#and he immediately is bricked up

[crybaby-bkg]

Bakugou gets a boner whenever he fixes you food because you always seem to close your eyes, hum under your breath, and do a little dance in your seat whenever you bite into it. he fixes you a four course meal but now he’s rushing you to eat it in .8 seconds bc he keeps watching you and now his chub won’t go away :/

[magpie-trove]

I put on the new Lego Star Wars to have a silly fun time and instead I’m feeling so life altering revelations rn

[cinnamonest]

Yandere twst - Kalim Al-Asim

Taking this as an opportunity to talk about my BOY my LOVE my ANGEL

I'm making not quite a profile but more of a general HCs post? This is similar to the one I did for Floyd, will probably make more in the future

Also Prefect!Darling because it just makes sense here I suppose, but prior to book 5, and pretend Grim is just... off doing his own thing

For once I'm doing a dubcon/consensual/semi consensual up until a point because I like the dynamic of "I liked you initially and agreed to a consensual relationship at first but now you're going too far and freaking me out" which I feel is a dynamic I don't touch on often enough so I'm changing that  >:3

//dubcon, yandere, alcohol consumption/one-sided drunk sex, dark content, fem darling, impreg mentions

Also go follow @inkblot22 !!

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You can't really go a long time on campus without knowing of Kalim. Not necessarily knowing him personally, but knowing of him, seeing him, hearing people mention him, being generally aware of him. Even if it weren't for his housewarden status, his personality and outgoingness tends to make him a well-known individual. Not to mention the degree to which he goes out of his way to meet people. Every time he sees a person he doesn't know, he usually takes the time to engage with them, and will at least know their name and face by the time the conversation ends.

Said encounter can be jarring; after all, you'll just be minding your business when some stranger comes bounding over with a startlingly loud voice and bright eyes and more energy than a wind turbine. If you're not the sort to be inclined to conversation with people you barely know, it's that much worse, although he can really tire out even the most extroverted of people anyway.

But that's the sort of person he is, that's what everyone else says, that's what you witness early on, so, you wouldn't think much of it, give it no real thought.

Not that he's a particularly self-aware person himself. He's prone to following whims and impulses, not stopping to think about the implications and meanings nor the consequences nor the way his actions and words will be perceived.

Your reaction to his presence is like that of most people -- a little bit overwhelmed by his energy, but the fact that he's so sincere and warm-hearted makes it impossible to really dislike him.

However, very early on, you do end up having to deal with his energy quite a bit, after you manage to get assigned some sort of project together, one random day during class. But still, it's not something you think much of. If anything, you're mostly just glad that it's someone you've already met, and that you got put with a rather genial person, when it could have been an unpleasant person. He's already talking rapidly about his vision for said project by the time you leave that day, so you exchange numbers, agree to meet the next day, and return to your own dorm.

It's a small project. Doesn't take too long, you just meet after class two days in a row, but each time, you leave totally exhausted. He's just so loud and so high-energy, it drains you. Still, who are you to complain? He's too sweet to be upset about it. Besides, it's just for a few days. Although he's quite talkative in general, you seem to really trigger a positive reaction in him when you casually inquire about something he's wearing, which then turns into a few questions about his homeland, out of pure curiosity. His eyes seem to light up, and he gets very enthusiastic talking all about it, seemingly pleased that you would want to know. A fairly normal interaction, and you're glad it seemed to make him so happy.

He seems to bond with you over that event, even though you didn't think you really got to know each other that well or anything. Regardless, he now comes to sit beside you in that class each day. Not that you mind. Even if he has so much energy, he's forced to be fairly quiet and still during the class itself (although he still does try to talk to you, which has resulted in the professors having to tell him to be quiet on multiple occasions).

You don't mind, either, when he begins to seek you out for lunches, and after class.  In fact, he quickly endears himself to you. It just happens naturally, he's good at doing so without intending to. How could you not like him, really? Sure, he can be loud and a bit overbearing, but he's so sweet and friendly and genial. He makes for a good friend, and you're rather grateful to have another familiar face and someone to rely on in the enigma of a situation you've found yourself in with this whole place. He gets along well with pretty much anyone he talks to as well, so you don't have to worry about him not mingling well with whoever else you might have with you or be talking to.

All in all, you think very little of his presence. He doesn't stand out to you or hold any greater significance to you than any of the other people you've become acquainted with.

...But that gradually begins to change. Not by any will of your own, but rather, because he essentially forces his way into omnipresence in your life.

He nearly gives you a heart attack the first morning you groggily make your way out the front door of Ramshackle just to be met with him standing right there. Yawning and sleepy, but still smiling. His walk to class takes him right by here anyway, figured he should start waiting for you!

It's a bit too much for your comfort, but such a thing aligns with the person you've come to know him to be, and really, it's a very considerate and kind gesture, isn't it? It may be a bit overbearing, but he has such good intentions, and what kind of person would be ungrateful for someone's kindness like that? In fact, you're rather pleasantly surprised he would consider you to be on such a level of friendship despite not having known each other all that long. Thus, you do your best to smile back and thank him for the gesture. It's not like it's a long walk to class anyway.

It becomes a fast routine. He's there in the mornings. He's there when classes let out for the lunch period, he manages to find you in the halls and get a few minutes of conversation in during the time between classes whenever possible. He's there at the end of the day, usually he keeps inviting you to the pop music club (or rather, the chatting and hangout spot that takes place in what's supposed to be the pop music club). But once more, you're grateful for the company and opportunity to become acquainted with others, and it's not like it takes that much time. He always bids you farewell at the end of the club's designated time, so, you get to then go home to your more tranquil dorm environment. Tiring, yes, but you don't dislike the time you spend with them at all, they're very pleasant to be around.

Likewise, although you might have had a nice relaxing evening at home planned, you gladly accept the extension of hospitality and gesture of kindness by saying yes to the invitation to come by the Scarabia dorm. Apparently they all have big dorm-wide social events on Friday nights and Saturday nights where everyone sits around and eats and drinks and talks. It's very pleasant. Again, another very tiring ordeal, but everyone is so upbeat and friendly with you, and you do have fun each time you go. Which starts off being every now and then, and quickly becomes each week. Not that he keeps asking, but rather, he seems to start assuming you'll come, mentioning later tonight or when you get there in conversation and the like.

It's nice. It's a kind gesture. It's something you should be thankful for. But... it's just getting to be more than you can handle.

One Friday in particular, as you walk out of class and back towards the dorms, serves as a bit of a breaking point. You hate to hurt his feelings or anything, but you're utterly exhausted from a rather rough week. You feel a twinge of frustration when he starts talking about the upcoming night as per usual, which would now be in just a matter of a few hours.

You take a deep breath.

Actually, Kalim...

You tell him in the nicest way you can, that you're very, very tired, and don't think you have the energy to be interacting with a bunch of people, in those exact words. You brace yourself to feel a little guilty at his disappointment.

But no, he just smiles. That's fine! Don't worry. You go on ahead and go back to your dorm, and he'll be back in just a little while.

You nod. Oh, thank y--

Wait.

You pause, start to question, but when you tilt your head up, he's already run off, rushing back to his own dorm.

...'be back'?

You don't like the implications of that wording. Still, you groggily shuffle your way back to your dorm, not bothering to undress for the day, seeing as you have a feeling you won't be left alone... at least you get about half an hour of rest in before he comes barging into Ramshackle without so much as a warning knock.

Carrying what appears to be containers of food. Can't let you go hungry! Besides, you're tired, so you probably wouldn't have the energy to make any for yourself, so he just picked up some of the food that was being made for the event.

You stand quiet and still for a few moments, taking it all in, but manage to stutter out some thanks as you take it out of of his hands. Was he just coming to drop that off, or...?

Apparently not. As he wanders over and plops down on your couch (still talking, although you're too tired to even really process what he's saying), it becomes clear he's not going anywhere.

At first, you feel a bit of frustration, but then again, you do like him, he's fun to be around, and he went out of his way to be so helpful to you... when you think about it like that, you feel a bit guilty for even being frustrated in the first place. Besides, he's more calm and less loud when it's just the two of you, and not a full crowd, so it should be easier. You end up talking a while about nothing in particular, and at the end of the night (when after quite a few attempts to hint that you're very tired, he finally seems to get it and heads home), you find that you were glad he did that for you.

Yes, you're very grateful for the companionship. You become more and more used to him and his ways with time, anyway, as the days go on, as you spend more and more time together, and as he starts sitting next to you with each class.

He tends to invade your personal space a bit, but as with everything else, it's well-intentioned and you can't be too upset about it. He tends to forget his textbook as a regular occurrence, and so you end up sharing one, moving the chairs closer to meet in the middle so you can both look over it better. He's very upbeat and lively as always throughout the classes, especially at the 8 a.m. class, when you're really, really not quite mentally ready to deal with his energy just yet... but you manage.

He becomes more affectionate over time, too. Some of his affectionate intentions tend to backfire, though. Namely, gifts. It's a default way of his to try and earn people's favor, although that end is more subconscious -- he mostly just likes giving gifts because he likes getting praise and thanks and seeing people in awe and happy.

Kalim has very little concept of monetary value besides "more expensive = better = more affection points from recipient," so predictably, he just tends to think of gifts and then purchase the most expensive version of that thing that he can. Bonus points if it's truly a one-of-a-kind sort of thing -- no, this isn't just "a" gemstone, it's the only one specifically worn by this person or present at this historical event, and he just so happened to call home and convince his parents to have it extracted from the museum and turned into something for you instead! Neat, right?

He fails to realize that this might be more unpleasant for some people who might feel overwhelmed or guilty or pressured by such an act, as you quickly become. You can't even wear it all every day, seeing as you soon have three, four, five, and so on of the pieces he gives you, and you can only wear one at a time. And just the thought of having it makes you nervous... what are you supposed to do with a piece of jewelry that costs as much as a house? Obviously you wear it, but it almost feels wrong to just set it on the nightstand when you take it off... and what happens if you lose it? Ugh.

He's very touchy, too. The closer you get to him socially, the touchier he gets. It starts off as grabbing you by the wrist or an arm over your shoulder, but quickly progresses to leaning on you, wrapping arms around you, and so on, the more you get to know him. You grind your teeth and put up with it for a while, telling yourself it's not bad enough that it's worth the awkwardness of asking him to stop. Besides, he means well, you know that... and on top of that, maybe it's a cultural difference? You're not really familiar with Scalding Sands social and interpersonal norms or anything. Yeah, that's probably it.

All of it gradually manifests into a more pressing matter. The more attentive to you he becomes, the closer to you he gets, the more time you spend together -- it becomes more and more clear that he has feelings and intentions that venture beyond the platonic.

You suppose you should have prepared for that possibility, but still, you don't want to rush to conclusions or make assumptions, so at first, you take the small indicators into account, but give the benefit of the doubt. It becomes more difficult to do so, though, the more affectionate he becomes. You're pretty sure it's not very normal to give so many gifts, to spend so much time together, to be so touchy, if not for some deeper intention, conscious or not.

But that would be alright, wouldn't it? Maybe you should give it a chance. You can't see why not, can't think of any reason in particular it would be a bad idea or anything, other than maybe his high energy, which you're sure you could work with.

You never initiate or say anything about it, you decide to sort of leave the matter up in the air so to speak, but you don't resist or discourage him. You decide that the approach you'll take is that if something develops, that's fine, and if not, that's fine too. You just leave any initiative matters up to him.

As for him, despite his tendencies to be rather dense, he actually has no trouble recognizing the feeling he has for what it is, doesn't go through that stage that some equally dense individuals go through where they don't understand what they feel or why. Probably because his parents keep hounding him about getting married. People of his class standing tend to get married exceptionally young, you see. So he's been more or less raised to have that on his mind. Not to mention, he's not really easily embarrassed, so the natural shyness most people have on matters of that nature just doesn't come to him.

However, there's a distinct lack of a critical element found in virtually and literally anyone else: Kalim has no fear of rejection.

Not because he's overly-confident or has thought it through, but because the very concept does not occur to him.

It's one part of a much, much bigger, more significant issue, one that you haven't quite realized the severity of just yet. In fact, it's a major part of the reason he's always so good-natured, the reason you never see him mad. It's because, for most of his life, he has almost never, ever, been told one specific word.

'No.'

The thought of something not going the way he wants it to just... doesn't really cross his mind.

He's never really been told no on something he truly wants. Minor details have to be changed? Sure. Being made to compromise on insignificant things? Yeah, plenty of times. But there is a simple set of rules his parents and servants have always abided by. If he really wants something unrealistic, try and present alternatives or persuade him against it, sure, that's fine. But if he rejects both of those things, if he insists a third time that he wants something and will not take an alternative, it's easier to just let him have whatever he wants.

And if it is something one of its kind, an obtainable thing that can be had by only one, then he will be the one to have it. Simple as. And when it comes to being friends or people being around him or just being able to spend time with someone, he has almost never been told he can't have what he wants.

Consequently, on the rare occasion he's told "no," it just... goes in one ear and out the other. He doesn't get mad, no, it's like his brain simply refuses to process the word, the idea that he truly, absolutely cannot have what he wants. It's like a computer going to an error screen. His smile doesn't break for a second. He'll usually just misinterpret what the other party means, or assume it's due to a certain condition that must be met. Rarely does he ever have to hear a steadfast, resounding, firm "no."

Besides, as far as he's aware, you've shown no negative reactions towards anything he does, so he has no reason to think about that anyway.

It just all sort of lines up perfectly in his head. In fact, in his mind, he would already consider you to be "together" in an "official" sense, even if you've never actually spoken of it. After all, you've never turned him away, right? That's basically the same thing. Still, there's supposed to be like, steps to these sorts of things, you escalate various stages of relationships and all.

And that is about to open a world of problems.

One of the major issues you encounter with Kalim is a lack of emotional, social maturity. He's not particularly considerate. Well, rather, he bounces back and forth. He'll be very considerate in the sense that he's always thinking of you, always getting things for you and trying to make you happy in various ways. However, when he wants something, he has a tendency to think of no one besides himself. He's not so much intentionally inconsiderate or anything, so much as he just... doesn't think. He wasn't raised to really ever consider other people. All those basic life lessons about sharing, compromising, doing what someone else wants to do even if you don't really want to because they're your friend, to consider what the other person might want or feel before acting, and so on that most people learn from their parents as kids? He never got any of that.

Similarly, he's never really been taught that sometimes, one must supress their own whims and feelings and desires in the moment, that sometimes it's best to do what someone else wants. Again, this isn't malicious; if anything it's done with good intentions and a happy heart. He just doesn't stop to consider anything other than what he wants, when he wants it, however inconvenient it may be for anyone or everyone else.

And most importantly, he's never been taught to stop and consider that just because he wants to do something with someone, the other person might not want to.

There's another issue, then, regarding that. See, he's also rarely been scolded or reprimanded for how he chooses to do things, how he goes about his decisions and actions. He's never really stopped to consider how things he does might harm other people. This all amounts to an issue, one that would perhaps shock people. His moral compass isn't... fully intact.

Not to be misunderstood -- he's naturally benevolent and sweet, yes, but he's also never really been in a position where he even wanted to do anything really bad. That is to say, he's naturally inclined to doing good, but people might be shocked to learn that if he wants something, he might -- without really even being aware of it -- take jarringly unethical measures to do so.

He just doesn't perceive it as selfish. Doesn't realize it might hurt someone. Again, he has the best of intentions, and he would hate to have learned he's done something that hurt someone, but he doesn't stop for a second to contemplate whether or not he should be acting on his impulses and urges and desires beforehand, he has no foresight.

He thinks about it very logically, though, on his end. Usually, people are hesitant to do things that might be embarrassing or that they may not be comfortable with yet. But he doesn't consider that roundabout ways of coercion to get someone to do something out of their current realm of comfort might be wrong -- no, he just sees it in a practical way.

So it's easy. He has a very helpful tool at his disposal.

You're well aware by now that every time the dorm gets together, they tend to drink. He's not a true alcoholic or anything, no, more like just the kind of kid that likes to party hard and black out on weekends. Scalding Sands has its own variants of strong liquors, and as with any country, there are certain regions of the nation known for being home to heavy drinkers. Yes, it's true you're not technically supposed to have alcohol on campus, but exceptions can be made for uh... cultural traditions. The administration just doesn't need to know about how those weekend night social events are also home to drinking competitions, and it'll be fine.

Alcohol is a very practical tool, in a social setting. It helps people loosen up, makes them less nervous. Lowers their inhibitions. Their "true" self often comes out. And most importantly, they're easily persuaded. This is frequently used, thus, to ensure transparency in gatherings between high-status individuals.

You've normally declined in the past, instead choosing to sit back and watch everyone else get wasted... but you just need encouragement. You notice, the next time you go over, just how heavily he's pushing it on you. You have to try this, it's the something-something or another, only available from this one particular small town in the middle of nowhere and takes a hundred years before it's served, etc etc, that sort of thing.

If you're too resistant, eventually he just ends up more or less forcing it on you, pushing it into your hands so you instinctively grasp so it won't fall and moving away before you can try and get him to take it back. And if that doesn't work, he can just get you other drinks that have alcohol very well-masked by other strong flavors and either hot or frozen to somewhat mask the burn, getting you to drink a large amount in a very short time. If all else fails, feeding you incredibly spicy food and ensuring the nearest available drink is high-content always works.

Even without inebriating substances involved, he's loud and sociable and bubbly and pushy — the former traits help him to exercise the last without consequence. When you're mean, of course, people will react negatively to being pushy, but when you're nice, when you're a sweet energetic person? They oblige more often. So when it's forced upon you, you eventually reluctantly agree. You're a bit confused by the sudden pushiness, but it will be alright... you imagine. You end up saying something about how you don't feel great, that your head hurts. You keep leaning over on him, resting your head on his shoulder. The other students are so loud and rambunctious. Your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head as you ask if you can go find a quieter spot.

Oh, that works perfectly then. Don't even have to convince you to go.

Intentionally getting you intoxicated might sound bad, might seem like the sort of thing a scummy person would do... to a normal person. To him, though, it's just a very logical means to a well-thought-out plan. Even if, for a split second, the notion did strike him that it might not be the most ethical choice, he still won't think of it as that bad. If he really wants something, any means to obtain it will be rationalized as okay one way or another.

And if he can't justify it? He just ignores it. He is entirely capable of simply shutting his brain down and completely blocking out the realization of something being wrong. In fact, he essentially just does so automatically, so it's not really shutting his brain down, so much as just acting without taking into account any ethics in the first place, essentially never turning his brain on. It's not really even so much convincing himself, nor feigning ignorance, it's that he can quite literally close his mind to any thoughts of the deeper consequences and significance of anything he's doing. Not to mention, he's not entirely sober himself, so it's basically mutual inebriation.

Besides, you're really cute like this! Stumbling around and all, you keep asking where you're going. Thankfully it's easy to slip away unnoticed, and his room isn't that far either. You mumble some thanks for letting you lay down.

You curse yourself in your head for allowing yourself to get so bad. Your limbs feel all loosened up, you feel warm and somewhat tired. There's still perhaps some faint alarm bells going off in your head, that you probably shouldn't be doing this, and should probably ask to be taken back to Ramshackle instead, but that seems so far away, you don't want to take the effort.

You're jolted out of your spacey thoughts by the mattress shifting. When did you sit on the bed? Eh... no big deal.

But you're aware of the tension, even in your current state. Yeah, when you think about it, although it doesn't carry the sense of offense and disbelief you might have felt if in a clearer state of mind, you can put two and two together, you know exactly what he wants.

It does strike you as an immediate poor decision. You do like him, but you'd normally not rush into something like that, nor would doing it like this be the best idea.

But hey, maybe it will help? Or so says your compromised mind. He's a teenage boy and all, maybe if he gets what he wants he'll actually calm down a little. Maybe he'll lose part of his infatuation too. That's normal, isn't it? People really want to obtain some sort of "prize," but after obtaining it they stop being so pushy and obsessive to get it. He could stand to calm down a bit with how intense he is towards you.

And besides, maybe it's just the mood, maybe you did drink a bit too much, but it can't make things worse, right...?

Your mind seems to suspend the thought. You're not sure what conclusion you would come to, because the next thing you know, you're grimacing as the sunlight hits your eyes through the window quite unpleasantly.

Wait.

You piece things together. The arm looped around your body, pulling you close, the heavy, slow breathing in your ear. And the soreness speaks for itself.

You do remember things, as you start to try to recall. It was kind of like a puppy that's been made to sit and wait for a treat, finally getting the go-ahead to gobble it up. You don't remember too much of the event, but you do remember the entire bedframe rocking back and forth from the sheer force you were being jackhammered with.

You don't remember anything he might have said. You don't remember anything you might have said.

You spend a while laying in bed, contemplating your life choices... but you can smell alcohol on him too, so it's not like it was intentionally planned or anything. The very notion is immediately dismissed -- you're certain he wouldn't do that. Still, you'll have to just try and deal with the initial awkwardness and embarrassment that inherently comes when people sleep together and then have to acknowledge and address it the next morning, and move on from here. Not the best way to start a relationship, but not the worst. And you're certain it will work out alright.

It is awkward, at least for you. You get the sense he's quite happy, though, doesn't seem to have any negative reaction or even surprise when you nudge him awake. There is that sort of inherent embarrassing nature to the matter, some awkward chuckles and sheepishness from him, but you can tell he's content. You manage to muster out the uncomfortable question that you feel does need to be confirmed -- so... you're okay with this... continuing, right?

He seems almost perplexed by it, smile dropping to a look of mild confusion. Mm? Aren't you?

You just shake your head, smile, dismiss any concerns with something about how you just wanted to be sure. Yeah... this turned out to not be so bad. He'll probably calm down a lot now. And if it doesn't work out, you're sure you'll stay friends.

...

He does not, in fact, calm down.

If anything, he gets more intense. He still wants you to stay over the next night. You contemplate for a second maybe telling him that it was a bit rushed, maybe you're moving too fast and that maybe you should hold off before you do it again, but... ah, he's so eager, you'd feel bad for disappointing him... and thus, within a while, you find yourself with your thighs and arms wrapped around him again, trying to let go of any discomfort and just enjoy the moment. It's a bit more intimate and vulnerable and all when you have full mental clarity, but you suppose that makes it more endearing, too. Besides, he's so sweet and cuddly afterwards, which helps to alleviate your nerves.

And then, when the next class day rolls around, he wants to walk to class together, as usual... but this time, he grabs your hand, interlaces your fingers. Which is normal. You don't mind at all. Sitting next to each other, talking... all things you were doing already.

You can't help but feel, though, that the intensity has been turned up to some extent. Before, you would at least have a few moments to yourself, he would occasionally give you some semblance of space, would sometimes talk to other people on his own, would sometimes need to take care of something else before coming to talk to you... unlike now.

Now, rather than each of you heading back to your own dorms at the end of the day, he takes the turn to head back to Scarabia... still holding your hand, chattering away. You clear your throat, mention that your dorm is the other way.

Oh, did you need to grab something first?

...Well, spending another night in Scarabia won't hurt, even if it is a night you have school the next day. You just end up grabbing some clothes for the next day.

And then the next day, he does the same. You try to off-handedly mention again, that all your things are in the dorm.

Oh! Right, that. He's been meaning to ask about that! Good thing you brought it up. Your dorm is, you know, a bit dilapidated and all. There's plenty of spare rooms in Scarabia, though, you could just talk to the headmage and he'd probably let you do it!

Oh, aha... maybe....

You manage to change the subject. You're certainly not quite ready for that much just yet. At first, you figure it was just something he was saying as a vague notion, the sort of thing one might say would be nice but have no real intention of following through, or just said as a courtesy. He brings it up more and more often, though, and it soon becomes clear that he's serious, and actually quite adamant about it.

You keep coming up with excuses to get out of the matter. Oh, I went by his office and he wasn't there... Well, I'll have to ask Grim and see how he feels... so on and so on.

Most people might take the hint that you don't really want to and are just being polite... but not Kalim.

No, instead, he figures he might as well just take care of it for you! He has some free time while you're occupied, so, he'll just go to the headmage himself and get it worked out. It's not like he's going to tell him 'no,' right? Some people say the headmage can be a bit particular or stubborn on his decisions, but for him, he'd say that hasn't been his experience. That does tend to happen to him quite a bit, actually, he's pretty sure he just has a talent for making stubborn people more agreeable, for some reason. It's pretty rare for anyone to deny him a request.

You're caught quite off-guard, then, when you come slowly trudging back after a particularly exhausting day and --why are there people in my dorm.

A handful of scarlet-clad students, carrying boxes of your belongings out of the dorm. One very recognizable one in particular standing off to the side, seemingly directing the tasks. You slowly make your way over, slack-jawed and struck silent in bewilderment.

Oh, you're already here! Well, guess what? Crowley said it was fine! He got a quick moving crew together, thankfully didn't need too many people, since you don't have a whole lot of stuff. Wasn't it nice of them to volunteer? Anyway--

You stand there utterly flabbergasted, blinking, sputtering, stammering as you try to think of something to say. You weren't actually expecting him to be so bold as to do it himself... and it's all happening so fast, you end up more or less stiffly standing still and watching it all happen. They're already pretty much done, and carrying all your things back with them. These guys put in the effort to do this, and they're already walking off as you're trying to get out of your stupor, and your exhaustion isn't helping you form the right words.

You just get grabbed by the wrist as per usual before you even can say anything. Anything you might have started to say would be drowned out anyway, as you're now told in rapid speech about how there's already a spare room for you, it's actually next to his own, it's supposed to be for guests and stuff but they'll make a different room the designated guest room so that you can have the one close to him! Nice, right?

He keeps talking. You sputter and try to start speaking a few times, but words fail you. They've already taken everything out, it's too late to ask them to take it back... so, it seems you're stuck.

Well that's... that's....

Okay. That's alright. Maybe it's a bit too much, but... like always, he meant well, right? And this is normal, yeah, you're supposed to learn to tolerate and accept that your partner will sometimes create hassles and issues. So... you can accept this. It's such a nice gesture, it's only polite to accept, isn't it? Besides, you've already been spending most nights there anyway... you can get used to it, yeah.

There are a lot of perks. No ceiling leaks or drafts in the middle of the night. The furniture doesn't have years worth of layers of dust, there's other people around. In truth, it actually helps your mental state to have other people nearby in the evenings, so it's not always just the two of you for hours on end... not that you mind, of course, but sometimes it can get a little... suffocating, without other people.

Now, you can come by the public lounge of the dorm more often too, mingle with the other students in their lounge area. You often take the opportunity to sit and talk with them in the evenings. You start to find that you're somewhat glad you made the transition, as the whole spirit of camaraderie thing, having a small community to live with, is actually rather pleasant.

He thinks it's nice to see you get to interact with all the students in the dorm, too.

...It is nice, isn't it?

It should be. You enjoying yourself and meeting people who are nice to you naturally should induce a good feeling, he should be happy for you.

For some reason, though, it doesn't feel that way.

Instead, he starts to feel kind of sick, nauseous. And some sort of tight, constricting feeling to his chest. Like he can't breathe.

When he's irritated or frustrated, he might get whiny, but it's very easy to tell when he's deeply, truly upset by something: he gets quiet. It's so uncharacteristic that it's immediately noticeable, the lack of his voice and laughter, instead he just sits there, arms folded, eyebrows just barely furrowed as he looks towards the ground, as if perplexed. Still, he wouldn't want to ruin the mood. So even when you turn your head towards him, eyebrows raised as you ask if something is wrong, saying he's not saying much, he manages to smile anyway, say he's tired. Maybe that's true, too, maybe he needs to sleep the feeling off.

Well, if he could sleep in the first place. But instead, that night, he ends up flat on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Barely sleeps the whole night. Keeps looking over at you as you sleep, shifting and wrapping his arms around you tighter and tighter. The burning, gnawing, tight feeling persists. Maybe he ate too much.

But it continues to persist. Well into the next day. He's visibly tired, keeps nodding off in class, eyes slowly closing and head slowly drooping down until he snaps back awake, jerking his head back up, and repeat, over and over. You ask if something is wrong again. He just says he couldn't sleep for some reason, but still gives you a smile. And, of course, immediately takes the opportunity to ask what you want to do later today. No question of if you're free or if you're even up to it.

From that night you first noticed he was oddly quiet and onward, he seems to become more prone to wanting to spend time alone with you. Doesn't spend as much time in the club room, doesn't spend as much time in the lounge with the other students. Instead, you end up just in his room quite often... you get the sense that he's more at ease that way, seems less fidgety.

Besides, it's not as if he has too many moments where he doesn't have the reassurance of your presence. Outside of a few specific classes, you're with him pretty much all day, every day. His lack of consideration resurfaces. He'll drag you around to wherever he feels like going, often not asking before just grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you along. But you're fairly easygoing, and it's not like you don't usually end up enjoying however you spend your time, even if it is dictated to you without any consideration.

You don't have any excuse to go home in the evenings now though, since in his mind, apparently, you should now be spending your nights together. Every waking second. You didn't really think that having spent the night together once really meant you had to start it as a routine, but you don't want to hurt his feelings and all. He does tend to detract from the quality of your studying, though, seeing as he likes to talk quite a bit. Sure, you say you're studying, and he agrees to be quiet... for a few minutes. Then he seems to forget.

Or he might just get a little upset about it. It's rare to see him unhappy, but when he does get sort of frustrated, it manifests as being whiny, demanding your attention. He sighs and hangs his head, pouts if you continue to fail to give him attention.

Hey, come on... you've been going at that forever, I'm right here...

He drags his speech out and raises the pitch of his voice in a rather annoying whine. Not that "forever" is a very long time in reality, it usually only takes about five minutes of your attention not being focused on him that he gets visibly fidgety, and he'll start voicing his feelings regarding your cruel neglect after about ten minutes.

But he's very easy to placate. The moment you turn your attention back to him, give him some pats on the head or sit in his lap and hold him close, he goes back to content smiles and cheerfulness, like a child who finally got his way after being a brat until the parent gives in. At least that makes it easy to manage, so you tell yourself. A lot of your study sessions are now spent with your book on the bed, neck craned to read it as you let him keep a tight embrace around you, nuzzling you throughout the night. Your grades do decrease nonetheless.

In fact, at this point, he practically never takes his hands off of you. Constantly has his arms wrapped around your body, holding you close to him. That same lack of concept of personal space he has, and general social obtuseness, also ties into another issue he has in which he has no shame over excessive PDA. That touchiness and physical clinginess has gotten bad enough that the teachers have had to tell him it's inappropriate for the school environment more than once now. He won't hesitate to hold his arms around you or lean up against you even while talking to others. It's a bit embarrassing, but it's also quite sweet, really. You don't mind, although you do have to tell him to hold back a little bit, if people are looking, or if he's at risk of getting reprimanded by a nearby faculty member again.

That being said... it's nothing compared to the touchiness whenever you're alone.

Kalim has all the sexual eagerness and energy you'd expect from a teenage boy and then some. It can be a bit overwhelming, even.

Granted, you did have to teach him quite a bit, he was rather clueless in the beginning, but he quickly gets over that learning curve.

You're convinced it's all the boy thinks about. Every single opportunity. Even with how physically affectionate he is, even if it starts in a wholesome way, you can always feel his hands wander across your body, just barely resting on the border of what would be completely socially inappropriate in front of others, and the moment everyone else clears out or you leave whatever public space you were in, he takes it like a green light to grope you further. And the moment you get to be truly alone and behind closed doors, you're practically pounced on... not that it's limited to being in the dorms. The club room also works just fine, every now and then when Cater and Lilia just so happen to both be busy with something else. There's still a risk of someone walking by, but he insists it's not that big of a deal.

Even at lunch, in any spare time, whenever they have some form of event or announcement requiring all students to congregate in one room, he's always pressed up to you, always tilts his gaze up and down your figure, always lets his hands brush against your sides or your thighs, like he's about to burst with the extent of urges and excitement he's just barely holding back -- all of which gets unleashed on you at once whenever you do get back to your room for the day. Several times in a row. You're always left sore and spent, gasping for breath, lying flat on your back, drenched in sweat, staring up at the ceiling wondering how on earth it is humanly possible for one boy to be that horny. Even if there's the slightest sliver of opportunity, he'll take it. Truly a one-track mind.

One particular occurrence that quickly becomes habit is how he'll pull you into his lap while sitting cross-legged on the floor and rut into you like that — of course, there's not really a lot of thrusting or in-and-out movement that way, it's more grinding than anything, but it's still good, far more than you'd admit, with the way it grinds the most sensitive spots of your body against his. Besides, having you just perfectly elevated above his own position like that gives the opportunity to suckle on your tits the whole time, too.

And none of it is with asking you, or waiting for any signal of approval or anything. You imagine that, as with everything else, he doesn't consider that. He always seems happy though, always smiling and hugging you tight and talking about something or another while you lay in bed.

The daily cycle repeats and repeats. You do feel a bit more stressed than you used to, sort of... overwhelmed. Suffocated. You try to swallow it down.

Ultimately, this means that while your time is completely consumed by him, the inverse is true as well.

On that note, you do get the sense that Jamil quite appreciates you occupying so much of Kalim's time. The poor man hasn't had this much peace and tranquility in his life from the moment he was born. He certainly seems to encourage it from the beginning, even before you moved in, he would often not so subtly suggest you come by the dorm (please), Kalim really likes having you around, so you could occupy his time for a while (please), and, you know,  keep him out of any antics (PLEASE). He seems to mention it virtually every time you see him, like you're some kind of fallback system he's come to depend on, or how someone might keep a certain toy to give to a kid to keep it distracted and entertained for a while. He doesn't even seem to mind picking up some of the tasks Kalim would otherwise do himself -- you imagine that he can get it done faster and more efficiently on his own, whereas involving the often airheaded housewarden might just cause problems in and of itself. For the most part, he seems to stay out of your way... you imagine he's off enjoying his free time.

However, this does also mean that some of the housewarden duties that Kalim has to be the one to do are getting neglected. Jamil has to occasionally come knocking and tell him to do this or that, because he's been putting it off for days now and the headmage is going to find out and no one wants to have to sort through whatever mess will result if he doesn't get it done. You, of course, usually get dragged into helping with whatever the task at hand is. You've written more than one speech for him now. Admittedly, trying to get any actual work done with Kalim can be incredibly frustrating, as he's so easily distracted. You have to essentially corral him back into getting things done. Okay, we can look at that later, but we have to get this done first, remember? It feels like tutoring a rambunctious kid. Tasks that should reasonably take half an hour take several hours.

But still, with everything you two do together, it's getting more and more isolated, increasingly so. You can't help but notice. Even on the weekends, he often now brings food back to his room and eats with you, rather than going back out to where everyone else is. When you ask, he just says he's kind of tired tonight. Every now and then, he'll have turned his back on you because he was grabbing something or working with something, just for a few seconds, and when he turns around, you're talking to someone... he always comes walking up. Gets very close to you, tries to butt in on the conversation. He's cheery as always, but there's still some unnerving aura to it... or maybe you're just imagining it, so you tell yourself.

On and on it goes.

It's one of those situations that you're consciously aware of, that you know is increasing in intensity, but it does so in just a perfectly gradual way, so that you don't fully realize just how bad it's gotten or how abnormal it really is until it one day just suddenly dawns on you. Where you know you ought to do something, that you can't let this go on and that it can't last forever, but you keep pushing it away by telling yourself it's not that big of a deal and you can ignore it for now -- until you eventually realize that it now is that big of a deal and you can't keep ignoring it.

You're forced to realize it, after one particular occurrence. It's no big deal. Nothing of consequence. You forget to hand in a paper during class, and it thankfully occurs to you just as you're leaving and walking down the halls. Normally, for the very last class, Kalim just heads to the club room and waits for you to get there, since it's the room right next to where he is when classes end (the walk itself is a three-minute period you're quite grateful to have to yourself). So, you're still by yourself when you realize it, almost halfway down the stairs. You turn back, quickly make your way back to the classroom to catch the teacher before he leaves. You exchange a few brief words, just one of those small casual conversations where the teacher asks you if you need anything else, congratulates you on doing well on the last exam, briefly mentions something about an upcoming event day and asks about your plans for it. Small talk. Maybe ten minutes. You bid him farewell. Exit the room.

And are nearly tackled just a few steps out of the room.

There you are!

You lose your balance, would have fallen over if not for Kalim's arms clinging to your body.

Where were you? You didn't show up for a while, he was getting really concerned, and did you not check your phone because he sent you like ten texts the past few minutes and what were you busy with anyway and Lilia kept trying to tell him to stay and wait for you but he couldn't just do that so he came looking for you and found you and now here you are! Ah... don't worry him like that, okay?

You stand there, blinking, slackjawed. O-Okay... Sorry, I--I didn't...

Nah, don't worry, it's all good! He's back to smiling now. He was just super worried, but it's okay, you just forgot to tell him. He forgets stuff all the time, so he gets it. Anyway...

He changes the subject as he turns back to walk back to the club room -- but you can't help but notice the iron grip on your wrist is far tighter than normal, practically dragging you away. You don't really pay much attention to what he's saying. You feel a twisting, heavy sensation in your gut. That in and of itself wasn't particularly bad, but somehow, it seems to make it all come together, it all seems to sort of click with you all at once. Perhaps you were just giving him the benefit of the doubt because he's so sweet, or just ignoring it for the same reason, but you come to the unnerving realization of just how truly abnormal this is. You know it's not normal, and really, not acceptable, not healthy. You start thinking back to things in the past you've just let slide, realizing it probably wasn't the best idea.

You're so overwhelmed, it feels like you're going crazy. He's so nice, he really is, but you just can't take it. You even try saying something about how you need "space," but it goes in one ear and out the other -- he interprets that as not being quite as physically clingy for a few days before going right back to it.

It's from that resolution that, after one long night of sleeplessly mulling it over, you make a mistake: you start to try and avoid him.

Just a little. You figure it can't hurt, he won't notice. You just... try to get a bit of time to yourself. When you don't have a class with him, you rush out the door as soon as the class lets out rather than taking your time when packing up, to ensure he doesn't have time to get there before you exit the room. That way, you can take a few minutes to yourself, walk around campus or sit on a bench and enjoy not having someone breathing down your neck and looking over your shoulder the whole time.

Using the previous event that he got so worked up over as inspiration, you'll say you forgot to turn something in for a teacher and use the excuse to go run off and take a few minutes to sit in a room by yourself, sometimes intentionally "forgetting" to drop it off or turn it in so you can hold out the assignment in question to validate the excuse by him seeing it with his own eyes, avoiding suspicion. Whenever you get a spare moment where he's busy, you'll wander off somewhere he can't find you. Ignore his texts for a few minutes, claim you didn't see it because your phone was on silent for class earlier. Wait for him to come looking for you. Sometimes when the dorm students are all hanging out, you make some excuse to leave -- ah, my head hurts. Or I'm really exhausted. Or I'm not feeling so good. Soon followed, of course, with insistence on him staying. No, no, don't worry about me, I'm just going to lay down, I don't want to keep you from having fun... you can just come check on me later, right...? And he'll usually oblige after you insist a few times.

Not everyday, so as to not make it obvious, just every few days or so, you take the opportunities you get to catch some time to yourself. So on and so on. Surely he won't really notice. It's just a few minutes here and there. You're still spending the vast majority of every waking moment with him.

And at first, you're pretty sure he doesn't. Seems to accept the excuses, goes right back to his usual cheerfulness and cuddliness.

And then once becomes a few times, then ten, and so on. Something gradually begins to change. You sense an aura of worry from him, a nervous edge to his otherwise pleasant expression and tone of voice.

He's very well aware something is wrong. He's noticed your sudden aversions and seeming avoidance, even though he's normally too dense to pick up on such things, you've made it too obvious.

Did he do something wrong? Are you mad? You're not gonna break up with him, are you? You wouldn't do that to him, right? The very thought makes him feel sick. But... no, you wouldn't do that. You have no reason to. You're probably just being kind of moody or something. He remembers plenty of times how Jamil's sister would get upset at her brother for seemingly no reason, how he would occasionally sigh and make comments about how she's in one of her bad moods, can't be helped... maybe you have something like that too. That makes sense to him. But just in case, he's sure to buy you a bunch of extra expensive stuff over the course of the next week. Maybe it will cheer you up, too.

Yeah, you have no reason to be actually mad. Unless, of course, someone was influencing you somehow. Maybe someone else is saying things to you and making you so upset, or maybe someone might try and convince you to leave him or something. That happens, doesn't it? It happens in movies and stuff at least. That makes him feel sick all over again. But how would you be interacting with someone...?

Oh... well, you do have those weird gaps of time these days... a few minutes here or there where he can't find you. Maybe that's it. This is one of those "read between the lines" situations where what you say isn't really what you mean, even if you don't realize it. If he gives you "space," you'll just get attached to someone else.

While you're never aware of the thought process he has that day, you notice things getting worse. You pack up and run out of the classroom as fast as you can, but somehow he's already there. You say you need to drop something off, but he insists on going with you this time. Even if you keep saying you just want to go lay down and he should stay and keep talking with the other students, he just shakes his head, says something about how he can't just leave you alone.

His tone is sweet as always, but there's something to it that wasn't there before. Almost a sort of nervousness, an intensity, a forcefulness out of paranoia. You're not sure it's intentional, in fact, you're pretty certain he isn't at all self-aware of how pushy he is nor how he seems to be getting increasingly... anxious, really. Like there's a sort of worry in the back of his mind, that he's only aware of subconsciously, but acting upon nonetheless.

Even when you're walking around campus, his grip is tighter, and never lets up for even a second, like you're some dog on a leash that's going to bolt away the moment he relaxes his grip. You can't open your phone for a single second without him immediately peering over your shoulder to look.

He never says anything. He doesn't really act out of the ordinary. But there are those subtle, small signs. His grip is tighter, he sits closer than ever, he seems to keep his eyes on you more than he ever has. In particular, one blatantly noticeable change is that one night at random, he switches spots with you on the bed -- you used to be on the open side and him on the side against the wall, but now, without saying a word, he switches. Now you're against the wall side... you couldn't get up and out of bed and out the door without having to crawl over him, and inevitably wake him up. You try to tell yourself it wasn't intentional.

Apparently, though, whenever he can't find you, he doesn't hesitate to go to get others to help him. More than once, you've been stopped by Scarabia students in the halls -- oh, it's you, we all got a message saying you were lost or something... you try to avoid them when you see them.

Jamil doesn't exactly help, either. In fact, you tried to go to him once, mustered up the courage to try and ask him if he could help you maybe talk to Kalim or give you advice on how to handle it. But to your bewilderment, you're more or less gaslighted.

Really? It doesn't seem like you spend that much time together. You're probably just stressed from something else, and it's making you uneasy. Happens to everyone, don't worry.

You still try and reason with him, but he seems to shut you down, keeps repeating the same thing. Eventually you have to give up on trying to get any help from him. Although his words do make you feel rather neurotic for some time. That's not right, right? You're not making it up, it's not all in your head. You know what you've been experiencing... right? You have to shake the paranoia off. You're not sure why he would say such a thing though... none of it makes sense.

Jamil doesn't make things any easier for you either. Don't expect him not to very readily tell Kalim, whenever he's searching all around for you, that yes, you did come by here, you went in that direction, and you were probably headed for that specific location, so he should definitely go search there and spend time with you and not do literally anything else. Unlike the other Scarabia students, with Jamil it's not a matter of running into them directly -- you've had times where, after being found, Kalim makes some remark about oh, Jamil told me he saw you out the window, or otherwise vaguely made it clear who was the one to rat you out on your location, even though you never ran into him or even saw him. You begin to feel paranoid that you're being watched, any time you move around campus.

And each time, you get found faster and faster. Sometimes he finds you in minutes, before you can even try to find somewhere to rest. It's like he's developing some sixth sense, like he can somehow sense where you are.

...In fact, after a while, it reaches a level that it's unnatural. There's no way he's coincidentally finding you, or even relying on others.

One thought comes to mind. At first, you tell yourself you're being paranoid, that there's no way... but eventually you give into the paranoia, one day when you have just a few spare minutes in your room while he's right outside talking to some students, and you go searching through your bag. You're not hopeful, it's just a slight chance, but... yeah, no, there seems to be nothing there. You start to feel dumb for even considering--

Wait. There is something there. At the very, very bottom, underneath all the books. Some tiny, flat square shaped piece of hard plastic... barely the size of a bottlecap. You don't recognize it. There's nothing written on it. You start to feel a bit queasy.

You're still staring at it in your shaky hands when the door opens again. You swallow. Your voice comes out wavering. Hey, Kalim...?

Mm? He tilts his head, turning his attention towards you. You hold the object out.

What is this thing?

You were hoping for confusion, that he would have no idea, and even if not, you would expect some sheepishness, some sense of panic. But no. His expression doesn't even change.

Oh, that! I got that so I don't have to worry about losing track of you. Neat, isn't it?

Not even a hint of guilt or self-awareness. No, he just starts talking about how cool it is, it's technically military technology because it's so indestructible and will bypass metal detectors and wavelength sensors and stuff, it can track to any location in the world and it's technically not available to civilians, but his father has connections and all so he asked him to get one, and -- hey, is something wrong?

He finally seems to notice the wide-eyed look of distress on your face. You swallow.

O-oh... no, I just... you didn't... say any...

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. You say the first thing that comes to your impulse.

Hey, do you mind if I go take a walk? I just... need to clear my head a bit.

You start to move towards the door. You're stopped when he side-steps to block your path.

Eh? What's wrong?

You insist it's nothing. You say you just feel pent up. For once, you wish he was more dense than he is, because he certainly catches on to the wavering in your quiet, nervous voice.

Hey, you can tell me whatever it is. You look like you're really worried about something.

No, I just...

You take a few steps back. You find yourself stammering. You feel sick. Your heart is beating too fast. You try to make your way to the door slowly, casually, like you're relaxed, like you're not desperately trying to get away. You take a step to the side, start to walk in a circle as you try to distract him by saying something about how you've just been cooped up in the room for too long, and you'll only be gone a minute or so, and--

This time, in one swift movement, his hand lashes out and latches onto your arm. A grip so tight it's painful.

Hey, you're not going to go talk to someone else, right?

The words take you aback. Your eyes widen. You take a few moments to respond, it's such a random, unexpected question. It's so out of nowhere, the very notion seems like such a bizarre conclusion to draw. He doesn't say it angrily or anything, no, more like he's genuinely curious... but there's a clear note of worry to his voice.

Why did he come to that conclusion? You shake your head. No, I... I don't know why you'd think that, I...

He seems to notice the confusion and unease on your face. His own returns to that same smile as always. Ah, good. You had me worried. Haha...

Anyway... you should lay down. That will help you clear your head more than walking will. Besides, how is he supposed to know where you are if you're not carrying your bag? It's not like you get a choice -- it's not presented as a suggestion, he says it whilst simultaneously grabbing you by the waist and carrying you over to bed. He's pretty tired too! You can both rest for a while... you notice him grab the tracking chip off the bed where you set it down and loosely toss it back into your bag, before setting you down. Promptly jumping into bed as well. And his arms lock like a constrictor around your body, pulling your back up against his chest.

You can still feel your heart beating in your chest. The wrongness of the situation is setting in, every part of your brain is sounding alarm bells. That, with absolute certainty, you know is not normal, and more importantly, it's almost frightening. It feels like a weight compressing your chest as you realize just how deep of a hole you've dug yourself into, and you don't know how to safely get out. You can't even go talk to someone else, because he'll be right there. The more you think, the more nauseous you feel.

One other thing bothers you. He usually can fall asleep within a minute or two of laying down, and yet, you can still feel his hand stroking up and down your stomach. There's a heavy, silent tension. You keep trying to think of how to word what you want to say. After a few moments, though, he speaks before you can even summon the right words. His voice is unusually quiet.

Hey, you're not mad at me, right?

You stiffen.

I... no, I-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... come across that way....

Oh, good. You can feel him sigh. You seem kinda upset or something.

You stay quiet. Your mouth feels dry. You swallow. But you're given the opportunity, you can't just let it pass without finally getting out what you've been thinking.

...Listen.

He doesn't say anything, but you feel him shift his head. You're not sure if that's a good sign or not. Not being able to see his face makes it a bit easier, though, to get the words out.

I think... I think maybe we should, ah.... t-take... take a break.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you finish, clenching your jaw. Waiting for some kind of negative reaction. He sits upright.

But when you cautiously open your eyes, he looks... elated?

Oh! Like a vacation? That would be great! You should come back home with him! He's actually been thinking a lot about something like that. It's a good thing you mention it. He's mentioned you to his parents like ten times now, and they say they want to meet you, and you know there's that week you're all out of class coming up, and that would be a really good time to do it.

He keeps going on and on about it. It feels like some cruel joke from a higher power. You just sit there, staring forward with glazed-over eyes. Up until, that is, he says something about how he'll go call them, and be right back, and then leaps out of bed to go right outside for better service.

Hey, wait--Kalim--

You stumble over to the door in a panic, intending to try and stop him before he can. You reach out, grasp the handle, turn the knob.

It's... locked. From the outside.

...When did that get installed? You're certain no such mechanism was there before... when did...?

It's too much. You start to feel nauseous again. You're overwhelmed. You find yourself not even making it to the bed, instead laying flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. It's not like you can leave... you'll just... well, you'll just have to wait for him to come back. As much as that thought makes you uneasy, as much as everything is setting off your panic, you have no other choice. You drape your forearm over your eyes.

God, what have I gotten myself into...

...

On the other end, though, he's actually really glad you expressed interest in coming home with him. Well, you didn't explicitly say that, but basically the same thing. In fact, he's been thinking about taking you home for quite some time!

His parents have always been very persuasive people, especially considering the money and power involved that they have at their disposal... he sort of associates them with things working out for him. The few times he's ever had any issues, usually one phone call home is all it takes, and his parents will resolve the issue. Maybe they can sort of push you along the right direction too... after all, they do want him to get married as soon as he graduates.

And even if they don't approve, which would be the worst case scenario, he's already been thinking about how to deal with that, too! He's actually pretty proud of himself for really planning ahead for once.

It's just like how he initially got you into his room. Doing something underhanded to ensure things work out for him doesn't strike him as wrong.

What was it his parents used to say, whenever he was first getting ready to go out into the world and all that? That he should enjoy himself and have fun and meet people, but to avoid one specific thing.

Have all the fun you want, but don't you dare get...

The reasoning was... ah, something something scandal and disgrace to the family and all that... he wasn't really listening. But he knows that whenever there's some big scandal in the world of high-power people, they rush to cover it up. So they would help him, right? They'd help ensure things worked out in his favor.

In fact, he's already been trying a little bit. Got one of those pins they use for the classroom corkboards and keeps poking holes in those condoms... and takes them off a lot when you're not looking... but nothing has come of that yet, he's sure, because you would have said something. Ah, well, it'll probably just take some time. Sure, his parents will be SO mad... but he can accept that, so long as they then help him work things out the way he's hoping for. It seems like a good plan... or rather, an impulsive idea he had that he just sort of went with. He's not really the type to think things through, you know.

[millionsknives]

the him

[twilightakiishi]

in reference to that post abt hands i just rbed can u imagine putting kakucho's fingers in ur mouth. like. he would not know what to do with himself im afraid

[murdererofthumbs]

Listen, although I do find it pretty exciting to see Kendall entering his Evil Era and actually becoming a killer, I can’t stop thinking about the consequences of him leaking all the shitty mud information they have on Logan. Like yeah, PR-wise that might be a great idea, it might actually solidify his position as a CEO (and he is obviously going to try and fuck up Matsson deal and take over the Waystar - I don’t know why he would want to captain the fucking sinking Titanic, but okay). But on the other hand, all the dirt coming out about Logan will be potentially catastrophic for Roman. Apart from the fact that Kendall is very clearly betraying his brother, literally like 5 seconds after he preached about them being a team; Roman will very likely suffer the most if stuff about Logan being an abusive father comes out.

First, it will flip his whole viewpoint upside down - he is so deep in denial and so trauma-bonded to Logan that he doesn’t even acknowledge his abuse, not even when in happens in real time. He doesn’t want to see his father as a monster and as his abuser, because that would actually require him to accept that he was a victim, that he was this beaten dog that everyone already sees him as (to one degree or another). Not to mention all the lies he tells himself about Logan and him being a good dad will go straight down the drain, and can you imagine what happens when something you believed for 40-or-so years cracks down in front of you? Kendall is about to break his reality.

Another aspect is that exposing Roman’s abuse to the whole world will likely destroy any and all opportunities that Roman ever had when it comes to rising to power (even if I’m unsure how much he actually cares about becoming a CEO). He might get some sympathy points, although I very much doubt that he will ever accept that form of pity from anyone. His image will be forever tainted and solidified as “the abused one” or the “one that was hit by his dad”. Can you imagine Roman’s reaction when that whole shitshow leaks? He does say at some point in the preview that he is finished, and although it might allude to Gerri putting out the whole dick pic situation, it might also very well be that his public image will forever now revolve around how his dad hit and abused him (his dad who was essentially his god in more than one way, who he was, and is trauma bonded to, who he came back to time and time again).

Kendall has a tendency of using his siblings trauma to forward his own position (even when he wanted to one up Logan in episode 2 by bringing up Roman’s and Connor’s trauma) and this is no different. But it’s a very easy way for him to blow up whatever alliance was ever between sibs. So yeah, I think Kendall as a killer is a great thing to watch, but also… well, Roman girl in me is already screaming in the void from the possible pain we might come to watch unravel in real time.

[thebeeshaveknees]

Teru lived by himself and bevieved he could do anything with the power of gay telekinesis so he's great at cooking absolute monstrosities that he and only he would ever like

Mob is the eldest with a brother who's schedule was always packed and parents who travel for work a lot and probably come back jetlagged and half starved at 10pm, so he can cook well, efficiently and for a family of four (plus reigen sometimes because he's worried his master eats too much fast food)

So Mob cooks and Teru unbends the spoons for him

[doomednarrative]

Been wondering why I keep having so many fuckin weird dreams and sleeping horribly and overall just doing kinda shitty the past two weeks and then having to remind myself that I saw my dad for the first time in three years randomly out in public while unprepared for it and thats probably what set me off

[dootznbootz]

...It's kind of wild when the terf that you got into a fight with and had to write an essay on "Why violence is wrong" back in high school now works at the pharmacy where you get your medication from...

[eemoo1o-animoo]

Is this Aloiscore or Lizziecore, I can’t tell (check tags)

[dutybcrne]

It's embarrassingly easy, how someone can worm their way into Kaeya's heart. He just makes it so hard to navigate that one can never quite tell what it so happens to be or if he even feels such. And that's without mentioning he himself takes ample measures to never give them the opportunity to do so or see just how much he needs it.

One such means to his heart is taking care of him. Truly, actively looking after him and never giving him the chance to get away with hiding injuries ( and especially helping him with them ) or overworking himself ( whether helping ease the load on his shoulders or pull him away from it altogether ). He would never think himself befit of such care, even as he pours endless time and effort into doing the same for others. He will remember each and every time it is offered unprompted and always repay them for that kindness tenfold in devotion and gestures.

It's no wonder he chooses to remain with the Knights, regardless of how much more freedom he'd have operating outside of them.

[eupheme]

— you’ve got me wanting you

[part iii of sugar, sugar] | [part ii] [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 7.4k

tags: jealous/posessive!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, wingman!wade, flirting, feelings, (another short) miscommunication, immature humor, light angst, use of alcohol, threat of violence, use of alcohol and smoking, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, PiV, creampie

As the days pass, you think your time spent with Logan is pretty much perfect. Well... almost.

(Or - a dash of insecurity, some badgood advice from Wade, a near-fight at a bar, and the confession of overdue feelings.)

Those two nights spent with Logan turn into more.

The days are bleeding together, blurring. You fit well with him, you think. Together in Wade's apartment - spanning that space between their chatter and silence. Softening edges, though you think he's softened, too.

A stray cat coming around. 

Bristling, with narrowed, untrusting eyes. Slowly learning that he can lean into your touch. 

Your days since have been spent humming as you work. It had been an anchor once, this routine of yours. Getting up early used to give you something to get up for. Enjoying the whirlwind of prepping, measuring, making, decorating. 

Now - you're grateful for how quickly the day passes because it means you can't overanalyze. Because it means by the time you catch your breath at the end of the day, you're already heading home to him. 

Takeout was brought over to their apartment. A crappy movie with a hand curled around you, sending your heartbeat racing. The night ending at yours, hours between dusk and dawn spent learning every inch of each other. 

You think it's pretty much perfect.

Well... almost.

“Do you think Logan likes me?”

It slips out of you. Something that’s been worrying at you, a splinter trapped just beneath your skin. You regret asking almost immediately - the sun glinting off the silver needle as you push it through the lycra suit. 

“You mean the guy that’s been fucking your brains out for the past couple weeks?”

“Wade.”

“Oh, sorry.” He lines his knife up, poking a hole in the top of his styrofoam container - coaxing the waitress from lunch to give him a ‘take-home-margarita’. A cheerful “baby knife!” as he sheathes it again,” I mean the guy that’s been having totally-chaste-and-appropriate adult sleepovers with you?”

You understand what he’s getting at. Stalling, holding up his suit - another gash sewn shut with black thread, “You sure this is okay?” 

“Mhmm,” He hums, “Gives me that bride-of-frankenstein vibe I’ve always wanted. Besides, anything is better than before.”

“You insisted, you helpless little man-baby.” Al adds, from her lounge seat, “Learn to dodge.”

Wade splutters - your lips twitching, as you work.

“See what I live with?” He gripes, “Maybe the two of you outta trade. It’d be cramped, but I bet the three of us could sardine it.”

“You wouldn’t last a week without Althea,” You snort. A beat, before you gather the courage to circle back to the topic at hand, “And besides, that’s just it. I’m not sure he wants to sleep with me." 

The summer breeze feels better up here, on the roof. The whip of the wind cooling you, as you work your way across the once-again battered suit - propped up against the brick parapet. 

“Okay, time out. Missing link here.” Wade gives you a sideways look, before his head pivots, "You cannot hit me with this fake virginal act when I literally heard you two fuck an hour after you met."

A beat, "And like, pretty much every day since then. I think I even heard a howl last night-"

Your eyes roll, "Wade. He’s not a werewolf, he did not howl-"

"Well, not anymore.” Wade smirks, “And funny that you assume I meant the Moan Wolf, but I could have meant you-"

You groan, head cradled in your hands, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, we'll keep it down. It's just-"

It’s just you’ve been here before - this liminal space between an excellent physical connection, and more. You've done the hookup thing - casual, friends-with-benefits, lonely strangers. Thought you had learned how to keep your emotions in check, especially with those past experiences.

But you’ve never met someone like Logan before. 

He makes you feel bare. Soft-hearted and stripped down - wearing your feelings on your sleeve. Opening yourself up - only for your fingers to brush up against a brick wall, in return. 

Wade must catch your tone because he sets down the styrofoam container - the pink umbrella tucked against his ear. 

"Alright Sugarbuns, tell Papa Bear what's bothering you." 

You grimace at the names, another flicker of regret lingering in the corners of your mind. But you find yourself talking. Letting those worries flow from you in a rush.  

But Wade would know, wouldn't he? It's his friend, after all. 

"He leaves after."

His eyebrows raise, and you continue, "I mean, he'll stay for a bit but he always winds up on the couch by morning.  I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and he’s out there. I mean, I thought he'd want a bed, after where he's been staying, no offense-"

Thought he’d want to stay with you. 

You nudged at it once. Getting nothing more than a grumbled excuse about not sleeping well, something about nightmares. Something you accepted, only to find him tucked in your bed a few days later - curled in your sheets when you had rushed back to the apartment after leaving your phone. 

Hadn’t wanted to push, even if it confused you. Wouldn’t he want comfort, after a bad dream? You always did. 

"Offense taken, Blind Al and I are excellent bedmates," Wade interrupts, "But please, continue."

His joke eases you a little. Risking a sideways glance, finding him already looking at you.

“I like him, Wade. I just really want this to work out.”

He hums, sympathetically. Knowing all too well the complexities of like and love. How you feel deeper than you’re letting on - he always was perceptive, after all. 

A beat, before your head turns. 

"Do you think it's me?" 

He does laugh then, his shoulder leaning to bump yours, "Sugar, you have a two-hundred-year-old boyfriend who's gone through a massive amount of trauma and has an alcohol problem, and you want to know if it's you?"

"Fuck." The heels of your palms press into your eyes, "Okay, okay-"

"I literally traveled through the void with him, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles-style. The John Candy to my Steve Martin, and even after saving the world he still wanted to kill me."

"Wait," Your head lifts, "Why would you be Steve Martin in that scenario?"

“He’s the main character, as am I.” He barrels past your question, "The point is, if he didn't like you, you'd know. You just need to be-"

"Patient." You finish, "Yeah, I know." 

And you do know. Even since that first meeting, you've known that he's been eaten up inside. Cracks of the man beneath leaking through his gruff exterior, as you had sat together on that couch. 

But Wade called him your boyfriend, but he's not. Not really - no conversation to indicate that's how he saw himself. 

It just left you confused. Vulnerable. Enough that you did dumb shit like this - going to Wade for romantic advice. The man who proposed with a ring pop and thought that a prostate orgasm was a sign of being soulmates. 

"Maybe you’re giving him too much. Withhold a little," Al interrupts, making you jump, "That's what landed me my second husband. Begged for it like a dog, and was married the next month. God rest his soul."

Wade mouths an exaggerated “what the FUCK" at you, before shooting a dark look in her direction - only just then seeing her smirk.

"Oh, you’re joking? She came to us for help and you’re joking-” A sniff, as Wade turns back, "So anyways, don’t do that. Do something normal. Like internalize it, until it makes you snap."

His face screws up, as he adds, “Or, maybe try it? That bricked me up a bit-”

"Or,” Al adds, “Maybe you should just talk to him, Sugar."

Althea always knew how to cut to the chase and give the hard advice you needed to hear. You just wish you weren’t afraid of the answer.

‘You’re both right,” Your head dips against Wade's shoulder, “I owe you. Again.”

Silence lingering, though it’s not uncomfortable. Leaving you to think about what he said.

The suit passed over to him, when you tie the final knot, “Done.”

“Thanks,” A beat passes, as he gives you a sideways look, “Any chance you want to cash in on that favor tonight?”

You know better than to agree without more info - an eyebrow raising as you wait.

“Vanessa is coming over tonight.” Wade gives you a meaningful look, “It would be great to have the apartment to ourselves for a bit.”

The serious tone does not last, as he smirks, “I fully intend to break my months of celibacy the second the opportunity arises.”

“Months?” You hadn’t realized it had been that long. Thought he would have moved on, in some ways. 

“Years, actually,” He adds, casually, “Turns out my obvious romantic hangups plus this-”

A gesture at his face,” Are a total boner-killer. As well as having an elderly roommate, apparently. Especially one who won’t leave.”

You shoot him a sharp look at the self-deprecation, Al’s voice cutting through.

“I told you, I’m hitting the casino for singles night.”

“Okay. I can drop Al off and pick her up,” Your mind is already racing ahead, “And Logan and I can go out to dinner or something.”

The prospect is exciting. Despite the time spent together, you haven’t really gone on too many dates yet. After your long hours and his rotating work schedule, your meetings have mostly been late-night. Quick meals whipped up in your kitchen. A rotating pile of delivery menus. 

“That would be great.” He smiles, “Thanks, Sugar.”

“Of course.” You smile, before adding, “What are you going to make?” 

A frown, when he hesitates.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to wing it.”

“I wasn’t winging it,” He protests, “I was going to hit up ol’ reliable.”

“For a second-first date? You can’t do takeout from Buns and Roses.”

A sigh, as you turn to face him, tugging out your phone, “You should make something nice. I have this recipe bookmarked for engagement roast chicken. I’ll help you-”

He tugs your phone out of your hand, scrolling through the eight-paragraph opener before the start of the recipe. 

“Make this for her, show her you’re serious-,” You start.

Wade finishes, with a smile. 

“-and there’ll be a cock ring on it before midnight.”

You keep catching yourself looking at him.

It’s almost embarrassing how bad you have it. Still not used to seeing Logan like this - away from your small apartment. 

Seeing him at work was different - a very cognizant realization that you were on the clock. The counter between you like a barrier, even when you slip a coffee and pastry across it. A lightning-quick kiss pressed into his cheek. The relentless teasing from your coworkers, after. 

But here - crammed in a booth, his hand slipping just under the hem of your dress, a palm curved against your thigh - it’s something else, entirely. Even in this dark corner, you have to resist letting your hands wander. Eyes flicking to the deep cut of his button-down flannel - dark hair peeking out from the curve of his white tank. The blue and grey pattern pretty against his skin. 

A curl of smoke pours from his lips, a cigar fit between two fingers. 

Logan had been curious to find you in the apartment when he got home. The aroma of the roast chicken wafting through the space, as you talked Wade through the last steps. The slow sweep of his eyes over the pretty sundress you wore, tugged from the back of your closet. 

It hadn’t taken much convincing, when you asked him to get dinner out with you. Even with Althea in tow, safely dropped off for her night out. 

“This is nice.” You smile, and his eyebrow lifts.

A glance around the room.

Dinner spent at a local pizza joint - stories shared, wound between updates about his new job at the local lumber company. About Laura, who you met two weeks ago. So much like Logan that it still catches you off-guard. Shared expressions, shared tempers. 

You think that it must have been hard for both of them, this reunion. That comparison between the Logan in this world, those memories that stay with her. She views him the same - even you can see that. He’s told you it came as a shock, but it’s easy to see how he’s warmed, with time. Finding joy, within the shared grief.

The conversations spill over into a bar you know well. Unsure what to do with yourselves with the order of “staying away”, the sun still setting when you had stepped inside.

“Not sure nice is the word I’d use, sweetheart.”

“Anywhere is nice if I’m with you. I am sorry, though. I know it’s not-” Your hand waves, shyness creeping in as you lean into his shoulder, “Wasn’t sure where else to kill some time. Dopinder and Buck run a tight ship, it’s really not so bad.”

“Mm. Guess this is nice, then.” He corrects, a hint of a dimple as he smiles, “But you let me take you somewhere safer next time, yeah?”

“I’m safe with you.” 

You miss the way he looks at you, as you take a sip of your drink. The brush of his fingers against your skin. His voice going low, goosebumps rising as he murmurs in your ear. 

“How much longer do we have to stay out?”

A question that’s been on your mind as well. 

“Well, Al’s thing is over at ten,” Your teeth worry at your lip, “But, I guess we could sneak back early. It’s just, Wade-”

“What about Wade?” 

It’s unfair, how he crowds you in the booth. Torso twisting to face you. The warmth of his hand - how you’re aware of each and every movement he makes. It takes you a moment to answer.

“Wade is… Wade,” You manage, “But he doesn’t really ask for much. I owe him, you know?”

“You owe him?” He chuckles, “He’s lucky you stuck around after he tried to give you cocaine-”

“Hey,” You smile, “That was Al.”

That had been your second run-in with your neighbors. Only desperation had sent you over to the apartment, needing a cup of powdered sugar for a personal favor. Under-estimating how much you needed, in your rush to finish some cookies for a friend’s baby shower. 

Meeting Al instead. The powdered substance swapped when her roommate had rearranged the apartment as a prank. Only Wade bursting from the bathroom, a towel slung low from his hips, had saved you from disaster. The nickname had formed when you hadn’t written them both off. 

“And besides, Wade was the one who introduced me to you.”

Logan’s expression softens, “That is something, isn’t it?”

He holds your gaze for a long moment. Eyes drifting lazily down to your lips, with a low hum, then further. It sends a heat blooming in your cheeks, an unconscious press of your thighs together.

“I’m, um, gonna let Dopinder know we’re heading out.” You breathe, “He’ll worry if we irish goodbye.”

“You sure?” He husks, with another exhale of smoke - and you can feel the heat rising from your cheeks to your ears. 

“Yes,” It comes out breathy.

“Um, yeah. You finish that, and I’ll be right back.”

Your elbows pressing into the sticky bartop as you wait - watching Dopinder work his way through pouring pints of beer for a crowd of bikers, all in dark leather.

A glance over your shoulder, finding the booth tucked in the corner. The dark head of hair, the expanse of his shoulders - a thick arm slung across the back - as Logan waits for you. 

It makes you smile, and you almost miss the bump of a shoulder against yours.

“Oh!” You squeak, shifting to the side to make room, “I’m so sorry, I-”

The apology dies on your tongue, as you glance up at the man leaning against the wooden post at the end of the bar. Eyes drifting over the black field jacket, up to dark eyes. 

“Been a while, darlin’.” 

You inhale a breath, in surprise. Close to two years ago, if you remember right. Numerous meetings spread out over months, before he slipped out of your fire escape and into the early morning.

No note, no text. Walking out just as suddenly as he had appeared.

It had never been anything serious - he had made that clear - but you can’t pretend that it hadn’t hurt. 

“It has,” You agree, a low twist in your belly, “How have you been? Didn’t think I’d see you outside Hell’s Kitchen.”

Unable to help that flicker of worry, even after everything. It’s always been ingrained in you - thinking of others more than yourself. 

“Should ask you the same,” His eyebrow arches, “This isn’t your kind of place. Taking up mercenary work, beautiful?”

“I’m here with someone.” It comes out clipped, a glance over your shoulder - the nerves eased when you spot his form.   

“Mountain man?” 

A scoff - lip curling over sharp teeth, “Taking you to a place like this… You can do better than that. You can do-”

“You?” It’s your turn for your brow to raise, “We both know how that goes, Frankie. This-”

A pointed finger, gesturing around the room, “Was my idea. Things are different. I’m different.”

There’s the hint of a smirk - dark eyes that drag slowly down. Flicking back up to yours, as his voice pitches low, “I’m sure some things are the same.”

Your head shakes, “Not like that.”

There are lingering shades of purple that fade to yellow across his cheekbone. Never was good with this. All that time spent glancing out your window, waiting for him to show up, battered and bloody like he used to. All he did was keep you out, keep you at arm’s length.

Maybe that’s why you’re afraid of it happening again. A little shake of your head - a reminder that you need to be patient like Wade said. Logan isn’t him.

“I know what I want, and it’s-” The words die, as you look for him, again. Finding only an empty booth - your stomach tying up into knots. 

A palm touches at your hip, a chest pressing snugly against your back. Startling you, as you breathe, “Logan.”

“This asshole bothering you, sweetheart?” It’s growled out, Logan’s eyes fixed on the other man. 

“Nice guard dog.” There’s an amused appraisal - narrowed eyes, tongue trapped against teeth. “He do tricks as well?

The fingers at your hip curl, the smallest tug backward to bring you closer. The words ground out between bared teeth.

“You watch it.”

Christ. This was bad, you need to find your tongue - and quickly. 

You twist, a hand resting on his chest. Only now does Logan’s eyes drop to yours, the tight pull to his features only just ebbing.

“This is Logan,” You smile, your palm pressing over his heart, “He’s, uh, my-”

And for a brief second, your words fail you. The tension is thick enough to cut, acrid in the air. Would labeling this right now send him running? 

The man cuts through before you can finish.

“Frank Castle.” His eyes flick back to yours, as he adds, “Sure you can guess how we know each other.”

The muscles beneath your palm twitch. A light pressure against your hip, urging you away from the bar - the words low in your ear, “Alright. Let’s go.”

A nod, and you’re giving Frank a tight smile - letting Logan guide you towards the back. No more than a step taken before his voice cuts through.

“You still got my number?”

You shoot him an exasperated look, “Frank-”

“Gonna be back in town for a while, baby girl.” His arms cross, as he leans, “Call me when things don’t work out.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before a fist closes around the collar of his jacket. Logan stepping into his space, a forearm shoving Frank hard as he pins him against the post.

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit, bub.”

Fights are common in Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children, but you can’t say you’ve ever experienced one. Fear licks inside you, meeting Dopinder’s equally worried gaze as he starts to rush over.

Frank’s smile is dark, “You don’t want to start this.”

It’s met with a growl. Silver points peeking between the dips of Logan’s knuckles, the fabric straining in his tight grip.

“Fucking try me, you piece of shit.”

There’s a metallic click - the press of something cold against Logan’s groin. 

“Should shoot your dick off for that.” 

“Okay!” You shove between them, then. A hand on Logan’s arm, tugging - the other at his neck, trying to guide him back to you. 

“Hey. It’s okay,” It’s softer now, soothing, “Baby, let’s go.”

His hazel eyes are wild when they find yours. Face twisted in a snarl, deepened with the shadows cast in the dim room. Blinking, as he comes back to himself. A dark look as his arm eases - stepping away.

This time, it’s you that leads him towards the back exit. Something gritted out as you leave that you miss, but sends Logan bristling. An apologetic look thrown at Dopinder, before you’re stepping together through the swinging door, into the wood-paneled hallway. 

Ducking down one of the hallways, next to matching doors leading to bathrooms, and a storage closet. An exit sign, gleaming red at the end. 

The music and voices are muffled. His face silhouetted in the light of a vintage beer sign, his features outlined in gold as his back presses against the wall. A gritted, inhaled breath.

You haven’t seen him like this before. Seen him mad several times. Grouchy and annoyed with Wade. The sharp temper that hid his hurt when he thought you didn’t want him.

None of those moments match him now. You’re not sure what to make of it - the way your skin prickles. Something in your belly flutters, a warmth that drips from behind your ribs, settling low. You never wanted anyone to get hurt. But that look in his eyes, how quick we was to find you - it makes you inhale a breath.

“We-,” You start - your fingers still curled around his bicep, “We should talk about this. You okay, Logan?”

His eyes flick to yours, jaw working. The fury has bled from them, the sharp etches in his face easing, even as his expression stays guarded. 

“Yeah. ‘m fine.” Logan rasps, “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

A beat, before it slips from him, “Was he one of the ones Wade scared away?”

“What?” It takes you a long moment to remember. Your brow pinching, as you shake your head,” Frank? No. It was-”

The pull of his brow is back, his frown deepening with your explanation. 

“It was just casual.” You finish, lamely, “It wasn’t anything. Never was.”

“Didn’t sound that way.” It’s gritted out. 

His head turns, eye contact dropping. A hand, raking through his hair - pushing the dark strands back, “Listen. If you want to go with him, it’s fine.”

You’re left stunned for a moment. His jaw working, hands jamming into his pockets. It’s defensive - it’s familiar. 

“I don’t want to go with him-” You start, but it only makes him sigh. 

“Then what were you gonna say, Sugar?” The look he finally gives you is searching, “I’m your, what-, your neighbor?”

“No!” You cry, “I was going to say you’re my boyfriend, but you’ve never-”

Logan’s pitches low, “I’ve never what?”

Your shoulders droop. Curling around yourself, as you lean into the wall next to him. He leans, matching your height - trying to catch your eyes. 

“I don’t know, Logan.” It’s almost too quiet to hear. He might have, if he had been anyone else. “I told you I liked you the day after meeting you. But you…”

A little shake of your head, “You keep everything so close to your chest. You leave in the night. It’s okay, I just… sometimes I don’t know what to think.”

When his arms cross this time, there’s something in his eyes. A dark glimmer, the tug of his lips.

“You think that I don’t like you, sweetheart?”

A tilt of his head, a sharp edge slipping into his tone, “You think I wasn’t ready to tear that asshole limb from limb for talking to my girl that way?”

Something low in your belly twists, desire thrumming in an echo that radiates through you. A sharp inhale of breath at his words.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You manage, transfixed.

It’s easier, this time, for him to step into you. Hands ghosting along your neck. Tipping your face to his, so you can’t look away. Can’t miss what he tells you.

“If-, if I open up.” It comes out hushed, his words soft and low, “You won’t like what you see, Sugar.” 

You reach for him - fingers curling around his wrists, “I like what I see just fine.”

He huffs. The barest hint of a smile, before his expression goes solemn. 

“This,” The word is punctuated by the way his thumb sweeps against your cheek, “Never goes well for me. Sleeping on the couch puts me between you and anything coming through that door.”

Your pulse races with the remorse in his words. He’s touched on the barest of details of his past. Those small moments shared in the night you met, riddled confessions in the late nights that have followed. 

“And the things I dream about-,” His eyes go hazy - lost in a memory, “They pull me back. I don’t want to hurt you because I can’t tell them from reality.”

The words slip from you automatically, without thought. Guilt floods through you, an ache from wondering - doubting. 

“You won’t hurt me.” 

“I will.” He breathes, “Sweetheart, I will. It’s not an if, it’s a when.”

Your head shakes - a stubborn set of your jaw, “You won’t. Please don’t shut me out, Logan. Please try…”

He huffs - eyes dropping to your mouth, as he leans. Hands slipping to cup your head, angle you to meet the press of his lips. A soft sigh that you swallow, something tender in the way he draws you to him. A hand curling around your back, splaying between your shoulder blades.

“Give me some time, okay?” Logan murmurs, when the kiss breaks, “Let me draw out the first good thing I’ve had in a long time. Just for a little longer.”

“Don’t have to draw it out.” Your body still curves to his, anchoring yourself to him. A hand touching his jaw so this time, his eyes have to stay on you.

“You deserve good things, Logan.” Your mouth brushes his, “Let me give them to you.”

The sound he makes is almost wounded, as if he wants to protest. 

As if he wants to believe you.

Breath ragged, as his hands trace down to grip at your hips. Leaning into you, your touch. What you offer him. A thigh fitting between yours, nudging against your core - and you think surely he must see how your eyes darken.

The rapid flutter of your heart, how it races for him and only him.

“Yeah?” He husks, as if reading your mind, “You ready to get out of here, Sugar?”

“Bathroom.” You breathe.

“Can’t wait that long.”

He’s on you the second the door swings shut. Fingers twisting at the lock, as his head dips - mouth finding yours again.

There’s a desperation to his kiss this time. One that you match with the way your palms trace up his chest. Fingertips at his neck, tugging him to meet you.

A thrill shoots up your spine. You’ve never done anything quite like this before. The space behind your ribs is soft and tender from his confession - already breathless before he deepens the kiss.

Backing you up against the old, chipped vanity that lines the wall. The stalls hanging open - empty as his hands trail down your spine. Fitting beneath the curve of your ass, tugging you up to fit on the counter. 

Finding your jaw again - guiding your lips to his, meeting the sweep of your tongue as he fits between your thighs. 

“Been wanting to get my hands on you all night.” He breathes, against your lips, “So fucking pretty, you know that?”

It sends a pulse through you, down to where you’re already responding to his touch. Your knees close around his hips, urging him closer. 

“Logan, please,” You hum, fingers tugging at his belt buckle. A palm pressing against the front of his jeans, where his cock strains against the denim. 

His moan is ragged, bucking into your touch. Fingers tracing up your waist. Letting your tits fill his palm, as you work him free.

“This okay?” Logan rasps, eyes half-lidded, “Pretty fuckin’ filthy, sweetheart.”

It’s hard to hold back a moan of assent, when his lips presses against your neck. Open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, the scrape of teeth pressing into your jugular.

“Good,” He growls against your skin, “Would’ve bent you over that fucking bar if you’d let me.”

It’s possessive. It makes you shiver - a sweep of his tongue, the suck of lips as he marks you. The sharp sting of his bite fading into sweet bliss. 

“Need you.” Your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking. The lightest of tugs to bring him closer, your thighs inching further apart.

He groans, “You have me.”

The pretty dress you wear is pushed up to your waist. His palm cupping you, feeling your warmth before he’s tugging the fabric of your panties to the side. 

Need rushes through you. A heave of your chest against his as your mouth meets his, greedy. A tilt of your hips, a leg lifting to hitch around his waist. Your hand curling around the edge of the counter, the other guiding the tip of his cock against your slick folds.

“Hold on, honey.” Logan’s fingers slip against your pussy, nudging inside, “Gonna be sore.”

“I can take it,” You insist, pleading, “I can take you, wanna feel it.”

His eyes darken. A little inhale of breath, watching as your lips part as two fingers press deep. Your teeth already sink into your bottom lip, muffling a whine.

Slipping them free, after crooking inside you. Wrapping his hand around his cock, a rough stroke to smear your slick around him. Lining the tip up with your opening, as his hands fit against your waist. His hips pressed snugly against the chipped counter, as he begins to tug you to meet him. 

You can feel every inch, as he moves you. He splits you open, your shoulders arching against the dirty mirror as your nails bite into the laminate. A hand pressed against his chest, as you urge him to go slow. 

A held breath coming in a rush, as he slips deeper inside you with a grunt. Filling that ache you’ve been carrying - your eyes dropping down to watch the slick shine of his cock. Sinking into you with the slow saw of his hips, a clink of his belt with movement. 

“Just for me, yeah?” He rasps, a hand drifting down. Fingers splitting where he fills you, drawing slick tips up to circle your clit.

“Just you.” You nod, breathless. Rocking into his touch, taking more as you adjust to the weight of him inside you. 

His teeth flash white, in the dim room.

“That’s my girl.”

The moan you’ve been holding back slips from you, as you clench down hard around him.

He hums, “You like that?”

“Yes.” You whine. Reaching for him, as he tugs you closer. The slow plunge of his hips turning into a shallow grind.

Fingers circling and pressing, in rhythm with the heady drag of his cock against your walls. Your fingers grasping onto his arms, his shoulders - the kiss is messy when he meets the tilt of your head. 

Leaning into you as his tongue licks into the cup of your mouth, your tits pressed up against his chest. A broad hand slipping from your waist, curving against the swell of your ass and squeezing.

“That’s it,” He rumbles against your mouth - eyes half-lidded. A groan when you nip his lower lip - grinning at the way you gasp, when his hips surge forward, “Atta girl, taking me so well.”

Each swipe against your clit feels like a countdown - hips angling until he finds that spot inside you that makes your teeth click together. That slickens him up even further, until he’s pounding into your wet, tight heat. 

Your fingers pinch down. Breath going short, until you’re panting. Unable to do more than buck into his touch, as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you.

“Couldn’t even wait to get home,” Logan growls, “Needed this cock so badly, didn’t you?”

“Needed you,” You whine, hips rocking to meet his. Eyes fluttering shut, as the winding pressure builds, “Fuck, needed you. Gonna make me-”

The words break on a bitten-back whimper. Your muscles go stiff, bracing yourself in his arms. 

“Want you to look at me, sweetheart.” He coos, with that steady roll of his hips. Nudging deep inside you each time, as his fingers circle against your clit, “Eyes on me when you come, alright?”

Your answer is a breathless nod, as you listen. 

You don’t think you could look away if you tried. Not with him right in front of you. So close you can see the pull of his brow in concentration, the pretty shade of his eyes. 

Fixed on you, as his lips part. The soft pant and grunt as desire throbs in your veins, your fingers curling into a fist in his flannel.

“Come for me, baby.” He urges, “Wanna feel you, let me fucking feel you come.”

It’s there, swirling inside you. Liquid heat between your thighs, yanking you to an invisible edge. Leaving you to dangle, breath held -

“Oh my god, Logan-“

You’re falling - clenching down hard around him. His name is a chanted prayer as he fucks you through it - a ragged, pleased sound rumbling in this throat as you pulse around his cock. The slap of his hips growing louder, more wet as your release coats his cock. His base and balls sticky, when they press flush to your cunt.

“That’s it,” He growls. Fingers leaving your clit, so he can grip your waist. Drive into you harder, chasing his own impending release.

“Come on, that’s my girl.”

It’s pulled from you, sweet and smooth.

“Yours.”

Logan’s moan is ragged, coming from low in his chest. His pace stutters - the steady thrust turning sloppy. A messy rut of his hips, grinding himself as deep as he can before he finds himself again. 

You forget the dingy bar. The flickering overhead lights. Filth and phone numbers scrawled on the walls. Everything narrows down to him.

How he holds you. Looks at you -  so much said in the way they soften. You don’t know how you ever could have doubted. 

Blinded with uncertainty. Fears from before, that will no longer have a hold on you. 

“Logan,” You sigh, your heel digging into the curve of his ass. Eyes still on his, as your plea slips from you, “Fuck. Don’t pull out.”

You want to feel him. The throb of his cock when he comes deep inside you. How he lingers, slick and dripping from you - now, and later, and tomorrow. 

A gritted-out groan, as the sharp tempo increases. Fingers pinching hard enough to bruise, and you’ll wear him there, too - fading marks against your hips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks - that look back in his eyes. Pupils blown wide, as his lips part with a groan, “Gonna be my good girl, gonna fucking take it?”

“Mhm,” It pitches high, as you nod. 

“Fuck.”

It comes out choked, as he loses himself in you. One, two, three thrusts, and Logan is growling - hands slipping down to tug you flush against him, as he spills inside you with a muffled shout. 

Hips grinding himself deep into you, his words a rough rasp in your ear, “Take it. Just like that.”

He pulses inside you, filling you with each twitch of his cock. Marking you fully, as he tests his teeth against your shoulder. A moan, as your thighs hitch around his hips - nudging him deep, where you’re wet and warm and wrapped around him.

Leaving him to grind every last drop into you, slumping back when his grip finally loosens. Your limbs feel like liquid lead, head tipped back against the glass. A groan muffled against your neck, as your fingers slip beneath the tugged-open flannel.

Nails scratching along his back, the tight muscles beneath easing.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Logan hums when he finally leans back - and you already miss his hands on you, as they shift to brace against the counter.

It feels cruel that he teases you like this. When you swear you can still feel the throb of his cock inside you. When he’s still sheathed to the hilt.

You groan, “Don’t make fun of me, Logan.”

“‘m not sweetheart,” He huffs, eyes going soft.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

There’s something off about your apartment - he can sense it the moment they make it to the landing. 

This is exactly what he had been trying to tell you. The when, not if, something will go wrong. His senses flickering into overdrive, nostrils flaring. 

Catching the light that creeps from under the door, when he knows you clicked it off. His hand automatically leaves yours, reaching out to tuck you safely behind him.

“Logan?” There’s confusion in your voice, a hand at his shoulder.

He shushes you, his words a low growl.

“Someone’s in your apartment. Stay here, sweetheart.”

There’s the soft snick of his claws, your fingers untwisting from his shirt. A breath, and then his hand is closing around the knob - a sharp jerk of his fist as his shoulder slams into the wood.

Teeth bared, as he bursts into your apartment with a snarl. 

All that fury bleeds to relief, and then disappointment.

“How’d you get in here?” Logan grits, his claws sheathing. 

Your voice joins his, from where you had peeked around the doorframe, “You okay, Wade?”

Hazy, morose eyes peer back at him - a hand lifting to wiggle “baby knife” at him. A newly-opened bottle of your cooking sherry in the other - a plate balanced on his chest, filled with a half-eaten chicken breast and vegetables. Legs stretched out on your sofa, Dogpool curled between his ankles. 

“She didn’t show,” Wade mutters, with a miserable smile, “Didn’t want to be alone.”

Logan can’t help the soft flicker in his chest when you go to him. Sinking to your knees by the couch - moving the plate to the coffee table, lifting Dogpool into your arms. She licks your chin as Wade lets loose a long, drawn-out sigh - flipping to face the back of the couch. 

"What was the point of the first two movies?" The words are muffled into the fabric, "Why would Disney do something like this? We were picking out baby names for fuck’s sake-"

“I’m so sorry,” You soothe - a hand on his back, “What can I do to help? Can I get you anything?”

Wade’s head turns to the side, with a long sigh.

“Thor’s phone number.”

“How about I take this,” You tug at the bottle, until it loosens, “And I text Peter? We can have a movie night, okay?”

He turns further, until he’s facing you again, “Even that one you hate?”

"Don’t hate it." You sigh, “It’s just so sad. I don’t know why it’s your favorite.”

“It’s not my fault they made that tree star look so goddamn delicious.”

You’re beckoning Logan over, a gesture to take his place. You hand on his arm, beseeching - but you don’t have to beg this time. The snarling dog inside him calmed - the fury from the bar and from the hallway ebbing at your touch. He can still feel your lips against his, when his eyes close.

The uncomfortable itch of opening up oneself still lingers, but it’s soothed by the way you smile at him in thanks. By the words that he still clings to.  

Logan has to fold himself into the space, knees folding. Mary Puppins tucked in the crook of his elbow - his other hand patting against a curved-in shoulder. 

Sincerity, as he offers, "Tough luck, bub.”

“It’s her loss.” You call, thumbs tapping away a message. 

“Her loss.” Logan echos, “You’re… you’re a good man, Wade. It’ll work out.”

It comes out clumsy. It always does - he never had a silver tongue like the Professor did. His edges as sharp as his claws, never one to waste words if his fist could do the job. 

Wade flips back over. The hint of a smile, “That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Before his eyes are flicking over to where you pace, voice lowering.

“And I gotta ask, did you maul Sugar? What is with that mark on her neck?”

Logan huffs, lips twitching.  

“We’re all set,” You smile, “Your Emotional Support Peter is on his way. He’s bringing Al and some ice cream.”

A glance his way, the question written so plainly in your eyes - the lift of your brow. “That okay?”

It’s not the way he imagined this night going.

Had thought he’d take you to bed when he got back. Take things slower, this time.

Using his touch and the greedy press of his mouth to make sure you understand that he heard every word you told him. That he meant each one he said back - make sure you never made the mistake of thinking he didn’t care for you again.

But when he looks at you - how you’re ready to sweep into the kitchen to make some popcorn, he thinks-

That he might just prefer this. Even as messy as it is. 

He smiles back. 

The couch is crammed with far too many people. Five squeezing into a space meant for three at best. You’ve been half perched on his lap all night, his arm slung over your shoulder - tempted to pull you the rest of the way.

A couple months ago, his skin would have crawled to be this close to others. Would have peeled himself away with a scathing word and a sharper bite.  

But something softened him, during his time in this world. Days, to weeks, to months. 

Couldn’t go back, he knows that now. All the wishing and TVA TemPads couldn’t undo what was done - he’s known that for a while. It would take a long time, but he could try to come to terms with what happened. Try to do better, moving forward.

Starting with himself. A scrap of paper - snatched from a bottom of a flier with a brightly-printed 12-step program, shoved deep into his leather jacket pocket. Relearning how to be patient with others, and even more so with himself. Trying to listen what you and Wade told him.

He’s done walking away from things. You make him believe that whenever, if ever, he manages to open that tightly-sealed lid… you’ll stay.

The thought is one that he'll cling to.

“Alright. Enough bullshit.”  

It’s announced, as the credits roll - breaking him out of his thoughts. A creak of the couch as Wade shifts - crammed between you and Al, his head twisting on her shoulder to peer over his way. 

“‘m being serious now.” He insists, though the words slur together - the bottle stolen back during the movie and drained, “I’m so happy my two besties are falling in love, even if I am a jealous little bitch.”

A gasp, as he remembers - a reaching over to pat Peter’s shoulder, “Not that I’m forgetting about you, sugar bear. You too, Blind Al. I’d be just as happy if you two were dating. It'd be like a less fucked-up Harold and Maude."

A derisive snort from Al. 

Peter smiles, “Just happy to be here, pal.”

“Anyways, life sucks balls. Big, fat, sloppy, wet, balls, but goddamn if seeing you two happy doesn’t fill me with hope.”

Logan can hear the hitch in your breath. The pressure of your fingers, entwined with his. Embarrassment flickering across your face, when you are unable to help glancing his way. 

Exasperation and something else mixing in when you meet his gaze. Something soft and tender and directed so solely at him, that for a moment - he forgets to breathe.

Falling in love, huh?

Yeah. He might just be. 

a/n: i adore frank castle, haha. i thought he would be a fun person to pull in for a jealous!logan scenario - and thank so from the bottom of my heart for all the love on sugar, sugar - I honestly had no idea so many of you would like it, and I can’t tell you how much it means to read your sweet asks and comments 💖 this is all I have planned for them right now, thank you for letting me share this series with you!!! (though I am definitely not done writing for logan!)

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes? 

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left. 

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

[unexpectedbrickattack]

How strong is Gus compared to Peppino exactly I did saw some concept where Gus grabs peppino with a giant hand and shakes him around

(Had to check the sprite wiki bc i was SO sure i saw something similar to this; its a scrapped animation of Gus punching Peppino if Peppino failed to deliver a pizza (also a scrapped concept))

Gus is VERY strong and almost on par w Peppino. I have no reason for this; i just like the idea of both of them being very small and also deceptively strong heehee The best way I can compare the two is that Gustavo can Wrestle w Brick (basically a fucking Bear) and win; Peppino can just body check Brick and knock him out completely (and win, lmao)

You didnt ask for this, but Gus (ignoring important gameplay mechanics that prove otherwise) is NOT very fast at all. He can do a pretty decent sprint but he tires out very fast; Brick is the majority of his speed and he has no shame in relying on him. He does find it a LITTLE offputting knowing that even at Bricks full speed, Peppino can EASILY outpace them, blazing past the two of them looking absolutely deranged and redfaced. He can keep that speed up for an incredible amount of time too but the second he hits something or is forced to come to a stop, he just crashes right there 😭

[bi-writes]

hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?

mail-order bride

you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.

you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.

when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.

Riley.

you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.

the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.

he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.

"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."

your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.

"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."

he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.

"said no pets."

your lip trembles.

"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.

when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.

it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.

you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.

he points at the thing and shakes his head.

"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."

you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.

"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.

"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"

he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"

you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.

"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."

you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."

"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."

when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.

"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."

you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.

you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.

mine.

when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.

simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.

[screampied]

ʚ MAMA I’M IN LOVE WITH 2 CRIMINALS ?! ɞ

ᡴꪫ‎ sum. you had one job. interrogate two felonious criminals, not screw them both. but it’s a friday night and what happens in the interrogation room stays in the interrogation room, right? wrong.

warnings. fem! reader, modern au, criminals sukuna ryomen x toji fushiguro, unprotected, thrēesome, tatted toji, manhandling, choking, dirty talk, double penn + cowgirl dp, praise, spıt roasting, size kink, ōral (f & m receiving), gunplay, spıt, brēeding, implied multiple rounds, nıpple play, overstim, dumbificaiton, they’re kinda fruity

wc. 6.4k

“you’re avoiding the question.” you utter with a vexed scoff.

these two, sukuna ryomen and toji fucking fushiguro. sleazy infamous criminals notoriously known within the city with a staggering criminal record underneath their belts. they were a duo, the duo. everyone knows—where there’s sukuna, there’s toji. constantly always in and out of prison as if life was a mere game to them, a mere joke. your patience continues to run thin the more you stare at them blankly. those unfazed eyes, those smirks, they didn’t take you seriously, especially with how easy on the eyes you were. you almost stammer over your words before peering back at toji. “my eyes are up here. quit wasting my time.”

“easy, girl. we already told ya we didn’t do it,” toji brings two hands up to his chest with a sly smirk, pretending to be offended. he sat right beside sukuna, both in the same orange undifferentiated jumpsuits. “besidesss,” and he leans up close to you, sliding a tongue against his slanted fabled scar. “for a detective you’re pretty shit at your job. where’s the eye contact, love?”

“yo toji don’t piss her off,” sukuna cackles with his arms crossed. he leans against the steel chair, taking in your entire frame. as much as you could give them both an annoyed glower, toji was right. you were one of the if not the best local detective in your city, yet with these two, you were slacking in everything. you could barely stare into their eyes without looking away, embarrassingly fumbling over your words, a mess. sukuna hums in amusement, cocking a brow upwards. “but y’know, detective. it is kind of hard to confess our crimes when ya look this good on a friday night.”

the compliment immediately catches you off guard. the air suddenly grows thick. you’re squeezing your legs shut tight - the stretchy fabric of your tucked fishnets glues against your skin before you clear your throat.

“i know what you’re doing. ‘s not gonna work.” but who were you kidding, just a single comment as that had you all hot and bothered. questioning one criminal was one thing, but two at the same time was another. you didn’t know how you were gonna get through the night. inside the dim lit interrogation room, it was quite spacey. luckily, it was pretty late at night so your superiors had left you alone to close. you insisted you’d question them then take them back to the station yourself. although, that certainly wasn’t the plan.

the brick walls were rustic, it grew very quiet the moment you trailed off your words. the silence was almost deadly, so deadly that you could practically hear a pin drop. sukuna and toji, they were infamous for their crimes—burglaries, robberies, to keep it short, they weren’t exactly good guys.

with a quick scratch toward his ripped pecs, toji glances around the room. sharp verdant hooded eyes gawk near the glass viewing window directly before he snickers. “saaaay,” he hums in a gruff tone, lazily slouching back against his seat. “how ‘bout ya take these handcuffs off ‘n we’ll tell ya everything ya wanna know.”

“nice try,” you lean up against the table, finally staring right into their eyes - moreso toji. he flashes you a cheeky grin as you inch forward, sukuna keeping his eyes fixated on you also. with a quick glimpse, you peek down at your watch. “seriously, i don’t have all day. i have somewhere to be in a hour, so-”

“hot date?” sukuna raises a brow, his collar from his jumpsuit ruffed out a bit. just that minor detail alone was so attractive. “so that’s why you’re wearing pretty fishnets, mm. lucky guy.”

again—you’re caught off guard. both men stare at you as if they’re trapped inside your thoughts, already knowing what you’re about to say next. just casually reading every single thing that pops into your brain. were you that easy to read? you didn’t actually have a date but you were going out. maybe being all dolled up on the job was a bit unprofessional. sheepishly abashed, you dig the soles of your boot heels into the carpet ground before muttering lowly, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

“my personal life isn’t what’s important … here,” and your eyes widen once you see toji with his hands apparently free.

how . . .

your eyes then trail at sukuna who had your handcuff keys right in his palm. sukuna freed his wrists and toji freed himself before the dark haired fugitive stands up to stretch. damn, they just have snuck it when you were fantasizing. again,

“you were saying about y’er personal life?” the pink haired male hums, slowly making his way behind your edge table. you felt cornered— oh, perhaps taking the final shift of the night wasn’t the best idea.

no, it was a horrible idea.

yet, the more they got closer to you, the more you started to feel something … feverish.

suddenly, between your thighs felt hot. with the bare bottoms of your shoes rubbing against your heel, toji cups your chin, staring right into your eyes. sukuna appears behind you, creeping, tossing your documents to the side and you grouse. “you can get in a lot more trouble for touching me, toji,” you utter, both eyes of yours staring intently into his. the eye contact was so intimate — you’ve never had a problem with eye contact until now. his smirk, he brushes a thumb against your bottom lip before scoffing. “s- seriously.”

sukuna’s crimson-red eyes reach towards the side of your hip, you were armed. cute, he hums whilst pondering just what his next step might be before toji cackles.

“okay and,” he purrs, leaning in just a bit deeper. you smelled the scent of alcohol lingering on his tongue. his eye contact was simply alluring, dark viridescent irises pool into yours before he looks at his partner. “heh, ‘kuna. you think we’ll get less probation if we play with the pretty lady for a bit?”

sukuna goes next to you, snatching your pen from you and you gasp once he’s now gripping your entire face. you nearly gnaw on your lip, as you make direct eye contact. his touch was still surprisingly gentle nonetheless.

toji purrs, running a thumb against your skin-tight fishnets. “nah, right pretty girl? you ain’t gonna rat on us, are ya? at least not when you’re this soaked.”

damn,

he was right again. the reason your legs were shut tight was because you were trying oh so desperately to hide the mess right between your thighs. it was embarrassing—the stickiness that presses against your legs has you growing more and more aroused. so unprofessional, you had to keep repeating that in the back of your head. you were soddened, soaking right through your pretty laced panties despite how much you didn’t want to come to terms with your filthy state. you’ve dealt with so many criminals. more than you could count on both fingers, so what made these two any different? you didn’t know, and quite frankly, you didn’t care.

anymore,

technically if you wanted to be delusional, you were basically off work. so a little fun wouldn’t matter.

then again, this little stunt would probably cost you your badge.

but screw it.

this kinda thing only happened in movies. and besides, it was only you currently on the clock. no one could even find out … right?

wrong.

you of course weren’t thinking about the future consequences that would creep up to follow you before you found yourself now shamefully on your knees for sukuna. he snickers at you, giving you a brief head pat before dragging your face up to his jeans.

“aw,” he murmurs, and you hear the low rasp of toji’s chuckle behind you. rough hands of his caress against both sides of your ass before pulling up your pencil skirt. you try to turn around but sukuna makes you shift your focus back towards him. “nah, detective. isn’t followin’ instructions part of y’er job? eyes down here..”

with a moan escaping from your throat, sukuna tugs down the lower part of his jumpsuit. the fabric ruffles and you’re met with a big bulge. oh, he was big. your first instinct was to paw at it with your hands, yet sukuna makes you rub your face against it. you can’t help but moan, sticking out your tongue as your face’s being smeared against his bulgy hard-on. “toji, she’s fuckin’ hungry. look at ‘er.”

toji hums, a finger of his trailing against your fishnets. they were skin tight, stuck against your skin like velcro. he groans, feeling the way you teasingly wriggle your ass against him. it was around midnight, surely no one would show up in the interrogation room—

although, the thought of it made you a bit more wet. you couldn’t lie to yourself though, you were familiar with these two criminals. you’d be crazy not to, everyone knew the toji fushiguro and sukuna ryōmen.

the duo,

you saw them all the time on local news. their mugshots would always get leaked. they’d always smile in their shots—gaining so much love from ladies. ironic, they even have fanfictions made about them.

there’s toji with the smug eye half-lidded grin, and then sukuna with the raised chin, natural fang-like teeth and grim annoyed expression.

your job was to question them not to be on your knees, but you weren’t complaining.

“all this ass,” toji snaps you out of your trance, gifting your rear a mean spank. the recoil of it drags you out of your little fantasm before you bite your lip and you’re facing directly forward. “what do ya want princess? want more don’t ya?”

you nod, sukuna’s cupping your chin with a sneer but your ass is only met with another rude smack.

“i- i want you both,” you grumble, toji smugly hums from your cute attitude. he’s taking in all of you — your curves, the cute beige trench coat you had on in an attempt to cover up your secret flashy outfit underneath, all of it. toji was handsy, once he had his hands on your hips, they were glued on. he groans from your answer before a thumb slides against your waist. “please.”

“but detective’s aren’t this dumb are they?” sukuna cranes his head to the right, squeezing both of your cheeks together with one hand. your lips were all glossy. he smears a thumb against them before leaning down to give you a kiss. you moan, kissing back before he pulls away, a lustrous concoction of spit departing from both mouths. “you sure you not gonna rat us out? both our lives are technically in your hands, princess.”

“i’m not gonna t- ah,” you stop to gasp, feeling toji’s bulge rub against you. his grip was delicate, he rubs yourself against him and groans. your arch was cute, bent over the table with your chest pressed against the multitude of paperwork. averting your lewd gaze back up towards sukuna, you loll out your tongue. he looks down, watching you create a snail trail of saliva near the middle part of his bulge. he’s so thick, the fabric tastes cottony against your tongue as you stare up at him. cerulean blue boxers with a tag sticking out from the side, yeah he definitely stole that. sukuna’s still got a grip on your scalp before he ogles at you pulling his boxers down. “s- so big.”

with a fat thumb still pressing down against your bottom lip, he coos out a sly tune. “scared yet?” and you prove him wrong by wrapping a hand around his base but god, he had staggering inches to him. toji’s still behind you and you moan once you feel him bring a wet kiss to your right ass cheek. he gives it a smooch only to spank it yet again, playfully giving it a bite mark. sukuna had just the right amount of curve to him. he’s so heavy that it hangs a bit — a pretty tannish peel of foreskin that you just wanted to run your tongue along. so you do. your mouth starts to gradually water as you inch up closer, and closer . . and closer.

sukuna’s staring at you with ruby red irises. you present his tip with a tiny lick and he grunts, your tongue feeling cold and dampened. “ugh, good girl. this is what that fuckin’ mouth should be used for. not talkin’ people’s ears off.”

his cock had a bit of a beige tan—sliding the top of your tongue against his frenulum, you watch as he grunts. sukuna’s fingers still maintain a firm enough grip against your scalp before you feel toji’s tongue. you whine, feeling the aching sensation of the other criminal propped up behind you preparing for a taste. toji roughly yanks your panties to the side, already pulling down your fishnets before he runs his nose all down your sopping, slick slit. “mhm, ‘kuna she’s already fuckin’ wet. all this time she was tryna get us to confess but her sloppy pussy’s the real culprit.”

rotund fingers of toji’s brush against your folds that were happily presented out to him—you’re facing forward and sukuna grabs ahold of his length. with a big hand, he rubs the tubby fat head of his tip over your face to make you moan before finally putting it in your mouth. he’s lengthy, you knew taking him inside would be quite the literal stretch. the girth too, so delicious. a vein that runs down the side of his shaft pulses in your mouth and you luxuriate in the taste. you hear the faint sound of ruffling behind you and it’s toji fondling with the holster that’s attached to your hip. “m-mhm,” were your muffled babbles, slowly taking every inch of sukuna down your tight throat. up until he’s all the way down, you almost gag whilst toji sneaks your firearm from out of its protective belt.

damn,

not only were you soaking wet for two criminals you were supposed to interrogate, but you were also unarmed.

great,

sukuna grabs a fistful of your hair — slender fingers massaging your scalp before giving it a firm pull. a hand of his claws into your hair, tugging firmly at your roots that cling against your scalp. he gruffly groans at your tongue, watching as your eyes close and your throat’s just so warm. it’s tight, the tense muscles in his and tighten before he slowly starts to drag your head back and forth, “good girl, no more talkin’ yeah,” and he peeks back at toji who’s paying his attention to you from behind. the other criminal’s messy, smearing a thumb down your pulsating clit before sucking it. it’s long, long sluuuurps that makes your muffled moans grow louder. your body shakes vigorously. the unsteady squirms of your body makes toji chuckle and you feel his hot, tempid breath ghost again your folds. you try to turn around but sukuna prevents it, gripping the crown of your head. “nuh uh princess, eyes up here.”

your body’s mixed with so much emotions — the throbbing without you only grows stronger, and as you’re rutting against the table, you hear the loud repetitive creaks. the furniture was wooden and worse for wear, probably over a hundred years old you’d guess. sukuna’s thin nostrils flare up once he meets your gaze, watching your head bob. “mmhh,” you try to speak, but he hums, ruffling your hair.

“don’t try ‘ta speak with your mouth full, baby,” he purrs to you in a rasp, a hand sliding underneath your chin, feeling the saliva trickle its way out the creaks of your lips. “you’re so messy. fuckin’ slobber mouth.”

toji’s practically making out with your cunt, pointed hooked tip of his nose brushing against your opening hood and you moan. he’s so nasty, taking every possible opportunity to spit on your cunt, later lapping it up with his tongue. two broad hands spread your ass open, lolling out his tongue to taste every inch you provided. “mhm,” he groans, occasionally swatting a sharp smack near both templed cheeks of your ass. you weren’t gonna last at all, you knew that. you start to grind against his face and he hums, nibbling against your clit either a sly smile. “thaaaat’s it, fuck back against my face, give it ‘t me,” and your entire body’s shaking. as you throat’s being stuffed, your chest continues to rumble against the cold, slick table.

toji feels your hand sneaking between your pried open thighs before you try to cutely creep and touch yourself. “whore, we don’t do that.” he grumbles, smacking your hand away. you whine, eyes meeting back up at sukuna who shrugs with a grin. his way of telling you, ‘ he’s right. don’t touch yourself. ’

as you taste a bit of pre-cum on your tongue, you lap your twitching moving muscle over sukuna’s slit that runs down his shaft’s head. he hisses, pulling you further onto his cock until he hears a tiny gag. “ooh, ‘m reachin’ the roof, huh,” and it’s so much saliva pouring from your mouth that it’s slithering down the valley of your chest. your legs shiver, feeling the scrap of toji’s scar tickle against your pussy — so good. he purposely rubs against your clit with it, feeling your hips continue to grind further back against his face. “she likes your scar toji, she’s kinky.”

“i know she does,” toji snickers, rubbing his face, smearing it all against your wet cunt. you whimper, faint hairs of his stubble sticking against your skin from the gripping slick. it’s just filthy, his tongue swirls all around your cunt before giving it a sloppy french kiss. you’re so close to the edge, focusing your mouth on sukuna’s cock, mentally pinching yourself because if this was a dream, you didn’t want to ever wake up. toji’s a freak though because you suddenly gasp sharply, feeling his thumb poke its way against your neglected, puckering hole.

“heh, can’t forget about her too.” he gruffly jibes, his tongue flicking towards that same area before shifting back towards your needy cunt. your legs were so jittery, on its last and final hinges before you slide a hand inside your blouse.

“awww,” sukuna teases, watching your face contort into a mixture of pleasure. “someone’s close, huh. you wanna make a mess on that bum’s face, pretty girl?”

“fuck you, man,” toji shoots him a glare before spreading your ass just a bit wider. his long tongue delves between your folds before your back arches against the table. giving your ass one final spank, you end up finishing and it’s so much.

you’re stunned, taken aback as you gush right on his face. his chin was sleek, dripping down with your honeyed juices that he laps clean. you’re a twitching, slobbering mess—frantically heaving through full lungs before many second’s later, your throat’s being poured full of sweltering hot cum. it’s oozing down your throat slowly. you blink twice before even realizing it’s his taste that’s filling up your mouth. sukuna’s meaty thighs tense as he drags you closer toward his cock. your nose bristles against his pink flushed pubes before he continues to dump an entire load right down your now full throat.

“goddamn,” he sucks the air, watching as you swallow without him even having to tell you—you look so pretty, pretty plump lips still sheeny and a few droplets of his seed bedaub against the left side of your cheek. “didn’t know defectives have such a nasty t- throat,” he groans, and that’s when he leans down, pulling you into a sultry, warm kiss. toji rolls his eyes, getting up himself while rubbing his body against your already propped up ass. docile, blown irises remain on sukuna before he squeezes your chin, curling his tongue down your throat. he groans, tasting himself on your mouth, bitterly sweet.

“yeah just forget about me,” toji grimaces, and you feel sukuna’s lips contort into a subtle smile before pulling away. he darkly chuckles, eyeing his partner.

“oh, sweetheart don’t be like that.”

“shut up,” he glares, and you hear a bit of shuffling. toji grabs your firearm and you take a few seconds to catch your breath. slow steady beats, you let off a tiny moan once you feel a smooth yet cold sensation rub against your pussy. shivering, you bite your lip before hearing yourself squelch continuously. “fuck, lemme see how wet you are, doll.”

you let off a tiny moan, feeling toji slowly skim the muzzle against your clit — you pulse from the friction, the criminal slicks a tongue against his scar at the sight. sukuna watches, cupping your chin once more. “wonder what y’r lieutenant might think of you. don’t think this is in a detective’s handbook, is it not?”

“n- no,” you feel a wave of pleasure ripple through you. never in your life have you felt more aroused, toji’s brushing the front part of the gun against your pussy before easing it inside.

easily, you coat it with your previous slick before it starts to slowly shove in. you whine, bringing a hand over your mouth. “mph,” and you hear a low cackle from behind, thighs shaking in pure rapture.

“is she wet enough, ‘toj?” toji hums, giving you another brief head pat.

“yeah, fuckin’ slut made a mess already on the front sight,” he snarls. the tint in his pants growing hard. he pulls it out and already, it’s a slippery sheet of your sweet smearing over your own firearm. dirty thoughts purged your brain, imagining yourself using the exact same weapon on a threat, the same exact weapon that was just shoved deep into your cunt only a second ago.

you were egregiously throbbing and they both couldn’t wait anymore, neither could you. toji takes a seat near one of the steel chairs, sitting manspread. he’s already got his jumpsuit pulled down, burly brawny muscles flexing—a few explicit tattoos painting on both sleeves of his beefy arm. he’s so chiseled, so fucking hot. a big hand rubs his lap before ushering you to sit with a single hand motion. “sit on it,” and a burning heat overtakes you, peering at his thick cock that was stood tall and on display. he was so big, a blushing reddened tip with an even bigger base. toji was thickset, you couldn’t compare the two if you wanted. his neck lowers as you make your way on his lap, straddling him and preparing to align yourself. sopping wet sloshes squelches, you were drooling down from your cunt and right onto the fat tip of his dick. you moan, feeling how he’s slowly entering your heated core.

the stretch was so good — so fucking good.

“fuck, there we go baby. nice ‘n slow, yeah,” and toji catches sukuna staring, an annoyed scowl on his lips. “oh, sweetheart. ‘s someone jealous? why don’t you get in here?”

“tch,” sukuna mumbles, and he goes up behind you. toji’s barely in, halfway, yet it feels like full. you pulsed at the thought of both of them inside. sukuna hesitates though, planting a kiss near the inside of your nape. “whaddya say, pretty. ‘s that okay? ‘d ya want both? can you take two?”

“y— yes,” you suck your teeth, sucking a single sharp breath. toji was so fucking big, stirring up your insides so good until the butterflies fluttering inside your stomach died from the friction. it was a tight fit, and they both hum at how quick you were to respond. “i can take both. pleaseplease just hurry.”

“what ‘bout your ‘lil date?” toji teases, a big hand smacking against your ass — gifting it a solid firm squeeze. his thumb brushes against the soft skin before snickering at you. “both holes, if we give you that, you promise this goes off the record?”

sukuna whispers against your ear, and he’s starting to delve his cock in also, tugging down his boxers halfway. “yeah, princess. no snitchin’ yeah?”

“p- promise,” you moan, the mixture of both cocks brewing up such a feeling of bliss. you’re steadily throbbing before your hips start to move into toji. with a loud pop, your cunt squelches as it’s double stuffed and they both huskily groan in simultaneous unison. so fucking big, your jaw drops at both tips puncturing into you at once. you feel it all, embarrassingly feeling the same familiar sheet of slick stick against your thighs. “oh my g-goddd.”

each body that stuck against each other was so hot, sukuna grabs your hips from the back and toji holds yours from the front. “fuck,” the pink haired man grunts, feeling how easily you clamp down against him. toji’s cock kisses—french kisses against a spongey spot that makes you dumbly slump against his chest. “mhm, look at her toji. such a sloppy mess for two criminal cocks. maybe she should get arrested.”

“then that’d be no fun,” toji plays along, a scarred hand giving your right ass cheek a teasing grip.

the recoil bounces and bounces against his lap before he’s tossing his head back. occasionally, you spot his adam’s apple bobbing before he pants. you’re jerking your hips, trying to develop some kind of rhythm but it’s just rubbish. you’re trying, both cocks molding your walls with each merciless thrust. already, you’re drooling, brushing up against toji’s chest. you’re hit face first against his tits—not even tits but with cups that big, you might as well call it that. there’s not a single thought in your empty brain, and without thinking, you lean down to latch your mouth against his perky exposed nipples. “wha- fuckin’ weirdo.”

toji grunts, feeling you suck against his chest, rolling out your tongue into a swirl against each spot. you’re still being filled from both cores, both heated angles as your lashes flutter. oh, this felt like some kind of erotic fantasy, just being stuffed and sandwiched between two top dogs. the pit of your stomach grows feverishly warm and you whine, sucking against toji’s tender skin. “aw, think you might be her favorite, toji.” sukuna jeers, steadying your hips a bit. his voice, his breath, it went right up against the lobe of your ear, giving it a teasing lick of its own.

you whimper, naturally arched brows creasing and furrowing together as you feel a coil snap.

they finally reached your g-spot, it feels soft and padded. “fuck fuuuuck, ‘s good,” you babble, pathetic sobs pouring from your lips as you’re practically humping toji’s cock. sukuna fills you from behind, flustered crown repeatedly kissing up against clenching sexes. you’re transmitted in a dimwitted state, claws of your own fingernails digging into toji’s beefy thighs. “ngh, ‘s big. fuck, don’t stop— please.”

“what a fuckin’ blabbermouth,” toji grunts, watching as you paw your hands at his chest again. you weren’t sucking on him anymore and he brings a hand over your mouth. “nasty girl. this what you really wanted all along, huh. you didn’t wanna interrogate us, you just wanted to get stuffed, yeah?”

a silent reply comes out of your lips as you’re just covering their bases with a translucent puddled mess of your arousal — it’s messy, you’re messy.

“knock knock, dumb girl,” toji lightly knocks against your forehead, witnessing right before his eyes as your own pupils start to roll back. he removes his hand from your mouth and the intense friction of pleasures was so appetizing you could barely formulate an audible sentence. you’re still being filled in both areas, gummy walls taking in them both before you start to drool again. with a single hand, toji holds up your head as if he’s holding a trophy. “don’t tell me y’r already dumb, c’monnn. wanna hear that sweet voice.”

“t- tooooji,” was all you could babble out, rocking back and forth between each of them.

languid, slow hits against your core had your head spinning. with a sharp wind cutting straight out of your windpipe, you’re panting, clinging onto the dark haired man tightly. he eyes you with that same cunning smirk, clammy hands helping to reel you back and forth into his pelvis. sukuna groans lowly, edges of his teeth seeping down into the soft corners of your flesh. “fuck, ‘m so full. fuuuck.”

they both groan at the same time, feeling you suddenly clamp down, a squelch squeals out of your cunt before your legs merely collapse. with piles of hands roaming down your feverish skin, you start to feel your mouth salivate again.

sweet, salty saliva trickles its way into your mouth. you were so loud but your deafening thumping heart beats were even louder. “good girl, doin’ so good takin’ us both. nice ‘n slow,” and the nape of your neck’s met with a chaste kiss from sukuna. “ride this bum ‘till he breaks for me, yeah?”

with wobbling legs preparing to surrender and fall in defeat— you nod your head, picking up your pace just a bit. raven strands of unkempt hair run down toji’s face before he groans. “mhm, nasty ‘lil girl. don’t listen to him, ‘m not gonna— oh fuck.”

toji’s caught off guard by how sloppy your hips become. a breath gets caught in his throat as you’re grinding against him, sucking them both in so filthy. with your clit repeatedly being smothered with kisses from each tip, you moan, throwing your arms over his shoulders. “hngh, toji. ‘m gonna cum,” you whisper in his ear, growing a bit of spine to kiss near his neck. he grunts, thick weighty cock slamming into you raw. as you’re so close up to him, you feel his jaw tighten at your hips—sukuna’s hips following too. various pairs of hands grab onto your body, and you feel a jumble of bunch of figurative red handed prints clawing at your body. “toji t- tojiiii,” you’re mewling out his name like a broken record. sukuna’s rude sharp smack against your ass making you add his name. “sukuna, fuuuck.”

“look at him, he’s so close, baby,” sukuna murmurs against your ear, jerking your hips further against toji. toji’s raspy groans grow rougher and he slouched back against the chair. you’re in nothing more than a cowgirl position yet you’re being double stuffed by two — on toji’s lap and sukuna claiming you from behind. so lewd, he’s so close that he could almost taste his orgasm, the thought alone scratches such a carnal itch in his brain. a few fingers wrap around your neck, giving you a gentle tug before you croak out a squeak. “such a nasty detective. gettin’ wet for the people y’r supposed to be questioning,” and he reaches his a hand down between the crack of your thighs, feeling against your stuffed cunt. “should be questioning this sloppy girl instead.”

“fuck fuuuuck,” toji growls, his own thigh starting to mimic the pace of your hips, bouncing back and forth. the curve of your hips swivel ‘n swirl around his lap, taking in each salacious thrust. it’s too good. the mean grip your walls has against his cock, both cocks was just too addictive. “shit, ‘m gonna cum, babygirl. ‘s gonna be so much.”

you lean in, planting a wet kiss against his scar and his mouth twitches at the sudden contact. “mhm,” you rut into him quicker, feeling sukuna’s fingertips ghost against the outer part of your neck. toji’s eyes become half-lidded, sukuna’s following his movements — eventually matching each other in sync, in perfect harmony. both were reaching their peaks and it was just so inevitable.

slowly but surely, it was approaching. you felt that familiar bubble of pleasure fermenting in the bottom pits of your tummy all too well. it’s so good, by now you completely forgotten about the fact that you were supposed to go out tonight.

“fuck, where do you want it, pretty,” sukuna rasps against your ear, both hands slithering its way toward your bouncing tits. his thumbs prod against your sensitive nipples, swiping against the tender area as he watches you squirm in lewd ecstasy. you feel hot, dozens of meaningless babbles pouring out of your mouth. you’re a mess, barely able to comprehend what he said until he spanks your cunt a single greet. “talkin’ to you, gimme a answer, princess. don’t be rude.”

“i- inside,” you whimper, his touch against your breasts making you grind your hips further back against him. your rhythm was hypnotic, matching every single hit and thrust. both cocks deeply plunge their way into your walls until it’s buried way into the hilt. you whine, grabbing into sukuna’s hands yourself, making him squeeze harder. his touch, it made you throb. him spanking your cunt only made you twice as sopping wet though. more than you already were. “inside pleaseplease.”

“nasty,” toji tchs, gripping your chin to make you look up at him. you’re met with the coldest gaze. with a hand sliding down your spine from sukuna, toji brings your torso forward at a more quick pace to slam you quicker into them. you gasp, feeling both slit tips thwack and thwack into your weeping, swollen cunt. “fuckin’ — shit,” he growls lowly, and the moment finally comes.

the both of them at separate, divided times, finish deep inside you. a vastly oozing amount of cum emits into both holes raw and you huff.

whining, you fall into toji’s chest, relishing in the sticky mess that’s cascading deep into your womb. it’s hot, a flowing stream of seed that spouts all the way inside and you’re left dumbfounded and hungry for more.

oh, you’ve never felt anything like it. a tingling sensation storms into the pit of your stomach as they both groan, dumping you full of their satiny ropes of cum.

“fuck,” sukuna grunts, holding your hips still so you could feel every drop, every single drop. he hisses at the brief sting, your walls gripping onto them tight, a tenaciously slimy mess skating down your plush thighs. “such a good girl, heh. right ‘toj?”

“shut— up,” he puffs out an elongated breath of fresh air. you moan, still shivering as you came undone yourself, making a cute attempt at riding out your orgasm. still, your hips were slow but barely cresting haste. toji looks at you with glossed eyes and for a split second, he’s speechless. “goddamn baby, y- you’re a mess, y’know that?”

your own eyelids were growing significantly heavy, barely able to keep themselves open. after a few seconds, sukuna pulls out, watching a foamy wad of cum — a milky base, coating around each base. it’s so hot, the stuffed cum pours out of you and you hear the needy squelches your cunt makes. desperately craving for more, utterly devestated that it’s now clenching on nothing except for toji’s flaccid cock.

so messy,

he cranes your head toward him before brushing a thumb against your lip. “c’mere,” and his tone was low, you moan before leaning in to give him a kiss. your heart races, mentally swearing at yourself because this wasn’t part of the job.

your boss, some middle-aged lieutenant was expecting a full report of alibis and details about each of their cases — and yet here you were, making out with one suspect and grinding on another. shame foils at your brain as your lips crash against sukuna’s, moaning at his minty, sugary taste before he abruptly breaks away. “can’t forget about you, big guy.”

as he pried himself off of you, you watch as the pink haired criminal leans in to kiss toji, his eyes widen, hearing a low cackle rumble against his lips before he returns the gesture. toji puffs, not knowing where to place his hands. you don’t know why, but watching them sloppily make out made you throb. you’re still sitting on toji’s lap with his twitching cock still buried inside of you. sukuna slyly smiles against the other felon’s mouth. his hand trails down toji’s beefy body, stopping toward his shaft — he was so close to touching it but stops. that makes toji groan.

gradually, he pulls away - a sheeny web of spit departs from each lips and toji grows flustered.

“what the fuck.” toji grunts.

“oh, i heard that moan, don’t deny it.”

it was like this the entire time — countless banner, a plethora of positions in the interrogation room. the same interrogation room where you were supposed to be interrogating.

but that didn’t happen, and instead, you’ve been left stuffed full more than you’ve ever felt before. your clothes were practically torn and ruined, including your pretty fishnets.

with a sigh, you’re on your knees with both criminals gawking at you. their zipped up saffron-colored jumpsuits were back on and toji grabs your chin. “open, baby,” and sukuna’s toying with your handcuffs. knees of yours bury into the solid sleek floor before you part your lips open. toji watches, whipping back out your firearm before pressing the barrel between your lips. “lick it.”

you moan, lapping your tongue against the metal pierce—sukuna watches, growing quiet and wonders what toji’s gonna do next. you could feel your pulse through your ears again, it’s so loud that it puts booming speakers to shame.

pretty fluttering lashes of yours bat within each blink before toji bends down a bit toward your kneeling level. “good girl,” he roughly replies, sticking a finger between the trigger. it toggles against it and you feel a heat of nerves prick against your skin—giving birth to what appears to be goosebumps. toji has a smug grin, raising a dark brow. “you trust me, baby?”

stupidly enough, without hesitation, you nod with the metallic taste of the weapon still lingering on your tastebuds. “y- yes,” and your voice is so soft and pathetic. you sounded needy, longing for more of their touch, more of their taste. “i trust you toji.”

he makes your mouth pry open a bit more. pretty swollen lips,

perfect.

the gun, your gun that’s held currently in his hand, it goes straight into your mouth, your tongue flicks against the upper part of the barrel before he scoffs. “good girl.”

and you hear a single clicking cock,

your eyes widen, and it takes you a minute to realize toji just pulled the trigger.

but nothing happens,

and suddenly, his boner was ruined.

“well shit.”