#whatever he is has to spin something on its head

[geesecanon]

Excitation Point

read on ao3 Rating: Explicit Type: One-shot, PWP Words: 6,362 Tags: Ford Pines/(gender neutral) Reader; Masturbation; Panty Kink; Panty Raid; Ford being an opportunistic perv (what else is new) Summary: ""Technically, you're supposed to be under there for fifteen minutes." He actually feels a little apologetic on that front. "Fifteen minutes?!" "You're... also supposed to shed any clothes," he continues, less sorry about that particular idea. "But I think you're probably fine." "'Probably?'" you repeat incredulously. "What do you mean, 'probably?'" "I mean..." He rocks back on his heels a little. "It might be prudent?"

One would think that, after thirty-odd years of traipsing the multiverse, Ford would hardly consider anything a curveball. He has seen his surfeit of oddities, and then some — he always makes sure to be prepared to the teeth, ready for whatever life throws at him. He’s resourceful, he’s savvy, he’s incisive. It’s served him extremely well in just about every endeavor he has ever set out on, and he prides himself in it.

And now, a majority of his days on land look like this: in his laboratory, with you, working separately and in reveric silence and companionship, unassuming and routine and ordinary. Surely, at this point in his life, nothing could phase him.

More fool him.

“Ugh! Gross!”

The sharp and sudden exclamation startles Ford out of his concentration, where he is doing delicate work with a pipette. Immediately catapulted into panic, his internal warning sirens start blaring. He spins around get his eyes on you. “What?!”

“I got gooped,” you complain, with no degree of urgency. You wipe a gloved hand over the lower half of your face, under the large safety goggles you are sporting, then flick your wrist a few times to get something off of it. The something is viscous and green and has splattered all over your front, across the borrowed lab coat you are wearing, and even on your clothes, where they are vulnerable in the gap. “It’s like I’m on Nickelodeon.”

Your cavalier attitude notwithstanding, the sight rouses Ford and he leaps into action. He crosses the lab in a handful of brisk strides, hardly bothering to stop and think what the stuff might be. Already wearing his own pair of gloves, he grips you by the shoulders and begins forcing you to walk backwards.

You sputter a wordless objection to being manhandled, but are forced to comply with his direction as his baseline strength overpowers yours.

Once he has you exactly where he wants you, Ford steps back, reaches out to grasp the handle of the chain dangling from the ceiling, and yanks.

You literally shriek as the water from the safety shower cascades over you. But, even through your clearly bewildered state, you must grasp what the situation is. Despite your obvious protest, you stay put under the steady stream of water pattering on the linoleum, looking up at the blue shower head above you huffily.

Arms crossed tightly across your chest against the chill, rivulets streak down your safety goggles as you snap your head back down to address him. “What the hell?!”

Lab safety is no joke, at least when it comes to you, so he doesn’t bother apologizing for his actions. Instead, Ford asks, insistently, “What happened?”

You huff and only cross your arms tighter, shoulders hunched up to your ears. “Found the excitation point for ectoplasm,” you explain flatly. The safety shower does its assigned job and is slowly washing the green substance off you, diluting it so it slowly swirls down the drain at your feet. You are steadily becoming more and more soaked, and you wring your hands together, washing them to get off any excess goo. Then, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to rid your face of the stuff.

The alarm in him pops like a soap bubble; ectoplasm is relatively harmless and is hardly toxic. Mollified, Ford raises his eyebrows expectantly.

You only take notice when he continues not to speak. “Somewhere in the negative eighty to negative ninety millivolt range,” you tell him. You scrub at your safety goggles next, but only succeed in making everything streakier. By now, the ectoplasm seems to be wiped from your bare skin. “It’s hyperpolarized as all hell. Can I come out now?”

Even with the benign nature of the stuff, he still shakes his head. “Technically, you’re supposed to be under there for fifteen minutes.” He actually feels a little apologetic on this front.

“Fifteen minutes?!”

“You’re… also supposed to shed any clothes,” he continues, less sorry about that particular idea. “But I think you’re probably fine.”

“‘Probably?’” you repeat incredulously. “What do you mean, ‘probably?’”

“I mean…” He rocks back on his heels a little. “It might be prudent?”

“I hate you,” you announce with an entirely flippant kind of conviction, back to trying to wash anything that might be lingering on your face. The press of your hands contorts your whatever expression you are trying to make. “So fucking much right now.”

He shrugs, knowing it to be untrue. Still, he sympathizes with your dour attitude, and the sudden and soggy turn of your, otherwise entirely ordinary, day.

You are still patiently, yet miserably, standing under the steady spray, back to crossing your arms. Even with half your face obscured, he can see the resigned expression there. But, you are staying put. Ford has the inane compulsion to give you a gold star for your behavior.

“Am I really supposed to strip in this thing?” you ask, sounding shy about the idea.

His mouth becomes a desert, and he has to actively wet his tongue to respond. While the idea is appealing, the last thing he needs right now is to think about you, naked, in his lab; he has a hard enough time concentrating with you, clothed, in his lab.

“Like I said,” he finally manages, hoping the quiet chorus of water on linoleum drowns out how his voice wavers, as he tries not to stare too heavily. “You’re probably fine. It looks like the lab coat got the brunt of it.”

You nod, then begin slipping the thing off your shoulders, one arm at a time.

Ford’s heart feels like it stops, but thankfully, blessedly, you stop there, dropping it in a drenched pile next to the drain. Your clothes underneath are just as wet, clinging to you in ways that should not be incriminating but still make him swallow thickly. You pull the hem of your shirt slightly away from you to peer down at it, trying to assess for goop-related damage.

“But… maybe not all of it,” you say, dejected.

Before he can truly realize the implications of what he is saying, Ford tells you, “Then you’ll need to change. Anything the ectoplasm touched qualifies as a biohazard.” Technically…

“Ugh.”

“Even washed, the chances of it having seeped into the fabric are…”

“Ugh.” Whatever look you try to give him is obscured by the haze of the lab goggles. “I get it.”

It definitely crosses the line of professionalism he has worked so hard to maintain over these past few weeks — hell, it probably pole vaults the thing entirely — but he offers, “I’ll lend you some.”

The idea makes him hot around the collar, but it’s not like you have any other option; at the most, he could offer to root around the kids’ room to see if they left any articles of clothing behind, as if any of that would fit you…

The expression shifts, and you look taken aback by his offer. “Oh. Okay.” Then, you venture, “… Can I also get a real shower? Maybe with water above lukewarm?”

Chuckling, he nods. “That can be arranged.”

This soothes over any of your ire, and you visibly relax.

Aiming to occupy you while the minutes pass, Ford asks, “Did the numbers line up with your estimation for the subthreshold membrane oscillation?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, and it is hard to tell past the safety goggles but he gets the impression you are rolling your eyes. Still, there is a small smile on your face. “Go ahead and check my math. You know how bad I am at it.”

He shrugs, thoroughly satisfied that you won’t move until the time limit is up, and turns on a heel to approach your work station. It really does look like you took the brunt of the goo-related explosion, as there are only a few small puddles on the stuff on the floor. He easily sidesteps them and starts looking amongst your notes for said math.

Belatedly, he replies, “You’ve gotten better.”

“Low hurdle,” you say sardonically.

“Let me review this now,” he says, spotting the handful of pages your equations are scrawled on.

“Yeah,” you say. “Reassure me that this,” you motion up and down to your person, “wasn’t all for waste.”

Your designated fifteen watery minutes pass excruciatingly slow, as Ford sits at his desk and begins his audit. Every so often, you call out to ask, “Time?” and he responds in turn, always glancing over his shoulder to make sure you still haven’t moved.

He pretends to check your work but in truth, his brain is too caught up in a licentious fantasy of you wandering his lab, completely naked while you shoot him a series of coy looks to test his resolve. Or, maybe just in the lab coat? Both options are equally enticing…

The fact of the matter is, Ford has come to accept these little mental asides. Since you have become a regular part of his working day, they now haunt his waking hours as much as his dreams, and every day begets a new challenge. While he is a man of reason and rationality, he still has an unfortunate compulsive streak, and you have unintentionally put his self-control to the test. More than once have you startled him out of a daydream, leaving him unguarded and almost saying something wildly incriminating.

You seem completely unaware of any of his struggles. By now, you two have established a loose but sturdy routine: you arrive in the morning; he lets you into the lab via remote access; you completely forgo any empty pleasantries to instead ask whatever questions you came up with overnight; and finally, you smile at him with an infectious kind of warmth and say, cheerily, “To work?”

He practically has a Pavlovian response to the phrase now. Even thinking it makes his chest ache with fondness.

Nothing in your behavior indicates that you have suddenly developed telepathic powers, making you able to see just how frequent his increasingly debauched fantasies about you are.

Small blessings.

“Time?” you call.

He checks his watch. “Your minutes are up.”

You whoop! under your breath, and the chain squeaks as you yank it, shutting off the spray of water.

Ford pushes away from his desk to stand, turning to see you back at your work station and shedding the safety goggles, revealing the imprint they have left around your eyes.

When you catch him looking, you ask, “Do you have a towel, or something?”

“Hmm?” He draws himself back into reality where you are not, in fact, only wearing the lab coat, but are instead wearing everything but the lab coat, and actively forming a small puddle under your feet. “Oh, yes. Hold on.”

Once he pulls a towel from a cabinet and hands it off, you wrap it around your shoulders like a cape, noticeably shivering in the brisk temperature of the lab. “Is fifteen minutes really the standard, or were you just being a dick?” Now fully visible, there is a shine to your eyes that indicates you’re joking.

If he wanted to be a dick, he would have insisted you strip fully. “Last I checked, it was the OSHA standard.”

You shrug. “Safety third, right?”

“Only you say that,” he responds, more xeric than intended.

Another shrug. “Normal shower time?” you prompt. “I’m freezing down here.”

He nods, hoping his face is nowhere near as red as it feels. “Right, normal shower. C’mon.”

The elevator ride up is awkwardly silent, and you only look slightly surprised when you bypass the first floor completely to take it all the way up to his room. Still, it is mercifully quick, and Ford squeezes through the doors the second they begin to open. 

“The bathroom’s back there,” he says, voice a little too gruff, as he makes a beeline for his dresser to find a suitable change of clothes.

You putter out much more hesitantly, but don’t bypass him for the bathroom. When he realizes this, he glances over his shoulder nervously, he sees you standing in the center of his room, head swiveling from side-to-side.

“… What?” he asks, feeling self-conscious as you blatantly peer at everything.

“This is your room?” you ask curiously.

Although it may seem obvious, Ford realizes you have no frame of reference: he has no legitimate reason to ever bring you up here. You have, occasionally, gone topside in the rest of the house, usually for grabbing some kind of snack out of their kitchen or to use the bathroom. But, you’ve never been past the first floor.

“Yes…?” he answers.

“It’s so… normal.”

His room has the bare essentials: a bed large enough for himself, a modest dresser, a mirror on the back of the door, some overflowing bookshelves, a handful of trinkets. It is a place he hardly spends time in, cutting his waking hours between field research, the lab, or his study — he has never felt the need to decorate it, because no one else was ever going to see it. When he and Stanley had built this house, all that had mattered was the mattress was comfortable and that he had an en suite.

The only true indulgence is the large, stained glass window that sits above his bed, casting the room with a few patches of colorful light.

Ford clears his throat, and your attention snaps back to him, looking like you have been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

“Sorry,” you laugh awkwardly. “Um. Is there something wrong with the guest bathroom?”

No. “Shower’s broken,” Ford lies in an admirably strong tone.

You accept the answer with a one-shouldered shrug, then step past him to enter the bathroom. To his chagrin, the door clicks shut behind you. A few moments later, he hears the squeak of the handle as the shower turns on.

It takes him another minute of rifling but he eventually comes up with an appropriate, if not mismatched, outfit for you to change into: a chronically underused button-up shirt and an extra pair of sweatpants whose existence he had forgotten about until putting eyes on them.

Swallowing, Ford raps his knuckles on the door and calls out your name.

“Yeah?”

“Can I — I have — there’s clothes,” he stammers. “I have clothes. The change of clothes. Can I come in?”

“Yeah!” you call. “Door’s unlocked.”

True to your word, the handle turns easily under his hand.

The room has already begun to steam up, and even with the translucent shower curtain obscuring you, he still averts his eyes as he places his clothes on the bathroom sink. You have left the towel atop the closed toilet seat and your pile of used clothes are in a heap next to the shower tub.

But his self-control is threadbare and another part of it snaps as he risks a glance.

Which is a bad idea. Even your silhouette through the curtain as you go through the motions of lathering yourself is somehow obscenely erotic.

“Thanks,” you say, not halting your movements as you presumably work the soap over your arms, over your shoulders, across your chest…

Is it hot in here or is it just him?

“I’ll be outside,” Ford strangles out, already halfway out the door before he does something he’ll regret. “If you need anything.”

He stands outside the bathroom door like some stalwart guard against some invisible, peeping threat. In truth, the only threat of you being spied upon is from him, but he is already so appalled by his previous indulgent look that he takes the position up as some kind of penance.

Soon thereafter, the door opens behind him; with a steadying breath, he turns to face you.

His clothes practically swallow you whole. You work to roll up the cuffs of a sleeve once, twice, a third time, before giving up and pushing it past your elbow with a slightly agitated huff. You have kept the top few buttons of the shirt dangerously undone, teasing a hint of your chest, and Ford finds his eyes naturally drawn to the exposed patch of skin as you go about bunching the other sleeve as well.

For practical reasons, he keeps his lab cold and you have complained about it more than once, with varying degrees of seriousness — but they are complaints nonetheless. He picked this specific pair of clothing to give you as much coverage as possible while keeping in mind that there might be another ectoplasm-related accident. They had seemed like a practical and innocent choice, but now that he realizes he had bypassed the opportunity to put you in any of his clothes…

Satisfied once you cuff the pants several times as well, to not trip over the hem, you glance back up to him with a refreshed and warm smile. “Thanks,” you say, much more relaxed than earlier. “What should I do with my biohazard-y clothes?”

“I’ll handle them,” he tells you. “They’ll need to be properly disposed of.”

You nod, finding it reasonable. He practically jumps to attention when you say, “To work, then?”

A few minutes later, Ford re-enters the bathroom with a biohazard bag and a freshly-steeled resolve. Steam still lingers, condensation dewing on the mirror, and he immediately goes for the pile of clothes on his floor.

This is fine. This is perfectly fine, he tells himself as he begins stuffing the soggy clothes into the red plastic bag. This will continue to be a perfectly standard and boringly ordinary day, all he needs to do is keep himself in check while watching you wander around his lab, in his clothes, probably also smelling of him since using his body wash, and —

Ford stops all the useless posturing when he spots, separated from the rest of the clothes, that you have left your underwear here.

He idles for far too long, staring at it, his mind hitting the equivalent of a dial tone. He idles for far, far too long. A million different thoughts fire off in his head, all varying levels of depraved, and he wonders if he can —

Ford snatches it, and everything else, in his arms and heads back downstairs before he can get much further on that thought.

Then, he is left standing in front of the incinerator in the back corner of the lab, your articles of clothing still clutched in his hands.

“I can’t believe you have an incinerator,” you comment idly from across the lab. “Actually, I take that back. I completely believe it.”

“Decontamination procedures are no joke,” he replies automatically, over his shoulder. When he opens the door, he is buffeted with the yawning heat. He hardly gives a second thought to tossing your shirt and pants inside, hoping the momentum will take him the rest of the way, but regrettably, he hesitates once he gets to your underwear.

Ford swallows thickly, staring down at the piece of fabric in his hands. It is a practical thing, cotton by the feel of it and slightly damp from your first bout of showering. The elastic of the waistband is worn slightly, and there is nothing special about it; just a standard set of underclothes. The fabric is even pilling slightly, and…

And he abruptly realizes that you are, currently, in this very moment, standing around in his laboratory without any underwear on.

The room is suddenly much, much warmer than before, for reasons that are not incinerator-related.

Typically, and perhaps ideally, this would be a classic shoulder-a-devil-and-angel situation. If he turns and raises the topic, you’ll know that he went through your (literal) dirty laundry. In practicality, he could give them back, but then you’d still know he went through your (literal) dirty laundry. He could burn them with the rest of your clothes, to end the matter entirely. He, in fact, should burn them with the rest of your clothes.

That thought is fleeting and weightless.

There is something deeply askew within him; Ford is not so obtuse to not know this about himself. Now that he actually has the time to focus on things other than dire survival and bitter revenge, like some tacky protagonist, he has become startlingly aware of his own personal desires. Like his fantasies, he acknowledges and lives with them, trying never to linger too long.

The rub is that he also has no baseline for what constitutes as normal in any scenario now, and by proxy, everything is laced with some degree of shame.

His internal compass has also experienced some polar magnetic shifts, because not only has he come to accept this shame, but he sometimes revels in it. It is a self-perpetuating cycle that he has yet to break free of.

But the impulse he has in this moment to smell the damn thing in his hands is a whole new level of depravity, even for him.

Still, he lifts it to his face.

Ford barely gets a whiff of the concentration of your scent leftover from being between your thighs, before you are asking, sounding perplexed, “Ford? You okay?”

In a split second, blindingly panicked decision, he stuffs your underwear into one of the front pockets of his pants before you can see what he was doing. “Yes,” he replies, hoping the distance means you don’t hear how his voice wavers. “I’m fine. Completely fine.”

When he glances over his shoulder, petrified at what he might see, you just shrug it off and return to your work.

He crosses the room to his desk and waits for you to fully turn your back before opening the first drawer he finds and shoving your underwear inside it.

You don’t even turn when it closes at an incriminating volume.

The next few hours pass torturously.

Ford can hardly keep his eyes off you — this is, admittedly, nothing new. He has always found your idiosyncratic methods entertaining to watch. You drag an unused whiteboard over and start scribbling on it, connecting dots between various points like a private eye in a network only you can see. You are so absorbed in your own work that you don’t seem to take notice that Ford has halted his own completely.

He’ll catch up later.

If the sight of you in his clothes isn’t intoxicating enough, his mind gleefully shuffles through possibilities this presents. What he gave you is clearly oversized — could he vie to put you in something else? Maybe one of his sweaters? He still has those absurd green shorts from his college days — how good would your ass look in those? Or, maybe just a normal tee-shirt. He owns a few. Some have even shrunk in the wash…

The thoughts slowly become more sordid and debased: every time he catches a peek of skin, he thinks about getting you out of the clothes. He thinks about posturing that he needs to examine you for possible contamination — thoroughly. Extremely thoroughly. Bare enough that he can make diagrams.

After the impulsive onus to steal your underwear, he just can’t find himself to care to rein in his wandering imagination. All he thinks about is your underwear sitting in his desk drawer, the brief smell he got of it, the fact that only a single layer of clothing is what is keeping him from it, currently…

“Okay,” you say abruptly, turning away from the whiteboard and capping the marker. “I’m calling it.”

It startles him right out of the daydream of the various ways he can get his face between your thighs. “What are you calling?”

You roll your eyes a little. “I’m calling it a day. My brain is shot and my math is getting twisted because of it.”

He concedes with a slight nod of his head. “Fair.” As if he is getting any kind of work done while you are here.

You nod back resolutely and go about packing your things, having to tug the waistband of his sweatpants higher on your hips at least twice, pulling the drawstring taut. Once everything is in order, you sling your bag over your shoulder and approach his desk, looking at him expectantly.

With a dawning horror, Ford realizes two things in quick succession: one, this is the part where he ritualistically walks you to the door; two, he has been sitting at his desk to cover the fact he has been half-hard most of the day.

His entire perception of the world narrows in on this exact moment.

He brusquely clears his throat. “Right.” As he stands, he snatches a random clipboard from his desk and, not unlike a teenager, conveniently holds it in front of him as he walks towards the door.

Thankfully, you don’t seem to realize anything is amiss; you cross the lab with him while keeping a respectable distance and stop in front of the exit.

“Thanks again for making sure I didn’t, uh…” Your eyebrows furrow, as you look up at him with a perplexed gaze. “What does ectoplasm do when in contact with human skin, exactly?”

The answer is, at most, an unpleasant tingle and maybe a small rash, but nothing more. Realizing he needs to justify literally burning your clothes, he replies, “Nothing good.”

You rock your head back and forth minutely, weighing his response. “Well, thanks anyway. I’ll get these washed tonight and return them tomorrow, yeah?” You pluck at the collar of his borrowed and still dangerously unbuttoned shirt. It draws his eyes back to the dip of your exposed collarbone.

Ford barely stops himself from blurting, You don’t have to do that, in some kind of perverted attempt to start a collection of things that smell like you. “No rush,” he says instead, appalled when he hears how the edge of his voice is actively fraying as the seconds pass. He shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortably.

You nod, either not hearing it or not acknowledging it. “Cool. And, uh, did you get to look over my math yet? For the subthreshold oscillation.”

Ah, yes, the exact thing he has been ignoring all afternoon. “I’ll review tonight and give them back tomorrow,” he promises, perhaps falsely. He is starting to get an inkling of what his evening is going to look like, and it is nothing good.

“Great. See you tomorrow, then.” You flash him a warm and unassuming smile, eyes crinkling, then pull the door open and embark up the stairs.

Before the exit door even closes, Ford is booking it to his desk.

With a few mouse clicks, he brings up one of the security cameras aimed at the front yard, watching as you climb into your vehicle. He waits with bated breath for you to leave, not quite sure what he is about to indulge in but knowing it is nothing he wants you in proximity to. But then… you just sit there. In the driver’s seat. Not leaving.

It is difficult to tell exactly from the angle of the camera, but he thinks he sees you lift the collar of his shirt and turn your face into it.

The moment hardly lasts long enough for him to give it much thought; soon thereafter, you throw your vehicle into gear and trundle across the front yard, then out of sight down the dirt road.

Ford is fumbling with the drawer handle and snatching your underwear from inside it before he even puts conscious thought to the action.

Immediately, he presses it against his nose and over his mouth and breathes in greedily. Even hours later, the lingering scent is strong and musky, laced with the lingering stench of sweat from being between your thighs all day, all the while still smelling so distinctly of you that it makes him a little lightheaded.

Or maybe that is just all the blood swiftly exiting his brain and towards his dick.

With another slow inhale, his eyes fall closed of their own accord and his imagination picks up the slack in the theater of his mind.

Ford imagines you perched at the edge of his desk, legs spread, while he kneels on the floor with his face between your thighs as he finally, finally gets his mouth on you. Although he has no evidence to the fact, it’s his fantasy and in it, he buries his nose in the thick tuft of coarse pubic hair at the apex, fully engulfing himself in your scent and it is most potent while he lavishes you, reveling in the taste.

Already half-hard and desperate for attention, his cock twitches in his pants and he shifts in his chair to try and get more comfortable as he palms himself. This is all undeniably self-indulgent but he has been thinking about variations on this theme all day — it is hardly his fault that his self-control has unravelled by proxy.

He imagines one of your hands in his hair, using the tight grip as leverage to move him just as you want him, while your other hand grips at the edge of the desk for balance, skin pulled taut over your knuckles.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, thighs twitching, hitching one leg up to rest your foot over his shoulder and dig a heel into his back, giving him better access. The feeling is overwhelming and intoxicating and he never wants to leave it. “Fuck — fuck, you’re doing so well, yes, oh, fuck, yes-!”

Even alone, his groan is soft and low-pitched, naturally guarded. He pants hotly, mouth open, the fabric damping on the small patch that falls across his tongue with each sharp inhale.

The need coursing through him spikes abruptly and suddenly he is fumbling to undo his belt, metal jangling. He yanks it through the belt loops so fast it practically snaps in the air, and drops it to the floor with a sharp sound. He has to use both hands to pop the button and get his zipper down, hands shaking a little, then lifts his hips to shove his pants down his thighs just enough to free his erection from its confines.

Having not let go of your underwear the entire time, the frantic series of actions bring it close to his cock, which is full and curving towards his stomach proudly. Free from anyone’s scrutiny, Ford ogles at the sight, jaw still hanging open.

Never did he think he would end up in this kind of scenario but, at least in the present moment, he is hardly complaining. He hasn’t been this blatantly aroused since that time you asked whether perturbation theory could be used to quantify a deviation from an approximate solvable problem.

He had jerked off just after you left the lab that time, too.

Experimentally, he wraps the hand still holding your underwear around his cock. This time, his groan is much louder as the softness of the fabric engulfs him. Gentle in his movements to mind any friction, Ford begins moving his hand with slow and measured pumps, twisting at the head just the way he likes.

Returning to his mind, he now has you pulled to the edge of his bed, once again kneeling on the floor with his face buried between your thighs as you moan unabashedly. Saliva dribbles down his chin as he works you with his mouth with a singular purpose, both his hands clutching your hips to keep you right where he wants you.

Even in fantasy, or maybe because of it, it does not take long for you to notice the slight bounce of the mattress as he humps the bed in small movements.

You make a breathless chastising noise, using your hold of his hair to lift him off you. “Ford,” you admonish, the heat of your gaze branding him. “Did I say you could get off?”

Congruent with the fantasy, he tortuously manages to stop the movement of his hand. Still grasping himself at the base tightly, breathing much heavier, his hips make small, traitorous thrusts beyond his control, trying to chase the pleasure from a moment ago.

“No,” he confesses. In the present, his mouth forms the word without the sound ever leaving his mouth.

“So desperate,” you croon, trailing your hand down his face with a light touch, down his cheek, until you are pressing your thumb against the plush of his spit-slick lower lip. You press in farther, minutely, so the pad is resting against his bottom teeth, the tip of his tongue. “That you’d hump anything, like an animal, so desperate that you’d…”

Without conscious input, his mind morphs the fantasy: now, you are standing over him with your hands on your hips, glaring down with blatant disgust, a wicked twist of an expression he has never seen on you. You had forgotten something in the lab and had returned to grab it, only to catch him in this exact position, doing this exact act.

“… so desperate that you’d fuck anything, huh?” you finish saying, with an uncharacteristic sneer.

A pathetic noise that probably classifies as a whimper escapes him, eyes squeezing shut against the indistinguishable mix of humiliation and arousal that burns through him. It is hardly an escape; behind his eyes, he is unable to look away while you scrutinize him, with his hand still on his throbbing cock, too caught up in the undercurrent of gratification to stop what he is doing, even in fantasy.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes it out as a whisper. “I’m sorry, I don’t, I shouldn’t have…”

You watch him for another moment, eyes flickering between the desperation on his face and how he is still squeezing himself, trying to keep his hips still.

“… Well,” you finally say, crossing your arms and leaning back against the edge of the desk. “Go on.”

Ford makes a confused, choked-off noise.

“You wanna jerk off?” you ask, looking at him with expectantly raised brows. “Then go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

This time, he moans loudly and murmurs, shakily, “Okay. Okay.” With the permission fictionally granted, he starts moving his hand again, with small, tentative strokes.

Every part of his body feels like it is overheating, despite the chilly temperature of the lab. Some sweat starts to bead at his forehead. Ford has seen you disappointed before — at results, at sources, at your own work — so it is not hard to imagine that downturned, borderline bored expression being leveled at him as he works himself with jerky, uneven movements, chest heaving.

When the friction starts to become a little too overwhelming, Ford switches hands, using his free one to smear the pre-cum dribbling down his tip as he fists himself again; without the buffer of your underwear, he can feel just how hot and heavy he is. Everything feels ten times more sensitive than it has ever been, and his whole lower half rocks up for a second when he rubs his thumb over the head of his cock.

Still clutched in his other hand, he presses the crotch of the fabric to his nose again, inhaling deeply. The fabric is warm now and its scent has a much muskier undercurrent before; he half-realizes it must be his own smell. Although the mix is intoxicating, it is not hard to identify your own scent again, over it all, and his hand speeds up involuntarily.

His mind rapidly cycles through the rolodex of fantasies he keeps as he gets closer to the edge, trying to keep a rhythm as his hips flex up and off the chair. He has you bent over his desk, you’re riding him in his chair, you’re on your sides while he fucks you from behind, he’s making notes while you lay, naked, on the examination table, he drives into you up against a tree in the woods, you are pinning him to the bed as you use his cock for your own pleasure, inescapable and unyielding and shit, shit, he’s so close, he’s going to —

Ford cums hard and with a pitiful moan, long and desperate and deafening in his own ears in the otherwise silent lab; the noise lasts until his lungs have run out of air and he has to take in a gasping breath before he gets more lightheaded. His hips snap forward in an off-rhythm to his hand while his heels squeak against the linoleum, both legs shooting out and his entire body shaking with the intensity of his climax. The ecstasy borderlines on unbearable as the wave of it overtakes him completely, so much so that his mind actually goes blank, just existing in sheer bliss for a few moments.

When he finally comes to, Ford is breathing heavily and still pressing your underwear against his nose. He blinks his eyes open, slowly returning to reality. There is some cum dribbling down his fingers, caught in his frantic motions, but most of it has unfortunately landed on his desk. Some has even splattered across the notes he has out, the ones he is meant to be reviewing. Your notes.

Right. He had promised you feedback on those. By tomorrow.

With a reluctant sigh, he tucks himself back into his pants and, deciding there is no possible branch of the multiverse where he returns your underwear, uses it to clean the spend off his desk. Still, he fists them tightly, not quite ready to let go of this hedonistic piece of you. Something repugnant is starting to rise in him, but he can’t quite find it in himself to be truly ashamed of his actions.

As he stares down at your notes, only half-seeing them, he hears you in his mind, brightly asking, To work?

“Yes,” he mutters to himself, pulling up closer to the desk. He will have to rewrite your work, claiming to have spilled coffee on it, and you’ll be none the wiser.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The shame and its accompanying perverted satisfaction threatens to crest over him and derail the rest of his evening, and in a desperate bid to keep his mind off it, Ford says aloud, to no one: “To work.”

[gumii-bearr]

❝ you hitting on me? ❞

summary: megumi doesn't like clubs, but then he sees you.

featuring… megumi fushiguro

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, alt!megumi, piercings and tattoos, reader is a babe fr, pet names, car sex, rough sex, fingering, riding, dick piercing (what who said that??), teasing, edging, choking, crying (omg), spanking (a lil bit), unprotected sex (don’t do that!!!!!), bit of subspace??, alcohol mentioned, smoking mentioned (don’t smoke, it’s bad for you!), vaping mentioned, these two are so horny for each other like wtf

author’s note: this was a request by a lovely anon!!! ... also its 4k words

Megumi doesn’t like going out. It’s not his thing, really. He prefers to stay at home to play video games or be his own company, and if he has to be social he prefers a more intimate get together over… whatever the hell Yuji is dragging him along too. 

“Trust, it’ll be fun,” Yuji nudges Megumi’s shoulder lightly. Megumi keeps his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black hoodie, a resting annoyed expression plastered across his face. He’s not sure how Yuji roped him into coming to this gig, maybe it was because Megumi kind of owed Yuji for turning down hanging out with him for the past… many times. 

Megumi doesn’t respond, just wordlessly follows behind Yuji as he weaves through groups of people socialising, vaping and drinking outside the bar Megumi was conned into coming to.

Yuji mentioned something about his friend’s band playing at this bar tonight and there may have been mentions of meeting up with Nobara but Megumi kind of tuned him out after he started going on and on about how Megumi was being anti-social and bringing up the numerous times he cancelled on Yuji (it was a ploy to make him feel bad and it unfortunately worked).

The moment they walk down the graffitied hallway, Megumi is again reminded why he doesn’t like going out. The bar is packed with drunk people and it smells of alcohol and sweat. Megumi inwardly cringes at the whole atmosphere and nearly, nearly, spins on his heel and leaves when some drunk girl bumps into Megumi while giggling and slightly dry heaving.

Before Megumi can even make a comment, Yuji is grabbing his arm, “don’t be a party-pooper, Fushiguro, we haven’t even seen Nobara yet!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Megumi deadpans.

“Yeah, but your face said it all,” Yuji retorts, “come on!” Yuji tugs on his friend’s arm, dragging his friend toward the loud thumping music.

His head hurts already. The music is loud and the random LED lights flying over the crowd are bright and annoying. Megumi is annoyed, to be fair, he’s always slightly annoyed but right now it’s increased tenfold by the overstimulating nightmare that is this club.

Megumi doesn’t even know where Yuji is going. Yuji is staring at his phone, then looking around, then back at his phone again. He’s talking to Megumi but the music is so loud that Megumi doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying. 

“There she is!” okay, he caught that.

Yuji walks a little faster, Megumi attempting to weave through the crowd of people without touching anyone (it’s not working, he’s very uncomfortable). The crowd seems to dissipate as they reach the back of the club by the bar, numerous tables dotting the back wall. Megumi spots Nobara as she leaps up from the table, waving her arm around obnoxiously.

“Itadori!” she’s yelling and if Megumi knows anything about Nobara, it’s that her voice really carries. “Fushiguro!”

Megumi raises his hand from his pocket as a slight wave, his lips forming a tight line. Nobara is already shoving a drink into Yuji’s hand then reaching over to give one to Megumi, “dunno what it is but it’s getting me drunk!”

Megumi tunes out whatever Nobara is saying the moment he sees you. 

You’re chuckling as you watch Nobara and Yuji feed off of each other’s excitement. You’re holding a drink in your hand, absentmindedly swirling the ice around with your straw. 

You’re also trying to remain super nonchalant at the fact you’re totally checking out Yuji’s friend.

He looks completely uninterested in what’s happening, his tired eyes glancing at anything other than the social situation in front of him. His hair is messy and framing his gorgeous face. His hoodie sleeves are rolled up and your eyes trace down his veiny arms adorned with pretty tattoos all the way to his hands. He’s got a couple of nose piercings and an eyebrow piercing, his whole vibe is dark and brooding and you’re so into it.

Where the fuck has this cutie been?

“Y/N, this is my friend Fushiguro,” you sit up a little straighter at the mention of your name. Nobara tugs on Megumi’s arm bringing him closer to the bar table, “say hi, you emo bitch.”

Megumi eyes you and you have no idea what he’s thinking. “Uh, hey,” he says awkwardly. Oh god, he’s a dork. You must have him.

He’s remaining as poker-faced as possible as his eyes glance over you, from the fishnet stocking adorning your legs to the subtle colour of your glossed lips. You’re smiling at him softly through mascaraed lashes and he finds himself peeking down at your lips.

Megumi thinks you’re really pretty.

He mostly just listens as you, Nobara and Yuji talk about college and work, opting for tapping his finger against the glass in front of him. He likes the way you talk, hand gestures accompanying your enthusiastic ramble about your college degree. He also likes the way you laugh, though he finds himself becoming slightly annoyed by the fact that Yuji’s the one making you laugh. 

He decides he needs a smoke, his head is pounding from the loud music and the flashing lights; he needs a break.

Megumi gets up from his seat, nudging Yuji’s arm, “‘m just going out for a smoke.”

Yuji waves him off and Megumi sets off toward the smoking area outside the bar. It’s colder outside but god, it’s so much quieter, just the bustling of cars down the street and the occasional police siren. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, flicking his lighter and holding it to the end until the smoke fills his mouth. 

He leans against the wall, cigarette perched between his lips as he scrolls on his phone. He debates it for a while, but eventually gives in and searches your name up on instagram. He finds your account, noticing you’re already friends with Itadori. He scrolls through your posts, feeling like a fucking teenager stalking your social media–

“Fuck.”

Megumi’s eyes snap to you, now with an oversized leather jacket pulled around your shoulders as you rifle through your purse. There’s an unlit cigarette pressed between your glossy lips and your brows are furrowed.

Megumi fishes his lighter back out of his pocket, he walks over to you and nudges your arm, holding the lighter out for you.

You look up at him with your pretty eyes, a smile pulling at your lips, “thanks, Fushiguro.”

You take the lighter from his hand, attempting to flick the lighter to life to light your cigarette. You try a couple more times before Megumi chuckles softly, taking it from your smaller hands and lighting it the first try.

He wordlessly cups the end of your cigarette, shielding it from the wind as he lights your cigarette for you, his darker eyes flickering up to yours briefly. 

The two of you stand in silence for a moment before you speak.

“I like your tattoos,” you say sweetly.

“Hm?”

“Your tattoos, they’re cool,” you repeat with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, thank you,” Megumi replies, absentmindedly running a hand along his inked arm. He feels his heart race a little when you reach a manicured hand out and run your finger along the dragon twisting around his forearm.

“Nobara told me you weren’t much of a talker,” you say, your smaller hand still fiddling with his larger more angular hands as you admire his tattoos. It’s strangely intimate of you to touch him in such a way.

“You talked about me?” Megumi teases, taking another drag from his cigarette with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“All good things, don’t worry,” you retort, finally letting go of his arm to bring your cigarette back up to your lips.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“Trying to quit, just smoke when I drink,” you shrug. You sigh then turn your head to face him, you look him up and down, “you got a girlfriend?”

Megumi lets out a laugh, coughing slightly on the smoke still swirling around in his chest, “no, why?”

You grin, “‘m hitting on you.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Megumi presses.

“You’re pretty cute,” you shrug.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Megumi asks, turning his head to blow the smoke away from you.

“No, no boyfriend… why? Are you hitting on me?” You ask curiously with a shit-eating grin plastered across your pretty glossy lips. 

Megumi looks at you and the two of you hold eye contact for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips briefly before he squashes out the rest of his cigarette, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“So you are hitting on me,” you tease.

Megumi takes the cigarette from your fingers, stealing your last puff and inwardly beaming at the cherry flavour of your lip gloss before squashing it out for you, “I’m buying you a drink.”

Megumi does indeed buy you a drink, bringing it back to the table for you, even getting you a straw.

“Thank you, Fushiguro,” you smile sweetly.

“Megumi is fine,” he says, pulling his chair out to sit next to you.

You suppress a smile, “okay, Megumi.”

The both of you miss as Yuji reluctantly slips Nobara some cash. 

The two of you talk all night. Megumi is a little more laid back after you manage to get two drinks into him. The time slips away from you and you find yourself not even interested in what Nobara and Yuji are talking about as you talk to Megumi. 

Megumi lets you toy with his fingers, your nails dragging along his tattooed hand and up his arm. You suddenly grow curious, wondering if he’s got any other tattoos underneath his clothes, you feel like a bit of a perv coming onto this guy you just met, but you’re so drawn to him and he seems to be just as into you.

You catch Megumi’s eyes drifting down to your tits before he quickly clears his throat to answer whatever question you asked him. You think it’s cute and you decide to tease him a little by wriggling a little closer to him, your fishnet-clad thigh pressing against his. 

He knows what you’re doing and he’s not even mad about it. He lets you laugh and hang off him, lets you toy with the hem of his hoodie sleeves and lets you bump shoulders with him. In all honesty, he lets you because you’re hot and you’re into him.

“God, it’s so late,” Nobara sighs, wincing at the brightness of her phone.

Megumi checks his own phone; 12:54am. God, it is late.

“Open your phone,” you mutter, your chin resting on his shoulder.

“Why?”

“Just open your phone,” you giggle.

He does as you say and he nearly has a fucking heart attack when his phone opens to your Instagram that he was totally not stalking just a few hours ago.

“Fuck,” he knows he’s caught red-handed when you start to laugh softly, his hand falling slack in his lap.

“Aw, you’re stalking me, Gumi?” 

Megumi feels his chest tighten at the little nickname and he rolls his eyes but doesn’t offer any kind of explanation as he hands you his phone to do whatever it is you wanted to do.

You scroll to his contacts, quickly putting your name and number in his phone (you also make sure to follow your Instagram from his phone) before clicking it shut and handing it back to him. 

“Don’t forget to call me, kay?” you give him the prettiest doe eyes and quickly stand up, grabbing your jacket to join Nobara as she leaves. “It was nice to meet you, Megumi.”

He sits there dumbfounded as you and Nobara leave, he watches your back, watching your little skirt ride up over your ass a bit as you walk away. Fucking hell.

“Dude!” Yuji nudges his arm, “you got her number!”

“Shut up,” Megumi retorts.

“Told you you’d have fun.”

“Shut up!”

Megumi shoves a laughing Yuji away as he reaches for his own stuff to leave. The club is mostly empty by now, Megumi not realising how much time they’d spent here because he was so fucking distracted by you.

He and Yuji go to leave when Megumi notices your purse is still hanging over your chair. He quickly grabs it, scanning the crowd with his tall frame in hopes you’re still hanging around. You’re not, so he quickly pulls on Yuji to catch you before you go. Not that you’ll get far without your keys.

-

“Fuck,” you stand by your car and realise you left your purse in the club. You’re almost two blocks away from said club and Nobara has already left, leaving you somewhat stranded. You sigh, pulling your phone out of your pocket to text Nobara and ask her to turn around and take you home because you’re too tired and your feet hurt too much to walk all the way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” you perk up at the sound of your name, spinning on your heel and watching as Megumi catches up to you, your purse slung over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck, thank you!” you sigh with relief as Megumi hands you back your purse. You fish through your purse for your keys, “did Yuji drive you?”

“Yeah, but he’s already left,” he says.

You give him a look, “he has, huh?”

“Thought I could drive you… since you’ve had a couple,” Megumi tilts his head at you and you grin knowingly.

“What a gentleman,” you tease. “My place or yours?” you joke.

Megumi just looks at you and there’s a thick tension hanging in the air. He suddenly surges forward, capturing your pretty glossy lips in a hard kiss.

You kiss him back almost instantly, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck. Even with heels on, Megumi is taller than you and you have to arch your back to catch his slightly chapped lips as he leans over you, his large hands landing on your waist to pull your hips against his.

“Here’s fine,” he mutters against your lips with a cheeky smirk, you can only laugh softly as one of his tattooed hands comes up to hold the back of your head, forcing you to deepen the kiss.

He forces his tongue into your mouth and you whine softly. He tastes of tobacco and spiced rum and it makes you fucking dizzy. You thread your fingers through his messy black hair, tugging on it as he moves you to press your back against the cold car window.

“You bring my purse all the way here just to kiss me?” You quirk a brow at him, panting slightly.

“Maybe,” he grins, trailing his lips down your jaw to your neck. “You leave your purse on purpose so I’d bring it to you?”

“Maybe.” 

Megumi’s hands trail down your waist to your ass, gently kneading the soft flesh over your tiny skirt. Your pretty nails push up the hem of his hoodie, feeling up his toned as fuck abs that tense slightly under your touch.

He kisses you again, his thumb coming to rest on your throat as his fingers squeeze slightly, god you really want him to choke you while he fucks you–

“Unlock the car, Y/N,” he says against your ear, his voice low and sexy. 

You pull your keys out of your purse and unlock your car (you’re lucky your car is parked in the dark at the back of the parking lot). 

You clamber over each other in the backseat until you’re straddling Megumi’s lap, your fingers in his hair once again while he kisses and sucks on your neck. His hands knead your ass, his fingers slipping down to lift your tiny skirt over your ass.

“Mm, touch me, Gumi,” you whine against his ear.

Megumi smiles against your neck before pulling away from you. You whine a little at the loss of contact but he quickly kisses you again, one of his hands snaking up the bottom of your top to grope your tits. You hold his hand over your top, forcing him to squeeze your soft skin.

You let out a soft moan at the feeling of his cold rings nipping at your hot skin. You grind your hips down against his, feeling his bulge rub against your wet panties. He groans at the feeling, his free hand curling into the plush skin of your ass before he reels it back to deliver a smack! to your ass.

You moan at the slight sting, hands holding Megumi’s face to kiss him as he forces your hips to grind against his hard-on.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” Megumi pants against your lips.

“I just wanted you t’fuck me,” you retort playfully.

“Such a slut,” he kneads your ass again before reaching his hand down further to run his middle finger across your slit over your panties. “Someone’s excited, hm?”

“Shut up,” you whine as he traces his finger over your clothed clit. You curl your fists into the fabric of his hoodie, moaning against his shoulder as he presses his finger a little harder against your clit.

He suddenly reaches both hands down, ripping apart your fishnets for better access. He pulls your pretty lacy panties aside, the pad of his finger prodding at your soaked hole. He traces his fingertip around the opening, chuckling as you whine and hump his lap looking for friction.

“Don’t tease me,” you grumble.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy,” he teases. You pout and he chuckles, pressing a wet kiss to your lips as he plunges his finger into your awaiting heat. 

You moan at the feeling, pressing your face into his shoulder as he pumps his middle finger into your tight cunt. You’re so fucking tight and you’re only taking a finger– he can only imagine how heavenly you would feel wrapped around his cock.

Your little hand presses against the buckle of his belt and Megumi delivers another hard smack! to your reddened ass. You moan out again, your trembling hands clutching his hoodie.

“So fucking impatient,” Megumi presses a second finger into your cunt, peering over your shoulder and watching as your slick starts to coat his palm and probably his clothed thigh.

“Mm, hah–” you sigh, feeling as Megumi scissors your poor little cunt open, his fingers prodding and curling against the spongy spot inside you. Your pussy makes lewd squelches as Megumi fucks his fingers into you. You grind your hips against his hard cock in his boxers, the friction rubbing your poor neglected clit.

You feel your lower belly start to burn as you whine and hump against Megumi’s clothed cock, your hole beginning to tighten and spasm around his fingers.

Megumi suddenly pulls his fingers from your soaked little pussy. You let out a frustrated whine as the burn in your belly subsides and you pant against Megumi’s neck. 

His fingers prod at your lips without warning and you open your mouth just slightly and he forces his fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your cute little tongue.

You suck on his fingers, your smaller hand curling around his wrist as you make cute little noises. Megumi kisses your temple before his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, “I want you to cum on my cock… can you do that f’me, baby?”

You nod your head quickly.

“Words, baby,” he coos, his hand kneading over the harsh red welt blooming on your ass. 

“Mhm… I can do it,” you pant, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin. “Please.”

Megumi’s hand reaches for his belt buckle, quickly undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. If he wasn’t so impatient, he would have taken you home and had you spread your legs for him to fuck you with his tongue and his fingers. Then he would have forced you onto your knees and fucked your face until you cried before he put his dick anywhere near your cunt.

But this is just as good.

Megumi pulls his cock from his boxers, groaning as he pumps himself a few times. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at the sheer size of him, but also the fact that underneath the pink head of his cock is a little silver barbell. 

“You got a condom, baby?

“N-No,... you have your dick pierced?”

Megumi almost forgets he has it half the time, “yeah… feels good, don’t worry.”

You bite your lip, suddenly a little jealous of how he exactly figured out his piercing felt good. Megumi notices your flushed face and the way you chew on your lip. His large hand gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him so he can press a soft kiss to your lips.

He reaches for your hand, bringing it down to wrap around his hard cock. It’s heavy in your hand and you gently squeeze, jerking him off.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Megumi kisses at your skin, “promise ‘m gonna take you on a date tomorrow.”

You giggle at his attempt to make you feel better, “you better, cus if you’re gonna fuck me raw you better buy me dinner.”

Megumi chuckles through a low groan, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to stop squeezing and jerking him off because if you keep doing it he’s gonna cum like a teenager because you’re the prettiest fucking girl he’s ever seen and now you’re on top of him with your top pushed over your pretty tits and your pussy waiting for him.

Megumi kisses you again, his tongue pressing against yours as you lift yourself up a little, your hand wrapping around the base of Megumi’s big fucking cock to line him up with your sopping hole. 

Megumi’s hands land on your hips, his dark eyes meeting yours as his tip prods as your hole. You feel his piercing catch on the outside of your hole and you tip your head back and moan as you sink down, Megumi peppering kisses across your tits as he helps you lower yourself down on his cock.

You’re so fucking tight around him when he finally bottoms out, your pussy wrapped so snug, pulsing slightly as you pant and moan.

“S’big, Gumi,” you whine.

“I’ll be gentle,” he says as he lifts your hips, slowly pulling you back down on his cock. “You gotta help me out, princess.”

You pant, only just noticing how foggy your windows are. The two of you are coated in a thin sheen of sweat and you lean back, planting your hands on the tops of Megumi’s knees so you can bounce on his cock.

You start off slow before you get lost in the feeling of his cock and the piercing dragging against your tight walls. Megumi’s hands bruise your hips as he helps you bounce on his cock, his eyes unable to look away from where your pussy sucks in his cock.

Your slick is forming a white ring around the base of his cock, your wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs and down onto his pants. You’re fucked stupid on his dick as you babble and moan incoherently, unable to stop bouncing as you chase your orgasm.

You pull almost all the way off his dick before forcing yourself back down, your eyes screwing shut at the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix. Megumi’s hand presses against the slight bulge in your tummy, the feeling making you fucking dizzy.

“Harder, please Gumi, fuck me harder,” you cry out, your finger sinking down between your thighs to rub circles on your clit. 

Megumi feels like he gets harder at the nickname, “fuck, baby,” he coos, his hands bruising your hips as he bullies your cunt, the tip of his cock bruising your poor cervix. One of Megumi’s hands wraps around your throat, squeezing on your pretty neck. You choke on your own moans as your orgasm nears.

“I’m gonna– Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you cry, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, mixing with your mascara and slipping down your pretty cheeks.

You feel your belly start to burn and your nails scratch at Megumi’s forearms as he lets go of your neck to press his own thumb against your sensitive little clit, forcing your orgasm out of you.

You cry when you feel the coil in your belly snap, your cunt spasming around Megumi’s cock and gushing around him.

“That’s it, princess. Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he eggs you on, your legs shaking at the feeling of your orgasm crashing into you. “You’re so tight, baby.”

You don’t respond, your vision turning white as your cunt clamps down on him. Megumi groans and grunts at the feeling, bouncing your hips on his lap and using your fucked out body to chase his own orgasm.

Megumi’s cock twitches inside you and you just whine and cry as he pumps you full of his cum, thick white ropes painting your insides. He forces your hips down onto his cock, finally ceasing his movements and just panting, attempting to catch his breath.

Your body shakes and you mewl softly, babbling incoherently. Megumi coos, pulling you against his chest and running a hand down your back to bring you back to earth, “shh, shh, you’re okay.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“Too much?” he asks, petting your hair and kissing the crown of your head.

You shake your head, “best sex of my life,” you sigh.

Megumi chuckles, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back, his other hand fixing your shirt back over your boobs. “I’ll take you home now, kay?”

“You gonna stay?” you ask, peering up at him with a fucked out expression and dried mascara stuck to your cheeks.

“You want me to?” he smiles.

You nod, “mhm… otherwise how will you make me breakfast?”

Megumi laughs, lifting your head to press kisses to your face. 

After a moment longer, Megumi lifts you off of his softening dick, his cum leaking from your abused little hole. You sigh at the empty feeling, your thighs aching from the stretch. Megumi fixes your panties back into place, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

He manages to carry you and put you into the passenger seat, fastening your seatbelt for you before starting up your car and actually driving you home–

“Wait, where the hell am I going?”

You can only tiredly giggle from the passenger seat.

author's note: YEESH! i need a cold ass shower. dunno how i feel about it but!!! it’s here!!!

[suguann]

Being a camgirl comes with its fair share of ups and downs, but you never expected one of the downs to be one of your unboxings from a fan going horribly wrong during a live stream—the proof of it still buzzing between your thighs beyond your finger's reach. 

A rush of embarrassment comes with knocking on your roommate’s bedroom door and asking him for help because you’re nearing the brink of overstimulation and can’t think straight enough to get the words out. It’s worse when he stands there and says nothing—all imposing with two tattooed arms crossed over his chest—while you try to get through a sentence without moaning. 

Simon looks at you with a cocked brow and something akin to amusement as he watches you squirm in his doorway. 

Then he finally says, “Get on the bed,” in a steady and low voice, opening his bedroom door wider.

You fidget under his scrutinizing gaze as you settle back against his pillows, biting back whimpers with a too-hot face and sweat dripping down your back. 

Him settling a knee on the bed makes you jump, “Let’s take a look, love.” 

Simon crawls up the bed, forcing your knees open, and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad and big he looks, towering over you—every part of you laid bare for him to see. A large hand presses right below your belly button, jostling the toy inside you, and this time, you can’t hold back the squeal that rips from your chest. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice imperceptibly deeper, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Okay, you’re going to feel a slight stretch.”

You bite your lip. “A-alright—”

Slight doesn’t even come close to the fingers sliding into you, spearing your sensitive walls open and pressing into a spot where you’ve never been able to reach with startling precision. You remind yourself that he has to do this, that he’s just being…friendly, or whatever makes the lines less blurred. 

None of this stops the fact your lower stomach burns with the promise of another orgasm when his fingers brush against the egg vibrator before accidentally pressing it deeper inside.

“Ah, there it is.”

At the sight of your scrunched nose, he asks if it hurts. You shake your head; eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to hold back the stinging pleasure racing up your spine. “N-no,” you whimper.

“Relax, okay?”

Simon doesn’t comment on how you’re implying that it feels good. So good, you think, his thumb just barely touching your clit as he twists his hand to try a different angle. Then he pushes down on your belly again, and his long fingers finally grip the vibrator.

“Oh!” you moan at the feel of it dragging down your front wall, your fingers gripping the sheets. 

He has to tell you to relax again, his voice cracking, but you hardly hear it over your heart beating loudly in your ears. His fingers drag the toy out slowly, almost too slow that you can feel it bumping against every slippery ridge inside you.

“Ah, sorry,” he says when you twitch—unapologetic—using his thumb to rub soothing circles into your stomach. “You’re so wet. I need to make sure I don’t lose it again.”

You nod, cunt clenching down at his words.

And then Simon’s fingers curl up: your thighs start quivering, breath caught in your throat, and your jaw locks up until your orgasm ripples through you. It’s unending, the strongest one yet, and just when you think it’s over, you feel the press of his palm against your clit.

“W-wait! Simon,” you moan, pushing at his hand. “No more, I‘m sensitive!”

He gets you to fall over the edge one more time before finally slipping the vibrator out of you, letting it hum softly on the bed, and your exhausted body sinks into the mattress once again. Simon gathers you into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

You swallow lungfuls of air against his chest, head still spinning and walls spasming from the aftershocks. 

He murmurs in your ear about how good you are, kisses your temple, and rubs your sides, and it’s… enlightening. Moments pass before you finally return to yourself, and when he pulls back, his brows furrow at your pout.

“All good?”

You shake your head and go with honesty. “I didn’t think you’d cuddle me afterward.”

He smiles, thumb flicking your bottom lip. “You wanted me to fuck you?” 

Your mouth falls open. “N-no—”

Then he leans down, lips brushing against your ear: “Don’t worry, love. Good girls get fucked hard.”

[eraserbread]

it's just one of those things... your husband, nanami, likes you close.

but, your husband is actually a very sane individual and decides its best not to keep you leashed down. however, it didn't make it easier when you brought up the idea of visiting your family during the spring.

nanami loves your family, but he loves them in his way. he loves them from far, far away—perhaps not even a phone call away, just a yearly birthday card kind of closeness. It's not an energy he wishes to be around.

but, he wants whatever makes you happy, so he lets you go for a week.

a grueling, seven-day week. one filled with work, overtime, stress and anger, all to an empty house to crawl back to. it's okay -- its all he can tell himself as he tucks into bed lonely as hell.

he wills himself to sleep, begging his mind to leave you alone. let you have your space without his voice in your ear. he thinks you want this -- this... disgusting silence.

little did he know, you were five cities away waiting by the phone.

just waiting. hoping at least a good night text would fall your way. you know he's up thinking about you. he has to be.

so, when you get home a week later. you're pissed and touch starved and nanami starved. you had a mind to let him have it, to spew everything you've been pining over while he's been too busy to text or call.

it also doesn't help that you got home four hours before him, having time to cool down and shower off. a part of you wants to call him -- perhaps he's getting drinks or dinner with a friend, but if he didn't contact you for a week, you'd be sure not to contact him. its the only way you know how to teach him.

he arrives home when you're wrapped in your pajamas, glass of wine in your hand, and waiting for this exact moment.

"welcome home, my beautiful wife."

he begins, and it brings a small smile to your face. it's already seeming like he's redeeming himself. "you know I love you."

"really? i don't know... just thought i'd see it more when we're apart," you mumble, chewing on your lip over the rim of your glass. you can't see nanami's expression, but you can feel the quirk in his brow - the tightness in the corner of his lips.

"well, don't be vague. you're mad at me." he knows, yet he's still so calm. you refuse to glance back at him, even when he's taking off his shoes and pulling off his tie. it's something you'd usually help him with. this time, you help yourself to your wine.

"look, a week apart did us both a world of good, I promise you."

"yeah? would your hand agree with you, there?"

he laughs. "not everything's about sex, dear. I'm capable of holding out for a week." another wordless sip of your wine, and he's approaching you. "but, just because I can, doesn't mean I want to go into day eight without it."

it takes every fiber of your soul to say, "'m sorry, nanami. i'm just not in the mood tonight."

if you didn't know him so well, you wouldn't have caught the slight twitch in his brow at the news. however, he takes it well with a small smile on his face. "of course. i'll be in my office."

you sip your wine, cursing him internally for his politeness. he could have anything he wanted from you if he just said it. but, he never will. if its your will to go to bed without giving yourself to him, then so be it. he won't beg at your feet like a child.

but... what if you wanted him to?

you're not keeping track of time anymore, but you feel renewed with a headful of wine and time spent with nothing but thoughts of him. it's genuinely unnerving to you just how in love you are. nanami is so gentle, strong, beautiful and polite. it fucking makes your head spin.

then, you feel like a monster..

the feeling wills one foot in front of the other, all the way to his office door. it's not closed, just cracked. golden desk lamp lighting spills out into the hall in rectangular designs. you find yourself fixating on it in your drunkenness.

the door squeaks as you push it open, and you peek inside to see where he was amongst the organized chaos of books and work papers.

"ken?"

surprisingly, he's not staring right back at you. he's face down over his desk, resting so that you can't see his face—only the back of his head and all his disheveled blonde hair.

when you approach, he stays completely still. worry begins brewing in your chest.

"you know you can come to bed..." you whisper, leaning against the side of his desk. his pretty eyes flutter open at the softness of your voice and touch, quirking a smile.

"didn't think i could lay next to you and keep my hands to myself." he sits up into your hand, shivering as you massage over his scalp. he's like a little orange kitten, nudging your hand with sleepy eyes.

"don't you dare go ghost on me for a week ever again. do you know how obsessed I am with you?"

"i can guess." he chuckles softly, swallowing something down as he looks up at you. "I'm so sorry. just figured you would want your time to yourself."

"that doesn't mean you can't text me."

"then, i'm throwing my hands up and taking my wrongs." there he goes again, not even so much as debating his reasoning; he just wants you. if being the bad guy means he can lay down his gorgeous, tipsy wife, he'll be the worst person in the world.

there's newfound speed behind his actions as he spins his chair around, reaching out to grab you by the hips. it's so fluid and familiar, but it gets your pulse racing, the beat between your thighs mimicking the rhythm of his heart. he's so close to everything -- to you, to all of it.

he kisses your tummy where the hem of your shirt kisses the waistband of your shorts. he's breathing you in, memorizing the sound of you, it seems. your hands find the back of his neck, thumbing circles into the fuzz, there. it's a moment he'd never speak about again, but the ones you cherish the most. he just holds you. like, it's been over five minutes now...

"i'm sorry. i love you so much."

he nods into your stomach, kissing the ticklish sliver of bare skin there. you're dewy with the after-breath of him, but you love the warmth. you want him back when he pulls away.

"i love you." he nods, giving you those eyes when he looks up at you. your heart fucking pummels and rushes through your body, nearly bringing tears to your eyes -- he's so beautiful. "and I love this fabric on you."

"please. please take it off, kento. i love you so fucking... so fucking much." you're breathless already, and all he's done is kiss you. it's a little embarrassing, but neither of you care. tomorrow morning when he kisses you awake, you'll shrug off your demeanor on the alcohol but you weren't that drunk. you just missed him.

"take it off, please. take it off..."

"huh?"

"please, don't fucking tease me i'm so horny right now. nanami kento, i love you so much, please."

"wow, girl." he trails his lips to your waistband, taking it between his teeth shortly. "are you begging for it?"

"fuck my pride, i don't have it with you anymore." you gasp, tightening your fist in his hair to lead him just... down. of course, he's too fucking strong. he doesn't budge. "kentooo-"

he stares up with wide eyes for just a second longer before giving in. he mumbles, "all right, all right." just before yanking your shorts and taking you apart. he drives his chair forward as he slides open your cunt on two fingers, showing you his tongue and diving in. he's done this hundreds of times, but you'll never be used to the feeling.

he knows every inch of your body - how you vibrate when he flicks your clit that one way or dips his tongue the other. he has your orgasm down to a science, but he still takes his time massaging around your labia, kissing the crook between your thighs.

you were already so close, you cuss. "fuck - what ar- what are you doing?!"

"if you would just have some patience," he responds vaguely, holding your thigh and kissing across the inside. with rushing breaths, you try to calm down, swallowing as you watch him. "you were about to finish, I could tell."

"so, you stopped?"

"i know you've been drinking... so you won't last past this round." of course, only he would know that and actually apply logic to it. it hits you dumbfounded. "I'm selfish. just wanted you to cum when I'm inside a'you."

there's absolutely nothing you can say to translate your thoughts, all you can do is breathe out a shaky moan. you were so fucked off of his tongue, right now.

"desk? bedroom? hm?"

or

you want me to fuck you on my desk or in our bed?

bed sounds better, that way you can pass out immediately afterwards. your mind swims thinking about being back in his arms tonight.

it seems you said that out loud, because he gives you a small smile, then carries you all the way to your bedroom.

he fucks you slow and deep tonight, letting you rest on your back as he held your legs over his waist. you're mewling in reaction, biting down on the inside of your wrist to keep the embarrassment at bay. nanami's being so devious, fucking you like this. he knows it'd take you longer to cum, but he wants that.

he wanted to savor this. you. all of it. all he can do as he stares down at you is admire. he loves the way your breasts rise and fall with each shaky breath. he loves the way your neck dips every time he hits that spot or touches you there.

inside of your warmth is home for him. he just loves you so fucking much that you're the only thing on his mind when he cums alongside you.

he even thinks his left eye drops a tear when he collapses in bed with you. though, he'd never, ever admit it.

then, he kisses the top of your head as you drift away into spinning dreams and whispers:

"god, what did i ever do before you?"

[ddejavvu]

Could you do a criminal minds x reader where reader is viewed as super sweet and dresses brighter and stuff like Penelope but one day they have to come in like super late/by surprise so everyone is in their normal clothes and the bau sees that reader has a big ass, super cool tattoo? And they’re all surprised and stuff

You're looking less-than professional in your backless halter top when you take your seat at the round table, but no one bats an eye until you stand from the chair to leave. Hotch's call of 'Wheels up in 20' means that the room clears as everyone hunts for their gobags, and the second you turn your back to your coworkers a litany of reactions fill the space.

Of course, the most dramatic is from Garcia, but you hear enough to count all of your coworkers, except one. Hotch's brows are raised when you turn back to see them, though - apparently he's not above being startled.

"Woah, hot stuff," Prentiss calls, a grin spreading over her face, "You've got some nice ink back there!"

"I didn't know you had tattoos," JJ muses, staring at you with curious amusement like she's recalculating your image in her mind, "That's really intricate. I like it."

"Oh, it's-" You reach a hand up to stroke awkwardly over the inked skin, "I kind of forgot you'd never seen it before."

"Turn around again!" Garcia gushes, "I wanna look at it."

You spin on command, and Hotch and Rossi are kind enough not to gawp with the others, passing you on their way to the door.

"You've got guts, kid," Rossi grimaces, "I've been in a lot of pain before, but I don't know if I'd willingly sit there for all of that."

"I wouldn't," Hotch shakes his head with a good-natured smile, "Haley and I got small, matching ones in college, and I had a hard time with that one."

"Is that based off of Norse mythology?" Spencer pokes his head around your shoulder to stare bright-eyed at you, "Some of the symbols remind me of-"

"It's just a sick-ass tattoo, Reid." Morgan shoves at his shoulder. peering avidly at the art, "Don't ruin this for everyone."

Reid takes the shove like a champion, smiling kindly, albeit awkwardly at you as he moves for the door himself, "I like it."

"Thanks, Reid," You call, flinching slightly as a hand traces one of the symbols on your back.

"Ooh! Sorry, pumpkin," Garcia calls, the hand drawn away in a flash, "I got too grabby. I just think it's really cool," she takes your hand, leading you towards the door while the others follow to continue staring at your tattoo, "I'd show you my own body art, but it's not really in a spot that I can display in the workplace."

"Well this I've gotta see," Morgan teases, "Let's all huddle in the bathroom on the jet, babygirl, and see what you're hiding."

"It is not for your eyes, Derek Morgan," She huffs, though she's grinning at his attempt. The look in her eyes suggests that the tattoo is not for his eyes because it's something to do with him, and you're eager to giggle over whatever part of her body she's tatted 'babygirl' over later.

For now, though, you rifle through your gobag and shrug on a cardigan, effectively covering your back and its ink.

"It is a crying shame to cover up that artwork," Prentiss laments, "I bet it looks awesome peeking over tank tops."

"You'll see it again at the hotel," You laugh, "I have plans to use the jacuzzi before we leave."

"A jacuzzi sounds fantastic," JJ sighs, "But let's all of us agree that Morgan isn't invited - I wanna see Garcia's tattoo."

[slytherinshua]

໑　 KISSES WITH TXT 　 ( 투모로우바이투게더 )

genre fluff , headcanons , txt x reader   cw kissing (obv) , not proofread and prob a bit messy   wc 806   request no   note still in my txt feels BAD like its not okay im so tired i love them   net @kstrucknet @moadiarynet

CHOI YEONJUN 彡 최연준

he’s so smooth with his kisses

almost too smooth

he’ll come up behind you with an arm around your waist and spin you around to press a quick kiss to your lips

and then he’ll leave you dazed and wanting more but he’s already walking off with a cute little smirk on his face

or he’ll interrupt your sentence with a kiss making you forget what you were talking about in the first place

he always catches you off guard but it leaves your heart fluttering 

other times his kisses are slow and passionate

he loves taking his time to savour the feeling

he’s almost too desperate sometimes, kissing you like it's the last time he’ll ever get the chance to

which is wrong because he kisses you all the time

but he just can’t help losing himself in you

kisses are used to celebrate, to commemorate, or to apologize 

it's his way of communicating, of teasing, of acknowledging— the way yeonjun kisses you speaks a million words

CHOI SOOBIN 彡 최수빈

there’s nothing softer than soobin’s kisses 

his lips are just so perfect that even when the kiss is rushed or a bit messy, you could hardly complain 

you love to kiss his neck because it will make him flustered and shy 

he’ll tell you to stop with his cheeks flushed, but he doesn’t really mean it 

when he talks too much and you can’t get a word in, kissing his cheek always gets his attention 

his brain pauses whenever you do cause he doesn’t expect to be kissed 

even though he should by now because you can never resist kissing his dimples 

if you can’t reach his lips, there are simple ways to get him to bend down enough 

a tap on his shoulder or gently grabbing his wrist will give him the silent signal that you want to kiss him 

and it has him smiling because he thinks you’re adorable every time you want him to lean down so you can initiate the kiss first 

CHOI BEOMGYU 彡 최범규

beomgyu always kisses you when you need it the most

his kisses are soothing and loving, healing whatever part of you that was hurting instantly

kisses away your tears when you’re crying and delicately presses his lips to any part of your body that was aching 

when the mood is light and playful, you like to tease him by not giving him any kisses while he begs for it

when he’s playing video games next to you, he’ll pucker his lips expectantly while his eyes stay glued to the screen

you act like you have no idea what he wants 

it drives him slightly crazy, but he also loves it

because it means once he’s finally had enough of not getting what he wants, he’ll tackle you and kiss you until you’re both breathless and your jaws hurt from smiling so much 

when you brush his hair back and give him forehead kisses, he practically melts into a puddle 

he adores your delicate soft kisses more than anything 

as a slow and patient lover, he cherishes the quiet moments with you the most

KANG TAEHYUN 彡 강태현

taehyun won’t ask for kisses out loud, but there’s always a pleading look in his eyes whenever he wants to be kissed

eyes shiny and observing you to see when you’ll notice that he’s desperate to get his lips on yours 

if he gets too impatient he will definitely tug on your arm or something to get your attention 

loves when you hold his face in your hands and run your thumb across his cheekbone or jawline 

he’ll turn his head to press a kiss to your palm and his smiles are breathtaking 

his kisses are so romantic with the perfect push and pull 

he always knows where to put his hands or how to guide you perfectly 

and when the time comes to break away from his lips, your heart always sinks a bit in your chest

because he has you addicted like nothing else 

HUENINGKAI 彡 휴닝카이

his kisses are soft and sometimes teasing 

hand kisses are some of his personal favourites

he’ll get down on one knee or bend down to kiss the back of your hand in the most chivalrous way possible just to see you giggle 

will also kiss your knuckles one by one while holding your hand in his

he loves when you run your hands through his hair while kissing him 

he’s addicted to the feeling and needs it like oxygen 

he’ll sigh in content and pull you closer because nothing could ever be more perfect than your lips on his and your hands in his hair

he loves to nuzzle his nose against yours too!

he’ll leave a trail of kisses across your face whilst breathless giggles escape his parted lips 

and delicate pecks to the apples of your cheeks or under your eyes are what follows

txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @cham3li,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,, @amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @stantxtforabetterlife,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hyukabean,, @nicholasluvbot,, @i03jae

[i-yap]

Jason todd x reader - clingy thoughts

(guys i have no motivation to start writing most days so like whenever I get comments or requests in my inbox I get rlly excited and actually feel like writing)

if jason could, he would melt his skin so it could stick to yours . He is so touch starved but more than that he is just ...starved. like he hasn't ever had anything properly good in his life. and then you're just there and he doesn't think something better could exist

he wants to look at you, he stares a lot. even when he is cuddling you, he's looking at your hands, your hair, whatever he can see in the position

he likes casual intimacy more than fancy intimacy. like linking pinkies when walking, resting your head on his shoulder on the bus, your legs being pressed against each other when you're sitting on a rooftop. something you'd do without thinking but he is constantly thinking about it.

he isn't the lift and spin sort of guy ( like after a mission or something) he is a holds you and falls to the ground from the pain of being separated from you for too long. he is the don't to dare pull away, tears in his eyes, body shaking sort of guy.

he hates being away from you, even across the table is too far. wants to sit next to you or hold your hand if you're sitting across. make sure the table isn't too big. the distance hurts him, its like he has an internal radar that if you cross , his head goes red .

give him any sign that you are just as clingy or even that you don't hate his guts and he will just freeze. he doesn't know how to reciprocate touch, feelings, words, everything but he really really wants to. so just because he stiffens up when you hug him doesn't mean he is gonna let you leave the hug .

his sweetest words come out at like 4am , when you're in the bathtub, sitting on a roof, eating snacks on the floor of your room or lying in bed . you cant be facing him cause he will forget whaT he wanted to say once he sees your face. he is super tired from crime fighting or after s'x or after a nightmare. don't make a big deal out of it cause he wont take it well and will get embarrassed.

he is just so protective, you rlly cant blame him.

[emisluvr]

ur so sweet oh my god lovee the way u write <33 if ur still taking reqs (so sorry if u arent), what about sunghoon and something with his arms LIKE MMM HES DRIVING ME CRAZY LATELY (and always) maybe like headlock or biting? whatever ur comfortable with/u like

tyty anon you're so cuteness >< HIS ARMS AND BICEPS DO SOMETHING TO ME OH MYY

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), mirror + rough sex, headlock, breath play/choking, dumbification

you’re pressed against the mirror, breath fogging up the glass as sunghoon’s muscular bicep wraps around your neck from behind. he’s got you in a firm headlock, squeezing just enough to make your head spin, while his cock ruts into your soaked pussy from behind.

"look at yourself," he mutters in your ear. "look how fucked out you get when i do this."

your mouth’s parted, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy as you watch your tits bounce with every thrust. the veins in his bicep are prominent, and the way they flex around your throat has your pussy clenching around him tightly.

"mm.. this pussy’s mine," he groans into your neck, his breath hot. "tight little hole made for me."

his hips slap against your ass with a mean rhythm, the wet sounds of your slick filling the room. your hands try to grip the sink for balance, but your body’s too weak, trembling as your head tilts back against his chest.

his bicep tightens its hold on your neck a little more, making you gasp.

"yeah, you like this, don’t you? fuckin’ love when i choke you out like this. dumb little baby gets wet just from my arms."

your walls pulse around him at his words, brain fuzzy from the way he's talking to you and the way he's using your pussy so perfectly.

"gonna cum, baby? gonna cum all over my cock just from getting handled like this?" he mocks.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[cyberrmusee]

hear me out- HEAR ME OUT- rivals satoru and suguru where they’ve been fighting each other over dumb shit since middle school and competing for better grades, whatever.

and one of them has a crush on you… so the other fucks you first. and sends pics/ maybe even is on call with the other??

this is evil i fear

- ⭐️

cw: m@ting press, mentions of bre3ding, dub con? sorta, phone s3x sorta?, m@sturbation, rivalry, bi suguboo and satoru :3

i hope this lives up to ur expectations at least a lil bit😭

satoru and suguru, had known each other forever, for as long as they could remember. They had also been competing for EVERYTHING as long as they could remember.

satoru had always been number one at everything he ever tried, sports, cooking, gaming, welding, hell anything you could think of, he’d tried it and mastered in no time. It would drive suguru up a wall.

But there was one thing satoru could never beat him at… charming a woman. Sure he could get one in bed easy, no problem, but when he actually liked a woman? oh he was fucked. That is to say, he practically had ZERO actual game, no matter his looks or status, especially since it was YOU.

Someone who wasn’t fascinated by his wealth, talent or status. The very reason he fell for you, the moment his status and wealth didn’t woo you, it was like something clicked in place for him, something chanted over and over in his mind "her, its her" and from the moment he AND his rival realized, he knew he was screwed.

Suguru however? oh this is his specialty. His natural flirtatious behavior and laid back demeanor, combined with all that damn smooth talking he does, he could have any woman within a ten mile radius, head over heels for him in 48 hours flat. He was just that good. It was the thing he prided himself most on, the one thing he could do, that his rival could not.

he’d caught sight of how satoru stared at you on campus, the yearning— longing in his gaze. the way his cheeks would tint pink whenever you walked past him without a care in the world, because to you, satoru wasn’t even on your radar.

it wasn’t until suguru noticed his white haired rival picking up on his moves, similar jokes, smirks and flirtation tactics— that he officially had set you in his sights. no way was he gonna get the girl with his fucking moves.

it started as just the usual, antagonistic, petty rivalry at first. he never planned to take it too far, just flirt with you enough to let his enemy know to fuck off with using what he deemed rightfully his. he didn’t even want you—though somewhere along the way he noticed the way your lashes fluttered when you spoke to him, the way your gloss sat on your lips and your shy smile when you listened to him and— holy shit the way your tits sat on your chest, just perfect. fuckin perfect.

it didn’t take long for you to give in to him and all his charms. not because you were easy, no but because he was too good at this, too charming, too laid back, too addictive. something about him had you craving every bit of his attention, affection and god his touch, you wanted him so bad, more than you’d care to admit out loud, your inner voice screamed at you “more more more more” until finally you caved and found yourself in your current situation.

he had you pent up beneath him, legs spread wide and slung over his shoulders, your body folded like a lawn chair in the meanest mating press he could manage, his hands on either side on your body as he slung his hips forward over and over and over. bed creaking under the sheer weight of both your bodies. wooden mast of the headboard banging against your bedroom walls. god, your poor neighbors.

his angry mushroomy tip hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed until now. your maw slacking open to whine out “s-sugu s’too much! can’t t-take it!” your head was spinning, your velvety walls hugging him tight, greedy cunt pulling him in deeper as you cunt wept around his shaft and he hissed at the bliss of pleasure. “you c-can take it pre-pretty girl—hah…fuck” his hair pulled out of his messy bun, raven locks swaying with the mass of his moving body, as he fucked you deeper deeper deeper with every thrust. “s’all wet like this f’me hm?” he grunted as he moved a hand to swipe at your puffy lips, covered in your own thick, clear arousal, bringing his fingers back up and stretching them apart to look at the glistening string of your essence between them before shoving the digits in his mouth, groaning as he savored your taste. “mmmm so fuckin’ good, pussy so sweet.”

you only crooned in response as his veins swept over every orifice of your gummy insides deliciously. tummy bulging slightly from the monstrous size of his weighted cock as he bullied the hilt of your cunt. eyes rolling back as that ball of heat built slowly in your lower tummy with every plap plap plap! of his hips against yours. “suguuu! m’gonna cummm!”you cried out as a thin sheen of sweat began to form on your skin, as the squelching noises of your greedy cunt, your moans and his grunts filled the room. through the haze of lust and sex in the room, your phone buzzes from your nightstand and had it not lit up, suguru would’ve missed it, but oh- oh, he could not miss the name that popped up on the screen.

“satoru 🩵”

he was calling and oh he had the biggest shit eating grin plastered on his face as he reached for the phone and put it up to his ear, between his shoulder and cheek, answering. "hey gorgeous was just calling to see if you maybe-" his rivals voice rasped out before he cut him off "she's busy." he grunted as his hips never slowed.

for a moment he sat in silence at the sound of sugurus voice, denial settling in his bones, but the unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin, whines and cries sounding off in the background— he had you, fuck, he actually had you, and sounding like that? satoru hated to admit it was making him unimaginably hard as he huffed through his nostrils on the other end of the line. “you fuckin’-”only to be cut off by suguru yet again, hissing at the way your pussy clenched around him, your orgasm on the horizon as you whimpered underneath him “hold on, gotta m-make her cum first, why don’t you just s-sit tight and enjoy the show?” he panted out as he tossed the phone back on the dresser leaving his rival to hear how he put you through the mattress from the other end of the line.

he yanked you down the bed, pulling you more onto his dick, every crevice of your poor cunt so filled with him you swore you were seeing stars and he was he in your lungs. his arms snaked around your waist as he tilted your lower half up and leaned his body forward just a tad more to find that reallll special spot inside, your mouth forming an “o” shape as he hit it “ah there it is” he smirked as he pistoned his hips roughly, pulling sounds from you, you didn’t even know you could make.

satoru from the other end of the phone, would never admit to the way he yanked his pants and boxers down at the sound of your moans and cries. the way his cock pearled thick beads of shiny pre-cum at the tip just from hearing the way you sounded— so desperate, so pretty.

no he would never admit that he muted himself on the call and fisted his cock so pathetically and angrily as he listened to the one man he couldn’t stand most, fuck you silly, the way he should be. he’d never admit how he was picturing your body and— sugurus too? as his hips bucked up into his hand, pumping his cock, moaning and whining desperately as he tried to match the strokes suguru was giving you.

and god he’d never admit that he came so hard from listening to the sounds his rival made when he came, the grunts and moans that sent him over the edge as hot spurts of his seed spilled out of him and into his hand while sugurus spilled inside of you, because your greedy cunt wouldn’t let him pull out in time or so he claimed.

he didn’t need to admit it though, because while he may have thought he muted the call, he didn’t, and suguru couldn’t miss the faint grunts emanating from the other end of the phone as he picked it up right after finishing “you know, if you want a threesome, you should just ask.”and with that, he hung up.

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for like a month or two bc i forgot i wrote it i’m sooo sorry if it’s, terrible i did notttt proofread it😭

[monstersholygrail]

Dragon hybrid meets fairy reader and tries to eat her by grilling her with his fire but sees that she’s actually fire proof? Obviously dragon falls in love instantly and eats her in another way ✨

How cool!! That’s a super fascinating combination and possible power dynamic between the two monsters.

Consider, the big bad Dragon of the mountain and one of the last of his kind, comes down to the forest below in order to hunt. His large stature doesn’t allow for very sneaky attacks but what does he need for stealth when he can breathe fire??

He thinks it’s his lucky day when he sees a clueless Fairy all lost in their own world, not paying attention to their surroundings. Fruit ripe for the picking, he thinks. He unhinges his jaw, fire building up in his throat and giving him that warm spark throughout his body. Just as he’s about to cook his meal, he sees the Fairy turn around and meet his eye. But instead of fear and panic crossing her face, she merely smirks.

The confrontation startles the dragon and the fire that bursts forth from his throat is weak and flimsy. Still, for any normal creature it would’ve made them a nice medium rare. Not his first choice but he wouldn’t complain. But when he looks at the Fairy she’s left standing, her curious yet alluring body still perfectly in tact. Not even a scorch mark on her skin!

Her clothes though… the Dragon supposes whatever magic this creature possesses doesn’t include her clothing as the Fairy is left standing completely naked before him.

Of course, the mighty Dragon has to inspect and investigate how such a small creature compared to him was able to thwart his fire attack. The Fairy, feeling very smug about having outsmarted the Dragon that towers over her, agrees to be played with. She was certain he would never guess.

The Dragon inspects her body, sniffing and searching for the warmth he senses within her. That warmth most evident between her fleshy thighs. The Fairy is surprised when the Dragon brings her to the ground, his tongue dipping into her cunt in search of the heat. The Fairy moans and her heat grows, making the Dragon all the more curious.

His giant tongue laps at the Fairy’s pretty cunt. He watches it as it grows slick, puffy, and hotter by the minute. He growls, wanting answers and his pace quickens, tongue swirling through her folds, trying to get to where she runs hottest.

Realizing it’s inside her the Dragon leans back, making the Fairy whine in protest. The Dragon releases another tunnel of fire from its jaws, though this one purposefully remaining gentle as it curls and travels inside the Fairy’s cunt. The Fairy gasps, her body shaking with pleasure as the Dragon fucks her with his fire. Thrusting in and out of her pussy as it longs for the mysterious heat inside her.

With the heat licking along her walls in a way that has her head spinning and her body tingling, it doesn’t take long for the Fairy to cum all over the length of the fire inside her. The Dragon can taste it as it travels through the tunnel and he growls, breathing more fire, forcing it to burrow deeper inside her. The Fairy moans, her body limp and allowing the Dragon in even deeper.

As the flames course through her body and intertwine with her very essence, the Dragon finally understands. Her heart beating with the strength of a Dragon and a Fairy. A half-breed. His flames leave her and he moves to rest beside her weak form, his tail curling around her form protectively.

Originally having been looking for a meal, the lonely Dragon found something much more special instead.

[undyingdecay]

(a request if u want it to be i just wanna ramble about a THOT i had) i KNOW john gets off on a reader who is of higher rank than him. it's that messy chain of command/ fraternization shit. and he ALSO gets off on if the reader is continuously putting him in his place out in the field

"that's an order, agent" "...yes ma'am"

and one day his frustration would make him snap. there was already tension between the two that now he HAS to pull her into a closet and fuck his hurt man-feelings out 🙄

you know john’s whole damn identity is built on being the one in charge, being top of the food chain, but the second you come along — higher rank, sharper tongue, boots heavier than his and that tone, that tone that cuts through the comms like a goddamn bullet — he’s done for. and he hates how much it gets to him.

it starts in the field.

you ordering him around in front of everyone else, barking out “fall in, agent” or “you move when i tell you to, walker.” nd his jaw clenches so tight you’d swear you could hear his teeth crack. and every time you throw a look his way, it’s like something in him short circuits. a tight, breathless little “yes, ma’am” gritted out between his teeth, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do? you outrank him, and it’s so messy, so fucking hot he can barely see straight.

he doesn't care

or at least he acts like he doesn’t, throws that cocky little grin, gets mouthy on the comms, pulls shit in the field he’s not cleared to do, and every single time you snap back with a tight “that’s an order, agent.” his stomach flips, cock hard in his tac pants before he can even pretend to stop it. and it turns him to absolute mush. it eats at him. the fact that you’ve got him like this, under your thumb, the chain of command practically dripping with tension every time you’re within ten feet of each other.

the sickest part is how he keeps pushing for it, too. like some half-feral stray dog testing its limits, getting off on every inch of authority you lord over him. especially when it happens in front of others.

snapping at him to fall in line, dressing him down in front of rookies, making him answer with “whatever you say, ma’am” through gritted teeth while everyone watches him eat shit and stand at attention. he’ll throw you this tight, pissed-off look like he’s just barely keeping it together, and you know the second you turn your back he’s imagining having your throat in his hand or your cunt on his cock.

until it snaps.

one mission too many, one too many “get your shit together, agent.” on the comms, one too many smug glances shot his way when he screws up a perimeter sweep or leaves a breach in the grid. you’re cornering him by the armory, spitting a low, sharp “you pull that again out there, walker, and you’ll be off my team so fucking fast—”

and that’s when it happens.

he snaps. frustration and heat and months of pent-up everything boiling over at once. he drags you by the wrist into the nearest storage room, the door slamming behind him, shoves you up against it so fast your head spins. he’s panting, eyes wild and bright and so fucking hurt like he doesn’t know if he wants to fight you or beg.

“you think you can just—” his voice cracks halfway through, already fraying at the edges, “fuckin’ talk to me like that out there? you wanna order me around, huh? ‘yes ma’am’, ‘no ma’am’, like a good little soldier?”

and god, the second you mutter it, low nd cruel — “is that not what you are?" — it’s over.

he’s on you, hands rough and desperate, rutting against your thigh through his tact pants like a man starved, already leaking and breathless and half-broken. there’s no finesse in it, jut months of unsaid shit coming out all at once, teeth and tongue and hands too tight on your hips.

he fucks you like he’s trying to ruin the both of you, panting “ma’am, ma’am” or “see how fuckin good i am" into your throat like a prayer, like a curse, like he hates how good it feels to give in. it’s messy and frantic, and the whole time you’re putting him in his place, nails diging into his scalp, yanking his head back when he gets too mouthy, making him promise to keep it together out there, making him thank you for it.

and he does. because he’s still a good soldier, after all.

[writingsonsaturn]

i love these tim bradford x sunshine!reader but what if they had like a really not sunshine job, pathologist or something and the others found out.

the idea is probably really stupid, do whatever you want or just pretend i never sent this

sun-kissed shadows

{ masterlist }

🪐 - this is so freaking cute, I loved writing this!!! thank you anon <33

wc - 1.4k

content warning: reader is a blood spatter analyst, descriptive talks of dead bodies and things that go along with being a forensics tech, gore? kinda? its not for the ones with a super weak stomach pookies

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Tim has always felt some sort of force field pulling him toward you, the way your smile could light up the darkest of rooms, or how your voice is always so soft and airy. He knew he had to introduce himself that night in the bar, Tim asked if he could treat you to a drink and you just couldn’t resist his wide, hopeful smile and agreed. Tim was in love the moment your voice reached his ears, suddenly three years later, your warm body is what he wakes up to.

His eyes studied your face, every little detail that gently lay across your face had been mesmerized since the first time you slept over. Tim’s fingers delicately traced his hand over your cheekbone, a soft gesture he used to pull you out of your dream ridden state.

You stirred slightly, becoming aware of the small disruption. 

“Good morning, pretty girl,” Tim whispered in a sleepy tone.

“Hi,” you smiled widely while stretching your arms, creeping open an eye only to see a smiling Tim staring right back at you.

“Are you aware that it’s creepy to watch someone sleep?” you jokingly said, a smirk making its way onto your face. “I can’t help it, you’re just so beautiful,” Tim explains in a jokingly defensive way, throwing his hand over his chest and fighting a grin. You only giggle and pull yourself onto his chest, resting your chin gently on top of him and looking up into the eyes of your lover.

The two of you laid together, soft spoken words floating around the confined bedroom. Talking about what the day ahead looks like, then finally after some convincing, Tim agrees to get up and make you breakfast before you need to leave. You both worked at the station, however you tend to clock in earlier since you usually have deadlines to meet and paperwork to file. 

Your career wasn’t what people expected you to be a part of, it was a rather dark job - well you didn’t think so, but to each their own. You worked as a blood spatter analyst, reconstruction of crime scenes and helping determine what sort of weapon was used at the time of the attack and or homicide, and most importantly you helped with figuring out how a victim was hit. 

You loved your job, but it was always fun to see the cogs in a person's brain start to rapidly spin when you explain what you do for a living. 

Now, although you work at the same place, nobody actually knows what you do. There has only been a handful of conversations about work considering Tim’s friends very obviously do not want to talk about policing when they are off-duty, which you understood. Everytime you were asked you would simply just say you helped at the crime scene after they all had left, and the crew would just let it go.

Personally, you weren’t sure talking about how far brain matter had flown out of a victims head was a dinner worthy conversation. 

Once you clocked into work for the day you immediately started on the leftover paperwork from last week's case, an elderly man who had been bludgeoned by his caretaker. It was a gruesome shift that day, all the red yarn and pictures taken were horrible, sometimes you wished for the ability to erase memories from your brain's hold. 

You were also aware that once the trial started you would have to testify to the science of how you figured out what was used to kill the man, and how you knew. 

However, not long after lunch - thankfully after - you were called into a scene that was horrific. Blood coating a once white wall, a man on the ground already in rigor mortis, and way too many bodily fluids. 

This case was already different, you were informed that it was a high priority and all hands on deck type of situation. 

That being said, everybody was there. 

Looking around you caught Tim talking with Angela and Nyla, likely because he was the first officer on scene and needed to give an account as to what he saw. You were in full gear, white suit that covered you head to toe, goggles and a KN95 face mask that helps prevent you from breathing in any unwanted fumes that expel out of a deceased human’s body.

Chen, Nolan, and Juarez were all there. Going through the steps of securing the scene, one talking to the housekeeper who found the body and another rolling tape around the front of the property. You walked over to where Tim was standing with the two detectives to get an idea of what needs to be collected into evidence, and what time the body was found.

Taking off the hood of your suit, along with the other two items blocking your facial features to give you better access to communication, you noticed Lucy freeze as she looked your way. 

“Hello detectives,” you smiled kindly, to which they both offered one back. Nyla and Angela knew what you did, they were really the only ones to know, you worked with detectives very closely.

 “Hey bloody, what’s the diagnosis?” Angela joked.

“Pretty standard stuff, was shot directly in the face by shotgun most likely, shrapnel is imbedded into the skin-” you start to explain while pulling up the notes you were taking, “-had to be pretty up close to produce the amount of damage that was done, found a shoe imprint in the blood as well,” you finish and look up, to now see a small crowd of stunned faces contributed by Lucy, John, and Celina.

“This is so not what I thought you did” Celina gaped, looking at you like you grew a second head.

You laughed at the shock, “guys this really isn’t that crazy,” shaking your head you begin to put your equipment back on so you could make your way back into the house. “What are you talking about? This is insane!” Lucy exclaimed, gesturing to your get-up with over exaggerated hand motions. 

Tim couldn’t help but snicker at the over-the-top reaction perpetrated by your mutual friends, they once explained you were the sunlight to their dark, and traumatic jobs, and here you were getting up close and personal to bloody body parts and foul stenches. 

Before putting the mask on you gave Tim a quick peck, saying you’ll see him tonight for dinner and made your way back into the crime infested home.

The shift had been long, and rough. You spent nearly 45 minutes trying to decipher if there was actually a fingerprint or if it was just a smudge, luckily for you it came back as a partial print, which could give you nothing but it could also give you everything. 

You also had to pick out a couple of pieces of the shrapnel that were stuck in the victims face and place them in evidence bags, for you to also test later at the lab. Different shrapnel comes from different ammos which can be used in different weapons, it was a very significant job you held.

Finishing the day, you turned in reports of today’s findings and got the things ready to be tested in the lab tomorrow morning, because that was tomorrow you’s problem, tonight’s you was leaving and heading to eat dinner at a nice restaurant that Tim surprised you with yesterday. 

Bringing a duffle bag to work always came in handy, especially because you were able to fit a nice pair of date clothes into it making it to where you didn’t have to stop at home to change. 

“God, I am starving” your voice echoed through Tim’s mind, his thrill hard to hide as he got up to greet you. “It’s a good thing I already ordered an appetizer for us then, huh?”  Tim led you to your seat, pulling the chair out for you, then sitting down himself. 

The two of you caught up on the rest of the day, you explaining the frustration game of is it, or is it not with a partial fingerprint and Tim telling you about the women who attempted to flee while handcuffed only to fall head first into dog poop. The laugh you expelled caused other customers to look at you with judgement, but you couldn’t care less. 

By the end of the night, both of you were just admiring each other, “you know, I don’t think our friends imagine me as this light in their life anymore,” the smile on your face was large and knowing.

“You’re still my sunshine,” Tim whispered, sending you a wink.

[unknownsvoid]

THAT GIRL IS POISON!!!

♬⋆.˚ | now playing: posion - Bell Biv DeVoe

✮⋆˙ | summary: as a succubus, you find this boy with pent-up energy and decide to take it upon yourself to make him your next victim - turns out he's a lot stronger than you anticipated.

✮⋆˙ | featuring: ticci toby/toby rogers.

✮⋆˙ | cw: smut content. succubus reader. reader has red skin, wings, a tail, horns and powers. switch reader and toby. somnophilia content. mentions of blood, scratching, spanking, breeding, aphrodisiacs aka drugging, rapists, incels, abusers, (not reader nor toby). loads of degrading, praise, etc. reader gets called whore, slut, etc. nipple play for toby's part. oral (giving).

✮⋆˙ | author's note: i love writing and sometimes it's good, but today, this is NAWT good. dear lord. word count: 2.5k+

divider cred: @cafekitsune

Toby. That was his name. Your next victim.

You have had your eye on him for ages. He piqued your interest when you were wandering one night in a forest after having fed on some insignificant man. He didn't last long and was, honestly, quite useless, coming undone all too quickly.

You didn't want to kill anyone that day, but it was either that, or ending up powerless and lazy. So, you consumed his blood, allowing the excess to trickle down your pretty, pink lips. Carelessly, you left his carcass there to decompose in the near future. Apparently, this forest had its dangerous perks, so you doubted any human would venture around anytime soon, unless they were down-right stupid.

You were about to leave when you sensed something. Interested, you decided to investigate the cause – perhaps even identify a culprit. That's when you saw him, Toby, leaning against a tree with hatchets in hand. You concealed yourself behind a nearby tree, careful not to get too close and risk him seeing you. His aura was powerful, causing your legs tremble.

Sheesh. just how pent-up was this human? Sexual energy emanated from him intensely, enough to make one's head spin. Could he be a virgin? No, virgins don't typically exude such energy. Unless he was an unusually pent-up one? Your eyes dipped down to look at his hatchets, dried blood coating them. Animal blood? Is he a hunter? No, the scent was too close to human blood. This human couldn't potentially be a murderer could he? Not that you cared of course. You've encounter many disgusting humans, rapists, abusers, incels, etc. Of course, you were happy enough to kill them if it meant they weren't going to hurt anymore people. He just didn't seem quite the type to... murder someone, not even a bug quite frankly.

Then again, you necessarily can't judge a book by it's cover now, can you? You snap out of your thoughts when he suddenly twitches, repeatedly. You assumed it was due to the cold air. It was a chilly night anyway. Then he twitched again and let out a quick curse. Tourettes? Perhaps. It was rather cute to witness. He let out another sharp curse accompanied by a shaky head movement. You couldn't help but snicker at the slight gesture, which caused him to jolt his head up and stop leaning against the tree. His grip tightened on his hatchets as he glanced around to locate the source of the noise. You immediately jump into action and teleport away from the scene to avoid being caught. You didn't from stop there. His aura had you captivated, obsessed even. After months of research, you discovered that he belonged to a bizarre group of deranged individuals, monsters, or whatever were. He was a procey? prokey? Something along those lines. It turned out your inference was correct; he was a murderer. It was his job. A strange job, but then again, who were you to judge? You fuck people to survive. And another inference of yours was correct, he is a virgin. Perfect, right? And blah, blah, blah. Now you are here. Outside his window, peering in at his sleeping face. He look charming right now. His messy, chestnut-coloured hair in all different positions on his pillow. His lips slightly dry and open to certain degree, letting out soft snores here and there, drool dripping from his mouth because of the gash. His chest heaving.

You use your powers to unlock the window from the inside. Once you hear the click, you push the window open and sneak inside, being as silent as humanly possible (pun intended). You stroll up to his bed and take in his sleeping features once more before letting your powers ensure he remains in a deep sleep. You climb up onto his bed and straddle his hips. You cup his cheek and lean down to crash your lips against his sleeping ones. He tasted so sweet and then aroma of his sexual energy made you feel dizzy already. Your tongue explores his mouth, trying to slip as much saliva into his mouth as possible. You knew how much of an affect it had on people. Your saliva is a exactly like an aphrodisiac, pulling out as much arousal form your victims as much as possible. You pull your lips away from his, watching as your mixed saliva drips from his lips. You look down, a smirk etching onto your lips as you notice that a bulge was forming in his boxers, pushing up against your thong from under your skirt. One kiss and he was already hard? Cute. You feel your arousal also picking up after his so you slowly rocking your hips against his bulge, feeling it pulse and throb against you. Moans slip from your lips. You can practically feel the slick pooling in your panties. You don't stop, instead picking up your speed, rocking your hips against his clothed dick. Your eyes follow back up to look at Toby. His eyebrows crinkled and mouth opened wider than before. Moans leaving his lips as well. You could tell he was close so you stop your ministrations, chuckling softly when a whine slips from him in his sleep.

You shift your position lower until your mouth was right over his clothed dick. You hook your fingers on the band of his boxers and push them down. You gasp at his size of his cock. You were expecting it to be a little smaller. He was girthy and long, very long actually. Seven inches - bare minimum. Your shock swiftly turns into lust and greed. You lift your hand to push the uncircumcised skin covering his tip down. You peel it down until his pretty, bubble gum-tinted tip was in show. A fat blob of pre-cum drips from it, but you don't let it go to waste. Using your finger to scoop up the fluid and then moving it to your lips, sucking it off of your finger. Salty. You move your head down to sink your wet mouth onto his sensitive cock, looking up at him, observing him as he twitches and emits more groans and moans. You sink your mouth down onto him further, letting your jaw rest when his tip comes in contact with the back your throat. Your lips stretched around the girth of his cock before you tighten your lips and bop your head up and down briskly, swirling your tongue around his tip, letting more of his pre-cum drip onto your smooth tongue. You hear his breaths quicken, along with his heart rate. Your tail wags, enjoying the taste of him. After a couple more bops of your head, you peel your mouth off of him to wrap your hand around his sensitive dick. You give his cock slow pumps while flicking your tongue against his tip. You begin to move your tongue a little lower to tease the underside of his tip, pausing when he jolts a tad in his sleep. "Sensitive there, hm?" You say, a rhetorical question he wouldn't be able to answer anyway. You wrap lips back around his tip and keep abusing that g-spot of his. You notice the way his hands lazily grip onto the sheets. Close, aren't you? My mouth feel that good....

You think to yourself before speeding up your hand and tongue, watching his breath hitch and teeth clench slightly before unclenching again and his jaw goes limp. Soon enough, thick ropes of cum bursts into your mouth. You waste no time to lap it all up, swallowing it in multiple gulps, before popping your mouth off his tip and pulling your hand away from the base of his cock. "Still hard? You don't give up do ya', huh, Toby?"

You don't mind honestly, sucking his cock made you soaked. Some of your pussy juices dripping out of your flimsy thong and onto your thighs. You lift yourself up to hover over his cock. The heat coming from your pussy causing his cock pulsate in response. You slip you slip the wet fabric of your thong to the side and you push your pussy down on his cock. A moan comes out of your mouth as you start to glide your cunt up and down his cock, you and Toby sharing a shiver every time your swollen clit comes in contact with his sensitive tip. You lubricate his cock with your juices, slipping your hand down to grip onto his cock to make it easier as you push your hole down onto Toby's cock. A shaky breath falls out falls from your lips when your cunt sucks his tip in ever so easily and then you go down ever further, giving yourself a break when you make it halfway. He gives a nice stretch, you'll give him that, and you haven't even got all of him in yet. You changed that in an instant and give yourself a final push until your pussy slams down onto his cock, taking his cock in its full glory. Your thighs tremble and you adjust to the stretch - drawing your hips up nice and slow before slamming yourself back onto his cock. Pathetic whines leaving Toby's mouth, but you swallow them up with your mouth. Your aphrodisiac-like spit dripping into his mouth. You keep going, but then something peculiar happens. Something that never happened before. You halt your movements and your heart drops to see that his eyes are beginning to flutter open. His eyes stop fluttering and gape open. "Wuh-what the fuck?!" He says, glaring up at you before groaning. He looks down and his face churns in confusion, "Who are you?!" He looks you up and down, drinking up the sight of you. You were pretty, red skin glistering in sweat, horns pointy, wings complimenting your body, and your tail, with a heart at the tip of it, wagging. He gulps down his own spit to deal with his dry throat, a tint of yours still in it, causing his head to go all loopy. You smile nervously down at him and he speaks up again, "What are you?"

"Um... a succubus?" He paused at your answer, looking down again to stare at your pussy gripping onto his cock for dear life. He shrugged, if his virginity was going to be taken by you, a succubus (whatever the fuck that is). He may as well make it worth his time, right? He glared at you once more, clearly not trusting you quite yet, "continue then... slut."

A smirk formed back onto your lips and you oblige, bouncing up and down his cock without warning. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he winces from the sudden pleasure. His mouth falling agape and letting out series of pleasured noises. His tics trigger a bit from the pleasure he was receiving, which makes him to thrust upwards a couple of times, causing his tip to slam up against you. You grip onto chest, running your hands upwards until you reach up to his nipples. You tug and tease at them, while sliding up and down his cock which makes him whimper from the sudden attention. He was close and you could tell. You could feel his sexual energy growing stronger. You move your hands down to scrape your nails across his chest. But then Toby decides to throw you off guard while you weren't paying attention. You didn't even notice when his hands gripped onto your hips. He flips you over so you're both in the missionary position. He wastes no time to fuck his cock in out of your sopping pussy, a white ring forming around the base. His pace was slow, annoyingly so. You wanted him - no need him to go faster. You need his cum; his cum; you need him.

"H-hah... you can- fuck - go faster than that. D-don't be - shit - so shy!" You say with smug grin. His face perked in surprise at your words but he let out a snigger. He clasped down onto your hips, having firm hold on them, "Such a whore."

He sneers once more, "You like that, slut? Being called a whore?"

He takes note to your words and hastens his past, beginning to drive his cock in and out of your cunt. Your sloppy arousal acting as an lube as his hefty cock slams in and out of you, leaving you stunned. His thrusts were extraordinarily hard for a virgin. Speaking of that, how the fuck is this guy a virgin?!

His movements were unexpectedly accurate for a virgin, almost like he isn't a virgin at all. Your arms wrap around him as his menacing cock tormenting your pitiful pussy. His tip was no better, abusing your unfortunate pussy. You weren't thinking straight. Your eyes whirl to the back of your head. God, you were close already. That's a first.

The more his hips move, the more your orgasm reaches closer. You didn't notice he was muttering, probably something about you or him. Your eyes spin back to look up at him, sweat from his forehead dribbles from his forehead and onto your tits, leaving musty droplets on your skin. Brown eyes enjoying the sight of his cock drilling in and out of your sweet, sweet pussy.

"F-fuck! fuh-feel... so guh-good." He manged to get out with many stutters and bemoans. Wails, sighs, grumbles and whimpers of pleasure shared from the both of you fill the room. You were both completely drunk from each other's pleasure. You feel the similar feeling like always when you were about to cum. The tense feel of how how your stomach squeezes. He cries out in pleasure when he feels your pussy compresses around him like a fastened rope.

His flow began to falter and his grip on you was wobbly, delving his nails into your skin, or it feels like that at least. You know that's gonna leave a gnarly bruise on your hips, but totally worth it. The more he moves the more you got closer, but he was leaving you teetering on the edge. You whine and grasp onto his hands that was clenching onto your hip, pulling it away with ease. You guide it towards your clit, guiding his inexperienced fingers to draw slow circles on your clit, "ya close, slu-slut? Each plunge of his hips and soft tweaks against your hardened nub causes you to orgasm. He follows you as well, cumming with you. The intense feeling of your orgasm making your brain go numb and your nails into his back, raking downwards. That's bound to make him bleed. He wasn't paying attention - his head rolled up so you can see his adam's apple. His cock spurting his thick, ward seed deep into your gummy walls. As you both gradually come down from your high, he drags his cock out of your pussy with a pop!

He was about to say something but weakly collapsed onto you - tired. Probably from the energy you drained from him. "Cute..." Was the only thing you could reply with. You could stay for an extra thirty minutes. He deserves it after all. Plus, you could use this as an advantage. Apparently there's more people like him in this shitty mansion...

part two? -> here ya go!

[senualothbrok]

Hello my friend!! Regarding your amazing “Tight Fit” fic from @daisyofwaterdeep’s 10/10 scenario, I’m obsessed with how Gale would act around Tav after the whole debacle:

Just adorably a mess. Shy, flustered. Stumbling over words.

Trying not to mention it in conversation. Trying to act normal. Occasionally failing on both counts with verbal flubs: “I wholeheartedly support whatever Tav decides. Our leader knows breast—BEST! I mean best!” etc. etc.

Praying Tav doesn’t hate him. Trying not to get aroused every time Tav smiles at him.

Going out of his way to be extra kind to Tav while simultaneously trying to avoid her.

Forcing himself not to daydream about it during the day, thinking about it literally every night. Reimagining every detail while in his bedroll. Instantly so hard he has to finish himself off or he won’t be able to sleep.

Climaxing so hard he’s legitimately concerned about his orb.

Berating himself internally, reminding himself he needs to learn some damned self-control…but then recalling Tav’s breath on his neck, the feeling of her fingers eagerly stroking him, and any hope of self-control is instantly lost

Would love to hear your and/or @daisyofwaterdeep’s thoughts 💖

Hello my dear friend! I 1000% agree with your thoughts on this and I have written something to describe how I think it might go. Hopefully this is enjoyable!

A Generous Portion

Summary: Gale is a flustered mess after you are locked in a room together. Sequel to A Tight Fit.

Set in early Act 1. Featuring matchmakers Karlach and Astarion, gentleman hero Wyll, I've-had-it-up-to-here Shadowheart, and oblivious Lae'zel.

Word count: 1.7k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Blushy, flustered, awkward Gale. Sexual tension.

****

“Gale.” Wyll's voice is warm with delight. “You've outdone yourself.”

Gale beams as he passes a steaming plate to Wyll. The stew Gale ladles out is thick and rich, and your stomach rumbles at its buttery fragrance. He grins as he hands out generous portions to a nodding Shadowheart, a grunting Lae'zel. 

“It’s not every day that we cross paths with a butcher.” He bobs his head. “A good cook makes the most of every opportunity.”

You see none of the uneasy stiffness of the past few days, none of the squirming mania that has possessed Gale whenever your eyes have met. Karlach claps before she takes her plate from him, and he gives a playful half bow that makes you smile.

“Besides, a hearty meal is the best cure for a weary body and mind. And as far as hearty meals go–”

Since the last time you were alone, Gale has been avoiding you. He has fled from every look and conversation, as though it were a matter of survival. And yet, you have often felt his attention on you, stripping you bare. You feel it now, as his focus flits over your outstretched hand, as he serves you.

“–There’s nothing like some good Waterdhavian sausage.”

His eyes meet yours. Panic flares in his face. He jerks his head, a grimace clenching his features as he flinches away. You settle back in your seat next to Astarion, feeling strangely guilty. Astarion's smirk does not escape you. Nor does the bright flash of Karlach's eyes.

For an eternity, there is only the scraping of plates, the soft stirring of bodies. The sizzle and hiss of the campfire, punctuated by little hums of satisfied chewing. The stew is exquisite, and you almost forget the crackling tension around you as you devour it. It spills from your lips, trickling down your chin in your haste. You wipe it away with your fingers, sucking them clean, wasting nothing. 

When you look up, Gale is staring at you. He spins away, clearing his throat as he examines his stew with obsessive intensity. The flush of his cheeks makes your core swell with memory. The ghost of his hardness twitches against your fingers. You shift awkwardly.

When Wyll breaks the silence, you look at him with a newfound appreciation. 

“This is delicious, Gale,” Wyll says politely. “Truly delicious.” 

Relief surges in Gale’s frame. “It's my pleasure.” 

“We're spoiled to have you cooking for us.” 

You have never been so grateful for Wyll's courtly upbringing, his natural tact. You send out a missive of frantic admiration with your eyes. Wyll’s gaze flickers to yours for the briefest instant before returning to Gale.

Gale is chewing his lip, composing himself. His furrowed brow eases. He waves his hand in an approximation of dismissal.  

“I try my breast.”

You drop your spoon. Astarion bursts into laughter. Shadowheart buries her face in her hands.

“Best!” Gale is fully crimson now, his pitch higher than you have ever heard it. “I try my best!”

“I can't watch anymore,” Shadowheart murmurs under her breath. Karlach jostles her quiet. There is an excruciating pause. You glance at Wyll, pleading.

Wyll's jaw feathers as he leans forward, his smile tight and wide. 

“And tell us, Gale, where did you learn to cook?”

Gale combs frenzied fingers through his hair. His gaze darts around like a fish evading a net. 

“I learned from the best.” His words are slow and strained at first, snowballing as he recovers. “My formidable mother. A master cook, who could work miracles with modest and extravagant ingredients alike. She taught me everything I know.”

Wyll hums approvingly, patiently. You are beyond thankful to see Gale’s breaths levelling, his voice lowering to its usual timbre.

“In fact,” he draws himself up, “the last time I made her a meal, she said my food might even match hers.” 

Wyll lets out a courteous titter. “Well-deserved praise.”

“Your food is pleasant even to a Githyanki palate,” Lae’zel remarks matter of factly. She seems oblivious to tonight’s disasters - or perhaps indifferent to them.

“Awesome grub, mate.” Karlach gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Can't get enough.”

With each affirmation, Gale’s body uncoils a little. The alarming scarlet of his skin is fading to its usual golden bronze. You are desperate to give him relief. You nod furiously. 

“I love your food. I’d eat anything of yours.”

All heads turn to you – vistas of disbelief, delight, despair. Karlach lets out a guffaw as Astarion snickers. Shadowheart and Wyll press their hands to their temples. Lae'zel stares at Gale with disdain as he begins to cough, clutching his chest. He hacks and heaves, until you are genuinely concerned that he is choking.

“Are you alright, Gale?” 

“Fine!” he gasps, his hands whipping around him in frenetic arcs. “Absolutely fine!”

Anxiety seizes you as a flash of lavender peeks through the opening above his chest. Hurriedly, you pour him a glass of wine, moving forward to kneel beside him. 

“Well.” Astarion springs up, gesturing to Karlach pointedly. “This is as good a time as any for that thing you mentioned, Karlach.”

For a second, Karlach looks just as confused as you feel, her brow scrunched as she considers. The recognition that blooms on her face is like victory. She leaps up to join him.

“Right! That thing! That I wanted to show you. And Shadowheart. And Wyll. And Lae'zel. Right now! Somewhere else!”

She pulls them up in turn. You stare at each of them, bewildered, imploring. Gale wheezes beside you. 

“What are you–”

“Must dash!” Astarion calls out, grabbing and jostling at arms and elbows. “Places to go, people to be!”

You glare at your companions’ retreating backs. When Gale takes the glass from your hand, his fingers brush against yours. He looks away as he throws the wine down with a groan.

*****

“Are you sure you don't need anything?”

“Yes, I'm fine, thank you.”

“Because if you need anything, I can–”

“No, I'm quite alright, Tav. Thank you very much for your kindness.”

The politeness between you is painful. Gale’s hands jolt from his lap to his sides, his fingers rippling and fisting. You suddenly realise how close you are, your face an arm’s length from his knee, your eye line parallel to the crook of his…

You lurch back, perching on the log opposite him. Gale’s features writhe as he fumbles at his robe. He looks absolutely miserable. You cannot help but feel stung. Your friendship and affection for him had come so easily. You cannot say you do not miss it, and the promise of what it might become.

“Would you rather I left?” you ask finally. “If I'm bothering you, I can go.”

Is it shock in his widened eyes? Disbelief? You cannot tell. He shakes his head with surprising force. 

“No, Tav. You never bother me. You could never...”

He trails off, gaze fixed on the campfire with a fervour like fear. You sigh. You cannot skirt around the edges of it any longer.

“Gale, have I done something wrong?” 

He looks up then. His eyes quiver, sunlight on a brown sea. 

“Have I upset you in some way? Because if I have, I apologise. I never meant to cause you any distress, or any kind of offence–”

He winces, as though you have struck him. 

“Of course not,” he exclaims, a little too loudly. He bites his lip. A stray strand of silver falls over his eye. You ignore your urge to brush it away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You could never do anything to upset me. You're...”

Something in his tone simmers beneath your skin. It is breathy and hoarse, and you are reminded of the way he had moaned over your parted mouth as you grasped the bulge rising between you. Your skin throbs as your gaze drifts over the fullness of his cupid’s bow, the hard curves of his chest, the shadowed dip between his legs. You swallow.

He whirls away from you, as if he can read your thoughts. It is your turn to clear your throat now, to stare into the campfire as your face burns and you battle against the images that flood you. When, without warning, he jumps up and bounds away, you do not have words. Rudeness is a trait you did not think Gale possessed. You sit, stunned, wondering what to do with yourself.

You are taken aback when he returns from his tent. He stoops and stumbles slightly as he takes a seat beside you, close enough that his scent of sandalwood and sweat sends your head spinning. With gentle deliberation, he places a basket in your lap. You marvel at the peaches that fill it, sunset-blushed and plump, ripe to bursting. 

“Gale,” you breathe. “What is this?”

He rubs at the back of his neck. “Forgive me… but I couldn’t help but overhear you and Lae'zel the other day.” His throat bobs, his crow’s feet crinkling. “You were telling her about the food you love most, so when I saw these peaches at the market, I couldn’t help but…”

It takes all of your self control not to throw your arms around him. You press a peach to your nose and close your eyes, breathing deeply, savouring its fragrance, sweeter than the sweetest wine. The tickle of its down, the feel of its flesh, firm and soft at the same time. A little gasp of joy escapes you.

When you open your eyes, he is smiling - beaming - at you. He looks away quickly.

“Thank you, Gale,” you manage. “This is incredibly generous. How can I ever repay you?”

He dips his head. There is the hint of an arched eyebrow, a sideways curl of his lips, as his dark eyes flicker back to yours.

“Your pleasure… is all I desire.”

For a while, you simply look at him, speechless from relief, beauty, gratitude, yearning. The air around you is taut to snapping, the space between your bodies at once too much and too little. You open your mouth and sink your teeth into the peach in your hand. It bursts into a spurt of nectar, coating your lips and chin and fingers, sticky and smooth on your skin. You let out a small moan.

He trembles. A purple haze flares as your tongue follows the trail of juice winding down your fingers, catching the drips on your wrist. You lick your lips as he watches, still and rapt. Laid bare.

You hold the bitten peach out to him, an unspoken offering. He hesitates for an eternal moment before he leans forward, bathing you in his indigo glow. 

He holds your gaze as he bites down.

*****

Read the sequel, A Perfect Storm

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[rosiebbydoll]

The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader- Chp. 2

Chp. 1 - Chp. 2 - Chp. 3

summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies to friends to lovers, mechanic!sukuna x librarian!reader, slow burn, fluff, smut, crack, angst, toxicity, Sukuna is emotionally constipated, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, (more tags will be added)

wc: 10k (woops)

chp warning: Toji & Sukuna pov, fluff, tension, angst, crack, sexual content, toxic traits (from reader & Sukuna), mentions of violence

a/n: we are starting this chapter off on the same day, just a different pov! there is also some lovely backstory and some more tension from our fav enemies (who are so in love).

Toji was one of the last parents to walk out of the school. He had lingered behind to discuss pickup arrangements with Nanami, and of course, to indulge in his usual flirting with the single moms – a habit that never failed to make you roll your eyes.

As he sauntered toward the exit, he caught sight of your car spinning out of the parking lot, the tires squealing against asphalt. His head cocked to the side, that familiar crease appearing between his brows. Literal seconds later, Sukuna's car tore out of the lot too, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Toji's shoulders tensed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

"Well shit," he muttered, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair, the silver rings on his fingers catching the sunlight. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the growing unease as he made his way to his car.

With practiced movements born from years of habit, he pulled out a pack of Marlboros, giving it two sharp taps against his wrist before extracting a cigarette. The familiar click of his butane lighter offered a moment of comfort as he lit up, taking a long drag that filled his lungs with familiar warmth.

Toji had always been meticulous about keeping his different social circles separate – not because he was hiding anything, especially not from you, but because he understood that some personalities were like oil and water.

He decided to pretend that your hasty exits were mere coincidence, though his gut told him otherwise. His instincts, honed from years of reading people and situations, were rarely wrong, and right now, they were screaming that something had gone sideways.

Before she passed, his wife had made him promise to look out for you, her eyes fierce even in her final days, and it was a promise he took as seriously as breathing. You'd been his ride-or-die since high school, his A1 through everything. You were the kind of person who saw the best in everyone, sometimes to your own detriment.

Sukuna, on the other hand... well, he was an asshole, plain and simple. The kind of man who wore his reputation like armor, each sharp word and cold glare another layer of protection. He had a way of letting whatever the hell came to mind spill from his lips without filter or remorse. Cold and usually preferring solitude, he was also an extremely cocky bastard.

Sukuna blames it on his success- definitely not his good looks. His car shop downtown wasn't just a business – it was his legacy, built from the ground up with calloused hands and stubborn determination. The place practically breathed with his personality: organized chaos, raw talent, and an undercurrent of barely contained intensity. The air always smelled of motor oil, metal, and ambition, the walls lined with tools that gleamed like soldiers standing at attention.

He started working at the shop when he was 19, just another grease monkey with too much attitude and raw talent burning beneath his skin. The turning point came when his brother passed away. That was a loss that reshaped his entire world. His brother left behind not just two wide-eyed kids who looked too much like him, but a decent chunk of change from a life insurance policy.

Most guys that age would've blown it all on fast cars and faster women, but Sukuna had always been cut from different cloth. Without hesitation, he put most of it into savings accounts for the boys – his nephews were his brother's last gift to the world, and he'd be damned if they went without. The rest? Well, that went into buying the run-down shop from the old man he worked for, a crusty bastard who'd taught him everything he knew about cars and nothing about people.

Seven years later, and the place is barely recognizable. What was once a dying garage with more rust than customers is now one of the most respected shops in the city. The walls that used to leak now house state-of-the-art equipment, and the floors that were once stained with decades of oil now gleam under LED lights.

He's got some loyal employees who understand his moods better than he does. They can read his grunts and scowls like a second language. His customer base keeps growing despite (or maybe because of) his abrasive personality. Toji being one of his most frequent visitors, though that has more to do with how often he destroys his cars than actual loyalty.

His father still hovers on the periphery of their lives, a silent presence that's neither fully there nor completely gone. Like a ghost that refuses to fade away completely. The old man watches the boys when Sukuna needs it, their relationship better with the buffer of distance between them. It's not perfect – nothing in Sukuna's life ever is – but it works, held together with the same stubborn determination that keeps his vintage motorcycle running.

Now when Toji moved to the city after his wife passed, he didn't know many people. He left you in the town you both grew up in, and surprisingly, you didn't hold it against him. He needed a change, and you supported him effortlessly. Besides, the city wasn't too far, only about a thirty-minute drive. You had to drive there for work anyway. You believe it was fate that he lived in the city because that's where you met Nobora's dad. And no, it wasn't fate for you and him, but fate because now you have Nobora. You only visited on rare occasions though, the library and being a mom kept you pretty busy.

Lucky for Toji , fate was on his side too. Because he met Sukuna at the most inconvenient time.

A couple years ago now- on a random Tuesday night, he decided to go to the bar. Being a newly single dad was a lot for him, so he paid his fifteen year old neighbor to watch Megumi for the night.

He was going out to do... something. He didn't exactly know what yet. The weight of grief and responsibility had been crushing him, making every day feel like he was walking through quicksand. You knew he wasn't doing well. You tried to call as often as possible, checking in with that gentle persistence that had always been your way. But even with the frequent calls and check-ins, Toji was still lost, drowning in the silence of his empty house.

So, that's why he found himself sitting at a bar, drinking his little heart out. The bourbon burned going down, but it was better than feeling nothing at all. To his surprise, women started flocking to him. They circled like vultures, rubbing his shoulders, playing with his hair, whispering lewd suggestions in his ears. The attention was suffocating, making his skin crawl with discomfort.

This was weird. He hadn't flirted with another woman since his wife. His nerves were shot, body stiff as a board as he laughed awkwardly at their advances, feeling like he was under interrogation.

It wasn't their fault – these women with their practiced smiles and careful touches. He was just extremely rusty, trying desperately to avoid getting turned on since he hadn't been laid in a while. Not that he came here for that. Did he? No. He definitely wasn't ready for that. His wife had only been gone for six months, and the thought of being with someone else made his stomach churn.

Women kept approaching him throughout the night, each one blending into the next in a haze of perfume and bad pickup lines. Then suddenly, there was one who stood out – long dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black, with short eyebrows and dark brown eyes. For a split second, his heart stopped. But no, she could never be her. This woman's smile was too practiced, too sultry as she greeted him.

"You all by yourself, handsome?" she hummed, sipping something fruity and too sweet. Toji gave her a quick smirk, glancing around at his unwanted admirers.

"Wouldn't call this being alone," he muttered, already tired of the game.

"Oh, I see, so you brought them all here with you?" she giggles, leaning closer. Her perfume is too sweet, making his head spin or maybe that's the bourbon.

Toji gives her a smirk back, but his heart isn't in it. She's trouble walking in stilettos, the kind of beautiful that usually comes with a price tag. Sure, she's hot – all long legs and practiced seduction – but he doesn't need this right now. Not with Megumi waiting at home, not with his wife's photo still on his nightstand, not with the wedding ring still leaving a phantom weight on his finger.

He's not trying to be rude, but subtlety isn't working. Even with his coldest shoulder, she's persistent, determined to break through his defenses. She lays her head on his shoulder, manicured nails trailing across his chest in a way that should be arousing but just makes him feel hollow. The bourbon isn't buzzing the way he wants anymore, and now all he can think about is his wife.

Fuck.

"Listen, doll—" he starts, but she presses a finger to his lips, cutting him off. The gesture is meant to be sexy, but it just pissed Toji off.

"Shhh, how about we go somewhere else, huh?" Her words slur together, her eyes heavy-lidded in a way that suggests she's had way too much to drink. The seductive act is slipping, revealing something desperate underneath.

Alright, I need to leave.

Toji pushes himself up from the barstool, carefully extracting himself from the drunk woman's grasp. She sways dangerously as he moves, and he has to steady her before she falls. "Don't go," she whines, clinging to his arm with surprising strength.

Christ. He's never wanted to hit a woman, but this is testing his patience. All he wants is to go home to Megumi, to the quiet of his apartment where he doesn't have to pretend to be okay.

"Yarozu." A deep voice cuts through the haze of his thoughts. The woman rolls her eyes and huffs, ignoring the man who called her name.

Toji's stomach twists. Great. This is probably her boyfriend or husband, coming to kick his ass for letting his girl drape herself all over him. He'd be pissed too in their position—

Oh fuck.

He definitely didn't come here to fight. Sure, he could probably win – he's handled worse – but he's too old to be throwing hands over some woman he doesn't even want. Hell, he doesn't even want to be here anymore.

Toji lets out an annoyed sigh, ready to explain himself before this turns ugly. But before he can speak, Yarozu is being pulled away from him. The guy is covered in tattoos, looking more annoyed than angry as he pries her off. "He isn't interested, Yarozu. Leave him alone."

Toji turns to leave, eager to escape this increasingly awkward situation, but the tattooed man calls out, "Hey, wait." His voice is gruff but carries no hostility. Toji stops, shoulders tensing. He really isn't in the mood for any petty relationship bullshit.

"Listen man, whatever this is—" Toji starts, but the guy cuts him off with a dismissive wave, his tattooed fingers catching the dim bar light.

"You’re not the first guy she's tried this shit with." He's still holding Yarozu back with one arm as she continues her drunken tirade, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his forearm. Despite her best efforts, he seems unfazed, like this is just another Tuesday night for him.

A smirk plays at his lips as he holds out his free hand. "I'm Sukuna." Yarozu keeps grunting and grabbing at him, but he ignores her with practiced ease.

Toji raises a brow, studying the man before him. After a moment's hesitation, he shakes the offered hand, noting the firm grip and the calluses. Toji studies that tattooed man in front of him. He looks tired, even sad almost. Kinda like him. Toji’s sighs, “Fushiguro”.

Yarozu frowns at their interaction. "Sukuna, baby, why are you being like this?" She whines, her attention suddenly shifting as she tries to reach for him instead of Toji. Her mood swings from seductive to needy in an instant. "We were having fun..."

"No, you were having fun. This guy clearly wants nothing to do with your bullshit." Sukuna's tone is harsh but carries an undertone of practiced patience, like someone who's had this exact conversation too many times before.

He turns to Toji, and there's something like understanding in his eyes. "Let me get her home before she makes another scene. You wanna grab a drink after?"

Yarozu gasps dramatically, her perfectly lined lips forming an 'O' of indignation. "You're such an asshole!"

"C'mon, you need to get home." Sukuna rolls his eyes, already steering her toward the door with the expertise of someone who's done this too many times.

Twenty minutes later, Toji and Sukuna are sitting at a quieter bar down the street, the kind of place where the wood is actually aged and the whiskey doesn't taste like lighter fluid. The tension from earlier has dissolved into something more comfortable, both men recognizing a familiar kind of pain in each other's eyes.

"I can’t apologize for Yarozu," Sukuna says, sliding a whiskey toward Toji. His voice is gruff but sincere. "She gets like this when she drinks, tries to make me jealous or some shit. Usually ends up making some poor bastard uncomfortable instead." He traces the rim of his glass with a tattooed finger, the gesture almost nervous.

Toji appreciates the straightforward explanation. No bullshit, no drama – just facts. It's refreshing after months of people tiptoeing around him, treating him like he might break. "Sounds complicated."

"Nah. We fuck sometimes, that's it. The complicated part is when she forgets that's all it is." Sukuna takes a long sip of his drink, the amber liquid catching the dim bar light. "Anyway, what brings a guy like you out alone on a Tuesday night? You don't strike me as the type looking for whatever the hell Yarozu was offering."

Something about Sukuna's blunt honesty makes Toji decide to return the favor. The words come easier than expected, maybe because this stranger doesn't look at him with pity. "Lost my wife six months ago. Got a kid at home. Thought maybe I needed to..." he pauses, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Hell, I don't even know what I needed."

Sukuna nods slowly, understanding flickering across his features. There's no sympathy in his eyes, just recognition. "Yeah, lost my brother last year. Left behind two boys. Been trying to figure that shit out myself." The admission hangs between them, heavy with shared understanding.

They spend the next few hours talking about everything and nothing – cars, work, the general mess that is life. The conversation flows naturally, neither man feeling the need to fill silences with empty words.

The next morning, when Yarozu texts Sukuna her usual post-drama apology, he just sends back a quick 'whatever' and saves Toji's number in his phone.

Toji chuckles at the memory and finally pulls his Camaro into his reserved spot at the front of the complex. The familiar rumble of the engine dies as he shifts into park, his mind still replaying both the past and this morning's events. He's got a stack of maintenance requests to handle today. He lets out another sigh. Just another day of being a landlord. But it’s better than what he use to do.

The stack of maintenance requests on his desk seems to multiply every time he looks away. Being a landlord isn't exactly what he'd pictured for himself, but there's something satisfying about fixing things, about making people's lives a little better one repair at a time. The flexible schedule works well with his life, letting him balance work with being there for Megumi and the other responsibilities that come with single parenthood.

And now for Nobora and you too. He promised to pick up both kids at five to give you some extra time at work. Though if he's being honest, he thinks you're pushing yourself too hard lately. But telling you to slow down is like talking to a brick wall.

Toji settles into his office chair, the leather creaking familiarly beneath him. The morning sun streams through the blinds, casting striped shadows across his desk. He pulls up his maintenance scheduling app, trying to organize his day efficiently. Between the AC unit, the washing machine, and whatever new crisis Yamamoto's faucet presents, it's going to be a full day. Toji likes it that way. He likes to focus and work, helps the time go by and doesn’t let his mind wander.

He goes on about his day trying to finish every request he scheduled. Of course, tenants stop and talk to him, some even flirt. It’s nice to feel a since of pride to help others. He thinks his wife would be proud of him. He’s pretty lost without her. And without you? He might’ve been dead by now.

He starts to walk back to his office with his last job of the day finished. His phone buzzes – a text from you. It’s a voice memo. He raises a brow because usually when you do that you’re ranting. You claim it’s easier than texting fifty paragraphs. Toji presses play and he immediately lets out a sigh.

You start off with yelling at him for being “a piss poor land-lord” and continue with how he has some tenants who he should have never let move in here. You finally get to the point and explain why all happened with Sukuna. And you don’t miss a beat, you explain everything. From the porno you heard last night all the way up to you calling him “limp dick” and flipping him off.

Well fuck. Toji was right. He would love to revel in the satisfaction of it all, but he just knew that something bad would happen if you two ever met. You’re polar fucking opposites. And now you’re neighbors. Which is his own fault because he should have payed attention to that. How the hell did he miss that? Either way it’s done and over with now, but man is he proud of you. In high school you were picked on a lot (by Toji mostly) but you developed a thick skin and don’t take peoples shit. He’s damn proud. And Sukuna deserves every bit of it.

Toji quickly sends back a message apologizing and saying, “We can talk about it later”.

He leans back in his chair and lets his body stretch for a moment before checking the time again. He had about an hour left before he had to get the kids. He was finished with his work for the day and was bored.

So, he grabs his keys, deciding to head out early. He could swing by Sukuna's shop, maybe give him shit about this morning's encounter. Besides you, Sukuna is his closest friend, though neither of them would ever admit how much they actually enjoy each other's company. Some things are better left unspoken.

The familiar rumble of Toji's Camaro engine dies as he pulls into Sukuna's shop. The place is busy as usual – the sound of power tools and classic rock music spilling out from the open garage doors. He spots Sukuna's distinctive figure bent over the engine of a sleek black Mercedes, tattoos visible under his rolled-up sleeves.

"Yo," Toji calls out, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Heard you got your ass handed to you this morning."

Sukuna doesn't even look up from the engine. "Fuck off."

"No, no, please – tell me more about how my 'type' threatened to get you evicted." Toji leans against a nearby workbench, thoroughly enjoying this moment. "Actually, what was it she called you? Limp-dick?"

That gets Sukuna's attention. He straightens up, wiping his hands on a shop rag. "She made sure to tell ya, huh?” He chuckles.

"Course she did. We're fucking, remember?" Toji's voice drips with sarcasm. "You’re real good at talkn’ to women ya know?”

Sukuna throws the rag at him, but there's no real heat behind it. "Get outta my shop, Fushiguro"

"What? Ya mad?." Toji catches the rag easily. “You know, for someone who deals with Yarozu's drama, you sure are quick to judge other people's relationships."

Sukuna's jaw tightens at the mention of Yarozu. "Speaking of – she stopped by earlier." He stares at the ground intensely with his brows furrowed.

"Oh?" Toji raises an eyebrow, recognizing that tone. "How'd that go?"

"About as well as everything else today." Sukuna moves to the mini-fridge in the corner, pulling out two beers. He tosses one to Toji. "She wants more. I don't. Same shit, different day."

"Maybe if you stopped sleeping with her..." Toji suggests, cracking open his beer.

"Maybe if you minded your own business..." Sukuna mimics his tone, taking a long drink.

“I know you aint talking” Toji huffs and starts to down his beer, but immediately remembers he has to pick up the kids and sits the beer down. You would kill him if you knew he sipped on a beer before he picked up your daughter.

They fall into a comfortable silence, the garage's ambient noise filling the space between them. Sukuna fidgets with his beer label, peeling it back methodically, clearly wrestling with something behind those crimson eyes.

"So, she’s the ‘good’ friend you always talk about," he finally says, not meeting Toji's gaze, his voice unusually hesitant. "Why’d ya keep her hidden all these years?”

Toji snorts, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Look what the fuck happened when you did meet, dumbass.”

Sukuna tries to hold in a laugh and shakes his head. “Never been the best at talking with women.”

Toji rolls his eyes, “Bullshit. You’re just an asshole.” Sukuna can’t argue with that. He also knows he fucked up. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you all day, it’s been pissing him off.

He takes another drink, his expression thoughtful, almost distant. "She's something else."

"Don't," Toji warns, his tone shifting from playful to serious. "She's not another Yarozu."

"Wasn't gonna do anything, fuck head," Sukuna says too quickly

"Yeah, okay." Toji stands, checking his watch. The afternoon light catches on its scratched face. "Gotta go pick up the kids. Try not to piss off any more single moms today."

"Fuck you," Sukuna calls after him, but there's a hint of a smile in his voice.

As Toji heads back to his car, he can't help but wonder if he should be worried. He knows that look in Sukuna's eyes – it's the same one he gets before doing something incredibly stupid or incredibly bold. He decides to ignore it. Sukuna is a stubborn asshole, so he probably isn’t going to listen to Toji (not a surprise at all). He bites the inside of his cheek and starts his car to head over to pick up the kids.

His phone buzzes (again) as he's pulling into the school parking lot, the screen lighting up with your name. The text reads: "Hey, since you're picking up the kids, just take them to my place. I left snacks in the pantry. I'll be home around 7."

Toji sends back a quick "Got it" before parking under the sprawling oak tree, its leaves casting dappled shadows across his windshield. The late afternoon sun bathes the playground in golden light, where a handful of kids are still running around, their laughter carrying across the empty lot.

His phone buzzes (again) with another text from you: "I ordered pizza for dinner. Should be there around 6:30. And please make sure they do their homework before the movie."

"Yes ma'am," he texts back, unable to suppress his amused smile. You always think of everything, planning three steps ahead.

"Don't 'yes ma'am' me, you ass", comes your quick reply, making him chuckle.

The school bell rings, its sharp peal cutting through the afternoon quiet. Kids pour out of the building like water from a broken dam, their excited voices filling the air.

Toji spots Megumi and Nobora immediately – they're impossible to miss, always gravitating toward each other like magnets. Megumi wears his usual serious expression, the one that makes him look too old for his years, while Nobora bounces alongside him, talking a mile a minute with wild hand gestures that paint stories in the air.

"Dad!" Megumi calls out, his face lighting up like a sunrise as he spots Toji. The rare smile transforms his entire face.

"Uncle Toji! Uncle Toji!" Nobora shouts, her backpack bouncing with each excited jump. "Look what I made today!" She's already digging through her bag, pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper covered in vibrant colors and imagination.

Toji kneels down to their level, accepting the artwork. "Wow, is that a... butterfly?" He truly doesn’t know what the fuck he is looking at. He has several drawings in his office and at home designed by the artist Nobora, but he cannot tell you what any of them are.

"No silly!" Nobora puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes because it should be obvious of what she created. "It's me and Megumi and you and Mommy at the park!"

"And there's the swings," Megumi adds seriously, pointing to some wobbly lines in the corner with the precision of a museum curator. "Mr. Nanami said we did good coloring in the lines today."

"Yeah? That's awesome," Toji says, helping them both into their car seats with practiced ease. Toji and you both have two in your cars now because it’s easier than transporting the heavy fucking things every other day.

As they all get settled in the car Toji turns on the radio and the kids start humming to the songs. They don’t really know the words, but they are trying their best. This is when Toji feels at peace. Megumi will never know how much he means to Toji, and Nobora is a pretty good bonus daughter.

"We're heading to your place today, Nobora,” Toji says as he turns onto the exit.

"Really?" Nobora claps her hands, her excitement infectious. "Megumi! We can play with my new stuffed animals! We can have a tea party!” It seems she had already forgotten about the Gameboy disaster.

Megumi nods quietly, a small smile playing on his lips like a secret.

"Uncle Toji, you have to play too!" Nobora shouts as she kicks her feet in excitement.

"Oh yeah?" Toji chuckles, turning into the parking garage. “Am I the special guest?” Toji smirks back at them. The kids look at eachother and then frown. "No!" both kids shout in unison, dissolving into giggles that fill the car with pure joy. He gives a fake pout and holds onto his heart like the kids just shot him. They start to giggle and say he can sit by them. He chuckles and turns the car off and begins to unbuckle himself.

The kids are still yapping and Toji shakes his head, grinning as he helps them out of their car seats. They do not shut up as the walk up the stairs. Discussing on which stuff animals are invited to the tea party and who would be sitting by who. It is obviously very important. Nobora is sure to tell Toji he has a spot right next to her.

While the kids and Toji settle in at the apartment, you were still busy at work. You made it your mission to distract yourself. After that stupid fucking asshole- no we are not gonna think about him right now. You got caught up on returns and organizing many books, as well as cataloging. It was a pretty productive day. Except Ino noticed you were off from the moment you stepped in.

You both usually chat about anything and everything, but today you were barely ever seen. He overthinks the entire thing and thought you were mad at him. So, around seven, right before you left he decided to be brave and see what the hell was wrong with you.

“Do you hate me?” Ino asks as he slowly leans over your desk.

You stop typing and look up at him, “What are you talking about?”

Ino immediately leans over on your shoulder and pretends to cry, “Oh! Finally she speaks to me! I thought you decided to hate me forever since you have barely spoken to me.”

You roll your eyes and let out a sigh. “Ino you’re being dramatic. I just had some stuff to do today.”

He frowns, “You eat lunch with me everyday.” He leans in even closer to you, “I don’t even think you at lunch today.”

You dead pan at him and shove him away. “I was busy. I’m fine.” You watch as Ino pouts and he literally looks like he is about to cry.

With an exaggerated sigh you give him a soft smile and hold out your arms to hug him. He immediately accepts and bear hugs you- almost making your chair fall over.

“Look, I’m tired and I wanna go be with my kid, but I’ll explain everything later, okay?” You smile at him and he gives you a nod.

You both walk to exit, making sure every light is turned off and every door is locked. “I’m expecting a full debrief over coffee,” Ino states as you walk to your car.

You give him a wave goodbye, “It’s a date.”

You had a silent drive home. It was actually pretty relaxing. You didn’t even think of he who shall not be named. All you wanted to do was go home and see Nobora. You made sure to have a career, you didn’t want motherhood to stop you from that. But now you feel like you’re missing out. Nobora is getting at the age where she realizes you’re gone. You sigh at the thought and slowly pull into your parking spot.

The apartment stairs have never felt longer, each step a small mountain to climb after your exhausting day. Your feet drag slightly against the worn tile as you make your way up, already imagining the cheerful chaos that awaits in your apartment – Nobora and Megumi probably turned your living room into their latest pretend restaurant, with Toji enabling their every whim like the softie he pretends not to be.

You hear voices before you reach your floor, and your stomach drops when you recognize one of them. Of course. Because this day just needs one more encounter with your hot annoying dickhead of a neighbor. Stop thinking about him.

As you round the corner, you see them – Sukuna's holding a sleeping Yuji, the boy's pink hair tousled against his father's shoulder. Behind him, Choso struggles with several grocery bags, trying to act grown up by carrying more than he probably should, his small face scrunched with determination.

Your steps falter for just a moment, but you quickly steel yourself. No. You're not doing this again. Not today. Without missing a beat, you continue up the stairs, eyes fixed straight ahead as if they're invisible, as if the air they occupy is just empty space. You can feel Sukuna's gaze on you like a physical touch, but you don't give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

Yuji makes a small snuffling noise and burrows deeper into Sukuna's shoulder. Despite your resolve not to look, you catch a glimpse of his peaceful face, pink lashes fluttering against round cheeks. The sight tugs at something in your chest – damn kids, making it hard to maintain your righteous anger.

"Miss—" Choso starts to say in his child-like voice, innocent and sweet, but Sukuna cuts him off with a sharp look that could slice steel.

You're already unlocking your door, pretending you didn't hear anything, the keys jingling in your slightly trembling hands. The last thing you catch before slipping inside is Choso's confused whisper, "I thought you said she was mean and loud?"

You pause in your tracks and bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to hurt. Do not give him the time of day. Do not let him see he's gotten under your skin. The keys jingle as you open the door and it clicks shut behind you with finality, cutting off whatever Sukuna's response might have been. You lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

The apartment is surprisingly quiet when you walk in. No chaos, no pretend restaurant, just the soft glow of the TV playing some cartoon on mute, its colors dancing across the walls. You drop your keys in the bowl by the door and slip off your shoes, padding quietly into the living room in sock-covered feet.

The sight that greets you makes your heart melt. Toji's sprawled on your couch, his long legs hanging off the end because he's too tall for normal furniture. Nobora and Megumi are curled up against him, both fast asleep in the way only children can manage. Your daughter's got her favorite unicorn plushie clutched to her chest like a lifeline, while Megumi's using Toji's arm as a pillow.

Their homework is spread across the coffee table, completed and ready for tomorrow, pencils and erasers scattered like evidence of their diligence. The sight makes your heart swell. Never in your life would you imagine Toji of all people being such a good dad. You know his wife is so proud and so are you.

Toji slowly looks up and nods his head. "They crashed about twenty minutes ago," Toji whispers, his voice barely a breath in the quiet room, careful not to wake them. "Pizza's in the kitchen. They insisted on waiting for you, but..." he gestures to their sleeping forms with his free arm, a soft smile playing at his lips.

You smile, taking in the peaceful scene before you. Empty juice boxes and half-eaten pizza crusts litter the coffee table, evidence of their earlier feast. There's a stack of drawings too – probably their latest masterpieces they'll want to show you in the morning, full of bright colors and impossible stories.

"Thanks for watching her," you whisper back, grabbing the throw blanket from the armchair and gently draping it over the kids. The soft fabric settles around them like a protective cloud.

Toji just nods, that soft look in his eyes he only gets around the children. It's moments like these that remind you why he's your best friend, why you trust him with everything. He's grown so much from the troublemaker you knew in high school, transformed by love and loss into someone steady and true.

You carefully scoop Nobora up, her little arms automatically wrapping around your neck even in sleep, muscle memory stronger than dreams. Her plushie dangles precariously from her hand as you balance her weight against your chest.

"I got it," Toji whispers, gently taking the plushie before it can fall. He shifts Megumi onto the couch with the care of someone handling precious china, making sure not to wake him as he gets up to follow you.

You carry Nobora to her room, her warm breath steady against your neck. The glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling cast a soft light as Toji helps pull back her covers. You lay her down gently, and she immediately curls onto her side. Toji tucks the unicorn plushie into her arms, and you both watch as she hugs it close, lost in whatever sweet dreams fill her mind.

Back in the living room, Toji's already gathering his and Megumi's things, movements quiet and practiced. "I should get him home," he whispers, carefully lifting his sleeping son. "You good?"

You nod, following them to the door. "Thanks again for today. Sorry about the whole... neighbor situation." The words taste bitter in your mouth.

Toji shifts Megumi in his arms, a knowing look in his eyes that sees right through you. "Don't apologize. Man needed to be knocked down a peg."

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Night, Toji."

"Night," he replies softly, and you watch as he carries Megumi down the hall, disappearing around the corner. Their footsteps fade away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the quiet of your apartment.

You're too exhausted to even think about the cold pizza waiting in the kitchen. After a quick change into your favorite oversized t-shirt, you collapse onto your bed, not bothering to pull back the covers. The events of the day weigh heavy on your limbs, and your last coherent thought before drifting off is hoping tomorrow brings less drama than today.

Just on the other side of your walls is Sukuna pacing in his living room, wearing tracks in the carpet as he moves like a caged tiger. He's unable to shake the image of you deliberately ignoring him in the hallway, the way you looked right through him as if he were made of glass.

Your complete dismissal burns more than your earlier insults, and he can't figure out why it bothers him so much. He's used to people either fearing him or wanting something from him - this blatant disregard is new territory, and it's getting under his skin like an itch he can't scratch.

"Uncle Sukuna?" Choso's voice breaks through his brooding. The boy sits cross-legged on the floor, homework spread around him like a paper nest. "Is that lady really mean?"

Sukuna stops pacing, looking at his nephew. Yuji's already asleep in his room, worn out from their grocery run, but Choso's still up, his innocent question hanging in the air. "No, kid. She's not mean." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Your uncle's just a fu—" he catches himself mid-word, eyes widening as he realizes what he almost said.

"You almost said a bad word," Choso points out seriously, his face stern in a way that makes him look like a miniature teacher. "That's fifty yen in the swear jar."

Sukuna snorts but dutifully pulls out his wallet. He stares at the jar for a moment, irritated at himself more than anything else. What the hell is wrong with him? One encounter with some mouthy woman and he's acting like... he doesn't even know what.

The reflection in the window shows a man who looks pissed off, unsettled, and – worst of all – intrigued. No. Absolutely not. He's not doing this. He's got enough complications in his life without adding another one, especially not one that lives next door and has already made it clear she thinks he's trash.

“Shit.” He mutters and is already aggressively shoving another fifty yen into the jar.

Your encounter with Sukuna on Monday sets the tone for the rest of the week. You make it your mission to avoid him while making sure he knows exactly what you're doing – a delicate balance of deliberate ignorance and pointed awareness.

You'd purposely talk to the boys, your voice warm and kind, and then make sure to not make any eye contact with him, as if he's nothing more than a shadow on the wall. The first day didn't seem to bother him. But by Thursday, you can practically feel the frustration radiating off him in waves.

Toji did manage to make him feel bad - which is a rare feat indeed. So, Sukuna tells himself he wants to apologize because you're neighbors after all. He didn't know how long he planned to stay at this apartment, and he didn't want to have to deal with you blatantly ignoring him. Well, that was the excuse he was giving himself for why he wanted to apologize. Or he could say Toji made him. Neither excuse feels quite true, but he's not ready to examine why.

He couldn't stop thinking about you. And that pissed him off even more. He’d rather have you call him “limp divk” for the rest of his days, as long as you were acknowledging his fucking presence. But no, you wanted to play your petty games. That's fine, he decides. If you wanted to play, he would play. The game is on, even if he's not sure what the prize is supposed to be.

Ignoring him made you feel powerful, a small victory in each deliberate non-acknowledgment. Hell, you wanted to cuss him out every time you laid eyes on him. It infuriated you how much his presence annoyed you. It annoyed you even more that his mere existence caused unwanted butterflies in your stomach. So, ignoring him and being deliberately cold was the only option that made sense.

The week drags on, your strategy of avoidance complicated by the fact that Choso and Yuji have become instant best friends with Nobora. You'd figured after the gameboy incident she'd be hesitant about being their friends. But to your disbelief, she's more than friendly and has been begging for them to come over all week. The kids' innocent friendship makes your cold war with their uncle even more complicated.

Now it's Friday. Nobora's with her dad, giving you a rare evening to yourself. Work was fine, though Ino spent most of the day talking about this new girl he's obsessed with. You're actually very happy for him. You hired him about two years ago and have watched him grow into his role. He's basically your little brother at this point. But it's hard not to feel a twinge of something as everyone around you seems to be finding connection.

Jealous wouldn’t be the right answer. You want to see the people you care about fall in love and be happy. It’s just been awhile. So, here you are sitting in the middle of your bed reading the directions to the shiny new vibrator you bought after work. It was kinda risky going into a sex shop, but like we already addressed. You’re desperate. It’s time to release some tension.

You’re now kneeling in the middle of your bed as you are reading the directions on how to charge the new toy. You have a draw full of them , but you wanted to treat yourself. This week was awful and spending a little bit of cash so you could have a mind blowing orgasm was exactly the right move. One point for retail therapy.

You treated this moment like a sacred ritual. The everything shower - exfoliating, shaving, moisturizing. Your baby blue pajama top buttoned just so, with cheeky underwear that wouldn't stay on for long. Chinese food waited in the microwave, a reward for later. Everything was perfectly planned for a night of self-care and release.

Settling onto the bed, you scrolled through your phone, finding a particularly steamy chapter in your latest book. Your underwear slipped off, forgotten in the blankets. The bright red toy buzzed to life, its vibration sending a tingle through your hand.

As you pressed it against your sensitive clit, your back arched immediately. Sensitive as hell. It had been so long since you'd truly enjoyed a moment like this. Your mind began to drift, seeking escape, seeking pleasure.

Your breath became heavy, eyes rolling back as you let yourself slip into complete bliss. The slick slowly dripped down, each sensation a reminder of how long it had been. Oh, how you needed this. Especially after that stupid fucking asshole who ruined your week.

That stupid fucking asshole who is your neighbor. That hot fucking asshole who smells amazing and looks like a god. That stupid fucking neighbor who you heard last night fucking the shit out of god knows who. Only you can imagine how he fucks. How he’d rut into your into you so good making you scream his name-

"Mph! Suku- fuck,"

You freeze as you hear the similar noise that kept you awake a few nights ago.

Oh fuck no.

While you were trying to pleasure yourself. Sukuna decided to answer Yarozus message and gave no time to get down to business once she got here. She was here for one reason tonight and that was to piss you off. Yeah you were fucking hot as you told him off, but you’re not gonna fucking ignore him and threaten to kick him out.

So here he is, slamming his hips into Yarozu as hard as he can while her face is pushed deep down into the mattress. He made sure he positioned his bed right against the wall too. He slaps and pulls on yarozu to get every little noise out of her. And she loves it.

Although, Sukuna isn’t really thinking about her. He never really does. But he is thinking about you. The fucking random ass woman who he just so happened to piss off. The random ass woman who is actually stunning and he can’t get her out of his head. But this woman pissed him off to no end, so here he is trying to piss you off.

You lie there in shock for a moment and listen. You can hear everything. Every slap, every breath, and squelch. And just like the color of your new toy, you see red. This motherfucker. Normally, you’d ignore it. But this is a declaration of war.

You sit up and pull your underwear back up. The toy gets placed on your night stand and you roll off the bed. With a huff and a deep swallow you walk over to the wall. Without even placing your ear next to it you can hear what’s happening as clear as day. So, without any hesitation you start banging on the wall. Not only that, you start moaning as loud as you could.

Yes, this is childish. You know it is, you would never want your daughter to act this way. However, you simply have forgotten to give a shit when it comes to this man. Within the past five days of knowing him he has awoken a beast inside of you that you have tried to keep tame for some time. And you are letting it run free.

Sukuna thinks he’s hallucinating. There’s no fucking way she’s doing this, right? At first he ignores it, well tried to. The banging on the wall gets louder and the moans coming from your mouth sound angelic, almost real. It’s hard to focus.

Yarozu finally lifts her head and looks back at Sukuna in confusion. The banging continues and your moans get louder. Suddenly a framed picture on the wall falls and barely misses yarozus head.

Yarozu gasps and Sukuna holds back a laugh. he pulls out of her and sighs, quickly puts on his grey sweats and heads right toward the door. You’re too busy banging on the walls to realize they have stopped and you suddenly hear a knock on the door.

The smirk on your face is devilish. You trot towards your door and open it. There is your asshole neighbor in only grey sweats and he’s glistening with sweat. If you didn’t hate him so much you’d ask him to come inside and finish the job.

“Can I help you?” You say sweetly and bat your eyelashes at him.

Sukuna holds a groan in his throat has he checks you out. You’re only in some underwear and a pajama top, which shows everything. He can see every beautiful curve you were blessed with. He can’t help but notice the way your hair drapes perfectly framing your face. The way your brow furrows and nose crinkles as you look at him in disgust-

Focus Ryomen.

He lets out a sigh and leans down, “What the fuck Is your problem?”

He’s so close as he speaks. You raise a brow and step closer to him. “What the fuck is your problem?” Suddenly a girl steps out behind him wearing a shirt that is way too big for her

“Sukuna, baby who’s that?” She purrs and reaches for his shoulder and he swats her hand. She just rolls her eyes and stands to the side.

Your blood boils as you stare daggers into him. His look is just as bad. His red ruby eyes melts into yours. You swallow thickly and clench your fists. “Keep it down or I’m calling Toji”

Sukuna scoffs and rolls his eyes. “He ain’t gonna do shit, baby,” he says in a mocking tone. Your eye twitches as you hear that stupid pet name.

As you glare into his crimson eyes, you feel a shadow creeping behind you and turn. Toji appears up the stairs with a pack of beers. His eyes immediately dart to you and shock covers his face.

Fuck, he definitely came here to drink with Sukuna didn’t he?

You’re starting to put two and two together. They for sure know eachother. There is no doubt about that. You didn’t think that they were that good of friends. Hell, he never really talked about him. You then feel helpless. Toji isn’t going to kick him out. You don’t even want him kicked out, he has two kids to raise. Just like you.

The tears swell up in your eyes as Toji walks closer and tries to brush the tears out of your face. “Hey pretty what’s-“ you swat his hand away and turn to the door, pulling your shirt down with one hand and cover your tits with the other arm.

“Fuck off toji.” You say coldly and hurry to shut the door. You make sure to lock every lock and dart to the bathroom, tears streaming down your face.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Sukuna watches with a blank face and Yarozu stands behind him, twirling her hair. “Hey Toji,” she smirks.

Toji quickly nods his head and heads into Sukuna’s place. Sukuna lets out a sigh and follows him.

Yarozu begins to step but Sukuna stops, “Go home Yarozu.” She pouts, but he doesn’t turn around to see her. She simply sighs, grabs her purse and heads back out. In only his shirt and her underwear.

Sukuna shuts his door and locks it. Just like you did. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “She left her clothes.” Toji says and his eyes dart toward the clothes thrown around the living room.

Sukuna huffs and walks over to the clothes, picks them up and tosses them off the balcony. Toji watches, his eyes widen a bit, but that’s honestly not surprising when it comes to those two.

He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head, “You don’t even like her, why the fuck do you-“. Sukuna cuts him off by grabbing a beer from him and flipping him off. Toji flips him off right back and smirks.

It’s gets silent for a long moment and Toji watches Sukuna as he twiddles his thumbs and sips his beer.

"Want to tell me what the fuck that was?" Toji asks, his voice low.

Sukuna drops onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. "Not really," he mutters.

Toji raises an eyebrow. "She's my best friend," he says, a warning implicit in his tone.

"I know," Sukuna responds, taking a long drink. "Believe me, I know."

"She's not just some random woman," Toji says, his voice carrying a protective edge. "She's been through enough."

Sukuna says nothing, which speaks volumes.

"I'm serious," Toji continues. "Whatever game you're playing, stop."

“Who says I'm playing a game?" Sukuna responds, but there's no conviction in his voice.

They both let out a sigh and stare up at the ceiling. Letting the silence consume them.

In your bathroom, you lie on the floor, tears streaming down your face. The cool tile against your back provides little comfort. Your mind races - everything blends into a chaotic emotional storm.

You're not crying from sadness. No, these are tears of pure frustration. Anger at Sukuna, at the situation, at yourself for being so affected by this stranger who seems determined to get under your skin.

You glance over to the vibrator as it lies forgotten on the nightstand, your evening of planned relaxation completely derailed. It truly feels like nothing ever goes to plan. And this fucking asshole is making sure of it.

With a defeated sigh you slowly sit up a wipe the tears from your face. You’re about to reach for your face wash when you feel a vibration on the bathroom counter. It’s Ino?

The call came unexpectedly. Ino's excited voice filled the phone, talking a mile a minute about a group night out. "Come on!" he insisted. "Me, my girlfriend, Nanami, and his fiancée. We need you there!"

You were hesitant. Group outings typically meant navigating potential awkwardness - endless small talk and the looming possibility of feeling like the perpetual single friend. But Ino's enthusiasm was infectious, his excitement bleeding through the phone in a way that made resistance futile.

Your outfit came together quickly. A black mini skirt that hit a little above the knee, paired with a tight white t-shirt that hinted at confidence without trying too hard. You added black tights underneath, chunky lace-up boots that could handle a night of dancing, topped with a well-worn jean jacket.

You took extra care removing the day's remnants - brushing out your hair, ensuring any trace of earlier tears was completely erased. This wasn't about looking perfect. This was about survival, about drinking away the stress that had been building for weeks.

The evening passed in a beautiful blur of music, laughter, and strategically consumed alcohol. Nanami's fiancé was stunning - the kind of gorgeous that made you simultaneously admire and slightly resent her effortless beauty. Ino's girlfriend, was a revelation - hilarious, the type of person who made friendship feel instantaneous.

You danced with strangers, laughed without reservation, drank far more than any responsible adult should. Karaoke became an adventure - you were pretty sure you sang something, though the exact song had dissolved into the night's liquid memories. The music, the drinks, the company - everything blended into a perfect escape.

The guys could tell something was wrong. You never go out. Ino told Nanami he’s been worried about you all week. You still have yet to tell him what the hell is going on. But they are happy to see you having fun. You deserve it.

Around 1 A.M., Nanami - ever the responsible one - called you an Uber, his quiet concern a counterpoint to the night's wild energy.

You said goodbye with dramatic kisses on cheeks and tight hugs. Ino has you on his Life 360 (he’s nosey and you didn’t say no when he asked) so he plans to watch it to make sure you get home. The ride home was a blur of streetlights and half-remembered conversations, the city sliding past your window like a watercolor painting.

You slowly stumble up the stairs, making sure you don't trip. The hallway seems to sway slightly as you try to keep your eyes open. You keep humming whatever song they were playing at karaoke - something pop, maybe? The memory is fuzzy, blurred by alcohol and laughter.

Finally reaching your door, you thimble around your handbag for your keys. They slip from your fingers, clattering to the ground. "Shit," you mumble, giggling as you bend to retrieve them. The lock seems particularly challenging tonight, your coordination reduced to a comedic struggle.

Unbeknownst to you, Toji and Sukuna are watching your entire performance. Toji was just about to leave, and Sukuna was seeing him out when your drunken arrival caught their attention.

In your current state, you might normally be mortified. Instead, you look up and see them staring. Your response? A defiant middle finger.

Toji frowns and sighs, a mixture of concern and exasperation. Sukuna, however, can't help but chuckle. "Hey there, drunky," he calls out, his voice a low rumble that makes you shiver despite your irritation.

The door finally opens with a triumphant "Ha!" from you.

"Need any help?" Toji asks, stepping forward.

You look up, still fumbling through your bag for your phone, and raise a challenging eyebrow. "Oh, now you're asking if I need help?" The sass is sharp, cutting through your alcohol-induced haze.

"Pretty calm-" Toji begins.

"Don't call me that," you interrupt, folding your arms and shooting a glare that could freeze fire.

Sukuna can't resist adding fuel to the fire. "Don't piss drunky off, Toji!" he shouts, his laughter echoing in the hallway.

Toji tries again, reaching to fix your disheveled hair. "Pretty, c'mon now-"

"No, Toji," you cut him off, your words slightly slurred but no less venomous. "Go suck his dick or something. I'm mad at you."

Toji rolls his eyes. You were pissed. He hasn’t seen you this mad since you found out you were pregnant (a story for another day).

Sukuna, never one to miss an opportunity, smirks. "Not really interested in him, but you can come over if ya want."

You glare back, and he winks. In his mind, you're beautiful, especially when you're fired up. Every encounter he's had with you - when you’re not ignoring him - has been a hurricane of emotion, and he loves every moment of it.

"Oh, I'm sure I'd be on a long waiting list," you retort, laying your head against the doorframe. The alcohol is catching up with you, making it hard to stand.

Toji huffs and steps closer to you, “Pretty, let me help.”

Before you can fully process it, you're nodding yes to Toji's offer of help. He swiftly picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his torso, your body going pliant with exhaustion.

Toji carries you into the apartment, with Sukuna following close behind. His eyes scan the space - moving boxes still needing to be unpacked, the signs of a recent move scattered everywhere.

Yet, it still felt like a home. Framed family photos and vintage art prints hung over the cream-colored walls, arranged in those trendy asymmetrical clusters you'd probably seen on Pinterest.

Nobora's toys were neatly corralled in a woven basket in the corner, a halfhearted attempt at containing the chaos of childhood.

It looked like every piece of furniture had been meticulously picked by you. The mid-century modern coffee table with its gentle curves, the overstuffed armchair in soft leather that practically begged to be curled up in, even the delicate ceramic vases arranged on floating shelves.

You had good taste. He was almost too distracted until he noticed Toji struggling to help your drunk ass.

"Need any help?" Sukuna asks, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Toji doesn’t look at Sukuna, too focused on your care. He simply gives a nod and asks, “Can you get a shirt for her? I'm gonna help her change."

Sukuna rolls his eyes but complies, moving to your dresser. He opens several drawers, careful not to disturb too much. Realizing he might upset you further by rummaging, he opts instead to take off his own shirt and bring it to the bathroom.

Toji helps you undress, completely un phased . When Sukuna raises an eyebrow, Toji scoffs, "What? I watched her give birth. This isn't the first time I've seen her naked."

You giggle, raising your arms for the shirt like a child. Sukuna watches as Toji pulls the shirt over you, noting how the fabric falls loosely on your frame.

"Need to wash my face and brush my hair," you mumble, your words slightly slurred.

Toji helps you to the sink, supporting you as you carefully remove your makeup. Sukuna can't help but chuckle at the sight - you're a mix of determination and drunken clumsiness.

You use Sukuna's shirt to pat your face dry, then turn to Toji with a mischievous grin. "Mhmm, this smells like the asshole," you giggle.

Toji starts to laugh, the tension from earlier melting away.

"That's because it is the asshole's," Sukuna's voice cuts through, momentarily sobering you.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him shirtless, and he winks. You glare back - still angry, still defiant.

Toji helps you into bed, and you crawl to the center, wrapping yourself in soft sheets. As he goes to get water and medicine, Sukuna explores your room, his curiosity getting the better of him.

A bright red toy on the bedside table catches his eye. For a moment, his face heats up with thoughts he quickly tries to dismiss.

When Toji returns, he leaves water and medicine, then leans down to kiss your temple. "I'll be back in the morning to check on ya."

You wave lazily. "Bye, asshole," you call to Sukuna, who sighs and responds, "Go to sleep, drunky.

After closing your bedroom door, Toji pauses in the living room. A photograph catches his eye - a memory from his wedding day. You, him, and his late wife at the courthouse, where you served as their witness. The image pulls at his heart, a bittersweet reminder of love, loss, and enduring friendship.

Sukuna watches silently as Toji studies the photo, recognizing the depth of emotion playing across his friend's face.

"I'm actually gonna crash on her couch," Toji explains, breaking the silence. "Make sure she's okay. I'll call her baby daddy in the morning to keep Nobora for the day." Thank god Megumi was at the sitters.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow and nods, a simple acknowledgment of Toji's protective nature.

As Sukuna walks out, he can't shake the thoughts of you. It's unprecedented - he's known Yarozu for almost a decade, and she barely crosses his mind. But you? In less than a week, you've occupied more mental space than anyone has in years.

There's something about you - your fire, your refusal to back down, the way you move through the world with such unapologetic intensity. You're not afraid to show your emotions, to be loud, to take up space. It's intriguing in a way he can't quite define.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The thought echoes in the empty hallway, a whispered confession to no one but himself. With a final sigh, he returns to his own apartment, your presence clawing at his mind like a persistent memory that refuses to be forgotten.

Each step feels weighted, charged with an energy he can't explain. He's realizing something, a truth that both irritates and intrigues him.

You were going to consume him entirely.

A slow, inevitable destruction he would welcome with open arms.

summary/notes: sorry this was another chaotic one! we will slowly but surely see those two warm up to eachother (maybe) lmao! I had a blast writing Toji and Sukuna’s pov. I also realize their backstory could’ve been the beginning to their love story. ah well, maybe in another universe. they are just besties, trust.

I am also still figuring out the mechanics of tumblr so I will have links and everything updated as soon as I can! my asks are open, so if you have any questions I will be so so happy to answer! I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I love you all so much! mwah! <3

taglist is open: please comment and let me know if you want to be on it!! (:

@sukubusss @poopooindamouf @tojiswifeforlife @777pluto @emochosoluvr @bookfreakk

@withtanxp @pandabiene5115 @fava-boi

[onyourowndaisymae]

under where?

content + warnings: nsfw, x fem!reader, flashing, discussions of oral

prompt: "Imagine sitting across from the brothers and nonchalantly spreading your legs to reveal no underwear under your skirt. Just IMAGINE their reactions…" (via: @shyvien-obeyme)

there's a tension in the air, a mixture of seven different reactions to the same action. seven demons who knew their master had such a commanding presence, had fallen victim to "stay" time and time again-- yet here you are, bringing all of them to their knees without uttering a single word.

lucifer pales when your legs spread. a low, possessive growl threatens to rock his chest, but he swallows hard and averts his gaze. you can see his cheeks flush a little. he meets your gaze-- he's very determined to show you he doesn't see you as a piece of meat-- and opens his mouth to scold you for such vulgar behavior. but there's this heat in your gaze, almost inviting as your eyes smolder with want. his mouth closes. he takes another look between your spread legs. fuck. you're so wet it's obscene. were you really that needy, working yourself up like that over there? he can only imagine what's running through your head, what depraved thoughts linger beneath that cheshire smile. no matter. just say the word and he's whisk you away to his room, alone, ready to please his master until dawn breaks through the darkened skies.

mammon whines, the sound loud and uninhibited, his cheeks engulfing in flames-- yet he can't bring himself to be ashamed. it takes everything in him not to pounce on you. he wants to yell, too. why? why're you so comfortable spreading your legs like that in front of all his brothers, huh?! don't you know the kind of filthy thoughts running through their heads?! the conflicting feelings make his stomach flutter. he wants to close your legs, guarding your entrance like a dragon to its hoard, greedy to keep its greatest treasure private. but he also wants to fall to his knees in front of you. to wait for your permission before burying his face in your cunt, fucking you on his tongue in front of everyone. he's getting impatient now that the thought's entered his mind-- so can you please stop looking at him like that and let him touch you already, before he loses whatever mind he has left?

leviathan can feel his shame rush to his face, burning heat pooling at the back of his neck. it's embarassing how quickly his pants grow tight and cumbersome. this-- this is too much for him. he needs to hide away, now, burrowing into a fort of blankets in his bathtub until a century or two passes and he's sure everyone's forgotten about this moment in time. but he can't. because you're staring at him. your eyes crawl up his body, lingering on his shifty feet, his quivering hands, his tented pants-- your gaze makes his head spin. he's going to pass out if you keep watching him like that. you wet your lips briefly, eyes darting to meet his before your gaze falls between his legs again, and he swears to every authority in every realm that he can feel his cock throb in need. please say something, do something. either let him retreat to lick his wounds or ride him until he's a puddle of drool and slick underneath you.

satan's cheeks flush, but he keeps his gaze steady as he thoroughly observes your sopping wet cunt. he wants to think of something clever or witty to say, but his mouth is so dry and his brain is so fuzzy-- do you know what you do to him? he's aware that you're teasing him. it's frustrating. all these eyes on you, and yet you're only looking at him. like a cat that got the cream, you're smirking, lounging in your chair like he can't see the slick gathering around your entrance. it would be so easy for his finger to slip inside you, finger fucking you senseless until you're so sensitive you writhe and dig your nails into the arms of that chair. but that would be too easy, wouldn't it? no, you're teasing the avatar of wrath. while patience is not his favorite virtue, it will be the one he has tonight-- because the moment you're finally underneath him, he's going to toy with you as much as he wants, prowl around your exposed body until he decides to pounce. after all, you're the one who wanted to play cat and mouse.

asmodeus can feel his lips curl into a grin. oh, you naughty little thing! a giggle escapes his lips as he watches you with rapt attention. oh, that slippery little cunt of yours is so cute! would you mind if he got a closer look? he wants to bask in this moment. you're biting your bottom lip and grinning right back at him, and it takes everything in him not to break the tension by letting honey filth spew from his lustful lips. sure, there's a lot he could say, but don't actions speak louder than words? in that case, he wouldn't mind running his tongue along that pretty clit of yours to taste your slick himself. he can't think of a better way to express his love for you than to ravish you as thoroughly as the tried and true avatar of lust can. the room is delightfully hot and intense, making his head spin as surges of lust bounce off the walls. oh, darling, the anticipation is killing him-- won't you just share all the dirty thoughts caught in that pretty little head of yours?

beelzebub suddenly feels like he shouldn't be here. he notices the change in the air before he notices your legs spread, ever perceptive to the emotions of his loved ones. and all of those feelings lead him to you-- specifically, that wet spot between your legs that's got everyone so riled all of a sudden. it makes him nervous. at first, he worries you've exposed yourself on accident. he looks away as his cheeks turn pink, ashamed of how quickly his mind begins to wander. but then he hears you shuffling-- so naturally, he looks back at you-- to find you pulling your skirt up further, bunching it around your thighs to give everyone a clearer view. he realizes now that you want everyone to see your cunt. now he doesn't feel so bad about staring, about the groan sitting in the back of his throat. he'll never push, never question your motives or try to touch you without explicit permission, but he can't help the way his mouth waters and his erection stirs in his pants. and judging by the way you're staring at him like a five course meal, it seems you don't mind much either.

belphegor's eyes widen in shock, before a predatory grin engulfs his face. oh. you're in for it now. you've given the game away by exposing yourself as a needy whore, and it's clear from your haughty smirk that you think you've won this game. that's cute. but you're playing with demons-- manipulative, scheming, needy demons that'd do anything to bury themselves deep inside of the very hole you're so determined to tease them with. or maybe you're just teasing one particular demon. because your eyes linger on his just a bit too long to be coincidental, flitting away to the ground or a nearby wall before meeting his again. are you feeling nervous now? you should be. make no mistake-- he sees what you're doing here, and he's already thinking of ways to handle it. you're clearly getting aroused by all the attention. he wants to help, but he's just feeling so tired. you're already so prepped and eager-- maybe he should let you sink onto his cock in this very room? he's curious to see how well you can perform with an audience.