2Sne❀ky

𝑷𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒄𝒄 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐 21 °⋆𝟐𝓼𝓷𝓮❀𝓴𝔂.ೃ࿔*:･

[2sneaky]

“𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠/ 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚘”✏️

This is account is used as a place to store fic inspo (through reblogs) & to engage with such inspiration through notes/comments on it as it comes to mind.

Not all content reblogged will be appropriate for minors. With that being said, this is an +18 blog. Minors & ageless blogs—DO NOT INTERACT!

Writing blog -> @2neaky

Patreon -> 2Neaky

—𝟐𝓼𝓷𝓮❀𝓴𝔂

[shawtuzi]

BABY ARE U HOME? ft. suguru geto

a/n: genuinely don’t know what this is

synopsis: suguru learns shibari w/ the waitress he befriended at waffle house . . . LMFAOOOO

cw include: black fem!reader, porn with LOTS of plot, pretty cute n fluffy in most parts, sorta strangers to friends to lovers typa situation, lots of sexual tension, drug usage (weed), mentions of masturbation, SHIBARIIIIII (for learning purposes and sexual ones hehe), nasty kisses, fingering, oral f!receiving, abrupt ending bc tumblr is LAMEEEE// wc: 28k (longest fic to date >.<)

SATURDAY 2:17 A.M.

“back again already, huh? i’m startin’ to think you might have a crush on me.”

suguru briefly stopped in his tracks, a sly smile curling its way onto his lips. “oh yes, i’m afraid i can no longer get a good nights rest anymore unless i visit my favorite waitress! you’ve got me!”

his tall, broad form slumped against the sturdy counter, and his head tilted back dramatically, allowing his long, black hair to fall prettily off his shoulders, and graze over the counter. “the impending doom will only continue unless she makes me my favorite meal . .”

and then he peaked an eye open, his smile growing wider.

you gave him a smile that matched his own, but yours was a littleeee more on the mischievous side. might as well give him a little trouble since you’re in the mood!

suddenly your smile was replaced with a look of faux annoyance. “ugh, you know kev is gonna skewer me if i have him make that shit again. it’s not even a real menu item!”

the meal in question was a large serving of shredded hash browns, two fried eggs, and five strips of bacon allll served up between two phat ass chocolate chip waffles. the perfect breakfast sandwich.

he saw you eating the monstrosity one time during the end of your shift, and ever since then, he’s requested it with a side of orange juice n’ water.

technically, you weren’t even supposed to be making that kinda stuff for yourself, let alone a customer, but who really gives a shit when it’s the graveyard shift? especially when the customer was as cute as suguru.

“bullshit,” he chuckled, now standing straight. a screeching sound echoed throughout the empty restaurant only briefly before he took a seat, his glossy eyes never once leaving yours. “kev actually likes me, and will make me anything i want. you wanna know why?”

“not reallyyy.”

you both burst into a fit of giggles before he continued.

“because i distract you from bothering him. not that i mind, though. you’re pretty good company.” he smiled at you again, and it was only now that you realized he actually had very pretty teeth to go with his even prettier lips.

the small beauty mark on the left side of his top lip always caught your attention.

your nails, all pink and covered with chunky, silver charms, tapped against the counter. “that’s gotta be a lie, sugu. kev loves when i bother him. in fact, he loves it sooooo much that he’s taking an hour long smoke break because we’ve been having so much fun.”

sugu.

that was new. he liked it.

he propped his chin on his hand, dark lashes fluttering gently. “the same kev that you just said would skewer you . . is the same one you were just having soooo much fun with? so much fun that he had to run away n’ take a smoke break?”

it was silent for a few beats, and then your lips smacked together making an mmcht sound.

“whateverrrrr. you’re lucky i’ve mastered making it or else i’d make you interrupt his break, and ask for it,” you muttered, undoing the knot in your apron so you could make it tighter. “and we’re outta orange juice, so it’ll have to be apple tonight, sir.”

soon the smell of grease and bacon began to fill the space. as you bustled around to cook up the bacon and eggs, suguru just watched with hooded eyes, and a small smirk.

“so, how does a waffle house of all places run out of orange juice?” he snickered.

you let out a small hum, and flipped the bacon over, internally cringing at the scraping noise the spatula made against the grill. “look, babe, i just work here, m’kay? now how runny do you want these eggs?”

there was silence for a few beats, but only because he was too busy admiring your hair. it was straightened, and pulled into a half up, half down situation with the ends bumped. it was very cute. very you.

“you better hurry before they’re not runny at alllll,” you singsonged, whipping your head around to see what the holdup was. a breath caught in your throat when you realized he was already staring, and very hard at that.

dark brows raised in amusement, as his smirk widened. “i don’t like my eggs runny at all, sweetheart. remember?. . i like your hair by the way. very pretty.”

“mm, thank you. my girl was able to squeeze me in, and do it right before i came in for my shift. i thought we would’ve been matching since your hair is always like this, but i see you wanted it down tonight.” you threw him a quick grin over your shoulder, and turned back to his eggs with a slight heat in your cheeks.

in the five times suguru has come in during your shift, you’ve never seen his hair completely down. it was always up in a bun or half up-half down. you never quite understood why, but then again you tried not to think too hard about it because you didn’t even know the man.

“i . . i think you should have it down like that more often.”

the second you said those words to him, you wish you hadn’t, simply because you feared you sounded too flirty—but to your surprise, he seemed very amused.

“i get that a lot, but it’s just always in my face. especially when i’m doing important things—”

and then you dropped the fucking spatula with the loudest clang! known to man.

“my goodness—m’sorry about that,” you nervously chuckled, swiftly picking up the spatula with a huff. “i’m always droppin’ stuff. that’s why i stay outta this space . . too clumsy.”

suguru listened to every bit of your rambling, his pupils widening almost like a curious kitten. his eyes trailed from the apples of your cheeks, to your cupids bow, and down to the bruises on your wrists—wait . . bruises??

they were faint, but it was obvious.

“been tied up recently?” there was slightly humor in his tone, but mostly pure curiosity.

the sound of hash browns sizzling was almost deafening. you didn’t say anything at first, and then you turned around with this . . look on your face.

“why do you ask?”

you weren’t denying it, which means you must’ve not minded talking about it, but for what reason could you possibly have rope-like bruises on your wrists for?

suddenly, his heart began to pick up a little in pace, and he wasn’t sure why.

“did you . . did you do that yourself? . . .”

oh geez.

your head fell forward in a sigh, and this confused him even more. “uh—um, you know if you ever need any help you can always—”

“woahhhh, woah, woah! hang on there, sir,” you interrupted, quickly shaking your head back and forth. “these were an accident caused by yours truly from a couple days ago. i was taking this class, and my partner ended up tying the ropes a little too hard around my wrists, see?”

now he was even more confused. what the fuck kinda class were you taking?

“okay . . i mean, i guess it’s good to know no one hurt you purposefully. but what kinda class involves tying rope around your wrists? you in boy scouts or somethin’?”

“no, silly. i don’t know if i should tell you, though. not very appropriate for work if you get what i mean, yes?”

confusion was still written all over his face. he genuinely had no idea what were talking about.

“have you ever heard of shibari?”

“hmm?”

“shibari,” you said with more base in your tone than you intended to. “it’s a form of, um, bondage. j-japanese bondage, actually.”

then, your back was turned to him as you poured a batter filled with chocolate chips into a waffle maker. you glanced at him over your shoulder, and not very surprisingly, he was fully invested, leaning forward with his arms folded over one another.

“go on . .”

this made you a little excited. it wasn’t very often you got to explain the art that was shibari. to others, it was seen as taboo . . purely sexual . . and although there was a sexual nature behind it, there was also something so incredibly intimate, and beautiful about the entire thing.

the idea of putting your trust entirely into another person, and being at their mercy excited you. unfortunately for you though, you have yet to find a partner of sorts that you could practice with full time.

all you had was your beginners class that was every thursday from one to two pm. and your partner was usually never the same person—simply because most people underestimate the intensity that comes with either binding someone, or being the that’s bound and helpless.

“umm, well, what do you wanna know?”

suguru tongued at the inside of his cheek, his pointer finger tracing random shapes along the counter. “well, you say it’s bondage, so it’s for sex presume?”

“ah, i-it can be practiced for sex, but i think it teaches you a few other things—especially if you’re the one being . . . restrained.” the last bit of your sentence came out shaky and strained. you couldn’t believe you were actually discussing this with him.

you kept looking back to see any kind of discomfort or disgust on his face, but all you were met with was a blank, yet curious stare.

the dark haired mans head tilted slightly to the side, “what kinda things does it teach you? i-if you don’t mind me asking, of course,” he chuckled, purple eyes softening to bring you some sort of comfort. after all, he was a stranger, and this was a rather . . lewd conversation.

“mm, you sure you’re okay with me talking about it? might get a little graphic the more i explain, and i don’t need to be sued over nothin’,” you grinned with slight humor in your tone.

suguru matched your smile, chin now resting on his palm. “i could never sue the girl who put me onto the yummiest sandwich i’ve ever eaten—and, i am japanese after all . . would love to know more about somethin’ that originated in my country.”

“hmm, fair point. okay, sugu, i’ll tell you. just lemme finish whipping up this heart attack between two waffles for you.”

you never really thought about it until now, but suguru actually had one of the most attractive laughs you’ve ever heard—if that makes sense?

it was deep, but there was also a certain lightheartedness about it that made your heart flutter.

“now this class . .” he muttered, eyes brightening just a bit when you placed the plate of food in front of him. “do you guys, um, practice fully clotheddd, or is this a nude type of deal . . ?”

“fullyyyy clothed, silly. there’s quite a few older men n’ women, but it’s not, like, weird you know? we’re all here for the same thing, and that’s it! no awkwardness. the instructor is old as hell, though. he’s in his sixties, i believe.”

your words had geto pause mid bite, his thick brows nearly raising to the ceiling. “wait, wait,” he spoke lowly, words slightly muffled from a mouthful of food. “first of all; this shit is magnificent—second of all; your instructor is that old? that guys old enough to be my grandpa!”

“woah, woahhh—not too much on him! this guy is like a legend in the shibari world. i did my research on him, and his work is beautiful . . he treats each knot with such care n’ precision.“

mr. kinoko was the best of the best, and despite however old he may be, he knew how to tie some dang rope into the most beautiful, intricate knots you’ve ever seen.

during your third class, you had the honor of being a demonstration, and the old man did not hold back on you. which you were grateful for!

that afternoon, he demonstrated how to do a spiral futomomo and fishnets on you—and just for the fun of it, and because you were so willing, he had your hands bound in a prayer tie. it was so interesting watching the man loop and weave the ropes around you like it was second nature.

if only your partners weren’t such scaredy cats.

you could sense their hesitation and nervousness as they looped the cotton ropes over your skin, careful not to do it too tight, and cause you discomfort—even though they were literally the simplest of suspensions, such as a heel tie weave or a frog tie.

“it’s like an art, honestly. think of the person tying the rope as the paintbrush, and then the submissive as the canvas. the different positions, and styles are endless.”

by the time you finished speaking, you were nearly leaning over the entire counter with an excited look in your eyes. those speckles of brown he was so used to seeing were now taken over by your pupils.

after a few beats, suguru swallowed his food with a gulp. “that’s—that’s really interesting, ( ❤︎⁠ ). and this mr. kinoko . . he’s able to do all of that . . even with his old man hands?”

a humorous, but serious question.

“ughhh! yes, sugu. even with his old man hands, he’s able to create different knots and patterns that you couldn’t even fathom.”

this next part caught him a little by surprise.

“you wanna see some pics? f-from the class, i mean. he offered to take some pictures for this account i have, and i said yes, of course.” you were already waving your phone around, a shy smile curling at the corners of your lips.

in an act of rambling, you accidentally revealed to the older man that you had a twitter page dedicated to the art of shibari to learn more and eventually educate others—and to your surprise, he actually remembered!

that’s how you got over thirty thousand likes, and two thousand new followers all from a picture he took of you with your hands sitting prettily in your lap while bound together in the prayer tie.

and it was that same picture that had saliva pooling on suguru’s tongue as you showed it to him with a slight shake in your hands.

your hands looked rather pretty tied together. like you were made for this. he could imagine you sitting there with wide eyes and raised brows as you took in every bit of visual information that you could.

“and then here’s the heel tie weave. very simple, but beautiful, yes?”

the work was beautiful no doubt about it, but the small tattoo on your calf pulled his attention the most. it was a bouquet of flowers wrapped in a flowy bow, and upon closer inspection it looked like—

“you like baby’s breath?”

“huh?”

suguru’s pouty lips lifted in a snicker. “baby’s breath . . the flower. i couldn’t help but notice your tattoo.” his own tatted finger pointed to the ink in the center of your calf. “my mom is a florist. these are her favorite—though, she doesn’t sell very many whenever we got ‘em in stock. a refined taste, i guess.”

he watched as the realization slowly crept over your face, and then he was graced with a smile. “yes, i . . i really like baby’s breath. there’s about a million different meanings for it, but i like the self discipline and everlasting love for undying love part of it.”

that makes sense.

“i do think that’s really cool, though. and you never answered my question; what kinda things does this teach you? are you able to apply those things to your everyday life?”

the sandwich, delicious, but forgotten, was mostly lukewarm now as geto unintentionally tried to pick your brain. he had a bad habit of doing that.

he could sense your hesitance, and after nervously chewing on your bottom lip for a couple seconds, you put your embarrassment to the side, and laid it all out for him—something you have yet to do with anyone (besides your followers on twitter) regarding this topic.

suguru was a stranger. someone you never saw in your everyday life, and someone who never ran in the same circles you did. anything you told him would be in confidence . . right?

“well . . basically in my entire twenty four years of living, i’ve always felt like i need to be in control of, like, everything! and i think it’s good to have that sturdy hold on your life, but it’s also quite tiring. shibari teaches me to be . . vulnerable. vulnerable and open to letting someone else take the reigns for once. in a perfect world with a perfect partner, i’d be completely at their mercy, b-but not like in a scary way. even though i’m tired up, i’d feel a sense of safety and relaxation. it teaches me patience. how to spot my limits. allows me to silently communicate with myself in that—that i’ve never been able to before . . its also incredibly intimate depending on who you’re doing it with.”

a rather intense eye contact was held between you and him when you said that last sentence. he wanted you to lean a just little closer so he could get a whiff of your perfume. a girl as pretty as you had to have the sweetest of scents. did you smell of sugar & sweets? maybe something floral? or perhaps you liked tropical scents, like coconut and piña coladas.

“i’ve yet found someone who i’m fully comfortable enough to let go with in . . that way. but that’s okay. i’m getting educated by the best of the best, and doing it solo isn’t so bad.”

suguru would be lying if he said a lewd though or two didn’t pass through his mind. he was only a man after all. a man who had the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen go into extreme detail about how she likes to tie pretty knots over her glowy skin.

“sugu . .” you whispered, tummy erupting with butterflies at how dark his, usually bright eyes, had suddenly gotten.

he looked like he wanted to eat you up.

“that’s reallyyy interesting.” a pause. “you know . . i could always be your partner.”

now that took you by surprise. was he joking? he didn’t look like he was joking, but then again the man looked blazed out of his mind, so he didn’t really have much of a readable expression.

your eyes flicked down, noticeably avoiding his.

juice. he needed juice. you should definitely grab him some juice.

“you’re not funny,” was all you muttered before turning your back to him with a slight squeak in your work shoes. “you are being funny, right?”

suguru watched with hooded eyes as you filled up a small plastic cup with apple juice. that blunt he filled with an eighth was reallyyyy starting to hit now. the poor man thought he was holding a poker face when in reality, he looked like the wolf that devoured the poor, helpless sheep.

“i’m serious. i really like how passionate you are about this, n’ i wanna help. is that weird of me to ask?”

“kinda? . . we’re pretty much strangers. how do i know you aren’t some major perv or an axe murderer?” you spoke with humor in laced in your words. when you slid the cup of apple juice over, he grasped it, rough hands brushing over yours.

“do i look like either of those things?” he grinned, bringing the sweet juice up to his pink lips.

there was a mischievous glint in your eyes for a split second as you tilted your head. “looks can be very deceiving. you’re gonna have to prove yourself, sugu.”

a small hum rumbled in his hoodie clad chest. “and how would i do that? name anything.” he set the cup aside, and briefly turned his attention back to the forgotten monstrosity of a sandwich.

“if you’re really serious, i’ll need you to pay for the next three classes. just to know that you’re dedicated. classes are $115 a week, and i take them weekly.” your chin raised proudly, lips spreading into a giddy smile.

suguru tongued at the inside of his cheek. “i can do that.”

your face got a bit serious this time around, and you leaned close, “i also need you to swear on everything you love and will ever love that you’re not a creep, and just using me for some freak fantasy. need a pinky promise as well just for good measure.”

and then your pinky was up, pretty charms gleaming under the bright lights. “this is about the most random thing i’ve ever done, but you seem cool . . like i can trust you. so i am.”

suguru wiped his hands with a nearby napkin, and wrapped his pinky around yours. his touch was soft. warm. comforting.

“i’ll never give you a reason not to. it’s very rare i’m . . drawn to someone like this. besides, you said the person doing the binding can learn a few things, right?” his pinky tightened around yours, then loosened seconds after.

“u-um, that is right. it’s called a rigger or bakushi . . . t-the person tying the knots, i mean. the one being tied would be the ukete, but i prefer rope bunny. s’cute little name, huh?”

by this point your pinkies were still interlocked, and it wasn’t until you shifted the digit slightly that you realized this, and slowly undid the link. “it helps with communication if that’s something you lack, and raises your emotional intelligence quite a bit. there’s some other things too, but i can’t quite, um, remember right now.”

despite the glazed over look on his face, suguru was listening intently to every word you said. his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “am i making you nervous?”

you could lie and say he wasn’t, but you were honestly having a bit of fun with whatever game you both were playing.

“m-maybe a little. s’okay though. nothing i can’t handle.” your eyes drifted from his to the beauty mark on his lips, and then back up, making him smirk. “do you—ah, do you need a box for that?”

suguru made a noise of confusion, and then looked down, his brows raising slightly in realization. “oh, yes please . . and i have another proposition for you.”

“and what exactly would that be?”

your heart fluttered when he tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear, and then shortly after, pulled out a black scrunchie. so long gorgeous hair . .

“well,” he chuckled, bunching up the black locs into a bun. “how ‘bout we meetup somewhere before the class, and get to know each other more. i’d like to pick your brain a little bit if that’s alright.”

you nearly dropped the black container you were clutching on to. a small shiver ran down the length of your spine, and stopped right in the area below your tummy. right above your veryyy eager cunt.

“ithinkthatsagreatidea.”

the words that came flying past your glossed up lips were hushed and jumbled together, but suguru cracked the code on the first listen.

“yeah? you wanna hangout with me?”

just as he finished his sentence the sound of the back entrance opening caught your attention. shit.

suguru could sense the wall that he slowly got you to put down shoot back up. he had to act quick.

“how about i leave my number in your phone . . and if you’re really serious about me helpin’ you out, gimme a call. if i hear from you; cool. and if i don’t; then i look forward to seeing you next time i’m here.”

you stared at his empty palm for a moment, then hesitantly handed him your phone, along with the plastic container.

“so you’re just ready to drop three hundred—something dollars on a class with someone you barely know?”

“yes,” the raven haired man muttered, his attention solely focused on making sure all the numbers he punched in were correct. “unless you’re down to do four. just text me—hey kev!”

suguru’s eyes flicked to the tired looking man behind you, and all he got back in response was a caveman like grunt.

“i do enjoy our talks, kev,” he smirked, carefully sliding your phone and a fifty dollar bill over to your very awkward form. “i saved it under sugu. and this is for you. keep the change for your tip, n’ the receipt.”

before you knew it the barstool was scraping against the floor, and he was up, towering over you once again.

you had a thought. a thought you’d been debating on for the past couple of minutes, and it wasn’t until he was about to walk away that you decided to act upon it.

“w-wait!” you squeaked out, the receipt that he had planned to abandon now clutched in your hand. his real order wasn’t even on there. all the small white paper had on it was a side order of eggs. you never charged suguru for his meals, and he knew this, but he “paid” every time, and each time insisted you keep the change for yourself.

it was free money, and you’d be an idiot not to take it in today’s economy, so . . . you know.

in your other hand was a pen. a pink pen that you usually kept clipped to your apron. there were two hello kitty stickers wrapped around it, and a glittery grip to match. it was very pink. very cute. very you.

suguru’s brows raised in question as you scribbled something across the back of the receipt. you made eye contact a total of two times, each time more nervous than the last from your end.

“you’ll want this receipt. trust me.” the last part came out hushed, and full of something that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

for the third time that night, he was skin to skin with you. fingers brushing over yours as he took the receipt. “thank you for the tip by the way. m’gonna split it with kev. have a good night, sugu.”

“have a good night, ( ❤︎⁠ ).” he gave you one last smile before turning on his heels to make his exit. his thumb ran over the pink ink over, and over, and over—until he made it to his car.

what he expected to be a phone number was actually much different. it was a username. a twitter user.

twitter user @ shibarishawty

suguru was obsessed.

well, maybe obsessed was a little extreme, but his thumbs were definitely starting to get tired from opening and closing the twitter app.

the man didn’t even have a twitter until now.

he looked out of pure curiosity at first because who wouldn’t? but the more his eyes scanned across your skin, decorated with pretty black & red ropes, the more he realized he was actually severely attracted to you.

he liked the medium sized tattoo of a bonsai tree you had on your left thigh. the different sized moles and beauty marks that littered your shiny skin. you must eat a lot of fish or something, because your skin was practically glowing in all twenty seven pics & and seven videos you shared on the page.

and to his surprise, you actually showed your face.

not in any pictures, but in a few videos, your pretty face was on full display as you explained the different knots and styles you were experimenting with.

most of the things you retweeted were educational things about the sacred art, but there were also quite a few . . . lewd posts that shocked him.

naked or half naked women bound, and sometimes gagged, with black ropes decorating their skin like blossoming flowers.

two particular posts caught his eye, though.

when will it be my turn :((

that was a retweet made by none other than yourself. the post you retweeted in question? a pretty caramel skinned girl with drool dribbling down her puffy lips while some faceless man toyed with her exposed pussy. her skin was decorated with pink ropes, and each of her limbs were bound together, preventing her from moving an inch.

horny video aside—the knots keeping her together were beautiful. he could only imagine how much time patience, trust went into all of it.

that’s what you wanted—no, craved according to your many reposts.

another post that he found himself looking at time and time again was a vintage looking picture of a man taking the position as the ukete.

thick muscles strained against a rougher looking kind of rope, leaving evident red lines against his pale skin even in the black & white photo. he was blindfolded, head tilted upwards with a gag between his lips.

were you into that? did you have interest in turning your male partner into a rope bunny of your own?

he thought of this as he shamefullyyyy stroked his dick with a hand covering his eyes in embarrassment.

images of him with red ropes looped around his pale skin flashed behind his closed eyelids, but the thing that had him busting with a choked groan was imagining the excited, yet slightly crazed look in your eyes as you watched him struggle n’ whine.

suguru never came so hard from his imagination before, and after that he heavily anticipated a message from you.

that was sunday. it was tuesday night now, and still not a peep from your end. was he a little disappointed? maybe—but there was still a day left before the actual class on thursday, so he remained hopeful.

“come on, pretty girl. where are you . .” the bored man hummed, flopping back onto the stack of pillows at the top of his bed. his hair spread across the cotton pillows like a halo, and his violet eyes were low n’ bored, practically burning holes into the ceiling.

his laptop laid beside him, two different websites showing different materials and colors of ropes plastered across the semi bright screen. his was phone rested on his hard stomach, and upon opening it, you would be greeted with a website containing different links on how to do certain positions and knots.

he’s been doing his research like a good boy, still confident that he’ll hear from you.

and then, his phone started to vibrate.

but it wasn’t you, of course, it was fuckin’ satoru.

a flash of white hair was all he needed to see before he was letting out an exasperated groan. nonetheless, he still answered.

“yes?”

“strawberry cream puff or mango cronut?”

*sigh* “mango cronut. they’re in season so it’s probably better tasting.”

“two mango cronuts, please! what’s up with you? you sound down.”

there was silence for a few beats, and then suguru was letting out a bored hum, violet eyes flicking towards the now dimmed laptop screen.

“don’t tell me you’re bummin’ about waffle house girl!”

“she has a name you ingrate. it’s ( ❤︎ ), and it’s a very pretty name, and so is she, and—”

ding! ding!

the laptop suddenly lit up, and in the small box in the corner read a text from an unknown number. your number actually. and he was sure of it because there was only one person he knew who referred to him as—

new message from unknown number: hi! is this sugu? it’s your favorite waitresssss

“she texted me . .”

“hm?”

“s-she texted me! waffle house gi—i mean, ( ❤︎ )!” suguru sat up with quickness, and haphazardly tossed his phone to the side. “just be cool . . be coolllll,” he muttered, carefully grabbing his laptop and placing it on the thickness of his thighs.

“what are you gonna say?”

suguru let out another hum, his middle finger circling the cursor over the message. “well, i’m gonna let her know it’s me, and then i’m gonna ask her about the class in the chillest way possible n’ how i’ve been doin’ my research.

he clicked on the message, and nibbled on his bottom lip. first things first—add your contact.

message sent to ( ❤︎ ): it’s about time i heard from you. thought i scared you away for a second

while suguru sat in bed, nearly shaking like a leaf from nerves, you were in your own bed, on your tummy with your feet slowly kicking back & forth in the air as you thought of something to say.

you didn’t mean to leave him hanging for a few days, you were just nervous!

between him offering to take the shibari class with you, and you giving him your nsfw twitter—lots of things were running through your already frazzled mind.

but after a pep talk from your closest friend, and some intense journaling, you decided to message him. your hopes weren’t entirely too high for a response back since you took so long, but suguru, unbeknownst to you, was very eager to hear from you, and replied within minutes.

“thought he scared me away . . hmm,” you hummed, lips curling the tiniest bit into a smile. so, he was thinking about you. cute.

new message from sugu: wanna call?

before you could even respond, your phone was vibrating and flashing suguru’s name across the top. that slight smugness you were feeling was long forgotten, now replaced with pure panic.

“o-oh fuck!” you gasped, now sitting up on your knees. ice flooded your veins, and your heart was pounding. but why? why did suguru make you so nervous? what made him so different from all the other men you’ve talked to?

maybe it was because he was the most attractive being you’ve ever seen. or that he’s the first man to ever tell you that he enjoyed hearing you talk about something you were passionate about—even if said passion was a bit on the perverted side.

maybe it was his height. or his pretty violet eyes that always sparkled under the bright lights in the restaurant. maybe it was the black swirls of ink that made an appearance every now and again from underneath the bagginess of his clothes.

well, whatever it was, it made you swipe over and answer the call on the very last ring.

“hello?”

“hey, cutie.”

out of pure instinct you smiled, heat creeping up to the apples of your cheeks. “cutie, huh?”

“too much?”

“nah . . .”

there were a few, painfully long beats of silence until you both spoke up at the same time, then stopped. laughter filled the quiet spaces of your rooms, and then suguru finally spoke up—

“i’m glad you reached out. you looked so flustered the other night, i thought i scared ya.”

god, his laugh was something so serious—especially over the phone. it was deep, and laced with just enough sleep that it had that this sexy raspiness to it.

“ah, no. no, you didn’t. i don’t know why i was being so awkward . . b-but i’m glad you responded.” you sat back on your bottom, blinding reaching for a nearby plush to pull into your chest. the cushiony object shaped like a mug of matcha felt soft beneath your chin. “i decided that i do wanna take you up on your offer.”

“yeah?”

the smirk in his tone was evident.

your fingers fiddled with the tag on the plush, a small smile creeping on your cherry tasting lips. “yeah . . i do. i really need a partner, and if you’re serious, i’m down to practice on each other.”

some shuffling was heard on the other line, and then you heard him clear his throat. “practice on each other? you mean—?”

“yes. if i practice on you that means my solo sessions will be easier. i’ll go easy on you at first, but if you’re really serious about this, i might have you in a few compromising positions . . all for the love of shibari, though.”

“r-right. of course.”

he sounded nervous, but there was another emotion in his voice you couldn’t quite decipher. maybe excitement?

“did you . . did you happen to look at that twitter page i wrote down?” heat immediately rose to your cheeks, and just like that you wished you never even asked the question or showed it to him.

a part of you was intrigued to know if he liked what he saw, but the other half was flooded with embarrassment. but, he must’ve liked what he saw if he was anticipating your text, right? right . . .

“i did see it. thought it was pretty interesting, so i actually started doing a bit of my own research. your work is beautiful by the way—how long have you been doing this?”

your thighs subconsciously squeezed together. “i’ve known about it, and done my research for about . . a year now? i started actually practicing a few months ago. i-i thought it’d be impossible to learn on my own, but it’s actually not that bad. you’ll catch on like me in no time as long as you’re committed to the classes.”

another moment of silence flooded the room, and your brows scrunched together in thought. “w-what kinda research have you been doin’? if you don’t mind me asking.”

“ah, just the basics. what kinda rope i should invest in. some beginners knots. aftercare. you know, some stuff the rigger should know . . though, i guess i should do some research about being a rope bunny too.”

he laughed again, and this time, it was much lighthearted than the last making your heart flutter with a swarm of butterflies.

you couldn’t believe this was really happening. this was real life.

“y-yeah,” you laughed into the phone, teeth catching onto your bottom lip for a split second before releasing it. “it’s a little intimidating at first, but it’s definitely an experience worth trying. i’m surprised you’re actually into the idea—most men our age are too “manly” for it. i think that just means they’re pussy, though. only a real man would let a woman tie him up for the sake of the arts. don’t you think, sugu?”

“absolutely.”

your brows raised the tiniest bit at the thrill in his voice. slowly, your eyes drifted to the abandoned hemp ropes that laid scattered across your carpeted floor. they were a very dark red color, almost the color of blood.

briefly, you imagined suguru straining against them. the panicked look in his eyes when he realizes he will not, and cannot move unless you feel otherwise. the little whines he would make when you tugged particularly hard in the ropes that held him down.

he’d be completely powerless.

that’s why a lot of men didn’t particularly like to be the ukete. it would require them to be more than submissive than they’d really like.

suguru sounded eager and more than ready, but was he really? you’d just have to see.

“so you’d be okay with that? letting me tie you up?”

“yes. i trust you, ( ❤︎ ). do you trust me?”

“as much as you can trust a stranger that you’ve met a handful of times,” you giggled into the line, baby pink painted toes wiggling in bashfulness at the melodic sound of his laugh.

for a half hour, you both just . . talked.

first about shibari, of course, but the conversation eventually drifted to other things like your other hobbies, ambitions, taste in music, etc.

suguru was full of questions from what you gathered—but not in a creepy way thank goodness.

he had you blushing, giggling, n batting your eyelashes like some schoolgirl with a heart numbing crush. a natural flirt would be the best words to describe him, and you’d be lying if you said didn’t like it.

“i wanna meetup before the class,” you spoke abruptly. you grabbed your ipad, and searched up the cafe you went to before every class. it was small, but locally owned and had the best matcha you’ve ever had in your life.

if there was anywhere you wanted to meetup, and get to know suguru more, it was there.

“m’gonna send you the address to this cafe i always go to. we’ll meet up there, talk for a bit, and walk to class together. ‘kay?” just as you finished talking, you sent the address to him, and within seconds the message was read.

“sounds good, cutie. anythin’ i should know before showing up?”

you let out a small, teasing hum in agreement. “yes, actually. wear something comfy, and i’d probably wear your hair up—might get in your face while you’re practicing. stretch too . . just in case.”

“in case of what?”

“don’t worry about it, sugu. just make sure you stretch, okay?” the last bit of your words were said extra soft n’ extra sweet. you could practically hear him melting over it as he let out a shaky sigh.

“okay . . okay, yeah. i’ll stretch beforehand.”

the conversation was carried on for another twenty minutes before you bid your farewells, and you almost hated to hear him go, letting out a long, drawn out sigh as you tossed your phone aside.

for a minute, you just stared at the ceiling with the tiniest of furrows between your brows. a billion thoughts were running through your mind, but what stood out the most was you asking yourself over and over if you were developing a crush on suguru.

in your mind there was a vast difference between a crush and liking someone.

a crush was more of an attraction. a want to get to know someone more, so you have some reasons to actually start liking them.

when you explained that people they all gave you the same confused, question mark over the head typa look, but it made sense to you. and that’s all that mattered in your world.

you nibbled on the skin of your lip, tugging gently before releasing it back into place. “fuck it,” you muttered, grabbing your phone once again. your brows widened in surprise to see that suguru texted you again.

new message from sugu: sweet dreams

new message from sugu: also . . . any rope recs? i tried googling but it was a little overwhelming lol

and just like that, you were smiling. but not just any small grin. you were fucking cheesing at his text with all thirty two teeth showing.

yeah, there was definitely a crush of some sort brewing.

message sent to sugu: because you’re a beginner, i’d get the cotton material kind. cheap & soft on your skin. but i’d also invest in hemp rope because that’s the most ideal one for lots of reasons. a little on the expensive side though!

not only did you send him a list of pros and cons for the different kinds of rope—you also sent him multiple links for the ones you owned for yourself. he read it, but after five minutes of being left on read you began to feel a sense of dread.

did you say too much? did he fall asleep on you? was this becoming too overwhelming for him?

ugh. the small, minuscule amount of doubt you were holding onto about having a crush on him dissolved into nothing with each glance at your phone.

he didn’t text as you put away your equipment, and you still received nothing as you did your skin care, and wrapped up your hair. actually, you almost forgot about him for a good minute while watching something on netflix, but then your phone vibrated.

it was suguru. multiple texts from suguru—even more than what you sent before. you got excited again, that flutter of butterflies you had earlier now a full blown swarm.

there were pics of different amazon purchases he made, and when they would get to him. you examined the pictures carefully, and from what it looked like, he listened to your advice. you noticed that on top of the cotton and hemp style ropes, he also bought nylon—which was interesting seeing as though that kind of ropes require special knots to stay intact.

they were pretty colors, though. some pink, some red, and some that matched the vibrant color of his eyes.

after putting lots of time, money, and effort into this craft, you knew everything he bought costed a pretty penny—especially the hemp rope. it was the standard for multiple reasons, and because of that, it didn’t come very cheap.

because of the rough, yet comfortable material, any knots the rigger tied would hold nice n’ easy, even if the rope bunny happened to struggle or strain against them. now, you wouldn’t know anything about that part seeing as you’ve never been fully restrained, but you could only imagine the thrill of it.

new message sent to sugu: omg! you’re gonna be a pro in no time

new message sent to sugu: class is from 1-2, so i’ll see you @ the cafe at 12 <3

and with that, you turned your phone on do not disturb, and set it aside with a slight shake in your hands. your heart was beating erratically, and the dull pulse between your legs was becoming rather bothersome.

that night, before you slipped into a peaceful slumber, you had your head buried in the plushness of your pillow while your manicured fingers rubbed sloppily over your perked up clit. shamelessly, you pictured yourself bound in a star harness done by none other geto himself, all while he used your throat like the worlds greediest fleshlight.

in your lewd imagination, he was rough, but not purposefully. you pictured him as a man that liked to believe he was fully in control, but once he got lost in his bliss? there was no telling what would happen.

was he on the whiny side? a groaner? a talker?

all these thoughts and more raced through your mind as you humped into your mattress with a tearful pout on your lips.

THURSDAY 11:56 A.M.

“two matchas with oat milk, and two pumps of brown sugar syrup please.”

“alrighttt! can i get anything else for you, honey?”

you glanced down at your phone that now read 11:57, and looked back up at the waitress with a slight shake to your head. “nope, that’ll be all. thank you so much.”

getting a matcha latte, and sometimes a cherry cheese danish was your ritual before every class. sometimes you’d bring your ipad, and watch whatever show you were currently binging, and other days you would just sit and journal to your hearts content.

today, though, you’d be accompanied by suguru, who was very eager to meet up. at least that’s the vibe you got from his many texts.

but it wasn’t just him. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t quadruple texting this man with a dopey grin on your lips the entire day yesterday as you talked about any, and everything.

you were honestly a little nervous you’d have nothing left to talk about with how much you shared with him.

he was just so easy to talk to, and you actually had a lot in common with him!

same music taste. same love for sushi (except those fake ass california rolls). you were both very into movies ranging from all different genres, and you both shared a passion for taking care of your hair.

suguru took his hair care very serious from it sounded like. that must’ve been why the long, jet black locs he kept in a scrunchie daily were so damn long. it looked soft to the touch, though. you even caught yourself wondering how it smelt. like mint? citrus? coconuts?

“hey.”

you didn’t mean to, but the gasp you let out from being startled was anything but quiet. your brows scrunched together in slight annoyance, but then you heard it.

his laugh.

“woah, woah—i’m sorry!” a warm hand rested on your bare shoulder, squeezing lightly. “i didn’t mean to scare ya. it’s just me.”

you looked up, and there suguru was in all his glory with an apologetic smile etched across his lips. he was wearing a black compression shirt with black sweatpants to match, and his hair was all held together with a mossy green claw clip. you’ve never seen a man wear a claw clip before, and it was honestly one of the most attractive things you’ve ever seen.

your eyes flicked from his hair to the small, silver hoops in his ears. very cute. very him.

“h-hey! oh my gosh, m’so sorry,” you giggled nervously, quickly standing up so he could pull you in for a side hug—but it wasn’t just any small side hug. it was a full on embrace, the woodsy, yet spicy scent of his cologne wafting into your nose.

“don’t be sorry,” he chuckled, giving your smaller form a tender squeeze before slowly unwrapping his strong arms from around you. “it’s good to see you.”

nerves were gnawing at your lower belly, and you could feel a slight shake in your bones with each movement you made. “it’s good to see you too, sugu. i hope you like matcha, and oat milk, because i got you one.”

the smile you offered him was friendly, and maybe even a little flirty with the way you batted your lashes.

you had beautiful eyes. they were big n’ round, with the softest look to them that would make anyone feel like they were in a safe space. it didn’t make things better that suguru had a major thing for women with brown eyes . . and beauty marks—which you happened to have quite a few of, scattered around the soft features of your face.

“i don’t drink it often, but i dabble. never had it with oat milk before, though.” his smile matched your own, and then there was a moment of quiet. it wasn’t so much an uncomfortable silence, but you did feel your face get a bit heated.

suguru leant forward on the table, his arms crossing over one another. your thighs squeezed together at the sight of his pecs squishing together under the soft fabric of his compression shirt.

“you look . . very pretty today. i mean you always look pretty, but, uh—heh, you know. i really like your hair like that. seems like we both enjoy havin’ it half up-half down.”

out of instinct, you brought a finger up to twirl at your curls, a bashful smile creeping its way onto your glossed up lips. “thank you, sugu.”

“two matcha lattes with oat milk?”

you nearly jumped out of your skin again at the waitresses sudden appearance. suguru’s pretty front teeth clamped down gently onto his bottom lip to conceal his laughter. you were too cute.

“mhm, yes that’s us. thank you!” you wasted no time taking a long sip of the semi sweet drink, your chest vibrating in a content hum. “this place has the best kinda matcha. i can’t help but chug it.”

suguru slightly adjusted his posture when your tongue poked out to swipe over your bottom lip. he cradled the cup in his large hands, then took a slow sip. it tasted very . . green . . but the oat milk and brown sugar syrup was a very nice combination.

“did you stretch like i said?”

and just like that, suguru was reminded of the dull ache in his joints. he didn’t quite know exactly how he should’ve stretched, or for how long . . so he just did a little bit of everything.

his finger traced along the condensation that covered the plastic cup, “yes, i did. not gonna lie, i’m a little sore from it.”

violet eyes zeroed in on the way you casually chewed on the tip of your straw, and shamefully enough, it had his lower half feeling a bit heated. “i’m looking forward to going, though. do you think i’ll be too far back ahead to keep up? surely, you’re way past the beginner stage.”

“not entirely, no. i still have many things to learn, so don’t feel intimidated . . would you be more comfortable being the ukete for this class? just so i can show you the ropes up close? no pun intended by the way.”

suguru couldn’t help but laugh at the last part of your question, the corners of his eyes crinkling cutely. “i think that would be a good idea—just don’t bruise me up.” not a bit of his tone was serious, there was only pure amusement.

honestly, you weren’t expecting him to be so okay with the idea—especially when you gave him the impression that he’d mostly be taking over the position as the rigger.

you took another sip of your drink, and slowly bat your eyes. “i promise i’ll be gentle, sugu. how ‘bout we swap halfway through the class so we both get some practice in with our knots, hm? it’s a bit of a struggle at first, but once you learned it, you can’t unlearn it. then when you get your own ropes, you can practice on yourself or—”

“you?”

“h-huh?”

suguru’s head innocently cocked to the side, a glimmer of an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint flashing in his curious eyes. “when i get my own ropes . . i can practice some more on you, right?”

the smile he gave you was a seductive one if you’ve ever seen it, but his eyes were telling a whole different story. it was pretty impressive.

“you’re gonna be my rope bunny, right? might as well practice outside of class too if we really wanna be committed, you know?”

your head was tilting in a nod before you could even think of something to say back. and even when you did speak, it came out wayyy more aggressive than you had meant—

“precisely.”

suguru’s thick brows raised, an amused smirk taking over his features. “very eager, huh?”

you were sure he could feel the heat radiating off your face from how bashful you felt. “uh, y-yeah. maybe a little—”

“it’s okay, babe. i am too.”

babe.

the poor cup you were holding nearly folded from how hard you were holding it, but after a few seconds, you were brought back to reality. to him.

“i . . i really appreciate you for doing this—for paying for these classes. and your dedication . . i-it’s really sweet, n’ i’m still trying to process it all. hence why i’m being so freakin’ awkward right now.”

god, it was so hard to make eye contact with right now. since when did he have such a meaningful and intense stare??

when his lips wrapped around his straw, your chest tightened, a warmth spreading like wildfire across your lower tummy. it felt like you were ovulating, but you knew for a fact you weren’t. this was pure lust.

it was like you were playing a game of cat & mouse . . the only thing about that was your positions kept changing. sometimes you’d feel like you had the upper hand in conversations, and others . . well, suguru definitely had you right where he wanted you.

but you knew the positions would soon change yet again once you got to decorating his body in your most expensive ropes.

“i’m happy to be at your service. you’re a real sweet girl, and i’m more than willing to be the . . partner you need for this. i appreciate you for putting so much trust in me. makes me feel good.” he tongued at the inside of his cheek, his foot gently nudging against your calf.

you gave him a slight nudge back, the tip of your shoe drifting up the length of his leg before retreating.

his chest rumbled in a low chuckle, “you sure your ropes are gonna be able to hold me? i’m a pretty big guy.” his question wasn’t smug in the slightest, only full of pure curiosity.

and he was a big guy.

you were a little in the taller side, standing at a good five foot seven and a half—whereas suguru stood at a whopping six four. sometimes six three and a half because he had a bit of a slouching problem, whichhhh you found really hot for some reason . . anyways.

not only was he tall, he was just broad as fuck. a giant wall with luscious black hair n’ pretty teeth. very muscly too from what you could see. the compression shirt hugged his biceps and pecs perfectly, and his thighs . . they were very much on thicker side. you could just tell—even through the thick cotton of his sweats.

but even so, your ropes would hold him nice and still. you were sure of it.

“don’t worry about that. i brought my hemp ropes, so you’ll be secure. and not to worry you or anything, but i like my knots tight. whether i’m doing it or receiving.”

“oh is that right?” he asked in a challenging tone.

the corner of your lips twitched, eyes narrowing the tiniest, “mhmmm.”

in a perfect world, geto would be having you make that same noise on his cock while he plowed into you without a care in the world. he wanted that cookie so fucking bad.

“well, i don’t mind if you’re rough on me . . and, i certainly don’t mind being rough on you. especially when you’re constantly talking about how bad you need it on your little page,” he snickered, relishing in the mortified look that spread across your features. “ah, don’t be shy now. you must’ve wanted me to know this since you showed it to me, right?”

it felt as if two burning coals had been placed on the apples of your cheeks, and as the seconds went by, that heat traveled all across your body. you couldn’t believe you were having this conversation just out in public.

he was saying everything so causally as if this conversation was just random banter, and you wondered—how far was he going to take it? and why were you so ready for it?

your clit pulsed beneath the cotton of your panties, and you felt . . slicker.

when you didn’t say anything, suguru’s smile widened. “i’ll take that as a yes. don’t worry, babe—message received.”

and what the fuck did that mean?

“sugu please,” you hissed, thighs pressing together with need. “you’re making me real flustered over here.”

“oh? you like the way i talk, ( ❤︎ )?”

your lashes fluttered only slightly when you cleared your throat. you set your hands in your lap, absentmindedly fiddling with the charms on your nails. “maybe a little. don’t get a big head over it.”

suguru’s foot nudged your calf again, his head tilting to the side. “mm, i’ll try not to.”

the wispy, stray hairs from his updo grazed over his sharp features, and that’s when you noticed two faint holes on his right eyebrow.

your own brows raised slightly, pupils widening in curiosity. “you used to have your eyebrow pierced?” you spoke softly, tapping the skin above your brow.

out of instinct, suguru’s fingers grazed over the two small holes. “yeah . . for a whileee actually. i took it out a couple weeks ago—heh, basically right before i met you.”

shit.

suguru with an eyebrow piercing would definitely be a sight to see.

“you should put it back in.”

“and why should i do that?”

“because i wanna see it.”

he pursed his lips, chest rumbling in a chuckle. “why don’t i just show you some pics?”

that smug smile he was giving you faltered entirely when your shoe pressed against the inside of his thigh rather roughly. the table jostled from how hard he flinched, and you just about cackled.

you didn’t know this, of course, but suguru’s thighs were terribly sensitive to the touch—especially the tender skin on the insides of them.

you pressed a little harder, “because i want to see it up close in person. duh.”

suddenly, a soft warmth spread over your ankle, and moved your foot over by just an inch. suguru’s fingers grazed over the supple skin once, twice, and then his eyes flicked up, boring into yours.

“you should really be careful. don’t wanna get me amped up when all i’ve been thinking about is you the past couple of days,” he spoke softly, voice laced with nothing but sweetness, despite the real intention behind said words. for a brief second, his eyes glanced down at his phone—

12:50 P.M.

“wow it’s already been almost an hour,” he chuckled, giving your ankle two taps as a silent command to retreat it. and just like he expected, you did it with zero confusion behind those big, brown eyes. oh, he knew exactly what you were.

he could see that you liked to have some fun being on the controlling side of it all, and it wasn’t a front. the thrill behind your eyes was more than evident as you teased the sensitive area of his thigh—or how they sparkled at the mention of not being gentle when it came to decorating his pale skin in pretty knots.

but there was also that submissive aura that surrounded you. the side of you that was bratty, yet obedient.

he wanted to explore both sides of you. he wanted to explore all of you. become one another’s plaything to ease the obvious sexual tension that left his brain cloudy.

“you wanna get going?” he asked, drinking the last few sips of matcha left in his cup. “don’t wanna end up being late.”

you mimicked his actions, and finished the rest of your drink with one last gulp. “mhm. i-it’s just up the street.”

your ankle continued to tingle from his soft touch. you could still feel the gentleness in every stroke of his fingers against your heated skin, and the thoughts it gave you were less than godly.

god, you were still getting to know the man, and you already wanted him to bed you. to touch on you in ways that you’ve been so needy for for months.

you’ve met your share of men, but none of them stood out like sugu. none of them made your stomach twist in knots from a simple text, or your clit ache with want. it was only suguru that stood out so much that he appeared in your dreams the night before. and when you awoke that morning, it was suguru who was the first thing on your mind, and the only thing you thought of as you tiredly humped against your pillow for the fourth time in the span of eight hours.

before you could even reach for your purse, suguru was placing some cash on the table. enough to cover both of your drinks, and the tip.

he had that familiar wolfish look on his face as he stood up, his tatted hand extending towards you, “shall we?”

when his hand enveloped yours, he couldn’t help but give it a soft squeeze. he watched with a certain . . look in his eyes, never once taking them off you.

and he was close, very close. he never broke contact, but he did let go of your hand in exchange for hooking his arm around yours.

like a puzzle finally finding its missing piece, your arm tightened around his strong bicep. “i just need to, um, grab the stuff from my car.”

“no problem. lead the way.”

“are you just gonna stay glued to me the whole time?”

the way he looked down at you with that wolfish look blanketing his features had your tummy dipping. “if i can help it . . except when i open the door for you. i’ll make an exception for that.”

and he stuck to his word, swiftly removing himself from your side so he could hold the door for you.

“my car is juuuust right here,” you muttered, unlocking the door, and pulling out a baby pink tote bag that was very much on the larger side. he almost wanted to laugh at how comically big it was next to you.

“cute bag. i like the bows.”

you glanced down at your bag, then back up at him. “thank you! now let me show you were we’ll be meeting up every thursday.”

suguru held his bicep out for you again, silently pleading in his mind that you’ll take it, and confirm his delusions for you even further.

you nibbled on your lip, hesitating for about several seconds until you finally bit the bullet and laced your arm with his once again. his muscles were nice n’ firm, tightening the tiniest bit around your arm to keep you glued by his side.

the walk was silent as first, but it was a comfortable silence. about halfway there, you crossed paths with an older woman, who smiled kindly at the both of you.

“cute little couple you two are,” she spoke softly, tilting her head in a nod, to which you responded—

“thank you!”

poor suguru nearly tripped over his feet at your words, his brows shooting up in surprise. when he looked down at you, you were already looking back up at him with a smirk. “what? it’s fun to play pretend sometimes.”

“yeah . . yeah you’re right.” more silence followed, and then he spoke up again, “you gonna continue that little act in class?”

this had you giggling, your hand tightening around his bicep ever so softly. “maybeee, m’not sure yet. don’t want mr. kinoko to think you’ll have me slacking.”

“rightttt, righttt,” he chuckled, unlinking his arm from yours so he could open the door for you. “can’t wait to meet the guy.”

the small building smelt of essential oils, and was pretty plain looking, except for a couple figurines and meditation posters. suguru said nothing as you both approached the front desk where a woman sat, humming away to herself. since he had no idea what he doing, or even asking for, he let you do the talking all while his debit card was in hand.

“helloooo,” you singsonged, head cocking to the side adorably.

“hello, ( ❤︎ )! so good to see you again,” the woman replied, giving you a friendly smile. her eyes flicked to suguru, and he was offered the same expression. “who is your friend?”

suddenly, your hand blindly reached behind you to pull him closer, his front now pressed against your back. “this is suguru. i told him about the class, and he wanted to try it out for himself! ‘even went ahead and bought himself some equipment.”

as you and front desk lady babbled away about suguru being a first timer—sugu was intrigued to discover you had yet another tattoo.

it was on the back of your left shoulder, and written in cursive read divine feminine.

it couldn’t have been more truthful in his opinion.

“sugu?”

“hm?”

he was brought out of his thoughts completely when he felt you turn around, your backside brushing over his front. there was this look on your face—a mischievous one that he has grown to become familiar with ever since he met you.

was that intentional? were you teasing him?

“you ready to pay?” your lashes fluttered, the corner of your lips curling into the tiniest of smiles.

he let out a hum, and handed his card over, the silver from the rings on his fingers gleaming under the lights. “i have a quick question,” he spoke softly, subtly squeezing at your side. “am i able to pay for classes in advance?”

“you most certainly are! would you like to pay for the one we’re having next week?”

“yes . . and the next five weeks after that please.”

“h-huh?”

the look on your face was priceless, but adorable.

“suguru . . that’s wayyy more than we agreed on. i-i can’t possibly have you pay for over a months worth of classes—”

“don’t listen to her. please charge the card,” he spoke firmly, his hand squeezing again at your side.

you didn’t say anything after that, your heart swelling like an overly inflated balloon. it honestly felt nice to have his hands on you. his touch was very warm and gentle, like he’s known you forever.

the women looked at you, then suguru, then back at you with wide eyes. “ . . very nice friend you have, honey. i have you two down for every thursday from one to two p.m for the next six weeks. does that sound correct, sir?”

“yes, ma’am. thank you very much.”

you couldn’t deny the gush of slick that seeped into your panties. it was such a nice action, and the fact that he had no problem dropping six hundred something dollars on something for you turned you on immensely.

after everything was paid for, suguru silently followed you to the room where your class would be taking place. he could tell you were annoyed, happy, and grateful all at once just from the small pout on your lips.

just before walking in, you stopped him by pushing a hand to his hard chest.

“why did you buy those extra classes? you didn’t have to do that y-you know.” before you even finished speaking, suguru was taking another step forward, leaving only less than an inch of space between your bodies.

he was already slouching, but he leant down a little bit more anyways, the scent of his cologne making you dizzy.

“because i want to spend more time with you.”

your fingers tightened around the strap of your tote bag, breath catching in your throat. “you didn’t have to spend all that money to do so. i would hangout with you whenever.”

“yeah?”

“yeah . .”

he tongued the inside of his cheek, and smiled. “good to know. shall we head inside? we’re a few minutes late, and i don’t need mr. kinoko thinkin’ i’m a bad influence on you already.”

all you could do was nod, feeling smaller than you already were.

“o-of course.”

when you walked in, there were five other pairs of people, their ropes already out and arranged accordingly. it was dim, but there was still enough light so you could see, and there was some calming music playing quietly in the background.

“c’mon, i like to sit up front,” you muttered, grasping his hand in yours. “and don’t worry. these mats get sanitized after every class.”

you sat down, and removed your shoes, quietly ushering for suguru to do the same. he did the same, of course, and sat close . . very close.

“good afternoon everyone!”

suguru looked to the right, and there was the man of the hour—your muse, mr. kinoko. he was old alright, but he certainly didn’t look as old as suguru had presumed.

he felt a light squeeze on his knee, and looked over to see you staring forward with a giddy smile on your lips. he breathed out a small laugh through his nose, his eyes flicking back to his teacher for the next hour.

mr. kinokos’ introduction was short n’ sweet for the newbies, and soon after that, he was encouraging the people who were playing the role as the ukete to get on their knees.

“for this certain binder, you will need the longest rope you have. i suggest twenty five to thirty feet depending on your partner—and as always; make sure trust is established with each other.”

as geto got into a comfortable position on his knees, you carefully rummaged around in your tote bag for the longest rope you had. it was of cotton material, and a pretty, dark red color. suguru’s eyes widened slightly in curiosity, heart hammering against his chest.

“do you trust me, sugu?”

his adams apple bobbed in a gulp before he was nodding. “yes . . yes, i trust you.”

“alright, everyone! today we will be making use of the hishi, or diamond, pattern. if you’ve been doing your research, you will see that this pattern is very popular among shibari, and can be used in many different ways—but today, we will be using it for a weave binder on your partners’ arms. mina will be my little assistant today in showing you how to achieve this bind!”

“hands behind your back sir, n’ make sure you’re comfortable,” you grinned scooting behind his large form.

suguru could feel eyes on him. when he looked to his left or his right, he’d catch someone quickly looking away because why? they were surely staring.

not very surprisingly, he was the only man in the room taking the position as the ukete, and that definitely caught the women in the rooms attention. even you yourself knew they were bound to ask questions about your new partner as you ran your hands over his broad shoulders, and down the firm muscles of his arms.

“don’t be so tense . . it’s just me, sugu. don’t mind the girls staring—they just think you’re cute,” you snickered in his ear, sending a shiver down the poor mans back.

don’t get a boner. don’t get a boner. don’t get a boner.

that’s what geto repeated to himself over and over as you ran your hands over his tense form.

“too bad for them. i only think one girl in this room is cute,” he smirked, craning his neck so he could come face to face with a very flustered you.

the dark haired man made a noise of surprise when you squished his cheeks together, and forced him to look forward once again. “pleaseee shut up.”

after getting over some leftover nerves, suguru was nice and content, his body now totally relaxed for you and your ropes.

“now for my uketes—this bind will leave you completely immobile from the waist up. it is important that you communicate with your rigger if you are having any discomfort or numbness in your arms. now let’s begin!”

suguru was very pleased to see that you were indeed not lying, and that mr. kinoko was a fucking master at this shibari stuff. what was a struggle to others was nothing but light work to him as he demonstrated how to perfect a diamond pattern.

and before he knew it, he couldn’t move his arms not even an inch.

“s-shit, i really can’t move,” he chuckled, flexing his arms in an attempt to move, but there was no such luck.

“yeah . . you can’t,” you sighed in pure fascination, sitting back on your knees to admire your almost finished work. his shoulders, down to his forearms, were looped together with ropes, and down his back were the diamond knots you were, surprisingly, a pro at doing. “no discomfort right? any numbness?”

before he could answer, mr. kinoko was making his way over with a wide smile. “well, look at this . .” he hummed, admiring your work. “excellent job, ( ❤︎ )! you’ve been practicing at home, i see. may i ask who your new friend is?”

“suguru, sir. i would shake your hand but . .” geto trailed off with a chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling cutely.

“she’s good isn’t she? my star pupil—but don’t tell anyone i said that,” mr. kinoko grinned with a wink. “keep up the good work, dear. we’ll be moving onto something else once everyone is finished.”

and with that, he was walking away to check on another pair leaving you and suguru alone once more.

“he’s amazing isn’t he? and his work . . it’s beautiful isn’t it? how he just does it so effortlessly, and with so much skill. i wanna be able to do that. i want someone to do that to me,” you whispered the last part in his ear, and that had suguru’s nostrils flaring, that same mantra he was thinking to himself earlier about not getting a boner now going on a repeat in his head.

being tied up by you was fun, and turning him on more than it really should’ve . . but he couldn’t wait to have you in the same position.

at the end of the day, you were really just a sub begging to be put in sub space by the right person. he could see it in your eyes—and he wanted to be that person.

suguru always thought you were a cutie with your dolled up hair and pink accessories. he liked how soft spoken you were, but when it came to certain topics you really let your bright personality out, and he absolutely adored it.

if you were his girl, you wouldn’t have to work at waffle house to help pay for your classes and expensive habits like you often mentioned to him after a long night of dealing with inebriated patrons.

he looked back at you, and shot you a wide grin, “don’t worry. i’ll be that person—just wait on it.”

he said it so casually, but he was simply just speaking his manifestations into existence.

“now i’m really starting to think you have a crush on me,” you giggled anxiously, finishing up the final knot with a gentle tug. “there, all finished!”

“take a picture.”

“hm?”

suguru looked back at you, violet eyes practically sparkling. “i said take a picture. would be great to post on your secret page, no?”

a breath caught in your throat for the umpteenth time that afternoon, your eyes widening to the size of saucers. slowly, you nodded, giving him a grateful smile. “thank you for giving me your permission.”

“you have my permission to do anything you want when it comes to me, sugar. now hurry up, and take the picture—my knees are starting to hurt.”

you nibbled on your bottom lip, brown eyes taking in the sight before you, and it was quite the fucking sight. the compression shirt he was wearing did not help ease the tingle you felt in your lower belly. it hugged his form so nicely, especially his back, and even the slim curves of his waist.

his flexing hands caught your attention, and when you peered down they were forming into a fist before coming undone.

“relax, straighten your back, and say cheeseeee!” you giggled snapping one, two, several pictures of his back.

geto snorted, his head tilting back in a blissful sigh. he was really starting to enjoy spending time with you.

“alright, now just sit still while i take these off. you did amazing by the way.” a warm squeeze at his shoulder had goosebumps rising all over the expanse of his pale skin. “now its your turn . . make sure you pay extra special attention, and don’t forget that i like my knots tight.”

just as you finished speaking, the first knot came undone. then the next one, and the next, until suguru was finally able to move his arms and stretch with a low groan.

“shiiiiit,” he sighed, shaking his arms to get a bit of the numbness to go away. “this is gonna take some getting used to.”

“well, don’t worry. you being the ukete won’t be a regular thing—unless you want it to be, of course. i never minded getting some extra practice in.” you sat back on your bottom, legs crossing over one another. the face you had on was calm, collected . . but, what you really wanted was for geto to toy with you. to play with your body, and caress it in ways that you haven’t felt in a good while.

so what if you didn’t know the man all that well. there were people who’ve fucked people they’ve known in less time. and suguru was sweet! he always complimented you, tipped you generously, and he was just such a great listener. you always liked whenever you would say something, anything, and his reply would be ‘yeah?’

the shit was so attractive it made you feel completely beside yourself.

“okay, everyone! excellent jobs on your diamond weave binds. i sense some of you will be progressing to the intermediate classes soon!” mr. kinoko eyed a few people, and you were one of them, which just made your day. “the next bind we will be doing is a half diamond chest harness. very simple, but all the more beautiful. uketes please find yourselves in a comfortable, sitting up position, and we will get started shortly.”

“here,” you spoke softly handing the rope over to suguru, “we’ll probably end up using this length again like always.”

as suguru took the rope from you, his fingers grazed over yours. his pointer and middle fingers trailed over your wrist that was decorated in gold bracelets, and then over the top of your hand, pressing down lightly.

“thank you . . you trust me?”

before answering, you got on your knees, and turned your back to him, showing off that enticing tattoo that made hearts form in his eyes.

“i trust you, sugu. jus’ remember what i said.”

while mr. kinoko went into great detail about how to perfect the bind, all suguru could think about was how soft your skin was. it reminded him of freshly bloomed flower petals, like the ones his mother sold everyday in her shop.

you were like a flower, he thought to himself—like a lily of the valley with your gentle aura and seemingly soft curves. that kind of lily symbolized purity . . happiness. it was a flower you gave to people for good luck. at least that’s what his momma told him as a child before reminding him that it indeed should not be ingested given how poisonous it was.

now that he actually thought about it, you had a few of the same good qualities his momma had—and mannn was suguru a mommas boy.

but not in the weird, incestuous way most might think of when they hear that term.

he just admired her, and most of all, her strength. it couldn’t have been easy raising him all by herself, especially when he was such a wound up child growing up, with a heart bigger than his body.

she was the one who taught him that it was okay to cry despite what other boys might tell him. and she was the one who taught him to ride a bike, and eventually how to shave so he wouldn’t mark up his pale skin with cuts. never the type of woman to raise her voice, or take the frustrations from the day out on him . . like his father often would.

thankfully, suguru didn’t remember much of his father, besides how loud he could be, and how mean he was to his momma after a long day of doing god knows what. but one day—one fateful day, suguru’s momma had just had enough. suguru was a sweet child. a gentle boy with flowy black hair like her own, and the kindest eyes that welled up with tears whenever he so much as stepped on a poor, defenseless insect. he was so intact with his emotions, and appreciated the world around him so much that she couldn’t bare the thought of some heartless man stealing that spark. she never would’ve forgave herself.

so, she gathered up all the courage she could muster, took her baby boy, and left, not once looking back as she found a small apartment for them to live in.

eventually, she was able to find work at a flower shop—her dream job, and after working for the owners for so many years, they left it to her as their parting gift from this world.

right next to suguru, that flower shop was her life, and she took care of each individual species as if they were her own child. it was hard work, but there was truly nothing better than feeling soil from the earth underneath your fingertips—at least that’s what she told him whenever he would comment on how hard she was working day in and day out.

she would like you, he thought to himself again as he secured his second official knot as a beginner.

his silence intrigued you. was he really into it? was he thinking about something else while he looped the blood colored ropes over your chest? he was already so good at it, like it was second nature.

“you’re not uncomfortable are you?” he questioned, giving the knot a gentle tug. the color contrasted beautifully with your skin. this view of you would be engraved in his mind for many days to come.

your body shifted, wiggling around just the tiniest bit to see how secure you were. it was a little on the looser side, but that was to be expected given it was his first time. he’d become better—you were sure of it.

“feels pretty damn good to meeee,” you grinned, throwing him a wink over your shoulder. “take a picture!”

silently, suguru grabbed your phone, and swiped over to the camera app. he couldn’t help but be nosey, and notice your lock screen—a picture of you, and some fluffy, tuxedo cat with wide yellowish, greenish eyes. cute.

“i can’t wait to see it. you seemed very . . locked in to it,” he heard you speak lowly. a steady heat of embarrassment flowed to his cheeks at the realization that he was completely spaced out during the entirety of him tying you up. his ears were still perked up as mr. kinoko gave instructions, but his mind was definitely elsewhere when it should’ve been there—with you.

a beat of silence passed when you spoke again, “what are you thinking about? n’ don’t say nothing, because i know it’s something.”

geez, you sounded just like his momma. picking at his brain because you knew there was something distracting him behind those indigo colored eyes. perhaps that’s where he got the habit from when it came to him asking strangers about themselves—he definitely got it from his mother.

“you just . . remind me a lot of someone i know is all,” he replied, snapping five pictures of your back. with a strong hand, he turned you towards him with little strength before taking a picture of your collarbone that was adorned with another diamond knot. “you remind me of my mom. your passion for things makes me think of her, and your gentle nature. i feel like i might’ve mentioned her before.”

your hands squeezed at your forearms gently. “you did the other night—something about her selling baby’s breath at her shop?”

“yeah, yeah,” he chuckled awkwardly, setting your phone aside with a soft thump. “i know that sounds kinda weird, but—”

“i don’t think it sounds weird at all,” you interrupted with a sweet smile. “i’m sure she’s just as lovely as you make her sound.”

suguru didn’t say anything after that regarding his momma, but you were rewarded the cutest, most boyish like smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“excellent work, mr. suguru! either you were paying very close attention, or you’ve been lying to ( ❤︎ ) and i about never doing this before,” mr. kinoko piped up from the side, his aged eyes taking in suguru’s work. he noticed that some parts could’ve used improvement, like how loose the knots looked, and how the ropes hung a little lax around your collarbone.

still good work for a first timer nonetheless!

“i think he’s holding out on us too, i can barely move!” you commented, giving your body a slight wiggle. suguru visibly preened at the praise, the tips of his ears turning more red by the second.

he was really enjoying this. the serenity. your praise, and most importantly, just your overall presence.

suguru was in a period of life where everyday just felt the exact same. he wanted a change in routine—something to look forward to that differed from his everyday life. then, that’s where you came in all bright eyed, and full of attitude with the bubbliest personality.

seeing you every other weekend all dolled up for tips was like a breath of fresh air for him that he so desperately needed nowadays.

the rest of the class went smoother than ever—the final bind being hip cuffs which was pretty simple enough for geto to do. he couldn’t help but notice how nicely your baby phat leggings hugged the curves of your waist, the cream pink color contrasting beautifully with your skin.

you took this quiet time to admire his hands that were inked with pretty tattoos that you could only assume traveled up the length of his arms. he mentioned before that he was really into tattoos despite how shit his pain tolerance could be sometimes. it made you wonder just how many he actually had.

“you’re a natural,” you said suddenly, breaking suguru out of whatever focused daze he was in. “better than any partner i’ve ever had.”

“and i’m only gonna get better from here . . . also, uh—”

“what?” you raised a brow, heart pumping at a quicker beat.

there was a beat of silence, the words suguru so desperately wanted to ask you sitting heavily on his tongue like molasses. he had to remind himself that it was only you. the sweetest woman he’s ever had the pleasure of getting to know, and the worst thing you could ever do was politely tell him ‘no’.

your head tilted to the side, doe eyes looking shinier, and more animated like more than ever. “what’s up, sugu?”

“would you—would you wanna hangout after this? i was gonna head back to my place, and smoke. it’s not too far from here. u-unless that’s not you’re thing, or you think it’s too soon? i don’t know, i just—i like hanging out with you. ‘wanna get to know you better.”

in the midst of geto’s rambling, you had already made up your mind before he even finished speaking. yes.

you didn’t smoke often, maybe socially, but with someone as sweet and cute as sugu? you’d definitely partake just to spend some extra time with the raven haired man.

and if things ever took a turn, god forbid, you had pepper spray and a handy pocketknife to protect yourself.

but you could see it in his eyes. those vibrant indigo eyes that entranced you every time you looked into them for too long—they held no malice . . no sour intentions that would leave you feeling worried. there was the occasional lustful stare that you caught from the last time he visited you at your job, and today. but you were sure you were no better with the way you shamelessly stared at that little beauty mark on his top lip.

“i think that sounds like a great idea . . . and i’m totally jealous you have a place out here. i’ve always wanted a spot in the city,” you said, giving him a toothy grin.

and it was true. you’ve always dreamt of moving out of your apartment in the quiet suburbs, and move into a nice loft in the city. the serenity was nice, but you wanted to see lit up buildings, and wonder to yourself about people and their stories as you watched them from below with your kitten.

you wanted to laugh at the look on his face. you were sure he didn’t mean to look so surprised by your answer, but he did regardless with wide eyes and a laugh in slight disbelief.

“that’s . . that’s great! really great. and, yeah, it’s nothing special, but it’s got a nice view n’ stuff. even nicer gym.” he grabbed your phone, and swiped over to the camera app once more before snapping a picture of your front. “don’t worry, though. i’m sure you’ll get your place out here soon enough.”

you didn’t say anything after that, allowing him to take pictures of your bind from different angles.

he broke the silence by saying, low and sultry, “i really like the way this bind looks on you. i’m sure the people on your page will like it a lot too.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

the remaining few minutes of the class went by faster than you anticipated, and soon, you were packing away your rope and putting your shoes back on. suguru followed suit, even going as far as offering to hold the oversized tote bag for you.

“i’ll be seeing you two next week hopefully?” mr. kinoko spoke soft from the side, brows raised in question. “you have great potential, mr. suguru. i do hope you’ll be joining us again.”

“he actually just paid in advance for six classes, so you’ll definitely be seeing him again. won’t he?” you asked, titling your head up at geto. he looked back down at you, and for just a split second, the older man standing before you could see something.

it was small, but it was slowly growing as the seconds ticked by, like a flower blooming in a timelapse. the old man had seen many things in his time on this earth, and a blossoming love was a sight that was unmistakable.

suguru looked up, the stray baby hairs from his updo swaying across his sharp features. “i’ll definitely be back. i learned a lot, and i can’t wait to learn more. you’re as good as she said you were, sir.”

his throat tightened when your arm wrapped around his bicep, getting comfier at his side.

“glad to hear it. see you next week, suguru, ( ❤︎ ).”

after bidding your farewells, the walk back to your cars was filled with a comfortable silence. suguru took notice of the way your nails lightly scratched at his bicep. it reminded him of when he was younger, and his mother would comb her fingers through his hair after a long afternoon of him playing in the dirt kitchen she hand built for him.

“my place is like less than ten minutes from here. just follow me, yeah?” he spoke softly, setting the tote bag in the backseat of your car. to no one’s surprise it was very . . pink inside.

pink seat covers, and a fuzzy steering wheel cover to match. there were a few necklaces hung on the rear view mirror, and some sanrio figurines suctioned to the dashboard. it also smelt of strawberries and sugar, most likely from the car fragrance plugged into the center vent.

it was very you.

he could picture you all dolled up on your way to work with music blasting and the windows rolled down juuuust a bit, but not too much so your hair wouldn’t mess up.

you were very into your hair—even going as far as saying you’d know if the day would be a good one or a bad one determining on how your hair cooperated with you every morning.

suguru was pulled out of his thoughts when you replied with an excited okay!

“oh, and . . i have a pet.”

your brows raised, an intrigued smile spreading across your lips. “yeah? what kinda pet?”

then he was smirking, shoving his tatted hands in his sweats. “a snake. a-and i don’t mean that in a pervy way—i mean i have an actual pet snake. a ball python specifically . . she’s good company.”

“shit, really? that’s so cool! i can’t wait to meet the little cutie,” you giggled, bouncing on the balls of your feet. just when you thought he couldn’t get any cooler, the man surprised you with a pet snake.

you didn’t know much about snakes, but from what you saw on the internet, they looked utterly adorable with their obscenely large, but cute, eyes.

when suguru left you by yourself to retreat to his own car, you let out a long, exasperated breath you didn’t even know you were holding as your head fell against the soft material that covered your steering wheel.

there was no lying to yourself. you were turned on beyond belief, your lower half feeling uncomfortably slick with need.

he’s perfect, you thought to yourself, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. everything from about him from his looks to the personality you were still getting to know.

your heart pounded rapidly in your chest, beads of sweat pooling on your palms and fingertips as you followed closely behind his car. after about five minutes, he was was pulling into a parking garage, and parking in a spot with a sign in front of it reading reserved parking.

you put your car in park waiting for his instructions, because you’d be damned if your car got towed for parking in someone’s reserved spot.

a clicking sound echoed throughout the quiet garage when he locked his car. he looked so fucking fit in the compression shirt he was wearing, you almost couldn’t believe there were real men out there with perfectly sculpted bodies like himself.

when you heard tapping on the passenger window you gasped in slightly panic, but quickly relaxed when you realized it was just him. you really needed to stop spacing out so much.

“you’re really jumpy,” he chuckled, poking his head through your window. “s’cute in here by the way.”

“ah, t-thank you. and i don’t know why i’m so jumpy, i’m usually more collected.”

he gave you a look you couldn’t quite decipher, and smirked, “if you go down that way just a bit more, you’ll see the guest parking. i’ll meet you over there, and we’ll head in.”

and he did just that, slowly following behind you in big, lazy steps until you found your way.

“look at you living in your fancy building with your fancy reserved parking,” you teased once he was in earshot. your handbag dangled from your fingers, the gems bedazzled across it glistening in the bright, white lights.

“yeah, yeah, yeah. you tease now, but i’m tellin’ you, you’ll have your own place out here in no time.” his strong arm slung over your shoulders, pulling you more into his bigger form. the scent of his cologne was overwhelming. it made your head feel swimmy, and your pussy clench around nothing. his hand rubbed along your bicep, and then your shoulder before releasing you from his hold.

you made small talk on the way to the elevator, and up to his apartment. there were a few touches from him that were very welcomed, like when his fingers brushed against yours in the elevator, or when his surprisingly soft hand cradled the small of your back as he guided you to his place.

upon walking in, it smelt woodsy, like walking into the forest after it freshly rained. the interior that covered the big space was all dark like you expected. a long, leather couch sat against the wall, and a walnut colored coffee table in front of it adorned with olive green coasters. over to the left was the kitchen with marble counters and stainless steel pans hanging from hooks above the stove.

it felt cozy, and looked very lived in n’ homey.

what caught your attention the most the terrarium containing none other than his snake. you couldn’t see the little cutie at first, but you would soon find out that she was—

“pink! she’s pink!” you whisper-shouted, bending down so you could get a better look at the python. hearing him say it was a python, you thought it would’ve looked a little more intimidating, but this snake was about as harmless as it got!

suguru watched in adoration as you admired the snake, appreciating that you were mindful enough to not tap on the glass like most of his guests did—satoru.

“her name is marceline or marcy for short. i got the name from this kid show i used to watch—”

“adventure time? i still watch it almost every night before bed,” you interrupted, throwing him a smile over your shoulder. “why not bubblegum, or bonnie since she’s pink?”

he shoved his hands in his pockets, carefully rocking back and forth on his heels. “marceline sounded cooler.”

“that it does, that it does . . . your place is really nice by the way. it’s like a freakin’ palace in here almost with the ceilings being so high. can i ask what you do for work?”

“i’m a tattoo artist slash piercing artist. it’s pretty good money, and my mom pays me a little something whenever i do some handy work at her shop—even though i tell her over and over again that she doesn’t have to.” he walked somewhere while he spoke, but you didn’t quite notice, your attention now focused on some picture frames on the wall.

suddenly, the room was lit up, allowing you to get a better, more clearer look at the pictures.

“is this your mom?” you asked softly, biting back a grin when you realized seconds after you were indeed looking at pictures of baby sugu. he was a cute little boy—with chubby cheeks and wild black hair that reached his shoulders. there was a smiling woman behind him, with her arms wrapped around his midsection while her face pressed against the side of his.

you could hear him approaching you from behind, and suddenly, his chin was resting on the bare part of your shoulder, warm breath fanning over the exposed skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“yepppp, that’s her. she’s pretty cool. a fuckin’ expert on all things floral, and she makes the best mango rice pudding you’ll ever have,” he chuckled, taking a step back. “you can, uh, set your purse anywhere you’d like.”

after finding a spot on the leather couch, you set your purse on the coffee table in front of you. suguru was still standing, looking awkward as ever with his hands still in his pockets.

“ . . . m’gonna go get the stuff. make yourself comfortable.” before getting entirely out of your view, you peeped him remove the claw clip holding his hair up. a surge of excitement rushed through you at the sight. you reallyyyy liked when his hair was down.

he was taking longer than expected, so you took this time to grab a scented oil from your purse, and roll it along the skin that behind your ears and your neck. you dotted it across your collarbone and rubbed it in with your fingers before tossing it back in your purse, right as suguru was coming back out with an ashtray and an overly stuffed joint in hand.

“you want something to drink? i got juice, water bottles, gatorade?”

it took you a moment to respond, too entranced by how fucking long and shiny his hair was. seeing it at the restaurant didn’t do the jet black locs any justice—it looked soft to the touch and reached just around where his slim waist was. you couldn’t even imagine all the hair care, and time that went into taking care of it—well, scratch that you actually could, and it was not cheap or ever really done in a timely manner.

“ummm . . i’ll have some water please. thank you, sugu.”

“no problem, cutie. one sec.” he set the ashtray and joint on the table before turning on his heels, and making a beeline for the double wide refrigerator.

“so,” you piped up suddenly, pedicured toes wiggling in your pink socks, “it’s pretty cool you’re a tattoo artist. have you done any on yourself?”

suguru let out a hearty laugh, his head shaking back and forth. “yeah, just one. it was suuuuper shitty, so i never did it again, and just found a guy that could do ‘em for me. one thing led to another, and next thing you know, i’m his apprentice and getting my tattooing license. the piercing one came not too long after.”

he set the water bottles on the table, and began to lift up his shirt making your eyes widen. the waistband of his sweats was pulled down just a tad, revealing some words in a foreign language that you could only assume was japanese.

you could tell he did it himself, but it was still good work nonetheless, and the placement wasn’t too bad neither.

“it’s japanese . . translates to forever protected. i did it as a sort of tribute tattoo for mom after spontaneously buying a tattoo gun—which you should never do,” he smirked, tatted fingers running over the faded ink. “she was pissed at first, but now finds it hilarious because of how bad it looks.”

his breath hitched when your soft fingers brushed over his tattoo, feeling up the risen skin. “i don’t think it looks all that bad . . very interesting placement, though.”

that made him laugh even harder before, and this time you joined him, retracting your hand back into your lap.

“gimme a break! i was twenty one, and tattoos right there were all the rage at the time,” he snickered, covering the exposed skin back up. “now . . would you like to do the honors, and spark this?” he held the joint out for you along with a purple lighter that almost matched the color of his eyes.

“y-yeah, yeah. sure thing,” you spoke softly, almost a whisper, taking the joint from his hands with clammy fingers.

suguru watched with a hungry gaze as you lit it, a puff of yellow tinted smoke spilling past your lips chapstick covered lips. it hit your lungs like a punch in the chest, making you cough in a not so cutesy way.

“geez,” you gasped out, handing the joint over to suguru before grasping your water bottle that was sweating with condensation. “that is exactly why i don’t smoke that shit.”

all geto could do was laugh, placing the bitter tasting drug between his full lips.

“well for starters,” he chuckled, exhaling the smoke. “you inhaled it entirely too fast. you just gotta ease into it, babe. let it sit for a second for a second before you exhale so you actually feel somethin’.”

“ugh, but it hurtsssss,” you whined, flopping back onto the leather cushion.

suguru had to adjust himself right there, sitting up straighter a low grunt to clear his throat. he didn’t mean to find you whining out like that so hot, yet here he was, internally fighting himself to not have all the blood in his body rush to his dick.

it was becoming harder when the drug started doing its thing, turning his thoughts cloudier as the minutes ticked by. you weren’t far behind with a dopey smile etched across your lips, and low, red rimmed eyes that swirled with different thoughts.

“why are you sitting so far away?”

the smile you were sporting faltered the tiniest bit, that same swarm of butterflies returning to your tummy more ferocious & wild as ever.

you took a sharp breath in when he settled more into the couch, now manspreading.

“i-i don’t know. why are you sitting so far away?” you giggled nervously, twirling one of your curls around your finger.

“c’mere.”

he softly patted the spot next to him, a daring look in his much darker eyes. there went that wolfish stare again—like he was ready to pounce on you and eat you up till tears sprung in your eyes.

slowly, you maneuvered yourself over to where he was sitting until your thighs were touching.

“that’s much better,” he hummed, ashing the joint. after taking a long hit he passed it over to you, taking in the way your hands had a slight shake in them. “you nervous or something? shaking like a leaf, girl.”

“i guess you could say that,” you took a hit of the joint, attempting, but poorly achieving a french inhale. “not like . . in a bad way, though.”

your words had geto smiling, pearly white teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. he slung his arm behind you, resting it comfortably on your shoulders. his touch was strong, comforting—you couldn’t help but relax more into him, and this had him fully securing you under his muscly grip, tatted fingers now drawing shapes and random patterns into your petal soft skin.

“you make me a little nervous too—in a good way. can’t remember the last time someone made me feel like that.” you could feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke, and then you looked up at him, not expecting him to actually be so close.

there were a few things you didn’t notice before that you did now; like random dark brown beauty marks scattered across his skin. or the scar on his cheekbone that was a shade lighter than the rest of him. his lips looked pinker too, more full from up close.

“what are you looking at?” he questioned lowly, inching closer to you by just a centimeter.

you heard a tiny sniff, and then another.

“you smell nice . . way nicer than before. tryna lure me in?” his fingers trailed from your shoulder to the back of your neck, toying with your curls so delicately it made you shiver.

“hah, maybe. is it working?”

your question was answered with him nudging his nose against yours, his lips brushing over yours so softly you almost didn’t feel it—almost.

he was waiting for you to make the move. waiting for you to cut through the thick sexual tension with a kiss. the burning joint still sat between your fingers, but you didn’t care, sealing the leftover space with a small peck.

that was all geto needed.

before indulging in you even further, he plucked the joint from your fingers and mindlessly stubbed it out. the feeling in your chest and nerves could only be described as erratic, and when his lips were back on yours, soft yet hungry, everything just went blank.

he kissed you again, and again, and on the third time his tongue was gently swiping across your lower lip—a silent command for you to open up.

it’d been a while since you were kissed like this. till you were breathless, and letting out little noises of pleasure. geto swallowed up each noise, his scorching hand cupping your jaw.

out of instinct, your hand wrapped around wrist—not necessarily telling him to stop, but more as a way to keep yourself grounded before you made a fool of yourself.

“you’re shaking,” he observed in an almost bored tone, bringing that same hand that was cupping your jaw to your thigh, giving it an encouraging squeeze. “it’s cute.”

after a few minutes the kiss got hungrier, and soon, suguru was moving you onto his lap. his hands didn’t dare travel any further below your waist, careful not to tread to far into deep waters. he was eager, but he didn’t want to show it too much and overwhelm you.

he wanted you to set the pace—to guide him, and show him what you wanted.

when you finally pulled away, your eyes were wide, but not really from how faded you were. you looked mildly surprised at best.

“geez,” you muttered, resting your hands on his hard pecs. “how did we even get here?”

geto didn’t say anything at first, purple eyes zeroed in on the diamond heart swinging back and forth from your necklace. his finger looped around the thin gold chain, tugging on it gently. “‘cause i wanted to sit closer to you.”

he was missing your lips already. how soft they were. how cute the little noises you made when he nibbled on them sounded. and they tasted sweet—like strawberries.

“do you wanna stop?”

you pondered on his question all of ten seconds before shaking your head rapidly. “n-no, not really.”

you dove right back in, pressing your lips needily against his with a pleased sigh. it didn’t take long for you to get comfortable and start messing with his hair, your fingers combing through the silky strands before lightly scratching at his scalp.

there was a deep noise that rumbled in his chest, almost as if he were purring from your touch.

his hands rested on the tops of your thighs, squeezing harshly like he was holding himself back—and he was.

“you, hah—you can touch, sugu. it’s okay,” you panted into the kiss, hands now cradling his face in a way so lovingly it almost shocked you.

he didn’t say anything at your words, but you knew he heard them. the second the last two words left your semi-kiss swollen lips, his hands were exploring everywhere.

first, they traveled up your waist n’ splayed across your back, covering you in a warmth you’ve never felt before. that same warmth traveled back to your hips, a tender squeeze following, and finally, his hands were grasping at your ass, pulling you more into him.

he could feel the heat from your lower half against his dick, even through his sweats, and it was driving him crazy.

the bulge he was trying to prevent from showing up was slowly making an appearance, plumping up against your covered center.

he wanted to fuck you, he really did—but the sadist in him wanting to send you home yearning for his dick. yearning for him.

so he’d hold off on his desires for now.

but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give you a hand, and help you indulge in yours.

deciding to test the waters, his hand slowly, gently cupped your pussy over your leggings. when your lips parted in a whine, he sucked your tongue into his mouth.

you didn’t know to do, or what to think, but thankfully your hips had a mind of their own, humping into suguru’s hand.

“you like that?” he breathed into your mouth, adding more pressure to the area. he was rewarded with a soft moan, and a stutter in your hips. “yeah? you want some more?”

“yes.”

you didn’t mean to sound so desperate, or practically throw yourself more into him, but you just couldn’t help it! it’s been so long since someone has touched you like this, and created a mess in your panties just from a little kissing.

that’s how you ended up with your back pressed against his hot chest with one leg dangling over his flexing forearm, all while right his hand crept underneath the hem of your leggings.

your breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling like you had bolts of electricity surging through your veins.

“look at me. i wanna see your face,” you heard him whisper from the side of you, his nose running along the apple of your cheek. he kissed the dewy skin, slow and sweet.

when you turned your head his lips immediately captured yours in a blissful sigh, his hand running over the slicked part of your panties. he found your clit over the soaked fabric with ease, drawing light circles with his middle finger.

“oh fuck . .” your leg twitched, hips raising only slightly before geto was using his free hand to push you back down. that same hand moved from your tummy and up to your chest, squeezing tenderly at your breast.

“can i touch?”

his finger paused its movements, his thumb hooking into the waistband of your cotton panties. he could feel the soft hair from your mound tickle his thumb, and hummed, thick brows raising slightly in amusement.

surprisingly enough, in his twenty five years of being on this earth, suguru has never slept with a girl who had pubic hair. why? because, apparently, it wasn’t visually pleasing enough, which he never really understood. in fact, he always thought it was attractive, and found himself busting to lewd girls with cute bushes whenever he occasionally jerked off.

he preferred to get that kind of pent energy out in the gym, but you were starting to become a nice option.

“please . .” you mewled, lips twisting into a proper pout with scrunched brows.

the obscene noises your pussy made from being played with were downright embarrassing.

he left your clit neglected for a few moments, taking this time to delve his ring and middle fingers between your sopping folds. everything felt soft and smooth to the touch as he toyed with the slicked skin.

she must prefer the hair up there, he thought to himself as his fingers finally circled your perked clit with slow strokes. the arm that held your dangling leg flexed, his hand grabbing roughly on the inside of your covered thigh.

“you always get this wet?” he cooed sweetly in your ear before smooching the side of your head. “because this is just fucking ridiculous.”

you felt smaller than ever in his hold as he laughed at you, and to make matters worse, he actually showed you the evidence, carefully yanking his hand from the confines of your panties to show off his glistening fingers.

“look at that,” he muttered, splitting the digits. webs of your essence kept them connected, and you just could’ve cried from embarrassment right there.

“stoppppp,” you pleaded with a high pitched whine, weakly wrapping your hand around his wrist. suguru just laughed at you again, and this time it sounded meaner than the last.

his fingers snapped back together, tatted hand slithering its way back into your leggings. “why are you so embarrassed? it’s your cum.”

his ring and pointer finger spread your dewy folds, middle drawing quick circles on the swollen bundle of nerves. “you’re very shy, bright n’ bubbly, but shy.”

your hips jerked up. “n-no i’m not. it’s just been a while.”

the part about it having been a while wasn’t a lie, he could tell, but the waver in your voice when you denied his observation was questionable.

there were so many things he wanted to say. so many things to point out, and questions to ask, all while he toyed with you. his next question made you want to hide your face.

“yeah? how long has it been, ( ❤︎ )?”

he knew the odds of getting an actual answer were slim, but the response he got back was better than any alternative—

“long enough. so you better be gentle when you put a finger in.” your words were muffled, but slowly, your hands came down, uncovering the pouty look on your face.

geto made a noise between a grunt and a moan, abruptly smushing his lips into yours. he didn’t give you much time or space to breathe. this kiss was more hungry than the others, more primal—like he was trying to claim you with just his lips and fingers.

his entire hand cupped your pussy, palm now sitting snugly against your clit. he really liked how soft you felt, and just how wet you got.

god, he really wanted to take a peek and see. but he needed to keep you right there in his hold with his strong arms keeping you pressed against him.

shivers ran down your back, your hips jerking up when he suddenly swiped a finger through your sopping folds. “i promise, i’ll be real gentle.” that same finger circled your entrance, dipping in ever so softly. he gauged your every reaction, puffy lips parting in pure awe.

your pussy was very greedy, trying to envelop the tip of his finger with a needy clench. his other hand squeezed the inside of your thigh, a weak attempt to control himself.

a rather loud moan erupted from the back of your throat when he slipped his finger in, your gummy walls hugging the thick digit. it didn’t necessarily hurt, but the feeling definitely felt foreign after not being touched for quite some time.

he was very gentle like he promised, distracting you with his sloppy kisses from the slight discomfort. his dick was fully hard now, throbbing against your backside, and smearing pre over his briefs. it was almost painful by the point, but your squirming gave him some temporary relief—enough to not have him rutting into your plush of your ass.

the pace he set was slow, but gradually got a bit faster, and soon, he was slowing down before prodding another finger at the tight opening.

he gave your lower lip one last suck, letting it snap back into place. the tip of his nose grazed over the slope of yours, “may i?”

“mhmmm.”

suguru was very skillful with his fingers, fucking them into you at a pace so delicious it had your thighs quivering. when he curled them, you yelped, reaching a hand back to grab at his slightly disheveled hair. his fingers kept knocking against this spot—a rather sensitive spot that made you feel like you had to pee.

“what is that?” you gasped out, tugging on the thick strands of hair.

“what’s what?”

his fingers paused their movements, the tips of them rubbing against that spot. your pussy was hugging them so fucking tight, it was driving him crazy.

you racked your brain for an answer, and then it all began to connect before you could ask him again. he must’ve been touching your g-spot, something you wholeheartedly thought was a myth until now.

you’re a grown, sensual woman. you liked to have sex, and be touched in naughty ways—and no, you did not keep track of your body count because the number didn’t make a difference in how your body worked, or looked. but anyways, out of all your sexcapades, you never once had a man come close to grazing that spot.

thinking back on it now, wrapped in suguru’s strong, safe arms, you couldn’t help but think how you ever finished with them when this was possible!

it was like he read your thoughts, lips breaking into a wicked smile, “oh, you mean this?” he pressed his fingers down, hard, earning a squeal from your trembling lips. his palm sat heavily against your sticky clit, bumping into it every now and again with every movement he made.

“you’ve never had anyone touch you there? geez, girl,” he teased, fingers resuming their quick movements. he could feel the cream from your pleasure build up around the digits, dribbling down the length of them and your asscheeks, surely leaving a not so cute stain on your leggings.

you wanted to answer, you really did—but, you were interrupted by your sudden orgasm, a soft ringing noise bouncing back and forth between your diamond studded ears.

“o-oh—! oh fuck, i’m cumming—!”

“yeah you fuckin’ are. open your eyes,” suguru growled out, nudging your nose with his. it was hard. like, really hard to even show him the slits of your eyes, but you managed, the intense waves from your orgasm still hitting you with a harshness you’ve never experienced.

your lower half was squirming like crazy, the soft globes of your ass practically humping into his neglected dick.

don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum—he repeated to himself like a mantra. he tried to focus on anything but the throbbing ache in his pants. he focused on his breathing, your whiny moans, the wet shlicking noise that came from underneath your bottoms. he focused on how warm n’ wet you felt. how your gummy walls felt like silk around his fingers.

“suguru,” you pleaded with a wheeze, closing your thighs around his sticky hand. “i can’t, i can’t—please!”

and then he stopped.

the feeling of his thick fingers stuffing you was replaced with a sudden emptiness, an emptiness you weren’t so sure you were fond of. the pounding in your ears eventually came to a stop as well, the only sounds being heard now were your labored breaths and suguru’s gentle hums.

“you okay? it’s alright, i gotcha.”

slowly, he lowered down your leg, immediately situating you properly in his lap so he could embrace you. he didn’t do too much, just held you close, and stroked whatever part of you he could.

you didn’t mean to be so out of it afterwards, occasionally letting out a little whimper in sensitivity. truly, you were in pure disbelief.

that was one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, and yet, geto managed to pull it out of you with only two fingers. bonkers.

“fuck, man,” you let out a breathless laugh, relaxing more into his body. “that was . . . different.”

“good different?”

“what do you think?”

this made him grin, dark lashes fluttering against his pink cheeks. “you want some more?”

everything was kind of a blur after that.

there were some kisses, heavy groping, and you’re pretty sure he left an accidental hickey on your neck from excitement—but you were too into it, into him, to even care. next thing you knew, your leggings were off and your panties were dangling off your ankle, long forgotten once your pussy was in suguru’s view.

he sloppily kissed at your thighs, leaving a shiny trail of spit behind him. a particular kiss against the spot next to your cunt had your hips raising, the essence from your folds wetting up his jaw.

“be still,” you heard him mutter lowly into the glistening skin. he pushed the backs of your knees up before resting them on his shoulders. the throbbing in his pants was unbearable, he could just about cum untouched if he really wanted to.

but again, this wasn’t about him or his pulsing cock—this was all about you and the heaven between your thick thighs.

suguru liked to take his time when it came to eating pussy. first, he nosed at your clit, inhaling the natural musk that was you. out of embarrassment, you weakly nudged at his forehead with your palm, lips pushed into a pout.

“don’t be so embarrassed,” he spoke lowly with slight amusement in his tone.

before you could snap back, his lips were softly cupping your clit, the wet tip of his tongue swiping against the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue. he let out a low hum at the taste, the vibrations making your stomach tense. he could feel your toes wiggle against his back—probably an attempt to keep yourself still.

he was very gentle with it—not rough or too fast like your past hookups. there was a lot of spit involved too, which you didn’t mind very much at all. the sounds had your ears feeling a bit warm, though.

when you looked down, he was already looking right back at you with a fire in his eyes that had you anxious in the best way possible. he pulled away briefly, never once looking away as his lips puckered up, a shiny glob of spit falling directly on your clit.

his tongue is very long, you thought to yourself as you examined the pink muscle. he dragged it through your dripping folds, collecting every drop of your essence with a greedy swallow.

“ngh, o-oh god,” your hands cradled his jaw, pulling him closer. the little whines you were letting out became full on moans when his tongue prodded at your entrance, the tip of his nose smushing against your clit.

“don’ . . d-don’t stop—”

“i’m not,” was all he replied before pushing his tongue past the tight ring of your entrance. his tongue massaged your inner walls, thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace.

you could feel a second orgasm approaching, and you were sure it was fixing to be more powerful than the last.

what geto did next surprised you.

his right hand formed into a fist, and then there was a sudden pressure on your lower abdomen. it wasn’t too hard, but it wasn’t exactly light pressure either. you felt like you had to pee again.

a particularly loud squeal caught sugurus’ attention, and then he was looking back up at you again, his tongue retreating back into his mouth. he raised a brow, “how do you feel?”

“honestly? like i gotta pee . . . the fuck are you doing down there?” there was humor in your words, but also pure curiosity. the feeling was overwhelming to say the least . . but you liked it. you liked how experienced he was, and how he knew all the right places to touch you. made you feel things you’ve never felt before. it made you want to glom onto him, and keep him in your back pocket forever.

this was gonna end up being a problem—but it would have to be a problem for later.

“every person who enjoys a womans orgasm knows about that little trick right there. it’s always a killer for me,” he replied, breaking you out of your momentary daze.

“oh, so you’ve done this to lots of other girls, huh?” there was no jealousy behind your words, but you did give him a teasing smirk for funsies.

suguru sucked on the inside of your thigh, dark hair tickling your skin.

“i wouldn’t say lots of other girls—just the ones who seem like they could release some pent up energy. that shit carries all in your hips y’know . . might have to fuck it out of you if you’ll let me.” while he spoke, he was also littering your thigh with kisses, trailing them all the way back to your dripping center. “you gonna let me?”

before you answered, his lips were latching back onto your clit, the tip of his tongue drawing figure eights around the perked bud.

“mmm, maybeeee,” your eyes had fluttered shut by this point, your body relaxing more into the couch. you were totally blissed out, fingers threading themselves through his thick hair to guide his movements.

suguru caught on quickly, and let you take over, his tongue lolling out to give you more of him. it was times like this when he missed his tongue piercing that he abandoned some time ago right along with his eyebrow piercing—he knew you’d get a kick out of it.

one of his hands ran up your side, then cupped your breast, squeezing tenderly. he couldn’t help but moan when you own hand covered his, gently digging your nails into the inked skin.

“y-you’re—you’re so good at this. ‘gonna cum again soon,” you whined out, squeezing at his veiny hand. “do that thing again? please?”

suguru chuckled into your slicked skin, then hummed. the feel of him pushing down on whatever spot that was could only be described as overwhelming . . and maybe even a little euphoric.

you really liked suguru. you liked his face, his laugh, his effortless beauty, and were about to like him even more from the mind numbing orgasm he was about to give you.

“hah! h-hah! yeah, yeah—i’m gonna—”

your words fell off your tongue, all the air punched from your chest when geto pushed his fist down harder onto that spot. dots clouded your vision, and the ringing you were hearing earlier returned louder than ever.

suguru moaned into your pussy, drinking up every drop you had to offer him and then some more. the violent shaking in your thighs only egged him on further, his calculated movements now gone sloppy.

“sugu!” you cried out, hot tears wetting up your lash line when he pushed your knees up allll the way, folding you into the couch like it was nothing. he wasn’t even eating you out anymore—he was feasting, swiping the length of his tongue up and down your slit.

it was too much, but your greed . . that damn needy feeling in the pit of your stomach prevented you from telling him to stop.

a sob spilled past your lips when he gripped your jaw between his fingers, squeezing your already pouted lips together. “you had enough?”

a simple question that only required a simple word—yet all you could do make a noise of confusion, followed by a slow nod.

he eyed the fat tears dripping down your cheeks, leant forward, hesitating for only a second before licking the droplets away. he stayed close, his nose only a centimeter or two from yours.

he smelt like you—even had a bit of shininess on his chin and parts of his jaw. this was a sight you could get used to: him on his knees with your slick covering his lips.

suguru was thinking the exact thing. he could absolutely get used to seeing your doe eyes shiny with tears, and the feeling of your legs violently trembling over his shoulders.

he couldn’t wait to fuck you.

but again, that would have to wait.

after letting you catch your breath, and making sure you were okay, suguru briefly left you to fetch a warm rag. when he returned, your eyes were shut, chest rising and fall in deep, slow breaths.

“hey . .” he spoke softly, kneeling in front of you. your eyes fluttered open almost princess-like, and he couldn’t help but grin. “you wanna do it? or you want me to . . ?”

“go ahead, sugu.”

he was careful, more careful than he’d ever been since he first got his hands on your soft skin. one of his hands rested on the back of your thigh, meanwhile the other gently swiped the rag over the expanse of your pussy.

it was sweet. very intimate—you almost didn’t want it to end, but the ache in your thighs was telling a different story.

“well . . i guess i should get goin’. my cat is probably wondering where i am,” you muttered with a weak laugh, pulling up your leggings and letting them hit your hips with a quiet snapping noise.

suguru almost wanted to pout at your words. he had half a mind to ask you if you wanted to stay longer, but he knew there would be more hangouts to come—so he let you leave, but not before pulling you in for a bone crushing hug.

“i had a lot of fun with you today . . like a lot. i, uh, i hope you had a nice time too,” he gave your form one last squeeze before loosening his grip. you lingered for a few more seconds, taking another sniff of his cologne with a content hum.

“i had fun too, sugu. thank you for having me, n’ introducing me to marceline,” you glanced over at the terrarium, and then back at him, a small smiling creeping onto your lips. “if you ever wanna hangout again—like outside of class, i-i’d love to.”

you were desperately trying to keep your voice from wavering, but it was so very hard when geto’s dick was still harder than ever in his sweats, catching your eye with every flutter of your lashes.

you cleared your throat, “and you’re sure you don’t need any help that?”

“nah, nah—it’s okay. there’s always next time.”

next time.

your heart fluttered at his words, excitement coursing through your thrumming veins.

“well, don’t keep me waiting too long then, yeah?” you poked your finger at his ridiculously hard stomach, letting it trail downwards until you hit the hem of his sweats.

suguru had a brief vision—a vision of pushing you up the against the wall, and kissing you until you were breathless and pawing at his hard on. he could’ve taken you right against the door for all his neighbors to hear.

keyword: could’ve.

but for some reason his dumbass wanted to be patient, and take his time with you. leave you wanting more until him & his stupid dick were all you could think about.

SUNDAY 12:43 A.M.

saturdays and sundays were the days you usually worked the graveyard shift. from eleven at night til six in the morning, you sat your pretty ass behind that counter, slowly watching the night sky turn into dawn—all while serving inebriated patrons that craved mid level breakfast.

the tips were usually nice. mainly because most of the customers were men, and they were about as easy as the eggs kev prepared for them.

but today . . . today, you worked a four to twelve-thirty shift so you could see him. sugu.

it’d only been a day and a half since you last saw him, but you missed his presence terribly. texting throughout the day just wasn’t enough!

you wanted to smell his cologne, feel his firm muscles engulf you in an embrace—feel his lips on yours again . . . among other places.

so, when you mentioned hanging out after your shift, he took the bait and offered to drive you to and from there. suguru was a night owl, much preferring the quietness and how beautiful the city looked all lit up from his apartment—so when you mentioned hanging out after your shift, he didn’t think twice about saying yes.

he didn’t mind waiting an extra ten-something minutes for to come out, scrolling mindlessly on his phone until he saw a familiar silhouette walk out of the restaurant. the first thing he noticed was your hair: slicked back into a ponytail where your curls bounced with every step. the curls reminded him a lot of tulips blossoming for some reason. honestly, you as a whole reminded him of a flower. sometimes a chrysanthemum, sometimes a calla lily, and even sometimes a peony. tonight must’ve been tulips.

when you got in the car, his lips spread into a wide grin. “hey.”

“hello thereeee,” you singsonged, setting your purse beside you with a huff. “god, that shift felt neverending. i couldn’t wait to get outta there—no shade to kev.”

when you looked over, he was already staring at you with a bright look in his eyes. you couldn’t help but smile.

“hi . .”

“hey.”

hesitantly, he squeezed at your knee, running his thumb over the covered skin. “it’s nice to see you. i’m surprised you wanted to hangout again so soon.”

your brow raised in question, “is that a bad thing?”

“no! n-no, of course not. i’m glad you wanted to see me again . . i haven’t stopped thinking about you since . . since thursday. n-not just because of what we did, but because i had so much fun.”

a beat of silence.

“sorry. i don’t know why i’m being so awkward.”

he looked down at his hands, the stray hairs from his messy updo, all held together by a black claw clip, brushing over his cheekbones.

“don’t worry about it, sugu. i think it’s cute.”

careful not to mess up your hair even more, you slowly removed your hat, tossing it on the dashboard with a long sigh. “i had a lot of fun with you too—dirty stuff and non dirty stuff.”

it was quiet again for a few moments, but it was a comfortable silence. the cool air blowing from the vent felt great on your heated, slightly sweat skin.

“i’m assuming we’ll be heading back to your place? somethin’ tells me you don’t wanna walk around smelling like hashbrowns n’ syrup,” he chuckled, breaking the silence.

you let out a quiet hum, head tipping down in a curt nod. “absolutely. i need to wash this eye makeup off before i lose my mindddd!”

“sure thing, cutie,” he spoke softly, putting the gear shift in drive.

the ride to your place was pretty quiet for the most part, aside from some small talk between the two of you. halfway there, in the middle of a rant about this new show he started watching, suguru mindlessly placed his hand on your thigh. his warm touch sent a shiver up your back, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“i meant to tell you earlier that i think your makeup looks very cute by the way. can’t even tell you just got off an eight hour shift,” his hand squeezed at your thigh, and it was in that moment you noticed that he noticed he was even touching you in the first place. you felt his hand lift, but made quick work to place yours over it, your thighs squeezing together.

his eyes flicked over to you, then back on the road.

“thank you, sugu. i noticed that the flashier, and blingier it looks, the more people wanna tip—hence the rhinestones,” you smirked, dusting your fingers over the tiny, fake diamonds that decorated your temples.

“i see . . very pretty.”

the apartment building you lived in was small, but your one bedroom was rather roomy, and very . . pink! it smelt nice as well, like pineapple and nectar with the faint scent of incense.

before he was able to even take his shoes off, a fluffy cat was scampering towards him, its tail swishing against his calves as it sniffed at his shoes.

“hi, babyyyy,” you squealed, kneeling down to pet at its soft fur. it immediately nuzzled into your touch, resting its head on the palm of your hand. the felines face was very soft, feminine—and judging by the pink collar with a little bell attached, he could only assume it was a girl.

he knelt down beside you, gently scratching at its back. “who is this little cutie?”

“this is my pride and joy, the sweetest princess in the world, baby.”

“baby?”

“yes! i found her alone at some park when she was a kitten, and when i called out to her, she responded nicely to baby. she’ll be two in a couple weeks,” you cooed, scratching behind her ear. she purred loudly at the affection, making suguru grin. she was adorable.

with eyes as wide n’ big as yours, and a cute little pink nose that twitched cutely whenever she sniffed at his hand.

“you can put your shoes on the rack, sugu. we’ll be takin’ this party to my roooom!” you singsonged, kicking off your sticky work shoes, and placing them on a sleek, wooden shoe rack.

you walked with a slight sway in your hips, overly excited to have him over and hangout. he followed close behind you with a small smile etched onto his lips.

your bedroom was cute. it just screamed your entire personality with pink and cherry blossom printed furnishings. there was a shelf lined with vinyls & a record player, a vanity, and even a leopard printed chair shaped like a fucking shoe. different scented candles and incense holders were scattered throughout the room, and sitting in plain sight on your vanity was a pink, heart shaped bong.

suguru’s eyes scattered everywhere, taking it in in awe. women were always so good at decorating. he didn’t understand it one bit, but he absolutely adored it.

“please, sit anywhere. make yourself right at home,” you spoke softly, extending your arms over your head in a whiny stretch. “i see you can’t take your eyes off the chair. fucking insane right? some retired baddie was selling it on marketplace, i couldn’t believe it!”

geto took a seat on the chair, chucking lowly. “it’s very nice . . soft too.” the material felt velvet-like under his fingertips.

when he looked up at you, you had this look on your face. a look of pure concentration as your eyes zigzagged across his face in examination.

“now that i’m getting a good look at you . . something about you is different.”

oh. so you were slowly noticing.

“yeah? what looks different?”

you took a step closer to him, and then another, your hands resting on your hips. your eyes flicked to his lips—pretty, but nothing different about ‘em. they trailed up his cheekbones, to his eyes, and then—

“your eyebrow—! shit. sorry i’m loud,” you giggled, manicured fingers covering your mouth to muffle your laughter. you took one more step towards geto, now standing between his legs. his lip twitched when you tapped gently on his temple.

“your eyebrow is pierced again.” your words this time around were calmer, but laced with something that he would soon to find out was lust.

he smiled up at you, nodding slowly. “mhm. you like?”

“i love . . .”

“ooo, but there’s moreeee,” he snickered, then parted his lips, his pink tongue lolling out to reveal a silver ball in the center.

you couldn’t believe your eyes, pupils dilating triple in size. a breath caught in suguru’s throat when you bent down, now only inches from his face. out of instinct, he retreated his tongue back in his mouth much to your dismay.

“no, no—don’t be shy. lemme see it again.” maybe you were coming on a little strong. especially with the way you gripped softly at his jaw, his skin feeling like silk beneath your fingers. “c’monnn . .”

wordlessly, he stuck his tongue out again, saliva pooling on the center from the sudden desperate need for a kiss.

it was like you read his mind that second—brains connecting in a way neither of you knew was possible. your hands rested on suguru’s shoulders for balance as you sucked his tongue into your mouth. you were rewarded with a low groan from him, his tongue dancing with yours in a mix of moans and spit.

the kiss was short lasting with you pulling away breathlessly, a line of spit keeping you connected until your back straightened up.

“i should go shower,” your words were slightly muffled as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand. “i won’t be long.”

“y-yeah . . yeah, okay. take your time.”

you gathered up some clothes; a big t-shirt and a tiny pair of shorts, and quietly made your way to the bathroom. suguru tensed for only a moment when you squeezed his shoulder on your way by.

his heart was pounding, the ringing in his ears drowning out the noise from you bustling around in the bathroom.

“just be cool. be cool.”

he repeated that to himself until he became bored, his mind drifting off to other places. instead of thinking about you riding him on that chair, sweating the gel out of your hair from how rough he’d be—he took the time to examine your room even further. you had lots of trinkets and plushies, and right on the end of your bed, in the corner closest to the wall was an even smaller fluffy, white bed that he could’ve only assumed was for baby.

speaking of baby.

he heard the sound of a tiny bell moving closer n’ closer, until he felt the swish of her tail against his leg. “oh . . hello . .” geto murmured, tatted fingers scratching the spot behind her ear. he was rewarded with a loud purr, followed by her jumping in his lap.

“ohhh, you’re cute,” he chuckled, scratching underneath her chin. “kinda look like you’re momma in a way.”

baby kept him occupied for a good ten minutes before he heard the shower turn off, the music you were playing being the only noise coming from inside the bathroom.

the feline eventually got bored of him and scampered off, finally giving him the opportunity to shed his hoodie, leaving him in a tank top that showed off every ridge of his strong arms swirled with ink.

“i hope i didn’t keep you waiting too long.” he heard a voice from behind him pipe up. the dark haired mans head craned to the side, and there you were, body engulfed by your t-shirt that was three sizes too big with a silk scarf wrapped around your hair. you were . . shiny. your skin looked slicked, yet soft to the touch.

when you walked past the chair, the scent of coconut and honey was pleasantly overwhelming, making him dizzy.

“it’s so nice to have a friend who’s a fellow night owl. ‘gets kinda boring with just me n’ baby,” you spoke softly, taking a seat on your bed. your legs went crisscrossed, lips lifting into a smile, “c’mere!”

suguru didn’t need to be told twice, his body moving almost as if it were on autopilot. he sat next to you, long legs dangling off the bed while his arm wrapped around your form, tugging you closer.

there was a beat of awkward silence, and then another.

“you wanna tie me up?”

your question had suguru literally choking on his spit, the apples of his cheeks gone red from lack of air and flusteredness. of course he was always down to practice shibari with you, but your lack of clothing would definitely make it a little difficult for him to concentrate—and it was.

while you dug around in a medium sized pink chest for a set of ropes, he shamefully stared at your behind, jaw clenching at the realization that you were, in fact, not wearing any panties. it was a nice sight, yes, but he had to remind himself that that was probably just your routine, and not a treat for him to indulge in.

he had to remain patient. let you set the pace for whatever was going to happen.

“so, i’ve reallyyyy been wanting to try out being fully restrained. i know it’s late, and you probably weren’t expecting to do this, but . . .” your words trailed off, but the smile you were sporting said it all. “but if you don’t want to i totally understand—i know it’s super last minute n’ all.”

what you didn’t know was that suguru was at the point in his crush where he would just about do anything you asked.

“of course i wanna do it. i was hoping we’d be able to get some down time and practice together.”

his words had you cheesing, a noise of excitement bubbling in your chest.

“okay great! so, i was thinking we do a star harness from the upper half, and a bind of your choice for my legs?” you knelt down on the plush carpet, placing the ropes aside. suguru wasted no time joining you, hands fiddling with one another out of nervousness.

he already had a leg bind in mind, due to endless hours of research. a spiral futomomo. anything that involved a futomomo tie attached ones thigh to their ankle, and whatever pattern you chose would travel up their leg and to their knee. the first time he tried it, it took about forty five minutes to achieve, but after practicing two more times, he was able to perfect it within fifteen minutes.

the chest bind you chose, a star harness, was one he read over briefly, but it most definitely intrigued him—and he knew that with you as his second teacher, you’d give him a backstory lesson as to why it was so popular within the community.

“alright now just relax. get all the nervousness and shakes out, and just breathe. i know you’re bound to touch my chest a couple times, and that’s okay,” you grabbed the ropes and placed them in his hands. “so don’t trip.”

you leant forward, hesitating for only a moment before closing the gap between the two of you. it was a short peck, and then another one. and even when you pulled away he was quick to chase after you again. he suckled on your bottom lip and let it snap back into place with a content hum.

“we’ll start with your legs first.”

you were so embarrassingly . . shamefully . . but not surprisingly soaked from this entire ordeal. sure, it was your idea to bust out the ropes, but you didn’t expect to feel your clit pulse against your shorts, and your nipples perk up from only a few touches.

suguru was pretty locked in for the most part—besides that little part in the beginning where he just stroked at your thighs, his thumb drifting higher n’ higher until he saw you visibly tense. his only response to that was a small breath through the nose, followed by a smile.

after that, he was focused completely.

after grabbing a nearby throw pillow, he gave you a few instructions. honestly, you tuned out after he told you to lay back, but that just gave him all the more reason to touch you some more.

“i said lay back n’ bend your leg, babe—use that to rest your head on,” he chuckled, gently pushing you back until you were resting prettily on the pillow, a glossed over look in your eyes. “now just bend it . . yeah, like that.”

his hand rested on your knee, pushing your other leg to the side by just a few inches to make room for himself.

this position had you feeling a bit . . . exposed. heat rose to your cheeks at how big sugu really looked from this angle. if he wanted to, and he was more than welcome, geto could easily push your shorts to the side and take you in any way he wanted.

he ran his hand over the inside of your thigh, then back up to your knee. “you ready?”

“mhmm.”

and then he was off. winding the black rope around your ankle and the top of your thigh before creating knot to keep the two together. he repeated this action four more times, the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration.

“you’ve gotten really good, sugu! and you look so focused . . it’s kinda hot.”

geto chuckled at your compliment, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, decorated with different piercings, before getting back to work. “thanks, cutie. i’ve been practicing on myself.”

it was silent again for another minute, and then the cogs in your brain started to turn with an idea. “you know . . if you ever wanna be posted on my page, you could absolutely send some pics to me. i’m sure my followers would eat it up, and you’d be totally anonymous!”

he looked down at you with an amused smirk, tightening the last knot with a low grunt. “can you move? feel too loose or tight?”

you attempted to extend your leg but it was unsuccessful. perfect.

“i can’t move a bit—look,” your leg and thigh moved as one, the only part of you able to move being your wiggling, white painted toes. “and it doesn’t hurt one bit. i’m telling you these cotton ropes are kinda life changing.”

suguru did the same bind to your other leg, gauging your expression for any discomfort. the silence was comfortable, filled with your even breaths and the dull jingle of baby’s collar.

after another minute quiet, he finally responded to your proposal. “i’d definitely be interested in being posted on your page . . anonymous or not. in fact—” he stopped himself mid sentence to secure the final knot, finishing both binds on your legs in less than twenty minutes. “i think you should post these when we’re done. now let’s get you upright, yeah? lemme know if it’s uncomfortable.”

effortlessly, suguru pulled you up by your hands, making quick work you set your thighs in an ideal position that would be comfortable for you, and easy for him to work with once he started the star harness. because of how soft the ropes were, kneeling on the fluffy carpet didn’t cause you any kind of discomfort.

your eyes flicked down, taking in suguru’s delicate work. “this is beautiful. it looks so good, i love it,” you grinned, carefully tracing your fingers over the knots.

“thank you, i’m so glad you like it. shall we get started on the upper half?”

“yes please.”

for this part, suguru came in reallll close from behind, his minty scented breath fanning over the back of your neck. before the rope even touched your skin, he was leaning in closer, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “you trust me?”

you turned your head, nose bumping briefly into his making him smile. “yes, sugu.”

that was a beat of silence, and then his lips were on yours, soft and warm. the kiss was short which you weren’t a fan of, but he did make sure to kiss your pout away, along with another one to the area between your neck and shoulder.

“don’t worry. i’m not finished with you.”

he tapped your arms, a silent signal for you to you lift them. then you felt the rope slither around your side, and the area just below your breasts before coming back around to your back. there was a shift, and then a tightening feeling that had you letting out a small noise of surprise.

suguru ceased all movements, his hands abandoning the knot he just finished to rub soothing circles into your lower back. “you good?”

“y-yeah! ‘just feels . . i don’t know—different? i’ve never exactly done this kinda bind with a partner. b-but don’t worry, you’re doing great. i’m very—very comfortable.” you reached your hands behind you to give his wrists a reassuring squeeze, and then you looked back at him. “i promise m’okay.”

after that everything went pretty smoothly. there were a few times where you had to help him out, but it only made the moment more intimate for you and for him.

he was finished within fifteen minutes, and he had to pat himself on the back for this because you looked divine. that was truly the only way to put it.

“pretty . . .” suguru murmured, tracing his finger down your neck, and over the cotton ropes. they had your shirt snug against your chest, exposing your hardened nipples to his intense stare.

you almost wanted to laugh at the way he gawked at them. it was not very subtle at all.

but never fear, you’d let him get his fill—right after he finished the job and bound your hands together like a good boy.

“there’s no particular bind i need for my hands. just do whatever works easiest for, babe. i’d prefer if they were in front of me though—”

“no problem.”

his eyes widened at the sudden eagerness in his voice, a strawberry colored blush raising to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“wow, okay. that was really eager—i’m sorry,” he chuckled almost breathlessly. “i-i’ll do a prayer tie.”

suguru’s hands enveloped yours, his thumbs running over the delicate skin of your palms. he squeezed lightly, lashes fluttering before he was looking at you through the wispy, black strands.

he looked like he wanted to consume you.

“ready?”

“mhm.”

the prayer tie was easy, but geto took his time nonetheless, savoring every touch. every quiet hitch of breath you took when the ropes got tighter.

your pussy was borderline throbbing by this point, clit pulsing against the cotton material of your shorts with every shift of your constricted thighs. you could feel the mess of slick down there that was surely leaving a wet stain on your shorts.

geto didn’t say anything, but he could smell it. the sweet, tangy musk first hit his nose when he had you lay for him to do the first bind. it was subtle at first, but got gradually stronger, making it harder and harder for him to concentrate.

“does that feel alright?” he asked in a sultry tone, tucking his hair behind his ear. the hum you let out was quiet, but he heard it as he reached for you phone. “you ready for for me to take some pictures?”

you couldn’t hide your excitedly, straightening your posture with a wide grin. “yes, yes absolutely. do i look okay?” your head cocked the side, that grin you were sporting now turned dopey.

“i think you look beautiful like this. i can’t take my eyes off you,” was suguru said with a glazed over look, lust dripping from every syllable. his eyes remained on yours as he swiped over to the camera app on your phone. “i know you won’t want your face in these, but do you mind if i take a couple for myself? for research purposes, of course.”

“ohhhhh research purposes, huh?”

suguru took a picture of you right there, smiling and all like your limbs were bound together, leaving you at his mercy. he took another picture, but this time of your chest. “why do you tease when me when i’m only trying to learn, hm?” he smirked, violet eyes briefly focusing on how hot your nipples looked through your tee.

“i could never tease you, sugu. all i’m saying is, is that if you wanted to have pics of tied up like this all you had to do was ask nicely. i know i’d ask you.”

. . . .

a blank look washed over geto’s face, and then his thighs shifted. “you . .” he cleared his throat, putting more base into his voice. “you need to stop talking for a second. i’ve been holding back since you got in a car, and i’ve been good so far.”

the raven haired man moved to your side, and snapped a picture of your chest and then the spiral futomomo bind that decorated your thighs and the length of your leg.

a flush of heat spread across your cheeks and neck. “y-you don’t have to do that y’know. i’ve been ready for you since we . . s-since we started.”

your fingertips felt clammy, squishing against one another in the prayer tie he was now getting pictures of. there was a slight tremble in your hands that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

lewd thoughts flew back and forth, pushing, and pushing suguru to a place he was trying to keep his mind free of. like recreating that cute little video that you reposted some time ago, wondering when it was going to be your turn. his pierced brow twitched, and then he was lowering your phone. “you wanna do somethin’ fun?”

it felt like your heart was going to burst from your chest. excitement coursed through your thumping veins, goosebumps rising all along your exposed skin.

“hah—yeah.”

“it’s gonna involve a little recording.”

it took very little for you decide an answer. “yes, yes please. let’s do it.”

suguru breathed out a laugh of disbelief, his limbs moving before his mind could even catch up.

your phone was now propped up on a discarded plushie that had fallen off your bed, already set to record. the camera cut off just above your collarbone, leaving your face out of sight.

sugu was right next to you, his big hand running warmly over your thigh. even when kneeling, he still slouched, towering over you almost intimidatingly. he looked at you like you were made of sweets, his eyes darting back and forth to which part of you he wanted to indulge in first.

“i remember being on your page,” he started off, bringing a hand up to squeeze softly at your breast. his thumb brushed over the stiff peak of your nipple before tracing slow circles over it. “there was this video you retweeted . . and it was set up almost like this—minus the gag,” he chuckled, squeeze at the other mound a bit harder than the last.

if you didn’t know what he was talking about before, you certainly did now. the shakiness in your breath spurred him on, his fingers now dancing down your tummy. they dipped below the waistband of your shorts, brushing over the soft tufts of hair on your mound.

“i-i think i know what you’re talking abou—o-oh!”

finally.

after what felt like a century of waiting, geto was finally touching you where you needed him most. your clit was slick beneath his skilled fingers, beating at the same unsteady rate as your heart.

you hadn’t even noticed he was now behind you until you felt the weight of his defined chest against your back. his chin rested on your shoulder, the tip of his nose dragging over the side of your neck.

“do you like that?” he questioned ever so quietly, dragging his fingers between your sopping folds. he noticed a slight struggle in your hands, and it was honestly quite funny watching the realization slowly wash over you. what you wanted to do was find some comfort in gripping his wrist, but the ropes that held your hands together rudely interrupted those plans. all you could do was relax, and nod your head, the tips of your toes wiggling with need.

“i would like to hear your voice,” he spoke again, lazily circling your clit. “can you verbally tell me? hm?” there was a slightly shake in that questionable hum, but you didn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in his skillful fingers.

“yeah, t-that feels really nice—hah,” you let out a gasp, lips immediately snapping shut afterwards in a pout. geto gripped at your chest with his free hand, desperately wishing he was able to feel the soft skin of your breasts.

he couldn’t help but moan, low and quiet, into your shoulder when you slumped more into him. he kept you steady, his bulging muscles keeping you from withering into the carpet in a fit of tears and whines. his eyes flicked to your phone the capturing the entire thing, and it was quite the sight.

he wouldn’t be able to explain why, but there was something so different about seeing yourself on camera doing the dirtiest of acts than in a mirror.

grateful wasn’t even the word to describe how he was feeling about you right now. the way you were so quick to trust him with this. to allow him into your home, your sacred space, and let him meet your sweet baby. it made his heart flutter. it made his dick throb.

a particularly loud moan broke him out of his thoughts.

“fuck, sugu!”

your hips jerked when he licked a stripe across your shoulder. the little ball from his piercing tickled.

“you gonna cum for me?”

there was no time for teasing you about reaching your peak so early. not that he was in a position to even tease you in the first place. unbeknownst to you, and to him until now, suguru was humping into your backside like crazy. the plush of your ass felt heavenly against the bulge he was hiding in his sweats.

“say something,” he rasped desperately into your ear, the baby hairs from his messy updo caressing your blazing cheeks. his palm pushed upward on the skin above your clit, ring and pointer finger spreading your folds before letting his middle finger rub small, tiny circles on your clit.

your stomach tightened, a whine bubbling in the back of your throat. “y-yeah, m’gonna cum. don—don’t let me go please!” it felt like you were in a neverending daze, your head so far in the imaginary clouds in your mind that you feared if he let you go you’d crash and crumble.

with one last swipe of his finger over your clit, you were cumming with a choked noise. trembles reached every limb in your body, leaving you a shaking mess in suguru’s grip. he kept the same pace, not letting it falter even once so he could milk you orgasm for all it was worth—which was quite a bit. even when the initial feeling went away, the aftershocks still had you humping into his hand.

geto was basking in your bliss with you, his cock leaking pathetically against his boxers. if that would’ve went on for just a minute longer, he would’ve came in his pants. thankfully the universe was on his side today.

a sniffle was heard, and then another. the third time it happened, geto was raising his head from your shoulder with a raised brow. surely enough, you were crying—not full on sobbing, but there were a few tears dripping from your dewy lower lashes.

“shit, are you—are you crying?”

when you didn’t respond he, for once in his life, straightened his posture. a feeling of dread washing over him.

don’t panic. don’t panic.

“did i do something wrong? would you like me to untie you—?” that feeling of dread was quickly replaced with confusion when you shook your head in protest.

“no, no. you didn’t do anything wrong . . in fact, that might’ve been the best orgasm i’ve ever had, like ever.”

suguru was silent, too dumbfounded to even think of the words to say. but he knew one thing was for certain—by the time the sun rose in the sky, casting rays of light in you room, you’d be a ruined mess, snuggled into side after a long night of him putting you through your mattress.

to be continued in part two bc tumblr lame asf . . .

[neighbourscat]

⬭ ˳ ❝ 𝒮ay 𝑀y 𝒩ame — 𝒜gain ! ❞

𑣲 J .. ACKSON ᐟ brooks. :: extra, extra read all about it . . . brooks’ in his feelings & he can’t get out of it.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 ₊ ݁ 𖥻 𝓷ali. 𑁤 no, i have not listened to ‘the bodyguard’ on quinn, so this might be a mischaracterisation! “HOLY MISCHARACTERISATION!” i tried not to do much, this is a grain. but i wanted to contribute to the bodyguard au tag for tyriq withers! if you’ve watched scandal, the scene between early olivia pope and governor (at the time) fitzgerald grant at the back of the bus inspired this. eeeeeeeeeeeek. no real warnings, other than mature language, implications of drug abuse, and a single mention of m!masturbation. & this is blackfem governor’s daughter x bodyguard! ˙𐃷˙ .ᐟ.ᐟ

𖦤 , ‘earrings’ , malcolm todd. / ‘i wanna be closer’ , switch.

——— 𑣲 Politicians were a superstitious bunch by nature. There was so much outside their control that they were worse than baseball players. Just as a pitcher couldn't account for a sudden shift in the wind, even the best political operative couldn't keep a campaign focused forever. It had been a bad month for Ensley-Bowser for America, and Leanna Yates, the relentlessly logical Leanna Yates was starting to believe they were cursed.

It started when one of your mother’s opponents — it didn't matter which, the guy would be gone before the Philadelphia State Fair — leaked the medical records of Demetrius Bowser. Your father’s been a dental surgeon in the state of Maryland for over two decades, and never has his practice seen such a drastic decline. He’s losing clients left and right now that his frequent stints in rehab have made national news. For two days, the Ensley-Bowser campaign has been forced to deny at the top of their lungs what looked like a Black man with a massive drug problem. Husband second, Black man first.

“We need to figure this out before the Wisconsin speech,” you could hear much of the conversation sitting just a row behind your mother and her campaign manager, Leanna Yates. After a while, the talk was becoming too . . . It was an ear-full. So, you hooked your tan-hued trench under an elbow and stood, holding the chair ahead as the campaign coach bus bumped and wobbled through a rainy Illinois night.

He’d been looking at you already from where he sat; the second to last row on the coach bus. That way, he could watch over, not just you and your mother, but everyone aboard. He practically grew up in the Yates’ family, joining her eldest son serving in the Marine Corps branch. Mrs. Yates referred him over to your mother nearly three states ago in the campaign run, convincing her that you needed a babysitter.

Though she didn’t use babysitter flat-out, she might as well have. She couldn’t understand how someone so educated, so introspective could be so rash and so stubborn; a loose-cannon, she told him. Mrs. Yates wasn’t the biggest fan of you . . . but the kids adored you: The youngest generation of today’s voters; called you The People’s Princess, Philly’s Finest.

You were relatable; constantly participating in the current media trends, responding to all inbox messages and comments under your posts. You were silly; the youth would recognise you out during your free period in their state and ask for photos, videos, you’d even crash a few backyard family functions and play rounds of basketball. You were unapologetically Black; wearing your hair big or wrapped low or just in a scarf if you must, clacking bangles and custom gold-grills.

It was easy to get a reaction out of you . . . which also had its tough consequences.

But that’s where Jackson Brooks came in.

There hadn’t been a brawl since Kentucky. Your mother, the Governor of Philadelphia, hasn’t issued a formal apology for your ‘unruly behaviour’ in three months. That was gold-star worthy . . . no one but Yates was counting.

He gave the seat beside his own a light rub, inviting you. After draping the trench coat over your new seat, you settled down and folded your hands in your lap, not yet saying anything. Before you made your way over, he’d been staring hard at the rain slipping down the tall window in torrents and listening to the creaky whipping of the bus’ windshield wipers. It was making him sleepy.

But he was up now.

“‘Least the problem ain’t me,” and you’re giggling. It was a great attempt at getting a conversation started, because Jackson did grin. And that grin tipped into a smile . . . dimples hiding as fast as they were shown off. “Almost four months clean,” he said then, teasingly: “you should be proud of yourself.”

“Am. Very much so.” Grinning at your playfulness, he shook his head and turned toward the window, fingers absently tracing up and down the denim dressing his thighs. “Need somethin’?” he muttered, glancing back. On a bus like this, boxed in, nowhere to go . . . he didn’t know what you could possibly ask for that he could safely give. Still, when it came to you, he’d handle it.

“No.” Because being next to him like this, you couldn’t ask for anything more. “Just a friend.” Jackson huffed a low response; he could be that. Turning ever-so-slightly that the moonlight slicing in glittered over the campaign button tagged on the pocket of his pale-white polo. The Ensley-Bowser logo reminded you: “Where I was sitting, I could hear my mom and Yates, ‘nd, y’know- “ A humourless breath. “- they were talkin’ next steps as I was tryna sleep.”

“How bad is it?” Jackson turned just enough so his shoulder pinched the cushion in, angling himself toward you without fully closing the distance. “Think Yates could clean this up?” Yates was a woman of her word; if she said she’d fix something, she did. But this was different. For how long could the team deny your father’s problem? Even after he and your mother preached his sobriety to a bunch of news outlets.

“You know her better than I . . . better than my mom- can she ‘clean this up?’” His tongue poked the soft inner flesh of his cheek, not actually thinking but just watching how your gemmed-earrings jiggled with the bus’ chugging. Aside from his personal bias, he’s witnessed Yates clean up the most stickiest, nastiest conditions for previous candidates. “Before Wisco’? Probably not,” he said, and honestly too. “Iowa though? Definitely.”

Which gave Yates a little under two weeks.

“What happened there? Were you shipped to Yates’ for disciplinary reasons, or . . ?” You’re adjusting your weight, trying to mimic his current position in the tight space provided. “I read somewhere that over forty-percent of misbehaved students end up joinin’ the U.S. military.” Structure, authority, promised to fix people.

Jackson was not a bad-kid. “Where d’you even read that?” His curiosity was genuine. “Forty percent sounds made up,” he said, staring at the fluff peeking just beneath your headscarf, and then to the soft cotton of that baby-blue silk blouse you were wearing so well; stolen from your mother’s suitcase. “Y’kinda just believe anything you read, or . . ?”

Then he caught it: your eyes, not quite where they should’ve been. Fixed on his lips. Maybe it was nothing. Just you following along, listening closely. That’s what it could’ve been. But he noticed. And he wasn’t exactly innocent either.

“No- didn’t get ‘shipped’ off . . . Dad died overseas, Mom didn’t think she could do it alone.” And your expression fell on instinct, guilt slapping hard across the face. “I’m sorry.” For more than just that. “God- Please don’t. Don’t be,” Jackson said, almost too calm for the subject, “Most people don’t know . . . ‘nd I like it that way.” He leaned back, shrugging to shake this feeling off.

And without even realizing it, you found yourself slinking downward until you were close to his level again, almost mirroring the way he was sitting peacefully. Hands fidgeted in your lap, plucking at the dried gel-polish for a moment before your eyes settle above his collar at the exposed part of his neck, hesitant but drawn in.

“. . . He would’ve liked you.”

You blinked up at him, mouth agape, trapped between surprise and disbelief: thoughts scrambling, fumbling for anything to respond with. “Jackson- “ you breathed, the word barely more than a whisper. He loved that. How his name sounded sooo good rolling off your tongue. “Say my name again,” he’d only ask once.

Swallowing, the faintest shiver ran down your spine and made the hairs on your arms stick up.

You really were beautiful, Jackson thought to himself. He thought it would be sooo easy to reel you in with soft looks and strategic light touches along your foreman, wrist, then hands. Jackson pictured it often: what you’d look like pressed against his body. All sweaty and hot. It’d be nice. But nice wasn’t the word that should be associated with sex, not when you were a seat away. Not when he could have —

Nope!

That line of thinking had to be shut down. 

He’s spent too many nights fisting one out into a napkin and shaming himself for doing so. A month and some worth of tension wasn’t indicative of love. It probably just meant that the forced proximity of being your babysitter heightened his general horniness. 

“Jackson . . .” carrying a low sigh that slipped through your teeth, paired with a weakening smile. And that was all it took to have Jackson melting and hardening in his boxer briefs. There’d been a glint as his fae softened, brows furrowing inward in a way that made your heart hang.

Jackson laid his head further into the cushion, eyes half-closed, posture loose but hungry; both fragile and needing at the same time. “You always sound so . . . pretty,” he said, hand dropping to pat a spot on your thigh. And before you could react, he leaned over and rested his head atop your shoulder, heavy in the most comforting way.

You stared down at his hand, tense, for touching it could somehow summon a few wandering eyes. This was so ordinary, so unassuming, and yet it felt monumental, frail in a way you weren’t used to. Your hand hovered above his, fingers curling and uncurling, unsure if you had the courage to close the gap.

Eventually, you let it happen. Your hand fell and brushed light over his. “Don’t fall asleep,” before you pressed down fully, fingers curling over his in a soothing gesture. He didn’t pull away, “Won’t.”

Relaxing slightly, you tilted over, letting your head lie gently on his. Eyes closed, you whispered, “I’m serious . . .”

[neighbourscat]

⬭ ˳ ❝ 𝐿a 𝒫etite 𝑀ort — 𝒯he 𝐿ittle 𝒟eath ! ❞

𑣲 C .. AMERON ᐟ cade. :: no, he didn’t see himself with you . . . you were just too pretty and so sweet, and he was nothing of the sort. for making you wait, he’d hate himself for a long time.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 ₊ ݁ 𖥻 𝓷ali. 𑁤 nerd!cameron cade, because i needed this. i was rewatching a few criminal minds episodes & could not resist. so, imagine a cocky!spencer reid : info-dumping, dollops of scientific / investigative information, possibly incorrect because i don’t have an iq of 187. dr cade enjoys a puzzle, similarly to edward nygma, who i also adore. cryptanalyst x blackfem counterterrorism agent! also, cameron cade is not explicitly confirmed to be on the autism spectrum, but his social awareness is varied. ˙𐃷˙ .ᐟ.ᐟ

𑣲 warnings. :: mature language. mentions of kidnapped and deceased children, but zero graphic descriptions. brief explanation of the actual case. {sexual} > federal agents!pairing. sex in the laboratory! premature ejaculation. brief choking [with tie]. m!receiving handjob-and-oral. unprotected sex. male tears. bits of dirty talk. fingering. cumshot.

𖦤 , ‘forgotten, fossilized, archaic’ , autumn’s grey solace. / ‘miss’ , erika de casier. / ‘cherry flavoured’ , the neighbourhood. / ‘cherry’ , lana del rey. + ‘mondays’ , ethel cain (unreleased)

——— 𑣲 On the cool rainy afternoon of Monday, April 10th, 2011, you wanted to see the sorry excuse for a man POWW magazine had called ‘seriously, the most delicious face in America’ . . . because the real most delicious face was sitting right across from you.

He wore a burgundy red tie often and wonky, creature-printed mix-matched socks. He liked his busted converse laced extra tight and his sleeves rolled right above the forearms and his leather-banded watch on the left wrist.

He never wore his cardigan when he ate lunch. It was draped over the bottom cushion of the stool, abandoned. His foot beat weakly above the tile, shoulders drawn in as he hummed a half-remembered tune from his early morning commute, too preoccupied with the plastic container to notice anything else . . .

You . . . staring at the crown of his head. He was pretty, painfully so . . . but even prettier when he didn’t open his mouth. It was such a tragedy. A universal one, honestly, when a pretty face went to waste. Sighing deeply, like you’ve just received the call that your pet goldfish died, you prop your chin into your palm, pupils dilated into hearts and imaginary love-doves flapping a pink halo around the crown of your head.

It was when his head raised and those light green and brown eyes glittered did the harp and violins begin to play; the wedding bells. If your brain hadn’t used up all the mental energy to make the imaginary love-doves and the twinkling star-characters bouncing off of his pretty brown hair and the candy sweetheart-characters that jumped up and down on his shoulder, and the gigantic wedding band behind him, an imaginary cupid would’ve struck the back of his head to seal the deal.

He hated onions more than anything. Onions didn’t just taste bad to him, they invaded every sense. The smell stuck to his fingers, on his breath. The texture was all wrong; either slimy when cooked or aggressively crunchy when raw. There was no safe version. The taste hijacked everything else. It was impossible to enjoy whatever included onion, because then, it all just became onion-flavored food.

“What?” He bumped his glasses back up the ridge of his nose with the top end of the tweezers. You shook your head and made a lazy shoo motion, telling him to go on with what he’d been doing. And he returned to surgically removing the onions and mushrooms (jus’ cause) from his meal. “You know- I can feel you staring.”

You released a low breath, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I just . . . I’ve never seen anything like this- if it were a burger, sure. I’d get it. Gettin’ the onions wouldn’t be insane. But picking through fried rice, it’s . . .” You shrugged, plastic fork stabbing at some leftover meatloaf; now cold having been staring at the brilliant analyst. “- dedication.”

Dedication, the grating sound of your voice repeated in his head. Though he appreciated your attentiveness, he couldn’t understand where it came from. Why were you so interested in him? Why wouldn’t you leave him be? You were stationed at the opposite end of the department, with the Field Division . . . You were the only person that paid attention to poor, ol’ Cameron Cade; often told to shush and often walked away from.

You were the only person in the Federal Agency that acknowledged his ramblings. He wasn’t sure if you followed all the way through . . . but you always maintained good eye contact like you did.

Cameron could never, for the life of him, figure out why you’ve set your sails towards him, but it was jarring for him to be such a large blip on someone’s radar.

You weren’t smarter than him, but you definitely weren’t stupid, he once said.

He thought it was weird that you always tried at normal conversation after the work day . . . because what was there to really talk about other then dead bodies and evidence and the occasional crossword puzzle? As disturbing as that had been, that was what he was most comfortable with.

It was incredible how you managed to fit yourself so easily and willingly into his routine, and now he couldn’t really remember when you weren’t a part of it in the first place.

“How far have you gotten?” He cared about today’s puzzle.

A brow lifted. Then you remembered, Oh! That. The crossword in the city’s newspaper. You enjoyed his company and his beautiful mind, no word game puzzle was left unsolved after clock-out. “Uhm . . . errrr. Well. I . . . I’m working on it.” No, you weren’t. You hadn’t for a while. You flipped from the POWW section and held up the roll, silently begging for help.

It was amusing to him. The likely pairing — a counterterrorism specialist holding the bundle of papers patiently waiting, thinking the answers would drop from the sky, and a cryptanalyst . . . picking out ingredient bits.

He stopped and circled the glossy examining table. Cameron settled into the stool beside yours, saying, “There’s this amazing overlap between lexical retrieval and spatial pattern recognition that happens with crossword puzzles.” Cameron’s eyes fell over the black and white boxes. Strange though, this one was different from the others. No theme from first glancing, just riddles.

The more he studied, his brows wrinkled deeper; something was really off about this particular puzzle. Each line that crossed missed a letter. A special edition. For the smartest of people, perhaps. No offence . . . but there were levels to this shit.

Then again, he could just be losing his mind, desperately grasping at any sign of complexity to show off. But that was highly unlikely. He didn’t have to pull tricks. Clearing his throat, Cameron gave a small huff, looking over clues, now moving about his work space with the pages.

“Most people assume it’s about vocabulary, but statistically it’s more about the brain predicting letter probability within a constrained grid,” he continued, smoothly and with zero thought. “For example, once you’ve filled in maybe forty percent of a standard fifteen-by-fifteen puzzle, the number of viable English letter combinations drops dramatically- almost exponentially, actually.”

You nodded . . . because you felt as though you needed to. It was remarkable how he spoke, without a stutter or taking a minute to breathe. He only paused to be thoughtful, considering his listener. Rarely. “Which means, theoretically, you could solve a lot of the remaining answers without even reading the clues, just by recognizing orthographic patterns.”

Cameron returned to your side, not to sit, but to hover over you like an elementary school teacher helping their struggling student. And well, you were struggling. “I’ve noticed that if you scan the grid in clusters instead of strictly across or down, your brain starts anticipating trigram frequency -“

He took up your purple gel pen and pointed, “- like ‘T-H-E’ or ‘I-N-G.’ It’s kind’a like how the visual cortex processes word shapes during speed reading.”

Again, with the nodding. And you were listening. Seriously. But would you retain this? Probably not. Cameron began marking up the page in that purple ink, and this was the closest he’s ever been to your face. “So, sometimes,” he said, itching a spot on his cheek, “I’ll just stare at the grid and let the patterns emerge. It’s less about solving clues and more about . . . statistical inevitability.”

Then, like magic . . . he’s scratching more letters into boxes. The words didn’t add up, and that was the ruse. He couldn’t imagine anyone using V-I-C-I-S-S-I-T-U-D-E in their vernacular, but he figured it was good to know. Why not?

Vicissitude was a noun meaning change; of circumstance or fortune that is unwelcome or unpleasant. “Which, now that I think about it, is probably why crossword constructors avoid too many open vowel patterns. Otherwise the puzzle would collapse under probability alone.”

Here’s another good one: G-A-R-R-U-L-O-U-S. Garrulous. It’s a Latin derivative, garrire, which basically means ‘to chatter.’ The modern definition is someone who talks excessively: like, beyond socially expected conversational limits. Synonyms would be loquacious, verbose, voluble, even prolix if being technical.

Cameron Cade is a garrulous individual. The kind of person who can’t resist turning a simple comment into a full explanation. Not because anyone asked for one, necessarily, but because his brain sort of . . . auto-generates lectures.

“It must be exhausting . . . being the smartest in every room you walk into,” how sweet of you. Cameron pushed away from where he shadowed over you. He tipped his head, like he was genuinely considering it. Looking at the stack of evidence folders he had to peer over after his break. “Not particularly,” with a crooked sort of smile working at his mouth.

His shoulders jumped in an easy shrug. “People think it is- but the real exhaustion comes from pretendin’ you’re not.” He returned to his takeout lunch, “You’d be surprised how often I have to simplify things,” in a low, tired grumble. Like just the thought of it frustrated him. “The shortened versions- it’s tedious.”


“Oh- I bet,” you answered, half-amused. You were searching for another word puzzle. With the crossword came a batch of other mini games that Cameron didn’t care too much about. But because you did, he let himself listen as you tried at the combinations. Sometimes, he’d step in, because seeing you complain about and mentally wrestle with yourself for a simple ten letter word was depressing.

How could you be one of the most accomplished agents on your team, but not be able to unscramble a ten letter word?

Over-thinkers, he concluded much long ago. Tough bunch of individuals. Making a situation harder for themselves is what they do best. And you do it so well. Every now and again, he’d find himself in that box, but he had the consciousness to jump out of it.

Your turn: “So, uhm . . .” with the plastic fork, you pushed that bowl of meatloaf away, giving yourself room to fold your arms over the table’s surface. “How far have you gotten?” With the case, he figured. Cameron swiped a hand over his low hair and looked to the furthest left, chest rising and falling heavily.

“Let me jus’ show you- talk you through it.” Cameron stood up and made for that far left corner. On that countertop nearest you, there was a stack of files (other than the evidence) within were horrors you had no stomach to confront. Three dead children. The curse of parenthood; every dead child wears the face of their caregivers.

Over the past three weeks, six children, ages six to eleven, have disappeared across Northern Virginia. Alexandria, Arlington, and Church. Each were taken during daylight, in public spaces: playgrounds, parks, school drop-offs. One night ago, the first three children were recovered . . . deceased.

No sign of struggle at the scene. No defensive wounds. Just an encrypted flash drive in their mouth, wrapped in paper with numbers and another object- One had a miniature key, another a tiny carved figurine. And the third, a note: ‘Now. You. Listen.’

On the drives were file directories and fragments of what looked like blueprints. Since the briefing two full days ago, the cyber-unit managed to crack a fat portion of two drives. Not all of it, but enough to have a good idea. Both drives contained a different set of files. Like pieces of an even larger archive. Individually, they don’t mean much. Together . . . they were intense.

City infrastructure layouts and utility schematics and sewer access maps and electrical grid junction points and transit schedules. Things that aren’t technically classified but aren’t exactly easy for civilians to get their hands on either.

There were also communication logs uncovered. Forum posts. Private message screenshots from social platforms. Some of them looked like recruitment threads . . . people discussing ideology, grievances, strategy. Most of the usernames were aliases. Whoever this was had created a fanbase.

With a forceful tug, the whiteboard turned on its axis and Cameron presented his work; the writing space was completely transformed into chaotic and obsessive layers of arrows and symbols and words and clusters of numbers. It made your brain hurt just staring at it all.

Pieces of paper were taped along the edges: photographs of the objects found within the young victims, screenshots of the online riddles, timelines of abductions. Blue marker circled details so many times the ink had begun to bleed through.

“This is a monoalphabetic substitution cipher,” he began, and uncapped a new colored marker with his teeth; thinking he’d need it if in case while he’s speaking with you, you could spark something in his head. “‘nd each plaintext character has been replaced by a unique ciphertext character.”

You were up on your feet and standing spaces away from him.

“The most common symbol appears about twenty-two percent of the time. In standard English text, ‘E’ has the highest probability. So that’s been declared our anchor point,” he explained. Context clues could also be used. Common pairs like ‘T-H’, ‘H-E’, ‘I-N’ often map a process of elimination.

You raised an eyebrow. “. . . Anyone consider if our suspect’s native language isn’t English?” And there, you did spark something into his mind. Cameron looked over at you and shook his head, then scoffed in embarrassment, because the line of reasoning his team’s been following collapsed like a house of cards. You just pulled the rug out from under him, and he wasn’t sure if he should thank you or punch his head through the wall. A mix of awe and frustration. “That would change everything,” he said.

Turning, “How long would it take you’ta rework that?”

“By myself?” Confident, he knew a handful of languages: “Couple’a hours.” No more than four. Cameron grabbed the eraser from the supply holder and got to wiping the entire board clean. “But let’s just assume that you’re correct ‘nd English frequencies are useless- “ You nodded. “- I’d map the symbols against . . . I dun’no, standard Spanish- or French, or Russian . . . it’s likely that the linguistic structure won’t really match English syntax.”

“. . . Can it be converted over?”

“I mean, yeah- “ he answered, and took a necessary pause. “Technically, it can. But . . . my people are in Georgia. No one here can run comparative linguistic models across multiple languages in real time- not like them.”

You uncrossed your arms and gestured toward yourself like the choice should’ve been obvious. Cameron hadn’t noticed just yet, the idea of having you as a partner for this not even registering. But when he stared over, feeling you too quiet, he saw . . . and it took nothing: “Hell- fuck no.”

Your mouth opened in shock, short chuckles coming from. “Four pairs are better than two.“ When it came, you visibly cringed inward and Cameron remained as stuck between concentration and mild annoyance, “It’s not about eyes- it’s about the brain.”

“Mm- so I lack in that department?”

“Please . . . don’t make me say it aloud.”

Your jaw dropped. A laugh burst out of you, loud and full of disbelief. What an asshole. “Incredible.” You faced toward the board for a second, then glanced over your shoulder at the rolled-up newspaper sitting on the table. The crossword page was still peeking out from the fold. Oh, of course. “Are you seriously gon’a let a journal’s crossword puzzle determine my effectiveness?”

“Yes, actually,” he said. “That is some of the most basic level material, and you couldn’t even solve it.” Your enthusiasm was cute. Commendable, even. But not enough to persuade him. “If you’d like to be useful . . . you can grab me a cup of coffee.”

Knuckles fired five knocks in rapid succession.

Cameron looked back at Harvey Noonan. Cameron believed himself to a progressive, emotionally healthy male creature: he could wholeheartedly admit that Noonan was attractive. Nicely sculpted; broad in the shoulders, tighter in the waist, lengthier in the legs. “Can I ask you something, Noonan?”

Noonan? You looked too.

And he was holding a finger to his plump, pink lips. The sign for: I’m not trying to hear it. “You can tell me about the moon and its little holes later.” Cameron has never talked about the moon. When has he ever said anything about that moon? His memory was highly sought after, he’d know if the moon came up in a conversation. Now that upset him, greatly.

Noonan made a face at you . . . You went to pack up your belongings. With that soft green lunch bag strap slung over your arm and kind grin on your face. “I’d love to hear all about the moon, Dr. Cade.” A loud breath pushed out from Noonan’s nose. Impatience; a foundational cause of many evils.

Noonan gazed outward and down the hall, like he had a dozen other places to be and was only stuck here out of obligation. That eye roll was nasty and about the same as saying: any time now.

You joined your field partner, leaving Cameron to his . . . cold lunch. The one he no longer wanted. And the whiteboard, of course. He noticed you’ve left the newspaper, crossword facing upward. And the purple gel pen. “Hmm.” Cameron picked up your pen, dropping it into his polo pocket and went to the board.

If you were here, he’d go on about a superstition. Which involved the ringing in a person’s ears; someone, somewhere, was talking about him. Using the curve of his knuckle, he gave the right temple of his head a deep twist and twirl, above the ear that was ringing. This is what he usually did to correct the invisible imbalance of the universe.

He always had a rule for it. Left ear meant one thing, right ear meant another. If it stopped after the jab, it proved the theory. If it didn’t, well, then clearly someone was still talking:

“You shouldn’t.” Noonan was very nosy. He was part of the Behavioral Analysis squad, so you supposed it made sense when a situation called for it. But casually . . . like this? You couldn’t stand it. Because suddenly it wasn’t just Noonan being observant. It was Noonan working. And you hated when he used the same skills meant for suspects and strangers on you.

“Shouldn’t what?” you asked, coming to a full stop. Noonan removed his employee ID from a pocket and raised it to the small panel. The plastic tapped once into the reader and the uppermost strip of red light flipped bright green. The lock disengaged. He pushed the door in, entered, and held for you.

“With Cameron,” he said. “I see the way you look at him.” You sneered immediately at the accusation, the telltale stiffness of someone trying a bit too hard to appear unaffected. “Noonan, out of all the crazy things you could’ve come up with- that is . . .” You trailed off, waving a hand through the air, brushing the entire idea away. “Absolutely ridiculous,” you finished.

Your eyes flicked away from him, dismissive, for this conversation had already bored you. “You analyze serial terrorists for a living and that’s the conclusion you landed on?” . . . “Maybe you should stick to them, hmm?” you added, glancing at him. “You’re off your game with normal people.”

Noonan almost took that to heart, but he could read a liar too. And unfortunately, you were so shit at it, he couldn’t contain a smile. “I highly encourage you,” he said, pleasantly, “to think. Not only about your job, but your emotions.”

Your eyes narrowed at that.

“Do you honestly believe that Cade is a provider?” he continued. “He’s in his late-twenties and wears cartoon socks.” What was wrong with his socks? You didn’t see a problem. If anything, you thought they were kind of . . . cute. It said something about him. Not everyone felt the need to sand down every piece of personality they had just to look serious in the work place.

Some people managed to keep a bit of whimsy. And honestly? That was better than becoming the kind of person who let a pack of middle-school bullies dictate the rest of their adulthood.

“Last Tuesday- blue background, little astronauts. The week before that? Dinosaurs.” Funny how he seemed to be keeping track of Cameron Cade’s socks. “A man who shows up to a federal building with prehistoric reptiles on his ankles is not exactly projecting long-term stability.”

Noonan liked you. Not in that way, but in the way work partners did. He called you his “little-big sister”. He had your back, on and off the field. He understood you in a way he knew Cameron Cade couldn’t, not now and possibly ever. Cameron was selfish. And you were too sensitive.

“So forgive me if I’m skeptical that your interest in Cameron Cade is based on sound judgment.” Noonan gave your mid-back a friendly rub before parting to unlock the next set of double doors. “He’s a dickhead- don’t be stupid.”

“Okay, relax- you don’t have to be mean,” you said, going through the opening. Noonan raised a hand, giving up. “I’m just so attracted to his mind.” The way Cameron can take something apart and put it back together, without an instruction manual. “Yeah, he’s kind’a rough . . . ‘nd kind of’a bitch. But . . .” Nothing should’ve came out after that. “- he tries. In his own way- and I guess that’s enough for me.”

Noonan sighed, clicking the down arrow of the elevator. He didn’t say a thing after that. You were a big girl- A grown woman. You can take care of yourself. He couldn’t tell you what to do, not at all.

You and Noonan could hear some thundering footfalls and heavy respiration just outside; with a hand, Noonan stopped the doors from closing and looking to his left, he could see the grey cloud of shadow flying: Emmanuel Barkley.

His hair was short, worn in an out-of-date style that had been known as Ivy League; the Harvard Clip or Princeton, in the media. He was wearing a faded Halloween tee under an old cotton blazer that looked like something grabbed from the Shit Sale rack of a men's clothing store that would shortly be out of business.

He waved and moved in, saying ‘Thank you’ and asked what everyone had eaten for lunch. For someone who had called the update meeting himself, he was running remarkably late. “Because it’s about to come up.”

——— 𑣲 Ten hours had passed since you’ve last seen Dr. Cameron Cade and another deceased child had come up miles from the abduction site.

Ten hours of running on bad coffee, packages of microwave popcorn and break-room donuts, and the slow, grinding pressure of a case that refused to move forward.

The bullpen of the Agency had begun to empty. A few agents were left scattered at their desks, typing updates through the database or emailing partnering organizations. The hallway lights were switched to their late-night setting, leaving pockets of shadow between corners and structural columns. Honestly, it was pretty spooky.

The scratching of marker against whiteboard; Cameron Cade stood alone in the laboratory. You were in the doorway, watching him uncap a new colored marker and draw away at the surface. He dug into a back-pocket and removed a cherry red lollipop.

“What are you doing?” His shoulders jerked, startled, the marker in his hand squeaking harshly at the board as it dragged a crooked line through whatever calculation he’d been halfway through. For a split second he just stood there, stiff, like a deer caught in headlights.

Funny, he was just thinking about you.

He turned his head over his shoulder, glasses gone, eyes scanning you and the weapon on your belt like he needed visual confirmation that it was really you and not some figment of sleep deprivation creeping in from the edges of his mind. Once satisfied, he turned back toward the board, posture settling again . . . though a little tighter now.

“I know you didn’t just ask me that,” he said. You sighed, long and patient, like you’d expected exactly that response: “I meant- what are you still doing here.”

Then he glanced sideways, undoing the lollipop wrapper. “What are you?” You folded your arms. “Asked you first.” He ignored that completely, shoving the crumbled wrapper into his back-pocket. Not even a reaction, just lifted the eraser, wiped away a small corner of numbers, and replaced them with something else, muttering quietly to himself as if the conversation had ended.

Typical.

You stepped further into the lab, the top-lifts of your heels sounding above the tile. Your eyes drifted briefly over the board, “Dropped something off for Noon,” you said tiredly, nodding toward the offices down the hall.

Cameron didn’t turn this time, but you saw the pause in his hand where the marker hovered over the board. Just for a moment. Then he kept writing. “He still in?” with the lollipop at the side of his mouth.

“Nope. Just me . . . don’t explode.” He wouldn’t. The marker cap closed with a loud tick and Cameron took a leap backward to stare at his work. “Hey?” you began, and he put his hand to hold off any questions. “I think you should call it a night,” continuing anyways.

“You can go,” one hand returned to the pocket of his deep-blue work pants. Tie unsecured sometime hours ago, striped cardigan thrown elsewhere. “I know I can finish this- “

“Cameron,” you spoke over him, rubbing the warm space between your brows, “can you look at me?” He sensed some desperation there, in your voice. Yeah, you weren’t leaving until he left. Cameron spun on his heels to fully face you, surrendering.

And you saw the purple gel pen in his front pocket, lollipop in hand.

“You don’t believe in me?” with a frown so fake, you were too tired at detecting it being such. “I believe in you, Cameron. Probably more than you believe in yourself . . . but it’s going on eleven- I need you alive tomorrow.” We, you meant. We, as in the team needed him alive tomorrow.

Cameron itched his nose-bridge, “It’s sweet,” he said, and pushed a hand back into his front pocket. “How you care.” Especially when he gave you no reason to. He wasn’t the nicest person, and he could admit that. “You shouldn’t- Why?” Lollipop in mouth.

The flat smile on your face downturned with his very simple ask. You weren’t sure what he meant by that, because why wouldn’t you care about him? “You are important. To me and the team.”

He jabbed a finger into his reddening lips, pressing it there as if that alone could hold the words back . . . Right. You and the team. Cameron’s hand curled into a fist at his sides before he shifted it to his hip. His gaze dropped to the floor. For a moment he just stared at the scuffed tile beneath his shoes, jaw tightening. He rocked on his heels, the movement small, his body hadn’t decided what emotion it wanted to commit to yet. “I- “ The word snagged halfway out, and he cleared his throat, eyes still glued to the ground.

His fingers flexed before curling again. “You’ll be honest with me the next time I ask, yea’?” It wasn’t accusatory. Not really.

“. . . Sounds like you’re callin’ me a liar- “ You straightened, brows pulling together as you looked at him, trying to pick apart whatever he thought he’d uncovered. “Apologize.”

“No.” Cameron tossed his lollipop into the trash can and drank off the rest of his coffee. He wiped a small mustache of hazelnut brew from his upper lip with the heel of his hand. Thumb wiping once to catch any last trace of coffee. The combination was horrendous by the way. “You want an apology- but that would imply I’ve misread this situation. And I don’t think I have.”

You stopped smiling for good now.

Everything had always been out in the open . . . visible, if only he had bothered to notice. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t some performance. And yet, somehow, it had always crashed into his awareness like nothing more than a quirk of personality to be cataloged and ignored.

You opened your mouth (more anxiety on Cameron’s part), closed it (blessed relief for Cameron), and then opened it again (renewed anxiety). “I have never hid from you, Cameron,” you said, like a confession, more uneasy. “I jus’ never said anything flat out.”

There was a pause then, and Cameron was suddenly aware of two things: you wanted to say something, tell him something . . . and he was not entirely sure he wanted to hear it.

“There hasn’t exactly been a good time to . . . talk,” you said, a little hiccup catching in your throat. “To tell you how I feel. Between work, traveling for cases . . . and the fact that you tend to insult my intelligence every other conversation- “

“- it’s not exactly the most welcoming environment.”

Cameron blinked, skin between his brows scrunching. “And that’s . . . attractive to you? Seriously?”

A quiet huff of laughter and you’re shaking your head. “No- well, not that part,” you said, gesturing lightly at him. “You being insufferable isn’t what’s doing it for me.” You liked how he challenged you.

“I have done nothing noble to deserve your attention.” Cameron smiled a little, but his face still held that grave, reflective cast . . . that look that was somehow almost sad. “’m not . . . charming. Not brave, or nice- not . . . remarkable in any way that matters. If I couldn’t see it with you- if I couldn’t even recognize it there- how could I ever recognize it if it were real? -“

“I wear . . .” Cameron stared down and then shot a hand at his balled up striped cardigan. “I dress like I’m actually still twelve.” His words were quiet and with a self-deprecating laugh. “Why- Why would you want this for yourself.” And he’s playing with his fingers; flexing and curling and twisting in on themselves in small waves. He swiped at the itch on the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand, a micro-movement that was irritation and nervous habit.

“You could wear a banana suit, ‘nd I’d still think you’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.”

Cameron went and sat on a stool. You followed a second later, slower, pulling the stool beside him and easing down. From the side, you could see it clearly now; the sheen of sweat along his temple and the mini flush in his cheek.

He reached for his glasses, fingers fumbling as he unfolded them. The small click of the hinges opening sounded louder than anything. He pushed them back onto his face, adjusting at the bridge.

“I should’ve told you sooner, but- I was jus’ . . .” you hesitated, an embarrassed breath slipping out, “y’know . . . nervous.”

He made you nervous. Not just because he was a smart-ass, but because of his confidence and self-assurance that usually kept him a step ahead of everyone else. For once, the cockiness had slipped, replaced by something awkward, weird . . . almost human in a way you hadn’t expected. You figured this was it. This was his blind spot. Romance, feelings . . . anything that couldn’t be solved or reasoned through.

It was pretty cute.

You reached up, hooking two fingers lightly beneath his chin, the touch careful. There was just enough pressure to guide him, no force, just insistence, tilting his head until his gaze had no choice but to meet yours.

Your gaze didn’t stay on his eyes. Not for long. It dipped, subtle at first, unintentional, before stopping on his lips. You didn’t even realize you were doing it until you were.

And Cameron noticed; his breath caught, tiny but there, and his eyes flickered down, tracking yours, understanding. His fingers stilled against his thigh, his body didn’t quite know what to do with this.

He leaned in. Barely at first, testing the reality of it, thinking if he moved too fast you might disappear. But you met him halfway . . . the space between shrank, breaths mingling.

It was the way his sultry "Can I?" melted at your lips after your strained "Yes." There were no amount of shots that could have injected his veins with more confidence faster than when your name fell from him like a prayer and a mini sigh was your answer.

Cameron Cade kissed you.

The taste of him . . . all over the place. Bitter and nutty, to sweet and fruity. He could feel you smiling into his lips, and he chases your mouth with the hunger of a lifetime’s deprivation. A dedicated kisser he is.

The kissed slowed. Cameron was the one who pulled back first, but only just. His forehead was brushing yours, and he’s holding your cheeks, mumbling something. A hand found one of yours; fingers locking around your wrists.

During sexual arousal, the human body goes through a number of astounding changes. Blood vessels dilate, causing a rush of blood not only to the genitalia, but also to the chest and face. The body, in preparation for aerobic activity, responds by increasing the heart rate. This increased blood flow leads to a release of neurotransmitters that makes the body more aware of even the slightest touch.

He lowered your hand over the outline of his hard cock, thick tip bulging right below his belt, leaking into his boxers under your manicure.

Must be so painful to walk around with that; the true definition of hungggg. And it did hurt, in this very moment. He started with a little peck to your forehead and soft nose, when both hands worked at his belt buckle.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” Cameron looked to you as you spoke, noticing the ways in which your fingers were rubbing patterns into his denim clad thighs, how you gently turned his stool and wedged yourself between his legs in a way that had him sitting up stronger. He swallowed the lump in his throat when you blinked up at him, eyes wide and pleading for him to let you take care of him, to make him relax, rest, and fall into the love of your wanting hands. And you knew, as he nodded his head and saw you take a swift glace at his groin, he wasn’t going to stop you.

“Too many first-times ruined.” Oh? You started by leaning forward and slowly pressing your lips to the denim of his jeans, hot breath ghosting through the fabric and hands gently gliding along his thighs. Then, you kissed at his clothed cock.

You unzipped his jeans and undid the tucking of his polo. Smoothing the tips of your fingers on the skin and over the light-brown hairs of his happy-trail, he sucked in a deep breath, not taking his eyes off you. You unattached the gun holster from your belt and passed them carefully to him, moving back so he could put them on the examination table, out of harms way.

And then you were back on him, quickly pulling his pants and briefs down to his ankles, watching as his cock bobbed against his stomach, hardening further and leaking pre-cum. “You . . . You don’t have to, really,” he said, cutely. You stood up and kissed him, “We’re doin’ this, ‘kay?” By then, you were stroking his thick cock, letting it throb in that hand as the other cupped his cheek, making him watch what you were doing.

Cameron sighed softly, eyes half-lidded while you worked; up, up, midway- up, up, down to the base, with a sneaky twist in your wrist. You bunched your delicate fingertips together at his tip, letting the widening of his cock separate them. He almost wished, as the pads of your fingers lined his length, that your fingerprints could be ingrained in his skin, if only to be claimed by you even more.

Ears ringing, he hardly heard his own voice releasing a shaky, dragged out, sh-shhhit, between gritted teeth. You played him like an instrument, and the sounds he made proved nothing less.

He tilted his neck sideways to grant you access to the rest of him that your lips and teeth couldn’t exactly reach. He removed his cute glasses. You’re sucking, licking and scraping along the now pinked skin. Shades of purple and violets will flourish on him beautifully by morning.

He was undeserving and yet eternally grateful. Swore to himself he’d spend the rest of his days trying to love you as completely as you did him.

You gently ran your thumb down his bottom lip, and he instinctively sucked it into his mouth. Your thumb pushed degradingly against the inside of his cheek, forcing his mouth to open a bit. His tongue circled your thumb, and the smallest amount of spit dribbled out the corner of his lips.

Freaky.

The lab started to smell and feel like sweat, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was experiencing everything and nothing all at once, sensations heightened yet brain numbed. Rare was the occasions that he couldn’t explain everything, and the times where he couldn’t think straight. Nowhere else was Cameron able to be completely defenseless and equally safe but in your arms . . . or hands, in this case. His guard wholeheartedly down, he cherished the privilege of being worriless and thoughtless.

The head of his cock just leaking with salty fluid, coating your hand as you jerk him. This time he has words on his tongue other than whimpers and sweet nothings to help himself get closer. “yesyesyesyes keep going yes just like that please- ” Cameron cries, his face painted with an expression of desperation and annoyance. He thrusts his hips upward, his impressive length fucking your fist.

His eyes drew open and gaze rolled back, then lazily toward you. Another tear sweetly escaped his eye, and he wished he weren’t tearing if only to see your pretty face more clearly. His eyebrows were still tense under the nearness of his undoing, dipped in a pleading pout. “Not like this . . .”

You turned your other hand into his tie and tugged, choking him . . . he’s okay with that. “What’s that mean, hmm?” you asked, still kissing his jaw. “Want me down?” No. But that, he’d love to see. He couldn’t guarantee he would hold out that long, but he definitely wanted to try. Cameron nodded, and you lowered yourself to a comfortable kneel.

He was helplessly putty in your hands, his body no longer his own, but rather a shell of just euphoria and feeling. He was floating and completely at your mercy.

With both hands on his hips, you couldn’t touch yourself. But he did see the way you rubbed your thighs together, rocking forward. It wasn’t nearly as entrancing as the way it felt to watch himself disappear in your mouth, though.

The taste of his pre-cum stained your tongue and the scent of Cameron practically overwhelmed you. His hand was at your cheek, gently angling your face so he could see his cock be swallowed up by your hot mouth, a sight that almost had him shoot steaming seed right down your throat.

He started bucking up into you then, a small moan the only warning before you were suddenly deep throating him and he was fucking your mouth, hand bracing the back of your head and his own head tossed, the long column of his neck on show for you.

It was so wet and so warm that he thought about closing his eyes and pretending it was another part of you altogether. But it seemed like such a disservice. He briefly wondered if he would ever get to experience that, too. He was so close to cumming, he didn’t think he’d get there. “I can’t- fucccck- I can’t!”

You made sure to keep eye-contact with him, like you always did, but he couldn’t decide whether to get lost in the brown of your irises or the color of your lips. Cameron needed something to hold on to, so you offered him a free hand, intertwining your fingers with his. 

Gladly he accepted your offering . . . and squeezed it, muttering a few haste thank yous.

Just as you took a minute for air, Cameron yanked you from the tile and tore through your pant bottoms. You helped, tugging the material down and stepping out, heels clacking loud. He got the lace panties away from your plush hips and he snatched open your top, four buttons went flying and crashing down elsewhere.

His lips and yours, interlocked, most avid worshipper in your shrine. It’s the best thing in all of heaven. His most prided possession; his intelligence, floats away like leaves in a stream. You are the stream.

Cameron broke away and he switched positions, getting behind and tipping you over the cool table. He dipped down, gripped the back of your leg, and perched it on the table. His fat cock’s wagging, tip drooling a shimmery stream down the mound of your cunt.

You’re wiggling your hips and he reaches down, steering his tip between your labia, looking for that slit. Up and down, he tested, collecting even more stringy webs of slick in the process. He tried with his finger . . . tucking the index inside your tacky orifice gradually transitions into two, and you let out the sweetest wail.

You were so wet — pitifully drenched that with each plunge, you were juicing the palm of his hand.

Cameron replaced his two fingers with his cock; he slid you back onto his shaft, feeling how your sticky walls were peeling apart and making a snug space for him. Perfect! So fucking perfect. His big hands knead at your ass-cheeks and he bent in, over your back, his damp forehead fallen to your shoulder.

Never has he felt anything such as this- such as you. How stupid he was, to make you wait. It was so lewd, he just rolls his eyes and kisses and apologizes into your shoulder, because he’s about to cum. With a hand pressed into the table’s surface, you used that to keep yourself upright. You turned, rounding your back more, fingers hooked into the fabric before he even realizes what’s happening . . . two quick loops of the tie around your hand and a pull.

“Gon’a cum? Hmm?” Cameron blinked dead into your eyes, nodding weakly. “uh-huh. uh-huhhh.” He hoped you’d keep talking to him. And you would. “Keep givin’t to me like that.” Cameron goes even whinier, his voice starting to strain and you feel your stomach briefly seizing from how deep he’s hitting you.

“Cam- “ was going too hard now. He did this one motion and seemed to like it way too much; pulling out only to stuff you right back full. He wanted you to feel everything . . . him and all his incredible inches. There’s not a single spot that he misses. “- Cam, baby- y-you feel s’soo fuckin’ good!”

His big hands are digging painfully into the quivering fat of your hips, urging you back back back into his strong pelvis, deep to drill his cock into your sweet spots. He almost starts full-on crying when you mumble you might cum. “Don’t look away from me- ngggh . . . p-please,” Cameron begged.

Seriously, by accident, you tugged at his burgundy red tie, and it tightened harshly around his throat, pressing into the space just beneath his jaw. Not enough to cut off air completely, but enough to disrupt it; to make his breath skip, shoulders tensing as instinct kicks in. The pressure nudges right up the sides of his neck, where the pulse sits, quick and reactive under your grip.

His head bobbed from the force, exposing more of his throat without meaning to. You can feel the shift, the way his body goes rigid for a second, caught between surprise and the sudden realization of how close that pressure is to something vital. It was enough to take him over.

With an obscene POP, Cameron ripped out from your sopping hole just in time, a cry of ecstasy breaking from his lips. The first spurt of thick, viscid steaming cum burst through and fell SPLAT over your hips. He angled downward, so the rest launched atop your used cunt.

Cameron dropped his head to the small of your back, the comedown was dizzying. He was a mess crumbling right behind you and he gnaws on his lip. With cute exaggerated deep breaths, he’s languidly spilling out yet another hot load of cum down your thighs. Gooey white strips along the back of your leg like glue.

He suddenly understood how a star must feel when it dies. How it collapses in on itself and explodes outwardly at the same time, the mass of energy created so enormous it can create a black hole. He remembered the French calling an orgasm ‘la petite mort’, or ‘the little death’ and couldn’t agree more.

[alaiasole]

pretty wife problems.

→ eren x black fem reader | fluff | established relationship + married au

synopsis: eren knows his wife is beautiful. he’s reminded of it constantly on this bali trip especially when other people notice too. a flirty tour guide at mount batur has him feeling a little possessive.

warnings: light jealousy, married couple fluff, explicit smut, riding, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, dirty talk

a/n: this for @cheesesticksandhoney i hope you like it <333 i also got inspiration from the song jealous by nick jonas as requested

eren knows he has a beautiful wife

he knows.

but that doesn’t stop the quiet twist in his chest every time someone else notices it too.

this bali trip was supposed to be just the two of you sun-soaked days, quiet nights, and zero responsibilities. instead, eren keeps getting reminded how stunning you are, and how the rest of the world sees it just as clearly.

today’s first excursion is mount batur. the air is warm and humid, thick with the scent of earth and distant incense from nearby temples. volcanic steam rises in soft curls against the bright sky as your group makes its way up the trail. you’re practically glowing beside him, eyes wide with curiosity, leggings hugging your curves and one of his oversized shirts tied at your waist.

the tour guide some tall, friendly guy with an easy smile keeps talking, pointing out different rock formations.

“mount batur is still an active volcano,” he explains. “it last erupted in 2000, but the caldera lake below us is over a thousand years old. the balinese people consider this place sacred home to the goddess of the lake, dewi danu.”

you tilt your head, genuinely fascinated. “wait, so people actually cook breakfast with the steam from the volcano?”

the guide laughs warmly. “yes! you’ll see when we get closer to the top. the locals use the geothermal heat to boil eggs and even make babi guling sometimes. it’s one of the coolest things about living near an active volcano.”

“oh my god, that’s so cool.”

eren glances over at you. you’re asking question after question, completely in your element, and the guide is happily answering every single one. he can’t even be annoyed at that. you get excited over everything, and it’s one of the things he loves most about you.

still…

the guy sure is smiling a lot.

the trail gets steeper. loose rocks shift underfoot.

“careful,” the guide says, reaching a hand toward you as the path narrows. “this part can be tricky. the volcano’s last major eruption in 1963 actually reshaped a lot of this landscape.”

before eren can step forward, you’ve already taken the offered hand for half a second to steady yourself over the uneven ground.

“…thanks!”

“my pleasure.”

eren stares at the back of the guide’s head.

really?

he knows it’s literally the man’s job. he knows. doesn’t mean he has to enjoy watching another guy hold your hand even for a second.

i was right there.

i have hands too.

very capable hands.

you dust the dirt off your leggings and continue walking like nothing happened, already asking another question about the temple at the base of the mountain and its connection to the volcano’s spiritual significance.

eren catches up quickly, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer than necessary.

the next day, eren told himself yesterday was just yesterday.

one overly friendly guide. a coincidence. that was all.

today would be better.

you guys are visiting uluwatu temple dramatic cliffs, ocean views, and ancient balinese architecture perched high above the sea. the air smelled like salt and frangipani, and the sun warmed everything in that perfect bali glow.

eren wanted to enjoy it. he really did.

but the moment the new guide greeted the group and somehow ended up walking right beside you within the first five minutes, that familiar pout started creeping back in.

“…and this part here,” the guide said, smiling warmly at you, “is one of the oldest sections of the temple. it survived multiple earthquakes and even a major fire in the 1800s.”

you looked up in awe, eyes sparkling. “seriously? it’s still standing after all this time?”

“it is. the balinese believe the gods protect it.”

“that’s so beautiful.”

eren watched the exchange from half a step behind.

of course.

you asked another question about the monkey forest nearby and the temple’s connection to the sea goddess. the guide answered enthusiastically, walking a little closer than eren liked.

you smiled.

the guide smiled back.

eren looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose.

not again.

as the group continued through the temple grounds, he caught more people glancing your way. some looked twice. one guy nearly walked into a low stone wall because he was too busy staring. another tourist fumbled his phone while looking at you trying to take it out of his pocket.

eren sighed internally.

i know she’s beautiful.

trust me. i know.

but does everybody else have to know too?

without saying a word, he slipped his fingers between yours, holding your hand a little tighter than usual.

you looked over at him. “hm?”

“nothing.”

“you sure?”

“yep.”

five minutes later, his arm had found its way around your shoulders. a few minutes after that, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek while the guide was busy explaining another shrine.

you laughed softly. “what was that for?”

“felt like it.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “you’ve been really clingy today.”

“i have not.”

“you literally haven’t let go of my hand since we got here.”

“…it’s crowded.”

“eren.”

“what?”

you smiled to yourself, squeezing his hand. “you’re jealous.”

“i’m observant.”

“mm-hmm.”

“i’m protecting my wife.”

“from who?”

he glanced around at the handful of tourists pretending not to stare, at the guide who kept finding reasons to talk directly to you.

“…everybody.”

you bit back a laugh, leaning into his side as you kept walking. eren’s arm stayed firmly around you, his thumb brushing your waist in slow, possessive circles.

he knew he was being a little ridiculous.

but with the way the sunlight kissed your skin and the ocean breeze played with your hair, making you look like you belonged on the cover of a romance novel… he couldn’t help it.

my wife.

mine.

and he was more than happy to remind the entire island of that today.

back at the villa, the afternoon light filtered softly through the open balcony doors, carrying the sound of waves and the faint scent of frangipani.

eren had already showered. he sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but loose black shorts, elbows on his knees, replaying the last two days in his head.

she’s beautiful. of course people look.

it’s not her fault.

it’s really not a big deal… right?

he tried to calm himself down. people look at pretty women. that’s just life. as long as no one actually approached her she was his wife, after all it shouldn’t matter.

but the more he thought about it, the more it irritated him. the smiles. the lingering glances. the way that guide kept finding reasons to stand next to her.

damn.

he ran a hand over his face, sighing.

the bathroom door opened.

you stepped out, skin still glowing from the shower, wrapped in a soft white robe. your boho braids were pulled up into a bun framing your face. you looked effortlessly beautiful relaxed, warm, and completely his.

eren lost his train of thought completely.

“whoa…”

you caught his stare and smiled, tilting your head. “what?”

he didn’t answer right away. just drank you in. then he leaned forward a little on the edge of the bed.

“come here.”

you walked over slowly, stopping between his spread legs. eren looked up at you like you were the only thing in the world.

“wow,” he murmured, hands sliding up the back of your thighs.

you leaned down and kissed him softly. he kissed you back, deep and slow, one hand cupping the side of your face.

you pulled back just enough to tease, “you like what you see?”

“yeah… i do.” his voice was low, sincere. “i love what i see.”

you raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “you don’t feel any type of way anymore?”

eren let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “hell no. i know i see you every day. i know i’m the one married to you.”

“mhm. thought so.”

you kissed him again, deeper this time. eren groaned softly into your mouth, hands tightening on your thighs. as the kiss grew hotter, you stood up straighter between his legs. he reached for the tie of your robe and gave it a gentle tug. the robe slipped open and fell to the floor in a soft heap, leaving you completely naked in front of him.

“oh my gosh…” he breathed, eyes roaming over your body like he was seeing you for the first time. “baby…”

you giggled, feeling both shy and powerful under his gaze. you pushed gently on his chest until he leaned back on the bed. then you climbed on top of him, straddling his lap.

eren’s hands immediately went to your ass, gripping firmly as you leaned down to kiss him again. the kiss turned messy fast tongues sliding, breaths mingling, little moans escaping. you started grinding slowly on him, feeling how hard he already was under the thin fabric of his shorts. he wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and the friction made both of you groan.

“fuck…” he muttered against your lips, hands squeezing your ass as he guided your movements, rocking you against him harder.

you kept grinding, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles while making out with him like you had all the time in the world. his shorts did nothing to hide how much he wanted you. every roll of your hips pulled desperate little sounds from both of you.

eren kissed you like he was trying to pour every bit of that lingering jealousy and love into it deep, hungry, and completely wrapped up in you.

you kept grinding on him, rolling your hips in slow, teasing circles, feeling how hard and ready he was beneath the thin fabric of his shorts. the friction was driving both of you crazy.

with a soft, mischievous smile, you reached down and tugged his shorts down. eren lifted his hips to help you, groaning as his cock sprang free, thick and heavy against his stomach.

“oh shit…” he breathed, eyes dark as he watched you.

you wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly a few times before lining him up. you sank down inch by inch, gasping at the stretch. he was so big you had to pause halfway, breathing through the intense fullness, adjusting to the way he filled you completely.

“easy, baby,” eren murmured, hands gripping your hips. “take your time. that’s it… just like that. you feel so fucking good already.”

once you were fully seated, you stayed there for a moment, both of you breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. then you started to ride him.

slow at first. deep rolls of your hips that had you moaning softly. eren groaned, head falling back against the bed as he helped guide you, hands squeezing your ass.

“fuck, look at you,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked. “riding me so pretty. you like how deep i am, baby? huh?”

“yes… oh my, eren,” you moaned, eyes rolling back as you picked up the pace. every bounce sent sparks through your whole body. he felt incredible thick, hard, hitting every perfect spot.

he started helping you more, bouncing you on his dick with strong hands, thrusting up to meet you. the wet, filthy sounds of skin slapping filled the room along with your moans.

“that’s my girl,” he groaned, eyes locked on where you two were connected. “look at you taking all of me. so wet… so fucking tight. you’re creaming all over me, baby. shit.”

your head fell back, moans getting louder as the pleasure built fast. eren sat up slightly, one arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, sucking on your neck while he fucked you harder from below.

“you close already?” he whispered hotly against your skin. “i can feel you squeezing me. go ahead, baby. cum on this dick. let me feel it.”

you came hard with a broken cry of his name, body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed through you. eren groaned at the feeling of you pulsing around him, but he didn’t stop he fucked you through it, drawing out every last tremor.

before you could catch your breath, he flipped you over onto your back. he hovered over you, eyes dark and hungry.

eren pushed back inside you in one smooth thrust, your legs folding up toward your chest as he leaned over you. he started pounding into you deep and hard, the new angle making you see stars.

“oh—” you moaned, hands flying up to grip the back of his neck. his head dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin as he fucked you relentlessly.

“feel so good,” he groaned against your neck. “this pussy is mine, baby. all mine.”

your moans turned into desperate cries. the pressure built fast again, overwhelming and intense. eren could feel it the way you clenched around him, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.

“you’re close again, aren’t you?” he panted. “go ahead, baby. cum for me. squirt on this dick. i want to feel it.”

you came hard, squirting around him with a loud, broken moan. your whole body shook as the orgasm ripped through you. eren pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast as he watched you fall apart.

“shit—fuck, you look so good,” he groaned, head tilted back, muscles flexing as he stroked himself over you.

he came with a deep, guttural moan, thick ropes of cum landing across your breasts and stomach. he kept stroking himself through it, breathless and sexy, until he was spent.

for a moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing.

eren looked down at you, eyes soft and full of love despite the heat.

“damn, baby…” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you slow and deep.

eren pulled back from the kiss, breathing hard, eyes soft and full of love as he stared down at you. for a second, everything felt perfect just the two of you, tangled and warm.

then you wrinkled your nose.

“ew, eren,” you laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “wipe your cum off of me. i literally just showered and now i’m all sticky!”

he blinked, then burst out laughing, the sound deep and genuine.

“my bad, baby,” he said, still chuckling as he went get a warm cloth in the bathroom.

“i got you.”

he cleaned you up carefully, gentle and thorough, pressing soft kisses to your stomach and between your breasts as he went. once you were clean, he went into the bathroom washing the cloth hanging it ,he came back laying on the bed next to you

holding you close against his chest.

you nestled into him, legs tangled, one hand resting over his heart.

after a comfortable silence, you tilted your head up. “you not jealous anymore?”

eren smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “nah. i’m good.”

“you sure?”

“yeah. i know who you come home to every night.”

you both stayed quiet for a moment, just enjoying the sound of the ocean outside and each other’s warmth.

then eren’s voice broke the silence again, a little too casual.

“…but real talk though. did you think that guide was cute?”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes wide. “eren! oh my gosh.”

he grinned, trying (and failing) to look innocent. “what? i’m just asking.”

you laughed, swatting his chest. “you are so annoying. no, i did not think he was cute. i was literally just asking questions.”

“mhm.”

“you’re jealous again already?”

“i’m not jealous,” he said, pulling you back down and burying his face in your neck. “i’m… observant.”

you giggled, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “yeah, okay, observant.”

eren smiled against your skin, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

“that’s my wife,” he mumbled happily.

and just like that, with your laughter filling the room and the bali breeze drifting through the open doors, everything felt exactly right.

[hcneymooners]

⬩dark romance pazzi 02. ⋮ snippet ii.

note: i can't help spoiling you, so i'm back with another snippet. this is undoubtedly one of my favorite scenes; i wrote it while old jazz drifted in from another room. something about that dichotomy just does me in.

i'm so excited about this fic, though it may end up being two bulk chapters because parts 1–3 are already 18k altogether and still unfinished, while parts 4–6 are shaping up to be another 12–15k by the end. this is also shamelessly for @graybuckets, @wecrytogether, & @peach4pazzi, who are keeping me highly motivated.

anyway, love you. eat your heart out. xx

sometimes paige had a bad feeling inside her, like biting into your cheek. and then again, on purpose, to see if it still would hurt the second time.

she knew it was an innate part of her, could hear it like a snake's moan, and it crawled over her tonight in the midst of her first bath in three years, water gone lukewarm around her, badly-dyed wheat of her hair turned something closer to strawberry jam where the bleach had fought the old color and lost. a bucket was overturned at the tub's edge from where she'd tipped it, rinsing herself too quickly, too roughly, skin raw and red; punishment chosen whenever the bad feeling came.

paige didn't get up to fix it.

she liked looking at the mess a little.

she sat with her knees drawn up, chin resting on them, and let herself go back, the way the bath always seemed to invite her to go back, water being the one place her body had never quite had to follow the rules.

she lay back fully after a moment, flaxen hair like sea moss against her back, pale neck glinting as she rolled it to the side; bare sign of submission. outside the bathroom, mar and niki’s date night playlist was droning on and on. a heavily reverbed voice of the forties crooned to her, nearly cajoling her into allowing entrance to the wave of sleep she’d felt lapping at her chest since lunch. she brought a hand up to her collarbones, pushing down, the bones so prominent it felt as though—with a little more applied pressure—she could’ve fissured the skin, dug her fingers in, and pulled it out; white necklace.

once paige had had a best friend she liked so much it made her mean, her mouth chalky with the rage. the rage was exceptional when the girl rolled her skirt up at the waist the way the rest of the others did, showing off for boys who didn't deserve the effort. she was supposed to be better than that, different than the rest. so, paige would yank it back down by the hem, a hard yank, sending the girl reeling. she'd pull it down, and the girl’d pull it back, a game of tug-of-war: up, down, up, down, smack!

paige would be struck away, her friend finally having shoved her off, furious. then, it would be rolled up again. and so it went. and every time, paige would just stand there, strangely satisfied, as though she'd won something even though she'd clearly lost. she didn't understand it then, what it meant to want a girl so badly you wanted to snuff her right out. she'd thought it was just the wanting-to-win kind of feeling, the kind you got over a board game or a race down the hall, some clean, uncomplicated hunger for a thing to go her way.

she was thirteen. she didn’t have the vocabulary yet for the specific, awful tenderness of wanting another’s attention so completely that the wanting curdled, at its furthest edge; curdled into something that looked, if you squinted, a lot like wanting to hurt them a little. not kill them, of course, just…dent them, leave a thumbprint—criminal trace—in a hiding place that only they’d notice later, in the shower, throat choked in horror as they wondered - paige, in on the secret.

she knew the words now. she just knew better than to say it out loud, in the open, even if she was the only animal in the field. despite what her mother thought, paige did have a base level of self-preservation, and she knew speaking it aloud would make it sound worse than it was, and they’d send her somewhere. she happened to think it really wasn’t all that bad, actually.

it was just attention. everybody wanted attention.

she just wanted it a bit more than other people, and possibly with slightly more follow-through.

and now that her mouth had covered azzi’s, now that her hand had felt azzi’s stomach jump like a rabbit startled awake, some old ache of azzi’s own finally getting out from wherever she kept it locked, “m-word” rising up-up-up—and paige hadn't wanted to hurt her, not really; that part's important, she'd tell you if you asked, though you'd be forgiven for not entirely believing her. no, paige didn’t want to quell her at all.

that was never it, had never once been it.

she just wanted to bring azzi to her knees. just wanted to show her the effort she’d made, wanted her to see the work. nobody had handed paige a shovel for any of this. she’d dug the whole thing herself, on her hands and knees, and she wanted azzi to see the hole before she fell into it face-first, wanted her to know exactly whose hands had made it.

you didn't get to keep something by wanting it once, hard. you kept it by coming back and back and back until the desire had worn a groove into the bone that only you, as the socket, would fit; nobody else’s hands would ever quite fit it again.

the vision had been strong since early september, and azzi just hadn’t seen it. paige liked that part best, if she was honest. the blind spot, the places where azzi couldn’t see it, dim-sighted and scrabbling. because that’s where paige fit.

paige like a revelator; paige with her mouth on the thin, biteable skin of azzi’s inner thigh, tactile learner, learning her way through; paige, unbearable; paige with her mouth at the back of azzi’s neck, soft and unprotected, keeping it safe under the delve of her teeth, scruffing her.

her grandfather trapped a fox once, out past the tree line at the main estate, and it screamed. and that scream—high and human, more furious than hurt, outrage borne of the misguided belief that it couldn’t have ever been caught. paige thought about that sound sometimes, at inconvenient moments, and wondered, with the same colorless curiosity she brought to most of her worst thoughts, whether azzi would sound anything like it, someday, once paige finally got her cornered all the way.

if azzi would sound anything like that when she was cumming, hips held down by the staying power of paige’s hand, bunny-eye-pink squeeze.

paige didn't chase the thought any further than that. and it wasn’t because it scared her, but more because she liked having somewhere left to go. most things lost the magic when overly interrogated.

the water had gone properly cold now. she stayed soaked in it anyway, same thing: knees drawn up, chin resting on them, watching the strands of her hair, strawberry-blonde, fan out around her like something spilled; sat with the bad feeling.

sat with the bad feeling and letting it keep her company, the way she always had, the way she suspected she always would. she thought that wanting someone this much was supposed to frighten her. she thought, then—without much alarm—that if this was supposed to be the part where she felt the terror and guilt, nobody had alerted her body yet.

it was strange that it mostly just felt like coming home to a house she’d built herself, brick by brick, with her own two hands. and nobody, not one single person in her whole life—if they even knew of it—had ever once thought to take the keys away from her.

she supposed they knew better. she figured that was probably part of the problem, and that problem was really part of a set.

but once, before all those rocks came tumbling down on him, her father had told her: when you really love someone, when you feel that click? that’s them loving you back. and when they love you back, nothing else tends to really matter.

and, so, maybe she did have a problem, a set or two, but birthright, really. she figured she’d deal with it some other day.

there was a click of the grammophone out in the hall - niki had a real one, how droll - and a fresh choir of voices bloomed, wedging underneath the door, the warble rattling at the window panes. paige closed her eyes, one hand coming up to her left to grip the tub's slick rim.

and when they love you back, nothing else tends to really matter.

everything else was just window dressing.

she lazed down straight to the bottom, the soap and cold swallowing her with an eager mouth.

she’d never been any good at floating.

her mother had long been terrorized by the fear that she’d drown.

© hcneymooners.

[neighbourscat]

dark skin and baby pink. || 𝘵𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘲 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . bestfriend from overseas!tyriq withers X royal descendant!black!fem!reader. ||

+ 𓍼 synopsis. a princess learning how to belong to a crown. a boy from home who could never leave you be. he loves you in a way that has no future, but that does not stop him from wanting.

+ 𓍼 what to expect. gentle-giant tyriq withers! established best-friendship. they’ve known each other forever. reader has a thing for bows! loosely inspired by bridgerton: the netflix television series , more solely inspired by the princess diaries. i really love writing black!women in poofy dresses! wordcount :: 10.9k++ (will be changing the text color when i wake up!) (this should’ve been out days before christmas, sigh)

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . .. . second person reading-perspective! inexperienced!reader , somewhat experienced!tyriq withers. mutual pining , light power imbalance , explicit language , nipple simulation , descriptions of male erection .. tyriq’s so horny he may actually explode , interruption but eventual smut :: unprotected sex , squirting, “my God” used during sexual activity, fingering & more.

🎧 :: ‘ meet me in the pale moonlight , lana del rey ‘ & ‘ it isn’t perfect but it might be , olivia dean ‘ & ‘ maybe it’s you , godsuia ‘ & ‘ lovers , anna of the north ‘ & ‘ finally over it , summer walker ‘

─── To be a princess .. is to know which spoon to use.

Which spoon? Spoons. Yes, there are multiple .. for a different use. So many spoons to choose from; assorted to the right-hand side of you. Dessert Spoon. Soup Spoon. Teaspoon. Dinner Spoon; that one sat a third away from the main plate. No! Service plate. Yeah. Number 12 in the Table Etiquette section of your Welcome Home! pamphlet.

Or .. was it .. Number 10? Number 10 through 12 were plates. Three plates .. so unnecessary, but a norm.

Their norm. Your supposed new norm.

You held your breath; mindful of your cheeks, not allowing them to puff and bubble out. You inched for the Soup Spoon, confident .. then changed direction, gazing about the closet bit of table and realising that the Soup Spoon, is in fact, not the correct spoon. Incorrect flatware, period.

It was a fork. One of the forks. Number 8. Fish Fork. Fish? A fork .. for a piece of fish? Slimmer body, wider handle, and only three spikes, you recalled.

That’s when you heard a soft: “Princess.” On one side of your chair stood a Butler; his name unknown, you were only familiar with one. The one who always retrieved your late-night sweet and savoury treats. One night, he entered your hall with a cart, just in case you wanted extras of anything. Yeah .. you had an entire hallway dedicated to you and your new belongings.

But, this one, he held a platter. On the other side of your chair, a Plongeur removed plate Number 10 and Number 11 from Number 12.

“Thank you.” The Plongeur left in silence, not bothering to turn his head and give a simple grin in response. You returned your face to the table, having remembered reading that ‘physically separating from guests was a serious No-No.’ You raised a cautious hand in apology to your grandmother, who sat straight ahead, eyeing you; not in that harsh way though, she knew adaptation would take some time.

“Enjoy, Princess,” the Butler. And, of course, you thanked him with a sweet wave. You found your grandmother’s face again and she .. looked fine. Okay with that interaction. Then, with her Number 15, aka the Fish Knife, she pointed short to her plate; prompting you to your own plate:

King Fish roasted in butter, served with Provençale Sauce.

The first bite sent you over the moon; having shrunk into the velvet, eyes rolling and lids fluttering. The Queen, your grandmother, watched the entire performance .. not embarrassed, but quite concerned; this might’ve been an actual seizure taking place.

After a few more bites and mini groans, you gave your posture a reset, relieving your grandmother of that stress. She thanked the heavens above that you weren’t seizing, just being histrionic. Didn’t take long before you were fidgeting again; a little dance shimmy. Deep brown curls bouncing as you rocked side-to-side, uncaring and internally satisfied.

A Butler had gone to your grandmother’s left, voice polite and no more than a whisper so that only she could hear. He informed her of the most recent development, which stood right outside of the palace in snow. She gracefully wiped a napkin over her lips and put up a hand that said: ‘Go right ahead’.

You watched the Butler circle around the beautiful meal table with worried eyes, the potato chunks went unchewed at your cheeks. Looking like a helpless chipmunk, the tall man took place beside and bent, generous of his tone: “Your visitor’s flight has concluded -“

The clash of the Fish Fork startled every being, even the Butler, though he knew it was coming. “Noo,” you coughed out, “You’re lyinnngg.” He offered a white-gloved hand and you happily took hold .. after getting three more nibbles in. “Wha- No,” through sloppy, unladylike munches. “What time’d -“ more crunching. “- he touch down? I .. tried texting him, like, over -“ swallowing. “- a bajillion times.” No cellphones were allowed during gatherings, but you made sure to get some messages in before the sitting.

“Service is not available while overseas .. Princess,” made you feel slightly idiotic for not having understood that sooner. It was common sense. On your end of the phone line, it looked as if you were checking in and speaking to yourself for about a day and a half. “Which will make catching up a true delight.”

The clacks of your newest pair of heels fell mute along the wonderfully carpeted staircase path, glittering as one with the scattered rhinestones buried in the fabric of your short puff sleeves and the dress’ lace trim accents. “Would you hate me?”

No answer, though not surprised. You guessed that called for a rewording. “If we spent most of our formative years together, right? And .. uhm .. On’a random mid-December afternoon, I’ve got’a leave for a country - my country, that I know absolutely nothing about, and I don’t send a call or text to inform of that departure, would you hate me?”

He looked at you a moment longer, unable to suppress the smile as he studied your still-young features; so strongly resembling a line of dramatic royals that’ve come before. He faced up-ahead.

A freezing whoosh, coming out of nowhere, just about knocked you off your feet. You held your arms over your chest, skirt fluid and swimming. “Can we do something about that ..? Anythin’ at all? This air is ..” was when you followed his sight.

There he was; adorned in brown and cream white snow-gear, your family’s crest sewn onto the left breast pocket, a special gift from the palace. He was covered in clumps of winter snowflakes, now being asked to remove his bulky boots. Three housekeepers whipped out from a side door; one picked up his duffel bag, one snatched his boots and winter cap and the other removed the jacket from his back. The three young women skedaddled beyond a different door, using a back-set of stairs to get to the guest room and unload his items.

As you took place before him, mouth open and ready to spew out the rehearsed apology .. his arms just folded over your shoulders, certain and safe. He left you with no gap, no wiggle room. Your body lagged, hands hovering uselessly at his sides, fingers flexing once, then again, caught pooling in guilt.

Your eyes drifted elsewhere, spotting an elder housekeeper admiring the exchange from afar. Soft wave and a shaky smile you presented, and remained stuck, because this wasn’t something you felt you’ve earned.

“You look gorgeous ..” and there, whatever stiffness you were clinging to gives way all at once; tension drained from your frame wholly. That’s when you let your hands pat down on his backside properly, rubbing up and down kindly. “.. ‘n you smell soo good.”

You could feel him smiling into your cheek, whispering .. sweet somethings, his nose scrunching and wiggling about. It tickled. Then, he pulled back, reluctant to break the spell. His hands hung at your arms longer than necessary before dropping away, and tilting his head back .. the grandeur tackling in from every corner. “Woaaaah,” he purred.

With a knowing curl to your mouth, “Hungry?” Remembering the unfinished meal, you clapped your hands together, excitedly; the single diamond ring sparkling. “There’s this fish upstairs, ‘nd oh-my-gosh, it’s insane .. I think you’d really like it.”

He shook his head, a quiet apology forming on his lips. “All they did was feed me on that plane.” Which was to say: there’d been a buffet, a beverage station, and a dessert bar .. He was a growing college junior with very little self-control. Saying no had never stood a chance. “My body’s done for the night,” he added, “I’m good tho’, fa’real.”

Then, came the sound of clinking heels, inching closer and closer. Instinctively, you trodded to Tyriq’s side; giving Lady Cussen the opportunity to observe him utterly.

“Welcome .. Mr. Withers.” LADY MÓRAG CUSSEN, with that pleasing-to-the-ear, awfully educated Scottish accent. She wore a deep, royal-purple dress. Those grey roots blended into her blonde hair perfectly; gelled back into an extremely neat, but messy up-do, with three purple feathers sticking from that hairband. This was the Queen’s most trusted companion; who has now taken on the role as your wardrobe and jewelry manager. She also provided aided during your ‘princess lessons’ for tranquil transition.

“Jus’ Tyriq ‘s fine,” he said, glancing down at you for approval; asking without asking: Appropriate? Your little encouraging thumbs-up and quiet nod that said, that was okay, offered much comfort.

“I trust the journey treated you well .. Tyriq.” Lady Cussen turned and gestured toward the carpeted staircase, clearly indicating that only he should follow. Of this palace, such courtesies were more than custom, they were expectation. Your grandmother valued cleanliness above all else, and no guest, no matter how weary, was exempt from that regard.

A fresh shower.

With a hand raised, you let your fingers trace the air in a light yet playful farewell.

─── Ice-cream scoops on top of ice-cream scoops. Birthday Cake, Bourbon On The Rocks, Macadamia Nut, Lemon n’ Lime, Butter Pecan, Cotton Candy, Cherry Cheesecake, Rocky Road, Mint Choco, Cookies n’ Cream, and the other six you couldn’t put a name to.

The enormous bowl rested between you and Tyriq (who was in fact not done for the night), ice-cream still perfectly solid despite the twelve minutes that’ve passed. You made sure he had a Dessert Spoon in hand, practice made progress. You were saving the explanation as to why there were so many spoon options for another time. He asked you the same question you’d ask your grandmother: “A spoon is a spoon - who needs ten?”

Conversation flowed as well as it always did, mostly centered on you tonight .. which wasn’t too shocking. After all, this royal world was a staggering leap from your life back in North America. It was quite endearing how curious he had been. Heartwarming, rather.

In a way, he was your only real friend now. The only one who had truly noticed your absence and felt the space you left behind. Being a junior now, you’ve lost touch with all the girls you’d grown close to at the start of freshman year. You’d heard the warnings .. how that first-year friend group inevitably tumbled apart .. but you didn’t want to believe that, convinced that the girls you shared a suite with were the ones that would be together on your bridal-team.

How terribly mistaken you had been.

“How’s your mom? .. She hate me?” It was the question you’d been itching to get out of the way. You plucked the ball of Mint Choco, saying, “And be honest, ‘kay? I’d hate me too.” Because Mama Withers had been such a constant, nurturing presence in your life, the very thought of disappointing her felt devastating.

“She’s doing well - ‘nd that .. that’s impossible.” Tyriq dug his spoon into the ball of Cherry Cheesecake and let it rest there. “You know that.” And he knew that. Mama Withers had always seen the best in you, and had always known how peaceful and good of an influence you were for her son.

He continued, “She kept askin’ about you and I jus’ .. I said you went away early for break. With friends.” A shrug. Tyriq yanked the spoon free by its handle and dipped it into the Cookies n’ Cream.

“.. Thanks,” softly, though the reassurance only went so far. You leaned forward anyway .. elbows pressing into the table, chin settling into your palms, princess table etiquette thoroughly abandoned. “She believed it?”

“Not really,” he said after another spoonful, lips smacked together. “She knows you’re no good with money .. ‘n that you don’t have friends.”

Tyriq didn’t look at you right away, busying himself with the bowl as if giving you space to accept it. There was a small twist in your expression, but you didn’t correct him. Because that had been true.

He rolled the spoon between his fingers, eyes dropping to the table instead of meeting yours. “I thought I was onto somethin’. Sorry for that, seriously.”

You sighed deeply. “Well .. it’s not a lie.” The guilt crept back in, ice-cream doing very little to make you feel better. “I can’t save money, you are my only friend, and I .. am away.” Tyriq watched as you tried, and failed, to lick the smile off your lips. “I just didn’t let you know where.”

Tyriq’s spoon dipped back into the ice cream, absentminded, carving a shallow groove through the surface. Quiet, “So .. how long you think this’ll be for?”

You’d asked it already .. asked your grandmother, in a moment when there had been no one around. How long would this arrangement last? How long before your life stopped being yours altogether?

She hadn’t given you a straight answer. Only a look .. a reminder of responsibility and patience. We’ll see, she had said. As if that were something solid enough to hold onto.

“I wish I knew.” With a smile he easily recognized as fake. You let your lips flatten and spoon take on the slope of Macadamia Nut, one of your favorites. “But like .. I can’t be kept here,” you said, surely, spoon digging into more Butter Pecan. “She can’t make me stay - can’t make me run’a country if I don’t wanna.” After swiping the spoon clean, you used it as a pointer, “I think though .. if she knew me, like .. actually knew me -“ Already shaking your head and going for more. “- I would not be crowned.”

“No, no, I think you’re capable - more than capable.”

You ignored, because that’s what he was supposed to say. The nice thing. The don’t make her feel worse thing. He did that girly thing well; got all soft and supportive and easy-to-talk-to. “And, look .. I’m sure she won’t jus’ push you out of the carriage, right? She’ll keep building you up, gettin’ you comfortable .. more tea-parties, I supposeeee.” His accent of Lady Cussen was .. incredibly horrid, to put it simply, but it got a laugh out of you.

“Then .. you’ll be ready.”

And seeing how your tense shoulders unraveled and the tell-tale crinkle between your eyebrows unknot, he scooted his chair close, a knee barely kissing your own. “I know you .. You will be ready,” he soothed, pretty-eyes that of lasers, grilling your face to Well-Done.

That was when a dollop of ice cream betrayed you .. slipping from the spoon, landing on your top, then sliding straight down into your lap. Lucky for you, it was late and a change of clothes for bed was on your list of must-do. “Can I, uhm .. ask you to take this into the kitchen?” You were still holding up the offending scoop. “There’s a huge freezer in the back .. a walk-in. Drop it off, meet me in mine? If you lose your way, find a suit.” Aka a Butler.

He gave an eager nod, a small grin making his mouth twist up. You stood and hurried, baby-blue cloth swishing behind. Tyriq started toward the kitchen, both spoons in hand and ice-cream precariously balanced.

It was late and the kitchen’s usual thrash of activity was no more. Tyriq made his way through, spotting the large walk-in freezer tucked in the far back as you said. Its stainless steel doors shimmered under the strips of darkened light.

He opened it and placed the ice cream on a shelf, making sure it was secure and wouldn’t topple over.

Content that the ice cream was safe, he closed the freezer and wiped his hands on a nearby towel. Task completed. He turned to leave, planning his route back to your hall. The thought of being with you in your new space .. pushed him to move a little faster, almost jogging.

Even in the vastness of this palace, the small, ordinary mission, was made special simply because it was for you. And he’d do more for you. Anything, if you had asked. Better than any help this palace offered.

The passageway seemed to go on forever, shadowed and stuffy with the weight of pristine history. He swept by sitting rooms and heavy doors that led to wings he’d never have the chance to explore. Tyriq kept his focus, again, the thought of you waiting at the end of it overpowered.

There were portraits. Portraits of long-dead ancestors tacked onto the walls, their eyes painted so intensely it felt as though they tracked his every step. He stared over his back, again and again, until he came to the final piece. It froze him. Because while you had favoured the faces of those framed even the furthest back, this one struck differently .. her features paralleled yours in a way that was literally uncanny.

It might’ve just been you, he assumed.

Tyriq continued down what was left of the passageway and turned the corner. The next wasn’t as long or as dim as the one previous, but just as ornate.

Pale ivory walls loom on either side, lavishly adorned with gold carvings; scrollwork, florals, and your family crest. He reached for a fluffed, blush-toned drape that spilled from an open doorway. He pushed the folds and was peeking into your library.

At the far end, another chandelier marked the continuation of your space beyond, promising a room even more private.

Like the walls, your set of double doors were framed in gold twirling vines, curling acanthus leaves, and slender rosettes. Before he could give his signature three knocks, a voice called from down the way.

He twisted his neck and saw what you had referred to as a suit. Suits. Multiple, standing at the end of your cloud-rich hall, their hands folded at the waist, posture immaculate. Tyriq wasn’t sure what to do at that point, they were .. unmoving. And when he turned from, that’s when the same voice called for him again: “Mr. Withers, sir -“

Tyriq inclined his head ever so carefully, the gesture still polite, but agitation building.

The Butler began down your hall, gloved hands now behind his back. “Her Royal Highness has a very important day ahead of her,” he said calmly, upon arrival. “She will be needing her rest. Much of it.”

The implication was clear. Visiting hours were over. The hallway, so exciting only moments ago, suddenly felt formal .. very off-limits. Tyriq nodded at once, understanding fixing in quickly. “Yeah,” he murmured, he was in no position to argue. “I get it.”

The Butler stepped aside, prepared to escort this young man back through the palace .. and your door remained soundlessly, protectively closed.

On the opposite end, you were seated at the vanity, undoing that bow for the sixth time.

You were in a perfectly-detailed replica of your grandmother’s most iconic sleep set; that startled the monarch in the late 60s, went viral in the early 2000s, and became the muse for premium cashmere and silk nightwear in France and England, and this pink satin ribbon was not cooperating.

You wanted to look nice. Cute. For him. Him. Your best-friend .. Which was so weird. Strange, now that you had a breath to think about it. Who were you to try to .. dress to impress? To try to push a certain look onto him? How disrespectful, it was .. and certainly un-princess-like.

You cleared your throat and tried at the bow again, grumbling curses at yourself. The long tails came to be loose and lopsided, water-falling down the front.

Suddenly, there was an urge within you to check past those double doors. A gut feeling. Which, a woman’s gut was never false. Could never be false. You added two quick sprits of perfume to your collarbone and made with great haste.

Yet, when you yanked those golden handles .. you had come face-to-face with air. Open space. Not the towering, light-skinned young man you were ready for. What you didn’t know though, was that you had just missed him by a literal second.

Your gut was correct .. but not quick enough.

And this is what happened in the morning: you were seated beside your grandmother and across from a prince. A smart, young Norwegian man, who spoke very highly of only himself. His mother, Queen Margaux of Valgard, sipped from a miniature tea-cup and could not take her eyes off of you. You were .. flattered.

This meeting was something small, as your grandmother told you. To congratulate and welcome your entrance into society. This society. Unbeknownst to you, a ball was proposed, and has been in the works for roughly a week to take place later this afternoon. A surprise ball .. every girly-girl’s dream.

As the prince spoke of his high education, you gazed elsewhere .. daydreaming, imagining yourself any place but in this sitting room. Your grandmother gave your knee a light pat, but you were disinclined to return. Even more so when you saw him going by from out the open entrance-way, a Butler two footsteps behind.

Shamelessly, you bunched the dress fabric over your feet and rushed off, not caring to look back. Unquestionably, your grandmother refrained from screeching and apologized to the Queen and Prince of Valgard for your unsuitable behavior. “She has a .. big personality, quite similar to her grandfather. I must apologise for her.”

Hearing the loud clacks, it couldn’t’ve been anyone else. Tyriq halted in his tracks and watched as you dashed for him, slowing once you’ve considered yourself close; the feathers in your curly-bun coming to a standstill. “‘Morning,” he greeted, calm and sweet.

“Hey -“ You folded your arms over your chest .. then immediately noticed the push-up in your breast and dropped them, hands slapping back to your sides in quick, self-conscious correction. “- You gave up.”

“What?”

“Last night,” you said, “you got lost and gave up. Where’d they find you, hmm?”

Just as snappy: “Exactly where you told me ta’be,” plainly and as if speed alone might prove his honesty.

“Oh?” One brow lifted, unimpressed.

“Yes ..” A sigh left him, slow and frustrated. “I swear.” He dragged a hand over the back of his neck and let it snake into the pocket of jeans; the good pair he made sure to pack. “A suit caught me.”

You exhaled insightfully. “Ah,” casting a quick glance over your arm at a butler. At your look back, he clarified, dryly, “Said I had’ta leave you alone for the night.”

“I - That ..” You shook your head, a quiver to your jaw, parting your lips with the silliest attempt at speech, only for your voice to falter into the polite restraint of unsaid things. “So you did?”

“Of course I did.” Tyriq’s eyes dropped for just a moment before lifting to find yours again. “I know how important this place is .. ‘nd who I am in it.” A mere visitor from across the ocean; you, bound by lineage and watchful souls. “I’m your guest. I promise you .. I won’t make things any harder for you.”

You huffed a low noise, as you always did when something bothered you. Something you cannot just fix. Such as turning back time and getting to your best friend first. Then, came the tightening of your shoulders and the crinkle between your brows. “‘Riq .. you aren’t making things hard for me.”

Tyriq’s grin was small and accompanied by a subtle nod of his head that said, No, I know I’m in the way. “.. What’s happenin’ anyway?” he asked, curiosity stringing through whatever he tried to mask.

You shrugged, letting your hands grip your hips, an unmistakable weariness in your stance. “I’ve spent the entire morning entertaining .. princes,” you confessed, and a tired laugh escaped you. “Honestly .. I have not the slightest clue what’s going on .. but, I hope it ends real soon.”

─── A princess must make her rounds;

You were moving through the Banquet Hall with much-appreciated poise, polite gestures, and occasional curtseys to those who sought acknowledgment .. while a part of you longed for the quiet of your own chamber. And the unwrapping of this extra-slick top-bun. And that giant bowl of ice-cream once shared with Tyriq.

Needing a sweet treat more than ever, you separated from your grandmother’s side and drifted toward one of the refreshment tables lining the hall.

The spread was nothing short of perfect. Linen as white as fresh snow covered the table, its surface decorated with silver trays; pastries atop in straight rows .. golden éclairs, choux puffs filled with vanilla bean cream, bonbons in pale pastels, and macarons sandwiched with ganache, custard fruit tarts; mini and large, and finally .. sour peach rings upon your request.

You snatched a sour peach ring from the bowl, sugar clinging lightly to your fingertips and dropping uncomfortably in-between the split of your boobs before you bit into the candy. These were ultra fresh and unlike your usual bagged-candy from the States, but .. this would do.

A hand came to rest on your bare shoulder, squeezing thrice; Tyriq’s signature. You took two more peach rings from the bowl before turning around, smiling as you said, “Mm. You look nice.”

He scoffed lightly, pleased. “Don’t I always?“ Tyriq’s hand slipped from your shoulder and disappeared into his front pocket.

“In color, I mean,” you explained, chewing another ring, taking him in thoroughly. “Back home, you’d never go for anything like this -“

“Well,” he cut in with a shrug, “I don’t exactly have th’funds for somethin’ like this back home, so .. that’s part of it too.” You truly were struck by how easily he wore the unfamiliar .. and still looked superbly himself. “But ..” he added, “I’ll take it home. I’m a big fan of myself in this too.”

You nodded, conceding the point. “Yeah, do that, okay? Take everything you are given,” through peach-gummy chews. He couldn’t help his smile, going from one side of you to the other, and swiping up a mini fruit tart. “We made somethin’ like this before? Right? .. Or, tried to?”

You liked to think of yourself as a baker. Not a great one .. nothing so grand .. but an okay baker; competent enough to know your way around a recipe and stubborn enough to keep trying when things went wrong. On the rare weekends you escaped campus, you always dragged Tyriq along with you to The Foodie; a quaint grocer in your college-town.

The aisles were narrow, barely wide enough for two people to pass without bumping shoulders, and shipment boxes were forever stacked at the walls, half-unpacked, forgotten mid-thought. But the baking section made up for all of it. Top notch. Worth the trouble. Worth the detour. And Tyriq never complained. He’d trail after you, hands in his pockets, watching you talk to yourself about ingredients.

But yes, you had baked something like this with him. And it came out deformed. Totally misshapen. One end rose with faith, the other sank as though it had lost the will to live. The edges were too dark, the middle weirdly soft, and no amount of frosting could fully disguise the fact that it had not turned out the way you’d hoped.

It still tasted fine .. maybe even good .. but it looked like something that had survived a wrestling match. You’d stared at it afterward, hands on your hips, deciding whether it was a failure or simply character.

You remembered how Tyriq pressed in from the back and dug his chin on your shoulder, calling it “a work in progress”. Then, he pecked down on your skin and gave a playful bite, nothing harsh that got a real recoil out of you.

“Find someone you care to dance with?”

That was the very last thing on his mind. And he wasn’t sure if anyone even saw him; probably thought he was the help. Granted entry by proximity rather than invitation. But, if he danced tonight, it would only ever be with you. “I’m not lookin’ for anyone. No one’s ready for me.”

You let out a low chuckle and rolled your eyes, the gesture elegant even in dismissal. “Sure,” unconvinced .. yet, the sweetest smile coming on.

With no other peach ring between your fingers, your attention swiveled back to the spread table (creating distance); where crystal flutes stood waiting, filled with pale champagne and cut-glass decanters holding sparkling waters infused with citrus and herbs and nuts. You grumbled softly, “Wanna know what’ll go insane right now?”

He didn’t need long to think it over, for your taste was hardly an actual mystery to him. “Shirley Temple?”

You closed your eyes at the sound of it, savoring the thought alone. “Shirley Temple ..” Then inspiration struck, “I’m sure everythin’ we need’s in the kitchen. They have everything in there, you saw. We could split off for a few minutes- come. Come with me -“

You’d just looped your arm through Tyriq’s when your grandmother appeared, seemingly out of thin air, a prince in tow. He was handsome, undeniably so, but at the moment, you weren’t up for another waltz. One arch of her neat eyebrow was all it took.

You gently unhooked yourself from Tyriq, gave his bicep a quick, apologetic pat, and allowed yourself to be steered away. As you slipped into the sea of guests, the pinky tulle of your dress moved with you, drawing the eye whether one meant to follow or not. Tyriq’s did .. without shame .. tracking the swing of your retreat.

There was something perilous in the way he watched you go. A caged devotion. Loving you felt much the same as breathing .. natural, needful, and entirely his burden to bear. Inevitable, inconvenient, and wholly consuming all at once.

The crowd parted ways then, opening up space to grant you and the prince enough room to move. His right hand claimed the small of your back, fingers knocking into the dangling satin bow, guiding your next steps with thoughtful care. Far more intimate than formal, he had been.

Tyriq was behind the ring of guests, leaning against a marble column, munching from the great bowl of peach rings. He saw how your eyes searched and the way the prince spoke into your ear. You weren’t there, not fully. Not with him.

It was uncomfortable .. watching you like that. This. Absolutely painful, to see you so close to another. Pressed up against another, so far surpassed Tyriq .. standard wise. Tyriq wasn’t a prince, and in this universe .. his wallet couldn’t even begin to touch your new lifestyle. His chewing of the peach rings slowed as he let himself sit with that hurt.

The final notes of the waltz cut through the air and the prince piloted you to a sweet stop. Applause rippled through the ballroom, paddle-folding fans whacked, and the ring of guests began to close in, keen to congratulate you or steal a quick word.

But Tyriq didn’t wait. He pushed off from the marble column with nothing but purpose and weaved through the cluster of special silvers and golds with ease, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. The crowd sliced almost instinctively as he drew near, and before you could even fully register it, he was tugging you out of the throng.

You stumbled at the immediate motion, but the relief in seeing him; the real, presence of him, had made you smile. The prince’s words faded, irrelevant now, as Tyriq led you off. Still, you blinked over your arm and offered a nice goodbye, with a tilt of your head.

─── Four Shirley Temples in (each), the night had shrunk into something entirely your own. You and Tyriq had retreated to your chamber, perched atop your bed, legs folded beneath, facing one another. Heavy velvet drapes framed the space, sealing the world out and holding just the two of you in.

“Why didn’t you ask me to dance?” The question slipped out easily, as though it were no more than idle talk, and you shuffled through your deck of UNO cards. No red. You drew a card from the full stack that lain above your skirts and added it to your palm; your hair no longer in a tight bun, but in its natural afro-state.

Tyriq scoffed under his breath, shaking his head as if the answer were obvious. “‘Cause,” he began, picking through his deck for a card applicable. He dropped a card onto the pile with a flick of his wrist. “Reverse,” he muttered, then blinked up. “C’mon,” he said. “You know I couldn’t.” His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.

The answer was: He knew that if he had asked you to dance, you would have said yes. And he knew that if he took your hand, if he got you out onto the floor, he would not have known when to stop. That was the truth. Tyriq would not be able to let you go and let you dance off with another as though it were nothing. He would have kept you there: one more song into one more song into just one more song.

You reached out then, not to touch him .. no, that would have been too much .. but to slide two UNO cards toward him. Caused by your red draw two. “Well,” you murmured, forcing a smile you didn’t feel, “then I suppose you’ll just have to live with that regret.” But as your eyes found his again, you knew .. achingly .. that neither would forget this evening.

“Because ..” you continued, voice going extra light, “the ‘Riq I know .. he would have humiliated us both .. it would’ve been cute. Charming, for sure. And ..” grabbing another card from the pile, “.. I would’ve enjoyed every second.”

Tyriq’s chest strained, and before he could think, he blurted, “I did want to.” .. “I wanted to. I really did.”

You grinned weakly at how he owned up, but your eyes stayed downcast, intentionally avoiding his. That sliver of distance between you twisted in him like a knife .. he couldn’t bear it any longer. His carefully held hand of cards fell forgotten, tumbling across the bedspread like so many meaningless obstacles. “I think - I know .. I could’ve danced with you all night.” No jest, no exaggeration.

As you were going for the draw pile .. Tyriq’s fingers closed gently around your wrist, like even now he feared startling you. “Please,” so very kindly. “Just look at me.”

He lifted your hand before you could decide whether to pull away, and upward with a worship that made your heart patter. Your face had his upmost attention, not once did he stray .. he pushed your palm to his lips. The peck was concise, but full of meaning.

“I’m sorry,” he said against your skin. “So, so sorry.” A breath. “I wanted you.” Quietly, “I still do,” thumb drawing shapes at the inside of your wrist, memorizing the feel of you. But then, his grip slacked, not because he wanted to let go, but because he was giving you the choice. “Tell me .. you don’t want me .. ‘nd I’ll leave out.”

Surrendering; heart in his hands .. whatever you said next would change everything.

“.. Don’t go.” The words barely left your mouth before something in him gave way. Tyriq swiped the cards away and scooted forth. It was a slow kiss. Your first kiss, he knew. Not too much tongue, or hope for anything sloppy. Because with you, he’d only take his time.

When you peeled your lips from his, of course he chased after you, mumbling no, so cutely. You smiled despite his frown and retreated backward, crawling toward the head of the bed as pillows wobbled and tipped beneath the sweep of your cloud-soft skirts. “Can we kiss here .. lying down?”

Three light pats to the empty space beside. In no world should you have to ask twice or wait any longer. Tyriq slithered into position, the cards crumbling under his knee and disregarding how the layers of your dress tried to keep him at bay. It scrunched under him, and you were fine with that.

Tyriq pushed his lips into yours, twice. Looked real deep into your eyes and as you went in for another, his face was gone. You let an eye open and a quiet gasp slipped, surprised and breathless, his mouth was so warm at your neck. “Thank you ..” he mumbled, the words half-lost into your skin. “.. for this.”

You tried .. truly .. to keep your eyes open: “Nothin’s happened,” a short, wobbly giggle. Tyriq kept at what he was doing, licking long stripes up and down and a random nibble. Your hand lifted without thought, fingers sliding over his buzz, rubbing as if to soothe both of you at once. Your other hand followed, cupping the nape of his neck.

“You’re lettin’ me touch you,” feeling the way you were fighting yourself, his forehead brushed your jaw, “that’s enough to thank you for.”

There was nothing to say then, you physically couldn’t. He had you tongue tied and your panties going damp. At the feel of him undoing the satin bow, you caught the bodice to stay covered. The gulp was so rough, it was the literal equivalent of swallowing a rock. Or what you assumed swallowing a rock would feel like.

Detaching from your neck: “Okay, okay ..” Tyriq spoke, mindful of your reaction. “We don’t. We don’t have to. I don’t- I should’ve never done that.” He removed his hands from and teetered back, completely defeated and thinking himself a monster.

You closed your free hand over his kneecap, “I still want you,” you said, honestly. And very much so. Your thumb shifted where it rested, a nervous tell, and you let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “I just .. y’know? .. It’s kind’a second nature for me to cover up .. like that.” As it was for others who’ve never let another see their body. You were comfortable with Tyriq, but this was new to you. “It happened so fast .. that’s all.”

“I don’t- I didn’t mean to scare you. Or get you to worry. I’m okay ..” and you were a big girl. Ready for this. The big deed. You weren’t running from the wanting. “Really.”

That’s when you let the bodice peel down and away from your chest. He readied himself now that you were guiding his hand up, to cup over you. Kneading, he began, watching for any negative sign .. Nothing of the sort revealed itself. Just the misty look in your eyes.

He was working something over in his head, you could see it on his face. Asking himself if he should go through with it at all. What if you didn’t like it? Heavy with care, he was. Everything from here on out was about you. About risking a poor response, risking disappointment, risking being too much or not enough. He was caught between wanting to please you and fearing the smallest misstep.

You settled into the bunch of pillows and Tyriq took that as an invitation: he attached his mouth to your body again. He just couldn’t help himself. A soft moan escaped him as he swirled his tongue along your nipple .. you whine at the warmth of his tongue.

You were so sensitive, squirming and clawing at the bedsheets below. He’s groaning lowly into your chest, slobbering messily, and there’s a strange feel of his tweed pants constricting. That was his cock stiffening, growing, torturous it was, pressure building through his head and neck with every pulse-beat ..

There’d been a knock then, light in sound and unfortunately ignored. While the Butler’s battery of impatience depleted, Tyriq was helping the puffy layers of tulle from around your hips. He kissed a sweet line along your sweet-smelling skin, starting just underneath your sternum and ending just before that ticklish lower-waistline region.

The buoyant mattress dipped beneath his weight; getting onto his knees to better undo the obstacle. Hearing the clang of his belt buckle-end, the twinkling golden stars and fairy-lights over your head had suddenly become so interesting. You were twirling your fingers into the satin sheets, that jar of butterflies that sat in the center of your stomach erupted.

You’d never been so close to any man like this. To be frank, no man deserved this .. to see and feel all over you. But, there was something about him. Something that you’d recognised a while ago, but couldn’t quite put a title to. You weren’t ready for that. There was no term in today’s English language that expressed what you felt exactly. Crush wasn’t enough and honestly, it made what you felt for Tyriq silly. Playful. Kiddish. Elementary.

“Maybe we should stop ..?” He was settled snugly between your thighs, fists braced on either side of your head, chain swinging lazily. “You do this face whenever you’re .. thinking real hard.”

Then, with an index finger, you touched in between your brows, asking, “Crinkle?”

“No.” A low chuckle. “It’s another face.” And before you could ask what he meant specifically, an abrupt ensemble of raucous knocks blasted. Tyriq stilled instantly .. making sure he heard that correctly, even with how loud that had been. Blinking down at you with an unsure look, he still had a smile.

Now, you were propping yourself up and he flopped aside to give you space. “Get into something, please.” You redressed yourself (in some new panties too) and slipped off the mattress, an avalanche of pinks and heart-shaped pillows collapsing behind you. After dusting yourself off and straightening the groves that needed to be straightened, you pushed your feet back into those dazzling heels, and rushed toward the vanity to re-fluff your now-out hair.

You redid the bow at the back of your dress then; droopy and weirdly asymmetrical it was.

In the reflection, you could see Tyriq fumbling with his belt, the buckle stubborn, uncooperative. A groan fell from you, long and weary, equal parts frustration and disbelief. “Hurry,” you muttered, now moving.

You crossed the wooden floor in quick, decisive strides and reached the doors just as another knock echoed through the space. Without hesitating, you yanked the golden handles .. Only to be met with a wall of suits.

A small swarm of Butlers stood, hands folded, expressions that of great worry. Leading them were two armed guards, who you knew as FERNANDO and AUGUSTUS VALENTINE; fraternal twin brothers. If you hadn’t answered when you did, your doors might’ve been knocked in.

And before any of them could speak, you beat them to it. Your hand stayed braced on the door, spine straight regardless of the chill crawling up your neck. You took them in quickly: the guards’ hands resting too close to their weapons, and the way the Butlers refused to let their eyes roam elsewhere.

“What is going on?” you asked, confusion more than fear. Behind you: rumpled sheets and Tyriq frozen mid-motion.

“Her Majesty requests your return,” came a voice, buried within the pile.

You gave a short nod in response, stepping forth and closing the door too, keeping Tyriq within until the coast cleared. These men would easily put two-and-two together and report back to your grandmother and you seriously couldn’t have that.

The suited men parted like a calm sea and you took to the front.

─── “My dear,” your grandmother sighed, turned from the window and glided around the sofa. Her skirts brushed and the wig’s grey curls flung about. You were draped inelegantly across the chair opposite her, knuckles knocking along the rug as though it had personally offended you.

“Why must you insist on making a spectacle of what ought to be quite simple?” she continued, tilting her head to the side, just a bit, to examine your twisted face clearly. Then it all spilled out of you; dramatic, wheezy, utterly uncontained: “I caaannn’t anymore,” you wailed, the words bending long and thin as you tipped your head back, one hand flying to your forehead. You were slipping from the couch, almost situated on the rug fully.

“I ask for so little .. merely that you accept a few dances. One more dance. With the gentleman you find most pleasing to the eye.” Still, you were slinking your way down, folding into yourself. “Surely .. that cannot be such a hardship.”

You answered by surrendering completely to the carpet. Face planted: “Only the hardest ship ever.” A low huff and swoop back of your hair. “He doesn’t dance,” you said at first, then caught yourself, lips smushed together. “- I mean, he does. Just .. not like this.” You gestured vaguely. “He would need practice. Serious practice to keep up.”

Your grandmother’s brow rounded with interest, not confusion. “Practice?” she echoed. “What do you mean?”

The one you wished to dance with had far too much rhythm for a slow waltz and felt as though he was not fit. He wasn’t a prince. You finished with a quiet nevermind and the Queen gave a decisive nod, rising from her seat like the matter was settled beyond appeal. She surveyed you .. head to heels .. then back to that wonky looking bow. “Up you get. At once.”

“Hmmmmmm - I like it down here.”

“That is enough. You are a princess, it is high-time you start behaving as one.” You moved to obey. “This night is close to being over, you mustn’t get lazy now.” She drew in, organising the fall of your skirts with a maternal flick, unwrinkling other imaginary creases that did not exist. “One dance,” she held her cold hands over your shoulders. “Now turn.”

The Queen’s grasp on your shoulders hardened. Before you could so much as inhale, she pivoted you crisply on your heels. You let out a yelp, the room blurred, skirts swishing and balance briefly lost, until you were brought to face out the windows and watch the snow fall in thick clumps.

“Remain still,” more command than comfort. She forced and hauled and retied the bow; ensuring the loops laid perfectly even and the tails fell just so. The air rushed from your lungs, “Wait -“ She pulled again until joints in your back cracked, getting rid of that slouch in your posture for once. “Too tight -!”

You tipped forward, catching yourself just in time as the front of your knees hit the edge of the sofa. The cushions sunk beneath you. Your grandmother licked her tongue, unfazed. “Good.” She cinched again, “This is nothing.”

─── Tyriq certainly didn’t have to rid scenarios from his head that consisted of you and him, and other, highly sexual things, in order to keep himself sane. This was both the best dream come true and worst nightmare to ever transpire right in front of him .. You were as you started: done with a dance and at the candy table eating sour peach rings, (numb from the circulation cut caused by that bow), but not with him.

This one didn’t seem to bother you as much as the last bunch from earlier. There was a little smile on your face, so whatever this one was saying, you were clearly enjoying it. Too much, Tyriq believed to be true. He stayed some paces off, the palms of his big hands itching to get you back how he wanted you.

A makeout. That’s all he wanted with you at this very moment.

Tyriq’s gaze broke away from you to check himself, again. He lifted his folded hands and still, he was so excruciatingly rock solid. Embarrassed being the incorrect word here. Disgraceful, the Queen would say and probably escort him out; leaving him in the cold too.

When he picked his chin up, you were no longer at that spread table .. His heart crushed. But then, there were light taps to his shoulder, just enough to get his attention without scaring him.

Tyriq turned on his heels and life seemed worth living once more. He watched you wave the bowl of sour peach rings, saying without actually speaking: Take some. He extended a hand and grabbed two rings before following you out into the hall. A hall. Empty, it was, except for the scattered 1800s giltwood-carved sofas; floral-printed fabric.

He kept from asking why you called him out. Or why you were defying the rules of your grandmother .. but he couldn’t lie, it made his heart do the happy thing.

You were so close, arm rubbing into his, and talking through peachy chews. Going on and on about the baby lavender, apparent alcoholic, drink you’d plucked from the table. Then, you went into the bow on your back .. the world was still spinning a touch. And Tyriq just stared, drinking you in (he feels like he’s floating .. half from desire, half from your pretty face), he’s not listening to a single thing.

There’s not a thought behind his glossy eyes and there's ten billion behind yours. Tyriq’s mouth fell open and his gaze is just so intense that after a while .. you stopped speaking.

You couldn't keep up with him. Tyriq needed you to touch him (so hungry to be touched. So hungry that even the slightest thought of you makes his insides boil. His body does not feel okay. There was a gnawing emptiness more than anything else. He thinks he'll be better off with you kissing him, to have you even if it makes one prince or the other or this country sick), and if you didn't soon, he'd die.

Tyriq stopped where he was and like water: “I need you."

Your anxieties muddled your features, brows drawn together as you worry. A strained laugh, “Did you not hear a thing I said?"

"We can be quick," he pleaded, snatching your hands in his, the bowl of sour peach rings shattering, "We can be quick." Tyriq’s so desperate. He squeezed your hands and you watched him kiss your knuckles (his lips knocking into the ring).

“What ..?” It’s only a split second before the heat started to sink into your body, “No. No. I can’t be gone too long .. They’ll only come for me again -“

He kept your hands in his, but his grip eased. “.. I’m out here with you for .. what?” A very impatient ask. It wasn’t loud, for Tyriq didn’t need volume for it to burn. That alone made it staggering. He had never spoken to you that way before, never let frustration leak so plainly into his voice.

It was hard to let a sigh go with that bow. But before you answered, you frowned momentarily .. And opened your mouth, then nothing came .. for a while. Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because every answer felt too deep to say out loud. “I wanted a moment,” almost embarrassed by its simplicity. “I missed you, that’s all.”

His gaze slipped past you for a second, down the corridor you’d stolen yourselves into, already calculating what would come next .. how soon suits would come knocking, how quickly you would be recovered by the ballroom and rearranged beside someone else, he was sure.

“.. Did we have to step out though?”

Because in a few minutes .. he would walk back in with you and lose you all over again. And he would return to background once more: the best friend who knew your laugh but in this universe, unable to claim your hand.

“I’m not complainin’,” he added, honest to a fault. “I’d take every second I can get. I just -“ Eyes on your face like he was memorizing it. “Right now ain’t exactly th’best time to want you the way I do.” Because he did. Disgustingly so.

"We were right there -“ Tyriq pinched his thumb and forefinger together to show just how little space there had been in that very moment. “- about to do it.” Sex. And he only suggested to stop because you .. had on your thinking face. He wanted so badly to go there with you. “Bein’ here hurts .. but watching you like that?”

Hurt even more. And as of currently, he was done for the night, opting to go back to that appointed guest room. “I can’t go back to that - you being away while I suffer.”

He dropped your hands with much force, as though the very air between had grown too heavy to bear. Tyriq stomped over the glass shards and bits of discarded peach rings. His eyes were off, tracing the patterns on the wall, actually seeking answers in the gilded motifs and curling arabesques. An arm of his went up and he scratched the back of his neck.

“I am suffering too ..” you said, carrying the melancholy and longing of a lady constrained by propriety yet undone by the intensity of what you felt. “Greatly.” You were waiting for him to turn .. and acknowledge the ache that mirrored his own. “I have no wish to dance -“ Nor to prattle on about the virtues this new country deems worthy of admiration, the script .. your grandmother had given. “- my feet won’t let me.”

Tyriq looked over his shoulder.

Your voice is so perfect .. a salve to his nerves: "I’m tired of standing." The face you make when you look like you want him is so fucking unfair. "So .. yes .. We can be quick."

Tyriq threw himself at you, nearly knocking you into the stone sculpture (of your great-great aunt) with the strength of his body.

Both hands clasped your face and he smashed his lips into your own. It’s less of a kiss and more of a crash landing. He can feel his own conflict stirring within but the relief of your touch drowning out his surroundings. All else in the world became silent except the taste of your mouth and the feel of your face. How much he's pined for this very thing .. finally.

You pulled away from Tyriq with a gasp and your face made his entire body jolt. "This isn't away."

Tyriq apologized and a blush dusted along his cheekbones .. your hands reached for his shoulders, worriedly. "I’m sorry. It hurts so bad," he whined, eyes closed, melting into you.

You combed your fingers through his buzz one time and cupped the back of his neck. "What hurts?” You sound so sweet and his eyes opened, saying: “Everything.” Just when you were about to break from him, Tyriq scooped you up bridal style without warning.

And into the nearest room he went.

A sitting room. A beautifully curated space; he could see his mirrored image in the floor. He carried you to a sumptuous chaise love sofa and helped you ease onto its sleek cushion.

Tyriq was down on one knee before the couch. With your lips back on his and hands clutching his shoulders, Tyriq dug under the skirt of your dress and stripped your panties from your hips. He pulled and pulled and helped you get out of them fully .. Tyriq shoved the lacy material into his front pocket.

"I .. I like those.”

A frown to mock, "So?” watching you unbutton his cardigan as fast as your hands allowed. His clothes had felt binding for the longest time now. His shirt was sticky, you peeled it from his strong arms, strangely drenched in sweat. He thanked you and another wave of unimaginable want pourer over his skin like magma spilling across rock.

Your hands traveled downward and fumbled with his belt. Tyriq helped you unbuckle the metal. You unfastened his pants. He’s overwhelmed when you free him from his boxers and feel just how hard he is. His cockhead’s just spilling with shiny beads of pre-cum.

Tyriq’s bright eyes lidded in unadulterated, carnal need as you were talking about having him inside. For someone so .. unexperienced, you spoke so filthy; You were an avid reader of romance and adult elements.

Tyriq wanted to stop your hand but he couldn’t .. not when it felt too good. You were too good. His head was spinning and spinning. “My .. God ..” so shaky and winded.

You’re stunning and deserving and gentle and Tyriq wants and wants and wants. Wants so fucking bad he might die, wants you so bad the heat in his body threatens to kill him without you. His hands no longer held your thighs to stay upright .. he gripped your working wrist and under a low sigh: "I’ve got you," his voice is affectionate and so soft and so scratchy.

“I trust you .. promis’.”

There’s something true and pathetic about the yearning that welled up inside of your gut and resolved itself in your sternum. It spread and grew and tangled in your ribs, curled around the vessels of your heartbeat. The kind of yearning that made your whole being tremble, made you want to preen and sing like a Nightingale. It would be good if time stood motionless so he could fuck you infinitely.

You leaned forward to kiss him much harder and he moaned into your mouth. Your lips barely broke off of his as he got you out of your dress fully. Tyriq climbed onto the couch and adjusted to missionary; not quite comfortable like your bed .. but this would do perfectly.

Tyriq wedged his index finger amid your labia just to make you messier .. like it belonged to him. You screwed your eyes shut as the pad of his thumb contacted your clit .. mini swirls he gave you. “Too much?” puzzled, his other hand massaging your hip. “You let me know .. ‘kay?” And he’s just playing with you, sweetly coating your syrupy arousal up to his middle knuckle.

“Ye-Yea ..” The sound dragged out from your bobbing throat with a long roll to the tongue, hearing the smutty noise your pussy made when he sliced his finger up and down your slippery, petal-like folds was not at all wholesome.

The tip of his finger teased your slit with a delicate wiggle and your face contorted. He apologised softly, only wanting to make sure you were nice and stretched for his cock. When Tyriq plunged that finger into your cunt, he met very little resistance with how wet you were. “O- Woaaa ..” He curled and hooked that finger just right .. At the moist feel of you around his one finger, he knew for a fact you’d feel even better wrapped around his cock.

So much better.

Tyriq lets himself swim in the imagining of it, lashes falling as his eyes closed. His breath slowed, lips parting on a quiet exhale. The thought of you so vivid it left him stunned and next to undone right there.

And when he deemed you ready to take him .. he removed his finger, wetness slinging between his digits before breaking oh so dramatically. He popped his finger into his mouth, smiling as he made eye contact with you. You swallowed thickly, not knowing if you’d rather have his finger in your mouth or yours in his.

Soft “please”s tumbled from your lips, soft eyes hazy with lust. He slathered himself with his spit and your wetness, and he took it slow .. extra slow, so the tearing and splitting burned less. Tyriq tossed his head back, eyes slammed shut as he resisted the urge to thrust up and completely sheath himself in you.

Your nails are marking crescent-type indents into his forearms, drawing blood for damn sure. Ignoring the sting though, Tyriq made sure to feel every inch of you .. unlocking a new depth, whenever you gave the ‘green light’: that being a soft nod.

The last few inches Tyriq had to shove himself through, resulting in a pained whine. He cupped your cheek, “‘m sorry, mama ..” You were just so tight and warm and totally sucking him in. His breathing stuttered when he completely bottomed out.

Tyriq flattened down over you, whimpering and panting unevenly into your neck: “I’d like to think you were savin’ yourself for me ..” You circled your arms around his middle and palmed his bare back, holding on while he rocked, pulling out just enough and pushing into your sodden cunny. “Waitin’ .. for me to stop bein’ so .. difficult.”

Everything he’d been saying washed past you without sticking .. words drifting in through one ear only to vanish before they could take a shape. Your mind was elsewhere .. in between your legs, more specifically.

How could you not be paying him any mind when he’s grunting and whining and grinning at the way your hole gushes and sobs all over his cock? It was mean of you and verging on denial as you blinked away the tears he brought to your brown eyes.

Tyriq’s chest was heaving, you could feel how fast his heart was beating, how warm he was getting from his efforts under his brown skin. Tyriq even went as far as to lick your earlobe, sending chills all through you. He was heavy above you, his cock even heavier. He dipped two fingers into your mouth, drumming against your tongue .. soon you were glazing the entirety of his fingers with saliva.

When he positioned himself in what could’ve been a plank, you let yourself stare up at him. You could tell he was trying so hard not to give into his release. Words left his mouth, ones that he would usually never say if he weren't so gone and wasn't so pussy whipped. Words you couldn’t even imagine pouring from his mouth, given your best-friendship.

“Mphh- Can’t fuckin’ help it," he hiccuped, tears threatening to spill down his own face, "you feel sosoo good."

You hummed, breaking into a moan when his cock nudged into that sweet spot .. the one you had no idea you had. And he knew he did so by the way your pulsating cunt strangled his thick cock, so he had to ask: “There? Th’as it right? Th’as ‘t, right there?”

That was it. Right there! “Pll- pleaseee -“ and there he went, hitting that spot over and over and over. Your cries mixed with his whines, paired with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet-clicking between your legs. Both of his arms and abdomen flexed, flushing red down to his chest .. “‘s too mm-much -“ But he didn’t give himself time to hear if your breath was catching in your throat, Tyriq’s hand went to your face and locked about your jaw.

“Fuck- I’m ‘bouta finish ..” He was forcing your bleary eyes to look up at him. “Hear that? Hmm? You’re gon’a make me nut so soon.” Too soon. Your face, he concluded. It was your pretty face .. bringing him closer and closer to the edge with every single pump.

But hearing and feeling that wet, sloppy pop, your eyes snapped open. What happened? Did you do something wrong? Were you bleeding? Did he finish? Not inside, you hoped.

Tyriq took and planted kisses to your palm, through muffled speech you managed to hear: “Turn ‘fa me.” Sweetly and as light as a feather, he bit down on the soft skin at the side of your hand. You weren’t sure how that position would take on this kind of loveseat, but you wouldn’t ruin this steamy moment with a question.

“O- okay,” you wheezed out a tiny breath, and your eyes focused. Seeming to struggle, he felt so bad for telling you adjust. Tyriq used very little power to reposition you how he’d like to have you; the curve of the armrest cradled your forearms, knees making the plush dip.

Posed like this, he couldn’t see your face .. so hopefully, he’d last longer. And how stupid he had been to even believe that. He was barely moving, but you both felt like detonating. You were so squirmy, so much so that his callused hands had to hold your hips down, coming natural to him.

The mobility of his thrusts were getting sloppy and so very unstable. Increasing in greediness. Your mind’s too stuffy to make out anything besides the pleasure and the rapid advance up that cliff .. so much so, that when you tipped over the ledge, you were pulled back to reality.

No noise leaves you, mouth open with a silent wail, panting and swallowing and gasping, body jittering with the band snapping in your belly. Splashes of squirt darkened the seats, a mini puddle taking form .. and Tyriq fucks you through it, going against your quivering lower half.

“Nnghh- ‘Riq, d- don’t stop!”

“Wasn’t .. goin’ to,” Tyriq grumbled, letting out a soft prowl, feeling the adhesive-like suction of your pussy keeping its hold on him.

He can't stop fucking you. He couldn’t. His entire body wouldn’t dare allow him even a nanosecond parted from the joyousness that is your sprinkling cunt; guzzling him in like you needed his cum more than anything else in the world. You’re still spraying and spoiling the vintage cloth beneath your weight. And it’s the greatest thing he’s ever experienced. “S-shit,” and his gruff voice pitched higher.

His body’s twitching and coiling, mean fingers digging bruises into your waist. Big, sweaty, grabby hands piercing into your love-handles and he's winding your hips against his lap while your mind's turning into straight goop. You grabbed fistfuls of the couch, holding on for dear life, mewling and crying louder.

He tried his best to last even longer, but as of now, that was impossible. Tyriq pulled from your warmth just in time:

Thin, balmy, stringy ropes of nut painted your pussy in pearly white. He whispered out a low shiiit, red-faced, other hand kneading at the squishy skin of your waist. You’re staying as you are, eyes closed, lungs working intensely to regulate. Tyriq’s still spasming behind you, shuddering once his leaky tip drizzles the final remnants of cum onto the couch.

There’s a dry, yet sweet taste in his mouth. “I love you ..” as he mashes the tip of his drained cock through the flaps of your cunt; smearing his sloppy seed.

You did not give them back. The three words never crossed your lips.

[neighbourscat]

꣑ৎ oh nothing major! just a throat-training sesh that turns into getting fuccd prone bone style by bestfriend!cameron cade . . . god bless his dad’s genetics. 

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ 𝖎ntoxicated best-friend!cameron cade who kisses your forehead before gripping both shoulders and forcing you to your knees. with one hand, he cups beneath your chin and squeezes. the other rips his beaming cock free from the confines of his boxers and drags the seeping head over your puckered lips; coating pre from top to bottom . . . like lipgloss. one in a gazillion sticky-icky lipgloss.

if there weren’t a session to get through, he might’ve bust right here; glazing your curls, soaking your lashes and cute swollen cheeks in ropes of hot semen.

he repositions that big hand to the back of your head and pushes in, drawing that mouth forward. “c’mon,” he urges, tip slapping atop your nose, metal spheres tapping just between both furrowed eyebrows. “c’mon, girl- say aah- give’it a kiss.”

and when those sticky-glossed lips part, cameron slips right on in — the salty taste of penis floods your palate: “mmnh~” and he couldn’t have torn his eyes away even if he’d wanted to, stuck lazy-eyed and staring with a neeed that matched his low heaving breaths.

“shit -! yo, waittt- hnnh!” cameron catches one side of your head, trying to wring you away — treacly webs of gluey saliva track from his bushy happy trail to your lips. “chill the fuck out- no need to rush. ‘m not goin’ anywhere.” plus, being too eager too early fucks the experience up.

“start over. take it bit-by-bit.” because a good nut couldn’t be rushed. “‘t’s not a race . . .” so, you crane back back back and as instructed, focus solely on cameron’s fiery tip. you dip into his piss slit before closing your mouth around him. shit. “suck both cheeks’n,” to apply pressure there. “go’on. suck’em in hard.”

and you do just that. shlrp shlrp shlrrrp. seamlessly; hollowing your cheeks and slurping the bulbous head of him, “mmff~” cameron grumbled, “jus’like thhat.” tears were leaving his blood-shot eyes and catching within those light-brown lashes, “soo nice’nd’warm, my baby.” he’s giving that ‘gosh, i wanna marry you’ stare while you gag and choke . . . then, “w-watch the teeth, mama.” drool dribbles from both corners as you gurgle a soft apology, having just bumped into his pretty piercing.

he winces again and again ‘cause it keeps happening. accidentally, of course, you’d never do this purposely. you were learning! and just wanted to make him feel good. cameron has his fists balled in frustration . . . but they loosen. sympathetic. he couldn’t put himself in your shoes, but you weren’t the first girl to struggle around him. he was a big guy. being this big wasn’t easy on both parties.

“let me do it -“ cameron cradles the back of your neck, pads of his fingers digging into your sweaty skin, “i’ve got it, dovey. i’ve got’t . . .” the silky head of his beating cock drags down and out of your constricting throat; he’s forcibly shoving his dick as far as possible, pathetically using you as his own personal fleshlight. “mbghh~!” blood’s rushing through cameron’s entire body and he feels soooo refreshed. so charged.

“gimme your hand.” he guides you to the bump — the chunky bulge poking beneath the skin of your neck. “feel good, don’it? hnnnnm.” so good. “mmph~!” soooo good. so fucking good that you’re tearing. full on crying and making the nastiest noises around his marvellous cock.

chlorp chlorp klrtch! “thaaat’s it, mama -“ both hands locked at the back of your head, his panting breaks through wet, slobbery plaps. “suuch a perfect fit.” feet planted, thicck thighs strained, he drives his pelvis in and backs only when the tip of your nose jabs into his wet abdomen — stuffing you full with each mouth-watering inch. ghlk ghlk ghlk!

as wonderful as this felt, cameron couldn’t cum like this. well, he could. but he didn’t want to. so greedy, he is. and unapologetically so. his cock falls from your lips with a pop and swiftly, he whisks you from the floor and onto the bed; full of bear creatures and fuzzy cushions. “this’s the only way i wan’a, i’m sorry, mama,” cameron purrs, plucking your gooey panties to the side.

and he loves your pudgy pussy and how he has to spread your folds apart in order to tease that weepy slit, just begging to be filled.

cameron’s easing his way in — splitting a huge, gaping stretch with just his leaky tip alone. the cute ‘o-oh cam’ that spills from your filthy lips was beautiful music to his ears. a hand holds the small of your back, creating that yummy arch and smushing your face into purple blankets, and his left holds your forearm for leverage. slap - slaap - slapp!

his hips slam against the round globes of your ass, angry cock head hitting that gummy spot over, and over, and over, chilled piercing draggingggg and tugging at your walls. toes curling, gigantic waves of pleasure and lust travel through every part of your body.

“ok- cam, fffuc- o-okaay- shiiiit~!” you whine, palms fisting the sheets of the bed tightly, knuckles going frosty. “sl-slow down!” sounded like nothing but angel’s calls for more to your best friend. filled to the very hilt, cameron was just making sure your cunt was getting all of him. “‘m sorry, mama.”

he’s groaning, trying his hardest not to crush you with his weight. “i. feel. hnnh! i think- it’s gonna come out- cam~” tenderly, his hand wraps around your throat from the back, pinky pressing down. a cocky, pussy-drunk grin, “push’t all out- all over this fat dick.” cameron licks his tongue into your mouth, “do’t- mama.” hips still strong and working, battering up your squishy insides.

and when a glob of his bubbly spit falls splats onto your tongue, it’s completelyyyyy over — juice trickles and your thighs are quivering unrelentingly. cameron’s reached his peak too. he hurriedly pulls out with a wounded noise and quickly uses two fingers to part your pussy folds, pumping balmy white stripes over that used hole.

[neighbourscat]

天空の、神々しい ⛐ ᩙᮬ ⠀⠀ׄ⠀⠀㆑ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍. ⟩ 𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖞 intertwined with. ▷ 𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓮-𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗲 creed sister!blackfemreader . . . she’s too sweet for meanie cam! she too much like a flower! too gentle. the nicest peony on a spring morning. but oh she’s no victim! very sza’s anything. &. cam’s mac miller’s † the question; dude’s flew around the whole world, shook a million hands, took a million pictures, ignored a trillion groupies, but he’s a hostage to your pussy! …. poor ysa. you know- the wife. oops! fiancée*

kitti’s gotta warn ya 𖾕𖾝꙼ᩚ𛲕𖾟 // ‎ꫂ᭪݁ teeniest mention of blood & bandages ¡ ⋆༝༚༝༚ strong-as fuck-۫language obvi ⚞^. .^⚟ .. cam’s so thirsty & ༘⋆ needy , which i adore yum! cam’s also an evil cheater , which i am not condoning! ৻ꪆ reader thinks she’s becoming more than a little trinket! shiiiit maybe! ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ weed & liq ˙ᵕ˙ consumption. 𐔌 unprotected smashing , ˗ˏˋ which i shouldn’t love as much as i do! & p.rolonged standing positions / have you ever tried this one¿ , c.unnilingus .. tongue demon!cade whewwww! what’s a stronger word for overly-pussydrunk??? short-lived service!dom cam , m.anhandling / he doesn’t freaking listen! g in ‘God’ is lowercased! ermmm refers to himself in the third person, “daddy”. weird, right?? .. only for a second though. brief cervix love! ++ your toes in his mouth! first kiss ¿¡!? creampie duh. & sex not truly being seen as the act of interlocking souls :: part 1z!

ᦵ .݂ ֯ 𓇮 𝖇𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 yesterday’s match, if anyone asked cameron the cannon cade what his newest kink was . . . he probably would’ve reached for his private twitter account. not his fiancée, or the beautiful fangirls that screamed for him match night, but the porn posts he had bookmarked on freaking twitter. . . . as of last night though, he would’ve told them to grab the woman his bestest-friend forbade:

who was all alone in mama cade’s living room; peeling down streamers and balloons and sweeping up confetti and wet-wiping the walls clean — who knew adults could be so messy?

either way last night’s match went, between him and his boy, the celebration was to be at mama cade’s place; a neat little cape cod, beige with navy-blue trim, that sat on the west-end. she’s upstairs in bed, having left the adults hours ago. she couldn’t hang like she used to, and that was okay.

cameron stands from the recliner he was sitting on with his fiancée and goes for the treat table. he grabs a paper plate, knife, and slices through the cake. yellow lemon with lemon filling, buttercream frosting, and coconut flakes. his favorite. cameron rips a fork from the plastic pack and pokes the tines through the baked good.

he uses his free hand to slide open mama’s back-door and you’re in the kitchen, shoving beer cans into the overflowing bin. “why not change it?” you pause at what you’re doing and stare over, frozen in a weird, bent over position. you almost touch your hand to your face, but don’t, given it was just buried in trash. “i . . . i was going to do that- obviously. my arms were full, ‘nd i . . . i can’t open a new bag with garbage in my hands. soooo . . .” yea.

cameron doesn’t say anything after that. he guessed that made sense. if his cock wasn’t aching for you, in this very moment, he might’ve had a smart remark. the quiet wasn’t like him, but you weren’t one to complain about cameron not picking at you.

“anyways, uh -“ cameron gives a small lift to the slice of cake in his hand. and he fights to let a smile show. the gesture doesn’t even register as sweetness to you. because cameron the cannon cade was incapable of that. “i hate lemon filling.” and he shakes his head in confusion. that couldn’t’ve been possible. “yeah, i do,” you answer.

what? no. “but . . ? all those birthday parties- what . . . what was all’a that?” you could explain that, yeaaa. you were young and infatuated with your brother’s bestest friend. he was the asshole that helped you realize that all those pop songs you sang along with on the radio, and the romance poetry you read in english class, and mama cade’s paperback erotica novels, they weren’t just a fantasy . . .

“i dun’know. i thought it could’ve been a sign of loyalty . . . or whatever,” you said. “it was silly ‘nd i was being weird, whatever.” now, you’re hiding behind your garbage-hands, because you’re certain cameron’s about to say something reckless. mean. but . . . he doesn’t. oh, he had to be drunk. must be. “why’re you still here?” peeking through two fingers, animatedly. “you want somethin’- what?”

maybe.

“a minute.” which would’ve been the greatest minute of your life if the happenings of last night wasn’t crushing heavy over your heart. you turn your head, looking through the glass of mama cade’s back door . . . and you see cameron’s fiancée chatting with your big brother and his lovely wife, bianca.

“no.” you go for the sink, twist, and run warm water over both hands. “i’ll take that cake, alright? but i’m not- i won’t be alone with you again. like that.” gosh, your younger self would so hate you right now. what were you doing?? saying no to cameron. as much as you wanted him, this wasn’t it. this wasn’t the way to go about him. he is engaged. and if he wasn’t . . . the writing was always on the wall. you are never to be with the cannon.

“thirty seconds?” he tried. and you decline, as painful as that was. cameron sets the plate of lemon cake down onto a nearby surface and he teeters over, removing the white hood from his head. “not even thirty seconds? what happened- hmm?” . . . “i thought we was coo’.”

turning the water off and yanking paper towels from its roll, you’re roughly drying your hands — thinking the worse of yourself. how could you let him talk you into that? being the other woman? it was disgusting. and just awful. “we have never been ‘coo’’. never.” in another life, if he wasn’t trying to win over your emotions, cameron would’ve spat: i was inside’a you. how’re we not coo’?

but, he says: “i wan’a change that tho’.” nearly eighteen years later. yeah. yeah fucking right. that! that’s all he wants. to fuck.

cameron angled himself over the marble, one forearm planted onto the surface as he dips into a side lean .. matching your height. close enough that he was nearly face-to-face with you. he’s close enough to kiss; you can smell the stench of liquor and skunky cannabis and sweetness of egregious lemon-filled cake on cameron’s breath. “‘t wasn’t good?”

oh boy was it good? it was absolutely fantastic. ten out of five stars. too good to be true. but seriously, he wasn’t for you. “cameron- it was . . . so awesome that it can’t happen again. ever.” mmm. and he’s watching your hands; gripping onto the sink’s ledge, pretty cartoon nails tapping away. you were an elementary school homeroom teacher and the young children loved your cool designs.

“c’mon, why nottt?” with a faux frown, that couldn’t even fool the dumbest dummy. an agitated whisper, “because you are married- that’s why.” not officially, he says. “you are goin’to get us both in trouble - if not with her, then donnie. please, quit it,” while staring out the window. cameron straightens up and takes place behind you, hands clasped on either side, trapping you over the sink. great.

“no one ‘s gettin’ in trouble,” cameron hums over your swooped hair, which smelled heavily of pomegranate shampoo and weed, “don can’t beat me ‘nd ysa . . . she’s ysa. all bark. don’t be’a ‘fraid to upset her.” says the man with a golden cross around his suck-able neck. how interesting. and totally blasphemous.

and as he’s pressing his lower-half in, cock strained in those boxers and massively tenting the crotch of his jeans, you’re using your back-half to push — you are afraid. of ysa and your big brother, of course. and mama cade, who really loved having ysa for a daughter in law. and bianca, who really enjoyed ysa’s company.

“pleaseeee- i wan’a fuccccc,” whining and rutting and grinding like a starved, hormonal monster! he so badly wants to put it back in. cameron grips onto your hips and bangs his hard-on aggressively — you shriek: “oh my- oh my gosh!” someone’s on their way to the back porch! possibly looking for the bathroom!

you snatch yourself from cameron’s pestering and swat him back back back, like a mosquito. when the glass slides open, you’re tugging your crinkled skirt down. coach’s son, jacobi andrews, came in . . . looking for the bathroom. cameron gestures a hand down the hall and the young man follows, slurring over his words a little bit.

just as you whirl toward the sliding door, desperate to escape, you collide squarely with ysa. a startled gasp leaves you when the red solo in her hand tips forward, sending a wave of ice water splashing down the front of your flimsy top. the chill hits instantly, soaking through the fabric and raising goosebumps across your skin.

“shit!” ysa’s eyes are in horror. before you can even react, she's already rushing for the kitchen counter, almost tripping over herself in the process. “i am so, so sorry, girl!” she blurts, frantically yanking a handful of towels from the roll. “swear you jus’came outta nowhere, girl!”

and as she’s dabbing away . . . she’s beginning to smirk. giggle. “how old’re you, sweetie?” was that . . . a tease? that sounded like a tease. you haven’t noticed, but your top is absolutely, 130% transparent right now. and you’re wearing a bra with cartoon ponies on it.

“ooh shit.” you turned and cameron’s standing there. his eyes dipped to your chest for the briefest second, and his mouth tilts with amusement. shit. unicorn bra. you cross your arms awkwardly over this sopping wet shirt. it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, hell, you remembered the summer he’d gone through your underwear drawer searching for his phone . . . yes, you did steal and hide it.

this would only be embarrassing if you opened your mouth and said ‘this is sooo embarrassing’. but you don’t. you rush through the farthest opening and take the long way upstairs (longer by three seconds).

with your soaked shirt discarded in a damp heap on the floor, you crouch in front of one dresser and begin rifling through its drawers. you’ve spent more summers here than you can count, leaving pieces of yourself each year.

this is where you kissed your first real boyfriend. where you coughed through your first cigarette with tears in your eyes while everyone else laughed. where you got destroyed on sugary wine coolers. and, somewhat-fortunately, where you slapped cameron across the cheek during a vicious argument over a bikini set you wanted to wear.

“you’ve blossomed- nothin’ll fit you.” cameron’s at the door, the sparkly gold and pink and teal lamp painting him those colors. then: “blossomed? what? what does that even mean, cameron?” blossomed. filled out. those teacup bras and cropped shirts were bound to pop right open if you try to squeeze in them. you’ve grown into your woman weight. and he wanted to feel all of it again. you- on top of him. begging for him. pleading and sobbing and cumming. “i’ll get somethin’ from mine, a’ight? don’t move -“

“no,” you called out. “so they can look at me like i’m . . . some trashy side-piece?” cameron laughs loud, but nothing was funny here. “side-piece? ‘caused i’m lending a shirt? for-real?”

“cameron.” you stare back at him, frustration and fear written all over your face. “we are not friends. and we have never been friends.” yeah. but for some reason, after freeing his load into your body, those years of agony and aggravation and treating you like the earth’s scum . . . no longer counted. whatever this was . . . it’s what mattered the most.

being a pain in your ass is all he’s even known. but he’s starting to want something else. his entire role was that — reassuring your big brother that he felt nothing for you. that he would never have his sights on you. but as of right now, what if that was false? a pretend play. (crazy what pussy’ll do to a man). what if adonis wasn’t in his ear, and more on the encouraging side?

hands shaking as you tear out a worn tee and pair of old, loose shorts, “you’re getting married in days,” because he needed you to remind him. “. . . and we’ve made a mistake.” a grave mistake.

he steps inward and closes the wooden door behind him. he reaches and twists the lock. his gaze never leaves you; he shrugs out of his dark-blue denim jacket. the article slips from his shoulders and he tosses it onto the vanity stool tucked by the mirror. “lay down, come on.”

more infidelity? how could that possibly be the answer to your sadness? “cameron, you should head back down. find your woman -“ the order dies as you slam the dresser drawer shut. you tug the shirt over your head . . . and immediately regret it. the fabric clings to your ribs, excruciating around your shoulders, clearly several years too small. ugh. you yank at the hem in annoyance. “fine. d’you have anything pink -?”

and there he is. shirtless. but bandaged; reddened, he’s in real need of a proper redressing. that is neither here nor there because he's in the middle of un-plucking the last buttons of his jeans as if this is the most normal thing in the world. your brain completely abandons whatever point you were trying to make. shiit.

“c’mon, baby . . .”

baby?

you’re in the world's most uncomfortable position; one arm trapped halfway through the sleeve and the other strangely bent behind your back while you wrestle with this shirt. “. . . uhhm?”

cameron makes his way over. and with pupils as big as the nightsky, you’re staring up at him like he’s everything. like he’s yours. all yours, all over again. and it makes your heart do a little pitter-patter. he wasn’t going to give up, and that was sooo attractive. he wanted your pussy bad and it wouldn’t take much else to get it.

“we can be friends,” he mumbles, freeing you from the tiny tee. “what? not good enough to be your friend?” he asks, undoing the front zip of that short skirt.

well, that . . . that wasn’t what you meant. not exactly. “i can be nice.” cameron draws his bottom lip out, another super fake frown, tugging the skirt from over those perfect hips. polka dot panties. “you don’t think i can be nice?” errrr. he didn’t have the best track record. “i can go slow- ‘nd i can be gentle, for my girl.”

my girl? his girl.

and then he was showing you — that he could go slow. and be gentle . . . he felt himself turn into a brand new man the second his tongue graciously rolled itself sweetly over the soft curls of your vagina; pooling the body of his tongue and trailing down his throat — “maay- maybe~ we- we shou’duhm- ummm~“ you’re huffing and puffing and it’s just no good.

even if you managed to get the request out, he would’ve shook his head and kept you up; legs dangling over his bulky shoulders, the heels of both feet knocking and innocently kicking red marks into his already bruised lats. from up here, all you can do is whine and feel fuzzy, like you’re being held beneath water. lashes fluttering, jaw tipped open and drool threatening to slip, this simply felt like a fever dream. and even if there were a faint possibility that you were dreaming . . . you never wanted to wake up.

never. not even to use the bathroom, afraid that if you return to bed, this dream would transform into something totally off — “ca-mmmm~” and your thighs are so jittery over his heated ears, there’s no telling when or if he’ll stop. how could he when your heart-shaped hole made way for his tongue so easily? so pliant. so soft and so sweet-smelling inside, overwhelming him completely. “ca-hah-am!” choking back spit, hacking with tears streaking your cheeks . . . while he has the audacity to keep at it!

shiiiit. that tongue of his, the one he never failed to show off in photos, hooked just right. wagging sloppy ovals and poking other wonky shapes about the hot and moist inner most bits of you. he’s making the lewdest of sounds; smacking and slurping and swallowing hard ‘cause you’re leaking so so so much and he wishes he could see how pretty you looked . . . uncurled edges beaded with sweat, starlight eyes crossing, brows scrunched hard, shiny lips parted and pouty every other millisecond:

“caami- i- i wan’a slow’down now.” as if that would be enough to break cameron’s mouth off of your lower half. with two hands, you hold both sides of his steaming head and attempt to push him off — he groans and cursed once. you’re sliding a bit and still trying to slip away. “pleaase~” his big hands are clasped harshly at your smooth back, literally pressing you into his face.

you’re groaning with every freaky, messy pass of his tongue. “i-hnnn-!” moans turn into gasps, which turn into squeals, which become poorly contained squeaks and yelps as your precious belly clenches and quivers and your junk-decorated nails rake along cameron’s scalp.

he ignores all of that, even your frantic hands grappling for purchase on any part of his slippery head. he ignores it all because it’s too much for him. too much for him to keep holding back despite wanting to take it slow, be a little more gentle with his meal and he gets nothing but a “i wanna slow down” . . . ungrateful, huh? seriously. how much slower could he possibly go?

if cameron was trying to be anything . . . it was thorough and thoughtful with every suckle. considerate, even. it wasn’t confirmed, but he had a strong feeling that no one’s been down here before. let alone have you in the air while they eat away at and satisfy your yummy flesh.

and before you can touch that mind-numbing climax, he’s bringing your body down . . . not to your feet, but to hover over his abdomen.

cameron the cannon cade, unattainable then, completely unavailable now, was lowering you onto his dick; stiff as a damn board — your pussy has positively bloomed with heightened arousal. grown more loose, more honeyed - syrupy, salty, sticky and felt more like home. his home. “shhhh- don’t start that shit. i’ll make’t fit again- y’know i will.” and for a second, he’s forgotten that it’s not you or your cunt he’s marrying.

he doesn’t move the first couple of seconds, relishing this movement of glory and the feel of you again; frothing and squirming from stillness . . . “wha- wha’r’you looking at?” cameron was looking at the angel cupid-babies that float around your crown. you couldn’t see ‘em, no, but they were there. four of them. four, cutie melanated babies that might’ve been yours. and his.

okay, woah! that was too far. but he couldn’t help it. you made his dick sore. and twitch. and as uncomfortable as it had been, he liked it. that knot feeling. and not just the one in his dick, but the weird one in his stomach when he found you cleaning mama’s kitchen. and the one in his chest. and the front of his skull.

pupils expanding and compressing wildly, unbeknownst to him. “. . . i can’t look at you?” cameron wondered, an exaggerated expression. so condescending and tricky. “mm- not when you’re full’a me? that’it?” his mouth crunches into something that was supposed to be a fake frown, but it’s a small ‘o’ — for o-shit! he’s gonna cum!

but he doesn’t. nope nope. because that was embarrassing as fuck; he hasn’t even moved yet. would you ever shut up about it? :: him getting off to sucking on and slobbering all over your pussy? “don’t act like you hate it.” cameron, one arm clutched about your waist, the other holding the back of your thigh, starts stroking.

he releases a weak, wobbly mumble and he’s making you take his dick. well, about two-quarters. cameron enjoys how surprised you are and how sweetly you completely melt into him. because in a position such as this one, where could you actually go? with your calves mashed into his biceps? which removed the friction your feet needed to push off the ground. and your hands with no point of reliable leverage? you had no choice but to take his angry dick.

“hmmg-go- do’it deeper . . .” you pleaded, staring into his light eyes like he’s genuinely the only thing on this earth. “‘nd not so fast- like- like you said you would.” cameron scoffed, a stuffy groan followed shortly after. “huh? you tellin’ me how to fuck?” maybe. but it was the very least he could do. listen. the greatest men were listeners. and selfless. and remained true to their word. hell of a combo.

“‘kay, baby-yeaa’ . . . i’ll go slow . . .“ and it’s awful. the most painful. the most dangerous. the most personal. he’s fighting a cute pout and tears and the masculine urge to feed your cervix with balmy nut. “what else? hmm? tell daddy how’you wan’a be fucked.” the title doesn’t even register. you don’t even feel a need to protest or oppose him.

“don’t’stop talking to me, please .. .” because his voice was just the absolute hottest and his words were the filthiest. an even better combo. ysa wasn’t for all the yapping in bed. she liked her silence, helped her focus.

cameron’s working your ass into his tremoring pelvis, over and over again in a slow, tolerable yet tender fashion, “could sleep jus’ like this -“ he swore, brown lashes slapping, face smushing at your hair. “- let that fat pussy keep me warm . . .” and he’d wake you up like that. with his cock! greedy, even after a night of being inside.

he likes to pull out sliich, guide you back down clicck, out again sllichh, then cliickh down. “my’girl. fuuc- you’re my girl.” despite your heartache when it came time to say goodbye senior year of highschool, you don’t hold it against cameron for getting engaged. not when his cock was this good. this was his apology to you.

lifting your head from his arm: “. . . kiss me. while y- while you do’t.” seemed easy enough, given the obvious situation. but it- that hasn’t happened yet. didn’t happen in the locker-room last night either. cameron could drag in and out at the speed of a snail, but he wasn’t sure how to kiss you. yeah, he’s thought about it a few times, but that wasn’t like this. a kiss was different. somehow. . . . it was affirming. don’t ask cameron to explain himself.

he’s hesitant to lean in, but he does, hips halted, cock snug at the very hilt . . . and the kiss is as mind-shattering as he expected it to be. he pulls away before any extra, sloppy action can take place — you’re staring hard at his used lips and wanting even harder for a second kiss . . . cameron, so attentive and willing to give, goes for another.

you’re not too upset by the sudden change in position, knowing deep down that cameron was gonna do what he wanted at the end of the night — on the bed, on your backside . . . unicorn bra unclasped, legs bent at the knees, twinkling polished toes in his mouth, hands grabbing and smacking his thighs, pussy creaming and trickling squirt and being forced to swallow the entirety of cameron cade’s dick. “mnnmm,” he moans around your big toe.

. . . it felt sweeter than you imagined, and how the erotica books described. and it barely even tickled. but that might’ve been due to the bullying between your legs, mind’s so worried about the foreign object tearing and draining your insides.

“hmmf!” panting and whining through saturated kisses and lip biting. this angle’s far more intimate and way nastier. face to face, bare chest to bare chest . . . heart to heart. “i- hnpph- i-” though it’s at the tip of your tongue — the word — cameron won’t let you get it out. flames dance in his eyes and pterodactyls chew out a pit in his stomach.

he’s gonna cum.

with a guttural growl, “. . . whaat’s m’name?” gritting his teeth, huffing into the junction between your shoulder and neck, holding back whimpers. he fists both sides of your head, the pillow damping under his palms. “hmh? wha’ is ‘t?” weighty hips slamming you into the creaky mattress, shlap!shlap!shlap!shlap! “say my name. or i’ll stop.” a toothless threat. a fat lie.

“mmygoddcam~” glrchglrchglrch! as the ceiling blurs and your nails tug at the dips in his beefy muscles, you take a bracing breath of pungent carnal air: “d-daddy, i lov- . . !”

and that’s all it takes to bust — shplup ♥︎. “nnahfucck!!” he’s so loud and so vocal when he cums, you’re scared someone’ll barge their way in! and he shows no sign of stopping even as your whole body jerks and shudders and trembles. you didn’t think he could get any rougher, but he manages to: big hands pinning your jiggly thighs into the striped comforter, gifting the rest of his sperm.

. . . you feel stuffed. and mild. and beautiful. and stunned to’ve experienced a sexual session better than the locker-room. you didn’t think it would be possible. he snapped his own bar.

cameron sighs and plops down onto the opposite end of your summer bed, struggling for air, hand clutching his abdomen. he’s crashing from the moon, you’re spinning free from the winding slide of pleasure.

and while your mind tries at some cheap, catty response, he’s stuck watching the fan whirl; trapped in a ‘what if?’ thought bubble. like . . .

what if he let you finish that sentence?

[djglory]

[whor3ing]

─── ꒲ nsfw size kink / headlock fucking w dean winchester . . . ❜ ﹗ ﹙୨꣒﹚ ⊹⠀ᯓ‎ 𝄞 surrender , suicide ⌇ f!reader , ❜୧ ‎ ‎ ˙ ⁴⁴⁴

The bunker garage is thick with the smell of motor oil and hot metal, the low hum of classic rock drifting from an old speaker Dean rigged up years ago.

He’s bent over the same motorcycle he’s been tinkering with for weeks—some beat-up vintage Harley he salvaged from a hunt a few months ago gone sideways. His broad back is glistening with sweat under the harsh overhead lights. No shirt. Just worn jeans slung low on his hips and a streak of grease across one sharp cheekbone.

You pause in the doorway, throat dry. He’s absolutely massive like this.

Shoulders carved from years of dragging monsters into graves, back muscles flexing every time he handles a wrench. The dim light catches on the ridges of his abs when he straightens, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. That v-line disappearing into his jeans makes your pulse stutter.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he drawls without even turning around, voice rough like gravel under tires. But there’s that smirk in it. He knows exactly what he does to you.

You step closer anyway, boots quiet on the concrete. “Thought you said you’d be done by now.” Dean sets the wrench down with a metallic clink and finally faces you.

God, he’s big.

Six-foot-one of pure hunter, chest rising slow, those green eyes dark with something that has nothing to do with the bike. His hand—fuck, that hand, flexes at his side, palm wide enough to span half your ribcage if he wanted.

“Got distracted.” His gaze drags down your body like a physical touch. “C’mere.”

You don’t make it two steps before he’s on you. One big arm hooks around your waist and hauls you up against him, your feet barely brushing the floor. He’s already half-hard in his jeans, you can feel the thick line of him pressing into your stomach, heavy and insistent.

"Dean—” you breathe, but he cuts you off with a filthy kiss, tongue sliding deep, claiming. His free hand cradles the back of your head, fingers spread so wide his pinky brushes the top of your spine.

Your skull fits in his palm like it was made for it.

“Been thinkin’ about this tight little pussy all damn day,” he growls against your mouth, nipping your bottom lip. “While I’m out here sweatin’, gettin’ my hands dirty… all I can picture is you stretched around my cock, cryin’ for more even when you’re already full.”

He walks you backward until your ass hits the edge of the workbench. Tools rattling, and then suddenly, he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing, setting you on the scarred wood and stepping between your thighs.

His abs contract as he leans in— completely cut like fresh hawaiian rolls, glistening, the kind of muscle that makes your mouth water. You run your hands over them, nails scraping, and he hisses.

“Yeah? Like what you see, baby?” He grabs your wrist and presses your palm flat against his stomach, letting you feel every ridge.

“All this for you. But you know what you really want.”He grinds forward, letting you feel the massive bulge straining against denim. Even through layers, it’s intimidating. Thick and long. The kind of dick that ruins you for anyone else.

Dean doesn’t waste time. He yanks your shorts down your legs in one rough tug, panties gone with them. Two thick fingers drag through your folds and he groans low. “Already soaked. Such a needy little thing. Can’t even wait for me to finish work before you’re drippin’ for this cock.”

He sinks one finger in, then two, stretching you open with practiced ease. His knuckles are thick, veins standing out on the back of his hand as he pumps slow. You whimper, thighs trying to close around his wrist, but he just chuckles darkly and forces them wider with his hip.

“Look at that. Barely two fingers and you’re already shaking. Gonna look so pretty split open on the real thing.”

He pulls his fingers free, brings them to his mouth and licks them clean while holding your gaze. Then he’s shoving his jeans down just enough. His cock springs out—heavy, flushed dark, thicker than your wrist. The head is leaking, veins wrapping around the shaft like they’re daring you to take every inch. It twitches under your stare, curving up toward his abs.

Dean wraps one hand around the base and strokes once, slow. “See this, sweetheart? This is what’s gonna wreck you tonight.”

WIthout any hesitation, he lines up and pushes in, both slow and delectably relentless.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as the you feel his cock stretching you wide. He’s so big it burns in the best way, every inch forcing your walls to part around him. Halfway in and you’re already gasping, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby,” he coos, voice wrecked. “So goddamn tight. Look down. Watch how you take me.”

You do. The sight is obscene, your pussy stretched so needily around his thick cock, lips gripping him like they never want to let go. He’s only halfway inside of you and you already feel full, pressed right against the limit.

Dean’s hand returns to the back of your head, cradling you, anchoring. His other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“Breathe, sweet girl. You can take it. You always take it so fucking good for me.”

He bottoms out with a deep roll of his hips and you sob at the pressure. The head of his cock kisses your cervix, grinding against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. His abs flex against your stomach with every shallow thrust, like he’s fucking you with his whole body.

“Atta girl. Takin’ every inch of this big dick for me—jus' like that baby. I knew you were made for it.”

He starts moving—deep, devastating strokes that punch the air from your lungs. The workbench creaks beneath you, your thighs trembling around his waist. Every thrust makes your tits bounce under your shirt until he yanks it up and latches onto a nipple, sucking hard.

“Dean—oh god—”

“Yeah, baby? Say my name again while I ruin this pretty pussy, tremble f'me, call out to me, tell me i'm yours.”

He pulls out suddenly, spinning you around and bending you over the bike’s seat. The leather is cool against your overheated skin. Dean kicks your legs wider, lines up, and slams back in with one brutal thrust.

“Fuck yes,” he growls, hand fisting in your hair. “Ass up, just like that. Let me see how deep I get inside this sweet cunt.”

The new angle is even worse—or better. He’s hitting spots that make your knees buckle. You can feel him in your stomach, the bulge of his cock pressing against your lower belly with every thrust.

Without warning his arm hooks around your throat. He pulls you up into a headlock, your back flush to his sweaty chest. His bicep bulges against the side of your neck, forearm locked under your chin, holding you right where he wants you. You’re completely at his mercy, feet barely touching the ground, impaled on his massive cock.

“Mine,” he snarls right in your ear, voice low and filthy. “This tight little cunt is mine. Gonna fuck you so deep you feel me for weeks.”

He starts pounding up into you—hard, fast, relentless. The headlock keeps you arched, helpless, every thrust driving straight into that perfect spot. His free hand slides down to press against your lower stomach, feeling the way his cock moves inside you.

“Feel that? Feel how deep I am, baby? No one else gets this far. No one else fills you up like this big fucking cock.. hmm?? tell me.”

You’re shaking, gasping, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure-pain. His abs are slick against your back, muscles working as he fucks you stupid. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes through the garage along with his filthy praise.

“Such a good little slut for me. Takin’ it so deep on my bike f'me. That’s it—milk my dick, sweetheart.”

Your orgasm hits suddenly, causing you to cry out, body seizing, pussy clamping down hard around his thickness. Dean groans, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he fucks you right through it, headlock tightening just enough to make your head spin in the best way

.“Fuck, that’s my girl. Come all over me. Soak this cock.”

He pulls out only long enough to flip you again, this time facing him. Your legs wrap around his waist as he lifts you, impaling you once more in one smooth glide. Back against the workbench, Dean’s hand returns to cradle your head like you’re something precious even while he ruins you.

His thrusts turn slower, deeper, grinding. Every roll of his hips makes his abs drag against your clit. His cock is still impossibly hard, throbbing inside you, stretching you to your limit.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Gonna pump this pretty pussy full of my come. You want that, baby? You want me to breed you so full that I make you a pretty little mama—hmm?"

You nod frantically, nails raking down his back.

Dean laughs—low, smug, breathless. “Yeah you do. Greedy girl. Made for me. Such a perfect fuckin' fit.”

He kisses your temple, almost tender, even as his hips snap harder.“Mine. All fucking mine.”

When he comes, it’s with a deep groan, cock pulsing as he floods you.

You feel every thick spurt, warm and endless, until it’s leaking out around him. He stays buried deep, grinding lazy circles as he whimpers out, keeping his come right where it belongs.

His hand stays at the back of your head, thumb stroking your jaw. Voice soft now, just for you.

“You’re made for me, baby. It's always you n' me— huh?" He chuckles, rubbing circles against your back.

The garage is quiet except for your ragged breathing and the distant crackle of the radio; 'Surrender' by Suicide solemnly playing in the background as he cradles around you.

His forehead rests against yours, breath warm and steady. Those big hands—so rough from years of hunting and wrenching on engines—are impossibly gentle now.

One stays cradling the back of your head, thumb brushing slow circles over your temple. The other slides up your back under your shirt, palm splayed wide between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to press you even closer.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-rough, lips brushing yours in the softest kiss. Then another. And another. Little presses that turn sweet and lingering, like he’s tasting the quiet between heartbeats. “I’ve got you. Always got you.”

You melt into him, thighs still trembling around his waist, pussy fluttering lazily around his thick length. He’s still so big, still so full inside you, but the sting has melted into a warm, heavy ache that feels like home.

Dean smiles against your mouth. A small, crooked, boyish in a way he rarely lets anyone see.

“Look at you,” he whispers, nudging your nose with his. “All flushed and pretty, takin’ every inch of me like it’s nothing. My sweet girl, you make me so proud.”

He kisses the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then that spot just under your ear that makes you shiver. “You did so good for me. Always do.”

The song swells softly. Dean sways with you just a little, barely a rock of his hips, more comfort than thrust. His cock gives another lazy twitch and he hums, low and pleased, like the feel of you around him is the best thing he’s ever known.“Stay right here,” he says, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Don’t wanna move yet. Feels too damn perfect.”

His hand drifts down to rub slow, soothing circles over your lower belly, right where he’s still buried so deep. “Love feelin’ you like this. All warm and full of me.”

You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in motor oil, sweat, and that familiar scent that’s just Dean.

He keeps you there for long minutes, trading lazy kisses. His hand never stops its gentle petting—your back, your thigh, the curve of your waist,like he can’t bear to stop touching you.

“Gonna keep you full a little longer, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes. Then I’ll carry you inside, clean you up real nice, maybe run you a hot shower…” Another kiss, slower this time.

“Or maybe I won’t pull out at all. Keep you on my cock all night. Would you like that, baby?”

You nod, both dazed and happy, and he grins, that bright, heartstopping grin that makes him look like a goddamn angel.

“Atta girl.” He nuzzles into your hair, holding you tighter. “My sweet, gorgeous girl. All mine.”

And you know—he’ll be ready to go again soon. He always is. But right now he’s content to just hold you, cock warm and deep, heart beating steady against yours while the radio plays on and on.

᭝⁀⠀᭝⠀@obsessivekniss

if you would like to be tagged in future works pls comment!! i am redoing my taglist :,)

꒱⠀₊   ˚⠀⊹⠀ library.

[anitalenia]

Ur strawberry cake dividers r super gorgeous omg. Have u ever thought about doing something Cherry related for ur dividers aswell?

thank you for supporting <3 hope these are just as good as strawberry cake lol

[liliacsdelight]

could you maybe write a wlw fic for a black chubby reader? i never see any work for girls like me so it would be great if you could. i was thinking maybe some body worship, smut, forgotten date night plot with a mix of jealousy issues. work your magic🤞🏽

Serenity Prayer

WLW

Your day started out perfect—you nailed an interview, locked in summer plans with your friends, and were halfway through deep cleaning your home when everything took a turn for the worse, leaving you completely overwhelmed and exhausted. To top it off, your charger broke, leaving your phone dead. While out at the store to grab a replacement, you ran into a friend. The reunion turned into hours of catching up at a casual, impromptu diner date that finally took the edge off your stressful afternoon. ​But the comfort vanished the moment you walked through your front door. Your girlfriend was standing there completely dressed up, an angry look on her face—you had forgotten your actual date with her.

〰•6.6k words, Whoever (f) x Chubby!Blackfem!reader, slow build up, established relationship, jealousy issues, possessive themes, argument + reconciliation, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), body worship, praise, dirty talk, a tiny bit of degradation and condescension, oral, fingering, strap action 😛, pet names/name-calling (e.g., baby, beautiful, sweet girl, stupid¹), sweet ending, etc•〰

〰♡〰18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽〰♡〰

The sun was hanging low, casting long, dusty orange beams across your bedroom floor as you moved through the space. You’d been at it for hours—scrubbing, folding, and organizing with a playlist of 90s R&B thrumming through your speakers. The day had started so well. The interview went smooth, your words coming out steady and concise, and you’d spent a good thirty minutes on the phone with your groupchat laughing about beach plans for the summer, already picking out bikinis and talking about who was bringing what.​

But then, the day took a turn.​

You’d gone to the kitchen to wash the last few coffee mugs, reaching for the handle with a mindless, habitual flick of your wrist. There was a weird, hollow clunk behind the dry wall—a sound that made you freeze.

A second of silence stretched where the water didn't come, and then—boom. The pressurized head of it shot off like a piston, a geyser of freezing cold water hitting the ceiling before raining down in a violent sheet, drenching your hair, your face, and the entire front of your clothes within seconds.​

You’d scrambled under the sink, your hands slipping on the wet linoleum, coughing as you frantically twisted the rusted shut-off valve. Finally, the roaring water sputtered and died. Soaking, shivering, and wiping kitchen water out of your eyes, you called your girlfriend with a shaking hand. She’d been at her mom’s all afternoon, and the moment she answered, you could hear the immediate shift in her tone—the rustle of her jacket, the heavy jingle of her keys as she stood up.

​​"I’m coming, baby," she’d said. Just the sound of her voice—so familiar and steady—was enough to immediately quiet the incoming stress spiral. "Just... give me twenty minutes. Don't touch anything."​

"No," you’d told her, as you wiped a stray drop of water from your forehead, trying desperately to sound more put-together than you actually felt. "Stay there. You haven't seen your mom in months. I already looked it up, I know where the shut-off is. Don't cut the visit short for a stupid sink."

​You’d hung up before she could use any persuasive words to overrule you, but the tough, independent act started to crumble the second you walked into the laundry room ten minutes later.

​The smell hit you first—bitter, synthetic, and burnt.​

Your stomach dropped as you pulled open the dryer door. Reaching into the heat, you pulled out your favorite silk-blend top—the one that hugged your curves perfectly, the one that made you feel so fit, so confident whenever you put it on. Now, right through the center of the chest, there was a jagged, scorched hole, the edges of the silk melted into a hard, blackened plastic rim.​

That was the breaking point. You just stood there in the small laundry room, holding the ruined fabric, the frustration bubbling up into your throat until your chest felt tight. You were sad, dripping wet, and completely overwhelmed. Every inconvenience hitting back to back has you emotional.

You took care of your things. You hadn't done a single thing to intentionally ruin it. You’d washed this exact shirt a dozen times before without a single issue, but right now, you were too irritated to even try and rationalize what went wrong. Your mind was spinning, and you knew that the more you stood there obsessing over it, the more upset you were going to get.

​You walked back into your bedroom just wanting to crawl into bed and stare at the wall. Your phone was vibrating against the wood of the nightstand, a continuous, irritating buzz, but you ignored it. You knew if you picked it up and started replying to the groupchat, the house would stay half-cleaned, and your brain couldn't handle the visual clutter on top of everything else.​

When you finally reached for it minutes later just to check the time, the screen flashed a single, menacing red bar: 2%.​

"Fuck," you muttered, the word a tired, ragged sigh.​

You grabbed your charger, shoving the white plastic into the port. Nothing. You twisted the cord, angling the base just right and pressing your thumb into it until the little lightning bolt finally appeared. But the exact second you let go, the screen went black again. You inspected the wire, your thumb brushing over the neck of the cord where the rubber casing had split away to expose the frayed silver copper underneath. It sparked a tiny, pathetic prick of heat against your skin—a final, useless twitch.

It was completely done.​

You stared at the dead screen, the absolute silence of the room pressing into your ears, realizing you had to put on shoes and drive to the store.

-

The white fluorescent lights of the store are a harsh contrast to the warm, naturally sunlit refuge of your room. You’re weaving through the aisles, the linoleum floor squeaking under your sneakers. You only came for a charger, but somehow, your basket is already carrying a gallon of spring water, a carton of fresh berries, and a bag of salty-sweet plantain chips.​

"Hey, girl!"

​The voice is bright and loud, cutting through the dull hum of the grocery store. You turn around and your face immediately lights up, the heavy tension in your shoulders dropping for the first time in minutes.​

"Destiny!"

She looks incredible. Dressed in bright, flowing boho pants and a crisp white crop top that shows off her smooth skin, her locs are neatly styled into two playful space buns. She catches your eyes, a warm, affectionate grin lighting up her face. Before you can even take a step forward, Destiny closes the gap between you and pulls you into a tight, lingering hug. She wraps her arms completely around your waist, drawing your soft frame flush against hers. She smells of fresh air and her signature sweet-blossom perfume. Having her back feels like an instant, grounding shift in the atmosphere.

When she finally pulls back, she doesn't let go completely. Her hands loosen around your waist and settle on your upper arms, her fingers squeezing gently as her eyes scan your face. "It feels like it’s been forever!" she beams, her smile widening. "How have you been?"

"I've been good," you say, trying to force some energy into your voice. But you’re wearing your girlfriend’s graphic t-shirt and the comfortable shorts you’d scrambled into after the sink incident. While you look neat, there’s a slight fray to your hair and a glassy, exhausted look in your eyes that contradicts your words.

Destiny’s grin fades into a knowing, skeptical look as she takes you in. ​​"You say you've been good, but..." Destiny trails off, her head cocked. She reaches up, her fingers gentle as she brushes the pad of her thumb across your cheekbone, her hand lingering against your jawline a second too long. "How have you really been? You look like you're about to cry, babe."​

You let out a long, ragged sigh, the kind that makes your whole chest heave against your shirt. "Well..."

​Destiny laughs, a warm, easy sound that feels comforting. She drops one hand from your face but slides her arm through yours, hooking her elbow with yours as you start to move. "Oh, that's a 'start from the beginning' sigh. Come on, tell me everything."​

As you walk down the snack aisle together, completely tucked into her side, the words start spilling out. You tell her about the geyser in the kitchen, the scorched silk in the laundry room, and the dying charger that was the absolute final straw—and then, to top it all off, some crazy driver cut you off, making you slam on the brakes so hard your soul almost left your body. Destiny listens intently, rubbing her arm against yours sympathetically and letting out a loud, defensive, "No way," when you get to the driver part.​

"I am so sorry, babe," she says, leaning her hip against her cart as you finally reach the checkout lane. She shifts closer, her shoulder brushing yours as she watches you stack your items. "Today has been rough, but listen to me, it’s gonna get better right now."​

She bags her small amount of groceries, her eyes sparkling as she turns her full attention back to you. She reaches out, playfully squeezing your forearm. "You got plans for the rest of the day?"​

You pause, thinking about the quiet, empty house and the half-charged phone sitting on the counter. "Nope."

​"Perfect," Destiny says, as her hand slides down from your arm to wrap around your wrist, pulling you slightly closer. "There’s this new Boba place two blocks over. They do the real-deal brown sugar pearls and they have these spicy udon bowls that'll make you forget all about your shitty day. My treat. You in?"​

The warmth of her hand on your wrist and the thought of hot, spicy noodles sounds like heaven compared to going back to a semi-fixed sink.​

"Yes," you breathe, a real, genuine smile finally tugging at your lips. "Please, yes."​

-

The boba place is tucked away behind a row of tall succulents, the interior smelling faintly of caramelized brown sugar and toasted sesame. It’s clean, cute, and quiet. You’re sitting at a small table right by the wide front window, the low afternoon sun catching the thick condensation on your plastic cup. The spicy udon is exactly what you needed. Hot. Deeply savory. And thick enough to soothe the restless thrum of your nerves.​

Destiny is mid-sentence, her fork waving as she gets into the thick of the drama. “And then he has the audacity to text me, ‘I saw you at the airport,’ like okay? And? You want a travel voucher or something?” She rolls her eyes, leaning her elbows on the table so she can tilt closer to you. “I swear, it’s like he thinks his attention is a gift I’m supposed to be begging for. Then there’s my dad... he’s bought out half the lumber yard. Thinks he’s gonna build a whole deck by himself.”

​You’re listening attentively, chewing your noodles as a soft laugh bubbles up in your chest. The heaviness of the exploded sink and the ruined shirt is finally starting to recede, replaced by the easy, comforting cadence of her voice. You reach for your pocket, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your sweatpants. And that’s when it hits you.

​The phone.

​It’s sitting on your nightstand, a black, useless brick. That was the whole reason you’d even left the apartment to go to the store, but the moment you saw Destiny, the frustration of the day just... evaporated. You’d gotten completely caught up and forgotten about the charger.​

“You really need to stop picking these nonchalant types,” you say, shaking your head as you use your straw to stir your boba pearls. “You keep going for these guys who act like they don't care, but they’re secretly obsessed and just end up being assholes. You need someone sweet. Someone who actually tells you how they feel without the riddles and extra stuff.”​

Destiny scoffs, taking a long sip of her tea, her eyes locking onto yours over the rim of her cup with a playful, elusive look. She reaches across the small table, her fingers lightly tapping the back of your hand. “Sweet men? In this economy? Please. If they exist, they aren't being drawn to me. I think I have a ‘drama only’ magnet on my forehead.” She pauses, her gaze lingering on your face, a soft, teasing smile on her lips. "Unless you got a twin hiding somewhere that you haven't told me about."

​​You just shake your head, a flustered smile on your lips as you ignore the flutter of her overly friendly comment, taking a long sip of your sweet drink. The late-day light turns everything in the cafe an amber, hazy gold, completely washing over the table.​

6:27 PM.

As you pull into your apartment complex, the atmosphere is peak summer. You slow down, watching a few kids chase a soccer ball across the grass and the smoke from a neighbor's grill drifting through the trees. Then, you see it.​

Her car.​

It’s parked in her usual spot, the chrome reflecting the orange glow of the sunset. A little jolt of giddiness hits you. She’s home.​

You hop out, grabbing the two bags of groceries and the food you got for her. You head up the stairs, your heart thrumming. You pass Amelia on the landing, the sweet older woman from next door who’s currently watering her marigolds.​

“Evening, Amelia!” you chirp.​

“Good evening, mija. You look happy!” she calls back with a wink.​

You unlock the door, the cool air of your apartment hitting you as you step inside. The house is quiet, but you can smell the faint scent of her perfume.

“Baby?” you call out, walking down the hall toward the bedroom, swinging the grocery bags slightly. “I’m home! I got you something.”

​You push the bedroom door open, a wide grin on your face, but it falters the second you see her.

She’s sitting in the center of the bed, her back against the headboard. She isn't moving. She’s just staring at the wall, her eyes completely unblinking and her arms crossed over her chest. The air in the room feels different—more tense. She doesn't even look up when you walk in.

You set the bags down on the dresser, your brow furrowing as the giddiness dies a quick death.​

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping closer to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn't move. She just sits there, her dark eyes tracking the shift in your posture, watching the easy, sugar-high grin dissolve off your face until your shoulders go rigid. She looks incredible—she’s wearing minimum makeup, just a touch of gloss on her plump lips, and a sharp, tailored outfit that hugs her frame perfectly. She’s dressed up. The scent of her expensive perfume is heavy in the room, cutting through the lingering smell of your cleaning supplies.​

“Where were you?” she asks. Her voice is level, flat, and completely devoid of the warmth that usually greets you.​

You swallow hard, the weight of the silence in the room pressing down on your chest. “I, um… my phone died. It was on two percent and the charger completely fried. I went to the store to get a new one, but then I ran into Destiny. She just got back into town and—”

​The second Destiny’s name drops, the atmosphere in the room doesn't just shift; it solidifies. Her jaw tightens so hard the muscle cords along her neck. Her dark eyes pin you to the floor, narrowing into something cold and flinty.

“You look really good,” you venture softly, your voice small as you try to bridge the sudden distance between you. “Did... did you have plans tonight?”

​“Reservations,” she says, the single word dropping like a stone. “At seven. The place you’ve been talking about for three weeks. I told my mom I had to leave early because I wanted to surprise you. I’ve been sitting on this bed for forty-five minutes dialing a dead phone.”​

The guilt hits you like a physical slap to the face. Your stomach drops, a cold, heavy lump settling deep in your gut as you look at her—really take in the fact that she did exactly what you told her not to do, cutting her family time short just to dress up and treat you after your horrible morning. And you forgot.

You completely forgot.

You drop your keys on the nightstand, the metal clatter echoing in the quiet room, and crawl onto the bed. You approach her on your knees, your heart slamming against your ribs.​

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. You reach out to touch her knee, but she flinches and pulls her leg back, avoiding your hand completely. “I didn't mean to. I just got caught up talking to her and lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”

​​“You got caught up,” she repeats, a contemptuous edge finally bleeding into her tone. She leans forward, her shadow eclipsing yours in the dim amber light of the bedroom. Her eyes wander down your body, taking in your soft curves, the slight, familiar pudge of your stomach over your waistband, and the way you’re already trying to think of a way to talk her out of her righteous anger.​

“You forgot about me because you were too busy giving her your attention,” she rasps, her voice dropping into that low, territorial register that always makes you nervous, yet strangely thrilled that she feels so strongly about you. "I’ve already told you twice I don't like how friendly she gets with you, and the first thing you do when your phone dies is go sit in a restaurant with her for two hours?”

​“We just got fo—”

​“Stop talking,” she snaps.

The command stings, sharp and authoritative, hitting your defense mechanisms dead-on. When you’re wrong, when you’re overwhelmed and cornered by your own guilt—your instinct is always to lash out, to poke the bear just to stop feeling so small.​

You pull your hands back, your mouth twisting into a self-justifying line. “You’re overreacting. She’s my friend. I didn't do it on purpose, but you’re sitting here acting like I committed a crime just because I had a cup of tea.”

​She doesn't argue.

She doesn't even blink.

She just holds your gaze with a long, utterly unimpressed look before swinging her legs out of bed, her shoes hitting the floor with a quiet, definitive thud. She stands up, ready to walk out the door and leave you entirely alone in the cold apartment.​

The second her weight leaves the mattress, your bravado shatters. The childish pride melts away instantly, replaced by a sharp, panicking rashness.​

“No—wait, please,” you cry out, reaching out grabbing her wrist. You pull her back with everything you have, your fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeve. “Don't go. Please don't leave. I’m sorry. I’m stupid, I’m sorry.”

She lets you to pull her back to the edge of the bed, but her posture remains entirely rigid. She is like a wall of beautiful, angry stone. Scrambling closer, you throw your arms around her neck, burying your face in the intoxicating heat of her perfume before pressing your lips to hers.​

You kiss her deeply, the movement frantic and sloppy with your own mounting desperation. Your tongue slides against her lips, a silent, breathless plea begging for entry.​

But she doesn't kiss back.

Her mouth stays closed, heavy and unresponsive against yours. Her eyes remain open—dark, cold, and fixed on your face, watching you struggle against her silence. It’s an agonizing kind of torture.​

You pull back a fraction of an inch, a thin string of silver saliva stretching between your lips before it breaks. Your breath is hitching, the room blurring as hot tears well at the corners of your eyes.​

“Please,” you mumble against her mouth, your grip on her neck tightening. “Please kiss me back, baby. Don't be mad at me. Please.”

She doesn't yield immediately. She just sits there, her breath ghosting over your damp cheeks, her gaze tracking the beat of the pulse in your throat. Watching your face crumble, she can tell you are completely heartbroken by your own mistake. She knows you're actually more upset than she is right now, recognizing that familiar, scattered forgetfulness that always takes over when you're under too much stress.

Slowly, her palm slides down your back. Her fingers are warm, rough against your skin as she slips her hand beneath the waistband of your pants, anchoring herself directly against the bare, soft curve of your ass. She squeezes hard, her fingers digging in until a sharp gasp escapes your lips.​

And then, she takes the lead.​

She leans forward, her mouth crashing into yours with a sudden, vicious hunger that steals the breath right from your lungs. It’s a deep, merciless make-out—all tongue and slick, bruising pressure. She tilts your chin up, her thumb catching the corner of your lip to force your mouth wider, drinking you in until you’re completely dizzy. Your hands thread through her hair, holding onto her as the apartment's chill completely vanishes, swallowed by the heat of her possessiveness.

Her tongue slides deep into your mouth, slick and heavy, tasting of the sweet gloss she’s wearing. Leaning into the kiss, you shift your weight, pressing her back until she’s lying flat on the mattress beneath you. She yields to the movement, letting you take the space. Her hands come up to stroke your back, her palms hot through the cotton of your shirt, tracing the line of your spine with a firm, grounding pressure.​

You’re already so turned on. Your chest is heaving, the friction of your shorts rubbing against her thighs making a dull, desperate ache blossom in your pelvis. You break the kiss, panting, and look down into her dark eyes. They’re still hooded, tracking the way your mouth is swollen and wet from her.

You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against her skin, catching the heavy scent of her perfume mixed with the salt of her skin. Your hands crawl up under the hem of her shirt, your palms scraping against the soft skin of her ribs as you try to bunch the fabric up and pull it over her head.​

She catches your wrists, her grip solid and unyielding.​

"Take off your clothes first," she murmurs, her voice a low, gravelly vibration against your ear.​

You swallow hard. Moving to stand beside the mattress, your hands shake a little as you reach down, peeling your shorts and then your damp panties down your legs, kicking them off the edge of the bed. You pull your shirt over your head, unhooking your bra and tossing it aside.​

Standing there completely bare, you feel a pang of self-consciousness. The amber lamplight catches every inch of you.​She reaches up, her hands wrapping around your waist to pull you right back down onto her. She doesn't look away; her eyes wander over your skin with a heavy, deliberate slowness. Her warm palms glide upward, cupping your breasts, weighing them in her hands before sliding down to handle the soft, thick curve of your thighs and the slight, pudgy swell of your stomach. She digs her fingers gently into your softness, holding you, letting you feel just how deeply every inch of this body is loved by her.

​"Fucked up my whole day," she mutters, her thumb rubbing a slow circle into the soft flesh of your stomach, her voice thick with irritation and a dark kind of hunger. "Seriously. I don't even know what to do with you sometimes."

​Before you can manage a response, she handles your hips and shifts your weight, pinning you flat on your back against the pillows. She doesn't waste a single second. Grabbing your ankles, she hauls your legs up to drape your thighs over her shoulders, exposing you completely to the cool air of the room and the intense focus of her gaze.​

She reaches down, her long fingers sliding between your folds. She rubs a single, slow finger down your slit, and the wetness is immediate—a heavy, creamy gloss that smears across her skin with a quiet, sticky sound.​She lets out a low hum, her thumb circling your swollen clit. "Look at this. How do you get so fucking wet just from kisses, hm? Leaking all over yourself."

​She leans down, pressing a hot, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, her breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. "I shouldn't even be between your legs right now. Not after you stood me up. But you had such a hard day, apparently."​

The condescending edge in her voice makes you ache, the need between your legs tightening into a painful knot.

​"I'm sorry," you whimper, your fingers bunching the sheets as she rubs the slickness over your head again. "Baby, I'm sorry."​

"Mhm. I know," she mutters against your skin.​

Then, she opens her mouth and licks you—one long, wet, upward stroke of her tongue right across your sensitive slit, gathering the cream on her tongue.​

You gasp, your hips bucking instinctively off the mattress, your vision blurring at the sudden shock of the friction.​

She holds you completely still, her hands clamping tight around your hips to lock you to the mattress, keeping your legs securely draped over her shoulders. She pulls back just enough to look up at you.​​

"Now talk to me," she commands, her voice dropping into that flat, authoritative register. "Tell me about your day. Start from after the sink call. Tell me why my beautiful girl had such a hard day that she forgot all about me, and let another woman handle her bad day while her phone sat dead. Talk."

​Looking at her, you can tell she's still furious. The rigid tension in her jaw says it all: she plans to wring every single drop of that frustration out of both of you before the night is over.

​You take a shaky, ragged breath, your thighs trembling against her shoulders as you start. "After... after the sink..."

Her tongue stays flat and wet, lapping up and down your pussy in long, deliberate strokes that gather the heavy cream coating your lips. She moves higher, her lips parting to seal around your swollen clit, drawing it into her mouth with a firm, rhythmic suction that makes your thighs shake against her shoulders.​

“The... the shirt,” you choke out, your head tossing back against the pillows as you try to force the words past the static in your brain. “The silk one... it burned in the dryer. Right down the middle... I can’t wear it anymore.”​

She lets out a low, vibrating hum against your sensitive mound, her tongue swirling around the head of your clit before she pulls back just enough to speak. “Mhm. I know you loved that one.”​

“I have... I have the backup one,” you stammer, your fingers clawing at the bedsheets as her thumb settles over your clit, rubbing in heavy, agonizing circles. “But it’s different... it doesn’t fit right like the first one did. It made me feel... feel good. A-and I got it when I was visiting family out of state... I can’t even get another one. And the sink... I had to turn the valve off, but I think something’s still wrong with it... and the charger stopped working...”

​You’re babbling now, the frustration of the day spilling out in a jagged, breathless rush because you can't focus—not with the way her hot mouth is moving, her tongue sliding deep through your folds to lap you up. Her hand is wrapped around your thigh, her grip solid, anchoring you as your body tries to escape the sheer intensity of the friction.

She pulls her face away, her chin glistening with your arousal, her dark eyes hooded as she looks up your body. “What happened next?”

​You tense beneath her gaze, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I... I went to the store. Got a new charger. Some spring water, plantain chips... and then I saw Destiny.

The displeasure darkens her features instantly, a heavy shadow of jealousy washing over her face. “Did you hug her? Say hi and run to her like the sweet girl you are?”​

You pause, a heavy beat of silence hanging in the humid air. “Y-yes,” you whisper.​

In reality, Destiny had been the one to pull you into a tight embrace, telling you how good you looked and asking why you seemed so stressed. But you know how your girlfriend is—possessive to the bone—and you can see the white-hot flash of anger in her eyes before you can even form an explanation.​

She shifts her weight, crawling up your body. Without a single word, she slides two fingers straight inside you.

​The loud, wet squelch echoes filthily in the quiet room. Your mouth goes completely dry, a fragmented gasp ripping from your throat as she hooks her fingers deep, hitting that exact, devastating spot in your core.

​“You’re so bad,” she chastises, as she starts to pump her fingers inside you. “I can’t believe you... letting another woman put her hands all over you like that. I understand your day was hard, baby. But still.”​

“I-It wasn’t... it wasn’t like that,” you whine, your hips bucking up instinctively to meet the hard, rhythmic slide of her hand.​

“It was,” she counters, her thumb pressing down hard against your clit with every deep thrust of her fingers. “You’re just so sweet. So pretty. You think everybody’s just being nice to you.”​She leans down, pressing hot, lingering kisses against your mound, then moves higher, her mouth tracing up the pudgy, soft swell of your stomach. She digs her fingers deep into your thighs, squeezing the heavy, beautiful weight of your flesh, before she finally comes all the way up to crash her lips against yours.​

The kiss is deep, messy, and frantic. She forces your mouth open, her tongue sliding in to make you taste yourself—the sweet, salt-tinged flavor of your own cream heavy on her tongue. You groan into her throat, your hands threading through her hair, pulling her down as your body catches fire from the inside out.​

She breaks the kiss slowly, a thin string of silver saliva stretching between your lips before it snaps. She stares down at you, her eyes dark with a unfathomable amount of adoration.​

“You’re such an amazing girl,” she whispers, her thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek while her fingers keep working inside you, slow and cruel. “Your body is so beautiful... every single inch of you. Your personality is everything. You’re so fucking stupid if you can’t see how other people look at you. Even your long-time friends. They see what I have.”​

She gives her fingers a sharp twist inside you, making you jolt. “You like that attention, hm? You like her touching you?”​

“No,” you sob out, your head thrashing against the pillow. You reach up, pulling her face back down to kiss her jaw, her neck, anywhere you can reach. “Just yours... baby, I’m yours.”

​She lets out a low, rough laugh—pleased, dark, and deeply satisfied by the broken down sound of your voice. “Damn right you are.”​

She slides back down between your legs, and this time, there is absolutely no mercy.

She buries her face in your wetness, her lips locking around your clit, sucking on it with a hard, drawing pressure while her two fingers drive into you with a blurring, relentless speed. The sounds filling the bedroom are incredibly lewd—the constant, sloppy schlick-schlick of her hand, the ragged hitch of your breath, and the thick, white strings of your cream webbing and snapping between her fingers and your skin with every single stroke. It’s coating her tongue, smearing across her chin, completely drenching the sheets beneath your ass.​

She’s talking through it, her voice a muffled, filthy vibration against your flesh. “Look at you... look how wet you are for me. Taking my fingers so good... such a good, sloppy little slut for your girl...”​

The praise burns through you, pushing the pressure in your gut past the breaking point. Your nerves are so sensitive you can barely breathe, your vision whiting out at the edges as the friction turns into a white-hot roar.​

“Baby—baby, wait, I’m gonna—”

​“Do it,” she murmurs, against your clit, her fingers shoving deeper, hitting your spot with a brutal, mechanical force. “Cum for me. Make a fucking mess. Let it out, pretty girl.”

​And then you break. Your body convulses violently, your pussy clamping down on her fingers in tight, crushing waves as you cum right into her mouth. You let out a high, broken scream, your back arching off the bed, your thick thighs trembling against her shoulders as the fluid gushes out of you.​

But she doesn’t pull away.​

She stays buried in you, her tongue lashing against your hyper-sensitive clit, her fingers continuing to pump inside you right through the orgasm. The overstimulation is agonizing, a sharp, electric heat that has you sobbing into the pillows, your hands clawing desperately at her back.​

“Please,” you wail, your voice completely wrecked as your body continues to twitch around her hand. “Please, stop... baby, please, it’s too much... stop!”​

She keeps going for three more hard, wet thrusts, milking every last drop of the release out of you, until you’re completely limp and shaking beneath her.

-

The chaotic, angry edge of the evening has completely melted away, leaving the room heavy with a thick, heady warmth. She has you flat on your back now, her body hovering directly over yours in the quiet, dim light. You’re both completely bare, skin-to-skin, the remaining sweat on your bodies making you stick together every time she shifts her weight.​

She’s moving inside you with slow, agonizingly deep strokes of the strap, the thick silicone gliding smoothly through the heavy, white cream you’re still leaking. You lie there with your head sunk back into the pillow, just staring up at her face. In the amber glow of the lamp, she looks so beautiful—her hair a bit messy now, her pretty eyes completely focused down on the junction of your thighs.​

She got you to spill your guts, wrung all the stress and the honesty right out of you, and now she’s just taking her time, keeping you completely anchored in bliss.​

One of her hands is splayed flat against your inner thigh, holding you spread wide open for her, while her other hand stays lower, her thumb rubbing over your swollen clit in slow, heavy circles. She leans forward slightly, her eyes tracking the precise line where the strap disappears inside you. You watch her jaw slacken slightly, a quiet, rough hum vibrating in her throat as she watches your cream coat the slick plastic, webbing in wet strings against your skin with every lazy thrust.​

“Look at you,” she murmurs, her voice a low, gravelly caress that makes your chest heave. “So soft... so beautiful for me.”​You let out a soft, trembling moan, your hips tilting up instinctively to swallow the fat head of the strap down to the hilt. The depth of it makes your stomach flutter, a dizzying, sweet pressure building deep in your core.​

She reaches down, her large, warm hand leaving your thigh to squeeze the soft, thick meat of your waist that spills over her fingers. Her eyes trace over your curves, lingering on the way your stomach jiggles just a little with the steady thump of her hips. There’s no rush in her movements now, no anger—just a heavy, consuming worship. She loves every single inch of your fullness, and she shows it in the reverent way her fingers hold your flesh.​

Her touch shifts, slowing even further as her palms smooth over your hips. You can tell just how deeply she adores you in the way she pauses there, her thumbs catching on marks etched into your skin. Her fingertips trace and caress your stretch marks with a tender, aching slowness, following the lines as if mapping out a constellation meant only for her. There is no judgment in her touch, only a profound gratitude that this is the body she gets to hold.​

“S-so perfect,” she stutters out, her breath hot against your shoulder as she slides deep again. “Every bit of you. You hear me, baby? You’re so fucking beautiful. Don't ever think otherwise.”

She shifts her weight back for a second, her hands sliding down the back of your calves. She catches your ankle, lifting it slightly, and presses a soft, lingering kiss right over the thin gold chain of the anklet she bought you last summer. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the delicate metal, heated from always being against your body, pressing firmly into the clammy skin of your ankle. The contrast between the warmth of the gold and the heat of her lips makes your breath hitch. She hooks your leg over her hip, locking you into a wider, deeper angle that makes you gasp.​

“I love you,” you whimper, your voice cracking as the strap rubs right against your spot. “Baby... c’mere. Kiss me.”

​She doesn’t make you beg this time. She slides up your body, her breast pressing firmly against yours, and meets you in a sweet, sloppy kiss. Her tongue slides into your mouth, slow and wet, tasting the salt of your tears and the lingering sweetness of the evening. You rub your hands up her arms, your nails scratching lightly against her shoulders, pulling her down as close as physically possible until there’s no space left between you.​

Her thumb keeps a steady, merciless friction going on your clit while her hips maintain that deep, heavy grind. The sounds in the room are incredibly lewd—the constant, wet squelch of the strap surging through your pussy, your muffled cries into her mouth, and the sweat-slick slide of skin against skin.​

“Mmm... baby,” she moans into your throat, her pace picking up just a fraction as she feels you start to twitch and squirm against her. “You’re getting close... aren’t you? Tell me.”​

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you urge, your head thrashing against the pillow as your vision starts to white out. “Right there... don’t stop... please...”

​“I’m not stopping,” she huffs, her grip on your waist tightening, burying herself to the base with three hard, sharp shoves that hit your spot dead-on. “Take it all. Let it go for me. Come on.”​

Your moans turn high and broken, your legs quivering against her sides as the pressure crests. Your pussy clamps down violently, milking the strap in heavy, crushing waves as your climax rips through you. You breath her name into her neck, your hands fisting in her hair, your whole body shaking as the flood hits, drenching the sheets completely beneath you. She sighs softly against your skin, leaning into the warmth of your release. Every movement becomes drawn and deep, a gentle, firm friction against your walls that leaves you both completely breathless.

Slowly, she collapses flat against your chest, her weight a comforting warmth as both of you sink into the mattress, your hearts racing together. She weaves her fingers through yours, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone.

​The quiet of the room settles around you, and the lingering guilt finally pushes you to speak. "I'm really sorry about missing your calls," you murmur softly, your voice thick with emotion. "I swear I didn't mean to. And about going out with Destiny, I—"​

Before you can even finish the thought, she shifts against you, lifting her chin to press a finger gently to your lips, stopping you.​

"Hey, stop," she whispers, her eyes soft and full of regret. "You don't need to apologize for that. I'm the one who's sorry. I was being jealous, and I shouldn't have acted like that. I'm sorry your day went wrong, baby."​

You let out a breath you feel like you've been holding for hours, the last bit of tension draining from your body. You squeeze her hand, pulling her back down against your chest.​

"Let's reschedule dinner. We'll go to the restaurant next week." she suggests, her voice dropping into a warm, comforting hum against your skin. "...And another thing about earlier; don't call yourself stupid."

〰・▪︎♡▪︎・〰〰・▪︎♡▪︎・〰〰・▪︎♡▪︎・〰〰・▪︎♡▪︎・〰〰〰

Dividers by @/dollywons

💌: A/N, when I first received this request, I was a little stuck. I usually associate jealousy with rough sex, whereas body worship feels more gentle and praisey to me. Plus, I've only mildy written body worship twice before 😭 I ended up getting a bit lost in the sauce, but I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always appreciated!

〰♡𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰♡〰

All works © liliacsdelight 2025–Present. Do not repost, translate, modify, or use my work to train AI models.

[2sneaky]

It’s heeeerrrreeeeee😛

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

What A Good Kitty!

Pairing: Asshole Roommate!Sukuna x Cat Girl!Reader x Pet Owner!Toji (ft. Tattooer!Kuna x Mechanic!Toji)

Synopsis: Sukuna HATES cats. He can't stand the little balls of fur. All they do is make messes that he has to clean up and flare his allergies. But apparently, his roommate Toji doesn't care about all that and decides to adopt you, the adorable little cat girl he sees in a pet shop window. As suspected, you dislike Sukuna just as much as he dislikes you, so he makes it his mission to stay as far away from you as possible. However, one stormy night when Toji leaves for work, Sukuna comforts you during a scare from the thunder and suddenly realizes just how adorable you really are...and affectionate. 

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse/Modern AU; Pet Play; Transformation; Cat Hybrid!Reader; Adoption; Fear Comfort; Snuggling; Petting; Finger F*ck; Ear Scritches/Tail Stroking; Deepthroating; Caught Fucking (by Toji but he likes that shit lol); Threesome; Daddy Dom!Toji x sub!Reader x Daddy Dom!Kuna; Collaring; Daddy/Master Kink; Couch Sëx; Spitroast; Dick Piercing; Tattoo Worship; Doggy Style aka Kitty Style (I'll go sit in the corner lmaoo); Raw Creampies; Facial; Aftercare

Word Count: 9.7k

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer's Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! This is based off of a headcanon I wrote about Cat Girl!Reader x Pet Owner!Toji (ft. Asshole Roomie!Kuna) back in February (HOLY SHIT WE IN JUNE NOW GODDAMN) I hope y'all enjoy it!! Read the headcanon riiiiight HERE! <3 -love, Jazz

Credits: Dividers made by @cursed-carmine!

Sukuna hates cats. 

Scratch that: he hated cats before he met you. 

To be fair, he has a disdain for pets of all shapes and sizes. Including cats. Really, he just hates animals, even the little birdies outside his window that chirp his head off in the mornings and shit on his car. He has never owned a pet before due to this unburning hatred and disdain for earth’s “furry friends”. 

But there is no species that gets under his skin the way that cats do. He can’t stand their fur that shed and get every fucking where so he winds up sneezing and his eyes swell. He hates how active they get at night, meowing and running around with their nocturnal asses until he’s up for hours. He hates how prissy and high-maintence they are, requiring 24 hours of attention, the right type of cat food, and a human servant to wait on them hand and foot.

So when Toji, his longtime roommate, pitched the idea of getting a cat of the blue while running errands, Sukuna was, of course, very against the idea. The only reason Toji even brought up the idea of adopting a cat was because they passed by a quaint, disgustingly cute pet store where a special on cats for National Cat Day was happening. 

Toji stood in front of a makeshift fence made to keep the kittens inside, staring down in adoration at the furry little things meowing, playing, and leaping around. Specifically the soft-looking black one with the pretty eyes and tiny mews. “We’re not gettin’ one,” Sukuna growled. 

Toji glared at him, irritated by Sukuna’s lack of enthusiasm. “Well, you ain’t, but I am. C’mon, man, she’s a cutie, ain’t she?” He gently scooped the kitten up from the runt, her tiny body fitting right in his big hands. The kitten stared up at him curiously with those big, irresistible eyes. “Just look at her eyes. And those cute little ears.” 

Toji fell in love right on the spot, scritching behind her ears and under her chin with his thick fingers. “Hey, darlin’,” he coos. “Oooo, you like that? I hit juuuust the spot, didn’t I?” The kitten’s eyes fluttered shut and her body rumbled as she began to purr from the petting. “Purrrrrrr~” 

Sukuna looked away from the disgusting scene, right over at the old woman pretending to admire the tabby kittens when really she was eye-fucking Toji. “Stop before this old lady squirts in front of me,” he hissed. “And stop talkin’ to it like that. We ain’t gettin’ it.” 

Toji glared at his room, still scritching the kitten’s ears. “And why the fuck not?” 

“We don’t have the space for a damn pet! Who’s gonna take care of it while you’re at work?” As a tattoo artist, Sukuna definitely didn’t (and wasn’t) going to have the time to care for it. Toji is a mechanic, so he works long hours too, always coming home covered in car oil and groaning from being on his aching knees all day. 

How the fuck are two working, forty-something year old men going to take care of a little kitten? Paying for taxes and groceries every two weeks is bad enough!

“I guess not you,” Toji scoffed, nuzzling the kitten’s head with his chin. But she will be fine! I’ll feed her, potty train her an’ everything so she don’t bother your bitchy ass.” As if listening and hearing him, the kitten mewed at Toji and nuzzled into his cheek, still purring. “C’mon, Kuna,” he pouted. “How can you resist her? She’s adorable!” 

The kitten turned to Sukuna then, her eyes glistening curiously. Sukuna stared at the cat, noticing something…different about her. Something un-feline that didn’t match the other kittens behind the fence. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished when the kitten purred as Toji’s big hand petted her head, pushing her ears back. So he caved. “Fine, but she’d better behave or I’m gettin’ rid of her. One mess and she’s out.” 

Toji grinned like a little kid and excitedly held the kitten up to his face. “You heard that, little one? You’re comin’ home with me.” And he raced inside the pet shop with the kitten in tow to sign the papers that day. 

For the next 24 hours, Toji was doting on his new pet while Sukuna stayed out of the way and stocked up on allergy medicine. But you were a brattier feline than either of the men anticipated…and you weren’t even a real feline. Not entirely. 

That night, after falling asleep on the couch to the last season of “The Boys”, Sukuna passed out somewhere during episode 4 only to be woken up by something tickling his thigh. He grumbled, flicking it away, only to feel it again minutes later. “Damn bugs,” he growled, opening his eyes and looking across the couch to see– 

“Jesus!” he yelps, nearly falling off of the couch. His startled yell scared you out of your sleep. You curled up with a blanket covering you, furry black ears and a tail attached to your head and backside. Your eyes glistened as you stared at him, wide and glowing in the dark. 

Sukuna jumped up from the couch, alarmed at the stranger in his apartment. “Who the fuck are you?! How’d you get in here?!” You didn’t reply, sitting up on your knees where the blanket slid down to reveal your naked tits. “And why the fuck are you naked?!” Sukuna grunted. 

Nevermind the fact that you had the best rack he’s seen in ages! So pretty and soft and plump-looking. Just aching to be sucked and tweaked and pinched and massaged and fucked with his big, fat c– 

Suddenly, a light flickered on, casting the living room in a soft, warm glow. Toji stood in the doorway of his bedroom in his KFC bucket-printed boxers and a T-shirt, yawning. “The hell are you on about, Sukuna? It’s 6 in the fuckin’ morning.” But all sleep immediately faded when he got a look at you sitting on the couch. 

“Master!” you happily say. Your tail stood up happily and your fluffy ears pricked, excited to see your owner. Toji scowled, just as confused as his roommate as you flung yourself off the couch and scurried over to him with the blanket wrapped around you. 

“Master?” Sukuna parroted, confused. “You know her? What, did you fuck her last night and forget?” Toji stared at you, utterly disturbed at why a strange girl was standing in his apartment naked with cat ears.

“I don’t…wait. That collar.” He turned your chin up where you proudly flaunted the pretty pink collar where a gold nametag hung with your name printed on it. The same collar he got the kitten. Toji’s eyes glistened with recognition. “Y/N? That you, sweetheart?” 

At the mention of your name, you smiled at him, all joy and affection. “Master,” you purred. “Snuggle.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, barely grazing his broad chest. Toji grinned, hugging you tight, recognizing his sweet kitty. “I knew there was somethin’ special ‘bout you. You’re one of those cat girls, ain’tcha?” 

You purred and snuggled into your owner’s chest, in your own little world with him. But Sukuna wasn’t having it. “She ain’t stayin’. How the fuck do you expect us to pay for another fuckin’ human in here?!”

“But she’s a cat too,” Toji argued. “And nobody’s askin’ you to pay for her; I will. She’s MINE.” He protectively held you as he glared at Sukuna, stubborn and unrelenting. “C’mooon, just look at the girl!” He turned to you around to face Sukuna and maybe it was the beer he consumed beforehand, but…something in your eyes grabbed at the pink-haired tattooer. 

Not that he liked you or anything. But still, he wasn’t a monster. Just an asshole. He groaned, pinching his sinuses. He felt a headache coming on, both from the cat hair flying about and the current situation. “Fine, but make sure she stays in your room. And remember: one mess and she’s out.” 

Turns out one mess turned into many. Catgirl or regular cat, you were prone to doing cat-like things, like knocking shit over on the table and destroying toilet paper. You showed up in unwanted areas, like when Sukuna was showering, and you constantly meowed for attention. 

As the months went by, the two roommates quickly realized that you shifted into your cat and human forms depending on the time of day and on your mood. In the daytime, you were a little kitten prancing around on all fours, furry and fucking up Sukuna’s sinuses. But at night, you were a curious, adorably sexy human woman, all up under Toji like you were cold. 

And Toji was hooked. He no longer invited any hookup over (probably because he was too busy fucking you), instead spending all his time with you after he got home. He couldn’t wait to get home to you just to stroke your fluffy ears and tail just to hear you purr for him. 

He used all his money to buy you the cutest outfits and the prettiest collars for your neck, bedazzled with gems and bells to hear you coming when he called your name or clucked his tongue to signal for you. He spoiled you rotten, always taking you to the park on warm days or to the pet shop to buy you more treats and toys that you didn’t need. 

Toji was totally determined to be the best pet owner to his little kitty. And Sukuna detested every minute of it, especially since his roommate’s pleasure was at the expense of his discomfort. 

Mostly because he was tired of hearing Toji fuck your brains out through the bedroom walls at night and seeing you slink around in those damn ruffled mini skirts and sundresses Toji insisted on buying you that Sukuna definitely didn’t think make you look so cute and sexy in. He was sick of your shit. 

So one morning before work when he came in to see you sitting on the couch in your cat form, like you shouldn’t have been, he had a fit. “Oi!” he bellowed. “Get the fuck down! Why the fuck are you on my couch?!” 

You stared up at him, unbothered, and made a mean grumble when Sukuna stormed over to you. “Damn fur ball. Don’t growl at me or I’ll skin you.” But he didn’t dare pick you up. Last time he did that, he got a deep scratch on his hand that bled for hours. Because you couldn’t speak in your little cat body, you began to loudly meow, signaling for your Master. 

Toji came running in, dressed in sweats and ready for coffee. “What’s up, baby?” he cooed, coming right over to you. “Aye, you fightin’ with Y/N again? I think you woke her up.” You sweetly meowed and purred for Toji as he petted your backside, unfurling from your loaf to stretch in greeting.  

“She ain’t supposed to be on the couch. I told you this a million times, asshole. Remember my allergies?” Sukuna sniffled, already feeling his nose becoming itchy. Toji gave him an apologetic smile, secretly laughing. “Ohh, riiiiight, you’re allergic. We got plenty of medicine in the bathroom for that.” 

“That’s not the point,” Sukuna groaned. “I don’t want all that fuckin’ cat hair on my—did she scratch up my couch?!” He eyed the tattered fabric on the couch, looking suspiciously like cat claw marks. Toji picked you up, cradling you. 

“Oops. Y/N, honey, I thought I told you no scratchin’ the couch up.” You purred in his arms, blinking up at him with those magnetic eyes. Toji melted, ever so in love with you. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he cooed, giving you heart eyes as he scritched behind your ears. 

Sukuna rolled his eyes at the disgusting display. “This prissy little pussy is gettin’ on my nerves. I’m about to throw her in the street.” Toji rolled his eyes at his roommate’s dramatics. “No, you’re not. You love her just as much as I do!” 

“No, I don’t. I only tolerate her ‘cause she’s yours. You’re the only one she even likes.” You were all lovey-dovey and sunshine for Toji, but all Sukuna got were hisses, growls, and occasional scratches if he happened to pick you up or get too close. You didn’t like him and he sure as hell didn’t like you either. 

“That’s because I don’t yell at her or swat her with newspaper or call her names,” Toji said accusingly. “Of course, she loves her Master more. Right, kitten?” He snuggled you into his chest, your purrs loud enough to be heard from down the block. 

Sukuna pretended to gag and stormed into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee before popping on the rest of The Boys. It was his day off and he was going to enjoy it. “God, get a fuckin’ room,” he growled. 

“Someone’s jealous,” Toji chuckled to which Sukuna gave him the middle finger. “Listen, I’ll probably be late today with work, so just take care of her while I’m gone?” Sukuna turned, staring at his roomie like he was insane. And he was. “Da fuck I look like? I’m not her owner.” 

“Yeah, but I’m not here to care for her,” Toji stressed, looking absolutely gutted at leaving you alone for so long. He was usually back in the afternoons after a job at the mechanic shop, but today was one of his days he wanted to work overtime. “Just feed her and try not to skin her, alright? Be nice to my girl.” 

He took your paw and held it up for Sukuna, showing off your cute, pink toe beans. Sukuna sighed and grabbed a mug before turning away to brew himself a pot of coffee. “Whatever.” 

As he tried to ignore the cute sounds of your meows and purrs, Toji spoke again. “Wish you would just give her a chance. She really is a sweetheart, Kuna. Trust me: one day, this little darlin’ is gonna rub off on you.” 

But Sukuna ignored him, only hoping that you didn’t piss on his couch or shred his clothes while your Master was gone. How was he going to survive a day alone with such a little brat on his hands? 

•••••••••••••• 

Hours later, the day turned into night and it was raining cats and dogs. “Jesus,” he muttered, watching the downpour from his window. 

The window overlooked the cityscape outside, droplets of water pouring down the glass. It was the perfect night in; rainy, dark, and gloomy. Sukuna was prepared to spend his night diving into some takeout, beer, and Netflix on the couch while Toji was still working a shift. 

But as he turned around to get started on his evening in, he realized how difficult that would be because you–the furry little thorn in his side–were lying curled up on the couch in your human form. Toji had picked up a pretty ruffled black mini dress that you’d been wearing all day, waiting for your Master to come home from work. 

You didn’t bother Sukuna much today, only making a lot of annoying sounds with your loud ass bell tinkling about as you walked around in your cat form, sipping water and playing with your barrage of toys that Sukuna always stepped on. But when he saw you lying on the couch, your knees curled up to your chest and your pretty face looking so serene, he blew a fuse. “Yo!” he growled. “Oi, get down! You can’t be up there!” 

Your furry black ears twitched as your eyes fluttered open. Sukuna tried not to take notice of how long and defined your lashes were, reminding him so much of a doll’s. Your cat-like eyes flickered up to him, your sweet voice thick with sleep. “Toji,” you murmured. “Master?” 

Sukuna felt a strange tug in his stomach when you mentioned his roomie, mistaking him for the tall mechanic. He had no idea how long you had been sitting on the couch while he wasn’t watching, but that nap must’ve knocked your brain loose a couple screws. “Your Master ain’t here. He’s at work; you know that. Now get up.” 

You sat up from your position, stretching, your tail unfurling and curling around your ankles before fanning impatiently. “Want Toji,” you grumbled. “Wanna call.” You pouted those plump, pink lips at him to which he rolled his eyes at, struggling to keep his cool. Especially with the way that tinkling gold bell attached to your collar brushed just above your sweet, juicy-looking cleavage. “Call him if ya want. Just get off the fuckin’ couch.” 

But you didn’t, still sitting there, arms crossed and lips pouted. You were a stubborn little thing, indeed. Sukuna growled like a wolf hunting his prey, becoming irritated. “Little brat. I said GET DOWN.” After sizing him up with an unbothered stare, you laid your head back down against the couch cushion. “Sleepy,” you murmured. “Cozy.” 

You snuggled into the couch as you curled your knees back up to your chest, accidentally showing off a sliver of your lace panties and a bit of your supple asscheeks underneath. Sukuna felt a hot flush enter his body at the sight and he quickly averted his eyes to the newspaper lying on the coffee table. “You little wench. If ya don’t move right now, I’ll—“ 

BOOM! 

Suddenly, you were up from your comfortable sleep position, fear and shock evident on your pretty face. Your tail poofed up from the loud noise, frazzled, and your ears shot back. “Eeeeek!” you shrieked, causing you to fly off the couch and into Toji’s bedroom to hide. Sukuna flinched as the door slammed shut, leaving him alone once more. “Da hell is her problem?” he muttered. 

But then something weird happened: he actually began to walk towards Toji’s room to see you. Comfort you. That has never happened before. He instantly stopped, one foot pausing in front of the other, as reality smacked him hard. “What the fuck are you doin’?” he asked himself. Quickly, he fetched his beer and sat down with some Netflix, ignoring the strawberry-sweet scent you left in your wake on the couch. 

As the storm raged on and the thunder boomed, lightning flashing across the living room in the darkness, Sukuna felt his eyes growing heavy somewhere between Daredevil: Born Again and Love Is Blind (he loved laughing at the mess of reality TV). But quickly, the heaviness of sleep and the rain stopped his approaching nap when he heard Toji’s bedroom door creak open.

He turned and there you stood, wrapped in a blanket, your tail literally between your legs. Your ears were still sitting back, flat against your head. The look in your eyes held nothing but fear. “Back again?” Sukuna asked, one tatted arm tossed over the back of the couch. “Ya come to apologize?” 

You didn’t answer, too busy jumping at the sound of more thunder booming, cutting through the white noise of the TV. Sukuna rolled his crimson eyes at your reactions. What a squeamish little thing. “Jeez, relax. It’s just thunder. And some lightning.” 

As soon as he said it, more lightning struck, flashing across the walls. You gasped and raced for the couch, jumping onto it with Sukuna. But then you tried to take his arm. “What the fuck are you doin’?” he growled. He snatched his arm away from you, much to your hurt expression, and shook his head as he moved over as far as he could from you. “Uh-uh, back up. I don’t do cats.” 

You stared up at him with pupils as big as moons, your eyes welling up with wet tears that made them glassy. You slunk off of the couch, shivering in your blanket, the picture of fear. “Toji,” you whimpered. “S-Scared.”

Watching you, Sukuna couldn’t help but feel like an asshole. He wasn’t pleased that you were here taking up his movie night, but he didn’t want to be a total dick to you. So as you turned to walk back to Toji’s room, alone and afraid, he caved. “Hey,” he called. You turned, confused, your ears perking up. “You can come up and sit, but no funny business. I ain’t your owner.” 

You seemed confused at first, like you couldn’t figure out if he was serious or not. But slowly, you slunk back over to the couch and sat down. You were stiff at first, all of your limbs wound tight together, but overtime as the show continued and the minutes ticked by, you sunk into the couch. Sukuna looked over at you, finding you curled up in your spot again. “Better?” 

You nodded, lazily, not quite awake, and let out a cute little yawn that tugged at his heartstrings. Maybe it was the beer. He couldn’t be actually thinking you were adorable…right? 

He didn’t overthink it, instead distracting himself with the mess and drama of Love Is Blind, humorously smirking whenever an argument happened and rolling his eyes at a kiss. The storm raged on, but you were quiet, never flinching or shrieking in fear. Perhaps this is all you needed: some company. And at some point, you fell asleep. 

When Sukuna looked over at you, he wished he hadn’t…because you were the most adorable sight he had ever seen. Curled up under the fluffy blanket, you looked so serene and peaceful, your ears twitching ever so slightly, your tail serenely flicking by your pink-painted toes. The only thing that snapped him out of it was his phone ringing. Quickly, he snatched it up so he wouldn’t wake you and answered without looking at the caller ID. “What?” he barked. 

“Hey, asshole,” Toji greeted. “How’s my baby doin’? You skin her yet?” Sukuna looked over at you snoozing away, soft purrs leaving your lips. “She’s got one more time to make all that yowlin’ again and I might,” he grumbled. He had to keep up appearances after all. 

“She’s scared,” Toji sighed, sounding worried for his poor kitty. “Poor baby. She hates the thunder. Listen, just watch over her, alright? And if you need to, pet her. It makes her less scared.” 

‘Pet her?’ Sukuna thought. ‘Pet her where?’ He grimaced, confused. “How the fuck am I supposed to–” 

“Gotta go,” Toji interrupted before he could finish asking. “Just watch over my girl. I’ll be home soon.” And then the call was finished. 

As soon as Sukuna put his phone down, he heard a slight mew and turned to find your ears twitching rapidly, your tail flicking in agitation. You were shivering under the blanket, your brows drawn in fear and distress. You then began yowling again in your sleep, that awful, pitiful sound ringing in his ears. The tattooer swallowed, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to scare you anymore than you already were…but he couldn’t see you look so damn pitiful. 

Slowly, he scooted over to you, careful not to make a sudden move or sound. Once he was within arm’s reach of you, he gently stuck out a hand and poked you. Immediately, you were awake and tossing the blanket off of you. Your eyes were sharp splits and your claws were bared, every muscle in your body tight. 

“Hey, hey, chill,” he grumbled, snatching his hand away. “It’s just me. Don’t bite me, alright?” Though you relaxed, you still looked slightly perturbed, staring at his hand adorned in ink. “This is just so you ain’t makin’ that annoyin’ ass noise. It’s not ‘cause I care. Plus, your Master keeps botherin’ me.” 

At the mention of your Master, your eyes softened. “Toji?” you whispered. Sukuna grimaced, his lips tightening. “No, I told you: he’s at work. I’m–” 

“Sukuna,” you replied. The tattooer stopped short, shocked at the sound of his name escaping your lips. You had never said his name before. It sounded strange coming from you, but also…nice. “Yeah,” he said, surprised. Your eyes jet back to his hand, staring dead at his thick fingers. “You ain’t gonna bite me, are you? Or hiss? Or scratch me?” 

To his surprise, you did neither. You were silent, tail curling curiously around your feet. Slowly, inch by inch, he reached toward you and softly petted the top of your head. Your ears shot up at the sudden contact, alarmed by the touch, but then you settled into it. “You want more?” he cooed. “Don’t get used to it. It’s just for tonight.” 

But even as he said it, he didn’t believe himself. Because the moment he began stroking your soft hair and ears, the moment he heard you purr, was the moment he started falling. Hard. He didn’t think it was possible and he couldn’t explain away the pounding of his heart or the way his stomach fluttered as he stared at your peaceful expression. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, your long lashes fanning your cheeks, as you purred nonstop at his ministrations. He never pet an animal in his life before this moment, but he was glad to know that he wasn’t terrible at it. But once you let out a soft moan at his touch, he instantly stopped, feeling his cock twitch in his sweats at the sound. 

What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t be here getting hard over his roommate’s pet! “Alright, that’s enough,” he grunted, much to your dismay and confusion. “Lemme get back to my show.” 

But he couldn’t. Because you were crawling your little self into his lap. Sukuna tensed, confused and alarmed at your change in behavior. “Whoa, whoa,” he coughed. “Da hell are you doin’? Get down. I’m not your Master.” You didn’t listen, snuggling your cheek into the hard planes of his chest. “M’cold,” you whispered. “Warm.” 

You stared up at him then with those big, glittery eyes. Eyes like a siren luring in a sailor. Sukuna blinked, feeling his face flush from the sight of your pretty face and eyes staring through your thick lashes at him, his mind taking him on a journey to his dirtier fantasies of you looking up at him like that while you sucked his fat co–

“No, no, wait,” he grunted, trying to push you off of him. “We can’t. I-I don’t like cats and you’re…you’re…” So cute. So small. So perfect. You felt so soft and warm against him, your hands laid flat against his chest, right below his hammering heart. His arms ached to hold you. His hands itched to feel you. Every part of his body yearned for you as you sat in his lap. He didn’t know what you were doing to him. 

“What are you doin’ to me, huh?” he panted, staring down at you. He made the mistake gently petting your tail, causing you to let out a tiny keen of pleasure. “Sukuna,” you murmured, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. And then your lips were on his. He told himself that you initiated first, but he couldn’t be so sure. 

All he saw were your dialed pupils before your eyes closed and your soft, plump lips touched his. He couldn’t deny it: you were a really good kisser. Your lips were supple and sweet, tasting like cherries; such as soft as your tail that tickled his skin as it curled up around his waist. He didn’t know much about cats, but when you began to purr, he could tell you were enjoying this. 

So he allowed himself to slowly touch you, stroking up your thighs; your spine through your backless dress; your soft tail. Then his lips were on your neck, shoulders, and jawline, his lips touching places that made your nipples harden beneath your dress. He could feel them press against his chest as you arched yourself into his touch, your soft moans and keens driving him up the brink of insanity. 

Now, your body wasn’t tense from fear anymore. It was all pleasure. Even as the storm grew louder and stronger, you didn’t flinch or run. Instead, you stayed in Sukuna’s lap, straddling him now. 

“Please,” you whimpered. “More.” The tattooer eyed you, his cock throbbing beneath your lace panties. “More?” he asked in a deep tone thick with arousal. “Tell me where, little one.” 

His hand brushed your back, making the hairs on your neck stand up. He smirked, loving that he had such power over you now…the same way you did over him. He let you take his hand and guide it, blushing when you guided his fingers between your thighs. “Right here?” he panted, feeling you throb against his fingertips. “You want my fingers right here?” 

Slowly, you nodded, your eyes hooded and lips parted as you softly moaned when he began rubbing you. He kept his movements slow, allowing you to pull away if you chose to…but you didn’t. You stared at him as he kept stroking your pussy through your panties, your lips becoming puffy and soaked from his thick fingers. 

This was so wrong. So bad. You were Toji’s pet! His perfect girl! And yet…. 

Sukuna’s eyes ticked up to meet yours, seeing nothing but lust there. “Feels good?” he asked. He began to rub your clit with his thumb, causing you to moan and close your eyes from the feeling. He grunted in disapproval, stopping his rubbing. “Look at me and tell me,” he firmly ordered. “Tell me how I feel pettin’ that little pussy.” 

You whimpered at his words, opening your eyes, shining like a cat’s in the darkness. “S-So good,” you stammered. He could see how hard your nipples were now, not to mention how soaked you’d grown. His fingers practically dripped with you. “I-Inside? Can you, Kuna? Please?” 

Those soft, hopeful eyes stared into his, begging him for exactly what he thought you wanted. What he secretly always wanted after listening to Toji praise your pussy through the thin walls at night, the headboard banging and your sweet cries filling the apartment. “So polite,” he chuckled. “So fuckin’ sweet. But you’re still a brat.” 

He drew a squeak out of you as he suddenly snatched you up and sat you in his lap, your back to his front, your tail tickling his stomach. “You need to be punished for that,” he whispered before gently kissing your soft, furry ear. He nibbled on it slightly, drawing another gasp out of you. 

His thick fingers swirled around the wet spot of your pussy before he pulled your panties aside, your thighs spread wide to welcome him. He groaned at the sight of you–so soft and pretty, pink on the inside with the most gorgeous puffy pussy lips and a nest of trimmed curls leading down to your honeypot. “You’re so spoiled. You’ve got Toji wrapped around your little claw.” 

Snap! He tugged on the waistband of your panties and snapped them back against your skin, smirking when you keened at the sensation. “But I ain’t Toji. I’m gonna make you work for this.” 

SMACK! 

You let out a mix of a moan and a yelp as his hand roughly smacked against your pussy, his palm becoming sticky with your juices. Slowly, he stuck one finger in, growing harder at the noises you made as he gently finger-fucked you, getting you used to him. You were so used to Toji and his sex, so he wondered if he was able to make you feel just as good with his fingers…and maybe his cock too. 

His thoughts could only get dirtier than the gutter as your moans, gasps, and whimpers filled the air, your soft thighs shaking around his hand as he curled his finger up to rub your G-spot. You leaned your head back into his chest, those eyes closing against the pleasure he was giving you. “S’kuna!” you moaned, squeezing his wrist in your tiny hand. “P-Please more! N-Need…need you!” Sukuna’s cock twitched in his sweats, damn near putting a hole in it. 

“You want more?” he huskily asked in your twitching ear. You only whimpered and nodded, probing him to slowly slide his middle finger in. Your mouth fell slack as your pussy gushed around his digits, soaking them. “How ‘bout this? Is this what you want, kitty?” he growled, pumping his fingers in and out, making sloshing sounds in your tight, wet cunt. 

His mind drifted as his thick fingers fucked you out of your fear. In his head, he replaced his fingers with his cock instead, fucking you till you cried and creamed all around him, dripping down his balls until they emptied inside of you, filling your pussy to the brim. As you squeezed around his fingers, his dick got stiffer until he was rubbing against you, much to your enjoyment. “You close?” he whispered in your ear. “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight! Squeezin’ ‘round me so good…” 

He fucked you a bit more intensely, speeding up, not caring if his knuckles got tired. He wanted you to cum for him. To scream in pleasure. To give him everything he wanted. Finally, your moans grew louder, bouncing off of the walls as lightning flashed against your pretty face.“Kuna….m’close! So close!” you squeaked. 

He grinned, endorphins pouring inside of his veins at the sheer fact that he was making you this submissive for him. “Cum for me, kitty. Just this once. Let me make that pussy cum f’me.” He suckled on your furry ear and continued his thrusting, loving how slick you made his hand. Finally, with a broken mew, you came all over his fingers. 

It was glorious and entertaining watching you cum for him. Even more entertaining than anything on TV! The way your ears flew back and your tail curled into a knot as you moaned so sweetly into the quiet living room sent shivers down his spine. He groaned when he felt your pussy spasm and clench around him, making him yearn to feel your pussy walls clamp around his dick in the same manner. 

You soaked his fingers down to the knuckles, leaving his palm sticky and wet. After your muscles relaxed and you let out a tiny sigh when your orgasm high faded, he slowly slid his fingers out of you and placed them up to your mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered. You did so, opening your mouth to suck on his digits, your wet tongue slipping and sliding along his fingers. He grinned, satisfied with your submissiveness. You must’ve been sooo needy without your Master here. “Good girl,” he uttered, making you turn to stare at him. You seemed shocked that he would dare let such praise slip past his lips. 

Realizing his fuck-up, he cleared his throat, his cheeks hot. “Um…that was–whoa!” But before he could finish, you were sliding off of his lap and staring at him with a look of hot lust. He could hardly breathe as he watched you slink down to your knees, your tits nearly dripping out of your mini dress, looking like a picture of sex. 

Sukuna sat back, watching you, his cock throbbing in his sweats. “So you think you just own the place, huh? Slinkin’ ‘round here in them little dresses and all that lingerie…” 

He couldn’t stand it when Toji bought you such sexy outfits, mostly because he couldn’t fuck you in them. It was almost like Toji was teasing him, letting you flaunt your body in your cute little dresses, booty short pajamas, and lacey sets. But he certainly wasn’t complaining watching you kneel before him now in one of your little numbers.

You began to indulge in his muscular body, running your claws up his thighs to his stomach, peeling his shirt up to reveal his abs and tattoos. He groaned at the feeling of your sharp claws dragging against his skin. “Shit,” he panted. “Da hell do you think you’re doin’, huh? You can’t just…oh, fuuuuck.” 

The moan dragged out his throat as you leaned your head down between his thighs and began nuzzling his dick print. Hard, hot, and heavy against your soft cheek. Sukuna nearly came right there from the slutty act. “You like that, huh? Is it big enough for you, kitty?” You nodded, nuzzling his cock. “Go on; take it out if you want it. Show me what that mouth can do.” 

You did so, expertly untying his sweats in a way that impressed him. You purred as you slid his pants and underwear down to his ankles, exposing him to your lust-blown eyes. Your eyes widened at the sight of him–big, hard, throbbing, and veiny. A pink happy trail moved down to smooth shaven skin and his cock head was pierced at the tip with a silver ring that had you drooling. He sat before you, eyes hooded with lust and thighs spread for you. 

“So pretty,” you murmured before your hand was wrapping around it. Sukuna softly groaned as you began to stroke him, up and down, your eyes fixed on him. Then you wrapped your luscious mouth around him, being careful to not nick him with your fangs. He let out a loud, long moan at the feeling of your wet tongue and soft lips sucking him, licking him, wrapping him up like a velvety hug. “Shit,” he exhaled. “Fuck, you ain’t too bad at this…for a feline.” 

Cat-like eyes flicked up at him, sharp and shiny. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked him a bit harder, making him grunt. He had to grab the couch cushions to avoid cumming right there down your throat. “Fuck!” he moaned, tilting his head back in pleasure. Then it was right back to you giving him the deepest, most excellent throat he had in his life. 

You were truly a pro at sucking dick, using your tiny hands to pump, pump at his base while you sucked him off at the tip, alternating between deep thrusts of your throat down his shaft and licks of your tongue against his cockhead ring. You even tugged a bit on that, making him mutter, “Little fuckin’ brat” through a grunt as pleasure zipped through him. 

“My bad. Is that a slur to your species?” he chuckled, kind of enjoying your little bite. Your eyes locked on him as you fucked his cock down your throat, your cute little ears twitching in pleasure as you did. You were enjoying this too. He could tell by your eager sucking and the spit that drooled from your mouth, coating his balls. “Goddamn,” he grunted, tilting his head back against the couch. “Is this what you do for your Master?” 

“Just about,” Toji replied. “But she uses more tongue than that.” 

Like a record scratching, reality smacked Sukuna hard in the face at the sound of his roommate’s deep, gruff voice. His head shot up, seeing Toji standing at the door in his work uniform, arms crossed over his buff chest. “Fuck!” Sukuna yelped. Mostly out of alarm but also because you didn’t stop sucking. Though your tail shot up happily to see Toji, you kept gagging on Sukuna’s cock, sweetly moaning around it. The vibrations traveled down to his balls, making his toes curl in his Nike slides. 

Why the fuck weren’t you stopping?! 

Toji smirked at the sight as if he knew this would happen. “Well, well…looks like you’ve gotten real close to my girl, huh, Kuna?” He paused, grinning. “I knew she’d getcha. She’s impossible to resist.” He stared down at you as you continued to work Sukuna’s cock with your throat like a pro, each velvety stroke down your tight channel making the tattooer groan. 

“I…w-we…she…” Sukuna didn’t know what to say or what to do. Should he push you away? God, he didn’t want to! Your mouth was just too good!

But to his surprise, Toji laughed as he stomped over to the couch in his boots wet from the rain. “Dude, it’s fine! I should’ve told you that my kitty can be a real slut too. Y’know, she’s always wanted to have you join us in bed, right, mamas?” He gently petted your head, making you purr against Sukuna’s cock. 

Toji smirked, a playful glint in his eye. “Go on, show him what you can do with that mouth. Doesn’t he deserve to be thanked for keepin’ you company?” He winked at Sukuna, making the tattooer sneer at him. “You just wanna watch, creep.” 

The mechanic didn’t even act like Sukuna was wrong, plopping down next to him on the couch. “Well, of course, I do. Gotta make sure you treat her throat right. After all, she’s mine.” He then took your collar between his thick fingers and turned it around to show your tag: Property of Toji Fushiguro (with his phone number included). 

Sukuna imagined his own name next to his roommate’s on your tag, representing their ownership over you, and the idea of you being his nearly made him bust. Toji watched with lust as you sucked off his roommate with the expertise of a professional cocksucker, your cheeks hollowed and eyes rolling back like you loved this shit. Loved Sukuna’s taste and how fat his dick was. 

“Doin’ so good f’me him, babydoll,” Toji murmured, stroking your ears. “I’m almost jealous.” Sukuna looked over and sure enough, he saw that Toji was pitching his own tent. You noticed it too and wetly popped off of Sukuna’s dick to grab at Toji’s bulge in his mechanic pants. “Master,” you panted. “Need you.” 

You began to rub him through his pants, making your Master tug at his bottom lip at your neediness. “Ohhh, so you want your Master’s cock too? You want some more milk, greedy girl?” He gave your tail a sharp tug, making you whimper at the pressure. 

Before Sukuna knew it, Toji’s pants were unzipped and his cock was springing free. It was just as hard and thick as Sukuna’s though he had a nest of black curls and a happy trail you seemed to drool over. “Well, cutie?” he crooned, smirking at you. “You gonna show my roomie how much of a big girl you are? How good of a kitty you can be?” 

Eager for more praise, you let Toji spit in your hands and wrapped your fingers around both of their thick shafts, causing both of them to wantonly groan at the lewdness of it. As you stroked the both of them, up and down from slow to quick, you alternate between sucking on them in a way that you made look easy. 

They each gave you luscious, deep moans and grunts as you slobbered all over their cocks, saliva dripping from your lips and down your chin. You licked, sucked and slurped them up, moaning obscenely as you did, eager for more of them. The more you sucked and blew their dicks, the wetter you got, causing you to rub your thighs together to ease the ache of your sobbing wet pussy.

“God!” Sukuna grunted, damn near popping a vein in his hands from how hard he was gripping the couch. “Fuck, how is she this goddamn good at suckin’ dick?” 

Toji cackled, finding humor in seeing his roomie so whipped for his kitty cat’s throat. “Taught her everything she knows.” He groaned as he pried his cock out of your mouth, slapping it against your tongue and cheeks. “Open up f’me, kitty” he demanded. You did so, prying your lips open to allow him to lean in and spit in your mouth. 

Sukuna watched in awe and utter horniness, wishing for the chance to do that to you. “Now put it back on my cock,” Toji orders, grinning when you stooped down to spit his saliva onto his slick, hard dick and balls. Then it was right back to you sucking his cock, making him groan as he took your hair in his hand, keeping a secure yet gentle hold on you. “That’s right, mama,” he praised as you pumped Sukuna’s cock in tandem with your sucking. “Mmm, take us both. Such a good kitty.” 

‘Yeah. She’s so good.’ The thought came out of nowhere for Sukuna, conjured by the way you completely made it your mission to please the both of them. When you wrapped your lips around him again and got to sucking, Sukuna felt his balls tugging at your suction, your throat tight enough for a nice, big, fat, creamy load. “Ngh! S-She’s gonna make me fuckin’ bust if she keeps s-suckin’ me like that.” 

Toji grinned toothily at him, encouraging him to ruin and use you. “Then do it. Pet her tail for her. That’ll make her suck you down even deeper.” Sukuna did so, petting your soft tail with his thick fingers, earning your slutty gagging, your throat flexing around him. As the tattooer fucked your throat, Toji licked his fingers and began playing with your pussy, petting your ass as he did. “You’ve got me s’hard for you, kitty. You don’t mind if I fuck that pretty hole, d’you?” 

Plap-plap-plap went his cock smacking against your asscheeks. You pulled off Sukuna's cock, mouth dripping in spit and pre-cum, to plead with your Master. “P-Please, Master. Fuck me.” Toji tapped his cock against your pussy this time, groaning at the soft, wet plap-plaps. “Baby’s so desperate to be fucked, she’ll do anything for it!” he chuckled and leaned down to kiss your ass. “Of course, sweetness. Anythin’ for my good girl. Just don’t stop suckin’ that cock, okay?” 

He then hummed out an “mmmm” of pleasure as he dived into your pussy, pushing his mouth deep against your sticky, puffy lips and clit. Your mouth clamped tight around Sukuna as you moaned, somehow taking Sukuna deeper. The tattooer watched as his roomie swallowed your pussy straight off the bone, shoving his tongue deeeeep inside of you. 

“Hey.” Sukuna tugged on your furry ear, making you look at him. “Don’t slack. Aren’t ya gonna be a good kitty and keep suckin’ me down?” He groaned as he pulled out of your mouth, strings of spit following in his wake.  

Instinctively, you pried open your lips and stuck your tongue out, allowing him to wetly tap the head against your tongue. “Yes, Daddy,” you obediently replied. Sukuna nearly nutted right there. Something possessed him to lean down to give you a rough, mindblowing kiss, making you moan against his tongue. “Don’t get distracted now. That’ll piss me off.” 

Referring to Toji’s sloppy pussy-eating, Sukuna continued to fuck your mouth, even while Toji’s fat tongue licked across your slit, his nose nudging your clit. They shared moans between one another–Sukuna’s deep, smokey moans drifted into the air while Toji groaned into your pussy, using his hands to pry your asscheeks apart, your back in a perfect arch. 

Soon, you couldn’t take much more of the torture and pulled off of Sukuna’s cock to plead with the men. “Please!” you whined. “Please fuck me now, Daddies!” Sukuna shared a look with Toji, both surprised at your plea. “At the same time?” Toji chuckled, thoughtfully stroking your ass. “Oooh, what a naughty little kitty.” 

SMACK!

You keened as he smacked your asscheek hard and rough, almost leaving a handprint. “You’d better take me nice and deep then, girl,” he growled as he snatched off his shirt, leaving him totally naked. Sukuna did the same, loving how your eyes drank in his handsome face, toned body, and big cock that eclipsed everything else on the couch because of how big he was. “I’ll take her even deeper than that. Might even make her cum harder than she’s ever had in her life.” 

He gave Toji a shit-eating smirk, wanting nothing more than to snatch you away for the love of the game. Plus, you were quite the cutie growing under his skin.

Toji couldn’t have that, so after some more light tapping and teasing, he lined himself up and finally slid home inside of you. Your thighs clenched and your eyes widened as your pussy stretched around his thickness, feeling every inch fill you up to the brim. Sukuna saw it, his cock pulsing in jealousy as Toji stretched you out wide.

Your Master gripped your hips, keeping you steady between himself and Sukuna. “Ahhh, fuck,” he exhaled. “So fuckin’ tight.” He began to thrust his hips against your ass, drawing his cock in and out of your pussy at a slow yet deep pace that made your eyes roll and your tail curl as you gagged on Sukuna’s cock.

Toji chuckled at your reaction to his fat dick, biting his lip as his eyes grazed over your body squeezed between him and Sukuna. Sukuna’s cock had slipped out of your mouth so you could take a breath, but all you did was moan and wail in ecstasy. God, how he wanted to make you sound like that! He wanted to fuck you for so long, wishing for the change to make you moan and scream on his dick the way Toji did. 

He watched the lewd sight before him as Toji fucked you deep and hard. Your walls flexed around him yet kept him inside; the way your pussy lips slightly stuck to his shaft when he pulled out as if to keep him there. His dick came back shining in your gush, the vein trailing from his heavy, cum-filled balls to his pulsing head. 

As he began to fuck you faster, your titties bounced, finally popping out of your dress to freely bounce and sway in Sukuna’s face. You bounced back onto Toji’s cock, fucking him back, unashamed and oh-so slutty. 

“Shit,” Sukuna exhaled, transfixed at the way your pretty pussy clenched around Toji’s cock. The way your body moved. The way you sounded. “Switch with me.” He said it in a rush of air like he couldn’t get it out fast enough, desperate and greedy for your cunt. Toji tossed his head back and laughed, still bumping his hips against yours, his thighs slamming against your ass. “Told ya she’d get you!” 

He finally slid out of you with a groan, his cock slick with your honey, and gripped your chin to turn you to face him. “Someone’s obsessed with ya, darlin’,” he huskily whispered. He gently stroked your chin, forcing your head still. “You still doin’ okay? Try and gimme your words.” 

Sukuna could see in your dazed eyes that your mind had turned to mush. Your holes leaked with pre-cum and you seemed fucked out of your head, but you still managed to reply. “Y-Yes, Daddy,” you stammer, giving him a wobbly smile. 

Sukuna growled with need while Toji cooed at you as if you are a baby. His baby. “So fuckin’ cute,” he groaned, stroking a thumb along your bottom lip. “We’re gonna make you cum your pretty brains out, babe. I promise.” He paused to press a kiss to your lips, sweet and light. 

Finally, the men switched and lifted you up on the couch so you’d be more comfortable getting your brains fucked out. While you faced Toji, sucking him off now, Sukuna held your hips and faced your pretty, puffy, wet pussy, everything he ever wanted right in front of him. He tapped his dick against your clit for a moment before finally, fucking finally, sliding in. He grunted as you squeezed those satiny walls around him, tighter than a vice, sucking him in straight off the rip. 

You felt perfect. And he wanted to make it last…really he did! But he couldn’t. Feeling your wetness dripping down his balls and seeing your soft, plushy ass and fluffy tail pressed flush against his abs took him over. 

Then Sukuna was fucking your pussy off of its hinges while Toji fucked your throat, their groans and grunts filling the sex-scented air. Toji used your sloppy, tight throat to please himself while Sukuna pushed your pussy, his eyes becoming glazed with lust at the way your soft lips stretched around his shaft. 

Toji chucked through his grunts and huffs of pleasure as they pushed and pulled on you, rocking you between their big, muscular bodies. “Go ‘head, man. Smack her ass.” Sukuna didn’t have to be told twice. 

SMACK! 

His hand came down hard on your ass, the sound of his palm hitting your skin echoing throughout the room. The way you moaned in pleasure at the sharp sting broke him and he fucked you harder, faster, your ass smacking against his abs. He was coming close to his end and he wanted you there too. 

So he licked his fingers and proceeded to rub at your clit in semi-circles, loving how wet you were. So responsive to his every move. “You wanna cum for us, kitty?” he grunted. “Say it, slut. Say you wanna cum all around my cock.” 

You were losing your shit, your grip on reality slipping. The two studs fucking you into euphoria weren’t off that great either. They couldn’t stand how cute you were getting split between them, and shared the way you craved. Toji slipped out of your mouth, busying himself by jacking off in your face so you could speak. “Please, Daddies!” you whimpered. “Make me cum! Need to cum!” 

Your soft, gorgeous begging pulled both over the edge. They couldn’t resist you.

The harder Sukuna fucked you, the more he could feel his orgasm coming, the build-up growing more intense with each passing second. He stroked your tail as Toji petted your ears, stimulating you so bad that you began to tremble. “Fuckin’ give it to me,” he whispered in your ear. “Cum for me, kitty! Cum all over that dick!” 

His harsh tone and sexy demand caused your body to tremble and shake like an autumn leaf as finally, you came. You moaned aloud, sweet and loud, as you exploded all over Sukuna’s fat dick. Your walls tugged on him like you wanted to lock him inside you, your pussy quivering around his cock bullying your insides, stuffing you full even as your walls grew sensitive. You drenched him, your slick dripping down his balls and coating your inner thighs. 

You whimpered and moaned into the sex-scented air as you creamed all over Sukuna’s cock, soaring and flying among the stars. Sukuna was right beside you, right there on the edge of bliss as he fucked you faster, harder, your ass smacking louder agaisnt his pelvis. 

Once you came down, Toji went right back to fucking your mouth, pushing when Sukuna pulled and vice versa. You bounced between them as they fucked your holes, knocking all common sense, thoughts, and logic out of your pretty little brain until you were nothing but their mindless, slutty kitty. 

“Fuck, I’mma cum for you, pretty!” Toji groaned, plowing your throat as if it was a fleshlight for his enjoyment. 

“Fuck!” Sukuna growled, gripping your ass so hard that he nearly left bruises. “Goddammit, m’gonna cum! Gonna give you my fuckin’ load, kitty cat!” He tugged on your collar, making you gasp around Toji’s dick. “Take it, baby. Take all that fuckin’ milk!” 

You had no choice but to do so. They each came with luscious, guttural, throaty moans and grunts that made your pussy throb around Sukuna, their cum filling up your cunt and their mouth in a rush of spunk that has your back arching and your tail twitching. Toji moaned out your name like a prayer and strings of pet names as his cum coated your throat. He then pulled out to finish the rest on your face and chest, covering your lips, cheeks, and tits in his sticky spunk. 

Sukuna wore like a sailor as he filled you up to the brim with his cum, coating your insides in him until he was dripping down your asscrack. Tingly sensations crackled in his blood and veins, addictive like a drug. Like your perfect pussy. His mind grew blank as his eyes rolled back, exhaustion kicking in as the sex high faded, leaving him exhausted. 

With a huff, he stared down at his dick plugged inside of your wet hole, cum dripping down your thighs and staining the couch. So much for keeping you off of it. As their highs finally faded, the men gently pulled out of you and, after Toji lovingly wiped his cum off of your face, laid you down between them, their big, muscular forms like two walls squeezing you in. 

But you never looked so happy. So content. You snuggled into Toji’s side as he threw a duvet over your naked body, snuggling up close to wrap his arms around you. He began to stroke your head and scratch your ears, smiling as you softly purred. “Now that’s a good kitty. Ain’t she, Sukuna?” 

Sukuna stared down at you curled up between them, your tail swishing peacefully between your legs. He fell completely in love with you right there, seeing exactly what Toji saw the first day he got you. “Eh,” he grunted, his cheeks growing hot. You’re not so bad…but I still don’t want her scratchin’ up the couch though. Maybe then I can think about us doin’ this again.” 

Toji chuckled, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Did you hear that, pretty kitty? How’s about bein’ a good girl for Sukuna too, hm?” 

You peaked over at Sukuna and he expected you to give him a hiss. But instead, you rolled over and snuggled into his broad, tatted chest, scent marking him and purring even louder as his body heat embraced you. Sukuna, shocked, stiffly wrapped his arms around you while Toji chuckled at the sweet moment. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

THE END.

[krys4h]

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭,

౨ৎ               𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫.        

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧. Onyankopon was a bit foolish to introduce his cute autistic sister—you—to Connie. You were a literal princess who deserved all his care. The most beautiful girl ever in his eyes, and he had no shame breaking Ony's rules to make you his girlfriend. Ony thought he had managed to protect you from his criminal friend, but for years Connie had been secretly coming at night to make love to you. Like tonight. 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 2.5k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, hyperfeminine nonverbal autistic reader, sign langage, hispanic!connie, plug!connie, fluffy smutty fic, established relationship, forbidden love, stoner!connie, tattooed!connie, pierced!connie, affectionate!connie, check ins, sensory seeking needs, hyposensitivity, ‘mami, baby, princesa’ pet names, feet kissing/toes sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, vaginal penetration, missionary with legs on shoulders, kisses.

𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . first mini connie fic, i wanted something cute!!!! i have a longer one in my wips, hehe… hope you will like this <3

The sounds of the game Detroit Become Human lulled Connie into a high. Even Eren's grunts when he made a choice that would negatively impact the story were like a sweet melody accompanying him as he floated, staring at the ceiling with glazed over eyes. Everything was perfect; he was so relaxed he wasn't thinking about the addicted clients he'd have to serve tomorrow, or how hard Ony would beat him if he knew how he was going to make his sister cum tonight.

He glanced down the stairs, alerted by your footsteps, as if you were divinely connected. His eyes followed you down with your tablet, wearing a pale pink leggings and vest set from I AM GIA. No one in your family knew, but Connie had bought it, and he felt hot just thinking you were wearing it on purpose because he was there. You looked like a pilates princess, and your vanilla scent filled the room as you approached your brother's group of friends, making Connie intoxicated, as always.

Everyone greeted you except Connie, who must play it cool as if his dick wasn't making regular in-and-out motions inside you at least four times a week. As if his heart wasn't beating, his body wasn't breathing for your beautiful, sparkling brown eyes.

You glanced at Connie, smiling shyly as if he were a stranger and not your boyfriend of several years. It was a shame your overprotective brother was in the room; you would have loved to get down on your knees to kiss the tattoos on his stomach and take his pierced dick in your mouth, turned on by his dark streetwear outfit, contrasting with your pink one. He looked like a bad boy, but the only bad guy here was Eren; Connie was a loverboy. He returned your small smile by discreetly patting the spot next to him. You sat down next to him, pleased because you thought he was looking at the drawings you were making on your tablet, but the truth was that Connie was staring at your thick thighs, which had tripled in size in your seated position. He remembered what it felt like to have them trembling around his head and adjusted his sweatpants so his erection wouldn't be noticeable. He took out his phone. You had to know.

“I want to be inside you.”

Concentrated in your digital art and oblivious to the tension, your stylus stopped drawing, your eyes rereading the message in confusion.

‘In a food, stabbing, or sexual way?’ You sent.

Connie giggled softly when he received the notification. You and your autistic brain that takes everything literally. Dirty talk was a pain in the ass with you.

“All three. Your beauty stabs me, I want to eat you up to have you inside me, and I want to fuck you.”

“That’s something Chikage from Hakuouki would have said.”

“Who is this nobody from another otome?”

“Speak of my husband with respect.”

“Your real future husband is right here, princesa,” he whispered in your ear. You shivered at the sensual intonation of his voice, as close as you were, your body overheating at the thought of tonight. You checked that no one was looking in your direction so you could sign “I hope so, but you know it’s not possible.”

Connie didn’t lose his sweet expression, still a playful glint in his eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh to grasp the soft flesh. “Ony will have to kill me with his own hands to prevent our future together. Even my spirit will haunt him. He can’t do anything to me.” 

You quickly brushed his hand away, heat rising to your neck and burning your cheeks.

Your relationship consisted of three things: acting like goofy fools together, him playing the hero of forbidden romances, and him making love to you passionately and tenderly.

Being with Connie was like living a real rom-com, even though he was a drug dealer.

You were writing a new message. “I’m going to leave you, you make my head boil.”

He laughed softly. “Since when does my girl understand metaphors like that?”

You playfully punched him and signed “I’m not a walking autistic cliché.”

“Yes, you are. Look at what you sent me a few minutes ago.” 

You ignored him and went back up to your room and once at the top of the stairs you gave him the finger and he just gave you his stupid smile with his red eyes because of the weed.

  ──────── 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭,

Connie walked into your room, immediately ripping off his hoodie and t-shirt and throwing them on the floor, revealing his fully tattooed chest and abdomen. Filled with designs you'd done, like the rose that started its stem on his hip and whose petals touched his ribs, the soft style of the tattoo contrasted with the harsh lines of the ink. But Connie loved it. It was like having you and him inside him, on him, for him. 

'Heaven or Las Vegas' by Cocteau Twins played softly in your room as you sat at your vanity. The dream pop song made Connie, who was stoned out, drift even further into the psychedelic atmosphere. You detangled your hair with hair milk, separating it into four twists—two in the front on each side, two in the back—so it would be easier to manage tomorrow when you went to get your hair braided by your favorite braider, who didn't charge an entire month's salary for long knotless braids. Connie admired the goddess who was his girlfriend for a long time, licking his lips as he noticed you were wearing that Savage X Fenty pale rose nightgown, which was sheer, with a ribbon bow at the center of your chest.

“Mami, I missed you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your neck and burying his face in your scalp, inhaling the scent of rosemary mint from your Mielle hair oil, castor oil, and shea butter from your Skala leave-in conditioner. He bought that one for you after seeing a TikTok about a Brazilian influencer with the same curl pattern as you recommending it.

With your hands manicured in a French manicure, you used sign language to communicate “We saw each other earlier,” with a roll of your eyes.

“I know, but I’m obsessed with my princess.” He kissed the back of your neck, his cuban accent adding charisma to his voice. 

His desire, love, and passion for you, dripping from his voice, made you feel all giddy and fuzzy in your stomach. You smiled shyly at him in the mirror of your heart-shaped vanity.

“Don’t smile like that,” he said softly, almost desperately, his red eyes and dilated pupils even more affected by your little smile. “You’re so gorgeous in this.” He played with the thin straps of your nightgown. “But I’m sure you’re even prettier without them, aren’t you, baby?” 

Shyly, you ignored his compliment and finished styling your hair before protecting it with your satin bonnet, the same color as your wardrobe, before getting up to hug Connie. Thinking he wanted to make love now, you led him toward the bed, but Connie spun you around.

Chuckling, you understood he wanted to dance and followed him, as the dream pop song stopped to make way for “Punch Drunk” by Sade. A wordless jazz track, purely instrumental, that made you feel like you were in an old jazz bar with your secret forbidden lover. 

His hand on the small of your back, Connie made you dance, roaming around your room, laughing when you bumped into furniture because the space was small, kissing you when the saxophone was more intense than ever. He took advantage of the kisses to move his hands up and caress the voluptuous curves of your chubby body. Your fat ass, which he gripped even though you tried to push him away, the pudginess of your belly that he loved to feel under his fingers, and your ample breasts that rose and fell rapidly before him because of your barely concealed desire.

“Use your voice, what do you want?” he teased, knowing damn well you had nonverbal autism.

You glared at him and tried to push him away, but he threw you onto the bed.

“Aww, I’m such a bad boyfriend, I have to make amends for my crimes.”

He removed the rest of his clothes, keeping his black boxer briefs on for now. He stayed on his knees on the bed as you lay there, resting on your elbows.

You nodded at what he said and lifted your legs to place your French-manicured foot on the center of his collarbones. Connie smirked, knowing what you wanted.

He took your foot in his hands and kissed it all over, from heel to toe, appreciating the softness of your skin as you had just come from the shower where you had exfoliated. He wrapped his tongue around your toes, then sucked on them, his gray eyes fixed on you, a fire igniting from your core and spreading through your body.

You wanted this, you needed this. You gave him your other foot where he did the same, little shivers running through you at the movements of his tongue on your skin. Your breathing quickened as his lips moved up your leg, venturing under your nightgown. You couldn't see Connie because of your chubby belly, so you lay fully on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Not being able to speak or see him should have made your sex life difficult, but it was quite the opposite. Connie regularly checked for your consent and comfort; your nonverbal communication wasn't an issue. You tugged at his hair to let him know you liked what his tongue was doing, and you patted his shoulders to tell him to pause because the wave of overstimulation was near. As for the details—how fast or slow to use his tongue, which spot to lick—Connie paid close attention to your breathing and the way your thighs clenched around his head to gauge whether he was doing a good job.

“I’m gonna keep this on you,” he breathed, liking the lacy pink panties you were wearing. He pushed it to the side, his warm breath on your cunt, in need for attention.

The music switched to “Iceblink Punk” by Cocteau Twins, and the combination of the psychedelic sound and Connie’s tongue plunging into you was surreal. You felt like you were floating high in the sky.

Connie was truly gentle, slow, and calm when he was eating you out. Eating pussy was an art, and he was the Mozart and Shakespeare of the field. He took his time pleasuring you, smiling because even when you couldn’t speak; you didn’t fake your panting. The warm metal ball of his piercing kept rolling around your throbbing bud, just to feel your legs tremble, but his tongue explored every corner, collecting your arousal in his mouth. He was even disappointed you'd just showered, because it lacked flavor. He was a perverted loverboy like that, yeah.

Lapping through wet folds, he groaned every time he felt the pulse of your pussy in his mouth. His hands gripped your thick hips, making them grind against his face, to guide you, to show you it was okay to do that, because your autism sometimes made you a motionless robot during sex.

“You’re okay, baby?” he asked softly, reassured when you stroked his scalp to say yes.

After a comfortable rhythm of hip movements settled in, he removed his hands and sank his fingers inside you, all the while sucking your clit. A searing, burning sensation in your lower abdomen, almost setting your whole being ablaze, as you pulled at his short hair that had grown since his buzzcut to indicate to him that the combination was perfect.

When you reached your peak, there were no dramatic expressions or noises, just Connie nearly choking as you pushed your pelvic floor into his head and painfully squeezed your thighs around him.

“Still in a hyposensitivity mode?” he whispered, as he managed to pull away from your grip.

You nodded, catching your breath. Connie was always attentive to your autistic sensory needs, especially when you were in a sensory-seeking mode, or a mode where your sensitivity was low and you needed a lot of stimulation, like now.

He removed his underwear, nudging your entrance with his pierced tip as he laid down on you, putting all his weight on you. You were crushed by him, but it was perfect. To further satisfy your sensory needs, he wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing comfortably. It was the perfect combination of pressure for you.

“No tits touching?”

You shook your head. Sometimes, you needed a lot of stimulation while simultaneously hating stimulation somewhere.

He leaned down to kiss your neck. “Okay, mami. Gonna take of you, now. Do you feel my piercing?”

He slid his pierced dick through the folds, still not entering for the moment. Your hands caressed his back, digging your nails into it to communicate that yes, you feel it, and you like it. He groaned, placing more passionate open-mouthed kisses on your skin. He pushed his hips, your warmth welcoming him like a king. He smiled against your skin hearing your usual gasp when his full size was inside you.

“Can’t handle these inches, huh?” he teased, sucking your earlobe. “You’re gonna take this dick anyway. Too bad for you, princesa.”

He leaned back to see your eyes widening every time he penetrated you. He moved his hips backward to let you breathe and pushed back in.

“Why is she wetter than usual?”

He looked at your slick cock, which covered his face with awe.

You pointed at his red eyes. His smile widened.

“Are you turned on by my stoner self? You’re so cute.” He kissed you, his tongue entwined with yours. You breathed softly into the kiss, overwhelmed by him, his dick, his affection.

He slipped his hands under your bent knees and placed them on his shoulders. The position you were in made it impossible for him to hide your belly rolls under your sheer nightgown. He looked terrifying with his low groan and his eyes dilated by weed and your beauty, staring at your curves as if he wanted to devour you whole. He wrapped his hand around your neck again, to your great pleasure. He increased the speed of his thrusts, panting above you, obsessed with the sight of your eyes rolling back when he touched a sensitive spot inside you.

A fever rose in your belly; you were embarrassed to come so quickly again, but every movement of Connie's was precise and deep, so he chuckled when he felt your legs clench his head once more.

He kissed your forehead.

“My baby is needy tonight.”

You nodded, cuddling him, pleading with your eyes to go even faster and harder.

He gladly spent the whole night taking care of you like he always does. Because that’s the thing about Connie: when his princess wants something, he’s going to give it to her. Even if his best friend, your brother, would kill him if he knew.

──────── ✃- - - - - - - - - - - you liked it ? please support fics you liked with a reblog or a comment ! writers never know how we impact you if you don't say anything <3 ── .✦

[bfbkg]

bakugou x reader. a 1.6k drabble. cw: established relationship, fluff.

it was only a little argument. today was supposed to be a date day with your boyfriend, smoothies and a walk around the park. have a picnic, magazine shopping and he wanted to get new running trainers. though before you left out he started rushing you, knowing you had to finish up this work call and you act terribly under pressure. that caused you to shout and caused him to be snappy so now you’re sitting in this smoothie shop in dead silence.

it’s silent treatment on both sides. you told the cashier what smoothie you wanted, he said his and then he tapped his card. you sat down at this big ten seater table with a few other people dotted on it while bakugou sat at the head of the table. you didn’t want to sit on the cute one on one couples seats by the window where you would be forced to look at his face, so big table you go.

you stay seated with your arms crossed when bakugou gets up again to collect your two smoothies. he puts your pink berry one on the table in front of you and he dumps himself in his seat. still with no words uttered. you pull out your book as you sip. he pulls out his phone, answering emails and reading work reports.

it’s needed silence, that’s for sure. any moment now you’ll touch your foot with his or he’ll pull your chair closer to his. he’ll mumble sorry first or maybe this time you will and you can continue your day being the loved up couple you usually are. he hasn’t even offered if you want to taste his smoothie yet… well you haven’t offered him either. but any second now, any second someone will.

you peer at him over your book. you sigh a little. it’s hot out today, so he’s in a white vest and these navy shorts. biceps golden and thick. thighs thick and golden. he’s perched his black designer sunglasses to the top of his head which only pushes all of his hair back with it. he’s devastatingly gorgeous. his forehead, pretty nose and pouty lips. he’s frowning at whatever he’s reading, leaning his elbows onto his knees so he can get to typing. a huff at the end.

“is that the berry blast? i was thinking of getting that one?”

you look towards the voice, landing on a handsome guy standing on the opposite side of your table. he’s just walked in, also dressed for the weather with his cap, basic white shirt and shorts.

you’re still unsure if he was talking to you and you see bakugou, out of the corner of your eye, look up to the man.

“is it nice?” he repeats. the man is slightly shy, scratching the back of his head. he’s clearly nervous now he’s got your attention as he shuffles from foot to foot. keeps crossing his arms then lets go. you can tell he’s around your age and he’s not not your type. but also you’re not sure if he’s flirting with you or not. can he not see your boyfriend right there?

“oh, yeah it is. it’s my first time trying it,” you reply dryly, pressing your thumb in between the pages of your book so you don’t lose your spot.

the man’s eyes light up at your response and now bakugou looks at him directly. is this random man flirting with his girlfriend in front of him? is he invisible? does he look like a fucking dickhead?

the man nods in response to you, paying bakugou no mind. he’s so enamoured by you he doesn’t feel the boiling confusion brewing beside you.

“ah cool. i think i’ll give it a try,” he sniffs, looking at your book, then your dress. you can see him figuring out what to comment on next.

bakugou adjusts his posture. leans back in his seat, spreads his legs and holds up his smoothie.

“this green shit is good too. you should give it a try,” katsuki pushes and as if the guy is just finding out he’s there, he rapidly nods his head. looking from you to bakugou and trying to bring the conversation back to you and him.

“right, thanks man.”

then he’s looking back at you, giving you all his attention completely. 

you hear bakugou swear under his breath. it all makes you want to laugh at his expense.

“i came in here and i had to talk to you, i thought you were gorgeous. i love the dress,” he rushes, “i was wondering if i could get your number or insta?”

you give him a sweet smile, shaking your head lightly. you point your thumb in the direction of bakugou, “that’s my boyfriend. sorry.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows at the man, holding up his hand with a sarcastic wave.

“i don’t let her give her number to men that want to date her.”

you giggle at your boyfriend’s stupidity, your first giggle of the day actually and it causes the corner of bakugou’s lips to quiver with the urge to smile.

though looking back at your new admirer, you both slowly see the light drain from his eyes. his shoulders slump next. he’s obvious in the way he stares at bakugou’s arms and he blinks as if he might recognise him from somewhere.

“oh shit… i didn’t think… loads of people on this table and i thought everyone was sitting alone. fuck, sorry guys.”

bakugou’s gritting his teeth, “no fuckin’ social awareness.”

you kick his foot under the table, “no it’s okay, thank you though!”

once the man apologises again, spinning around to leave the shop completely, bakugou has already dragged your chair beside his, metal chair legs clacking together. he shoves his phone in his pocket and takes your hand with his now free one.

you giggle at the touch. there’s no way anyone doesn’t think you’re a couple now. in fact, you get a few stares from the other smoothie drinkers on the table.

“i’m sorry for the shit earlier,” he blurts, “i’m not all over you for a minute and someone already tries to take you from me. what the actual fuck?”

bakugou huffs to himself, practically trying to pull you to sit onto his lap so nobody can mistake what you are to each other. what else does he need to do? tattoo you on his arm? he’s already done that actually. your eyes, your name, your birth flower.

“i’m sorry too but we were seated far apart, doing separate things and not talking.” you grin at him and he just looks at your lips. it’s been far too long since he’s kissed them. “fair assessment i think.”

“‘course you think that. gonna stamp my name on your forehead,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your lips. 

bakugou’s not one for pda, but it’s needed when people are trying to drag you from under his nose.

“this should keep you on your toes. remind you that everyone wants me,” you joke but bakugou blinks at you. looks at you then looks away. 

he agrees, in fact, it makes him sit up straight and kiss you on your mouth again, in the middle of this random smoothie shop.

“i said i was sorry,” he huffs, holding your hand to his waist. “wanna try mine?”

you nod, “i’ve been waiting for you to ask!”

you put the straw to your smoothie by his lips so he can try yours.

“yours is better than mine,” you whine and bakugou chuckles.

“wanna swap?”

“you sure?”

“y’know i don’t mind.”

you take bakugou’s green smoothie while he holds your pink one. you eye his throat as he tajes three big gulps, the smoothie sinking away faster than your previous sips.

“thanks for buying them, ‘ki.”

bakugou smiles at you, gold tooth shining in the sunlight pouring through the windows. “i wouldn’t have heard the end of it if i let you pay while we were fightin’.”

you huff, “we weren’t fighting! it was a disagreement in communication styles.”

“yeah, we had a fight about that,” then he looks at your outfit with warm eyes, ones you welcome, unlike the random guy before. “your dress is pretty, baby. you look pretty today. i didn’t say that before.”

“thank you. you look sexy, always do.”

you swipe his sunglasses off his head, plopping them onto your face. 

“you’re gonna have to give them back when we get outside,” he tells you but he can’t help his grin, now unable to see your eyes.

“i forgot mine because you were rushing me!” 

bakugou rolls his eyes, albeit playfully. “look in your bag.”

“i didn’t put them in here,” you say but still you do. you unzip and pull it open, dipping your hand in and immediately frowning, “did you put them in here or am i going crazy?”

“you’re goin’ crazy,” bakugou stands up, brushing off his shorts and reaching for your hand. you stay seated in his sunglasses, your designer ones he bought you for your birthday in your hands.

“katsuki!”

“you’re not crazy, i put them in there when you were shoutin’ that you didn’t wanna go out with me anymore,” he nudges his head in the direction of the door, “let’s go, ‘wanna walk in the park.”

“you’re so annoying,” you tell him but you love it when he interlinks his fingers with yours, letting you walk out the shop first, smoothie in hand.

“love you too. now pass my glasses.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated. thanks!

[liliacsdelight]

Galvanized Bodies

Bo Chow x Blackfem!reader

A trip to the grocery store turns into a nightmare when an attack leaves you praying for a quick end. That prayer arrives in the form of something monstrous: a demon who intervenes with brutal, effortless violence. Finding your savior wounded in the aftermath, you bring him into your home. As you wash the blood away in soapy water and stitch his skin, the fear dissolves into an unexpected intimacy. You soon learn that while his nature is dark, being favored by a demon is the most divine thing you've ever felt.

ᦏ9k words, reader is said to have brown skin, plot before smut, vivid detailing of murder and dismemberment, violence, attempted sa, light horror erotica, tention, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), dirty talk (I KNOW HE HAS A FILTHY MOUTH), choking, spanking, riding -> doggy, namecalling/petnames (e.g., sugar, baby, sweetness, and little bird), sensory play, sweet ending, etc᪔

ᦏ18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕᪔

The 1930s Mississippi Delta had a soul-crushing climate. The air hung heavy, a stagnant soup of humidity and rotting cypress swamps that smelled of damp earth and the iron-rich musk of the river. By the time you stepped off the general store’s creaking porch, the sun had long since bled out below the flat horizon, leaving the sky a ink-stained purple that swallowed the cotton fields whole.

​You had driven the rusted-out Ford nearly twenty miles from your patch of dirt—navigating past sagging sharecropper shacks and endless, skeletal rows of white bolls—just to secure salt pork and peach preserves for your brother and his kin.

​The gravel in the lot crunched like bone under your heels. Behind you, the store’s lone, grime-streaked window cast a sickly yellow glow that struggled to reach the edge of the lot, leaving you to contend with the encroaching dark. You clutched the brown paper bags to your chest, the paper crinkling under your grip, feeling like they were the only fragile shield you had against the vast emptiness of the Delta.

Then came the sound.

Boots.

Four of them.

The yellow light caught the sweat on their pale, unsightly faces, making them look like cruel carvings rather than men. They weren't just walking; they were closing in, a pack of hounds finding a scent. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you watched them approach.​

"Late for a girl like you to be out, ain't it?" the one in the lead drawled. He stepped into your personal space, smelling of cheap moonshine and stale tobacco.​

"Gettin' groceries for my family," you said. You forced your voice to stay steady, even though your knees were slightly trembling.

"Family," another one hissed. He stepped behind you, and you felt the cold, sharp draft of his presence. "Bet you got a lot of 'family' tucked away."

​​The leader reached out, his hand a dead weight on your shoulder. "Maybe you oughta share some of that sweetness with us. A girl like you... you oughta know how to treat a man right."​

Another man chuckle. "I don't know boss. Her kind ain't good for much." He followed it with a word—a cruel, ugly slur.

The heat in your belly—a sudden, sharp flare of anger—overrode the cold terror in your veins for a split second. You looked him dead in the eye, your vision blurring with tears of rage.​ "I’d never do a damn thing with a racist cracker like you," you spat, the words coming out like venom. "You don't know how to please a woman. You're only good for stealin' and carryin' the evil you was born with."

​​The leader’s face contorted, turning a mottled red. "I’m gonna teach you a lesson the Delta won't ever forget."​

They lunged.​

The paper bags hit the gravel with a sharp clack, jars of preserves shattering with a wet, heavy sound. They dragged you away from the safety of the light, pulling you into the pitch-black maw behind your car. The mud was cool and slick against your skin as they shoved you down, the grit of the gravel digging into your palms. You screamed and fought, your nails clawing at the dirt, until—crack.​

The slap made your head whip to the side, white spots exploding behind your eyes. The taste of blood bloomed in your mouth immediately. You closed your eyes, a silent, desperate prayer for a quick end dancing on your tongue.

The tall one loomed over you, the metallic clink-clink of his belt being unlooped from his trousers sounding like a death knell in the silence of the swamp. You scrambled back on your elbows, your nails clawing into the mud, but another man pinned your wrists to the ground, his weight crushing your chest.​

Then, the world shifted.​

It wasn't a human sound that changed things.​ It started with a pressure—an unnatural chill swept through the humid air, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The man over you froze, his hand still on his buckle.​​

Suddenly, a blur of movement—something darker than the night itself—hit the man standing guard at the rear of the car. There was no struggle. Just a wet, terrifying crunch, followed by a sound that didn't belong in a human throat.

A scream ripped through the air—"AHHGLUR!"—not a shout for help, but a high-pitched, gargling shriek of pure, unadulterated terror. On the other side of the Ford, you heard the sound of heavy metal being crumpled like tissue paper, and then the petrifying sound of something being systematically dismantled.​

Rrip. Rrip. Snap.​

The three men standing over you scrambled back, their bravado evaporating into the thick air like mist. They stared into the dark behind the car, their faces turning as white as ghosts (if at all possible). The leader pulled a small revolver from his waistband, his hand shaking so violently the barrel rattled against his knuckles with a click-click-click.

​"Go see what that is," the leader hissed at one of the men.​

The man looked hesitant, his eyes wide and bulging with fear, but he stumbled toward the back of the car, his boots dragging in the gravel. Silence for two long heartbeats. Then, a sharp yell that was cut off by a wet crunch—the sound of a ripe melon being dropped from a great height, or a dry branch snapping while wrapped in raw meat.

​A thick, dark liquid began to pool from under the car, snaking through the gravel like an oil slick. It was too dark to be water. It was viscous, steaming slightly in the cool night air, the copper smell of it overwhelming the swamp rot. Then, a heavy thud—the sound of a body being dropped like a sack of grain, followed by the wet sliding sound of intestines hitting the mud.​

You scrambled to find your footing, desperate to run, but the leader’s hand clamped onto your hair, yanking you back with a force that nearly tore your scalp. "S-stay put!" he barked, his voice cracking with a fear he couldn't hide.​

"You stupid son of a bitch! We need to run!" you croaked, your voice trembling.​

From the shadows behind the car, a figure emerged.​

He was tall, lean, and drenched in a dark, glistening crimson that coated his white shirt until it clung to his frame like a second skin, mapped out in horrific detail. He stepped into the faint spill of yellow light. He moved with a fluid, predatory grace. Too smooth, too silent. His skin was a pale tan, almost translucent in the moonlight, and his hands... his fingers were tipped and dripping with fresh, steaming blood.​

"W-what the hell are you?" the leader screamed, cocking the pistol.​Bang. The shot echoed off the store walls like a cannon blast. You saw the bullet hit Bo’s upper arm, tearing through the fabric and the flesh beneath. Bo let out a low groan—not of pain, but of irritation, like a man being stung by a common bee.​

Before the leader could even think of cocking the hammer again, Bo was gone. He didn't run; he blurred. One second he was feet away, and the next, he was a solid shadow standing directly behind the leader. A large, blood-slicked hand reached around, catching the leader’s throat. There was a brief, desperate struggle, the leader's feet kicking uselessly in the air, and then the sound of windpipes collapsing—a dry, crushed whistle—as Bo squeezed until the man’s head lolled at a sharp, unnatural angle.​

The fourth man turned to run, his boots slipping and sliding in the mud. He didn't get three steps. Bo reached out, his hand moving like a whip. There was a flash of something sharp, a wet shluck sound, and then the man’s head was simply... gone.

It didn't just fall; it was taken off with such surgical, violent force that the headless body kept running for a split second, blood geysering from the neck, before collapsing into a heap of spasming nerves.​

The shock had your eyes wide, your body trembling so hard you could hear your teeth chattering against each other. The rumors you’d heard about the juke—the whispered stories about the "man" who haunted the outskirts, the one who didn't fear the lynch mobs because he was the one who hunted the hunters—they were all true.

Every terrifying word.

​The gravel crunched. You looked up, paralyzed with a different kind of fear, as he walked back toward you. He stopped a few feet away, looking down at your broken groceries and the blood smeared on your lip. He reached out a hand—the one not covered in the men's blood—and offered it to you.​

"They're gone, little bird," he said. His voice was surprisingly gentle, carrying a soft, melodic lilt that felt entirely out of place amidst the carnage and the smell of death behind him. "It's not safe. You should get home."

His eyes, dark and ancient, trailed over your body with a slow, heavy pressure that felt like it was peeling back your skin. He lifted his other hand, the fingers still slick and dripping with the life of the men he’d just dismantled, and slowly licked a smear of blood from his knuckles. He did it with a focused, animalistic intensity, his tongue rasping against his skin. You stared, paralyzed by a nauseating mixture of terror and intrigue, as the faint yellow light from the store caught the unmistakable glint of his fangs. Long, needle-sharp, and so real.​

You noted then, through the haze of your panic, that he was Chinese. His features were sharp and elegant, carved with a precision that seemed out of place beneath the splattered gore. But your eyes quickly dropped to his arm. A steady stream of dark blood was pulsing from the bullet hole in his tricep, dripping onto the gravel with a heavy, rhythmic drip-drip-drip that sounded like a ticking clock in the silence of the night.​

"You're hurt," you whispered, your voice a ghost of itself, thin and reed-like. "You’re bleedin' bad."​

Bo looked down at his arm as if he’d forgotten it was even attached to his body. He watched the blood flow for a moment, his expression unreadable, almost bored.​

"I don't feel it," he said flatly.​

You didn't believe him.

You couldn't.

The wound was deep, the flesh jagged and torn where the lead had bitten through, and even in the dark, the sheer volume of blood he was losing was enough to kill a normal man three times over. But as he looked back at you, the darkness in his eyes seemed to expand, swallowing what little light was left in the world. You stood there, your knees knocking together so hard it was audible, looking at that dark hole in his arm. The blood wasn't slowing; it was a pulsing, red leak.​

“You need to let me bandage that,” you said, your voice finally finding a shred of its footing, though your hands were still shaking. “Before you bleed out right here in the mud.”​

Bo looked at the wound, then back at you, his face a mask of elegant stone. “I’ll be alright. It’ll stop.”​

“Until the sun is up?” you countered. The words slipped out before you could stop them, fueled by the folk stories and the sheer wrongness of the man standing before you.​

Bo stilled. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips—one that showed just a hint of the ivory points behind his teeth. It wasn't a friendly look; it was the look of a predator realizing his prey had been paying closer attention than he thought. “And what do you know about the sun, girl?”​

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding against your ribs like a trapped, dying moth. “I hear things. R-rumors from a few towns over... about what happened at that juke joint. They said dead people came through and left nothin’ but death. No, they didn't say people. They said haints... demons.”​

Bo’s brown eyes searched yours, heavy and unblinking. The silence between you was taut as a wire about to snap. “Still gonna patch up a haint?” he murmured, his voice a low, melodic rasp that made the hair on your arms stand up. “Or do you not like my kind?”​

You took a shaky breath, looking past him at the carnage—the splats of bloodied blonde hair on the gravel, the detached limbs, the torn skin of the men who would have done far worse to you if he hadn’t intervened. The horror of what he was balanced by the horror of what those men were.

​“I’ll help you,” you whispered, the fear thick in your throat. “As long as you don't hurt me. You gotta promise.”​

You held out your pinky, a childish gesture that felt absurd in the face of such violence. Bo looked at your small, trembling finger for a long moment. Then, he reached out. His skin was unnaturally cool, sending a jolt through your system. He didn't just hook his finger into yours; he brought your hand to his mouth and pressed a lingering, velvet-soft kiss to the knuckle of your pinky.

​Your breath hitched.​

“Make the promise official,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. “Kiss the promise.”​

You hesitated, then pressed your own lips to the spot he’d just kissed. As you pulled your hand away, you felt the tacky, drying blood from his face stick to your skin for a split second before parting with a faint, wet sound. The bond felt heavy. Visceral. Like you’d just signed a contract in salt and iron.

ᦏ᪔

​The ride back to your place was an unsettling stretch of silence. The Ford’s engine groaned as it cut through the darkness, the headlights barely carving a path through the hanging moss that looked like drowned hair. Bo sat in the passenger seat, his frame dwarfing the interior, making the car feel like a coffin. He didn't move, didn't talk, just stared out into the blackness of the cotton fields. The scent of him—ancient earth, cold metal, and the sharp, copper sting of fresh blood—filled the cab until you felt lightheaded and dizzy.​

When you pulled up to your small, weathered house, you hurried out, your heels clicking on the packed dirt as you fled the confines of the car. You unlocked the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, clicking on the warm, orange kitchen light. When you turned back, Bo was still standing on the porch, his silhouette tall and imposing against the night, his eyes reflecting the light like a cat's. He was just... waiting.​

Is he slow? you wondered, a flicker of irritation cutting through your mounting dread. “Well? Come on in,” you said, waving him forward.​

A faint, knowing smirk tugged at his mouth—a look that mocked your limited knowledge of the rules he lived by. But as soon as the invitation left your lips, he crossed the threshold.​

The house felt smaller the moment he entered. He took up so much space, his broad shoulders and tall, fit frame making the ceiling feel dangerously low. You weren't a short woman, but standing near him, you felt fragile, like a piece of fine porcelain held next to a sledgehammer.

​Bo stood in the center of your kitchen, his nostrils flaring.

He was smelling you. Beneath the scent of fear and the iron of the blood on your dress, he caught the deep, intoxicating aroma of your skin—sweetness mixed with a light earthiness. Your blood was still running hot from the adrenaline, pulsing visibly in the hollow of your throat, and to him, you sounded like a drum in the absolute silence of the house.​

“Sit,” you commanded, pointing to the sturdy wooden chair at the table.​

He obeyed, the chair creaking ominously under his weight. You turned away, moving toward the cupboard to gather what you needed—the jug of corn liquor for disinfectant, a needle, heavy thread, and clean strips of linen. As you moved, Bo’s eyes never left you. He tracked the line of your back, the curve of your hips, and the way your hands shook as you reached for the supplies. He watched the way your rich, brown skin glowed under the dim bulb. To him, you were a feast he was trying very hard not to devour.​

You walked back to him, the supplies clutched to your chest. Up close, his handsomeness was frightening. His features were sharp, carved with a precision that was almost too perfect. His hair was black as a raven’s wing, slicked back but messy from the fight. You took a moment to give him a once-over, your eyes lingering on the way his white shirt was torn open, revealing the muscle of his chest, and the still-bleeding hole in his arm.

​He was a monster. A haint. A dead man. But as he looked up at you, his gaze heavy and expectant, your stomach did a slow, treacherous roll.​

“Hold still,” you whispered, unscrewing the cap on the liquor. “This is gonna bite.”​

Bo’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a gravelly purr that vibrated in your own chest. “I told you, little bird... I don't feel a thing.”​

You rolled your eyes, huffing a breath through your nose to hide the way your heart was racing. The corn liquor hit the open wound with an audible hiss, the sharp, medicinal sting of it rising in a cloud that made your own eyes water.​

"Mhm, keep talkin’ that big talk," you muttered, dabbing the blood away with a rag that was quickly turning a sodden crimson. "Don't feel a thing. Like you ain't made of the same meat and bone as everybody else."​

Bo didn’t flinch.

He didn’t even blink.

His skin was slick under the low warmth of the kitchen light, his muscles corded like iron cables. You glanced up at his face and found him just... watching you. Not with the frantic gaze of a man who’d just been shot, but with a deep, unsettling stillness that made your skin hum with a strange, forbidden electricity.​

"What they call you?" you asked, trying to fill the heavy silence.​

"Bo Chow," he said. His voice was so smooth; it seemed to settle into the very floorboards beneath your feet.​

"Bo Chow," you repeated, humming the name under your breath. You kept cleaning the ragged edges of the hole in his arm, noting with a start that his skin didn't feel cold like a corpse's anymore; it felt like a low-burning stove, radiating a heat that began to seep into your own fingers. You couldn't believe you were sitting here—in the same place you’d fried green tomatoes just yesterday—patching up a haint.​

But he looked so... beautiful. In a way that felt like a trap. The blood smeared across his high cheekbones didn't make him look hideous; it made him look like something out of a dream you shouldn't be having.

Is he the type that likes the pain? you wondered, your mind wandering down a lewd, forbidden path as you looked at the raw power of his frame. He looks kind of cute all bloody like that. You caught yourself and shook your head lightly, your face heating up. Lord, girl, stop it. Imagine if this man could read your thoughts.​ LALALALALAH.

You reached for the needle and the heavy black thread, your fingers trembling just enough to make the metal glint. When you looked back down at his face, his eyes caught yours. They looked strange—not just dark, but shimmery, like the surface of the river under a full moon, shifting with a light that didn't come from your kitchen lamp.​

"What's wrong?" he asked.​

"Your eyes," you whispered, leaning in a fraction closer despite the internal alarms screaming in your head. "They look... weird."​

Bo’s mouth quirked into a ghost of a smirk. "That’s because I’m Chinese, little bird."​

Your eyes widened at the dry wit, a small, startled laugh escaping your throat. "I know that. I mean they’re—um... shimmery. Like there’s a fire in ‘em."​

Bo just hummed, a deep sound in his chest. Your gaze dropped from his eyes to his body—the broadness of his chest, the way his shirt clung—and for a second, a thought so filthy it made your ears hot flashed through your mind. You didn't say a word, just bit your lip and threaded the needle with a sharp, decisive tug.​

"If that alcohol didn't hurt," you warned, leaning over him so your breath fanned across the hard line of his shoulder, "this definitely will. Bullet’s out, but I gotta close the door behind it."​

You pushed the needle through the torn skin.​

Suddenly, a large, cool hand clamped onto your inner thigh.​

You froze, the needle halfway through his skin, your breath hitching in your throat. His grip was firm, his palm heavy and certain against the soft skin just above your knee. You could feel the heat radiating from his fingers now, the weight of him anchored to you.​

"It hurts," he rasped, though his face remained a mask of tranquility. "Hurry up."​

You nodded dumbly as wetness began pooling between your legs. His hands were massive, the veins standing out like mountain ridges. He squeezed your thigh—just a little, just enough to make your pulse jump—as you pulled the thread taut.​

He inhaled deeply, a long, dragging breath that made his chest expand. You thought it was the pain, but Bo’s eyes were half-closed, his nostrils flaring. He wasn't bracing for the needle; he was drinking you in. You smelled like the rain coming off the Delta, like the sweet, dusty scent of dried herbs in the rafters, and the intoxicating, metallic spice of your own racing blood. To him, you were a feast.​

You stitched as fast as you could, your fingers flying, trying not to focus on the way his hand was subtly, almost imperceptibly sliding an inch higher on your thigh with every stitch. The fear was still there, sharp and cold, but it was being smothered by a want you couldn't name.​

"Okay," you gasped, your voice sounding higher, more breathless than you intended. "Okay. Done." You tied the knot and nipped the thread with your teeth, your face inches from his, the scent of him overwhelming your senses.​

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Y-you're welcome," you stammered, the words tripping over the frantic rhythm of your heart.​

Bo didn't let go. Instead, he reached out with his other hand, large and cooling, and hooked it behind the back of your other thigh. He slid his fingers under the hem of your torn dress and pulled you forward, dragging you between his knees.

He was still sitting, his head level with your chest, looking up at you with an intensity that felt like it was stripping the very marrow from your bones. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin at the back of your leg—calloused, rough, and stained with the dark, drying iron of the men he’d slaughtered. It sent a shiver up your spine that had nothing to do with the room's humidity and everything to do with the predatory heat radiating from him.

​"You're a kind woman," he said, his voice dropping into an intimate register that made your body ache.

"You too," you replied, your brain fumbling for any shred of logic to hold onto. Then the absurdity of the statement hit you. "I mean... obviously you ain't a woman."​

Your eyes trailed down, unbidden. You followed the line of his flat, hard stomach to the unmistakable bulge straining against the dark fabric of his trousers. It was thick, prominent, and pulsed with a life that seemed at odds with the "dead man" stories. Your heart nearly stopped, a cold spike of fear warring with a shameful heat.​

"Oh! Lord—I—I’m sorry," you blurted out, your face hot with embarrassment as you jerked your eyes back up to the ceiling, focusing on a spiderweb in the corner just to keep from looking at the monster’s hunger.​

Bo didn't look offended. He let out an amused, dark laugh—a sound that was rich, deep, and surprisingly warm, like honey poured over gravel. He let go of your thighs, his fingers lingering for a fraction of a second too long, and stood up in one fluid motion.

The transition was so fast it seemed to skip a frame of reality, making the kitchen floorboards groan and creak under the sudden shift of his weight. He loomed over you, his frame completely blotting out the yellow light of the kitchen lamp, casting a long, predatory shadow that swallowed you whole.​

"It’s okay," he murmured, that mischievous, knowing smirk returning. It was a look that made your stomach turn—a perfidious mix of horror and a raw, magnetic attraction you couldn't suppress. "I've seen women look at me before. But never one who could sew me up without fainting."​

You cleared your throat, clutching the blood-stained rag so hard your knuckles hurt. "Well, I ain't most women. And you ain't most men."​

"No," he agreed. "I'm not. Now, show me where I can wash this filth off. I can taste the dirt in my pores."​

You nodded, your legs feeling like jelly. You led him out of the kitchen, your back feeling exposed and vulnerable with him walking behind you.​ The floorboards groaned under Bo’s weight as you led him down the narrow, dimly lit hallway. The air in your small house felt different now—charged, like the atmosphere right before a thunderstorm breaks the heat. His silent, looming presence seemed to swallow the flickering light of the wall-mounted oil lamps.

You stopped at the door to the washroom, a cramped space with a slanted ceiling and the heavy scent of lye soap. ​"In here," you said, pointing to the galvanized tub in the center of the floor.

You didn't turn around to face him.

You couldn't.

"I’ll—I’ll get the water hot for the tub," you murmured to the wall. "I reckon I got some of my brother’s old work shirts and trousers in the chest. You can wear 'em while I wash yours."

​​A dark thought flickered in the back of your mind—that a man like him probably didn't need to borrow clothes; he likely just took what he wanted from the bodies he left behind. But you shook it away, choosing to believe in the quiet, euphonious lilt of his voice instead of the carnage you’d seen in the gravel. You wanted him to be a decent man, even if you knew deep down he was something else entirely.

ᦏ᪔

In the small, cramped washroom, you hauled the heavy kettle you’d left on the stove, pouring the steaming water into the metal tub. The steam rose in heavy, humid plumes, turning the small bathroom into a hothouse that smelled of woodsmoke and the iron tang of the well water. You felt the dampness immediately; the fine coils of your hair began to tighten and frizz against your neck, the edges of your kitchen-wrap softening into a halo of wild texture in the heat.​

Bo stood in the doorway, a solid weight against the flickering light. He began to strip with a slow, crude lack of shame. The ruined white shirt made a wet, sticky sound as he peeled it away—a sound that sat heavy in your stomach.​

Your eyes betrayed you, trailing over the map of his back. He was a landscape of fit, scarred muscle, shoulders broad enough to block out the world, tapering down to a waist that looked lean and lethal. The jagged lines of old wars—some silver, some deep and puckered—were smeared now with the fresh, drying blood of the men he’d just finished. It looked like war paint against his skin, dark and drying in the air.

His nostrils flared. He drew a breath so deep his ribs expanded like an animal scenting the wind. His gaze fixed on the back of your neck with a focused hunger. The steam was acting as a messenger, carrying your scent directly to him—the sun-dried cotton of your dress, the earthy sweetness of your skin, and the sharp, copper sting of the blood where the gravel had torn your knees.​

"Wash me," he commanded.​

The words weren't a request. They were a low, alluring rasp that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into the soles of your bare feet.​

You gripped the washcloth until your fingers ached, the water dripping hot and stinging against your knuckles. You hesitated, every instinct screaming at you to run out the back door and never look back. The air in the room was too thin, too hot.​

"You got two hands, Bo," you said, trying to summon the ghost of your courage. "I already did the hard part with the needle and thread. I ain't your maid."​

"It’s the least you can do," he countered. He took a step into the room, the space shrinking instantly. His eyes locked onto yours, hooded and unblinking. "I took a bullet in my dominant arm for you, sweetheart. Hard to scrub when you're stitched up tight."​

You tried to find your spine, forcing a huff of indignation even as your heart hammered against your ribs. "You’re a monster. I reckon you got enough of that super-human devilry in you to handle a bar of soap without my help."​

The smirk vanished instantly. His face dropped, a glum expression crossed his features, making the room feel even smaller and colder despite the steam. He looked at you with a startling vulnerability that felt more dangerous than his anger. It was the look of a thing that had forgotten it could be perceived as anything other than a threat to be put down.​

"Is that all you see?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave into a bleak, hollow place. "A monster?"​

A pang of guilt pricked at your chest. You looked at him—really looked, past the blood and the horror. You followed the line of his jaw, the tired curve of his eyes, and the way the blood was matted into his dark hair like a crown of thorns.

He looked exhausted.

He looked lonely.​

"I didn't say that's all," you whispered, the words coming out softer and more regretful than you intended. "But you are what you are, Bo."​

To break the smothering weight of the silence, you reached for the jar of dried lavender and bath salts on the shelf. You threw a handful into the steaming tub, the floral scent blooming instantly in a desperate attempt to mask the smell of the road and the kill.​

"This should take the edge off the pain," you murmured, your hands shaking as you stirred the water. "Help you sleep."​

Bo didn't look away from you. His hands moved to the buttons of his trousers. The metallic clink of the fly being undone sent a jolt of white-hot heat straight to your thighs, a pulse that matched the frantic, ragged beat of your heart. You watched, paralyzed, as his stomach muscles raised, the dark hair disappearing into the waistband as he pushed the heavy denim down his hips.

​"I—um—I’m going to get the clean clothes," you blurted out, the panic finally winning. Your pulse was a wild, trapped thing in your throat, and you felt like you were about to drown in the steam. "I’ll leave 'em right outside the door so you can get in the water. And If you really can't do it yourself, I'll help. Promise."​

You scrambled out of the room, your face burning and your skin damp with the ghost of his heat. You instantly regretted the last part of your statement. Why had you even offered? Maybe it was the lingering sting of guilt from your earlier words, a clumsy and impulsive attempt to balance the scales. Maybe it was the heavy silence that followed, making you desperate to fill the air. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you.

Those brown eyes held a pull you couldn’t quite name, an unspoken gravity that made you want to do things for him, to be the person who fixed whatever was broken. You didn't have to look back to know his eyes were on your spine, trailing the path of your retreat like a hunter watching a deer vanish into the brush. You stood in the hallway, shivering in the sudden draft, while the scent of lavender and iron lingered in your lungs like a curse.

ᦏ᪔

The kitchen was quiet, save for the rhythmic, wet shuck-shuck of the wooden scrub board. You stood hunched over the bucket, your knuckles raw and stinging from the harsh lye soap. You watched, mesmerized and appalled, as the water turned a deep plum color—the blood of the men Bo had slaughtered bleeding out of the white fabric of his shirt.​

Your mind was a hornet’s nest, buzzing with images you couldn't unsee. Every time you blinked, you heard it again: the metallic clink-clink of that man’s belt, the weight of him pinning you down, the taste of Mississippi dirt and your own copper blood in your mouth. And then... the shift.​

The sound of Bo’s arrival hadn't been human. It was the sound of a butcher shop at midnight—the wet, splintering crunch of bone, the melon-dropping thud of a head hitting the gravel, and that gargling, truncated scream. You had witnessed four murders. You had seen a man’s head taken off with the casual ease of someone plucking a cotton boll.​

I’m patchin' up a demon, you thought, your rhythm slowing until the scrub board went silent. I’m washin' his sins off his clothes like he’s my own kin. A cold shiver raced down your spine, clashing with the sweltering heat of the stove.

Had you made a terrible mistake?

You had invited a thing into your home that didn't eat, didn't breathe right, and carried the stench of the grave beneath a veil of lavender. You were a lone woman in a sharecropper shack with a monster. If he decided he was still hungry, there wasn't a lock in the Delta that could keep him out.​

But then, you remembered the way he’d gripped your thigh—not with the bruising, entitlement of the men in the lot, but with a anchoring certainty. He looked at you like you were the only solid thing in a world of ghosts. The fear was there, sharp as a razor, but it was being crowded out by a thick, honey-slow heat. You knew that look in his shimmery eyes. He wanted to ruin you, yes—but he wanted to be the only thing that ever touched you again.​

And God help you, you were ready to let him.

The water in the bucket was too foul to continue. You needed to change it and get the rinsing rack you’d left in the washroom. You wiped your damp, soapy hands on your apron, the fabric rough against your sensitized skin, and walked down the hall.​

You knocked softly, your heart beginning that familiar, erratic dance against your ribs. "Bo?"

​"Come in," his voice drifted through the wood.​

You pushed the door open. The steam hit you first, a thick, comforting fog that smelled of the lavender and salt you’d thrown in. But underneath the flowers was the unmistakable scent of him—rain, cold earth, and a hint of ozone. Bo was submerged in the galvanized tub, his long legs folded uncomfortably against the metal.​

His wet hair was pushed back, revealing the stark, haunting beauty of his face. His tan skin glistened with water and oil, the blood finally gone, leaving him looking like a polished jade statue.​

"I just came for the scrubbing rack," you whispered. You tried to keep your eyes on the wall, but they drifted, fixed on the way the water beaded on his collarbones and the muscles of his chest. "For your clothes."​

Bo didn't move. He just watched you, his eyes shimmery and dark, tracking the rise and fall of your chest. "The clothes can wait, little bird. 'Member what I said?"

​"Oh... yeah," you breathed.

You walked toward him, the floorboards creaking. There was a mesmerizing charm in his gaze that felt like an illusion of safety.

As you reached the edge of the tub, Bo’s hand shot out—the uninjured one—and caught your wrist. His skin was cool, a shocking contrast to the steaming water, and his grip was a firm cuff.​ He guided you down until your knees hit the damp floorboards with a soft thud.​

"You made a promise," he murmured, pressing the hot washcloth into your hand. "Be thorough. I don't want a speck of dirt or blood left on me."​

He leaned back, exposing the wet planes of his stomach and the strong column of his throat. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking and predatory. "Don't let your shyness keep you from seeing where you need to clean," he warned, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "I want to feel every bit of that kindness you claimed to have."​

You took a shaky breath, your fingers trembling as you pressed the cloth to his shoulder. You began to scrub, tracing the lines of his muscles. Bo watched you with an intense focus. He could smell the way your pulse had spiked, the scent of your arousal blooming like a night-flower in the cramped room.​

He reached out, his large hand tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back. "Look at me while you do it," he commanded softly. "I want to see you realize what you're touchin'."

The steam had become a lavender-scented disinhibitor. As you moved the cloth lower, your knuckles brushed against the solid weight of him, submerged in the soapy water. You felt the thick, hard length of his dick stir beneath the surface, pulsing against your hand.

Bo let out a long, shuddering sigh. He didn't pull away. He just watched you, his shimmery eyes blown wide. Your lips were parted with a mix of curiosity and a hunger you couldn't hide anymore. You were gentle, your soapy hands sliding over his slick skin, but the more you cleaned, the harder he became.​

Bo’s hand clamped onto your waist. Before you could gasp, he hauled you over the rim.​ The water surged over the sides, splashing onto the floorboards with a heavy thud, as you landed in the tub with him. It was cramped; the metal bit into your hip, and your dress was instantly a heavy, sodden weight clinging to your skin.

Bo’s grip was absolute. He held your waist with one hand, his fingers digging into your flesh, while his other arm draped casually over the edge, his veiny hand twitching.​

You leaned in, your lips trembling as you pressed a tentative kiss to his.​

Bo didn't do tentative. He moaned into your mouth, his hand pulling you flush against his chest. He took over the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a desperate hunger that tasted of ancient promises. You felt his dick pressing between your thighs. You ground down, the wet fabric of your dress providing a friction that made your toes curl into the metal.​

His hand slid beneath the wet hem of your dress, his fingers ghosting over your thighs until they hooked into the waistband of your panties. With one effortless tug, he ripped the fabric. The sound of the tearing cotton was a sharp snap of finality. He flung the ruined scrap into the corner.​

He pulled back just enough to nip your bottom lip. When you looked down, your heart nearly stopped. His fangs were fully descended—ragged, ivory daggers that looked like fresh bone. They were jagged, lethal, and capable of tearing the life from you in a single heartbeat.​

You felt a spike of pure fear, and Bo felt it too. He leaned in, his nose brushing yours. "Relax, little bird. I've got you. Don't let the teeth scare you... I'll only bite if you ask me too."​

He licked a slow, hot path across your lip before sucking it into his mouth. You moaned, your head falling back as you grinded onto his dick. It was perfectly positioned, stimulating you until you were seeing sparks.

​"Put it in for me," he rasped.​

He began to kiss a trail down your neck, the points of his fangs dragging across your skin, leaving thin, white lines that stung and burned. You reached down, your fingers fumbling through the soapy water until you found him. He was big—thick and pulsing with a life that didn't belong to a dead man. You lined him up, your breath catching, and slowly, you started to sink down.​

The stretch was deep, a forceful opening that made your vision swim. You felt every ridge, every inch of him as he filled you.​

"Mghn, fuck..." you breathed, your nails carving small crescents into his skin.​

"All the way," Bo commanded, his breath hot against your throat. "Take it all, sweetness. Every bit of it."​

You pushed through the resistance until you bottomed out. He hit a wall with a blunt pressure that made your stomach ache with the sheer fullness. You sat there for a moment, impaled and trembling, while the water lapped at your waists and the steam curled around your heads.​

"There," he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your face. "Now you know exactly what a monster feels like inside you." Bo’s damp hand stayed clamped on your face, his thumb dragging roughly across your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the slick, red inner flesh of your mouth.

He watched the way you trembled, your breath coming in shallow, broken hitches as your body tried—and failed—to accommodate the sheer, unyielding stretch of him.

He shifted his hips, a slow, teasing roll that forced you to feel every ridge and pulsing vein of him. You let out a high, thin whimper, your hands flying to his chest to push him away, to find some air, but his weight was like the Mississippi mud—heavy, ancient, and impossible to move.​

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a low, condescending purr that vibrated through your joined heat.

"All that fire in the gravel lot, spittin’ venom at those crackers... and here you are now, shakin’ like a leaf just ‘cause a real man’s fillin’ you up. You’re a pathetic little thing, ain’t you? All mouth and no room for the consequences. You think you’re brave ‘cause you sew up a wound? You’re just a fragile woman who doesn't know how to leave things be."​

The mean edge in his voice made your stomach flip, a toxic cocktail of shame and heat. "Shut—uhn... shut up," you gasped, your head rolling back as he thrust upward—a sharp, blunt jab that hit your g-spot with the force of a hammer, making your vision streak with white light.​

"Make me," he challenged, his eyes shimmering with a wicked, gold-flecked shimmer that made your blood run hotter.​

He didn't give you a chance to answer. He reached for the straps of your dress. He didn't bother being gentle; he ripped the fabric down, the wet slap of the ruined dress hitting the floorboards echoed loud in the cramped room. Your bra followed, snapped and flung aside until you were bare, your skin glistening with sweat and lavender-water in the flickering light.​

Bo’s breath hitched as he leaned in, his mouth finding your breast, his tongue rough and scorching as he swirled it around your nipple. He sucked deep, his fangs grazing the sensitive peak just enough to draw a pinprick of blood—a jolt of pain-pleasure that traveled straight to your clit.​

He thrust again, slow and agonizing, his hips grinding into your soft thighs with a crude force. You reached out, your fingers tangling in his wet hair, pulling him closer as you found a dulcet rhythm. You began to bounce, the water in the tub sloshing violently over the rim with every downward stroke, soaking the floor.​

Bo threw his head back, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat. He let you ride him, but his hands weren't gentle. They moved to your chest, his palms engulfing your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh with a bruising strength that made you gasp. His thumbs found your nipples, pinching and twisting until you cried out.​

"That's it," he rasped, his fingers digging into your hip bones to anchor you as you hammered yourself down. "Ride it, baby. Show me how much you want it. You like the way I feel, don't you? Like I’m stretchin’ you out so far you’ll never close right again? You’re lucky I found you, or those men would’ve torn you apart... but I’m the one actually doin' it, ain't I?"​

He sped up his own hips, his thrusts turning quick and short, hitting you with a force that made the galvanized tub rattle against the floorboards. You felt his fangs scrape against your shoulder as he leaned in to bite at your skin, not breaking it yet, just marking you with the weight of his hunger.​

"You're so wet," he groaned against your ear, his breath smelling of lavender and the copper of his own blood. "Drippin' all into the water. Shit... I'm gonna make sure you can't walk for a week without—ahh—feelin' me between your legs, remindin' you who you let in."​

You nodded, your head lolling against his shoulder, your voice nothing but a broken, humid whisper. "Y-you feel so good, Bo... Lord, you feel so good."​

Bo let out a sound that was half-growl, half-purr, his chest vibrating against yours. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that tasted of salt and the iron-sweetness of his. His tongue sweeping deep as he thrust upward, meeting your downward motion halfway. The wet slap of your bodies meeting echoed off the damp wooden walls.​

"Mhmm, I bet I do," he mumbled against your lips, his drawl thick and heavy with condescension. "Better than anythin’ you ever imagined in that quiet little life of yours, ain’t it? You spend your days haulin’ water a-and pickin’ okra, never dreamin’ a demon from the dark would come and stretch you out like this, sweet girl."​

You tilted your head, your tongue flicking out to lick across the sharp, jagged ivory of his teeth. The danger of it—the knowledge that he could snap your neck in a second—made your blood sing. "You're a mean one, Bo Chow," you breathed, your eyes fluttering. "But you can be as mean as you w-want, as long as you keep fucking me."​

His eyes flashed, a shimmery darkness. Without a word, he gripped your waist and stood up. The water cascaded off his body, splashing onto the floorboards in a heavy torrent. He lifted you like you weighed nothing, your legs dangling for a split second before he flipped you over the cold, narrow edge of the galvanized tub. Your stomach hit the metal, your hands scrambling for purchase on the damp floor as you were forced into a deep arch. Bo was behind you instantly, his shadow swallowing you whole.

He didn't wait. He grabbed your hips—his fingers digging deep—and drove back home in one violent thrust that bottomed out with a wet squelch.​

"Ahhn—!" You cried out, your fingers clawing at the wood.​

He was fucking you like you owed him a debt you could never pay, his movements fast and relentless. It was rough, the friction of the wet skin and the deep, forceful stretch of him making your vision streak with color. He was marking you from the inside out, claiming every inch of your internal space.​

"Look back at me," he ordered, as he reached back and delivered a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. One that made your skin tingle and your pussy clench tight around him. "Look at what I'm doin' to you. See how you take it."​

You twisted your neck, looking over your shoulder with blown-out eyes. You watched as his shaft disappeared into you and reappeared, glistening with your combined slickness. You watched your own flesh stretch and yield, your hole squeezing him with every pulse.​

Bo let out a long, ragged moan. "Oh my... look at that. Look at how you're grabbin' me. You're s-so greedy for it. Just a hungry little hole for the haint." He leaned down, his chest pressing into your back, and whispered something dark and filthy in Cantonese—the sounds sharp and ancient against your ear. Then, his voice dropped back into that Delta rasp. "I bet if I sink these teeth into that pretty neck of yours, you'd squeeze me so tight I’d never get out. I could drink you dry while I fill you up.

​He kept pounding into you, his pace turning frantic, his breath hitching. The overstimulation was too much; you reached back, your hand pressing into his lower stomach, trying to find some leverage against the assault.​

"Bo, w-wait... slow down," you sobbed, your eyes teary, your lips pouting in a desperate plea. "Please, it's too much..."​

He paused, but he didn't pull out. He looked down at your face—the tears, the flushed skin, the absolute wreck he’d made of you—and a slow, possessive smirk crossed his lips. He reached out and folded one of your arms behind your back, pinning it there with his large hand, and began to fuck you slow and deep.​

It was worse this way. Every inch of him was felt, every ridge of his dick dragging against your sensitive walls. You watched as your own cream began to coat his skin, dripping down his thighs and into the pink-tinted water on the floor. Bo reached around with his free hand, spreading your cheeks wide, his thumb tracing the seam of your ass with a strange gentleness.​

"You're a mess," he murmured, watching the way you took him. "A beautiful, wet mess. I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy later, once I’m done usin’ it. I’m gonna taste every bit of what I put inside you. You’re gonna miss me for days."​

Your hand drifted down to your clit, your fingers finding the swollen, sensitive nub and rubbing in frantic circles. The slow, deep thrusts were driving you to the edge of a cliff.​

"Can you take it faster, baby?" Bo rasped, his hand leaving your back to wrap firmly around the base of your neck. "You want me to finish in you? You want the monster to fill you up?"​

"Yes," you gasped, your head falling forward. "Yes, Bo! Please! Just do it!"​

He gripped your neck, anchoring you as he began to pound into you with everything he had. The sounds were wet and violent, the tub rattling against the floor as he reached for his own peak. You felt your orgasm building, a tidal wave of heat that crashed over you just as he delivered one last deep thrust that pinned you against the metal.​

You screamed into the empty washroom, your body convulsing as you came in wave after wave of paralyzing pleasure. A second later, Bo let out a low moan, his body locking up as he erupted inside you. You felt the scorching heat of him, the thick, pulsing ropes of his release filling you to the absolute brim, making you feel like you were overflowing.​

He stayed there for a long time, his forehead resting against your back, both of you panting in the cooling steam. When he finally pulled out, the sound was wet and heavy. You stayed slumped over the tub, your legs shaking, watching as his thick, white cum began to leak out of you, dripping slowly onto the dark, damp floorboards of your home.​

Bo stood over you, his eyes still shining, his thumb reaching out to catch a stray drop of his seed from your thigh before bringing it to his lips, tasting you one last time.

ᦏ᪔

The scent of lye soap and fresh floor wax had mostly chased away the copper sting of blood and the heavy musk of the night before. Your small house looked right again—quilts snapped straight, the hearth swept clean, and the kitchen table scrubbed down for the arrival of your brother, his wife, and their little ones. But despite the domestic order, the air still felt charged, humming with the ghost of the intimacy that had unfolded in the washroom.​

Bo sat at your small kitchen table, draped in a set of your brother’s old work clothes. The denim was faded and the shirt was tight across his broad, scarred shoulders, but he wore them with a strange, effortless dignity. He looked like any other man from the Delta, save for the stillness in his posture and the way his eyes seemed to swallow the afternoon light.​

You leaned against the counter, smoothing your apron, feeling the dull ache between your thighs—a constant, thrumming reminder of exactly what he was.​

"Everything’s ready," you said, your voice a little raspy. "I reckon you can stay on and rest a bit longer, but you got to be gone before the crickets start their real loud chirpin'. My brother and his kin... they can’t find you here. Especially not lookin’ like you do."

​Bo didn't answer right away. He stood up, his frame making the kitchen feel small again, and crossed the room with that fluid, silent stride. He stepped behind you, wrapping his large, cool arms around your waist. He pulled you back against his chest, his chin resting in the crook of your neck. You felt his breath, cold and smelling faintly of the lavender salts, against your skin.​

"I’ll be gone before the first headlight hits the gravel, little bird," he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your throat. He didn't bite, but the threat—the promise—of his fangs was always there. "When can I see you again?"​

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, closing your eyes. "Whenever you want, Bo. I'm sure you know the way."​

He let out a low, satisfied hum that vibrated through your spine. He squeezed your waist once, firmly, before letting go. "Thank you again. For the thread. For not callin' the law or the lynch mobs." His eyes drifted to the window, looking out toward the cypress trees. "I’ll pay you back for the trouble. Name your price."​

You didn't hesitate. You knew the value of your silence and your safety in this world. You named a price—a bold amount of silver that would keep your family fed and the taxes paid for a long, long time.​

Bo let out a short, dry bark of a laugh, his shimmery eyes crinkling at the corners. "You’re a greedy woman," he said, but there was a deep, underlying respect in his tone. He reached out, his thumb dragging across your cheek. "I like that. I used to own a store myself, back before the world got so dark. I know the cost of doin' business. You'll have your silver."​

ᦏ᪔

The house was full of the sounds of family later that night—the high-pitched giggles of your nieces, the heavy thud of your brother’s boots, and the soft chatter of his wife as they settled into the guest rooms. You played your part, serving food and enjoying family time, but your mind was stuck in the quiet shadows of the washroom.​

When you finally crawled into your own bed, the sheets felt cold and lonely. You fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, exhausted by the weight of the secrets you were carrying.​

In the dead of the night, the air in your room shifted. There was no sound, just a subtle change in pressure.​

Bo appeared at your bedside like a shadow detached from the wall. He stood over you for a long time, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, and pressed a lingering, feather-light kiss to your forehead.​

He reached out, his long fingers snagging a small scarf you’d left on the nightstand—one you’d used to tie back your hair. He brought it to his nose, inhaling the scent of you that clung to the fabric: the peach-sweetness, the earth, and the lingering spice of the night before. He tucked it into his pocket, a piece of you to take back into the dark.​

When you woke the next morning, the room was empty and the sun was beginning to bleed over the horizon. You sat up, shivering slightly, and noticed a small piece of paper weighted down by a small sack on your vanity.​

You picked up the note. The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and slanted.​

The Delta is a dangerous place, dear. Keep your doors locked and your fire high. I'll be back for the rest of what I owe you.​— B.C.​

You clutched the silver coin in your hand, feeling its cold weight, and looked out at the swamp. Bo Chow was gone, but you knew that he was still watching.

ᦏ𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈᪔

тαgℓιѕт: @aizawash0e, @h3avenlyglory, @mahoganybreeze

Dividers by @uzmacchiato

All works © liliacsdelight 2025–Present. Do not repost, translate, modify, or use my work to train AI models.