#when even moonlight burns | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 8 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing.

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you?

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room.

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him.

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.”

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?”

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?”

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?”

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—”

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—”

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?”

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,”

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,”

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different.

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence.

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?”

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,�� Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead.

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too.

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself.

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough.

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.”

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,”

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened.

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,”

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs.

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna.

But far from your last.

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open.

“You want another drink, Choso?”

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small.

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips.

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat.

“Uh—“

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence.

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face.

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?”

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?”

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna.

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either.

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him.

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to.

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,”

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?”

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?”

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down.

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves.

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone.

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,”

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,”

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing.

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort.

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?”

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?”

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,”

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?”

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms.

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you.

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?”

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna.

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso.

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?”

And now he had visited you in your dreams too.

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?”

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants.

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,”

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt.

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles.

“Now you’re getting it, baby.”

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream.

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now.

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in?

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out.

“Had” being the operative word.

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep.

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you).

“What are you talking about?”

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked.

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door.

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke.

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real.

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer.

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed.

No, it was more of a curse.

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,”

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his.

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM!

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you.

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,”

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?”

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head.

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word.

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning.

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while.

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—”

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?”

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,”

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,”

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much?

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful.

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?”

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet.

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle.

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers.

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts.

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?”

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself.

So you don’t.

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,”

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here.

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much.

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh.

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?”

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,”

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,”

Wait. What?

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still.

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind.

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own.

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close.

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,”

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?”

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts.

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits.

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together.

But you couldn’t. Not without him.

“Sukuna—“

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them.

And he smiles all the same.

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,”

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets.

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,”

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants.

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,”

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue.

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt.

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can��t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb.

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,”

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek.

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers.

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.”

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open.

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,”

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit.

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy.

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet.

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,”

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open.

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside.

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,”

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit.

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt.

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach.

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together.

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in.

God, fuck.

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt.

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you.

It was only the first.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy.

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning.

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,”

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear.

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,”

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant.

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit, “I’m—”

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load.

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in.

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you.

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.”

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?”

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick.

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you.

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around.

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips.

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg.

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,”

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence.

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna.

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night.

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line, “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,”

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder.

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,”

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you.

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all.

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place.

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?”

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?”

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh.

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful.

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.”

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle.

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.”

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt.

“Want me to prove it?”

And oh, he would. Again and again.

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

#sab [mlist]#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna fanfiction #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna x you

13K notes · View notes

poisonf0rest · 5 months ago

Text

The Best Dreams Come in Threes

♱⋅── rafayel x reader x xavier

♱⋅── about: Rafayel and Xavier have always been there for you. One is your fire, your passion, the twin flame to your temper. The other is your light, a guiding beacon, your twin star. So when you have a nightmare, they take it upon themselves to comfort and remind you of their unconditional devotion. Even if it does lead to competition every now and then.

♱⋅── word count: 7.5k (mf...)

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, it's just nasty, threesome, jealousy, somnophilia, oral, pussydrunk boys, breeding kink, double penetration, slight spoilers

♱⋅── a/n: apologies to the two random strangers on the plane that I sat next to when the idea of this fic possessed me. I really, really hope you didn't read anything I was frantically writing down in the midst of me finishing my work report cause that shit was nasty.

art credit and inspiration due to the wonderful @/sakimenz

Lonely star, who do you shine for?

The weight of all your pasts- of all your futures- the guilt and pride you carry will only cause you to collapse, and all that will be left will be an all-consuming black hole.

Your desperation won’t bring your sun back.

Lonely king, don’t you know a kingdom devoid of life is a crown devoid of purpose?

You were the fire that left them, and all you have to show for the betrayal is a drowned memory and a heart wrenched from your chest, a broken promise and a forgotten story.

You’ve changed with each lifetime, but you’ll forever be at the mercy of fate.

And you? You’re the very curse that haunts them.

Claws, so cold they burn, emerge from the darkness before piercing through flesh, tearing through muscle and bone as they dig into your ribcage, dragging you down into the shadows. Drowning, falling. You’re spiraling through lifetimes of failure, lifetimes of pain both your own and not, all while the claws dig closer and closer to your heart, clutching the muscle like a songbird in a cage.

It’s the price, the price you must pay for all this pain you’ve caused, for dooming a star and killing a god.

The clawed hand wraps around your heart, the piercing into the fluttering pulse faster and faster until—

You wake up crying.

A hot trail of tears slides into the pillows, and a sniffle rakes through your body, the sudden movement causing a subtle disturbance to the two forms still sound asleep on either side of you.

Funny, you can’t remember a thing, but there’s a painful throb in your chest. You’ll take another dose of your heart medicine in the morning.

But for now, your bedroom is still dulled by the pale blue moonlight filtering through the curtains, and you’re in no hurry to get out of the warm covers and their embrace.

The nightmares have become routine at this point. You never remember what they are, but you wake up with a sense of fear and dread, as though you can feel the pain all over again. It’s best not to think too much about it.

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you inhale shakily one last time, trying to shake off the looming feeling when the arm around your waist shifts, tugging lightly at your loose sleep shirt before slipping under to massage the skin beneath. You let out a soft sigh, a light shudder going through your body as the gentle hands work away the tension.

“The same?” Rafayel’s words are slurred with sleep and concern, hot breath dancing along the crook of your neck as he props himself up on his elbow. You nod.

Rafayel makes a small, displeased noise before his other arm pulls you closer, his bare chest now flush against your back. The sudden movement forces Xavier, who was once tucked against your shoulder, further away, grumbling at the loss even in his sleep.

His face scrunches, brows furrowed together before the corners of his lips turn downward, and he blindly reaches for you. He eventually finds the curve of your waist, and his hand tightens on the fabric of your shirt as it slides in above Rafayel’s.

A huff, and Xavier buries his face back into your chest, his warm breath tickling you. And then, gentle snores— you should've known better than to think that would be enough to wake him.

Rafayel, still pressed firmly against your back, begins to move, propping his body up just enough to look you in the eyes as he wipes a stray tear from your cheek. "Wanna talk about it, cutie?"

“I… I think you were there, both of you. But it felt lonely, painful.”

Rafayel's face contorts into a worried expression, his hand moves down your cheek, cupping your jaw, and you lean into his warm caress with a sigh.

You place a kiss on his palm. "It's okay, just a scary dream. Nothing real. Nothing to worry about." You repeat it, more to yourself than Rafayel, but his arms wrap around you anyway.

And yet Rafayel looks at you with a deep furrow in his brow, a seriousness you’ve almost never seen on him.

You give him a questioning look, but his lips press to yours in a searing kiss, stealing the air from your lungs. He pulls away only for a second, whispering sweet nothings against your skin before returning his lips to yours, the hand cradling your face slipping down to rest on your hip.

He kisses you softly, gently. First pressing a trail of light, chaste kisses along your jaw, the corners of your mouth, and nose, then moving back to your lips. “We’ll never leave you. We’d tear through every universe, every destiny to get back to you.”

Strange, how Rafayel says it with all the reverence of a vow.

You want to tease him for the sudden declaration, for making all this fuss over a stupid dream, but you never have the opportunity, not when Rafayel's signature smirk settles back onto his lips.

His hand slides down to your thighs, fingers teasing around the band of your sleep shorts, toying, pressing, but never crossing the self-imposed boundary of your clothes. “Unless, you’d prefer it if I proved it to you?”

“Rafayel,” you warn, hoping your narrowed glare would dissuade him.

Of course the man only seems to take that as a challenge, smile widening as you flinch at the cold touch creeping under your shirt. One palm traces up your ribcage, long, nimble fingers rubbing circles against your skin until he brushes the underside of your breast.

You shudder, hissing out another string of curses before turning around so your back is to Rafayel.

Really, you should know better than to think that alone would be enough, and a hot trail of kisses now joins his wandering hands down your shoulder blade. They start innocent enough, sweet, lingering touches along the hem of your shirt, but that quickly changes when Rafayel’s arm under your shirt practically yanks it up, sucking wet, messy kisses into the bare curves of your chest.

Each nip against your sensitive flesh forces the possibility of sleep further and further away, and you resort to distracting yourself with the motionless silhouette of Xavier. Petting through his hair, your rhythm is jolted every time Rafayel decides to leave a mark, nails pulling through Xavier’s locks as you bite your lip on a moan.

You don't miss the curve of his smirk against your skin, and the next kiss is accompanied by a bite, hard enough to elicit a sharp gasp that stirs Xavier. Tense, you scan the blonde's face, but he's nothing if not a heavy sleeper, and he nuzzles further into your touch, still unconscious as his head tucks under yours.

You don't get to sigh in relief. Instead, a whine builds in your throat, the wet heat of Rafayel's teeth tugging on the strap of your underwear as he fists your sleep shorts down.

"Rafayel, stop it,” you hiss as his hot breath hits the already embarrassingly damp center of your underwear.

His smile grows, lips brushing against your clothed core as he tilts his head. “Hmm? But you don’t sound like you want me to stop. And she certainly doesn’t sound like it either.” Two fingers dip under the band, and he parts your cunt with a lewd click.

Your face flushes in embarrassment, refusing to acknowledge just how easily your body gives in to them. One hand leaves Xavier, roughly fisting into Rafayel’s curls as he groans from the sharp pressure. “That’s because you and Xavier refused to wear protection!”

The accusation earns a hushed laugh, his shoulders shaking against the insides of your thighs. It would have been innocent, the same contagious sort of smile gracing Rafayel’s face, if not the shadows cast across his face in the dark, teeth gleaming like fangs as he traces his tongue up the entire length of your clothed cunt.

"M’sorry, we thought you'd enjoy the mess," he says, words muffled over your thighs, nose practically buried in between. "How can I make it up to you, cutie?”

You don’t get a chance to respond, not when Rafayel’s tongue dives into your clothed cunt, moaning against the soaked fabric as you gasp and force him closer by his hair. To muffle his sounds, you tell yourself. A pathetic lie considering how much louder he gets now, nose grinding up against your clit as his tongue tries to press into your fluttering cunt even with the barrier of cloth in between.

God, he’s addicted, and it doesn’t take long until Rafayel’s spit and your slick soak through your underwear, the near-translucent fabric sticking to your lips as the bare minimum friction nearly drives you insane.

“Say it,” Rafayel whines, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Please, just tell me how badly you want me. Tell me, and I’ll do anything you ask.”

Like he wouldn’t already.

But how could you ever deny him when he begs so sweetly?

Your palm cups his face, watching his near-wrecked expression and flushed skin tremble beneath your fingers. “I’m yours, Rafayel.”

And the fabric is ripped into pieces.

Refusing to even breathe, Rafayel places an opened-mouth kiss on your cunt, lapping up your slick with the most satisfied moan. He doesn't waste any time, not while your confession coated his mind with the sweetest type of intoxication, eating you out like he was depraved.

He might as well have been with how he moans, hips grinding desperately against the edge of the mattress, his not-entirely human tongue curling in and out of you as it writhes with terrifying accuracy against your walls.

It feels too good to be ashamed of the noises you make, gasping and crying out until you slam your palm over your mouth, biting down hard as the other claws into Rafayel’s hair. You can barely control yourself, half fighting to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure, half rocking your hips up and down his face as you jerk him closer.

“Mhm, greedy.” Fucked-out, broken little grunts leave his throat before his words are muffled into your cunt, not baring to part for even a breath. “Pull on it, please. Harder.”

You tug Rafayel’s hair almost in vengeance when he purposefully kisses away from where you need him most, licking and sucking obscenely into your thighs just to hear your frustrated cries even over your hand.

He loved being used like this, so long as it was you.

So long as it was him that turned you into such a beautiful, pathetic mess.

It's not long until Rafayel pulls you close to the edge, nose pressing against your clit while thrusting his tongue into you, eyes rolling back from the taste and from the thought of your tight heat fluttering around his cock instead.

And then, he stops, pulling away and leaving you gasping into the tear-stained pillow.

You bite back a sob, releasing only a choked little noise that has Rafayel's eyes flicking up to your face, the soft, concerned look in his eyes melting into something far more dangerous.

With viciously dilated pupils and your slick dripping from his mouth, Rafayel stares you down as every inch the dangerous siren the legends claimed him to be. He smiles, tongue raking over his teeth as though he couldn’t get enough of your taste, and you swear you’d let him eat your heart and soul. Gods, you’d let him eat you whole.

You realize you must have made a sound, because Rafayel hushes you, pressing quick kisses to your knee. "Aw, what happened to being quiet? Aren't you afraid we'll wake the poor sleeping bunny?"

At the mention of your other partner, you turn to where Xavier’s nuzzling his face further into your side, each warm breath damp against your feverish skin, still lost to the realm of dreams.

Not that Rafayel allows your attention to turn away from himself for too long.

He leans over Xavier, the hand that wasn’t supporting his weight cupping your face, and his lips are crashing into yours with all the viciousness of a summer seastorm. Your lips part, and Rafeyel fucks his tongue into your mouth the same he did your pussy, wet and desperate, the taste of yourself enough to make you dizzy.

"Tell me,” Rafayel’s tone dips into something darker, kissing down your throat and stomach as he eyes Xavier. “Who’s the better lover?"

Xavier's fingers flex, the tips brushing against the curve of your breast as he sleeps, and Rafayel's smile is almost predatory.

"D-don't ask stupid questions you dumb fish," your voice cracks as Rafayel's mouth ghosts over your cunt, teeth bared to your thigh, threatening to bite. "I chose you both."

The confession, as expected, doesn't please him. If anything, he seems overly offended, pouting and huffing a cold breath of air right against your aching core. The chill makes you squirm, trying to force him back to your center with the grip you have on his hair.

"No. Nope. That's not an answer."

"Raf–"

His name breaks off in a moan, sound ripped from your throat as Rafayel's thumb starts rubbing firm circles around your neglected clit. He doesn't relent, the pressure too much, too quick, your body already trembling from the pleasure Rafayel knows how to torture you with.

Only, it seems that all your sudden noise and movement have finally begun to affect Xavier. Not enough to wake him, but enough that you can hear his breathing become heavier, following your every twitch and buck from Rafayel’s onslaught as his body begins to grind into yours.

Mumbling into your neck, Xavier’s hand tightens around your waist before slipping under your shirt to palm your breasts, squeezing and kneading until the touch has you keening.

Xavier's still fast asleep, nonsensical words slurred against your skin, and yet his body is now far from it. His erection is thick and heavy against your hips, grinding desperately into your warmth almost in time to Rafayel’s ministrations, whimpering under his breath with every forceful thrust.

Rafayel notices too, his gaze drifting up to the blond. You can't see his face, already busied between your legs once more, but a pleased hum vibrates through his entire body, fingers finally slipping into your cunt as he curls them just right, your back arching off the sheets with a silent scream.

Xavier whines at your sudden thrashing, tugging you closer and unknowingly forcing you immobile and at complete mercy to Rafayel’s unfairly skilled fingers. "Mhm, so warm. Please, m’want to..." Another needy, slow grind against you follows his sleepy request.

"Rafayel," you choke out a muffled plea, but his eyes only narrow, taking a breath as his free hand grabs at Xavier's ass, the touch just light enough to tease and make him rut harder against you.

"What is it, cutie? Don't pretend like you don't want more, not when your pretty pussy's drooling for his cock. She’s so needy, am I not enough?”

Rafayel rests his head on the inside of your thigh, fingers thrusting roughly into that sweet spongy spot inside you just as his other hand wraps around the base of Xavier's cock through his boxers, thumbing over the pre-cum staining the dark fabric.

You're forced to bite down on the pillow beneath your head to stop the desperate cry tearing itself out of your throat. "This isn’t- ah- isn’t right."

"Isn't it? You’re dripping and the little bunny’s still asleep, yet look how desperate he is, rutting against you." Rafayel's voice dips, a raspy edge from his throat still fucking into you making it even more sinful, slurping everything you give him around his fingers before it drips down his wrist and into a puddle below. A huff, “I should get rewarded with how much effort I’m putting in.”

You cry out, legs trembling as his thumb begins its relentless attack on your clit, tracing mindless circles just random enough to keep you on edge. You're close, and Rafayel can feel it.

Xavier isn’t faring much better, whimpering a string of incoherent pleas into the crook of your neck as his hips keep rocking into the fist around him. He doesn't take his mouth away from the skin of your shoulder, biting down on it as he cums, shuddering and whimpering as the mess splatters down Rafayel's knuckles and onto your thighs.

“You’re next. If you won’t be honest with me, I’ll make your body is.” Rafayel’s taunt is the last coherent thing you remember before you come. Hard. His words ring against your skull as his fingers pump into you faster, and the pressure against your clit becomes almost unbearable, and you're falling apart, crying and thrashing, the only thing keeping you grounded is the feeling of Rafayel's weight and the scent of Xavier's strawberry shampoo, and then—

Rafayel finally shuts up to let you ride his face through your high, letting you use him as your thighs lock around his head, grinding desperately as though he were no more than a toy. No chance of breathing, no chance of escape.

Not that he could care less, not as long as he could keep his lips around your gushing cunt, humming and sucking into your release as cum sprays over his tongue and down his chin. Gods, he could never get enough of this.

You're still shaking through your orgasm, pliant and stupid from the dizzying pleasure, that you don't notice the rustle of sheets until a second pair of hands slide down your thighs.

"You’re doing this without me?"

Xavier’s voice is a whisper, husky from sleep and his orgasm as he presses a kiss right below your ear, fingers squeezing rougher against your breasts.

"S-sorry. Didn't want to wake you," you try, biting back a gasp when his thumb flicks over a nipple. Rough. Mean.

Rafayel snorts. "I think it's a bit too late for that.” A glare at Xavier over your leg, showing off your cum still dripping from his lips and fingers. ”Besides, I didn't need you."

You want to argue, really, but then Xavier is grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging just hard enough to push your head back, coaxing a moan from your throat as he marks down your neck with kisses intending to bruise. He’s pouting, grabbing your jaw as he forces your gaze away from Rafayel, nipping your bottom lip until you surrender to his drowsy advances.

“Why…” Another kiss before Xavier's licking desperately into your mouth, “Why didn't you wake me?"

The question comes out a little breathless, almost petulant, eyes hooded and dark as he looks over the mess Rafayel has made of you. He can't tear his eyes away, watching Rafayel even as he kisses you. His fingers flick over your nipple again, twisting and pinching until you're shaking, your thighs squeezing Rafayel's face, all while Xavier watches.

Said man only smiles, all smug arrogance. "Didn't you hear her, Xav? She said she didn't want to wake you, so don't blame me."

Rafayel drags a wet, open-mouthed kiss over your cunt, the overstimulation making you break the kiss with a gasp.

"Liar." Xavier's voice trembles, and you can't tell if he's referring to Rafayel's words, or the way he's staring longingly at Rafayel's lips now, still slick with your release. "You just wanted her all to yourself."

He doesn't bother giving Rafayel a chance to retort, taking the punishment out on you as he dips his head underneath your folded-up shirt, groaning as his hot tongue rolls over your nipple, sucking at the stiff peak as his hand continues to assault the other. The onslaught has you whimpering, pushing and clawing against Xavier’s shoulder to try and fight him off as he refuses to let go for even a moment.

Rafayel's not one to be ignored, not when he has the advantage, and his tongue is back to fucking into your cunt with no reprieve, a cruel smirk on his face as you writhe and beg for their mercy.

Your hips roll, torn between pleasure and oversensitivity, unable to escape either of the men. It's overwhelming. Too much, too quickly, you only just came and you're already getting dragged back.

"Ah! Stop, I'm already mhm—"

You're interrupted by Xavier's tongue slipping into your mouth, a filthy, lazy slide that makes you grind up into Rafayel's tongue. It's like he doesn't even need to breathe, the wet, sloppy sounds of him eating you out drowned out only by the sound of Xavier kissing you senseless, pausing just to nip and suck at your breasts as though he'll get rewarded if he just tries hard enough.

"You want him to stop? Is the mermaid not enough to satisfy you, princess?" Xavier taunts, lips brushing against your ear as his hips push up, grinding his cock against your thigh. "If that's the case, perhaps we should switch. I can give you exactly what you want, remember?"

“Shut up, I’m the one making her cum.”

“Only cause I wasn’t awake yet.”

“You snooze, you lose. Whose fault is that? Oh ya, yours.”

They're at each other's throats yet again, practically clawing and snapping at each other, and you're helpless to try and intervene when they take their faux anger out on your poor abused body.

You can't think, can't focus, can't do anything but shake and pant and sob into the pillow, their combined weight on top of you, forcing your pleasure higher and higher.

“Xav—" He cuts you off with a kiss.

“Shh, just take it."

You can't even tell who’s sloppier anymore- Xavier fucking your mouth with his tongue or Rafayel still eating you through your second orgasm, the sudden hit of it thundering down your body.

“You look so pretty when you come," Xavier moans into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and glazed, hand coming up to stroke your cheek as he watches you, a sharp contrast to the other still rolling against your swollen nipple, loving the way you jerk into his touch. Then a glare to the man below. "My turn.”

Your body is still trembling, Rafayel's merciless fingers not allowing you to come down from your high, aftershocks of hypersensitivity crashing down your spine as every muscle spasms. No more. No more, please. You can’t possibly come again.

You don't realize you’re begging out loud, not until Xavier shushes you with another bruising kiss.

But it doesn't seem like Rafayel has any plans on stopping, not until Xavier’s hand skims down your thighs and yanks him up by the chain of his necklace.

Rafayel growls as he's practically forced off your weeping cunt, eyes bleary and unfocused as he fights the blond's grip. And god, he looks absolutely wrecked, spit and cum dripping from his mouth and chin, connecting his lips to your pussy in sticky wet strands before they break, and you feel the unmistakable bulge of his cock straining against his soaked boxers.

Xavier yanks him forward, pulling the necklace chain until he crashes his lips onto Rafayel's, all teeth and tongue, desperate to get a taste of your cum from his mouth. It's filthy, and Rafayel is the first to give in, still drunk off your taste and now Xavier's too.

"Mhm, you taste like her," Xavier whispers, pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed together, his mouth still moving against Rafayel's swollen, parted lips.

"Ya?" Rafayel’s grin is predatory, all fang and sin. "You wanna try too, don’t you? Give in then, bunny, lie down for us.”

"I don't take orders from you."

Xavier scowls against Rafayel's lips, but you can feel his resolve breaking, his arm trembling where it rests against your thigh.

"No, you take them from her, and she asked us so, so nicely to make her come. You wouldn't dare deny her that, would you?”

The Lemurian is nothing if not dangerously persistent, one hand coaxing Xavier backward so gently you don’t think he realizes how easily he’s falling, the other clawing down his abs as Rafayel bites against the erratic thud of Xavier’s pulse. Sharp and bruising, a silent promise for what to come. "Or do you wanna eat her out like I did? Have her ride your face while I fuck into her poor, desperate cunt? I can't decide, there are so many options."

“No.” It’s more a plea than a demand. Xavier's voice shakes with need, and you watch, dizzy and panting, as Rafayel's fingers slip underneath the waistband of Xavier's boxers. His fingers, still dripping with your cum, brush down the length of his cock, thumb circling the sensitive head and smearing the copious amount of pre-cum leaking from it. “You had y-your turn.”

He can hardly finish his objection, not when Rafayel’s thumb comes up to abuse his leaking slit, Xavier’s words slurring into a desperate whine as he practically collapses back onto his elbows. Immediately, Rafayel is atop him.

"A competition, then." Rafayel leans down to whisper into Xavier's ear, but the words are purposefully teased out loud enough for you to hear, “But you lose if you cum first, and I get to fuck her.”

It's a low blow, a challenge he knows Xavier can't turn down.

A challenge that somehow has you poised once again as the torment and the reward.

And it's true, because the second the words register, the blond's eyes shoot open, and his cock jerks violently against Rafeyel’s palm, a broken sound leaving his lips as his eyes lock back onto yours with all the promise of a starving hunter.

"Deal.”

Xavier doesn't allow the agreement to go without a price. Something snaps, the bedroom flickering with a sudden darkness as all the light vanishes.

One moment, you’re lying against the bed, and the next Xavier manhandles you to your knees, one hand forcing your arms behind your back as he tugs you against him, the other pinning Rafayel to the mattress.

Rafayel’s the very picture of smug sin, the feral expression far more genuine, less threatening and much more amused as he nestles further into the pillows, one arm tucked lazily behind his head.

Cold fingers dance up your hips, and Rafayel drags your bare cunt over his thighs and onto his lap, a pleased sigh escaping his lips as you're pinned deliciously between his cock and Xavier's sculpted back.

"So needy, little bunny."

"Shut up. I'm not the one who's leaking."

Rafayel snorts, and before the two can start fighting again, you're leaning forward, a hand resting against Rafayel's abs as you cup his erection through his boxers. And when he moans you believe every myth, every fairytale singing the doom of sailors to a siren song, because every sound he gives you is addictive and sweet enough that you’d drown to hear it again.

Pulling Rafayel's cock out from his boxers, you’re stunned yet again by the slightly non-human beauty of it, heavy and thick in your palm, the flushed, ruddy tip already drooling precum as you thumb at it in vengeance. You know Xavier's watching from the way his own cock twitches against your back, hands digging bruises into your hips. Then, the warmth at your back disappears.

Instead, a pair of hands drag your ass up, forcing you into a deep arch as you scramble for purchase against Rafayel’s thigh and the bed below.

“Closer.” Xavier’s hand laces into your hair as he pushes your head down, forcing your mouth to nuzzle against the base of Rafayel's cock.

The movement pulls a gasp from both of you, your hot breath teasing the sensitive skin of Rafayel's shaft and forcing a shudder from his entire body.

Seeing the two of you completely at his mercy does terrible, horrible things to Xavier, and his fingers dig bruises into your hips as it takes him everything not to forgo the competition and fuck you right there.

"Good girl,” he hums, voice trembling as his grip tightens against your hair, giving you a harsh glare when you whine and squirm in his hold. "Now open."

You can't bring yourself to say no, not when the sight of Rafayel's eyes rolling back the second you do makes your stomach clench. His cock twitches against you as you lick at the copious amounts of cum leaking from his tip, then obediently wrap your lips around him.

With a smile that would have you shaking, Xavier leans down, barely able to continue guiding your head as he’s entranced with the mess between your legs, licking up the slick dripping down your thighs as he sucks against the delicate flesh, marking right over the sensitive bruises Rafayel had only just left behind.

“This- hah-” Rafayel curses under his breath, the single word breaking off into a moan, the sound muffled by his palm as his chest heaves. “This is hardly fair.”

But his complaints feel half-hearted, not with the way he’s already rutting into your mouth, Xavier’s iron grip keeping you in place as Rafayel thrusts himself into your mouth in one breath. You yield pathetically quick, flattening your tongue against the slick underside of his cock, another stream of pre-cum flooding your mouth as you nearly choke on it all, unable to pull off to even take a breath as Xavier guides your head up and down in a steady rhythm that has Rafayel falling apart.

It’s cruel, but you can't help each pathetic moan that gets muffed onto Rafayel’s cock, the vibrations forcing his back to arch off the bed, head rolling back as it thuds against the pillows, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps in shallow breaths.

You almost wish he would let you see his eyes, but then you'd miss the view of his chest, every muscle tight and twitching under his skin, the mesmerizing sight now blurry from the tears forming in your eyes. You can't resist reaching up, dragging your nails down his abs, watching his body jerk against every new line of red.

"Please,” you're not sure if the broken whimper belonged to Rafayel or yourself. “Please, I can't wait anymore, wanna feel you— fuck— wanna fill you up again, please let me cum." It's like just the very thought has Rafayel keening, his hips jerking up into your hot mouth with reckless abandon as Xavier forces your spine up into a deeper arch.

You're nearly bent in half, the new angle leaving no part of you hidden from Xavier's hungry gaze as he watches you practically drool over Rafayel’s cock, lips meeting his pelvis as he breaches your throat.

Xavier’s going to win. He needs to win.

The thought makes him frantic, tongue fucking past the tight resistance of your cunt, his hand sliding up to tease at your clit. He won't be the one to finish first, not this time. Not when he's wanted nothing more than to feel your cunt gushing around him ever since Rafayel woke him up, ever since the two of you had the audacity to start this without him.

Rafayel can’t last much longer, especially not when you bring one shaking hand down to massage his swollen balls, hardly in control of your own movements as you feel dizzy on the addictive combination from the lack of oxygen and pleasure as Xavier begins to eat you out like a man starved.

The room’s filled with the sounds of each slick, messy movement, whimpers from the man beneath you and breathless pleas from the one behind, bed rattling with every thrust.

And yet you’re still so painfully empty. So, so, empty as your cunt flutters around Xavier’s tongue before he relents to kiss your clit once more, dragging a dissatisfied whine from you as you fight yourself off Rafayel’s cock.

"F-fuck me. Please," A sob, and you feel both Rafayel and Xavier shudder. "It’s not enough. Want your cocks inside me, wanna cum on it. Need it, please-"

Oh, and when you beg like that, they should have known they never would have stood a chance.

"Shit."

"Ah, please-"

It's a blur. A rush of hands, of pleasure and pain, all of it colliding and dragging you to the edge. The room spins, the ceiling above you falling until the familiar, comforting feeling of slick muscle embraces you, grounding you as you focus on the erratic heartbeat between each ragged exhale.

You're still sandwiched between them, lying on Rafayel as Xavier's weight drapes across your back, head propped up on the former's chest as you stare blearily at his silver pendant, unable to move. You're not even sure if you can, not with the way Xavier's still gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading you open as he forces one leg higher up.

Then, the blunt head of his cock grinds between your folds.

Xavier’s pressing his forehead against your back, wrapping his arms around you before biting into the crook of your neck. "You mean it? You’ll let us come inside again?"

Rafayel laughs, a raspy sound still raw from his orgasm. "Well, we both lost. Now what, bunny? We can't just leave her like this, poor thing is trembling."

"Mhm,” Xavier forces you up, “We both fuck her then."

His words only make you whimper, body jerking uselessly against Xavier's grip. His hands lift you as Rafayel flips you around so you're now facing the blond, flinching violently as his cock brushes your swollen clit, any semblance of protest quelled as Xavier pulls you into another messy kiss.

It’s demanding, Xavier mumbling achingly sweet praises into your open mouth as he begins to press you down, faster, harsher, forcing you onto Rafayel’s lap in a reverse cowgirl as you slide down slowly, taking inch by inch of Rafayel’s throbbing cock. There’s hardly any blue left in Xavier’s blow-out pupils, too mesmerized by the slick mess you’re gushing down their thighs. And just when you begin to squirm, impatient and desperate, Xavier slows their pace even more.

"Shhh, we need to make sure you'll be able to take both of us."

Rafayel's hand is wrapped around your waist, thumb rubbing small circles into your stomach, and if it weren't for Xavier's arms locked around you, holding you upright, you would have collapsed the second Rafayel pressed into the spot his fingers had found.

"Look at you," he purrs, a low sound that has you gasping. "So pretty when you’re needy. Can you feel me?"

It's hard not to. Everywhere feels warm, and every slow thrust, no matter how gentle, has a small burst of ecstasy building in your stomach, a wave crashing higher and higher as the two of them slowly fuck you full. Just as you’re nearly seated all the way onto Rafayel’s length, Xavier’s palms come up to the back of your knees, folding them up and forcing you backward until you’re practically lying prone atop of Rafayel.

Your head lolls uselessly against Rafayel's neck, gasping at the force of the new position, and you're not sure if it's the tears in your eyes or the overwhelming pressure against your walls as they stretch around his cock that's making the world so blurry. Xavier soon follows you down, pressing you closer into Rafayel’s chest as his lips trail your jaw, your neck, your sucking against every sensitive spot behind your ears until you're distracted from the pain.

"You're doing so good, princess. Just a little more."

The sudden onslaught of pressure of both of you atop him has Rafayel flinching, and he hisses out a pained moan, hips jerking up into the slick heat of your pussy, and it's only Xavier's grip that keeps the two of you from slipping off.

"Hah- hurry up-" Rafayel's eyes are glassy, his head tipped back and face twisted in pleasure.

Strings of incoherent pleas are whispered against your ear, Rafayel marking up the left side of your neck while Xavier’s still busy with the right, that is, until Xavier switches sides, biting right over Rafayel’s marks until he’s pulled up into a desperate kiss.

The wet sounds of their lips are filthy and obscene, each hot breath and moan brushing past your ear as you writhe, pressed between them. Rafayel's cock is already swelling, twitching against the fluttering walls of your pussy, unwilling to fully pull out, settling to just grinding up in slow, cruel thrusts before something in him snaps and he switches to pounding against your abused walls.

Every time you think you’ll finally come Rafayel switches pace, the obscene slap of skin on skin muffled only by your sobs and their kissing.

You’re close, so so fucking close you feel your muscles begin to shake. Xavier only pushes you down further, every angle a new cruelty, smothering you between them, rendering you unable to do anything but take it.

Again, Rafayel slows, and you slur curses down at him as your thighs tremble from overstimulation, shaking violently until you feel something grab your calf. Xavier massages the quivering muscle, gentle until he’s suddenly pressing your knee higher and higher, going until it’s pinned to the mattress up against your head.

And now Rafayel is hitting impossibly deeper, abusing your poor g-spot with each thrust.

Xavier kisses your ankle, then calf, making his way up your leg until he can nip at your inner thighs now folded over his shoulder. And then you feel the pressure of his cock at your already full entrance. Xavier’s hand dips down between your bodies, trying to bully himself in alongside Rafayel, but his cock slides past your navel, slick and covered in your combined cum.

"No, no no, not gonna fit- ah- Xavier!"

Your words break off into a wail as he tries again, grinding closer so you’re tightly cradled between the two, Xavier leaning fully atop you both. A snarl grits through his jaw when his cock slips past again, readjusting you so your legs fall apart wider, the burn in your thighs turning delicious and overwhelming, pussy weeping around Rafayel’s cock as Xavier’s swollen, leaking head bumps against your clit.

Xavier watches the mess, every thrust and messy squirt of cum, brows furrowed and flushed a deep red, as he whines into your shoulder, "Please- can't stop- please let me fuck you too, you'll look so pretty with both of us filling you up, taking us so good- don’t make me stop."

He’s reduced to babbling against your neck, biting down hard enough to bleed when your cunt finally yields to him too, cockhead bumping into Rafayel’s as he slowly pushes in inch and inch, trembling from the combined pleasure of your walls and the violent throbbing of every vein now grinding together.

It's too much, it’s not enough, the stretch and the friction and the pressure leaving you fucked stupid, hands scrambling for purchase. Rafayel grunts when your nails drag across his thighs, his own hands coming to latch onto your wrists, pinning them above his head, forcing you motionless between them.

You can do nothing but sob, tears streaming down your face as your entire body convulses. And when they finally, finally bottom out together, the world goes white.

"Shh, you're alright," Rafayel soothes, although his voice is trembling, the sound broken as he tries to catch his breath. "Doing so well for us, cutie, so perfect."

Xavier growls, his hands grabbing the headboard. He's barely holding on, not with the way Rafayel's cock twitches against his own, your hot walls clenched tightly around the two of them as you beg.

"Please, can't- too much, more, I need-"

There's a broken sob, and then Xavier’s slamming his hips forward, fucking into you with a brutality he usually saves for Rafayel, the force sending the three of you rocking against the mattress, headboard splintering under the strength of his grip. The other leaves to thumb at your nipples, lips following suit as he rambles, drunk off your pussy, "These would look s'pretty filled, even more sensitive. Bet you'd let us milk you, fill you up even more."

"And here, you'll feel us here too, won't you?" A hand moves lower- whose you no longer are coherent enough to care- brushing over the swell of your abdomen, the slight bulge appearing and disappearing where both of them are thrusting violently into you. "Be a waste not to. Imagine it, a painted mess filled with us.”

And you are. You can't think about anything else, not with the way they're stuffing you full— every time Rafayel's cock would settle near your g-spot Xavier’s would ram back in, forcing the former up against your cervix before pulling out entirely, repeating the vicious rhythm as the pain bled into pleasure.

Tears stream down the side of your face, room spinning into dizziness until all that remains are the burning trails of their touch, the only things keeping you grounded.

Rafayel's sucking into your shoulder, biting the sweat-slicked flesh, and you can feel his hips begin to stutter underneath you, already reaching his high despite Xavier still pounding into you with the same intensity, desperate to catch up.

The moment Xavier feels Rafayel's release, it's over. Your back arches up against him, convulsing against their hold, your abused walls clenching down so tightly that you’re practically begging for them to come inside, sucking them in deeper and deeper until it’s impossible for them not to follow.

It's a violent orgasm, hot squirt of your cum drenching Xavier’s abs, the intensity of it causing Rafayel’s vision to white out too, unable to hear the desperate sounds of your moans, not when his blood is rushing past his ears.

Then, the world comes crashing back.

Rafayel’s panting, still thrusting weakly into the slick, tight heat as he emptied himself inside you, the sheer overload of it gushing down your legs and onto the sheets.

"Ah- Xavier," you whine, the sound muffled into his chest as Xavier continues to chase after his high, too lost in his late orgasm to pull out.

The overstimulation is torture, your body twitching and trembling with every sloppy thrust. The moment he finally pulls out, the mess follows, thick, white rivets leaking down your thighs, the sheer volume near damn concerning had you the capacity to focus on it.

Rafayel laughs, fingers swirling through the cum as though painting your thighs, "That's not going to be easy to clean up."

"S'gonna look pretty. Messy. Full." Xavier murmurs, still pinning the both of you beneath him as he collapses in exhaustion, fingers dancing over the small swell in your stomach. Pressing lightly, he watches in fascination as their mixed cum gushes out faster, and you whimper, gripping his wrists to stop before they get any more ideas.

You're not sure what's worse, the fact that they're both still hard and the way they're looking at you, or the fact that their words have your exhausted body already trying to recover, a shiver running through your sore muscles as the room's cool air brushes over the slick, sticky mess between your thighs.

"You're both so disgusting," you groan, the words coming out slurred and barely audible.

"You love it."

"Yeah," Xavier's agreement is soft and almost hesitant. "You love us."

"Yes, I love both of you. Now get the fuck off of me." A shove, your shaking arm barely affecting Xavier as he finally relents, a small smile on his lips as he rolls the three of you down into the bed, resting on your sides.

The muscles in your thighs scream in relief as they’re finally placed down, every inch of your body sore and marked up in one way or another, every visible bruise and bite getting pampered in faux apologies by the two men snuggling up next to you.

It’s a tangle of limbs, Xavier already claiming your chest again as he nuzzles into your breasts while Rafayel simply curls himself around your back. A hand there, an arm there, and a little more muffled bickering. Yet you all fit together, and sleep comes easy now.

And the nightmares never return.

5K notes · View notes

yandere-wishes · 2 months ago

Text

⭒ㅤׂ Do You Think We'll Be In Love Forever? ㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 ♡ ｡゜

𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

He's mesmerized by the sight of you between his arms. Definite little doll smiling up at him through tear-soaked eyes. He floods your essence with saccharine kisses, sweet vows, and anguished 'I love yous' all paying testimony to his sugar-laced obsession. He's desperate to taste your sweetness on his tongue, lick through your flesh like a lollipop, and unravel your bones with his teeth.

He had been so young once, chasing virtue and strength into every dark alleyway, following bats and hope into vicious nights. Back then, he hadn't understood his mentor's desperation for paper-thin kisses and phony love. But now feeling the push of your body beneath his fingertips makes him understand how satisfying real love can be. To observe you in the sun's gentle rays. To feel your body curled next to his on cold nights. He plays hero under the moon's watchful gaze only to return home to you upon daybreak.

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب قرمز - جیسون تاد

He glides your fingers across his scars, shuddering under the weight of your touch. Stardust cauterizes ancient wounds, licking away the rotten grime. Jason clenches his teeth, there's something so intimidating about the softness of your touch. It stings worse than any crowbar or bullet wound, intruding, harrowing. It's almost like you're plucking the constellations of his past from under his skin, trying to rearrange the stars into something cathartic.

He can't help the hapless way his nails scratch across your bones, the gurgling laugh that escapes his throat. You're Elizabeth Lavenza and Ophelia trying to mend a broken boy, with your wry smile and terrified eyes. Jason traces his lips across yours, his kiss is ravenous, frantic. Faux-hero desperate for an inkling of love, of bliss, of softness.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلحشور آرکام - جیسون تاد

He likes to think he's shed his human skin long ago. Left it to die in that burning warehouse with his old mask and youth. But when he hears your laughter, that haunting echo reverberates off the edifice walls. He can't help but think maybe, just maybe a trace of humanity still lingers beneath his armor. Your smile glares at him in every carmine puddle he treks through. He dreams it's your blood marring his gauntlets, syrupy sweet as he licks them clean. Daydreams about your ethereal face painted in reds and purples by his iron-clad hands.

His kisses are razor blades cutting through your lips, forcing his love down your throat, and watching as you choke on the rust and ache. He's trying to merge two bodies into one void, to engulf you. Mirror his scars upon your flesh with dull knives and jagged fingernails. He kisses you again, you swear you're going to drown in his sea of red. Maybe that's all the love he has left. He

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

He plays hero in the night, little bird chasing villains and evil by moonlight. When he blinks it's you he sees lying on the couch watching TV. He's starting to think you're his favorite show, afterall your window is about the size of a flat-screen TV and he's always too eager to peak through for the next screening. Episode 84, you're hugging your favorite teddy bear, lost in euphoria as your knuckles turn white around the controller. Tim watches heart in his throat as you claw out the boss's eyes. Sanctimonious champion vying to save the holy princess.

Tim bites his fingers, addresses each tooth mark to you. He pens his love letters upon his own skin, sealing them in red when he finally punctures through. Maybe life is just a video game, an endless kaleidoscope of cutscenes. And he's just a besotted hero dying to kiss the precious princess who doesn't even know he exists.

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

His heritage pounds between his bones. The deja vu of an ancestral lifetime runs rapid through his veins as he chases you across the rooftops. His father, his mother, his brothers, always chasing, running after things they know they'll never reach. Your blades clash against his and Damian can't help but wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to kissing you.

You leave him with paper cuts that feel like venom, like saying 'I love you' while chewing on his bones. He ponders, does his father have the same scars, if Damian pulled away Bruce's skin what would he find? Kittycat claws and dragon bites engraved in the nth-wielded ivory. He feels legacy clawing at his throat as he pictures your fingers between his teeth. Tears blooming in your eyes as he uses diamonds and ceremonial knives to engrave his name upon your flesh. Dotting the I with a heart and entwining each letter. God, he's so tired of being lonely...

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

He can't help but pick you apart, chip away at the bones and flesh until he reaches your essence. Dissecting your heart with his tongue and savoring the ichor between his teeth. He's the world's greatest detective and yet he can't unravel his own ardor. This mania, this addiction festering within his crux gnawing at his sanity until every thought is consumed by the cadence of your voice and the stars scintillating in your big doe eyes. This desperate need burning inside of him are you really divinity? Will you bleed glod, if he tears you apart with his teeth?

You're so ethereal squirming beneath, kicking and screaming vying desperately for freedom. He's fought this love for far too long, tried to preserve you in the light. Cover your eyes and ears and make you forget about the monsters that roam in the dark. But he can't not anymore, maybe he never could. Maybe the only way he knows how to love is by trickling his darkness like nectar between your lips and watching as it paints you in his shades.

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

His kisses melt into your skin sweet like molten sugar drizzled on jasmine rice. Like lava smothering roses, leaving a trail of fragranced ashes. Clark smiles and he notices how you cover your eyes. Like you're staring directly into the sun. Like you're scared of being burnt. Clark can't help but bury his head in the crock of your neck, inhaling your ather. Molten roses and floral ashes he likes the amalgamate of your scents. Like how his presence lingers upon you.

He holds you like a doll, like the little straw dolls his mother used to make. It's easy to be gentle, coddling when everything is so fragile compared to you. He kisses down your neck, your jaw, nuzzling his nose into your soft skin, trying to earn a giggle a gold star. Trying to wipe the fear from your eyes. He kisses you again, mumbling cloying words between your lips, wishing he could just push his love between your fragile bones.

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپربوی - کانر کنت

He's fighting back the urge to peel your heart from between your ribs. To trail kisses across it and marr his lips with your ether. He wonders if your heart beats as frantically as his. He wonders if your ribs rattle when he enters a room.

He wants to push little superboy earings into your ears, to lay upon you the piercings he could never have. It'll be his way of telling the world you belong to him, that you belong to Superboy. And yet he settles for draping his leather jacket across your shoulders when senses a shiver run up your spine. He settles for the friendly hugs and airy hello-kisses. He wants to say he's he loves you. he can't. It's all so annoying, tasting the dead words on his tongue.

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

He's scaping his nails along the Hershey's kisses re-aligning the red blue and gold wrapping. It'll be obvious, right? If he leaves them in your locker you'll understand the colored metaphor you'll answer the question he can never ask. You'll know it's him, everyone always does, for the byproduct of the world's greatest hero, he's terrible at keeping his identity a secret.

He blames it on the legacy flooding his lungs. On the promises that beat in his blood. He's born to be a hero, to play the role of savior, but aren't heroes promised love too? Aren't they meant to save the girl from burning skyscrapers and crumbling sidewalks, to fly above the skyline and kiss her in tune with the setting sun? He's so desperate for the sweet fairytale ending, so desperate to kiss the girl who always knows just what to say. He leaves the chocolate in your locker before making a dent in the metal door.

˚｡⋆🪙⋆ ˚｡ Two Face - Harvey Dent | دو چهره - هاروی دنت

He can taste your pain on his tongue, swallow the barbed wire, and relish in the familiar sting of hope, expectation, responsibility. Maybe that's why he can't stop himself from chasing after you. Burning the world demanding you stop him, desperate for a silver of your deficit attention. God, you're so ethereal with his gun aimed at your head, his pretty little girl with big starry eyes laced with dread as they follow the cascade of his coin. 'I know' he wants to scream 'I know what it feels like' but the words never quite spill out that way. And Harv only laughs at his foolish attempts to play hero once more. Sanctimonious bastard, the words reverberate in his skull.

You may claim to be a hero but Two-face knows you'll fall, plunder to the ground like all the rest, that's what happens when you reach for the sky, deem yourself Icarus, and let the flames of glory engulf you until there's nothing left. 'You can't save them' Harv screams only for Harvey to hear. They want to get closer, to slip the coin between your lips and make you taste defeat, maybe then you'll understand why he's so keen on fighting you out of your crusade. Maybe then you'll take their hand willingly, letting them sprinkle kisses across your knuckles like dying stars.

˙⋆☠︎︎⋆˙ Black Mask - Roman Sionis | نقاب سیاه - رومن سیونیس

He wants to cut out your big heart and sink his teeth into it, engrave himself in every vein, and chew on the heartstrings. HIM he needs to be the only one in that plushie heart of yours. The only one with the right to be graced by your ethereal smile. He wants to awaken to your soft nimble fingers tracing hearts and stars across his chest. Pretty pink lips weaving feathery kisses across the scar of his pacemaker. Giggles tickling his neck as you bid him 'good morning' in that all too cheery voice of yours.

Roman almost moans as he hears his name spill from your mouth, each letter cradled carefully between your lips he can't help but want to push his thumb inside your mouth, to feel your purity and shock. There's so much he wants to call you so much he wants to whisper in your ear as he watches your cheeks glow red. To hold you in his lap and trail his fingers across your legs, to dress you in pretty dresses and short skirts and skin-tight tops. To taste the fear and dread on your tongue palpable like the blood he draws with every kiss.

༄✩༄ Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane | مترسک - جاناتان کرین

He likes the stars in your eyes, the mini constellations spelling out your greatest fears. The tears blooming in the corners of your dopey eyes have his lips twitching. You're so gorgeous like this, curled up on the floor trying to make sense of such an eerie world. Jonathan doesn't anoint himself a fool, he knows it's chimeric to think that you'd love him without the toxin, without the heavy drugs he's spilled into your veins. That's why he keeps you like this, scared and depressed. Always in need of him.

What's your greatest fear? He wonders when you tuck your head between your knees and sob all so quietly as to not disturb him. Is it him you see in your grandest nightmares? Is it the mask jumping at you from within the darkness, or is it Professor Crane abandoning you in such a macabre world? Mask on mask off it makes no difference. He just hopes he's the star of every nightmare, as long as you fear him as much as he fears losing you.

｡??｡ Riddler- Edward Nygma| ریدل - ادوارد نیگما

It's frivolous to think he will not solve this riddle. That he will no unearth this plague you have bestowed upon him. This fixation, this obsession, he needs to understand you, to peel away your skin and glimpse at your inner clock workings. To undo your screws one by one and find out what exists between that haunting laugh and those knowing vicious eyes. To rip apart your wires, and feed upon your mind. To understand, he needs to understand you.

He got close once when he had your neck under his shoe, but the evil lith of your laughter rings across the room and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved. He doesn't know what question to ask first. 'what have you done to me'? 'why do you think you're better than me?', 'Why don't you love me?' Instead, the silence shatters with your voice, proud melody rivaling his own, your eyes lock on him and he can't suppress his shutter. "Well Eddie, riddle me this. What can kill any man, but isn't even alive itself?"

⁺♡⁺ Deathstroke - Slade Wilson | مرگ سکته - اسلید ویلسون

You're like a shooting star, dancing across the night as you stalk his latest kill. Little asssasin, you know your stuff but he finds your thirst for ineage and morality both exhausting and honorable. Most people grow up and spit out their morals with blood and broken teeth. Let the world's cruel realities claw and gnaw at their skin until it's hardened enough to survive. He's yet to see you extend such a courtesy to the world, makes him think that pulling the trigger on you would be some sort of mercy. Bullet through the heart leaving your body coated in his essence and one final kiss pressed onto your paling lips.

He dosen't notice the inkling of you rattling around in his brain until he realizes that this is the eighth him he's seen you smile at the end of his barrel. Pretty little girl chasing after morals and sand, hoping to escape the endless night by spilling just a little more guilty blood. You look like some sort of ethereal doll, immortal in your innocence and vicious in your virtues. He can respect that, truly but Slade isn't naive enough to think you have what it takes to survive. Maybe that's why he wants all so badly to feed you his victim's hearts and eyes and livers, to push them past your pretty lips, staining them the deepest red. Watching your delicate throat constrict as you swallow everything he gives you. Reveling in the sensation of your greedy little tongue swirling around his fingers licking up the access gore. Can almost picture your smile and stupid little head tilt as you thank him for the 'candygrams'.

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

Respawn drowns in his love. Pulling apart his heart to lay at your feet. It's all he's ever known, broken boy built to harvest spare parts. But you don't look at him like that, you don't even look at him like an assassin. No, you smile fondly as you nuzzle his neck with your nose. You look at him the way his father used to, like he's actually worth something more. He's never quite kissed you, he's not even sure he knows how. Instead, he holds you close to his chest making sure you hear the dull patter of his jagged heart.

He's born from greatness, left to rot in the dark. He refuses to play pawn, anymore. So maybe that's why, when he finally kisses you -with all the grace of a schoolboy's first kiss- it's so desperate and erratic, clumsily licking your lips and nicking his tongue along your teeth trying to think what his father would do. His fingers dig into your arms, preassing prayers into your flesh, screaming 'Don't leave me, you're all I have left'.

⭑☽ Ghost-Maker - Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan | روح ساز - مینه خوا "خوا" خان

There's nostalgia in your essence, in your presence, something he can never wash away. He's grown addicted to the erratic reverbate of your pulse between his teeth. Kissing the bites he leaves marring your perfect body.

Why can't you just love him, let him haunt your every thought, and erode those pesky creeds, until he is the only thing you'll ever need? Khoa hates to admit it but he sees something in you, something so reflective of the little boy laying in the sand of the gobi desert, shooting phantom bullets and mocking stars. You scream every time he kisses you, recoil your tongue, and cry at the bitterness sweeping in. But Khao loves the challenge, the fight, loves forcing you into submission, even as your knife digs between his ribs. He's only ever content when your pith floods his mouth and your melodic voice rings through his ears. His precious little princess tucked away between his arms forever.

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

he never shows you his face. He blames it on his upbringing too used to old rules that he can never escape their clutches not even for you. His kisses are always clouds dancing across your skin, so light and airy they may as well be the wind. But tries to leave traces of himself with every kiss. Desperate pleas for you to look at him, to touch him, to love him back. All so he knows he's alive, still real enough to love.

He's always trapped between the land of the living and the realm of the deceased. Always so gentle with the love he's stolen, so careful to not break his lover, as his mentor did to him. He laces his fingers through your hair, sucks gently on the length of your neck, all while pushing 'I love yous' into your soul, marking you as his forever.

🎀𖹭🎀 : @your-yandere-kiss @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @nxdxsworld @lilyalone @neverano @natsukicookies @googeecat44 @starrydollita @mune-writes @a4g3lstarfire @yourhornysister @froggy-voidd @rissareader @6helpneeded9

@blacklunardice @princesstrunkz @mona1704 @testification

3K notes · View notes

monstersholygrail · 4 months ago

Note

very classic but summoning a demon to fuck you and he gets a little obsessed 🙏

Imagine Himbo Demon was one day just casually going about his business, torturing a mortal with the agonizing act of small talk when suddenly a flash of white explodes across his vision. The next thing he knows he’s standing in a magical circle of your own design and he can’t get out.

You ask if he’s an incubus and that’s when he notices the book in your hand, ‘How to Summon Incubi With Your Friends: The Party Guide.’ He also looks you over and notices how painstakingly pretty you are and thinks… he could be an incubus.

That night he has what he claims as the best sex of his eternal life, no doubt about it. The way your body moved as you rode him within an inch of his life made him swear he was being taken back to heaven. The way you tasted sweeter than the finest nectar till it burned permanently into his senses. Every last bit of you was addicting.

When the summoning spell’s time was coming to a close, the demon actually felt an ache at the idea of leaving you and your sweet, sweet holes. He tried to reach for you once more but with a flash of white he was back in hell. His heart and his cock aching for you.

The minute he can he’s scouring hell’s library for the book he saw in your grasp. He reads it like a man possessed, ironically, looking for the spell you must’ve used.

As he’s reading the book, an Incubus just so happens to look over at him. Sensing eyes on him he looks up and their gazes meet. The Incubus reads the cover of the book he has and his eyes widen. He begins slowly inching away from Himbo Demon before turning and quickly rushing off.

Himbo Demon tilts his head, curious as to why the Incubus gave such a reaction. But after a moment of brief confusion, he goes back to reading the book. His eyes brightening as he finds the spell.

That night he clumsily performs the spell. His mind foggy with lust. His cock red, angry, and dripping with precum as he thinks about drowning in your holes, lapping up your essence like it’s the only food he’ll ever need and then fucking you until you’re raw and swollen, only to soothe any pain with his tongue.

Himbo demon growls, reaching down and lazily stroking his cock with one hand and performing the spell with the other. Somehow by a true miracle, it works. He appears back in the same fading circle he appeared in last time. His eyes ignite with feral need and his gaze flickers around the low-lit room before a door opens and you come waltzing in wearing nothing but a towel.

“Miss me, baby?” He snarls in excitement, knowing now he has a way to keep coming back to you.

You yelp, jerking back against the wall in surprise. Not expecting the demon to be here again but you’re not exactly upset about it either. Himbo Demon smiles wickedly, but in truth he’s just so happy to see you! He moves at the speed of lightning and he’s on you in an instant. His tall lithe body caging you in against the wall. You exhale shakily, your body tingling with need and your belly churning with arousal as you glance down at his fat cock bobbing and dribbling with his own arousal.

The scent of you floods Himbo Demon’s senses and he growls, fangs flashing in the moonlight that peaks in from the window. Feeling beyond thrilled that the spell worked. That he can go to you whenever he feels like it now. So long as you keep the summoning circle up, that is. But he’s too focused on your new easy access to even try and realize that.

“Don’t worry, sweet human. I’ve found my way back to you and your glorious body. From now on we shall never be parted and I can properly fuck your weak mortal shell ragged as much as I desire. And there is much… much desire,” Himbo Demon rasps heatedly, looking down at you with a fire in his eyes.

Before you can even think to respond, the demon is shredding your towel into two, revealing your body to him in all its glory. He barely takes the time to appreciate the view and suddenly he’s pressing into, rubbing his length along the height of your belly.

And you know this is the start of a wild adventure. One you’re sure is bound to last more than another night.

5K notes · View notes

classyrbf · 5 months ago

Text

THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE WOODS! — GETO SUGURU

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE

SYNOPSIS...walking home from a halloween party, you decided to take a shortcut, but an eerie feelings creeps up your spine and it feels like eyes are watching your every move

INFO...stalker!geto x fem!reader, for the sake of the story everything is consensual, a fantasy between geto and reader, stalking, groping, fingering, ripping clothes, sex in the woods, choking, hair pulling, oral (m!receiving), deep throating, rough, name calling, degradation, slapping, spanking, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

kinktober 2024 masterlist

The wind howled in your ears and the moon was illuminating your every step home. You were cold, the costume that you had on was no help, shivering as you hugged yourself tightly. It was a stupid idea to go to a Halloween party without thinking of how you were going to get back home. Everyone was either drunk driving, or their cars were already filled with other passengers, and to put the cherry on top…your phone had died so you couldn’t call anyone to pick you up. You mentally cursed at yourself for staying so late in the first place, it had to be at least three in the morning. Everyone else was asleep and done with their trick or treating activities, lights off at every house in your sight.

“Fuck me,” you sighed, stopping when you came to a fork in the road. You took the left path knowing that it was a shortcut to your house and you didn’t plan on walking any longer than you needed to in these godforsaken heels. The wind brushed against your exposed skin, goosebumps climbing their way up your body. The further you stepped into the forest, darkness began to surround you. The large, twisted branches allowing very few rays of moonlight to shine through. Tall trees hovered over you, casting shadows. You’d be lying if you said this shortcut wasn’t one hundred times creepier at night compared to day.

Leaves rustled in the wind, branched snapped under your feet and you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder every five seconds to make sure no one was following you. It felt like eyes were watching your every movement, dark figures in the tree line stalking you like prey, waiting to pounce. “It’s all in your head,” you mumbled to yourself, walking faster. Though, your words were no help. Your eyes darted in every direction, barely paying attention to what was in front of you causing you to trip over a tree root sticking out. You fell to your knees, wincing in pain when you saw little blood droplet stain your stockings. “You gotta be kidding me,” you whined.

As you sat there on the floor trying to regain yourself, you heard a twig snap in the distance. With wide eyes, you got up as quickly as you could and looked around. “Hello?” You called out, your voice echoing through the forest. And just like that, you heard it again. Your feet moved before you could even think and you began to run as fast as you could in the shoes you were wearing. It would be better to take them off but you couldn’t stop now.

Your breathing quickened with each passing second and just a few feet behind you, you could hear footsteps. Fear struck your heart and you could only focus on the clearing up ahead. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it or if it was some animal, but you weren’t going to stop and check. Something didn’t feel right and that’s all you needed to know to get your ass out of here. The clearing was only so close now and your chest burned from the cold air that filled your lungs. Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears and the pain from your busted knee dissipated from the adrenaline rushing through you.

The streetlights came into view and just before you could make it, you felt a hard tug on your dress, a rough hand pulling you back into the darkness and covering your mouth as you screamed into it, squirming around in his tight grip. Each kick and punch to his body didn’t do a thing and the clearing soon began to grow smaller. “Shh, shh, shh.” His breath tickled your ear. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. He pushed you up against a tree, slowly appearing in your view. You couldn’t quite make out his face, but his tall silhouette, muscular frame, and long dark hair was quite obvious. “Promise me you won’t scream? If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.”

Your entire body was shaking, weak. You had no idea what was going to happen. You didn’t know if he had a weapon, but you didn’t want to find out the hard way. He slowly removed his from your mouth, and let out a chuckle with how hard you were breathing. “Please don’t hurt me,” you sniffled, tears pouring from your eyes. You felt your body was glued to the tree, any sudden movement would make you drop. “What do you want? I don’t have any money…here,” you handed him your phone, “take it, it’s all I have.” More tears streamed down your face.

He looked at your phone with disinterest before looking back up at you. “Don’t you recognize me?” He questioned. You meekly shook your head no. “I guess I did a good job then,” he laughed. “I thought you noticed me but I guess not.” He brushed his hand against your cheek, wiping away your tears. “I was watching you the whole night. Watching you get drunk, dance with your friends, kiss random strangers, and I kept thinking how pretty you were. Ever since you walked in that door.” He gripped your chin tightly, leaning in closely in the crook of your neck.

You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as he smelled you. “Please, let me go. I’ll do anything.” You weren’t sure if negotiating with him was going to work, but you were willing to do anything in order to just go home. But, he completely ignored you and continued rubbing up on you. His hands roamed freely, down your stomach and back, up to your tits where he gave them a squeeze. It wasn’t until he moved away from you that you saw some of his features. His chiseled face, and dark, narrow eyes, his slightly tan skin, and plump lips. His hair flowed with the wind, the leaves falling from above.

Within a split second, he pushed his lips onto yours, roughly kissing you, his tongue forcefully pushing inside your mouth. His hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you to the tree while his other hand reached under your dress to rub your cunt through your stocking and panties. You whimpered into the kiss, pulling away to catch your breath. “These are in the fucking way,” he grunted, ripping your tights with one hand. He pushed your panties to the side, smirking as he ran his finger up and down your slit. A small gasp left his lips when he could feel your juices coat his finger. “You’re wet. This turn you on? Being chased and caught in the woods so some stalker could fuck you?” His slipped his finger inside, watching the way your jaw fell open.

“You’re just as sick as I imagined,” he let out a deep chuckle, curling his finger inside of you before adding another. He still had you pinned against the tree with your legs spread, your dress bunched up at your waist while he thrusted his long, thick fingers inside of you. “You’re sucking my fingers right in.” A smirk formed at the corner of his lips, your pussy squelching the faster he went, your juices dripping down his fingers.

A small whine escaped your throat looking at the man in front of you. You weren’t sure whether to be scared or turned on. Maybe you were both. Was it wise to entertain this? That question ran through your head over and over. He leaned back towards your lips, hungry for another kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers. Without thinking, your arms wrapped around him as your legs grew weak, nearly falling from how good his fingers felt inside of you.

His dick strains against his slacks, damn near painful from how hard he was. “Get on the fucking floor.” He slips his fingers out from inside you, pushing you down to your knees and against the tree. You look up at him confused before he sticks his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself on your fingers. He’s quick to undo his belt, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers. Your eyes widen as his dick springs out, swollen red tip, and pulsating veins on either side of his shaft. Precum drips from the tip and he smears it over his cock, slowly jerking himself off to the sight of you sucking his fingers.

“Stick out that tongue for me, baby. Open up.” He removes his fingers from your mouth, grabbing a fistful of your hair before he slaps his heavy dick on your tongue. “Good fucking girl,” he sighs. He rubs his dick all over your face, slapping you with in, pushing it between your lips. He grips your hair tighter, pushing your head down onto his cock. “Fuckkkk,” he moans as feels your warm tongue rub along his shaft and your throat squeeze around him. You immediately gag as he goes further, eyes watering before you gag again, your nose touching his pelvis. “Stay just like that, don’t you fucking move.” He holds your head down for a few seconds before he lets go, allowing you to breathe.

You gasp for air, letting out dry coughs as he laughs at you. Strings of spit connect from your mouth to his dick, dripping down to his balls. His hand grips your hair again and you let out a pained whimper. “First time taking dick down your throat, huh?” He mocks you, stilling laughing in your face. You stare up at him with tearful eyes, wiping your mouth of all the spit. But before you could blink, a sharp pain spreads across your cheek, your head jolting to the other side. Did he just slap you? “Did I say you could wipe your mouth? No, no I don’t think I did. I like it messy, so get used it.” With force, he shoves his dick back in your throat.

You throat closes in around him again, gagging. Tears stream down your face as he fucks your mouth. Glug glug glug glug. You place your hands on his thighs in attempt to get him to slow down but he just goes harder, the back of head pushed against the tree and trapped between his thighs. He pushes your nose against his pelvis once more, spit dripping down your chin and from his balls. “Ugh, fuck! This throat feels so good!” His abs tense up and your eyes roll into the back of your head before he removes himself from your throat.

You’re coughing again, chest heaving up and down while you sit there on your knees trying to catch your breath. “Please, I can’t, my throat hurts.” Your brows furrow.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Someone’s gotta teach you how to suck dick properly, baby. I don’t give a fuck if your throat hurts,” he harshly says. He slaps his dick against your face, smearing your spit all over. “Come on, impress me.” He stares down at you with those dark eyes. You’re quick to understand that he wants you to suck his dick yourself. “Remember, I like it messy.”

Both hands wrap around his cock, jerking him off as you move your wrist in a circular motion, taking the rest of him in your mouth. Your tongue swirling around his head, gathering as much spit as you could. You look up at him, taking him slightly further down your throat before coming back up. “That’s it, keep those eyes on me. Don’t you dare fucking look away.” He grits his teeth, eyes rolling back when you bob your head up and down his shaft. Your jaw grows tired, pulling away to give yourself a break, your hands still gripping his length.

Streaks of mascara stain your cheeks, your lip stick smeared across your lips. He reaches down to pet your face, admiring the view. He can see that your scared, but he can also tell that you’re enjoying this. It only makes him want to get your blood pumping more. “Make me fucking cum. Put it back in your mouth.” He places his hand on the back of your head, pushing it down, your throat accommodating to his size. “You’re such a quick learner. Taking it like a fucking whore.” He bites down on his bottom lip, thrusting his hips at a sharp pace. “Open up that throat. Come on,” he growls.

You body jolts forward as you gag, your nails digging into his thighs as he pushes your nose against his pelvis. You can feel him twitch and pulsate in your throat and before you know it hot spurts of cum coat your throat. “Uh huh, fuck, fuck. Take it, baby. Mmmph!” His jaw goes slack, holding your head down until your slapping his thighs to breathe. Luckily, he lets you pull away after he drains all of his cum. You barely have time to recover before he’s snatching you back to your feet, spinning you around and pushing you against the tree. “Did such a good job sucking my dick. I wanna know if this pussy can do the same.” A swift slap to your ass makes you whimper, holding onto the tree for support while it scratches at your skin.

“Go slow, please,” you beg. You wish you would’ve never said anything because your words only added fuel to the fire. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone and slipping him that piece of information made him do the opposite of what you asked for.

“Go slow? Huh? No, no.” His hand snaked around your throat, pulling your back against his chest while he whispered in your ear. “I’ll do what I want with you.” He smacked your ass again, tearing off your panties and tossing them somewhere into the woods. “Say you want me to fuck you,” he ordered. You silently stood there in his arms, biting down on your bottom lip as you braced for whatever he was going to give you. “Say it!” He huskily whispered, rubbing his shaft up and down your sopping slit.

“Fuck me,” you meekly spoke.

“What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He kissed your jaw so softly, his other hand reaching down to toy with your puffy clit. He let out a blissful sigh as your moans, continuing to rub it in circles in such a teasing manner. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, please,” you said a little louder this time. “Ah!” A yelp left your lips when he slipped inside, pushing his entire length in, the burning stretch making you wince. “Oh fuck!” You whined. His thrusts were brutal, his cock reaching your deepest points. His arm wrapped your torso, holding you up while simultaneously pulling you back on his cock. The sudden sensation of him inside you became so overwhelming, you couldn’t help but squirm in his grip.

The sound of skin to skin echoed through the woods and your lewd moans along with it. Ripples of pleasure shot through every part of your body. Your hands reached out for the tree, finding stability to hold yourself up. His breath shuddered against your neck, desperate moans and grunts filling your ears. “You’re so fucking wet—nnngh fuck!” He growled. His fat tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, tears pricking your eyes before spilling over. Suddenly, he slowed down his thrusts, going harder and slower, allowing you to feel every throbbing inch.

“Ah!” You squealed when he slammed his hips against yours, only to slowly pull back out again. Each hard jolt of his hips sent your body forward, your knees already ready to give out. “Ah!” You screamed in pleasure, reaching down to grip onto his forearm.

His hand shot over your mouth, muffling your cries and moans. “Go ahead and scream, baby. You think someone is gonna hear you? It’s just me…and…you.” Each of his words were punctuated with hard thrusts. You moaned into his hand, your eyes screwed shut. He could feel you clench around him, letting out a blissful sigh. He pressed against you, going as deep as he could and stayed there. A sharp gasp escaped your throat, eyes widening as you tried to move your hips. “You’re mine now,” he breathily whispered.

“Mmph! Mmmph!” As he began pounding into you again your eyes rolled back, feeling him in the deepest parts of you. “Please, please, please,” you cried, voice breaking through your tears. Your mind grew hazy, too clouded to even think clearly. His thrusts were so sharp, so animalistic. He roughly grabbed your chin, forcing it in his direction before planting a hungry, sloppy kiss on your lips. Both of swallowed each others lewd moans, gasping for air between wet kisses.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” He rasped, staring into your eyes. All you could force was a nod. “Yeah? Gonna cum all over your stalkers dick, baby? Do it. Give it to me. Show me how dirty you are.” He pressed deeper, your entire body trembling. The feeling your pussy pulsating around him only fueled him to go faster, his grip on your entire body tightening while you came. “That it’s—f-fuck!” His voice trembled.

Your entire body quivered with pleasure, high pitched whines spilling from your lips, barely able to form proper words. His brutal pace sent your mind into a spiral. Each greedy stroke sent him closer to the edge, his thrust growing sloppier and his thoughts growing dirtier, thinking of filling you up with his cum and watching it leak out of you. “Oh my god! S-slow down! Gonna cu—nnngh!” Before you could even say it, you were already cumming a second time, your orgasm ripping through your entire body and sucking the air of your lungs.

“Yes, yes! Cum on my dick. You’re gonna make me cum, baby. Fuck your self on my dick. Work for it.” He pushed your weak body against the tree, his chest rising and falling as you so desperately fucked him, throwing your ass back. He looked down, watching the way he disappeared inside your messy cunt, creaming around him and sucking him in. You circled your hips, moving back and forth, feeling your ass ripple against his pelvis. “Fucking work for it.” His hand swatted your ass several times, the stinging sensation that lingered on your skin making you whimper. “Atta girl. Right fucking there…shit, baby. Just like that, just like that,” he whined, reaching down to squeeze the plump flesh.

Low guttural groans collided with your moans, echoing through the lonely forest. He was so close to cumming, you could tell. His big strong hands took ahold of your hips as he pushed himself all the way inside of you. “Ah…oh fuck…mmph—s-shit!” He shuddered, hot spurts of cum painting your walls. You pushed back into him, biting down on your bottom lip, not wanting one last drop to go to waste. After several seconds, he slowly pulled out, trying to catch his breath. He forcefully grabbed you, standing you upright even though your entire body was shaking.

After coming down from your high, you realized you just fucked your stalker and let him cum inside you. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. Both of you stared at each other, eyes searching deep within. You were left confused, speechless. You flinched when he brought his hand up to your cheek, gently stroking it with the pad of his thumb. His eyes flickered down to your lips, placing the most gentle kiss on them—the most gentle one since you’ve met him. Yet, you found yourself kissing him back. “Who are you?” Your voice broke the silence, nervously scanning his features.

His lips quirked up into the slightest smirk. “Just the boy who saw you at the Halloween party.” From the very beginning he was never going to give you his name. “Your stalker.” He seemed to take pride in his words, now smiling at you.

You gulped, blinking up at him. “My stalker.”

taglist (closed):

@roronoaslover @skychapt-blog @prettylil-teine @freakadelick @adamaisfav @tadabzzzbee @ourfinalisation @marlenemckinnonsleftfoot @heliumshorns @ninani-nanina @blankwashed @sadkaomoji @tojis-ball-sack @blkpotionss @sunjayist @cryptxdslxt @aweebthatsjustthere @angelrulez21-blog @lemonintrovert21 @vertigoandvirtues @cloudxluv @kkataleena @eclipsi-shadow @sugusmonkeyy @greatwizardangel @cybersomn1a @screamlast9 @purpleheart835 @ramiiroll @purp1eha1o @veraiku @yu22tas @wrldtups @4evrglow @sugarsticksss @fos-tis-zois @lisvanrouge @asiancupid @bluejayreadsanddreams @sincerelyaixii @digitaltrippers @chuuminn @lolimmafuckings1mp @jellyfishlord @therealest06 @terminosdevozsauve @keanureevessmile @nekoxvi @starlightglimmersworld @m0nsterzl0ve

#—☆classyrbf #kinktober #jjk kinktober #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto smut oneshot #geto suguru smut oneshot #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut oneshot

5K notes · View notes

tbaluver · 5 days ago

Text

AH-AH-APHRODISIAC?!- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader summary: you and your lover accidentally eat chocolates with aphrodisiacs on valentine's day night tags: small plot, p in v , desperate hot n needy a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡ here are my (late) chocolate gift to you for valentine's day! this one is a lil rushed bc i wanted to have a fluff and a smut written for this holiday so apologies! thank you to my beta reader @ilovemitsuya mwah ily (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ anyways i hope you all enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ cr. to the banners cafekitsune ! any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He closes his eyes, parting his lips slightly as you gently place the chocolate in his mouth, watching him savor the taste as he guesses what flavor the luxury Valentine’s chocolate box. With each correct guess, a kiss is exchanged but whoever gets it wrong has to eat another chocolate that they didn’t like. As the game progresses, each sweet kiss becomes more lingering and more urgent. The box sat untouched and the game remained forgotten as you both have something better to eat in mind.

It’s hard to think about how much exactly chocolates you and Xavier ate when you he’s fucking into your swollen pussy. He groans, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt, your inner thighs coated with his cum. Your clit glistening in the moonlight as he circles it softly with the sensitive head of his cock, dragging it up and down. It hasn’t even been a minute until your bodies are set ablaze again, growing intense with every passing second you two aren’t connected. You both were so needy for each other, your senses completely heightened than any time you two were intimate. His hot girthy dick stretches you out so deliciously that it's gonna leave an imprint on your stomach.

Both your bodies are on fire as he desperately thrusts in and out of you as hard and fast as he can, tangled limbs just holding on to whatever you can hold as long as you’re touching each other.

His cock, pistons in and out of your weeping cunt at a relentless pace, both your visions fogging up with no thoughts other than relieving each other. A chorus of obscene noises spill out of both of you, all of it incoherent. Remnants of his cum seeps out of you due to the pacing of his thrusts, your cunt mercilessly filled.

You’re clamping down on his cock with so much desperation as you feel your orgasm approaching. They way you’re creaming on his cock, clenching around him with trembling legs, was sight only he can see and hear. He planned to make you see the stars but he saw them shining in your eyes instead, the tears welling up your eyes as he sets the animalistic pace over and over again until the burning heat dies down between you both.

Zayne:

Valentine's day, the day where you exchange and share one or two or maybe the whole box of chocolates together. You and Zayne swapped a few sweets and chocolate gifts but on your end, you ended up letting him indulge in his sweet tooth, giving him more than just a couple boxes. Neither of you gave much thought to the luxury box cover when you picked it up. One by one, each chocolate disappears from the box as you pick one up, taking a bite as you pass him the other half as he does the same for you. It didn’t long for the sweetness of the chocolate to go away, the heat in each other’s bodies growing every second as you both craved for something much more sweeter, abandoning the box of chocolates.

Clearly one or five more rounds wasn’t enough for this burning ache to go away. Minutes turned into hours as he poured his cum into you, dripping down to his balls and down to your thighs. No amount of position could put an end to the heat that seemed to crawl deeper into your core every second he pulled away from you. Your body temperatures together were so high it turned you two into a muddled mess. How could he possibly ignore his lover sobbing for him, begging for more, when he needed you just as much as you needed him?

He hovers over you, trying his best not to crush you in his hold. The once composed and restrained doctor has vanished tonight, both your senses completely heightened as he desperately explores the familiar path of your body.

His delicate, practiced and precise hands from years of surgery, rip and tug at your clothing, the urgency from the heat building in him. Each one of Zayne’s and your clothing were carelessly thrown across the house, leaving a messy trail to your shared bedroom. Marks and scratches cover his body as you try to reach for more, as if the hold you had on him wasn’t enough.

Your lips constantly chase after each other, pulling away just to catch your breaths. He rolls his hips against yours, the room filled with the sounds of your combined moans and the rhythm of your entangled bodies. His cock makes you spill sounds that you didn’t even know could come out of your mouth. Chest pressed against each other, everything had your head spinning, both of you full of primal need. His cock strokes all the right places inside you, his heavy balls smacking wetly against your cunt with every deep thrust he gives you. His thick pink sensitive head of his cock rubs your sweet spot so perfectly, sending waves of pleasure over your body. Hours and hours with no other thoughts than anything other than making you feel good and making that heat go away was his only priority.

Rafayel:

He bought you the most expensive box of chocolates, not looking at the brand or the printing on the packages but because he saw it was filled with pictures of assortment of sweets you’d love. He thought they were overpriced because of the luxury design and the fact that it was for Valentine’s day but with each bite, he found himself caving in for more. You both felt so warm, the warmth surging through your bodies that traveled down to your lower half. The more you both indulged, the more you both seemed to need something that was a much more sweet temptation.

You both were so hot, more than you two have ever been that the heat was enough to stop the cold weather from making you shiver. His eyes clenched shut as hot pants slip past his pretty lips, his mind fogging up as he feels your warm cunt wrap around him so perfectly, like always.

The only thing in his mind is you, your sweet cunt squeezing his cock like heaven sent and how you roll your hips against him oh so right.

He thinks you’re truly a work of art, filled with marks of him. You look so perfect whether it’s in front of him or behind him, painting such a pretty picture with your face in all the right angles as your face contorted in absolute pleasure.

You both roll and shift on the blanket, finding the perfect position that hits the right angles to relieve the throbbing heat between your legs. Everytime you take his buckets of his white warm seed, the burning ache always seems to come back. There is not a single part of your body that isn’t drenched from your mixed sweat, arousal or his cum.

Did someone bewitch you two? Did they think- Nevermind, he can’t think properly when you’re clenching down on him like this. He feels the way you flutter around him. Every squeeze of your cunt as he drags his cock along your walls, every drip of your arousal that coats his length, is as if he was truly part of you.

His skin tingles irritably, aching desperately for your touch even after a second without it. Even the small sounds that escape past your lips lure him in like a sailor listening to a siren's song. His thrusts grow faster, his hips slamming over and over again against yours as if his life duty was to repopulate Lemuria.

Sylus:

The night grew uncomfortably hot for you two, the ache between your legs was relentless and impossible to ignore. The cold breeze from the new city you two traveled too for a small getaway was not helping at all. You two didn’t drink much but the chocolates you were both gifted, disappeared between you both. Each bite melted in your mouths but soon the warmth settled over you both. The anticipation back to the suite was palpable, both of you greeted by a romantic rose trail scattered across the floor that led to a heart-shaped arrangement on the shared bed. As much as you wanted to appreciate this, you both seek- craved a remedy only you two could provide each other.

It didn’t take that long for that rose petal trail to be forgotten, scattered and kicked aside as you both stumble towards the bed, your lips hungrily chase after each other. Needy hands rip each other’s clothes off while your blazing bodies smash against each other, the rose petals jump off the bed once it feels the weight shift of you two fall onto it. He groans into your lips, pulling away to leave a wet trail down your neck, collecting the expensive perfume he’s gotten you on his tongue.

Sylus loves to take it slow with you, his favorite thing to do is explore your body as if he hasn’t before. But tonight, tonight his movements are rushed, desperate to see you, to feel you. Pure love still in his eyes, needy hands never really able to linger on spot for too long. No other thoughts but just you and how his body craves more and more.

The tip of his cock pushes his hot sticky mess back into your sopping cunt, groans escaping past his lips. Your walls were so sweet, so velvety, so intoxicating that the thought of those chocolates has given him an addiction from how much he can’t seem to pull away from you, brushes away from his mind.. How overpowering his deep thrusts would be, not caring at all if this bed broke or how the building shook.

His thick cock engulfed into the warmth of your clenching walls, his large hands intertwined with yours as he swallows all the sweet and pretty sounds that escape past your lips with the shove of his tongue, taking him deeper than you possibly could. His balls ram into your remorselessly, placing hot wet kisses down your neck. Your words are jumbled due to his cock pumping and out of you relentlessly from your heat as if it were to split you in half.

Your orgasm hits you hard, his following right after. His face contorts into pure pleasure, one of the best images to grace your eyes and ears as you breathlessly chant his name. While you take your time catching your breath, he’d let his fingertips graze your arm, hand cupping the side of your face while his thumb rubs along your cheek, feeling his dick twitch inside you again.

Caleb:

Dinner was going by smoothly, key word was, until something shifted in both your bodies. The special Valentine’s Day meal he prepared for you was devoured, your bright smile whenever you bit into the food was proof enough that each bite hit the spot. Until you both got to the desert, the chocolate covered strawberries recipe he found online he rushed while prepping dinner. A few bites in, the room seemed to grow hotter, your appetites shifting and craved something much more enticing.

He’s already a whimpering mess once you pull away from his lips, feeling like the distance between you two were a million miles apart. The touch of your needy hands to try and rip his clothes off was painfully slow. He needed more and he knew you did too.

What was in that recipe? How much did he eat? His dick is so hard he thinks it might just explode before he even has a chance to feel your soaked walls. His desperation was so palpable that his needy whines ring in your ear as he slips it in, ripping off your panties beforehand while babbling ‘sorry sorry need you please please’ and that he’ll promise to get you new ones next time. You barely catch any of his words, your mind fogging with each drag of his cock against your sweet spot. Breathless praises for you slip past his lips, fanning your ear with his warm breath, making your velvety walls flutter and tighten around him in response.

His hips increase in speed and power, his name breathlessly escaping your lips as he knocks the air out of your lungs. His cock rubbed your walls so deliciously, making you forget the heat for a second, just for a second.

Spurts of his hot white cum into your body was not enough to please the ache in your bodies. Caleb only whines your name, pounding into your poor pussy with a merciless pace. He feels so guilty knowing he takes his time, he always takes his time with you but he’s chasing a high so desperately that his body is on autopilot, moaning pathetically into your ears. The sounds of wet skin and skin fill the kitchen for hours and hours, the special dinner he planned in mind growing cold but the one he held in his embrace growing hotter by the minute.

a/n extra: hihi again! here is my fluff valentines day headcanons and kinda where the scene in the story takes place: Valentine's Day

my past works: masterlist pg. 1 , pg. 2

2K notes · View notes

yois2aki · 9 days ago

Text

wc. 4.2k

cw. fluff, smut, worshipping, caleb is head over heels for you, he calls you pipsqueak during it, use of toys, bondage, unprotected sex, edging, fingering, caleb admits to being a perv at some point

the night was quiet, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of the sheets as you shifted closer to caleb. the warmth of his body enveloped you, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back a soothing rhythm. his arm was draped over your waist, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your skin, as if he needed to remind himself that you were real.

“you’re still awake,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper against your ear. it wasn’t a question—he knew you too well, could tell by the way your breathing hadn’t evened out yet.

you hummed in response, shifting so that you could turn and face him. in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, you could just barely make out the softness in his expression, the way his gaze lingered on you as if you were the most precious thing in the universe.

his fingers brushed against your cheek, featherlight. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice full of something tender, something reverent. “do you know that?”

you felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a slow and steady burn that settled deep in your chest. “you always say that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

“because it’s always true,” caleb countered, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “every time i look at you, it’s like i fall in love all over again.”

your breath hitched slightly at his words, at the way his voice dipped lower, softer, meant only for you. he had always been protective, always intense in the way he loved, but moments like these—where his entire world seemed to narrow down to just you—left you feeling weightless.

his hand slid down, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on the small of your back, pulling you even closer. “i love the way you fit against me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along your temple. “like you were made just for me.”

you shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his voice wrapped around you, warm and intimate. you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. he smelled like home—like something safe, something constant.

caleb let out a quiet hum of contentment, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing along the bare skin of your spine. “i could stay like this forever,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “just holding you… feeling you against me.”

your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as you pressed closer. “me too.”

he smiled against your hair, his breath warm as he whispered, “i love the way you say that.”

you pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, a teasing glint in your eyes. “say what?”

“me too,” he repeated, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your skin. “like you mean it.” his eyes softened, his expression turning impossibly tender. “like i’m your home, the way you are mine.”

your heart clenched at his words, at the sheer devotion in them. you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before guiding him closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. he sighed against you, his grip tightening as if he never wanted to let go.

when you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers threading through your hair. “i love you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “more than anything. more than the planes in the sky, more than the air in my lungs.” he let out a quiet, breathless laugh. “god, i love you so much it terrifies me. every time i remember the things i would sacrifice for you, i get scared."

you felt a lump form in your throat at the raw honesty in his voice, the way he bared his soul to you without hesitation. “caleb…”

he shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “i don’t think you understand what you do to me,” he murmured. “how you make everything feel right, even when the world is a mess. i don’t care where we are, what happens, as long as i have you.”

your fingers tightened around his shirt, your chest aching with how much love you felt for him in that moment. “you have me,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “always.”

his breath hitched, and for a second, he just held you there, his grip unrelenting, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “you promise?”

you reached up, cupping his face between your hands. “i swear it.”

caleb exhaled, something in him finally settling, and then he was kissing you again—slow and deep, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you. his hands traced your sides, his touch reverent, worshipful.

“i love every part of you,” he whispered against your lips. “the way you smile at me when you think i’m not looking. the way your nose scrunches up when you’re focused. the way you sigh my name when you’re falling asleep.” his voice dropped even lower, barely audible. “the way you let me love you.”

your eyes burned with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his affection. “caleb…"

he shook his head again, silencing you with another kiss. “you don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “just let me hold you.”

you nodded, burying yourself against him, and he tightened his arms around you, pressing soft kisses along your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “i’ll never stop loving you,” he whispered. “never.”

the words settled deep in your heart, filling every space with warmth. and as you lay there, wrapped in caleb’s arms, his voice a constant murmur of love and devotion, you realized that no matter what happened, no matter where life took you, you would always be safe here—in the quiet of the night, in the strength of his embrace, in the love that bound you together.

caleb’s hands moved slowly, reverently, as if he were memorizing every inch of you. his fingers traced the curve of your back, his touch featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine. the warmth of his palm pressed against your skin, grounding you, making you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

“you’re so soft,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple before trailing down to your cheek, then lower, grazing the edge of your jaw. “so perfect.”

your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, his fingers tracing the line of your throat. his touch wasn’t hurried—it was deliberate, lingering, as if he wanted to savor every second.

you sighed as he pressed his lips to the spot just below your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “caleb…”

he hummed in response, his lips curving into a small smile. “i love the way you say my name,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. “like it belongs to you.”

his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, pulling it from your body. “it does,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

his eyes darkened, something tender and intense flickering in them as he gazed at your naked torso. “yeah,” he agreed softly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “it does.”

he suddenly made you lay on your back, his position shifting to stay on top of you. hands moving to your waist, his fingers splaying out against your skin as he pulled you even closer, your bodies perfectly aligned. his touch was gentle but firm, like he wanted to hold you there forever.

the kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world. he tasted like warmth, like safety, like home. every brush of his lips, every soft sigh that escaped between you, felt like a silent promise—one of love, devotion, and unwavering need.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your back, his touch both soothing and electric. “i never want to stop touching you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, your fingers threading through his hair, relishing the way he leaned into your touch. “then don’t.”

his breath hitched at your words, and in the next moment, he was kissing down your neck, his hands roaming your sides, holding you like you were something fragile and precious. but there was a hunger in the way he moved, a deep, aching need to be as close to you as possible and claim you as his.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “how much i need you."

you let out a breathless laugh, your heart racing. “then show me.”

a soft, reverent groan escaped him as he pulled you even closer, his lips trailing down your collarbone, pressing slow, lingering kisses to every inch of skin he could reach.

“i plan to,” he whispered, his voice full of love, devotion, and something deeper—something that made your heart stutter and your body melt into his.

the night stretched on, filled with soft whispers, gentle touches, and endless love, as caleb made good on his promise—to hold you, to cherish you, to love you in

"relax, pipsqueak," caleb's deep voice resonated, his sulky tone adding a touch of exotic charm. his breathing sent a shiver down you spine, and you found yourself nodding, eager to surrender to his expertise.

caleb sat up, his long legs brushing against your bare thighs. you felt the warmth of his skin, and a rush of excitement coursed through your veins. his strong hands rested on your knees, and he gently caressed your skin, his touch sending sparks of pleasure up your legs. "tell me, do you trust me?" he asked, his eyes holding yours in a captivating gaze.

"yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "i trust you, caleb."

a slight smile played on caleb's lips, and you swore you could see the way his gaze changed. he leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear. "good. i'm going to make you feel like the luckiest woman alive, baby." with that, he stood up, his movements graceful yet commanding. he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on, noticing the way you cringed at the sensitivity in your eyes.

you could just make out caleb's silhouette as he moved towards the dresser. he opened a drawer and retrieved a small black bag, the contents of which clinked softly as he placed it on the bed.

"you'll let me use this to make you feel good, right?" he questioned, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness. "first, i want you to relax and let go of any inhibitions." he guided you to lie back on the pillows, his hands gently urging you into a comfortable position.

obeying his instructions, you allowed you body to melt into the soft mattress. caleb's lips traced your collarbone once again, sending shivers down your neck. his touch was firm yet gentle, and you felt yourself surrendering to his will. "breathe deeply," he instructed, his warm breath caressing your cheek. "in and out, just like that..."

caleb's hands moved down your body, his fingers, stopping just where he stared at. he felt his entire body warm, and immediately pulled his shirt off to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling, revealing his muscular build.

his hands moved to your breasts, and his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you. his fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching them gently, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan.

"that's it— fuck..., you sound so good," caleb whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "let the pleasure consume you." with that, he moved his hands lower, his fingers deftly grabbing the hem of your shorts and sliding down. you lifted your hips to aid his efforts, eager for his touch.

the cool air caressed your bare skin as caleb slowly slid your underwear down your legs, his hands brushing against your inner thighs. his breathing hitched. he'd seen you naked like this many times before, but every time it happens he genuinely thinks he's fainting. "my beautiful princess..."

you felt your wetness, a testament to your growing desire. caleb's fingers trailed along your sensitive skin, making you squirm with anticipation.

"you're so responsive," he murmured, his voice filled with approval. "i can see you're ready for more." he positioned himself between your legs, his knees pressing against your outer thighs. you felt the heat of his body, and your core throbbed with need.

caleb's hands explored you intimately, his fingers stroking your wetness, spreading your essence along your folds. "you're so wet, so ready," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "are you that desperate for me? want me to show you all my love?" he teased your clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure through your body.

as he continued to stimulate you, your breath became shallow, your moans filling the room. caleb's fingers worked their magic, bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. just as you were about to climax, he withdrew his touch, leaving you teetering on the precipice of pleasure.

"not yet, beautiful. i'm sorry," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "i'm going to draw this out, make it last." he reached into his bag and retrieved a small, sleek vibrator. "this will help us... is that okay, princess?"

as soon as you nodded, caleb positioned the vibrator against your clit, and as he turned it on, a low hum filled the room. the vibrations sent shocks of pleasure through your body, and you gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily. caleb cursed as he held the toy firmly, controlling the intensity, ensuring you didn't find release too soon.

"she likes that, doesn't she?" he asked, talking about your squelching pussy, his voice a low growl. "everything about her... it's so perfect. she's so desperate like this. my girls." he adjusted the vibrator, moving it lower, pressing it against your entrance. slowly, he eased it inside you, filling you with a delightful sensation.

the vibrator pulsed within your insides, and caleb's fingers worked in tandem, massaging your clit as the toy stimulated you from within. your body trembled, and your moans grew louder, echoing off the bedroom walls. caleb's control was slipping, and his hand seemed to start shaking exactly when he was to push you to the brink without letting you fall.

"please... let me come," you whimpered, looking up at him with pleading eyes, your voice hoarse and desperate.

"pipsqueak, fuck... don't do that," he whispered, his own need aching between his legs as he sucked in a heavy breath against your ear. "i want you to beg for it. show me how much you want it."

caleb's words sent a surge of desire through you, and you arched you back, pleading for release. he increased the intensity of the vibrator, and your body shook with the effort of holding back your awaited orgasm. "please, caleb, please let me..."

"keep going, my love," he insisted, his voice firm yet laced with desire. "you're doing so great, pretty girl..."

"please, caleb, i beg you..." you whispered, your voice raw with need.

caleb's control seemed to falter at the sound of his name on your lips. still, he withdrew the vibrator, and you whimpered in protest. but he wasn't done yet. he reached into his bag once more, this time retrieving a pair of soft silk restraints.

"trust me," he whispered, securing your wrists gently to the bedposts. "i need to see you tied up for me, pipsqueak."

caleb's eyes gleamed with a mixture of protection and desire as he stood over you, his body a powerful presence in the dim light. he resumed his position between your legs, his fingers replacing the vibrator, stroking your wetness, and bringing you back to the brink of ecstasy.

"now, my love, let go," he commanded, his voice a deep, commanding rumble. "let her pleasure consume you."

his words were like a spell, and as he worked his magic, your body exploded in a cascade of sensations. you cried out, the orgasm ripping through you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over your cunt. caleb's fingers continued their relentless assault, drawing out your climax, making it last, ensuring you experienced every exquisite moment.

as your body trembled and your cries filled the room, caleb leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. he then tasted her release, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of her orgasm. you clung to him, your wrists straining against the restraints, as your body continued to convulse in aftershocks.

finally, as your orgasm subsided, caleb released your wrists, his hands moving to caress your face. "my baby, my love," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with a promise of more. "you did so good for me, my angel. you deserve a reward."

and you, breathless and sated, could only nod, your body still buzzing with the intensity of the experience.

he captured your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you completely. caleb’s hands continued their exploration, sliding lower and lower until he cupped your ass, squeezing the firm flesh roughly.

breaking the kiss, caleb spun you around and forced your head down into the pillows, pushing your ass up by grabbing your waist. “i've wanted to do this since the moment i came back home,” he rasped, running a hand over the smooth expanse of your backside. “got a boner just from staring at your back while you baked like a damn teenager."

you whimpered, your body aching with need. “please, caleb. i need you.”

caleb pulled down his sweatpants and stroked his hard, throbbing cock through the fabric of his undergarments.

"remember when i told you i went showering?" he sighed, throwing his head back as he got rid of his last piece of clothing. he made eye contact with you through his entire speech, as if confessing his sins. "lied through my teeth. had to bust one out real quick, otherwise i'd just take you there. insane."

"that's how much i love you, baby," he rubbed the tip against your slick entrance, teasing her mercilessly. “so beg for me, pips. beg me to fuck you. again.”

“please, caleb,” you pleaded, your voice breathy with desire. “fuck me. make me yours.”

with a growl of satisfaction, caleb opened the bag to remove the largest sized condom he could find. tearing it open with his teeth, he slid it down his shaft, something in his gaze changing.

he leaned forward and slammed into you, burying himself deep inside your tight heat. you cried out, walls contracting around him as he began to move, setting a hard, fast pace. the bed creaked beneath you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room.

“fuck, love,” caleb groaned, his fingers digging into the sheets as he pounded into your pussy. “you feel so fucking good. so tight and wet and perfect.”

you could only moan in response, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of caleb's cock filling you, stretching you, claiming her. you arched your back against the bed, meeting his thrusts with your own, desperate for more, for everything he could give you.

caleb's long fingers went to rub your clit, his touch circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. “come for me, pipsqueak,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “come all over my cock.”

your body tightened, another orgasm building with each thrust, each touch “yes, caleb,” you gasped, your head falling backwards as you teetered on the edge. “i'm going to come. i'm going to come so hard.”

“fuck, yes,” caleb growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. “come for me, baby. now.”

with a scream of ecstasy, you came, your body convulsing around caleb's cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. caleb followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside your hole as he spilled his hot seed.

you collapsed onto the bed, caleb's body covering yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. after a moment, caleb pulled out, his cock slipping free of your still-quivering pussy. he slowly lowered your thighs, massaging any area of your body that had been under too much pressure and kissing you deeply.

“that was incredible,” he murmured against your lips. “i love you, baby. love you so much.”

you smiled, eyes shining with satisfaction. “i had no idea you were such a passionate man.”

caleb chuckled, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “i try my best to keep my emotions away, but with you, i find that impossible. you bring out a side of me i never knew existed.”

you reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw. “i like this side of you, love. the side that’s not afraid to take what he wants, to claim what’s his.”

caleb's eyes darkened with desire, his cock already hardening again at your words. “is that so? and what if i told you i want to claim you again, right here, right now?”

your breath hitched, body already responding to his words, to the promise in his eyes. “then i would say that i'm yours, caleb. yours to take, yours to claim, yours to fuck until neither of us can move.”

caleb growled as he took off the previous condom, tying it before throwing it somewhere. his hands sliding down to grip your ass as he lifted your hips to meet his. “my good girl,” he rasped, spreading your thighs wide.

“because i'm going to fuck you again, and again, and again, until you’re screaming my name and begging me to stop.”

you moaned, your head falling back as caleb's fingers found your clit, stroking the sensitive nub with expert precision

“yes, caleb,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. “fuck me. make me yours again and again.”

caleb didn’t need to be told twice. he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with need. he didn't care about a condom this time, and straight up slammed into her, filling you completely. you cried out, walls tightening around him as he began to move, setting a punishing pace that had the bed shaking beneath them.

“fuck,” caleb groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “you're so fucking tight. so perfect. i could fuck you forever.”

“then do it,” you panted, nails digging into the pillows as you urged him on. “fuck me forever, love. make me yours for eternity.”

caleb growled, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, deeper. he could feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening as he neared the edge. “i'm going to come, baby,” he warned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “i'm going to fill you up, mark you as mine.”

“please, caleb,” you begged, body trembling beneath him. “come inside me. give me everything you have.”

with a roar of pleasure, caleb came, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her. you followed him over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you milked him for every last drop.

your collapsed together on the bed again, caleb's body covering yours as you both struggled to catch their breath. after a moment, caleb lifted his head, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“that was incredible,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “you're incredible.”

you smiled, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “i could say the same about you, caleb. i never knew sex could be so intense, so all-consuming.”

caleb chuckled, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, sweet kiss. “it's not just the sex, pipsqueak. it's you. you bring out something in me that i never knew existed. something i never knew i needed.”

your heart swelled with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “i feel the same way, caleb. i never thought i could feel this way about anyone, but with you, it’s different. it’s special.”

caleb's eyes softened, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “you're so beautiful, you're so mine. and this is real. you're real. and i'm not going to let you go.”

your heart soared, a laugh bubbling up from your throat. “i don’t want you to let me go, caleb. i want to be with you, always. no matter what happens, no matter where life takes us.”

caleb smiled, his eyes shining with love and happiness. “i love you, baby. love you so damn much.”

you kissed him then, pouring all of your love, all of your devotion into the kiss. caleb responded in kind, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

you stayed like that for a long moment, lost in each other, in the love and passion that had blossomed between you.

1K notes · View notes

i7nn8a · 2 months ago

Text

part two of this

Your gods must bless you greatly. That was what Sukuna thought when you knelt before him, reminding him of the day he first saw you. It had been three months since he brought you to his estate, utterly intrigued by you, and that fascination had only grown. It took him three months to realize that the words you spoke to him weren’t a joke.

In your first days with him, Sukuna simply watched you from a distance. You were quiet and didn’t trouble him with any issues, something he greatly appreciated. You had a routine—one he memorized. In the mornings, you would have breakfast with his concubines, silently. He could tell you hadn’t made many friends.

After breakfast, you would head to some isolated corner of the fields surrounding the house and either read a book or perform some sort of ritual. Occasionally, he caught glimpses inside the box you carried from place to place. It was difficult to see from his hidden vantage points, but he managed to discern that it contained elements for an altar, where he had seen you praying and even, he thought, blessing objects.

When lunch came, he noticed you would take your meal and eat alone in another room, avoiding company altogether. Afterward, you would write—only write—in what appeared to be a diary.

At dinner, however, you would dine with him. Just the two of you. Most nights, the meal was consumed in silence, but on some occasions, you spoke to him. Unlike others, you didn’t fear him. When he asked why, you simply replied that fearing him was akin to fearing death, and death was merely a way to reach eternity. You said your soul would go everywhere: to the flowers, the air, and the moon, whom you called "mother." Over time, Sukuna found himself growing more and more interested in you, paying less and less attention to everything around him.

You had peculiar habits. On full moon nights, you would cut a strand of your hair and bury it. You would place water outside to absorb the moonlight and retrieve it before sunrise. You murmured strange words while combing your hair. What Sukuna saw were harmless, mundane spells—until now.

It happened two weeks ago. One of the concubines, jealous of the attention you were receiving, burned some of your books, ruined your belongings, and destroyed everything inside the box that held your altar materials. You were furious. Sukuna enjoyed seeing that side of you, but it was short-lived. You quickly composed yourself, acting cold and indifferent, as though nothing had happened.

But he had seen it. He had heard it. When night fell, you went outside the estate, unaware of the four eyes watching you. A diagram, drawn with your own blood, marked the ground. Incense was lit, and words were whispered—words incomprehensible but melodic, like a chant or a foreboding omen.

The next day, the woman who destroyed your belongings began to wither. It took about eight days. It was astonishing. First, her hair started falling out and turning white. Then her teeth rotted, or those that didn’t simply fell out. Her skin became wrinkled, like that of someone a century old, not a woman of 20. Her bones grew fragile. She couldn’t sleep, claiming demons haunted her dreams. The doctors couldn’t explain it; no one could. Well, Sukuna could.

The more lifeless the woman became, the more radiant you appeared. Your hair shone brighter, your skin grew softer, and your lips gained a richer color. He understood everything. It didn’t take long for the servants and the rest of the harem to connect the dots, remembering that when the king first met you, you had been accused of witchcraft. It wasn’t long before they dragged you before him once more, bound.

And here you were, accused again. The difference was that now he knew you were guilty. The similarity was that he still didn’t care. If you hadn’t taken care of her, he would have done it himself. But something about the way you did it had left him spellbound. Your eyes still looked at him without a trace of fear, and your lips still curved into a small smile. You didn’t fear him, and he had no idea how far you were willing to go.

The other concubines knelt around you, begging him to punish you. Yet the only thing he could focus on was how you would look with that same defiant gaze, crying and drooling, kneeling between his legs.

He must have fallen under the witch’s spell.

2K notes · View notes

xhyjin · 2 months ago

Text

thinking about nanami kento! (when am i not) with a s/o that is socially awkward/shy

he knew from the start that you were distant. during work parties, you never showed up, only clocking in to work and leaving once your duties were done, never lingering to chat or mingle. the rare times you did attend, you stayed in the corners, quietly observing with wide, nervous eyes and a faint blush coloring your cheeks. he couldn’t help but be intrigued, and one day, curiosity got the better of him. he approached you. your words stuttered, your face burned red, but there was something about the way you responded that made him instantly drawn to you. from that moment, you became his reason to look forward to work every day.

he began to notice the little things about you. how you stayed tucked away in your cubicle, only speaking to coworkers when necessary. how you spent your lunch breaks alone, either watching a show on your phone or quietly eating, lost in your own thoughts. and how, at the end of the day, he’d sometimes catch you smiling to yourself in the elevator, as though you’d found happiness in the smallest of things. it fascinated him how content you seemed in your own world, and after weeks of silently admiring you, he finally decided to approach you properly.

but he was careful—patient. he knew you were shy and reserved, so he didn’t want to overwhelm you. he started small, spending lunch breaks with you. at first, the silence between you both was awkward, though not unwelcome. you blushed furiously at the attention but didn’t push him away. instead, you quietly shared bits of your lunch with him, a subtle gesture that said, i’m glad you’re here. he knew you struggled with words, so he didn’t press. instead, he let his presence speak for itself, slowly building a bridge of comfort between the two of you.

when kento finally worked up the courage to ask you out, making it clear that this wasn’t just work-related but a date; you could hardly believe it. your eyes widened, and then you nodded eagerly, your happiness shining through. his heart swelled at your reaction. he had planned a simple outing, maybe a cafe, but seeing your excitement, he wanted to make it special. he made reservations at a nice restaurant, ensuring you’d have a secluded spot to enjoy your time without pressure.

the date started just as he expected. you were quiet, your voice barely above a whisper when you responded to him, sticking mostly to “yes” or “no” answers. but kento was nothing if not patient. he asked small, simple questions, easing you into a conversation, and when he mentioned something you loved, your entire demeanor changed. your eyes lit up, your voice grew stronger, and you started talking more, rambling on about your interests. you didn’t even realize how much you’d been speaking until the waitress interrupted to take your order. your face turned crimson as you sulked in embarrassment, worried you’d talked too much. but when you glanced at kento, his gaze was soft, a gentle smile on his lips, he looked utterly captivated.

ordering was its own challenge. you felt embarrassed, too shy to tell the waitress what you wanted. kento noticed your hesitation and, with a subtle nudge of his foot under the table, gave you something to focus on. you nudged him back, and it was enough to calm your nerves, allowing you to place your order. he was thoughtful like that, always finding quiet ways to make you feel at ease.

by the end of the date, you’d grown comfortable enough to start asking him questions. the two of you talked for so long that you didn’t notice the restaurant had emptied. when you finally left, the night felt far from over. kento drove you to the beach, where the two of you walked hand in hand along the shore. the sound of the waves filled the comfortable silence between you, and when you stopped to look at the moonlight reflecting on the water, he turned to you and asked, “may i kiss you?”

your heart raced, but you nodded, and when he kissed you, it was as if you were something fragile, precious. he didn’t want to rush you or make you uncomfortable, but under the glow of the moon, he couldn’t resist the beauty of the moment—or of you.

after that, the two of you continued to grow closer, going on more dates and eventually making it official. over time, you began to come out of your shell, though you still retained your social awkwardness. kento loved every part of you, from the way you stumbled over your words to the way you blushed under his gaze. to him, you were perfect exactly as you were, and he made sure you always knew it.

1K notes · View notes

alygator77 · 16 days ago

Text

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 8 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse » 【note, this chapter contains HEAVY TRIGGERS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE. ABUSIVE PAST RELATIONSHIP. MANIPULATION. GASLIGHTING. DISSOCIATION. CHILDHOOD TRAUMA. PTSD. PANIC ATTACK. explicit sexual content, fem rec oral, orgasm.】

ꨄ words: 13.8k

ꨄ a/n. hello my loves, we are back! this is a very, heavy chapter. pls read the triggers before proceeding and read at your own discretion. i actually cried writing this chapter. i'll see you at the bottom ♡ (art by @/hanamin_0123 on X )

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 8 // inhale, exhale

Mornings like these make you feel like you’re walking through someone else’s life. Sunlight seeps through the curtains in buttery streaks, and you murmur, stirring slightly under the blankets, the feeling of fingers threading softly through your hair.

Whose fingers? Are you dreaming? Oh well, if it’s a dream, it’s one you’d rather not wake up from. It’s a peaceful morning—domestic, even—and for a moment, you let yourself breathe it in, almost succumbing back to sleep, wondering if this is what normal feels like.

The peace you’re building with Satoru. This life. You let it settle over you like a soft blanket, hoping it might chase away the prickle of unease that had been clinging to your mind since last night.

Ah... but of course. Something is off. And unfortunately, the thought coils into your mind yet again, slithering in before you can stop it—an itch you can’t quite scratch.

It jolts you awake, your eyes fluttering open as the thoughts fester their wake into your mind, but as the fogginess of your heavy eyes begin to focus, the first thing you see is him.

Satoru—propped up on one elbow, looking down at you affectionately as he lays beside you on the bed—fingers brushing lazily through your hair.

“Hey you,” he murmurs quietly. “Good mornin’.”

Your cheeks blush.

Oh. This isn’t a dream. Fuck. Of course. You just remembered that you snuck into his room last night.

Your body moved on its own, and now you’re unsure what to say this morning.

Because Satoru’s smile last night outside the jacuzzi, the one that said—Everything’s fine—you’d seen past it. After all, his smile isn’t just charm; it’s armor. But this time he wasn’t shielding himself; he was shielding you.

And perhaps you would rather convince yourself it is fine. To believe that the life you’re building together isn’t as fragile as it feels—poised to crumble under the weight of the unknown.

Yet, in the stillness of the night, your mind wouldn’t let you rest. No. After saying goodnight to Satoru, returning to your separate beds, most of your night was spent tossing and turning restlessly—thoughts racing in endless circles.

And then, before you knew it, there you were—standing in the hallway, barefoot and hesitant as your fingers brushed lightly against the doorframe of his room. His door was slightly ajar and the faint glow of moonlight spilled out into the dark hallway.

Fuck. What are you doing?

Honestly, you weren’t sure what you needed exactly. Reassurance? Comfort? To hear him say one more time that everything was fine, even if you knew deep down it wasn’t? All you knew was that the weight in your chest felt unbearable, and you didn’t want to be alone with it anymore.

Quietly, you stepped inside, slowly making your way to the edge of his bed. After lowering yourself onto the mattress, you perched there—hands nervously twisting in your lap as you watched him.

He looked so… peaceful. And beautiful. His white lashes rested against his cheekbones, the faintest hint of color blooming there. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic. The mere sight of his expression sent a wave of longing crashing through you.

Without thinking, your hand moved, brushing lightly against his hair. The soft, silken strands slipped through your fingers, and you smoothed them back from his forehead in a gentle motion.

“Mmm…” he stirred beneath your touch, brow furrowing as a quiet murmur slipped from his lips—something too soft to make out.

You froze, hand stilling against his hair as your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, you thought he might fall back into the rhythm of sleep, but then his lashes fluttered, and his eyes opened, heavy-lidded and hazy with sleep.

“y/n…?” His voice was low, gravelly, and his gaze landed on you, soft and unfocused.

“Oh… hi…” you whispered. A warmth crept into your cheeks as his eyes lingered on you. “Sorry I, uh… didn’t mean to wake you.”

He blinked slowly, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Hey… no it’s fine. You okay?”

“Yeah… um. I…” You swallowed hard, your gaze darting down to your lap as your hands curled into the fabric of your nightgown. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

Immediately, his expression softened, the lingering traces of sleep in his gaze giving way to a quiet concern. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow as his other hand reached for yours.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze as the words caught in your throat.

“Nothing,” you hesitate. “I just… couldn’t stop thinking.”

He let out a quiet hum, filled with understanding, before sighing softly. His hand tugged at yours, gently pulling you closer.

“C’mere…”

Before you could protest, you found yourself lying beside him, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He shifted slightly, his chest pressing against your back as the blankets rustled around you both.

You felt his chest rumble against you as he let out a sleepy hum, his hand brushing lightly against your abdomen in a slow, comforting rhythm.

“Better?”

Your breath caught for a moment at the intimacy of it all—the way his face nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his nose brushing lightly against your skin.

“Um… yeah,” you whispered, letting yourself relax into him. “You’re… warm.”

“Mmhm…” his lips curved into the faintest smile as he burrowed closer. “One of my many talents… ‘m like… a human heater,” his words slurred slightly as sleep tugged at the edges of his voice. “Should charge for this, honestly.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, carrying away the weight of your earlier worries.

“Yeah… right. Is there anything you don’t think you should charge for?”

As he considered your question, his head tilted slightly, breath ghosting across your neck.

“Dunno…” he murmured, halfway between wakefulness and sleep. “Smiles, maybe. Those are free… but only f’you.”

You shifted slightly, turning your head just enough to peer back at him. The corners of his lips tugged up into a slow, lazy grin as one eye cracked open at you.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” his grin widened. “See? Free of charge.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, returning his grin.

Ah… all your worries were once again melting away.

As you shifted in the bed to face him, you allowed your eyes to fully meet his.

His legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, and his hands slid to rest at the small of your back—tracing lazy circles, lulling you into a calm you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

“And you’re thinking too much again,” his nose brushed against yours in a playful nudge. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

You held your breath as your fingers curled lightly against the fabric of his shirt, gripping it for some kind of anchor.

“I… I dunno…” you exhaled heavily. “I just… I’m worried, I guess.”

“About Haru?” he asked gently.

You hesitated, your gaze falling as your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The silence hung between you.

He’s not wrong… but that’s not entirely all of it.

You’re worried about… everything. About him. About this.

About… us.

The weight of your quiet made something shift in him. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, his hand continued its soothing motion against your back.

“Hey now…” he murmured sleepily. “Nothin’s gonna happen. You’re safe. Haru’s safe. I got this.”

You look up at him through your lashes, and his own gaze was heavy lidded—the striking blue of his eyes softened by a quiet intimacy.

“How… can you be so sure?” you whispered shakily.

“Because ’m me,” he replied simply, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. It was lazy, sleepy, but so undeniably Satoru. “And I don’t lose. Ever. It’s, like… my whole fucking thing.”

You couldn’t help it—the small laugh that escaped you was quiet and soft, muffled against the broad expanse of his chest as he pulled you closer.

“Your confidence is almost as annoying as it is reassuring...”

“See? Multi-talented,” he quipped, and his hand against your back slowed as the sleep threatened to overtake him, but the lazy circles never ceased. “Seriously, though… whatever’s got you tied up in knots, don’t carry it alone. ’m here… always.”

His words settled over, wrapping around the edges of your anxiety. Your cheek nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt as you nodded wordlessly—molding your body against his.

“I just… don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple in a fleeting kiss. “You’re kinda like… my favorite person, y’know?”

All the unease that was weighing you down burned away as a warmth curled throughout your body. His breathing began to slow, evening out into a steady rhythm.

Once you felt his hand on your back grow still, you thought he’d drifted off, but then his drowsy voice broke the silence—filled with a quiet conviction.

“I got you princess… always.”

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.

“Thanks, Satoru…” you whispered as your eyes fluttered closed.

The hum that rumbled from his chest in response was faint, coupled with the way his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you even closer. And in his warmth, enveloped by the steady cadence of his breathing and the solid presence of him beside you, you felt the faint stirrings of peace. Sleep crept in gently, pulling you under in soft, lulling waves, and this time, you let it.

“Yoo-hoo, sleepyhead. Still waking up?” His voice breaks through your thoughts, teasing, and very much awake.

Your eyes snap to his again, startled, and now, you found him smirking at you, propped up on one elbow. His hair is tousled from sleep, white strands falling messily over his forehead, and his eyes—those piercing, crystalline blues—hold a glint of amusement.

“Oh… um, yeah. g’morning,” you blink, heat rising to your cheeks as the weight of his gaze settles on you.

He rests his head on the pillow beside you, reverently running his hand up your cheek. You hope he doesn’t feel how hot it’s growing under his gaze.

“You’re red.”

Well, fuck.

“And you’re staring…” you murmur quietly.

“Can you blame me?” he replies with a smirk. “You look way too fucking good in my bed.”

Your blush deepens, and you turn your head slightly to break his gaze, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“I… just…”

“Was trying to seduce me, huh?”

Your eyes snap back to his, wide with indignation.

“Wha—I told you I couldn’t sleep!”

“Sure, sure,” he scoots closer to you, lips curling into a devious grin. “Buuuut… you were clinging to me a moment ago. Should’ve seen it. Super cute.”

“Tch… I was not clinging,” you protest, pulling the blankets over your body as your cheeks burn hotter.

“Uh-huh,” he hums, unconvinced, growing impossibly smug. “You sure about that? Pretty sure you mumbled my name in your sleep, too.”

Your mouth falls open, words failing you as you sputter, “I—I did not!”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he replies smoothly, grin stretching into a smirk. “It was quite adorable. Almost melted on the spot.”

Fuck… did you?

Your eyes narrow as he flashes those pearly white teeth at you.

Nah. He’s fucking with you, you know better.

“Yeah right. You’re making that up,” you huff, rolling your eyes.

“Maybe,” he admits, shrugging one shoulder casually. “But you’ll never know, will you?”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, giving him a playful shove. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You snore!”

He scoffs. “I do not snore.”

“You do,” you counter smugly. “Loudly. Like, so damn loud I’m surprised it didn’t wake up Haru.”

His eyebrow rises and a mischievous glint flickers in his gaze. “Ohhhh? Alright, alright. Fine then,” his voice drops low as he murmurs, “you really wanna play that game with me?”

Before you can react, he moves. You yelp as in one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, his hands pinning your wrists gently against the mattress as he hovers over you—grin downright wicked.

“Satoru!” you laugh, squirming beneath him. “Get off me!”

“Nope,” he says smugly, his face dipping closer to yours. “You accused me of snoring. That’s slander. Hate to tell ya, but I can’t let it slide.”

Your laughter fades slightly as you feel his weight press against you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask breathlessly, “And… just what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Perfect?”

Those vivid blue eyes darken, and your breath hitches as he dips his head lower, into the crook of your neck, making your heart flip as you feel his lips press a featherlight kiss behind your ear.

“Hmmm… let’s see… I wonder…” his breath tickles your skin as he trails soft kisses down your throat. “How shall I punish you?”

You blink, absorbing his words as a shiver of warmth spreads through your core.

“P-Punish?!” you stammer breathlessly.

“Mhmm...” as his kisses continue downwards, his hands loosen from your wrists, gliding down your arms reverently. “What did y’think was going to happen?”

His hands gingerly descend down your curves, palms pausing at your hips. You feel his fingers slip briefly underneath the hem of your nightgown, just above your abdomen as his lips fall lower, gentle nips against your skin.

“S-Satoru…” you whine as he hums against your skin, a smirk curling upon his lips.

“C’mon now… you come into my room… crawl into my bed… wearing these thin little pajamas…”

His thumbs rub smooth circles across your abdomen, and you feel yourself beginning to get hot.

“I wasn’t—haaa” the words die on your lips as his hand rises to the curve of your breast, thumb grazing the hardened peak of your nipple through the material of your sleepwear.

“Wasn’t what?” you’re squirming as he pebbles your nipple slowly. “Trying to drive me crazy? Showing up like this… what’s a guy to do?”

His other hand slides higher, slipping beneath the hem of your gown, and with a gentle tug, he pushes the fabric up. His eyes darken as more of your skin is revealed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb rolling over your bare nipple now, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Last night… couldn’t see you clearly in the dark, but now…”

His lips follow his hands, closing around your nipple, and the warm, wet heat of his tongue makes your body arch, your fingers gripping the sheets as a soft whimper escapes you.

“Nngh… S-Satoru…”

“Mm… fuck yes, say it again,” he pants, his lips releasing your nipple with a sinful pop. “Say m’ name, baby. Wanna hear how bad you need me.” He switches his attention to your other breast, lavishing it with the same care—licking, sucking, each gentle nip sending another rush of arousal pooling down your thighs.

With a shake of your head, you try to bite back the desperate sound clawing its way up your throat, but as his hand descends lower, gliding down your hip, you feel his fingers brush against your inner thigh and your body betrays you.

A needy whimper slips out as you open your legs eagerly for him, earning you a cocky smirk. It curls upon Satoru’s lips as he nibbles your nipple between his teeth—vivid blue eyes looking up at you through fluttering white lashes.

“Hah. Look at that,” he breathes, flicking the hardened peak with his tongue. “Didn’t even have to ask, and those pretty little legs opened right up for me.”

The pure arrogance in his voice sets your skin on fire.

“Sh-shut up,” you snap weakly, trying your best to glare at him as a flush creeps up your neck. “You just—haaa…”

The words are stolen from you the moment his mouth begins its descent—trailing kisses lower, his tongue swiping down your abdomen in slow, wet circles, agonizingly closer to your dripping pussy.

“Hmm?” His head tilts as his thumb brushes so close to your center that your entire body shudders. You feel his breath between your legs. “Something you want, sweetheart? You gotta use your words.”

Fucking cocky ass.

Your lips part, but you hesitate—pride warring with need, the unbearable ache between your thighs clouding your thoughts.

He clicks his tongue, mockingly disappointed. A pout on those pretty lips—lips you want buried in your cunt.

“Tch. Guess you don’t want it that bad, huh?”

His fingers continue to skate up your thigh, stopping short of where you need him, and your frustration rises—hands twisting into the sheets.

“Satoru—” your hips buck involuntarily, but he tuts softly, pulling his hand away just enough to leave you aching for it.

“Mm-mm.” His voice is smooth, cruel in its amusement. “I told you, princess. Use your words.”

Your jaw tightens, nails biting into the sheets as your body trembles with need.

“You are insufferable and so fucking unfair.”

A low sinful laugh rumbles through his chest as he turns his head to your thigh, trailing gentle kisses slowly up to your pussy.

“Unfair?” he echoes as his nose ghosts dangerously over your soaked panties.

He inhales, eyes momentarily slipping shut as he takes in the sweet scent of you. And Jesus, he groans. Actually groans. Like he’s drunk on you.

Your body jerks, hips shifting impatiently under him, but he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

Instead, he arches a brow, looking up at you with that infuriatingly smug expression as he presses a fleeting kiss to your clothed core, making a violent shudder roll through you as the soft hum of his satisfaction vibrates against your heat.

“You said you wanted to savor me, didn’t you?” His lips drag slowly back up your inner thigh, teasing, taunting.

You’re pouting now, glaring down at him like you want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time, and he just chuckles, shaking his head.

“Well?”

“What, expecting me to beg?”

“Tch… stubborn girl…”

His mouth finds its way back to the soaked fabric, and this time, he presses his tongue against it, mouthing at your cunt through your panties. A desperate cry slips past your lips as your head falls back—pussy dripping. His smirk falters.

Fuck, he wants to bury his face in your cunt.

Now he’s the one struggling. You feel his fingers press into your thigh harder, nails biting into flesh, and as he pulls back, eyeing the dark, damp patch of fabric clinging to you.

"Fuck, baby…" His fingers skim slowly over the outline of your soaked folds—his hardening cock twitching in his sweats at the realization. "God… you’re fucking drenched."

You continue to bite your lip, fighting back the needy whimper that is desperate to slip out. His head tilts, shifting into something darker as he looks up at you with those ocean-blue eyes—dilated, raw and starved. God you could get lost in those eyes.

But then, that smug ass grin returns.

“All this? Just f’me?”

“Satoru…” you whine.

He clicks his tongue, resting his cheek against your thigh as he looks up at you affectionately.

“Fair’s fair, baby. I’m gonna savor you. Now then, my pretty girl… what do you want?”

Asshole. He’s playing you. And you want to resist. You really do. But you’re so fucking wet, so aching, so unbearably needy for him. Another breath shudders out of you, and as your voice breaks, your resolve snaps.

“Satoru… please—”

There’s that word. His grin shoots up, something dark and hungry flashing across his face.

“Oh?” His fingers hook around the waistband of your panties. “Please what baby? Be specific.”

Fucking hell. You’re losing it.

“Jesus, fuck. Touch me,” you gasp, finally breaking. “Fuck, please Satoru—just touch me already. Want you—eep!”

Before you can even breathe, he’s ripping your panties down, shoving your thighs wide open, spreading your needy, dripping cunt out for him to see as he curses under his breath. His restraint snaps and oh, he’s wrecked. A filthy groan slips from his lips as he admires you, laid out for him—his cock twitching violently at the sight.

"Look at this perfect little pussy," he groans, and you mewl as he presses two fingers to your soaked folds, just barely parting them as he spreads your slick between his fingers in awe. “Heh… so fucking wet. Your little cunt is just begging to be filled, isn’t it?”

As he circles the rim of your sex, your body clenches needily around nothing, making another whine escape you as your thighs threaten to snap shut—but he grips them firmly, keeping you spread.

"Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Let me see you. Fuck, look at you," he watches transfixed as his finger presses in—just barely the tip sinking inside before pulling back.

You can feel your slick glistening down your thighs, and you shudder, back arching, voice quaking as he finally sinks his long, thick finger fully inside.

“Ahhh—Satoru!”

A downright dangerous smirk stretches across his lips as he begins to stretch you.

"Mmn… fuck, you feel so tight," your spongey walls grip him as he slowly twists his finger inside, your arousal dripping down his knuckles.

And he’s utterly transfixed, his cock throbbing against the mattress where he lays—watching you take it. He releases a shuddering breath as he shifts, gripping your thighs as he presses you forward, keeping you pinned.

"Greedy fucking hole...” he groans, eyes glued to where you're clenching around him, pumping into your pussy with slow, deep thrusts. “Wanna stuff this hungry little cunt so fucking full..."

The moment he curls his finger just right—dragging against that perfect spot, you cry out.

"Ahhh... ah ahhh... ‘toru... nngh...please… more."

There’s that pretty little word again. His eyes flick up to your face, and he’s relishing in this—you—blushing, panting, watching him with an expression that absolutely wrecks him. Licking his lips, he exhales harshly, leaning forward.

“Good girl, begging so sweet f’me.”

You feel his hot breath fanning against your core, and your thighs tremble as he ghosts those glossy lips over your slick folds—teasing you with the contact you desperately crave.

The moment his pink tongue flicks out, he groans—licking a slow, torturous stripe from your entrance up to your throbbing clit, making your whole-body jerk. A sharp cry rips from your throat as he hums against your cunt.

“Fuck…” he pants, licking and curling his finger in tandem now, “nngh… taste better than I imagined.”

His grip slides lower, kneading your ass before he yanks you closer, burying himself deeper between your thighs. The sudden force makes you yelp, but the sound quickly dissolves into a whimper as his mouth wraps about your clit—curling, flicking, savoring every drop of arousal dripping onto his lips.

“S-Sator… nnngh… fuck.”

You see stars, squirming and trembling around his face as his tongue accompanies his finger— delving deep into your tight hole. His hips rut involuntarily against the bed, cock straining unbearably in his sweats as precum leaks through the fabric.

“Mmm...” he hums against you, a sinful smirk curling as he drags his tongue up your slit again, slow and deliberate. “Fuck yes… wanna drown in your cunt.”

He’s back on you voraciously, low hungry moans mixing with the wet noises of your pussy. You pant, looking down at him and oh, he’s ravenous. His face buries between your legs as those blue eyes flick up through messy white lashes, drinking in the way you writhe for him.

And writhing for him you are. Satoru is loving it—seeing your face flushed a pretty pink, panting, your breasts heaving as you shudder against him.

“Haaa—look at you,” he pulls back, flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit now. “Heh… wanna make you squirm and shake until you're nothing but an incoherent mess, beggin’ for my cock."

You’re squirming now, eyes fluttering shut as your clint tingles from the rising pressure building within your tummy. But as you feel his second finger slip into your cunt, your eyes snap open and a desperate sob breaks from your lips. You were so close.

"Ohmygod—Satoru, please—"

He hums in amusement, lapping at your sweet essence. "Haaa... I dunno… maybe I'll grant you what you want, pretty girl,” he’s panting now, scissoring your cunt fervently between each filthy word. “Stuff your needy little hole with my thick, hard cock until you can't take any more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

Your voice is barely coherent now, broken between ragged gasps and desperate whimpers. “Yes… yes… wan’ you ‘toru… m’close…”

Desperate to grip onto something, your fingers find purchase on his hair, slipping through the soft white strands as you pull him close, shamelessly grinding yourself on his pretty face, clenching against him as your arousal coats his lips.

“Mmmngh…” Satoru groans against your cunt, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as you use his mouth. His cock throbs eagerly against the mattress as he devours you like a man starved.

Fuck, he's so hard it hurts, aching to bury himself inside your perfect little cunt.

He fully gives in, releasing his fingers to pull you close—wrapping your legs around his shoulders as his tongue plunges deep—fucking into your entrance as he laps up your dripping arousal—nose brushing against your clit as you rock on his face. You’re on the brink of coming undone.

"Haaa... yes, yeahh! J-jus' like... mmnn... that! Oh fuuuck!"

As your fingers tug at his hair, hips rolling wildly, Satoru groans into your heat, reverberating through your core. You look down to see those glassy eyes flutter open, locking onto yours, watching every little tremor of your body as the pleasure wrecks you.

And then you snap.

Your pussy clamps down around his tongue, a sob ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Satoru groans through it, tongue pressing deeper as your walls pulse violently, drenching his eager mouth as he savors every drop of your release.

His cock jerks violently, aching with need as he drinks you down, eyes flickering shut as he hums against your overstimulated clit, prolonging your pleasure until you’re trembling uncontrollably above him.

Finally spent, your grip on his hair loosens, and your hips still as your trembling slows. Satoru gentles his kisses as he eases you down from your high, his hands trailing light, soothing circles on your thighs.

"Mmm, that's it, princess. Came so fucking hard for me..." he murmurs smugly against your sensitive flesh, pressing one last lingering kiss against your swollen clit before pulling back. His lips and chin glisten with your release as he smirks down at you. "You taste fucking incredible..."

As you watch him lick his lips hungrily, you realize he’s still not sated—not even close. Your gaze narrows to the obscene bulge straining against his grey sweats, pooling with precum. He follows your line of sight, eyes dragging down to the tent in his pants before meeting yours again, his smirk deepening.

“See what you do to me?” he pitches forward, and you shudder as his forearms bracket your head, looming over you. “Fuck… want you…” His lips graze your jaw, his voice a low, desperate rasp. “You felt so good around my fingers… can just imagine this greedy little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

But then, suddenly, the bedroom door swings open.

"Mama! The sun is up. Let’s go downstairs and play!"

Oh God.

The air is sucked straight from your lungs as Haru’s tiny voice rings through the room like a gunshot. Both you and Satoru freeze, horror crashing down like a tidal wave.

Thankfully, Satoru reacts first.

With lightning-fast reflexes, he rolls to the side, yanking you with him, shielding your naked body as he drags the sheets up in a last-ditch effort at preserving what’s left of your dignity. Haru stands in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with tiny fists, completely oblivious to the absolute disaster she’s just walked in on.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying—failing—not to let out a panicked squeak, and Satoru, still rock-hard and reeling from the sheer whiplash of the moment, clears his throat.

“H-Hey, kiddo… uh… what’s up?”

Haru pouts at him, unimpressed. “Where’s Mama? I want Mama.”

“Oh, uh… right.” Satoru laughs, but it’s high and strained, barely holding it together as he tightens his hold around you.

You can feel the mortification radiating off him in waves, and before either of you can scramble for a better excuse, there’s another voice.

“Haru? Where’d you go? Oh—OH MY—”

The nanny—Remi.

She halts in the doorway like she’s just walked into a crime scene, brown eyes going comically round as her hands fly to her mouth. Her sleek dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, her uniform crisp as always, but her composure? Completely shattered. Her face turns a shade of red, one that rivals yours as she sees you and Satoru tangled up in the sheets.

“Oh! Uh—Haru, sweetie—” She clears her throat, trying and failing to sound normal. “Why don’t we head downstairs? Your parents will be down soon!”

Satoru audibly chokes on air, and you feel his body tense beside you. But Haru, ever persistent, pouts.

“But I wanna—”

“I’ll make waffles! Extra syrup! Maybe even some whipped cream—doesn’t that sound fun?” Remi is already halfway out the door, all but dragging Haru with her.

Haru hesitates for a split second, then gasps. “Whipped cream?!”

“Yep! Let’s go!”

And just like that, they’re gone. The door clicks shut, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake. You and Satoru remain frozen, your bodies still tangled beneath the sheets, wide-eyed and horrified.

Your entire soul leaves your body.

“Oh. My. God.” you whisper, hands flying to your face as if you can somehow will yourself out of existence. “I am never showing my face outside this room again.”

Beside you, Satoru exhales deeply, stretching out like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

“Well,” he grins, tilting his head toward you, “that was fun.”

You gape at him, your mortification reaching new levels. “Are you—are you fucking kidding me?”

He just blinks, completely unbothered. “What?”

Groaning, you curl onto your side, burying your face into a pillow. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Satoru’s chuckle rumbles through his chest as he shifts onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. His other hand reaches over, tugging at the pillow you’re desperately clinging to.

“Oh, c’mon, princess,” he hums, infuriatingly smug. “Worst day of your life? Pretty sure five minutes ago you were having the time of your life.”

Your entire body burns hotter than the sun. “Quiet. Do not start—”

“What? Just saying,” his grin widens as his fingers trace lazy patterns down your arm. “One second you were cuming on my tongue, and the next—”

You slap a hand over his mouth before he can finish that sentence. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

The smirk beneath your palm only deepens, and you shriek, jerking your hand back as his warm tongue flicks out against your skin.

“Satoru!?”

He bursts into laughter, utterly shameless, before effortlessly pulling you into his arms. His grip is warm, steady, and one hand slides up, smoothing down your messy hair as he tucks a stray strand behind your ear.

“You’re always so cute when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, dropping into something softer.

“I am not flustered,” you huff, scowling as you bury you face into his chest, grumbling “I am humiliated.”

A quiet, amused sigh rumbles through him as his fingers begin to trace slow, lazy circles over your hip, featherlight, absentminded. Neither of you move, neither of you rush to untangle from each other—it’s a rare moment of stillness.

“Hey,” he murmurs gently, nudging his nose against your temple. “It’s okay.”

You pout, cheeks still burning, as you peek up at him through your lashes. “How am I ever gonna look Remi in the eye again?”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering behind his bright eyes before he rolls them with exaggerated ease. “Baby, you don’t have to,” he says. “Just stare at her forehead.”

You groan, swatting at his chest as you roll onto your back. “You are so not helpful.”

Satoru laughs, deep and unbothered, before tugging you right back against him. His arms wrap around you easily, pressing you close, his nose nudging against your hair. You feel yourself melting into him as his lips brush a lingering kiss against your temple, soothing the heat burning under your skin.

All you want to do is remain here—tangled up in him, forever. But of course, he reminds you of your reality.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair, fingers tracing delicate lines down your spine. “We’re gonna have to go downstairs at some point.”

You let out a quiet whine, curling in on yourself. “No. We absolutely do not.”

He chuckles, nosing at your temple again. “Why don’t you go ahead and clean up, hm? We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Suguru is expecting us.”

You mumble something unintelligible against his collarbone before sighing, reluctantly peeling yourself away from him, the cool air replacing his warmth making you shiver. As you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, reality crashes back down on you.

"You know, I should’ve known this would happen," you grumble, trudging towards to bathroom. "You never lock the damn door. It’s like the whole fucking bathroom fiasco all over again.”

Satoru grins, plopping back onto the bed lazily. "I didn’t see you complaining when I had my face between your—"

A pillow smacks him square in the face before he can finish. He yelps, half laughing as he dodges your second attempt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle the damage control,” he says smugly.

You pause at the bathroom door, squinting at him in pure suspicion. “…What exactly does ‘damage control’ mean?”

That wicked grin stretches across his lips, slow and self-satisfied, his bright eyes gleaming with mischief. “It means I’ll flash Remi a dazzling smile, crack a joke, and act like nothing happened. Works every time.”

You groan, shaking your head as you shuffle through the doorway. “Great… I am so screwed.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Satoru smirks, settling back into the pillows with a sigh. He can hear the water running, but it barely registers, his mind still clouded with the remnants of you—your warmth, your scent, the way you had unraveled beneath him just minutes ago.

And then his gaze flickers downward.

Your panties—still damp, tangled in the mess of bedding, glistening with your arousal—catch his eye.

His throat tightens. His cock twitches, still painfully hard, still aching with need.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. But he’s already reaching for them.

The fabric is still warm, still sticky, and the moment he hooks a finger around the waistband, lifting them to his face, your scent floods his senses. A violent shudder rips through his spine. It’s obscene. It’s filthy. And it makes him impossibly harder.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest as his hips press into the mattress, instinct taking over. Rolling onto his back, his free hand shoves down his sweats just enough to free his aching cock. Precum smears against his abs, and the first tight stroke around the thick base has his head falling back against the pillows, lips parting on a sharp gasp.

“Haaa—baby…” he grunts, pressing your panties to his face as he his hips buck into his fist.

His mind is still clouded with the way you came apart for him—the way you rode his face, rolling your hips, thighs trembling, voice breaking as you cried his name. His jaw clenches, fingers twisting in the damp lace, pressing it harder against his nose, drowning in the sweet, intoxicating scent of you.

God, he’s obsessed.

His breath turns ragged, his wrist flicking faster as heat coils deep in his gut. He pictures you—perched on top of him, sinking down onto his cock, stretching around him, taking him so perfectly. His body reacts on instinct, rutting up into his palm, fucking into his tight grip with reckless abandon.

“Nnngh… oh yes… fuuuck just like that,” he whimpers, thick with need. “Baby… haaa… gonna have you dripping down my cock next time—ahhh, fuck—"

His rhythm stutters, muscles seizing, toes curling as pleasure crashes over him like a tidal wave. His stomach clenches, his breath catches, and then—

A strangled moan tears from his throat as he spills over his fist, thick, sticky ropes of cum painting his stomach. His body trembles, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as the last waves of his orgasm rip through him. His eyes squeeze shut as he milks himself dry, accentuating each pulse of release with a shuddering whine, muffled against your panties.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is his ragged breathing, his limbs lax and boneless against the bed.

Then his eyes flick toward the bathroom door.

The water is still running.

A lazy, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips as he reaches for a tissue from the nightstand, cleaning himself up at an unhurried pace, basking in the post-orgasm haze. His muscles are still tingling, pleasure simmering warm and slow in his veins.

And then he sees them—your panties, still resting on the bed beside him.

He hesitates for only a second before smirking, reaching for the nightstand. The drawer slides open, and with a flick of his wrist, he tucks them inside.

His dirty little secret—maybe for later.

Anyways. Right.

Time to handle damage control.

ꨄ

“Oh! Good morning, sweetheart,” Remi chirps, voice light, easy. “I was wondering when you’d come down.”

She sets a fresh cup of coffee at your usual seat, so natural, so routine, that it momentarily soothes the buzzing in your chest. Oh. She’s being nice. And not weird about it at all.

But then—

“Did you sleep well?”

You freeze mid-step while heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks before you can smother it. Satoru pauses too, his coffee cup halfway to his lips, but unlike you, he just smirks. That infuriating look flashing in his eyes as he watches you with far too much amusement—scrambling into your seat.

“Oh—uh…” your throat bobs as you swallow hard. “Yeah. I did. Thanks.”

Awkward…

As your throat clears, you internally will yourself to sound as normal as possible, while Satoru—little shit that he is—just keeps watching, just keeps smirking, like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say something that will make you wish for the sweet release of death.

But thankfully, Remi either doesn’t notice or chooses not to comment.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, already moving toward the counter. “Satoru made you a plate.”

Satoru hums, lazily swirling his coffee.

“She worked up an appetite, m’sure…”

Your foot connects with his shin under the table, and he yelps, nearly spilling his coffee while Haru giggles at his suffering.

With a huff, he rubs his leg, muttering “Violence before breakfast. Unbelievable…” His lips drop into a petulant pout. “Tch… I even slaved over the stove this mornin, all for you…”

Your brow lifts, unimpressed, as Remi giggles—setting the dish down in front of you with an easy flourish. The moment you look down at your plate, you immediately know he’s full of shit.

Waffles. Golden brown. Crisp edges. Beside them… flower-shaped eggs? Yeah, right. Satoru doesn’t make flower-shaped anything.

Slowly, your gaze drags back up to meet his, eyes narrowing. He’s grinning at you far too suspiciously.

“You didn’t make these,” you say matter-of-factly.

His smile falters, just for a second, before he dramatically slumps back in his chair, pouting like a scolded child. “Wow. You didn’t even try to believe it… not even for a second.”

You arch a brow. “Did you expect me to believe it? You—making flower shaped eggs?”

“I tried,” he sighs, slouching forward as he cradles his chin in his palm, looking thoroughly betrayed. “But Remi threatened my life.”

“No, I saved you,” she corrects with a small chuckle.

Satoru groans while Remi shakes her head, muttering quietly to you, “Trust me, sweetheart… you wouldn’t have wanted the eggs he made.”

Haru nods enthusiastically, mouth stuffed full. “’toru’s eggs were crunchy.”

Satoru scoffs, scandalized. “Excuse me. They were caramelized.”

“They were burnt,” Remi supplies sweetly.

“They were enhanced,” Satoru insists, crossing his arms.

You stifle a laugh, finally cutting into your waffles. And just like that, your worries melt away. The morning falls into an easy rhythm—the air humming with warmth, filled with the quiet clatter of silverware, Haru’s happy little kicks against the chair legs. It’s simple. It’s comfortable.

Remi moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, topping off Satoru’s coffee without needing to ask, pausing to wipe a stray smudge of syrup from Haru’s cheek with a fond shake of her head. Everything about her is effortless, warm. Kind.

She takes a seat across from you, cradling her tea in both hands—posture relaxed as she blows gently over the rim.

“So,” she muses, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Any plans for today?”

You glance at Satoru before answering, catching the way he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head with an exaggerated groan.

“We’re heading into Gojo Corp for a bit,” you say, slicing another piece of waffle. “Got some things to take care of.”

“Ah, work, huh?” Remi hums, taking a slow sip of tea. “Must be nice, working together like that. I imagine it makes things easier… or harder?” Her eyes flick between you and Satoru, a teasing lilt curling at the edges of her voice. “Do you ever get sick of each other?”

Satoru snorts, setting down his coffee with a smirk. “She wishes she got sick of me.”

You roll your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. “Oh, constantly.”

Remi laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Mmm, I doubt that.”

The conversation drifts easily—small talk about work, about how Haru had insisted on watching the same cartoon three times in a row yesterday. But then, after a comfortable lull, Remi shifts slightly in her seat, her fingers curling gently around the rim of her cup as her voice turns more measured.

“You’re meeting with Suguru Geto today?”

Your head lifts slightly—the shift in her tone catching your attention. Across the table, Satoru’s eyes flick toward her, just barely. So quick, so subtle, you almost miss it.

“Mhm...” you nod, hesitating slightly. “That’s right.”

Remi exhales, shaking her head.

“That’s gotta be tough…” she swirls her tea absentmindedly, watching the liquid move. “The custody case, I mean… he’s got his work cut out for him.”

Your grip tightens slightly around your fork—there’s nothing inherently off about what she’s saying, but still… the reminder sends a ripple of unease through your chest. Maybe it’s the weight of the case itself, or maybe it’s just the exhaustion that comes with constantly thinking about it. You’re not sure.

“He’s exceptional,” Satoru says smoothly, matter-of-factly. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug. “There’s no one else I’d trust more than him with this case.”

Remi hums, nodding, but she doesn’t quite meet your gaze right away. “Of course,” she murmurs, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I just mean—it must be a lot for you to deal with. I hope things go smoothly. It’s good that you have someone like him in your corner.”

The warmth in her voice should be comforting, right? Why aren’t you comforted? You find yourself nodding, but the weight of her words begins to bury you. Satoru eyes flick to you as he catches onto your unease. Tilting his head slightly, he studies Remi before immediately shifting gears.

“Remi,” he says, tapping a finger against his plate. “Could you grab some more syrup? Pretty sure I saw it in the cabinet earlier.”

“Oh! Of course,” she chirps, setting her tea down and rising to her feet as she moves toward the pantry.

The moment her back is turned, Satoru leans slightly toward you, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “Don’t let it get to you,” he murmurs, warmth curling around the shell of your ear. “Remember? I got you… always.”

His fingers ghost over your knee beneath the table, brief but grounding, and as you blink up at him, something in the way he’s looking at you—steady, certain—eases the tightness in your chest.

“Yeah…” you whisper, returning his soft smile while your hand settles over his, offering a reassuring squeeze.

But from the corner of your eye, you catch it—Remi, standing by the counter, fingers lingering over the syrup bottle.

…a pause?

Then, so seamlessly it’s almost unnoticeable, she picks it up and turns back around—expression easy, light, slipping back into place like nothing happened.

"So,” she says cheerfully, placing the syrup in front of Satoru before settling back into her seat. “What time do you think you’ll be back? Just wondering if Haru will need dinner before you get home."

The question is innocent. Logical, even. It makes perfect sense for her to ask. And yet—

Something about it feels… off?

No. Perhaps you’re imagining it. Maybe you’re just on edge. Overthinking things.

After all, Remi is kind.

ꨄ

“Every time I walk in here, I think it can’t possibly get worse,” Suguru mutters, loosening his tie as he sinks into one of the chairs opposite Satoru’s desk. “And yet, you continue to outdo yourself.”

Your gaze sweeps over the office, and you find yourself reluctantly agreeing. The space is massive, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sprawling, ridiculous view of the Tokyo skyline. It looks professional, should feel professional—but the illusion is broken the second you take in the state of the room.

Satoru’s desk is buried under a chaotic mess of papers, some crumpled, others half-stacked, as if he had started to organize them before giving up halfway. A small dish of candy sits beside the keyboard, its contents long gone, save for the sea of discarded wrappers. Against the far wall, an obnoxiously comfortable-looking leather couch sits, one you know has seen more of Satoru’s midday naps than actual work.

And then, there’s the final touch—Suguru gestures toward the golf club leaning against the bookshelf, his brow arching.

“You don’t even play golf.”

Satoru barely glances up from where he’s lazily spinning in his chair, a smug grin curling his lips.

“It’s for decoration.”

Suguru groans, rolling his eyes as he tries to make room for his documents on the desk. You sigh, already moving to help, straightening the mess with quick, practiced hands.

"Everything in this office is for decoration,” you mutter, stacking papers into an organized pile before flicking your gaze to Satoru. “Including you.”

Satoru is pleased—gasping dramatically as he places a hand over his heart.

“Oh? So you admit I enhance the ambiance?” His smirk is all teeth. “Always knew I was a statement piece. Finally, my wife admits I’m nice to look at.”

You roll your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah… that’s not what I said.”

Leaning forward, Satoru props his elbows on the desk, vivid blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Mmm, no, but it’s what you meant.”

Suguru doesn’t even look up from his folder. “I know what she meant.” Then, flipping a page, he glances at you. “Lemme guess. He makes you do all the work?”

“Yup.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, unimpressed, before turning his unimpressed stare on Satoru. The man, unbothered as ever, leans back in his chair, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated shrug.

“What?” Satoru says, unabashed. “I’ve always loved her work ethic. It’s inspiring, really. Besides, delegation is the mark of true corporate genius. You wouldn’t understand, Suguru.”

Suguru levels him with a flat stare, then tilts his head toward the far end of the office.

“Oh yeah? And tell me, how exactly does a gumball machine contribute to your corporate genius? Or is that also for decoration.”

You follow his gaze toward the bright red gumball machine standing proudly in the corner, positioned beside a sleek espresso maker.

“Oh, that?” Satoru grins like he’s just been waiting for someone to ask. “That’s for morale.”

You scoff, cutting Suguru a knowing look before shaking your head. “I hate that I kind of believe that…” you mutter under your breath.

Suguru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before dragging a hand down his face. There’s a tired sort of patience in his movements, like he’s been through this song and dance too many times before.

“Right…” he mutters, shaking his head. “I swear you designed this office specifically to avoid working.”

Satoru’s grin only stretches wider, unabashed. “Exactly.” He props his feet up on the desk, reclining with the ease of a man without a single real responsibility.

Suguru gives him a flat look. Then, with a quiet thud, he slides a thick folder onto the desk.

“Well… not today.”

The energy in the room shifts. Satoru’s gaze flicks to you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he drops his feet back to the floor. You straighten slightly in your seat as Suguru clicks his pen, tone all business now.

“Alright. Custody battles always boil down to one thing—what’s in the best interest of the child.” His eyes flick between you and Satoru as he flips through his notes. “The court isn’t concerned with what either parent wants. They’re focused on stability, consistency, and overall well-being for Haru.”

You nod, but there’s a pressure settling in your chest. You already know what’s best for Haru—being here, with you, with Satoru. She barely even knows Naoya. The idea of a judge, a complete stranger, making that decision for her makes your stomach twist.

Suguru’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “First things first,” he says, flipping to another section of his notes. “We need to establish parental involvement. Has Naoya been active in Haru’s life at all?”

“No,” you don’t hesitate.

Suguru doesn’t look surprised, but his gaze lifts slightly, assessing. “Never?”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together.

"He didn’t want to be involved," you say quietly. "I tried… but it was like pulling teeth just to get him to acknowledge her, especially before we separated. It wasn’t until I filed for child support that he started using her as a tool, and he kept delaying the court date, always coming up with some excuse.”

“Oh?” Suguru’s brows lift slightly. “You filed for child support? When was that?”

“Um… about a year ago.” Your fingers fidget in your lap. “Shortly after I left him.”

There’s a pause as Suguru jots something down. His expression remains neutral, but there’s a sharpness to his eyes, a calculating edge as he pieces together the information.

Then, as casually as ever, he asks, “And how did he react? When you left him?”

ꨄ

Dinner was plated, still steaming.

You had made his favorite—teriyaki salmon, perfectly seared, a side of rice, miso soup. You had set the table, poured him a drink. Everything was in its place, arranged to look as normal as possible.

But it wasn’t normal. The packed bags by the door gave everything away.

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made your ears ring. Haru sat on the floor, cross-legged, focused on her blocks. Her little hands moved diligently, stacking each one with careful precision, humming to herself—untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest. When the tower inevitably toppled, the wooden blocks clattered against the floor, breaking the silence for only a moment before fading back into stillness.

Your palms pressed flat against the kitchen counter; fingers splayed against the cool surface as you tried to steady yourself. Any minute now. Any minute now.

Then—

The door creaked open.

Your breath hitched, your body going rigid as Naoya stepped inside. The keys in his hand clinked as he set them on the entry table. Exhaling, he rustled his hair as his gaze swept across the apartment, moving from the dinner waiting on the carefully set table until suddenly, he froze—eyes narrowing as they landed on the bags.

For a second, there was nothing. No words. No movement. Just a long, unnerving silence. And then—

“The fuck is this?”

His voice was quiet. Too quiet—the kind of quiet that had always meant danger. Your stomach curled in on itself, your muscles locking as if bracing for impact. You opened your mouth, trying to summon the words you had rehearsed in your head over and over and over again—but they lodged in your throat.

Instead, all you could manage was—

“I… made your favorite.”

You gestured toward the table—toward the salmon. As if that was the thing that needed explaining. As if that was the thing that mattered. He rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes before striding toward the bags.

“You know that’s not what I fucking asked.”

Grabbing the zipper of your bag, a scoff ripped from his throat as he yanked it open, revealing its contents. Clothes. Toiletries. Haru’s favorite stuffed Pikachu. The things people pack when they don’t plan on coming back.

“You goin’ somewhere, sweets?”

Every instinct was screaming at you to run, run, run. But your feet stayed planted, rooted to the spot as if the very air had turned thick and unmovable. Your fingers curled against your palms as you forced the words out quietly.

“I… I think we need time apart.”

The moment the words left your lips, Naoya barked out a laugh—loud, sharp, mocking. He actually doubled over, hands on his knees, shaking his head as if you had just told the funniest joke in the world.

“That’s cute,” he mused, catching his breath between laughs, his voice dropping into something almost patronizing. When he straightened, his eyes pinned you in place, something unreadable flickering behind them. Something dangerous.

“And tell me, sweetheart—where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Your breath caught, and he saw it—your hesitation, the way your lips pressed together, how your fingers twitched by your sides. A slow, cruel smirk curled at his lips, dripping in amusement.

“Oh,” he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “So, you don’t even have a plan?”

Another sharp laugh pushed past his lips—low, cruel, unforgiving. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished. His expression hardened, eyes darkening as his jaw clenched. The shift was so sudden, so jarring, you felt the air leave your lungs.

Holding your breath, your gaze followed him as he began slowly pacing, like he was working himself up. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he muttered, fingers pressing against his temples. His next exhale came out shaky, forced. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes, you know that?”

“Naoya… please—”

“Stupid BITCH!”

The explosion came out of nowhere.

The sheer force of his voice rattled through your chest, slammed against the walls, reverberated through the floor beneath your feet.

A brief silence followed—Haru’s humming stopped. As you stood there—eyes wide, Naoya glaring at you—in the corner of your eye, you saw your daughter stilling, suddenly silent in the middle of stacking her blocks.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, you forced your voice to steady, lowering it, softening it, as if that would keep things from spiraling further.

“Naoya… let’s just talk, okay? I—”

The next thing you knew, a ceramic plate shattered at your feet.

The impact was violent—shards splintering across the floor, cutting through the quiet like a gunshot. You flinched so hard your entire body jerked back while Haru let out a sharp breath from across the room.

Chest heaving, pulse thundering, your eyes zeroed in on the scattered debris, glinting under the kitchen light—sharp, jagged edges that could have easily torn through skin if you had been just one step closer.

“Fuck… see what you fucking make me do?” he muttered, shaking his head as he paced across the kitchen. “You always push me, always fucking nagging, like some goddamn broken record. I give you everything, and you still bitch like an ungrateful little—”

His voice blurred. You were barely hearing him anymore. Your pulse was too loud, roaring in your head as a ringing sound began to drown him out—drown everything out.

"Shit, baby…"

The shift was instantaneous.

You blinked, refocusing, and suddenly—he was in front of you.

Close. Too close. His fingers curled around your wrist—not harshly, but firmly.

“Look, I…” He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before raking it through his hair. When his eyes met yours, something in them was different. Softer. More open, more human.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, quieter now. “You know I—” He let out a heavy breath, like he was the one suffering. “I love you, baby. So much. You just make me crazy sometimes, you know that?”

The whiplash sent your thoughts into a tailspin. The heat of his palm against your wrist. The gentleness in his voice. Your body screamed at you to pull away, to resist.

But your heart—your stupid, aching heart—

“You don’t have to do this, baby.” Naoya’s thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, slow, soothing. Tethering. “I get it. Things have been… rough lately. I’ve been stressed, work’s been a fucking nightmare, and I know I take that out on you sometimes.”

You swallowed hard, breath hitching, vision blurring as you blinked back the sting behind your eyes. This is what he did. This was how he made you stay.

He spun words into silk, wove apologies into something tender, something careful.

A beautiful lie.

"I'll fix it," he promised, his lips curling into something almost boyish, like he already knew he'd won. "I'll take better care of you, yeah? You and Haru. We can fix this. Just… stay. Stay right where you belong."

For a second—just a second—your mind whispered the possibility.

Maybe it could be different this time. Maybe he meant it. This is fixable…right? Things could be okay if you just—

No.

This was the cycle. The same fucking cycle that had been spinning over and over and over again.

Rage. Apology. Empty promises. Repeat.

You had seen this moment before. Felt this warmth, heard this regret, let these pretty little words lull you into submission. And every single time—every single time—you had fallen for it.

But not this time.

Naoya’s grip tightened the longer you stayed quiet, making your breathing quicken now—shallow, panicked. His gaze flicked across your face, calculating, searching for an answer he wanted—needed—to hear.

"Baby?" His voice was still soft, but there was something sharp underneath. "You wanna sit down with me?"

You swallowed hard. And then, somehow—somehow—you found your voice.

"I… can’t," you whispered.

For a second, nothing moved. Not the air, not the world, not even him.

His fingers curled tighter around your wrist—just long enough to send ice shooting through your veins—before loosening again.

"You can’t what?"

“I’m leaving Naoya. And I’m taking Haru.”

His lips parted for a moment, but nothing came out, until finally, those wicked lips curled into something cruel—amused.

"C’mon now… you don’t mean that," he said, like it was a joke, like you were saying something ridiculous. "You’re just upset."

His hand lifted, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Too soft. Too gentle. Your skin burned under a touch you once leaned into, once believed in.

"You don’t really wanna do this, baby," his thumb ghosts over your cheek. "I get it. Things have been stressful, I haven’t been at my best, but you’re being ridiculous. You don’t have to go and make a scene."

As his fingers skimmed the curve of your jaw, cradling it like something fragile, you held your breath. It’s the very same caress he’d always use after losing his temper—after breaking something—brushing the tear trailing down your cheek, like he was trying to rewrite reality, trying to pull you back into the script.

"Let’s just sit down and eat, hm?" he coaxed, smooth as silk. "You made my favorite, didn’t you? It smells incredible. We should eat before it gets cold."

He was smiling now, gentle, reassuring—like none of this had happened. Like if you just sat down, everything would go back to normal. Like you wouldn’t still feel the tremble in your hands, the stinging heat of his words.

As you opened your mouth to speak, he pulled you close.

"Don’t do this, baby," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours for just a moment. His breath was warm against your lips. "Just… be good for me, okay?"

Be good for me.

The words settled over you like oil, thick and suffocating. And suddenly, blinking through your own empty haze, everything became too clear.

The shards of ceramic scattered at your feet. The tiny splinters of glass catching the light. The dining table still set, untouched. Waiting for someone to sit down. As if there wasn’t a shattered plate on the floor.

As if he hadn’t just thrown it. As if he wasn’t capable of so much worse.

Rage. Apology. Empty promises. Repeat.

"I’m leaving," you repeated.

His fingers twitched, then released you altogether. Exhaling through his nose, he shook his head, disappointed—as if you were being unreasonable.

"You’re nothing without me," he muttered.

The words settled like a weight in your stomach, but you remained silent.

His lips curled as his head tilted slightly, scanning you like he was recalibrating, assessing—trying to find a new way to break you down.

"N o t h i n g," he repeated, slower this time, dragging the word out like it was something filthy.

The first tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. A quiet, shaky sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it back.

Naoya wasn’t finished.

"Look at you," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Pathetic. You wouldn’t last a fucking week without my money. You’re a failure. A desperate little bitch who got knocked up and thought she could trap me with a useless kid."

A sharp breath punched from your lungs, a gasp—small, broken. He could degrade you all he wanted. He had done it before, and he would do it again. But Haru?

Something inside you splintered, something that had been held together by fear and exhaustion and the faintest hope that maybe—maybe he could change.

"Haru is not useless."

The words left your mouth before you even realized you had spoken them, and Naoya stilled—brow arching slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to speak at all.

Your pulse thrummed; your hands curled into fists at your sides. You could feel the wetness in your lashes, the tremor in your shoulders. But you didn’t stop.

"And… I’d rather be miserable than be stuck with you."

Silence.

For once, Naoya was stunned into stillness. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You had never spoken back like that before. And for a fleeting, reckless moment—you felt something close to power.

But then, his expression twisted. Something ugly. Something furious. And you knew.

Fuck. You had just made a mistake.

"YOU—"

Closing your eyes, the drywall beside your head shook, caving in under his fist while dust and plaster rained onto your shoulder.

The ringing in your ears swallowed everything—your own heartbeat, the distant hum of the light, the sharp inhale you barely managed to take as your body locked up.

For the first time, you thought—really, truly thought—he was going to kill you.

You didn’t dare move.

He was yelling now, screaming in your face, his words pouring out in a torrent of unfiltered venom. But his voice was just noise now. A violent storm battering against you, word after word, crashing like waves, over and over and over.

You couldn’t hear him.

Your mind had detached, floating somewhere far away, just outside your own body. Your vision blurred at the edges; your limbs trembled so violently you thought your knees might give out.

Then—through the haze, you saw him move.

A sharp pivot. Footsteps, heavy, stomping toward the bedroom. The door slammed so hard the walls shook. And then—

Silence.

Your body didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The seconds ticked by, stretching into something unbearable, something suffocating. Your chest was so tight it ached, but your lungs kept shuddering, gasping for air.

Then, like a puppet whose strings had been severed, you crumpled. Your back hit the wall, legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed onto the floor—a sob ripping through you before you could stop it.

It tore out of your chest, raw, unrestrained. It wrecked through your entire body, like something primal, something beyond your control. Your fingers curled against your arms, clutching at your own skin, trying to hold yourself together—trying to keep from unraveling completely.

Choked gasps echoed into the emptiness of the apartment, your sobs reverberating against the walls. You sucked in a shuddering breath—trying, desperate to regain control—

And that’s when you heard it.

A whimper.

Your entire body jerked. Your head snapped up so fast your vision swam. The air in your lungs froze.

Haru.

You turned—where she had been sitting, where her tiny hands had been stacking blocks—

Empty. She’s gone.

Panic surged through your veins, crashing into you like ice. You scrambled onto your feet, nearly stumbling in your haste, your vision tunneling as your breath came fast, sharp—

"Haru?"

Silence.

Dread curled around your ribs, sinking its claws deep. You turned frantically, scanning the apartment, searching, praying.

"Haru?!"

Nothing.

Your heartbeat was deafening as you staggered forward, checking behind the couch, peering around the kitchen island. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.

Then—

Another small, muffled whimper.

You spun, pulse hammering against your ribs as you followed the sound, eyes landing on a cupboard. A small, low cabinet beneath the sink. The one that had never really locked properly. The one just big enough to—

Your breath hitched, and dropping to your knees, your fingers shook as you reached for the handle. You pulled the door open, and there she was—curled up inside, her knees drawn to her chest, tiny hands covering her ears, her small body trembling.

Tears streaked her round cheeks, her lower lip wobbled, and when her wide, terrified eyes met yours, something inside you shattered.

She had hidden herself away.

From him.

From you.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you reached for her, arms wrapping around her small frame, pulling her against your chest. She melted into you instantly, her little hands fisting into your shirt, burying her face into your shoulder as soft, hiccupped cries wracked through her tiny body.

You rocked her gently, whispering her name like a prayer, your voice breaking as your lips pressed against the crown of her head.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Over and over, you murmured it into her hair, against her temple, into the delicate curve of her ear, as if sheer repetition could make it true.

"I'm so sorry, Haru. I'm so, so sorry."

And that was the day you swore—you would never, never fall back into Naoya’s grasp again.

ꨄ

“y/n?”

The sound of your name pulled you back.

The past dissolved like mist burned away by the sun, fading into the recesses of your mind. The dim, suffocating glow of your old apartment vanished, replaced by the cool, sterile overhead lights of Satoru’s office. The warmth of Haru’s small body against yours was gone, replaced by the unyielding leather of the chair beneath you.

You blink, the weight of memory still lingering in your chest.

Across the desk, Suguru was watching you carefully, his brows furrowed slightly, his pen poised between his fingers. Beside him, Satoru had straightened in his seat, his usual playful smirk nowhere in sight. His bright eyes—always so full of mischief—were sharp now. Piercing. Concerned.

Swallowing hard, you realized your hands had curled into fists in your lap. Slowly, deliberately, you forced yourself to breath—loosening your fingers, unclenching one joint at a time.

"Sorry," you murmur hoarsely. "I was just—" exhaling, you shake your head. "I was remembering."

Satoru doesn’t speak, but his gaze lingers, tracking every subtle shift in your expression, every flicker of emotion. He’s perceptive—too perceptive. Suguru, too, holds your stare, though something in his expression softens.

"I asked how he reacted," he prompts, gentler than before.

Wetting your lips, the words tangle in your throat.

"Not well," you finally admit.

Suguru’s pen barely moved, his focus entirely on you.

"Did he put his hands on you?"

As you hesitate, Satoru’s jaw clenches—hands curling into fists under the desk, knuckles going white.

"He didn’t—" you pause, pressing your fingers into your temples. "He threw things. Punched the wall. Screamed in my face until I couldn’t even understand what he was saying anymore."

Silence.

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching before he folds his arms tightly across his chest. His lips press into a thin line, tension radiating from every part of him as Suguru sets his pen down.

"That’s important," he says carefully. "If there were witnesses, records of damage, anything like that, it could help.”

"I… didn’t call the police," you murmur. "No reports, no records. Just… me."

Suguru nods, as if he had already expected that answer.

"And the child support case?” he continues, voice even. “Do you still have the documentation for that? Any filings, court dates, official correspondence?"

You stiffen, and something flickers across your face—guilt, unease, something you can’t quite name. Satoru’s eyes flick toward you, catching the slight shift in your posture.

"I…" your fingers curl against the fabric of your blouse. "I never went through with it."

Suguru tilts his head. "You never went through with it?"

You swallow; throat suddenly dry.

"I filed," you admit, barely above a whisper. "I started the process. I needed the financial support… he shut down all our joint credit cards, stopped paying the rent… kept delaying, making excuses, pushing back the court date. And then…"

Your gaze drifts toward Satoru, your expression softening despite yourself. A wry smile tugs at your lips.

"And then I married Satoru."

Satoru reaches out without hesitation, his hand finding yours, fingers curling around it with a reassuring squeeze. His thumb strokes the back of your hand—gentle, steady, grounding.

"And you no longer needed the financial support," he murmurs, piecing it together.

You nod. "Yes. So… I stopped responding to his messages."

“Can I see those messages?”

Suguru’s voice pulls your attention back to him—something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Oh… um, sure. Why?"

"Because the way you stopped responding could make a difference," he says evenly, holding out a hand. "We need to see how this will be interpreted in court."

A small knot tightens in your stomach, but you don’t hesitate for long. Pulling away from Satoru’s grasp, you reach into your bag, fingers unsteady as you unlock your phone. Scrolling through the old message thread, you hand it over.

Suguru takes the phone, his expression unreadable as he starts scrolling. The room feels eerily quiet. His brows furrow slightly, his thumb pausing at certain messages, and the longer he reads, the more apparent his concern becomes. His jaw tightens. The pen he had been twirling between his fingers stills completely.

Satoru notices. His easy, lazy demeanor shifts, shoulders straightening, his eyes flicking between Suguru’s face and the phone. Your fingers press into your lap, anxiety twisting in your gut.

“What’s up Suguru?” Satoru says. “I know that face.”

Suguru doesn’t respond immediately. His thumb halts on the screen, and when he finally speaks, his voice is careful.

“y/n… did you ever explicitly tell Naoya you got married?”

Your stomach knots. “Um… no…”

A pause.

“Did you tell him you no longer needed financial support?”

Dread coils around your ribs, squeezing. You already know where this is going.

“No…”

Suguru exhales slowly, setting the phone down on the table before meeting your gaze head-on. His expression is unreadable, but the weight behind it makes your pulse pick up.

“Did you ever tell him that both you and Haru moved in with Satoru?”

You hesitate, glancing at Satoru before answering.

“No… um, he… kept contacting me, but I never picked up his calls. I just… ignored him.”

Suguru leans back slightly, his fingers steepled together as he releases a slow breath through his nose. You can see him choosing his next words carefully, and somehow, his silence feels heavier than anything he could say.

Your pulse hammers against your ribs, unease crawling up your spine. "What?" Your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

Suguru’s eyes flick between you and Satoru before he finally says it.

“That’s not going to look good on our behalf.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“It paints the picture that you up and left without informing him of Haru’s whereabouts. Legally, he had parental rights—even if he wasn’t actively involved. If the court sees this as you cutting off access to his child, it could be a problem.”

The words hit like a slap.

Nausea rises in your chest as the weight of it settles over you—heavy, suffocating. You had been so focused on escaping, on surviving, that you hadn’t thought of how it would look on paper. You hadn’t considered what it meant legally, hadn’t realized that in the court’s eyes, your silence might be seen as something calculated, something deliberate.

You had unknowingly made this harder.

You just wanted to be free. To disappear from him. To never hear his voice again, never flinch at the sound of his footsteps, never have to wonder which version of him you’d be facing that day.

"Hey.”

Satoru’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind, gentle but firm. You blink, grounding yourself as his warm palm finds yours beneath the table, fingers wrapping around your own.

"You're spiraling," he murmurs, grip reassuring, anchoring you. "Breathe, sweetheart."

Realizing only now how tight your chest has become, you suck in a shuddering breath. Across from you, Suguru watches silently, but he doesn’t interrupt—letting Satoru handle it.

"You didn’t do anything wrong," Satoru continues, voice low and steady. "You didn’t owe that bastard anything. And you did what you thought was best at the time."

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a slow, comforting motion.

"You’re not the one who abandoned Haru," he murmurs, tone firm. "He did."

“Exactly,” Suguru chimes in, measured but sure. “And now we know what he’ll latch onto, how he’ll try to twist things in his favor. And we’ll be prepared for it.”

Satoru gives your hand one last squeeze before finally letting go, leaning back in his chair. He tilts his head at Suguru, lips curling into something sharp.

"Good thing we have a damn good lawyer then, huh?"

Suguru sighs, shaking his head, but there’s the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

"You mean the best lawyer. Keep up."

Satoru scoffs, stretching lazily as he folds his arms behind his head. "If you're the best, then why does my name bring in the bigger checks?"

"Because people like looking at you, not listening to you."

Satoru gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Wow. That hurts, Suguru. That hurts."

"Good. Feel it.”

A breath escapes you—something close to a laugh. Small, but real. Satoru catches it immediately. His eyes flick to you, and for a brief moment, the teasing glint softens, just slightly.

Like he’s cataloging it. The way your shoulders have eased, the way a bit of color has returned to your face.

"See, sweetheart? He’s so mean to me," he whines, nudging your arm. "Did you hear that? Just, like, zero respect."

Rolling your eyes, your smile grows—the weight in your chest lifting, if only for a moment.

"You act like I haven’t been carrying you since we were kids," Suguru drawls, flipping a page in his folder.

Satoru straightens immediately. "Excuse me? That is blatant slander."

"Is it?" Suguru quirks an eyebrow. "Who was the one who got you through high school? Barely, might I add.”

"Hey now," Satoru objects, leaning forward. "I was a bright and capable student."

"Sure. When you weren’t slacking off and being a goddamn menace."

You shake your head, amused as their bickering continues—like muscle memory, like second nature. It’s effortless, this constant push and pull between them, a rhythm so ingrained it feels like breathing.

And for a brief moment, you let yourself sink into it, warmth curling in your chest. Like nothing has changed. Like you aren’t in the middle of preparing for a custody battle. Like there isn’t a pit of anxiety still gnawing at your ribs.

Satoru and Suguru make it easy.

Then your phone buzzes against the table where Suguru placed it, face down—a tiny vibration against the polished wood, so quiet it barely cuts through the noise of their conversation.

It’s nothing. Just a text. A notification.

Without much thought, you reach for it while the boys go at it—Satoru gesturing wildly, his voice dramatic, animated. Suguru flipping a page in his folder, unimpressed, already prepared to dismantle whatever ridiculous argument Satoru is making.

Unlocking the screen, your eyes flick to the message.

Naoya: We need to talk. When can I see you? Just… be good for me.

The words register slowly, their meaning sinking in like ink bleeding through paper.

The air turns thin—the office warping at the edges, colors leaching into something muted, distant. Your pulse spikes, hammering wildly in your chest, and your fingers slacken—the phone slipping from your grasp, clattering onto the table.

“Sweetheart?”

Satoru’s voice is muted, and you barely register the scrape of his chair against the floor because all you can see, all you can hear, are his words—echoing in your head.

Just be good for me.

The words crawl over your skin, wrapping tight around your throat. They coil around your ribs, squeezing, constricting, suffocating—

You don’t really want to do this, baby. Let’s just sit down and eat.

The edges of your vision blur, warping, swallowing color and sound. You’re not here. You’re there—the dim apartment, the sickly glow of streetlights bleeding through half-closed blinds, the remnants of shattered ceramic at your feet, a voice too soft, too calm—too dangerous.

Be good for me, okay?

Your body won’t move. Your ribs won’t expand.

“Baby, what is it?”

A different voice. Familiar. Safe.

As you blink, light and color slowly bleed back into your vision, and something warm presses against you—solid, steady. Satoru. His careful grip finds yours, anchoring you, pulling you back, back, back.

His other hand reaches for the phone, and his expression darkens the moment he sees the message—a muscle jumping in his jaw, his fingers clenching before he wordlessly hands the device to Suguru.

Then, he’s turning back to you.

"Hey, sweetheart…" his voice is soft, coaxing, and he cradles your face tenderly. "I need you to breathe for me."

Oh, are you not breathing?

The realization hits all at once. Your lungs are locked. Your breaths are too shallow, too fast, too panicked. The walls are still closing in, the weight still crushing your ribs. Your fingers clutch at Satoru’s sleeve, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

"You’re okay," pulling you in, his arms wrap around you completely. "He’s not here. He can’t touch you. I’ve got you."

The scent of him—clean linen, something crisp and warm—fills your senses. The thump-thump of his heartbeat echoes against your ear, a steady rhythm cutting through the chaos while his thumb brushes slow, deliberate circles against your back.

"Breathe with me."

You inhale, slow and shaky, then exhale.

You’re not there. You’re here.

Satoru feels the moment your body starts to ease. The moment your fingers loosen from their iron grip on his sleeve, the moment your breath finally evens out—but he doesn’t pull away, cradling you in his warmth.

Finally, you find your voice.

“I’m… okay,” you whisper, dragging your head up, meeting Satoru’s concerned gaze. His thumb brushes against your cheek—just once, fleeting, and his eyes search yours, not convinced.

A beat passes. Then, Suguru clears his throat.

"I’ll respond."

His voice is even, but there’s an edge beneath it. Cold. Measured. And you don’t protest. You can’t. Because the thought of speaking—of addressing him—sends another wave of nausea rolling through your gut.

Your body instinctively tenses again, and Satoru doesn’t let go. His fingers continue tracing slow, steady circles along your back as Suguru stares at the phone, jaw tightening just slightly before his fingers move over the screen.

The soft tap-tap-tap of his fingers against the glass is the only sound in the room. Then, a pause.

A slow, deep inhale drags through his nose, his thumb hovering over the screen for a brief second before he presses send. And the silence that follows feels heavy, expectant.

“He’s going to respond,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

Suguru leans back slightly, watching the screen. Waiting.

“He will,” he confirms, voice unreadable. “But that doesn’t matter.” His eyes lift, meeting yours with something unshakable. “Because we’re meeting him tomorrow.”

The words settle like a weight in your chest.

You stiffen. “We are?”

“You don’t have to see him, sweetheart.”

Satoru’s voice is gentle but firm, his fingers tilting your chin up just enough to guide your gaze back to his. There’s something quietly resolute in the way he’s looking at you—something absolute.

“Me and Suguru will go,” his voice is unwavering, a promise wrapped in steel. “You don’t have to do a damn thing. Let us handle him.”

The finality in his tone settles over you like armor.

You inhale—slow, deep. The tension still lingers, an ache sitting heavy in your ribs, but it no longer feels crushing. It no longer feels insurmountable. Because you don’t have to do this alone.

You have them.

a/n. ahhh, i hope you guys liked this chapter. it was very, very tough for me to write. i can't tell you how much i despise naoya—fucking gaslighting asshole, lol. i hope this gave you a glimpse of what y/n actually lived through. this is the reason she has a lot of issues—the difficulty trusting, reluctance to open up. with naoya, y/n had no voice—she was powerless. but satoru brings out the spark in her, rather than diminishing her flame, satoru nurtures it. i feel like i didn't even get to accomplish everything i wanted in this chapter 😅 but oh jeez, i couldn't do another 20k chapter. just know that there's still a lot i'm setting up for. i'm so excited for what's to come 🥹 also, y/n and satoru finally shared some intimacy, hehe. hope it was worth the wait for ya'll 🤭 remember, SLOW BURN. thanks so much for reading, and as always, i would really love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! the support with this fic floors me, every single time. i appreciate each and every one of my readers—THANK YOUUU💕 -aly → onto the next chapter ꨄ

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbah @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

976 notes · View notes

crookedteethed · 3 months ago

Text

18+ - mdni

ᥫ᭡. rafe fucks you while you're peacefully sleeping.

It was 2 a.m., and Rafe had been feeling restless. He could sense the strain burning in his eyes, yet every time he tried to close them, he found himself opening them again.

Unbidden, an uncontrollable urge to see you sleeping, peaceful and vulnerable, filled his mind. Even in wakefulness, he couldn't resist sneaking a glance at your serene figure. A smirk crept across his lips as he marveled at how adorably innocent you looked in sleep, unaware of the dangerous desires stirring within him.

Sleep had eluded him.

He let out an exasperated groan before flinging the sheets off of his toned body and padding barefoot to the balcony.

The crisp night air kissed his skin as he looked out at the moonstruck streets of Kildare.

Seeking solace, he ignited two blunts on the patio, but even that wasn't enough to calm Rafe's racing mind. He was far from ready to succumb to sleep.

As Rafe slunk back into bed, he caught sight of your body sprawled out in a tantalizingly fuckable manner. Your sleep shirt barely covered your unclothed mound, and with your hands raised above your head and legs spread wide, you were an irresistible invitation.

Rafe's thoughts turned to all the preverted things he wanted to do to you in that vulnerable position.

But he couldn't, could he? Could he resist the temptation?

It was never something you both openly discussed - Rafe taking advantage of you while you slept.

Maybe Rafe secretly fantasized about waking up to you pleasuring him, promising to marry you if it ever happened, but he didn't know how you would react to being awakened by him fucking you.

Rafe assumed that the only way to find out is to try it.

Rafe's adventurous spirit burned within him, daring him to push the boundaries and explore every inch of your body. As he lay beside you, his mind raced with thoughts of ravishing you while you slept peacefully, the thrill of your ignorance driving him wild.

As Rafe gazed at your sleeping form, desire pooled in his belly. He gently pulled back the covers, lifting your shirt just a tab to reveal your bare skin in the dim moonlight.

With feather-light touches, he caressed your thighs, parting them slowly. His fingers danced higher, teasing your folds. A soft sigh escaped your lips, but you didn't stir.

Emboldened, Rafe positioned himself between your legs. He entered you with agonizing slowness, watching your face for any sign of waking. When fully sheathed inside your warmth, he began to move in long, languid strokes. The sensations were intoxicating - your tight heat enveloping him as he rocked against you.

Rafe hungrily studied your face, committing every detail to memory as he thrust deeply into your wetness. Your plump lips were parted in ecstasy, revealing a glimpse of your pearly teeth as you moaned softly. Your brows furrowed with pleasure, a sign that Rafe's cock was hitting all the right spots. You were an intoxicating sight to him, driving him wild with desire.

Rafe found himself taking your thigh and hitching it up to angle your hips in a position that allowed Rafe to sink himself deep.

With your leg hitched higher, Rafe sank even deeper inside you. The new angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, causing you to arch your back instinctively. Your eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep and arousal.

"Rafe?" you murmured, voice thick with desire.

He stilled for a moment, caught off guard by your sudden awakening. But the sight of your flushed cheeks and dilated pupils spurred him on. He captured your lips in a searing kiss as he resumed his rhythm, more urgently now.

"Is this okay?" he breathed against your mouth.

In response, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your hands roamed his muscled back as you met his thrusts with your own. The room filled with the sounds of your shared passion - skin on skin, breathless moans.

"More than okay," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

Rafe groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. You tilted your head, giving him better access as he kissed and nipped along your throat.

The coil of pleasure in your core wound tighter with each deep thrust. Rafe's movements grew more erratic, a telltale sign he was close. You clenched around him, relishing the way he shuddered in response.

"I'm not going to last much longer," he panted, reaching between your bodies to stroke your most sensitive spot.

Stars exploded behind your eyelids as the dual sensations pushed you over the edge. You cried out Rafe's name, your release washing over you in waves of ecstasy.

The pulsing of your inner walls triggered Rafe's own climax. He groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt as he found his release. For several long moments, you clung to each other, bodies trembling in the aftermath.

Slowly, Rafe lifted his head to gaze down at you. His eyes were soft, filled with warmth and something that made your heart skip. He brushed a tender kiss against your lips before carefully withdrawing and rolling to the side, pulling you with him.

You nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back as the sweat cooled on your skin. A comfortable silence settled over the room, broken only by the occasional crackle from the dying fire.

"That was…" you murmured, searching for the right word.

“Incredible,” Rafe finished, pressing a kiss to your body. Wrapped in his arms, Rafe could finally drift off into a blissful sleep close to you.

ᡣ𐭩₊˚.⋆⁺₊ tag list

@alexxavicry @nemesyaaa @rafestoothbrush @trapistani @theeternaloptimistt @scne-vampire @lilithblackkk @cryinghorny @futuremrscameron @littlelamy @elmolovesw33d @faephoria @cute-sucker @percysley @zyafics @zyafics-recs @sleepiibunniiii @maybankslover

as always, reblogs and comments keeps me motivated. 🫶🏾

2K notes · View notes

littlelamy · 26 days ago

Text

sports car

warnings: smut, mdni

lamy's notes: heavily inspired by sports car by tate mcrae! i know i said i'll post tomorrow but i just HAD to write something based on this song.

rafe cameron doesn’t ask, doesn’t even fucking hesitate when it comes to claiming what’s his. it’s in the way his gaze burns through you, stripping you bare under the flicker of shitty alleyway lights, his lips curling into that cocky smirk like he already knows how wet you are just from the way he looks at you.

in the alley? fuck, he lives for the filth. the sharp scent of damp concrete, the muffled bass from the club pounding in time with your heartbeat. he’d slam you against the wall without a care for the grime, his fingers already pulling your panties aside. “you’re such a dirty little thing, aren’t you? letting me take you out here where anyone could see?” his voice is a low growl against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his fingers pump into you, wet and obscene. he’s rough, unrelenting, whispering filth in your ear as he makes you fall apart in the shadows.

in the back of his car? that’s practically his second home for this kind of shit. the windows fogged up, your moans echoing in the tight space as his hands roam every inch of you. his lips crash into yours, messy and desperate, his teeth catching your bottom lip just to hear you gasp. “you like being my little slut, huh? letting me fuck you like this, so fucking loud?” he’d shove the seat back, spreading your legs wide as his head dips between your thighs, his tongue working you over with a filthy precision that has you clawing at his shoulders. and when you cum, trembling and gasping his name, he’s grinning like the devil himself, proud and possessive. “you’re not done yet, baby. i’m not fucking done with you.”

then there’s the center of the room—the sheer audacity of him. some swanky event, his family’s fancy dinner, whatever. it doesn’t matter. he’d grab your wrist, dragging you away with a wicked gleam in his eye. “you think you can sit there, looking like that, and i’m just gonna behave?” he’d lay you down right there, the thrill of possibly being caught only making him harder. his hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, his mouth hot against your skin as he fucks you like he’s staking a claim. “let them hear,” he’d snarl, his hips slamming into yours. “let them fucking know who you belong to.”

with the windows rolled down? oh, he’s all over that. speeding down some dark, empty road, one hand gripping the wheel while the other slides up your thigh, fingers teasing under your skirt. “you’re such a needy little thing, can’t even wait till we stop.” and when you’re practically begging, he’d pull over, dragging you onto his lap in the driver’s seat. the car rocks with every thrust, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as you ride him, the cool night air rushing in through the open windows. “you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his lips bruising yours as he fucks up into you. “every inch of you is mine.”

on the corner of your bed, his hand wrapped around your throat, his voice a dark growl that sends shivers down your spine. “you’re mine. say it. fucking say it.” his other hand is between your legs, fingers working you open as he watches your face twist in pleasure.

on the beach, under the moonlight, he’d take you in the sand, the waves crashing around you as his body pins yours down. the salt air mingles with the sound of your cries, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he takes you hard and deep.

and when he’s feeling particularly unhinged? he’d sit back, watching with dark, hungry eyes as you touch yourself for him, his cock throbbing as he strokes himself in time with your movements. “you like putting on a show for me, baby? yeah, keep going. let me see how fucking bad you need it.”

he’s chaos, lust, and danger all wrapped up in one—and he’ll ruin you over and over until you’re begging for more.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs

1K notes · View notes

bamboozledbird · 4 months ago

Text

𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏 𝒈𝒐 // stiles stilinski imagine Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Allison Argent Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Word Count: 8.9k Tags: human!au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers Warnings: there are a few little nsfw mentions in the middle, so MDNI. Stiles does go out on a window ledge, but i have to make it clear he has no intention ever of jumping lmao.

A/N: this is basically just one day i thought what if stiles had a nick x jess first kiss because he seems stupid and awkward enough to jump out a window. and thus this nonsense was born. also the pov switching was new, so you’ll have to let me know if you’re a fan or not.

The thing is, Stiles isn’t an idiot. He’s stupid, but he isn’t dumb. He knows that it’s not normal to think about your best friend like this. That being so intensely attuned to the curve of her spine when she stretches or the hint of citrus that clings to her hair after she showers isn’t exactly platonic.

And he really doesn’t want to be that guy. You know, the guy who just wants more, who gets upset when he can’t have more—the guy who can’t be friends with the girl who doesn’t love him back. So. Stiles stuffs it down. Deep down. And he’s content to die like this because he needs you.

There are other girls. Boys too, after a latent discovery freshman year ( one that surprised no one but himself ). They come, and they go, and Stiles makes due with what he can have because he knows this is how it has to be.

But they aren’t you.

A blatant fact that ruins anything real before it even has the chance to start.

So here he is: 24, single, and perpetually in love with one of his three roommates—but, hey, at least he does his own laundry now.

Stiles watches you on your bed, sitting on the floor like a child, while he pretends to work on a case report. He feels a little like a child too, the longer he stares at you—like a little boy with his hand in the cookie car.

He plays with the fluff on your rug to keep his hand busy, tugging on it a little too harshly when you pull your hair back with the scrunchie on your wrist. Stiles feels like a cretin when his eyes follow the rise of your breasts as you fiddle with the knot on top of your head. They trail over the flex of your collarbones, and he sinks further into his shame when he imagines tracing the lines with his tongue.

You catch him staring, and his throat bobs with his swallow.

“What?” you ask with arched brows. You grin at him like you know something.

Fuck, what if you know?

You asked him something. Stiles knows you asked him something, but he can’t remember what. He just swallows again and fumbles for his coffee. Stiles knows that he should be desensitized to it all by now: your clever mouth, your deft fingers, your fluttering lashes, but he’s still startled by it every so often—like right now, when you look like you’re about to say something snarky at his expense.

“Does it look that bad?” A few strands of your hair slip from their loose hold when you shake your head at him. “Are you moonlighting with the fashion police? I thought you’d be a little busy living in the murder capital of the world.”

Stiles laughs a little, mostly because of the simple fact that your hair always looks pretty. He said it the first time he saw you, blurted it out like a little lamb. Stiles knew, even at six, that he should be embarrassed, but he just couldn’t help it. He was so little and completely overwhelmed by his first case of puppy love; the words had nowhere else to go.

He’s gotten better at swallowing the praise-vomit, but he still notices. You’re always pretty. He’s doing his best to ignore it.

“That’s St. Louis actually,” Stiles says. He burns his tongue on his coffee and pulls a face that he knows gives him a double chin.

You slide off of your bed and kneel down next to him. Your knees press into his thigh, and it feels like something more, something profound, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. You’re generous with your affection; you make everyone feel special when they’re around you. Stiles loves that about you, how you make him feel like he’s so smart, so vital when he knows that he’s moderately clever at best and really a lot closer criminally obsessive most days.

“Can you tell me anything about it?” you hum, nestling your chin in the hollow of his shoulder.

Stiles can smell your body wash. It’s sweet, fresh, and tickles his nose pleasantly—marigold and aloe. He’s seen the bottle in the shower. Sometimes, he has to bite his fist and turn the water to freezing when he accidentally imagines your wet, sudsy body, lathering the scent of marigold from neck to toe. It’s the in-between bits that make him especially nauseous with guilt.

“Huh?” Stiles mumbles, pressing his singed tongue to the roof of his mouth.

You poke his cheek and say, “You’re eating your lip. You only do that when you get stuck in a case.”

Stiles can think of several other things that make him suck his top lip between his teeth, but he is stuck—most likely because he’s spent the last hour watching you.

You frown, and he smiles a little at the wrinkle between your brows. You smooth out his own forehead wrinkles with your thumb and say, “It helps you sometimes—talking. You think best out loud.”

He does. Stiles swallows a little. You know him so well. You know everything about him. Everything except, of course, that the crush he had on you in elementary school has metastasized into an all-consuming, all-encompassing, honest-to-god, tried-and-true-blue, last-of-dying-breed, core-of-the-sun, probably-caused-the-big-bang kind of love.

Stiles has tried, and failed, to think of a way to casually confess how he feels. How do you even begin to break something like that to a friend? Over Chinese food? After a few beers at your favorite bar? During one of your Buffy binge nights? How is he supposed to say, ‘Hey, so I’m kind of totally and irrevocably in love with you, and it’s ruining my life a little—but that’s okay ’cause I can’t be happy unless I know that you’re happy’ without blowing up his entire life?

He can’t. So Stiles stuffs it down again with a sip of his coffee: black and bitter, a little like his heart when your not-boyfriend, boyfriend texts you. And he knows that’s so incredibly unfair of him. He knows that he’s needy, and pathetic, and far too possessive of your attention—it all makes him a little sick with self-loathing.

You have every right to remove your warmth from his side to respond, and Stiles thinks that if a guy can make you smile like that, he must not be all bad. You seem happy. When isn't feeling sorry for himself, Stiles is happy for you.

“The local police think it’s gang-related,” Stiles says eventually. His voice is raspy from his burnt throat and too loud in the silence of the near-empty apartment.

You slide your phone back into your pocket, and Stiles tries not to feel victorious. “And you don’t,” you scooch back to his side, ducking your head over his shoulder to see his screen.

“No,” Stiles combs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I don’t. It’s too easy.”

“Follow your gut,” you say, poking his abs, “he usually knows what’s up.”

“You know what he’s sayin’ right now?” Stiles’s back clicks as he stretches and rolls his neck around in slow circles. It does little for the perpetual ache along the ridge of his skull, but it gives him some space from you and your stupidly sweet smile. “It’s time for chimichangas.”

You smile at him again, and Stiles blames the swooping in his stomach on hunger. “I think you deserve a little more than off-brand, freezer-burned Tex-Mex.”

“Don’t knock Great Value,” Stiles grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. His lips, swollen from an afternoon of tearing into them with his teeth, tug into a tired smile when you wave your hand impatiently in front of his face. He wraps his long fingers around yours and says, “She’s been there for me through everything.”

“Higher standards, Stiles,” you roll your eyes, crinkled at the corners with your grin, “you’re in desperate need of higher standards.”

Stiles wants to laugh, feels the impulse itch his throat. High standards are precisely his problem.

“Maybe you should stop being such a brand snob,” Stiles pokes you in the side, a spot between your ribs that he knows is ticklish. You laugh and shove him away with a firm hand; Stiles goes willingly, stumbles into the doorframe just to make you laugh again.

“I am not a snob,” you push yourself onto a barstool, socked-feet dangling below. He smiles as you swing them and then knock your ankles together. You used to do the same thing on the playground swing set. “Not liking over-salted garbage is not snobbery.”

Stiles reaches for the open bag of corn nuts on the island, needlessly resting his palm on your lower back under the guise of balance. Your skin is warm, and he’s too busy thinking about how his hand must’ve been molded around the shape of your hip to notice how hard you’re biting your lower lip.

He tosses a few corn nuts in the air and catches them in his waiting mouth, smacking his lips together until they’re free of nacho cheese seasoning. He grins at the look on your face, and he wants to kiss the tip of your scrunched nose. “See,” Stiles sucks the leftover orange dust off of his fingers. His voice is muffled by his thumb when he says, “You’re snubbing my snacks right now—like a little munchie elitist. How dare you; they probably won’t ever recover.”

You laugh, as expected, and snatch the bag from the counter, not expected. “You’re literally biting your thumb at me!”

Stiles leans against the counter, rests his forearms on the granite, and watches you chew with a dumb, fond smile on his face. You’re just so clever, all wrapped up in keen smiles and sharp wit. You keep him on his toes, always have—Stiles hasn’t ever met anyone else who can spar with him so well. He doesn’t think he ever will. Admittedly, he hasn’t looked that hard; his heart just isn’t in it—who else would paraphrase Shakespeare in the middle of a mock debate? Who else could possibly look so wily and wicked while doing it through a mouthful of, objectively, terrible gas station eats.

“Purely accidental,” Stiles taps his fingers against the counter, and his shoulders lift with a small, oh-so innocent shrug, “it’s what we professionals call a ‘serendipitous turn of events’.”

“A professional what?” You grin at him. It’s one of his favorites, the one that says you’re about to tease him. “Sadist?”

“Oh,” Stiles’s brow quirks as he leans forward onto his arms, “so I torture you? Being around me is torturous?”

“Yes.” Your chin jerks with a small, sharp nod, but the only thing Stiles can see is your pouty bottom lip.

Sometimes, Stiles swears you do it on purpose—turn him on in the most inconvenient of moments. Make his heart swell into his throat until he devolves into a lovesick caveman. You have to know what you’re doing to him when you walk around in those little tank tops with the lace trim and the sleep shorts that ride up to the swell of your ass. It can’t be accidental, the cute laugh-snorts you’re so embarrassed of, or how you get so excited when you see a bird in a parking lot. It’s all too effective to be a coincidence.

Like right now, the way your lip balm shines under the kitchen lights and exaggerates your pout. You must know how completely and utterly kissable you look, and Stiles can’t do anything about it—now that’s torture.

You give him mercy and tuck your pout away for a solemn line instead. “You’re evil; you never close the cabinets or take the trash out.”

“Careful,” Stiles grins and snaps his teeth in the air, “I bite too.”

You lean across the island, and it’s torture, the way your arms squeeze your chest and push your cleavage to the neckline of your shirt. Stiles pointedly avoids looking at the round flesh. It just looks so soft, so plush—so ripe. His teeth ache. His tongue salivates. He craves with reckless abandon, and he’s never satiated.

Stiles knows you’re a smart girl, but sometimes he forgets. You’d have to be pretty dense, after all, to not see the ravenous gleam in his eyes. You certainly don’t seem to notice it now, not with all that fondness twisting your lips into a grin. Stiles often wonders, worries, how you’d look at him if you knew. Disgusted most likely; he’s disgusted with himself half the time—but you’re so sweet, and so understanding, you’d probably forgive him.

Pity, Stiles decides, if you knew, you’d pity him. He can’t decide if that’s worse.

You rest your finger between his brows, and his dark lashes flutter, brushing against his freckles like they stamped the specks onto his skin. “Eat your nuts, monster,” you drag your finger along the slope of his nose and then ‘boop’ the tip, “and then preferably something with a single gram of protein.”

Stiles grumbles to himself and searches the fridge for something that will placate your relentless bullying. He picks up the whipped cream and rolls the chilled can around in his hands, squinting at the label. 0 grams of protein. Stiles scoffs. Reddi Whip is, like, 75% milk, right?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he forgets to shut the fridge door until it starts beeping at him like it's a personal offense.

“Work?”

Stiles barely hears you, nose almost smooshed against his screen. “Huh?” He stares at his phone, eyes rapidly flicking back-and-forth, brain turning over how to counter the latest move on his ever-changing chessboard.

Stiles finally registers what you said when he begins his reply to his unit chief. “Oh…yeah.” His thumbs fly over his screen at a speed that, frankly, shouldn’t be humanly possible, “One sec…”

“You need a break.” You stand and place your hands on your hips in an adorable show of strength. He knows that you’re going for stern, so he bites his twitching mouth lest he invoke your actual wrath. “You’ve been working 18-hour days for the last two weeks.”

That’s an exaggeration, but Stiles doesn’t argue. He feels like it’s true. His stubble is out of control, and he’s afraid to look in the mirror and see exactly how dark his eyebags are. He only stopped by to shower and get a fresh change of clothes, but you came out of the bathroom in your little pink bathrobe and distracted him.

Stiles hates that robe. Detests it. He wants to burn it. He wants to rip the flimsy tie off with his teeth.

Mostly, Stiles wants to tuck you under his blankets and snuggle into the fuzzy fabric until he falls asleep.

He wants, he wants, he wants. That’s the problem.

You pry his phone from his hands and slip it into your back pocket. “We’re getting drunk tonight,” you say, and you say it in a way that he can’t even argue with. You say it like it’s a fact—you’re informing him, not telling him. Stiles is usually happy to comply.

That’s how you’ve always worked, after all: You point at a crocodile infested river, and he goes merrily, merrily, merrily down the stream, with a stupid, dreamy smile on his face.

It’s just. He’s functionally useless at doing anything without you. You take care of him. Always have.

Way back, when he was pre-Adderall Stiles, all baby energy and undiagnosed ADHD, you shoved a kid off of the swings when he made fun of Stiles’s babbling and twitching. He still babbles and twitches, but at least now he knows why. He doesn’t have some parasitic monster inside him; he’s just Stiles.

You’ve always known that—how was he supposed to not fall in love with you?

And after his mom died, you let him cry on your shoulder until your shirt was soaked through. He got snot all over your collar, and you just squeezed him tighter. Held onto him until he could breathe again, and then you said, “Want a grape soda?” and he almost started crying again because right then, at that moment, that was somehow the only right thing to say. Maybe because it was you, or maybe it was because you knew him so well. Maybe, it didn’t matter.

You spent the rest of the night starfished over your bed, and after a minute of staring at your ceiling fan, Stiles whispered, “Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

You looked at him and grinned, all teeth and sparkly eyes, and said, “You better hope so, boy blunder. Who else is gonna watch Twin Peaks with you a zillion times?” And Stiles knows that he was only eight, and he knows that maybe it was just because you made him laugh after all the emptiness, but he thinks that he fell a little bit in love with you then, even if he was too young to put a name to the feeling.

He finally figured it out when he was seventeen. Stiles wanted to be an adult so badly back then—and he felt like he was sometimes, after everything he’d gone through, but in so many ways he wasn’t. He definitely didn’t know how to handle his breakup with Malia like an adult—his first breakup, his first real relationship.

Stiles drank a lot that night. He can’t remember exactly how much, or anything that happened after 11 pm, but he does remember how you stroked his hair. He remembers how you wiped the foul mix of bile and sweat from his face with a cool washcloth and tender hands. He remembers how you tucked him into bed and curled up next to him when he asked you to say.

He remembers falling in love with you.

The epiphany felt a lot better when he was warm and limp from his dad’s scotch. It hurt a bit, when he woke up hungover and in an empty bed. You were in the kitchen, making him breakfast: greasy eggs and hashbrowns. After he got over seeing you in one of his t-shirts, he wondered if you’d ever get tired of cleaning up after him and all his issues.

Stiles still wonders that sometimes, even after you crawled into bed with him the night you found out your college sweetheart was cheating on you. He stroked your hair and ignored the wetness soaking into his neck, and you whispered against his skin, “Do you think we'll best friends forever?”

Stiles wanted to laugh. And then scream. And then kiss you. He didn’t do any of those things. He just said, “Can’t picture it any other way.” He didn’t say that whenever he thought about the future, whenever he pictured forever, you were always there.

He didn’t ask, ‘Is it okay if I’m in love with you forever?’

Stiles wants to ask it now, while you rattle off your plans for him this evening, but he doesn’t. He chews on a corn nut instead.

“Lydia’s looking for the right opportunity to make a move on the guy in 2B anyway,” you finish, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

You’re looking at him like he’s supposed to say something, so he nods dutifully, “The guy with the mullet, right?”

You roll your eyes and poke around the cabinets, taking stock of the chips and tequila. “It’s not a mullet—you’re so obtuse when you’re jealous.”

Stiles blinks because…where the hell did that come from? “I’m good on the perm front, thanks,” he snarks through the food lodged in his cheek.

“Not of him,” you say, tongue trapped between your teeth and distracted by the mixers on top of the fridge. Your back is to him from your perch on the counter, and Stiles watches you with wary eyes. It would be so much easier if you'd just ask him to get things down from the top shelves, but you never do. Refuse to, actually. Vehemently. You'll do it yourself, even if it means breaking a limb.

You manage to keep a hold of the pile of bottles cradled against your chest through your dismount, and Stiles breathes easier when your feet are pressed against solid ground. He’s glad your eyes are still on the kaleidoscope of sugar and citrus because you’d mock the relief in his eyes without mercy.

You line the bottles up in order of emptiness and absently hum, “Well, yes of him, I guess, because—can you check on the vodka and gin?”

Stiles sticks his head in the freezer, grateful for the blast of frigid air, and tries to untangle the crumbs of meaning in your flimsy accusation. He comes up with absolutely nothing—on every front of his mission. “No gin.”

You let out a long, heavy sigh and shake your head at the dangling light fixtures. “Lydia.”

Lydia was the only person in the apartment who liked gin, but Stiles didn’t have any room in his brain for commiseration. “So, I’m jealous of little orphan Annie from 2B because…?” He leans against the counter and tucks his hands under his arms, squinting skeptically, “Just so we’re on the same page n’ all.”

You’re texting someone. He’s sure it’s Lydia, probably asking her to pick up more gin on her way home, but Stiles can’t help but wonder if you’re inviting your…whatever you call three decent dates and one evening of alright sex. ( Oh, how Stiles loved hearing all the details when you came home. )

“Hmm?” Your smile is lit up by your screen and the kittenish glint in your eye, but Stiles knows it’s not for him. He swallows his pettiness before he chokes on it. “Oh, right,” you put your phone down on the counter and smirk. This one is for him, but Stiles actually wouldn’t mind if it was for someone else; the look in your eyes is downright diabolical. “You’re so adorably, blatantly jealous that Lydia is into another no-neck, illiterate jock from the gym—but the perm is pretty bad, I’ll give you that.”

Stiles’s jaw falls, and you laugh, completely misinterpreting his stupor. He stares at you and just shakes his head, scrambling for a grasp on at least one of the million questions pinging around his skull. “You think I want Lydia?”

“Uh-doy,” you roll your eyes like he’s said something particularly stupid, “only since forever.”

He’s struck again at how you can simultaneously know him so well and not at all. “You don’t think that would’ve come up in the last, I dunno,” Stiles’s head jerks with his choppy hand gestures, “eighteen years?”

You wave your hand and then grab his wrist, “It’s been intermittent.”

You lead Stiles back into your room by his hand like he’s a wayward dog on a leash. He’s grateful for it. Stiles can’t do much else besides blink and breathe when he’s like this—when he’s wrapped up in a case he can’t crack.

Stiles drops onto the edge of your bed with a solid thud, feeling a bit like someone slammed a 2x4 into his gut. His tongue seems to be useless, glued to the back of his teeth. All he can do is watch you flit around your room, gathering an armful of skirts and dresses.

You hold up a black dress in one hand and a black mini-skirt layered under a red baby tee in the other, “Pick.”

Stiles wants to pick the sweats you’re currently wearing because they’re his, but he points at the skirt. He knows it’s your favorite; you’d pick it anyway.

You sit down in front of your vanity and pull the scrunchie out of your bun. Stiles watches your hair tumble over your shoulders. You’re insecure about it, always have been. One day it’s the color, and then it’s the texture, and he, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why. Your hair shines so prettily under the light, and it always smells so sweet, like citrus and honeysuckle—Stiles can’t decide if he wants to bury his nose in it or wrap it around his spindly fingers.

Graciously, you twist it into an artful arrangement before he can do either.

“I don’t want to be with Lydia,” Stiles finally says quietly.

You stop fiddling with pieces of hair framing your face and meet his gaze in the mirror, “It’s okay if you do.”

Stiles nods and stares at his lap, twiddling his fingers. “I know,” it’d be easier if he did, “but I don’t.”

You turn around in your chair and give him a little smile. It’s fond and sweet, and Stiles feels like a hand is closing around his heart and twisting it behind his ribs. “We’ll find you someone tonight, then,” you say, popping up from your seat. You grab your clothes off of the bed and squeeze his shoulder on your way to the full-length mirror next to your closet.

Stiles turns his head when you start to wriggle out of your shirt. He knows you don’t care what he sees after years of sleepovers and lake vacations, but you don’t know what it does to him. How all your dips and curves slip behind his lids when he’s alone with his fist and too much lube. If he’s really being honest, it also happens when he’s not alone, but that makes him feel like a piece of shit for a whole other list of reasons.

All of it feels pretty awful when it’s over—when Stiles is left with the unpleasant sensation of drying cum on his stomach and the very unpleasant realization that you’d never wear a swimsuit around him again if you knew exactly what he does with the image.

So. Stiles does what he can. He doesn’t look when you change, tries to avoid seeing you in a towel altogether, and watches so much porn of people who look nothing like you.

It doesn’t work, of course, but he tries. That has to count for something.

Stiles swallows and taps his fingers against his thighs. “I can’t think of anything I want to do less than interact with a bunch of drunk strangers partying in my—”

“Not a bunch,” you say around a grunt, tripping over the dragging hem of your borrowed sweats, “and not a party. Just a chill get-together of like-minded peers.”

He scoffs and tips his chin up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I’m sure I have so much in common with Lydia’s guest list. Yeah, we can talk about how they can bench-press two of me and that I also love me some stacking—pancakes, not steroids, but close enough.”

There’s a whoosh of a zipper and then you’re in front of him with your arms folded over your chest and thinned eyes. “You better behave.”

Stiles grins; it’s decidedly obnoxious. “I’ll be perfectly cordial, promise. I’ll even speak slowly.”

You laugh, and Stiles knows you’re only pretending that you didn’t want to.

“I think it’ll be good for you.” You return to your vanity and pilfer through your mess of earrings. “Y’know, to get out of your head for a little bit. It really is just gonna be us and a few plus ones. I know you, boy wonder, no parties shall ever be thrown in your honor. I solemnly swear.”

He smiles at the childhood pet name, a private little grin Stiles keeps tucked in his chest and at his feet. It falls, however, when he remembers the middle bits of your speech. “So,” Stiles gnaws on his thumbnail and jiggles his knee, “did you invite a plus one?”

You slide a gold hoop through your ear and grin at him, “Nah, I’m all yours tonight, Stilinski.”

Good. God.

Stiles wants to kiss you. He always wants to kiss you, but sometimes every inch of you rips the air from his lungs—cleaves him right in two. Like right now. He forgets how to speak, trying to remember what he can say and what he absolutely can’t say, while he imagines a life where you really are his and you know that he’s always been yours.

You’re just so pretty in your little skirt and cherry t-shirt, and you’re so clever, and funny, and you’re looking at him like he’s your favorite person in the entire world, and Stiles feels all of it spilling over the edges of his restraint. He almost says something so heavy—so categorically, catastrophically stupid, it would ruin your friendship for good.

Stiles swallows it back into his chest, but his voice is still thick when he says, “All mine, huh.”

He’s sick with yearning, and he’s petrified for a moment that you can tell. It seems so obvious to him. It would be obvious to anyone, Stiles thinks, if they heard how weak he sounded, how soft in his throat and reverent in your presence.

But you don’t notice. You never do. It’s a relief, and it’s endlessly frustrating.

“Yep,” you smack your lips together, blotting your red lipstick until it’s perfect, “I wanna win, and everyone knows you can’t win True American with a noob on your team.”

His brow arches, and a lazy grin smears across his mouth, “Oh, so we’re getting drunk drunk tonight.”

You wink at him in the mirror, “If you play your cards right.”

Stiles does, in fact, play his cards right. He picks Scott as the third member of your cabinet, possibly because Scott can outdrink anyone…or maybe it’s because Scott knows that Stiles is pathetically into you and can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times, but especially not when he’s drunk.

Who’s to say, really?

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t need the advantage—Lydia’s voluntarily stuck with Isaac and the guy from 2B who can’t follow the rules no matter how many times they shout them at him, and Malia and Kira care far more about making goo-goo eyes at each other than they do helping their friend from yoga make any progress towards the King—but he’s competitive by nature and feeling exceptionally stupid tonight.

Lydia introduced the Clinton Strip Rules solely to ogle her latest man candy’s aggressively sculpted six-pack and show off her bewitching décolletage, and it was going along swimmingly until the idiot forgot how to count.

It was so simple. All the guy had to do was hold up three fingers—that’s all. He would’ve matched Lydia's count, and then they could've made out behind the Iron Curtain. But he didn’t. He held up two fingers and in doing so single-handedly crafted Stiles Stilinski’s demise.

Ironic. Considering the moron can't craft a compound-complex sentence to save his life.

For a single, endless moment, you and Stiles just stare at each other, more specifically, at the four fingers plastered against your foreheads—and then the spell is broken by drunken cackling. Lydia grins like the cat who caught the canary, and Scott laughs until his face turns red. He’s loud and obnoxious with the four drinks he’s downed, and Stiles wants to shove him out the window.

“Guys,” Stiles whines, “you don’t really—”

You finish the beer in your hand and shrug your shoulders, “It’s fine.”

Stiles’s head whips towards you, big-eyed and fish-mouthed. He can’t form words. Can’t speak any of the five languages he knows. He’s become a Stiles Stilinski skinsuit held up by a skeleton of gelatin and faulty survival instincts.

You smile at him a little and shrug again, “It’s just a game, right?”

You don’t say it, but Stiles can hear it with painful clarity: It doesn’t mean anything.

Stiles doesn’t know how to say no without telling the truth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, not exactly. Stiles wants to kiss you—of course he wants to kiss you, feels like the whole goddamn world knows he wants to kiss you and is conspiring against him—but not like this. He doesn’t want to kiss you when it’s nothing. He’s thought about it far too much, imagined it on his bedroom ceiling in the safety of darkness too many nights, to blow it all on a stupid drinking game. A stupid gym-bro’s mistake.

Stiles had a plan. A plan he never actually had the courage to act on, but a plan nonetheless.

He was going to hold your face with shaking hands, smooth his thumbs along the sleek line of your jaw, look you in the eyes so that you could see the disbelief, the wonder, the awe. You’d see that he was overwhelmed to the bone, to all the nerves shivering inside the marrow, and you’d have to forgive him for being so tongue-tied and awkward—for taking so long.

And then, he’d kiss you.

He’d kiss you again, and again, and again, until one of you started laughing, but that’d be okay because it would give him the chance to kiss your neck and whisper, 'You’re the sky, and the mountains, and everything in-between.'

'You’re dark matter; you’re gravity,' he’d kiss the words into your skin and sigh, 'you’re the only thing holding the universe together.'

But he can’t say that, so Stiles follows you into Lydia’s bedroom and wipes the sweat on his palms off on his jeans.

You’re a little giggly while you fumble for the light. It’s breathy, and you can’t meet his eyes. Stiles feels a little better knowing that you’re almost as nervous as he is. You aren’t usually the nervous kind, after all. That’s his thing.

Stiles slides his hands into his back pockets and rocks onto his heels, “We don’t…we can just pretend that we…did it.”

“Did it?” you arch a brow, lips curling into a wry grin. “It’s just a kiss, Stiles. I thought you wanted to win? We gotta end Lydia’s streak, or she’ll be insufferable.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry: cottony with wanting, brittle with misery. He can’t pretend anymore; he can’t pretend that he's not dying from this.

You can’t look at Stiles’s face. Can’t see the panic. It’s why you shuffle closer to him, stiffly reach for his shoulders and awkwardly search for the least romantic place to rest your hands. Stiles’s back thuds against the wall, and you finally dart your eyes to his. “It’s fine,” you say weakly.

There’s a loud chorus of, ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss,’ through the door, and Stiles watches the resolve harden your face. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow exhales. He can hear his pulse ricochet around his ear canal, can feel the sweat gathering on his palms, can taste the anticipation in the air.

You roll your shoulders back a few times and shake your hands by your side, rotating your neck in a few slow circles. “Just kiss me, Stilinski. No biggie. I think we can catch up to Isaac if you hurry the hell up and plant one on—”

“Not like this!”

Your mouth parts into a perfect little ‘o’, and Stiles’s eyes bulge when he realizes that the pathetic, desperate cry came from him.

You fold your arms over your chest and tilt your head with an expression on your face that Stiles can’t read for the life of him. “What,” you lick your lip, and Stiles squirms with shame when he can’t stop himself from tracking the movement, “what does that mean?”

Stiles’s face spasms, and he can feel his IQ drop by tens the longer you stare at him.

“No, I didn’t…” Stiles’s stutters, flicking his gaze to your forehead, your chin, between your brows—anywhere but your eyes. His nose scrunches as he shakes his head, “Nothing. I just—I didn’t mean like that.” Stiles isn’t entirely sure what you think he meant, but considering he can’t decide what he means, it’s a safe bet that you’re wrong.

Stiles's hands take over for his melting brain matter, gesturing wildly every-so often like the flexing and contracting add any actual meaning to his meaningless babble. “I just, we can’t like that because that’s not…Do you know, like…? It’s very, like, you don’t…” His eyelids seem to have forgotten how to blink, and Stiles thinks he’d do just about anything for a piano to fall out of the sky right about now.

The chanting outside the door gets louder; Stiles isn’t sure if it’s real or just his anxiety. Through his narrowing pinprick vision, the only thing he can see at the end of the dark, dark tunnel is Lydia’s window. The heavy purple curtains frame the opening like serendipitous velvet gift wrapping.

Stiles swallows and nods sharply, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Stiles steps around you, and you follow his path with your eyes. They’re pinched with suspicion, but mostly concern. “Stiles, what are you do—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles tries to wave off your worries with a shaky hand.

And then he unlatches Lydia’s window and crawls on top of a chair to reach the opening.

“Okay, this makes sense. I just need a little air,” Stiles mumbles to himself. His dirty sneakers leave a clear outline of his soles on the white fur. Under any other circumstances, you’d both be desperately trying to scrub the fabric clean before Lydia found the stains and rained her wrath down upon your very fragile, bruisable bodies. Under these circumstances, you’re preoccupied with the half of Stiles’s body that’s hanging outside the window of your 3rd-story apartment.

“Stiles!” you stumble to the wall and freeze, unsure how to pull him back in without accidentally tipping him onto the concrete three floors below.

Stiles manages to slip the rest of his body through the window without breaking any limbs. Yet. “This is what I needed. Yup, this is—” his eyes engulf his face, a wide pool of churning honey, when he finally realizes just how small the ledge is and just how far away the ground is, “ah, ha, ha!”

“Stiles!” You cover your face with your hands and shake your head over and over again. You hope, childishly, if you spin fast enough, you can rewind time back to 10 minutes ago—when Stiles was safe on the floor and you could stop yourself from giving into the silly, stupid desire to kiss him. Just once. To finally find out how it would feel.

You peek through your fingers and wince as he stumbles towards the left. “You don’t have to kiss me!”

Stiles disappears from view, and you tumble into the hallway. You let out a low hiss when your hip slams into a sharp corner. The flare of pain is soon forgotten, however, when Stiles slams his hands against the living room window. Everyone turns to gawk at him, eight mouths wide open and not a single word is spoken until Stiles presses his entire body against the glass.

The window hasn’t been cleaned since you all moved in, so you can’t quite make out his expression through grime and dirt, but you can hear the shrill urgency in his voice. “This is a regret—I immediately regret this.” It would be funny, how high his voice is—approaching autotuned chipmunk territory, honestly—if he wasn’t six inches away from certain death. You can all laugh about it later when Stiles is safe on the couch, you decide. After you’ve punched him in the arm for doing something so bone-shatteringly stupid, obviously.

Malia does laugh, and Kira smacks her shoulder. You almost appreciate the levity; it reminds you that your brain needs oxygen to function.

Scott cups his hand around his mouth and shouts, “Don’t move!”

Stiles smooshes his button nose into the glass. He inhales and exhales with mad abandon, creating and erasing a cloud of condescension with every breath. “I've made a very bad mistake! I’m not trained for this!” his lips smear against the glass, muffling his cries for help. Stiles pulls back, and leaves a streak of saliva behind. At least, that patch of the window is clean now, biohazard be damned.

It’s Scott who ends up saving the day. No surprise there. He gets Stiles through the window and shoves him onto the couch, teeth ground in what can only be described as parental frustration.

Scott folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, “You scared me half to death out there.”

Isaac snorts and rolls his eyes, quipping over Scott's shoulder, “Are you not getting enough attention?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles groans into his hands and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s still red from being smashed against the window, and the rest of his face matches with his embarrassed flush. “I am fine! I was partly joking and at least 64% drunk!”

“Stiles, we will talk about this in the morning,” Scott’s face is stern, and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder is just as firm, “but right now, I’m gonna go do stuff with a girl.”

Scott’s face is still solemn when he high-fives Isaac, mostly out of habit. You do laugh then. Can’t help it. A little bit of relief creeps through your constricted chest when Stiles smiles. It’s brief, a little twitch at the corners of his slightly-swollen mouth, but it’s there.

Allison rolls her eyes when Scott holds out his hand, but she still takes it and follows him towards his bedroom.

“Shut the door!” Stiles shouts at their backs. He slumps back against the couch cushions when the thudding of Scott's door closing echoes through the hall.

It’s quiet for a moment. Kira shifts awkwardly, clinging to Malia’s arm for balance when the fog of alcohol spreads from her flushed cheeks to her platform combat boots. Malia doesn’t look that concerned, but she’s always been cool under pressure…and any other emotion.

You expect Lydia to look as worried as you do, but she has a strange, calculating look in her eyes. They’re sharp in the light of her brilliance; the jade almost looks feline.

Lydia’s beaux ends up breaking the silence with a loose laugh. His head tips back with his chuckle, and he throws his meaty arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “That was freakin’ hilarious! I mean, dude jumped out on a ledge instead of kissing a 10. Can you believe that?”

Lydia looks wholly unamused and says flatly, “I really can’t.” She fixes Stiles with a look you can’t read, but Stiles seems to understand.

“I know.” Stiles drops his face into his hands and digs his face into the cradle of his wide palms. "I’m an idiot.”

Everyone seems to hear a cue that you missed while watching Stiles’s chest rise and fall. Malia, Kira, and their plus one filter out the door one-by-one, and Isaac kisses your cheek before wrapping his scarf around his neck. You’re relieved again when you hear Stiles scoff; it’s something he always does when Isaac puts on one of his pretentious kerchiefs in the balmy, LA weather. It’s nice to see some things are still the same.

Lydia stares at Stiles, and they have a silent conversation that ends with a patented Lydia Martin glare and a quintessential Stiles Stilinski squint.

Lydia leaves with her late night delight and kiss to your other cheek, and suddenly it’s just you and Stiles.

You wring your fingers together, gnawing on the lining of your cheek. You can’t think of anything to say. To Stiles. You never thought you’d see the day.

The couch creaks with Stiles’s shifting weight. He pushes himself to his feet and stands in front of you. The redness in his face has faded, baring the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you’re so fond of. His lips part. Your breath stills, waiting. Wanting. His silence washes over the room like a flood, and you close your eyes. You’re afraid of it, witnessing the inevitable wreckage.

It doesn’t come.

You hear the quiet padding of Stiles’s footsteps. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, slinking down the hall to his bedroom. You stare at the place he was just standing, feeling the chill of his absence, and then it’s gone. A glaring blaze of anger warms your face, and you allow it to carry you to Stiles’s closed door. What a metaphor; the thought grinds your molars together until they screech.

You wrench his door open, and Stiles jumps, halfway out of his jeans. He stumbles over the cuffs and almost falls on his face. You wish you could tease him, laugh until you snort and Stiles glares at you through his pathetic attempt to hide his smirk. But you can’t. Not yet.

“You’re really just going to leave it like that?” you say, closing his door behind you. It’s preemptive; you feel a little like yelling. “That was a whole other level of stupid, Stiles, even by your standard.”

Stiles quickly yanks his pants back up and buttons them, struggling with the zipper and his twitching fingers. “Can we just not,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face, looking infinitely older than he is, and mumbles a hollow, “actually, can we never.”

The words hang heavily in the air. In the harrowing quiet, you think: Oh god, is this it? Is this really the end?

Stiles stares at his feet, at the hole he’s wearing in the oak floor. He hears it too, the weight of what he’s done. Fucking hell, he thinks, I didn't know cowardice could be so loud.

You smooth your hands over your hair, clasping for any semblance of composure. “I just…I didn’t realize that the thought of kissing me was so…traumatic.”

Stiles jerks his head from the floor and tugs his fingers through hair. He pulls at the roots until it stings and shakes his head, “That’s not…you’re,” he gestures towards you helplessly and swallows the millions of things he wants to say, “you.”

“Yeah,” your shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug, arms winding around your torso like a brace, “that seems to be the issue.”

Stiles just looks at you for a moment. The lamp on his desk bathes his skin in a wave of warmth when he tilts his head. The tip of his nose casts a shadow over his lips, and you want to trace the divot in his cupid’s bow, the little lines by his nose, the hollow space under his eyes. You want to trace them all with your fingertips and then memorize them with your mouth.

Stiles's eyes are golden in the light, and they’re stuck on yours.

“You are…” Stiles closes his eyes, and his voice is so soft, so devout, “you are so fucking...inescapable, you know that? You are…you’re so deep inside my head, I can’t do anything without thinking about you. It’s becoming a serious fuckin’ problem—a nuisance, actually, a nuisance. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to stop, y’know, like it would be fuckin’ awesome if I could just forget how you smell like going home and a goddamn spring meadow, or if I could go fuckin’ grocery shopping without looking for those impossible to find chips with the Elmer Fudd lookin’ fucker on ‘em—”

“Hot fries,” you whisper hoarsely.

Stiles stops pacing for a moment and nods at you, “Thank you—hot fries. And I would love it if I could walk down the street, just once, and not look for a dog to take a picture of, just so I have an excuse to text you without looking like I was just thinking about you—even though I was obviously just thinking about you because, re my previous ranting, there’s literally not a single second of the day that you're not on my mind. You're just…inevitable.”

“And…I am Iron Man?” your smile is wobbly.

Stiles gives you a flat look over his shoulder, “You’re a smartass—but I love that. I love everything about you—even the way you talk through my favorite movies and force-feed me a vegetable once a week.”

“Stiles,” you swallow shallowly and rest your hand on his chest. Stiles stops pacing and meets your gaze with big, endless eyes and blinking butterfly lashes. Tipping your head to the side, you swipe your thumb over his thudding heart, “What are you trying to say?”

Stiles rests his hand on top of yours, clunkily lacing your fingers together for a little stability. “I love you,” he whispers, because he has to. It has to be this soft. It has to stay just between you and him, in the little bubble of air between your lips. “I’ve been in love with you since…” Stiles chews on his lip, trying to pinpoint when he knew, when he knew that you’re it for him. There are so many moments that come to mind, and he can’t pick a single one. It’s just that the line between mud pies, and t-ball, and this is so blurry. Stiles can’t tell where it really begins and where it ends.

It feels boundless, Stiles thinks, infinity. It’s something, somewhere, past the edge of the universe. He’s yours infinitely. There is no before he loved you, and there is no after. It’s just always.

Stiles breathes and sighs out his answer, “Forever. I’ve loved you since forever, and I couldn’t—I can’t kiss you if it doesn’t mean anything.”

Your lips curve slowly. It’s a nervous smile, one that’s afraid of the rug being yanked out from under happily ever after. “You love me?” you say quietly, voice little and meek.

The tip of Stiles’s tongue darts out, wetting his lip. He nods slowly and rubs the back of his neck—an anxious tick you know very well. You’ve watched Stiles for eighteen years, after all. You’ve studied the tendons in his neck, how they flex when he crooks his head down to read, how it makes your belly warm more than it should. You know he flexes his fingers exactly three times before starting a test, and you know that the long veins in his arms are the most stupidly attractive things you’ve ever seen. He’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve loved him for so long it’s written in your bone marrow.

Stiles scratches his neck until it’s pink and raw, and you pull his hand away instinctively. He smiles at you so timidly it breaks your heart, “Is that okay?”

You nod, and nod, and nod. “Very okay. Very, very okay. The most okay of all the okay’s.” It’s so fast, and it’s been so long, but mostly it’s right. Like this is the only logical conclusion, the answer to a cold case that took eighteen years to solve. Your life has always been youandstiles, and that sounds a whole like forever.

Slipping a hand to the back of his neck, you run your thumb along the knobs of his spine and whisper, “I am so ridiculously in love with you, boy wonder.”

Stiles grins. It starts small, fond, tender—but the more times he hears it, every time she loves me, she loves me, she loves me bounces around his ribcage, his grin gets a little bigger, a little brighter. Soon, it stretches across his entire face and swallows you whole. He looks more than alive like this; you want to taste the electricity in his mouth.

You smile at each other for a long time, and you look at Stiles through your lashes. “So,” you tip your chin and bat your eyes, “you gonna kiss me?”

Stiles is going to kiss you. He swears. He’s just…he’s thinking too much after an evening of not thinking at all. He’s been waiting for this for forever, and what if his lips are dry—or, worse, what if they’re too wet? What if his hands are cold and clammy, and you can feel his sweat when he cups your cheeks. He definitely feels sweaty. And nervous. And—

You rock onto your tiptoes and kiss him. It’s a little kiss, soft and short, but everything goes static and neon around you. You let out a little sigh, start to pull away—and Stiles whimpers. His hands surges forward and latches onto the back of your neck, pulling your mouth back to his.

Stiles slides the breadth of his large palm up and down your back, chasing the rhythm of your breath. There isn't much to chase, you think deliriously, you aren’t really sure if you need oxygen to survive anymore. You like swallowing his sounds and tasting his tongue far more than breathing. It feels like Stiles agrees with you when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, digging his fingers into the small of your back until there’s nowhere else for you to go. Silly boy. As if you’d rather be anywhere else.

He makes the sweetest little noises in-between your kisses, softening the wet smacking of lips and tongues. You chase them, learning what he likes by unraveling him one sound at a time, with a tug on his hair here, a nibble on his lip there, and your hands just about everywhere.

It’s hot. Literally. You can feel heat licking your skin—or maybe that’s just Stiles. Your head is a little fuzzy from his kisses and not enough oxygen, and logic is a distant thought. Breathing. People need to breathe.

Stiles’s nose bumps against yours when he pulls back. He smiles drunkenly and leans in for one more kiss. It’s quick and open-mouthed, two little brushes of his lips, and it steals what’s left of the air in your lungs.

Stiles brushes your hair back and rests his forehead against yours. His breath chills your spit-slick, swollen mouth, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. “I meant something like that.”

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski fluff #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski x reader

1K notes · View notes