cw: explicit sexual content, public ass-slapping, spanking, biting, grabbing, inappropriate touching, risk of being caught, dubiously appropriate timing, Nanami can’t keep his hands to himself. Bend that ass over, bitch! m.list
Nanami really, truly loved your ass.
Too much. He loved grabbing it, smacking it, coming on it. He loved watching it jiggle when you bent over, loved sinking his teeth into it just to leave marks he’d admire later.
And it became a habit.
A bad one.
Because Kento Nanami had no damn self-control when it came to you.
So here are the top ten worst-timed moments he’s slapped your ass:
10. The first time it even happened—by accident, really—was in the office when you brought him lunch. Problem was, Gojo was leaning against his desk, running his mouth as usual. Nanami’s hand landed on your ass with a sharp smack before his brain caught up, and Gojo’s jaw dropped. “NANAMIN’S A PERVERT! I KNEW IT!”
It took a full hour to calm him down, and he still brings it up at every opportunity.
9. In the classroom. He’d been lecturing when you walked in to deliver files. You bent slightly to hand him the folder and his hand came down on your ass before he could stop it. The students went dead silent before snickering erupted. You barely kept a straight face. Nanami? He just cleared his throat and continued the lesson like nothing happened, though the tips of his ears were bright red.
8. During training, in front of Principal Yaga. You were standing beside Nanami, clipboard in hand, when he smacked your ass hard enough that Yaga’s eyebrows nearly flew off his face. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “You two done?” Yaga asked dryly. Nanami didn’t blink. “Apologies. Muscle memory.”
7. At a Jujutsu Tech faculty dinner. Gojo, Utahime, Shoko, everyone there. Nanami had his hand on the small of your back, gentlemanly—until it dropped lower and gave a firm squeeze-slap hybrid. The sound of Shoko choking on her sake is burned into your brain. Gojo pointed a chopstick at you both, grinning. “Was that an ass grab or a slap? Or both?” Nanami’s glare shut him up, but not before Utahime muttered,“Unbelievable horny fucks.”
6. While you were on the phone with your mother. She was rambling about family drama, and you were trying to keep your voice steady while Nanami smacked your ass every time you said “mhmm.” You nearly choked when he pressed you against the counter and squeezed hard, mouthing, say goodbye faster. Your poor mother had no idea why you hung up so quickly.
5. Outside a mission briefing, with half the higher-ups lingering in the hall. You were in heels, files pressed to your chest, trying to look professional. Then came the sharp smack that made the folders slip right out of your arms. Everyone turned. Nanami just stooped to help pick them up, expression unreadable, before murmuring, “Control yourself.”
4. Grocery store. You bent down to grab something from the bottom shelf, and his palm cracked down on your ass so hard the woman next to you in the aisle cast you a jealous look. Nanami didn’t even look guilty—he just muttered, “That skirt’s too short,” and dropped the soy sauce in the cart.
3. In a meeting with higher-ups. You thought you’d be safe in such a stiff, professional setting—Nanami sitting with his tie perfectly straight, his posture rigid, the picture of composure. Until you leaned over to refill his tea, and he smacked your ass under the table. The sound wasn’t loud, but your sharp gasp was, and every head turned toward you. Nanami didn’t flinch. “Hot water,” he explained coolly. “Too close to her hand.” You wanted to strangle him.
2. Mid-mission, during a stealth recon in an abandoned warehouse. You were crouched behind a crate, trying to stay quiet, when Nanami’s hand landed on your ass so hard you yelped. You froze, heart pounding, while Megumi, Nobara, Yuuji, and Gojo all turned in unison, eyes widening. “Nanami!” you hissed, face burning as you tried to retaliate, swiping your hand at Nanami’s ass as he stepped past you, but your aim was off—Yuuji, eyes wide, practically shouted, “Hit him again! Hit him harder!” You froze, cheeks flaming, glancing at Nanami. Nobara rolled her eyes and muttered, “Pervert,” as you leaned closer to Nanami, whispering, “I’ll get you back later.”
1. Worst—or best—moment? After sex, when Gojo barged into his apartment unexpectedly. You were still bent over, dripping cum, thighs, Nanami slowly pulling out of you. His hand came down on your ass—smack!—just as Gojo’s voice rang out, “OH MY GOD, NANAMIN!”
You squealed, scrambling for Nanami’s discarded shirt. Gojo had the nerve to cover his eyes with one hand and grin through the other. Nanami, utterly unfazed, just tucked himself back into his slacks and said, “Get out.” Gojo laughed, wiggling his eyebrows. “Next time invite me.” You’ve never seen Nanami look closer to murdering him.
a/n: i have been thinking about this all day. like a fall morning with a sick sevika and a cozy setting UGHHH need.
Sevika had come home at night, around three in the morning, absolutely drenched due to the heavy rain pouring outside. You had told her earlier to take an umbrella or coat to prevent this, but she refused to listen.
You rolled your eyes and sighed. You two greeted each other before she went to go take a shower to wash off the tiring day.
In the morning, you wake up to her alarm, but she sleeps through it. You think that it's odd. Sevika never sleeps through her alarm. She must be tired. You decide to let her sleep in, thinking she needs the break
You get up quietly, walking to the bathroom to brush your teeth and take a warm shower.
You get dressed in a warm outfit and put your hair up before going to the kitchen to make yourself a drink and breakfast.
You eat your breakfast and then clean up. You go to the couch, turn on the tv, and read a book to pass the time.
Its around 10am and Sevika still hasn't gotten up. You begin to get concerned and get up to check on her. You walk into the room quietly, only to hear Sevika blowing her nose. Of course shes sick. You instantly move to her side
"What do you need? Have you taken medicine? I told you to take a jacket yesterday.." You ask quickly, leaving no room for her to answer.
"I'm fine. I don't need any medicine or anything else." She responds as quick as you ask. You can hear her nose is congested and her cheeks are pink and warm. You roll your eyes, pulling the blanket over her, cleaning up the pile of tissues she has on the beside table. Taking the empty box with you.
After an hour or so, you return to the bedroom with 3 things. Medicine, a new tissue box, and a bowl of her favorite soup. You can already feel her roll her eyes before you cak look at her.
You set everything down and you sit her up. Sevika glares at you as if you're personally wronging her just for caring.
You make her take a spoonful of medicine, she complies but makes a disgusted face when she tastes it.
"I told you i'm fine, didn't I?" She grumbles as you feed her a mouthful of soup.
"Sure you did. Doesn't change the fact that you're totally sick because you refused to wear a jacket when it was pouring yesterday" You stated quickly, leaving no room for argument.
She reluctantly let you feed her. After a while the soup made her feel sleepy. You cleaned up quickly and then walked back to the bedroom, getting in bed beside Sevika and turning on her favorite show. She quietly fell asleep beside you nuzzling into your arm as you watched the tv screen.
She was still sick, but she felt a bit better because of you.
ambessa x sugar baby!reader x sevika. men & minors dni.
synopsis: ambessa & sevika are married for business reasons but cannot stand each other. however, they love you—you who are unaware that they are together.
cw: age difference, older woman/young woman, polyam but is it really bc they just love you and not each other, sugar baby!reader, business moguls!ambessa & sevika, power dynamics, power imbalance (you're a sugar baby, lol), sw, pining, non-sexual intimacy, sexually explicit content, threesome, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex (everyone is receiving at some point), masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom/sub, sub!reader, dom!ambessa, switch!sevika, mommy kink, strength kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sevika & ambessa, y'all there's a lot of nastiness in here idk if i can warn for it all, discussions of sexuality, implied assault (non-graphic, within conversation), slightly dub-con, angst, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, sexual tension, hate sex, bisexual!reader.
wc: 10.3k
PLAYLIST.
notes: y'all, i'm going to hell. i had fun with this. i have such a soft spot for plots like this.
ACT I: CONCEPTION.
you were used to feeling like a guest in your own life, everything fleeting, everything temporary.
sugaring was something inherently lacking permanence, even in name. it was sweet for a moment, full of gleaming gifts that you accepted with perfect tears in your eyes.
you had more than enough money, saved from endless months in which you traipsed across the world in the hands of older men. maybe it was about the attention now, this idea that you were still young enough to be considered enticing without effort. maybe it was the desperation to wring what you could out of an age gap connection before you became the older one.
still, in the beginning years of your twenties, you found it increasingly grating. very quickly, you understood that the men were the main problem.
they were all the same: fleshy jowls wiggling as they chewed thickly through caviar and jasmine rice, their boisterous laughs sailing across tables when you attempted to join conversations. they took your interests and re-explained them to you, returning them pulpy and distorted as they attempted to convince you that you didn't understand them the way they did. their self-importance clung to them like cheap cologne.
the rare occasions where you actually slept with them were mercifully short, and you learned to suspend yourself out of your body. you would imagine hovering somewhere over yourself, banished to the lavish mirrored ceiling of the ritz or whatever opulent hotel they'd chosen. they shuddered awkwardly above you, and afterward, you'd come back into yourself only to scrub viciously at your skin under the unforgiving spray of the shower.
the women were different—usually. you found yourself drawn to their luxury perfumes and high society drawls. it was because of this that you dropped working through an agency—which you had originally chosen to better protect yourself from male clients—and began independent contracting.
you kept a private log of the ones you liked best. there was the private university professor (who was really a nepotism baby) who loved to wear le labo matcha 26 and smelled so deliciously of fig whenever she kissed you that you sometimes bought the fruit just to continue tasting her. her nickname for you was something in greek—μωρό μου, you think. moro mou. she told you it meant 'my baby', but in all honesty, she could have called you anything. you just liked hearing her speak.
you were a dreamy, distant creature. your appeal lay in your ethereal quality, moving through the world in a way that suggested you were detached from it. people described your presence as lingering, smokey and soft, like a fading perfume in a sunlit room. there was something endearing about the tilt of your head, the deliberate pause in your movements and speech as you stewed in thought, that made people stare a second too long.
you had plied yourself with romantic imaginations since you were younger, when you first grew to hate your mother. that hatred had led you across far waters into a glittering life of your own making. but you'd learned that women could be just as dangerous, if not more so. they could ensnare you, shatter your heart with just the flicker of a glance.
so, of course, this meant that you were bound to get caught in the tides of extensive affection at some point. you just didn't expect it to be with them.
🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔
the first sign should have been the unusual nature they coaxed from you.
you typically focused on one relationship at a time, securing yourself to a single person until you became too honest or too sensitive or too old. but with them, you found yourself with what you called a roster—a term your best friend and fellow sugar baby clleo (yes, two l's) took issue with during your weekly brunches.
"it's not a roster when it's only two women, [name]," she said, stirring her mimosa with a silver straw.
"it's more than one, no?"
"i feel like you have to have a minimum of three." she raised an eyebrow. "though i have to admit, even two is unusual for you."
the first was ambessa.
you'd met her when you weren't even looking, at some jazz show clleo had received tickets for from her newest beau. you had been perched inside the red velvet of the box, eyes roving over the insides of the other open balcony seats. you loved to observe, to look into others' lives and pretend they could be your own.
that night, you'd worn a navy slip dress that pushed the line of being dress-code appropriate, but it was comfortable and you had been tired. your hair was elaborately braided away from your face, threaded through with silk ribbons of the same color. despite its usually disagreeable nature, you'd managed to make it look elegant enough. your skin was littered with goosebumps from the fervent blasting of the air conditioning.
for once, you'd done your makeup the way you preferred it—less blushing ingenue, more cool nudes and a dark, bold lip. in the bottom of your purse sat two rolling bullets of lipstick: one a berry shade, the other a satiny red slightly subdued by a touch of brown pigment.
your feet had been curled beneath you, your ballet flats cast aside in the corner. the rounded tops were slightly scuffed, but you only saw it as a testimony of love. again, you looked out into the crowd only to find a woman looking back.
she was utterly beautiful, and your body flushed with heat for a moment, eyes wide like a doe. her skin was a dark, rich brown that gleamed with a sheen of oil and perhaps a shimmering body mist. her hair—black and streaked with thin rivers of gray—was pulled up into a tight bun, though the front was cornrowed. her mouth was full and smooth, a small gold cuff inserted in the middle of her bottom lip.
that night, she'd worn an oversized blazer over tailored pants. your eyes caught on her diamond cufflinks, and you felt your fingers clutch tighter around the bulk of your vintage ysl clutch.
she watched you with a sense of urgency, as if you might take flight like a bird and never return. bashfully, you turned back to watch the performance and clapped politely as it came to an end. her gaze never strayed from you, and as you rose to leave with clleo, you knew that she would be waiting.
you don't remember much of what happened after, of arranging the contract and indenturing yourself to her wealth. you only remember how she made you feel, her great body towering over you as she pierced you with her shrewd gaze. she'd cupped your elbow, pulled you gently to the side so that you were less in the way. the movement was easy; you trusted her with your body immediately.
now, ambessa reigned over the entries of your leather journal as your clear favorite. everything she did further endeared you to her, and you found yourself tumbling out of bed to check your phone where it lay on the floor, desperate for her messages. you watched the device all night, its flat body connected to a limp white cord plugged into the wall—willing it to ring.
and when she did call, you were almost delirious with joy.
ambessa's world was a carefully curated exhibition of power. noxus corp dominated the skyline with its obsidian tower, all sharp angles and tinted windows that reflected the setting sun like spilled blood. you'd learned early on not to ask too many questions about her work. the corporate merger making headlines—something about expanding into the industrial district of zaun—was just background noise to the way she'd trace your collarbone with cold fingers heavy with rings.
belatedly, in the midst of your betrayal and anguish, you’d berate yourself on your refusal to engage with real life when it inconvenienced you. you could’ve caught on, dived deep into the hole of information that was the internet as clleo did when taking up with someone new. but you didn’t, you just answered her call.
she liked to dress you up. tonight, it was a paper-thin black dress that cost more than your month's rent, the fabric liquid against your skin. you'd paired it with kitten heels that made soft clicking sounds against the marble floors—ambessa preferred when you were shorter than her, easier to maneuver, to possess. your lips were stained the color of coffee, and you'd lined your eyes with something dusky and soft.
the restaurant was the kind of place that didn't list prices on the menu, where the silverware felt weighty enough to be used as weapons. you liked this style of dining; it allowed you to escape further. you could pretend that since there were no prices, every morsel you ate was free and that the woman across from you was someone whom you loved and received love back from instead of bills.
“pull your hair back,” she commanded softly when you sat down, reaching across to brush a strand from your face. her touch lingered longer than necessary. “i want to see you properly. you should never feel a need to hide from me.”
you obliged, using the elastic around your wrist to gather your hair into a loose knot. the movement exposed the necklace she'd given you last week—a delicate thing of white gold and diamonds that probably cost more than your university education. her eyes darkened with satisfaction. she liked marking you with beautiful things, preferred to communicate through touch and gifts rather than words.
you preened under her clear pleasure. the idea that you’d done something right flowed through you, sweet as sugar as was the phenomenon of female favoritism. your tongue settled behind your teeth as she skimmed the menu, ordering for you as she always did. she seemed more aware of what you liked and needed more than you had ever been.
“are you alright with sharing the roast monkfish tonight, little lamb? i’m not all that hungry, so i think we should deal with something light.”
you nodded and she smiled, chucking your chin as she flagged down the server. you squeezed your thighs together, resisting the urge to rise from your seat and sit at her side with your head resting in her lap.
the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine you were unfamiliar with, which meant it was far more expensive than your beloved six-dollar gas station sémillon. as ambessa swirled the dark liquid in her glass, her phone buzzed. her expression hardened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over.
"business," she said simply, standing. "order whatever you'd like. i'll return shortly."
you caught fragments of her conversation as she walked away—something about zaun's infrastructure and liability concerns. one hour bled into two. the waiter refilled your glass with practiced discretion, and you watched the ice in ambessa's water melt completely. your phone remained silent except for a single text: an urgent matter requires my attention. car service will take you home.
the words blurred on your screen. you'd grown used to her absences, the way she could withdraw completely into her world of corporate warfare, leaving you adrift in these expensive spaces. but tonight, the emptiness felt sharper somehow. you had, more than ever, wanted her to take you home.
it was then that the woman entered the restaurant, right as you blinked upward to dispel the gathering tears. the air seemed to shift with her presence as she absentmindley looked in your direction.
she moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew how to handle herself in the cruel maw of this world, efficient and forceful despite wearing an expertly tailored suit. her left arm caught the light strangely—some sort of advanced prosthetic that spoke of military tech or private healthcare. a significant scar bisected her face, but rather than diminishing her beauty, it enhanced her striking features.
your paths crossed at the bar while you waited for a fresh glass of wine. she ordered whiskey, neat, and her voice was rough velvet.
"you're wearing that necklace wrong," she said, not looking at you directly. "the clasp should be centered at the nape. here."
before you could protest, her fingers—warm, unlike ambessa's—were at your neck, adjusting the chain. you caught a whiff of motor oil beneath expensive perfume. you swayed slightly, pressing into her touch. she steadied you with a single finger at the beginning knob of your spine, strong where you were momentarily weak.
"i'm sevika," she said, finally meeting your eyes. something in her gaze made your breath catch. you’d never seen eyes that grey. "you look like you could use something stronger than wine."
you smiled, albeit shakily, which avalanched into finding yourself talking to her about everything and nothing—about the book of poetry you kept on your nightstand for late night reading, about the way you collected vintage coats, about how you sometimes felt like you were floating three feet above your own life.
she listened with an intensity that made you feel anchored, present in your skin in a way you hadn't felt in months. her questions were sparse but precise, each one drawing out another story, another piece of yourself you hadn't meant to expose. and then she asked you to leave with her, and the answer was quick and easy. a light, eager ‘yes’.
the speakeasy she took you to was hidden beneath an auto shop, all exposed brick and piano medleys that wrapped around you like rope. in the dim light, you noticed the way her prosthetic arm moved with incredible precision as she gestured, the way her eyes softened almost imperceptibly when you laughed. she noticed you shiver and draped her jacket over your shoulders without comment, the leather still warm from her body.
"i manage specialized acquisitions," she said when you asked what she did, her smile suggesting there was more to the story. "currently dealing with some complex merger negotiations. but that's boring. tell me more about that poetry collection you mentioned."
you talked until your voice grew hoarse, until the early hours when the city felt like it belonged only to those who were lost or hiding. when she dropped you home, she fixed your broken porch light without being asked, her movements quick and purposeful. you found out later she'd also left her number saved in your phone under 's'.
what you didn't know—couldn't have known—was that across town, ambessa was returning to the penthouse she shared with her wife of six months, their marriage a carefully hidden clause in the merger agreement between noxus and zaun's industrial empire. their shared living space was largely ceremonial, each woman keeping to their own wing, intersecting only for appearances and board meetings.
that night, sevika found ambessa in their shared study, both of them surrounded by contract papers and acquisition reports.
"the zaun infrastructure reports," sevika said, dropping a thick folder on the desk. her wedding ring caught the light—a simple band worn only within these walls.
"you're late," ambessa replied without looking up. "the board expects updates by morning."
"i had a personal matter to attend to."
"as did i."
neither woman acknowledged sevika’s missing jacket which she never was without, nor the faint perfume—your perfume—that clung to ambessa's blazer. their arrangement was clear: their marriage was business, their personal lives their own. they had trained themselves not to care what, or who, the other did in their free time.
but that night, for the first time since their arranged union, both women found themselves thinking of the same person as they worked in silence. it was one of their more agreeable evenings together.
ACT II: GROWING PAINS.
“where do you go?”
you turned, half-lidded, your hair mussed into an untamed bird’s nest. sevika lay beside you, her smile a lopsided thing—teasing, warm, a little worn. you leaned toward her instinctively, pressing a lazy finger into the shallow dimple that cut into her cheek.
she caught your wrist before you could withdraw, lips brushing the tender pulse beneath your skin before pulling you into her chest. her hand slid across your stomach, warm and heavy, before it wandered higher to pinch your nipple just shy of too hard.
the two of you had met in a hotel, yet somehow, it felt less clinical than it should have.
“what do you mean?” you murmured, breath catching as her hand stilled.
“you go somewhere,” she said, “when we fuck.”
the words hung between you, and you felt your body shift under her scrutiny. her gaze trailed the uneasy motion of your shoulder blades as you shifted upright. honesty clawed at your throat, but you tried to swallow it back. you’ve never been the tiger, only the tiger’s bride.
“i often—” you broke off, tongue darting to wet your lips. her arm tightened around your waist, as if sensing your instinct to retreat. “i tend to disassociate when i do this part of things. i’m not—what i want, i usually can’t achieve. i don’t want to make it anyone’s problem, so i float.”
“float?” she repeated softly. her tone was unreadable, but you refused to meet her eyes.
“i pick a spot on the ceiling,” you admitted, voice small. “from there, i phase myself out of my body. it’s like it’s happening to someone else.”
sevika said nothing at first, and the silence thickened as you focused on the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. then, carefully, she shifted you into her lap, holding you there like a delicate thing. her lips found the center of your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart before trailing up to the vulnerable line of your throat.
“you do this with me?”
“not always,” you whispered. “you’re…different. you pay attention to me—what i need. only two other people have ever been that way. both women.”
“mmm. do you still see them?” her voice was calm, but you caught the subtle current of possession beneath her words.
“only one.”
“and?”
“it’s good with her. one of the best.”
“and what do you want?” she pressed. the question lodged itself in your chest. “you said you can’t achieve it.”
your cheeks burned, and you squirmed in her lap, but she held you fast. “i—this is embarrassing.”
“there’s nothing embarrassing about your desires, baby girl,” she murmured, her tone soothing. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want you to enjoy this too.”
“i do enjoy it, but…i’d like to go further. i like to go under.” you hesitated, then added, “you know that i’m—”
“submissive,” she finished for you.
you nodded, your voice softening as you continued. “i don’t really like the harsher aspects of submission, but i love being taken somewhere else—being softer. i love being told i’m good, that i’m doing well. i love being pushed past my limits, to the point where i’m…hazy. overstimulated. freed from my worries through my body, through the pleasure i give and receive.
“when you manhandle me, when you pull me close and push into me like you’re starving for it, when you break me apart with your mouth, i get so close. i hover in this warm heaven where i’m nothing but what i feel. you know?”
sevika’s expression softened, her face almost unbearably open. before you could process it, she moved, pressing you into the mattress beneath her. her broad frame blotted out the light, sheltering you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.
“you are good, baby,” she finally said. “so good.”
her lips fell again to your neck and you felt her slide her thick fingers into the warm walls of your cunt. a sound slid from your throat, something gutteral and worn. she began to move, curling her fingers as if you pull you closer. there, in the back of your mind, was that heaven.
she kissed your temple, her lips lingering there as your body arched into her hands. “thank you for telling me.”
then, softer: “that heaven? i want to take you there.”
the words sank into your skin, heady and heavy, as if she’d whispered she loved you.
🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔
ambessa had endured a long day—one filled with tedious negotiations and the peculiar frustrations of ruling over people who thought themselves her equals. she'd craved just one moment of quiet in her house, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.
when she stepped through the door, the sight of her wife pacing their kitchen dragged a weary sigh from her chest. sevika's movements were sharp, her broad shoulders taut beneath the worn leather of her jacket. even now, after months of marriage, seeing sevika in their shared space felt like an intrusion.
for a fleeting moment, ambessa considered turning around, but she hadn’t built empires by running from conflict.
“sevika,” she began, voice clipped, “if this is about zaun’s profit percentage in the acquisition, i suggest you take it up with legal. i’ve no patience to discuss business tonight.”
“it’s not that,” sevika muttered, her tone bristling with frustration. “but thanks for your grace, medarda.”
ambessa’s eyebrow arched. “then what?”
sevika stilled, the weight of her gaze pinning ambessa in place. “are you the other woman?”
for a moment, the words didn’t register. then irritation flared, swift and hot.
“i thought we agreed we weren’t in love,” ambessa replied, dry as the desert. “who i see outside this house is none of your concern, unless it compromises our arrangement.”
sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with restrained anger. she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone, its screen casting a gentle glow across the marble counter. with a few taps, she pulled up a recent conversation.
she paused, a smile stealing across her face as she took in the selfie you'd sent of you and clleo in matching milano blaniks. the tenderness in her expression was something ambessa had never seen before.
my feet hurt but it might be worth it!! you'd texted. she had responded in record time.
looking cute, baby girl. i like the purple.
me too! they had a navy and gold pair i would kill for, but i'm trying to be responsible.
sevika's smile deepened, and this time she sent a bank transfer along with her next message.
you can be a little irresponsible.
oh, sevi. that's not what i meant.
i know. i don't mind. get them both.
"i'm sorry, but were we not having a conversation?" ambessa's voice cut through the moment like frost.
sevika snapped back to reality, her face twisting into something ugly—the expression she reserved solely for ambessa. she selected another image, and ambessa stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the familiar necklace adorning your throat.
she recognized it instantly—it had rested on her desk just nights ago, a small token of indulgence she’d gifted you during one of your afternoons together.
you were smiling, beaming, caught mid-laugh. your hair was damp, clinging to your cheeks, and a sea lion nudged at your side. it was an image of unfiltered joy.
"she was talking to me the other night," sevika began, her voice tight as a wire. "mentioned some other woman. i thought it was a client thing, but then she showed me this." she gestured at the screen. "that necklace. it was on your desk when i saw you."
ambessa said nothing at first, her jaw working. finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with something like resignation. “i didn’t know. i assumed she might have other clients, but i didn’t pursue her because of you.”
sevika’s shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in her face remained. she bent her head, palms pressing into the cool marble of the counter. “what the fuck.”
“does she know?” ambessa asked after a beat.
"what would it matter?" sevika shot back, her voice rising like tide. her gaze locked on ambessa, and her lips twisted in disbelief. "holy shit. are you in love with her?"
the question hit like a blow, but ambessa’s reaction was instant.
“as if you’re any better,” she snapped. her tone turned venomous, sharp as a blade. “you sulk through the door, reeking of her sex, then slink into the shower as if i can’t hear you simpering in there.”
ambessa’s laugh was cold, cruel. “i’ve never been innocent a day in my life. but you—god, sevika, you’re pathetic. you’re worse than i thought.”
sevika’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t lash out. instead, she held her ground, her gaze fierce. “what do we do now?”
ambessa hesitated. her mind raced through the implications, the potential fallout. finally, she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. “we don’t tell her.”
“and keep lying to her?” sevika’s voice cracked slightly. “how long do you think that’ll work?”
“as long as it has to,” ambessa replied, her voice low and final. “this arrangement isn’t just about her, sevika. it’s about us. about what we’ve built. if you care about her as much as you claim, you’ll think before ruining what little stability we have left.”
“for fuck’s sake, ambessa. she’s a sweet girl. she won’t—”
“you have no idea what she will do if she finds out,” ambessa hissed. “and i know how sweet she is. she’s the only goddamn person i know who can stand me. who do you think i’m really protecting?”
for once, sevika had no retort. the silence between them was loud, heavy, filled with unsaid things.
“i’ll handle it,” ambessa said after a long pause, her voice softer now but no less firm. “but don’t let your feelings make you sloppy. if you can’t compartmentalize, this will all fall apart.”
sevika turned away, her shoulders tense. “it’s already falling apart.”
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ambessa didn’t sleep that night.
not because of sevika’s words—though they lingered like a sour taste in her mouth—but because of you. she’d grown accustomed to the softness of your skin beneath her fingers, the way your presence softened the edges of her world, made it almost bearable. and yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you might be nothing more than collateral damage in this carefully constructed house of cards.
the following morning, as sunlight filtered through the sprawling windows of her office, ambessa reached for her phone. her fingers hovered over your contact, her mind warring with itself. she’d always prided herself on her control, on her ability to compartmentalize. but now, for the first time in years, she felt the cracks forming.
her phone buzzed before she could decide, sevika’s name flashing across the screen.
“what now?” ambessa answered, her tone clipped.
“the gala,” sevika began, her voice unusually subdued. “this year it’s your turn to host, right?”
ambessa’s grip tightened on the phone. “yes. and what about it?”
“and,” sevika said, dragging out the word, “she’ll be there. she got an invite through one of her clients.”
the air seemed to still around her. “you’re certain?”
“positive,” sevika replied. “what do you want to do?”
ambessa leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the skyline. the decision should have been simple: handle the event with poise, maintain appearances, and ensure that you remained blissfully unaware. but something about sevika’s tone made her pause.
“we’ll stick to the plan,” ambessa said finally. “she doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. not from us.”
they both knew it was only a beautiful dream.
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and then suddenly, it was different. it was horrible in its subtleness, but enough to make you less comfortable than you were before.
you went to dinner. ambessa watched you with eyes as sharp as her diamond cufflinks, and you wondered if she knew how small you felt in her presence. you let her brush her thumb over your lower lip, and you leaned into it, hoping she doesn’t notice your hands gripping your clutch too tightly.
“is something wrong?” you asked her, throat closing around the end of the question.
she seemed to startle, and leaned back with a shake of her head. you knew what was coming next. she was going to blame work or her family, which you barely knew about, or maybe something as clandestine as the weather. you suddenly felt entirely too sick. you took a sip of wine, eyes falling on the little brown bag that sat next to you.
every gift you unwrapped felt a little like a goodbye, the sparkle dulled by the unspoken terms behind it. you kept smiling, face stretching tediously through the pain though your heart was sinking because nothing ruined a good arrangement faster than too much honesty.
you must’ve overstepped somewhere down the line, and she had grown weary of it. you were sweating now, looking away from her. it didn’t help that your phone had stayed dark all evening, your slew of messages to sevika read and unanswered.
“i finished that book you gave me,” you offered and ambessa nodded. “it was lovely. a little macabre, but i managed to push through.”
“bessa?” you asked, voice small.
the nickname seemed to spur her back into herself and she reached across the table, clutching your hand. her rings pressed cold indents into your skin. you'd grown to love the weight of them.
"the annual noxus environmental gala is tomorrow night," she said finally. her thumb traced circles on your palm. "i'd like you to come."
your heart stuttered. she'd never invited you to a public event before. "another client already invited me. i’ll be there."
she squeezed your hand once before letting go, unfazed by the mention of someone else. "good."
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the evening was opulent in a way that made your skin prickle. the ballroom shimmered with soft golden light, chandeliers casting their glow across marble floors that reflected everything like still water.
you'd been invited by marcus—a client who preferred your company over dinner to discuss art and literature, who looked at you like you were made of gold but never asked for more than conversation. he was safe, a spiderweb you could free yourself from anytime without losing any skin.
your dress—a gift from ambessa—felt like a confession of infidelity. marcus had said nothing in the car, but his face had been momentarily confused. he kept track of what he gifted you, and he hadn’t seen this before. you offered no explanation, just smiled softly and held his clammy hand.
the fabric whispered against your skin with every movement, reminding you of her touch. you held your champagne glass like a shield, watching the bubbles rise and disappear, each one carrying a fragment of your certainty with it.
the past week had been strange. ambessa's usual sharp edges had softened into something almost tender, while sevika's messages had grown shorter, more distant. she’d eventually responded to the ones that had been read, but you felt as though you had disturbed her with them. you'd attributed it to work, to the upcoming shareholder conference business weekly had written about. you were good at making excuses for the people you loved.
and then you saw her.
ambessa stood on the stage like she'd been born there, her voice carrying across the room with the kind of authority that made everyone else feel small. her dress was long and white, with a delicate slit framing the plump skin of her thigh. it clung to her frame with an elegance that made your heart ache. you didn't want to admit how your chest tightened at the sight of her, how your body betrayed you with its instinctive pull toward her presence.
but before you could fully process the sight of her, another figure emerged from the crowd.
sevika.
she stood near the base of the stage, her broad frame impossible to miss. her presence was quieter than ambessa's, but no less commanding. the way she held herself—like she belonged here, like this was her world too—made something cold settle in your stomach. you shifted away from marcus, moved slightly forward with a furrowed brow.
it wasn't just their proximity—it was the way they moved. the way sevika's gaze lingered on ambessa, the subtle nods they exchanged, as if communicating in a language only they were privy to. and then, as if to confirm your worst fears, ambessa's hand brushed sevika's arm in a gesture so familiar, so natural, that the truth hit you like a truck.
the matching rings caught the light. the world tilted sideways.
the soft hum of conversation turned to static, the lights too bright, the room too warm. you tried to steady yourself, clutching the edge of a nearby cocktail table and nearly taking it down, but the weight of realization pressed down on you like a tide. marcus was asking after you, but you snapped at him.
you thought of the gifts—how similar their tastes had been. the way they both knew too much about each other’s companies, about each other's worlds. the little moments that should have added up but hadn't—because you hadn't wanted them to. you'd ignored the signs, wrapped yourself in their separate affections like blankets against the cold.
someone nearby whispered, "isn't that their…" the words trailed off, heavy with implication. you spun, eyes wide and searching. you couldn’t tell who had spoken.
the champagne glass slipped from your fingers. it didn't shatter—caught by a waiter's quick reflexes—but the sound of it leaving your hand seemed to echo through the room. both women turned at the noise, their expressions shifting from professional neutrality to something raw and complicated.
“do you know her?” the question came from a guest nearby, their curious tone laced with amusement.
the tension shattered. the murmurs began, the subtle shifts of the crowd as more guests turned to watch the unfolding spectacle. your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the gathering noise like a blade.
“how long?”
ambessa stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. “it’s not what you think—”
“don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “don’t you dare lie to me.”
sevika tried to intervene, her hand reaching out as if to steady you, but you recoiled, your fury spilling over. “you both knew,” you said, your voice rising. “you knew, and you let me—”
sevika tried again."baby—"
"don't." the word came out hard and cold.
you backed away, your heels suddenly unsteady beneath you. the crowd parted like water, their whispers following you like shadows. you felt that your dress was transparent, exposing your body to the their ravaging gaze. you made it halfway down the marble steps before sevika caught your arm. her touch was warm, familiar—everything you'd grown to love and now couldn't bear.
"please," she said, her voice rough with something like desperation. she couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be desperate. "please."
"let go of me." you tried to pull away, but she was stronger. had always been stronger.
"we never meant—"
"what?" your voice cracked. "to hurt me? to make me look like a fool? do you think i love being a loser? that i would be fine because i would view this as some way of knowing what it was like to win?" you yanked harder, and suddenly you were falling.
the puddle wasn't deep, but it was enough. your dress—ambessa's dress—soaked through instantly, clinging to your skin like shame. you stayed there on your hands and knees, watching your tears make ripples in dirty water.
"stand up," ambessa's voice came from behind you, softer than you'd ever heard it. “come inside. we can—”
"no." you pushed yourself to your feet, water streaming from ruined silk. your makeup was running—you could feel it tracking down your cheeks, and somehow that small detail destroyed you more than anything else. for the first time in a long time, you felt ugly. "i don’t want to come inside."
when you looked up, they were both there. ambessa's perfect composure had cracked, showing something raw underneath. sevika looked like she wanted to reach for you again but didn't dare.
"were you laughing about it?" your voice was barely audible. "about how pathetic i was, falling for both of you?"
"no," sevika said quickly. "god, no. we didn't even know—"
"until when?"
"a week ago," ambessa admitted. the truth fell between you, landed hard.
you stepped back, barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand. "oh my god. were you ever going to tell me?”
their silence was answer enough. the air around you grew thin.
a scream rose up from the depths of you before you could stop it, and echoed wildly from the sides of surrounding buildings. you clutched at your face, eyes screwing shut as you let out a terrible heaving noise. you knew they were seeing you now as you really were: a frantic girl who clasped desperately at whatever she could get in order to save herself.
“i hate you,” you screamed at them, hurling the words like they were knives. “i hate you! i never want you to speak to me again.”
it was rendered useless because the three of you knew that simply wasn’t the truth.
“just—leave me alone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
their expressions were unreadable. if you gave in to your delusions, you could believe that ambessa looked slightly ill.
you walked away, legs shaking, each step carrying you further from everything you'd thought was real. behind you, you could hear them arguing in harsh whispers, but you didn't turn around. the city lights blurred through your tears until everything was just a soft shape and shadow.
your apartment felt suffocating when you returned, the silence oppressive in its stillness. you sank onto the couch, your dress pooling around you like a shroud. the tears came in waves, each one more relentless than the last.
you thought of ambessa’s calculated charm, sevika’s quiet strength, the way they’d both made you feel seen, cherished. and then you thought of the lies. you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed out a message. but no words came. what could you possibly say? that you hated them? you’d done that. that you missed them already? that you wouldn’t know how to exist without them?
instead, you deleted their numbers, one by one, the act feeling both liberating and excruciating. for the first time in what felt like forever, you were truly alone.
your mother was right. you were such a fun girl, but impossible to love. when someone looked at you, they’d never see someone worth settling down with. another wail unearthed itself, reverberating through the grave of your body. you twisted, holding yourself with your own arms as you felt the grief break you down.
you would never see them again. there was nothing worse than this, not now. you felt like you’d be better off dead.
ACT III: DEFORMATION.
ambessa hadn’t slept in days.
the boardroom’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her sharp features as she reviewed contracts she couldn’t focus on. every word blurred into the next, her thoughts returning to the look on your face when the truth unraveled.
“i don’t think i can fix this,” she had told sevika the night it happened, her voice hollow as they sat in the dim confines of her private office.
sevika hadn’t responded, her silence cutting deeper than any argument could. ambessa could tell her wife blamed her, and in some ways, she couldn’t disagree.
sevika, in response, buried herself in her work. her nights were spent overseeing global operations, her jaw clenched tight as she barked orders to underlings down the phone who didn’t dare question her unrelenting pace.
but even the chaos of the company’s industrial sprawl couldn’t drown out the memory of you. the sound of your pleausre haunted her—high and wispy as she ate at you. her dreams were vivid, stuck on the way you’d lit up when you talked about the things you loved—things she hadn’t known enough to ask about.
they’d both lost you, and they felt it in the empty spaces you’d left behind.
ambessa, meanwhile, pulled back. she gave the reins to her daughter for an indeterminate amount of time, something viewed as largely positive and a sign of trust. but those who knew her interpreted it as a sign of grave danger.
her days were spent much like yours, wrapped in the endless heart of her bed which she only left to sink underneath the soapy water of a warm bath. there were several evenings where sevika would stumble home, slightly drunk but coherent enough to check on ambessa and yank her from the bottom of the bath.
“no,” she rasped, her hand tight on ambessa’s thick wrist. “you face it.”
and you?
well, eventually you realized that the world would continue to move on. blessedly, your breakdown hadn’t hit the headlines or social media platforms. you knew this had to be the work of them, but it was the least you deserved. you cut all arrangements you had leftover. the gifts were boxed up and put into storage.
despite your dramatics, you reminded yourself to not be stupid. all cash you had kept was deposited into your bank account, in increments so it wasn’t flagged as suspicious. you had well over thousands, so you broke your lease and found a block several miles from where you used to be.
you’d invited clleo to live with you, but she’d refused citing her current suitor as her preferred living situation. she felt that he was the one, that they would marry. you felt your bitterness rise up, but you shot it right in the middle of its scaled head. you were happy for her, you said instead of “he doesn’t mean it. please don’t believe him.”
please send an invite.
she’d cupped your face and kissed your cheek. of course. you’ve been with me through everything.
so, you broke another lease and left the city.
ACT IV: REVIVAL.
true to her word, clleo did get married, and she did more than invite you. you were her maid of honor; the only bridesmaid at that. this meant that you were captured into a lavish gown that showed more skin than you thought would be appropriate.
“we can’t forget where we came from,” clleo had said coquettishly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. she treated you so fragilely now, and you clung to it. you were pretending it was something else.
the wedding was a spectacle of opulence—ivory drapes cascading from every corner of the venue, chandeliers dripping crystal tears, and flowers so fragrant they felt like an embrace. the air buzzed with the cloying sweetness of a celebration meant to declare love eternal. you floated through it all, a wraith in your own right, bound by duty and the magnetic pull of clleo’s joy. you wore the dress she picked for you: black satin that crushed in on itself like paper whenever you moved and clung like sin, with lace so delicate it felt like a secret. it revealed too much and not enough all at once. you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d wanted you to stand out or to feel exposed. to embarrass you.
no, this was clleo. you were simply…paranoid now.
the ceremony was a blur, a kaleidoscope of vows and veils, of clleo’s radiant smile and the way her hand trembled in her husband’s. you caught the bouquet because she’d aimed it at you, her laugh like champagne bubbles bursting in the air. it was later, during the reception, that you felt it—that electric hum at the back of your neck, the awareness of being watched. you turned, and there they were.
ambessa and sevika.
they stood together, an impenetrable force against the crowd. ambessa’s gaze was as sharp as ever, her golden gown gleaming meanly, a study in power and restraint. sevika, beside her, had the air of someone caught between worlds, her hand resting on a glass of something dark, her eyes locked on you. they hadn’t been invited. you knew this because clleo would have warned you. yet here they were, as if summoned by the threads of some cruel, cosmic joke.
your stomach tightened, but you refused to look away. instead, you tilted your chin, the soft wave of your hair catching the light, and took a slow sip of wine. if they wanted to haunt you, they would have to work for it.
it didn’t take long. ambessa approached first, her steps deliberate, her presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. “you look beautiful,” she said, her voice low enough that it felt like a secret. you hated how your skin warmed under her gaze.
“you shouldn’t be here,” you replied, though the edge in your voice felt dull, worn down by something deeper.
sevika joined her then, her expression inscrutable but her proximity unnerving. “we needed to see you,” she said, her voice rougher, as if it cost her something to speak.
“at a wedding? how romantic.” you let the words hang, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “good thing it’s not mine.”
sevika’s lips twitched, and you scowled. your pain was not for her amusement.
“[name], we made mistakes,” ambessa said, and for the first time, there was something fragile in her tone, a crack in the glass. it distracted you from your ire. “but we haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
you set your glass down, your fingers trembling against the crystal stem. “i don’t think this is the time or place.”
“when is?” sevika countered, her voice steady but her eyes revealing something raw. “you’ve been avoiding us.”
“i said i never wanted to speak to either one of you again and yet, here you are,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and longing. “do you think crashing a wedding will fix what you broke?”
ambessa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “we’re not here to fix it. we’re here because we can’t let it end like this. and it’s not crashing if the groom extends an invite at the behest of the bride.”
your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the noise of the reception faded into a dull roar. clleo’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, a reminder of where you were, of what you’d tried so hard to rebuild. why did everyone betray you?
“i can’t do this,” you whispered, stepping back. the movement felt like tearing yourself in two.
“baby girl,” sevika said, her voice low, almost pleading. “look at me. this isn’t some big scheme, okay? let’s talk. we don’t even have to do it here. we can go anywhere you fucking want. just like before, mama.”
you shook your head, the weight of their words pressing against the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. “i need air,” you said, your voice barely audible, and before they could respond, you turned and slipped into the crowd.
“[name!]” ambessa called.
fuck being the tiger's bride, you were the tiger. you stood your ground, kept walking.
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the gardens were quiet, the air cool against your skin as you leaned against the wrought-iron railing. the night sky stretched endlessly above you, an intricate canvas of stars that felt too indifferent to your pain. but the world wasn’t responsible for soothing you.
you’d thought the distance would help, that the cool air would clear your head, but instead, it only magnified the ache in your chest.
you heard them before you saw them, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge their presence, but you felt it—that charge, that unbearable pull that had slaughtered you repeatedly since the beginning.
“i didn’t ask you to follow me.”
“we’re not asking for forgiveness,” ambessa said, her voice soft but firm. “we are willing—we’re willing to take what we can get. we want to make this right.”
you turned then, your eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, you saw it—the vulnerability, the regret. sevika stood slightly behind her, her expression shadowed but her eyes fixed on you with the same intensity.
“and what does that look like?” you asked, your voice breaking despite yourself. “what could you possibly do to undo the damage?”
ambessa stepped closer, her hand hovering near yours but not quite touching. “we can’t undo it,” she admitted. “but we can promise to be better. to show you that you’re the only thing that matters.”
“you’re both so good with words. but words don’t mean anything if they’re not backed by action.” you laughed then, a bitter sound that cut through the stillness. “you always made me feel like i mattered. that’s why it hurt so much. i have no place between you.
sevika finally spoke, her voice quieter but no less resolute. “then let us prove it. on your terms.”
“you’re not good for me.”
ambessa glided forward, caught your chin inbetween her thumb and index finger.
“nothing in this world that we want with so much intensity will ever be good for us.”
you looked between them, your heart a battlefield between desire and self-preservation. the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. finally, you broke out of her grasp, a small, tentative gesture that felt like stepping off a cliff.
“i have no place between you,” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper.
sevika's shoulders sagged with disappointment, but ambessa’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. she was like a bloodhound with weakness.
“is that what you want, lamb?” you looked up at her, sensing a shift in the air. “you want to be between us? coddled, warm, and safe?”
“ambessa—” sevika began, but the other woman held up a hand.
“you would’ve been fine if you had know that we were married from the beginning, hmm? is that it? your conscience would’ve been sated, right? because it’s not homewrecking or infidelity if the partners are aware of the others transgressions.”
“that’s not fair,” you snapped.
“mmm, well life isn’t. besides, you must be stupid if you think every client you’ve been with hasn’t once had someone waiting at home. this is your life, little lamb. your permanent affliction,” ambessa sneered. “i think you like it.”
you knew this game well. she pushed you, said the best things to make you act your worst. if you gave in, she won.
“fuck you, ambessa.”
“gladly,” she said with a small smile.
you scoffed, irritated beyond belief and moved to storm past her. by doing so, you gave her what she wanted. as you made an effort to leave, she cinched your waist with her arm and pulled you back into her chest. you could feel her breasts against your back, full and ripe like fruit.
“what are you doing?” you asked incredulously.
she didn’t answer, only hiked your dress up to press a ringed hand to your cunt. she held it there, groping the warmth of you until you were leaking in response. you let out a strangled squeal, legs kicking to no avail.
“see? you want us so badly. it’s like an instinct.”
you glanced at sevika, hoping for some fucking common sense but found her gazing at your lace-clad panties with something unfathomly angry lurking across her face.
“who the fuck gave you those?” she said quietly.
you stopped struggling, looking at her fully now. her stormy gaze lifted, piercing you like a spear through weak flesh.
“it wasn’t me, and ambessa never gifted you shit like this.”
“i had—i had other clients,” you answered and she rolled her shoulders, skulking forward. “but i bought these myself. i don’t see anyone else anymore. i can’t—i couldn’t. it was hard.”
her face softened at that, and she came closer. her large body covered the front of you, shielding your exposed body from any prying eyes. this meant that ambessa could slide the fabric to the side and dip a finger into your cunt. the slide was slick due to your drooling arousal, but the pain still startled you.
she was large, almost too much, but it seemed to burst a part of you that had been straining at its locks. you let loose a silent cry, shuddering desperately in her grasp as she explored you tenderly. sevika cooed, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss.
“hold on,” she murmured into your mouth and you clutched onto her, gripping tighter as ambessa gave you over.
sevika walked you over to a small alcove, expertly hidden from immediate vision and grunted as she held you up with one arm—removing her jacket with the other. once the concrete floor was covered appropriately, she lowered you on top of it carefully.
you released her, but barely had a moment to thank her before she was on you. your first thought was that it was like before: relentless, tender, and crushing. her hands slid up your thighs until they grasped at your hips. you rocked into her, moaning softly as she squeezed the soft meat of your stomach. your breath came fast, labored and fueled by aching.
“it’s okay, baby. ‘m right here,” sevika said, her voice low and firm.
she pulled back, spreading your legs till the pink of your pussy was revealed to her hungry gaze. it winked at her, clenching around nothing the longer she looked.
“jesus, i’ve missed this,” she murmured.
you flushed, body pulsing hot with flame. from the side of you, ambessa came prowling. she lowered herself to her knees, back arching neatly as she crawled into the apex of your thighs. her mouth descended upon you with a fervor, her lips closing around your clit and sucking. your back bowed until you were practically hunched over her, hands in her thick hair.
she only adjusted herself so that she could better lick into you, her tongue lapping at every crevice of your cunt. you were dripping all over her face, hips bucking as you fucked forward onto her tongue. her hands came to cup the peach of your ass, squeezing and tugging until you felt like nothing more than a piece of meat. after a moment, ambessa pulled back and laughed as you tried to follow.
“sorry, little lamb, but i need to know if i’m doing a good job” she watched you, eyes sharp. “i know you are.”
you shivered at that, and she smiled. impatiently, you further opened your legs and pushed your sopping pussy toward her.
“c’mon. please.” when nothing happened, you let out a groan. “you’re doing a good job.”
“who’s doing a good job?” ambessa asked, moving closer.
you shivered again, your brain beginning to mottle and smear.
“you are, mommy.”
“fuck,” sevika groaned.
satisfied, ambessa suctioned her lips back over you. you let out a high moan, pushing your chest out. sevika reached over, tugging the bust down and exposing your tits. your nipples were straining toward her, so she dragged one in between your teeth. with a cry of surprise, you slammed your thighs closed around ambessa’s bobbing head.
she did nothing to open them herself, only slapped a hand on your inner thigh to get you to correct yourself.
“yes, fuck,” you cried. “fuck, please. please. ohhhh.”
ambessa shook her head back and forth, letting herself get messy as she pushed her face deeper inside of your pussy. you were fully fucking her face now, your clit engorged and begging. whatever filter you’d had before was gone now; your mouth ran like water from a faucet.
“yeah. yeah, mommy, like that. eat your baby’s cunt. lick your girl’s pink little pussy.”
ambessa moaned, her nails digging into the skin of your ass. you bounced as much as you could, that warmth coiling deep inside your stomach. sevika was still teasing your tits, but she had a hand inside of herslef now—her pants pushed down for better access.
when you realized she was trying to rub one out, you came with a primal grunt. ambessa attempted to pull back but you kept her where she was with a firm hand at the nape of her neck. breathlessly, you coaxed sevika up for a kiss and then pulled her away by her hair.
“i want you to touch her,” you instructed. your voice was shaky as you edged toward your second orgasm.
it took her a minute to register what you meant and you watched her cheeks darken, her eyes flickering toward ambessa’s rippling back inbetween your legs and then back to you.
“i know you want to, sevi,” you murmured.
your mind was almost gone now; you were so close to heaven.
you could see her warring with herself, but you also knew her love for you would win out. with a curt nod, she moved until she was behind ambessa and lifted her dress until she was face to face with her naked ass. with an efficent movement, sevika pushed ambessa’s legs open so she could smell the musk of her large cunt.
there was a moment where you weren’t sure if she would obey, but then she dived in—licking a large stripe between ambessa’s folds. you seized around ambessa’s tongue as she squealed in surprise, your orgasm pouring from you like honey.
you puhsed her off of you and crawled onto all fours, squatting slightly to make the push of your fingers easier as you entered yourself. despite not pleasuring you anymore, ambessa made no effort to move as sevika slapped a hand on her ass as she slurped at her pussy.
“holy shit,” ambessa muttered and you grinned.
“have you—have you touched each other like this before?” you asked, voice breaking as you reached that spot long your walls. “did you fuck when i left to try to stave the guilt?”
there was no answer, but ambessa stiffened. you laughed, bright and a little unhinged. it was confirmation that they’d thought about, but had never actually followed through. you were in a squatting position now, positioning your hips as you rode your own fingers. you wrist twinged in discomfort, but you were more determined to cum for a third time.
faster and faster, you rode. your head was turned up toward the ceiling of the alcove, your tits bouncing as you began to crest that wave. you closed your eyes, focusing on the shaky inhales of ambessa and the wet squelches of sevika feasting on her.
there was a pause, so you opened your eyes and found sevika flipping ambessa over so that the bigger woman sat on her face. like this, she was even more insatiable. she rocked ambessa back and forth on her face, spreading her own thighs weakly as heat cascaded through her.
you weren’t sure what did it: sevika’s newfound desperation to actually fuck her wife, ambessa’s unrelenting eye contact as she came, or the high whine sevika released when ambessa leaned back to fuck two fingers into her frantically pulsing cunt.
but whatever it was ravaged you. you screamed as you came for the third time, legs trembling as you squirted all over yourself and sevika’s suit jacket. the comedown was impossible. you were incoherent, moaning wildly as the pleasure possessed you.
you heard them both scrambling to move toward you, but you held a hand out. your neck bent, your body settling onto all fours like a lame animal as you let your cunt flutter and clench through the remnants of your orgasm. your chest heaved frantically, but you were euphoric. you’d done it, reached Heaven and taken control.
you glanced up at them and know from the look on their faces, you’ve never been this beautiful. if this was what the french called a little death, you wanted to die forever.
“this is your place,” ambessa said hoarsely. “you belong right in the center. you are the only one who understands. you are our center.”
sevika lay next to her, and she said nothing for a long while. then her face turned toward you. you met her gaze unflinching.
“baby girl, please. please.”
you thought you were the loser.
“it has to be different,” you finally said. the two women broke into identical smiles. “it has to be. i want you to be transparent with me. i’m not a little child.”
you thought you were down for the count.
“like you said,” you continued, staring right at them. “you are my life. this is my life.”
i know this might be controversial, but enough is enough.
as someone who grew up in the rigidity—and, at times, oppressive nature—of roman catholicism, i am so tired of the religious!reader trope where they’re portrayed as so innocent they’re practically a child. we were not innocent. we knew the names of our bodies, the weight of shame, and the crushing complexity of guilt. i knew that my vagina was a vagina.
the sheer amount of extremely innocent!religious!reader fics is unsettling. they turn the reader into this caricature—wide-eyed, naive, almost infantilized, complete with pigtails and an oversized cross necklace perfect for a porn video thumbnail.
for me—and for a lot of other lesbians i’ve bonded with over religious trauma—it was never about innocence. it was about guilt. guilt over pleasure, guilt over sin, and all the ways we punished ourselves for being human.
we weren’t these overgrown children teetering around in purity. we were messy, complicated, and burdened by shame in ways that were far more nuanced than these portrayals ever capture. enough, please.
“damn, i really did a number on you, huh? poor baby can’t even walk straight.”
“shut up,”
cheeks aflame, you try to salvage a shred of dignity as you limp toward the counter, aware of his cerulean gaze tracing the apex of your sore thighs—likely reminiscing last night. you glare over the rim of your mug, muttering something vicious under your breath about pegging.
well, that gets his attention. satoru stalks around the counter, presses his pelvis into your ass and demonstrating precisely how the threat turns him on.
“ooh, yes baby. please bend me over…” he humps languidly, slotting himself between the soft cleft of your asscheeks and elicting a groan out of you. “but i’m making breakfast first.”
“wait, what?”
“protein,” he intones magnanimously, the faint click of the stove contrived in its domesticity. “you’ll need it when i’m screaming into the pillow for you later.”
suguru was a good owner. he knew it, and he was proud of it. it comes as no surprise, then, that he does as any good owner should do - he gets his good boy satoru plenty of toys.
pairing: puppy hybrid!satoru x kitty hybrid!f!reader
themes/content: smut, dark content (dubcon, hybrids). reader has a history of physical/sexual abuse that is alluded to throughout; she also definitely doesn't have the healthiest attachment style but what can ya do. reader says "wait" at one point and satoru ignores it. oral (reader receiving), scenting, all the good hybrid stuff. (wk: 6.1k)
a/n: YAYYYY CHEERS FROM PUPTORU AND I <333 love this little freak
“You’re going to like your new home,” the man – Suguru, you suppose you should call him now, unless he prefers Owner or Master or any of the other titles you’ve been instructed to use - says. A lie, you’re sure of it.
At the same moment, a hand reaches over the car’s center console to rub your shoulder, and light fingertips trace patterns into your skin. It catches you off guard to be touched like this, with a gentleness that feels like soft sheets and a full belly. His voice is soft, too, you think. Maybe he’s just like that. Maybe he’ll even treat you like that, too.
Ha. As if.
Frankly, it seemed impossible that you’d be here, on your way to a new home with an owner that at least acts like he intends to keep you. The other, kinder hybrids at the shelter viewed this as an inevitability, but you were smart. You knew better. There was something inherently less…desirable about you. At least to potential adopters, it seemed.
As if it was any surprise.
You were standoffish. Cold. Willing to scratch anyone who got too close or moved too fast. But who could blame you? It was your nature, after all - that’s just how rescue cats are.
Sure, some of the others were more cuddly, inviting, friendly. And sure, they got handed paperwork and taken from their cages into loving arms faster. But you didn’t care - no, you were above that. The shelter was fine: you got fed, at least someone to look at you (or sometimes even pet you) everyday, and a slightly too-firm bed to curl up in each night.
It wasn’t that bad.
Maybe this new home would be worse, you dare to think. Then, your legs tense and the hand on your shoulder suddenly feels to heavy, and you picture sinking sharp teeth into it and making him - Suguru, but you were never really one for names - flinch and scream and bring you right back.
They warned him about your temperament. You could overhear the conversation (mostly because one of the staff members whose name you couldn’t be bothered to remember decided to discuss it in the hallway right outside your cage, but you never liked her anyways. She always tried to pet you and she always ended up with a new collection of scratches.)
“She’s not particularly well-suited to homes with other pets, especially ones like-”
“It's alright. She’ll be perfect.”
How could he be so sure? More than anything, how could you ever, possibly be ‘perfect’?
His confidence scared you, you think (that seemed to be the only reasonable explanation for the layer of sweat collecting across your skin, your heartbeat thrumming painfully loud in your ears).
Yet, here you are, being walked up the driveway to your new home, and the pavement doesn’t seem bothered by your nerves. The front door is a smooth wood, decorated with small blue flowers. It’s cute in a way that makes you roll your eyes (it’s too childish, too whimsical for a grown man, what's wrong with him-).
“I’m actually a veterinarian, you know,” the man next to you - Suguru, and it really is a nice name, you suppose - smiles as he turns the knob. An unenthusiastic hum vibrates from your throat in response, arms crossed over your chest.
Suguru’s smile falters for a moment before it hardens, his eyes searching for something beyond the open door.
Stepping inside, he removes his shoes, and then pauses. After standing for a moment with your arms dangling by your sides, your brain finally catches up, and he simply watches as your hands stumble over the material in an attempt to tug your own shoes off (these were a luxury you were never afforded in the shelter, certainly not in your previous homes or on the streets, something that will certainly take time adjusting to). But eventually your strength wins and they drop and clatter unceremoniously, and you sigh when stocking-clad feet hit the wooden floor, wiggling your toes to regain the numbed sensation.
“You don’t have to wear those anymore if you don’t like them,” Suguru observes, continuing further into the house. “I just thought you’d want the option to have them.”
When you say nothing, he waits again.
“O-oh, um, thanks,” you mumble. “They’re just…different.”
His laugh is airy and calm. Your head tilts on instinct (a habit you aren’t quite sure where you picked up) at the unexpected reaction. Holding his hand out to you, you rest a palm upon it, and let him guide you inside. “A lot of things are about to be very different for you.”
You don't say anything, but this time he doesn't seem particularly inclined to wait for a lackluster comment that starts or ends with “oh,” or “okay.”
“This is the kitchen,” he gestures, continuing his path as you trail awkwardly behind. How many steps is a normal number? Are you supposed to be this close? He smells good, at least - not like dry cat food or litter, that’s for sure. “And this here will be your room.”
When he stops suddenly, your feet don’t quite catch up and you collide into his back. He’s strong, too, and he just laughs but doesn’t budge when you stumble again to catch your balance (another thing cats are supposed to be good at, another gift you were never blessed with).
“The shelter didn’t give me any belongings for you, so I just had some things picked out based on what I thought you’d like,” he says with another close-eyed smile.
You don’t return the gesture. “That’s because I don’t have any belongings,” you respond, but stop yourself from crossing your arms again and instead leave them to hang limply. But looking inside, he has done the room up well: a soft bed with clean blankets, a small shelf to place anything you do somehow happen to collect (Suguru gives you the feeling he’ll spoil you with anything you want, so maybe someday it really will be full), a dresser tucked into the corner. It’s honestly…nice.
But you don’t know what to say to nice. “It’s…um, fine,” is what you land on, but evidently Suguru decides it’s an acceptable response and continues the tour.
He doesn’t reach for your hand, but some strange, dormant part of you awakens and suddenly wishes he would. It’s itching in the back of your brain, and your eyes trace the veins of his fingers and wonder what they’d feel like running over your scalp. His hair probably feels nice, too; you could groom it for him. Maybe he’d like that, maybe he’d let you do it everyday forever in this new home with him-
“And this is Satoru’s room,” he says suddenly - this time when he stops, you manage to avoid running into him, but only barely.
“Satoru?” you blink. No, that’s not right, the shelter said you’d only have one owner, they wouldn’t want two people getting stuck with a shitty pet like you and-
“Yes, Satoru,” Suguru continues, unphased by your inner panic. “He’s a dog hybrid. I think you’ll get along very well.”
The half-stale food you ate for breakfast suddenly feels too heavy in your stomach. “But-” you stutter, now wringing your hands nervously together. But he won’t like me, I’m not good with other pets, you shouldn’t have brought me here you should just take me back before you realize what a terrible mistake you’ve made and save us all the trouble-
But before you can let the words spill out, Suguru is swinging the door open.
On the other side is a well-kept bedroom, dark blues and whites dotting the walls. Another bed, similar to yours (what a strange thing, to have your own bed), with the same shelf that’s now full with scattered chew toys and rope, and the same dresser in the corner. There are more posters on the wall, and curtains over the window, but it’s not in nearly as disastrous of a state as you would have expected from some filthy dog.
“Satoru,” Suguru calls in, offering you a kind smile in the silence.
From around the corner, a being emerges. His scent hits you first - fresh cut grass and jasmine and something not entirely unpleasant, despite your natural aversion to other species - then bright white hair that makes you stifle a laugh.
“That’s Satoru?” you blurt.
From within his room, Satoru rubs tired eyes with his forearms before scratching the pointed ears atop his head, white fur catching in the sunlight filtering in from the window.
“And who are you?”
His voice is pretty and raspy and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. “No - haha - no fucking way.”
Suguru seems equally confused by your outburst, so between bouts of derisive giggles, you continue.
“You have a show-quality hybrid in your home, and you - hahaha - decide on some poorly behaved stray cat nobody else wanted? Ha!”
That seems to make Suguru tense. Satoru, similarly, seems displeased, albeit much less interested.
“She’s not very nice,” he says to his - your - owner. “Come get me once she’s warmed up to being here. I don’t need to be getting my face clawed off by some rescue who doesn’t know how to control herself.”
“Satoru,” Suguru snaps, shooting him a glare. It’s the first you’ve seen him get angry throughout this ordeal, and you flinch, expecting a kick or tug or something to prove that you have done something wrong (which you know you have, it’s just a matter of time before they realize it too), but the hit never comes. Suguru just keeps glaring at Satoru, who runs his fingers over his ears as if bored by this whole thing.
After their staring match has run its course, Satoru directs his attention to you. “You aren’t the first he’s brought here, you know.”
He says it like it doesn’t send a knife between your ribs. But it lodges itself there, and you stutter on your breath and hiss on instinct.
Before you can even say anything, it’s Satoru’s turn to laugh, apparently. “Oh, did that upset the kitty? Poor thing, I bet no one wanted you. That’s why Suguru took you home, isn’t it? He always loved a project. Bet you won’t last here, either. They never seem to stick around for long once they figure out they can’t cut it.”
Now, Suguru is absolutely fuming. “Satoru, that’s enough. Back in your room, now.”
Satoru, with all the sweet puppy charm he can muster, sends Suguru a pout, and it makes your claws itch. Oh, how good it would feel to gouge that stupid expression off his stupid irritating face and then you and Suguru could be happy and live in this house without Satoru ruining everything for you. You could do it, too - you’ve done it before, you know what flesh and blood feels like under your nails. You aren’t afraid of it.
But Suguru would be upset.
The thought hits you like a punch and drives the blade further into your chest. And suddenly, you don’t want to hurt him (well, you do, but at least you manage to clench your fists and not lunge at the insufferable man in front of you).
From the corner of his eye, Suguru watches. He watches the way you steady your breathing, the way your gaze cools, until there’s nothing there but the same empty anger that keeps you moving. And for some reason, he seems almost…proud.
You don’t get a chance to ask why before his phone rings. “Hello?” he answers, still standing between you and Satoru (who’s now watching you curiously, doing an idiotic little head tilt like the stupid puppy he is). “Now? Okay, alright, just give me a few minutes. I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up the phone with a sigh.
“There’s some emergency at the clinic, and I have to go handle it.” For a moment, he addresses only Satoru, before remembering the sudden new addition to this whole rapidly-evolving equation. “Oh, right, um.” He rubs his hands together before clapping them once. “Are you okay with kennels?”
You nearly laugh again - having spent the better part of your life locked in one, or tortured through one, yeah, you’d say you’re fine with kennels.
When you nod, Suguru does finally grab your hand with the gentlest touch he can manage in his haste (which is still incredibly, almost impossibly soft; you wonder if he’d be this soft to touch when your tongue cleans over every inch of his skin, when his palms hold you close and rub your back).
As he guides you down the hallway, Suguru quickly turns behind him. “Satoru, don’t do anything bad while I’m gone, got it?”
“Whatever,” he responds, waving a hand nonchalantly. You might be worried if the fingers laced with yours weren’t squeezing you so sweetly and you weren’t being led back to a room that for the first time has earned the title of your bedroom.
When you enter, Suguru leads you to a corner you hadn’t seen from the doorway, one that houses a metal cage. Inside is another, albeit smaller, bed, with pillows and blankets strewn across the center.
Deft fingers unlock the kennel and usher you inside with that same beautiful smile.
“How is it?” he asks as you settle onto the bed.
“It’s…” the softest thing you’ve ever felt in your life. Is your real bed going to be even better? Is that even possible? “…it’s pretty good.”
“Good,” he grins. From his pocket, he pulls another lock, its blue metal glinting in the dim light. At the worried look you shoot him, he says, “Just in case. Satoru doesn’t know how to work these, so it’ll keep you extra safe.”
“Okay…” you finally say, eyes now glued to your lap. It finally hits you that Suguru’s leaving, and your stomach hurts again. What if he leaves and never comes back just like your last family? They promised to keep you safe, but they left you outside of another shelter and it was raining and they didn’t even say goodbye and how could they not even say goodbye-
“Hey,” a warm hand reaches towards you - you flinch, at first, but then he pauses and lets it slowly continue its path towards your cheek. “I’ll just be gone for a bit, okay? Just until this is sorted out. Then, we’ll finish getting you settled in, and we can do anything you want for your first night. Is that alright?”
Nobody had ever asked you that before. You think on it for a moment, before deciding, “Yeah, that’s alright.”
“Good,” he repeats. “Then I’ll be back later.”
With a quick movement, he latches the lock around the gate and shuts everything in place. At your door, he doesn’t turn around before striding towards where you vaguely remember the front entrance being.
And then, you’re alone.
You sit, for a few minutes. Test the bed - still just as soft. The blankets - still just as warm. They feel nice, and you knead them for a bit before even that grows tiring. But it’s a nice sort of tired, one that doesn’t make your bones ache or feel like rain on cold, bare skin. No, this is a good place, a safe place.
Nothing is going to ruin that, you’re sure of it.
Until, from the hall, footsteps approach.
Rounding the corner, that irritating mop of white hair and those stupid pointy ears poke into your room.
Before you can protest, he’s already entered and crossed the distance towards you. Your nails burn again.
“Hi there kitty,” he coos. Circling your kennel, one finger trails along the metal bars, catching with a soft clang over each one.
“Hi Satoru,” you deadpan.
Finally planting his feet in front of you, his lips curl into a pout. “C’mon what’s with the attitude? Don’t you wanna play with me?”
Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Are you always this whiny?”
“No.”
When your eyes glance up to meet his, he’s grinning, and behind those hazy blue eyes, a darkness swirls. He looks at you like he’s hungry. It makes your tail flick on instinct, every hair on your body standing at attention.
“Y’know,” he begins, his voice low and smooth like honey, “Suguru always thinks I’m so stupid.” Tilting your head, you watch his fingers play with the lock tightened around the kennel. “It hurts my feelings.”
Just as your lips part to make some snarky remark about how he is stupid, especially if he doesn’t leave you alone in the next thirty seconds, the sound of metal creaking fills your ears. The door swings open, the unlatched lock tossed carelessly to the side as Satoru’s presence suddenly enters your space.
“But I’m not some dumb little puppy.”
Again, that scent of grass and jasmine and this time with something hotter, rain on warm pavement or a thirsty sun. White teeth cloud your vision, spread into a menacing smile. Up close, his canines poke forward, perfectly sharp, and your heart resumes its thudding in your ears.
“W-what are you-” you try to stammer.
“Do you know why Suguru got you?”
Every soft step forward sucks the air from the room, your hands beginning to shake in your lap. He invades your senses, forcing you away until your back hits the metal bars keeping you trapped in here, the ones that were supposed to keep you safe.
It takes every ounce of effort to shake your head softly ‘no’ as he continues stalking forward.
“He got you because even he couldn’t keep me entertained.” And he’s in front of you, close enough that the warmth of his skin begins making you sweat. The sharp bridge of his nose nuzzles into your neck before he sharply inhales; this time, it’s your scent filling his mind. “It’s terribly boring to be the smartest and the strongest all the time. So he got me something else to play with.”
“I don’t-”
Pulling away from you for a moment, icy blue eyes lock onto yours. Undeterred, he continues his ramblings. “You see, he thought that maybe if you were more standoffish, more mean than my last toy, I’d have to work a little harder. I bet he thought that maybe, you’d last a little longer.”
Through a dry swallow, you attempt to stand your ground, allowing your shoulders to widen as your chest forcefully rises and falls with each unsteady breath. Behind you, your tail fluffs out wide and twitches. “Well, I am-”
“But,” he hums, drawing you deeper into his sweetened trap, “I don’t think you’ll last very long at all.”
At that, his hands fly to either side of your head.
Your body jolts, and you could claw those bright blue eyes out of his head, you could cut his jugular open with one strike and leave him here in a pile of his own blood-
- but Suguru would be upset.
You could. You should. You’d be right to at least maim him a little. But instead, you clench your fists until red pools down the creases of your palm and stare at Satoru with bared teeth.
“Oh?” he says, a wicked smile splitting his face open - not the sweet kind that Suguru gave you when he politely watched you fumble with your shoes, but one that makes a shiver run up your spine.
“What?” you snarl.
“Nothing,” he follows, still grinning, the light behind his eyes twinkling. “Just thinking. Maybe you’ll surprise me after all.”
You should absolutely kill him, at least for how terribly vague and annoying he’s being. And he’s in your space - the last person who tried to get this close ended up in a body bag and with you back in another shelter. And Satoru isn’t even a person, he’s just some half-bred hybrid that doesn’t fit into either world.
(Not unlike you, you start to think- you wonder if a pretty thing like him got pet and toyed with by curious hands, too - but then the rage bubbles under your diaphragm and you figure it’s easier to be angry than to be anything else).
“Leave me alone, Satoru.”
At that, he laughs. A full-bodied thing that rattles the kennel and finally grants you some respite from those freaky eyes of his that stare too deeply. The sound would be pleasant, if it wasn’t so loud your ears hurt (but at least it blocks out the pulsing of your heartbeat for a moment).
“Oh, you sweet little kitty. I’m not going to leave you alone. Not until you’re out of this house and Suguru can be all mine again. Or until you entertain me, whichever you prefer.”
This time, you tilt your head (but it’s cute when you do it - you were told that once, you remember now. The first owner you had, a sweet boy who was around your age, found you on a street corner in tattered clothes. He brought you water, and when he placed it in front of you, you did the same motion - probably one you had seen the other dogs without homes or families do to earn sympathy. And it worked - he kept bringing you water, and eventually food, and then blankets and clean clothes and anything you asked for he’d find a way to get. You must have been no older than nine or ten, not that your age really counted for much, but he was nice to you. He kept you for a few years, took care of you even though you slept outside at night. Told you he thought it was cute when your head fell to the side like that. Until one day he grew up and he came by with new people you didn’t know and then that night he wasn’t there but the new people were and they hurt you. And it wasn’t cute when your head fell to the side when they knocked it against the ground and called you “filthy” and a “stray” and left you even more dirty than when he found you the first time. You didn’t see him after that, and nobody called you cute once you learned to use your claws.)
You lost your home a once, even if it was a box piled with blankets on a street corner. You won’t lose it a second time.
“I’m not leaving,” you spit, and the venom in your voice actually makes Satoru flinch this time. “I’m not going anywhere, ever again. This is my bedroom and I’m going to stay in it, and if you try to make me leave I’ll kill you.”
Somehow, his grin widens.
“Well then,” he says, settling back onto his heels. “Quite the attitude, still, but you’re certainly dedicated.” Then, he crawls towards you, slowly. “Then let’s welcome you home the proper way, and see if you really deserve to stay here.”
Another jolt shoots up your spine and lands in your neck, where Satoru’s breath wafts against your skin. It’s warm, and his scent is becoming overpowering, but for some reason it’s not completely unpleasant. He smells like the nicer nights you spent outside, you realize, ones under a friendly moon and a cool breeze, ones where you were tucked away from the rain but could still hear its pattering song.
Your nose twitches, and your tail bangs against the bars, and something warm begins to build in your tummy.
“Satoru-” you whisper, your voice suddenly more strained, before his neck rubs against the space above your collarbone.
“Don’t worry, kitty. I’ll make sure you enjoy it here just as much as I do. If you’re sure you aren’t leaving, that is.”
This is strange. You aren’t even sure what this is, but you have a feeling he shouldn’t be doing it. But he's not touching you anywhere that would hurt, and he’s not talking anymore (which is its own type of blessing), and even though your body should be on edge with a stranger - a dog - this close, it’s starting to quiet down. The racing pulse in your ears is gone, and your tail is smooth and still once more. It’s not terrible, whatever it is.
After another few moments where you have to fight the strange urge to knead the blankets beneath you, you finally realize: he’s scenting you.
It should make you throw up, or sink your nails into his throat.
But it doesn’t.
Maybe it’s because he smells like Suguru - but no, Suguru smells like citrus and lavender and fresh blankets. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t actually touched you otherwise, even though he could have, even though he could have pinned you down and hurt you and you would have had no choice but to hurt him, too.
Maybe it’s because the air smells like rain on too-dry soil and some quiet part of your biologically-driven brain that’s been forcibly shut down since the first time you got called a filthy stray and had to use your claws is now wide awake and screaming for this, more of this.
And that’s maybe the worst possible option.
“Satoru,” you say again, and your hands finally find his shoulders.
Under your touch, his entire body tenses, and he pulls away. When he does, those blue eyes you just wanted to tear out are swallowed by lust-blown pupils and his cheeks are pink and he’s practically heaving each breath.
“S-sorry,” he stutters - almost cute; almost - “Did it…did that not feel good?”
“That’s such a stupid question,” you quip, but there’s not nearly enough bite in it. He just stares blankly, panting. It’s not too late - you could still run, could still leave nail marks littered across his body and ruin that show-quality face. But then that quiet part of your body is screaming for more, more, please more now, and you’re already a little lightheaded, so instead, you say the worst option, the truth. “Of course it did.”
The smile he gives you this time is wild and frenzied. “Good,” he breathes. “Good.”
He returns to the space within your neck, where he rubs skin on skin freely. It makes your head dizzy, but you don’t tell him to stop. You do ask, “Why are you-”
“Suguru doesn’t let me,” he says in a single exhale. “Something about it being ‘wrong’ for an owner to do with a pet.”
What a stupid concept.
How could this possibly be wrong, when it makes your legs tremble and thoughts finally calm? When it makes you not want to lash out at the body on top of you but instead pull it closer?
“That’s dumb,” you respond, and he laughs again.
“Isn’t it?”
If the sound you make is close to a giggle, neither of you say anything.
You say nothing, either, when a hardness presses into your core.
It makes something vibrate in your chest, something that makes him press into you further. When he pulls away, you nearly whine at the loss before thinking better of it.
“Wanna see something else Suguru doesn’t let me do?”
You shouldn’t nod. You should tell him to stop, especially with the insane sparkle in his eyes and the way his chest rises and falls unevenly.
He could hurt you. He could reach out and take and take and do any of the cruel things you know minds can conjure up. But he hasn’t. Maybe, he won’t. And then your body is back to vibrating and the idea of saying no feels less and less appealing.
“Yeah,” you hum instead. “Show me.”
And then, he’s moving.
In one quick motion he pulls down the brand new pants Suguru had just given you, but you have a feeling they’ll be replaced easily later. Then, a harsh tug brings your underwear down with them.
From above you, Satoru looks nearly feral. It’s a look you’ve seen before, on those stray dogs when a carcass is left behind down the alley or somebody leaves a meal unattended for too long. If you didn’t know, even from the brief moments since you’ve met him, that Satoru must be impeccably behaved, you’d almost be worried.
But then you remember how he broke into this cage and made himself right at home and maybe you should be worried.
“Wait-”
But he doesn’t. He dives between your thighs and drinks you with a greedy mouth. Those soft lips close around a part of you that has you squirming and you argue with the urge to run away. Then, his tongue swirls around that same area and you nearly scream.
It’s the best, most dangerous thing you’ve ever felt.
Behind you, soft bedding and blankets cushion the thud of your back into them as your muscles give out. Instead, all your energy goes to that bundle of nerves Satoru is now running between his canines.
It’s sensitive, even when he flattens his tongue against it, then flicks it a few times. It makes shivers run up your stomach and straight to your throat. You have no idea what he’s doing and you don’t even care, but you want him - need him - to keep doing it. When he uses two fingers to spread apart your folds, the feeling is only amplified. Even more so when he nibbles on it ever so lightly.
This time, you don’t have the wherewithal to stifle your moan, and a chuckle is huffed into your skin.
“I take it this feels good too?” That smug grin is back on his face, and in the brief respite when his lips aren’t attached to your cunt, your mind races to catch up with something cruel, something about how he’s just a dumb stupid puppy who doesn’t know what’s good for him-
- but then, two fingers find their way to your entrance, and you keen. He laughs again.
“Not so mean now, are you, kitty?” He gives you another annoying head tilt, and you shut your eyes to save yourself from looking at it (not because the tightness in your chest is getting harder and harder to ignore with each breath and then he curls his fingers and oh fuck is it supposed to feel like this is it supposed to feel this good-)
“See, I knew you’d like to play with me,” he smirks, and you could claw that pretty aggravating smile off his lips and the world would probably be better for it.
“Would you - hah - shut up already, you stupid dog.”
His eyes close as he’s overtaken with laughter. “That’s really the best you’ve got, huh? ‘Stupid dog?’ Oh, you’re just precious.”
Inside you, his fingers get faster. And deeper.
“Look at you, I knew you’d be more fun for me.” He’s babbling, you’re sure of it, and his cheeks are rosy and you need him to shut up. “Aren’t you having fun? I know I am, getting to see that cute little head of yours shut off and-”
Your claws sink into his hair and yank him back down to the valley between your thighs.
He goes with little protest, save for a moan into your skin. The pumping of his fingers never slows or loses momentum, now adding his tongue as it drags its way up and down your folds.
It feels incredible, it feels better than it should, better than you deserve, but maybe you do deserve this because you deserve a home and to be loved and maybe you deserve Satoru doing whatever it is he’s doing with his mouth for the rest of your life.
There’s far less precision now, but you don’t mind. Not when he ravenously licks at your pussy, not when it’s a mess of lips and teeth and hands and maybe this is what he was actually bred for because this could be the best feeling in the world. It's certainly the best in your version of the world.
Even in your brief time living here, you’ve grown comfortable, greedy, as you realize: you want more.
When your nails catch in his hair, he shudders, with too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“You - mmm - like that, huh?” you try to tease, and even though your words are breathier than they’ve ever been, he responds with a whine. “Dumb - dumb fucking puppy.”
Even from where you lay on your back, you can see his eyes overtaken in white as they roll back. His tongue falls from his mouth and he lets out the prettiest sound into you.
He regains his focus quickly, though, and if he has any further rebuttal, it’s lost by his mouth circling your clit with renewed vigor.
“See? Stupid,” you whine over the obscene sounds he’s making, licking and slurping your slick like it could sustain him.
“M’ not dumb,” you hear him try to say, but then you scratch a little too hard behind his ears, and once again, his voice cuts out.
“Sure you aren’t,” you breathe as your back arches. “What, so you think you’re a good boy, then?”
He must really, really like that, if the way his hands dig into your thighs and the drawn out moan are anything to go by. The heat is back in your belly and it’s starting to make you sweat.
It’s not helped when his fingertips press firmly into a spot that makes you yelp - a sound you can’t stop in time.
One Satoru wouldn’t have missed for the world.
Again and again, he targets that spot; again and again, you cry out. You try to quiet yourself, really, you do, until your lips are red from biting down and you’re still writhing above him.
This feels good. Too good. You don’t deserve this but maybe you do and at least Satoru seems like he’s enjoying himself and maybe if you can at least make him feel good it’ll be worth it and then you’ll deserve it. A glance downward at his flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelashes tells you he must be feeling good because you've seen that look before but this time it doesn’t hurt and you think you might even be wearing it, too.
When the tension inside you finally snaps, everything in your body goes taught. Your knees close around Satoru’s head, your back cranes off the bedding, your ears flatten and your tail puffs. It’s the most intense thing you’ve ever felt, certainly the best thing you’ve ever felt (especially within the confines of a kennel).
Sometime during your euphoria, Satoru had stopped moving himself; when you return to your senses, he’s staring at you, eyes nearly blacked out and lips damp with your slick. His hair is entirely messed up and his ears are twitching, and he almost looks adorable.
It seems to take him a moment, too, to return to himself.
“You’re my new favorite,” he whispers, mostly to himself; whatever else he would say gets cut off as you pull him on top of you.
“Favorite what?”
Idly, your fingers card through his hair, and he initially tenses at the gesture before melting into you, his tail slowly wagging behind him. One finger blindly taps your nose before you shoo it off. “My favorite toy.”
You scoff, but don’t kick him off you. You could, and he’d probably let you, but then that quiet part of your mind shivers at even the thought of losing his warmth, so you decide he can stay for at least a bit longer.
It’s almost nice, having him here, laying on top of you. One of his hands snakes between your back and the blankets, and he begins rubbing circles into your spine.
This…this is nice, you realize. A touch that doesn’t hurt. It’s strange, but not bad strange.
In the silence and back in the confines of your neck, he resumes lazily rubbing his skin against yours. Your chest vibrates, and he asks, “Are you purring?”
Hm. Are you?
You aren’t sure you ever had, but then again, you’ve never felt this safe, and certainly never this content before, either.
“Maybe,” you say.
“I heard cats only do that when they’re happy.”
Hm. Maybe you are. Maybe this could be your home and maybe you’d be comfortable here. Maybe you could be happy here. Maybe you’d even deserve to be.
“Who knows. Maybe I just feel at home.”
The hum he gives you in response is low and satisfied, and his lips curl into a smile against your skin. When your neck rubs along his, the air smells like a much-needed rain, and he whispers, “Welcome home, then.”
ps: YAYY WE MADE IT!!!!! thanks for reading, hope y'all enjoyed this little freak guy <3 i'm currently (albeit slowly) working on part 2 for this where we get some nice knotting and all that good stuff so puptoru WILL return someday :3
Three parts of a whole - Batman x Reader x Superman (Erotica)
Summary : The Batman, Superman and You are in a polyamory relationship, and it couldn’t be better. Well…Maybe it could.
I wrote this in twenty five minutes, and FUCK it’s a long story…Anyway, hope you’ll like it, I’m going to hide in a cave now :s :
IMPORTANT WARNING : THIS IS EROTICA ! THIS IS NOT FOR YOU IF YOU ARE UNDERAGED, I GODDAMN MEAN IT. Like there’s cute and sweet feelings in the mix, but also…smut, so if you’re not 18 or more, or if you’re not comfortable with that sort of things etc etc, this story ain’t for you. I have tons of other very SFW story, for averyone to read, and if you wanna check those out instead, it’s right here, on My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives.
“What’s normal to the spider is chaos to the fly” was a line in one of your favorite TV show, The Addams Family.
And oh it kinda ruled your entire life !
You knew ever since you were three, and attending your first day of school, when you realized not everyone had two dads (some had what they called “moms” !) that what people called “normal”, would never fit you.
And oh as you grow up that fact only became more and more obvious.
It didn’t help either, that so many people would point out your differences constantly, like your two gay dads, your little birthmark that went from your forehead and over your eyes, your obsession with some unconventional things, the fact that you were a “nerd” etc etc…Oh everyone always made so many comments about how weird and different you were !
Everyone…but them. They never judge. Hell, they even understood. Because they weren’t “normal” either.
Come to think of it, it was probably what made you fall for them. Fall for them, hard. You smile at the memory of when you met them when a sound brings you back to reality. A rather obscene sound really…
Right. This is what sprout your mind thinking about how you weren’t “normal” compare to most people. What was happening right now.
You smile at the source of the sound, shaking your head slightly, and kiss it on the lips. Kiss him.
Clark Kent aka Superman, one of the love of your life, with whom you were talking about the Batman’s “O” face. Totally normal right ?”
Your kiss unfocused him from imitating Bruce’s orgasm face (and sound) and he tries to catch your mouth back with his, his tongue darting out of his lips, but you escape his grasp, crawling to the other side of the couch.
He pouts like a child at the loss of your warmth..it was so comfortable and cosy, to have you snuggled against him !
You wink at him and he melts a bit, but before he can chase after you or anything of the like, you say :
-I’m sorry Clark, but his “o” face isn’t quite like that. It’s more like…
You scrunch up your nose a little bit and clench your jaw tight…before rolling your eyes to the back of your skull, scrunching up your nose even more, and opening your mouth to let out a guttural and very unlady like growl of pleasure.
Clark was intently looking at you, from his side of the couch, and, clearly, was on the verge of bursting into tears of laughter.
-Hahahahaha yes ! Yes that’s it ! Even the little sexy groan !
You both start to laugh and imitate the mighty Batman’s face when he has an orgasm and…you don’t really know why it’s so funny really. Maybe it’s the fact that the two of you know him in another light than his usually so stoic and emotionless self ? You don’t really know…but it’s damn hilarious ! (And a bit sexy).
Clark high fives you after your amazing and so truthful to the original performance, and…it’s like you both can’t help it. As if all it takes is a single touch of each others’ skin and…
The high five never really stops, as Clark tangles his fingers with yours and pulls you on top of him.
Your lips connect instantly, as his free hand goes to settle on the small of your back and yours go flying around his shoulders. As often between the two of you, it turns heated, as his tongue brush your lips and you grant him access to your mouth.
The hand that’s on the small of your back creep under your shirt and slowly removes it, as you unbutto…
-I know it has been two months since you two last saw each others, but you could have waited for me…
You tear yourself off of Clark and turn your head to the side to see the other love of your life…Bruce Wayne, aka Batman.
There was a reason, you and Clark knew his “o” face so well.
And that reason was another proof your life wasn’t situated anywhere on the “normal” spectrum.
Synopsis. Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, landlord! Nanami (kinda), oraI (male + fem), cúmplay, reader’s a tease, unprotected, creampíe, down bad FERAL Nanami, spítting, bréeding, messing up his glasses, pantý-stealing, he’s sweet but fúcks so MEAN, mentions of Higuruma, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 5.8k (wild)
A/N. Decided it was high time I feed my Nanami girlies hehe.
“Just get the money and go.” Nanami deadpans, like a mantra. Giving a rapt knock on your apartment door, “I swear m’making him buy me lunch for this.”
Now, it wasn’t that Nanami was exactly upset about taking over Higuruma’s landlord duties for the day - no, in fact, he was the first one at his friend’s door with a bag of prescription medicine for the other man’s fever and the suggestion to take the day off.
But it was the thought of finally coming face-to-face with you - that mysterious new tenant that’d just moved into his building. The one that had Nanami wondering whether you were really as “sugary sweet n’ irresistible” as Higuruma raved you were.
Though, he can’t imagine you’d be particularly happy about being woken up at 10am on a Sunday for overdue rent - he certainly wasn’t.
Seriously, he had no idea how Higuruma managed to do this every-
Click!
“Higu- you’re not Higuruma.”
Oh, and suddenly, Nanami gets it.
If he got to see this view, too, then he might just become the landlord himself.
It’s as if you knew you’d be playing with his sanity as soon as you opened that door, dressed in a fitted t-shirt that did absolutely everything to show off every bit of skin he shouldn’t be looking at. Your lips curving into a sinful little smirk when you notice his eyes dancing off that excuse of fabric you call “shorts”.
“Um…” you hum, after a few moments of silence. Leaning against your wooden door frame to give the tall man an appreciative one-over, “Nanami, right? You’re Higuruma’s friend?”
It’s as if the sound of his own name jolts Nanami right back into his senses, clearing his throat as he readjusts his glasses. “Y-yes. Nanami Kento.” And he winces, fuck he’s never stuttered like this. Never, even in the toughest of board meetings. Yet, here he was - making a fool out of himself.
Knowing he’s completely fucked when your delicious grin only widens, he bows politely, “Apologies for barging in like this, ma’am. But Higuruma’s sick n’ m’here to collect the rent in his place.”
You wave off his formality, introducing yourself. “Ah, of course. I’ve seen you around, always been too nervous to come up and say hello, though.”
And, suddenly, Nanami’s glad you never came up to him to talk out of your own volition, he thinks he’s rather put off embarrassing himself for later. Coughing softly, “I apologize, s’my fault. It was rude of me to not introduce myself first.”
“Well, better late than never, right?” you continue in your smooth tone. Before your eyes catch down his broad shoulders, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clipboard held between his long, long fingers. “Right- the overdue rent. I swear, Higuruma’s always such a sweetheart, he doesn’t bother to remind me.” Opening your door wider to give Nanami a good look inside your cozy apartment - something forbidden. “Come in come in, I seem to have lost my wallet somewhere in here though, maybe you can help me find it.”
Oh?
And Nanami knows this is dangerous. He knows this is much more than his simple plan earlier of just “get the money and go”. He knows that little glint in your eye certainly does not bode well for him as soon as he steps through that door.
Yet, he answers anyway, “Of course, lead the way.”
Every bit of small talk in your sultry voice has Nanami gulping, loosening his favorite yellow tie while he follows you inside. Averting his eyes from the curve of your shorts, he takes in the neat state of your apartment.
That is, until-
“Here we are.” you lead him to a towering pile of clothes piled unceremoniously on your tv room couch. Gesturing airily at the mess, “I’m sure I left my wallet in one of my pants, so you can just sit here until I-”
“I’ll do it.” Nanami’s quick answer stuns the both of you momentarily. But before you can resist, he’s shrugging off his jacket, ignoring the heat of your gaze when he bunches up his sleeves to reveal strong, veined forearms. “It’s only fair, since m’bothering you so early.”
You chuckle, “Oh? What a gentleman, we can do it together then, handsome.”
So here he was - sat on your cramped couch, your thighs flush against his, tackling your laundry. This was definitely a far cry from getting the rent and leaving - but, alas, Nanami can’t find it in himself to complain when he neatly folds up your clothes.
Whereas you were hastily throwing them god-knows-where, hissing, “Where- is it-”
“Patience.” he’s humming, placing another t-shirt on your coffee table. “Higuruma’s in no hurry, he can barely get out of bed right now.”
You click your tongue in frustration, “But you, Nanami-”
“-are perfectly fine helping you out.” Nanami cuts in, flashing you a gentle smile. Your eyes widen at the sight of a soft dimple at the corner of it. Which makes him tear his gaze from that pretty pout on your lips to turn back to his dwindling half of the pile, “Besides, it would be a shame if such a nice apartment was messed up by- by-”
Fuck.
Was that what he thought it was?
His fingers tremble, looking so fucking big wrapped around that those tiny strings of hot pink. Sinful. Obscene. Shit, if he tried he could just rip it to pieces with his bare hands right now - even if you’d been wearing it.
“Hm?” you’re gasping at the sight of the man before you, body stiff, ears a guilty red, gaze hardening at where he was holding onto one of your panties. Oh, shit. You pluck the offending piece of material from his hands, “Oh- whoops. Um- that can’t really be folded.” Throwing a wink at the flustered man - and the lingerie right back at him. “Evidently.”
It was all too much for Nanami, and he’s bringing a hand up to cover his blush - before ripping it off like it burned when he realized it was the same hand he held your panties with.
Somehow, he manages to choke out, “Maybe- maybe we should try looking somewhere else.”
And it was true - the few messy clothes now leftover (and…Nanami couldn’t forget, your underwear) didn’t show any signs of hiding your wallet.
“If you say so~” you muse, getting up from your seat - only to get down on your knees. Right in front of Nanami’s manspread legs.
“Wh-what are you-”
“Under the couch.” you interrupt, enjoying this way too fucking much for the poor man’s sanity as you flash him a cheeky grin. And he smacks himself mentally for letting his imagination be toyed by your teasing whims. “I might’ve dropped it under the couch, so won’t you be a dear and help lift it while I look?”
He couldn’t get up fast enough, almost stumbling over his long legs to crouch down beside you - just anywhere away from this scandalous position. “Ready?” Nanami rasps, biceps bulging tight against his button-up when he easily tilts over your couch.
“More than.” you take a second longer to admire him before going back to your mission.
Which - whatever’s left of the rational part of Nanami’s brain really thinks might just be to drive him insane instead finding that fucking- what was it- wallet?
“Hmmm seems it’s not here either, right, Ken?” He doesn’t know what he’s reeling at more - the fact that you used his first fucking name or the way you were arched so teasingly like that. On your knees, spine curving into a delicious little bend that has the crotch of his pants growing just a bit tighter. And- shit he was wrong. So, so wrong. Because those weren’t a sinful pair of shorts like he’d initially thought after all, instead, they were more like underwear. Flimsy and thin, bunching up perfectly at the crease of your hips.
You were captivating.
At his heavy silence, you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Oh? Was it the name? Sorry, Nanami, you’ve just helped me so much that it ah- slipped out. I won’t do it again.”
“No.” he grits out, the both of you surprised by the ragged hitch in his answer. Already so disgustingly missing the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue. “I’d like it if you called me that- ‘Ken’ that is, if you want.”
“Well then, Ken.” you brush up unnecessarily against his sculpted body as you move to get up and dust yourself down. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my wallet’s not down there.”
Shit, he thinks, looking down at the empty spot of carpeted floor for the first time. You little tease, you knew what you were doing.
Grinning unabashedly as you tug on his arm, “Come on! There’s one more place to look.”
As you pulled him along to the kitchen, Nanami had held out the hope that maybe - just maybe - this would be an actual attempt at finally paying off your overdue rent. Maybe he could walk out of this unscathed and holding onto whatever’s left of his dignity (and lacking the raging boner that was threatening against his slacks right now).
But every feeble hope of that was thrown out the window the moment you instructed him to hold the rickety, certainly unsafe chair propped up in front of your counter steady.
“I swear I must’ve left it somewhere up there.” you grumble. Not wasting a moment before climbing onto it and rifling on top of your high cabinets. “No harm in trying, right?”
He gulps, palms getting sweaty on the wooden back of the chair with the effort to keep it still. “Are you sure you left it on top of there?”
“Huh? Yes yes, of course.” you answer absentmindedly. Your shirt snagging on your arms as you raise them even higher, “Think you can see something from down there?”
If Nanami could see the top of your shelves, then he didn’t want to find out - not when one glance upwards blessed him with a forbidden glimpse right up your t-shirt. All it took was a flash of skin before he was hit with the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra.
“Ken~”
“Fuck!” he breathes, when he looks up involuntarily at the sound of his name. Face burning when you raise a brow, “U-um, m’not sure.”
Yeah, he sure could see something - hell, he wanted to see more.
He urgently swipes at the sweat slowly beading at his forehead, immediately regretting his actions when the chair tips ever-so-slightly. “Shit, I apologize, n’ I also apologize for what I’m about to do-” He gasps over your soft yelp, before wrapping two warm hands around the small of your waist. Searing. Soft. Planting you softly on the firm floor like some lil’ ragdoll, “-but I can’t let you put yourself in danger this way.”
Before you know it, you’re back in the safety of the ground. Stood right in front of a determined Nanami as he cranes his head up in your stuffy kitchen, backed up against the counter as he takes over looking for your wallet.
“Let me, instead.” he grunts.
But oh even with how genius he thought it was to look instead - even with how he stopped himself from looking at that sinful little slice of heaven - Nanami Kento had another problem.
A problem that presented itself in the way that your body was pressed flush against his muscled chest, two of your thighs straddling his thick ones. Caged perfectly against him, exactly in the way he shouldn’t have been imagining - but did, anyway. And shit if he angled his body just right he could feel the heat of your core - the way your eager front was drawing in closer.
“Ah-” he grunts when your soft palm glides lightly across his pecs. Jaw clenching while he tries to blink his hazy eyes back into the glaringly empty top of your cabinets, “My apologies, seems uh- your wallet isn’t- here-”
Each word is wrenching out of his pretty, worry-bitten lips, a ragged gasp with every accidental brush of the pads of your fingers at the hem of his tight pants.
“It isn’t there, hm?” you purr, a low honeyed tone that has all the blood in Nanami’s body rushing to his fat cock. “Well what do you suppose we do about that, Ken? Since I can’t pay the rent?”
Nanami doesn’t know whether you’re talking about the rent or that massive tent in his pants he really couldn’t explain away. Instead, he spits, “You knew what you were hah- doing, didn’t you, you lil’ minx? You don’t have your fuckin’ wallet here.”
And the air is so thick, so heady that he can only bring himself to pull away mere millimeters from where he was hovering near your face.
But even that was too much - and in a split-second, you have your deft fingers wrapped tightly around his speckled tie. “And if I did?” Pulling close enough to ghost your lips against his, “You’re smart, Ken. So m’asking once again, what do you suppose we do about that?”
As if to draw out the answer from him, you’re giving a long, hard drag of your hot cunt along the outline of his swollen cock. You could almost feel every throb and nudge of his veins along the side, and it made you salivate.
“I suppose…” he answers, guttural, like some dark, primal part of himself is peaking its head out with each hot breath fanning your face. A large hand coming up to squish your cheeks into a pretty pout, pursing your lips perfectly for him. “That you hit me if you don’t like this, darling.”
And fuck for all how much of a gentleman Nanami acted - he kissed the exact opposite. All but ruining your lips in such a messy clash of teeth and tongue and him. Devouring you.
“Fuck- shoulda known.” he’s letting out a humorless laugh, swiping his tongue across your glossy lower lips. “Should’ve known when you invited me in. Such a tease.” Drinking in your breathless moans, sucking on your tongue, “Such a- ngh- horny lil’ thing. This what you wanted all along?”
You hum into the kiss so drunk, “Maybe.” Dancing your hands all across where his toned muscles were fighting against the restraints of his shirt, “But you really can’t blame me.”
And maybe it was true - maybe this was inevitable. Either way, Nanami didn’t know, nor did he really care - not when you were letting out such sweet gasps when he bites down on your bottom lip - just a little punishment. Kissing his way down your heated skin, giving a languid lick at where he suspected that secret sensitive spot on your neck would be.
“Oh! Ken.” you moan. Bingo.
He’s unbuttoned his shirt now - or maybe it was you. Fuck, either way you couldn’t tear your eyes off of his pretty washboard abs. Curving and dipping like he was sculpted meticulously.
And that’s all it takes for your already-dripping cunt to grow impossibly wetter, and he could feel it leaking through those flimsy cotton shorts of yours. Forming a messy sheen right at that damp spot of precum on his pants.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet, my love.” Nanami murmurs, swiping a thumb down that sopping wet slit of yours through your shorts. Just marveling at the way that simple touch makes another wave of your sweet sweet juices bead through the fabric. “Hah, absolutely dripping. This all f’me?”
At your half-delirious nod, he flashes you a smile so handsome that it only makes you squirm more impatiently. “How sweet.” Giving your nose a chaste peck, “So good to me. So needy.”
“You’re the same, though.” you accuse, hotly.
And it’s true - Nanami couldn’t deny the aching need of his cock, the way he all but moans in response, “Then tell me- hngh tell me what you want. I’ll give you- anything-” Managing to get out through hot, sloppy kisses planted right on your wobbly lips, “-anything.”
But, ah, you always did manage to surprise him. And instead of an answer, you’re getting right down on your knees in front of him like you did not too long ago - though, this time, you’re reaching up to fumble with his belt.
“Wan’ taste you.” you huff when his expensive notches prove too stubborn. “Wan’ feel you in my mouth so bad, Ken.”
“Oh yeah?” he chuckles darkly, easily loosening his belt and his pants along with it. Rock-hard cock sensitive and just smearing a pool of precum where his fat head springs up to hit your lips. Such a pretty shade of gloss. Nanami laces his hand on your scalp to guide you forwards, slowly, “Then take it. Take it f’me, pretty.”
He was so pretty that you possibly couldn’t not - a delicate blushing red at his very tip, glistening and absolutely soaked in precum down the long path to his creamy base, his heavy balls. So girthy that it made your cunt clench in anticipation.
And then there’s no more talking. Hell, you barely get enough time to admire Nanami’s massive cock before he’s bullying it between your lips. Wetting his thick, angry tip with your saliva, just enough to eye down at the way your lips bulge so prettily around him.
“Gonna hafta open w-wider if you wanna take me, pretty. Open hah- yeah jus’ like that.” He’s reeling your head back, all the way till you were just kissing at his thick, angry tip. “Now spit on it, my love.”
Despite being the one to say it, Nanami’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief when you’re readily decorating his swollen length with a steady stream of spit. Your soft palms smearing the saliva along his length.
You’re slurring, “After all, I still haven’t found my wallet, right?”
And oh he doesn’t even have to ask for what comes next - doesn’t even have to make a noise.
Immediately, you take him in inch by fucking inch. The deliciously salty twang taking over your senses, and he’s so hot and heavy over your tongue. Veins pulsing in a dizzyingly throb! throb! throb! against the roof of your mouth.
“Are you- are you sure you can-” You shut up his doubts by rubbing your hot tongue along every sensitive ridge you could reach. Bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless little pace to milk his pretty cock for all he’s worth.
Nanami’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Was this what heaven felt like?
“F-fuuuck, oh you-” his words are catching in his throat with each flick of the tip of your tongue against his sensitive slit. Just the way he liked it. “-ngh guess that sharp mouth of yours wasn’t just hah- good for teasing, huh?”
He’s running his mouth a mile a minute - the complete opposite of the reserved man that’d come knocking on your door. Hips grinding up into your warm tongue mindlessly, slow. Languid - like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Oh you feel so heavenly- so fuckin’ good it should be illegal.”
You can’t help but bat your teary eyes up at him in response, blinking away the lustful haze to drink in that utterly obscene sight above you. Nanami’s neat, blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, stray strands sticking to his furrowed brow. Only deepening with each wrecked sigh that leaves his plump lips every time his abs flex with the movement of his fat head hitting the gummy back of your throat.
He looks so pretty it makes you moan.
Those electric vibrations going all the way down that wet divot on the tip of Nanami’s painfully hard cock to his heavy balls.
“Oh shit- shit shit shit feels too good.” his words are slurring together, drunk off the way you gag around him. “Don’t do that don’t-” This only makes you drag your sloppy mouth down him deeper, syrupy moans sticking to
him all the while.
“Fuck!” Nanami shudders. And he’s pulling you down - hard - barely letting you get a feverish little breath out until your nose is hitting the neat patch of blond at his base. Rubbing up against his toned pelvis.
Still moving in deep, relentless thrusts inside your gummy cavern. “S’real fuckin’ hard to treat you as nice as I want when you act like that, my love.”
And, of course, the only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles as you take him in faster. Cheeks hollowing to massaging his every sweet spot. Your jaw grinding against his twitching balls with each smack of his hypnotized hips against your mouth, fucking into you the way he wished he could do with your cunt. Frenzied. Sloppy.
Yeah, this was heaven alright - but you were the fuckin’ devil.
Of course, you wanted him to treat you like such a slut - so he does.
Just dragging your stubborn mouth off of his twitching cock, Nanami only reaches down to place an accomplished peck on the pout of your mouth before hoisting you onto the counter. “What? You think I’d really ngh- cum before my darling girl?”
He’s groaning into your mouth, licking at the seam of your candied lips as two strong arms of his spread your legs so far apart it burned. “F-fuck, Ken-”
“Aw look. You’ve got another slutty pair, huh?” he gestures down at the drenched scrap of fabric you so proudly called “panties.” Sliding a thumb underneath to glide it underneath your puffy pussy lips. He’s echoing your sentiment from before, “Said you can’t find your hah- wallet, right?” Well, ya better start makin’ up for that now.”
In all of two seconds, Nanami’s hooking two fingers over your underwear - pulling - ripping. He was right - Nanami takes a moment to admire your dripping cunt, glistening and needy for him - he could rip those panties right off of you.
With just one hand pinning you to the cool marble of your counter, the other thumbing open your puffy folds, he’s giving all of your pussy a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
“Mmm fuck-” he spits into your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Letting it form a saturated little pool of your juices, before surging back nose-deep with a pained grunt. Again. And again. And again and again- “Jus’ as sweet- as sugary sweet ngh-”
Nanami didn’t think Higuruma knew about this little treasure trove when describing you - though, if he did, then he was well and fully intent on tongue-fucking every little thought out of him right now.
“Hngh! Shit-” you’re keening when his greedy tongue laps up every bit of your syrupy sweet slick. Alternating - methodically, indecisively - between rolling over your throbbing clit and just dipping into your awaiting entrance. “It feels so- so good, Ken.”
“Yeah that’s right.” he gasps, wrapping those pretty pink lips of his to suck on your clit. Harsh. “Say my name- no, louder. Louder.”
It’s all you can do to not just scream out his name without your neighbors filing a noise complaint. Dragging your sopping pussy all over his mouth - glistening and obscene right down the bottom half of his face all the way up to smear against his clear glasses.
Such obscene squelches ring through your kitchen as Nanami keeps making out so messily with your sensitive nub. Ringing in your fucked-out brain, so obscene, so addictive that you barely even register the thick fingers dipping their way around your hole.
You jolt when the cool metal of his glasses kiss your skin, “O-oh Ken what-”
“Shhh shhh, darling.” he soothes. The tip of his manicured index circling around your elastic muscle. Hypnotic. “M’gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good-” With this, he’s bullying his fingers inside, “-care of you.”
Tears crinkle at the corners of your eyes at the sheer stimulation. Because for how sweet Nanami was talking you through this, he was absolutely ruthless on your cunt. Not half the man he was this morning - animalistic. Feral, even.
His sharp jaw grinding against your skin, fingers almost a blur with how depraved they were pumping in and out of you. Massaging every hidden corner of your plushy walls, yet you get the feeling that they were calculated. Nanami’s darkened eyes drinking in every whimper and twitch of your body over the glasses inching dangerously downwards. Searching, waiting for that one-
“Ngh!” You worry you’d have fallen off the counter if it wasn’t for Nanami holding you down. Body jolting at sudden electricity running through your veins, “Oh- fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god Ken, there. Right there–”
But before the sentence has even left your heavy lips, he’s hitting your g-spot once more. Easily finding the bullseye that has you bucking and arching into his mouth like such a slut.
And this time - Nanami lets you use his mouth all you want. The fingers splayed out to pin you down moves to toy with your puffy clit. Rolling between his fingers while he hisses out syrupy sweet praises, “Shit, never liked m’name that much- ngh- but it sounds so pretty on your lips. So sweet. So- oh-”
The sight of your cunt just beading with need has him kissing it once more. All over your sensitive nub, your ravaged hole, hell, even down to the mess of slick dripping down at your thighs. Faster. Sloppier. No rhythm or rhyme anymore.
“M’so close.” you whine, weaving your fingers through his blond hair to help ride his face easier. Jolting with each purposeful flick of his tongue. “Gonna cum, Ken.”
“Cum then.” he answers, simply, grinning a guiltily glossy grin, “You’ve got a lot to make up for, right?”
And then you do - stars behind your eyes and that little nickname you’d made Nanami in your mouth. Over and over while he tonguefucks you through your high.
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” you whine, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks eat time he swiped at your sensitive spots, dragging it out longer. Until your soft whimpers were drowning out the squelches from below. Until you were blinking your spotty vision back. Until you were squirming your hips higher up the counter to pull away from Nanami’s unforgiving tactics. “M’too sensitive- Nana-”
He tuts, interrupting your orgasm-drunk babbles, “Tha’s not what you call me.” Pulling away just enough to hum, “All I did was eat this pretty cunt out, darling n’ you already forgot my name?”
You shiver - both at his mean little tone and the absolutely sinful sight between your shaky thighs. Nanami’s lips plump and irritated, eyes foggy - glasses even more so with all the sloppy dredges of spit and your slick.
Shit, you think he’s never looked prettier.
“Is that so?”
It’s all you hear before you’re hit with his glasses being gently placed onto your nose bridge - followed shortly by the realization that oh, you said that out loud. But Nanami basks in your sudden shyness, giving your lips a chaste, lingering peck. “You dirtied my glasses, y’know. Now you have to make up for that on top of the rent.”
And by the feeling of his thick tip kissing at your pussy lips, you had a very good idea about how you’d be making up for it. Making a mess. Sliding the curve of his head up and down. Up and down up and down up and-
“B-but don’t forget.” you manage to grit out by the time he’s nudging his divot against your clit. “You have to make- hah- make up for-”
In a fluid motion, you’re reaching your fingers to dig into the irresistible tan skin at his hips, all hard muscle and the thick fabric of where he’d pulled his pants down just enough. You press down on his bulging back pocket, smirk growing at the familiar flash of hot pink you could spy, “-my panties.”
The moment the obscene little accusation leaves your lips, you give a soft tug forwards. Nanami’s towering body being pulled easily to push his weeping tip past your puffy folds.
“F-fuck.” he’s throwing his head back at the feeling. “You hngh- saw, huh?”
Oh, if he hadn’t been imagining this the moment he’d stepped inside your apartment then Nanami thinks he might’ve just passed out right then and there.
Because you were so warm, so addictive wrapped around his cock - even when he’s barely even in. That he just has to keep going - after all, it’s for the rent, right?
It’s what he likes to think.
It’s what he whispers - over and over into your open mouth as he bullies his thick cock past your gummy entrance. Letting your plush walls suck the ever-loving soul out of him with each lazy, lingering grind just to fit himself inside.
“O-oh! Shit-” your nails leave jagged red marks down Nanami’s broad shoulders when he stuffs you full. Desperate. “Y-you’re so big, Ken–”
At this, you feel Nanami’s girth grow even wider, stretching your walls until it felt like he was molding your poor pussy to the shape. Just reaching into your lungs. You squeal, “Wait- you got bigger- what-”
“I know I know, You got it, my love.” he’s soothing your cries with sugary kisses at the corners of your mouth. Drawing slow, methodical circles on your clit in time with his experimental thrusts. “You got it. You can take it. Shhh shh-” He’s drinking in your cute mewls, cupping your pretty face with his free hand, “You’ll take it right? All of it, like my good girl? You’ve gotta make up for it, right?” At your delirious nod, “Words, pretty.”
“Yes, please.” You buck your hips in a sultry tandem matching his, the cool frame of his glasses still kissing at your skin. “M’gonna take it all like your good girl, Ken.”
Shit, he can feel himself growing even bigger just halfway into you, “Then-” Angling your teary face down to watch the mess down below. The way your greedy cunt was trying to milk each and every inch of him like it was delicious. “-look.”
You can’t tear your eyes away as he delves into you so filthy.
Not waiting for your pathetic whines about him being “too big” - no, Nanami’s only pulling you back from escaping like some sextoy - his favorite one. Still toying sweetly with your clit while he pushes against that feeble ring of resistance. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“Ken!” you’re yelping out when he finally bottoms out. Your swollen folds meeting his drenched hilt, blond tufts of hair brushing up against your pelvis. Sighing, ”Finally.”
“Finally?” he’s dragging out his words with an already-crooked, pussydrunk grin. Eyes wild - bewildered almost at how well you were taking him. “S-seriously? Did you say ngh- ‘finally’, my girl?” Each word has him tapping more strength behind those thrusts, faster. Harder. Spitting out so contendly, “Finally- hah. Such a slut f’me, hm?”
He’s plunging into you like such an animal right now, so harsh that it was almost difficult to pull back. To dare subject himself to not be buried inside your dripping cunt for even a split-second.
In response, you lick a long stripe up the sensitive area of his neck, splaying out a hand to squeeze Nanami’s pec - and the rapid heartbeat you felt beneath it. “You’re not- ngh- any better.”
“I know.” Nanami leers, unabashedly kneading at your sore tits now. Fucking you harder and harder into the counter. Connecting his sweaty forehead with yours to look you right in the eyes as he gruffs, “I’ve been thinking about fucking this pretty cunt as soon as you opened that door, y’know.”
You feel his cock twitch wildly at the confession, dragging against your gummy walls with his tip. Hitting - oh-so-expertly - that one sensitive honeypot of nerves. Which makes Nanami’s mouth fall slack with what a treasure you were.
“Y-you’re such a-” you’re moans are syrupy and slurring together now. Holding onto the larger man for dear life, “such a pervert, Ken.”
Shit, you were squeezing around him so hard that it was almost impossible to pull out. Abs straining to keep up the loud staccato of skin-against-skin, and Nanami’s long, jagged rams inside your wet heaven.
Nanami’s nosing down your pulse, letting his hot tongue loll out to catch the salty drops of your tears, “Mhm, only for hngh- you. Because you’re my girl now, aren’t ya?”
So easy for him to trawl out those addictive moans with each drag of the upwards curve of his fat cock. Thick tip hitting your g-spot, your cervix - as if he was branding his name into your pretty pussy from the inside. Sloppy.
Leaving a bruising little Kento. With his erratic fingers pinching and rolling your clit at the same feverish tempo of his cock bullying inside your cunt - Kento. With his heavy balls smacking against your ass, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure all the way up to his sensitive slit, rubbing up against your succubus walls - Kento. With the way your heels were now digging into those dimples at the bottom of his spine, sure to leave marks with the way you were pulling him impossibly closer. So needy - Kento.
Only getting sloppier. The only thing in your mind right now - Kento Kento Kento-
So, really, it makes sense when that’s the only thing you’re capable of getting out once you cum. It sneaks up on you at first, and then all at once - and before you know it, you’re cumming so desperately all over Nanami’s relentless cock.
Over and over.
Your thighs spasming, such a slutty ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth with each wave of pleasure he’s forcing out of you by targeting your ravaged g-spot. Only a few more of those sloppy, mean thrusts left in the man himself before Nanami’s spilling into your greedy cunt.
Painting your gummy walls white with each painful squeeze of his balls, he’s still thrusting - as if on instinct. Shoving his seed deeper and deeper down your cum-filled hole until he’s sure it’s overfilled.
By god were you a vision, he’s thinking deliriously. Tears pooling at your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, throat to shoot to do anything but whimper when he keeps going in and out in and out in and-
And if he angled his head just right, he could see the hot globs of cum that take to trickling out from your puffy folds, pooling at a mouthwateringly creamy base around his hilt.
“Ah,” Nanami wastes no time squeezing his index into your already-bulging entrance, pumping the cum slobbering out back in. “Better- hah- better not waste any-” He could barely speak right now, cumming harder than he has in his whole life - in fact, his overworked cock was still shooting out wispy spurts of his seed. Like he couldn’t stop. “-after all, y’haven’t made up for all the overdue rent yet, my love.”
A/N. Concept inspired by this NSFW audio by IchigekiVA that my friend sent me <3
