#does this gif set back this up? no

[lightgamble]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.01, 1.02 & 1.03

I'm not him anymore. And, I won't let myself be.

[nikolaj-costerwaldau]

"Dammit, I happen to love this country."

OPPENHEIMER (2023), dir. Christopher Nolan

[vashtijoy]

"why not join me instead?" akechi's "invitation" in conf 7

People come and go on whether this question of Akechi's is genuine or not. Opinions run the gamut from "I hate him for trying to take you away from your friends" to "Akechi wants Joker to be his accomplice".

Myself, I don't think Akechi means this as a serious question, for a number of reasons. I think this question is rhetorical.

Quick summary:

Conf 7 illustrates the similarity between Joker and Akechi, and that they're both committed to the showdown between them;

Rather than being an invitation, Akechi's question again illustrates that parallel—that neither of them will give up the things that matter to them to join the other, as Joker has asked him to do;

"I'll think about it" does not count towards the third awakening—and I can prove it. Rather, Akechi can't conceive that Joker would ever abandon his friends, and uses it as an outrageous example of something Joker would never do;

Joker's loyalty not only to his principles but to his friends is something Akechi values so much that he won't let Joker sacrifice it;

Akechi is not so much offering Joker a way out in conf 7 (there is no way out) as he's confirming for his own sake that Joker is still in the game. Is this still a battle between rivals, or is it an execution?

Let's take a look.

what is akechi really asking?

[long post is long]

Look at this line. Look at the question he's posing:

Akechi いっそ君がこっちに来るってのは?⋯今の仲間を捨ててさ。 isso kimi ga kocchi ni kuru tte no wa?... ima no nakama o sutete sa Why not join me instead...? All you'd have to do is abandon the teammates you have now.

It's very easy to focus on the first half of this question and miss the second. But that second half is the important part, the sting in the tail. The Japanese is a great example of wa building suspense: "Instead, what if you come over to my side, (AND THEN WHAT, AKECHI???????)"

The sentence is left hanging, with the weight of it unspoken (since wa emphasises what comes after it); Akechi is obviously not done speaking. And indeed, when he continues, it's a doozy:

"though, of course, you'd have to dump the friends you have now." (Yes, I think "friends" is often a much better translation of nakama than "teammates", fight me; it's even often translated as "friend" in P5 itself, or indeed, awkwardly, as "teammates and friends".)

Akechi is using the same verb, suteru, that you use for tossing something in the trash; the parallel meaning, "ending a relationship", exists in Japanese too.

Ryuji, Morgana, Ann, Yusuke, Makoto, Futaba, Haru, everything you've all gone through together and everything you've been—Akechi is suggesting you toss them aside like garbage. For him.

Now, I think part of Akechi would very much like Joker to do that. But he also knows better than to expect it. Because he knows Joker so much better than that.

Akechi has seen firsthand how loyal Joker is to his friends—remember on 1/2 how he says he investigated them all? He's seen some of the things Joker will do for them. He expects that blind faith to lead Joker to his death, much as Yaldabaoth does. But he also respects it.

This boy who's never had a friend, who's convinced himself the whole idea is stupid, is still drawn to the loyalty he sees in Joker. Even as he's preparing his own ultimate betrayal, Akechi recognises Joker's commitment to others. He understands treachery is bad, even though he himself is a traitor—just as he understands that murder is bad, and that doesn't stop him, either.

This question of whether or not Joker will betray his friends (and Akechi specifically) comes back on 2/2, of course—and in force.

so why does he ask

Akechi is not proposing that the two of them run off together. He's not asking to see what Joker will say. He doesn't impulsively make the invitation, and then run away when Joker says yes. He is, in fact, not even asking. He poses the idea of Joker abandoning all his friends as a counterexample. It's supposed to be something Joker would never consider, something he will find morally repugnant.

Which is why, if Joker says yes, Akechi is shocked, and essentially tells Joker not to make such stupid spur-of-the-moment decisions. Akechi is making a rhetorical point about what Joker is asking of him.

Remember Joker's statement that leads into Akechi's question:

Yeah. Joker either suggests that Akechi should give up everything he's doing and everything he believes in (even as Akechi confabulates about what those things really are), or he suggests, with the top option, that he's already done it.

And in return, Akechi says that Joker should join him... and throw away his friends and everything he's working for and everything he believes in, of course.

It's the second response to his question, where Joker turns him down flat, that makes it most obvious that this was what Akechi meant:

Joker それは無理だ sore wa muri da I'm not doing that. No way in hell. Akechi だろうね。 darou ne I thought as much. Akechi 分かるだろ、誰だって今の立場を簡単に捨てられやしないんだよ wakaru daro, dare datte ima no tachiba o kantan ni suterare yashinai n da yo I'm sure you understand. We all have our parts to play, and we can't simply leave those behind.

See what he's saying? ima no tachiba o kantan ni suterare yashinai—"we absolutely must not lightly set aside the positions we hold now".

Incidentally, yes, that's that same verb suteru that he used before, for casting aside or throwing away. Akechi is drawing a parallel between Joker's friends and his own goals—between the things each of them holds most dear, which neither of them will sacrifice, even to save the other. (Assuming you think Akechi would even be down to save Joker—but I do think conf 7 suggests that at this point, he might not be opposed to the possibility. It's just that it doesn't exist.)

the phone call

This parallel returns in the phone call afterwards, if you again tell him that you're rivals:

It's a little hard to tell from the localisation what Akechi is getting at, so let's take a close look:

Akechi 僕らにはお互い譲れないものがあって、そのためにも負けられない。 bokura ni wa otagai yuzurenai mono ga atte, sono tame ni mo makerarenai [lit. for both of us, these are things we cannot compromise on, and because of those things we cannot suffer losing.] Neither of us can afford to lose, because we fight in service of our principles. It's the same for both of us. Neither of us can afford to lose, because of these principles we won't concede. Akechi ⋯だからこそ、もしも君が自分を曲げたりしたら絶対に赦さないよ。 ... dakara koso, moshi mo kimi ga jibun o megetari shitara zettai ni yurusanai yo [lit. that's exactly why, if you were to warp yourself [that way], I would absolutely never let such a sin (t/n: note the kanji) pass.] And that is precisely why... I cannot allow you to change. ... And that's precisely why, if you betrayed yourself that way... I couldn't allow it. Akechi だって、僕が負けたくないのは『君』なんだから。 datte, boku ga maketakunai no wa "kimi" nan da kara [lit. it's you as you are now who I do not want to lose to.] As you are now, as you think now... I cannot allow you to win over me. The person you are now, with those principles, and that determination—that's the one I won't ever allow to beat me.

Here's my attempt at a translation again, so you can see it all together:

Akechi: It's the same for both of us. Neither of us can afford to lose, because of these things we won't concede. Akechi: ...And that's precisely why, if you betrayed yourself that way... I couldn't allow it. Akechi: The person you are now, with those principles, and that determination—that's the one I won't ever allow to beat me.

It turns out that this phone conversation, that was originally quite mystical-sounding and hard to follow (what were you trying to say, Akechi?) is quite straightforward. It ties into to his original question. "Will I join you, Joker? Well, what if you join me instead? Just throw away all your little friends for my sake? Of course you won't—because we're the same. Both of us have things we can't give up, no matter what—and if you tried to do that, I wouldn't let you, because I value you as you are...."

This parallel between the two of them is what conf 7 is about, from the text message that opens it to the phone call that concludes it:

It's the same thing again: neither of you can afford to lose, because you're fighting for your principles. The billiard table is the stage for this wider discussion.

The billiard scene, of course, is interesting for another reason—Akechi is giving Joker a chance to back out; he's testing his commitment, and perhaps hinting that he never intended to be quite where he is, either. He states at the outset that he's being indirect, that what he's saying is a metaphor—and then closes that metaphor with a very direct question: "Do you still intend to play this game?"

Akechi それでも君は、このゲームを降りる気はないの? sore demo kimi wa, kono geemu o oriru ki wa nai no? Even then... do you still intend to play this game? But despite all of that, you still won't fold, will you?

The Japanese is even more specific: Akechi asks Joker if he intends to fold—not whether he still wants to play, but whether he means to give up entirely! "This can't be what you expected, so how about it? Will you just give up? Does this mean as much to you as it does to me? Is this a game we both choose to play, or are you just a victim?"

How much of this is Akechi blowing smoke up his own ass?—casting the fact that he's about to murder the boy in front of him in a glowing, romantic light? Pretty much all of it, I'd say. He's dreamed of having a rival, someone to compete with who challenges him, but what he's got is quite a bit more than that.

Again, the rival imagery is what allows Akechi not only to accept this close relationship, but to frame it as a life-or-death contest that only one of them can win. It confirms to him that what Lavenza describes as "a truly unfair game" is actually fair. It's about making Joker's murder seem as much Joker's fault as his own.

but what happens if you say yes?

Despite all of this, you can choose to have Joker consider Akechi's "offer"—to discard Ryuji, Morgana, Ann, Yusuke, Makoto, Futaba and Haru like trash, and assist Akechi instead. It's tempting, I know.

I don't personally get the impression that Akechi likes this response, for a number of reasons. None of the three responses to his offer score confidant points, but there's something else in play: only one of these responses unlocks his third awakening.

See the F code highlighted in yellow? Only one of these three responses has it. "You're my rival" counts towards the third awakening. Rejecting him, with "I'm not doing that", does not—but more to the point, offering to be with him, with "I'll think about it", also does not!

The issue is confused because a number of us have taken option 1 (or indeed option 2, like me) and still got the third awakening on 2/2. It seems like you need some of the flagged responses, not all of them. But it remains the case that "I'll think about it" does not make Akechi more likely to have his third awakening.

What happens if you take this option?

Joker 考えておく kangaete oku I'll think about it. Akechi へえ、考えてはくれるんだ? hee, kangaete wa kureru n da? Oh? So you'll think about it, at least? What? You mean you'll consider it? Akechi ⋯でも、そういうその場限りの情はやめた方がいい。 ...demo, sou iu sono ba kagiri no jou wa yameta hou ga ii ...But I'd advise you don't say these things without their due consideration. ... Still, it would be better if you didn't trust such fleeting sentiments. Akechi 出来もしない約束はするものじゃないよ。 deki mo shinai yakusoku wa suru mono ja nai yo You shouldn't make promises that you can't keep, anyway. Don't be the sort who promises the earth and walks away.

A few grammar points:

んだ n da on a question demands an explanation; Akechi's question could almost be rendered "Why on earth would you need/want to think about it?"

そういうその場限りの情 sou iu sono ba kagiri no jou—"sentiments that only matter here and now". Essentially, "sentiments that won't last"—or that are makeshift or ad hoc; Joker is making a stupid spur-of-the-moment decision.

yes, 出来もしない約束 deki mo shinai yakusoku translates idiomatically as "promising the earth". The point is not that Joker should not promise; the point is that he shouldn't be the sort of person who promises so much—and then doesn't follow through.

Again, this confidant is all about Akechi's expectations for Joker. It's about the weird belief he has in him, like the belief he has in Shido—that Joker has principles and friends and will stand by them, that those things are important and matter, even if they're diametrically opposed to Akechi's principles and the things he wants.

The fact that they foil each other in this way is a large part of what makes Joker such a worthy opponent for Akechi. So if Joker turns around and says, sure, Akechi, I'll dump all my friends so we can make out?

Akechi does not like that. He thinks better of him!—he loses respect if Joker offers this. Even if that little line about "promising the earth" suggests that, actually, yeah, he would quite like for the two of them to run away together—if only they lived in a world where it was possible.

what about "you're my rival"?

I've discussed this line before, but let's go into it for completeness.

Joker 明智は好敵手だ akechi wa koutekishu da You're my rival. Nah, you're my worthy opponent.

Do you see that Joker names Akechi there? He doesn't just say, "we're worthy opponents", or even "you're my worthy opponent", koutekishu da yo.

No, he picks Akechi out by name, and then tells him exactly what they are to each other. Because wa builds suspense. Akechi wa... (what?! what is he?!) koutekishu da. "I can't run away with you, because I need you to be this to me instead".

And this is the line with the F-code. This is the line that, if you choose it, will build towards Akechi's third awakening—which is centred on his trust in Joker, on the fact that Joker is worthy of that trust.

And how does Akechi respond?

He's astonished. He did not expect this at all, look:

On the left, the top screenshot where he's waiting for your answer; in the centre, the moment of shock, where he's pulled away and dropped his hand and his eyes are wide; on the right, a comparative overlay just to demonstrate that he pulled back.

smiles that aren't smiles

I have a half-assed theory that you can tell when Akechi is really smiling—because the model will smile with him. If you watch, for instance, Ryuji, the model's expressions match the sprite's almost exactly. But if you watch Akechi? Nah, not so much.

Here's an example. Akechi appears to smile quite often through conf 7—but if you glance away from the sprite and textbox to the model, the model is pokerfaced. Five smile sprites on the optimal route through conf 7, and not one of them—not even "you truly are fascinating"—matches the model:

But when you pick "You're my rival"? Suddenly the model's face springs to life:

It's obvious from everything else that this moment is of deep significance to Akechi. But this little detail with the smiles suggests we can confirm it.

and what does he say?

It doesn't take long for him to pull himself together:

Akechi 同意だね、僕らにはなれ合いより対等な関係こそふさわしい。 doui da ne, bokura ni wa nareai yori taitouna kankei koso fusawashii I agree. I think a relationship of equals suits us better than being co-conspirators, anyway...

This is another one that I find unclear in the localisation, so let's have at it.

nareai suggests an illicit or unduly-close union. It suggests "being in bed together" in the business sense—cosying up, colluding, conspiring. It suggests they're working together when they shouldn't be. Jisho uses the screamingly-outdated term "common-law marriage" (what we call "living together") as an example. Essentially, it suggests they're too close—or even co-dependent, in a way that corrupts them both.

In short? Akechi's "co-conspirators", nareai, means "accomplices"—what we might call "murder boyfriends".

taitouna kankei—literally, "an equal relationship"—is a set phrase, and we know what it means. It suggests a relationship where nobody is being cheated; where everyone gets out what they put in. Where the two of them compete on equal terms.

That's a very Akechi way to look at relationships. But it's also a relationship where nobody is in charge; nobody is dominant, and everyone has self-respect. Nobody is chasing after anyone or sacrificing unduly, as either would be if they joined the other. Everyone can be who they are and say what they want. Everyone can say no.

It's the sort of relationship Akechi very notably does not have with Shido. Is it the sort of relationship he has with Joker, when the two of them are hiding so much from each other and lying so much, and there's so much, like, murder going on? Nah. But as an aspiration, as a suggestion of the sort of relationship Akechi would like them to have, alongside everything else he's told us about how he sees the two of them—as similar, as equals and opposites, as bound by their principles, as destined to fight—it's almost touching.

and what does joker think?

Akechi ⋯たとえこの先、何があろうともだ。 ...tatoe kono saki, nani ga arou tomo da ...No matter what else may change. ...No matter what might come next. Akechi それだけの事を言ったんだから、逃げないでよ? sore dake no koto o itta n da kara, nigenaide yo? In any case, what you just said carries great weight. Remember what you decided, and don't run from it. All right? [lit. don't run away just because of what [I/you] said, all right?]

I'm not sure about this. It feels like it should be referring back to Akechi's last line—"don't get cold feet and run away just because I alluded ominously to whatever's coming next, okay?". I guess it could be referring to Joker's commitment, with "You're my rival"? IDK, I'm out on this one, so I'm inclined to give the localisation the benefit of the doubt.

But it doesn't matter. Because the significance of what Joker does next doesn't change:

He nods. Akechi spends the whole confidant hinting that something ominous is coming, and that the two of them are heading to an inevitable confrontation, and Joker nods.

I don't think this is really consistent with interpretations where Joker is a meek little sheep in the interrogation room. Joker might not have chosen this, he might not have wanted it, he might have by far preferred to avoid it. He'd happily back out if Akechi would just drop the whole thing and agree to act sane. But he's committed to it. He agrees to fight.

Remember, conf 7 takes place after Joker hears the murder phone call. He knows what Akechi is. He knows what he's planning. He knows the stakes—and he agrees to play, to face Akechi down.

To quote @nardaviel, that's no sheep. That's a full-on "Phantom Thieves win again, motherfucker" smirk. Joker played Akechi's game, with everything he had—and he played to win.

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 2 - Twilight Town - Mansion Basement

[blackhholes]

teen wolf meme: [6/6] creatures -> ghost riders

In storm clouds just like these, phantom hunters would appear, riding black horses with blood-red eyes, and wolves and hounds at their side, baying and snarling. What were they hunting? Souls.

[knickynoo]

Marty McFly + parroting

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: EARTH (PART 1 - REVAMPED)

Ft. Staff Cmdr. Sophie Oliveira-Shepard Alenko-Oliveira, Cpt. Arno Delacroix, and Zaeed Massani-Shepard MIRA'S MORE CANON ME3 "Shadow Broker resources? Yeah, they might be good for a lot of shit, Dove. Convincing the brass to get off their asses and do something about the Reapers? Not one of them. Think that one might be up to you, this time. Entertaining diction and goddamn fucking all." Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[chloecherrysip]

Mario watching his and Luigi's commercial in Punch-Out Pizzeria

[swordmaid]

my hag romance murder mystery au turning to magistrate astarion working with executor shri’iia we kind of like that development

[lattehearted]

on break during a town hall for my tribe, thinking about how involved leah is in her own indigenous heritage

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[sonarspace]

❝ BABY COME OVER HERE AND RIDE IT OUT ! ❞

꒰ synopsis. love isn’t the only thing they’re giving you tonight.

featuring. nanami. gojo. choso. geto. sukuna. toji. (separate)

warnings. mdni. nsfw. oral (f. receiving). fingering. teasing. kinda rough sex. unprotected sex. kinda overstimulation. size kink. food play (toji's)

an. made this kinda long since i haven't been posting much so i hope you guys enjoy !

❦ KENTO NANAMI

nanami asks you every year, like clockwork. it doesn’t matter that you wear his ring, that you wake up tangled with him every morning, his legs hooked around yours beneath the sheets, or that his touch is already written into your skin like a vow. he still does it. like it’s the first time.

"be my valentine."

his voice is low, rasping, the first thing you hear before you even open your eyes. the morning light spills through the curtains, catching the sharp angles of his face, his blond hair glowing in the soft haze. he’s already dressed, standing beside the bed with one knee pressed into the mattress, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. not something rushed, not a last-minute grab. he chooses them carefully, every year, arranging them with the precision he applies to everything in his life—especially you.

your fingers ghost over the petals before curling around his wrist, tugging him closer. his lips part just slightly, his jaw tightening as his eyes flick between your face and your grip on him.

"always."

the word barely leaves your lips before he’s leaning down, pressing his mouth to the inside of your wrist, then your temple, then your lips—lingering, savoring, like he’s etching the moment into his memory.

dinner is familiar, comfortable in its ritual. candlelight flickers against polished silverware, the low hum of conversation surrounding you, the occasional clink of glass. nanami sits across from you, his presence sharp even in his silence. he’s composed, refined, but his attention is heavy, a weight you feel pressing into your skin.

his hand remains firm on your thigh beneath the table, fingers kneading the fabric of your dress, thumb drawing absentminded circles against your skin. he watches you sip your wine, his golden eyes tracking the movement, darkening as your lips part around the rim of the glass, your tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of red.

"you're quiet," you muse, setting your glass down.

his gaze lifts, sharp and unreadable. "just watching."

the rasp in his voice makes your stomach tighten, heat blooming low in your belly. his fingers flex against your thigh, pressing just a little harder. he doesn’t say anything else, but you can feel the storm gathering behind his composure.

you don’t even make it five steps past the front door before he’s on you.

"you have no idea," he growls against your throat, his breath hot, his body pressing you back against the door. his hands grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and you let out a gasp as your legs wrap around his waist. he holds you up like you weigh nothing, like you belong there.

"how fucking hard it was to sit through dinner."

his lips trail along your jaw, down your throat, sucking bruises into your skin without a care. he doesn’t want you to hide them.

"kento—"

"shh."

his hips roll into you, slow, deliberate, the thick weight of his cock pressing against your core through his slacks. the pressure makes you shiver, your fingers fisting into his shirt.

"you were testing me."

his voice is lower now, a growl buried deep in his chest. his hands tighten where they grip you.

"sat there all night, acting innocent, knowing you weren’t wearing anything under that dress."

his hand slides between your bodies, fingers pressing against your slit, cupping your heat through the thin material. his jaw clenches, breath hitching as he feels the wetness seeping through.

"fuck."

he presses harder, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit.

"this all for me?"

you nod, whimpering, nails digging into his broad shoulders. his belt clinks, his slacks fall, and then he’s pressing the flushed head of his cock against your entrance, dragging it through your slick, teasing, torturing.

"gonna take me like a good girl?"

your body trembles, and he smirks.

"course you are."

then he sinks in.

your eyes go wide, your back arching, nails scraping down his back as he stretches you open, inch by inch.

"oh, fuck."

nanami shudders, stilling for a moment, his head falling to your shoulder, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

"so fucking tight."

he pulls back just enough before thrusting forward, burying himself to the hilt.

your head snaps back, mouth falling open, a breathless sound caught in your throat.

"mine," he growls, his pace deep, steady, brutal. calculated, like he’s making up for lost time, like he needs you to feel him in your bones.

his hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, holding you still, keeping you pinned against the door as he drives into you. you’re gasping, whimpering, clutching at him, and he laughs, dark and low in your ear.

"such a needy little thing."

he grinds into you, so deep you feel him in your stomach, his forehead pressing against yours, golden eyes locked onto you, watching you break apart on his cock.

"gonna cum for me?" his thumb slides down, pressing against your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. "gonna make a mess all over me?"

your body tenses, pleasure slamming into you, your orgasm ripping through you like a live wire, leaving you shaking in his arms.

"fuck—fuck, kento—!"

"oh, fuck," he pants, his hips stuttering, losing rhythm, and then he’s spilling inside you, grinding in deep, making you take all of it.

his grip softens, hands moving to smooth over your skin, his mouth pressing slow, lingering kisses against your shoulder, your collarbone, the corner of your lips.

"every damn year," he whispers again, softer this time, like a promise.

like next year, he’ll ask again.

and next year, you’ll say yes.

❦ SATORU GOJO

when you wake up, there’s a handwritten note on your pillow. messy scrawl, a little smudged, but the message is clear.

'be mine?'

when you step into the kitchen, he’s already there, leaning against the counter, sipping from a coffee cup, watching you with that familiar smirk. his hair is still tousled from sleep, white strands sticking up in every direction, and his robe is hanging loosely off his shoulders, like he didn’t bother to tie it properly.

“so?” he tilts his head, expectant. “what’s your answer?”

you roll your eyes, setting the note down beside your mug. “who else would i say yes to?”

he hums, stepping closer, fingers grazing your waist, warm and easy, like he has all the time in the world. “smart girl.” his lips brush over your temple, soft, but there’s something heavier behind it—the way his hands slide lower, gripping at your hips like he’s already thinking about something else.

“y’know,” he murmurs, voice dropping, “i’ve been craving something sweet all morning.”

you barely have time to react before he grips the back of your thighs and lifts you onto the counter, stepping between your legs.

“satoru—”

“shh, lemme have my breakfast first.”

he kneels between your thighs, pushing them apart, sliding your panties down your legs with agonizing patience.he keeps his eyes on you, watching, waiting, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers trace up the inside of your thighs, slow and deliberate.

“fuck,” he breathes, fingertips pressing into your skin as he stares at your slick folds like he’s starving.

he parts you with his thumbs, his tongue flicking out, teasing at your clit before pulling back just to see the way you react. you shudder, hands gripping at the counter, thighs threatening to close, but he stops you with a firm grip.

“nah, sweetheart, lemme see all of you,” he mutters, holding you open, licking another slow, deliberate stripe up your cunt. your head falls back, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as he starts to eat you like he’s savoring something decadent.

he hums against you, like he’s enjoying himself just as much as you are. his tongue circles your clit before sucking it into his mouth, groaning at the way your body reacts. his fingers slide up, spreading you wider as he licks into you, wet and filthy, taking his time.

your fingers tangle into his soft hair, pulling, and he just groans into you, sending vibrations through your core.

he eats like he’s starving, sucking and licking, dragging it out, making sure to taste every inch of you. when he slips his tongue inside, fucking into you with slow, deep strokes, you let out a choked gasp, legs trembling around his shoulders.

his grip tightens, holding you still, keeping you open as he flicks his tongue over your clit again, faster now, relentless.

“satoru, i—”

“mmm, c’mon, baby,” he groans, pressing his face deeper, tongue pressing against your clit, sucking hard. “gimme what i want.”

your body tenses, thighs squeezing around his head as pleasure slams into you all at once, breaking you open. you cry out, grinding against his mouth, and he groans, licking you through it, dragging it out, refusing to stop until you’re trembling against him.

when he finally pulls away, he licks his lips, smirking, eyes blown wide as he stares up at you.

“fuck, baby,” he breathes, dragging his thumb through your slick, bringing it to his mouth just for one last taste. “you really are the sweetest treat.”

you whimper at his words, body still shaking, but he’s already standing, already pressing against you again.

his hands slide up your waist, fingers curling into your hair, tugging your head back just enough for him to whisper against your skin.

“think you can handle more?”

his cock presses against your thigh, heavy and hard, and you realize he’s not even close to being done with you.

his lips brush your jaw, as he nudges your legs wider, pressing the thick head of his cock against your entrance.

❦ CHOSO KAMO

choso wasn’t sure what possessed him to do this. he’d spent weeks overthinking every detail, from what to cook to what music to play in the background. he wasn’t good at things like this—planning dates, making moves, figuring out if someone actually liked him the way he liked them. but when valentine’s day came around, he swallowed his nerves and asked if you’d come over for dinner.

and now you’re standing in his doorway, smiling at him like he’s not completely losing his mind.

“happy valentine’s,” he says, awkwardly holding out the flowers he bought earlier that day. they’re slightly crumpled from how tightly he’s been gripping them, but the colors are nice, and he hopes you won’t notice.

you take them gently, fingers brushing his as you bring them up to your nose. “you got me flowers?”

“uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “thought you might like them.”

“i love them,” you say, and his heart does something weird in his chest.

he steps aside so you can come in, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to keep them from fidgeting. the apartment smells warm, something rich and savory simmering on the stove. it’s cozy, a little cluttered, but in a way that feels lived in.

“you really went all out,” you tease, setting the flowers down on the counter, eyes sweeping over the neatly set table. “candles, music, a home-cooked meal? you trying to impress me, choso?”

he swallows hard, avoiding your gaze. “maybe.”

dinner is nice, easier than he expected. he listens more than he talks, letting you carry the conversation, letting himself soak in the sound of your voice. you’re so comfortable, so at ease, while he’s been tense all night, too aware of how much he wants this to go well.

at some point, you must notice, because you set your fork down and tilt your head at him. “you’re really nervous, huh?”

he lets out a breath, staring down at his plate. “yeah. i—” he hesitates, then sighs. “you just seem so... calm. like this is nothing for you.”

you blink at him, then shake your head with a small laugh. “choso, i’m just as nervous as you are.”

his head lifts, brows furrowing like he doesn’t quite believe it. “you don’t look it.”

“i hide it better than you do,” you admit, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “but trust me, i’ve been overthinking this just as much as you.”

his fingers twitch beneath yours, his whole body going still as he processes what you just said. then his shoulders drop a little, the tension easing just enough for him to exhale.

somehow, after dinner, you both end up on the couch, sitting close, legs barely brushing. you’re talking about something, but choso’s focus keeps slipping, keeps drifting to the way you’re sitting so comfortably in his space, like you belong there.

and then you’re looking at him, your voice softer now. “can i kiss you?”

his breath catches, fingers tightening where they rest on his lap. “yeah.”

you lean in, and he barely has time to process it before your lips press against his. it’s soft at first, slow, like you’re giving him a chance to pull away if he wants to. but he doesn’t. his hand comes up, fingers slipping into your hair as he kisses you back, tentative but growing bolder the longer he gets lost in the feeling.

somewhere along the way, you move into his lap, straddling him, your weight pressing down against him in a way that makes his head spin. his hands settle on your hips, gripping tightly, like he’s afraid to move too much and break whatever spell this is.

then you roll your hips, slow, teasing, and choso chokes on a gasp, hands flying to your waist to hold you still.

“fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping against your shoulder. “you—fuck.”

you do it again, and his fingers dig into your skin, his breath coming faster, harder.

“this okay?” you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

he nods, swallowing hard. “yeah. yeah, just—” he exhales sharply when you grind down again. “god, that feels good.”

his hands slide up, dragging along your sides, gripping at you like he’s still trying to process that this is happening. his hips move on instinct, pushing up to meet yours, the friction making him shudder.

he’s so warm beneath you, so solid, so desperate, making the tiniest, neediest sounds every time you move against him. his head falls back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched.

“you’re shaking,” you murmur, fingers threading through his hair.

he lets out a breathless laugh. “you’re really gonna act like you’re not?”

you smile, kissing him again, deeper this time, slower. his hands slide under your shirt, warm palms pressing against bare skin, not pushing, just holding, just wanting to feel.

his hips stutter beneath you, his grip tightening as he exhales sharply. “gonna—fuck, gonna cum if you keep—”

you press down harder, grinding in slow, lazy circles, and he moans, low and broken, his whole body trembling beneath you. his fingers grip tight, his breath stuttering as he falls apart, hips jerking up against you, voice catching in his throat.

you kiss him through it, soft and slow, dragging your fingers down his back as he shudders beneath you. he’s panting when he finally collapses against the couch, flushed and dazed, eyes fluttering open just enough to look at you.

you lean in, lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “best valentine’s day ever.”

he groans softly, chest still rising and falling against yours. “yeah.”

then, before you can process it, he’s flipping you onto your back, pressing you into the cushions, settling between your legs.

“what are you—”

“returning the favor,” he murmurs, lips brushing along your jaw, down your throat, his hands sliding beneath your thighs.

his breath is warm against your skin, his voice barely more than a whisper. “let me taste you.”

his hands tighten on your waist as he sinks lower, lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, parting your legs, settling between them like he belongs there.

when his lips finally close around your clit, when his tongue presses against you, slow and wet and filthy, he groans like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever had.

and when you moan his name, fingers twisting in his hair, hips rolling up to meet his mouth, he's determined to make this valentine’s day one you’ll never forget.

❦ SUGURU GETO

you don’t expect him to show up at your door.

it’s late, the night air cool against your skin when you open it to find suguru standing there, leaning against the frame like he belongs there, like he’s been here a hundred times before.

his black hair is tied up, a few loose strands falling over his forehead, and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his coat. he looks effortless, like always, like this is just another night for him, like he didn’t just show up on your doorstep without calling first.

"you busy?" he asks, voice smooth, lazy, like he already knows the answer.

"if i was?" you challenge, tilting your head.

he hums, stepping closer, the smallest smirk tugging at his lips. "then i'd say i’ll wait."

you roll your eyes but step back to let him in, because this is suguru, because you’re used to him showing up unannounced, because part of you had been waiting for this, hoping for it, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

he shrugs out of his coat, draping it over the back of your couch before stretching, muscles shifting beneath his sweater, his movements so slow, so casual, like he has all the time in the world.

"so?" you prompt, watching as he surveys your apartment like he hasn’t been here a hundred times before.

he turns to you, dark eyes flicking over your face, taking in the way you cross your arms over your chest, trying to act like his presence doesn’t make your stomach tighten.

"figured i should at least stop by," he says. "it is valentine’s day, after all."

you snort. "since when do you care about that?"

"i don’t," he says, stepping closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s standing in front of you, close enough that you have to tip your head back slightly to meet his gaze. "but you do."

your heart stutters in your chest, your pulse quickening, because this is different. suguru has always been laid back, has always flirted with you in a way that was easy to brush off as friendly. but right now, he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for something, like he’s testing you, like he’s finally giving you the chance to close the distance.

you swallow, feeling your fingers twitch at your sides. “and what exactly are you offering?”

his lips twitch, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite place. "whatever you'll let me."

there’s a pause, heavy, stretching between you, neither of you moving, neither of you looking away.

and then, finally, you reach for him, your fingers curling into the front of his sweater as you pull him in.

he follows easily, his body pressing against yours, his breath warm against your lips. he lets you set the pace, lets you tug him down, lets you kiss him first.

but the second your lips press against his, he takes over.

his hands slide up your sides, fingers curling around your waist, pulling you in, pressing you against him like he’s been waiting for this. he kisses you slow, deep, lazy in a way that makes your head spin, like he has nowhere else to be, like he has all night to take his time with you.

you sigh against him, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, tugging at the tie keeping it in place.

he groans softly when you pull it free, his hair falling around his shoulders, and you swear you feel him smile against your lips.

"finally," he murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher.

"shut up," you breathe, pulling him back in, kissing him deeper, harder, pressing your body against his.

he lets you, lets you set the pace for a moment, lets you take what you want. but then his hands slide lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, walking you back until your back hits the couch.

you gasp as he lowers you onto it, pressing himself between your legs, his weight warm, solid, grounding.

his lips trail down your throat, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin, his breath warm against your collarbone.

"suguru," you whisper, fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer.

he groans, hands tightening on your hips, his body rolling against yours, slow, teasing, letting you feel him.

you whimper, arching into him, rocking your hips up to meet his, the friction sending a shiver down your spine.

his breath stutters, his grip tightening, his body pressing down against you, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

"been thinking about this for a while," he admits, his voice rough against your skin.

you smile, tilting your head to capture his lips again, rolling your hips against him, feeling the way his breath catches.

"then stop thinking," you murmur.

he groans, his hands sliding beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your bare skin, his lips dragging over your throat, your jaw, back to your mouth.

he kisses you like he’s memorizing the feeling, like he wants to make up for all the time he wasted pretending he didn’t want this.

his hips move in slow, deliberate rolls, pressing against you, making your breath hitch, making heat coil low in your stomach.

you can feel how hard he is, can feel how much he’s holding back, his fingers gripping your waist like he’s trying to keep himself steady.

"suguru," you whisper, dragging your nails down his back.

he exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm, unsteady.

"tell me you want this," he says, his voice low, strained.

you smile against his lips, pressing your hips up against his again, feeling the way he shudders.

"i do."

his resolve snaps.

his hands grip your thighs, his lips crashing into yours, his body pressing you deeper into the couch, grinding against you in slow, deep rolls, his breath ragged, his hands trembling.

"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hips moving harder, faster, almost desperate now.

you moan, clinging to him, arching up to meet every movement, the friction building, overwhelming.

"sugu—"

"i want this every day," he breathes, his voice breaking, his body tensing as he loses himself in you. "i want you every day."

his hips stutter, his fingers dig into the skin of your hips as he moans against your throat, coming undone with you, his body shaking with it.

you hold him through it, dragging your hands up his back, whispering his name, pressing soft kisses against his jaw as he shudders in your arms.

when he finally catches his breath, he leans up just enough to look at you, his eyes hazy and dark, but softer than you’ve ever seen them.

he smiles, breathless, pressing his lips to your forehead. "yeah," he murmurs. "definitely want this every day."

❦ SUKUNA RYOMEN

you don’t expect anything from sukuna.

it’s not that you think he’s forgotten—he doesn’t forget things, least of all when people expect something from him. it’s that he doesn’t care.

valentine’s day is meaningless to him, just some cheap human tradition, an excuse for people to drape themselves in red and pink and beg for attention. and he’s never been the type to do something just because everyone else is doing it.

so you don’t ask, don’t even bring it up. you go about your day as usual, pretending it doesn’t sting just a little that he doesn’t even acknowledge it.

but when you walk into the room, something shifts.

he’s lounging on the couch, legs spread wide, arm slung over the backrest, posture completely at ease. the flickering light from the television casts sharp shadows along his face, accentuating the angles of his jaw, the high cut of his cheekbones. the pink strands of his hair catch the glow, almost soft if not for the way his deep red eyes flick over to you.

at first, he doesn’t react. doesn’t say anything. just stares, unblinking, scanning you from head to toe.

then, finally, his head tilts, his mouth curling into something that isn’t quite a smirk but isn’t neutral either.

"what the hell are you wearing?"

you blink, brows lifting. "a dress?"

he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, studying you with unreadable intent.

"for me?"

"not everything is about you, sukuna," you retort, crossing your arms over your chest.

he scoffs, but his gaze never leaves you, dragging over the shape of your legs, the dip of your waist, the way the fabric clings to you in all the right places.

"you sure about that?" his voice dips lower, not quite rough, but there’s something deliberate in the way he speaks, a certain weight behind his words. "because you’re standing there, looking like that, and now i’ve got a problem."

you roll your eyes, turning toward the kitchen. "if you’re just gonna be annoying, i’ll go find someone else to spend valentine’s with."

you barely make it two steps before his hand catches your wrist, yanking you back with zero effort, making you stumble right into his chest.

"you think anyone else could handle you?" he murmurs, voice lower now, a little rougher, edged with something smug.

his other hand moves, trailing up your thigh, just enough to make you exhale a little too sharply.

you sigh, feigning boredom, your lips twitching. "big words from someone who looks like a walking valentine’s day decoration."

his brows lift, amused. "what?"

you smirk, tilting your head, your fingers lifting to brush over the pink strands of his hair. "pink hair, red eyes? loverboy, you are valentine’s day personified."

"yeah?" he muses, voice low, slow, eyes dragging over you like he’s figuring out exactly how he wants to ruin you. his hands trail up your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

"then get on my lap," he murmurs, smirking as his hands slide lower. "if you're gonna dress like a present, i might as well unwrap you."

before you can protest, he’s already pulling you down, making you straddle his thighs.

you huff, shifting in his grip, feeling the heat of his body beneath you. "if you don’t care about today, then what the hell is this?"

his smirk never fades, his fingers dragging up your back, his voice a low drawl.

"who said i cared?" he murmurs, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "maybe i just wanna remind you who you fucking belong to."

his hands move over your waist, his touch heavier now, his palms pressing firmly as he grinds up against you, letting you feel how hard he already is beneath you.

he groans softly, head tilting back just slightly, his fingers pressing into your hips as he rolls his hips up to meet yours.

"fuck," he exhales, voice lower now, thick with something that makes your stomach coil tight. "go on, then. take what you want."

his hands drop lower, gripping the curve of your ass, urging you to move against him, to drag this out, to tease him.

"shit," you breathe, nails sinking into his shoulders, feeling every inch of him beneath you.

he chuckles, his chest rising and falling steadily, his eyes gleaming with something smug.

"what?" his voice is laced with amusement, his lips barely twitching into a grin. "can’t even handle it?"

you glare at him, breath unsteady. "if you’d just let me—"

his fingers flex, his hips snap up, cutting you off as a groan rumbles in his throat.

"quit whining and ride me properly," he growls.

you inhale sharply, lifting yourself slightly before sinking back down, rolling your hips in slow, deep motions that you know will shut him up.

his hands fly back to your waist, grip tightening, breath growing uneven as his head tips back against the couch, his jaw clenching.

"fuck—" his voice catches, his body stiffening slightly beneath you.

his usual smirk is gone now, replaced by something hazier, his brows furrowing as his body tenses.

"god, you—" his fingers tremble against your waist, his rhythm faltering as you keep pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

his control crumbles, his breathing turning shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves as his forehead drops against your shoulder.

"shit—fuck, slow down," he mutters, but he makes no real effort to stop you.

his hands grasp at your skin, his movements growing sloppier, needier, a soft, broken sound slipping past his lips when you roll your hips just right.

"you said to ride you," you murmur against his ear, dragging your fingers up the back of his neck, feeling the way his breath hitches.

he groans, deep and almost desperate, his hips jerking up instinctively, chasing the feeling.

"fuck," he breathes, voice barely above a whisper, his body trembling beneath you, struggling to keep up.

you lean in, lips brushing his jaw. "then let go."

his entire body shudders, his grip on you bruising as his hips stutter beneath you, a wrecked sound breaking free from his throat as he comes apart, gasping into your neck.

his fingers twitch against your waist, his muscles tensing before finally going lax, his breath warm against your skin, his chest still heaving.

for a long moment, he just stays there, dazed, his head tilted back against the couch, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet yours.

his smirk is weak, unfocused, but still there.

"you're still gonna fucking pay for that," he mutters, voice ragged.

you grin, dragging your fingers down his chest. "happy valentine’s, loverboy."

he groans, hands still on you, already shifting beneath you, already ready to flip you over.

"shut up," he breathes, lips curving into something sharper. "you’re not done yet."

❦ TOJI FUSHIGURO

toji doesn’t believe in holidays.

at least, not ones that require effort. gifts, fancy dinners, long romantic speeches—all a waste of time, in his opinion. but that doesn’t stop you from raising a brow when you walk into the apartment and find him exactly where you expect, sprawled out on the couch, legs spread, looking like he hasn’t moved in hours.

"you’re pathetic," you say, dropping your bag onto the table.

he grunts, barely glancing at you, one arm propped behind his head. "and you’re late."

"late for what?" you scoff, kicking off your shoes. "don’t tell me you actually planned something."

he snorts, finally looking at you, eyes trailing down your legs, up your body before landing on your face.

"yeah," he mutters, stretching, shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of muscle, the deep v-line dipping into his sweats. "planned to be balls-deep by now, but here you are, runnin’ your mouth instead."

you roll your eyes, turning toward the kitchen until something on the counter catches your attention.

a small, neatly packed box of chocolate-covered strawberries sits there, next to a crumpled receipt. no ribbons, no gift bag—just the box, like he cared enough to pick them out but didn’t see the point in dressing it up.

your lips twitch. "so you did get me something."

toji groans, dragging a hand down his face before sitting up. "tch. they were sittin’ by the register. thought, ‘hey, maybe this’ll shut her up.’"

you pick one up, rolling it between your fingers before bringing it to your lips, taking a slow bite. the chocolate melts over your tongue, the juice spilling slightly at the corners of your mouth.

you hum, swallowing before flashing him a smirk. "you want one?"

toji watches you for a moment, his green eyes dark, tracking the way your tongue flicks out to catch the mess before it drips down your chin.

"nah," he mutters, pushing off the couch and closing the distance between you in a few lazy strides.

before you can react, his fingers wrap around your wrist, plucking the strawberry from your grip, pressing the juicy tip against your lips.

"bite," he murmurs.

your breath hitches, but you do, sinking your teeth into the fruit at the same time as he does. your mouths are barely an inch apart when sweet juice spills from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin.

toji grins against the mess, teeth flashing, eyes gleaming before he licks the trail from the edge of your mouth, slow and deliberate.

"fuckin’ sweet," he mutters. he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth just enough to make your knees feel weak.

before you can say anything, his hand grips your waist, his other swiping the box of chocolates off the counter.

"toji—?"

he doesn’t answer. instead, he tucks the box under his arm and bends low, gripping the backs of your thighs before lifting you up effortlessly.

"toji, put me down—"

"well no," he says, smirking as he adjusts his hold, carrying you and the chocolates back toward the bedroom like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

you barely have time to process it before you feel the cool air of your shared room against your skin, and then he’s dropping you onto the bed.

before you can even sit up, he’s already pulling at your clothes.

"off," he mutters, voice rough, hands yanking your top over your head, pushing your bottoms down so fast it leaves you breathless.

your pulse jumps as he strips you bare in seconds, moving too fast for you to keep up, his own shirt already on the floor before you realize he even pulled it off.

his sweats hit the floor next, leaving him just as bare, the heat of his body pressing against yours again before you can even get a word out.

he smirks at you, running his palm over your thigh, like he knows you’re still catching up.

"dizzy?" he teases, voice dipping lower.

you glare at him, chest rising and falling, fingers curling into the sheets. "you—"

he doesn’t let you finish. his hand slides up, gripping your jaw, kissing you deep, messy, full of heat.

"shh," he murmurs against your lips, pressing you further into the mattress, his other hand reaching for the box of chocolates.

he plucks out another strawberry, dragging it over your chest, your stomach, watching as melted chocolate smears across your skin.

he keeps the strawberry on your mound, eyes flicking up to meet yours, watching the way your breath shudders when you realize what he’s about to do.

his mouth follows the trail, tongue dragging along the warm, sticky path, making sure to clean up every last drop.

and when he finally reaches the strawberry, he bites into it right where it rests, juices spilling, mixing with your own, and his mouth is on you in an instant, licking it all away.

you gasp, back arching, thighs twitching as his tongue moves slow, deep, thorough.

"fuck," he mutters against you, voice rough. "tastes better than chocolate."

his thick fingers slip inside you easily, curling deep. his tongue swirls against your clit, his pace ruthless, not giving you a second to process.

a mix of his mouth and fingers builds you up too fast, your body tightening, already spiraling toward the edge before you can stop it.

"toji—fuck—"

"mhm," he hums, sending vibrations straight through you, his fingers pressing deep, hitting the perfect spot over and over.

the orgasm rips through you before you even realize, sudden, overwhelming, your body trembling as he keeps licking, keeps working you through it until you’re pushing at his head, gasping for air.

he finally pulls away, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

but something’s different.

he looks down at you. his expression unreadable and jaw set tight.

"what’s wrong?" you ask, still breathless, voice hazy.

toji exhales through his nose, fingers tapping idly against your thigh. his jaw flexes, like he’s debating saying something but hesitating.

"forget it," he mutters, shaking his head.

"no," you say immediately, grabbing his wrist. "tell me."

he doesn’t look at you right away. his lips press together, like he’s chewing on the words, debating if he should even say them.

finally, he exhales. "i just—" he stops, brows furrowing. "sometimes i feel like… i don’t do enough. for you."

your chest aches at the way he says it, like he’s expecting you to agree. like part of him is waiting for you to confirm that he’s not enough.

"what, you think i need some grand romantic gesture?" you tease, running a hand through his messy hair. "toji, if i wanted candlelit dinners and corny love letters, i would’ve picked someone else."

you pull him down, kissing him slow, deep, like you need him to understand.

"you do more than enough," you murmur against his lips. "i have you. that's all i need."

he stares at you for a second, like he’s trying to believe it.

then he smirks, some of the tension melting from his shoulders.

"good," he breathes, fingers tightening on your waist. "’cause i already booked us a flight for tomorrow."

you freeze, eyes blinking up at him. "you—what?"

he chuckles, brushing his thumb over your mouth before sinking lower, pressing a kiss beneath your jaw.

"figured you deserved a vacation’," he murmurs against your neck. "so we’re gettin’ the hell outta here for a few days."

your breath catches, excitement flickering through you, replacing the heat already settling in your stomach.

"where?"

he nips at your collarbone, dragging his tongue over the mark he leaves behind.

"you’ll find out when we get there."

you gasp, half-annoyed, half-turned on. "you’re such a bastard."

he grins, pressing another chocolate-stained kiss to your chest.

"yeah?" his breath fans against your skin, his voice dipping lower. "say that again when i’m making you cum for the third time tonight."

an. HAPPY LATE V-DAY LOVERS <3!

[ttsukiimi]

RICHTIVITIES!

18+ : Somnophilia!, smut

no thoughts js richhusband!Nanami who wakes you up with a cunny full of his thickness in the morning, slowly fucking you as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear he knows you can’t hear. The whole week’s got him so pent up, to the point where he needs to relieve some of his stress thru you.

richhusband!Nanami who, once you wake up, has you folded in half, your knees to your ears as he mercilessly pounds you into an absolute fucked out, crying mess. He’s got you hiccuping, begging for a break you know he can’t give you.

richhusband!Nanami who, after absolutely drilling your hole, kisses your hair and lips as you both look over the breathtaking city view from his penthouse apartment. You even resort to making breakfast together after, smiling and giggling throughout the whole process, but he just can’t keep his hands to himself.

richhusband!Nanami who—again—has you stuffed with his dick, bent over the kitchen counter with nothing but an apron on. You’re looking back at him with those innocent doe eyes of yours, a lustful longing in them. And you feel so full once he finally gives it to you, moaning and babbling about how good he’s making you feel.

richhusband!Nanami who, without question has to finish inside his wife, whispering in your ear how good you did for him. And he’s caressing you all over once more, the food now forgotten and cold on the stove. He carries you back to bed, setting you down so gently as if you’re made of porcelain—his way of promising never-ending devotion to you.

a/n— tysmmm for 500!!

[nanamiskentos]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

[willyoubemycherryy]

“Who’s your new friend?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: Your dad’s dark stranger is the one for you. Too bad about his cruel streak….

Contains: sit down chicas this is a LONG one, plot but gratuitous p+rn, dads!friend au, rough sex, edging, pussy spanking, he’s mean :( , choking, drugging, everything IS consensual bc I’m tired of everyone writing him as a domestic terrorlzing rapist, he’s still psychotic and unhinged tho, just not psychosexual because psychotic traits don’t always translate to sexual violence, your dad is sweet but trusting and naive, squirting, pussyspanking unprotected sex (don’t be a dummy, wrap your gummy) begging, degradation, praise, cursing, reader is a bit of a bitch, light dom/sub dynamics, his cock is stuuuupid fat bc I said so and have eyeballs, ur 22 in this period and he’ll spit in your mouth in the next installment of this series :)

A/N: Yeah, he got me y’all😔 Gong Yoo sexy, fine, tall, handsome ass got me😞I’ve been tripping out for 17 days straight over this man sooo…

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

You knew your dad often had strange friends but this one takes the cake.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow at the tall man your father was currently introducing you to. Standing over 6 feet in a pitch black suit he was extremely easy on the eyes with full lips, perfectly styled hair, relaxed posture and not a wrinkle in sight paired with the darkest almond eyes you’d ever seen. You rove your eyes over him once more before looking back up to find him staring back at you…

Yes, he was perfectly lovely but was it too soon to assume something about him was..off?

You feel your face warm at how strong his gaze is but you stare back defiantly, mentally cursing your too trusting dad.

“…and since we chat almost everyday during our commute to work- would you guess that we’re both in sales and marketing?- I thought it’d be great to invite him over and talk more in a more comfortable setting!” Your dad says excitedly, smiling as he tells you all about his new friend. The man smiles alongside him, cheeks faintly dimpling and despite your distrust, you can’t take your eyes off of him as you feel your heart beat harder in its cage.

“I was going to call to tell you I was bringing company but you know I forget to use that thing.” ‘That thing’ being a modern phone to a man who was awful with tech. You scoff but nod to let him know you don’t mind (completely) and because you already know how your father is and he continues,

“Oh right! Speaking of forgetting, I don’t remember if I ever mentioned my daughter even though I know I probably did-“, you listen to your dad introduce you and the man smiles even wider as he steps forward, offering his hand to yours in a shake.

“How pleasant to meet you.” Holy shit. His voice is a lot deeper than you expected and you absentmindedly place your hand into his waiting one. The way it completely encases your hand due to its sheer size makes your heart stop before it melts down to a warm pool in your lower stomach, settling in your core like hot tea as you breathe out a shaky exhale. His hand is also rougher than you thought it’d be for a simple businessman as it squeezes yours and a quick flash image of that same hand around your throat has you snatching your hand back as you shoot him a tight smile.

“Right. Back at ya. Um, how old are you again?”

“Ah. Isn’t that improper to ask new people?”

“I’m just curious to how you maintain a career as developed as my dads because you seem so young.”

Oh. You’re quick witted; that makes things a potential hassle for him.

“Well, I’m much older than you. I’m certainly older than your father.”

“Ha! Are you also the Emperor of China-”, You’re cut off as your dad says your name in the way he does when you’re being rude but you ignore it, glaring at the man.

“Be polite! He’s older so you should speak respectfully”, you barely hide the roll of your eyes but your fathers new friend catches it and you swear you hear a huff of amusement from him, the low sound makes you shiver as you turn on your heel to go back upstairs, your dads scolding calling after you.

“Aish! Spoiled! Brat! You were so much cuter when you were younger!”

“Whatever!”

“Bellybutton lint!”

“Old man!”

“Oh yeah?! You won’t be 22 forever!”

The only response he gets back is the sound of your bedroom door slamming while you’re all too aware of the eyes on your back when you’d left. Your dad sighs as he runs a hand down his face. The salesman simply stands quietly, grinning as always as he observes your little spat. Something about it caught his attention though.

“She’s young.” And your father agrees, insisting that’s part of the reason for your behavior, you apparently were “much nicer” and he nods in understanding.

“College age is tricky. I met her mom around her age and things are so much more different than they were back in our day so I try not to be too hard on her but sometimes she’s so-!” He tilts his head as he waits for your dad to find the word.

“Difficult!”

Ah. How cute. A little attitude problem.

That honestly doesn’t surprise him because most pretty little things almost always had one- you were no exception. Though, you yourself were a pleasant surprise. He’d maintained a friendly relationship with your father on a mere whim, finding him to be…nice unlike most he considered nuisances, so when the man invited him over one day he accepted and as he trailed through the door behind him, taking in the warm tones of your house when he spotted you. Standing near the island by the kitchen in shorts so tiny the wide waistband made them look like a mini skirt, the words ‘PINK’ on the back and a snug white tee shirt, the blue of your bra peeking through, you walk towards them smelling of fabric softener and cold vanilla. Your hair was down as you stared at him like you were both scared and wanting with big eyes full of suspicion. The gloss of your lips shining back at him as your lips curl during your inspection of him, lightly arched brow raising as you gave him a thorough once over, eyes flicking back up to his when you were done. You were absolutely delicious to look at. Short, smart mouthed, pretty and prissy.

He didn’t mind the rude way you spoke to him- no- because your eyes tell. You were weary but interested; cynical in all the ways your father wasn’t but that was perfectly fine.

His smile slowly shifted into a smirk as he followed your father to the living room, humming whenever he would speak, but his thoughts were preoccupied.

Thinking of smooth legs on a cute face he’d love to see wet with tears as he spanked your smart ass raw.

•

•

•

When you went upstairs the first thing you did was grab your headphones and tune out.

What the fuck was your dad thinking??

You huff as you flop on your bed, scrolling through your favorite apps while you tried to slow your thoughts.

Everything is fine.

Your dad always has the most unconventional friends and acquaintances so this was probably just that and you were freaking out more than usual because he was unfathomably attractive. That’s it. You just needed to get a grip. But fuck would you love to ride him through the weekend if only he didn’t have such a concerning aura…and wasn’t pals with your dad of-course.

About 2 hours later when you go downstairs to get food and bring it back to your room-answering curtly when your dad asks if you want to join him and the hot stare of the suited man you’re trying to pretend isn’t there.

“Hard no. Do I look like a nurse? You two senior citizens can play amongst yourselves.”

You sigh when you get back up to your room, FaceTiming your friends as you eat, talking about whatever and whoever before you remember you need to organize some of your class notes and say goodbye before you hang up.

It takes less time than you thought it would so when you’re done, you go about your night routine. Teeth, skincare, oversized cotton shirt, lights off as you put on a movie you’ve seen a million times. It’s harder for you to fall asleep when you can still hear his deep voice through the walls talking and laughing with your dad, shaking your core as you toss and turn- physically fighting the feeling- until you fall asleep.

X

Another few hours later, you wake with a start. Something’s not right.

You can still hear the tv downstairs but no voices. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and as you turn your head towards your door- pulling the covers off your legs, the sight of a tall dark figure rips a blood curdling scream from your throat. In that same second the figure steps closer, the light from your tv illuminates him and your heart races as you stare back wide eyed at your dads suited stranger friend. You’re still gasping and reeling as he sits down on your soft bedding, watching with rapt eyes at you trying to calm down from the near heart-attack he almost gave you.

“W-what..what the fuck?!” He smiles as you get up to yell in his face, gesturing wildly.

“Why the hell are you in my-“, you cut yourself off as another realization dawns on you completely and he can’t help the compulsion he feels towards you.

“How long have you been in my room- wait where’s my dad?!” If you knew who he was and what he did for a living, you’d be much more agreeable…or maybe not and that’s what fascinated him about you. You were so unusual. Wanting to steer clear of him instead of on, even though he’d piqued your curiosity, you didn’t blindly follow like every other nuisance did; instead he was the inconvenience and the way you let him know via sharp words and distrusting looks was something he hadn’t gotten in a while. The way you brushed him and your hard working dad off with no more than a pretty glare while probably never having actually worked for anything in your life made him itch to correct you. Make you say sorry- break you back into the sweet girl he knew you could be.

“I swear to god- WHERE IS MY DAD-!“, before you can raise your voice anymore, turning to go find him yourself, he’s pulling you back by your wrist, covering your mouth with his other hand as he hooks his chin over your shoulder cooing at you to calm down - listen to him a bit.

“Shh. Your father is alright, had too much to drink so he’s passed out downstairs but safe nonetheless.” You feel your body relax against your will at his words but you still bite his palm for scaring the hell out of you. The pain that blooms up his wrist from his hand makes him hiss against your ear and you wish it didn’t sound so good before it trails off into a light chuckle.

“I’m going to move my hand. You won’t scream. Understand?” You roll your eyes but nod anyway and a few seconds later his hand is lowered but he keeps you sitting up against him.

“Look- if you’re some kind of extortionist or blackmailer, my dad only works for clean honest compan-“,

“I’m none of those things.” Huh. You’re even more confused but the silence that follows he doesn’t break instead he waits for you, enjoying your discomfort as you shift against him.

“Then what the fuck do you want? Nothing better to do in your ancient age on a Tuesday night besides creep around?” Your mouth would be the death of you and this might very well be the moment as you mouth off to a complete stranger who could be (and actually is) very dangerous but bravado was all you had. You’d seen and heard more than enough to know that an older man in a suit visiting a young girl he didn’t know in the dead of night never ended well.

“I want to chat for a bit.” You tilt your head a bit in confusion but he takes your silence as the go ahead, making your heart pound when he shuffles even closer causing you to feel his firm pecs through his expensive smelling dress shirt; the heady combination makes your pulse race as you fight yourself on whatever it is exactly that you’re feeling but shouldn’t be.

“When your father mentioned you, you sounded like such a nice girl…”, the low way he speaks resembles a purr, words vibrating his chest, thick arms holding you tight to him as his warm breaths coast across your chest and neck.

“Imagine my surprise when I meet you and you’re nothing more than an ungrateful little princess with a pretty face but very nasty attitude.” You feel your face warm in shame at the blatant way he calls you out, immediately defensive as you shoot back,

“What’s it to you? If you want to see some obedient thing then get a boarder collie-!” Enough of that. His hand claps down over your throat, squeezing not enough to hurt but enough to make you shut up as your heart rate spikes, nerves going haywire at the sudden cut of oxygen. You get dizzy quick. Blood rushing through your ears like a current of cotton, hand flying up on instinct to pull at his muscled forearm but it doesn’t budge and you whine- biting your lip as your heart beats liquid fire through your body. You were so fucked up, clamping your thighs shut as if that will stop you from getting wet but it’s hard to pay attention to that with a tight hand around your neck and mean lips against your ear.

“Didn’t your father tell you to respect your elders?” He tuts out and you nod desperately, willing to swallow your snideness if it meant getting air. He loosens his grip enough for you and you gasp so hard you nearly choke, the sound turning him on more than it should; he grabs your chin so you face him with teary eyes and he nearly groans at how weak you look. The sedatives he slipped in your dad’s drink would last for a while so for now it was just you and him.

“Answer me.”

“You first-“, you’re quick to shut your mouth as a smirk grows on his face. A fast learner.

“Smart. But”, he pauses to put you on edge before continuing, “because I quite enjoy your father and his company, I don’t like the thought of him being troubled by anything.” His words are sweet but they also fill you with dread because you know how much you intentionally butt heads with your father. Mouthing off at him just to amuse yourself sometimes. You never meant to stress him but messing with him a little was how you showed your affection.

“That includes you as well.” He rasps against your neck, nipping the sensitive skin there with more teeth than tongue and you choke on a moan, breathing hard.

“Okay. Got it. I need to be nicer-”,

“No, you need a firm hand.” Oh fuck. You bite your lip at that, watching through bleary eyes as he rubs his other hand down your chest, brushing your hard nipples through your shirt as he feels up your soft curves. The hand around your throat tightens when he feels you might move but when you don’t he doesn’t loosen it- instead he rewards you with wet, scalding kisses behind that spot under your ear, suckling down until he reaches your collarbones. Your eyes water from all the sensations as you try to rationalize what’s going on before you lose yourself to how good you feel.

The hand caressing over your body doesn’t stop, threatening to burn you alive with the heat it ignites in you. To make matters worse, you can’t even breathe deeply enough to calm down with the hold he has on your neck and you’re reminded of how pathetically wet you are whenever you move your legs as you’re completely naked underneath your shirt. So much is happening but it’s not enough. Fleetingly scarce touches is all you’re being given but you need more. You shouldn’t want this, want him- or anything having to do with him- but you do and that thought scares you more than any potential repercussions.

He watches you with an unreadable expression as you shift constantly, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your tits, flicking and twisting the stiff nubs cruelly between his fingers. Laving his tongue over each bruise he’s left on your neck before choking you harder, making the veins on the back of his hand show and your mouth drops open, hoarse broken moans falling as your hips twitch upwards. This was how he liked you. Melting into him so obediently…

“You’re going to be a good girl now?” He asks like it’s a question but the even in hazy state you’re falling into, you know it’s an order. He loosens his grip again so you can answer, voice hoarse,

“..y-yeah.” The softened tone you use when you respond makes him hard beyond belief and he bites your shoulder with a satisfied groan and you swear your cunt has a pulse. The familiar burning ache is so blinding that you listen immediately when he tells you-

“Open your legs.”

He almost didn’t hear your sharp intake of breath. He barely noticed the way your hips snapped up to hump his hand… he was preoccupied with just how wet you were. Your arousal coats his fingers as he slides them between your sopping lips making you keen through shuddering breaths as you try to control yourself. A few hard circles to your clit shatters that control as you cry out, needy sobs falling from your gloss smeared lips while you beg prettily for him.

“Please! I-! I’ll-anything! Just-!” His hand collar tightens again as he slides two fingers knuckle deep in your spasming hole, immediately curling them towards him, grinding them against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you and the fire that’s been steadily burning inside you almost makes you black out from how quick it threatens to consume you. You’ve never felt more out of your mind, your cunt so soaking wet it’s audible. White-searing pleasure shoots electricity through every nerve and you’re screaming. Between the fuzz in your head from oxygen loss or the brutal way he’s fucking you with his fingers- the one thing you do know is that if you cum now, you’ll faint.

“Waittt- mm-! S-stopp!!” It’s the struggle of a lifetime to get the words out but you do and when you do, surprisingly- he listens. Taking his fingers out as the strings of your slick drip from them and you cry at the loss, the ache still there but you could at least breathe. You feel a nip at your ear and you only then notice the way you’ve rested your weight completely against him.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with arousal from how wonderfully you responded to him. So wet he could taste it in the air as you trembled and cried against him. The water in your eyes spilling down over as they rolled back into your skull. Your face was the perfect erotic expression of tormented bliss as he made you earn air and fight off an orgasm so strong it would’ve put you in a vegetative state.

The sound of your weak sniffles make his cock ache as he lays back on your bed, maneuvering your hips over his as he opens his pants, taking his length out he moans at the pressure relief. Swiping his fat head through your messy folds but not inside.

“Well? I need you to answer me. Or do I need to get it out of you myself?” You shake your head, lifting your arms when he moves your shirt up off you and now you’re completely naked while he’s still clothed. As much as his stare intimidated you, his attentions felt even better, moaning at the dirty kisses his cock gave your hole.

“Was gonna cum…but you didn’t say I could yet”, you reach up to use his arm as leverage while you wiggle your hips and your submission drives him mad with how much he wants to ruin you.

“Aw. That’s cute…but if you came before I let you, what then? Are you smart enough to tell me?” He asks sweetly but the condescending undertone makes you feel dumb as heat blooms in your chest and you will away the fuzz that’s making it hard to think so you can give him a proper answer. One that would please him. The fact that you even wanted to please him was something you’d have to get back to.

“I’d be in trouble?” You say it like a question and less of an answer and he finds your uncertainty so cute as he laughs indulgently at you.

“Close. It’s because you’re my good girl. And my girl only does as she’s told, yeah?” The same trickling tingle at the base of your skull is back again as you mindlessly repeat after him.

“Yeah.” He hums, lining himself up with your drooling pussy, sliding in with one thrust. Gritting his teeth with a heavy groan while you choke on a sob.

“Fuckin’ tight-!” Deep grunting in your ear overwhelming you in the best way and you lose it from how full you are. You could’ve guessed by his height and frame that he’d be packing but it felt fatter than you would have ever been able to accurately guess, pressing effortlessly against every spot that made you see stars.

You were everlastingly grateful your dad was knocked out because the sounds coming from you and your room were beyond incriminating. Even though he wasn’t moving, every-time you did, you could feel the deliciously heavy pressure against your slick walls. Shivers wracking up your body as wheezing fucked out moans left your mouth and you grind down in messy circles until the hand on your throat stops you.

“Look at you. Desperate n’ wet begging to cum. You’d do anything I tell you, huh? Just like a dog.”

A disgustingly pathetic warble is his reply but he wants more from you, choking you hard as he pinches your sensitive nipples.

“Uhhn! Yes!” The sheer desperation in your shaky voice gives him a sick head-rush.

“Open your legs for me.”

You obey before he even finishes his sentence. Thighs falling apart, cooled air over your center makes you moan wetly as you wait patiently. So patiently that the first heavy slap against your pussy winds you by the time the pain registers. As soon as the sting settles, warmth pools in its place, sensitivity heightened as you wail. The stricken sound makes his cock throb inside you.

“Wha-!”, another slap cracks down on your swollen lips, hitting your clit spot on and again and you try in vain to wriggle away.

“You still need to prove to me that you’re sorry for your behavior earlier.” He says, voice casual but no less mocking and you cry. Tears running down your cheeks as your body struggles to adjust and obey. Before you can shout out however many strings of apologies it’ll take for him to let you cum, he strikes your center again, hissing in pleasure at your screams. He feels it. That somehow you’re even wetter, dripping down his balls and smearing your slick all over the front of his slacks. He has half a mind to make you clean it up when he’s done with with you as he spanks your cunt again, biting your ear hard until it reddens.

“If you cum before I tell you, I promise I’ll make this the longest night of your life”, he groans darkly in your ear. You’re blessed that you can still hear him through the bass of your heart’s beat and the loud, wet connect every time his hand comes down. You were so close. The sharp sting and the pained pleasure of swelling warmth his heavy hand left behind was too much and your poor clit couldn’t take much more. Gasping through your tears, you scramble to find the right words.

“‘Lease- please! Ah-m’sorry!” Your raspy voice breaks halfway through when lifts you only to slam you back down on his fat length, flicking your sensitive nub when he meanly asks you,

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again, little girl.” You night just be in for a long night after all.

You could barely breathe from how hard he was choking you, swollen pussy enflamed from countless spanks, and your center was stuffed to the brim as he was so big that he didn’t even have to try to hit your spots. You scratch and wrestle with his hand until he loosens it, gasping and whining, you pray you don’t come from the instant relief it gives you. The rush settling over you like a fuzzy blanket. He shifts below you and you hurry to get the words out before he makes you come without his say-so.

“I’m- I’m sorry! So sorry! Please Sir, can I-!”

Sir. You called him sir.

It’s less of you apologizing but more of you submitting to him, acknowledging him by title that he held superiority over you that pleases him enough to let you cum. Cutting off your sweet begging with more mean, heavy slaps to your wet pussy, basking in your delighted wails as he fucks up into you.

His hand tightens around your throat and this time, you welcome the suffocating pleasure. Scratchy cries escape when they can but you’re so far on the road to ecstasy that you don’t even care how you look or sound, chest heaving as your eyes water. Your cunt feels like it’s on fire but you beg him in every way you can to keep going even though you can’t take it and he does, groaning against your ear as he rubs messily at your throbbing clit.

“So good, baby- you can cum. Make your little mess before I make you beg some more-”, he does not have to tell you twice as everything you’ve been holding, releases and you do make a mess.

Mouth dropped open as you sob and for the next couple minutes hot unending pleasure is all you know as the stinging slaps get faster, ending with harsh circles on your bud after each one and your hole gets even tighter before you go limp- liquid jetting out of you. He fucks you through it with a tight grip on your windpipe, using you like a snug fleshlight until he’s coming harder than he has in a while at the state he’s put you in. He waits until he catches his breath to slide out of you- who’s deadweight as he lifts you off him.

Rolling off the bed, the silence makes him look over at you only to see that you’re out cold. His eyebrows raise as he huffs out an amused laugh, fixing his pants before brushing his hand over your pretty face. He might have overdone it he thinks as he sees your face return to it’s normal, less flushed hue. Leaning down, on impulse he presses a kiss to your cheek, his gentlest touch of the night before getting up and covering your worn naked body with one of the many blankets on your bed.

“You’re a treat in more ways than you know.”

As he stands, before he opens your door to leave, he pulls a card out of his pocket and leaves it on your nightstand then heads back downstairs to get his shoes and jacket. Turning off the tv where your dad sleeps easily and quietly slipping out the door, smiling the entire way. Now he has even more fun.

You.

•

•

•

When you wake up the next morning, you turn with a pleasant ache and stinging between your legs as you stretch, sighing with a blissful smile until you remember why you ache and who caused it.

Pushing yourself up, you stop when you see a card on your stand, rolling to the edge of your bed, you swipe it off and raise it to your face. It’s a picture of lollipop, a simple circle on a stick but the words below it make your chest warm and you don’t even bother pretending to yourself that you aren’t interested in seeing him again.

“Next time I’ll make you even sweeter.”

In part 2…

Or 3…

[circe69]

neighbor!simon riley, who trudges back to his flat after a long mission away, with sleepy eyes, tense shoulders and bloody hands. his palm reaches for the doorknob and as he opens it, the door right across from him opens as well.

and there you are, a pretty little thing, had to be at least a foot shorter than he was, clad in some stretchy shorts and an oversized college t-shirt that was hanging off your shoulders. simon's eyes drifted down the length of you, trying to memorize the freckles, occasional stretch marks and fluffy cellulite down your thighs, your shiny legs reflecting the eery hallway light.

"hi," you whispered with a wave, as you bent down to retrieve a package left on your doormat. simon's breath hitched as you leaned over, showing your soft tits almost spilling out of the sports bra you wore underneath.

he cleared his throat, "evenin" and fumbled with the doorknob. when he finally made it inside, he struggled even locking the door behind him, what if she needs me? he thought to himself. even off the job, he was nothing if not a protector.

as he laid in bed that night, stroking his neglected cock to the thought of you all laid out underneath him, squirming and whining for more, more, more. your pretty cries and soft body bouncing as he thrusted into you was all it took for him to come hard. he couldn't hold back the groans tumbling out of his mouth as he finished.

fuck, he thought. he was doomed, truly, and he had to keep telling himself that no matter what, everything was temporary for him. there's no point in trying something with you when he was just going to end up leaving anyways.

but as the weeks went on, you were making it harder and harder for simon. every small interaction and passing glances in the elevator left him painfully hard underneath his cargo pants, and his delicate skin had been made raw from all the times he had to rub one out to the thought of you.

one early morning, as he left at the break of dawn for a conference meeting at a nearby base, he opened his front door only to be met with you, his lovely doe-eyed neighbor, holding out a container filled with cookies. he could tell you had just woken up, from the way your sweatpants lopsidedly hung off your hips, and the way your tank top was wrinkled. "I made these for you, to take to work. if you don't like them, that's okay. i just wanted to make sure you had something." your raspy voice called out to him as you handed him the container.

simon's heart dropped and broke in two as he took the container from you, oatmeal raisin? he thought, how did she know? a small smile broke free from his lips as you scanned the rest of him. there was no denying it, he was one of the most handsome men you'd ever seen, and especially today, the way the dark-washed jeans hugged his muscular thighs, and the black muscle tee leaving nothing to the imagination. you didn't know much about him, but you desperately wanted to change that.

simon took a step towards you and lifted his balaclava up just enough to bend down and kiss your cheek. you gasped at the action, tensing completely as he said, "thank you, sweetheart."

as he started to walk away, your brain finally caught to up reality. you shouted after him, "please be safe!" simon turned around at your words, "you too, dovey."

a few days had gone by since you'd seen simon, and as you were picking out pajamas for bed, you found an adorable lingerie set you'd forgotten you'd even had. it was a lace, blush pink babydoll nightgown, with a bow in the back. you slipped it over your head, and felt the prettiest you had in a while as you looked in the mirror. it hugged your hips just right, and sloped down in the front, showing your full tits, as well as the skin down your back.

as you made your way to the kitchen, you could hear simons loud footsteps coming down the apartment hallway. this was your chance, you thought. you were going to show yourself off to him, win him over. and as you looked in the peephole, not only did you see him, but you saw a package waiting for you as well. the perfect excuse!

you opened the door with a twinkle in your eye as simon turned around.

he swallowed hard, and did a double take as his eyes wandered over you. it was too much for him, the way he could see your perky nipples through the thin fabric. the thought of his teeth grazing them rushed into his mind, and it only got worse as you bent down to get your package. you tease him like this regularly, but this time, you turned around first.

simon growled under his breath as he got a view of your pretty ass cheeks just barely hanging out from your nightgown. he could faintly see a tight pink thong as well, a perfect match for your set.

you were really testing his patience, but to your surprise, he hadn't made any moves yet. so you told yourself you'd try one more time, before leaning up and swaying over to him. you placed a hand on his chest and signaled him to lean down to you like you were going to tell him a secret.

"I'm wearing this for you, y'know" you whispered, as you pushed your tits up against his chest.

that was all it took for simon to grab you by the hips and throw you over his shoulder, smacking your ass as he hauled you into his flat.

"teasy cunt, aren't you?" he said as he threw you onto his bed. you tried to crawl away, but he grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you back, "nuh uh, you've made it this far. you better sit tight and take the rest."

simon grabbed you by the hips and leaned down to kiss you, his teeth softly nipping at your bottom lip before breaking apart, "I don't even know your fucking name," he whispered as he kissed the length of your neck. you groaned at the feeling of him sucking a small hickey right under your ear.

"y/n. it's y/n." you breathed out as his lips latched on to one of your nipples, you swallowed hard at the pleasure, "fuck yes, feels -mmph- feels good." he smiled at your mindless babbling, and the vibration of his groaning sent shock waves of heat through your body.

"simon," you asked

"hmm?" he latched on to the other nipple, while your hand ran through his hair.

"why did you need to know my name now? couldn't -mmn- couldn't that have waited?" you whispered as he shifted up so that he was eye level with you, his lips hovering just over yours.

"hmm-mm, need'ta know who's name I should groan when I finish inside you."