lines and wrinkles. You wouldn't be surprised, if the twenty-six-year-old already had a few grey or white hairs secretly hidden underneath his unruly, inky black tresses.

Who will save our grumpy heart surgeon when he himself needs a Doctor? You thought to yourself as you got off the elevator. You phone buzzed, sneaking a glance as you unlocked your screen and opened a group chat message that consisted of you, Penguin, Shachi and Bepo.

Watch out, Y/n! Caps looking for you better make a run for it!

Uh oh, better, hurry. Seeing that message made you speed walk towards the exit.

You had already used the hospital showers and dressed in your casual pajamas, which consisted of a tank top, basketball shorts and a zip up hoodie. You were heading through the lobby and was closer out the door and to your bed when you heard Dr. Killjoy calling your name.

Damn, almost made it to freedom. You pause, halfway turning. Your hand tightening on the strap of your small black duffle bag with white spots, the hospital logo on it and your name embroidered. It was a company gift during Christmas for every one of the hospital staff and workers to receive a commemorative gift at the end of the new year. During your first year it was a soft yellow and black blanket with hearts all over it and last year was your duffle bag.

Law walks towards you, his brows knit tight as he scowls.

Well shit. That wasn't a good sign first thing in the morning.

Who the hell put sour candy in his coffee this morning? You thought to yourself, knowing he hated sour things when you offered him a blackberry war head once while on break, which he refused watching as you opened the wrapper and shoved it into your mouth without making a sour face. You swear he looked at you as if you were an alien. You just smiled and laughed, stuck out your tongue, showing him, the candy then putting the muscle back into your mouth, shoving it into your chubby cheek. "The trick is to suck on it to dissolve the coating faster."

He nodded his head and continued drinking his coffee.

Back to the present.

You're unsure why he's upset. Maybe it was because you were tired, or your sympathetic nature feeding off of Law like a giant emotional battery. It made your own temper and annoyance flare. You just wanted to go home, enjoy your day off, relax before coming back in tomorrow. Inwardly groaning you peaked outside the giant glance windows and into the parking lot, directly in the direction of your parked car. Please let this be quick.

With the scowling, towering, coffee addict doctor being so close, it's hard not to notice what he's wearing today. A dark navy sweater with the company logo directly over his crossed arms, black feathered collar, his spotted print faded washed denim jeans, black boots and hatless.

Such a shame to cover all of the tattoos that littered his body and hiding his lean yet hint of muscled physique. It's clear that he takes pride in his body. However, as nice as it looked. If you had to pick your favorite feature on Trafalgar Law? It would have to be his eyes. The most intense and icy, spine-chilling stormy silvers you'd ever seen.

"Hey." You answer, trying to act casual. "Need something?"

He stands in front of you. Well, damn. Penguin and Shachi were right. The Captain, Trafalgar Law is pissed off. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go home, take a nap and relax." You answer. "It's my day off today. Don't you remember, Captain?"

Captain was everyone nickname for Trafalgar Law, given he ran the hospital as if he literally was "The Captain" of a sea fearing vessel, a ship, no, better yet, a yellow submarine! Nah.

His scowl lowers into a frown.

What? You don't get it? Just what the hell did you do this time? You helped one of the interns who got lost trying to find the laundry room yesterday. To be fair, this hospital was massive! You took all of the dirty dishes down to the kitchen on your designated floor last night and took care of a new mother who's just given birth two hours ago. Seriously, what more does he want? You'd wish he'd tell you!

"Bepo is sick." Law explains, pinching the bridge of his nose with his middle and index finger. "Penguin and Shachi are already busy." He opens his eyes; flashes of anger and annoyance cross his face as he keeps his voice low. "In an hour we have a trio of brotherly burn victims on the way this morning and I need your assistance in the operating room."

You wanted to tell him it wasn't your problem. Sure, you've helped Bepo, Penguin and Shaci in the operating room before, but never Law. Never The Surgeon of Death and your Captain. But instead, you kept your mouth shut and in a firm line. You didn't want to already push anymore of his buttons and anger him further. "Okay." You say, trying to keep your tone even. "What about Ikkaku? Or-"

He cut you off. "No, L/n." He bites and continues. "There is no one else available right now. Only you."

"Someone is always on call." You fire back, anger rising. "Besides I'm not dressed for it."

His jaw clenches. "You do know our protocol and motto, don't you?"

If you are free and able to help, then you have to pull your weight until the task is done.

The Heart company motto?

Every patience who comes in is a top priority.

"You know what? Fine." You huff, throwing you small duffle bag onto the chair beside you. "Since you insist that I need to get ready now and last minute." You puff out your chest, hand on your hip as your turn and face your boss. "I'll get ready right here."

"You wouldn't dare." Law's lips twitched into a smug smirk, trying to call your bluff.

"Oh? I won't, doc?" Retaining eye contract with Law's amused liquid metal orbs, you proceed to quickly unzipping your jacket, yanking it off along with your blue tank top. "I'm get ready now."

You are standing in the middle of the lobby, fellow doctors, nurses and hospital staff, patience is watching the exchange between you two, but you don't care. You don't care that everyone is getting an eyeful of you half nude form, all your extra pounds, rolls, love handles, tiger stripes, thick thighs and hint of cleavage or your wide hips and ass.

You weren't ashamed of you body.

You owned it with pride. Besides, if a man didn't appreciate all of your curves and flaws then he wasn't worth your time.

Was it petty and crossing many social, illogical regulations and rule breaking behavior? Absolutely. You wouldn't be surprised, if you were giving a slap on the wrist or called into Law's office later for such an unabashed display as undressing in front of your boss but also for the whole hospital to see.

Frankly you were too tired and pissed off to care.

Then again. Watching Law's smug and cocky assed smirk vanish as his eyes widens, and his cheeks grow inflamed. You kept going, yanking off your basketball shorts, leaving you in your bra and underwear, throwing the clothes into your duffle and bending down Infront of him as you proceeded to put your scrubs back on.

Kicking off your flip flips and switching them out for your socks and tennis shoes before quickly retying your hair into a messy bun with a scrunchy you had kept on your wrist. "There. I'm dressed and ready for servitude." You gave a mocking salute. "Are you happy now, Captain?" Zipping your bag and marching while hissing as you pass him. "You owe me overtime, coffee and breakfast for this, Doc."

Law watches you go. He's too stunned to speak. His cheeks and tips of his ears are red. He simply had no words; he was completely tongue tied and flat out shocked.

Penguin, Shachi and Bepo saw the whole things. All three were covering their mouths for different reasons. Bepo out of worry and embarrassment, Penguin and Shachi were holding onto each other while trying not to blow their cover, each shoving a hand over their mouth as their shoulders shook and quaked.

"Damn, she got him good." Penguin whispered through clenched teeth.

"I think that's the first time a girl stood up to him and made him shut up." Shachi muttered, biting his bottom lip.

"Why didn't Captain say it nicer?" Bepo said, his voice muffled by his paws.

The other two glanced at the Polar Bear Mink as if he'd grown a second hand.

"Did you forget who our boss is?"

"Yeah, Captain snow leopard tsundere doc would rather eat bread than confess his jealousy and feeling for-"

Shachi and Bepo backed away, thier eyes widened.

"What?" Penguin stopped talking, then he felt a cold, icy chill crawling down his spine. "Shit, it's Cap, isn't it?"

The man and mink nodded.

Penguin turns, coming face to face with the most seething, venomous, heated glare they had ever been on their boss whenever StrawHat Luffy tries to shove bread into his face. Or anyone who really pissed The Surgeon of Death off!

"What was that, Pen?" Law's voice was low, heated and filled with deadly, sharp edges. "I'd rather do what?"

Penguin gulped. "Nothing."

"Good." Law grit out. "Get back to work." His gaze shifted to the other two. "Bepo, take this and go home." Law shoved his hands into his lab coat pocket and shoved the prescription into his chest. "Doctors orders. Stay home for two days and call me if your condition worsens."

All three scramble, shouting, "Ai, ai, Captain!"

Law sighed, scrubbing his face as he glances around the lobby. "Shows over."

Everyone shifts there gazes away, going about their business or getting back to work.

The grumpy doctor trudges his way back into his office, slamming the door shut. He leaned against the door, his grip on the door handles tight, white knuckled. Law's whole body felt flushes as his heartbeat thudded hard in his ears, the organ slamming against his ribcage and he leaned his head back and covered his eyes with his free hand. "Damned, stubborn, bull-headed woman." He muttered to himself.

How the hell was he going to think straight if all he could see behind when he closed his eyes was your half naked body? Not to mention the new annoying problem tightening in his pants. Law uncovered his eyes, clicking his tongue and glaring down his crotch. "Traitor." He adjusted himself, awkwardly, stiffly walking towards his work desk and sat down in his big, leather office chair. Trying to think about any turn off to solve this problem quickly.

------ End of Chapter 1 ----

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Want more Law x reader? I've got you!

Merman Law x reader Law x Pregnant reader

Okay, this whole enemies to loves was a complete impulse on my part but come on. I have to feed my fellow plus size ladies! ;)

Yes, I adore Law. I'd tease him all day long, but if he's going to be snippy with me then I'm bite back.

Sooo should I continue?

I haven't forgotten about my Law x Pregnant Reader, or Merman Law fangirls!

Tag list: @m0sigma7 @angelblueflame @pandora-writes-one-piece @short-honey-badger @supreme-burrito @fanaticsnail @turtletaubwrites @cherry-queens-blog @fairymama624 @mrstraffy @kira-scarllet @strawheart-pirate @azuragalaxya @kira-scarllet @the-ginger-draws @cericebelle @emlikesfl0w3rs @aceismyloveforever @mrstrafalgardwater24 @imsnk-ow @thekatisspooky @lunulatalux @physics-of-one-piece @honeyshiddendesire @pinkbun1

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 2 years ago

Text

Ménage à trois | Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher

Summary: A typical movie night at Stu's turns into a ménage à trois

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: smut, threesome, oral (m receiving), non protected p + v (this is the 90s), anal, any incoherence are part of the world of Scream...just enjoy the smut that took way too long to write

Request: Threesome with billy and Stu plsss There's barely any fics for them

I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a while, but I couldn’t find characters that fit (i tried so many!). This is my first Billy fic and it’s sort of exciting since I’ve been crushing hard on him (well, Skeet Ulrich) since forever. Although I like his character, I am not into Stu, so that was challenging for me to include him in the scene. I hope it's good enough!

—

The best thing about Stu’s house was that his parents were often out of town because of their job, making it the perfect spot for hosting huge parties without having to worry about parents coming home and ending the fun. It was also perfect for private parties.

Stu brought out a stack of VHS from the blockbuster while you made popcorn in the kitchen, getting ready for the horror movie marathon. Billy was out getting beer and other snacks, needing your sweets with the popcorn.

The kernels were almost finished popping and you felt someone press against your back, pulling you flush against them. The familiar cologne filled your nose and you leaned into Billy’s presence. He pressed his lips on your neck, distracting you from your popcorn duty.

‘’Stop, I’m gonna burn the popcorn,’’ you told him, trying to push him off you but Billy was not letting you go. ‘’Did you get the blue—’’

‘’— lollipop with the sour dip powder? Yes,’’ he confirmed. ‘’I also got a candy necklace and a roll of sweetarts.’’ Billy pulled them out of his jacket’s pocket and your mouth twisted into a smile.

After the popcorn was ready, you brought it to the living room and joined Billy and Stu who were already drinking beer and talking nonsense.

At least they had not started the movie without you.

‘’What are we watching first?’’ you asked, taking a seat on the couch.

Stu offered you a beer in exchange for a handful of popcorn. ‘’The Exorcist.’’

Although considered the scariest movie ever made, you wouldn’t say it’s scary. It was definitely iconic for the horror genre. Some scenes were a bit shocking and disturbing, but it didn’t keep you up at night.

‘’I’m gonna stuff you like that later,’’ Billy whispered beside you as the ‘best parts’, according to him, were not edited out.

The scene was in no way turning you on — that would be disgusting —, but his promise and the sultry rasp in his voice so close to your ear made your core tighten. You bit back a sound as he squeezed your thigh, a wave of arousal running through your body.

‘’What are you kids whispering about?’’ Stu asked, sticking his head in your and Billy’s personal space.

Billy shot a glare at his friend.

‘’Oh!’’ Stu smirked, figuring his line of thoughts. ‘’If you want to fuck, feel free to use my bed. Last door on the left.’’

The offer was tempting, but Billy declined the offer quickly.

‘’So your perverted ass can listen and jerk off while we fuck?’’ He shook his head, knowing his best friend a little too well. ’’Not happening.’’

Stu gasped dramatically. ‘’I would never do that!’’ Billy gave him a ‘I know you’ look, and he sighed. ‘’Okay, maybe I would, but that’s your fault for not letting me join.’’

A wicked idea crossed your mind. ‘’And what if we did? Let you join, that is.’’

The taller one’s brain short-circuited. ‘’W-what? You want me to join?’’

You shrugged, not seeing an issue. Him and Billy have been close friends for years and you’ve always secretly wanted to do it with another partner. This was your chance.

‘’If you’re in.’’ You looked at Stu, then Billy, needing both their approval. Although you were the one getting to experience them both, you didn’t want to force anyone into doing something they didn’t want.

‘’If I’m in?’’ Stu repeated. A grin spread on his face, excitement shining in his eyes. ‘’Babydoll, I’ve been dying to tap it.’’ He ghosted a hand on your other thigh, getting very close to your crotch.

It was no secret that Stu had his eyes on you — even while he was dating Tatum. You had caught him shamelessly staring at your breasts a handful of times. But you were his best friend’s girl, so he would never make a move on you…unless he was given the permission to.

‘’Don’t get too excited, she’s still mine,’’ Billy was quick to remind Stu, pushing him back on his side of the couch.

After making eye contact with Billy and silently agreeing to the plan, you detached yourself from your boyfriend and joined Stu, taking him by surprise when you crashed your mouth on his. The kiss didn’t match the perfect mix of tenderness and intensity of Billy’s kisses, but it wasn't less enjoyable. He expertly hooks his hands under your knees and drags you on to his lap, swallowing the gasp you let out into his mouth, lips never leaving each other. You subconsciously pressed yourself further into Stu as his hands ventured up the sides of your thighs, guiding you on his lap.

You didn’t mean to drag the kiss for too long, not wanting to give Stu all your attention, but you started feeling his cock stiffen beneath his jeans and took it as your cue to pull back.

He groaned in protest. ‘’It was starting to get good…’’

‘’We have all night, there’s no rush,’’ you told him, crawling back to Billy and kissing him in turn.

Unlike with Stu, everything was easy with Billy. You knew what he liked and how to get him going, and vice versa. You slipped your hands under his shirt, your palms covering the soft planes of his stomach and chest while his tongue caressed yours, causing you to let little moans and sighs slip into his lips.

Stu watched excitedly, feeling his cock twitch underneath his jeans. He never thought he would be so turned on by watching his friends make out.

You tugged at Billy’s shirt, trying to pull it off. He broke the kiss and you helped him discard it, crashing your lips back on his right after.

For a moment, you almost forgot that someone else was there, watching and waiting. You blindly reached behind you to wave Stu over. He scooted toward you and nipped at exactly the right spot on your neck while you started to rock your hips against Billy, feeling his cock press at your core even under his jeans and underwear. His hands moved to your hips, following your moves and eliciting a beautiful groan from him.

The temperature was quickly rising in the living room, so you undid the buttons and peeled it off, revealing your delicate bra. A mewl escaped Stu’s lips at the sight, dying to unclasp your bra and see those tits he's been dreaming about. He reached for it, but before he could, Billy smirked and undid the clasp with one hand, letting your bra slide off your shoulders and breasts.

‘’How does it feel to live your dream?’’ you teased your friend, turning to give him a better view.

His eyes zeroed-in right on your full breasts, glistening like a kid getting the toy he wanted on Christmas morning. Without saying anything, Stu cupped them, slender fingers kneading into your tits and thumbs rubbing your nipples into hard peaks. You threw your head back as the contact sent a jolt of pleasure through your body.

While you and Stu were having a moment, Billy loomed behind you and started working on the button of your pants as he attached his lips to your neck, suckling on one spot and leaving a hickey behind. Your head rolled back on his shoulder, your soft moans evolving into a choked cry when Billy’s finger found your clit. He grinned against your neck, his erection digging into your ass.

Screams came from the TV, but you paid it no attention — no one was listening anymore —, pressing into Billy as he continued rubbing his finger over your clit and causing more slick to pool in your panties. They’re gonna be fucking soaked by the time you take them off.

‘’Give Stu some pleasure, baby. He looks left out,’’ Billy said into your ear.

You nodded and reached down for the growing bulge in Stu's pants, grasping at the firm mass beneath the fabric, forcing a whimper to escape Stu's lips as he finally felt some form of stimulation.

‘’Ah, fuck,’’ Stu breathed out.

Before taking things a step farther, the three of you moved to Stu’s bedroom. Stu led the way, eager to get the 'party' started and get his dick wet. You and Billy followed behind, a laugh bubbling out of your lips when he scooped you by your thighs and threw you on his shoulder.

When your ass touched the bed, you grabbed Stu by the front of his pants, unzipping them and pulling out his hard, swollen cock. It was more lean and lighter in color, but with a nice mushroom tip. You stroked it up and down before playing with the tip, a glint of mischief in your eyes as you watched it glisten with a bead of pre-cum.

‘’Mmh, keep doing that, babydoll.’’

Billy snuck behind his friend, a knowing smirk on his lips. ‘’Wait until she’s got her mouth around you.’’

He glanced down at you and you got the hint, getting off the bed and on your knees as the tall boy quickly pushed his clothes down to his ankles, then shrugged off his sweater seeing as it was getting in the way. The sight alone made Stu slightly dizzy. It wasn’t every day that your friend brags about how excellent his girlfriend is at giving blowjobs and lets you try.

You grabbed him and kitten-licked at the leaky slit of his cock, licking up all the pre-cum that dribbled out and sighing as the taste of him landed on your tastebuds. Stu hissed, getting pleasure from the small attention to his sensitive tip.

Now that Billy had bragged about your skills, you didn't want to make him come off as a liar. You needed to give Stu a blowjob worth remembering.

You moved to lick a broad stripe on the underside of his cock, lips wrapping around the tip before taking him inside your mouth. Your hands flew to Stu’s hips to steady yourself as you took him deeper into your mouth, your warm mouth enveloping him, causing Stu to groan and slid a hand through your hair, keeping a grip at the back of your scalp.

On the left, Billy palmed himself over his jeans, the sight of his girl on her knees making him even harder. He rid himself of his jeans and boxers, wrapping his hand around his cock to stroke himself — and relieve himself — while he watched Stu’s cock disappear past your lips slowly. You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, making Billy wish it was his in your pretty mouth.

‘’What a little slut. Sucking your boyfriend’s friend's dick right in front of him,’’ Stu said, pushing you deeper on his cock and making your eyes water.

You took it all, letting him use you until his breathing fastened, getting close to cum. Your knees were starting to hurt on the wooden floor, but you didn’t stop and sucked Stu so hard he knew it was only a matter of time before your lips were covered in his come.

Once he did, you swallowed and released Stu’s cock with an audible pop, moving back with a sly grin, a string of saliva connected from your lips to his cock.

‘’Holy fucking shit!’’ he exclaimed as he released his grip from your hair and took a few moments to collect himself.

You glanced over at Billy, looking so pretty in his naked glory, and wiped your mouth.

‘’That’s my good girl,’’ he praised with pride in his eyes.

The corner of your mouth lifted up.

Billy pulled you up and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, catching the little bit of cum and you wrapped your mouth around it, sucking it clean. ‘’Get undressed, babe.’’

You didn’t have much clothes left on, just your pants, panties and socks.

Then, you got on the bed and pulled Billy with you. His mouth magnetically found yours and you spread your legs to give him room to get closer. He rubbed two fingers along your folds and his cock twitched as they got wet with your arousal.

‘’Mmh, that sweet little pussy’s so wet,’’ Billy said against your lips, sliding two fingers inside and making you instantly moan. His fingers knew exactly where to go and what to do.

Your hands came up his shoulders, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

You felt the bed dip and Stu flopped on the bed, already getting hard again and wrapping his hand around his cock to stroke himself at the sight of you getting fingered. He couldn’t wait to be inside your tight wet pussy.

‘’Have you figured out who’s going where?’’ Stu asked, keeping his pace slow and steady.

Billy nodded, answering in your place as you grinded down against his fingers. He curled them, eliciting a series of mewls from you. ‘’You got any lube in here?’’ BIlly said over his shoulder.

Stu scrunched his face in mild disgust. ‘’Eh…no. Why the fuck would I have lube?’’

‘’For—’’

You forced yourself to hold your next moan. ‘’It’s okay,’’ you cut in. ‘’You…you’re good to go. I prepped before coming here.’’

Billy groaned, the thought of you prepping yourself making his dick twitch.

You had not planned for Stu to join, but you did plan ahead for a good night of sex with your boyfriend — including for anal. You didn’t do it very often due to the preparation it needed, but you liked it from time to time.

‘’I knew you wouldn’t have any on hand and I was not gonna let you stick it raw and risk ripping tissue. My ass is gonna be sore enough in the morning, I don’t want to sit on a bag of frozen peas like the first time,’’ you explained.

Stu looked between you and Billy. ‘’She’s let you in her backdoor?’’ he asked his friend, jealousy in his eyes. ‘’Tatum never lets me.’’

Billy grinned at you. ‘’Fuck, I love you.’’ He kissed you hard.

Stu situated himself on the bed, getting ready for you, and you climbed over his lap, facing him. You took hold of his dick and tapped the head of his cock over your clit to tease him, then down your folds, coating it with your slick.

Stu lowered his eyes to where your genitals were rubbing, cursing at the sight. ‘’Mmh, rub your sweet pussy on me.’’

You did it again and he smacked right over your clit, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

‘’Cut the teasing and get to it, will you?’’ Billy told the two of you.

He didn’t want to rush you, but he was the only one who didn’t get any preliminary care and he was starting to get impatient.

You nodded and lined Stu up at your entrance, secretly eager to know what it felt like inside you. You lowered yourself on his hard cock, swallowing him between your soaked folds.

Stu was unable to contain the groan crawling from the pit of his stomach as you finally bottomed out. ‘’God, you’re so tight,’’ he whispered. He felt every detail of you, from the way you clenched to your lower lips and your puffy bud just peeking from under its hood. A mischievous grin curled on his lips and he reached to rubbed your clit, making you moan and causing your walls to clench around Stu absentmindedly. ‘’Ahh, fuck.’’

Billy chuckled, knowing exactly what happened.

He came and positioned himself behind you. ‘’You good?’’

You nodded, rolling your hips and slowly riding Stu's length.

With a hand on your shoulder, Billy gently leaned you forward, getting you in a better position. He spat on his fingers and stroked himself a little, pre-cum mixing in, and lined it up with your ass, carefully slipping in and easing himself inside. It stung at first, making you curse Billy's girth.

‘’Fuck, you’re tight,’’ Billy gritted out.

He didn’t move, staying still as your body adjusted and then pushing more in. After a moment, the burning subsided, making its way into pleasure.

Billy gave the first thrust and sighed, feeling you tight around him. ‘’This is even better than last time.’’

Beneath you, Stu figured it was okay to do the same and thrust up, eliciting a soft moan from your mouth at the simultaneous sensations. You had never felt more full.

‘’How does that feel, babydoll?’’ Stu asked, watching your face twist with pleasure.

‘’Feels so fucking good. So fucking full.’’ You rocked back against Billy, signaling for him to go again.

He did and soon enough, Stu was snapping his hips up and ramming into you at fast speed while Billy grabbed firmly at your hips and drilled into you, your loud moans echoing through the four walls of the bedroom. Your body was in overload, every sense heightened, every feeling magnified.

‘’Fuck, right there!’’ you cried, throwing your head back as Billy smacked your ass cheek.

‘’You take our cocks so well,’’ Billy praised, seeing both himself and Stu slip in and out of your holes, eliciting a series of mewls from you. ‘’Looking so fucking good stuffed like that.’’

Unable to form words, you just moaned.

You would have wanted the intense pleasure to never stop, but all good things had an end. You gave the boys a warning that you were about to cum and, just as you were about to conclude, your walls clenched around Stu and he spilled inside you, joining you in your orgasm, cumming all over his cock as Billy continued his assault on your ass before following shortly.

You fell against Stu’s chest, completely and utterly exhausted. A wince of discomfort stretched across your lips when Billy pulled out. He smiled as he watched his cum slip out of you and dripped down to where Stu's softening cock was still inside you.

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn @bt.oliana @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore @Meadzy21

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully

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