#but this has got to be a step in the right direction

[55sturn]

✮ RUNNING INTO EX!CHRIS STURNIOLO AT A PARTY

inspired by + creds to: everyone that has written the ex!triplet au!

disclaimers: swearing, angst, mentions of drugs + alcohol, allusions of cheating [ no cheating ever happened ], chris is so in love with reader

you didn’t wanna be here in some dingy kitchen, complete with a slightly (severely) outdated interior, mismatched furniture in heinous colours that didn’t pair well, tacky printed wallpaper that mirrored the weird carpeting from the hotel in the shining, every surface in the house sticky with various spilt liquids, crushed cans and solo cups crunching beneath the platform of your doc martens with every step you took, and drug paraphernalia laying around everywhere you looked. you could even spot the cocaine straws and leftover residue of the white powder on the brown countertops. truthfully, in hindsight, it was not the best setting for two kids that just got scouted and eventually contracted for some of the best college hockey teams in the state.

but still, you plastered a smile on your face and showed up, for matt and chris, despite that you and chris had broken up a couple months ago. you know and witnessed firsthand how hard they worked to get this far in their hockey careers. and this party was being thrown to celebrate and commemorate their shared dreams coming to fruition.

the air was thick with weed and cigarette smoke as you made your way through the house, your eyes and throat burning with each blink and breath. the smell of skunky ass weed alone could give anyone in attendance the worst case of cotton mouth. you fought the urge to gag at the sight of couples and people who were obviously seeing one another shotgunning smoke into each other’s mouths or even just straight up swapping spit and dry humping one another.

you knew you were being a hypocrite and a bit condescending, considering that you were in those girls’ places less than six months ago. you and chris constantly put on a heavy show of pda, not caring who was around. but as you kept pushing through the crowd of people, your best friend stopped in her tracks, turning to face you so fast you’re shocked she doesn’t get whiplash.

“chris is head of the drink table tonight.” she hums right against the shell of your ear, and you’re quick to stiffen. this is the first time you’re going to see him since the breakup, and it’s not going to be easy considering how harsh the breakup was.

“fuck, i need a drink.” you groan, trying to come up with some way to get a drink without your ex seeing you.

“i’ll get a drink for you, wait here.” she smiles, turning and walking away just as fast as before, and you didn’t even have a chance to tell her that when chris is head of the drink table, he’s quick to limit a person.

you wandered aimlessly around the equally dingy living room, the soft LED lights making your head throb slightly, and you swore could feel the thump of the bass bumping in your blood stream. you knew you needed a drink if you were going to tolerate this any longer, so you took a deep breath before turning around and pushing toward the drink table. you felt your hands begin to tremble as you got closer to seeing chris with each step. you weren’t ready, and you didn’t think you were ever going to be. the fight had been a clash of angry words and deep cutting insults thrown at one another, most of them directed at you.

you stand on the side of the drink table, opposite of chris as he talked to one his buddies, contemplating turning around and pretending you were never there, but his friend taps him on the shoulder and nods toward you, and before you could leave, chris turns around, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second before looking away, only for him to look at you again.

“yo jason grab me a fruit punch truly.” chris calls over his shoulder, and the fact that he stills know what your go to drink has your stomach churning with nostalgia and something a bit more heartbreaking.

you’re quick to take the drink from him and walk away, but he’s quicker, much quicker to tap his friend into their shift and tag along after you, he’s one step ahead of you figuratively, always has been, it’s almost as if he could tell what you were thinking before the thought fully formed in your mind. and he’s quick to catch up to you, to gently grab your arm, pulling you back to face him.

“can we talk?” the words slip out of his mouth before he can even really think about them, and your body goes rigid as you look at him, the question you wanted to avoid had finally settled into the air, thick as the smoke that hung amidst the crowd of partygoers. and you go against your internal wishes as you nod, walking behind him as he pulls you to one of the bathrooms on the top floor, and you don’t question him as he sits on the counter across from the wall you’re leaning against partially to respect his space, mostly because his cologne is intoxicating and you fear that if you sit next to him, you’ll make rash decisions that wouldn’t be fair to either if you.

after a pregnant pause coupled with him watching your face intently, he hums a simple question that hurts more than it should.

“how ya been kid?”

“i’ve been okay, just trying to push through the rest of the semester, you?” you whisper, scared to break the rather agonizing and bittersweet tenderness that clings to the atmosphere.

“i’ve been, well, if i’m being honest, i’ve been a wreck. i miss you, y/n. more than i know i should given what led to us fighting and breaking up, but i don’t want to lie to you. but it’s fuckin’ with my head, you fuck with my head.” he sighs, fiddling with the silver bracelet dangling off his wrist.

“what do you mean?”

“i’ve been benched more these last few weeks than i have in my entire life playing sports, i’ve gotten enough penalties to be threatened with suspension because i’m angry and i hurt every day and i just want to believe that this is just some fucked up dream and that it’ll finally end and i’ll wake up next to you, but it’s like i’m stuck in a loop that started the day you walked out.”

“you mean the day you told me that i’m too much for you? the day you said that you could get with any girl you want, that you almost cheated on me?” you spit, not meaning to sound so angry, but the fact of the matter is, his words killed you. they hung over you like a dark grey cloud, repeating on an infinite loop in the depths of your mind every time you doubted yourself.

“yes. and i regret those words every single second. i’m not trying to justify it, but i could feel myself cracking under the pressure from my coach, under the self inflicted pressure of wanting to prove myself to you, to prove i was still worthy of your love. i wish i had asked for space that night, it would’ve given me a chance to take a deep breath and collect my thoughts instead of spewing hateful lies your way.” he murmurs, his eyes glossing over with tears as you watch him, your own eyes stinging ever so slightly.

“chris-“

“i don’t want to be one of those pathetic guys that begs a girl for another chance after doggin’ on them but god kid, i am so in love with you, you’re the girl i wanna marry, and if i don’t sit here and beg for one more chance, i’ll hate myself until the end of time. i don’t want us to end because i fucked up when i should’ve just taken a step back, i want us to end together, in rocking chairs on our deck when we’re eighty, with grey hair and wrinkly skin.” he pleads, climbing off the counter and dropping to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around your hips as he presses his forehead to your stomach, and as mad as you were and as much as his words hurt, the idea of not being able to love chris or feel his love again hurt just that tiny bit more.

the idea hurt enough to make you drop down to his level, your hands cradling his face as you promise him one more chance, but on the condition that he starts communicating with you, because you don’t want to lose him permanently to something that could’ve been so easily resolved, but you also don’t want to go through another night of hearing such painful insults thrown at you by the person that’s meant to love and cherish you. so you let him in again, because you love him, and you know him, you know his heart. because sometimes loving someone, means giving them another chance to prove themselves, it means forgiving their mistakes but not excusing them, and giving them an opportunity to heal and grow from them.

[iamthetruenhaz]

Russia's prep work

I originally wrote this as a reply to a reddit comment about the prep work Putin's Russia has done to reconquer Eastern Europe (and Central Asia) and soften up the West in order to "reclaim" the "lost" global power status the USSR had.

Putin* has been prepping his "reconquering" of Eastern Europe and Central Asia since he stepped into office. He took on an openly anti-western course since the Munich speech in 2007. He probably saw American global dominance weakening following Afghanistan and Iraq and because Russia had stabilised after the 90s, he thought it was time to act.

First he paved the way with the Chechen war where he "won" and got to jump on the War on terror bandwagon and use Islamic terrorism as a boogeyman for his own imperialistic purpose to rile up Russians against external threats.

Then he invaded Georgia to probe the soil and see how the west would react. They mostly ignored him so he went on to meddle in Eastern European politics, coerce Ukraine for gas and fund right-wing parties all across Europe (at the time mostly to drive a wedge between Eastern and Western Europe and suck EE countries back into Russian orbit) while pumping anti-western sentiment and Soviet nostalgia at home.

He saw that the west was disunited because of the US-UK-EU split following the wars in Iraq, Libya and Syria. He capitalized on that in several ways using both the wars and the refugee crisis that followed. One, to increase racist and nationalist propaganda and stir up hatred against "the liberal gay western cabal" and the resulting Euroscepticism. Two, to prop up the "proper" traditionalist Russia as an alternative. Three, to paint Eastern European countries as a puppet of the US liberals who were "ackschually" nazis in disguise, which was easy when the West was divided between trying to coax them into the EU and leaving them as a buffer-zone backwater. The brightest example of the latter was in late 2021 when Lukashenko started dumping Middle Eastern migrants on the Polish border so the Poles could be painted as a racist, white supremacist state. Unlike, you know, Belarus (really Russia) which weaponized the migrants.

Then he failed in Ukraine when his puppet's sharp turn away from a planned EU accession path caused the Euromaidan revolts. Pro-Russian protesters soon spawned, staging provications (my own country had a wave of protests and pro-russian counter-protests back then and I remember neonazis and other paid protesters being at the forefronts). Russian media started hurling accusations of nazism against pro-western protesters.

All of a sudden, it's like a switch was flipped in Russian society. Decommunization was out the window. In 2015, Stalin was chosen as the most influential figure in *world* history by Russians. All the anti-Western, Russian irredentist, traditionalist, racist and homophobic sentiments coalesced into one, directed against the "evil nazi gay jewish West". Putin started openly provoking the West with displays of military force, close flybys in territorial waters, playing Cuban missile crisis in Kaliningrad. All to rack up the atmosphere of an imminent Cold War II and maybe even WWIII where a "wronged", "humiliated" Russia would finally make the West pay. The WWII victory celebrations also took on the appearance of a war cult, with jingoistic slogans like "we can do it again", "to Berlin" and "we're coming for the German women" displayed on every 9th May parade. Eastern European countries, especially the Baltics and Poland, noticed and tried to raise alarm, but were mostly told to keep their paranoia down and ignored.

In the last decade, he used his military and propaganda machine (what we call "hybrid warfare") to create the impression of the following: (1) The West is imperialist (and is being hypocritical about it), waging pointless bloody wars in the Middle East; (2) The West is weak in those wars, causing Russia to step in like in Syria and deal with the issue "properly"; (3) Western democracies are weak in dealing with "barbaric" refugees because they're too greedy not to let them in but too soft to throw the bad apples out (this was used to boost nationalism and Euroscepticism).

By those means, Russian propaganda managed to manipulate both anti-imperialist and nationalist groups within the West as well as in Russia and Eastern Europe and pave the way for its "just war" of "reconquering" Eastern Europe. In the West, the image of Eastern Europe was molded as either "poor backwards savages we're better off without" (for nationalists), "paranoid silly yokels crying wolf about Russia who is now playing nice" (for moderates), "ingrates not worth defending so we'll pull out" (for Trump-like US conservatives) or "backwards homophobic barbarians we don't want here because they'll ruin our utopia" (for progressivists). In Russia, they were portrayed as "lost property", accused them of being "taken over by nazis" anytime they tried to acknowledge any of the repressions suffered from USSR, and "unconscious puppets of the West" and routinely threatened with "annexation in 3 days" whenever they "misbehaved" by taking a stance against Russia's politics, whether past or current. Finally, in Eastern European countries themselves, Russia tried to ruin the image of the liberal West by portraying them as "the real fascists", "liberalism gone so far it circled back to fascism" and to prop up its own image as the "savior from debauchery upholding the good ols ways".

Also worth noting that Putin was all too eager to intervene in any country that tried to reject Russian dominance or even its own pro-Russian dictatorship. He was ready to support Belarus in 2020 and intervened in Kazakhstan in 2022 just a month before the invasion of Ukraine.

So yeah, it was quite the prep work. All to ensure that when he went on his imperialistic crusade in EE, people at home and in the West and even in Eastern Europe itself would applaud him, failing that be indifferent, failing THAT remain unheard.

* by "Putin" I don't necessarily mean just him, but the lobby behind him as well.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Moth to the Flame Pt. 2 | Dr. Crane x Reader

summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane isn't the only 'crazy' in Gotham City and he's about to meet his match. When confronted with an unpleasant secret from his past, he's skeptical to trust the strange young woman who calls herself Victoria Vale, the rightful heiress to Arkham Asylum (and maybe his downfall).

warnings: mentions of attempted suic*de and an insanity plea (follows the plot from the movie Batman Begins).

A/N: I really enjoy using the original DC comic lore so if you've been following me for a while, you'll recognize the backstories in this but I've tried to make a completely different plot line.

Choke- I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME 🎶

A few days pass but they feel like weeks. You’re expecting Dr. Jonathan Crane at the precinct to conduct Falcone’s psychological examination, and shift impatiently in your seat. You check your watch routinely, having assumed Crane would be a very punctual person and arrive right at 4:00. And you’re right. 

Crane saunters down the hallway like a black cat, his dark hair combed back against his head and his glasses perched perfectly on his button-like nose. You stand as you see him, pushing your chair back from your desk. You step out to meet him, keeping one hand securely on your hip to ensure your gun stays there and doesn’t get picked up by this handsome criminal mind. Dr. Crane smirks softly when he sees you and gives you a curt nod. 

“Detective Vale,” he greets you and sticks out his hand. You give a professional nod back and shake his offered hand, surprised to find it so warm. 

“Dr. Crane, thank you for coming on such short notice. One of the men we have detained in the precinct attempted last night, I’m sure you understand that we have to follow protocol- get him checked out before his trial in case there’s a more serious issue here.” You explain, knowing Crane can see right through you and your speech (just a matter of routine). 

“I’m always… happy,” he takes a breath, “to help law enforcement when I can.” The smile he gives is false, a lie, but one that you share. You nod and open your mouth to speak again when you hear Rachel Dawes’ voice splinter the conversation. 

“What’s he doing here?” Dawes stands beside you, crossing her arms over her chest in her crisp suit. You watch Crane suppress a scowl as he sees Dawes appear in front of him in her annoyingly professional suit. Though he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having a thing for powerful women.

“Ah, Miss Dawes. To what do I owe this… pleasure?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dawes retorts, her nose scrunched in distaste. 

“Dr. Crane is conducting a psychological examination on Falcone for the department,” you turn to Dawes, putting your hands casually into the pockets of your pants. 

“Is he? Then perhaps he can also explain why so many of Falcone’s men end up in Arkham because of his diagnosis.” 

Crane holds back a sigh and gives his best charming smile. “Miss Dawes, I’m simply giving professional diagnoses and my most honest clinical opinions about each of Falcone’s men. They end up in Arkham because that is where they belong. That’s hardly my fault, if criminals have a certain association with the insane.” Dawes begins to level a threat at Crane when you cut in. 

“Rachel, we’re going to get him on this one, I promise you. I’m going to oversee the examination with Dr. Crane.” You speak softly to Rachel, meeting her dark brown eyes. 

“Well I’m glad you're overseeing it, some people need it,” she glances over at Crane who looks back without speaking. You look between them before clearing your throat softly. 

“Let me know what the results are, Victoria. The judge wants to meet with Falcone on Monday,” Dawes directs her words to you and then turns to Crane again. “Falcone has no history of psychiatric problems. He got a hold of a blade and claims he wanted to hurt himself. I think he’s faking it.”  

Crane nods once, still cool and clinical despite the unspoken accusations launched at him. “We’ll see.” 

Dawes and Crane scowl at each other before you nod once again and gesture down the hallway. 

“I’ll be there to watch, Rachel, and I’ll let you know what the decision is. We all want a conviction as much as you do.” Your words sound truthful and sincere. Rachel’s pager buzzes and she looks down at it, frowning. She turns and nods at you in thanks before walking away, her black stiletto heels clicking angrily. You look again at Crane whose eyes are already on you, examining you silently.

“Very interesting…” he says coolly. You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms over your chest. 

“How’s that?”

“It’s interesting how you interact with her. You deal with her so casually.” 

“I have many talents,” you answer distractedly and turn down the hallway, beckoning him to follow, “shall we?” 

“Lead the way, Miss Vale.” His voice feels close to your neck, prickly and hot like a hand. You close your eyes for a moment and sigh, allowing yourself to dissolve in the riptide of his voice. Then you’re back, you glance around to make sure that no one has seen your “friendly” interaction and continue walking, your steps wide apart and fast. Crane follows easily behind, his gaze unfazed and silent. You stop in front of one of the soundproof interrogation rooms in the precinct where Falcone has already been placed. You step inside, Crane just behind you, and close the door, locking it and pulling the blinds.

Falcone is sitting at the table with his wrists cuffed, though there are thick bandages between the steel and his skin. He has a cigarette placed between his purplish mouth that reeks of sour milk. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he sees Crane and looks between you, unimpressed. 

“Geez doc, I gotta get help. The voices… blah blah blah,” Falcone looks around for a lighter and then turns his eyes up to Crane’s. “Got a light?” 

Crane’s jaw clenches and he sighs deeply through his nose before he pulls the lighter from his breast pocket. He flips open the cap with his thumb in one swift movement and leans over the table to light Falcone’s cigarette. You watch as this moment passes between the men, your eyes following the silver lighter as it returns to Crane’s pocket. When Falcone leans back in his chair, his cigarette lit, that’s when Crane finally speaks. 

“Now Mr. Falcone, I’m going to ask you a few questions. Answer… honestly,” Crane clears his throat and sits at the table, opening a file folder of Falcone’s medical records. 

“Sure, great,” Falcone mutters and looks at you, narrowing his eyes. “Are you staying? Is she gonna stay?” He turns back to Crane who looks up at him, frowning. 

You regard Falcone coolly and nod once. “I’m here to observe.” 

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to get started, Mr. Falcone,” Crane cuts in, his patience thinning quickly. Falcone grumbles and nods, waving his chained hands to prompt Crane to continue. Crane takes another file from his briefcase and opens it on the table. You can sense Falcone starting to get irritated, Crane’s lips pull into a small smile. 

“I was just looking into your medical record. You’ve got a bit of a history with drug use, don’t you, Mister Falcone?” 

Falcone looks over at you for help, confused by Crane’s line of questioning. You shrug and remain silent, your arms crossed over your chest. Falcone thinks for a moment before answering. 

“Oh… yeah. Meds and stuff.”

“And stuff? In your file it says that you’re taking a prescription for a severe anxiety disorder. Is that true?” Crane raises an eyebrow, a plan brewing behind his blue eyes. One that neither you nor Falcone can predict. 

“Say, doc, what kind of question is that? You’re supposed to declare me insane and get me out of here. We had a deal.” Falcone’s tone is low and sounds slightly scared but he tries not to let it show.

Crane pauses for a moment, the statement hangs in the air like a cloud of smoke. You look between Crane and Falcone, your curiosity piqued. Crane maintains a clinical tone as he continues slowly as if he were talking to a child, “I know we had a deal, Mr. Falcone. Our deal was that I’d keep you out of jail, not out of my line of questioning…” Crane smiles, his heart beats faster with adrenaline, “I’m curious. Are you taking any anxiety medication?” 

“Sure, of course…” Falcone stutters and furrows his eyebrows. “I take all that stuff. I’m crazy…” 

You can feel the tension in the room build, and it sets your teeth on edge. You try to keep your focus on Falcone but the dull throbbing between your legs reverberates whenever Crane speaks. He reaches into his briefcase and removes a vial containing one singular pill. 

“This is an anti-anxiety pill. Quite powerful, actually. Do you know the name of this medication, Mr. Falcone?” 

Falcone’s face is a bright red now and he strains against his handcuffs. You regard Crane curiously, asking yourself why he’s asking all these strange questions. Why not just declare him insane and let that be the end of it? Crane feels a deep sense of satisfaction as he watches Falcone struggle, and you notice it evidently on his face and the way he holds his body, taut like a coiled wire. 

“Well? I asked you a question, I do expect an answer. I’m not going to declare you insane until I know for certain that you’re not faking. So, what is the name of this anti-anxiety medication?” 

"I... I don't know! Why are you asking me all of these questions? Just declare me insane already!” Falcone lowers his voice, “You know damn well I don't take any of that..." 

Crane sighs deeply and puts the vial back into his briefcase. He clasps his hands together, pleased. He smiles menacingly and lowers his voice too. 

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Falcone- that pill I was holding? It’s not anti-anxiety medication…” 

When he says that you turn, your brow furrows. Where is he going with this? Falcone rolls his eyes and stubs out his cigarette angrily. 

“You see, this medication isn’t used to treat anxiety. This medication is a powerful hallucinogenic, an extremely potent, mind-altering drug. It’s my most recent concoction, a fear toxin.” 

Falcone freezes and narrows his eyes at Crane. You feel yourself match Crane’s smile, a knowing excitement creeps into your body, your fingers flex. When he sees Falcone start to struggle even more, Crane’s smile widens. Falcone goes white and begins to panic, resorting to a feeble attempt at blackmail. 

"I'll tell everyone that I was working for you. I'll testify. I don't know what kind of drug you had us moving but I know it was something dangerous!” 

Crane lets out a small, humorless laugh and leans back in the thin plastic chair, his eyes never leaving Falcone. 

“How? You don’t know anything. And even if you did, who would believe you? You’re a delusional psychotic criminal with hallucinations. No one’s going to believe you if you tell them you’ve been moving drugs for me.”

“Get me away from this madman! I’m not fucking crazy!” Falcone shouts at you, pulling at his cuffs. You stare back, a small smirk pulling at your lips. 

“Not yet, but you will be. You see, if you want people to believe that you’re crazy, wouldn’t it just be easier to be crazy?” 

“What-what are you implying?” Falcone tries to push away from the table but the chains binding his feet prevent him from making it very far. Crane smiles and looks at you, his gaze giving you permission to contribute. 

“Mr. Falcone, I’d suggest that you shut your mouth before you say anything else you’ll regret. You’re in no position to make threats here.” You lean forward, your palms fisted on the table. Falcone looks between you and nods slowly, a slimy smile appearing slowly on his lips. 

“Oh, I see. You’re working together, aren’t you?” Falcone laughs. 

Crane’s smile drops and he turns back to Falcone, his steel gaze sharp enough to slice right through the mobster. 

“It seems we’ve reached an impasse, Detective Vale.” Crane’s voice is rougher now, more sadistic. Your whole body shivers, your cunt throbs with morbid excitement. 

 “Might I make a suggestion, Dr. Crane?” You cross your arms over your chest and rock back and forth on your heels. Crane looks you up and down briefly, discreetly. You can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he likes how your body looks in your dark slacks and a green blouse. 

Don’t get too distracted, Crane. 

Crane’s struggling to control his breathing as he watches you, his eyes lingering on the way your body moves. He tears his gaze away from you as he answers. 

“A suggestion? And what might that be, Detective Vale?”

“Well if he isn't going to be able to convince anyone that he's as 'crazy' as he says he is, maybe we should help him out. Make it more believable…” You shrug, your voice light and misleading. Falcone looks between you, his eyes wide as he tries to understand what you mean. Perspiration dots his forehead but he doesn’t wipe it away.  

Crane raises an eyebrow at your proposal but his eyes remain on Falcone, shaking in the seat across the table from him. There’s a dangerous tone in his voice as he murmurs. 

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?”

“Don't you have anything else in that briefcase of yours? Maybe something that could make him a little more... convincing?” You tilt your head towards the open briefcase, your eyes saying more than your words. Crane looks over at you, he swallows and nods, another soft smile on his face. He glances down at his briefcase and a slight shiver of excitement passes through him. Crane glances over at Falcone and feels a cruel grin spread across his face as he realizes what you’re implying. 

It’s like you’ve given him permission. You don’t need to tell him twice. Crane removes his glasses with a sigh and folds them neatly on the table beside him. Falcone watches him warily, his eyes dropping to the glasses then back up to Crane.

“As a matter of fact, I do have something else that would… help.” He slowly reaches into the briefcase and pulls out the burlap mask, his hands holding it with an almost reverent excitement. “Would you like to see my mask?” 

Falcone doesn't even respond. He's gone silent and dumb with fear. In his lack of words, You smile kindly at the man, giving him a false sense of safety.

“He uses it for his experiments, you know. It's probably not very scary to someone like you but to the crazies in Arkham… they can't stand it,” you trail off, backing away in preparation for whatever the hell Crane is about to do. 

Crane’s voice remains low as he leans forward, the mask still gripped in his fist. 

“But for you, Falcone? This isn’t just something to fear. For you… it’s going to be a nightmare.”Falcone struggles in his plastic seat, the chains shaking and clattering against each other as he tries to escape. You release a euphoric sigh as Crane pulls on the mask and gestures to the front of its burlap facade. 

His voice is no longer gentle, no longer friendly, no longer even remotely human as he continues to speak, “You’re going to spend the rest of your life in Arkham, Falcone. That’s a promise.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth his finger presses a button inside his briefcase, releasing a narrow cloud of fear toxin. It hits Falcone squarely in the face, his eyes bulge and lose their focus as some horrible nightmare overcomes him. Crane’s mask morphs into a real scarecrow, something uncanny and deranged. Falcone screams and Crane laughs, rising up from his seat and letting his palms rest on the table.

“I did warn you, didn’t I, Falcone?” 

His voice is barely audible over Falcone’s frantic screams. Crane rips off his mask, smiling contently. His hair is tousled and crazy about his head, your thighs throb. He looks over at you and you nod back, only allowing him a smirk.

“He certainly isn't going to testify now. Dawes won't be able to argue with you either.” He looks more psychotic without the silver glasses that you’re so familiar with seeing. There’s almost a ring of red in his eyes. “Impressive, Dr. Crane.” 

Crane tosses the mask aside and runs a hand through his hair as he tries to catch his breath. His face is flushed with excitement and adrenaline, and he can’t help but smile wider at you, the adrenaline making him bold.

“Thank you, Miss Vale,” he chuckles and shakes his head, looking back at Falcone, “That went well, didn’t it?”

You both look back at the screaming Falcone, smiles on your faces. A match made in hell, you and him.

“I'd stay and savor this moment with you but people will get suspicious. I'll go and arrange for his transfer to Arkham but first I need you to tell me that he's not faking it and that we need to move him to a secure wing in Arkham for treatment. I just need to hear you say it, legality,” you wave your hand about your face briefly. Crane raises a surprised brow. 

“You pick and choose the laws you follow now? How interesting,” Crane says in a soft sarcastic manner, his eyes still wide with pleasure. 

“Technically you are the expert and we brought you in here to diagnose Falcone…” you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Fine,” he takes a deep breath which is more attractive than you’d like to admit, “No, he’s definitely not faking. I believe he’s actively having a psychotic episode and will be in no position to testify. I recommend moving him to a secure wing at Arkham Asylum immediately. He’s a danger to himself and others.”

“Thank you, Dr. Crane,” you smile and turn towards the door. 

“So what? I do this favor for you, Miss Vale and then you leave me alone with the deranged?” Crane chuckles and puts on his glasses, looking you up and down. Your hand is on the doorknob but you turn and regard him, a sly smile on your face. 

“I thought you liked being around the deranged…” 

Crane raises an eyebrow back and turns his back on Falcone who continues to scream in the background. Crane’s nice dark gray suit shifts as he shifts. 

“And what does that mean for you?” 

“You’re the psychologist, not me,” you whisper back and open the door. The door closes sharply behind you but not before Falcone’s screams can be heard echoing down the hallway. You pull an officer aside. 

“Tell Prosecutor Rachel Dawes that Falcone needs to be moved to Arckham. It’s true, he’s insane too. He’ll need to be moved immediately, he’s already becoming violent. Dr. Crane is completing the paperwork and I’ll see to the transfer myself.”

… 

It is late at night when you finally finish Falcone’s transfer. You had shed your quilted jacket days before because Gotham City was in the middle of a miniature heat-spike after weeks of cold, damp weather. You check your watch and look off into the city skyline, thinking. You had followed Crane for weeks before you decided to speak to him, so you know his schedule just as well as your own. He would be in his lab at the university, working on his own projects in the secrecy of the night. His students would never know what their strange professor was up to. You make a rash decision and change directions, your feet taking you a few blocks to the left, to Gotham University. 

  Gotham University was not the type of institution that most students strive for but it still offered a good education for those who could pay. The buildings on campus were all dark and gothic, like orphanages set against a city scene. Students walking home from the library walk past you, speaking softly to one another. Some mention Professor Crane, some don’t. 

The science building is silent and empty when you break in, using the door with the broken sensor (your doing). You find Crane’s lab on the third floor, the only source of light in the dark hallway. You go to the door and open it slowly, silently. Crane has his back to you as he makes notes in a notebook with a red pen. He’s wearing a white lab coat that nearly makes his shoulders look broader, stronger. You stand by the door, watching, and waiting to see how long it takes until he notices you’re there. You pull the string that closes the blinds with a soft snap. 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” Crane's voice rises from the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widen only slightly in surprise, but then you smile and approach his lab table slowly, eyeing him up and down. His gray-blue eyes remain fixed on his work. 

“Did I frighten you?” 

“Oh no, I’m not scared of anything, remember?” Crane retorts with a distracted smirk as he finishes writing a line in his notes. When he finishes he finally turns and leans against the lab table, looking you up and down. “So, what are you doing here, Miss Vale? Why’d you close the blinds?” His smirk widens, the fact that you’re both completely alone excites him. He nearly shivers. 

“No one can know that I was here. I'm sure Dawes is already suspicious of me because I 'oversaw' your evaluation and approved the transfer when the three of us all know he was fine when we walked into the examination room the first time.” You smile and mirror his posture. 

“Mmm yes, I’m sure Dawes has already had a few choice words with you,” Crane nods and looks up, remembering the exchange the three of you had earlier at the precinct: two smart, powerful women in one room, amazing. 

“I can handle her, don’t worry.” 

Crane looks back at you and shakes his head, “Oh I don’t doubt it. You’re a highly intelligent woman, I’m sure Dawes doesn’t pose much of a problem for you.” 

You smile, flattered though you don’t need Crane to tell you what you already know. You ignore the way Crane’s eyes continue to trace the length of your body, imagining what he’d find beneath your blouse…

“No, but I'm concerned that she'll prove to be a bigger problem the more she finds out. Which is why I'm in charge of the case... or at least until she kicks me off. I'll make sure she doesn't learn too much about the 'operation' you're running here. But I need something from you first.”

“And what do you need from me, Miss Vale?” Crane’s voice is low, husky, and short, like the response was second nature.

You look him up and down, a smile growing on your lips. You can tell that he wants you and it's exhilarating to be wanted by such an attractive man... but first, you need information from him. It must be so frustrating for him but hey, that's life. You walk around the lab table and put your hands over his, gripping the edge of the table. You lean forward only slightly, leaving some distance between your bodies.

“Tell me about your plans for Gotham, Crane.”

His jaw clenches but he keeps his voice calm, composed, and his eyes evade yours. “What do you want to know?”

“If I'm going to be an equal partner in this, I need to know what you've been doing with Falcone and his men.” You look down at his lips as you speak. 

Crane’s breathing gets heavier, more ragged. His eyes are still avoiding yours, but he knows exactly where your gaze is fixated. 

“I know that Falcone has been moving shipments of your fear toxin into Arkham and I noticed that the military’s microwave emitter happened to go missing recently. Did you have anything to do with that, Crane?”

Crane can smell your pheromones like perfume and he stifles a frustrated sigh. He rolls his eyes and shrugs slowly. 

“Perhaps.”

“You could have made Falcone take the fear toxin pills you had in the box but you didn’t. You used a different form, gas. The microwave emitter vaporizes water… Your fear toxin doesn’t work in water, does it? It’s water soluble. It needs to be in a gas or powder form, correct?” 

“You’re clever, pet.” Crane smirks and moves his hands away from yours to cross against his chest. “But the pill I showed to Falcone was just a sugar pill, a placebo. Here’s a little lesson in Psychology: the body’s sense of smell is the fastest to recalibrate. By putting the toxin into gas form, the subject inhales it and reacts much faster. It’s all about speed. Water washes the toxin out.” 

“So the microwave emitter?” You prompt him to continue. 

“Yes, you’re right. If it works, it will dry up the main water line on the island, then I can release the toxin into the air… Every man, woman, and child in Gotham city would be paralyzed with fear.”

You let your lips inch closer, exhaling against his lips. Crane almost believes that you’ll kiss him until you pull away at the last moment and smirk. 

“I’ve read everything you’ve ever written about the chemical components of fear. I’ve tried recreating your ‘recipes’,” you look back at the experiments on the table, “but I can’t get the same results. There’s something important missing from your original research isn’t there? What’s the final ingredient? It has to be exotic, something you could only recently get access to. Maybe you met someone with connections. Someone who also read your research and offered to fund your project….” 

Crane is still recovering from your little trick and sighs tightly, impatiently. He looks up at the ceiling, the fluorescent lighting reflecting off of his glasses. “Is that right?” 

You hum once in confirmation and reach your hand out beside his left arm, brushing his sleeve. He keeps his gaze averted, still pissed that you teased him. While he pouts, you pick up a small petri dish from the lab table. A bright blue flower is preserved inside.

“Blue poppies?” 

Crane raises an eyebrow, finally looking down at you. He wets his lips and sighs, rearranging his arms to rest over his chest. 

“You can recognize obscure botanicals now?” He nearly snaps. You flick your eyes up to his, meeting his icy gaze. 

“That was a lucky guess.” You shrug and smile, “I’ve only read about these. So how did you get these? Who are you working for?”

Crane’s body reacts strangely to your smile, his navel warms. Your smile is so wrong… he loves it. He’s still slightly wary of your skills of deduction. He looks down at the petri dish for a moment, his mind trying to get back on track before he answers your question.

“I came into contact with someone who has strong connections. He’s agreed to fund my research and supply me with all the necessary equipment and ingredients.”

“Who?” You  ask with a little less patience. Crane enjoys witnessing one of your rare moments of impatience and smiles, getting the upper-hand. Crane’s smile only widens as he leans back against the edge of the lab table again, his hands gripping the edge in a white-knuckled grip to keep his body in check.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you know him… He’s quite the controversial figure….”

You lick your lips and you try to think. Surely it wasn’t Bruce Wayne- Crane would never work with him. Not Falcone. Not Gordon. What criminal would have both the money and power to operate something like this. Someone in the League of Shadows?

Crane’s eyes focus on the way your tongue moves across your lips. His mouth waters and he feels himself start to get hard. Instead of shying away, he steps closer, one of his hands fixing the bridge of his glasses. 

“I’m honestly impressed you haven’t figured it out yet…” he tuts patronizingly. 

“Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me figure it out myself?” 

Crane laughs and shakes his head. 

“Oh, this is just too good. You’re clearly bothered by the fact that you don’t have a name yet, Miss Vale.” He leans closer to you, his head tilting to the side as he continues in a low voice, “I wonder what you’ll do to get me to answer your question…”

You scowl, Crane getting on your nerves now. You push him back gently with a few clicks of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “It hasn’t come to that yet, Crane.” You think for a few more moments and then something you read randomly comes to you, “the blue poppies grow in South Asia… Bhutan.” 

“Ding ding ding, good girl. The blue poppies are indigenous to South Asia.” 

“There’s only one man that I know of from Bhutan, he has a warrant out for his arrest in multiple different countries… Ra’s Al Ghul.” 

Crane’s smile widens into a crazy grin. He claps softly and then takes the petri desk back from you. “Correct.”

“Does Al Ghul know you plan to lead Gotham when it’s all said and done?” 

Crane nods slowly, looking away for a moment, his lips pursed. “He believes that my methods are necessary in order to bring about the change that the city needs. We already agreed that I will have control of Gotham when my plan is successful.” 

“Then what’s in it for him, Crane?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

He steps even closer to you, until there are only a few inches of space left between you. His voice is lower now as he continues to speak to you.

“He gets to auction off the city back to the government, he gets the money, I get the power. Oh, I’ve also promised him a certain number of…let’s say…highly skilled individuals for his cause.” 

“People you’ve locked up in Arkham?” You clarify, thinking it all through.

Crane nods and turns back to his research, his hand moving once again to the pen to write something down, putting his arousal to the side for a moment. Work will always come first to a man like Dr. Jonathan Crane. 

“Do you trust him?” 

Crane looks at you, surprised by your obvious question. He scoffs finally and turns back to face you. “No, I don’t trust him. But I see our partnership as a mutually beneficial arrangement. And honestly, I wouldn’t be able to continue my research at the same rate without his financial support and his access to the poppies.”

“Something about him gives me a bad feeling…” you mutter, crossing your arms beneath your breasts and tucking your head slightly to think. 

Crane tilts his head to the side in curiosity, as if he’s studying you. “Why do you say that?”

You shake your head and furrow your brow. “I don’t have a reason exactly except that it’s just an instinct. Something tells me not to trust him.”

Crane clenches his jaw slightly and his eyes harden as he starts to take you seriously. He raps his fingers against his elbow and lowers his voice slightly, almost like he’s trying to be kind.

“When have your instincts ever been wrong, Miss Vale?” 

You look up at him and shake your head finally, confident. “Never.”

Crane takes a final step closer to you, his chest nearly touching yours now. He can’t help himself from being drawn even closer to you, like a magnet. His voice is even lower than before as he looks down at your face.

“So, what do your instincts tell you now, Miss Vale?”

You look up into his eyes, heavy with desire. You feel the same desire, the same unquenchable and animalistic urges. Your noses are nearly touching as you exhale softly against his lips. You swallow and then speak. 

“This...”

________________________________________________

@m0thh3ad @sl-newsie @strangeobsessed @cillamity

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Seven - Communication Break

Part Six

———

Radio waves were the first sign that the intergalactic community got that there was intelligent life on Earth, as they traveled infinitely through space, language and music lightly introduced to scientists of several societies. Special equipment was designed to refine the weakened waves and check the sounds that originally traveled over them. It was interesting to learn about a civilization so far away.

Radio waves were a common communication tool across several planets, whether for entertainment or military operations. It was considerably easy to maintain and made communications between groups on the same planet more convenient. Most societies kept track of a certain number of channels to prevent conflict, you’d be stupid to have espionage over radio.

In roughly the area of space that Cybertron sits, the radio waves from Earth were from around twenty or more years ago, and were going though the systems for re-mastering the original audio. Unfortunately those who chose to listen to other worlds radio waves, it was now playing the original hits of the 1980’s, just before the Quintessons attacked.

—

Hound was standing there, staring through a wall in the general direction of the communication while the others lost their shit behind him, “He can’t actually mean Jazz, not like pilot Jazz, right?” Sideswipe stands and starts pacing, looking over to Sunstreaker, “We heard him over the delayed messages, we knew he made it to this planet. But there is no way he’s still alive.” Sunstreaker leans his head back against the wall, “It’s been five years and we’re the first group Mecha has bothered to send to find him, five years. Stuck with a bunch of aliens who have similar tech to our own.” It hung in the air for a moment, “Could they be fighting the same things we are?” To be perfectly honest, none of them had thought of that before.

What if those things were fighting the same thing they were, on this weird planet that was covered in metal and rained acid, fighting the tentacle monsters of nightmares, “Even if they are, our mission is to stop them from attacking Earth. Was to find Jazz and stop them from attacking Earth.” Hound turns to the others, who were all in states of shock, “Our focus needs to be on the mission, if we can actually find Jazz then that’s step one done.” Sideswipe stands, moving over to Hound, “If we get Jazz, we might actually be able to finish this mission.” Breakdown nods slowly, finally letting the hum of his cannon die, “That is if we can get off this planet, with the Odyssey.” “If these things trust Jazz, then I’m sure he can talk them into helping us.” Sunstreaker pops his knuckles lightly which causes his suit to creak painfully, Sideswipe winces and swats at his brother, “Don’t do that.” “Then stop biting your lip.” And they started to bicker as Breakdown got up, moving over to Hound.

“What do you think of this, really?” Breakdown leans towards Hound, they’d stayed off comms since Prowl’s abrupt appearance and disappearance; “I don’t like it, if these things are spread out attacking multiple planets? How are we going to find where their coming from and not where their attacking.” Breakdown hummed and shook his head, his visual feeds starting to pick up the beings heading towards them, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?” He sounded unsure of the saying but Hound nods with a smile, resting his hand on Breakdown’s shoulder, “You’re not wrong. But if these things are keeping Jazz hostage or worse, then they are the enemy.” Breakdown nods and keeps watching as the figures drew closer. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe standing, joining them near one of the walls.

—

The transmissions were near and clear, filled with typical battle chatter and sounds of explosions. Even if no one could make out exactly what they were saying, the same strange mechs as Jazz had activated the defense system of a solar farm off the coast of the sea of rust. It typically defended the area if the Quintessons landed in the sea or for the regular vermin that lived out there, it was over kill for the scraplets though.

It had been Blaster who’d picked up the signal and sent it to Prowl, knowing he was able to loosely translate the strange language. At which point Prowl had been in a meeting with Mirage, he’d gone from going over the recent reports to standing stock still, staring at nothing. For a click, Mirage let it slide, when Prowl continued to stare at nothing though, it was time to act. Standing and moving over to his commander, Mirage edges his way in front of him, “Commander, Cybertron to Porwl, sir.” He waved his servos in front of him, “Sir?” Prowl just about jumped out of his plating, “Mirage, I apologize, I was receiving a communication from Blaster.” Nodding slightly, Mirage steps back to give Prowl space. He watches in almost shock as Prowl drags his servos down his faceplates, the only time he looked like that was when it involved Jazz, “Sir, is it Jazz?” Mirage couldn’t help but ask, always finding their relationship so intriguing.

Prowl’s scowl was more typical, making Mirage smirk a bit, “No, it’s not Jazz, but it’s more of his kind.” That made the smirk fall and sent his spark to his peds, “More of them?” Jazz was a unique mech, needing more recharge but able to take more pain than any cybertronian. He was already becoming a mythic legend on the field, more of them could help keep the Quints off Cybertron. The gears were already turning in his processor. For Prowl though, who knew what Jazz really was, he was horrified. One of them, this Hound, had given a pilot number like Jazz did when trying to contact home. More pilots sent on a mission to their demise for the greater good of their planet, more who missed their families and home. Prowl could understand that, he’d have given just about anything to save Praxus, but he’d learned that giving your life for a cause didn’t mean much in the long run.

Raising a hand, Prowl silenced Mirage’s tirade, “Their out at the rust sea and likely are to attack anyone they come upon, since our weapons hit them first.” “Scrap.” Prowl nodded again before starting out of the room, Mirage hot on his peds, “I’ll need to contact Jazz along the way to alert him, their is a potential that he knew these other— mechs.” Biting his glossa, he nearly swore aloud at himself having to reframe from saying pilots. Mirage nods and falls in at Prowl’s side, “Do they know were coming?” Prowl delays for a second, “Not yet.” Nodding again, Mirage falls silent as Prowl contacts the strangers.

Out in the sunshine, they hurried into a transformation sequence, Prowl turning on his siren briefly to clear a bit of the traffic. Iacon was a sizable distance from the edge of the rust sea, the specific solar far that was current being attacked was on the edge of Polyhex, if they got on a high speed transport they could be there within clicks. Mirage stayed tight to Prowl’s bumper as they sped to the transport station, it wasn’t every day you got to meet other mechanicals; meeting Jazz has altered Prowl’s world so much and Mirage wanted a piece of that action.

They arrived at the station in record time and requested the fastest private transport, Prowl was still on comms so Mirage remained quiet, not wanting to be a distraction. Entering the transport, he took a seat away from Prowl and retrieved a datapad from his subspace, deciding to take the short amount of time they had on here to catch up on a report. Prowl glances up briefly before returning to stare towards nothing in particular, clearly deep in conversation with someone. His servo comes up to rub his jaw and Mirage has to hide a smile, he knew Prowl as speaking with Jazz. Jazz was the only mech who could make Prowl flustered, though it looked more exasperated than anything. Mirage sits back with his datapad, pausing only for a moment to read a message, swearing loudly, “The big yellow one took Beachcomber’s arm off.” Prowl looks up, “Fuck.” It was a moniker he’d picked up from Jazz but it often fit the situation.

—

Their sanctuary of the warehouse shook lightly as the approaching figures landed the transport, Hound adjust the grip on his gun lightly, fingers flexing, “Stay on your toes, we don’t know what they are.” It was a reminder that none of them needed. Hound was watching intently, eyes flicking between the displays on his visor, before pulling up an experimental piece of tech from Perceptor, turning the translator on in hopes it would eventually be able to discern their language. It was still a work in progress, the front liners back home all had them in hopes of learning the aliens language.

The twins were each shifting from foot to foot, both still splattered with the very pink fluid which had since dried to their plating. Breakdown kept turning down the command to reactivate his cannon, it clicking menacingly on his back and Hound stood straight with his gun held comfortably to his front. After several minutes, the rolling door in front of them opened and three mechs stood there, though one ran off once it was open.

Both had, odd, attachments to them. One painted reminiscently of older police vehicles and the other a very typical factory blue, but both had their odd features and neither was adorned with a facial shield. Each had a highly expressive and realistic facial unit, something that was often discussed back home to make the suits appear more friendly. Hound lightly raised his hand, lowering his gun, even though the one did not lower his cannon, he honestly couldn’t blame them. Clearing his throat slightly, Hound shifts his weight wanting to step forward but deciding against it, “Uh, hello there. We are Mecha pilots, from Earth.” The black and white mech raised his hand, clearing meaning to hold Hound off from talking further. Sideswipe leaned into his brother, “So, they don’t really know any English, do they?” “I doubt it.” Sunstreaker held his arms slightly up in a defensive position in case either chose to attack.

—

Standing there, Mirage knew they were talking in their strange language, he’d heard Jazz speak it several times but it was stressful to not know what they were talking about, “Any time Prowl, would love a translation.” All their heads whipped to him, visors glowing slightly brighter, “Their creatures must have been weird mecha to give them all visors.” He shifts back a bit, looking across them briefly though eyes landing on the green one, he started at the rifle hanging lightly from one hand, “A moment more Mirage, I am trying to get Jazz on the right signal.” “Jazz, is across the planet in Kaon with Megatron and the others dealing with the Quints there.” Prowl held his hand up again, annoyingly. Sometimes he wished his commander would just ask him to shut up, the green ones held tilted ever so slightly.

—

Static filled their comms, making them all wince and the twins tried to shield their ears, “Oh god, again?” Sideswipe was half bent over from the painful noise before the comm frequency clicked and fell silent, then the monotone voice spoke, “ID’s, now.” Hound sighed, it wasn’t the most friendly way of asking but he understood this man hardly spoke English before nodding slightly, “I’m Pilot 1124, Harold Jackson, call sign Hound.” The one he could only assume was Prowl nodded before turning his gaze to the next of the Arcturus crew, “I’m Pilot 2450, Sonny Salucci, callsign Sunstreaker.” “I’m Pilot 2451, Simon Salucci, ugly’s brother. Callsign Sideswipe.” Breakdown shifted uncomfortably before looking to Hound, who nodded, “I’m Pilot 1457, Oleksknder Kovalenko, callsign Breakdown.” There were several clicks and pops over the line, Hound winced and lightly rubbed one of his ears. The blue and white mech’s eyes widened, starting at the twins, Sideswipe shifted uneasily even as Prowl rested a hand on the other mechs shoulder.

A loud crash of sound filled their ears before the obvious sounds of fighting filled the comm line, “There is no way in hell that Hound would come on a dead end mission, it’s not possible.” Jazz’s voice filled their ears even as the clear sounds of his struggle joined the noise, “No way.” “That’s funny, because as you say, I am looking right at them.” Prowl’s voice joined Jazz’s, sounding much more relaxed than previously. Hound was staring at Prowl, taking a breath before finally speaking, “He would if he was looking for you.” There was a loud crash from the other side of the line, which Hound tried not to smile at, “Hey Hound.” “Hey Jazz.” He took a breath, relieved, stage one done.

“Holy shit, Jazz, hey!” Sideswipe turned away from the weird mechs and throw his hands up, likely smiling, “Fucking five years and all you can say is hey to Hound?” Both their laughter filled the comm line, it was more than a relief, it was more than they could hope for in the mission, “Where you at?” “Ah, you wont know where Kaon is, but we could use the help with the Quints.” Sideswipe stopped, tilting his head slightly and Hound cleared his throat again, “Quints?” There was another loud crash, “Ah, right. The aliens invading Earth have been attacking here too, for a hell of a lot longer. They’re the Quintessons, Quints for short.” Jazz paused, “They really need our help, the cybertronians aren’t quiet like us. Not people in mech suits, just mechs. What you see, is what they are.” He clearly sounded worried, “And they think we’re like them, only one who knows the truth for the moment is Prowler.” The mech across from them had his face plates turn a light shade of pink. Hound stared, in shock, for a while, “Well, we’ll need to move the Odyssey, then find Kaon I guess.” Prowl looked up at him, turning to the other one for a moment to say something in their strange language before motioning them out of the warehouse.

“Do we go with them?” Breakdown kept his voice down and off of comms, “Do we have any other choice?” Together, they followed Prowl out of their sanctuary.

———

A/N

Alright, did I work on this while my family was cooking Thanksgiving? Yes, was I supposed to be studying? Also yes, but they certainly did not need my help in the kitchen and I can study more now that it’s done.

I love seeing all your tags and comments, it’s been so great.

Tags!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU.

[ubeb0nes]

Gen. Sevika HCs (& Romantic!)

Brainstorming little thoughts on big mama to help me characterize her for a story i wanna write!

She is actually very slow to anger, it’s just that Jinx is very gifted at pushing her buttons and she’s been dealing with Silco letting it slide for years. It’s part of what makes her such a scary opponent in a fight, she (usually) never loses her composure.

And on that note, i feel so bad that poor bbg had to lose most of her fights for the plot, especially in S1 😭 she definitely helped train Vi a little when she was younger

She's Silco's right hand in all ways. Whether someone needs to be beat down or a hand needs to be shook, Sevika is equipped in body and mind. Her physical presence lends itself well to subtle intimidation when she's cutting Silco's deals. Her default isn't to direct, brutish threatening actually, she avoids fights where she can especially as she gets older.

She's a very thoughtful person, spending a lot of time within her own mind or picking apart other people's. She's not as direct as Silco, who pushes people's buttons to get a sense of how their mind works, she just intently observes them. Honestly, she gives me similar vibes to Arthur Morgan in temperament the more I think about it. Honorable version, of course.

Continuing on her thoughtful trait, she had to learn to be very intuitive about people's emotions to avoid the wrath of her step-father. She appreciated her dad too late, spending more time butting heads with him than realizing how alike they truly were; so goes the theme of eldest daughters, though.

I imagine her as being very timid as a child. Not quite meek, but she wasn't as brash as teen Vi. She toughened up out of necessity, per the usual for kids growing up in Zaun, in order to defend her younger siblings (she has two) from her step dad once her father died.

Her father died in a mining accident. They never found his body, and even now sometimes Sevika hopes that he'll walk through the door and just… forgive her, for everything she has and hasn't done.

She was also pretty slight as a kid until about seventeen, where she proceeded to shoot up to 6'1" and started putting on muscle when Vander took her in under his wing. Her step dad never put his hands on her or her younger siblings again.

She was always closer to Vander than Silco. It truly did hurt her to turn her back on him, but she couldn't live with the slow death of complacency that he'd chosen for Zaun. She never goes through the process of fully grieving him, she simply pushes forward and carries on.

Romantic

Loyal to you like she's loyal to Zaun. Seriously, this woman doesn't know how to cheat. Not that the other women of Arcane are 'more' likely to cheat, but Sevika is the least likely imo. If she doesn't want you anymore she'll just break it off, anything less is cowardly and she is anything but.

She gets very cuddly and needy when she's tired which is often. She never asks for cuddles, just kinda uses her size to her advantage and pins you on the couch while she squeezes you like a stuffed toy.

"Mm… stop whinin', just five minutes…" She'll relent if you actually don't wanna be smothered, but unless you express that, you're hers until she says otherwise.

Calls you 'baby', 'sweetheart' and 'princess' the most. The last one started as a jab for either giving her attitude or being prissy, until she realized the flush on your face wasn't from anger. To others, she refers to you as her girl or says things like "no, me and the lady got plans" or "i promised the lady I'd be home on time Silco, you wanna piss her off too?"

Definitely got more where these all came from, lmk if you'd like me to continue!

[pvlvsdog]

I’m not going to force a whole rant upon you /lh (edit: I lied) but I think when the game told us about ‘forced prosthetics’ most portrayals in the fandom focused on prosthetics being his trauma and not him rebelling against something that his family tells him will be good for him. Like, to me, since his story is about finding himself, it makes sense he felt very strongly about being pressured by society to take a step he wasn’t ready for, thus villainising it fully. He felt like there was no escape (the book expands on that, he feels like if he fails his family’s expectations by refusing to do things or straying from the expected path, he will become a prodigal son. Demian tells him that maybe it’s not so bad to be Cain, because Cain was his own person, so no matter if you’re condemned or not, at least it’s for actions you willingly took). So like, it makes sense that, on his own, he could consent to augumentation when he’s older. He doesn’t despise it or isn’t repulsed, I think. That’s Kromer’s thing. For Emil it’s more so that he felt trapped and as a result, he pushed away everything tied to his upcoming procedure. I think it actually adds a lot of depth to consider that, after he went through his trauma and grew a little as a person, he looks back at that event and realises that what he wanted was to feel free to choose and do things at his own pace, meaning just as much as he hated feeling judged for making his decisions he judged his loved ones for making the opposite decision to what he believed was right

In the book this arc was a religious ceremony (bierzmowanie, sorry for polish, no idea how it’s called in English). Like, officially entering the church. The church that filled him with more guilt that faith and the church he was beggining to question. It didn’t feel great to feel like he has to do it. But instead of hating all religion he gets to experience different views on spirituality and meets people with varying opinions as years go by. And he never fully fits because in the end it’s about forming a path that is right for him

So all in all, his trauma isn’t really based solely on prosthetics. It’s about how feeling like he has to do something pushed him so far towards the other direction that he (not on purpose) got others hurt. For something he himself was afraid of getting hurt for (like, his sister choosing to follow his parents; that was her choice, something she wanted and he was so afraid of not being able to choose what happens to his body that he started feeling distain for what she chose to do to hers; a distain that turned fatal for her and the rest of the family)

Hey. HEY. Are we gonna talk about this?

Emil "I have trauma from my family wanting to roboticize me" Sinclair, getting "augmentations"?

What happened to you, babygirl...

[squid-in-space]

biggest gain in seats since 1945

lowest Tory share since 1832

Reform with more seats than SNP

people are calling this the most significant election since at least 1979

This is not perfect (understatement (!)) by any stretch of the imagination and yes it's only a prediction

But

The Tories are out

happy independence day guys

[brennacedria]

John Oliver is losing his shit right now.

[glitch-pep]

A bunch of Mina and Karma doodles (ft. Milo) because they deserve it and I feel bad for not drawing them more often-

I had a lot of fun with these!! Mina and Karma are such a silly duo, the doodle in the lower right corner is my favorite- :'D

I was going to include a description that describes Mina's and Karma's relationship, but honestly it's basically any cat person with their cat ever. I'm 100% projecting my love of cats onto Mina-

I used to dislike Mina because I could never really draw her correctly, now I just don't care anymore, better to have inconsistent Mina drawings on the canvas than no Mina drawings at all.

All of these are based on a bunch of different memes, I put them all under the cut! :>

Mina holding Karma up to the camera

Karma covered in kisses

Karma sleeping on a big Karma pillow

cozy Karma

Milo "doing Karma's make up"

chibi Mina with chibi Karma on her head

Mina casually holding Karma like a display piece

the lil comic in the corner

[ajarofpickledtears]

my dad is literally the person my anxiety worries everyone else is like

people will be like "nobody cares what you look like/do/whatever" and then there's my dad lmao

mum and sister are good at being judgemental on general, but dad always gets so pissed off

just the other day getting mad at someone who was still learning (had Fahrschule sign) for... idk, I think they were just going slow?

so. like. bestie why are y'all surprised India scared to learn how to drive ahshsab

[zeb-z]

People complaining about Star Wars shows being too slow, too much filler, like ok why don’t you just not watch? Log off Twitter?

If you can’t see any of the importance of the episodes that don’t have firefights and explosions every five fucking seconds, and complain there’s no story when the plot flies right over your head, that’s not everyone else’s problem. Yes the beginning of Andor takes a while to swing into things, and there’s many reasons for it. I frankly don’t even understand the complaints around the Bad Batch because each episode is far more obvious in its intents and still very exciting. How did any of you watch The Clone Wars?????

No one cares that you think the episodes not involving direct conflict with the Empire are boring. You’re boring. Gain some sort of common sense and think critically about the storytelling before you complain that there is none :)

[toothpuulp]

truly nothing funnier to me than the i spit on your grave original tagline miscounting the number of rapists never ever have i seen a more blatant example of how the people who do movie marketing are a completely separate entity from the filmmakers also how humiliating for them to be even worse at counting than me. that’s like, an actual achievement

[nevert-the-guy]

After revisiting Pokémon Scarlet, I'd say my final assessment of it is an excellent Pokémon story in a subpar Pokémon game.

[homunculus-argument]

The thing about general life weirdness is that it's accumulative. If you open the door and allow one (1) unusual thing into your life, that significantly improves the odds of other weird things happening. Just one mildly odd thing is just one mildly odd thing, but they lead the way for things that can be a perfectly logical consequence of the first thing, that would never, ever happen to someone who hadn't invited the first odd thing into their life.

Like let's say you decided to get an iguana. That's not the most common kind of pet, but not unheard of. Perhaps you thought you wanted a cat, but then decided to see what other animals your local animal rescue has available, and holy shit they've got an iguana. So now you've got an iguana.

And being a responsible pet owner - which, again, is a normal thing to do - you make sure you take good care of your new baby. And being a rescue, your iguana might have some issues that they've got from being poorly handled by the previous owner. So you see what you can do about it, and find out a vet who is specialised enough to do physical therapy on an iguana. And naturally, you call them right up and get your iguana cared for. And being such a specialised professional, naturally this vet makes sure to keep their work and personal life neatly separated.

All of these are perfectly logical steps into an unusual direction, but they are also the way you may find yourself saying something like "my iguana's therapist blocked me on grindr."

[screampied]

#THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY. g. suguru

☆ sum. the last thing you’d expect for a surprise birthday present by your friends was a visit to a men’s strip club. geto suguru—your dancer’s got it all. tall, handsome, and he wants waaay more than just thirty minutes with you.

wc. 6.9k (h.. haha)

warnings. fem! reader, stripper au, stripper! geto, unprotected, lap dancīng, dry humping, switch geto, lots of riding, 69, finishing too quick, choking, geto has nīpple piercings, hair pulling, spīt, dirty talk, he licks champagne off you, nīpple play, breedīng, praise, **** cameo :), petnames.

an. ty to the ppl who voted on my poll <3 kinda scared to post this LOL. this came on a whim ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

➤ kinktober mlist.

“i understand your body wants it. i know your thoughts, oh you ‘bout it ‘bout it . . ”

the erotic lyrics that blared through the club’s abject speakers nearly deafened your ears the moment you stepped inside. you were flashed with a plethora of luminescent jade lights as you read a glowing sign near the bar that read ‘welcome to the vixxxen lounge.’ your friends, who decided to surprise you for your birthday with nothing more than a girls’ trip to a men’s strip club told you they’d be getting drinks if you need them. of course . . that was probably code for: going to spend time near the private rooms.

apparently, it’s ‘happy hour’ which meant countless discounts—and you’d already had your two individual sessions paid for by one of your friends. crisp aerating air waves from the air conditioner chills against your skin as you lean against the bronzy brick pillar. you gather your surroundings, eyeing the oily attractive glossed men that entertained the screaming crowds of thirsty women. the wide stage was spacey, and it almost looked like a concert—you started to wonder just who you were paired up with. but right as you’re pondering deep in thought, there’s a light tap on your shoulder.

“miss.”

you turn around to face probably the most attractive man you’ve laid your eyes upon. he’s tall with lengthy long hair — tangled black tresses of strands that reach just about past his shoulders. you couldn’t help but openly gawk a bit . . finding your eyes to leisurely trail down toward his skimpy attire. near his neck, he had a stained smooch of a lip stick mark that was a dark shaded red. you then noticed a few hundred dollar bills stuck in between his red thin straps.

this guy, it appeared he was dressed as some kind of firefighter. he had on the helmet along with the matching baggy yellow pants, but was completely topless. the only thing that went against his chiseled pecs was the skinny straps that attached onto the belts of his pants.

“heyy,” he waves a hand in your face, arching a brow.

“o- oh, sorry,” you bashfully murmur, mentally cursing yourself out for wandering off into space again. embarrassing, embarrassing. fishing for your vip pass that gave you direct access to one of the secluded private rooms—you dig it out your pocket, staring down at the assigned dancer and room number. “are you uh . . geto?”

“i am. but ah, suguru’s fine,” he murmurs, and he takes your pass, putting the temperature lanyard over your neck. geto’s fingers brush against your skin and you nearly shudder.

his touch.. it felt like sparks of electricity, and near the far distance by the crowded stage, your friends waved at you. with a throaty, “follow me, birthday girl,” he swiftly turns his heels and starts making a beeline toward the back of the club. you follow him, continuing to eye his costume.

but phew, he had quite the ass.

but anyway—that’s not the point.

it never really occurred to you how all the male strippers had specific costumes—you were far too entranced by geto. it was probably because of how halloween was only a mere few weeks away, so it’d make sense how they’d be ordered to get into the spirit of things.

“and imma let you do it how you wanna girl i’ll riiiide with it, riiiide with it . . ”

the lyrics of that catchy same song that resounded through the speakers of the club grew louder—and as he guided you inside the dimly red lit room, he makes you lie back against a cushioned sofa. there’s a few piles of money scattered near the front, and you didn’t count but that amount could make anyone filthy rich.

geto rubs the back of his neck, rolling it around to stretch before he glances down at you. you struggle to look him in the eye and a faint smile creases across his lips.

you’re new, and he could tell you weren’t used to such carnal provocative environments.

“relaaax, pretty girl,” his voice was low purr. the way he talked was soothing, a good amount of teasing and playfulness. right at his words, your shoulders slumped and you lean back.

the air around you seems to close in, getting thicker ‘n thicker before he makes you haul your arms over the edges of the couch. “comfy?” and he doesn’t do anything else until you give him a subtle complying nod. geto takes off his amber-colored helmet before putting it on your head. “lean back. just focus on me.”

“o . . okay,” you exhale, and your eyes finally meet his.

the fake firefighter helmet crooks, tilting a bit to the side over the crown of your head as you watch him starting to sway to the bass dropping beats. you gulp as he gets closer . . and closer, following the exact steps to his usual routine before he gets on your lap.

he’s so pretty, and now that his helmet was off of him, you got an even more view of his face. geto starts to slowly grind against you, one hand resting near back of the couch that’s next to your shoulder. he’s fully in sync with the song that booming blares in the background.

the friction. he was moving up against you, and you couldn’t help but glance down his glossy chest. his legs were huge, and you didn’t even notice the clamped silver piercings that stuck against his reddened nipples. “is this okay?” he whispers, and you already feel yourself starting to heat up. the a/c was blasting—and yet, you felt like it was over a hundred degrees.

“ ‘s okay,” you breathlessly say, feeling your facial expressions serene. geto swiftly gets off you, and he starts to rock and grind his hips against the floor.

he’s slow and precise—each movement matches the following before he sits up, flicking against the straps of his costume. fuck, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. you knew he was probably used to this . . seeing so many women at a time, giving them a thirty minute private dance and going on with his day.

geto had charisma and lots lots of it.

it was ironic because he didn’t even have to say anything. throughout the duration of his entire routine, he let his hips do the rest of the talking. speaking of hips, you’ve never seen a more a slutty waist.

it’s unapologetically snatched, and you start to envision seeing his face plastered on every cover of a a men’s vogue magazine. he’s gorgeous—and the second he’s back in your lap again, he leans into the crook of your neck. “hey,” he repeats, and his voice was a lot more pitched and lower. it’s a dirty kind of husky that makes you clench your thighs together. as he’s up close—you get a whiff of his cologne. it’s quite loud, and you’d guess the scent was something between bergamot and rich aromatic oak moss. “do you wanna touch me?”

a breath gets trapped in the back of your clogged throat at the question.

geto continues to gradually grind his hips into you as pretty black strands of his hair tickles near your shoulders. “y- yes,” and the words smoothly flow from your lips like smooth molasses of chocolate.

geto was patient, and he wanted to make you comfortable—that was his number one priority.

he speaks in a more rough yet sly tone. “ ‘m gonna grab your wrists okay? just feel me,” and you feel mentally prepare yourself. biting down on your bottom lip—you mouth a soft, ‘okay,’ and geto gently grabs your wrists.

he’s still slowly jerking his hips against you, matching each sultry beat of the song. the base of the chorus rang through your ears and the lyrics flowed through once ear ‘n out the other.

as you stare up at him, he makes you press your hands firmly against his shaven flexing chest. sheets of slicking sweat that covers the top part of his body coats on your hands and you cutely furrow your brows. “heh, oh sorry love. ‘m a bit sweaty, hope that doesn’t turn you off.”

“it’s f . . fine,” you utter, and he resumes to guide your hands. his chest was as hard as a brick, and you felt how his muscles would freely tense.

god, geto was a literal sculpture. you probably looked stupid with how you kept openly staring at his perfectly carved abs. an entire six pack - each section even more strenuously ripped than the first.

as you continue to gawk, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets—you feel him shifting his weight a bit so he wouldn’t crush you. your thumb snags against his pierced nipple and he grunts, breaking character for a second. he lets off a cute snarl. “sorry! i didn’t-”

“sweetheart, it’s okay,” he hums, releasing a low puff of air. so he was sensitive there, noted.

as he continues, he makes your hands reach lower. the thin straps of his costume glide against your plump fingertips before he stops at his fading raven-colored happy trail.

black ‘n bushy . . you could make out every single tiny speck of hair that stuck against the lower part of his abdomen if you squinted, and you did.

the rest was hiding underneath the upper hem part of his prop turnout pants. “now ‘m gonna let go of my hands,” he whispers, eyeing you intently.

it was so much lustful ardor in the air. the more you stared at the dancer, the more you started questioning why the hell you never visited a strip club sooner. a question that was probably gonna remain unanswered..

“ . . ‘n ‘m gonna let you do whatever you want while i finish.” he concludes his sentence, and as if his hands were attached to your own with adhesive velcro, geto slowly pulls away.

now, it’s just your two balmy palms pressing against his chest. you take it upon yourself to drag an invisible line down his flat sleek cheek with your fingers.

your hands then find themselves reaching for a few papery fifty dollar bills, tossing it at his glossed grinding body. geto sighs with a cunning simper, continuing to rock his slim hips into your lap. “that’s it, feel me princess. ‘m all yours.”

and in a way – he was.

it was only you two in the room, and yet it felt like you ‘n suguru were the only people on earth. the entire mood was sensual and you could almost smell the libido that radiated off his skin. it was a scent you couldn’t describe—but you didn’t want him to stop.

as your hands kept roaming down his puffed out chest, you stop right at the hem of his pants. poking out, his sharp carved-like ‘v’ shaped pelvis arches within each muscle he moves forward.

the crimson red lights that flicker every three seconds narrowly spotlights toward geto’s fit body. for a quick moment—you get a good glimpse of his face and he’s inches away from your shimmery twitching lips.

geto leans up to your ear and he hoarsely whispers. “birthday girllll,” and he huffs out a drawn breath, feeling you eagerly tug at his pants. a snicker leaves from him before he gets a nice smell of your citrusy perfume. “ah. is the pants gettin’ on your nerves?”

“a bit,” you murmur honestly, and you were already undressing him with your eyes. you were sure geto was most likely wearing a thong underneath but you imagined otherwise.

filthy - you couldn’t believe the thoughts you were having.

to think, if you hadn’t accepted this little ‘girls’ trip’ with your friends, you’d probably be sleeping the entire day away. after all, they did want you to get out more. especially for your special day. with a pout twisting across each part of your lips, you sigh. “can i—”

“what, undress me?” he tries to play coy, seeing your pouty expression increase. geto hums, amused as you lightly hook a finger underneath his hooked strap before he shrugs. “go ‘head, princess. knock y’rself out.”

geto found your hesitance cute. you didn’t wanna seed ‘needy’ but you were showing all signs of it. at the moment, you completely forgot you were at a strip club and he was just a dancer.

but fuck it.

you went slow as he still straddles your lap, slowly pulling down his loosely fitted pants. they were baggy.. a flashy color of yellow, and the more you tugged them down, the more you got a glance at his scanty thong.

it’s dark purple with his name embedded on the thin white strips.

from all sides, it spelled ‘s u g u r u,’ in bold lilac plum colors. he even had custom made thongs? as if you couldn’t get even more aroused—

yeah, you were aroused. leave it to your legs that remained glued together starting to swelter up with … stickiness.

not everyday did you have a man grind against your lap, and to be fucking frank you didn’t think you’d last.

“you’re so pretty,” you pant, watching him shimmy his pants down to where it flops down to his ankles. and oh, he had quite the bulge.

it looked almost painful—so swole and round, you just wanted to kiss it. it looked like at any second it was about to just burst through the cottony stretched fabric. the scenery grows more hedonic as the red lights dimmer. you could barely see his face anymore, just a silhouette that grinds against your lap at each beat of the song playing loudly.

as you nearly slip out a moan, you lean back before your heaving breaths start to accelerate. “suguru.”

“aw,” he coos, feeling your arms wrap around his slender waist. geto’s still swiftly grinding into you, feeling your cute nails claw into his back. the back of your brain kept chanting ‘more, more, more!’

you still have the helmet on, and with the way it’s crooked and could barely fit your head—he found that small detail adorable. as he remained seated on your squished thighs, it was embarrassing to think you were starting to feel yourself erratically throb.

leaning into your neck, he could loudly smell your sheer arousal and it makes him lowly chuckle against the soft shell of your ear. “not satisfied, yeah?” and he lets off a quiet bellowing grunt, feeling your hands trail down his sweaty body once more.

he’s so built, parallel to a literal tank.

geto’s rocking against you in rhythm with the same song that still trumpets through the speakers before whispering. “just say it ‘n i’ll give it to you.”

“you always come to the parties. to pluck the feathers off allll the biiiirds. . ”

the lengthy song continued to drag on—and the busted speakers in the private room sounded like it was about to break from the distortion. it was loud, but your panting breaths was even louder the more geto dances on you.

letting off a longing three second moan once a leg of yours voluntarily hooks around his slim waist, you mewl out a sweet, “i want you. suguru, fuck me.”

“oh. sounds like a demand, sweetheart,” he purrs, and he stills his hips against your lap.

geto’s got a plethora of rings on each of his fingers. pretty silver ‘n gold bands that would wrap around his digits. he had long fingers, thin and perfectly slender.

the more you stared, the more you thought how good they’d fit insi—

“eyes up here,” he cuts you off, and you shudder feeling his palms cup your face. your leg still wraps around his waist before another shortly follows.

he’s barely rocking into you now, and with a bumpy shimmy, you feel his bulge rub against you. “mhm,” geto grunts before meeting your needy gaze once more. as a thumb strokes your bottom lip, pulling it down gingerly, he whispers. “ask nicely. say pretty please.”

“you won’t … charge me extra?” you sheepishly say, beads of perspiring sweat trickling down all sides of your forehead.

geto smugly smiles, grumbling a subtle, ‘nah,’ before making you lean all the way back against the padded sofa. “okay,” you breathe, and you just didnt care anymore.

you wanted him – maybe even needed him..

geto’s hardened bulge that presses against his thong throbs harder before you sweetly murmur,“please, fuck me, suguru.”

“anythin’ for the birthday girl.”

and those words were the same exact words that ran through your mind as you now found yourself in . . quite the risqué position.

you’d be the one straddling geto now. he’s got you in a classic 69, and your pretty perked ass hovers over his face. right in front of you was his weighty fat cock, and it’s a pretty flushed pink with rosy-lime veins prodding from the sides.

you’re whimpering out sweet harmonic keynotes as his long pointed tongue slithers its through your inviting entrance, two broad arms clinging onto your hips. “fuuckk,” he’d groan, feeling you smear a thumb over his leaky mushroomy tip.

you’ve already got him sopping wet from the chin down thanks to your wet cunt – glossy pearly drool seeping from the sides of his dick.

geto’s shaft remains idle, and you wrap a hand around his base before pumping it, rotating your wrist – once, twice, thrice..

he was aching, and the entire time he was giving you a show he had a boner. it was rare, usually whenever he gave lap dances—he was one to never really crack, he was a trained professional and yet here you were.

“mmch,” his swollen puckered lips smack against your cunt as he eats you out entirely from the back.

your mouth drops, jaw dangling— goofily hanging open like a cartoon as he resumes to extends the length of his tongue inside the outskirts of your warm room-temperate-tastin’-pussy.

lolling it out all the way, he licks from top to bottom—stopping at your clenching hole. geto gives it a five second kiss, a sloppy one that glues a mixture of his spit and your slimy juices on his mouth. “sweetheaaart,” he rasps, biting back a greedy groan once he feels you starting to take him in your mouth.

your throat’s seraphic warmth draws a hot sharp breath out of him as he swats a hard palm against your ass for you to start. “when i say move your ass against my face, i fuckin’ mean it. move,” and you let off a candied whimper the second the temporary sting sends singles toward your weeping whiny clit.

feebly, you start to flop your ass up and down against his face and you hear a satisfy ‘hmm’ purr from his lips. you’re moaning, sinking his cock down your throat in the process before your sticky tongue swirls around his angered crownhead. “mmph,” and you take a few inches before you feel his tip swipe against the scaled roof of your mouth.

going back up, it loudly ‘pops!’ out as a bit of sheeny saliva trickles down your chin. you’re taking him deep within no time, and you let off a cute hiccup once his swollen sack paps near your jaw.

so full ‘n round…

you’re breathing through your nose, still shaking your ass against his face, swipin’ his nose occasionally like a credit card with your honeyed-slathered cunt.

his wide flat tongue felt so good that you felt your toes curling each time he playfully nibbles on your sensitive throbbing clit. his tastebuds felt each pulse and it was so hot. “sugu, fuck.”

“i know, i know,” he gruffly whispers against your runny folds. bringing a pair of long twinned fingers towards your pussy, geto strums it down the pulsating slit in a straight pillaring line.

with a bit of pressure—he spreads your lower lips apart, getting a front row seat view of your clit pumpin’ pumpin’ away.

you had such a pretty throb, the prettiest he’s ever seen.

“god, you’re pretty but you’re even prettier down here too,” and not only do you hear him swallow but you feel it too.

a long full gulp, and he’s making sure to savor as much of your sweet slick on his tongue as possible.

geto’s just nasty, and a proud eater. he zigzags his tongue everywhere until your vision’s murky and clouded. you’re left crossed eyed with puffed up cheeks, barely able to focus on his dick that’s laying flat on your tongue.

a hand of his squeezes against your ass before with a mean ‘whack!’ he spanks it again just to see the bouncy recoil. the way a ‘lil fat portion of your ass would jiggle all due to the hasty-rash contact of his palm makes him throb.

and you feel it right in your mouth.

as your head bobbles at a more quick yet languid pace, your tongue skims down one of the many veins that paint down his cock. your repeated moans become muffled, and geto groans at how sloppy you sound—from the front and from behind.

the more he slurps every syrupy drop that dribbles out from your gurgling pussy, his precisely-thorough licks turn into exaggerated four second sucks.

geto softly caresses a hand against the bare skin of your exposed flesh, tugging on your pulled up skirt. pulled to the side were your panties that had a pretty pink star imprinted on the back decorated with glimmery rhinestones. you moan as your back slowly arches inward ‘n out and your knees become to buck.

his tongue, he definitely knew how to eat.

“ ‘s good, juuuus’ like that princess,” he huffs, feeling minuscule dewdrops of your saliva pour down the sides of his cock, slicking all over his base.

your thumb traces a heart over his hefty sack, massaging his tender full testes before you hear geto whine out a sweet, “o- oooh shit,” he was tender there too, huh..

and the sound catches him completely off guard because he grunts, the swaying of his tongue gradually slowing down. geto’s pretty lashes flutter before he grunts, taking a second to breathe. “don’t . . stop, play with ‘em some more,”

“pf—” you pop your mouth off his dick again, wet slimy sounds following as you stroke him off with an closed palm. “are you sure?”

“yeah yeah, ‘m sure,” and there’s a bit of sass in his gruff tone.

geto’s getting flustered, and never in a million years would he admit that you playing with his balls made him feel so good but fuck, it did.

geto paws a hand against your ass before letting off a hurried breathless, “fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

you went back to bobbling your head up ‘n down, pumping his fleshy pillar of length in your free hand before you start writhing your ass against his face even more quicker. geto moans, a surge of a trill nearly escaping out his gruff vocal chords before he grunts loudly. “mmp,” and your throat was so wet ‘n warm.

it enveloped him entirely, and as your cunt’s sitting over his slick lips—every so often rubbing against his nose and slick-streamed chin, he peppers it with a few kisses.

your hips were arched ‘n askew, and as your tongue occasionally darts down his sensitive slit you hear him grunt again. the burgundy colored sofa pathetically dips inward due to the stacked weight of both rutting bodies. geto’s eyes start to roll their way back as you continue, nearly sucking the soul out of him.

“fuck, baby. spit on it,” he groans, clasping his teeth at your needy clit.

he slides his tongue against your cute bulbous-shaped nub before sucking on it for the umpteenth time. you moan, still tossing your ass around for him in a slow meandering manner, feeling his tongue drag down the slope of your ass again.

geto’s pussy drunk entirely, and he didn’t care if this was against policy, having a customer touch him. when you tasted this divine, he couldn’t help devour your cunt like the starved, starved man he was..

at his words, you spat out translucent globs of saliva from your lips, pasting the slightly curved sides of his dick with your slick mess. “pff,” and you drench him from the base down, twisting his shaft with your wrist before hearing him groan.

geto’s about to finish and you could feel the vigorous pumps of his dick in your mouth growing weaker … and weaker – until, he cums.

geto’s jaw goes slack the moment his peak abnormally reaches, and growls out a husky ‘fuuuuuck,’ with the muscles in his neck tensing.

within a blink of an eye and a snap of a finger, the flat tip of your tongue’s now being sprayed with spritz of waxen cum. it’s a bittersweet taste that coats on your judgy tastebuds, and as you close your eyes with a humming moan departing from your lips, you hear him hiss. his body’s violently shaking, and his hips start to hungrily thrust into your mouth.

you wriggle your ass in face as he’s barely eating you out anymore, frantically heaving as he dumps his all down your pretty tight throat. “fuck, fuck, take it,” and his body still sporadically tremors.

as your mouth’s still full, geto gives your teary wet cunt it’s last few lapping licks before his head collapses back in lecherous defeat.

with cheeks still plumply puffed — his cock remains shoved inside. his aggravated red tip’s just swiping ‘n erupting near the roof of your mouth as you slurp him clean.

you swallow instantaneously, luxuriating in the mildly honey taste before feeling him shudder underneath you. “goddamn, so fuckin’ good. fuckin’ filthy, princess.”

with clammy palms, he turns you over and you lean in to kiss him. geto’s taken by surprise, and as you make him flop back against the velveteen cushion, you made your way on his lap. rough edges of teeth clash and roughly clatter against each other as each tongue plays a more salacious version twister.

geto reclines back, his hands moving toward your rocking waist as he grunts—tasting himself on your tongue. its bitter, but with the help of your lip gloss—it turns far more sweet within seconds. feverish breaths ghosts inside each mouth before you watch him reach near the side of him.

grabbing a half filled up bottle of mousseux, he flicks off the cork with a flick of his middle finger. geto’s eyes still closed as he’s delving his tongue right into your mouth.

the merciless smacking of lips grew louder before he pulls away, huffing breathlessly. “wan’ more of a taste real quick, princess,” and it sounds more like a needy plead. you see how flushed his face was, and geto’s eyes dart straight toward your bare chest. the top you wore was pulled down, clinging near the very bottom of your waist. “c’mere..”

and as you lean in, you watch as geto starts to pour down a small stream of champagne all down your chest. right between your tits, cupping underneath your tummy so none wouldn’t spill further down.

he makes sure a few glosses over your pretty round breasts before he grunts, closing the distance between your chest.

geto buries his face in between the valley of your tits, licking it right up. the bubbly fruity taste lingers on his tongue as he laps you up from top to bottom moaning at the spicy sweetness.

a mixture of your skin and champagne—better than any cocktail this club’s ever served.

“f- fuck,” he moans, lying his tongue flat. geto stares at you the entire time too, and his mouth gradually trails it way toward your damp neglected nipples. he cups his lips around the first nipple—slowly transitioning to the next before slurping the drink right off your body.

a tight breath gets caught in your throat as he continues to lick the rainy drops of sugary champagne off your body. geto groans, savoring the taste before with a loud ‘plop’, he pops your tender wet nipple out of his mouth.

there’s nothing but utter lust and infatuation in his eyes—and he then gets up to kiss you. the room’s nearly pitch dark without the help of the dim effulgent red lights that shined against you both. it added to the mood perfectly.

as tongues continue to try to assert dominance, you moan right in the dancer’s mouth, returning the gesture of swapping gauzy strings of gossamer spit.

abruptly though, you pull away, gently pushing geto back against the sofa.

with a raspy ‘ugh,’ geto lands on his back as you give him a light shove. he’s at your mercy, and you stand up from his lap, a wind of confidence coming out of nowhere and nearly pulling you forward.

he stares at you with hooded cunt-drunk eyes, watching you do a figure eight with your body.

“what’s . . this?” he huffs, burly arms stretching over each edge of the sofa. you looked so pretty, eyeing him up and down as he does the exact same to you.

the luminescent lights started to beam on you now, highlighting your curves and entire physique.

“lie back,” you murmur, slowly sashaying toward him. geto runs a hand through his hair, his dick twitching from the cool air wafting against it. you teasingly drag a finger down the scarred middle line of his bare-puffed chest, stopping at a hardened row of his brick-made abs. “i wanna try your little routine.”

“yeahh?” geto snickers, sucking in a sharp breath once you spin around, bending all the way over. the helmet that was still on your head—you put it back on him, watching him scoff at your audacity.

so you stole his profession now, great.

as you’re turned the other way, you slowly wriggle your ass in front of him, putting a hand over your sopping pussy and he kisses his teeth. “tch. don’t tease, sweetheart,” and geto’s allured stare fixates on you the entire time. his dilated irises frantically roamed around every and any part of your body like a laser. “fuck,” he grunts, watching you finally make your way on his lap.

geto’s all submissively underneath you—bare ‘n exposed with his poor tip flushed. its color was a sheeny carmine red that’s akin to a ripe cerise rose.

a few dried up splotches of cum stick near his weighty sides before he shudders. your ass sits on his flaccid dick before you start to move.

slowly,

you’re rutting into him—just like he was to you, grinding back and forth. geto looks so pretty though, underneath you. he’s still panting a bit, sweating bullets as you tease him with your crazed hips.

you weren’t at his level quite yet, but fuck could you move. geto groans, feeling your sloppy pussy rub off against his dick. you were so close to his tip that his foreskin would peel back a bit. “do you wanna touch me?”

touché..

geto narrows his eyes at you as you tease him, repeating his exact words from what he said to you earlier.

he doesn’t just touch you, he fucks you—

but in this case . . you fuck him.

geto holds back a moan as he’s watching his claret-colored cockhead disappear between your sappy folds. it’s like a magic trick, and with a ‘poof!’ half of length vanished within you.

you let off a soft shrilling whine, trying to writhe yourself around his length.

his dick was fat. ‘eyes-rolling-tongue-lolling-drag-your-nails-down-his back-’ type of fat.

and his girth only made things ten times more intense. you felt him rearranging your guts within each prolonged inch you took – literally.

you’re as slow as a snail with the way you try to take him wholly. even as you’re gingerly sinking your bare ass down with his cock snug ‘n deep inside you, he easily kisses against your g-spot.

it’s happening already, and you don’t even realize he’s fully in before a cooing whimper rawly snatches from the back of your dry esophagus. “oh fuck,” you huff, tossing your arms around the dark haired man.

geto’s got the same wide-eye-jaw-dropped reaction to you, and with one arm snaking around your waist—another’s tightly gripping onto your right ass cheek.

he spanks it, giving it a short squeeze afterward. your chest starts to heave in quickened intervals, and once he feels you starting to move it’s game fuckin’ over..

“god, pussy’s ‘ta die for,” he groans, eyes sexily rolling back until his sockets show nothing but white.

you had him whipped, and he can hear your cunt trying to have a word of its own, squelching out cute gargled squelches. you start to ride him at a mere hypnotic rhythm—and geto’s a lot more vocal now.

with his adam’s apple bobbing, both hands of his were now gripping onto your waist now. piles of money surround you too, a few sticking against his sweaty beefy thighs. “fuck me,” he grunts, and it’s more like he’s begging.

geto locks eyes with you, shaggy long bangs running past his eyes before he securely grabs your hips—trying to keep up pace with you. “mhm, thaaa’s it. ride it, ride . . the shit out of me, uuughhh.”

“ ‘m trying,” you moan, biting your lip each time his swollen cockhead plummets its way deep.

he’s just so big—you couldn’t wrap your head around how a guy could be so damn big.

the good kind of big, and each time he’d seep a single girthy inch into you, your stomach would churn like butter. he’s in sooo deep, your legs could barely support yourself anymore and he had to hold you steady.

as he pulls you all the way down, geto reaches waaay inside of your sloppy gripping cunt that’s oh-so desperate to wring him like a vice.

his thick cock greets your pretty fleshy cervix, mimicking a soft ‘knock’ before introducing itself with a welcoming pound.

he holds your hips, pumping himself into you again, and again, until your pussy remembered each stroke, each thrust, each fuckin’ letter of his name—front to last..

slow but fucking deep.

you gasp, clinging onto his neck before soft hurried pants of ‘yeah, yeah’ ‘s scurry past your glossed lips.

geto’s dewy eyes were half lidded and he’s never felt more pussy drunk in his life. trust—he’s had his fair share of women but oh, you were far different. it was something about you, and he just wanted more after each carnal second passed.

you’re so into his dick givin’ your pussy a fuck of a lifetime that you don’t even realize your hand was now wrapped around his thick neck. not too tight, but geto’s reaction time was slow also. once he realizes seconds after you did, he sheepishly scoffs before slyly humming.

“goddd, y’r so fuckin’ hot when you choke me,” he purrs, tugging at the panties that pull to the side of your thighs. of course he’d enjoy it, and as his dick’s still massaging your gummy walls, he moans. “harderrr.”

“don’t be greedy,” you mumble, burying your knees into his bulky thighs.

the way you rocked against him was hypnotic—and geto’s hands remain on your waist.

you nearly shudder, feeling the various cold bands of his rings run and tickle down your skin. he’s in love with your body, and even more in love with the way you feel from the inside.

leaning in close until you’re just inches away from his spit-slicked lips, your thumb runs its way down the bulging ball that lies inside his throat. “say ‘pretty pleaseee.’ ”

“tsk,” geto scowls, and even with a pout he’s effortlessly attractive. your hips continued to champion its way up ‘n down at a deranged pace as you moved, and his cock’s pumping you full over and over and over. with a vexed grunt, he utters. “pretty please, choke me harder.”

leaning in to kiss the side of his mouth, you whisper a crooning, “good boy,” and geto whines the moment you add a bit more pressure around his neck.

his hair’s all in his face, and your ass was just ruthless.

ferociously slamming down onto his stout cock, you’re drenching him from the base down with your syrup-coated slick. a bit of your own sloppy arousal glues against the pried apart crevices of your thighs—pasting against his as well.

it’s a mess, and with how close he was getting, he was about to create an even bigger one..

geto felt like he was ascending—and with how you were riding him, it didn’t take him long before he’s close again.

yet this time—so were you, and you could recognize the feeling all too well. geto’s cock stretched you to capacity, and he grabs the few dollar bills that scatter on the sofa, throwing it at your body whilst you rode him. he makes it rain on you, spanking your ass with a crumbled up hundred rubbing against your stung skin.

“fuck, ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum again,” he grunts in your ear, feeling your pace accelerate by a mile. you were draining him, preparing to milk him and the thought of him stuffing your cunt full made you pulse.

your tongue salivated at just imagining it..

the warmth, the stickiness, the way it’d spill between your thighs. you’re moaning out sweet noises yourself as you both rut into each other at a demented overzealous pace. geto’s thick thighs clench—and while you’re letting out cute blubs of his name on repeat until it’s the only syllables your dumb brain could register—he pulls you close. “ngh, same time, pretty girl. cum with me, let’s make a . . hah, mess together.”

“okay,” you mewl out, both hips pivoting in lascivious unison.

both sweaty mounds of flesh blissfully bounce into at other and each squelch makes you whimper out in ecstasy.

you cup geto’s pecs, smearing a thumb over his pierced nipples and he whines instantly. you lean in to suck against the bars that slash through his tender areola. geto leans back manspread, growling out husky, ‘fuuuuck!’ ‘s as you hum, giving both his nipples its few seconds of attention.

it lasts for seconds that felt like years, and one you pull away he lets out a cute blasé huff.

as your cunt’s in the midst of overflowing—your hips tremor once more time before within milliseconds, you both cum.

it’s quick..

and with your jaw dropping and geto’s shoulders fatally sagging after his big, heavy sigh—he starts to fill you up ounce after ounce.

it’s patching hot, and the second he’s beginning to spill ‘n dump out his perfect ivory ribbons of cum inside of you, you grunt out a melodic finishing, “fuuuck.”

swinish, weak hands grab at your ass as you come undone also—whimpering soft defeating babbles from the sensitive feeling of your cunt spasming right between your jittery numb legs.

you feel static … shock, electricity pulsing through your veins all at once. your entire body was turning haywire. as you start to grow limb right with geto underneath you—nirvana runs through each individual axon on your body before you hear a loud ‘pop.’

it’s more of a sopping squishing sound, and you were so dumbed down from his dick that you didn’t even realized how full you were..

peeking down, he filled you to the brim. wads and wads and wads of cum went inside of you and you moan, spreading your ass apart while craning your neck around just to see for yourself.

“ ‘m so full, suguru,” you pant, sliding a thumb down your sputtering cunt that’s plugged with both his cock and his thin oozing seed. you lick your lips before turning back towards geto and he’s absolutely fucked stupid.

you rode him so good to the point where he’s just stammering out inaudible whines. it’s cute, and you lean in to kiss him once more.

oh.. he was hooked.

he deepens with a few clingy hands feeling at your chest. the kiss gets more passionate rather than sloppy, and as he’s still buried inside of your cunt—he slowly starts to trail butterfly kisses down your neck. you moan, turning your head before you pull away. “shit, i almost f- forgot.”

“forgot what?” he hoarsely rasps, watching you unalign yourself, plopping down on the sofa with a big content sigh.

geto leans in, allowing his thumb to draw circles around your hips before you reach in for your purse, pulling out another decorated vip pass.

sheepishly, you utter. “my friends bought me two sessions with two dancers. so i have another one after you,” and you glance at the clock, squinting before you let off a bashful titter. “. . . oh, that was way past thirty minutes.”

“who? what dancer, sweetheart?” geto utters with a pout. he was still aching, already missing his you felt from the inside. he watches as you squint at your pass that reads the dancer’s stage name and / or full name on the back.

“uhh, it says t—”

“she means me,” and the both of you spin heads, ogling at the glittery red carpet and decorated pathway that was once covered up.

you could hear geto that laid beside you muttering out a jealous, ‘fuck,’ as you meet the other dancer’s gaze.

he’s wearing a leopard thong with an added on accessory of the most smuggest grin you’ve ever seen.

a slashed scar runs down the right side of his crooked curved lips and you spot bills sticking at both sides of his halfway on thong that nearly shows his sharp hips before he hums.

“name’s toji,” and you’re suddenly being lifted up by strong, tatted brawny arms before he turns around, winking at a very pissed of geto before trodding out the private room with you in his arms.

“i’ll take it from here,” and feral green eyes with an even more feral grin. “ain’t that right, birthday girlll?”

[sugoroo]

SHARING IS CARING!

ʚɞ summary: satoru agrees to share his girlfriend with kento for one night to help ease some of the stress he’s been under lately! but that doesn’t mean he’s going to make it easy for his co-worker.

warnings: fem!reader, voyeurism, cuck!satoru, oral (m receiving), breast play, penetration (p in v), fingering, pussydrunk nanami, squirting, praise kink, 18+ minors dni.

wc: 7.1k

despite how much satoru enjoys teasing his co-worker kento nanami, he can see how much stress the other man has been under lately. it’s clear from the heavy bags underneath his eyes, the way his back is almost permanently hunched in exhaustion.

the white-haired sorcerer spent an embarrassingly long amount of time in his office brainstorming different ideas to attempt to cheer nanami up. his usual go-to for anyone else would be to buy them some sweets, but he has a feeling that wouldn’t be too appreciated in this situation.

and then, after his phone buzzed with a newly received text from you: his pretty little girlfriend who was currently waiting for him at home — a lightbulb lit up in his head.

he could give you to nanami to cheer him up.

well, when he says ‘give’, of course he really means lending you to nanami. a one-time only gift (that must be returned after use) as it were.

and satoru will unarguably be present to observe the entire interaction too — he has to make sure nanami treats his sweet girl the way she deserves, after all. if the other man was to leave you unsatisfied, he would very possibly have to hollow purple him.

(and he also wouldn’t be completely opposed to watching his much-too-uptight co worker unravel before his eyes, either. but he’ll keep that part to himself.)

pleased with his newest idea, satoru practically skips along the halls on the way to nanami's office, a wide grin stretched across his lips and anticipation buzzing throughout his body.

"hellooo, nanamin!" he coos obnoxiously once he arrives outside his co-worker's office, craning his neck to peek his head around the doorway. "you in here?"

nanami audibly sighs at the sound of the white-haired man's voice, glancing up briefly from his desk with an unimpressed look pulling at his visibly exhausted features. "yes, gojo, i'm clearly in here. what is it you want this time?"

satoru holds up his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering as he steps fully inside the office. it's clear he's up to no good (even more so than usual), given the way he's practically vibrating on the spot with excitement.

"well?" the blonde man prompts impatiently, his eyes already cast back down to the various piles of paperwork splayed across his desk. he's evidently in no mood to deal with satoru's mischief.

"now now, don't rush me!" he huffs in response, his lower lip jutting out in an overdramatic pout despite knowing nanami isn't even looking in his direction right now. "this is a very... sensitive topic. so i'm gonna need you to pay suuuper close attention. got it?"

at this, nanami looks up from his papers, his annoyance slowly morphing into cautiousness. "sensitive how? this better not be about you wanting to know how many people i've bedded in the past, because i already told you that i will never dignify such a shameless question with an answer."

"what? no! it's not about that," satoru chuckles amusedly, before tapping the bottom of his chin with a slender finger in a theatrical display of thought. "....although, i really should find out the answer to that eventually."

nanami rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head behind his goggles, bringing two fingers up to rub his temple. "i don't have time for this, gojo. whatever it is you came here to ask, will you just spit it out already?"

"alright, alriiight!" the white-haired sorcerer whines petulantly, sauntering further into the office and leaning his elbows against his co-worker's desk like he owns the place. "so, i've noticed you've been under a lot of stress lately—"

"which is none of your business, might i add." the other man deadpans bluntly, his lips set into their usual tight line as he regards satoru.

"sure. but, as your co-worker and friend, i've decided to make it my business," he retorts without missing a beat, waving a pale hand dismissively in nanami's direction as he continues speaking. "and i've come up with the perfect solution to cheer you up!"

nanami raises a blonde eyebrow at this, visibly still cautious but (hopefully) a little curious now. "oh, have you now?" he mutters tightly, attempting to hide the subtle interest hiding under his tone. but satoru notices, because of course he does.

"mhmm," satoru croons mischievously, his grin morphing into a little smirk as he leans further across the desk. "would you like to hear it, nanamin?"

the interest in his colleague's expression is gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by irritation yet again as he releases a deep sigh. "i'm not in the mood for your games, gojo. are you going to tell me or not?"

"ugh, fine," the white-haired man groans dramatically, rolling his eyes behind his blindfold. "can't blame a guy for trying to build up a little suspense."

satoru rifles around in his pocket for a few moments before pulling out his phone, instantly thrusting the device directly into nanami's face with absolutely no context.

"what—" nanami begins, his words quickly trailing off into an unintelligible sound of some description once he catches sight of the picture being displayed on his colleague's lock screen. "oh."

"like what you seee?" he coos obnoxiously from behind the phone, tilting his head to the side in an attempt to get a better view of the other man's reaction. "just kidding - i know you do."

"this... is that your girlfriend?" the blonde man croaks out, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically flustered. "and why is that your lockscreen, for the love of god?"

satoru just shrugs nonchalantly, jerking the phone back towards himself and taking a moment to admire the photo of you. it's your pretty body, completely bare on his bed, perky breasts on full display and smooth legs spread wide to reveal your abused pussy which was just oozing with ropes of his goopy cum.

"yes, it's my girlfriend," he hums proudly, shoving the device back into his pocket before fixing nanami with another wide grin. "and why not? it's not like anyone else sees it except me. until now, obviously."

"right," the other man breathes out, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly in a poor attempt to try and compose himself. "and, pray tell, why did you feel the need to show me that?"

satoru huffs dramatically, as if having to actually explain the proposition he's come up with is taking a serious toll on him. "come onn, nanamin. use that brilliant brain of yours! i say i have a way to relieve some of your stress, and then i show you that picture..."

nanami visibly tenses as the realization of what his colleague is suggesting washes over him, his eyes narrowing into cautious slits. but he doesn't want to get ahead of himself, just in case he misinterpreted his words, so he settles for saying — "is this another one of those highly unamusing pranks of yours, gojo?"

the white-haired man rolls his eyes yet again, leaning even closer over the desk and tilting his head to the side in a playful manner. "you really think i'd show you a naked picture of my girl if this was just a prank?"

as much as it irks nanami to admit, even to himself, his co-worker does has a point there.

"touché." he grumbles under his breath, trying his best to keep up his uninterested façade despite how obviously affected he is by seeing that picture of you; needless to say, he thinks satoru is a very lucky man.

"that's all you're gonna say? touché?" satoru repeats incredulously, throwing his hands up in the air theatrically. "no 'yes please, gojo, i'd love to get me some of that'?"

"first of all, i would never say it so crudely," the blonde man retorts with his nose wrinkled in not-so-subtle disgust, shaking his had faintly. "and second of all, i'm not the sort of man who takes what doesn't belong to him."

satoru snorts out a loud laugh at this. "ugh, drop the serious act for a minute, nanamin! it's not like you're stealing her away from me or anything. i'm just offering some... one-time only stress relief, that's all."

"whatever you say, gojo," he mutters dismissively, waving a hand in his direction before rubbing his temple yet again. "even if i was to consider such a proposition, have you asked your girlfriend if she would be willing to participate?"

"yeah, sooo, about that..." satoru responds in an elongated hum, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly.

"satoru—"

"wait, wait! just let me explain," the white-haired man squeaks hurriedly, waving around his hands theatrically. the rare use of his first name from his colleague clearly shows just how annoyed he is at this point. "i was so excited when i came up with the idea that i kinda-maybe-definitely forgot to ask her."

"why am i not surprised?" nanami huffs bluntly, clearly losing whatever interest he may have begrudgingly gained when he saw the photo.

but just before he can return to his work, satoru quickly speaks up again. "hey, wait just a minute! she's my girl, and i know my girl. she'll say yes."

nanami pauses for a few moments, silently cursing the way he's actually considering this insane proposition. but there's two facts he can't deny — one: he has been under a lot of stress lately, and he wouldn't exactly mind releasing it. and two: satoru's girlfriend is incredibly attractive.

much to his chagrin, he doesn't have a good reason to say no.

"...alright."

and that's how kento nanami finds himself standing outside your and satoru's apartment a week later, his fist hovering just above the door as he attempts to process what's awaiting him on the other side.

he can't quite believe he's actually going to 'release his stress' by using satoru's pretty little girlfriend who he's never even met before today. but he knows that not going through with it isn't an option — especially when he'll have to endure his colleague's relentless teasing afterwards.

so he knocks.

and it's you who opens the door, dressed in nothing but one of satoru's old shirts that is definitely much too long for you, the baggy fabric practically swallowing you whole as you stand before nanami.

"oh!" you gasp in realization as you look up at him, a small smile spreading across your lips as you kindly extend a hand to the man in front of you. "you must be kento! toru's told me a lot about you."

nanami, much to his own embarrassment, takes a few long moments to recover from the sight of you. somehow, you're even more beautiful in person than you were in that photo on his co-worker's lockscreen (despite being much more... clothed now.)

"ahem. yes, that's me," he murmurs after swallowing roughly, taking your hand in his own to give it a quick shake. he tries not to let his eyes linger too long on the size difference between them; how your hand practically disappears beneath his. "all good things, i hope?"

"oh, of course." you chuckle softly, stepping to the side and opening the door a little wider in a silent initiation for him to come inside. this is it — his last chance to just blow this whole thing off and drive home.

but he doesn't take that chance.

instead, he shuffles inside with a polite smile in your direction, pulling his other hand from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of flowers he'd bought on the way over here; he wasn't exactly sure what was an appropriate gift for someone else's girlfriend who was going to let him have sex with her, so he settled for some simple roses.

you close the door behind the two of you, your eyes widening when they fall on the flowers. how very... gentlemanly. you hadn't expected him to bring any type of present tonight — from what you'd gathered from satoru, this was going to be a very transactional exchange.

"sorry... is this too forward?" nanami mutters a little awkwardly, toying with the petal of one of the roses. "if you don't want them, i can go put them back in my—"

"no, no! they're beautiful," you say quickly, grasping the bouquet from him with a warm smile stretching across your lips. "it's really sweet of you. i just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

the blonde man seems to relax slightly at this, his tensed shoulders slowly deflating and a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. it's clear he's never done anything like this before; but then again, neither have you.

but when satoru had come to you with the idea of helping out his thoroughly overworked colleague and friend, who also happened to be quite handsome (in your boyfriend's words), you couldn't help but agree.

and satoru definitely underestimated kento's appearance with that measly description. he's more than quite handsome — he's gorgeous, with those well-kempt blonde locks and that ridiculously sharp jawline that could probably cut glass.

...let's just say you're not having any last minute regrets about agreeing to this.

"so, how about you go and make yourself comfortable in the living room while i put these in some water?" you suggest kindly, gesturing to doorway on the left as you head in the direction of the kitchen with the bouquet in your hands.

nanami nods in agreement, ducking his head to fit underneath the doorframe as he saunters into the living room of your apartment. it's cozy and small, with little trinkets that just scream satoru gojo scattered around the area.

of course that man has to make even his living room as chaotic as he is.

he plops down onto the couch, his still somewhat tense body sinking into the comfortable material. he feels more relaxed already than he has in months — it must be something to do with the warm atmosphere in your home (or the promise of what's to come.)

his respite doesn't last for long, however, because satoru comes bounding down the stairs, his blindfold askew and his grin wide when he notices nanami sitting there in his living room. "heyyy, nanamin! you're actually here! i figured you'd chicken out last minute, honestly."

the blonde man rolls his eyes behind his goggles, shooting his colleague a thoroughly unimpressed look in response to his statement; as if he hadn't just been considering 'chickening out', as gojo put it, moments ago outside the front door.

but he doesn't have to know that.

"well, i didn't." he settles for sighing bluntly, raising a neatly trimmed eyebrow when satoru drapes himself across the couch next to him like an oversized cat, practically taking up every inch of spare space.

"what's that look for?" satoru snickers obnoxiously, slinging his lanky legs over nanami's lap as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "this is my house you're in right now, remember? i can do what i want."

before nanami can even think of replying, you start padding into the room, shooting your boyfriend what can only be described as a disapproving look. "toru, stop harassing our guest."

the white-haired man lets out a petulant whine in response, grasping your hips as soon as you draw close enough and pulling you down onto his lap. he buries his face in your neck, grumbling. "i'm not harassing him, baby! it's just our usual banter. riiight, nanamin?"

"right." he chuckles lightly, exchanging an amused glance with you over satoru's head at the other man's antics. he's more like a young, whiny child than a full grown adult; especially when he acts like this.

"hey, stop smiling at him!" satoru huffs overdramatically in protest, looking up at you from your neck with one of his bright blue eyes peeking out from under his blindfold. "you're supposed to be on my side, pretty girl."

"i am on your side, silly," you say with fond exasperation, bringing a hand up to ruffle his messy white locks affectionately. "are you seriously mad at me for getting along with your friend?"

"no, i guess not." he grumbles in response, nuzzling his face back into your skin like a beloved pet would do to its owner.

nanami can't help but find it fascinating how the strongest sorcerer and most popular teacher at jujutsu tech seems to completely melt in your presence — there must be something really special about you, and he feels honoured to be allowed to have you for himself; even if only for one night.

"so— uh, how does this... work?" the blonde man asks curiously after clearing his throat, looking between you and the manchild snuggling you in his lap with a carefully questioning gaze.

satoru giggles at this, turning his head to give nanami an obnoxiously teasing wink. "how does me letting you hit this..." he drawls playfully, his hand traveling down from your hip to lightly squeeze your ass. "...work, nanamin?"

nanami almost chokes on his own salvia in response to his colleague's blunt wording, but somehow he manages to compose himself (just). "...yes, i suppose. if you insist on being so lewd about it."

you let out a small chuckle at this, swatting your boyfriend's hand away from your ass and giving him a chiding look, to which he just shrugs innocently.

"i think it should be up to you, kento," you hum thoughtfully, resting your chin on satoru's head and peering over at the blonde man with an encouraging smile. "how would you like this to work?"

"ah, well..." nanami begins, finding his brain seems to have short-circuited at your suggestion. he gets to choose how he has you? jesus, how is even supposed to form a single coherent sentence with you smiling at him like that?

"oh, come onn, nanamin!" satoru whines, raising one of his legs from the other man's lap to kick at his chest with one of his socked feet. "want me to give you some ideas? hmm... how about you start with her perfect little mouth? it works wonders, y'know!"

nanami lets a choked sound escape from somewhere in the back of his throat at this, his wide eyes shooting to you for any signs of hesitance. but he finds none, no — you're still smiling at him in such a friendly way, as if your boyfriend isn't signing you up to suck another man off right in front of him.

"is that— can i... are you sure?" he stammers awkwardly, suddenly feeling like an inexperienced teenager rather than a fully grown man.

"it's fine with me," you say sweetly, each word so thick and honeyed, making nanami's head start to go a little hazy. he can already feel his trousers starting to grow uncomfortably tight just from the direction this conversation is going in. "would you like that, kento?"

"would i—" nanami swallows thickly, stopping his words before they can come out sounding too eager. "yes... yes, i believe i would."

satoru grins widely at his co-worker's admission, effortlessly lifting you up from his lap and placing you on the floor in front of the couch. you crawl the rest of the way across the carpet, coming to perch between nanami's manspread legs.

the blonde man audibly gulps when you bring your hands up to his thighs, shifting just a little on the chair to try and hide how much his body is reacting to your proximity.

"phewww... look at him, baby," satoru whistles amusedly with a mischievous smirk as he watches the interaction, obnoxiously pointing to the growing tent in nanami's slacks. "so worked up already."

you tut lightly, shooting another disapproving look in your boyfriend's direction. "stop teasing him, toru. he's probably just touch-starved."

"something you wouldn't understand, gojo," nanami pushes out through gritted teeth, trying his best to keep up his usual collected demeanour even when he feels your fingers graze over his bulge. "not when you have such a sweet little thing waiting for you at home everyday."

"hm. now that is true," the white-haired man hums in agreement, reaching over nanami's lap to give your hair a gentle, loving stroke. "my girl always knows how to keep me satisfied."

you smile warmly up at satoru, leaning your head into his touch slightly while your hand squeezes around his colleague's clothed erection — and, shit. you can tell just how big he is even through these tight trousers.

you've really got your work cut out for you here.

satoru is quick to help you out, grasping a cushion from the couch and leaning down to slide it underneath your knees to make the position more comfortable for you. ugh, your boyfriend is just so considerate— but tonight isn't about him. focus!

with better support on the floor, you reach up to pop open the button on the front of nanami's slacks, looking up at him through your lashes; and, god, he looks absolutely wrecked already. his cheeks are flushed a light shade of pink, and his goggle-clad eyes are staring anywhere but you.

despite how stoic he always was in satoru's descriptions of him, right now... kento nanami looks utterly adorable.

unzipping his fly, the only barrier between you and his monster of an aching cock is his expensive-looking boxers. and while at this point with satoru you'd usually do a little teasing, you figure with nanami, it's better to cut straight to the chase.

he clearly needs it.

so you dip your nails under the waistband of his underwear, carefully tugging it down to reveal your boyfriend's colleague in all of his touch-starved glory; cock just giant as it slaps against his clothed abdomen, all veiny and curved as the reddened tip leaks onto the couch.

"woww, nanamin!" satoru croons obnoxiously, fanning himself with his hand as if he's a prim and proper lady about to collapse from shock. "how big you are."

"do you really have to be here for this?" the blonde man retorts, shooting a glare so deadly in his friend's direction that if looks could kill... your boyfriend definitely would be six feet under.

"oh, absolutely," he drawls back without missing a beat, smirking smugly as he crosses his legs against nanami's lap, as if watching his girlfriend prepare to give his co-worker a blowjob is the most normal situation possible. "i'll be here the whooole time. better get used to it."

rolling your eyes at satoru's relentless teasing, you opt to distract nanami from the white-haired sorcerer's interjections by wrapping a hand around his bare length (let it be noted that you definitely cannot fit his entire girthy base in your grip.)

nanami lets out a raspy, broken groan at the contact, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he tries to keep himself together. but the way his cock visibly jumps under your touch doesn't go unnoticed by you or satoru.

"relax for me, kento," you coo sweetly, giving him a light squeeze to make sure he's paying attention to your words. "gonna make you feel good, yeah?"

he can only release a few incoherent mumbles in response, his head falling back against the couch when you start to languidly stroke him, moving your hand from tip to base with well-practised movements.

"fuck, that's so hot," satoru groans as he shifts a little closer to get a better view of you working his uptight colleague with your fist, his own sweatpants starting to visibly tent too. "keep going, pretty girl."

you smile again at the praise, your thighs rubbing together subtly underneath satoru's baggy shirt. but he notices it, because of course he does, he knows your body's reactions like the back of his hand. "see that, nanamin? she loves it when you praise her. i hope you're taking mental notes right now."

nanami can only watch in awe as you lean down to press your soft lips to the leaking tip of his cock, his brain completely scrambled already from only a few touches. jesus, he can't believe he almost didn't agree to take part in this; he’s silently thanking his past self for having the confidence to go through with it right now.

"that's... you're doing good— so good." he pushes out, the words more of a garbled mess than anything as his toned hips involuntarily buck lightly into your hand, in search of more and more friction.

a small, satisfied hum spills from your lips at the praise, your tongue instinctively flicking out to lap at the pearlescent rivulets of pre-cum just streaming from his pudgy tip.

it’s not as sweet as satoru’s — it has a bit more of a salty tang. but it’s not exactly unpleasant either, and you find yourself digging the tip of your tongue into his slit to gather more of the interesting new flavour.

"ah!" nanami gasps loudly, the sound escaping from him without permission. his eyes fly open to fall squarely on you as you start suckling on his tip, finding himself being rendered completely speechless at the way you’re making him feel already — and you’ve only just started.

he’s in for a long night.

“yeahh, she’s good, isn’t she?” satoru croons proudly from beside him, reminding nanami of his presence yet again. but he can’t bring himself to be too mad at his colleague when he’s giving him access to his perfect girlfriend with such a sweet mouth.

“mhm,” the blonde man grunts out, his head rolling to the side slightly. he quickly shuts his eyes, not wanting to catch sight of satoru while he’s receiving such intense pleasure; the last thing he wants is to ruin his upcoming orgasm. “you’re a lu— ah, a lucky man.”

“oh, i know i am,” satoru hums smugly, his hand still resting on your hair giving you a gentle push in a silent encouragement to move your head forward. “come on, baby. i know you can take more of him than that.”

with the help of your boyfriend’s guiding hand, you find yourself sinking more of nanami’s thick cock into your mouth, inch by girthy inch until your nose bumps against the small patch of trimmed blonde hair at the bottom of his abdomen.

“oh, fuuuck…” nanami groans roughly, gripping the fabric of the couch so hard his knuckles are whitening as he tries to hold himself back from just fucking into your mouth like a feral animal.

“it’s okay if you want be rough, nanamin,” the white-haired sorcerer murmurs against the shell of his ear, as if directly reading his thoughts. “she doesn’t mind. she’s your stress relief, remember?”

like the gentleman he is, nanami makes sure to make eye contact with you to check for any signs of hesitance first. but when he doesn’t find any; he just can’t hold himself back from thrusting his hips up into the wet cavern of your mouth.

you try your absolute best to kneel there and take it, but you simply can’t help the way you choke around his sheer length when his tip hits the back of your throat with a lewd thwack!, causing both he and satoru to moan in response.

“yeahhh, you look so pretty choking on nanamin’s cock, babygirl.” satoru groans proudly, trailing his spare hand down to leisurely palm the bulge in his own pants as he observes the scene before him.

your boyfriend’s praise makes you audibly mewl around the blonde man’s cock, the vibrations around his shaft making nanami slap satoru’s hand out of your hair to grab it himself, keeping you in place as he continues rutting into your mouth with reckless abandon.

“just like that, just like that.” nanami chants over and over like a mantra, starting to completely forget about any and all stress he has as he loses himself to the overwhelming pleasure you’re giving him.

“you’re close, aren’t you?” satoru chimes in with a satisfied smirk stretching across his lips as he leans in unnecessarily close to nanami’s ear to whisper. “don’t worry about pulling out, she’ll swallow it all.”

his colleague’s lewd words practically send nanami hurtling over the edge, his grip on your hair tightening to a borderline painful degree as he spills rope after rope of hot, thick cum straight down your throat.

it takes a few deep gulps for you to swallow everything nanami gave you, but there’s just so much of it that a few stray drops spill from the edges of your lips and onto the carpet. shit — you’ll have to clean that up later.

“thaat’s it. such a good girl,” satoru purrs warmly, his eyes alight with affection as he reaches down to stroke your cheek with his thumb, enjoying the dazed expression across your pretty features. “i think you broke nanamin, though.”

looking up at nanami, you can instantly see the visual evidence of what your boyfriend means by you breaking nanami.

the blonde man looks completely debauched — chest rapidly rising and falling as he pants harshly in an attempt to come down from the intensity of his orgasm and eyes squeezed shut so tightly it would appear that he's in some sort of pain if you didn't know better.

"you alright there, kento?" you ask half-teasingly, tapping his thigh gently to try and gain his attention. (it doesn't work; he's clearly out of it.)

satoru is grinning like a madman beside him on the couch, clearly more than pleased with how well his girlfriend is doing unravelling his uptight co-worker so far. "aww, what a shame! he's chickening out before he can even get a feel of your tight little pussy."

you huff, lean up to swat at the white-haired sorcerer's arm in an attempt to get him to shut up, which only causes him to scoop you up in his arms again and place a big wet kiss on your lips in retaliation, seemingly uncaring of the lingering tase of nanami on them.

giggling, you attempt to wriggle out of his grip, which accidentally causes your ass to brush against nanami's still half-hard cock as a result; and that seems to snap him right out of his reverie.

nanami's entire body jolts to attention, a low groan leaving his lips as he glances down at where you're unintentionally pressed against him. and, god, if your mouth made him cum that hard that he forgot where he was for a few moments, just how much better must your pussy be?

"finally back with us, hmm?" satoru drawls playfully, reaching around you to punch his colleague's shoulder a little harder than necessary, causing the blonde man to scowl in response.

"quiet, gojo." he mutters under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the slip of your panties he can just about see from underneath the hem of your baggy shirt.

oh, what he'd give for just one little taste right now...

"don't even think about it," satoru cuts in, snapping him from his thoughts. oh dear, did he say that out loud? he really does need to get control of himself. "if you taste her you'll get addicted, and we can't have that."

nanami can't help but feel slightly disappointed at this — he's always been the type to return the favour, and not being able to do the same for you makes a subtle frown tug at his lips.

but he knows that he has no right to ask for anything more than what he's being offered, seeing as you're not his. (and it's not like he can complain if he gets to be inside that pretty pussy that's been on his mind since satoru showed him his lockscreen last week.)

"are you just gonna sit there, nanamin?" satoru chuckles in teasing disapproval, shaking his head and lifting up the hem of your (his) baggy shirt to reveal the considerable wet spot painting the crotch of your panties. "or are you gonna hurry up and take care of my girl? you knoow, it's bad manners to leave a lady waiting while she's this needy."

"ahem. my apologies, darling," nanami mutters hoarsely, using every ounce of self-control he has left to forcefully tear his eyes away from your underwear and meet your eyes. he gestures to his lap, giving you the strongest smile he can muster right now. "would you like to take a seat?"

"still so well-mannered." you giggle lightly, although you oblige without question, crawling away from satoru to perch yourself upon nanami's wide thighs. he instinctively reaches out to grasp your hips with two large hands, keeping you steady.

"so... can i—?" nanami mutters quietly to satoru, as if sharing a well-kept secret, and not as if he's asking for permission to touch another man's girlfriend's cunt. jesus, is he out of his comfort zone right now.

"can you touch her? yes, yes, of course," the white-haired sorcerer replies quickly with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if eager to get this underway already so he can sit back and enjoy the show. "oh, and you have to make her cum on your fingers atleast once before you can fuck her. house rules."

nanami isn't complaining about this rule.

he owes you an orgasm anyway, but when he slides your soiled panties to the side and gets an eyeful of your pretty pussy, he feels as if it would be a crime not to put his fingers inside of you.

ever the gentleman, nanami looks up at you from behind his lopsided goggles one more time to check for any signs of hesitation, and when he still doesn't find any, he slowly dips two thick fingers between your folds, caressing your slick flesh.

you release a small sigh at the touch, your eyelids fluttering as a wave of pleasure washes over you. he's careful and gentle with his ministrations; since he obviously isn't familiar with what you like.

but you can tell he's the type to be a quick learner.

it isn't long before nanami has you squirming and whining on his lap, the two fingers he eased inside of your dripping entrance scissoring and exploring your sloppy hole, spreading you open bit by bit.

"mmm, you like that, pretty girl?" satoru asks raspily from behind you, lazily palming his clothed erection again as he observes your reactions to his colleague's touch. "is he making you feel good?"

"y-yeahhh." is all you can get out in your daze, your back arching forwards in an unconscious action when nanami's thumb finds your swollen clit, lightly pressing the rough pad of it down on the puffy bud.

satoru leans back in so his chin is almost resting on nanami's shoulder, his warm, laboured breaths caressing the lobe of the other man's ear. "her favourite thing is when you rub lil' circles on her clit." he whispers, voice low and teasing.

against his will, a shiver ripples down nanami's spine in response to satoru's words, and he finds himself following them like they were a command, his thumb sloppily circling your pretty clit and emitting a soft gasp from your parted lips.

"c-close, kento." you mutter breathlessly, your hips beginning to grind down onto his fingers in search of more friction. satoru is quick to assist, abandoning palming himself and wrapping his an arm around your waist to help you bounce on the other man's digits more smoothly.

"thank you, thank you!" you cry out to your boyfriend, turning your head to meet his lips in an uncoordinated, messy kiss inches from nanami's face. the blonde man finds his fingers unconsciously speeding up as he observes the interaction, fucking you on them hard and fast.

within moments, you're coming undone.

a soundless cry falls from your lips as your body falls limp between the two men, your cunt clenching and unclenching around nanami's fingers in search of something to milk.

"god. she looks even more beautiful when she cums... i-i need to feel her. can i feel her, satoru?" comes nanami's broken voice from somewhere nearby, your blissed out state making your vision swim and your hearing fuzzy.

"woow. called me by my first name and everything!" that's satoru, obviously. he sounds overwhelmingly smug. "if i knew my girlfriend would get you this pussydrunk, i'd have let you have a turn with her ages ago."

their bickering becomes background noise as you bathe in the afterglow of your orgasm, but you vaguely register your baggy shirt being removed and your body being repositioned so you're splayed across the couch on your back.

"darling? do you need a moment or can i..." it's nanami's voice again. you manage to blink one eye open to find him hunched over you, burly arms either side of your head and his blonde tresses sticking to his forehead with sweat. casting your vision down, you can see his cock, flushed and angry with precum dripping from the tip once again, hovering just above your entrance.

"please." you mewl, the word slurred from lingering pleasure as you weakly grind your hips up into his erection, causing him to release a groan from deep in his throat.

"go ahead. give my girl what she wants," satoru grunts from somewhere behind nanami, the slick sounds filling the air indicating that he's finally released his cock from the confines of his sweatpants and started jerking himself off. "and you better give it to her good."

"i will," nanami mutters as he slowly but surely, pushes his monster of a cock past that first tight ring of muscle that is your entrance. "f-fuck— i will."

"i think that's the — ah — first time i've ever head you curse, nanamin." the white-haired man remarks playfully, his hips bucking up into his closed fist as he watches his colleague prepare to fuck his girlfriend. damn, this is even hotter than he expected.

"don't get used to it." he grunts in response, his arms visibly shaking above you as he tries to hold himself back from just slamming all the way into you. but no, he's still a gentleman; even now. he'll start slowly, atleast.

it takes a few long moments for nanami to push all of his ridiculously thick inches into you, and when he finally bottoms out, his heavy balls flush against your ass, both of you moan. he's stretching you out so good, just as much (if not more so) than satoru does.

the blonde man, to his credit, does manage to give you a while to adjust to the new intrusion filling you up, but it isn't long before he snaps, the animalistic side of him coming out as he begins rutting his hips into you like it's his last day on earth.

"a-ah! fuck, kento!" you cry breathlessly, your legs quickly locking around his waist for some type of support as he continues to use you like his own person cocksleeve, the couch rocking back and forth with the suddenly ruthless movements.

"uh huhh," satoru croons as he works his own cock faster, his blindfold discarded somewhere nearby so he can get the clearest view of nanami pounding his girlfriend into the couch. "use her to get rid of all that pesky stress."

"sorry, sweetheart — shit, sorry," nanami pants above you, his body seemingly having a mind of its own as he continues to drive his cock in and out of you, barely giving you a moment to breathe in between the rough thrusts. "can't stop."

you'd tell him it was okay, that it feels good, but right now you can't form a single coherent thought. you're completely and utterly cockdrunk, and there isn't even a doubt about it.

"hey — mmm — she really likes it when you play with her tits while you're fuckin' her." satoru adds helpfully, causing nanami to growl out something akin to thanks in response.

suddenly, a large hand is palming one of your bouncing breasts, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh and making you clench tightly around the cock inside of you.

nanami curses yet again under his breath, his eyes visibly rolling back in his head behind the fogged up lenses of his goggles. "so tight, darling. practically squeezing around me like a v-vice."

at his words, a broken moan gets ripped from your throat, your ankles digging into the muscles of his lower back in an attempt to pull him in even deeper. all you seem to be able to say is "more, more, more."

"that— ngh, that means she's close," satoru gasps out, his cock twitching beneath his fist as he continues to jerk himself off like there's no tomorrow. "rub... rub her clit like y'did earlier again."

instantly complying to the other man's command, two of nanami's thick fingers find your puffy little bud again, rubbing uncoordinated circles as he continues to pound into you like an animal in heat. jesus, he can't even remember what he was stressed about anymore.

"o-oh, shit!" you almost scream, the stimulation on your sensitive bud and the repeated slams of nanami's pudgy cockhead against your g spot driving you half-insane with pleasure. you can feel an all-too-familiar coil start to spool in the depths of your stomach, threatening to unravel at any given moment.

"yeah, that's it, baby," satoru praises breathlessly, his own orgasm approaching as he continues grinding into his fist like a desperate virgin. "cum all over nanamin's cock for me."

the dual sensations of your boyfriend's words and the thrusting of nanami's sinful hips has you spiralling uncontrollably over the edge, your second high of the night somehow even more intense than the first. you barely even have time to register the liquid just spraying from your cunt and soaking nanami's heavy balls where they're slapping against your ass with a lewd thwack! each time.

"god, so perfect, can't last—" nanami rambles in a very pussydrunk manner, his movements suddenly growing considerably more uncoordinated and sloppy as he struggles to find the strength to hold himself up. "gojo, where can i...?"

"not inside," satoru responds firmly, his voice the most coherent it's been since he started jerking himself off. it's clear there's no room for argument on this one. "that's for me only."

nodding shakily, nanami manages to pull his throbbing cock out just in a nick of time, rope after rope of his goopy cum splattering across the supple skin of your stomach, the stream going on for so long it seems like it'll never stop.

somewhere behind the blonde man, a low, raspy groan is the tell-tale sign that satoru has just finished too, probably coating his own hand with his sticky release.

it's silent for a few blissful moments, all three of you just basking in the afterglow of your respective orgasms. but of course, satoru gojo is a man who can never stay quite for long, so he says—

"hey, maybe we should do a threesome next time."

"next time?" nanami chokes out weakly, barely managing to lift his head up to glance over at this colleague with two raised eyebrows.

"yeah, next time," satoru shrugs nonchalantly, as if the proposal was nothing short of normal. "i know i said i'd only let you do this once, but... sharing is caring, right?"

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