#I think the first half is really boring though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amethystarachnid · 1 day ago

Note

Now that you have finished the Holiday Special, I would like to request a part two of "Second Chance", please. I would love to see more of their love 🥺 living together, getting married, kids, all the cuteness possible! Thank you

SECOND CHANCE - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k ( I can't believe the either)

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said <3

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ TW(s): none I think (?)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The mornings in the Stark Tower penthouse always start the same: sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, soft music humming in the background (Tony insists on curating daily playlists because "waking up deserves a soundtrack"), and the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen.

Your life has settled into a rhythm, an odd but comforting blend of luxury, chaos, and unfiltered love. It’s been over a year since you moved in, and even though the world now knows you as Tony Stark’s girlfriend—a title that comes with its fair share of public scrutiny—it still feels a little surreal when you wake up next to him.

This morning, you’re the first to wake, your cheek pressed against his chest. His arm is draped lazily around you, his breathing steady, a slight snore rumbling now and then. You stifle a laugh as you carefully extricate yourself from his hold, but before you can fully escape, his fingers tighten around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is thick with sleep, and his eyes are barely open.

“To get coffee,” you reply, smiling. “Unless you’re planning to hold me hostage all morning.”

He pulls you back against him, burying his face in your hair. “Tempting. But if you’re making coffee, I might let you go.”

You laugh, wriggling free and padding toward the kitchen. By the time the coffee is ready, Tony has shuffled out of bed, his hair a mess and his Stark Industries-branded pajama pants slightly askew. He leans against the counter, watching you with a sleepy grin as you pour two mugs.

“This is why I keep you around,” he says, taking the mug you hand him.

“Oh, really? Not for my sparkling personality or my unparalleled charm?”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “That too. But mostly the coffee.”

Living with Tony means life is never boring. Between his work at Stark Industries, his time with the Avengers, and his natural tendency to attract chaos, there’s always something happening.

Take last week, for example. You came home to find a half-assembled Iron Man suit sprawled across the living room, with Tony perched on the couch, wearing the gauntlet and testing out some new tech.

“Tony, why is there a missile launcher on my side of the couch?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked up, completely unbothered. “Oh, that’s not a missile launcher. It’s a miniaturized EMP. Totally harmless unless you’re an evil robot.”

You sighed, stepping over a piece of armor. “And what about this?”

“That’s a missile launcher,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. “But don’t worry, it’s deactivated. Probably.”

Despite the chaos, there’s a sweetness to your everyday life. The little moments, like when he sneaks up behind you while you’re cooking, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing kisses to your neck. Or the nights when you curl up on the couch together, a bowl of popcorn between you, as he insists on watching “classic cinema” (which, in Tony’s mind, includes Die Hard and Back to the Future).

And then there are the spicy moments. Tony has a knack for turning the most mundane situations into opportunities for seduction.

Like the time you were trying to reorganize the pantry, and he walked in, shirtless and smirking.

“Need a hand?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

“I’m fine,” you replied, reaching for a high shelf.

But then his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly so you could grab the jar you were reaching for. When he set you down, his hands didn’t move, and you found yourself pressed against the counter, his lips brushing your ear.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with anything else?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Needless to say, the pantry didn’t get reorganized that day.

Of course, being Tony Stark’s girlfriend also means attending more fancy events than you ever thought possible. Charity galas, board meetings, tech expos—you’ve seen it all.

The prep for these events is almost as much fun as the events themselves. Tony insists on helping you pick out your dress, claiming he has an eye for fashion (which, annoyingly, he kind of does).

“What about this one?” you ask, holding up a sleek black gown.

He tilts his head, considering. “It’s nice. But I think something with a little more… drama.”

“Drama?”

He grins, pulling a shimmering gold dress from the rack. “Now this says ‘I’m with Tony Stark.’”

“You mean it says ‘I’m a disco ball.’”

“Exactly.”

In the end, you settle on a dress that’s somewhere between glamorous and understated—enough to make you feel confident but not so flashy that you’ll blend in with Tony’s usual flair.

When the night of the event arrives, he’s already dressed in one of his custom suits, complete with a matching pocket square. He watches you as you get ready, leaning against the doorway with a look that’s equal parts admiration and mischief.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” you tease as you apply your lipstick.

“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “Have you seen yourself?”

By the time you arrive at the event, the cameras are already flashing, reporters shouting questions as you step onto the red carpet. Tony slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close as he waves to the crowd, his confidence as effortless as ever.

“Smile, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear. “We’re the hottest couple in the room.”

Inside, the atmosphere is just as dazzling—chandeliers, champagne, and a sea of well-dressed guests. Tony works the room like the natural showman he is, introducing you to CEOs, celebrities, and politicians as if you’ve been a part of this world forever.

But even in the midst of the crowd, his attention is never far from you. He’ll brush his hand against yours as you pass each other, steal a kiss when no one’s looking, or whisper a sarcastic comment about someone’s over-the-top outfit, making you stifle a laugh.

And when the night finally winds down and you’re back home, kicking off your heels and collapsing onto the couch, he pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as he kisses you like he’s been waiting all night to do it.

“You were amazing tonight,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

“So were you,” you reply, smiling against his lips.

Your life with Tony isn’t perfect—no relationship is. There are arguments, moments when his work takes over, or when the pressure of being in the spotlight feels overwhelming. But through it all, there’s an unshakable bond between you, a sense that no matter what comes your way, you’ll face it together.

Like the time you had a fight over him missing dinner—again—because he was working on a new suit. You stormed out of the lab, fuming, and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. But the next morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes, Tony standing in the kitchen wearing an apron that read “Genius, Billionaire, Pancake Enthusiast.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up a plate of slightly burnt pancakes. “I suck at balancing work and life sometimes. But I’m trying. For you.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him after that.

And then there was the time he got you your own lab space in the tower, complete with every piece of equipment you could ever want.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice soft with awe as you took it all in.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his hands in his pockets as he watched your reaction. “You deserve to have your own space. Somewhere to build, create, do whatever you want.”

You turned to him, tears in your eyes, and he just shrugged, trying to play it off. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for you.”

The sun is setting, and the sky outside the penthouse windows glows in a palette of oranges, pinks, and purples that melt into one another like watercolors. New York sprawls out below, the city alive with its usual energy—traffic buzzing, lights flickering on, and the faint hum of life that never seems to rest. But up here, in the warmth of Tony’s bedroom, the world feels far away, like it belongs to someone else.

You’re standing at the window, your arms crossed lightly over your chest, wearing nothing but one of Tony’s old Black Sabbath shirts. It’s oversized and soft from years of wear, falling just enough to graze the tops of your thighs. Your hair is slightly messy from the day’s lazy lounging, and your bare feet sink into the plush rug beneath you. The scene feels like something out of a dream, the city sparkling in the distance and the man you love moving behind you.

Tony’s voice breaks the silence, a quiet rumble that makes you smile without even turning to look. “You know, you’re ruining the view.”

You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said what I said,” he replies, lounging on the bed with a lazy smirk. His head is propped up on one hand, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose from earlier in the day. He looks like he’s stepped out of a photo shoot for Genius, Billionaire, and Dangerously Handsome Quarterly. “I mean, who’s going to look at a city when you’re standing there looking like that?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the grin that tugs at your lips as you turn back to the window. “That was smooth, Stark. Really. Ten out of ten.”

“Only ten?”

You don’t answer, just shake your head with a soft laugh, and you hear him shift behind you, the mattress creaking slightly as he gets up.

A moment later, his arms slip around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You relax into him instinctively, your hands coming to rest over his. The warmth of his touch seeps into you, grounding you in a way that only he can.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you ask softly, your eyes still on the view.

“Tired of what?”

“This.” You gesture out at the city. “The attention. The pressure. Being… Tony Stark.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you feel him press a kiss to the curve of your neck before he answers. “Honestly? Sometimes. But it’s easier now. Because I have you.”

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, and your heart swells in your chest. You turn in his arms to face him, your hands resting lightly on his chest.

“Is that your way of saying I make your life easier?” you tease, your voice soft.

“Among other things,” he replies, his lips quirking into a smirk. But there’s something in his eyes—something vulnerable, raw, and unguarded—that makes your teasing falter.

“Tony…”

He steps back, his hands slipping from your waist as he reaches into his pocket. You furrow your brow, your curiosity piqued, but before you can ask what he’s doing, he lowers himself to one knee.

Your breath catches, your hand flying to your mouth as the realization hits you.

“Wait. Are you—?”

“Shh,” he says, holding up a finger, though his grin gives away his own nervous excitement. “Let me do this, okay? I’ve been working on my speech all week.”

You can’t help but laugh, your heart pounding as you watch him pull a small velvet box from his pocket. He opens it, revealing a stunning ring that catches the fading sunlight, its brilliance almost as dazzling as the man holding it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he begins, his voice warm and playful. “‘Tony Stark, on one knee? Is this an elaborate ploy to market a new Stark tech product?’ And honestly, fair question. But no, this isn’t a ploy. This is me—just me—asking you to let me be the luckiest bastard on the planet for the rest of my life.”

Tears well in your eyes as he continues, his usual cockiness tempered by a sincerity that takes your breath away.

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” he says, his voice softening. “And for some insane reason, you stayed. You saw the man under the suit, the flaws, the baggage, all of it, and you still chose me. I don’t know how or why, but you did. And I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

You laugh through your tears, shaking your head as he grins up at you.

“So,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “I figured, why waste any more time? Let’s make this official. What do you say?” He pauses, his grin widening. “And just so you know, the ring is fully customizable. You hate it, we’ll get a new one. We’ll get a dozen. Whatever you want.”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head as you kneel down in front of him, your hands cupping his face.

“You are ridiculous,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he replies, his grin softening into something more tender.

“I do,” you say, nodding as tears spill down your cheeks. “I love you, Tony Stark. And yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

His eyes light up, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into a kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around you as if he’s afraid to let go. You laugh against his lips, the sound mingling with his own as he holds you close.

When he finally pulls back, he slips the ring onto your finger with a precision that makes you laugh again.

“Look at that,” he says, holding your hand up to admire the ring. “Perfect fit. Must be fate.”

“Or really good measurements,” you tease, your smile so wide it hurts.

“Hey, don’t ruin my moment,” he says, feigning offense. But his grin gives him away, and he pulls you into another kiss, the world outside forgotten as the two of you bask in the quiet, overwhelming joy of the moment.

Later, as the city lights twinkle beyond the windows and the stars begin to dot the night sky, you find yourselves tangled together in bed, the ring still sparkling on your finger.

“Did you really practice that speech all week?” you ask, tracing patterns on his chest.

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation. “You think I just pull that kind of romance out of thin air?”

You laugh, your hand resting over his heart. “Well, it worked. So, congratulations, Mr. Stark. You’re officially stuck with me.”

He smirks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, the city a distant hum beyond the glass, you can’t help but think that he’s right. This—this love, this life, this man—is the best decision you’ve ever made, too.

The decision to get married in Italy happens almost instantly, and of course, it’s Tony who suggests it. One evening, just a week after the proposal, you’re both curled up on the couch, sharing a pizza and brainstorming wedding ideas. You suggest something small and simple, maybe even local, but Tony scoffs so dramatically that you almost choke on your bite.

“Small and simple? Sweetheart, this is a Stark wedding,” he says, gesturing grandly like he’s unveiling a master plan. “We can’t just have a backyard barbecue and call it a day.”

“I wasn’t suggesting a barbecue,” you argue, laughing. “Just… something intimate. Lowkey.”

Tony narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to comprehend an entirely foreign concept. “Intimate, sure. But lowkey? Where’s the drama? The pizzazz? The flair?” He stands abruptly, grabbing his tablet off the coffee table and pulling up images of sprawling Italian villas, sparkling lakes, and rolling hills. “Italy. Lake Como. Picture it: sunset ceremony, wine that’ll make you cry tears of joy, and a backdrop so gorgeous it’ll make even me look like an afterthought.”

You lean over the tablet, your fingers brushing his as you swipe through the photos. You hate to admit it, but it does look incredible.

“Lake Como, huh?” you say, tilting your head.

“Trust me,” he replies, already beaming like he’s won. “You’ll love it.”

And just like that, you’re planning a destination wedding.

The next few months are a whirlwind of activity, full of laughter, occasional bickering, and more spreadsheets than you ever thought possible. Tony hires an elite team of wedding planners, but true to form, he insists on being involved in every detail, much to their dismay.

One morning, as you’re going over the guest list, Tony lounges across the couch, sipping an espresso and scrolling through his tablet.

“Okay, so I’ve narrowed down the guest list to 150 people,” you say, looking up from your notebook.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Only 150? What about the Stark Industries board? Or the press?”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him. “Tony, this isn’t a corporate launch party. It’s our wedding. We’re not inviting the press.”

He dodges the pillow with a laugh, setting down his tablet to pull you into his lap. “Fine, fine. No press.”

Moments like this—when it’s just the two of you, teasing and laughing—make the chaos of planning worthwhile.

The dress becomes a point of contention about halfway through the process.

Tony insists on knowing every single detail of the wedding, from the floral arrangements (white roses with touches of blush pink) to the menu (a five-course Italian feast that he swears will ruin you for all other food). But when it comes to your wedding dress, you refuse to budge.

“You’re not seeing it until I walk down the aisle,” you say firmly one afternoon as you finalize plans for your first fitting.

Tony stares at you like you’ve just announced you’re canceling the wedding altogether. “Wait, what? Why not? I’m paying for it!”

“And it’s going to be a surprise,” you say sweetly, patting his cheek.

“Surprises are overrated,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Not this one,” you reply, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Despite his protests, you stick to your guns, and Tony spends the next few months sulking every time the dress is mentioned. You catch him trying to bribe your best friend for details once (“Come on, just tell me if it’s got sparkles”), but she doesn’t crack, much to your delight.

Planning a wedding with Tony Stark also means dealing with the occasional unexpected distraction.

Like the time he accidentally blew up part of his workshop while testing a new prototype. You were on a video call with the wedding planner, discussing seating arrangements, when the explosion rattled the entire tower.

“Tony!” you shouted, rushing down to the lab.

When you got there, he was covered in soot, grinning sheepishly as Dum-E sprayed him with a fire extinguisher.

“Don’t worry,” he said, coughing. “It’s under control. Mostly.”

“You’re going to be late to the cake tasting,” you scolded, dragging him upstairs.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You love me even when I’m a disaster.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide your smile.

Before you know it, the big day arrives.

The villa on Lake Como is even more stunning than you imagined. The ceremony is set up on a sprawling terrace overlooking the water, with rows of chairs draped in white fabric and flowers adorning every surface. The air is warm and fragrant, the sound of the lake gently lapping against the shore creating a serene backdrop.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of gold and lavender, you stand in a quiet room with your best friend, your dress perfectly fitted, your heart pounding.

“You ready?” she asks, smiling as she adjusts your veil.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Meanwhile, Tony waits at the altar, looking dashing in his custom tuxedo. But for all his usual confidence, there’s a nervous energy about him as he glances toward the entrance. Rhodey nudges him, grinning.

“Relax,” Rhodey says. “She��s not going to stand you up.”

“Shut up,” Tony mutters, though he can’t help but smile.

When the music starts, and the doors open, everything else fades.

You step into view, and for a moment, Tony forgets how to breathe. You’re radiant, your dress a perfect blend of elegance and simplicity, and the look in your eyes as you meet his gaze is enough to make his knees weak.

As you walk down the aisle, your heart swells with love and anticipation. When you reach Tony, he takes your hands, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You’re stunning,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, smiling through your tears.

The ceremony is beautiful, filled with laughter and heartfelt vows that make everyone in attendance misty-eyed. Tony’s vow, in true Stark fashion, is equal parts romantic and funny.

“I never thought I’d find someone who could put up with my nonsense,” he says, his voice warm. “But then you came along and not only put up with it, but somehow made me better. You’re my partner, my equal, and the love of my life. And I promise to spend the rest of my days loving you—flaws, genius, and all.”

Your vows are just as heartfelt, and by the time you exchange rings, there’s not a dry eye in the house.

The reception is a blur of joy and celebration. Guests dance under strings of twinkling lights, the food is every bit as incredible as Tony promised, and the speeches are both hilarious and touching.

But for you and Tony, the highlight of the night is the quiet moment you steal away from the crowd. You find yourselves on a balcony overlooking the lake, the stars reflected in the water below.

Tony wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“So,” he says softly, his voice filled with wonder. “We did it.”

“We did,” you reply, leaning back against him.

He turns you around, his hands framing your face as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world. “Mrs. Stark,” he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. And as the stars shine above and the world falls away, you know that this—this love, this life, this man—is everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more.

The first days of being married feel like a dream you never want to wake up from. The wedding was magical, but the aftermath—the quiet moments where it’s just the two of you—is even better. You wake up the morning after the wedding in Tony’s arms, sunlight spilling through the villa’s curtains. His hair is an endearing mess, his face softened by sleep. When he finally stirs, the first thing he does is pull you closer, murmuring a sleepy “Good morning, Mrs. Stark.” The words make your heart skip a beat every time he says them, and he takes full advantage of that, slipping the phrase into every conversation for the next several days.

“Mrs. Stark, do you want pancakes or waffles?” “Mrs. Stark, are you aware of how incredible you look in my shirt?” “Mrs. Stark, could you pass me that screwdriver? Thanks, you’re the best wife ever.”

You let him have his fun because, truthfully, you love it.

The honeymoon in Italy stretches on for a few more days, spent exploring charming lakeside towns, indulging in decadent food, and stealing kisses in picturesque corners like a couple from a movie. Tony insists on spoiling you at every turn, booking private tours and surprise candlelit dinners. He claims it’s to celebrate “locking down the deal of a lifetime,” but you know it’s because he can’t resist going all out when it comes to you.

When you finally return to New York, reality hits in the form of a media frenzy. The press had already been obsessed with your relationship before, but your wedding—Tony Stark marrying the woman who tamed him—has become the headline of the year. Paparazzi swarm the tower, headlines range from heartfelt to ridiculous (“Genius Billionaire Finally Meets His Match” and “Mrs. Stark: Who Is She, and How Did She Do It?”), and fans on social media dissect every detail of the wedding pictures that somehow made their way online.

Tony, of course, takes it all in stride, basking in the attention like it’s his natural habitat. He gives you a cheeky grin one morning as he reads an article aloud, his feet propped up on the kitchen counter. “‘Tony Stark’s wedding sets new standard for billionaire romance.’ Sounds about right, don’t you think, Mrs. Stark?”

You roll your eyes, stealing his coffee cup and taking a sip. “Are you going to call me that forever?”

“Forever,” he replies, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Get used to it.”

Despite the chaos outside, life inside the tower settles into a new rhythm. You fall into a comfortable routine with Tony, your days filled with work, laughter, and the kind of love that feels almost too good to be true. The other Avengers quickly adapt to your new title as well, with Clint jokingly saluting you as “the boss’s boss” and Natasha subtly slipping “Mrs. Stark” into conversation whenever she can just to see you smile.

The real surprise comes a few months later. You’re in the middle of a particularly lazy afternoon, curled up on the couch with a book while Tony tinkers with something in the lab, when you start to notice a pattern. You’ve been unusually tired lately, your emotions swinging wildly between laughter and tears, and then there’s the morning sickness that hit you out of nowhere. At first, you chalked it up to stress or maybe a lingering flu, but now… you have a feeling there’s something more.

The thought sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you, and the next morning, you quietly sneak out to buy a test. When the results come back positive, you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the little plastic stick in disbelief.

You’re pregnant.

The realization hits you like a tidal wave. You and Tony are going to have a baby. The thought fills you with so much joy you can hardly contain it, but it’s mixed with a flutter of nerves. How do you tell the man who built a suit of armor to protect himself that he’s about to become a dad?

That evening, after mulling over a dozen ideas, you settle on something simple but quintessentially Stark. You order a tiny baby onesie online and have it customized with the words, Iron Baby No. 1 on the way, ETA nine months. When it arrives a few days later, you hide it in a gift box and wait for the perfect moment.

The moment comes one evening when Tony’s in the kitchen, making what he calls his “famous” grilled cheese. He’s in a relaxed mood, humming along to the playlist he’s put on, and you decide this is it.

“Hey,” you say casually, walking over with the box behind your back.

He glances up from the stove, his face lighting up when he sees you. “Hey, gorgeous. What’s up?”

“I got you a present,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tony raises an eyebrow, setting down the spatula. “A present? For me? What’s the occasion?”

“Just open it,” you say, handing him the box.

He grins, clearly intrigued, and tears into the wrapping paper like a kid on Christmas morning. When he lifts the lid and sees the tiny onesie, his expression shifts from confusion to realization, his eyes widening as he reads the words.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at the onesie like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. Then he looks up at you, his eyes shimmering with tears.

“Are you serious?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, tears welling in your own eyes. “I’m serious. We’re having a baby.”

Tony sets the box down carefully on the counter before pulling you into his arms. His embrace is so tight it nearly takes your breath away, but you don’t mind. You can feel him trembling slightly as he buries his face in your neck, his emotions pouring out in a way that’s so rare for him.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he says, his voice cracking. “Holy shit. I’m going to be a dad.”

“You are,” you whisper, your hands running soothingly over his back.

When he finally pulls back, his face is wet with tears, but his smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. He cups your face in his hands, kissing you deeply before resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he says, his voice full of awe. “I love you so much. And I love…” He places a hand gently on your stomach, his touch reverent. “I love this little one already.”

You laugh softly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “I had a feeling you’d be happy.”

“Happy? Are you kidding?” He laughs, though his voice is still thick with emotion. “This is… this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. To us.”

Over the next few weeks, Tony shifts into full-on protective mode. He insists on accompanying you to every doctor’s appointment, interrogates the OB-GYN like they’re a candidate for a top-secret Stark Industries position, and starts researching the best baby gear money can buy. You come home one day to find him in the nursery he’s set up, designing what he calls “baby-safe tech” to keep the little one entertained and protected.

“Tony,” you say, laughing as you lean against the doorframe. “You do realize we’re not raising a baby genius in a lab, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” he replies, not looking up from his holographic blueprint. “This kid’s going to be the smartest, safest, most spoiled little Stark in history.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with love. Seeing him like this—so invested, so excited—makes you fall for him all over again.

As the weeks turn into months, the excitement grows, both inside the tower and out. The press catches wind of the pregnancy, and the news spreads like wildfire. Headlines range from adoring to absurd, but you and Tony take it all in stride, focusing on the joy of building your family together.

One night, as you’re lying in bed, Tony rests his hand on your growing bump, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice laced with wonder, “I used to think I’d never have this. A family. Someone to love me for who I am, not what I can give them.”

You reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his stubble. “And now?”

“Now I know I was wrong,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you.

The idea for the gender reveal is Tony’s, though it surprises you because he’s usually one for grand gestures. But as he gently suggests the idea of keeping it just the two of you, something in his voice—soft, hopeful—makes your heart melt.

“You’re sure?” you ask one evening, resting your hands on your growing belly as you sit on the couch. “No big party? No fireworks shaped like an Iron Man suit?”

Tony grins, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Sweetheart, I’ve done the fireworks. I’ve done the parties. But this… this is different. This is us.” He pauses, glancing at your belly with a tenderness that still catches you off guard. “I want it to be about you and me and the peanut.”

“Peanut?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, peanut for now. Until they grow into something more Stark-like. Maybe ‘genius’ or ‘CEO.’”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays how much you love him. “Fine. Let’s do something just for us.”

A week later, you’re in the kitchen with Tony, standing before a modest but beautiful cake. The frosting is plain white, with delicate swirls along the edges. Inside, the baker promised, is either blue or pink to reveal the baby’s gender.

Tony’s practically buzzing with excitement as he hands you the knife. “You do the honors, Mrs. Stark.”

You take the knife, your hand trembling slightly, but before you can cut, he places his hand over yours.

“Wait,” he says, his voice softer now. He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. “No matter what, this kid’s going to have the best parents in the world. Okay?”

Tears sting your eyes, and you nod, smiling up at him. “Okay.”

Together, you press the knife into the cake and lift the first slice, your breath catching as the color is revealed.

“It’s a girl,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Tony stares at the pink cake, his mouth slightly open. Then his face breaks into the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen. “A girl,” he repeats, as if testing the words. He looks at you, his eyes shining. “We’re having a little Starkette.”

You laugh through your tears, setting the knife down to wrap your arms around him. He holds you tightly, his hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“I hope she’s just like you,” he murmurs against your hair.

“And I hope she’s just like you,” you reply, pulling back to meet his gaze.

“God, I hope not,” he jokes, though his voice is thick with emotion. “The world can barely handle one of me.”

In the weeks that follow, Tony becomes even more attached to your growing belly. Every evening, without fail, he rests his head against it and talks to the baby.

“Hey, Starkette,” he says one night as you lie in bed, his hand gently rubbing circles on your belly. “It’s me, your dad. I just want you to know that you’re already smarter than half the people I’ve ever worked with. And that’s saying something.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Tony, she’s not even born yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. “She’s already a Stark. Genius is in her DNA.”

Sometimes, he sings to her—soft, off-key renditions of songs that make you laugh until your sides hurt. Other times, he reads aloud from baby books, though he always adds his own commentary.

“Oh, look at this,” he says one evening, flipping through a parenting book. “‘Babies cry to communicate their needs.’ Really? That’s groundbreaking information. Did we pay for this book?”

Despite his jokes, you can see how deeply he’s invested in this new chapter of your lives. The sight of him doting on you and the baby makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Choosing a name becomes an adventure in itself.

Tony suggests everything from obscure historical figures to names of constellations. At one point, he even suggests “Arc,” claiming it’s a nod to his arc reactor and “totally cool.”

“Tony,” you say, barely suppressing your laughter. “We are not naming our daughter after a piece of tech.”

“Fine,” he replies, pretending to sulk. “But don’t come crying to me when she asks why she doesn’t have a cool name.”

After weeks of debate, you finally settle on a name that feels perfect: Morgan.

“Why Morgan?” Tony asks one evening as you lie together on the couch.

You shrug, smiling softly. “It’s strong but sweet. And it feels… right.”

Tony repeats the name under his breath, testing it out. Then he smiles, nodding. “Morgan Stark. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The day Morgan arrives starts like any other. You wake up to the sound of Tony tinkering in the lab, but by mid-morning, the first contractions hit.

“Tony!” you shout from the living room, clutching the back of the couch.

He appears within seconds, his eyes wide. “What? What is it? Is the tower on fire again?”

You glare at him, though the pain is already making you wince. “No, you idiot. The baby’s coming.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his face going pale. Then he snaps into action, grabbing your hospital bag and practically carrying you to the car.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of Tony panicking and you trying not to laugh between contractions.

“Do we have everything?” he asks, his voice frantic. “The bag? The paperwork? Did we forget anything? Oh God, what if we—”

“Tony,” you interrupt, reaching for his hand. “It’s fine. I promise. Just focus on driving.”

When you arrive at the hospital, Tony is a mix of nerves and excitement. He holds your hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement and pressing kisses to your forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he says as you breathe through the pain. “You’ve got this. You’re a freaking superhero.”

The delivery is intense, and at one point, you think you might actually break Tony’s hand with how tightly you’re gripping it. But he doesn’t complain, just keeps murmuring reassurances and brushing your hair back from your face.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the first cry.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor announces, holding up your squirming, pink-faced baby.

Tears stream down your face as they place her on your chest. Tony stares in awe, his eyes glassy as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, your heart overflowing as you gaze down at your daughter. “Hi, Morgan,” you murmur, your voice trembling.

In the hours that follow, Tony can hardly take his eyes off Morgan. He holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he cradles her tiny form.

“She’s so small,” he marvels, staring down at her. “How can something so tiny have such a big impact?”

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “That’s what love does.”

Tony looks at you then, his eyes full of gratitude and adoration. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For her. For us.”

Over the next few days, the tower becomes a hub of celebration. The Avengers take turns visiting, each one fawning over Morgan in their own way. Even Clint, who jokes about having enough kids of his own, is smitten.

But at the end of the day, it’s the quiet moments with just the three of you that mean the most.

One evening, as you sit in the nursery, watching Tony rock Morgan to sleep, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace.

“Welcome to the world, Morgan Stark,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead.

The first days at the hospital are a whirlwind of exhaustion, joy, and learning curves that neither you nor Tony could have anticipated. You’re still lying in the hospital bed, Morgan nestled in your arms, when the nurse comes in with a soft smile and an armful of pamphlets. She explains everything from feeding to burping, swaddling to diaper changing. You listen attentively, but Tony’s focus is entirely on Morgan. His hands are gentle but a little awkward as he cradles her tiny head, his face full of wonder.

When the nurse shows him how to hold Morgan correctly, Tony nods along seriously, but the second she leaves, he looks at you with mock indignation. “I think she thought I didn’t know how to hold a baby,” he says, feigning offense.

You laugh softly, your body still sore but your heart full. “Do you?”

“I’m a genius, remember?” he says, lifting Morgan a little higher, though he holds her like she’s made of glass. “But… okay, I might have needed a little help.”

It becomes clear quickly that while Tony can invent world-changing technology, mastering baby care is a completely different challenge. He spends fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to swaddle Morgan properly, only for her to immediately kick her legs free. “It’s a conspiracy,” he mutters, trying again as you laugh from the bed. “I’m telling you, she’s already smarter than me.”

Feeding Morgan proves to be a team effort. The nurses show you how to breastfeed while Tony hovers nearby, asking a million questions that make the staff chuckle. “Is she getting enough? How do we know? What if she’s still hungry?”

“Tony,” you say gently, placing a hand on his arm. “She’s fine. Trust me.”

He sighs but nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Later, when it’s time to bottle feed, Tony insists on being the one to do it. He sits in the chair beside your bed, Morgan nestled in his arms, and looks up at you with a proud grin. “I think she likes me,” he says as she sucks greedily on the bottle.

“She’s a Stark,” you reply with a smile. “Of course, she likes you.”

The nurses come in periodically to check on you and the baby, and each time, they offer more advice. By the end of your stay, your head is swimming with information, but Tony’s enthusiasm makes it easier. He takes notes—actual notes—and even sketches out diagrams for things like diaper changes.

“Who knew being a parent involved so much engineering?” he jokes, but there’s a genuine determination in his eyes.

Finally, after a few days, you’re cleared to go home. The excitement of leaving the hospital is quickly tempered by the reality of the paparazzi camped outside. News of Morgan’s birth had leaked almost immediately, and now the world is desperate for the first glimpse of Tony Stark’s baby girl.

You sit in the hospital room, holding Morgan close, while Tony stands by the window, peering through the blinds. “It’s like a circus out there,” he mutters, turning to look at you. “They’re not getting a single shot of her face. Not until we decide.”

You nod, your protective instincts flaring. “How do we get past them?”

Tony smirks, his confidence returning. “I’ve got a plan.”

The plan involves Happy pulling up to the hospital’s front entrance in a decoy car while you, Tony, and Morgan slip out through a back exit. Wrapped in a soft pink blanket and nestled securely in your arms, Morgan is hidden from view as you rush to an unmarked SUV waiting in the alley. Tony shields you both, his arm around your shoulders, and Happy drives like a man on a mission once you’re inside.

By the time you arrive at the tower, the paparazzi are still circling the hospital, none the wiser. Tony grins as he steps out of the car, glancing at you. “Mission accomplished, Mrs. Stark.”

Inside the tower, the chaos of the outside world melts away. The nursery is ready, every detail meticulously planned by Tony. The walls are painted a soft, calming gray, accented with touches of pink and gold. A custom crib sits in the corner, along with shelves stocked with books and toys.

You place Morgan in her crib for the first time, your heart swelling as you watch her tiny chest rise and fall. Tony stands beside you, his hand resting on your lower back.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice full of awe.

The first night at home is… an adventure. Morgan wakes up every two hours, her cries piercing through the quiet of the penthouse. You take turns getting up with her, though Tony insists on doing most of the work.

“You just gave birth,” he says, gently taking Morgan from your arms when she cries again at three in the morning. “I’ve got this. You sleep.”

You don’t argue, though you can’t resist peeking into the nursery an hour later. You find Tony sitting in the rocking chair, Morgan cradled against his chest as he hums softly. It’s a sight that makes your heart ache with love.

In the days that follow, you and Tony fall into a rhythm. It’s far from perfect—there are diaper disasters, sleepless nights, and moments where you both feel completely overwhelmed—but there’s also so much joy.

One afternoon, you walk into the nursery to find Tony lying on the floor beside Morgan’s playmat, his finger grasped tightly in her tiny hand. He looks up at you with a goofy grin. “She’s got a strong grip,” he says. “She’s going to be an inventor. Or maybe a pilot.”

You laugh, sitting down beside him. “Or maybe she’ll be an artist. Or a writer.”

“Whatever she wants,” Tony agrees, leaning over to kiss your temple.

Mealtimes become a highlight of your days. Tony insists on taking charge of the bottle feeds, claiming it’s “bonding time” with his daughter. He talks to her as she eats, telling her stories about his adventures as Iron Man and the time he built a robot that accidentally tried to take over the world.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his tone light. “We’ll teach you to build better robots.”

When Morgan isn’t eating or sleeping, she’s the center of attention. Tony spends hours playing with her, making silly faces and inventing little gadgets to keep her entertained. One evening, he proudly unveils a tiny Stark-branded mobile that lights up and plays lullabies.

“Look at that,” he says as he hangs it over her crib. “Custom-made for the best baby in the world.”

You smile, leaning against him as you watch Morgan’s eyes widen at the softly glowing lights. “You’re going to spoil her rotten.”

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Despite the exhaustion, these first days are some of the happiest of your life. There’s a quiet magic in the way your little family is coming together, in the small moments that remind you of how much love surrounds you.

One night, as you sit on the couch with Morgan asleep in your arms, Tony comes over and sits beside you. He leans down to kiss Morgan’s forehead, then rests his head against your shoulder.

“We did good,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

You smile, your heart full. “Yeah, we did.”

And as you sit there, with your daughter in your arms and your husband by your side, you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful journey.

Morgan’s first year is a series of milestones that come at you faster than you’re ready for. One morning, as you’re feeding her in the kitchen, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the high chair, you notice something new. She’s gnawing relentlessly on one of her teething rings, a tiny scowl of determination on her face.

“Tony,” you call over your shoulder. He’s tinkering with some gadget at the counter, but he looks up immediately.

“What’s up?”

You motion toward Morgan, who has abandoned her teething ring and is now attempting to bite the tray of her high chair. “I think we’re entering teething territory.”

Tony sets down his tools and comes over, crouching to her eye level. “What’s going on, little Starkette? You trying to eat your way to freedom?”

Morgan responds with a high-pitched squeal that makes both of you laugh.

Teething quickly becomes a challenging phase, and Morgan is not shy about letting the world know how much she dislikes it. She chews on everything—her toys, your fingers, Tony’s hoodie strings. One night, as you’re watching a movie together, she grabs the edge of Tony’s expensive leather belt and shoves it into her mouth.

“Hey, hey!” Tony says, gently pulling it away. “That’s Italian leather, kiddo!”

You laugh, handing her a proper teething toy. “Welcome to parenthood. Nothing is safe.”

Tony takes the challenge of teething head-on, dedicating hours to researching remedies. He orders every teething toy imaginable and even develops a custom one that vibrates slightly to soothe her gums. When he proudly presents it to you, you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Only our child would have a high-tech teething toy,” you tease.

“Hey,” Tony says, holding up a hand. “If she’s going to chew on something, it might as well be Stark-approved.”

Despite the sleepless nights and the constant need for gum-soothing gel, there are sweet moments too. Like the way Morgan clings to you when she’s particularly cranky, her tiny hands fisting your shirt as she nuzzles into your chest. Or the way Tony sings softly to her as he rocks her in his arms, his voice low and soothing even when he’s dead tired.

One morning, as you’re sitting on the living room floor with Morgan in your lap, she surprises you by letting out a string of sounds that almost—almost—sound like words.

“Ba-ba-da-da,” she babbles, her little fists waving excitedly.

You gasp, looking over at Tony, who’s lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee. “Did you hear that?”

Tony grins, setting his mug down. “Of course I did. That’s pure Stark genius right there.”

“She’s just babbling,” you say, though your heart swells with pride.

“Don’t sell her short,” Tony replies, scooping her up and lifting her high in the air. Morgan squeals with delight, her chubby arms reaching for him. “She’s probably already working out her first patent.”

As the weeks pass, Morgan’s babbling becomes more frequent and animated. She talks to her toys, to you, to Tony, and even to Dum-E, who dutifully beeps in response. One day, as Tony is feeding her, she looks up at him with her big brown eyes and says something that sounds suspiciously like “Dada.”

Tony freezes, the spoon halfway to her mouth. “Did you just… did you just call me Dada?”

You’re watching from the doorway, and you can’t help but laugh. “I think she did.”

Tony’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. He sets the spoon down and pulls Morgan into his arms, holding her close. “That’s right, baby girl,” he says, his voice full of emotion. “I’m Dada.”

Not long after, Morgan starts to show signs that she’s ready to crawl. She spends hours on her belly, wiggling and rocking back and forth as she tries to figure it out. Tony, ever the innovator, decides to “help” her by building a tiny baby-sized robot that moves just out of her reach, encouraging her to chase it.

“Tony,” you say, crossing your arms as you watch him test it in the living room. “You can’t engineer her milestones.”

“I’m not engineering,” he insists, though his grin betrays him. “I’m motivating.”

Morgan seems to agree because within a few days, she’s crawling across the floor with surprising speed, determined to catch the little robot. You cheer her on, clapping and laughing as she finally grabs it and lets out a triumphant giggle.

From that point on, nothing in the penthouse is safe. Morgan is everywhere, pulling herself up on furniture, opening cabinets, and exploring every nook and cranny she can reach. Tony installs baby-proofing measures at an alarming rate, though he still insists on letting her “experiment” within reason.

“She’s curious,” he says one evening as Morgan pulls herself up on the edge of the coffee table. “That’s a good thing.”

“It is,” you agree, though you keep a close eye on her as she wobbles precariously.

The day Morgan takes her first steps is one you’ll never forget. She’s standing near the couch, holding onto the edge for support, when suddenly she lets go. You and Tony are sitting on the floor, a few feet away, watching her with wide eyes.

“Come on, Morgan,” Tony coaxes, holding out his hands. “You can do it.”

She wobbles, her little legs unsteady, but then she takes one step. And then another.

“Tony,” you whisper, your hands flying to your mouth.

“I see it,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

Morgan takes three more steps before tumbling into Tony’s arms, giggling as he scoops her up and spins her around.

“You did it!” he exclaims, pressing kisses all over her face. “That’s my girl!”

You’re crying by the time he looks at you, and he grins, holding Morgan out toward you. “Your turn, Mom.”

You pull her into your arms, kissing her forehead and whispering how proud you are. It’s a moment that feels almost too perfect to be real.

As Morgan grows, her vocabulary starts to expand. Her first word, unsurprisingly, is “Dada,” which Tony proudly declares is the best thing he’s ever heard. But her second word, “Mama,” quickly follows, and you feel an overwhelming surge of love when she says it for the first time.

She picks up other words too—“up,” “no,” and “cookie” become favorites—but her babbling remains a constant source of entertainment. She has long, animated “conversations” with you and Tony, complete with hand gestures and facial expressions.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” you tease Tony one evening as Morgan waves her arms dramatically, babbling at the top of her lungs.

“She’s got your sass,” he counters, smirking.

Through it all, the two of you marvel at how quickly she’s growing and changing. Every milestone feels like a little miracle, a reminder of just how much love and joy she’s brought into your lives.

And as you watch her toddle across the living room one evening, her tiny feet padding against the floor, you realize that this is what happiness truly looks like. A life full of love, laughter, and the sweetest little girl in the world.

Life with toddler Morgan is a delightful mix of chaos, laughter, and the kind of exhaustion you wouldn’t trade for anything. She’s a whirlwind of energy, always exploring, always asking questions—or rather, yelling, “Why?” in her tiny voice as she points to every object she can find. You and Tony quickly learn that raising a toddler is a whole new kind of challenge, but also, it’s endlessly rewarding.

From the moment Morgan wakes up in the morning, she’s a ball of energy. She’s in the phase where she wants to do everything “by herself,” which means you often find her trying to pull on her socks upside-down or insisting on pouring her own juice, resulting in small floods on the kitchen counter.

“Did we adopt a tiny Tony Stark?” you ask one morning, watching her stubbornly refuse your help as she attempts to zip up her jacket.

“Excuse me,” Tony replies, sipping his coffee while lounging against the counter. “She’s a perfect blend of your determination and my brilliance.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, arching an eyebrow as Morgan gives up on the zipper and stomps her foot in frustration. “Your brilliance is why we now have a child who insists on building towers out of every item in the living room, including the remote and your sunglasses.”

Tony grins, crouching beside Morgan to help her with the zipper. “Don’t crush her creativity, babe.”

The penthouse is now toddler-proofed to a degree that feels both excessive and still somehow inadequate. Every corner has been padded, every sharp object locked away. Still, Morgan manages to find ways to keep you both on your toes. She’s discovered the joy of climbing, which means nothing is out of reach—not even the countertop.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you hear a crash from the kitchen, followed by Tony’s panicked voice.

“Morgan! No! You can’t—oh, my God, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You rush in to find Morgan perched precariously on a stool, reaching for the cookie jar on the highest shelf. Tony is holding the stool steady, looking both impressed and horrified.

“She’s got determination,” he says, glancing at you with a sheepish grin.

“She’s going to give me a heart attack,” you reply, scooping her up and giving her a stern look. “No more climbing, little miss.”

Morgan giggles, clearly unbothered by the reprimand. “Cookies!” she declares, pointing at the jar.

“She’s definitely your kid,” Tony mutters, earning a playful swat on the arm from you.

Despite the chaos, you and Tony try your best to find moments of intimacy. It’s not always easy with a toddler running around, but you both know how important it is to keep your connection strong.

Late at night, after Morgan has gone to bed, you often find yourselves curled up on the couch together, sharing a bottle of wine and talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes, Tony pulls you into his lap and kisses you like it’s the first time all over again, his hands sliding over your back as if he can’t get enough of you.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, Tony turns to you with that mischievous glint in his eye.

“You know,” he says, trailing his fingers along your arm, “we make pretty amazing kids.”

You smile, already knowing where this is going. “Oh, do we?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “Morgan’s a genius in the making. Imagine if we had another one.”

You laugh softly, turning to face him. “Are you suggesting we try for baby number two?”

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “I mean, why stop at one when we’re so good at this?”

His hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer, and you roll your eyes even as your heart flutters. “You just want an excuse to keep me barefoot and pregnant, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, feigning offense. “I want an excuse to have more of you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and before you know it, he’s kissing you deeply, his hands roaming your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Tony,” you murmur against his lips, but he silences you with another kiss, his intentions clear.

Needless to say, the idea of a second baby becomes a topic of serious discussion—and action.

Meanwhile, Morgan keeps you both busy during the day. She’s entered the “why” phase with a vengeance, questioning everything from why the sky is blue to why Tony’s suit can fly. Tony, ever the teacher, takes her questions as opportunities to explain science in the simplest terms possible.

“Because, kiddo,” he says one afternoon, crouching beside her as she pokes at one of his gauntlets, “when air moves faster, pressure drops, and that helps create lift. That’s how planes—and my suit—stay in the air.”

Morgan looks at him with wide eyes, nodding solemnly before asking, “Why?”

You laugh from the couch, watching Tony try to answer her endless stream of questions. “You’re in for it now,” you tease.

“Don’t worry,” he replies, winking at you. “She’s a quick learner, just like her mom.”

One of your favorite moments comes when Morgan starts to show an interest in music. She’s discovered Tony’s collection of old records and insists on playing them every evening. Watching her dance around the living room, her little feet stomping to the beat, fills your heart with a joy you didn’t know was possible.

“She’s got moves,” Tony says one night, pulling you into his arms as Morgan twirls around in her pajamas.

“She gets that from me,” you reply, grinning.

Tony laughs, spinning you around as the music plays. “Sure she does.”

Despite the busyness of raising a toddler, you and Tony make time for yourselves as a couple. You sneak away for date nights when Happy or Pepper can babysit, though you always end up talking about Morgan within the first ten minutes.

One evening, after putting Morgan to bed, Tony surprises you with a romantic setup on the balcony—candles, champagne, the works.

“What’s the occasion?” you ask, leaning against him as you gaze out at the city lights.

“Do I need an occasion to spoil my wife?” he replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Moments like these remind you of how lucky you are to have him—not just as a partner, but as the most incredible father to your daughter.

As the weeks go by, you find yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, another little Stark would be the perfect addition to your family. And judging by the way Tony looks at you every time Morgan does something adorable, he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s one of those mornings where the world feels calm, rare moments of peace in the Stark household. The sun is streaming through the windows, and Morgan is sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in her book with her usual level of intensity. Tony is at the counter, making what he swears is “the best pancakes you’ve ever had,” wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt that Morgan insisted he wear because it matches hers—bright pink with a cartoon unicorn on it.

You’re leaning against the counter, holding a mug of tea, trying to figure out the best way to tell Tony the news that’s been buzzing inside you for the past week. You’ve been keeping the pregnancy test hidden in your nightstand, waiting for the right moment to share it. And now, as you watch Tony flip pancakes with Morgan’s enthusiastic commentary in the background, you know the moment is here.

“Hey, Tony?” you say, setting your mug down and crossing the kitchen.

“Yeah, babe?” he answers, not looking up from the griddle.

You slide your arms around his waist from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hmm?” he hums, turning his head slightly to glance at you over his shoulder.

You pause for a moment, your heart pounding with both excitement and nerves. Then, you step back and pull the small onesie you’ve been hiding out from your pocket. It’s white, with the words “Iron Baby No. 2 ETA: 9 Months” printed on it in bold letters.

Tony turns fully to look at you, his brow furrowed. His eyes fall on the onesie, and it takes a second for the meaning to click. When it does, his jaw drops.

“Wait. Are you—?!”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “We’re having another baby.”

Tony stares at you, completely still for a beat, before his face lights up with that signature Stark grin. He lets out a laugh of pure joy and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around right there in the middle of the kitchen.

“Another Stark genius on the way!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with pride and excitement. “Oh my God, babe, this is—wow. Just wow.”

Morgan, still at the table, looks up from her coloring book, her little face scrunching in confusion. “Daddy, why you spinning Mommy?”

Tony sets you down gently, his hands still on your waist, and crouches down to Morgan’s level. “Well, peanut, we’ve got some big news to share with you.”

Morgan blinks, her crayon poised midair. “Big news?”

You kneel beside Tony, taking her tiny hand in yours. “You’re going to be a big sister, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to have a baby.”

Morgan’s eyes go wide, and she looks between the two of you. “A baby?!” she squeals, her face lighting up with excitement.

“That’s right,” Tony says, pulling her onto his lap. “There’s a baby growing in Mommy’s tummy right now.”

Morgan stares at your stomach like she’s expecting to see the baby immediately. “Right now?” she asks, her little hands gently pressing against your belly.

“Right now,” you confirm, smiling at her curiosity.

Her expression shifts into something thoughtful, and then she asks, “Can I share my toys with the baby?”

Your heart melts, and Tony lets out a laugh, hugging her tightly. “That’s a great idea, peanut. You’re going to be the best big sister ever.”

Over the next few weeks, Morgan becomes completely obsessed with the idea of the baby. She asks a million questions—“How does the baby get in there?” (to which Tony coughs and quickly changes the subject), “When will the baby come out?” and, most frequently, “Is the baby going to like me?”

Tony takes every opportunity to reassure her. “Of course the baby’s going to love you,” he tells her one evening as they’re building a block tower together. “You’re going to be their favorite person.”

When you find out the baby is a boy, Morgan’s excitement reaches new heights. “A baby brother!” she exclaims, jumping up and down. “I’m going to teach him how to color and how to play with Dum-E and how to eat pancakes!”

Tony grins, pulling her into a hug. “That’s my girl. He’s going to be one lucky little guy.”

As the months pass, the preparations for the baby kick into high gear. Tony insists on designing the nursery himself, turning one of the spare rooms in the penthouse into a space that’s both practical and beautiful. Morgan helps as much as she can, picking out toys and decorations and offering unsolicited advice.

“I think the baby would like stars on the ceiling,” she says one afternoon as Tony is painting the walls.

“Stars it is,” Tony replies, pulling up a design on his tablet and letting her help choose the layout.

You spend hours together as a family, getting everything ready. Morgan loves to help fold tiny clothes and stack diapers, even if her “help” usually results in more work for you later.

When the day of the birth finally arrives, it happens in the middle of the night. You wake up to contractions and gently nudge Tony awake.

“Tony,” you whisper. “It’s time.”

His eyes snap open, and he immediately jumps into action. “Time? Time for—oh my God, it’s time!” He stumbles out of bed, pulling on clothes and grabbing the hospital bag you packed weeks ago.

Morgan wakes up in the commotion, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “What’s happening?”

“You’re about to meet your baby brother,” you tell her, smoothing her hair.

Tony calls Pepper, who comes to stay with Morgan while you head to the hospital. As you’re leaving, Morgan gives you a big hug and whispers, “Tell the baby I love him, okay?”

Labor is intense but thankfully not too long, and soon enough, baby Jake Stark makes his grand entrance into the world. He’s a perfect mix of you and Tony, with a head of dark hair and big, curious eyes that already seem to be taking everything in.

When Tony holds him for the first time, he’s completely overcome. Tears fill his eyes as he stares down at the tiny baby in his arms. “Hey there, little guy,” he says softly. “I’m your dad. And you’ve got the coolest mom and the best big sister waiting to meet you.”

When you return home the next day, Morgan is practically bouncing with excitement. The moment she sees Jake, her face lights up, and she immediately runs over to you.

“Can I hold him?” she asks, her voice filled with awe.

You settle on the couch with her, placing Jake carefully in her lap. Her small hands gently cradle him, and she stares at him with wide eyes.

“Hi, baby brother,” she whispers. “I’m your big sister Morgan.”

Tony sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders, watching the two of them with a smile that’s equal parts pride and pure love.

Jake lets out a little coo, and Morgan gasps. “He likes me!”

“Of course he does,” you say, brushing a tear from your cheek.

From that moment on, Morgan takes her role as big sister very seriously. She insists on helping with everything, from feeding Jake to picking out his clothes. And while life with two kids is undeniably hectic, it’s also more wonderful than you ever could have imagined.

Watching Tony with your children, the way he adores them and you, makes your heart feel like it could burst. Your family is complete, and every day feels like the greatest adventure yet.

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clonerightsagenda · 1 day ago

Text

To celebrate space archives getting published I might as well post an abandoned short story from 3 years ago that deals with a lot of the same themes in a more concentrated way. This is my toxic yuri for 2025. Enjoy and see if you can remember the post I made about it back in 2022.

This Story Was Made Possible By Viewers Like You

I never liked confession cams.

You know, someone sits in a soundproof room with just the cameras and talks all teary-eyed about how they’ve struggled, and how they really feel, now that no one can hear. But of course someone can hear. You can. You’re there, in the room with them, a few months in the future and a hundred miles away. It’s all a performance. Everything is.

I’m not doing that, ok? This is for me.

They came to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They came with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They came with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I came with nothing. I was already there.

It started the same as always. They jumped when I greeted them and then stole glances at each other’s reactions. No one said anything back. I didn’t expect them to. I’d been getting everything ready. Twenty bedrooms, names on the doors. Lights on, temperature tweaked up there, down here, never quite comfortable. I’m very good at that part of my job.

That first arrival scene goes through a lot of editing. Cut out the boring bits, highlight the quirks that make contestants stand out. The details we highlight set the audience’s perception of each player. Create heroes, villains, characters. No one on these shows presents themselves as they really are. You get the construct.

Me? I get a little bit more.

Let’s skip the boring parts. They milled around for a while before finding their rooms. Most unpacked their clothes. One placed a photograph on her dressing table, angling it so it would be in easy view of the camera. A bid for sympathy, I figured, but my opinion wasn’t the one that mattered.

The files would have told me that her name was Gloria Martina Sosa, contestant ID seventeen, age twenty-nine, pronouns she/her. Employed in finance and competing because her mother needed to pay for a medical procedure. The files would tell me that, but I already knew.

This time, there was a container of chocolates on the table when Gloria inched down the hallway to the dining area. She was good at finding her way around the floorplan already, even though it was designed to send them circling in the wrong direction and bumping into each other. I wondered if they noticed.

She approached the chocolates cautiously. She knew it had to be a test. I knew she liked chocolate.

“Can –” She paused before old-fashioned manners asserted themselves. “May I have one?”

“Yes,” I said.

She slid her hand in. Then she hesitated again, fingers still reaching. “Would you like one?”

I checked to see if someone else had entered the room. Nothing on the visuals from any of the dining room cameras. She was the only one there.

She was talking to me.

“No,” I said, after an obvious pause. Then, because of the manners, “No thank you.”

Her fingers curled around a chocolate. “That was stupid of me.”

I didn’t need to answer that, so instead I thought about her motives. I couldn’t show favoritism; she should know that. Did she want to look empathetic for the audience? She wouldn’t win any points cozying up to me.

Maybe she meant it as a genuine kindness. It was early enough that she might not know better.

“Do you ever wish you could eat?” she asked. The chocolate was in her mouth, but her fingers folded and refolded the square of foil.

Why was she still talking to me? I couldn’t tell her it was against the rules – it wasn’t, officially. So I said, “This won’t make good television.”

Her eyes widened. She was thinking of all the time she’d wasted here, the time her competitors might have been using to build alliances or look for clues. She yanked the container of chocolates off the table and ran back toward the hallway. She’d use them as an offering, maybe, or a bargaining chip. She didn’t say thank you, or goodbye.

Why would she? I’m not a player. I’m the host.

I know how this sounds, so let me set the record straight. I’m not an artificial intelligence. People love to claim they’ve invented a thinking machine, but when you drill down to the bones of one you’ll always find an algorithm. Sure, this place runs on all sorts of automation, but at the end of the day, you need a human to come up with a wicked twist or make sure the tracking software doesn’t mix up Mateo and Benjamin because there was a mishap in the laundry room and they’re wearing each other’s clothes. AI doesn’t have the flexibility a project like this demands. I don’t think it ever will. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, since if it happens, I’ll be out of a job. It’s not a great job (I’m making minimum wage here) but I don’t have to pay rent or buy groceries, so the money adds up.

There used to be a whole team – six-hour shifts, front-end and back-end crews – but budget cuts hit everywhere. It gets quiet sometimes, but at least I don’t have to make a big production of hiding when I’m going to the bathroom with a tampon. I do the best I can, drink a lot of coffee, and chalk any delays or mistakes up to a buggy operating system. There are surgeries you can get to keep you sharper – some employers insist on them – but I wouldn’t let anyone stick neurotech in my brain even if I could afford it. Too many horror stories. It’s easy to keep them thinking I’m a machine. I slap a voice filter on, and my disinterest in everyone’s drama means I don’t have to fake sounding inhumanly bored.

But enough about the woman behind the curtain. That’s not what anyone tunes in for.

About half the guests roamed the halls after dark the first night, which meant prowlers skulking around corners and smacking into each other. I downed two energy drinks and kept an eye out for the most entertaining close calls so I could cut them together later. On other nights I’d feel safe sneaking some sleep, but the first was always busy.

Gloria stayed in her room. Instead of climbing into bed right away, she knelt and whispered something in Spanish. The translation software would handle that for anyone who wanted to know what she was praying for. I could guess.

When she finished, she looked up. They’re never sure where to focus when they talk to me. I’ve learned to read that lost expression as a sign I’m about to be on call. “If I need something, do I just ask?”

“That’s correct.” When she didn’t say anything else, I continued, “Did you need something?”

“Not right now.” Not from me.

The next few weeks passed the usual way. Dean found an immunity stone hidden behind the false back of the pantry. Three different groups swore ill-fated alliances while pretending to be preoccupied with their laundry. The first contestants were voted off, mostly because of dismal challenge performances and in one case because Heather kept stealing other people’s toothpaste. (Luckily for me, I didn’t have to listen to them moping about being eliminated. The losers’ quarters had cameras, of course – everywhere does – but none of those feeds went to my workstation.)

Most of the time the participants treated me as so much background, but there are always exceptions. One afternoon Haruto and Farah were arguing about an inane piece of early twenty-first century pop culture trivia and wanted me to tell them who was right, and Anna was asking about the latest sports scores, and one of the microphones in the dining room wouldn’t connect right even though I’d run troubleshooting, and –

“Is Corey busy?”

I pressed the intercom button for Gloria’s room and said, “One moment, please.” Then I switched channels (click). “The home team won their last game 4 to 1.” Click. “Yes, it was the same actor; they used CGI to make him look younger.” Click. “Sorry for the delay.” I punched in Corey’s ID to pull up the last place the cameras had seen him. “A lot of guests are requesting my services right now.”

I don’t know what did it. Maybe a hint of exasperation crept into my tone, or the keystrokes filtered through the speakers, or a real sentient computer program wouldn’t apologize. Whatever tipped her off, Gloria’s eyebrows pulled down. It wasn’t an expression of surprise as much as it said, ‘I knew it’.

“You’re not an AI,” she said. “Are you.”

Damn. I could have lied. The producers would’ve wanted me to, but they left me there to play the game however I chose. Besides, I’d already paused too long. A machine wouldn’t have to think about it.

“A lot of the answers are. There’s a library of canned responses for the most predictable questions. I’m here for the more complicated problems.”

“Here?” She spun her eyes around the room like I might pop out of a closet.

“On site. Behind the scenes.”

“But you can see and hear me?” She hunched in on herself. “I don’t like that.”

“You signed up to be on a TV show.”

“That’s different.”

Because I wasn’t an adoring fan. “Did you want an answer to your question?”

“You can see him too?” She was hung up on that considering the position she put herself in. The contracts they signed asked them to give away all sorts of control.

“I can see everyone. I’m not watching all the time, though. That’s part of the automation. I get notified when there’s activity that might be interesting.” I checked the relevant screen, which showed me the feed from camera 251. “He’s brushing his teeth.”

“Is that interesting?”

“Not according to the system.” Showering would be, because the system’s a pervert. So are the folks back home, although the editors make sure to frame things just right so that we can deny we’re showing anything explicit.

She sighed. She kept her head angled toward the floor, like denying the cameras eye contact preserved some sliver of her privacy. “I guess I can’t opt out.”

“Not until you go home. You could try to be less interesting, but it’ll cost you.” That strayed dangerously close to advice. “I’ll delete this conversation, though. Have to preserve my image.”

That got her head to pop up. “You can do that?”

I wiggled my fingers over the keyboard, a pointless gesture since she couldn’t see me. “As long as you’re in this building, I’m basically God.”

“God.” Her lip curled. I’d seen her praying earlier. Maybe my boast sounded like blasphemy. “What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ve got rules. Sorry,” I added, repeating that human touch that betrayed me.

“I don’t know why I asked.” She looked away from the camera again. “Don’t watch me sleep.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She was pretty. But watching a pretty woman over the cameras isn’t automatically creepy. If it is, what does that say about you?

I tried to keep my word. Gloria wanted to believe she still had boundaries, and unlike our loyal viewers, I don’t get my kicks spying on people. Every so often, though, my eyes crept back to her square on my monitor. I knew so much about these people, and she was the only one who knew I existed. That knowledge was like a blinking notification that never went away.

I didn’t expect Gloria to talk to me again, and for a few days she didn’t. She sat in silence while I announced the day’s events or when other participants asked me questions, a frown mostly smoothed off her face. I saw it, though. That’s what she was frowning about.

Four days after our conversation, she was tearing her room apart looking for something. It’d been twenty minutes, and she wasn’t going to find it. I was waiting for her to figure that out. She groaned, tilted her head up, and asked, “Do you know where my charger is?”

“Under the sofa in the living room.”

She jumped. “That was fast.”

“Pretty good AI impression, right?” I hadn’t been watching her sleep, but I’d been paying attention. So sue me. If she decided to spill my secret, I’d have to… well, I didn’t know. It had never happened before.

“Is anyone else there right now?”

“Haruto and Farah.” Still arguing, somehow. Getting worked up about each other’s vintage cinema opinions was their version of entertainment.

She sighed and sat on the side of her bed. “I don’t want to get sucked into whether we need any more live action remakes. Can you tell me when they leave?”

“Sure.” Informal. I was slipping.

She drummed her ankles against the floor and then, with a huff, hopped up again and began straightening the mess she made. She wasn’t a woman who liked to be still. I wasn’t surprised when she broke the silence. “Does anyone else know?”

“If they’ve guessed, they haven’t said anything. This isn’t a test, or one of the puzzles you’re supposed to solve. You weren’t supposed to notice.”

She slammed a drawer. “Do you like spying on people?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” She snorted. “It’s a job. A boring one, most of the time. Alerts tell me when any of you do something relevant, and then I cut the best footage together and send it back to the real editors. I’m not watching you every second. Who would want to?”

That got her to stop folding a shirt and look up at camera 387 so I’d be sure to see the disgusted expression on her face. “The fans?”

Fair point. “I forget about them sometimes.”

“I doubt your bosses would be happy to hear that.” She moved on to stuffing toiletries back into her bag, but her movements were less ferocious. “How did you end up working here?”

“I worked as set crew on a few smaller projects. I didn’t get training for it, but I’m good at picking up just enough to make myself useful.” That’s what kept me around through round after round of layoffs. I learned the bare bones of other people’s jobs, and upper management decided bare bones was enough. That kind of approach doesn’t make friends in the workplace, but neither does getting fired. And hey, it worked out that I’m not a team player. The only one on my team now is me.

“Do you like reality TV?”

“Hell no.” I couldn’t believe anyone would put up with the genre without getting paid for it. “But a job’s a job. Did you always dream about starring in something like this?”

She paused, clutching a bottle of perfume. “Not like this.” She took a bracing whiff – the label said orange vanilla, but smell is one thing I can’t piggyback on. “You’ll delete this?”

The start of our conversation was already flagged. “Speak freely.”

“I liked the romantic ones when I was younger. The fairy tale element; I read a lot of fairy tales growing up. Later I realized how artificial they were, but you keep hoping.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

Neither could I. Then again, they were encouraged to bare their souls for the cameras. It must be a hard habit to break. “Given the data I’ve collected, I think Anna is your one true love.”

Instead of laughing, she shoved the perfume into her bag. “I’m not here for that.”

“I know.”

She zipped up the bag, stood, and looked right at the camera, hands on hips. It was the closest I’d come to eye contact with someone in months. “How much do you know about me?”

“Mostly what’s in your files.” I reread them after she caught me. I had her entire application packet, every official scrap of information the network collected.

“And I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know I don’t like reality TV.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

She shot the question at me, and I responded reflexively. “Blue. At least it is now. I don’t see the sky much on this job.”

“Blue.” She digested that and looked past the cameras, up to the ceiling and the sky beyond that she’d only see through windows until the game was over. “I miss it too.”

“Now you know one thing about me. Happy?”

“Can I ask more, later?” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth; I think the question surprised her as much as it did me. “I don’t like being watched by a stranger. I can’t stop you watching, but I can stop you from being such a stranger.” A crafty spark entered her eyes. “You are here to answer our questions. That’s what they told us in orientation.”

They did tell them that. “I’ll do what I can,” I said. “But be careful. I don’t want everyone in the house asking me for my biography.”

Gloria was the one on camera, but she was the one who forgot herself. She was standing in the kitchen running a plate under the water when she looked toward a camera and asked, “What do you eat?”

“Uh,” said Benjamin, waiting for his turn at the sink. “Are you talking to me?”

“Based on existing data, Benjamin enjoys soy-based products and fresh fruit,” I said in my best automaton voice.

At least she caught on quick. “Thank you,” she said, and went back to rinsing pasta sauce off her dishes.

After she retreated to her room, she said, “I’m guessing I’m not supposed to socialize with you.”

“There aren’t any rules against it,” I said, which wasn’t a no, and then followed it up with, “It’s not the most strategic use of your time,” which wasn’t a yes.

“I need a break from everything out there sometimes. At least I know what you’re lying about.”

Safer not to comment on that one. Besides, she was still going.

“Mateo is always trying to make sure the cameras get his good side; you know he’s here to make a name for himself. And Anna keeps talking about how she wants to buy her own automated mansion, like she can’t imagine going back to having to manually turn on the lights. They’re so trivial. It makes me want to toss them out a window and tell them to come back when they have something serious to compete for.”

I didn’t comment on that either, but I could’ve. The truth was, at least half the participants needed the money for reasons beyond popularity contests or tech upgrades. It didn’t matter. If I told her, she wouldn’t think they deserved it as much as she did. Even without the files, I could have read her life story in her unblemished skin and name brand outfits. She’d never sweated through record-breaking summers because during surge periods companies always cut off the poorest neighborhoods first. She wrinkled her nose at the cricket flour crackers in the pantry like someone who had the luxury to leave food on her plate. She had no idea how many people watched her and wished they could take her place – not for a chance at a cash prize or fifteen minutes of fame, but just to have a safe place to sleep and enough to eat. When people watch shows like this, it’s not about rooting for an individual, not really. It’s about constructing elaborate narratives about themselves. Wanting participants, wanting to be them: there’s not much of a difference in the end. They’re all different flavors of consumption. Some players catch on faster and embrace being the product.

But Gloria was used to being on the other side of the equation. She’d been comfortable her whole life, and this medical bill was the first time she hadn’t had enough to make the world work the way she wanted. So she came running here for a fairy tale ending, because of course she was entitled to that along with everything else.

You’d think people like me who’ve been struggling their whole lives would fight hardest, but people like that? They get vicious.

Instead I said, “So you’re saying it’s nice to talk to me.”

“It’s a change.”

I minimized camera 16’s window where Richard and Destiny are gearing up to either start a fight or swap spit. Hard to tell with those two. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What do you think of us? You watch us all day.”

“Not all day, I told you. Honestly it’s – did you ever work customer service?” Her eyebrows jumped. I could’ve guessed that too. “Well, in that kind of job, you don’t pay much attention to individuals. You’re all one big crowd. Of course, you’re also my only live entertainment. Could you do anything more interesting?”

“Any suggestions?”

“Steal Corey’s watch.”

She laughed. Corey told everyone who would listen how expensive his custom-made timepiece was. His audience hung on to every word, although they were mostly hanging on to his cheekbones. “That won’t get me any votes.”

“I’d vote for you.”

“You mean you’re not charmed by him?”

“Not my type.”

“Not mine either.”

I know, I thought, but I didn’t say it. She didn’t like to be reminded.

Gloria didn’t steal Corey’s watch. The next time he made a production of giving someone the time she looked right at the nearest camera, and I almost choked on my protein bar laughing.

After she left that conversation, she slipped into her room and leaned against the door. “You always delete the video when I’m talking to you, right?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good to send it on.”

Her shoulders loosened. It was surprising, and a little gratifying, that my presence now made her relax. “In the real world, you’re pressured to be doing something useful with every second of your life. In here, every second you’re performing for the cameras. It’s nice to be able to stop.”

I covered a yawn with one hand and reached for my coffee. “At least you get regular rest periods. I can’t give you details, but some people were keeping me up last night.”

She frowned. “Would you rather I let you go?”

The frown was also gratifying. “No, there’s enough I need to monitor right now anyway. Just keep your activities within regular business hours. That’ll make you a model participant in my book.”

“I’ll try.” She settled onto her bed and stretched her arms over her head, bending back the wrists. Then she asked, abruptly, “Do you have a favorite guest?”

“I’m not supposed to pick favorites. I won’t name names, but my least favorite is someone who starts whistling when they’re trying to concentrate. I always get the tune stuck in my head.”

“I’d hate that too.” She dropped her arms down and rested her hands in her lap. “It doesn’t seem fair. You get to see all of us, and I don’t get to see you.”

“It’s for the best that you can’t.” I shifted in my chair where I was sitting cross-legged in sweatpants I’d been wearing for three days straight. “I don’t have to be presentable to anyone back here. My hair’s a mess.”

She shrugged. “It would be nice to see any new face. Can you tell me what you look like?”

“Better not.” There weren’t any rules against that either – no one would’ve thought we needed them. But I wasn’t there to be looked at. “Just… imagine me. Whatever you’d like.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

For the next month, I watched from my hundreds of cameras and listened through my hundreds of microphones. I scoured test banks for trivia questions and rearranged the responsive floor plan to build obstacle courses. I beamed everything back to our viewers, and the network compiled data to send back. Their demands were predictable. So-and-so is popular; be sure to get close-ups. Contestants X and Y don’t get along. Trap them in a room together with a malfunctioning door. Sometimes the instructions were specific, but often they just told me what the audience wanted. By now, I knew how to get it.

While I did that, I watched Gloria. She was average, as these things go. She lasted longer than half the participants in a challenge where I cranked the temperature lower and lower. Then she flopped when asked to identify the fake headline in a social media feed. She nodded to cameras with a half-smile, and although she could be doing it for the viewers, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing it for me.

She stayed kinder than I expected, even as everyone dropped the niceties and the game turned into a bloodbath of votes and eliminations. I’m not usually wrong reading people. I have so much to go on.

She kept talking to me late at night. Participants are promised some privacy in their bunks. (If they read their contracts line by line they know better. Viewers get very interested whenever a player invites someone else in. That was happening in two locations, so it was easy to cover up my own indiscretions.)

“Do you know what’s happening back home?

“Only what the network sends me.” I didn’t miss it. Participants signed up for fame or money, but escape would work as well. At least locked in this house, the problems weren’t real. You knew the challenges were fake, and everyone went to bed with a full stomach at the end of the day. It’s not a bad gig, really.

“I don’t know how my mother’s doing.” She was staring at the ceiling instead of making virtual eye contact with me. “Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t get back in time. It feels like it’s been longer than a few weeks.”

She didn’t seem to be waiting for a response. They were encouraged to think out loud for the cameras.

Nine weeks into this round of the game, she was in trouble. We didn’t talk about it. I was supposed to be her refuge from all that. Ridiculous, if you think about it, but we all have our illusions. She didn’t have access to viewer opinion polls or other players’ confessions, but I could tell from the way she held herself that she knew. If she didn’t win this week’s challenge, she was gone.

That shouldn’t have bothered me. I don’t pick favorites. Players come and go and nothing changes. Except…

I used to talk to my coworkers’ empty chairs to hear my own voice. I erased crosswords and started them again. The job without Gloria would be… boring. I didn’t want to look across all my monitors and not see her there.

I’ve never related to the viewers who root for their favorite contestant. This was different. They’re behind a screen watching the edited version of a woman from miles away, a woman who doesn’t even know they exist. I knew her. She knew me.

She didn’t ask for my help. I’d like to imagine she respected my integrity or didn’t want to risk my job, but I saw the way she threw herself into trying to shore up shaky alliances, too little too late. She’d rather rely on herself. I might be the all-seeing eye and the voice in her ear when she went to sleep, but when it comes to playing the game, no one pays attention to the help.

My inbox dinged. The network was responding to my latest batch of video. I skimmed through it: suggestions for contrived scenarios to start people fighting, instructions to let the showers break down, standard stuff. Then, at the end: We need new topics for this week’s trivia challenge. Any ideas?

The challenges got repetitive after a while. Production was always looking for suggestions. I opened a reply, started typing, and then paused.

I could help. No one would know. Gloria would be here, with me, for another week.

It wouldn’t be my first case of workplace dishonesty. I’d fibbed on timesheets and extended my breaks like everyone has. I’d kept my mouth shut and let coworkers take the fall for my mistakes. This was interference with the outcome of the show, though. I could get fired.

Who was going to catch me? Me?

I typed, What about fairy tales?

Gloria was exultant. She won the trivia challenge, securing her place for the week and spurring a nasty double cross in an alliance that had been planning on forcing her out. She paced back and forth in her room, rehashing her triumph. I responded with customer service hmms. It didn’t occur to her that I might be behind the convenient choice of topics. Which was fine. If she realized, she might let it slip, or expect more favors, and I’d risked enough already. It was fine that I was everywhere controlling everything and she still acted like she had no idea. People like her are the same everywhere. They assume the world runs itself.

“If I win next week’s challenge and Richard and Destiny stay on bad terms, I have a chance,” she said. “I could win.”

I didn’t say much in response. Maybe she thought I was being careful not to spill any show secrets, or maybe to her I was just another audience member witnessing her triumph. I’d had so much time to watch and still had trouble reading her.

I’m not omniscient, is the point. I never had the power to read her mind or control her or even save her in the end. I was only ever buying time.

I’d built a habit of letting emails pile up and answering them when I felt like it, but now I never closed my inbox. I took my phone with me on bathroom breaks or rare trips outside. Of course, if the network found out what I’d done, they might not bother with professional communication. They might send a crew in with no notice to throw me out on my ass.

That dampened my enthusiasm as Gloria dreamed of making the final three. Household malfunctions rose. I got jumpy. Anna asked me a question, and I froze, because for a moment I thought I’d been caught. A spam email snuck through my filter, and I spilled my energy drink all over the keyboard when I heard the notification. I wanted to scream through the intercoms, Don’t you know what I can do? What I’ve already done? You don’t even know that I’m here.

Instead I turned the heat up two degrees and reassured Anna that she’d buttoned up her dress correctly.

In the end, I didn’t get caught. The shutdown order came for different reasons. Mateo, a fan favorite, had settled into a committed relationship. The move wasn’t popular with viewers. They liked him as a heartbreaker with someone else in his bunk every night. I don’t get the appeal, but ratings are ratings.

End the game, wipe their memories, and start over, the message said, with a list of new parameters to try. Just like the last four times I got this email. Neurotech sure has expanded the boundaries of reality programming.

Like I said, I’ve got horror stories.

I flicked through the changes. The bulk were new living arrangements and challenges tailored to different participants’ skills. The true appeal was more pathos for viewers to sigh over, as former lovers betrayed each other and friends met again as strangers. They eat it up so much I wonder if the game will ever end.

Maybe I should be happy about that. It’s job security.

I could see Gloria out of camera 43. She was selecting a meal packet and humming to herself. I wanted to warn her, to say that every time before this she’d become someone shut off or brittle or cruel, and that I liked her better this way. I wanted to tell her it’d been thirteen months since she saw her mother, not two. I wanted to ask if she had any idea. But I signed a contract too.

Instead I waited until after lights out and said, “Let me show you something.”

Gloria trusted me enough by now that she waited until I’d directed her to a blank stretch of wall to ask, “Why did you bring me here?”

“If you compare the interior to the outside of the house, this can’t be an exterior wall. There’s too much space. You didn’t notice?”

“I didn’t.”

She did in three of the other versions. Gloria had rarely been a model participant. She’d explored more, discovered more, when she wasn’t talking to me. “When people do, I tell them it’s not part of the game. It’s where we keep some of the machinery used to run the facilities.”

“What’s really on the other side?”

“Me.”

She started at that, looking from the camera to the wall and back again, like she assumed I lived in the fiber optics. “You’re there?”

“In my own set of apartments. It’s roomy now that I’m the only one. There’s a side door, so I even get a little sun sometimes. There’s a lot of machinery back here with me, though. We try not to lie when we can tell part of the truth. Makes it easier to keep track of everything.”

She reached out and presses her hand to the chipped paint of the wall. “You were always right here.”

“Hang on, I’m at a different terminal.” I hopped out of my chair and squeezed myself between my desk and the one that used to belong to Paulo before the last round of cutbacks. “Now I’m right there.” I was simplifying things, of course. There was at least a foot of wires and paneling between us, but it was still the closest we’d ever been. I reached out to press my hand to the wall and imagined the touch of another human’s skin against my own.

This was my last chance to tell the truth. I could reveal everything, lead her to the emergency exit only I knew about, and invite her to run away with me to… what? We were both there because we needed something, and the world won’t give you anything for free. In this house, blasphemy or not, I was basically God. I could steer her away from danger. I could construct a narrative. Outside, I couldn’t create a happy ending for either of us.

From what I knew of Gloria Martina Sosa, the many possible Gloria Martina Sosas who had walked under this roof, she would hate me for keeping this from her.

It was a good thing she didn’t know me at all.

“Why did you decide to tell me now?” she asked.

There were a lot of things I could have said. Because this version of you dies tomorrow. Because there are bigger rules I won’t break, and I want to believe I’m a person who would break some of them, for you. Because I’m saying goodbye, and you don’t even know it.

“Because we’re getting close to the end now,” I said. “You’ll be too busy soon to think about me.”

“It’s hard to not think about you when you’re watching all the time. Especially now that I know exactly where you are.” She ran her fingers across the paint before pulling away. “Maybe when this is over I’ll be able to see you face to face.”

I couldn’t hesitate. If I hesitated, she might guess something is wrong, and my entire job relied on returning polished answers with mechanical precision. “That would be nice.” I was using my work voice, all business. “You should get back to bed before anyone wonders why you’re up.”

She smiled – at the wall rather than the camera. She might have been looking toward me, but that means she didn’t meet my eyes. “Are you worried about my beauty sleep?”

“Rest is important,” I said. “I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I’m rooting for you.”

Thanks to my instructions, she made it back without running into anyone, turning corners and ducking into rooms without a word of protest. Once I delivered her to her room, she dimmed the lights and slipped into bed to while away the last few hours this version of her would ever see.

I watched her fall asleep, and I didn’t say a word.

Maybe next time.

They were called in for a medical check-up the next morning. “Is this a challenge?” Gloria asked while getting dressed.

“No,” I said. “It’s perfectly normal.” The producers would be pleased. I’d never sounded less human.

Teardown procedure between rounds was always the same. I filled out the standard paperwork and finished packaging the last days of footage to be shipped back to the editors. My email inbox could be thinned out. I’d gotten practiced, and none of the tasks took long. Then it was just me, the empty house, and Gloria’s ghost roaming the silent halls.

If you look at it right, I’m doing her a favor. Outside the house, the monsters are so much worse than me. People want to be you, or have you, and they’ll eat you alive. People who grew up like me would understand. They might even ask me to do the same for them.

I don’t know why I’m bothering to justify myself. My job is to watch and record, not to editorialize. There’s no reason for me to sit down in front of the camera and say, My name is Cal, and there’s nothing I could have done. But I guess I’ve caught the narrative bug after watching everyone else spin out their stories, because here I am making my recording. Wishing there was someone on the other side of the screen to turn me into someone new.

I have no illusions that I would be an audience favorite. That’s never been my role.

An email with the finalized set-up for round six arrived in my inbox, and I scanned it so I’d be prepared. There will be no chocolates next time. Every round, the producers try something different. But I will say hello, and maybe this time she will say it back.

They come to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They come with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They come with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I come with nothing. I was already here.

#tumblr is not the ideal place to read 6.5k words but what can you do #kat writes

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slcmml · 1 day ago

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charlie & gn! reader — as long as i’m with you.

“i’d like to see the sharks.”

☆ this one is very self indulgent, because i adore sea life, but i like to imagine your first date with charlie was at an aquarium.

☆ he LOVES the touch tanks; he thinks they’re so fucking cool (and they are, by the way).

☆ walking through the underwater tunnel with him.. “are they fucking?” “..i think so.” “us?” “sure.”

☆ FEEDING THE ANIMALS WITH CHARLIE AUGGHHH!! he named each and every single animal he fed (despite them already having a name). “can i call you glub? you seem like a glub with the way you eat that fish.” “what does that even mean, charlie?”

☆ if you’re anything like me, then you definitely brought a polaroid camera with you. TAKING THE SILLIEST PHOTOS WITH CHARLIE AUGGHH.. kill me now.

☆ also buying the stupidest shit in the gift shop before you leave (shark gun shark gun shark gun)

“hey, that statue kind of looks like you!”

★ would it be horrible of me to say this is also self indulgent because i also adore museums?

★ now. i do not physically believe this museum date would be one of those cute ones where you hold hands and enjoy the silence together. because this is charlie we’re talking about.

★ he’s probably giggling at the paintings of naked people. “oh wow, he’s got a small cock.” “charlie, you said that so loud.”

★ physically cannot stand there and look at a painting for more than thirty seconds. he NEEDS to be in the kids section with all the interactive stuff.

“i fucking hate being an adult. why do stinky children get the cool shit?”

★ as always, will take the goofiest photos in front of anything he finds even slightly silly.

★ you both probably spend nothing more than an hour and a half in there before leaving to get something to eat, but that’s okay, the ice cream you shared was a banger.

“you spent fifty dollars trying to win me that?”

☆ arcade dates.. aughhh they’re so cute.. AND WITH CHARLIE??

☆ i think we all know the claw machines are rigged. but i’m not one to lay there and take it in the ass so i WILL spend as long as it takes trying to get a toy from it if charlie even SLIGHTLY mentions thinking it’s cute.

“babe, it’s fine, you don’t have to—” “i’m not letting this fucking machine dictate whether or not my boyfriend can have this goddamn octopus plush.”

☆ also i just KNOW that charlie would suck ass at dance dance revolution but he’d still spend at least half an hour going through songs and trying to win.

☆ spending SO fucking long going through the arcade games, trying to beat the high score on at least ONE of them (you never end up getting the high score).

“i’m tired, can we start heading back, please?”

★ i.. also enjoy hiking. another self indulgent one. but whatever.

★ you two probably take the silliest photos (like always). you laying on the ground, playing dead, in one photo while charlie has a shocked expression in the next.

★ collecting rocks and leafs. placing said rocks on the ground once you both decide to go off trail because it seemed fun. losing track of said rocks and getting lost.

“where the fuck are we?” “i think we’re in hell.”

★ watching as charlie tries to climb literally ANYTHING, and being slightly worried that he’ll fall.

★ getting SO fucking bored as you’re walking, trying to find the trail again, that you both just start playing i-spy.

“oh shit, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! help me, i’m fucking falling!”

☆ roller skating dates.. mmmm.. has anyone seen that clip of charlie spinning around and then pointing to the camera? because of that clip, i don’t think he’s a HORRIBLE skater.. but definitely not a pro.

☆ he sure acts like it, though! tries to do these cool ass tricks and lands directly on his ass before whining about it.

“if i can jump and spin, can you please buy me nachos?”

☆ his ass does NOT land. you buy him nachos anyway.

☆ teehee.. i really like the idea of holding hands and skating around and just being silly little goobers.. charlie please save me, charlie if you can hear me, please save me charlie..

☆ takes your hand and dramatically dips you, “so, uh.. you come here often?” and then you both get off balance and fall.

#slcmml posts #wasn’t sure how to format this #so sorry #i thought this might’ve been cute #also so sorry if it’s not #writing makes me want to kill myself??#sorry if this is short #feel free to add on #i like hearing other people’s thoughts #charlie slimecicle x reader #slimecicle #slmccl #sfw

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yvesbuprofen · 9 months ago

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just finished watching x WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

#my face thorough the movie: 😐🤨🤢🫥#the special effects were sooo good what !?!?#I lived for the makeup vfx on everyone !!!#favorite was the first death though!#the 🤢 face is for the creepy old lady scene #I'm still processing the movie #but I kind of had fun #I think the first half is really boring though #like ok!!! they fuckin !!! I GET IT #me cheering on the crocodile death roll because not many people put in on movies even though it's like how this dudes eat

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egophiliac · 1 year ago

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I love your take on Crowley!

I know that the early, non-Diasomnia stories aren't really your thing, but are you reading the novels at all?

I have been following some of the fan translations and the second book seems intense! Would love to hear what you think about them.

thank you! 💚💚💚 I'm not really sure why you think I don't like the earlier arcs though, I love pretty much all the characters and their storis! (I think 5 and 1 are my favorite of the past episodes, though 6 infected me with the Shroud brainrot something fierce.) I just...ESPECIALLY love diasomnia. :') but there is room in my heart for all of these dweebs! like, who among us is not just as ride-or-die for Adeuce as they are for us.

that said, I don't really follow the other adaptations like the manga (aside from a dip-in just to see the new Yuus) or the novels, though I keep meaning to check them out! I do like seeing the differences between the different forms of media, and how certain things get adapted one way or another! but alas, time/a lack of accessibility stands in our way more often than not. :( someday...someday I will have time to consume all of the media...

#art #twisted wonderland #i have been playing this game since the day it came out #and believe me i could not have stuck with it for the past three and a half years if i was not deep into all of these idiots #not to harp on it but i do think it's funny because i actually. really did not like the diasomnias at first.#it was like a month before their cards/personal stories were added and so we knew almost NOTHING about them #the website descriptions basically make everyone sound awful #so i thought they were kind of mean/boring compared to everyone else!#(except maybe lilia but i was mad at him for the two seconds of 'girl? 👀' hope i had when they were revealed)#but once their cards came out i fell just as hard for them as i did the rest of this silly game #well. sebek took a little longer. but his ketchup incident converted me.#anyway i have so much sentimentality for episode 1 especially #the prologue was like 'oh this is actually a very silly game! oh there is a plot!'#episode 1 was like 'oh i LIKE these characters and what they're doing with them'#(i think ace punching riddle was the moment i decided i REALLY liked this game) (sorry riddle) (you were being a huge dick though)#also...ink drips. ink drips everywhere.#look when i say this game is laser-focused at me and my tastes specifically i am not kidding

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icewindandboringhorror · 8 months ago

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finally finished all of one character's entire quests/optional dialogue/questions/etc.... 100,000 words... .... aughhh

#Given some of it IS lines of code and stuff but like.. minus all that it's still probably at least 85 - 95k words hhhhhh #AND I have to do this for another 3 characters. Then a few partial quests for 3 others. THEN the other random misc stuff in the game #(like there are public areas in the city like a park and a forest that you can go and do a few things at. and chat with a few random #townsfolk that aren't actually full characters or anything. And there's a community board where you can #browse some of the random job advertisments or silly things that happen to be posted around #and also pick up a few odd jobs of your own to help earn coin to buy gifts for the npcs. etc. etc.)#Originally I was thinking like 'ah I'll make a short little game just to try it out! :3 It'll take maybe a few months!''#haha........................hee hee........................................hoho #Also evil that it would have been done already if I didn't totally drop itand stop working on it for like 5 years randomly #i could have made 5 years of steady slow progress gradually. instead of like 'one initial idea dump + about a month of art and writing'#...... 5 year break..... 'sudden mad dash to try to get probably 400.000 words written in a year or less' lol #I just really want to be done and have something out there already so it can lead to doing other things in my world..!!!!!! T o T #Like this can be an introduction and then maybe from that I can make other games. or short story anthologies. or other such things #But there needs to be some initially not very complex easy to interact with starting point first I guess... if that makes sense #That's part of why I stopped posting worldbuilding lore dump stuff as often because its' like.. massive walls of novella length #text are much more inacessible to engage with than like.. ooh a game! and there's characters! so its more approachable! and theres #visuals! oo! and the text is broken up in small bits line by line with other things in betwen! oo! etc. etc. lol #Not that THIS is even very accessible. I think dialogue heavy interactive fiction/visual novel type stuff is pretty niche and considered #boring or tedious compared to something with more ''gamplay'' like where you can actually move around in a world #and shoot things or whatever lol. But its an inbetween point. something SLIGHTLY #more accesible for now. Since i just dont have the budget or means or ability to make some skyrim type thing obviously LOL #Though maybe if theres any interest in the visual novel that could lead to making other things too. or at least I hope. I have a VERY cool #idea for a more ''gamey'' type of game that is a super fun concept and etc. but I would need to hire at least 2 people to make it.. ough..#I could do all the writing and probably half of the art. But I think I'd inevitably need a 3d artist and someone who can Code For Real hbjh #the system for ren'py (the thing I'm making a visual novel in) is not that complicated if you stick to just simple dialogue and stuff.#Making a whole moderately sized 3d game with minigames in it and a bunch of quest features and etc. would be out of my simplistic scope #''just learn it yourself!!' ... i barely manage to eat and sleep reliably every day lol... i do not function well enough to spend months #learning that many new skills. I already have a lot of of things I'm good at (not in a braggy way but just factually like.. i already have #a wide variety of different things under my belt).. at some point I have to just be happy with what i CAN already do and focus on that #and admit I need to get outside help sometimes ghjbh... NO more new skills/hobbies!!! ... ANYWAY

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viulus · 1 year ago

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Finally tried out Ghost Trick tonight

#vu's posts #i downloaded a bunch of demos for interesting-looking games to my switch last month #and that was one of them... it's weird because despite being a long-time ace attorney fan i never thought to check this game out #but honestly? so far it's really good. and no joke i kept saying 'oh yeah i can *see* the shu takumi writing style here'#i really enjoyed great ace attorney (which he also wrote) a year and a half back so i think i'll really enjoy this too #i also tried out... spiritfarer... hyrule warriors... and octopath traveler 2. couldn't get into any of them honestly.#SF falls into the 'cozy' game genre... and i fucking hate that genre. it's so boring.#i could talk about my disdain for that genre as a whole some more 🤢 but i will spare everyone reading this.#hyrule warriors was a letdown because... i guess i just dislike that style of gameplay?#this was my first time trying a dynasty warriors-type game... and i had a feeling that i wouldn't like it. it's a shame i was right though #and as for octopath traveler... i think i'm willing to give it more of a chance? but at the same time...#It's a turn-based jrpg. and between p5 and pokemon i'm kind of burnt out on that genre #i want to give it another chance because i might actually really enjoy the writing... but idk if i can tolerate the jrpg gameplay 😬#OH #i also started on alan wake and death's door last month... so far so good on both.#AW is one of those games that my bslur 1 was OBSESSED with when i was younger. so that's been my connection to it for years #never thought that i'd care about it at all but.. yeah it's actually pretty good so far #death's door is hella fun so far... it was slow at first but i'm really enjoying myself with it now #but yeah. i'm gonna go to bed now... que tenga una buena noche 👋

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kamitv · 6 months ago

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▷ What You Need

Sypnosis . In which your dad, who’s worked closely with jujutsu sorcerers his entire life, finally allows you to meet his best friend— who’s half-curse, half-human, and 100% your type. / Pairing . dbf!Choso x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, age gap (reader is 20 & Choso is like 150 lol), jjk au, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart, etc), dry humping, teasing, reader’s pretty blunt, dirty talk, Choso is so soft with the reader, heavy tension, filth, pussy slapping, squirting, creampie, semi-soft sex, semi-rough sex, overstim, etc . / wc . 10k (heh..)

A/N: I can’t even explain where this idea came from. Just know I was listening to ‘What You Need’ by The Weeknd & then my mind went from there. If you have Daddy issues, you’re welcome. [MDNI]

You wanted to fuck him.

Plain and simple, straight to the point, your first impression of your father’s best friend was that you wanted to have sex with him. Unfortunately for you, the problem with such fantasies was that you had a boyfriend at the time.

A really really shitty one but, still. You were in a relationship when you first met Choso. And you remember meeting the man so clearly too— partially because you ran right into him, and also because one conversation with him had you forgetting your sorry excuse of a boyfriend’s name.

——

You were yawning as you glided down the flight of stairs of your home with your phone in your hand, the smell of coffee simmering into your nose, and a deep unfamiliar voice heard coming from your kitchen.

And to think you nearly regret coming home to your father’s estate for the summer. You’d left all your friends in the city just to come out to the countryside and spend time with your parents. More specifically, your father.

The first week home you were bored out of your mind. The most exciting part of your day would be a lengthy phone call with your best friend about whatever drama you’d missed out on while you were out of town.

Your mother was out on a business trip and your father spent most days holed up in his office despite pleading for you to spend the summer home. The days dragged on and the hours felt endless.

Up until a rather particular Friday morning.

Time and time again over the years, your father had always mentioned one name when it came to his friends; Choso Kamo, his best friend. For whatever work-related reason, your dad always told you that you weren’t allowed to meet the guy. And yet, something had changed— apparently, the man needed a place to stay for a few months.

And yeah, sometime throughout Thursday night you briefly remember talking to your father about meeting the mysterious ‘Choso Kamo’ the next day but, you didn’t expect to run into the guy first thing that following morning.

Standing in the middle of your kitchen as you’d carelessly waltzed in, large hands latching onto your waist from the initial contact of your forehead meeting his chest, and husky deep tone hitting your ears with a sexy, “Woah,” The man uttered, causing your body to tense up from head to toe, “Careful, sweetheart.”

His voice was heavy in such a low purr, prompting a chill to slip down your spine before you angled your head up to look at the source of such a tone. An immediate lump was caught in your throat and you think you forgot how to speak properly because you’re blurting out a startled little curse before you even realize it.

“Sorry I-, damn.” You breathe out in reaction to the man in front of you.

His hands, which you’re only just now realizing are at your sides, are steady to leave you after assuring you’re not going to fall forward. The deepest set of dewy brown eyes settle on your face and you think you’re in love. Dark bags from lack of sleep weigh sexily beneath his low-lidded eyes, a jet black shade of ink is printed across the bridge of his nose, not a single blemish in sight, and a sweet yet masculine scent rushes into your nose all at once.

It was as though God decided to deliver an angel directly to you in the form of a very very attractive man— only thoughts of sin clouding your mind as he tips his head to the side and studies your face carefully, the messy strands of hair at his forehead swaying slightly with his little movement.

And then this man, whose skin noticeably has a deep red undertone, has the nerve to smirk at you. Pretty plump rose-tinted lips curve so suavely that you’re staring way harder than you meant to and watching his mouth move as he says something to you once more.

Although, you don’t hear a thing he says. You’re in a daze, stuck staring so rudely at his lips and how perfect they appear until your name is said.

You flinch and lift your gaze to meet his, “H-Huh?” You stammer, getting flustered all over again by the intense eye contact.

He lets out the softest little chuckle and you can feel your heart swooning, “I asked if you were alright,” The brunette repeats for you, studying your eyes closely, “You walked right into me so…”

“I-I’m fine,” You stutter before clearing your throat and taking a slight step back to gather yourself. That rich scent of cologne oozing off of his body was making you dizzy with desire, “Sorry for walking into you.”

That smile on his face only seems to grow softer, “It’s alright,” He says, soon extending a hand out to you, “I’m sure your father wanted to introduce us to one another but, this works too. I’m Choso-“

“Kamo,” You finish for him as you meet his hand with your own, shaking it firmly, “I-, wait,” You can finally feel the thumping of your heart settling down— meaning you can return to a proper reaction to that information, “You’re my dad’s best friend?”

Choso gives you a little nod, “I am,” He hums before eyeing you up and down, “And you’re…” His eyes freeze somewhere for a split second but then he’s snapping them back up to your face, “A lot older than I thought.”

Your brows pinch together, “I’m sorry? How old did my dad say I was?”

“That’s the thing, he didn’t say at all. I just assumed you were a little girl,” He admits, finally retracting his hand from yours after becoming overly aware of the way your thumb was slipping across his knuckles while you shook his hand. “And as we can see,” He lets off a little scoff, “You’re far from that.”

The way your eyes widen at that has him rushing to correct himself.

“Well, n-not that that’s a bad thing, I just-, I mean, you’re a grown woman and I wasn’t expecting that,” Choso manages out quickly.

Then you’re chuckling and it’s like a sweet melody to his ears, his entire facial expression simmering to a look of ease. “It’s okay, I know what you meant,” You tell him, flashing the prettiest smile he thinks he’s ever set his eyes on, “After all, I was expecting an old wrinkly man but no, Dad brings home some 6ft sex symbol with tatts.”

His brows meet for a second as he bats his lashes at you as if to see if you were gonna realize what you just said. Little did he know, you’re aware of what you said and you meant every syllable— boldly making your attraction to him known from the very beginning.

And maybe that was where it all started. Maybe that was the calm before the storm of whatever it is you’d call the things you and Choso experience over the remainder of the summer.

Because after that little encounter, you and Choso get along a little too well.

——

The first day was a breeze. After getting friendly with one another in the kitchen, you were sure to skip over to your father’s office and inform him of having already met his best friend so he wouldn’t try to awkwardly introduce you two later.

Your dad made sure to ask you how you felt about his best friend staying there for a few months— to which you explained that you didn’t care too much, you’d be leaving back to the city for school again in like a month and a half so who cares?

That, and why on earth would you complain about that sexy curse living just down the hall from you?? Which was another thing in itself, you were aware of what he was, your dad briefly explained it to you before which is all the more reason why you expected some old wrinkly person.

As such, you needed to express your infatuation to someone as soon as possible. And what better victim than your best friend back in the city?

Now laying on your stomach across your old bed, your legs swing back and forth in the air as you thoughtlessly chat it up with your friend, “No, you don’t get it. He’s sooo hot,” You exclaim for like the millionth time since the call connected.

She chuckles from the other end, “Girl, this is your sixth time reminding me within the past thirty minutes, I think I get it.”

“But you don’t,” You whine dramatically, “His eyes, they’re so pretty, the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen-, ugh,” Your face drops down into one of your pillows for a second as you smile to yourself and recall the countless times you and Choso have made eye contact, “And the way he smells— like fuckin’… roses or something, but roses in the middle of a dark rainforest with-“

“Okay, okay,” Your friend laughs, “We get it. He smells good. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me about how you want this guy, who’s probably in his forties, to fuck you on the nearest surface as soon as possible-“

“Yes,” You huff, “Yes, I do. I want him to fuckin’ ruin me.”

The sound of your friend scoffing can be heard, “Uh, I think you’re forgetting something.”

Your face scrunches up, “What?”

“You have a boyfriend,” She scarcely reminds you, her tone light and gentle with you.

To which you roll your eyes, “Oh whatever. You mean the same ‘boyfriend’ who cheated on me two months ago? The same asshole who I’ve given chance after chance even though he treats me like shit? The ‘boyfriend’ who took like two hours to make me cum that one time? The guy I literally told you I’m gonna break up with soon??”

“W-Well,” She lets out a heavy sigh, “Yeah… that asshole. I know you’re leaving him soon but please don’t go fucking your dad’s best friend before you break things off with him-“

“I’m not stooping down to his level, don’t worry,” You hum softly as you flip over to lay on your back, “Though… I did consider it.”

“Seriously?” She scoffs in surprise.

You nibble on your lower lip and smirk, “You don’t get how hot Choso is.”

Your best friend chuckles, “Girl.”

“I’m jus’ saying! I can’t even think of any other guy when he’s around. He’s so…” As you continue your ramble about the small crush you’ve developed for your father’s best friend— you’re completely clueless about the man having heard almost everything.

Choso wasn’t spying on you or anything, he was simply walking down the hall and happened to hear a thing or two since your door was left cracked open. And sure, he took the slightest peak inside to spot you resting atop your bed but he was about to walk away until he heard you describing him.

Of course he was inclined to stop and listen to you ramble about his appearance— he thought it was cute. He’d seen how you’ve been looking at him anyway, he’s not dumb.

The problem is that you’re his best friend’s daughter. The last thing he should be doing is taking any kind of romantic or sexual interest in you. You were off-limits in his mind.

Or at least, you’re supposed to be.

——

But God do you make things difficult.

You and Choso share your small interactions in the morning usually, asking each other how you slept and whatnot, basically making casual small talk every morning. You learn more and more about the man, asking him questions about what it’s like being half-curse and half-human, questions about his cursed technique and the things he can do.

Most of which he waters down for you since, even though your father’s a part of the jujutsu sorcery world, you aren’t. You know a few basic things like how cursed energy works but that’s about it so Choso keeps his answers to you very simple.

That aside, you are a goddamn enigma to Choso. He’s always caught between wanting to stare at you for hours on end and knowing he shouldn’t have his eyes on you for longer than five minutes because then his mind’s drifting elsewhere.

But again, you make it so fucking difficult.

One hot Tuesday morning, Choso notices he hadn’t run into you in the spacey kitchen of your father’s estate yet. He was busy making the same coffee he prepares daily, wondering what time you were gonna make your way downstairs. He can’t lie to himself, he has grown quite attached to your little morning talks with him.

Tapping his fingers across the counter as he watches his coffee brew, his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a splash. Lifting his attention, Choso glances back over his shoulder to the direction of which the sound came from— looking out the large sliding glass door that leads out to the pool and wondering if your father was out there or something.

To his everloving surprise, the source of that sound is anything but your dad. It’s actually you, swimming around peacefully until you’re floating toward the edge of the pool, right in Choso’s line of vision as you lift yourself up.

Everything moves in slow motion like some cliche film, Choso’s eyes widening at the water rolling down your body and the goddamn bikini you have on. Holding yourself up on the edge of the pool, not yet exiting the small body of water yet, Choso finds himself studying every inch of you (that’s visible at least).

And then, as you finally push up, there’s that natural arch in your back that has Choso swallowing-, no, gulping down something thick in his throat. His lips are parting and he’s letting out a breath of air he didn’t realize he was keeping in as he watches those small droplets of water glide down along your glistening wet skin.

And fuck when you’re out of the water and you lift your arms into the air to stretch, your body on full display to the man— slick with water, exposed skin sparkling beneath the morning sunlight, and that bikini leaving hardly anything to the imagination.

Choso has to physically fight himself to rip his eyes off of you, turning back to the coffee in front of him and clearing his throat. The image of you in that bathing suit is doing wonders for these wandering thoughts he’d been trying to avoid. You were so wet— literally soaked before his very greedy eyes, your entire body dripping in sex appeal, and the sight of you like that steadily rushing heat down to his c-

The sound of the sliding door opening makes Choso flinch like crazy. He lets out a little huff and glances back to see you with a towel now wrapped around your waist.

Your tits were sitting so prettily in that bright red bikini top-

“Morning’ Mr. Kamo,” You greet sweetly as you enter the kitchen.

Choso gulps down his nerves, “Mornin’ princess,” He says casually whilst moving to grab his mug of coffee.

That little pet name he’d randomly picked up for you somewhere along the line makes your heart warm every time you hear it. A smile forms on your face as you approach his side and glance around his little setup for coffee making, “Aw, you didn’t make me one this time?” You say with a little pout on your face as you glance at him.

He shrugs, “Didn’t know you were up yet.” Then Choso avoids looking in your direction at all costs by turning to the other counter to grab a spoon, “What made you go for a swim this early?”

“I dunno but,” You hum, following right behind him and approaching his side once more as you watch him stir nothing into his coffee, “You should join me next time.”

He swears his entire body heats up as you say that. Just the thought of being in the pool with you, hardly clothed, swimming together, and wetting each other up makes his mind spin. “Dunno if that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” Choso says casually, as if he wasn’t having thoughts of pressing you against one of those poolsides and-

“Hm?” You bat your lashes up at him and he glances at your face for a split second before ripping his eyes off you, “Why not?”

“What would your dad think?” Choso sighs, continuing to stir nothing into his coffee as if that’ll help him forget about you standing half-naked beside him.

You scoff, “Nothing? It’s just you and me swimming together.”

Choso rolls his eyes at your innocence, “Alone,” He adds on, “Me and you swimming alone together.”

“Are we supposed to have an audience?” You tease, leaning closer to him and entering his peripheral line of vision, “Or, are you uncomfortable being alone with me?”

He freezes, slowly turning his head to look down at you, “Not at all,” Choso quickly tells you, “Being alone with you like that is just…”

Your eyes widen slightly in anticipation and he can feel his body warming again. Then, you glance off to the side innocently, “…Tempting?” You offer.

To which he answers without thinking, “Exactly.”

You part your lips to say something snarky in response but he’s moving away from you yet again. Cursing himself mentally for letting that slip. He didn’t want you to realize he was growing just as interested in you as you were him.

Then, with perfect timing, your father comes from around the corner with his mouth wide open as he lets out a hefty yawn.

“Mornin’ you two,” Your dad grumps as he shuffles his feet toward the fridge.

Choso had somehow made his way to the island in the middle of the kitchen already, now sitting comfortably on one of the three bar stools, his eyes low on his phone screen as he lifted his cup to his lips, “Good morning.”

Your eyes are directly on the man as you replay his response to you moments ago over and over in your brain. The nerve he had to go and sit down casually as if he didn’t just he didn’t just imply something very-

“Daughter,” Your dad sighs out, to which you snap out of your daze and glance at him.

“Father,” You hum in response.

He looks at you, sending you a kind and tired little smile, “I’ll be gone for a few days for business, you okay with that?” He asks, subtly nodding his head back at Choso and silently asking if you’re comfortable being alone for a few days with the man.

Of course, you have to physically contain your excitement— being alone with Choso means no more interruptions like what had just happened, “Yeah, that’s fine by me.” You say with a little shrug.

Your father nods at that and then tends back to the fridge to prepare himself something. You smile to yourself before tiptoeing your eyes back over to Choso, only to find his eyes already on you.

All of you, drinking in the sight of you in that damn bikini top before he boldly and directly cracks a lazy smirk and lifts his gaze to your face. You can feel a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks as he tilts his head and sends you a little wink from across the kitchen— bluntly letting you know that he’s thinking the same thing you are and your excitement is mutual.

——

Day one alone with Choso was actually really fun. The two of you spent time together in your father’s massive basement, lounging around together and even indulging in a friendly game of pool.

It was nice, comforting even, to have Choso around. He was very respectful and kind with you, subtle with flirting with you because he didn’t want the true levels of his desire to be known, and so gentle with you that it made your heart turn to mush every single time.

Day two was even better. You both finally went on that swim you offered— to which you nearly drooled when he first stripped himself of his shirt, eyeing his washboard abs that were decorated with such pretty scars from previous fights he’s had.

The two of you just swam and talked, you’d splash him a bit every now and then and he’d splash you back whenever you uttered something way too flirtatious.

At some point you felt like that was his way of turning you down. Sure, he was interested in you but, Choso had his way of silently telling you it wasn’t gonna happen. Or at least, it shouldn’t happen.

Day three was when things changed. Well, night three specifically.

Choso was in the kitchen, where the two of you always seem to run into each other, sitting on his favorite bar stool while working on something on his laptop until he heard you coming downstairs. His ears twitched and he glanced up to see if you were coming into the kitchen a few times, noticing your steps sounded oddly determined.

When you do enter the kitchen, the enter mood shifts. Choso opens his mouth to greet you since it’s past midnight and he hadn’t seen you in a few hours but he freezes when he sees the look on your face.

Flushed and fuming with emotion, your breathing unsteady and ragged as if you’d been crying, and your hands shaky as you make way for one of the wine cabinets. He almost doesn’t move. Choso sits there in shock for a minute, watching you rush to grab a glass and a bottle of alcohol at random, slamming it down on the kitchen island and moving to find something to open the bottle with.

It’s then that Choso’s standing to his feet and walking toward you, “Hey, hey,” He coos, seeing the frustration in your face as you jerk a drawer open with an upset pout on your face, “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?” Choso asks as he nears your side.

You don’t even look at him, pulling your lower lip into your mouth and biting back tears. “I-Isn’t it obvious?” You snap back in an annoyed tone, responding to his first question and first question alone as you swipe up a corkscrew out the drawer and push it shut with your hip.

Then you shuffle back over to the island where your unopened bottle and wine glass are sitting. Your hands are shaking due to the rush of adrenaline throughout your body and Choso follows your every move, standing to your left as he leans against the counter and tilts his head at you.

He carefully moves to slide the bottle of alcohol away from you, which earns him an angry glare from you. Choso only grins kindly at your expression, “Aren’t you a little too young to be drinking?” He teases.

You scoff, in no mood for his teasing right now, “Oh fuck off, I’m twenty years old.”

“I know,” He says calmly, his tone as soft and sweet as ever, “But the legal age for drinking is twenty-one, no?”

“Depends on where you live,” You huff, reaching for the bottle once more only to receive his hand being placed over yours.

You freeze and Choso tilts his head a little more, “Talk to me, pretty,” He hushes out, inching closer to your ear and furthering the softness of his deep rich voice, “What happened?”

You can feel yourself melting at the warmth his body brings as he gets closer to you, your breath hitching slightly due to his attentive curiosity, “My… My boyfriend jus’ broke up with me,” You grit out.

He can tell you’re more upset than you are saddened but either way, he wants to help you, “The asshole you told me about?”

“Uhuh,” You nod, making a small attempt to pull that bottle toward you again.

Choso smirks and his fingers weave through yours slightly before pulling your hand away and pinning it to the counter, “So talk to me about it, princess,” He hushes out, “The last thing you need is alcohol right now.”

You’re quiet for a few seconds before you sniffle, relaxing under his small touch, “Well… I just, I hate feeling like this.”

“Like what?” He whispers, carefully rubbing his thumb against the soft skin of your hand.

“I was gonna break up with him but he fucking beat me to it and now I just-, I dunno, I feel like shit,” You huff out before you slowly turn your head to look at him again.

Your eyes are all glossy and your lashes are noticeably wet, a small tear slipping down your cheek. Choso moves without thinking.

Taking his hand off of yours and bringing his palm to cup your cheek, watching you lean into his touch as he thumbs that tear of yours away, “You feel like shit?” He repeats.

Nodding against his hand, you mumble a little response, “M-Mhm.”

“I’d love to say you shouldn’t but,” His gaze kindly flicks back and forth between your left and right eyes, “I understand. Break-ups are hard.”

You pout, “They shouldn’t be. He was fucking terrible to me. I was supposed to break things off, not him. H-He doesn’t get to just do that. It’s not fair.” Your voice comes out in a slight whine at the end and he can see your eyes glossing over again.

“I know, I know,” Choso coos, bringing his other hand to your vacant cheek and cupping your face in his big hands.

“Do you?” You unintentionally huff out to him, “Have you ever even-“

He scoffs playfully, “Yes, princess. I’ve had multiple relationships in my lifetime.”

You snort, “‘In my lifetime’, you make yourself sound old as hell,” A slight grin forms on your face amist your sorrows and it makes his heart churn.

Choso’s gaze rakes over your face in his hands, “Baby, how old do you think I am?”

“I dunno,” You shrug, “You look like you’re not even a day over twenty five.”

He smirks, “Do I?”

“Mhm. How old are you?”

“A hundred ‘n fifty.”

You choke, “Holy shit, seriously??” You gape as your eyes widen in surprise.

“Yeah…” Choso trails off for a moment, tipping his head to the side, “Does that scare you?”

You almost laugh at that, “What? No, I love older men,” As you say that, there’s almost a look of bliss on your face.

To which sparks Choso’s interest as if he hadn’t picked up on that fact a long time ago, “Oh?”

“I-I mean-, wait,” You stammer, looking away from him, “N-No-, actually, yeah… I meant that.”

“Careful,” Choso says simply, “You’re gonna make me think the wrong thing if you speak like that.”

Slowly, your eyes trail back over to him and he removes his hands from your face, “Would that be so bad?” You murmur, leaning closer to him ever so slightly.

His eyes bore directly into yours, “Yes. You’re my best friend’s child.”

Your face twists up, “Yeah but I’m not literally a child.”

“I know-“

“So don’t treat me like one,” You cut off, gazing intently up into his mesmerizing brown eyes.

His look softens, “I’m sorry if I have.”

“Don’t see me as one either,” You continue, earning a light scoff from his lips.

Choso shrugs, “I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Your eyes widen slightly and the room feels so unbelievably warm right now.

“Never have,” Choso admits, licking his lips for a moment before continuing, “Even though I should be.”

Your brows furrow, “Why?”

He flashes a small smile, “I’m literally seven times your age.”

“So?”

“So this-,” He gestures between the two of you, “Whatever ‘this’ may even refer to, is horribly wrong in so many ways.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, “But ‘this’ isn’t anything yet.”

“Yet?” Choso echoes.

“Oh c’mon, Mr. Kamo,” You purr, “The only reason we haven’t given in to what we both want is because I had a boyfriend.”

“Choso,” He corrects, “I’ve told you to call me Choso.”

Your gaze becomes noticeably sultry as you lower your eyelids and soften your voice, “I know, sorry sir.”

“Stop that,” He huffs, glancing off to the side.

You lean toward the direction he’s looking off to and fein innocence, “Stop what, sir?”

“That.” Choso rasps, clearing his throat seconds later to collect himself.

“Why?” You urge, inching closer and boldly speaking your mind, “Does it turn you on?”

He scoffs but you see his lips twitching into a smirk, “No.”

Growing curious, your brows pinch together, “Wait, does anything turn you on?”

“Huh?” Choso breathes before looking at you.

“Like, since you’re half-curse… does that affect your bodily functions or anything? Can you even get aroused-“

He lets out a chuckle in reaction to your ignorance, “Yes, yes I can.”

“Really?” Sparkles seem to light up in your eyes and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m more human than I am curse.” He states simply.

You smirk, “Everywhere?”

“Yes, everywhere.”

“Like… even your c-“

“Yes.” He cuts off, “Now stop it.”

Your lower lip gets caught in between your teeth, “Stop what?”

“Trying to get me to have a sexual conversation with you,” Choso says in a commanding tone before taking a respectful slight step back.

“I want a lot more than just a conversation,” You whisper loud enough for him to hear.

Choso becomes cold with you in an instant, “And I don't care, it’s not happening.”

At that, there are several twinges in your heart. You grit your teeth and turn for that not-so-forgotten bottle of alcohol, quickly popping it open and pouring yourself a glass. Then, before Choso can even react, you’re gulping it down and he’s sighing in defeat.

After which, you send him an annoyed glare and he frowns softly at you, “Princess-“

“Don’t call me that.” You cut off curtly, licking the bit of liquid intoxication that rests on your lips.

His eyes flicker down for a split second, “Why? ‘Cause I won’t fuck you like you want me to?” Choso asks boldly.

“I-, yeah…” You utter, “Y-Yeah. That’s exactly why I don’t want you to call me that.”

He shakes his head softly and moves to push the bottle away from you again, “I told you alcohol isn’t what you needed.”

“What I ‘need’ won’t let me have him,” You say, pouting yet again.

Choso sighs as he returns his eyes to your face, grinning at your expression as he lifts a hand to your chin, “You don’t ‘need’ me.”

You lean into his touch instantly, “I do-“

“You want me,” Choso corrects, his gaze narrowing on your mouth as his thumb wipes up a small slip of alcohol that missed your lips.

“No” You huff, tipping your head toward his thumb and pushing your lips against the pad of it, “I need you.”

The man can feel his resistance thinning, “You need me?” He echoes lowly, his voice dropping suddenly.

“Yes, I-“

“Need me to what, exactly?” Choso’s thumb applies slight pressure to your lips before he’s parting them and feeling against your lower lip. Then, before you can even answer, he’s looking into your eyes and leaning close to you, “Hm? Need me to fuckin’ ‘ruin’ you?” He quotes.

You were too caught up in experiencing his teasing to realize he gave away the fact that he heard one of your previous phone calls, “Please?”

“Say it,” Choso whispers as his free hand slips over to your waist.

“I need-“

“Want.” He scolds, weighing your bottom lip down a bit.

You whine, “But-“

“Speak properly to me ‘nd I might give you what you want,” Choso says.

You perk up at that, “I want you to ruin me, Choso.”

He takes a deep breath and leans in, “I shouldn’t.” The man whispers to you.

Your eyes are lowering to his lips, “But you want it to,” You point out, yearning for the soon connection of his lips to yours, “I know you do.”

“You don’t know anything,” He argues.

“Choso, you’ve been undressing me with your eyes from the moment you first set them on me.” You refute in a low whisper

“I…” He trails off— refusing to deny or agree with that.

The way your arms unfold and you slowly bring your hands to his shoulders, leaning in and tilting your head, has him in a trance, “Just take me.”

He chokes, “I won’t.”

You scoff, “Then I’m turning back to my drink…”

“No. Instead,” Choso swallows thickly and retracts his hand from your face. “We can do something else.”

You miss his touch already, “Like what?”

“Watch a movie.”

“We both know exactly what that’s going to lead to.”

It’s then that he seems to finally give in, “Let it lead there then since you want it so bad.”

——

And that’s why you don’t regret coming home for the summer. Because how else would you have ended up like this?

Yeah, you and Choso watched some random movie together to get your mind off things but, just like you’d said— you both knew what it’d lead to and it did. After the movie, you find yourself asleep, all your emotions and adrenaline having caught up on you.

The thing is, you fell asleep on Choso. He was right there with you, deep in his slumber just as you were for a while. So perhaps that’s how you ended up the way you are now.

Both of you had woken up to your body right in front of Choso’s. He was laid out against the stretch of the couch, his head resting on a pillow that was propped up against the armrest of the couch. You both woke up at the same time and you were lying on your side.

He had an arm around your waist and his crotch was flush with your ass. Slowly, you turned your head back to look at him and he met your gaze intimately. Lifting his head slightly from the pillow, leaning in toward you, moving a hand to angle your head up some more, his thumb gently rubbing against your chin.

“Choso,” You whispered, earning a groggy little hum from him.

His eyes lower on your lips. So soft, they look so fucking soft. He’s always thought that but the closeness right now and the dim lighting coming from the TV was killing him, “What?” Choso whispers, “Y’still want it?”

You shake your head, “Not ‘it’ Choso, you.”

He gulps and begins to inch his face closer to yours, his breath carefully hitting your lips as he whispers to you, “You sure? Once we start… I won’t hold back.”

“Don’t want you to,” You utter, trying to lean up to him some more.

He smirks at that, “Alright…” Then his lips are practically on yours, “Jus’ remember you asked for this.”

That’s the last thing said before he’s kissing you, lightly too. Choso’s always so gentle with you as if he fears you’ll break.

And hell, maybe after tonight you will have been broken. Because what starts out as a slow testing taste of lips, soon turns hot and needy. His tongue glides past your moist lips, eager to taste you, to feel you, to make you feel good.

Then his hand is sliding down your body, ghosting your chest before he pulls away for a second to whisper, “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah…” You utter, trying desperately to place your lips back on his.

He smirks, “Where?”

“Everywhere, Cho. M’all yours,” You claim.

Choso groans as his lips press into yours again, his hand sliding down just to slip under your shirt and grab a very firm hold of your breast. His touch is gentle for a second but then he’s squeezing the fat of your boob in his hand, his lips slipping over yours eagerly.

He’d only pull away for air for a split second before he’s sucking on your bottom lip again, intertwining his tongue with yours, and shifting his hand under your bra to wrap his fingers around your perky nipple. He gives the sensitive bud a small little pinch to test the waters and grins at the way you whine.

“Like that?” He whispers gingerly into your mouth.

You nod and the rest of your body is simply squirming against his, his cock twitching behind the fabric of his pants at the way your ass rubs against him just right. Choso rocks his hips forward ever so slightly, pressing his erection against you and nibbling on your lower lip hungrily.

Your mouth was so damn sweet— he just couldn’t get enough. Touching all over your breasts, pinching and lightly tugging at your nipples just to feel you moan against him. Then his hands, which are just so big, simply knead your breast within his palm as his mouth slides off of yours and he begins kissing your neck.

“You’re so tense, sweetheart,” Choso whispers into your skin, his warm breath tickling your neck, “Relax f’me.”

You let out a small sigh, “I’m tryin’…”

He smiles against you, “You nervous?” Choso asks as his hand slides out of your bra and rests against your stomach.

“No,” You huff.

Then, Choso’s moving to sit up and you move with him. He slips back against the armrest of the chair, his hands going to your hips to pull you on top of his lap with your back still facing him.

Choso’s hand trails to your stomach once more as his lips near your ear, “Lean back f’me, baby.” He guides, feeling the way you do just that and rest yourself against his chest, “There you go,” God his voice had you soaked, “Lemme take care of you, princess.”

You gulp loudly at that, your breathing beyond unsteady as you comfort yourself in his lap. His chest is so firm against your back, the feeling of his heart pounding within his ribcage so vividly felt behind you— he was just as anxious and nervous as you were. Cute.

His lips meet the space just behind your ear and his hands slither around your body. Choso carefully positions his fingertips at your inner thighs, “Do I have to guide you through everything, hm?” He hums playfully.

“N-No but,” Your eyes are glued to his big veiny hands playing with the skin of your legs, “I like the way you talk me through it.”

“Yeah?” He hushes out, “Alright then, go ‘head ‘nd spread your legs for me, pretty girl.”

You’re so horny you can hardly think straight. The air feels heavy and every touch from the older man has your skin tingling and your pussy pooling. As your thighs part, Choso’s quick to move his fingers to the waistband of your shorts, teasing you by running his fingertips under it.

“Tha’s it,” He purrs, “So good f’me.”

Your hips lift involuntarily as if to force his fingertips where you want them but he moves to grip onto you.

Choso snickers at your eagerness, “Patience, baby. I’m tryin’ to take my time with ya’,” He admits, pressing his lips into the crown of your ear, “Wanna show you what sex is supposed to feel like.”

“H-Huh?” You gape in a breathy tone, “Choso, y’know m’not a virgin, right?”

He grins, “Mhm, I know. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take things slow for a bit,” He explains lowly, steadily pulling your shorts down as you help him with small wiggles of your hips, “Plus,” His middle and ring finger inch toward your panties, lips curving into a smile at the noticeably damp red fabric, “I gotta prep you anyway.”

You scoff, “For what? Is your dick that big?”

He shrugs, running the pad of his middle finger over your clothed center lightly, “You’ll find out soon enough.” Choso promises.

Then, he’s tugging your panties to the side, biting his lip as your cunt is exposed to him. Choso’s such a tease, caressing your soaked hole but not yet pushing his fingers in, kissing the side of your neck as he taunts you until you’re whining for him.

“Cho-“

“Two hours, right?” He suddenly asks. Your brows furrow and he senses your confusion, smirking slightly, “Your ex, he took two hours to make you cum one time, no?”

“I-,” Your jaw drops slightly as Choso easily draws his finger up to your clit, tracing soft circles around it, “H-How do you know about that?”

“Heard you talkin’ about him a few weeks back,” He whispers to you, “S’kinda sad, y’know. Two hours?” As he casually converses with you, his finger is providing you with slow stimulation.

You rest your head back against his shoulder, “Uhuh… he couldn’t figure anything out.” You explain as a pout pulls at your lips.

For whatever reason, that seems to boost Choso’s ego a bit. As such, his fingers dip back down and finally start pushing into you, “Oh yeah? Bet I can make you cum in two minutes.”

A brief chuckle leaves your lips, “He said the same thing…” You huff.

To which Choso scoffs, delving his fingers deep past your folds and groaning at that slick squelch that enters the air. “He’s not me, princess. Listen to how wet this pussy is f’me already,” The man taunts as he works a careful pace inside you, “So tight too… shit.”

The first moan you let out makes his cock twitch against your ass. Your lips part and you let out heavy breaths as Choso fingers you skillfully, talking you through his every movement.

“Tell me somethin’ baby,” Choso says, pushing another finger into you and curling his fingertips upward against your gummy walls, “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

You pant, “Hah… U-Uh, I dunno…”

“Oh c’mon, don’t lie t’me,” He scoffs. He can’t help but watch the way his fingers disappear inside your cunt, your slick coating his skin and making the most obscene noises imaginable.

“Maybe last week,” You eventually utter in response to him, words coming out all in one short breath.

His cock is felt throbbing against your ass, hips rolling up slightly for the slightest bit of friction, “Yeah? Who’d you think about when you touched yourself? Hm?” The curse asks.

“Y-You, Choso,” You admit honestly, recalling the week prior when you had the man in mind as you relieved yourself.

He lets out a throaty grunt. The thought of you touching yourself to him was making his tip drip excessively within his boxers. “Mmh. Thought about me?” Choso huffs, fingering you a bit faster now as he searches for a particular spot.

When he finds it, you moan, “Yeah.”

“Fuck…” Choso groans against your ear, “Thought about me doin’ what? This?” He emphasizes his words with a firm rub of his fingertips against your sweet spot and watching your sloppy pussy drip off of his knuckles.

“Yes Choso,” You gasp with your back arching off of him.

He bites his lip, “Anything else?”

His two thick fingers pick up in pace, pumping deeply in and out of you and earning pretty moans from your moist lips. You were losing your mind. Choso’s fingers were so damn skillful and deep inside you, dragging his touch all along your walls, and digging into your g-spot over and over again.

“I-, ah… I thought about you-,” You mumble in between your moans, “Mmgh, f-fuckin’ me.”

“Where?” He purrs, his fingers swiveling inside you and making you gasp loudly, “How? Gimme details, pretty.”

“E-Everywhere-, fuck, right there… ‘Specially the kitchen, wanted you to bend me over the counter so many times…” You whine, cunt clenching around his fingers desperately.

He places a small kiss on your cheek and whispers, “Shoulda’ said somethin’.”

“You wouldn’t have done it,” You argue through slightly gritted teeth.

As you do so, your hips are lifting to meet his fingers while they thrust inside you. Your moans become more constant, more confident even, as he explores your pussy with his two fingers.

“I might after today,” Choso hushes out before pulling his fingers out of you for a split second just to deliver your cunt with a messy little slap that has you spasming.

“Please,” You mewl, your legs threatening to close on him as he rubs his fingers over your cunt in a sloppy manner, smearing your sappy slick all over the same place and making even more of a mess of you.

“Hey, keep these thighs open,” Choso huffs, landing yet another light smack onto your pussy and watching the way you quiver and clench around nothing, “M’not done, c’mon.”

Then he’s stuffing you full of his fingers again. In and out and in and out— so melodically pressing against your g-spot and then spreading his two fingers apart inside you, invoking a gasp from your throat, “Feels so g-good Choso.”

“So keep feelin’ it then,” He smiles, “Stop runnin’ from it, baby, give it t’me.” Choso requests.

And he knows you’re getting close, he can tell by the way your pussy greedily sucks his fingers back in every time he tugs them out, the way you’re moving a hand to cling onto his arm, and then there’s your legs struggling to remain open for him.

Not that he minded anyway. Choso had no problem with forcing your legs to stay open for him, it was cute watching the way you squirmed and the constant rutt of your ass against his achingly hard dick was what made things better for him as well.

“Cho,” You whimper as your back arches off of him yet again, your toes curling when he hits this particularly sweet and juicy spot inside you.

“Gonna fuck you real good after this,” He speaks right into your ear with that deep husky tone of his, his words making your pussy clench even tighter around his digits, “Ruin ya’ jus’ like you want me to.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from whining, “Please.”

“Look at me,” Choso directs, earning a steady turn of your head. As your eyes meet his, his fingers curl against you, “There she is, such a pretty girl.” The man whispers, watching your jaw drop and listening to the moan you breathe out in response.

“S-Stop that,” You pout, batting your lashes at him.

He chuckles, “Stop what?”

“Bein’ gentle with me.”

Choso almost scoffs, his fingers digging into you, “Why? It turns you on.”

You can’t even think straight enough to respond properly— your legs trying to shut on him again and your reply coming out in a lazy, “Nuh uh…”

“You’re so cute,” The way he’s talking to you, holding you, looking at you, it made you want to just melt away.

Your body was so damn hot, you could feel a coil in the pit of your stomach as your orgasm neared. Shit, he knew how to hit every spot inside you with ease. So much so that even his palm was pressing against your clit and providing you with even more stimulation to the point where your eyes were lulling back.

“Shut-, ah, mgh-, fuck. S-Shut up,” You blurt out in between breathy moans.

Choso’s eyes lower on your expression, “You’re gettin’ close, aren’t you?”

All you can do is nod, “Uhuh..”

Then you’re losing it again, seeing stars as he moves his free hand to roll a finger over your clit raw. Choso’s voice is rough with you, “Gonna cum f’me?” He asks, and you’re nodding desperately before he lets out a lower rasp of, “Say it.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands mindlessly move in an attempt to push his away so you could fucking breathe for a moment, “Oh fuck, I-I’m gonna cum.” You whine.

“For who? Say my name, baby.” Choso orders with his fingers moving in and out of your cunt faster and faster, the sounds only getting wetter and wetter.

“For you, Choso,” Your voice is hardly even there but it’s loud enough to satisfy him, “Gonna cum f’you…”

He leans in a bit and looks you dead in your eyes, slamming his fingertips deeper and deeper, “C’mon then, give it to me. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. It felt so abrupt too, as if he hadn’t been coaxing you to that point anyway. Choso’s fingers are digging in and out and in and out, his pants hitting your lips as he softly rubs his hard cock against your ass. Your legs tried to close on him but his arms wrapped around you prevented you from doing so, both of his hands firmly stroking you through it.

Then there was the eye contact, intense gaze pouring into yours as you came around his fingers with a whiny cry of his name. “Good girl,” Choso praises, “Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me— makin’ a pretty mess ‘round me like that. Think you can gimme another?”

“Choso,” You puff out, shaking your head no in response.

He just grins at you, “Jus’ one more baby, one more. Promise.”

——

That was the biggest lie you’d ever heard. ‘One more’, yeah, and then he’s asking for another, and then another, and then another.

At some point, you could hardly move because of how intense your orgasms were, making the filthiest mess around his fingers and on his hands, and grinding against his hard cock as you cried out his name for what felt like hours. Choso had you geeked, high off of your own arousal because even though you were whimpering about it being ‘too much’ your pussy was singing an entirely different song.

Literally. The sloppy squelches from your cunt made Choso so unbelievably hard. He couldn’t wait to have you on his cock, whispering in your ear about how deep inside you he’s about to be, telling you to just give him one more so he can have his way with you, and rubbing himself against you so he doesn’t lose his damn mind.

He swears he almost came in his pants from just fingering you alone, especially when he brought his drenched fingers up to his mouth and fucking tasted you. The groan he let out came straight from deep within his stomach, causing butterflies to swirl in your stomach.

Followed by that was him sucking your juices off his skin and then moving to your ear, “You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” Choso practically moaned before moving his fingers to your lips, “I don’t wanna be selfish with it either so, here, taste y’self f’me.”

You gradually take his fingers in your mouth and suck on them tentatively with Choso’s eyes all over your face. And you suck on his fingers so skillfully, sliding your tongue in between them, taking them deeper into your mouth and almost into your throat, and even gagging against them.

“Fuck,” Choso breathes, his cock on the verge of nearly exploding in his pants. “B-Baby…” He pants.

With his fingers still in your mouth, drool slipping down your chin, “Hm?” You hum innocently.

“If I don’t fuck you right now, I’m gonna embarrass myself.” That was his final warning to you before he was snatching his fingers from your mouth and quickly moving his hands to your hips. Choso pushes you forward slightly and he suppresses a whine, soon placing a hand on your back, “Do me a favor ‘nd bend over f’me.” He requests.

You don’t hesitate to do just that, lifting yourself off of him and then leaning your upper half down against the couch, arching your back, and parting your legs for the man. Choso felt like he could cum from the sight alone. Your pussy was on full display for him, your thighs wet with your own cum and sweat, red panties still tugged to the side, and legs spread just for him.

Then Choso moves to his knees, positioning himself behind you as he rushes his sweats and boxers down— bulging cock springing out and slapping against his abdomen. He had precum dripping from his fat tip, his veins twitching, and his entire cock hot with an aching need.

You barely look back at him for a second, only for your face to be pushed back down to the couch as he presses his leaking tip against you. Your pussy lips twitch around his thick cockhead, feeling him rub against you as Choso groans.

“Too long,” Choso whispers, “We waited too long for this.” He starts rutting his hips forward ever so slightly, teasing his tip in and out of you as he tests your tight ring of resistance. “S’gonna be a big stretch, baby,” He warns, trying his hardest not to just ram himself inside you all in one go, “Need you to relax f’me, alright?”

If anything, you wiggle your hips back against him and force more than his tip inside you, moaning against the couch cushion your face is still being pushed into. “I can take it, Cho,” You whisper, “Jus’ give it t’me, please. Fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to start pushing himself inside you, immediately tossing his head back at your pussy gripping onto him, and tugging him deeper inside your warm entrance so damn welcomingly. He tries to go slow as he hears you hissing at the sheer stretch his big cock causes, your fingers curling against the couch and your back arching even further.

But the way your cunt just swallows and sucks him in has him letting out the prettiest groan you’ve ever heard from a man. There’s a tinge of a whine laced within that groan of his, feeling your saturated walls squeezing around his hefty shaft has Choso panting as he pushes into you. The last thing he wanted to do was cum too early so it doesn’t take much for him to just snap his hips forward.

Ripping a moan of his name from your throat, you feel all of him poking just everywhere. Choso’s cock is so damn big and thick, curving into that syrupy spot his fingers were teasing moments before. He reaches the hilt of your cunt with ease and watches the way your legs quiver.

“Choso,” You’re practically drooling into the couch whilst he reels his hips back and eases them forward again.

He lets out a loud huff that fans over you as he leans forward a little, pressing his hands into the cushion beside your sides, “So fuckin’ tight, mgh.” He grunts from behind you, “Been holdin’ out on me, huh?” Choso suddenly comments as he tilts his head and peers down at the sexy curve of your arched back.

You shake your head stupidly, “N-Ngh.. n-no,” You murmur softly, “Been tryin’ to… mgh, give it to you…”

“Yeah?” Choso smiles while slamming his hips forward a little harder than before, “You’ve been tryin’ to give this pussy t’me?” He huffs out with a heavy thrust.

Your jaw falls open, “Uhuh, but you k-know that, Choso.”

His smile widens a bit when he recalls the countless times he rejected your advances, “Hah, maybe…” As his worlds trail off a bit, his focus goes to your ass and the sexy recoil that’s caused every time his toned pelvis meets your ass.

Everything about you was so sexy, his hand instinctively lifting to land a harsh slap on your ass. Cock plunging in harder-, deeper, you found your legs quaking with every thrust and your eyes glossing over completely.

“Ah, oh fuck-,” You choke out as his achingly hard tip narrows in on your g-spot, hammering into you mercilessly.

Choso lets out a heavy breath of air and grabs a handful of your ass, glancing down to your sloppy folds, taking his glistening cock so well over and over. Inch by bruising inch, your cunt swallowed him gratefully every time he fed it to you.

“M’not gonna last long, baby,” He soon admits to you while his eyes roll back at the way you’re clenching around him simply because of his voice alone.

You throb at that, “H-Hngh.. you gonna cum s-soon?”

Choso nods almost drunkenly, “Uhuh, been holdin’ it in.” He explains to you before grabbing a firm hold of your hips and pinpointing his hips, sharpening his thrusts, and thrashing his throbbing cockhead against your dripping pussy.

He was addicted. He didn’t even have to finish yet to know he was never going to get enough of this— enough of you. All he can do is think back on all those times he could’ve flirted with you, and could’ve brought you to this very moment sooner.

Like that morning when you came out of the pool, Choso knows he could’ve found a moment alone with you. He could’ve seduced you just as you did him, found any worthy surface to hoist you up against, and then fuck you to tears in that slutty bikini of yours.

Thinking back on it now, the bikini you wore then resembles the lace red panties that are hanging off of you by a thread right now, messy tugged to the side, and soaked with your earlier orgasms and wetness.

Choso’s so lost in his head, he doesn’t realize he’s drilling his cock into you, fucking you down into the couch and nearly making you lose the arch in your back.

You let out a broken cry of his name, “Ch-Choso-, oh.. fuuck, m’gonna cum, Cho.”

His brows tense and he settles both of his hands on your hips, tugging your ass back to meet his thrusts, “Again, princess? Gonna make a mess on my cock? Hm?”

“Mhm,” You mumble, practically clawing at the couch to hold yourself stable as he pounds into you.

Then he’s reaching for your hair and a moan is ripped from your throat as he tugs your head back, furthering your arch and making your legs go numb with the way you could feel his heavy girth in every corner of your sappy pussy.

Lips parted, eyes rolling back again, and legs shaking, you let out a cry of pleasure as you come undone before it even registers to you.

Choso’s in your ear all of a sudden, “You feel so good,” He grunts, gifting your cunt with another hard thrust, “So fuckin’ good.”

His other arm wraps around you and sneaks down to your clit, causing your entire body to spasm against him. “C-Choso-, s’too much, hahh… p-please,” You’re whimpering, feeling an entirely new sensation build up whilst he rubs his fingers over your clit.

Then he’s jamming in harder, breathing hot against your ear, pulling your hair firmly, and even giving your cunt light smacks as you suck him in just as he’d secretly always imagined you would.

Grunting against the shell of your ear, Choso’s fingers pick up the pace on your clit and he grinds his fat tip against the spot that has you seeing stars, “Feel that?” He whispers, “Feel me in there, pretty girl?”

“Choso,” You squeak, “I-I’m… mmgh, f-feels different, Cho.”

“I know baby, I know,” He hushes out so softly despite the complete contract of his mean cock fucking you full beyond belief. “Want you to squirt f’me,” Choso coos, “Think you can do that? Hm?”

You’re shaking your head no, your body feeling as though it were on fire with how hot and overwhelmed you were by pleasure. To which Choso simply chuckles, his dick aching for release.

“Please?” He begs quietly, “I need it, princess.” He sounds so sweet and soft but it’s completely opposite to the way his cockhead is stretching you open from the inside out.

“Want,” You correct breathily as if to mock him from earlier.

He flashes a fucked-out little smile, “Uhuh, want it so bad,” Choso admits, his thrusts growing desperate and frantic, “Wanna feel it, wet my cock up, sweetheart. C’mon, squirt f’me.”

Your legs are attempting you shudder shut, the pleasure overwhelming your senses as your eyes cross, “C-Cho-, s’too much, I-I can’t-“

“Yes you can,” He kisses the space below your ear softly, “Jus’ let go for me. Stop runnin’ from it,” The sound of his voice is all you can pay attention to aside from his desperate jabs at your insides, leaving you pooling around his shaft and slicking up every delicate vein that trails along his cock, “You wanna cum, so do it. Cum for me, princess.” Choso groans heavily against your ear.

You are. And then so is he. Both of you reach an entirely different level of orgasm— your body trembles as you make a filthy mess of the couch when you squirt just as he’s requested and he makes a mess of your insides by releasing thick gloopy ropes of cum deep inside you, fucking in every drop with a loud whine of your name rolling off his tongue.

So much so that you’re both collapsing against the couch as your highs die down. His body weight rests on top of yours but you’re shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm too much to care. Choso softly humps his dick in and out of you just to keep his cum from dribbling out of your puffy folds, letting out soft breaths against your skin.

The two of you simply lay there for a while, unable to move for a vast many reasons.

Choso soon whispers a calm, “You okay?” And you hum softly. “Need a verbal response, pretty girl.”

“Yeah,” You practically mouth the word instead of saying it but that’s just enough for him.

Then, after a few more minutes of relishing in what had just occurred— the fact that you slept with your dad’s best friend finally weighed in on you.

Though, you guess you’ll deal with any guilt later. Even though the sound of the house’s front door clicking open from just down the hall moments later was rather concerning…

7K notes · View notes

tonycries · 10 months ago

Text

AITA For F*cking My Sugar Daddy's Son?! - G.S.

Synopsis. When your sugar daddy just isn’t paying attention to you, can you really be blamed for fúcking his son? Especially when his son is absolutely obsessed with you.

Pairing. Rich boy! Gojo Satoru x Sugar baby! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, jealous Satoru, créampie, dirty talk, manhandling, marking, Satoru’s dad is not really present, oral (female receiving), overstim, másturbation (male), thigh riding, cúmplay, Satoru is really really down bad and filthy for you, CEO’s son! Gojo, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 8.1k

A/N. Will proofread later, lowkey scared to post this, but I just wanted it out of my mind. And in my mind, Satoru’s dad is FINE asl so-

The first time you meet Gojo Satoru is when you’re all dolled up for his father.

Designer dress just a bit too tight, running on a few too many shots of tequila, wanting to be anywhere but at this stuffy gala. Everything was too bright - too polished.

And it really didn’t help that no matter how many scathing looks or whispers that followed you, you just had to be here - it was in your contract, after all. Because luckily for you, you just so happened to be the infamous little plaything hanging off the arm of the head of Gojo Corporations.

Well, usually. Right now your sugar daddy was too busy entertaining his business partners, leaving you off to the side, praying for something - anything - to save you from this-

“Damn if I’d come to these shitty galas a lot more often if it meant I’d get to see a beauty like you.”

You jolt out of your bored little reverie, eyes immediately snapping up to meet the tall man suddenly in front of you. When did he even get so close?

You can’t help but drink him in from head to toe, from the overpriced, slightly-disheveled suit to the tiny dimple at the end of his mischievous grin. Strangely familiar white locks fell effortlessly to curtain his eyes. Eyes that were a startling blue - the kind of blue that had your cheeks flaring and knowing exactly who this was.

Oh.

At your silence, he tilts his head with the air of someone that owns this entire venue and everything in it because, well, he did. Twinkling gaze searing into your skin as it roams appreciatively all over your body, plowing on, “Though, you look like you’re on the verge of an aneurysm around these old coots.”

You sigh, pinching your nose at the curious glances around you. Not even able to find it in yourself to put on that plastic smile anymore, “Oh y’know, just soaking up my popularity with the masses after being stranded here.”

“Oh? Here with anyone?”

“Yeah.” you blurt out, “Your father.”

You watch in amusement as Satoru’s mouth falls into a delicate oh! eyes flickering over his shades between you and the handsome man on the other end of the venue, oblivious and fully enjoying himself in the company of his secretary. A bit too much without you.

“Y’know…” he starts, shaky and sounding only half the insufferable heir he was before, “I would say that’s a hilarious version of a ‘your mom’ joke but you’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

“Mhm. Though it would make a good punchline, huh?” You huff out a laugh at the way he was suddenly less of a smooth-talking playboy and more of a lost puppy. The gears turning in his head as he processes that oh shit you were the sweet lil’ thing his dad’s been suddenly rushing off to meet straight after work. And the reason why all those old fossils here were clutching their pearls in scandal.

He just didn’t expect you to be this…gorgeous. And for the first time in forever, he’s suddenly so intrigued.

Because ah, you should’ve known better than to think that this little hiccup would deter the infamous Gojo Satoru. No, in fact that million-dollar smirk only makes its way back onto his unfairly pretty face, like he’s about to spill the juiciest gossip of the century.

“So you’re the latest armcandy my ol’ man has picked up, huh? I hafta say, dear old dad has good taste.” he muses, stepping in close enough that his expensive cologne makes your head spin. “Why don’t you and I ah-” You follow Satoru’s gaze to where he was staring at the way his father was now making a beeline through the crowd. Straight for the two of you.

“Gotta run before I get my share of the company revoked.” he flashes you a quick smile, fulling intent on saving his father’s delicate ego. But not before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “But jus’ saying,” voice a pretty little purr, “I wouldn’t ever leave you standing here so alone and gorgeous, princess.”

You can only stand there, reeling from the sheer audacity as he darts into the crowd with a wink, not caring if he stepped on a few too many overpriced coattails than necessary. Wondering whether this was some bizarre dream induced by too much tequila and not enough common sense.

“Hi, sweetheart. Investors held me up, you know how it is. Having fun, huh?” A toned arm wraps around your waist as your sugar daddy finally arrives by your side. And as he went on about his latest business branch, only two thoughts ring through your mind - 1. You were seriously reconsidering this arrangement. And 2. This was going to be interesting.

And oh was it interesting.

Because Satoru always managed to find you, wherever you were. No matter if it was another droning function or a chance meeting at the sprawling Gojo Estate, Satoru always swooped in whenever his father was too busy for you. Which, fortunately for Satoru, happened to be a lot.

Hell, he seemed to find you even when you least wanted him to. Like that time he had to drag you away mid-argument with a particularly rude one of his snobby aunts. That was not a fun family reunion.

All unabashed confidence and pretty smiles where his father was cold, cold calculation. Ready with a smart mouth to bicker with you and bright eyes that seemed to linger on you a bit too long. But you didn’t mind - why would you? Because all things considered, Satoru was a very attractive man. Sure, his father was extremely handsome, too - in a clean-cut, DILF-y way, in fact. But his son was dangerously attractive.

So much so that sometimes when he swept you away from insufferable galas to talk, some strange little part of you wished it was him that you came here with instead. Just for a second.

“So, what do you see in my father anyway? His company?” Satoru asked you one day. Draping himself over his cool office desk, so comically out of place in the stiff corporate room. Legs kicking in the air as he waits for your response.

You tear your eyes away from the way his biceps were straining so deliciously against his snug button-up to deadpan, “I mean, I am his sugar baby after all, Satoru.”

“But think about it,” he whines, batting those long lashes at you. Fully intent on driving you as dangerously close to a stroke as possible before his father finishes up an important business meeting. One that he missed - whoops. “There’s close to nothing redeemable about the man. His idea of a family bonding activity is a PowerPoint presentation on quarterly earnings.”

“Satoru.”

“And either way- I’m getting the company in a few years, would ya be my sugar baby then, princess?”

Ah, there it was.

It’s been a few weeks of knowing Satoru, and those little comments still made your head spin. Second-guessing the nature of this strange little…friendship? You didn’t even know anymore. Because yeah there might’ve been a few, stupid little lingering touches - like a trace on your hips, or your hand firmly in his as he led your (temporary) escape from another lonely gala. But those meant nothing, right?

“Nah, I’d poison you and take over the company instead.”

“Hey!”

Well, whatever, he was just your sugar daddy’s son. His sharp-mouthed, dangerously handsome son that just couldn’t seem to leave you alone. Not that you were complaining, really. Your relationship with his father was not exactly exclusive - you already knew that secretary of his was a bit suspiciously close - but that’s all he’ll ever be. Right?

Or, well, that’s what you stupidly thought.

It wasn’t until one night late in the Gojo Estate, cursing those ridiculously long hallways, that you get an inkling of exactly how wrong you were.

“Ugh, fucking rich people.” you mutter under your breath, wandering around trying to find whether the fuck the bathroom was. Because it doesn’t matter how many companies and businesses Gojo senior ran, the man still sucked at directions. You hiss, rubbing the tiny bruise on your neck - and aftercare too, clearly, even though that was in that damn contract. Something about an urgent business call with his secretary. Ugh.

After three wrong doors, a trip around the in-home planetarium (seriously, who even needed that?), and chugging a full water bottle from the third kitchen in exhaustion, you finally find yourself walking towards what hopefully looked like the bathroom.

Hand reaching for the doorknob to swing it open. Ah, this better be the one or so help you-

Now, Satoru thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. And you - hair mussed, and dazed, standing there in nothing but a large button-up, falling just below your panties - looked like a sinfully beautiful lil’ demon here to lure him into hell. And oh how gladly he’d go if it means he got to see this ethereal view more often.

“Ah! Wha- Sato-”

You don’t even know if you want to scream or not - torn between taking in the sculpted chest smushed against your face and not wanting to alert security downstairs. Reeling backward you drink in the sight before you and God how you wish you didn’t - it wasn’t too good for your heart.

Satoru’s hair was tousled, droplets of water glistening on his hair like diamonds. Skin soft and damp and smelling so delicious. Bathroom light bouncing off his rippling muscles, pecs flexing, as his strong arms reach out to steady you as you reel backwards.

Traitorously, your eyes snake across his sculpted body. Dipping below once. Twice. Cheeks flaring as a pang of disappointment hits you at the damp towel wrapped around that slutty torso. Wondering what’s underneath-

“Y’should take a picture, it lasts longer.” Satoru grins, like the shameless bastard he is. Though he wasn’t in any better state - eyes flickering between you and any sliver of exposed skin his eyes could reach.

“I should be saying the same to you.” you mutter, caught red-handed, shuffling your feet in embarrassment.

Satoru lets out a low chuckle as he pulls you closer minutely, presence practically enveloping you. “Oh, me?” he says, voice dropping to a husky murmur. Thumb tracing that little spot on your neck, “S’hard not to when y’look so appetizing.”

And you don’t even try to pull away because fuck this is Satoru and he looks so good - so warm under your fingertips, even when you jolt at the realization of what exactly he was talking about. Your hand coming up to cover that tiny mark left on your skin from not-too-long ago. A shameful little reminder that this was his son.

You grapple for some - any - sense of normalcy. Warning, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Satoru.”

He leans down impossibly, quirking an eyebrow. Both amusement and something unreadable flashing across his face. “Oh, but it’s got my father somewhere?”

“Why? Jealous?”

“Yes.”

You startle, taken aback by the blunt confession. So direct and something so Satoru. The word hands in the hair’s breadth between you two now, sending your mind reeling. And you can’t help but repeat, “Jealous?”

“Fucking yes.” There it was again.

But this time, Satoru plows on, voice barely above a whisper but ringing in the thick air. “Jealous he gets to have you all to himself but still doesn’t kiss you like you should be.”

“What do you-”

“Your lipstick.” he interrupts, swiping a thumb over your bottom lip, “Why’s it as perfect as since you came in?” And, indeed, you realize with a jolt that no you really haven’t been kissed the way you wanted - not enough to leave your make-up so sinfully ruined.

Minty breath fanning your face so dangerously now, and you barely even realize that you’re leaning into it, “If it were up to me, princess, I’d ruin that pretty lil’ lipstick of yours every chance I got.”

A delicious little shiver runs down your spine, head spinning at Satoru and his words and Satoru- And it’s all you can do to get out a shaky, “So why don’t you?”

And then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him - like neither of you had the strength nor the will to stop.

Satoru tasted just like candy, such an intoxicating sweetness that had you gasping as his soft tongue licked at the seam of your lips. Intertwining with yours as he breathes you in desperately. So sloppy. Such a sinful little mix of saliva and teeth and pure need.

His chest is soft under your greedy hands, lips searing against yours, and you could feel his hands wandering across every inch of skin they could find. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again because fuck he knows that he might just not.

Long fingers dance delicately underneath that shirt to feel- oh fuck, you weren’t even wearing panties. Such a pretty lil’ slut and by God was he a goner.

Groaning into the kiss, he lets you loop your arms around his neck, hardened nipples rubbing against his abs as you tug on his damp hair. Honestly, fuck that thin shirt, Satoru thinks he might just pass out right here right now.

“S-Satoru.” you whisper against his lips, legs hiking up to grind your bare cunt against the throbbing erection straining against his towel. Already so wet from water or precum, you had absolutely no idea. You couldn’t give less of a fuck in fact, needing to see if Satoru’s cock was as pretty as the rest of him right now. Hands urgently dipping below the hem, starting to tug and-

“Hey, sweetheart. Did you find the bathroom?”

Shit. Fuck. Wonderful - perfect, in fact.

You would’ve thought Satoru burned you with how quickly you pushed him away. Cheeks burning, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Almost slipping on the tile as you try to compose yourself at a safe distance - one that wouldn’t end up with you jumping his bones again.

But all rational thoughts of that and your sugar daddy - Satoru’s father - almost go out the window once you take in the heavenly sight before you.

Satoru’s lips swollen, hair disheveled, towel hanging slightly too low off his hips. Giving you such a pretty peak of those tufts of snowy white hair at the bottom.

“W-we shouldn’t…” you trail off, as the footsteps get louder and louder. Something prickly and uncomfortable pooling in your stomach with each beat.

Luckily for you, Satoru probably catches on to how you looked like you wanted the ground to swallow you whole right now. Voice low and control as he agrees, “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t.” No care in the world for his steadily approaching father as he lazily adjusts his towel, a gesture so nonchalant yet distracting.

You swallow hard as he moves to walk past you, thinking that if this just so happened to be a dream then by God was it a good one. But of course - when has Satoru ever let you have it easy?

Because he stops abruptly in his tracks, fingers only ghosting the doorknob. Immediately turning back to walk to you with two, big steps, eyes gleaming, dimple flashing. And before you even know what’s happening, his lips are on yours. Featherlight and fleeting. But so so addictive. Nipping at your bottom lip, savoring you on his tongue.

It’s over before you know it, and a pathetic little disappointed whine leaves you as he pulls away. A smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he mutters lowly into yours, “Y’look prettier like this.”

Ah, you weren’t happy to see him leave but how you loved watching him go. Bathroom light so pretty against all the dips and curves of his figure as he walked away. White hair reflecting the warm hue, muscles flexing, hips slightly swaying with such a slutty little confidence that only Satoru could have.

As you watch him disappear around the door, you almost forget the unwelcome visitor hot on your heels any second now and - wait - what was it that he’d said? “Prettier like this”?

Turning to the mirror and-

Oh. Shit.

You better have brought your make-up remover.

God, Satoru’s never ran to his room as fast as this since that time he was caught using his father’s elite golf clubs to play pool with Suguru.

Because as soon as that goddamn door is shut, he’s ripping his towel off. Letting it drop to the floor in a damp pile God-knows-where as he immediately fists his swollen cock.

With a groan, he leans against the shut door. Eyes scrunching in such sinful ecstasy as he squeezes the base, pulsing and so achingly hard for you. A warning and a reprimand. Shit, how the fuck did he get this hard just from kissing your pretty lil’ lips?

Ah, whatever, right now he doesn’t have the patience nor the sanity to think too hard about it. Smearing the precum beading at his weeping tip, wetting his palm so sloppily.

Neat little crescents searing into his skin where you’d grabbed him before, only thing on his mind - how would you do it?

Would you ease him into it? Or would you start up a hasty, desperate little pace like he was doing right now? Shallow, quick tugs on his thick cock like you wanted to milk him deliciously.

Satoru’s hand was cold on his angry, hot cock. And with how many times he’s slipped his into yours, he knew yours would feel better around him. Both hands wrapped around his cock but still not covering all of it. So soft and warm, your nails scraping gently across his throbbing veins.

“Shit. Hngh-” he breathes out, voice almost-pathetic, “J-jus’ like that, princess.”

And what would you say? Tell him to shut up and just take it? Would you whisper into his ear as you let him fuck himself into your pretty fists? “So hard n’ big all f’me?” Satoru’s knees buckle at the thought, hand speeding up. “Y’look so pretty like this, y’know.”

Slam! Palm slamming against the poor drawer beside him hard enough to make its legs tremble, desperately trying to keep himself from collapsing.

But oh his fist doesn’t stop. No, he doubts he ever will - not that strong of a man to keep himself from getting off so filthily to the image of you standing at the doorway of the bathroom. You looked so ethereal - Satoru couldn’t help but imagine how even more sinful you’d look if he was the one done with you. Shit, you wouldn’t even be able to stand if he had his way.

“F-fuck, princess. M’gonna ruin you, gonna fuck you till you don’t know anything but m’name.”

He grips tighter on the base, thumbing under his slit in a way he knows your devious little hands would do. Fucked-out little grunts leaving his swollen lips each time his fingers meet his flushed tip.

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he mutters hoarsely, letting out a low, broken little call of your name. “More. Need more, princess.” He wanted you so badly that it hurt.

What the fuck did that sleazy old man have that he didn’t? And that little bite? That would be nothing compared to what Satoru would do if he got his hands on you. Yeah, he thinks, body shuddering violently, he’d mark you up till everyone knows you’re his. Leave bites that peak out from your collar, all the way down to your pretty thighs.

“Y’belong with me pretty, could fuck you so much better.” Sweat drips from his brow, splashing onto his erratic fist. Thighs quivering, heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Satoru would almost be embarrassed by how desperate he was acting if he was in any better state of mind. Head only filled with you, and your hand and you-

And fuck for the sake of his sanity he can’t even begin to imagine how it would feel inside your pretty lil’ cunt. All he can think of is the way you’d keen so prettily, mewling out a little, “Oh s’too big.”

Would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you milk his cock? Or would he have to ram his dick into you, because shit as much as he loves that bitchy mouth, it would look so much better gasping and stuttering as he fucks you dumb.

“Oh yeah.” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Such a good lil’ slut f’me. Taking m’so well.”

God his hand was so sloppy on his dick that he didn’t even know what he was doing anymore. Just wanting to fuck you and have you do this f’him.

Ah, your plushy walls would suck him in so nicely. One hand speeds up on his cock, while the other reaches down to cradle his balls. Tugging and pulling at the same jerky rhythm they would smack your ass while he stuffs you full.

So much better than any other sugar daddy ever could. Oh how Satoru would love to mess up your pretty pussy and your lipstick. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on if he could.

And you’d be able to do nothing but gasp and whimper into his lips, cockdrunk and dazed, “Shit shit shit- Toru m’gonna - Hah- Wanna cum. Please wan’ cum-” Oh how he’d burn down this entire fucking world to hear you call him that.

“Fuck,” he curses, bucking into his fist, tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, princess.”

“Cum f’me, Toru. Fill me up with y’cum- wanna take all of it.”

And then he’s cumming.

A ragged, raw moan of your name leaving his lips. Thick, hot ropes of cum that should be painting your pussy white - but, alas, he’s spilling into his fist so shamefully. And amongst the stars behind his eyes he’s sees you - you you you-

You, fucking your cunt deeper onto his cock to take every drop of his cum. You, whispering sweet little praises as his seed gushes down your thigh, telling him that oh he’s doing so well, and he’s the best boyfriend ever and you already want more-

You, at the arm of his father.

Shit, he needs to shower. Again.

---

Ever since that little incident that night, everything changed.

At this point, you didn’t even feel that usual little bitterness whenever your sugar daddy canceled for some urgent business. And, well, it made you blush to admit but you found yourself heading over to the Gojo Estate more and more frequently, often just to catch a glimpse of Gojo - or a quick kiss in the stuffy broom closet. Whichever left you more time to run away from looming security and his father.

But that was exactly the problem.

Because no matter how thick the tension lingering in the air between you two was, nothing had gone past heated kisses and touches. Either you were brought back to reality with the possibility of being arrested for indecent exposure at those galas, or someone just had to interrupt. Seriously, with how many times Satoru has had to pay off his poor personal assistant, you’ve been wondering whether he actively seeks you two out.

And it really didn’t help that Satoru always tasted so goddamn delicious. Fingers searing on your skin, cologne heavy in the heady air, it was hard to keep your hands to yourself.

But, hey, desperate times bring devious measures.

Which is why you were here right now - sinking into the plushiest bed at the Gojo Estate, clad in your delicate light blue lingerie. One that was custom-made in this specific shade of blue. Because while your sugar daddy preferred you in red, you’re sure he wouldn’t mind you using his credit card for other ulterior motives, right?

You just hoped that Satoru would just so happen to get a peak when you sneak out to use the bathroom later. What would he say? Would he like it? Would his eyes roam over your body, fingers twiddling with the flimsy lace?

But more importantly - would it be enough to make him break? Even if just a little bit?

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You’re startled out of your little whirlwind thoughts by knocking on the door. Steady, and matching your racing heart. Ah, Satoru’s father, you hastily get up to fix your hair.

“Yo, princess, are you naked or can I come in? Or can I come in when you’re naked?”

That wasn’t your sugar daddy.

Not even thinking of your current outfit anymore, you rush to throw the heavy wooden doors open to see that, yes, it really was Satoru standing at the door. All bright grins and flushed cheeks as he drinks you in. Brows raising as his eyes move down from your face once. Twice. Thrice.

Success.

“What’re you doing here, Satoru?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. Trying to hold back the smirk threatening to curl your lips at the way he gulps.

“Uh- My father’s off to some urgent b-business.” he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. “Told me to tell you he’s sorry and wishes you the breas- best.”

Oh.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Satoru’s father has canceled on you. But it would be the first time that he’s canceled on you so conveniently enough to leave you alone with his unfairly hot son. Now, you couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste, right?

You lean slightly against the door, body ghosting Satoru’s, teasing him, “Well, when is my dear sugar daddy coming back from his business? Tell him I miss him.”

It’s a joke - and both of you probably know it. But that doesn’t stop Satoru’s brows furrowing ever-so-slightly, suddenly a different man from the flustered one he was just a few seconds ago as he mutters, “I don’t think he’ll be back tonight.”

“Aww, must be some important business.”

He clenches his jaw aggressively at that, gritting out a clipped little, “You do know that ‘business’ of his is his secretary right?”

“I know. What a shame, right? Guess I’ll just have to go home n’ wait for him then?” you mockingly sigh - God, someone give you an Oscar. Moving to close the door in Satoru’s face, only to be stopped by a large hard smacking into the doorframe - as you knew it would.

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m gonna let you come out looking like that and let you go home without tearing it to shreds.”

And that’s all that is said before his lips are on yours.

The door is slamming shut before you know it, and you’re shoved against it. Satoru’s lips such a sloppy mix of teeth and spit. Hands just everywhere - cradling your cheek, teasing your nipples through your bra, running down to squeeze and grope your ass. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

Fuck twiddling with the lace, Satoru seemed well and fully intent to rip it off of you. And you’d let him. Just like he was letting you shove his overpriced button-up down his toned shoulders. Soft little rips sounding in the heady air at the urgency but neither of you could give less of a fuck.

All you could think of is the way Satoru was so pretty and muscled. Drinking in all the dips and curves of pale skin underneath your fingertips.

“Fuck, princess. Chose this color on purpose, huh?” his fingers dive under the hem of your bra, “Wanted to drive me crazy, mm?”

“Y-yes, Satoru.” you gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. “Wanted you to look at it. Got it custom-made all f’you.” words muffled as he sucks on your tongue. Satoru was always such a messy kisser, licking at the seam of your lips and intertwining his tongue with yours with no shame or shyness. A delicate trail of drool already starting at the corner of your mouth.

Ah, it was too much for him. Satoru almost thinks he could cum in his pants right now at your sinful little admission.

Which is why he pulls away to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, letting out a broken little hum of appreciation into your skin. “Thought so.”

And then your bra’s hitting the floor, tits spilling out into the cold bedroom air. But only for a split-second because Satoru’s immediately groping each and every inch of skin he can find.

“Look so fucking beautiful like this.” Rolling your swollen nipples between two fingers as he mutters - more to himself than you, “Was gonna let him see you in this slutty lil’ thing, too?” leaning down to tongue lazily little circles on one nipple. Words muffled as he wraps his lips so prettily around your tit - tugging, just grazing with his teeth, “Matching my eyes, huh? Fuckin’ gonna be the death of me shit-”

Satoru was insatiable. Wanting all of you all at the same time. And you follow his line of sight to see him locked on your dripping cunt - soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. Clenching around nothing as his pretty pink lips fall into a soft oh! at the sight.

Like a madman, he immediately drops to his knees. But you don’t think he even feels the pain as he bites down on the hem of your wet panties. Looking up at you with dazed eyes - miles away.

Breath ghosting your quivering cunt, tugging lightly with his teeth, “Next time, I’m gonna be the one buying you these.”

Then he’s pulling - tearing your drenched panties to shreds. Grinning so devilishly around it as he gets his first sight of your pretty pussy. Oh you were so perfect for him. So mouthwateringly wet.

“Shit, princess. Can’t believe you were fucking holdin’ out on me.” he muses in wonder, eyes wide at the way your sloppy pussy was glistening in the dim lighting.

“You were the one that-”

And usually, Satoru loves hearing you run your mouth, but this time he’s shutting you up by diving face-first into your dripping cunt. Cute little mewls leaving you as he presses so shamefully deep that his nose was against your throbbing clit, rubbing languidly as he licks a thick stripe up your swollen folds.

And then it was like something snapped.

Because one taste of you and Satoru’s going wild. Throwing a leg over his shoulder to lick more desperately all all over your cunt, lapping up all the juices that gush out of you. Already so addicted because shit you were so much sweeter than in his dreams.

“Ah! Hngh- please.” you mewl, as he wraps his glossy lips around your swollen clit. All you get is a feral little grunt, his jaw parted, eyes looking like he’s on cloud nine as starts to suck harshly. Filthy little squelches filling the air as Satoru rolls his tongue across your clit. “Feels, s’good, Satoru.”

But your cute little whines turn into one of disappointment as Satoru pulls away ever-so-slightly. “Call m’Toru.” he slurs.

And he doesn’t waste any more time, tongue swishing in his mouth to spit on you once. Twice. Missing ever so slightly, and splattering on your thigh. You flinch, gasping out a breathless little, “Toru!”

“Oh shit, princess. Yeah- say m’name jus’ like that” he groans, ragged and raw. The last thing out of his mouth before he’s squeezing his soft tongue into your snug cunt. Dipping into your sloppy hole in and out in and out in and-

“He ever made you feel this good?” he moans into your cunt, the vibrations making you fuck yourself deeper into his unrelenting tongue.

“W-what?”

“He ever made you feel this good? Cum so hard you see stars?”

You gasp out a pathetic little sob, “N-no. Want to- Wan’ you to make me cum, Toru. Make me cum around your tongue.”

And, well, what his girl wants - then she’s going to get. Because Satoru’s lapping at your cunt even more greedily than before.

Stretching you out, breathing you in, looking up at your cute expression through his long lashes. Already so fucked-out for him.

Nose rubbing purposefully in small circles on your clit. Fucking you with his tongue the way he wants to with his cock and he didn’t give a fuck if he suffocated in-between your thighs - he fucking loved it.

“Hngh- shit shit shit yes!” your nails are digging into Satoru’s scalp at this point. The only thing steadying yourself to prevent you from collapsing onto the ground. And you really can’t help but angle his head just right so that his tongue curls against that one spot inside your plushy walls.

Thankfully, he gets the memo. Because Satoru’s letting out a strangled little grunt at being so used by you as you drag your cunt across his pretty mouth. Body jerking into his as he hits that spot over and over-

“T-Toru- hah!” thighs quivering, Satoru’s grip bruising as he holds you up. “M’m gonna-” Your plushy walls sucking him up, thighs squeezing around his face.

“Mhm?”

“Cum! M’gonna cum- ah- fuck fuck fuck-”

He groans huskily into your cunt. Throwing his head back ever-so-slightly to let your slick slide down his throat - greedily waiting for more that was to come. “Then show me how you cum, m’girl. Cum all over my tongue.”

And then you are - all over Satoru’s pretty face. And fuck he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked prettier. Holding his head in place as you rock your hips into his waiting mouth, letting him drink you in so greedily. Clamping down on his tongue like you were trying to milk him.

And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d notice the delirious little heart eyes that Satoru was giving you, your cunt firm on his face and swollen lips letting out such pretty whines of his name. Toru Toru Toru - like a prayer as you fucking use him for your high.

Ah, he could stay like this forever, he thinks. But no, an empty house and you all wet n’ pretty for him means there’s too much more to do.

Which is why he’s pulling away, your slick decorating his lips so prettily. Smeared across the bottom half of his face and dripping onto the hardwood floor in a maddening little drip! drip! drip!

And Satoru knows, with the way you watch him so intensely, mouth parted, eyes glossy. Which is why he runs a thumb along his mouth, pooling your juices on his fingers and popping them into his mouth. One by one.

Your jaw drops a little in disbelief as Satoru licks his fingers clean, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste. Oh he was ruining you without even touching you.

“Not enough, princess.” he chuckles. “C’mon, gimme a kiss.”

And, really, how could you ever say no to that face? Because you’re pulling him to you as soon as Satoru stands to his full height. Capturing his lips in such a sloppy, filthy kiss - forcing you to taste yourself and you half-lucidly wonder whether Satoru loved the taste almost as much as you because it was so him.

Bodies so close that your dripping cunt was seeping into his unfairly tight shirt. Forming a lewd little dark patch when Satoru lifts you effortlessly to guide you to the bed. Tongue still entwining obscenely with yours as he splays you out on the soft mattress for him. Drinking in that adorable lil’ shock on your face as you bounce on the bed, so drunk off of him that you didn’t even realize he was taking you to the bed.

“Shit, y’look the prettiest like this, princess. S’a wonder m’not fucking passing out right now.” he hisses into your lips.

“Toru-” you whine, and shit the way his cock jumps at the mere sound of your voice makes you think that this will be a little trick you’re using more often. “Wan’ your cock s’bad. Wanna-”

You don’t even have the patience to finish the sentence before you’re fumbling with his belt. Something hefty and overpriced but you can’t possibly think about that right now because fuck you get the first sliver of milky skin.

Satoru’s thighs were so sculpted and thick. It made your mouth absolutely water to wonder what it would feel like to ride them to insanity.

“Y’wanna ride my thighs? Fuck princess, you really are driving me crazy.”

Shit had you said that out loud?

Ah, well, it doesn’t matter because Satoru’s pulling his boxers down - so tight with his swollen cock, a dark patch right where his weeping head was. And you almost pout at losing the opportunity to take them off but oh how you’re distracted by the sinful sight before you.

Satoru was massive - so long and flushed your favorite shade of pretty pink. Shit, you were going to have to get a lingerie set in this color one of these days. He was achingly hard and throbbing, springing up to smear precum all over his abs.

And before you can even react, Satoru’s pulling you to him. Manhandling your pretty self so easily to straddle one, large thigh.

“Oh- hngh, Toru.” you look up at him all doe-eyed and teary as he doesn’t even wait for you to register what’s all happening. Grip bruising on your hips as he rocks your hips so sluttily on his leg. “F-feels s’good. Ah-”

“Yeah? Y’like it? Like getting yourself off like a lil’ slut on my thigh?” he groans into your ear, low and husky with need.

You nod wildly, sloppy pussy dripping all over his thigh, seeping into his skin as you grind your hips to meet his movements. “Like it s’much- ah-”

“Mhm? Better than anything he could ever do?”

“Yes yes yes, Toru-” you sob, cheeks burning as you realize that you’re humping him like a bitch in heat - but oh judging by the carnal little glint in his eyes, he liked it. Loved it, even. Because Satoru could feel the way your swollen folds spread to grind against him, clit pulsing so maddeningly against his skin. So filthy and messy as you used him to get yourself off. “S’much better- the best-”

He just didn’t expect to feel a soft hand wrapping around his cock. Eyes flying open to see you - all glassy-eyed, and fucking yourself on his thigh - wrap a hand around his cock. Starting to move in shallow, unsteady little motions up and down his throbbing cock to get him off at the same time as you.

“Wan’ you to cum, too, Toru.”

“Oh fuck.” he grunts, letting his hips fuck up into your fist in mindless little motions. “Y’don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

And with that his fingers were digging into the skin of your hips, forcing you to hold on for dear life as he drags your dripping cunt faster and faster across his thick. Movements erratic and frenzied now.

Of course, you were not one to be out-done.

Satoru’s precum spilling down your hand, your wrist now aching and wet, becoming so, so sloppy trying to get both yourselves off. But you still tighten your fist around his pulsing cock, desperately flying up and down his length. Pulling in quick, jerky motions to milk him for all he’s worth again and again and-

“You’re so oh- good f’me, princess.” he hums. “Your hngh- hands are so p-pretty wrapped around my cock. So perfect for me.” Bucking his hips wildly to meet your hand now, fucking your fist with no shame. Pulling you harsher on his thigh. “S’such a shame you had to hah fuck- meet my father first. I’d have been so much better.”

“Toru!” you squeal as one hand moves deftly from your hips to draw quick, hasty little circles on your throbbing clit. The friction from his thigh and fingers too much to handle.

“I’d make you happier.” Your body is shaking now, hands messy and trembling around his swollen cock. “I’d make you laugh more and give you all m’time.” You can’t even look at him at this point, eyes scrunched close in ecstasy as Satoru whispers these maddening little phrases into your open mouth.

“I’d make you cum harder.”

Oh and then you are - tears in your eyes, body convulsing into his as you cum. And of course he’s smirking smugly as he watches you ride your high out on his thigh, brows furrowed and bottom lip bitten in concentration as he holds off cumming. Not now. Not yet.

“So, better than him or not?”

But shit was it hard.

Especially when you raise your pretty, barely-lucid eyes to meet his, whimpering out a soft little, “I don’ know yet, Toru. Gonna hafta stuff me full of your cock if you wanna know.”

And perhaps for the first time since you walked in on him after the shower that night, the great Gojo Satoru is taken aback. Eyes widening in surprise, kiss-bitten lips falling into a soft oh! of disbelief. But not for long - never for long - because a devilish little grin breaks out across his face immediately afterwards.

“Shit, y’really are perfect f’me, princess.”

With a low growl, Satoru is easily pulling your body - limp and boneless in his hands - to straddle his toned hips.

You let out a yelp at the feeling of his fat tip just kissing your swollen folds, dragging teasingly along them, collecting the slick beading out of your sloppy cunt. Back and forth-

“Who’s got you feeling this way?”

“You, Toru.”

And then he’s pushing in, swollen cock bullying into your snug pussy. Thumbs drawing steady little circles on your hips - yes to reassure you but also to fight off that feral little part of himself that just wants to stuff your pretty lil’ pussy full until his heavy balls smack your ass. Not even waiting for you to adjust.

But no. No, it was so much better when you were the one desperately trying to suck up his cock. Gasping and moaning out strangled little whimpers of his name as you sink yourself down on his throbbing dick. Inch by fucking inch.

“S’too big- Hngh! I-is it even halfway in?” you whimper out, and Satoru could almost laugh humorlessly as he tilts his head to glance downwards and shit- he was barely a quarter in.

“No.”

“F-fuck” cute little tears streaking down your face now, thighs trembling, “Toru, I-I don’t think I can-”

“You can. And you will.” Fucking up into you in short, rapid little jabs to squeeze himself deeper into your tight pussy. Shit, it was such a squeeze, you were milking the ever-loving soul out of him. And it only made him impossibly harder inside you, making you whine and grind down - torn between chasing the feeling of being so deliciously full and the sheer pressure. “Shit, love when your pussy’s sucking me up so good.”

One hand is on your hip, sliding you farther and farther down his cock, the other drawing urgent, quick patterns on your clit. Not even circles anymore because shit Satoru doesn’t have the patience nor the sanity for that. Throbbing veins rubbing so sinfully against that one spot in your dripping cunt, splitting you apart to the same rhythm as the pulsing.

And as soon as your ass meets his heavy balls - already so wet with precum and slick - Satoru doesn’t even know if he’s on planet Earth anymore. Mind spinning, he doesn’t waste any time at all.

“Fuck yes.” Satoru hisses, throwing his head back. “Fucking finally.” He pulls his hips back, far enough that his angry, red tip is just kissing your sloppy entrance, surging forward, forward, forward- “Y’don’t know how fucking long I’ve wanted this, princess. Needed this s’bad, so so bad you don’t understand. Shit.”

And, hey, his girl deserved to be fucked dumb, right?

“Needed this ever since I saw you at that goddamn gala.” he whispers into your lips, ragged and so fucked-out. Each word punctuated by a harsh, heavy thrust. Ones that have you keening and grasping Satoru’s broad back for support. Nails raking down his shoulders as his pace gets faster. More purposeful.

And you can do nothing but take it, barely even able to form any coherent sentences. So prettily sat on Satoru’s lap as he fucks into you, babbling sweet little nonsenses made for your ears only. “Ever since I saw that murderous little glare you threw at those snobby guests.”

His balls smacking against your ass over and over. A quick, steady little tempo that you were losing your mind to. “Ever since you let me take your hand and drag you away to that secret bar to take shots instead of champagne.”

You don’t know whether you’re even crying at this point - all you know is that your cheeks are wet and your voice is broken as your let out a little, “F-fuck, Satoru- but your fa-”

“Fuck that.” he whines, and you could almost laugh at the adorable pout that makes its way onto his face. And at that you can feel him jolt so deliciously, head snapping up to meet yours. “I’m the better one.”

And as if he’s trying to prove it to your cunt, he’s drilling into you faster. Harder. Hips burning now as he fucks you like some animal. Hitting that sweet spot over and over. “I’m the one with the personality and the looks.” Long fingers almost a blur on your clit as he matches his place. Cock hot, and throbbing inside you.

“I’m the heir, I get the company, too, if that’s what you like.” He’s bouncing you on his cock animalistically now. Hungry gaze taking in the way you’re sucking him up so well. “And I’m funnier one, I’m the one that should be by your side.”

You see stars behind your eyes at both the pleasure and sheer overstimulation as Satoru starts fucking your cunt as best he could without fucking breaking you - but, honestly, he didn’t give a shit if you cried. He just wanted to stuff you full and have you cum harder than you ever have in your life.

“Fuck- fuck yes m’gonna cum Toru- hngh.” You pull him closer to you, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “M-make ah! Make me cum, fill me up please, Toru.”

You feel him shudder inside you, balls squeezing so painfully. Hips sloppy and absolutely soaked with precum and slick. “Sh-shit, you’re not too good for m’heart. Ngh, f-fuck- I should be the one to make you cum. Over and over until you don’t know what it feels like to not.”

“Toru!” your eyes fly open, “Yes yes yes- it’s you. Only you-”

Oh, like something snapped then Satoru’s surging forward to bite down on the crook of your neck. Hard. You’d almost think he was out to draw blood. And then with a low groan, and one, harsh little thrust, Satoru’s cumming and cumming inside your pretty pussy. And you are too - back arching as you milk his cock through his high.

Fingers digging into your skin as he holds your hips to his, letting your cunt be filled up so sloppily. Pumping thick, hot ropes of seed that dribbled out of you each time he pumped his hips into yours. Fucking it deeper and deeper inside you.

And then you’re both collapsing, the exhaustion suddenly hitting the both of you as Satoru moves you both to lay on the mattress. Fuck, Satoru watches in wonder as his cum gushes out of you and forms a wet little pool on the expensive sheets as he starts to pull out. One round might just not be enough.

Yet not yet - he can feel his eyes drooping, muscles aching as he pulls your sticky body closer to his. And Satoru knows he should get up and wipe you both down. But right now, he’s too drunk off the heat of your body and that angry little bite on your neck. Distracted by the cute lil’ expression on your face, so tired and thoroughly fucked out. Fingers playing with his hair, looking at him with an expression so fond - just like in his dreams.

Nothing more is said. And all is quiet in your strange little heaven.

That is, until - “So, princess. Wouldn’t ya wanna be an heiress instead of a sugar baby?”

A/N. How we feeling???

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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plutotheplum · 4 months ago

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Blurred Lines

leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you’ve decided to get intimate for the first time with your boyfriend, and who better to ask for advice than his best friend?

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, kissing, oral sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, p in v, possessive sex, praise kink, cheating/infidelity

wc: 4.4k

a/n: i don't support cheating at all, this idea just would not leave me so erm... i just had to write it

also on ao3!

You might be a little in over your head.

Sure, the entire thing had been your idea, but now that you’re standing outside of Leon’s apartment, duffle bag clutched in hand, you think you might’ve made the wrong decision.

But… you did really like your boyfriend.

It was why you were doing all of this after all. You wanted the first time with your new boyfriend to be perfect, especially after your last relationship had practically turned out to be a disaster. The sex hadn’t been enjoyable and the heated conversations between you and your ex even more so.

So, who better to ask for advice than your boyfriend’s best friend?

Eyes squeezing shut, you mutter a few words of self-encouragement. The doorbell looks oddly ominous when you open your eyes again.

You weren’t even sure why Leon had agreed to this entire thing. He’d always just been there, barely acknowledging your presence at all. All in all, you were convinced Leon hated you. It didn’t matter though, you didn’t particularly like the man either. Leon was just an unfortunate addition to things you had to endure.

An irritated huff of air leaves you and your hand jerks out, your own body having grown tired of your indecisiveness. The doorbell rings promptly and you shift on your feet, biting your lip nervously.

When the door creaks open, you have half the mind to run away. Leon’s gaze keeps you pinned in place however, his bored eyes dipping over you, brows raising slightly when he sees the duffle bag you were holding.

“You were serious about this, huh?” Leon asks, crossing his arms over his chest, peering down at you.

“Uh- well,” you begin, tongue feeling heavy, “I- I can just leave,” you laugh awkwardly, “you’re probably busy and I don’t want to bother you and-”

“Stop rambling,” he interrupts, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice, “just get inside.”

You’re grateful for his timely intervention, nodding rapidly and stepping inside. Taking off your shoes, you place them by the door neatly, not wanting to annoy Leon even more. He motions with his fingers and you follow him in, letting him guide you into his bedroom.

“What’s the bag for?”

“Oh, I packed a couple of outfits,” you shrug, watching as he sits down on his chair, “thought you might be able to tell me which one would work the best.”

Leon stares at you blankly, his lips pursing.

“You’re fucking weird.”

A sharp scoff leaves you, your eyes narrowing as you glare at the man in front of you. “You agreed to help me!”

“I didn’t think you were being serious,” Leon retorts.

You glare at him a little more and he lets out an exasperated sigh, motioning for you to sit down on the edge of his bed. You do as he says, although your movements are begrudging, feeling miffed.

“So?” He asks, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, “what do you want to know?”

“Se- sex stuff,” you reply casually, although your posture betrays you. It’s difficult to feel comfortable around Leon, his gaze uncomfortably intense and probing. You don’t think you’ve ever sat with your back this straight for so long before.

“Watching porn would’ve solved that problem for you,” Leon says drily.

“You’re a real asshole, Leon.”

He rolls his eyes at your jab, slouching a little further in his chair, thighs spreading as he gets comfortable. Leon’s fingers tap against the arm-rest, seemingly lost in thought. You couldn’t feel anymore awkward, agitatedly playing with your fingers in your lap.

“Can’t you just tell me what he likes?” you blurt out, growing desperate, “you guys talk about that stuff, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Leon says, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “Just do what feels natural. Sex isn’t supposed to be something you spend weeks worrying about.”

It’s surprisingly solid advice…but Leon could’ve told you all of this over text. You cross your arms over your chest, pouting slightly.

“But what if he doesn’t like it?” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Then he’ll tell you,” he says, hands clasping together. Leon gives you another once-over, tilting his head. “Go get changed, let’s see those outfits.”

You nod, tugging your bag into his bathroom and pull on your first outfit. It’s a pretty dress, flowy and a little short, but you’d figured it’d be a good pick.

“What do you think?”

Leon’s eyes flick up to meet yours, silently evaluating the dress. His brows furrow for a moment, something imperceptible passing through his eyes before he shakes his head. A sigh escapes you, but you disappear back into his bathroom obediently to pull on your next outfit.

Leon doesn’t like that one. He doesn’t like the one after either. Your patience is running thin by the time you’ve changed into your fourth outfit, a nice top and skirt. You tuck your hair behind your ears, staring at yourself in the mirror. You look cute, at least from your perspective. You don’t understand what he finds so unappealing about your sense of style. Leon’s eyes barely drift over you before he’s shaking his head again.

“Pass,” Leon drawls, looking bored out of his mind as he slouches in his chair. Irritation festers inside of you, teeth gritting together as Leon simply ignores you, scrolling through his phone.

“This is cute!” you protest, looking down at the outfit you put together, “I look cute!”

“If that makes you feel better, then keep telling yourself that,” he replies, not sparing you a second glance.

“You’re the worst!” you snap, stomping back into the bathroom.

Your temper gets the best of you when you scrutinize your irritated reflection, cheeks flushed with anger, the stress of being here with Leon bubbling past your own breaking point. You tug your top off, along with your bra, bathroom door slamming open as you move to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.

“How about now, asshole?”

Leon’s eyes widen when he sees your bare chest, surprise making his grip on his phone falter, the device falling towards the carpeted floor as he stares at your tits. His jaw seems to go slack, a sharp breath of air getting sucked in as he stares for a bit longer. You glare at him, chest rising and falling, watching as his gaze dips over the curve of your waist.

“They’re just tits,” he says nonchalantly.

Leon’s expressions betray his true emotions, however. You catch the bob of his throat as he swallows, the subtle clench of his jaw as he stares at your tits. Your eyes dip down between his thighs and a small smile spreads across your face when you spot the bulge forming in his shorts.

“Do you like ‘em?” you ask, tilting your head.

“What?” Leon sputters, his cheeks flushing lightly.

“Do you like ‘em?” you repeat, taking a step closer, “my tits, Leon.”

He swallows again, trying and failing to look away from your tits. “They’re fine,” he manages out after a moment, “normal, or whatever.”

That makes a frown pull at your lips. Your head tips down, taking in your own breasts. They weren’t anything special, but you thought they looked nice, at least. Embarrassment has your skin crawling, cheeks heating up when you realize how stupidly you’ve been acting.

You move to turn on your heel, but Leon stops you, his hand curling around your wrist. He tugs you forward, your feet stumbling slightly as he pulls you until you're standing between his spread legs.

“Maybe I should feel them,” Leon offers, peering up at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, “might- might help me judge a bit better.”

Surprise flits across your face, heat shooting through your body. You really shouldn’t let him do this, you shouldn’t even have your tits out in the first place but when Leon’s hand lands on your waist, all rational thought seems to leave you.

“Okay,” you whisper, “you can touch.”

Both of Leon’s hands are on your waist now, sliding upwards. You bite your lip to stifle a whine, back arching to push your chest into his touch when his thumbs brush the underside of your breasts.

Leon lets out a low hum, stroking his thumb over the same place again, staring intently at your hardened nipples. His fingers reach for them, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he tugs lightly before letting go, watching as your breasts move at the sensation.

“Gonna let me taste ‘em too?,” he asks, pinching your nipples again before rubbing his thumbs over your areolas.

“T- taste?” you echo, feeling your breath catch in your throat when Leon leans forward, his touch growing greedier as he grasps at your tits, squeezing the fat roughly. Your legs shake slightly, little twitches running up through your body and Leon notices, pulling you closer, his hands on the backs of your thighs as he helps you climb up onto his lap.

You can feel how hard he is when your cunt presses up against his clothed cock, a low whine slipping out of you at the feeling. Leon grins, squeezing your breasts a few more times, seemingly taken with tugging your nipples and watching your breasts bounce back into place.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “just let me put my mouth on you, hm?”

A single nod leaves you and Leon takes it as permission to kiss the space between your breasts. He’s surprisingly gentle with you, peppering soft kisses around your breast and over your nipples. Leon’s tongue lolls out before long, a groan emanating from him as he pulls you flush against him, his hips bucking up into your clothed cunt.

You gasp, fingers settling in his hair, pulling his head closer. Leon’s mouth opens wider, sucking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking across your nipple harshly as he silently urges your hips to move against him. You do as he wants, grinding against his lap, mewling when he sinks his teeth into the fat of your tit. He switches his attention to your other tit, sucking it into his mouth, pressing his hand into your back to make your chest jut out so that he can get more of you into his mouth.

“Do oh- do you like my tits now, Leon?” you ask breathily.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, yeah,” he mumbles out drunkenly, “love your tits, baby.”

A light flush covers your cheeks when Leon pulls away, both of your chests rising and falling. He stares up at you, perched on his lap prettily, his hands squeezing at your waist soothingly. Your hazy eyes dip down to his lips, fingers tightening into his shirt as you imagine his lips on yours.

That would make everything all the more real however, so you refrain, simply peering down at him. Leon can see the uncertainty that makes you squirm, the flash of guilt that seems to dim down the spark in your eyes. He doesn’t exactly like the situation either, what the two of you are doing, but when your lower lip juts out into a cute, little pout, Leon wonders what might’ve been if he’d gotten to you first.

“We should stop,” he says after a while, fingers tapping the sides of your thighs.

“Yeah,” you murmur, humiliation flitting across your face, “we should.”

Leon helps you get off his lap, smoothing his hand over the ruffles in your skirt. It’s a weirdly considerate action and too out of place for him. You disappear into the bathroom, pulling your top back on. Leon waits for you, his eyes dipping to the bulge in his shorts. It’s uncomfortable, his half-hard cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.

A heavy sigh leaves him, his hand reaching down to adjust himself before you come out.

“Thank you for letting me come over,” you mumble as he walks you over to his door.

“Don’t mention it,” Leon murmurs, his voice low.

Don’t mention it. You know deep down you won’t be mentioning anything to your boyfriend.

You go to open the door, but before you can, Leon’s stepping up behind you, his chest pressing into your back as he cages you in against the door. A soft whine spills out of you when he wraps his arms around your waist, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

“You’re making things difficult,” he says, voice muffled with how closely he’s pressed his face into your neck.

“I- I’m leaving,” you retort weakly, managing to get your hand on the doorknob.

He hums, pressing one of his hands against the door, keeping it shut.

“Leon,” you sigh exasperatedly, “we can’t. You’re the one who said we should stop.”

“If I hadn’t said that, would you have stayed?”

The question hangs in the air. Your silence is answer enough. Leon’s mouth on your tits had been more than enough to convince you to stay, the memory of his clothed cock pressed up against your panties making you bite back another whine. His hand has begun to slide to your leg, smoothing up over your skin and under your skirt.

“Tell me,” Leon coaxes, his fingers grazing your panties, “would you have stayed?”

A strangled gasp is your response as he presses the pads of his fingers up against your panties. Leon lets out a low laugh, landing a soft kiss to your neck, his fingers rubbing at your cunt through the fabric of your panties.

Your head tips forward, forehead pressing against the door and mouth opening in a silent moan when Leon rubs faster. He trails kisses down your neck before nuzzling into the crook of it, pressing you against the door harder to grind his cock into your ass.

“C’mon, baby,” he urges again, “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I- I hate you,” you grit out but you rock your hips across his hand anyways, wanting more friction against your pussy.

Leon clicks his tongue, drawing his fingers away.

“Ngh- nooo,” you whine, trying to get his hand back to where you want him to touch you, “Leon!”

It’s too late though, Leon’s already unlatched himself, taking a few steps back to put some space between you two. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts, pursing his lips as he stares down at you.

“You’re a piece of shit, Leon.”

“You know, that makes me less inclined to want to touch you.”

“Fine,” you say, throwing your hands up, “I’ll just do it myself.”

“W- what?” Leon blurts out, gaze fixated on the sway of your hips as you push past him. He watches as you settle down onto his couch, your head tipping back as your hand disappears under your skirt and slips past the band of your panties.

A soft sigh escapes you when you touch yourself, eyes fluttering shut. You’re wet thanks to Leon, body squirming as your fingers circle your swollen clit to find some relief.

“Fuck,” Leon hisses, watching as you masturbate on his couch without a care in the world. His cock throbs painfully and he’s dropping to knees before he can stop himself, hands grabbing at your legs.

“No,” you glare at him when he tries to pull your panties down, swatting his hand away.

“Please?” he pleads, eyes darkened with lust, “baby, please? I- I just wanna see.”

“‘m not your baby,” you grouse, trying to shove his face away as your fingers slide through your slick folds.

“You could’ve been,” Leon mutters.

He looks a little bitter and you raise your brows in question. “You hate me.”

“No I don’t,” he replies, nuzzling into your knee, lips pressing against your skin in a gentle kiss, “I want you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you murmur, rolling your eyes when he manages to capture your wrist in his hand, stopping you from pushing him away. A soft gasp escapes you when he curls his arms over your thighs, spreading you open for him.

“Been wanting to fuck you ever since he brought you ‘round,” Leon whispers, peppering kisses to your inner thighs, “you’re so pretty.”

You mewl, hips bucking as he pulls your panties down your legs. Leon’s eyes darken as your fingers move, spreading apart the folds of your pussy so he can get a good look.

“Fuck,” he groans, “pussy’s so fucking wet, baby.”

Your fingers run through his soft hair, pulling his head closer. Leon goes more than willingly, his tongue lolling out to lick a stripe up your pussy. He lets out a guttural moan, arms tightening around your thighs, hands disappearing up your top to squeeze at your tits as he all but shoves his face into your cunt.

“You- oh- you should apologize, Leon,” you whisper, pushing his head away when he tries to suck your clit into his mouth. “You didn’t like any of my outfits and you were mean.”

“Are you serious?” he asks, trying to nuzzle back into your pussy.

You nod, and he groans, half-lidded eyes never straying from your leaking cunt.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes out, inching closer and managing to land a soft kiss to your aching clit, “‘m sorry, okay? I was an asshole and fuck-” Leon shudders, nudging past your hand to kiss your clit again as his eyes meet yours, “I didn’t him to want to see you like that, all pretty and dolled up.”

There’s a strange fluttering sensation in your chest, heart skipping a beat at his confession. You stare down at him, letting him kiss your clit one more time before you rub your fingers through your folds, pressing your slick fingers against his mouth. Leon moans, mouth opening, sucking your fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them.

“Don’t stop,” you mumble when Leon licks your pussy again.

He hums, squeezing at your tits, fingers pinching and tugging at your nipples as he eats you out. Soft mewls spill from your mouth, hips rocking to meet his mouth, back arching to press more of yourself against him.

You jerk in his grasp, an involuntary twitch running through your body when he strokes the pad of his thumb over your clit gently, his tongue burying itself inside of you.

“Leon,” you whine, tugging at his hair while your head tips back, “‘m close.”

He doubles his efforts when you say that, pinching your nipples roughly as he slurps and sucks at the wetness of your pussy. The sounds are lewd, the soft smack of his lips around your slick folds and aching cunt making you flush.

“Taking my fingers so good,” he whispers, pushing two of his fingers inside of your cunt and cooking them so that they brush against your sensitive spot.

You fist his hair tighter, moans growing louder as he fucks his fingers in and out of you, his mouth latching onto your clit, tongue flicking and stroking across the swollen bud before sucking hard.

“Ah!” you squeak out, shoving his face further into your cunt, thighs trapping his face and squeezing tight as you cum, body shuddering and toes digging into his back, “Leon!”

Leon groans into your cunt, taking your orgasm eagerly, sucking and licking at your wetness, drinking it down. He huffs a breath when you try to push his head away, moving your hand away to lick over your pussy despite your twitching thighs and the painful grip you have on his hair.

He pulls away finally with a kiss to your clit, grinning up at you, his eyes hazy with lust. The lower half of his face is wet and Leon licks his lips before leaning towards you, his nose nudging against yours.

“Kiss me, sweetheart.”

You whine, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. He stares up at you, lips parted and you lower your head, hesitation and guilt forgotten as you press your lips against his. Leon lets out a contented sigh, his arms wrapping around your waist, lips moving against yours eagerly.

He gets off of his knees and crawls on top of you instead, hips slotting between your thighs. Your legs wrap around his waist, kissing him languidly and gasping into his mouth when he grinds his clothed cock against your bare cunt.

“Want it?” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck, “want my cock, baby?”

“We- we shouldn’t,” you whisper weakly, watching as he sits back to pull his shirt up over his head.

You gulp nervously when you see his bare upper half, cunt clenching at the sight of his muscled abdomen and thick biceps. Leon ignores you, his lips slotting over yours again, hand caressing your waist soothingly.

A sigh leaves you, hands smoothing over his shoulders to pull him closer. He stares down at you, panting softly, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

“You’re right,” he murmurs.

Neither of you make any moves to detach from each other however, Leon’s hand stroking over your hair as he grunts and rocks his hips against your cunt again.

“Just- shit- just the tip,” Leon offers, groaning when he feels your hands on his chest, “just the tip, baby.”

You whimper into his mouth when he kisses you again, fingers creeping down to pull at his shorts impatiently.

“D- doesn’t count if it’s just the tip,” you agree breathlessly, hand wrapping around his fat cock.

“Yeah,” Leon says, his voice shaky, “yeah, doesn’t hah- doesn’t count if it's just the tip.”

Leon mutters out a curse when your thumb swipes over the sensitive head of his cock, kissing you roughly as he grasps his cock, pumping it a few times. You watch, flushed and eager as he presses his cock against your folds, rubbing it against you.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he snarls, moving his cock and slapping it the tip of it against your swollen clit, smearing pre-cum across your folds. “‘m gonna make you forget about him,” Leon slurs, “gonna make you mine, sweetheart.”

He presses the tip of his cock into you and you whine, clawing at his biceps, feeling the initial stretch of his cock. Leon grunts, his face pressing back into the crook of you neck, fucking you shallowly.

“Bet my entire cock would feel good,” he mumbles, kissing your neck, “wouldn’t that be nice, baby? My fat cock filling you up?”

“But- but we can’t,” you babble, gasping when he pushes his cock in a little more, “Leon- oh fuck-”

Your words die on your tongue when Leon drives his hips into you, cock filling you up completely. A strangled moan leaves you, head tipping back as you cry out, Leon groaning as he pounds his hips into you.

“Take it, sweetheart,” he grunts, hand smoothing over your hair as he kisses your cheek messily, “doing so good, made to take my cock, my sweet girl.”

The praise is making your eyes roll to the back of your head, legs tightening around his hips as your nails claw down his back.

“Kiss,” you whine, lips parting for Leon, “kiss me.”

Leon lets out a low growl, his lips crashing onto yours, cock dragging in and out of your clenching walls rapidly. The sounds of your skin clapping together fills his apartment, but you’re too cockdrunk, too utterly gone to have any care in the world. All you can think about is his weight on top of your body, his lips dragging across your skin, his cock pounding into you.

“Squeezing me so tight,” Leon moans, “gonna make me cum, baby.”

You nod rapidly, cunt clenching around him as the coil of pleasure in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

“Leon!” you wail, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, body twitching.

“Cum,” he grunts, squeezing your hips tightly, “c’mon baby, cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cream my fucking cock.”

His lips slot over yours and you whimper, kissing him back needily as you shake in his grasp, orgasm racking through you as you cum.

“Fuck-” Leon whispers, feeling the clench of your cunt around his cock, “baby, baby, baby.”

His hips stutter, his head falling between your breasts, soft pants filling the air as he cums. Leon’s hot cum floods your pussy, another whimper escaping you as you feel his cock twitch.

You both lay there, chests heaving.

“I hate you,” you whisper, running your fingers through his soft hair.

“Yeah,” Leon rasps, “I know.”

He kisses you anyways.

Your boyfriend’s been promoted.

It’s how you find yourself here, latched onto his arm as he talks with his colleagues with a tight smile on your face. Unfortunately for you, Leon happens to work at the same place which is why you spend most of your time trying to avoid him.

You’d tried to get out of attending the anniversary dinner, too ashamed and sick to your stomach, but your boyfriend had pleaded with you, which had only made you feel guiltier.

You can’t escape Leon’s gaze either. His eyes bore into you no matter where you go in the spacious venue and it gets to the point where you’re telling your boyfriend that you need to get some fresh air. There’s a fire escape and you take your chance, pushing past the heavy door to suck in a deep breath of the cool night air. The expanse of the city lies out before you, buildings lit up and roads bustling with traffic. You rub your aching temples, eyes squeezing shut.

Unfortunately, you don’t get to cool down for long, not when Leon’s joining you. He looks as handsome as ever, especially in a suit, his hair combed back neatly.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Go fuck yourself, Leon,” you hiss out, pointing your finger at him accusingly.

A lazy grins spreads across his face, his arm curling around your waist to pull you flush against him. Your hands land against his chest, breath hitching when he lowers his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

“Fuck me yourself, hm?”

You end up bent over the railing with Leon’s fat cock stuffed inside of you. He grips your hips roughly, groans as you cry out into the night, peppers kisses over your shoulder and shoves his fingers into your mouth while he whispers sweet nothings to you.

“You’re my girl.”

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil smut #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon kennedy

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the-velvet-worm · 7 months ago

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the love triangle in TLT is so funny because it's not even a true love triangle. it's like a shape that hasn't even been invented yet. first you've got Ianthe, who thinks Harrow is totally into her but isn't. and Harrow is into Gideon but also this really sexy corpse. the sexy corpse was maybe probably in a relationship with Gideon's dad who's also the leader of the solar system. he hooks up with his officers sometimes and has hooked up with his best friends over the last 10,000 years because they were bored. Ianthe also has this weirdly borderline incestuous relationship with Coronabeth but Coronabeth is in love with Judith who had a crush on her now-dead cavalier. the only ones who've got a semi-normal relationship are Camilla and Palamedes and even then they had a weird poly thing with Dulcinea even though they never met her in person. and they have another weird poly thing with Pyrrha but by that point they're sharing a body. then they decide to do a mutual suicide/soul binding ritual and become a whole new person in Camilla's body. also they're second cousins. oh Pyrrha also had a weird poly thing with her necro and Gideon's biomom/the leader of the rebellion who's fighting against Gideon's biodad. I don't even have time to unpack all that and that doesn't even cover half of the shit happening here. there's also the whole Cytherea thing

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dollishmehrayan · 1 month ago

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# “HOLD UP, POSE!” ── .✦ ( model!reader x batboys s/o kinda requested ˚⟡˖ )

a/n: so sorry for the break and how i traumatized half of you guys with my rant (if I suffer you gonna do too && let’s move on now ) and it’s lowkeyy funny ngl but omgg, I’m finally back though soo yeah but I’m finally taking requests again for a bit too so about that yeah and also make sure to go vote on the poll, we’re at 600+ votes already for my 1k event!! Tags: (batboys x model!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Your biggest fan, no contest. He has a folder on his phone labeled “My Gorgeous Girl” filled with all your magazine covers, runway shots, and candid photos he’s sneakily taken of you (even the ones where you’re eating pizza in sweats).

Loves to drop the fact that you’re a model into conversations. Someone says something even remotely related, and Dick is like, “Oh, that reminds me of the time yn walked for Valentino. She looked stunning. Anyway, how’s your dog?”

Flirty but lowkey jealous. He’s all smiles at your shoots, but if a photographer or fellow model gets a little too friendly, he’ll sidle up behind you, wrap an arm around your waist, and casually go, “Hey, babe, everything good here?”

Runs your fan page in secret. He denies it every time, but you know it’s him posting like archive photos of you? with captions like, “Truly the most breathtaking woman alive.”

Always hypes you up. You’re stressing before a runway show? He’s holding your hands, looking you dead in the eyes, and saying, “You’re going to kill it, just like always. They’re not ready for you.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Pretends not to care, but he’s secretly obsessed. You’ll catch him flipping through your magazines with a bored expression, but the dog-eared pages of all your spreads say otherwise.

Gets grumpy when he has to share you with the world. “Do you really have to fly to Milan again? Can’t they get someone else to wear the fancy coat?” But he’s the first one to text you after your show with a “You looked amazing. Miss you, though.”

Always lurking at your events. He doesn’t do red carpets, but you’ll spot him in the back of the after-party, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, watching you like you’re the only person in the room.

Jealous but funny about it. If a male model gets paired with you for a shoot, Jason will grumble, “You know I could wear that suit better, right?”

Says he doesn’t care about fashion but definitely critiques it. “They put you in that? Really? That’s what they think is high fashion?” (Meanwhile, he still owns a leather jacket he’s had since he was 17.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The low-key proud boyfriend. Tim doesn’t brag about you… unless someone else brings it up. Then it’s a full PowerPoint presentation: “Oh, you didn’t know she walked the Paris Fashion Week finale? Let me show you.”, “it’s not that serious Tim.”

Forgets how famous you are sometimes. He’s so focused on his work that when he accompanies you to an event, he’s always surprised when people scream your name. “Wow, they’re… really excited to see you, huh?”

Pretends to be chill but panics at your shoots. If you’re wearing something too revealing, Tim’s sitting in the corner like, “Does she really need to wear that? I mean, it’s fashion, I guess, but still…”

Shows up to all your shows with coffee. He knows your schedule can be brutal, so he always has your favorite drink ready and a warm smile. “Long day, huh? Here, you’ve earned this.”

Accidentally goes viral as your boyfriend. Someone snaps a picture of him holding your bag while you’re doing a fitting, and now he’s trending as “hot model’s mystery man.” Or “Drake Spotted With L/N?”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks modeling is beneath you. Not because he doesn’t support you, but because he genuinely thinks you’re too good for it. “Tt. Why waste your time parading around in someone else’s designs when you could rule the world instead?”

Still shows up to your shows like a proud dad. He won’t admit it, but he’s ridiculously proud of you. He’ll sit front row, arms crossed, looking annoyed until you walk out. Then his face softens, and he claps (but only once).

Hates everyone in the industry. Photographers, stylists, agents—he side-eyes them all. “Do they have to touch you so much?”

Quietly supportive in his own way. You come home exhausted, and he’s already brewed your favorite tea and laid out your comfiest pajamas. “You should rest. You’ve worked hard enough today.”

Keeps all your clippings. You find a scrapbook in his study filled with your covers, tear sheets, and event photos. When you ask him about it, he just mutters, “I didn’t want them getting lost.” And even keeps some fan letters that you keep or lost along the way.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks it’s “adorable.” Bruce can’t help but chuckle whenever you mention your modeling career. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?” But he’s not teasing he genuinely admires how passionate you are.

Surprisingly knowledgeable about fashion. He knows every major designer, can spot couture from a mile away, and will occasionally surprise you by saying things like, “That’s Galliano, isn’t it? From the ‘06 collection?”

Makes every event feel like a power couple moment. When you walk a red carpet together, it’s like the world collectively gasps. He keeps his hand on your back, whispers sweet nothings, and makes sure you’re the center of attention.

Defends your career to anyone who dares question it. Someone makes a snide remark about modeling being “shallow,” and Bruce immediately shuts them down with, “Actually, it’s an incredibly demanding profession that requires both discipline and skill. You should try it sometime.”

Buys your agency. You’re stressed about a bad contract or a difficult agent? Suddenly, Wayne Enterprises owns the company, and Bruce is like, “Problem solved. You can thank me later.”

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cheriecoke · 1 year ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ my girl — nanami kento

summary: you know the kid that kento mentors has a little crush on you; why wouldn't you use that to your advantage?

contents: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, brat taming, possessive sex, semi-public sex, hair pulling, pet names, praise, dom nanami, jealousy, ino has the hots for you, unprotected sex, kinda deg, slight dumbification, um i think that's it clearly i am so desperate for nanami and i haven't even watched the new episode — 2.3k

under the table, you slide your palm up kento’s thigh as he speaks.

he's explaining something about sorcerer politics that you’re not really interested in hearing about, not when there’s an ache between your thighs that he refused to take care of before you left, and his sleeves are rolled up in the way he knows drives you crazy.

across from the two of you, ino sits, attentively listening to your husband as, every few seconds, his eyes subtly slide over to you, the pink flush on his cheeks returning each time he glances at the soft smile that rests on your glossy lips.

ino’s crush on you is no secret. he is, really, quite obvious about how much he wants your attention.

of course, he knows about you and kento, has known since he first set eyes on you at a sorcerers’ meeting and asked you, slyly, if you were single.

kento had come up behind you not a moment later, smiling with a golden band on his ring finger, asking ino if he forgot to introduce his wife.

and though the younger sorcerer respects nanami, perhaps more than anyone, it does little to quell the attraction he has for his wife… especially since you are so insistent on teasing the poor kid at every chance you get.

you can’t help it, really, when it riles kento up so easily. the way he vibrates under his skin with anger, irritated that another person could ever think of his wife in any manner that is less than respectable.

kento sets your hand gently back down on your lap, jaw clenching as his fingers twist around your wrist tightly. though he hides his irritation well, you can tell from the sharp glint in his eye, the tension in his shoulders, that it is getting the best of him.

your husband may be sweet, a lover that never acts rashly out of anger, but he has a possessive streak he’s never been very good at taming.

as kento stiffens, you smile sweetly at ino, who exhales heavily, shifting all of his attention on your husband. though, you are staring him down, listening attentively to every word that he says.

while ino speaks, you slide your hand back over kento’s thigh, vying for his attention. he clears his throat, a warning, as he grips your wrist once more and pushes you away.

it won’t be much longer before he snaps. kento's sitting straighter, back taut as he focuses his gaze sharply on the younger man across from him. whatever the two of them are speaking about is dull, repetitive talk about work that you are bored of.

“so, ino,” you finally ask, the lull in the conversation that you've been waiting for. you speak up before kento can ask any more questions about the sorcerer’s progress. “any pretty sorcerers caught your eye?” you lean froward with a small grin, your breasts fully on display as you set your chin in your palm. “surely someone as charming as you already has a girlfriend."

ino turns red then, a flush spreading from every corner as he tries, so hard, not to let his eyes fall. you admire the effort, really, even though kento catches the moment the younger man's gaze drops, the half second he stares at your tits and squirms in his seat.

“n-no,” ino stutters, nervous for the first time in this conversation; he is usually so loud and outspoken, never feeling shy about the words that leave his lips. “can’t seem to find many sorcerers my age.”

you laugh. it’s true that there are few sorcerers from his year, but you know it is the wrong thing to say.

anger radiates off your husband, and with a sense of satisfaction, you trace your fingers back up his thigh before grinning, batting your eyelashes at ino.

“why not go for someone older, then?” you ask, palming a hand over the steadily growing bulge in kento’s pants

ino chokes, and kento grabs your hand roughly, shoving your fist back onto his lap as he steadies all his anger and buries it down.

“excuse me,” kento suddenly interrupts, and his voice is so calm, so smooth, that its almost like nothing is out of the ordinary. he slides out of the booth, running a palm over his slacks, palms sweaty from his annoyance. “i just remembered i’ve got an important phone call to make. could we put a pause on this conversation?” he is so polite as he nods his head, and ino blinks, looks between the two of you, uncertain if he’s done something wrong.

“of course,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “take you time.”

“would you come with me, sweetheart?” kento turns to you then, and he sounds normal, like there’s nothing wrong, but his hands flex at his side, and his eyes are narrowed almost imperceptibly.

kento’s mad, and you know you’re fucked; but you can't help the desire that sits heavily in your stomach, the way you’re already soaking your panties, wanting him inside you.

“sure, ken.” you nod, smiling at him. “sorry, ino, we’ll back right back.”

you stand next to your husband, who places a heavy hand on your shoulder, a warning. but you love the feeling of his skin on your own and it does little to stop your teasing; it only makes you want him more.

ino says nothing as kento leads you around the restaurant, takes you to the back of the shop where there are two single-person bathrooms. one is occupied, and the other, empty.

the two of you go inside.

“are you trying to embarrass me?” kento says angrily, shoving you into the bathroom as he locks the door behind him, his eyes hungry at the sight of your flushed cheeks, the way you are already so desperate for him. he pushes you towards the sink, eyes flashing as you reach for him, hastily undoing his tie. “you’re acting like a fucking brat whose husband doesn’t know how fuck her right.”

“maybe you don’t,” you counter, yanking off his tie so you can unbutton his shirt, slide your hands across the expanse of his chest. god, you want him so fucking bad. you’re aching, arousal pooling in your panties as your husband lifts you, shoves you back onto the sink. “you wouldn’t even take care of me before you left—“

“don’t start.” he glares and unzips his slacks to free his half-hard cock, stroking it as you try to get your hands on him. though that attempt is feeble as kento grabs both your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head. with the other, he hikes your dress up, pushing it along your smooth thighs.

his voice is low and dangerous, deepening as he dances fingertips along your skin. “you’re so fucking desperate for attention that you’ll take it from anyone.” he pins you with his hard gaze, and you’re hot all over, legs shaking with anticipation. “i bet you like that he wants to fuck you so bad, even when you know i can fuck you better.”

you whimper, eyelids fluttering as kento reaches under your dress to pull down your panties.

“prove it, then” you say, and you know you’re only digging yourself a deeper hole, annoying him further as you grope at him. you squirm, trying to release your wrists from his hold, but he’s so strong; you’re only left a writhing mess under his touch. “i want you, kento.”

“yeah?” he asks, yanking your panties roughly down your thighs, the pair that has already been soaked through. “if i give you what you want, will you sit there quietly like a good girl, and stop flirting with the kid who wants something he can’t have?”

the tone sends aching need throughout you, and the commanding presence of his voice is almost too much. “i promise,” you say, shaking as you lock your heels around his hips. “please.”

“please,” kento repeats mockingly, eyes hard as he slips a finger inside of you. he slides right in, barely needing to prep you before he fucks you. “you should be embarrassed; you’re this fucking wet just from looking at me." his eyes harden. "so impatient that you can’t even wait until we get home.”

“i’ve been patient all day,” you say, high-pitched, but you’re quickly silenced as kento slides in and out of you, setting a steady pace while his thick fingers squelch inside your aching pussy. “need you to—“

“stop making demands." he releases your wrists to place a hand on your hips, stop you from fucking yourself on his fingers. “shouldn’t even be giving you what you want, but i can’t help myself. you’re so pretty, so desperate to have my cock inside you that you can’t even sit still.”

“kento, fuck,” you groan, grabbing his shoulders as he stretches his fingers deeper inside you, past the walls that clamp down on him. in a desperation to keep quiet, you try to kiss him, moan into his mouth so no one else can hear you.

but he grips your hair tightly, pulls you away from his lips as you moan, loudly, into the tight space of the bathroom. “nice try.” his fingers pump in and out of your soaked cunt. “but i want everyone to hear those pretty sounds, sweetheart. need them to know who’s fucking the brat out of you.”

you try to pull him towards you, shift him closer with your ankles. “kento—”

“louder.”

“kento, fuck, baby, please. i want you so bad, i love you—” you’re almost screaming, desperate to cum as his thumb brushes against your clit, teasing, and not enough for you to find complete release.

but you’re squeezing so tightly around his fingers that he must know you’re close, even as he pulls out of you, the juices from your need for him soaking his knuckle.

finally, he smiles at you, softly.

“there’s my good girl,” he says, and it reminds you why you never want anyone else but him, why you need him, desperately, all the time. kento’s cock is already aching, leaking, and he forces it into you without warning, grunting into your neck. “sometimes, you're just so fucking stupid when you want my cock.”

you nod, whimpering out a breathy moan as he thrusts into you, hard and rough, still holding you by the hair so you can’t kiss him, even as much as you want to.

you’re so hot all over, skin burning as he stretches you. “please, let me cum, ken,” you say, and there’s tears in your eyes; you’re so close, but you want to be good for him, want to show him how much you love him.

he hums against your neck, watches you writhe as he forces himself deeper into you, burying his cock in your pussy completely.

you can’t help the sinful noises that leave your throat, echoing down the vents to the kitchen, to the dining room. and maybe everyone in the restaurant can hear your husband fucking you, but you don’t care, not when you’ve waited this long for him to be inside you.

“so pretty,” he says, sharply, and finally, he lets his hands fall from your hair, holds your hips instead, bringing you harder onto his cock.

a tear rolls down your cheek and you bite down on your tongue to keep from screaming, whimpering at the aching pleasure in your entire body.

“you’re mine,” kento says, kissing you sloppily, hungrily as you thread your fingers through his hair. his tip brushes the sensitive spot inside you, and you're not sure how much longer you can stop yourself from cumming. “mine, mine, mine. no one else should ever get to fucking look at you if they can’t tell who you belong to.”

“i don’t want anyone but you,” you say, and you’re almost shouting, saliva all over your mouth as you drool from his harsh kisses. "i'm yours, kento."

you feel him smile against your lips. “that’s my girl,” he says, voice rough as he grips you tightly, nearing his own orgasm. “you wanna cum, pretty? make a mess on my my cock, sweetheart. i’m so close.”

his thrusts grow sloppy, and you grip his shoulders as he fucks deep into you cunt, forcefully, and, finally, you cry out, toes curling as you cum, hard, around him.

kento’s face is flushed, sweat at his hairline as his tips edges against your cervix, almost painfully, before he’s toppling over the edge, biting down hard on your shoulder with a groan. hot ropes spill into your cunt, and you're still writhing, moaning from sensitivity as his warm seed settles deep within you.

he’s so pretty; you kiss him over and over, the loose hair that sticks to his forehead, the flush on his cheeks. “mmm,” you hum, tasting the coffee on his tongue. “love you so much, kento,”

“you say that now,” he says curtly, slowly dragging himself out of your tight walls. “but wait until we get home.”

already, your pussy aches again, and you’re too warm, sweating as kento fixes his hair in the mirror.

you try to slide your panties back on, reach for where they've pooled at your ankles, but kento is faster. he yanks them away, folds them up nicely to tuck into his pocket.

“kento—”

“leave them off,” he says, sniffing as his cheeks slowly return to their normal color. “maybe ino will stop thinking about fucking my wife if he sees my cum running down her thighs.”

you stare at him, blinking, but you don’t have the energy or the willpower to fight anymore. instead, you obey, standing as a mix of kento's cum and your own juices seep onto your inner thigh, creating a sticky mess between your legs.

your husband unlocks the door, and you follow him back into the dining room, where ino is subtly sliding back into the booth, his cheeks red, a bulge obvious in his pants. he glances between the two of you with wide eyes, and darts his gaze back down between your legs, before staring at kento uncomfortably.

“did you get your call sorted out?” he asks, and his voice is higher, squeakier as you sit down with your husband.

kento smirks, satisfied. “it’s been taken care of.”

i need him to fuck me so bad

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