CircusFactory

one man show 18+

[conleches]

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

body language masterlist

a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

550 words to say instead of fuckin said

638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

some more body language help 

[bellero]

REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER

[luna-azzurra]

Something neuroscience-y that helps with prose: attention is selective. A character will not notice everything in a room. They will notice what matters to their goal, fear, desire, training, wound, or obsession. A jealous character notices hands. a hungry character notices food. A soldier notices exits. A lonely character notices pairs. Description becomes character when attention has a bias.

[sukunahs]

starburned and unkissed | ryomen sukuna

pairing: villain!sukuna x magical girl!reader

summary: after years of hiding your identity and spending nights fighting off monsters, you're tired of being a magical girl - especially with a new villain known as the king of curses out to get you.

all you want is to be able to focus on your normal life, and when you finally meet a nice guy at a work event for your day job you figure that maybe things are looking up.

if only he wasn't the very villain who wanted you dead.

content: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, humor, betrayal, lying, yandere/obsessed sukuna, confusing feelings, loneliness, falling in love, mentions of past illness, hurt/comfort, manipulation, sukuna is evil but he's also very confused, true-form sukuna, enemies to lovers (and back to enemies and then to lovers LOL), this couple is a mess

chapter 1: the magical girl

chapter 2: the villain

chapter 3: the mirror

chapter 4: the betrayal

chapter 5: the finale

[tonycries]

Back To Black - N.K.

Synopsis. When you came knocking at Nanami Kento’s mansion, stranded in the middle of a storm, he couldn’t turn you away just like that - could he? After all, you smelled so cold, so scared, so…delectable. And you might learn that there’s a reason they keep demons locked away in large, lonely mansions. Because didn’t you know that he’s one hell of a butler?

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, demon butler!Nanami, Black Butler AU, plot, powers, mansions, use of ‘my lady’, slight bIood and vioIence, slightly yan!Nanami, slight angst, reincarnations, yearning, pússydrúnk Nanami, fíngering, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, chokíng, p talking, manhandIing, matíng presses, use of his demon powers, x-rays, he’s a gentleman until he breaks, rough s, running from it, creampíes, cúmpIay, soul bonding, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 15.6k

A/N. Spooky season isn’t over until I say so…

“Goddamm- oh.” The merciless hand of the storm swipes your face, and you instantly clamp your eyes and lips shut against the sting.

It was a night colder than cold, a storm crueler than cruel. Fallen instantly: it was as if someone had simply snuffed out the light of day, and plunged you into a world that hurtled on its axis. Despite the portico you stood underneath, you clutched your tattered coat tighter against the wind.

This place had been the first you’d encountered during your treacherous walk. A light. And without thinking, you’d stumbled towards it. 

Perhaps a home. Perhaps shelter. 

The fog thickens. Your fist raises, knock-knock-knocking against the tall, wooden door. It was decorated in intricate swirling patterns and engravings that you couldn’t make out in the darkness right now.

You wonder whether whoever was inside could even hear you over the storm. Desperately, your fist raises to knock again when-

The door opens.

And inside stands a handsome blond man.

Almost otherworldly.

“My lady.”

Your breath hitches, and you’re not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was the rich baritone of his voice, the way it pierced your ears even above the wind, wetness, and anger of the storm. Perhaps it was his classically handsome face - slicked-back hair, high cheekbones, a pert mouth that was somehow knowing - like in one of those historical paintings, a Prince Charming. 

You wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint him in any century.

Or perhaps it was the way that when you stepped back, on instinct, he leaned down to loop a strong arm around your waist in a single, fluid motion. So fast that you muse he might’ve teleported.

Whoosh–! 

You startle at the noise above you, and look up to find that the strange man had unfolded an umbrella over the two of you - one that you hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

He lets the berth of it cover your frame, like the dark wings of a bat stretched taut. Uncaring of whether he himself gets wet, the man shields you against the icy billows of rain that blew through the portico. His warm grin stretches, urging. “My lady?”

“O-oh.” It registers that he was speaking to you. You’re unsure where to place your palms, and they lay flatly open against the man’s toned chest. Still. “My apologies for- for the intrusion so late. But I…”

You were getting distracted by his kind, molten eyes is what. But he finishes for you with a slight huff of amusement, “Happened to get caught in this monstrosity of a storm, am I right in guessing?” At your nod. “Well, it’s no wonder then, my lady. I’m only glad you made it here safe.”

“I-” You were right in feeling like you weren’t able to pinpoint which century he was from. Because his tone of speaking wasn’t reminiscent of any dialect you’ve ever heard before - something melodic yet stiff, something understandable yet…dated. 

And despite your incessant pondering, he stands as patiently as ever. Holds you as patiently as ever.

Even though the wind ruffled that neat hair of his, and the rain pelted his sides without the cover of the umbrella. You hasten to explain yourself, “I was actually on my way from a work function, a bit far away. When this storm suddenly hit and my car broke down in the middle of it- actually, I think it ended up in some ditch with no power, which is why I ended up- well- here.” You finish, lamely.

He looks thoughtful, nodding empathetically.

“And I really do apologize for the intrusion, really, but if I could stay just until the storm blows over and I can call for help-”

“Do forgive me for interrupting you, my lady.” The man’s precise tone speaks once more, “But you may stay here as long as you like.”

Relief washes down your spine like a bucket of heat, melting you instantly. “Oh, thank you- thank you.” And before you know it, you’re falling deeper into his arms. 

“A lady must not thank a mere worker.” He hums with a tut, and you wonder whether that means he was one of the staff at this large building - what little you could see of the silhouette seemed larger than a normal house, and you’d assumed that it was some hotel at first.

He steps soundlessly to help you steady yourself. And you’re soon being warmly gestured inside, the umbrella being held over your head with each step, even as he stepped aside into the rain to let you through. “Come now, we must dry you off at once. Being in the cold for this long won’t be good for your constitution, my lady.”

You step inside as he directs, and it feels like stepping into a warm bath - just right.

And what you’d seen in the distance - that yolky, blinking light that led you here, your body moving as if on instinct - wasn’t actually a lightbulb, as you’d thought. In actuality, it was about a dozen, flaring chandeliers.

Illuminating a fresco of gardens and flowers and spring. Lined along the sprawling ceiling like fruits that were overripe, fit to burst. They danced ever-so-slightly in the draught that the open door brought, yet not a single candle extinguished from what you could make out.

You felt so tiny in the house- mansion, as you were quickly coming to learn. 

Greeted by an imperial staircase made of marble, and accents of gold that fought with the chandeliers over which one of them shined brighter. You don’t think you could possibly count how many hallways holed themselves into the mansion just from here. Hidden caverns filled with antiques, and ever-green chrysanthemums, and paintings that you could just see the corners of. Upon either side of the entrance were large Clerestory windows that provided snapshots of the flared lightning outside; so high up, so large, that it made the front door feel dwarfed. 

You think it looks strangely familiar - perhaps something reminiscent of those illustrations you’d seen in classic stories.

Curiously, along the winding corridors, you note that there were many mirrors. Some small and bejeweled, some tall from ceiling to floor.

In intervals unknown to you, they stood out - the brightest of them all.

You jump at the feeling of something touching your elbow-

“My apologies for startling you, my lady.” Comes your host’s deep voice, and you whirl around to find him bowed. With a warm, citrus-scented towel presented to you (when did he even have the time to get that?) “Please, do make use of this towel to rinse off the water on your body. If you would like, I may do it for you?”

“No no, I can do it.” You insist, feeling your heart race. His stern lips quirk up ever-so-slightly when you reach for it. “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure. I wouldn’t want my lady getting sick.”

My lady…

You shake your head, trying to get it free of that giggling lil’ voice that kept repeating those two words. Instead, you take the towel from the beautiful man and—oh.

Underneath your breath, you gasp through your nose. Because the very second that your fingers had grazed his own when taking the towel, a chill wafted down your spine. So cold. So…unnatural. You weren’t sure whether it was the sheer temperature, or the fact that it was the sheer temperature of his hand.

Why was he so cold?

Almost as if he sensed your thoughts, the man swiftly pulls his hand away. And it’s only then that you realize that he was dressed so smartly.

Shoes polished till they reflected your bewildered stare. Well-fitted black pants. A three-piece suit filled out by his broad shoulders. Black tailcoat. High collar. Steely buttons. And an emblem on his coat pocket that you couldn’t read from here. Gloves. Ah—so that was why he was so cold, you guessed.

Surely there was no other reason, right?

Lightning flashes.

The rooms lights up in ice-white.

“Oh dear, it seems the storm won’t be getting any better tonight.” He announces, clapping his hands twice. And then, previously unseen curtains start closing in on the windows so high above. Effectively shutting out the storm, the night, and with it, the world.

You wondered what automatic mechanism that was.

“We best get you to bed immediately, my lady.” The blond-haired man says, his hair gleaming in the candlelight - and you could’ve sworn that it’d been all ruffled and messy by the storm just prior. Now, it was untouched, as if he’d never stepped outside. 

He rounds the entrance, politely gesturing at you to follow. 

“Such a lovely place.” You observe, as you’re led up the staircase and into the East wing. The hallways were tall and ancient, humming with centuries of stories untold. And, as you’d expected, the antiques, the chrysanthemums, the paintings.

Blurs of faces that you were walking too quickly by to properly make out.

“Why thank you, my lady.” He looks back briefly, holding a golden candelabra to light your pathway. Still walking, he doesn’t need to stop to speak. “This is an old home, with old bones, old secrets.” The man cracks a grin, “I should know, I have been lucky to call myself a worker of this fine home for a long time.”

So he did work here - a butler, all signs were pointing to. You hum, butlers had always seemed like something out of a soap opera, or those regency novels.

Having him in front of you like this made you feel somewhat dizzy.

And you were entranced by the noiseless way he moved, “And how long is a long time?”

“Oh, one could say it feels like…centuries.” He chuckles to himself.

You make a few turns, heading deeper into the mansion. And you can’t help but notice that you’ve yet to see a single other person here except the two of you-

“The masters of this home are more in name.” The butler says, in his smooth tone. Like he could sense the question forming. “This house has been passed down through generations, and I fear that I have yet to officially meet whoever owns this grand establishment now.”

“Oh?” Your brows raise, “They seriously don’t come to visit a house this beautiful? Not even as a vacation home?”

“I’m afraid so. It is all but abandoned.” He nods, “But alas, I do not complain. They employ me here to clean and take care of this home, and that’s all I can ask. To preserve a piece of history so magnificent, no matter how much they try to forget…it shall always haunt you.”

“So you’re alone here?”

He stops then. And turns back to you with an unreadable expression- oh, something about the way the candelabra outlined the hollows of his face made you feel cold all over again. “I’m afraid so.” Voice quiet. “Would you prefer otherwise, my lady?”

In the distance, the growl of thunder trundles.

“No no, nothing like that.” You rush to answer, not wishing to offend the kind soul helping you for the night (and honestly, even despite that, you didn’t feel a speck of discomfort with him- in fact, you felt…at ease). “Honestly, you’ve been more than a delight- I was just wondering whether you don’t get lonely in such a big house, all by yourself. I certainly would visit.”

He observes you for a moment. Before his warm expression is back again- “Do not worry yourself over my wellbeing, my lady, of course, as all good workers do, I have gotten used to it. Yet…I must admit that there is the occasional night in which I, too, crave humanity—”

You listen, enraptured.

Before he then gestures to the door in front of which you’d stopped at - you hadn’t even noticed. It was an unassuming mahogany door, polished and pristine like all the rest.

His gloved hands gently twist the doorknob and lead you inside. “Your room, my lady.” He leaves the candelabra on top of a cabinet by the doorway. “I have arranged for a warm bath to be prepared for you, with a fine selection of body washes and shampoos from around the world. After which I ask you to allow me to treat you to a light supper in bed, as you must be hungry after such an exciting night. Kindly ring the bell-” He gestures at a slim handbell on the cabinet beside the candelabra that you hadn’t seen before. “-and I shall be here for you before the second ring.”

“This is…” You look around the room- chamber, more like. 

The candles on the chandelier inside had lit up as soon as you stepped inside (you had to figure out that mechanism, somehow!) Bathing the expansive bedroom in a soft glow, like this, it almost looked like a piece of heaven itself.

An antique chamber. A four-poster king-sized bed in the middle. A plethora of sweet-scented flower pots. A few paintings of landscapes. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the balcony, the garden. Though now, you could only see the storm outside. On one side of the room, you could see a shelf of thick tomes, impeccably dusted, and next to it was a fireplace. Roaring. 

You wondered how he had the time to light it.

On the other side it opened up to what you imagined must be an equally as luxurious bathroom. The polished tile squeaked as you made your way inside, reflecting your wind-torn coat that felt more than out-of-place in such a room. It almost felt like you were wading across a ballroom. 

You whirl, and you note that one of the walls adjacent to the bed wasn’t taken up by some painting or mural or wallpaper- it was nearly covered by a gleaming mirror. How interesting.

“-this is amazing.” You breathe.

“I am glad that it is to your liking, my lady.” He bows, “If you need anything, or wish to ask anything, simply ring the bell.”

And as the blond-haired man moves to exit with a final bow, you reach your hand out- “Wait-”

He turns. “My lady?”

“Ah, I didn’t ring the bell but- your name.” You fiddle with the drenched fabric of your coat as you ask, wondering whether it was salvageable anymore. You tell him your own name, before questioning, “Can I ask your name?”

He smiles. “Nanami Kento, my lady.” And there’s a zip of excitement that runs through your body at finally putting a name to a handsome face. Nodding, you expect that that would be the end of your small pleasantries, and you turn back-

But before he leaves for good tonight, Nanami speaks over his shoulder. “And worry not, I am one hell of a butler.”

You snap your head back to listen to him speak, and find that he was already gone.

The hallway was dark outside, and there was a slight wind coming in. You hasten to shut the door and find that you can’t even hear Nanami’s footsteps disappearing, can’t even hear his shadow—well, you always had the bell, right?

You shook off the slight prickling at your skin, and welcomed yourself into the clouds of warmth spiffing from the bathroom.

.

.

.

That night may have been the best sleep of your life, you had to admit. Like you’d been home, and doubled by the luxury of the place.

It might have something to do with the fact that the massive bed was amongst the comfiest things you’ve ever felt, or it might have something to do with the easy cotton fabric of the pyjamas that Nanami had left while you were bathing.

You’d come out of the bathroom, refreshed (the bathroom ceiling was blanketed with the most beautiful mosaics, and the bathtub was accented with gold), only to find that he’d left out nightwear of your liking.

Of your exact size.

You’d stopped then, wondering how he managed to find something that fit you so perfectly. 

Perhaps it was a lucky guess, and a previous owner of the mansion happened to be your exact size? Then again, it did feel so new in your hands…

Without wearing yourself out even further, you’d rung the bell and partaken in a quick dinner (you’d been famished, having only scoffed down a protein bar during the conference). And then chosen to ignore the shivers that ran down your spine to tuck yourself in. Soon oblivious to the storm, and the mansion’s creaking, and the eyes that seemed to watch you at night.

It all felt like part of a dream.

In the morning, you’d awoken to the twittering of birds, and a slab of golden sunlight, like butter, filtering in through the window. Nanami had already laid out a gorgeous princess-line dress of emerald green for you, with a deep v-cut collar that showed just a coy bit of skin, and a silhouette that flattered your frame perfectly.

That, too, was the perfect fit.

You adjusted your sleeves and couldn’t help but titter to yourself as you felt like a princess. In no time after you got ready, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh, come in.”

It couldn’t be anyone but Nanami. And he looked as handsome as the last time you’d seen him (earlier, in the late hours of the night you’d almost wondered whether it was the dimness that made him look so extraordinarily handsome).

But no, he was as beautiful as ever. His golden hair glinting in the sun, like a halo, and his smile beaming as he walks closer to you. “Good morning, my lady.” Nanami bows, “I see you have already prepared yourself for the day. How exquisite you look, should my eyes fall upon such a sight every morning then I should be blessed. Am I correct in assuming that the dress is adequate to your tastes?”

“It’s just beautiful, Nanami.” You run your hands down the sides, admiring. “I don’t know how you managed to get my perfect size.”

He brings a gloved index up to his lips, with a wink. “A butler always had his secrets.” Before he straightens up, “Now, if you would allow me, may I help you with your hair and make-up?”

“Oh-” You’d just thought about rifling through the vanity’s drawers, with the slight hope that you might find the products you use. And as if he could read your mind, he was offering. “Are you…sure?”

“It would be my honor, my lady.” Nanami sits you down on the chair before the vanity mirror. His broad frame behind you- from here, you could see just how snugly that tailcoat fit his slender waist. “You may keep your eyes on me, or on yourself- please tilt your chin up—”

Soft, cold hands get to work.

And you really did feel like a princess.

.

.

.

By the time you’re walking downstairs for breakfast, you find yourself all dolled up just the way you like it - and you didn’t even have to give Nanami too many directions. You thoroughly considered taking him back once you leave.

With the crook of his elbow stuck out for you to hold onto, his biceps flexed, you made your way to sit at the head of a long table. Narrow and at least as lengthy as two of your bedrooms back home.

Him trailing behind you at the entrance, you excitedly walk forwards to sit down- and have your chair pushed in by…Nanami?

You look towards the entrance once more, you could’ve sworn that he was still there the last time you looked.

He swiftly placed a steaming silver dish of breakfast in front of you, and then filled the table up with so many fruit platters upon toast upon sneaky puddings. Your eyes took in the kaleidoscope of food, feeling slightly dizzy at the sheer amount. “Did you—did you make all of this just this morning, Nanami?”

“What, this?” He looked in slight surprise at the table, as if wondering whether that was really an incredible amount. “Just part of my duties, my lady. Along with the cleaning, the baking, and the watering, a few to name.”

You look behind you - the dining room overlooked part of the garden that you hadn’t noticed last night during the storm.

Plush plants that somehow seemed unaffected by the torrents of water that had poured down: roses, chrysanthemums, marigolds, and weeping willows that all swayed idly in the wind. Like they were welcoming you. Welcoming you back. They were planted in a maze-like pattern. From here you think you could see flower-filled archways, and a lake that glittered underneath the sun.

You wondered how you missed it all last night - surely you would have stumbled across a few of the hedge growth? It all seemed so barren as you’d wound your way up to the portico, so acrid. But now…

“And if you don’t mind me being so brazen, I hope you do forgive me for this.” Nanami says, and you whip your head back to him- him and a very familiar set of car keys he was holding. “I took the freedom to move your car into our driveway.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their skull, “You mean you pushed it all the way here?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Nanami smiles that secret smile, “Would you like to take a look at it after breakfast, my lady?”

You nod fervently, gulping down the rest of your breakfast. 

In a few minutes, you’d already finished and was being tutted by Nanami into drinking enough water and putting on the outside slippers (procured by him, also your exact size) before you went outside. As expected, your car was a wreck.

There was one wheel missing and the engine seemed to be completely busted.

“I have already summoned the town’s mechanic.” He’s telling you, as you looked on at the car in gloom - that thing had taken up a lot of savings to acquire, and above all you hated to see it in such a sorry state. How would you get home?

“And?” You ask, eagerly. “Did they say when they would get here?”

“I’m afraid he won’t be here for at least a few days, my lady.” Nanami frowns empathetically, mirroring you. “The storm last night was quite vicious, you see. It has most of the roads blocked with trees, and until those get cleared up, he won’t be able to make it up here.”

You swear underneath your breath.

“But the good news is you can stay here as long as you like!” He attempts to lighten the mood, with a smile. “In fact, I might just keep you even longer.”

“Oh, but I really couldn’t impose…”

“I insist.”

And that was that, it seems you’d be staying here for a little longer than you’d originally planned. Though, with Nanami’s hospitality, you doubted you’d feel anything but at home.

Right?

.

.

.

The rest of your day and the next was spent simply reading the fantasy novels in your bedroom, lounging in the gardens and corners of the mansion. 

By your second day there you’d explored every inch of the mansion that there was to explore (except for, perhaps the basement. A strangely nostalgic door outside. Which you had reached the very foot of, before Nanami had gently nudged you back inside with some comment about wines being mulled there that cannot see the light of day until the time was right). It’d taken you five entire days to get yourself properly acquainted with the place.  

And with your profanities.

Spewing them out, you don’t think you’ve ever used before as you attempted to get even a single bar of signal for your phone.

“Goddammit-” You grit your teeth, for the nth time in the past hour. It’s your second day in the mansion, and you’re leaning over the balcony of your bedroom, so far outwards that you think you might just fall off. 

With your hand outstretched, phone fisted in the air and searching for a signal. You couldn’t call anyone like this, let alone the mechanic to confirm. None of your messages or emails went through, either. “How are we this far up and yet I can’t get a single bar- oh, when I get home I’m cancelling this stupid subscription mark my words.”

“Might I suggest, my lady–” Nanami says from behind you. He stood beside your bed, changing the blankets and fluffing the pillows. “-that in the meantime you perhaps take a look at our library? I think you’ll find that we have certain books that are quite riveting.”

“Maybe…” You respond, still stung by the uselessness of your phone. “I don’t suppose that in the meantime you could also arrange a messenger pigeon for me, could you?”

He perks up, “I shall tame a pigeon immediately-”

“No no, it’s alright.” You wave off, with a stifled laugh. Ah- he always did manage to put you in a better mood, despite your circumstances. “Maybe I’ll take a look at the library tonight, it beats trying not to smash my phone to bits.”

“Quite.” Nanami quips.

And before you can say anything more, he’s walking over to you. Placing his hand on top of the phone - effectively on top of yours—“After all, it is a beautiful day outside. Would you fancy a walk in the garden, my lady?”

“Y-yes please-” You whisper, at his proximity. Cold to the touch. 

“Then, I shall get your slippers ready.” He smiles, and leaves. You can only look from afar as he exits, letting a breath leave your chest that you didn’t know you’d been holding in for the moment.

Your head drops down without thinking to look at your phone. Only—

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

You furrow your brows, trying to press on a few buttons- but the error message doesn’t leave. It glitches. Different from the meager ‘no signal’ symbol that’d been there earlier. And the crashed page is all you can see once more.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

.

.

.

The error message lasts until your walk in the gardens.

The error message lasts all the way until after lunch. After dinner.

It was in the dead of your third night here, under the veil of darkness, when you finally manage to find a signal. 

Despite your phone having crashed, and despite your feet aching from your productive day, you found yourself leaning over the edge of your bedroom balcony once more. The edge of your phone reaching outwards—one bar of signal obtained.

You breathe out in relief, falling back onto the heels of your feet. The wind was whipping in spirals around you, creating a cloud of your nightdress to billow. Soft silk. Feeling like the touch of a hand.

You look at the phone screen that had finally stopped flashing that error sign, and eagerly tap towards the phone app. Only—

Your phone vibrates with a call.

Confused at the Unknown number, you wonder whether this might be someone from home that’s been worried about your whereabouts. And so you don’t question it much when you slide the blaring bar and answer the call. “Hello?”

No one answers.

You repeat, “Hello? Can you hear me?” 

No one answers.

Perhaps it was the wind that was making you hard to hear? You turn away from the gales slightly, careful not to lose the humble signal that you have. And you press your phone harder against your face. “Hello? Who’s this-”

No one answers.

But that’s when you hear it: heavy breathing. 

Low and labored. Like someone had just run a mile and immediately picked up the phone, somehow dialing your number.

“Is this some sort of prank?” You hiss, “Because it isn’t funny. Who is this?”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Answer me-”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Hello?”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Answer me-”

There’s a sharp tone as the phone ends, whether by you or whoever was on the other end of the line you’re not quite sure.

Heavy breathing.

This time, not from the phone.

You whirl around with a gasp—the curtains gust out at a sudden wind. And there’s no one behind you - there’s no sound of breathing behind you, either. But you’re sure you’d heard it before. You’re sure.

Lightning flashes in the distance. 

There’s the rumble of thunder that almost sounds like laughter- in fact, you’re sure that if you let your ears keenly listen in, it was laughter. Masculine and deep. Echoing into the distance, like it was someone surrounding you.

With your phone clutched to your thundering chest, you’re quickly walking to the safety of your bedroom inside. And you decide to lock every window that night.

You couldn’t sleep.

.

.

.

The day after that - your third day in the mansion now, your fourth night - there was still no sign of the car mechanic. You’d taken to sleeping during the day, lounged upon an intricately woven love seat that was inside your chambers.

Of course, Nanami hadn’t questioned a thing.

He was as warm and welcoming as ever, of course. Always so efficient getting you the things you needed, helping you get ready, and cooking your favorite foods - almost too efficient. Any time you looked at him, he never seemed to have a hair out of place, despite being embroiled in the toughest of domestic tasks (he took offense any time you offered to pull your own weight until the mechanic arrived).

Practically perfect.

Almost unnatural. 

You wondered how he had the time to do it all…

And that foggy night, you tossed and turned amongst the sea of expensive silken blankets. Ultimately, as the clock struck 2AM and you still found yourself unable to sleep, you got off the side of the mattress and walked. To the candelabra on the cabinet. And then outside.

With no fixed aim nor destination, your feet took you down one of the paths you’d explored during your days here. Though, you had the faintest feeling that even if you hadn’t explored- you’d have known your way around here. Past unwilted flowers and paintings that seemed to stare you down as you passed. And soon enough, you were standing in front of the great double doors of the library.

One of them, at least.

Nanami had told you that the mansion boasted about five massive libraries, filled to the brim with books across all ages and authors. And the smell of pages and put-out fires greet your senses when you enter, your slippers thudding across the cold stone floor.

The ceiling was high, almost never-ending.

And from above peered severe gargoyles, their wings outstretched, and their mouths mid-scream as if to warn you not to take a step closer. You wrapped your arms around your body and shivered, looking up at the high shelves.

With one hand craned out, you trace your fingers down their thick spines. Not a speck of dust on them.

Until, finally, the hairs at the back of your neck seem to raise–

You look behind you.

Nothing.

It was dark in the library, the sole source of light being the paper-thin moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Casting an almost eerie glow on everything it’s spindly fingers touched. 

Though, you still don’t think you would be able to sleep if you headed back to your bedroom right now. And you curiously read the book spines where you stopped walking (it was too dark to make them out properly, yet you still take a few of them with you, in hopes of a distraction).

You sit down at the nearest wooden table, and the singular candle holder in the middle of it flickers to life. As if awakened by your presence.

You really wondered what this mechanism must be - you made a mental note to ask Nanami tomorrow. And in the glow, you could now see what books you’d actually picked up.

Baker’s Book (1901)

Sebastian’s Book on How to Keep the House Warm

Pride and Prejudice

A Historical Analysis of the Nanami Mansions

That one was struck through, its scabrous leather cover torn as if someone had ripped through it with a knife. You squinted as you tried to read through the title, to no avail.

Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love

That last one seemed a little out of place amongst the rest- well. You took a look around. Perhaps it wasn’t that out of place.

And in the dancing candlelight, you open the first book and begin to read.

.

.

.

You’d fallen asleep there.

Somewhere midway through a paragraph about how this very mansion had no official founder, and how it had been handed to the first owner by chance; thus, resulting in its descent into discourse over ownership (with masters who, surprisingly, rather than fighting for it had been fighting not to have it), and how the whereabouts of the last master was unknown.

You dreamt of contracts and haggling masters and packed bags and demons. The red, red eyes of a demon that watched from the shadows.

As much a part of the mansion as the mansion was part of him.

And you swear that in the depths of your slumber, you felt cold, cold hands graze your skin. Your cheek. Your arms. With his pointed fingernails that were meant to kill.

A candle snuffs out.

You woke up and it was morning, and someone had draped a blanket over you.

.

.

.

Nanami had noticed that you were becoming more and more engulfed in your books. After several more tries to reach a phone signal had failed, you’d resigned yourself to merely waiting for the mechanic to get to you.

He informed you that the road clean up seemed to have been taking longer than usual, given the constant downpour the land was experiencing. And you understood.

After all, you weren’t lacking for anything here at all. Nanami made sure of that.

You’d moved on from the mysterious, and half-recorded, history of the mansion. Somehow more interesting than you might have imagined. On towards the baking book, the novel, even the domestic book.

Until the only thing left out of the book you’d picked was the eerie one about demons. Though you could easily go back and choose another, you weren’t a quitter!

And so you found yourself flipping through its pages, all the while watched over by a silent Nanami.

You begrudgingly admitted that the book had you enraptured. And soon enough, you were drinking in all there was to drink about the rituals it took to summon said demons, the way they could take on the most exquisite appearances, and even a few ‘real life’ recounts of people who’ve encountered them.

“Look at this one, Nanami.” You pointed somewhere on the page, and he leaned over your shoulder kindly to follow your finger. “The person saying they saw a demon here is from this very town, hah! What a coincidence.”

He smiles, “What a coincidence indeed, my lady.”

“Just imagine- meeting a demon. I wonder what it would be like- I’d probably get my soul stolen in an instant.”

“Demons steal souls only after they’ve bound a human in a contract, my lady. Though other methods of payments for a demon’s services can manifest themselves in the form of blood, flesh, sex. They thirst for those things, demons. Going without is almost worse than death- of course, a demon can’t die.” At your slightly stunned silence, Nanami cocks his head. “Chapter sixteen, the ways of the body.”

“R-right.” You start, “Sorry, I just didn’t think you’d be the type to be into such things.”

He bears a secret smile. A secret, secret smile. “There is much that you don’t know of me, my lady.” Nanami spreads butter on a piece of toast without you even asking to, and places it gently down on your plate. “But of course, there is much time to find out.”

.

.

.

It’s by your sixth day that Nanami finally knocks at your bedroom door, deep into the evening. And he informs you that-

“The mechanic shall be here in a few hours, my lady.” You look outside through your window, at the blue and gold night. And of course he notices that little action - he notices everything. “I may have had a hand in the somewhat ah- untimely manner of things. You see, I had pressured him into coming as soon as possible, and it seems that the roads have only just cleared.”

“Oh, I see.” You reply, “I expect I should go down to wait for him in a bit, then.”

“If you so wish, my lady.”

After dinner, you took your demon book with you and paced the halls of the mansion. Just waiting. It was a few hours past when the mechanic was supposed to come, and you could feel yourself getting antsy. No matter how many times Nanami told you the mechanic would be here soon, and that he would take care of it all.

Nonetheless, when you found the corridors thoroughly trodden, you stepped outside. It was a clear night out, and you sat on the porch with your book in your lap.

Reading through the passages in the dim twilight as you waited.

You were on the final chapter now.

“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion.

Hearken, o’ mortal. In another story from the deep, the darkness, I entrust your ears with the legend of the Nanami mansion.

Hundred of years old. It stands still, braving the storms and the times, a relic of a past that never changes. And shall never change. Not as long as the mansion is haunted by the ghosts of its past, they say that the very walls of the house are infused with a force unknown.

Or so they say.

No mortal soul can say with utmost certainty when the mansion was built, nor by who, nor for what purpose. Only that the line of its masters has been both gruesome and bloody; history claims that what had once been impassioned family feuds over ownership quickly turned into a family heirloom that no pawn shop would accept.

No soul wished to be the master of a demon.”

A twig snaps.

And you gasp, looking up- though there was no one there. The light that flooded in from the mansion revealed no one outside, and so, shaking, you kept on reading.

The mechanic still wasn’t here.

“Yes, o’ mortal. It is true.

Though one cannot say for certain the dark forces that envelop the house, it is what resides inside that is sure to catch the interest of a demonologist such as you and I.

A demon.

They say that he - or, at least, he who takes the shape of a man - runs the household as if its masters still occupy its decadent bones. As if its masters weren’t taken by the very force that now cleans the windows, and grows pretty flowers in the mansion’s garden. As if its masters still live.

Still linger.

But do not be fooled, dear reader, the only thing that lingers in this household is the demon himself. His smile gentle. His face kindly. It would not be out of the realm of possibility that those of mortal desires, like us, are disarmed by the handsome face he uses to mask his bloodthirst. And he has snuffed the mansion of anything that makes this house a home.”

Someone was watching you.

Somehow, it didn’t feel human.

“One by one, it started with the other servants, centuries ago. Those who were lucky to flee their posts and tell the tale spoke of a shadow that haunted their every waking moment, of a fleeting presence that produced nail marks in the morning, or items in their chambers suddenly unravelled.

He was the model worker, unsusceptible.

And by the time the masters of the household realized, it was far too late for their mortal souls. The servants had disappeared, the livestock had fallen to plague, and the only residents of the mansion were them. And him.”

Someone was waiting.

You knew it didn’t feel human.

“There need not be much speculation on the fates of the owners in the house at the time, after which there was a scramble to pawn the mansion by living relatives.

Though, by that point, rumors of the mansion’s more supernatural occurrences were already beginning to fester, and the effort was futile. 

And though the mansion stands lonely now, never think that it is abandoned, o’ mortal. Perhaps you shall find that the chandeliers are always lit, and the beds are made. Dinners at the mansion are lavish and a-plenty. All of this can be given credit to the demon that runs it, of course.”

You stand up.

The mechanic was countless hours past when he was supposed to come, and you guessed he wouldn’t be making it today, either. Perhaps something more urgent had come up. Your feet step backwards- but something stops you, as if an invisible force. And without taking your eyes away from the page, you step forwards.

“Why this ancient creature torments the mortals that reside in the mansion, yet takes such meticulous care of it is a question unanswered to us. Perhaps we may never know.

Though some whispers claim that the rightful owner isn’t any lord or ladyship or bastard heir. No, not at all. It is - and brace yourselves for this, dear reader - none other than the demon himself.”

Forwards.

“Of course, this is only one theory put forth by demonologists. But as the rightful heir to the estate, the demon takes his time finishing off the foolish mortals that believe that it is theirs to claim. When, in actuality, you are stepping into the very abode of the creature. And no one - no one - has lasted longer than six days in its abode.

A creature that cannot ache. A creature that cannot love.”

Forwards. 

“And he will always have his door open to the ignorant that walk in. Into what one may think is a heaven named after his very self.”

You stop.

“Nanami Kento, of the Nanami Mansions.”

The book drops from your hands.

A scream in your throat, you’re realizing that you’d walked yourself - almost in a trance - right up to the shrub-covered door to the basement. The very same one that Nanami had nudged you away from last time.

Nanami…a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t know what to think.

Almost as if it will provide you the answers, you reach out and twist the basement door handle. It creaks out in agony as it opens, and you almost have half the mind to run away right then, right now.

But you’re no quitter. 

In nothing but the pale moonlight, you step inside the basement and make your way down its narrow stairway. They were made of metal, biting through the soles of your slips with each step. You’re squinting your eyes in the darkness, hands reached out in front of you like you’d find something.

And then—

And then, right as you reach the landing of the staircase, you step in something wet.

It almost felt like a puddle after rain. Though the liquid stuck to your slippers, thicker than that. And as you raised your feet, it created a hollow squelch; the viscous sap looked much darker than water was supposed to be.

You gasp. It can’t be-

Lightning strikes.

Just a snapshot of light. Like someone had taken a photograph and burned it into your retinas.

In that split-second, you saw that what you’d thought was a puddle of water wasn’t really water at all. It was red. It was thick.

And it was leading a pathway all the way down to a body in the middle of the basement.

Two-toned hair bled red. Eyes pure white.

The mechanic lay dead on the basement floor. For how long, you weren’t quite sure.

With a scream, you almost slip on the blood as you sprint upstairs. Running out into the pouring rain outside - if you’d been guided in a daze to the massacre, then your brain was working in overdrive to guide you out. 

Slippers squelching. Eyes stinging with rain. You couldn’t even see where you were going, and it reminded you of the night you arrived here.

Yet, you’ll always find the mansion - always. And in almost no time (though it felt like eons to your poor, shivering body), you’re running inside the mansion and slamming! the front door shut.

Body pushed against the door. Lungs heaving. You gulp.

With your eyes downturned, your watch the rich carpet beneath your feet drench with beads of water. Rusted water. Blood.

Fuck. 

You had to get out of here right now. 

Just as soon as the thought has struck your brain, the candles go out. Every. Single. One of them. Startled, you’re whipping around and trying to open the door- bang! bang! bang! It only rattles underneath your hands, firmly shut with unseen bolts and padlocks that you wouldn’t have been able to open no matter what.

And it’s only with the thin glow of the moonlight that you can move your urgent body, one step after the other. Jerky, as if you have to force yourself to do it.

As if you have to fight against some outside force to do so.

You knew that no matter where you went inside the mansion, Nanami would be able to find you. What if you—the balcony.

You gasp, and try to tamper the thought down as swiftly as it had formed. 

Without a second of lingering any further, your feet dart you up the sprawling staircase. Spirals. Heart thundering, feet thudding, and your gasps laborious as you ran towards the bedroom that he had oh-so-graciously given to you.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Steady.

The complete opposite of your own, follow you the closer you get to it. Seeing that gleaming wooden door wink at you from the end of the hallway, like an old friend.

Until, finally, you’re throwing open the door and running inside-

“My lady.”

You howl in terror and it’s swallowed up by the sudden crashing of the storm outside. You hadn’t just raced into your room- you’d ended up bumping into none other than Nanami Kento’s firm, toned chest.

Carefully looping his arms around you.

“You’re-” You hiss, stepping backwards. “You’re a-”

“Yes.”

And then suddenly he’s behind you. Caging you inside the room, with no possibility of running back where you’d come from. 

He looms, larger than life. His shadow walking inside- “I can’t believe you’re a-” You stagger backwards, “So all this time-”

“All this time.” Nanami breathes out, even though you knew that his lungs didn’t need to work. Then he grins and oh- it’s the one thing that you could see completely clearly in the dimness of the night: his stark-white fangs, those crimson eyes, pupils like a snake’s. 

They bore down at you, especially when your limp legs stumble- and Nanami’s right there to steady you. With his inhumanly strong arms capturing your waist, and his chest pressed to yours. 

Oh. 

That low voice of his buries deep within your eardrums, sensual. “And I’ve been waiting…” He practically purrs, and your thighs clench. “-so, so long for you, my lady.”

You feel shivers go down your spine when Nanami nuzzles his nose against your throat, “A- a long time- so you mean that-”

“Yes.”

“Am I an descendant to the owner of this house-”

“Yes.” He sighs out his answers, like it took everything in him. Like he was breathing life into you. And you can’t help but notice that the two of you have edged towards the bed now, and you slightly turn your head to look at the mirror on the wall. “And you don’t know how starved I have been, my lady.”

Only to find that Nanami’s reflection didn’t show up on it.

It looked as if you were standing by yourself, and the blond-haired man (demon, more like) only holds you tighter in response. He murmurs in your ear, “Though enlightening, that book of yours doesn’t hold much truth.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Well-” His fangs glint, “-it does.”

You shiver. Not only with coldness, not only with fear.

Something more akin to a carnal need, with him pressed up against you like this.

“Though, it was wrong about two things-” Nanami’s plump lips graze down the column of your throat, and you wonder whether he can sense the way you grow…wet. “-a demon can yearn, a demon can love.”

Oh. 

One of his overlarge hands drag down your spine, fiddling with the ties of a dress that he’d tailored to your exact size. Perhaps centuries ago.

“And this demon has been waiting for centuries for your soul to return, my lady.”

Your arms tighten on his shoulders, and tender slip up to loop around his neck. “I’m here, Kento.” Your body is boneless in his hold, and he holds you to him like he wants you to be of one soul.

.

.

.

There’s a sodden squeeeeelch as he’s lightly tuggin’ those cute panties of yours aside- how could you even walk around with something so sweet on you?

Nanami feels his oh-so-famished tastebuds start to water at the sight of your pretty, pretty cunt. Just a thin line of drool makin’ its way down the side of his stern lips, mirroring the way that your tight hole was weeping out.

He rubs his glove-clad thumb down the front of your glistening folds, and you whimper at the scratch of its smooth texture. “Have you ever done something like this before, my lady?”

With a mewl, you nod. 

And you can’t help but notice the way that Nanami’s jaw clenches. “I see.” And there’s an inkling of something dark in his tone that you can’t quite pinpoint right now, roverin’ his mean fingerpads just over where your poor clit was. “And, forgive me if this is too forward, but have you ever fully enjoyed something like this before, my lady?”

“Well-” You try to keep your tone even, bucking off the bed. You were all sprawled out with only your drenched panties on, and Nanami Kento was on his knees by the foot of the bed.

On his knees for you.

His lips twitched impatiently, a sort of hunger in his eyes the longer he had to watch your needy pussy cling onto nothing. Continuing, “Well, I’ve liked it before with other people but-”

“Yes, my lady?”

And as you finish off, you slightly duck your head in shame. Whispering the words out (though you knew he’d hear with his demonic senses anyways). “But none of them have ever made me…cum before. I can reach it by myself but with other people- you know.”

“I understand.” You peer up to see the way that Nanami stares kindly at you. Something understanding in his eyes. Something…primal.

And your cunt starts to throb even more once he reaches his dominant right hand up to his mouth, then proceeding to bite down on the edge of his glove, and pull it off with his tongue. So unintentionally attractive. “Then, kindly allow me.”

In a split-second, his thick fingertip is probin’ between your pussylips.

Feeling the hotness of you clenching ‘round him and he groans- “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you, madam?” Just the slightest hitch in his tone as he’s then sinking in with a slooooooppy slurp. The kind that leaves your ears ringing and your mouth dropping with each scouring inch he eases in.

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull at the feeling of his tender girth poking your insides. “O-oh my god.” Bucking your hips even deeper into his touch- “How does it feel so good already?”

“Oh, is that so–?” Nanami’s blond lashes flutter in amusement, “But you haven’t felt anything yet, my lady. Won’t you just raise your hips for me-” He guides you, and you’re squirming down his lengthy digits. “-yes, yes. Just like that, keep taking it all, alright?”

“I am I am-” Sobbing.

And you don’t know where you’re bawling more from - your swollen lips on your face, or the ones down below. The ones that he was striking viciously with his mountainous knuckles, every time he thrusted to let the long, solid inches of his finger delve inside.

Inside and inside.

Pushin’ in- he was just so eager to plunge himself inside.

Until the very forefront of his knuckles smacked your pussylips, and Nanami’s ruthlessly pressing his ring finger against your outer cunt. Smooch-smooch-smooching the very round tip of his ring finger against your pulsing clit, until he’s trying to fit that inside, too.

“Easy does it.” Nanami hisses, blond brows furrowing. Beads of sweat start decorating his forehead as he concentrates. “Easy- eeeeeasy. You can take it, my lady.”

And if you thought that the stretch of one of his fingers was enough to drive you wild, then you weren’t ready for two. “Oh my- fuck. You’re so mean.” You whine, holding onto his other gloved hand. Nanami has his fingers romantically intertwined with yours, and you were just clawing at his wrist there. 

The demon raises a brow - devilish. “Would you like me to stop?”

“No!” You rush to blurt out, your hips startin’ to gyrate. It took you a few vulgar strokes to get used to the size of him stretchin’ out your tiniest hidden nooks and crannies open - you swear that Nanami’s fingers were larger than normal. Scouring oh-so-deeply inside. “No no no- keep going. Ngh, you’re a-almost there.”

“Mmm, am I?” His lip curls, “And I wonder if ah- ‘there’ would feel even better with three fingers, hm?”

“O-oh…”

“That’s all you have to say, madam?” Nanami genuinely questions, though there’s a certain waver in his voice that lets you know he was teasing you. He was making your honeyed cunt grow even wetter with how Nanami Kento, of all beings, was being mean to you.

And with a few more slashing strokes, he’s fully opened up the clingy channel of your walls- fuck, he couldn’t even reel his two fingers back without your needy pussy trying to gulp him back up again.

Then with a sudden, soaked squelch you’re feeling a third of his fingertips kiss your tight hole. Tapping just a few times before he instantly presses down on your clit and makes you gasp- “Oh, fuck.”

The perfect moment for Nanami to shove his extended digit inside. All three of them expanding and contracting, scissoring a few times to engrave the crowned edges of his fingers against your most tender spots. “There-” Nanami hisses, between clenched teeth. “There there there-”

You’re suddenly seeing white- why? 

Because on that fourth bludgeon of his, Nanami’s easily locating your g-spot to pummel.

“-you’re taking it all so well, my lady. S’like you’re made f’me…heh.” 

“Shit-” Only blubbering and panting, he’s hittin’ your favorite spot so hard that your vision starts to blue - and you don’t know whether it’s because of tears or the sheer amount of white-hot pleasure that he’s making run through your body. “Shit shit shit shit- oh. Right there, keep going, Kento.”

Yet another smack! to that gooey bundle of nerves—“Ohhh, how I love when you call me that, madam.” Hard.

Push after push after push, and he’s spreading his prying tips so open- letting the doughy edges catch on the crevices of your g-spot. Meanly caressing. 

Even though he’s speeding up, slick dripping down the sides of his overworking wrists like a faucet, you don’t think he misses that lewd target of his even a single time. Push after push after push. Dizzy with the force, you look up n’ find that Nanami’s slitted pupils were glowing.

He was using his demonic powers to perfectly angle the strikes of his fingerpads against your sweetest, sultriest spot. Stickin’ straight against your nerves, you had absolutely no chance of a breather when he was using some sort of x-ray vision to keep your pussy captive.

“Captive?” Nanami reads your thoughts, “Madam, I fear that this isn’t even- hah, half of my speed. Would you like me to accelerate?”

And he does.

And you’re feeling so much bliss at the moment that you can’t stop yourself from anchoring your feet onto the mattress and pushing off- unsure whether you wanted to help meet his cadence or run away—

“Ah ah, what an adorable feat.”

His husky baritone breaks through your hazy thoughts- and before you know it, Nanami’s free hand untangles from yours to grip the sides of your neck n’ tug you right back.

Slapping that cutely sensitive front of your pussy with his knuckles, the demon chuckles darkly as you squirm at the pleasure. “You don’t think you can run away from me, can you, my silly lady?” With a growl, he tightens his restraint on your throat and makes you wince at the lack of oxygen. “You can’t. You won’t.”

And with that, Nanami cranes his watering mouth down to kiss the insides of your thighs. Letting the syrupy-sweet sheen of your slick coat his chin, “I’ve waited for you for centuries, and I’ll wait for you centuries more. I’ll find you.” Tightening. “Don’t think of running, madam.”

“Won’t- won’t-” You squeal out, and through the blurry gaps of your vision you can see the way that Nanami’s salivating. The way that his lips edge towards your heated core, the way he looks like he’s starving the longer he stares down at your cunt. “But, Kento, I do have one request of you.”

He snaps his head up immediately, “Anything, madam.”

“Could you please, ngh-” Your lips wobble desperately as you utter, and Nanami listens enraptured to every word. “-please put your mouth on me?”

And the stern man - a demon, living for centuries, unphased as he waited for your soul to meet him again - lets his mouth drop into a heated ‘oh’ as he registers. As he lets your words throb all the way at his furious cock.

“As you wish, my lady.”

Then you’re feeling the scorching hot sensation of his breath cloud your inner thighs, slithering upwards just in time with his mouth. “As you wish-” Nanami whispers, more to himself - more like a mantra. 

“As you wish, as you wish, as you- mmm.” His mouth slips over the crevice of your cunt, and you’re feeling him perfectly slot his lips with your folds. He cracks his ravenous mouth open, “Allow me to- oh.”

Before immediately shutting himself up after the first candied taste of your cunt. 

He lets his slicked tongue squeeze inside, gulping. “F-forgive me for not finishing my sentence. What I meant was, allow me to-” You buck, shoving him nose-deep between your sultry pussylips. “-oh, fuck. Forgive me, you just have me so…”

And he can’t even finish his sentence like this.

Because every time he’s parting those stern lips of his to speak, yet another glittery wad of your slick slips between that greedy maw of his. Pooling at the back of his mouth like some puddle, he can’t fucking get enough of your sweet, sweet juices. “It’s just- the taste of you. Shit. My lady, and who has allowed you to taste this sinful?” He hums. Guttural.

“Mmm, I dunno. Maybe you should’ve found out earlier-” You say, coyly. And raise your hips up to let his strong, velvety tongue pry inside n’ out. Almost fighting his fingers for space inside.

“Maybe you should’ve appeared earli- oh, fuck.” Shit, did he love hearing your gorgeous voice in conversation. 

But if that meant breaking off his prolonged, open-mouthed kiss with your pussy then he wasn’t wasting any time. He was just slathering his maw widely agape, the flat tastebuds on top of his tongue moving back and forth and all over.

And spearheading just his honed tip inside, the crowned girth of his tongue snakes all the way to your innards. Jostling his own fingers-

You gasp when that only makes him skid his fingertips against your g-spot even further. 

“I promise, I’ll be able to finish my sentences-” Nanami seethes. “-promise I’ll be able to, just with another- mmm, just another taste-” And his tongue lavishly licks up and down your slit. “-and another- oh, maybe one more-”

Again and again.

He’s trying to control himself but he can’t.

His sizzlin’ hot tastebuds probe their way inside, before ultimately pulling out and resting against your clit. Nanami counts your throbbing pulse one-two-three-four times before he starts fucking you with it again.

All three of his digits and his tongue. Swirlin’ in dizzying patterns around and around and drawing a cute heart on top of your nub. Followed right up by his silvery initials—‘N.K.’

You’re shivering, curling the tips of your toes as the fatness of his tongue rolls over your clit. Again and again. And his fingers are just merciless- digging three slender circumferences against the side of your walls, feeling that if he could thrust even deeper to hit the side of your cervix then he would have ages ago. In fact…

“Wh-what are you-” You jump your upper half off of the springy sheets - it was as if your wet dream was coming to life. Nanami was elongating the tendrils of his fingers with supernatural powers, slipping every thorough inch even deeper. “Oh my god- ngh, now that’s just unfair-”

“And yet, I’m not the one that thought of it.” He snickers, plunging his digits further. And further and further. 

So deep, in fact, that you think you can feel his slimy, slick-glazed tips all the way near the back of your throat. Stabbing in thorough thrashes, you huff. “And yet- who’s the one that’s, mmm, pussydrunk, hm?”

“No- no no no, I’m not pussydrunk, madam.” Nanami insists, “Not at all. This is just a slight affliction that I- mmpf.”

You clench ‘round his fingers and that only makes him jerk his face even deeper- thank goodness he didn’t have to fucking breathe, because he was spending all his time swabbin’ away. Using the hand he still had on your throat, he pulls you in incredibly. “It’s not that m’pussydrunk—” Slurring his damn words. “-it’s just that…”

“Mhm—?”

You’re so wet by now that you begin to gush down his face. And Nanami didn’t have blood running through his veins, of course, but you should still feel his cheekbones burn with heat.

You’d made the centuries-old demon blush.

You’d made him gurgle on the slippery wads of your slick.

So completely pussydrunk that the thought of you realizing he was so- and taking your treacly cunt away made him glue his lips to your clit with a slight cry. A slight whimper—“D-don’t take this pretty pussy away from me.” His hand lifts off of your neck to hold onto your thighs, tugging. “Please?”

And as if to prove his point - to prove his desperation - the roverin’ tip of Nanami’s tongue moves even harder against your pussy.

Even faster.

And his scouring fingerpads probe in so deep that you throw your head back with a moan. Those wriggling tips filling up your every orifice, “Yes-” You weave your fingers into his unruly golden locks. “M’not gonna, Kento-” Gasping. “M’not gonna take myself away s-so you don’t have to- oh.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Just so rough with it. “Thank you- thank you- thank you-” 

You swear he’s bruising at the battered innards of your walls, and he’s leaving nail marks for daaaaays upon your thighs. Battling with his own lecherous fingers. Moving his lush tastebuds again and again and again-

“Thank you for lettin’ me taste such a sweet, sweet pussy, madam.” Nanami scorches out against your cunt, slobbering all down it. “Thank you for letting ‘er- ngh, cum all down my tongue.”

“C-cum?” You lift your dazed head at his pussydrunk babbling - only to find that it wasn’t just babbling, after all.

Because Nanami’s honed abilities meant that he could sense when the zapping fireworks at the pit of your stomach grew, he could fucking smell the honeyed fragrance of your cunt growing close. And, sure as day, with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re falling apart on his fingers and his mouth.

Your back arching you even closer against his nuzzlin’ nose, you cry out as your high zaps right through you. “It feels so good- oh, Kento. Oh my g-god.”

“Mmm, the opposite, my lady.” Nanami chuckles, fucking you through every peak of your high- you should have expected that he has a sixth sense for it. And with the soaring peaks of your orgasm, Nanami mazes his fingertips to directly hit your g-spot.

So good.

You’re drooling through your entire high stupidly, your eyes watering through the sensitive pangs of pleasure. Tuggin’ on Nanami’s clammy scalp to pull him in even deeper, and he was more than happy to let himself be moved. To be ridden.

Long, sloppy drag of his tongue making you arch your back. “Sh-shut up-” Mewling out, you let yourself be wrung dry of the waves of pleasure. 

“As you wish, madam.”

And he dutifully listens, there for only your euphoria. To which you respond by elongating your high by grinding down on his face—allll the way from the point of his handsome chin to the tip of his straight nose. “Shit-” You whimper, “Shit shit shit- never felt so good. Never felt like this.”

Nanami groans ‘round your clit, the vibrations sending you into a frenzy.

“M’serious-” You prattle out, your movements eventually slowing. That might just have been the best orgasm of your entire life - you were never going to be the same. “It just felt so good, Kento…wait, you’re not- ngh, done?”

He only shakes his head.

He only lets his slitherin’ tongue lap and lap at the teary crevice of your pussy.

With every lick, you’re feeling your body go into overdrive. Heat flaring. Heart racing. You absolutely thrash against the damp sheets of the bed as he continues- like you’d never even reached your high. 

Just plap after plap after plap of his knuckles against your tender outer pussy- and you start to wonder whether it doesn’t hurt for him. Whether his wrist doesn’t sting. Whether his mouth wasn’t swollen n’ rubbed raw on your drippin’ wet pussy, “Mmm, told me to shut up and make you feel good, didn’t you, madam?” You weren’t entirely sure that that was what you said, verbatim. 

Yet you’re too gone on his silvery tastebuds to bite back anything now. “Y-yes…?”

“And that’s exactly what m’doing.”

He’s overstimulating you even more. Thrusting his tongue between those sopping wet lips of yours to poke at your throbbing g-spot, you swear he’s able to elongate his wet muscle even further.

Slashing against your most tender spots-

“Sh-shit- but m’so sensitive.” Whining out, you half-heartedly attempt to tug him off of your pussy- but it was as if Nanami was plastered to your wettened lips. “I don’t even know if I can cum so soon again, Kento.”

He slightly raises his head - not enough to stop his drivelling mouth, of course - and raises a blond brow. “You don’t know, my lady?”

You shake your head.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

And with that said, he’s fingering you to make a point. Staring at the writhing expressions on your face every time Nanami’s digits plunged inside, they hit the near-back of your pussy with such slurping sounds.

Hit after hit. Teasingly kissin’ against the throbbing spot of your nerves, and that’s when you can feel the fireworks start up again in the pit of your stomach once more-

And that’s when Nanami can sense it.

Smell it.

Taste it- fuck, it was as if you became even sweeter on his tongue any time you were nearing your high. And he doesn’t say a single word - doesn’t waste the time to - only thrashing and thrashing, he hits the bruised area of your g-spot and watches as you fall apart once more.

Pleasure zipping through your body.

Toes curling.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and your mattress was all but drenched with the moisture.

“Oh my god-” You’re all but limp by your second orgasm, letting it wrack your body mercilessly. “You were right-” Your breath hitches. “-ngh, m’cumming again, Kento. C-cumming—”

“Mmm, I know, madam.” Nanami grins, and you can feel it form against the tender folds of your pussy. Branding itself there. “I did that.”

He was mean.

You buck and you buck and you buck as he licks every crevice of your insides, and once he was done fucking you well n’ proper through your other high- the slicked tip of Nanami’s tongue slurps back in once again. As if to do it all over again.

He feels you clench ‘round him urgently, “A-again?” You ask, with a weepy tremble in your voice.

“Mmm, don’t think you can do it a third time?” Nanami gutturally groans out, “D’you wanna find- ngh, find out, hm?”

“Actually…” And he hangs onto your every word. 

Your jittery fingers intertwine with his polished hair, tugging. Continuing where you left off, “I was thinking that m’ready for something else.” He looks on in something that almost looks like disbelief - desperation. As if he couldn’t believe that these words were really spilling out of your mouth. “Wan’ your cock, Kento.”

And something in him seems to…snap.

“A-as you wish, my lady.”

He bows to you, right then and there.

In practically no time - though, to Nanami who’d been waiting for centuries, it only felt like centuries more - you’re being pushed back on the mattress until your head softly nudges the headboard. Nanami heaves himself up on the bed.

And you can’t help but notice that for someone who always looked so prim and put-together, he looked absolutely gone.

Hair sticking up in multiple angles. Eyes half-lidded and drunk. Slick dribbling down the sides of his mouth and down his prominent Adam’s apple. It drops from his fangs, which have now elongated. And lecherously down the front of his suit, which was a darker color than it usually was- drenched in heaps of your mess. In heaps of his mess. 

In quick, severe movements, Nanami takes his suit off. So fast and urgent that you can hear the whooshing sounds of the fabric attempting not to rip at the seams.

When it gets to his pants, your eyes drop down - it’s been a feast for the eyes with every layer that Nanami peeled away. First it revealed those broad, milky shoulders of his. Then it revealed his plush pecs, his ladder-like abs.

Until finally you were following the line of his sparse happy trail down to his thick, aching cock. And fuck- a few profanities leave your mouth, he was the biggest size you’ve ever seen. 

Just about nine inches (perhaps ten), with a plethora of winding veins that made it look as though he’d feel like he was twelve. A thick hilt. Ready balls. And the fat mushroom tip of his cock was glazed in a glittery topping of precum, pulsing primally as the cold air hit him. Dripping. 

“Anything you wish, my lady.”

Shivering at his serious tone of voice, you reach a hand up to your own collar-

Only to be halted in your tracks by an invisible force.

Nanami had one hand raised, his power surging. “Allow me.” He says, and with a harsh brush of his animalistic fingernails, he’s tearing your dress into shreds. Like butter under his touch. Easily falling apart. 

Your dress to your bra, they fall into tatters. And the only thing left is your slick-flooded panties that he scrapes a hand down to tear off, as well.

Before stopping- and seeming to think better of it- “Actually.” Nanami starts, “Keep them on.”

Oh, he was being filthy.

He was being mean.

And before your hazy brain can even register it, your legs are being flapped open. Kept firmly apart by two of his soft hands, feather-light, he pins them to the mattress and lets his slick cockhead slide juuuuust between your pussylips.

Back and forth, back and forth. The weight of his throbbing girth only makes you grow even wetter, and you’re gasping by the time he’s glazed himself up ‘nough to start pushing in.

“Now-” Nanami hisses, fangs grit. His heated body hunches over, and sweat beads down from his forehead to yours. The first feeling of your pussy clamping all ‘round his rock-hard length, and Nanami is a broken man. Slamming his hand down on the top of the mahogany headboard. “Now, madam, we’re gonna have to breathe, alright? Breathe with me now-”

You gasp- “Fuck- fuck, you’re so big-”

“Mhmmm—c’mon, my lady, breathe with me.” And though he was almost falling apart at the seams, he found the ability to string together coherent-enough sentences. Seething. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in–”

In and out. In and out.

Just like the way that plush, pinkish tip of his was swabbin’ repeatedly- he was pumping out half-ruts, just trying to fit himself inside your pussy.

Opening you up wiiiidely—

You try to follow along with what he says, “Fuck-” But the stretch of the first inch of his cock fitting in was incredible, he was molding his way inwards. Shaping out your snug channel, “But how am I supposed to when you feel like- hah- that-”

“Awww, difficult, hm?” Nanami coos, empathetically. You nod, all teary-eyed and pretty taking his elongated shaft that he can’t help but let himself swell just a lil’ wider. Thicker.

You’re taking this change in size with a moan.

And he ponders to himself for a few more strokes, getting used to the warmth of your cunt. Before humming like he’d just been struck with an epiphany- and soon enough, Nanami’s holding out his strong, vein-covered forearm in front of your line of vision.

Murmuring, “Then bite on it.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” But before you know it, you’re already making use of the demon’s sinful little solution - the next inch that he’s somehow mazing inside you, you’re sinking your teeth into the golden flesh of his forearm and taking it.

“Mmm, just like that.” He pants, squeeze-squeeze-squeeeezing his way past your puckered folds. The globular front of his cock kisses either side of your walls, pinpointing specks of pre everywhere his fingers had touched just moments earlier. “Take it- take it take it take it- sloooow and easy. You’re doing so well, my lady.”

Sensually, he’s managing to let your ravenous cunt swallow up his inches. 

And your sobs hitch after every stroke, it just felt like his fleshy tip was gracing your very lungs. You straddle his slim waist- tugging. “K-Kento…”

“Impatient, are we?” He raises a brow, “You have to take it easy, madam, if we want it to fit- breathe in. Breeeeathe in—”

And every time you did, he was shovelling in a few more inches. But the thing about Nanami Kento is that he made sure he tended to your every need; playfully rolling his thumb over your clit as he pumped himself into your hot core. 

Which meant that he took things slow, took things at a pace that your feverishly needy mind was being infuriated by.

Without warning (though, later on, you’re sure that he’d sensed it coming and simply let you), you lock your ankles around his hips and pull-pull-pull him in. 

And with that, his roverin’ wet shaft.

Bottoming out.

The headboard he’s holding onto cracks under the pressure.

You wanted him deep inside you. And Nanami can only respond by spitting out a line of swears that hits you in a scorching breeze, his face twisting into something of pure ecstasy. “O-oh.” Nanami’s voice stutters. Nanami’s voice cracks. “Ohhh, you shouldn’t have done that, my lady.”

And without further ado, he’s fucking you like a madman.

“Wanted to t-take it easy- you shouldn’t have done that-” He manages to spit out. Body shivering. His cock throbbing angrily right at the spongy platform of your cervix. “You r-really really…” Dazed, slightly, like his body was moving in water, he unhooks his palm from the now-splintered headboard. Then he throws those cute legs of yours over his deltoids.

Letting them lock firmly behind his sweaty neck, Nanami’s bending his ripped body doooooown. Folding you in half, too- you swear you’re hearing a few of your joints pop! 

And Nanami’s only hazily gliding his palm down your limbs, a soothing coldness overcoming them. No broken bones on his watch (even if his body was moving before his mind right now). So there’s no excuse for why you can’t bend in half for him. No excuse for why he can’t press his sticky forehead to yours and drill his hips even harder.

No excuse for the way that rotund tip of his scrapes your cervix with a rapid thud! thud! thud! The tender curve of his ballsack strikes the front of your pussy all raw—

Your mouth waters with the impact, “Y-you’re reaching in so deep, ngh.” But of course he was: he had you manhandled until the caps of your knees hit your tits.

“Mmm, just how you like it- hm?” Nanami chuckles, though there’s a certain pleading tone in his voice. Those drunken, honeypool eyes of his are boring straight into yours, and he memorizes even the slightest expressions you’re making at the massage of his puffy cock. “It feels good? Feels great? Makin’ this pussy feels so- oh, loooovely like she deserves?”

“Yes-” You’re gasping, your throat hoarse at the feeling of his zig-zagged veins that just kept intruding into your deepest hidden crevices. “Yes yes yes yes- yes-”

Somehow, he always managed to find the area that your drippin’ wet cunt needed him the most. Just straightly heading his wet tip towards that spot, and pressing a thorough smooch that made you damn near scream into his mouth.

And it’s then that a sudden thought hits you.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Nanami echoes- fuck, you’d almost forgotten that he could read minds. And with those demonic powers of his, he was echoing out a certain cockdrunken idea that you had. “So you want to know whether I can use my extra vision to hit your g-spot with my, mmm, cock, huh?”

Restless, you nod.

“And you know what you need to- d-do to have me fulfill your wishes—right, madam?” Uttering out - stumbling though his words. 

Shit, even he was affected by the idea.

The ends of his tight fingertips shivering as you finally unfasten your mouth to ask- “C-can you please- ngh, use your powers to hit my g-spot, Kento?” And when you flutter those teary lashes of yours for effect?

Fuck, you might as well just call him a dead man (he was too far gone on your gushing cunt to register the fact that he, technically, wasn’t living).

Because with a sudden, concentrated surrender of his hips- Nanami perfectly angles the blushin’ red end of his shaft. That lil’ divot on the very end streamed out precum that made you splosh around from the inside, “Breathe in.” He rasps, thumb flitting down to press on your clit. “Breathe- out-”

“Oh- oh my–” More like you’re squealing out at the rough jab of his cockhead. The demon’s eyes activate into something glowing when he perfectly targets your needy g-spot.

Snickering. “Breathe in.”

You breathe in.

“Breathe-”

This time, he doesn’t even finish his damn sentence before letting the slit of his shaft snag your sweetest spot. You had so many cute, clingy ridges inside that he loves to stretch out with his sheer girth- and one of them was right by your g-spot that Nanami just kept rubbing and rubbing and rubbing all over.

Wadding out a mess of his precum until your walls likely looked like cobwebs from the inside- “You don’t know what you’re- hah, doing t’me, little mortal.” The fatness of his thumb rolls over your clit, making you see stars. “Have no idea. No- oh, have n-no idea.”

His free hand holds your quivering jaw, turning your face up to look at him and only him.

“You’ve made a demon fall in love with you, my lady. Tut tut.”

You’re squirming in his hold- he was losing control over his body. Unraveling at the seams. Rutting like an animal. Even the smooches of his hardened cock left your insides all bruised n’ battered, swat-swat-swat.

“And not only that—” Nanami continues, in his slightly breathy tone. You half-wondered whether he even knew what he was babbling away- “Oh- not quite, madam. I do apologize.” He answers your unspoken question.

Your breath catches - so he was pussydrunk enough to simply be prattling away. Unthinking.

The spit-slicked edges of his mouth gluing against yours, his tone was absolutely shattered as he mutters into your open maw. “But you’ve made me fall in love with your- your pussy, too.”

As if in response, your dampened cunt lets out some of the most lecherous noises. And you huff out a teasing giggle, “You’re talking as if this is your- mmm, first time, Kento—”

But Nanami doesn’t laugh.

Nanami doesn’t do anything but look at you so-very-seriously.

“W-wait-” Realization starts dawning on you, and you can feel your heartbeaten quicken as it sets in. “Don’t tell me…it really is your first time.” He grins…and nods. “And earlier with your mouth, too- was that-”

“But of course, madam.” The demon breathes, thoroughly ruined on your sweet, sweet pussy. “I did say that I have been waiting- mmm, centuries for you, no?”

Oh, shit.

If this was what he was like when he was inexperienced, then you almost feared to wonder just how good he’d be when he was experienced - with none other than you, you’re imagining. And as if to prove his point, he plunges and plunges his thickened shaft into you.

The plump circumference of his tip fitting against where he was causing your g-spot to indent—hollowing out with his rotund end.

In time with each of his thrusts, Nanami’s fingers pinch your perky clit. You were throbbing with need for him, and his mean thumb drew out so many things right on top of where you were most sensitive.

Swirls n’ hearts n’ his initials.

You could feel the branding of his name stinging against your core, each movement of his fingerpads creating the sloppiest slurps. “Oh, please-” Whimpering, you rut against his glissading abs. “Please please please please-”

“You can’t just say ‘please’ with no- mmm, command.” He chuckles to himself, as if you were the cutest thing in the world. “You have to tell me what you want. Your wish is my command.”

“I want you…”

“Yes—?”

And to utter these very words, you’re dragging him in closer. Touch burning. His breath laborious. You’re pulling Nanami in reeeeeal close and letting his straight nosebridge graze yours, lips tenderly touching yours. “Will you be cumming inside, Kento?”

He nuzzles the crook of your neck, “I shall do so as you wish. But first, don’t you know that you must give a demon permission to- take- a part of you?”

“So you can’t cum inside until I say the word?” You blink, a strange zap of power running through your body.

“That is so, madam.”

And oh- he’s pounding you into the aged bedsprings like he was trying to pound the words out of you. Thumb becoming frenzied on your clit, simply driving you wild. “I see- I- oh, ngh- I see-” A smirk stretches your lips, “And do you want to cum inside, Kento?”

“Not if you don’t wish for me to-” But just then, your cutely heart-shaped insides clench—and Nanami’s cutting himself off with a few rough swears. “Oh, f-fuck- yes.”

As you try to catch your breath, he’s completely losing his.

Again and again and again.

The lines of his veins throb n’ plaster against every ridge inside your velvety walls- “Yes, I do-” From the back of his throat, constant groans wrench. “I do I do I- do-” And each one was punctuated with the most probing jackhammers of his. “Oh, how badly I want to cum inside you.”

Before you can respond, his free hand drags down the front of your stomach. And he rests it easily where that lil’ bulge of his cockhead was thudding into your cervix.

“I need it. I desire it- I desire to stuff you full of my cum right h-here.” And then he presses down to put force on where his cylindrical length was tunneling. “I desire to see you all swollen with my seed, having taken so much that it has no place to go other than to drip onto the sheets.”

You’re squealing, feeling the world spin around you. “Oh- fuck. Please, m’not gonna last long-”

“I desire to feel every wad of cum of mine as I fuck you.” He gruffs out, “I desire to bind you to me forever-” Nanami leans in closer, as if he was whispering a secret to you. “-to let myself be truly yours. For eternity, this time.”

Sounding so pained.

“Let me cum inside, my lady-” He begs now. “I-inside. Let me cum inside, let me cum inside- please.”

“Yes- yes, I want it.” You crash your lips against his, feeling his fangs nip against your lower lip. “You can cum inside, Kento.”

And then with a final few thrusts, you’re exploding into your high.

So powerful that it results in your eyes clenching shut, white behind your vision. Back arching into his chest. You could hear the thundering of your pulse in your eardrums, right along with the husky, attractive groan of your name that Nanami lets off before he, too, finishes.

And you’re feeling it before you’re registering it.

That sultry splash! of something hot and wadded hitting the back of your pussy. It trickles all the way in lines down your cervix, and then ends up overflowing in your snug channel. 

“Oh- oh, you’re really taking it.” Nanami’s hand presses down on your front, eyes activating. “Look at you—swallowing up every single drop. This pretty pussy of yours was- ngh, hungry, hm?”

“Shit, you’re so filthy.” You whine, clawing down his muscular back. And Nanami Kento only smiles like he knew it was true.

After all, he was feeling everything that he’d described earlier - the sploshing of webbed-up seed inside you, the way it glissaded down his shaft. Every line of his veins was coated in ivory sap, and the demon was fucking in each gluey wad inside you.

Your own high is overtaken by his - and you don’t know what else you expected: Nanami was cumming like he hadn’t in centuries.

Just bucketloads of cum that left your mind all stupidly hazy. With each quiver of your own pleasure, you could feel the clingy mess slipping out of your hole. It created this intricate white ring ‘round Nanami’s hilt that he’s thumbing away with a smile.

Pushing dooooooown- “S’taken.” Nanami breathes, somewhat in awe as he gazed down adoringly at where your womb was. With those powerful eyes of his. “Fuck yes, s’taken, my lady. I’m so proud of you.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes.”

“F-fuck.”

He watches as that white hot mess dribbles down his fingerpads, and he says—“Stick out your tongue, madam?”

Slightly befuddled in the aftermath of your high - nothing more than a few sensitive twinges at the pit of your stomach by now, oh, he’d dragged it out so perfectly with his ready cock - you do as he says. And in a few sultry seconds, Nanami has his cum-glazed thumb sticking in his own mouth. Said mouth of his edging even closer to yours to spit.

And then he kisses you fully.

You moan, shocked by his sinful, sinful antics.

And it’s only then that you start to feel a strange rush go down your skin. It’s only then that you feel atoms stop in attention around your body, where yours met his.

So caught up in the feeling, you barely even notice when Nanami finishes riding out his own high. Each n’ every ounce of his sap pushed thoroughly into your deepest innards. And he was so proud of it- no, you’re too caught up in the fact that you knew that.

In that fact that you knew he was proud.

You could sense it.

You could remember it: fragments of a time spent in this very mansion, that didn’t include the last few days. A flourishing garden where you stole kisses. Pale blond hair in the darkness of this very bedroom. The screams of the scullery as they found out. Blood. A new life. You remembered it - not all, it came to you slowly.

With a gasp, you’re pulling back to look at your hands; they looked as normal as always, except for a strange tingle of…something that left you feeling like you could smash this very bed frame if you tried to.

Wait- you turn your head to the mirror on the wall, only to find that…nothing was there. Nothing but the room, in all its emptiness.

For mirrors don’t reflect demons.

“You’ve made me a-” You gulp, and he purrs in affirmation. “-a demon.”

“I’ve contracted us for life, my lady.” Nanami responds, “Look here.”

He taps his index down on the spot where his palm had been plastered mere moments ago, where he was feeling for his cum sprayin’ out into your womb. And as you look down, you can see that your skin was emblazoned with a glowing purple mark of supernatural sorts. Swirling spirals and hearts: you were branded.

“And here.”

You raise your eyes to where Nanami had stuck his tongue out now- and there it was. A matching tattoo (symbol? Branding?) that matched the one you had, right in the middle of his tastebuds.

Two peas in a pod.

Two demons in a mansion.

You could feel the exact moment that Nanami’s cock throbbed at the fact that you were growing even wetter at the notion - a soul that was formerly yours, shared now, for eternity. And you’d spend it all with this handsome man, in a mansion that would never crumble.

“I can smell it on you—” Nanami snarls, canines showing as his lips twist into a feral snarl. He gives another squelching thrust, “We’re going to have a looooong few centuries to make up for, my lady. Mistress of the house.”

.

.

.

“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion. (Cont’d)

And yet, the tale of the scorned heir is only one theory seeking to explain the existence of this deeply demonic yet tragic figure of Nanami Kento.

I think you will find, dear reader, that this author in particular is quite inclined to believe a much lesser-known theory. It is one slightly less blood-curdling, though with no less a flare of drama: the theory of the scorned lover.

Though most records of interviews with the original servants that served the Nanami Mansions have been lost to time, what few have been procured did speak of what has been aforementioned in this chapter. Yet, it is in the footnotes that the most jarring pieces of information start to reveal themselves.

They speak of a rather different character to the demon, Nanami Kento. A demonic yet agreeable character: sharp, sensible, no less human (or at least acted so) than the other humans that it worked alongside, keeping the mansion shining like a crown jewel.

And perhaps most representative of the demon’s humanity of all, was the way in which he fell - and quite hopelessly, it is said by one worker - for the daughter of the mansion’s master. Her name— And her wits, her laugh, her kindness seemed to have enraptured this demon. And it makes us think that, perhaps, even the most hellish creatures of all are asinine in the face of love.

Love makes a fool of us all.

And yet, there is a reason that demons do not fall in love.

For once this secret dalliance was discovered by the household, it is said that the master was enraged - till one could not tell the difference between human and demon. In the owner’s fitful anger, some say that the dishonored daughter was made a sacrifice of, others justify that she was discarded from the mansion, never to be seen again.

Whatever the result of misplaced love (perhaps it was not misplaced, after all, who are we, as mortals, to judge?), the demon had lost her.

And that loss manifested into grief, that grief manifested into anger. The once-proud stone pathway to the Nanami Mansions painted itself red, and it has not had a master since.

They say that Nanami Kento still roams the empty halls, and keeps the house a home, in wait of his lost lover. 

As for the fate of them, only time will tell. 

Do you believe in reincarnation, o’ mortal? For, demons certainly do. And if a soulless being could not love a mortal centuries ago, perhaps there is hope that her soul may find him once more. Whether by accident, or by chance, or by fate altogether. Demons always are quite stubborn.

And perhaps, this time, they may love one another as two souls who have ever loved one another should. As one. 

This author, in particular, chooses to believe that their souls are already one. For there is a home for every lost soul, doors and arms wide open.”

—Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love by Sebastian Michaelis.

A/N. Was technically supposed to be posted last month but ah-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[fukiouh]

[SOLVED] | nerdjo x reader

The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. The second was moving in with him anyway. Satoru Gojo is a gorgeous man and a terminally online incel who will explain exactly why a nice guy like him can't get a girlfriend. When you decide to weaponize your hotness against his incel worldview, you expect to break him and his “alpha male" ideologies. You do not expect to spend a random evening getting your roommate's dick out of a stuck cock ring.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

warnings: 18+ (mdni!!), explicit sexual content, afab!reader, modern AU, roommate AU, nerdjo, incel!gojo, virgin!gojo, oral (m and f receiving), piv, creampie, light degradation, praise kink, cum in hair, cum eating, cum-drunk, pussy-drunk, cock rings, fleshlights, improper use of hair tie, improper use of yogurt (accidentally ??), oil and fluids everywhere, it’s a bit disgusting, light choking, groping, big time copium from reader, secondhand embarrassment you’d die, reddit, incel stuff, crack treated seriously, fluff, smut, slow burn but the burn is just pure cringe

word count: 17k

The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. Should’ve been a red flag, really. The second was agreeing to meet the guy in person.

You walked into the coffee shop, scanning the midday crowd for someone who matched the description — twenty-something, remote-employed, appreciates a quiet living environment. You were expecting a tired grad student, maybe. Or some tech guy in a Patagonia fleece. Something like that.

Instead, you found a gorgeous, gorgeous looking man. And you were confident it was him, since there were exactly two men present — him, and some grandpa having his afternoon caffeine fix.

And the guy was, objectively and objectifyingly speaking, probably the prettiest guy you had ever laid your eyes on. Way too tall, way too broad, the messy hair and the cute glasses adding the je ne sais quoi of the hot nerd aesthetic you were simply too weak for. Even hunched over his phone like that, he looked aggressively cute. But, let’s be honest, you weren't exactly against a cheeky roommates-to-lovers situation, if you catch my drift.

You stopped dead in your tracks. 

Oh no. Oh YES.

Your heart went thump thump thump! like crazy as you stood there, frozen between the door and the counter. Living with a man who looked like that was a direct threat to your peace. And his too, probably. You couldn't believe you had practically won a jackpot over freaking Reddit. And apparently Reddit was only full of weird people, as if. So you took a breath, adjusted your posture, and walked over.

But then the panic hit. Because someone who looked like that was probably bringing home a different girl every night. And you’d have to listen to the stupid Thump. Thump. Thump. of his bed through the thin drywall. Every single time.

Suck it and see, you never know, girl.

From his side of the table, Satoru had already run the numbers. His eyes tracked your movement the second you started walking over, assessing. You were cute, yes. Approachable hot, not intimidating hot. You didn’t look like the type who’d expect him to pay for everything or make fun of his personality. And most importantly — you had messaged him first on the housing thread.

That meant the dynamic was already set. You were practically already his. Why else would a girl willingly want to live with a man? The power balance was secured. Handled. Handed to him on a silver platter, just like all the podcasts had promised.

You slid into the booth across from him. "Satoru?"

"You're exactly two minutes and forty seconds late," Satoru announced, and you feared that wasn't a joke. He checked his phone screen. "Statistically speaking, women in their twenties are usually ten to fifteen minutes late to initial meetups to assert social dominance. Two minutes is almost negligible. I like the effort."

You stared at him. What the fuck. You hadn't even taken your jacket off yet.

"I got caught at a red light," you said slowly, furrowing your eyebrows and eyeing his hands. Why were they so big?

“Right. Variables.” Satoru nodded, looking way too serious about the whole thing. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So — I brought the lease agreement. As I mentioned, I have a 780 credit score and I want dishes done within twenty-four hours. To prevent breeding grounds for fruit flies.” He slid the keys across the table along with the papers, completely unprompted. “I assume you don’t have a problem with basic hygiene? You shouldn’t have—” his eyes dragged over you, slow and sleazy, “—judging by your appearance.”

You looked at the keys. Then at his stupidly pretty, already supremely annoying face.

Your brain was trying to throw up big red warning signs, but you really needed the space. It was cheap. Close to work. And you’d have to survive maybe a year or two before you could afford a one-bedroom on your own.

You go, girl.

“I’m clean,” you said, picking up the keys. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out exactly what brand of lunatic you were about to chain yourself to. “Listen. You’re not going to be weird, are you?”

Satoru tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Define weird.”

You bit your lip.

There went those “quick” two years of your life.

You already knew the answer. You already fucking knew. Time for some hard coping. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe he’d snap out of it soon. Maybe he’d gone through a breakup and was just being salty. That was probably it.

And to be fair, the first few weeks weren’t actually that weird. You were getting to know each other, learning how to exist in the same space. It was quiet, even. You would’ve paid good money to keep it like that forever.

He mostly worked from his room, only came out for meals, did the dishes, and left you alone. He barely even talked to you, which should’ve been suspicious, but you chose to ignore it. You started to think maybe you’d read him wrong at the café. Maybe the breakup theory was right. Maybe he was just having a weird day.

But spoiler alert — you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Satoru had not gone through a bad breakup. You suspected he had never gone through any breakup at all ever. Once he got comfortable enough to drop the act, or perhaps as some calculated 4D chess move to trap you past the point of getting your deposit back, his true colors started showing.

Satoru didn’t bring girls home. He didn’t do any of the hot-man things you’d expected either. Instead, he spent most of his free time on Reddit, arguing with strangers about the state of modern dating, and why “nice guys” were being chronically overlooked by society.

After about a month, it clicked.

This man was chronically, terminally online. And an incel on top of it all.

The rule of never judging a book by its cover confirmed itself in the most jarring way possible. Would say, you played yourself there girl, but who am I to judge.

It started with the staring. You’d be sitting at the kitchen island in your sleep shirt, eating a bowl of Cheerios, and you’d look up to find him just… watching you. He never looked away when you caught him either. He’d just blink those big, stupidly pretty blue eyes at you, gaze heavy and analytical, like he was trying to calculate your exact molecular structure. Which, in a way, he was. Carefully assessing the harmony of your facial features, exactly like the looksmaxxing subreddit had probably told him to.

You were always the one who had to look away first, your face feeling weirdly hot.

Then came the rants. You’d come home from a brutal shift and collapse onto the couch, and Satoru would emerge from his room like clockwork. He’d drop down next to you, eyes glued to his phone, and start talking like someone had asked.

“It’s basic hypergamy,” he announced one night, to absolutely no one. “Men are biologically disadvantaged in the modern dating sphere because of the top-twenty-percent rule.”

You didn’t even look at him. You just kept staring at the TV and wondered how long you could keep nodding along before it would become suspicious.

And he would just keep going.

Spewing the most vile, stupid shit while you sat there, eyes flicking from the TV to him and back, nodding along because you genuinely did NOT care. Top twenty what percent? Wasn’t he objectively in the top ten at least? What the hell was he even talking about? Every time you didn’t answer, he probably took it as agreement. You just deadass had nothing to say to him.

Not because you lacked the energy to argue — though you kind of did, because talking to this manchild was like talking to a wall, and even that would’ve been more productive — but mostly because you weren’t even listening anymore. You’d learned how to tune him out pretty quickly.

You were tolerating him. That’s what you told yourself. You were tolerating him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that ever since you first laid eyes on him, your brain had decided to revert to its most embarrassing caveman settings.

Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened.

Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail. The way the towel barely clung on his hips.

Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.

But hey. What's better than an incel asshole? A hot incel asshole. That's what's better. Congratulations to you specifically, really found a rock between a sea of gems.

You thought you had it handled. White-knuckle your way through the lease. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

And then you walked past his partially open bedroom door and heard him on Discord.

"Yeah, I mean, the living situation is okay," Satoru was saying, sounding so perfectly reasonable. You thought he was going to say something nice. What a good roommate she is, how glad he was to have you there.

"She's clean. And yeah, she's hot, but she's not like super hot hot where it's scary, you know? She's cute hot. Next door hot, pretty hot. Just my type, you know my type, dude. I can definitely work with that."

You froze in the hallway.

Your face did something that could only be described as a visual representation of what the fuck.

Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.

What does that even mean? You knew exactly what it meant, unfortunately. He wasn't just a weird roommate. He was a weird roommate actively running some kind of deranged, incel-fueled long game on you. Casually. Over Discord. 

You quietly backed away, went to your room, locked the door, and screamed into your pillow.

It was not like your roommate was describing you like a property investment to someone over Discord while you were standing mere feet away. 

You hated this. You hated him. And you hated yourself for having been even remotely apologetic about it, for feeling your heart skip a beat when he said just my type. Curse you and your completely stupid and irrational attraction to someone you should probably be filing a restraining order against! But god, he was so so cute. If he could just shut the fuck up, or get lobotomized, or something. You could take him to Claire's over the weekend?

But to his credit, and you could not fucking believe you were giving him even some credit at all right now, he was sometimes tolerable, heavy on the sometimes. The man never missed a rent payment. He scrubbed the bathtub weekly. He always bought the expensive brand of paper towels, the ones with the little flower pattern you liked.

Good roommate, structurally speaking. Nightmare, every other way.

And the attraction was just a proximity issue. Obviously. Everyone would have this problem. It would go away. His personality was ass. Soon enough you'd look at him and convince yourself his looks were ass too. Start acknowledging his hotness the way you acknowledged anything asexual.

It was totally fine. You were fine. He was just a guy. A guy who happened to look like a Final Fantasy character rendered in 4K, but still just a guy. A nice guy.

And work with that, he definitely did. Because he was fine too! Just not in any way he would ever admit to his Discord buddies.

Because doing it the normal way guys in their sexual prime do was completely fine. He was in his twenties, so naturally, his mind wandered a bit when his head hit the pillow with passing thoughts about the way your sleep shirt rode up your bare thigh. There was absolutely nothing wrong with getting off while thinking about someone! It was just the normal biological need the podcasts yapped about! It was healthy to be sexually active, even if his only active partner was his fist.

And if that happened to escalate into jerking off to a completely innocent Instagram picture and coming all over his phone screen while staring at your pixelated smile? Also completely normal! Everyone dealt with new living arrangements differently; someone screamed into their pillow, someone else was jerking off every time you got said person inexplicably hard! He couldn't be expected to live like a celibate monk when he was just a poor, horny guy trapped in an apartment with a gorgeous roommate who also happened to be exactly his type. He wasn't being a creep! He was just adapting to his environment.

Goddamn.

It wasn't fine. He wasn't fine, you weren't fine either.

But as the weeks dragged on, he started getting worse.

The passive-aggressive creepiness turned into passive-aggressive entitlement. He had decided, completely on his own, that the two of you were basically already together. You could feel it in the way he hovered. In the way he looked at you like he was waiting for something. Like a bill was coming due and he was just giving you time to find your wallet.

It started with the food.

Without any discussion, he started either making food for both of you or straight-up eating what you’d made for yourself. Like that was just the new normal now.

“Satoru, did you eat my food?” you’d ask, staring at the empty space in the fridge where your meal had been. The one you’d been looking forward to all day. And he’d just nod from the couch like it was the most normal, domestic thing in the world — not a direct violation of the rules you’d set when you moved in.

Or there was the night you came home completely drained, fully prepared to eat a sleeve of saltines and a bucket of ice cream for dinner, only to walk into the apartment smelling like garlic and roasted vegetables.

Satoru was actually at the stove, cooking. A rare sight — the man usually survived on takeout and DoorDash. And he’d used your expensive dried tomatoes. The ones you’d been saving for a special occasion. The ones you’d deliberately shoved to the back of the fridge so he wouldn’t find them.

“Men in the kitchen are a rare sight, I know,” he said, not looking at you as he stirred, trying to look like the eighth world wonder. “But I thought — what if I made pasta? It’s the one my mom used to make. Figured I’d make it for myself. Made a lot though, so… you can have some too, I guess.”

He was already plating a portion for you as he spoke, trying and failing to look casual while clearly nervous you wouldn’t like it.

You watched him for a moment and felt something shift in your chest. You immediately labeled it as hunger and moved on.

He didn’t ask if you liked it. He just assumed you would. And he was right, yeah you ate it, but that wasn’t the point. The pasta wasn’t even that good. Way too salty. But it sat warm in your belly, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him the truth.

You thanked him for the meal but didn’t acknowledge the grand gesture you hadn’t agreed to in the first place. You didn’t make conversation and went straight to do the dishes.

When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again.

You looked away first.

And of course an incel like that would have opinions about your love life too.

You’d been seeing someone — nothing serious, just a guy from Hinge. Two dates in, and you were still on the fence. He didn’t make your heart do that stupid thump thump thump, and his hairline wasn’t all that great either.

You made the mistake of mentioning a possible third date while making coffee, trying to have a normal, boring conversation about your respective lives.

“I think I’m going to see him again on Saturday,” you said, mostly to your mug.

Satoru looked up from his phone. He was always on his phone doing gods know what.

"The architect guy?"

"Nah, I ghosted that one. Different guy."

A pause. He furrowed his eyebrows the way he did when he was assessing something. “How many are there?”

You gave him a warning look.

"I'm just asking."

"And I'm not answering," you said, rolling your eyes.

He put his phone down, which was never a good sign. You turned back to the coffee machine.

“I just think,” he started.

“Don’t,” you muttered, already regretting bringing it up.

"—that you're not being strategic about this."

You turned back around, mentally preparing for what was about to come.

“About dating. Statistically speaking, cycling through too many low-value options in a short period of time actually decreases your own value. If you want to attract a high-value man—”

He didn’t just mean men. He meant himself. Which, bless him, but also fuck him for putting it like that.

You stared at him for a moment, seriously considering yelling and throwing your mug at his stupidly symmetrical face.

“Satoru,” you said. “Did you just tell me I’m getting ran-through?”

He opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. His ears went pink — he had probably clocked his own stupidity, apparently, which was a first.

"No! It's not — that's not what I—" he started, hands coming up like he was surrendering.

"Where did you even hear that phrase?"

"It's a concept from—"

"No." You held up a hand. "No, I don't want to know, actually. You just made me really upset."

You picked up your coffee and looked at him — standing there in his stupid nerdy sleep shirt, with his stupidly cute messy hair, genuinely confused about why this had gone wrong. Like he really thought you’d realize he was right and apologize on your knees for even mentioning other men.

You felt furious. Tired. And something else you weren’t going to name.

You couldn’t believe you’d ever imagined getting railed into oblivion by this man. Instead, you had to talk to him like he was a toddler. You had a feeling you were going to become a cautionary tale. A PSA about what happens when you move in with an incel.

You went on the date that Saturday anyway. It was fine. The guy was fine-ish — less fine after the weird-ass conversation you’d had with Satoru prior. You came home to find him on the couch, waiting. Expecting something. But neither of you said a word. You just went to your room, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling.

You were so fucking tired.

Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.

So you cancelled the next one. And the one after that.

Men were mediocre anyway, you told yourself. You needed peace. You needed to stop cycling through low-value options — god, you couldn’t believe that phrase was living rent-free in your head now. You were going to find whatever podcast invented it and send the hosts very ugly, very threatening email.

And maybe the apartment really was full of questionable worldviews, because somewhere between the sexual marketplace value speeches and his creepy behavior, you developed one of your own.

You became morbidly into the idea of breaking his incel resolve. Like you’d accidentally discovered a new kink.

Not even in a romantic way. More like you’d started writing a very questionable mental screenplay about dismantling him piece by piece. Watching the podcast rot leak out of him in real time. Making the incel guy want you so badly he forgot every subreddit he was joined in, until he was pathetic enough to cry at your feet — and you weren’t even the dominant type!

Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves.

Now you knew exactly why.

It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill. Some people chased storms. You were simply built different.

Because when a man looked you in the eye and said shit like, “It’s actually been studied. Women who wear revealing clothing in domestic settings are subconsciously signaling availability to increase their mate value. It’s an evolutionary response to competition,” and meant it — like he hadn’t just dropped full Andrew Tate shit on a random Wednesday night — you weren’t going to let it slide.

You were already stretched thin. And he was on very thin ice.

So you made a plan.

You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.

Because who would voluntarily wear less clothes when they could just put on three more layers to prove a point?

You, apparently.

You dug out the shorts you hadn’t worn since sophomore year. The ones that left half your ass out and the tank top that made your boobs look obscene. All to "prove a point."

Satoru was at the kitchen island when you walked in, like every morning.

You leaned against the counter, grabbed your yogurt from the fridge, and started eating your probiotic-balanced breakfast, like every morning.

He was still on his phone.

You were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw — mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you — when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.

He reached past you.

The mug hit the bottom of the sink with a loud clang as he stood frozen and way too close. Staring at you with his mouth slightly open, ears going pink in real time as the color crept up from his jaw. He was looking at you exactly how you’d hoped he would… and now that it was actually happening, your stomach did a stupid little flip.

You went to put the spoon back in your mouth.

But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.

Satoru’s eyes followed it the whole way. You felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric as he stared. Then his gaze dragged back up, slow,  before dropping to what you were wearing.

When he finally looked at your face again, his ears weren’t just pink anymore. They were red.

“Uh. Y-you have yogurt. On your—” He gestured vaguely at your chest. “—on your b-boobs.”

You stared at him. He stared back — at your face, at your chest, at your legs, everywhere.

“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed a paper towel and dragged it slowly down your neck, then slipped your other arm under your boobs to lift them higher, making the cleanup easier for you and significantly harder for him. You could tell by the way he was squirming.

He swallowed. A loud, audible gulp in the quiet kitchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape.

“Right. G-good — you cleaned it up. I-it was very messy,” he managed to get out, voice a full octave lower and cracking at the end. His eyes were half-lidded, ears still burning red.

Then he fled. He turned so fast he clipped his hip on the doorframe and didn’t even react to the pain before disappearing down the hallway.

You felt victorious. You’d fried his alpha-male-rotted brain. You’d proven your point. You were the apex predator of this apartment!

But then you took a breath and noticed your hands were shaking.

Your nipples were still painfully hard against the thin fabric of your tank top. And there was a warm, insistent ache low in your belly, sending little shockwaves down to your toes.

Wait.

What the fuck.

You looked down at your chest, then at the empty doorway like he might still be there.

Why the hell were you horny?

You were supposed to be the disaster tourist here. You were supposed to be watching the meltdown from a safe distance. Disaster tourists didn’t usually get turned on by the radiation. They didn’t usually want the hazard to come back out of his room, pin them against the counter, and put his stupid big hands on their hips.

You threw the paper towel into the trash harder than necessary. It hit the side and did a pathetic little plop! pathetically to the floor.

You slammed your bedroom door and threw yourself onto the bed, burying your burning face in the pillows.

The plan had worked perfectly.

Even if you had to dig out your vibrator later just to make the weird tingling go away.

It was just a power trip. Just the adrenaline of winning. That’s all it was. Power trips made people horny. It was biology. It was science.

Take that, Satoru!

And oh, he took it.

Across the hallway, Satoru was melting into his mattress. A bruise was already forming where he’d slammed into the doorframe. The image of that yogurt dragging down between your tits was burned into his brain. He was throbbing, and it was fucking pathetic.

He tried jerking off like usual — fist tight, imagining you on your knees — but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks, actually. His hand wasn’t cutting it.

So he reached into the back of his bottom drawer and pulled out the silicone toy he’d bought recently. He was embarrassed, but too worked up to care. At least now he could pretend it was your tight pussy he was fucking into.

It was a new low. He knew it was a new low. But he did it anyway, eyes squeezed shut as he used the fleshlight, imagining you on top of him, under him, beside him — it didn’t matter. Anything was better than coming on his own just from the memory of yogurt dripping down your skin.

But of course, once the post-nut clarity hit, he took the whole thing the completely wrong way.

Because really, what did you think was going to happen?

You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?

No. Of course not.

He thought you did it on purpose. For him specifically.

And yeah, you did do it on purpose — just not for the reason he thought. You were trying to break his brain. Make a joke out of his worldview! Instead, all you did was make him hard for three days straight and give him a terrifying amount of hope.

It validated every single pseudo-scientific dating theory he’d ever read. In his mind, you weren’t mocking him. You were submitting to his superior frame. You were “signaling availability.”

You hadn’t broken his incel resolve. You’d accidentally reinforced it. Applause.

And now Satoru believed, with full Reddit-backed certainty, that he had won. He’d played the long game. He’d kept his alpha composure. And now the cute roommate in the tiny gym shorts was finally ready to yield.

And worst of all? He started being creepy on purpose.

Before, the hovering and staring had been unconscious. Now he was doing it with intention. It was time to “establish physical dominance” and “break the touch barrier,” according to whatever the fuck forum thread he’d absorbed that week. 

He started finding excuses to be near you — reaching past you for things he didn’t need just to brush his chest against your shoulder, leaving you wrapped in his scent. He’d sit too close on the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.

And it was working. You hated that it was working.

Every time his hand brushed yours or his fingers grazed your waist, your skin broke out in goosebumps. You could feel yourself reacting to his nervous little attempts to mark his territory, and it was driving you insane.

You were sitting on the couch eating your well deserved Pad Thai straight out of the takeout box while a true-crime documentary played in the background.

Satoru emerged from his room, did his usual hover-routine like some awkward mating dance, and then sat down. Right next to you.

Without taking his eyes off the TV, he reached over and placed his hand on your bare thigh.

It was this weird twitchy movement between caress and a customs agent stamping a passport.

His fingers kept flexing like he was fighting the urge to either pull away or drag them higher. You sat frozen, staring down at his hand, silently daring it to move. Then mentally cursing yourself for even letting it happen in the first place.

A rush of heat flooded your chest and cheeks. It burned under his palm and shot straight down between your legs.

Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.

"Satoru," you said slowly. 

He was staring straight ahead at the TV, posture stiff as a board and he was even redder than you.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He flinched, yanking his hand back into his lap and hunching over. “N-nothing.”

He cleared his throat but didn’t move away. His knee stayed pressed against yours. He took a breath, puffing his chest out as he tried to reclaim his “alpha” frame, then glanced at you as you took a shaky bite of noodles.

“So,” he started again, voice slipping into that pseudo-intellectual podcast cadence that always made your eye twitch. “I was reading a thread today. About proximity and domestic investment.”

You didn't look at him, listened to the Ted Bundy facts coming from the documentary narrator. Chewed and brushed him off. "Fascinating."

“It actually is,” he continued, completely unbothered. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and caging you in. “Because it highlights the flaw in modern female psychology. Women always say they want a nice guy. Someone who provides stability. Someone who pays his bills on time, remembers to buy toilet paper, and keeps a clean, optimal living environment.”

He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air.

“But,” Satoru said, turning his head to look at you, eyes locking onto yours with that same entitled certainty, “when that exact man is sitting right in front of them, offering unwavering loyalty and a high-value domestic partnership, they stay willfully blind. They friendzone him. Tease him. Cycle through low-tier guys from dating apps instead. It’s biologically counterproductive.”

The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap.

He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.

He thought doing the bare minimum — acting like a decent human being with basic hygiene — earned him loyalty points he could cash in for sex. Like some kind of fucked-up grocery store rewards program.

You turned your body toward him fully, voice eerily quiet.

“Let me get this straight,” you said. “You’re sitting here, in our living room, getting mad at me because your nice-guy vending machine is broken?”

Satoru blinked, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was.

“I’m stating a statistical—”

“Shut up.”

The words came out sharp enough to cut. You weren’t playing anymore. One more podcast quote and you were going to rip the hair out of his stupidly pretty head.

His mouth snapped shut. He looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — not like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.

“You think this is a transaction,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think because you scrub the bathtub and pay your half of the rent on time, you’re earning points? You’re keeping score. You did the bare minimum and now you’re waiting for me to drop to my knees in gratitude like you were providing for me?”

“I am a provider,” he argued, chest puffing out even as his voice lost some of its usual arrogance. “I bring high value—”

“You bring decency at best!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “Doing your own dishes doesn’t make you a high-value alpha male, Satoru. It makes you an adult. But you don’t actually care about being a good roommate. You’re just dressing your entitlement up as niceness and acting like I owe you something because you haven’t been actively terrible to me.”

“That’s not—” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I’m just saying that logically, the optimal choice for you—”

“There is no logic!” you snapped, standing up before you did something stupid like strangle him. “You don’t even like me! You just think you’re owed me because I’m convenient and I live here!”

Satoru flinched. All the color drained from his face.

You stood over him, breathing hard, looking down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who was staring up at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of physics. He looked lost. Stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“But you acted like—” he started, then caught himself, shoulders squaring like he was trying to hold onto his frame. “You know what, forget it. You’re just proving my point. A guy does everything right, stays consistent, stays present, and the girl just—” he gestured at you with a disbelieving laugh, “—moves the goalposts. We’ve been living together for months. Friends for just as long. I thought if I followed the steps exactly, I’d finally get to— we would— I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, okay?! How is a guy ever supposed to figure it out if the steps are a lie and I haven’t even—”

“Satoru.”

He stopped. Mouth snapped shut. The tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.

The realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.

Oh my fucking god.

You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died. Now it all clicked into place.

He’d never gotten his dick wet.

Your roommate was a six-foot-three virgin who thought turning to men who felt entitled to sex was a reasonable solution to his problems. What an absolute fucking mess. You almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“You’re an incredibly good-looking guy, Satoru,” you said quietly. Sincerely. “Objectively hot. Get your shit together, touch some grass, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. But until you stop treating women like a math test you’re trying to cheat on, nobody is going to want you.”

You shattered his ego completely.

Or maybe, for the first time since puberty, Satoru actually formed a conscious, self-aware thought. Because he kept turning your words over in his head.

Objectively hot.

No one is going to want you.

What?

He tried to find the logical flaws. Tried to insert a counterargument, disprove your “emotional outburst” with cold data. He couldn’t find one. Not for days.

You were avoiding him completely now. Icing him out. Not talking to him. Not even looking at him. It was driving him insane. You used to search for his eyes, even if it was just to roll them. He’d only just realized how genuine your flustered blinking had been, and now he missed it. Embarrassingly so.

One night he walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, carrying a petty mix of rejection, confusion, and constant, unbearable horniness.

Your pink hair tie was sitting on the edge of the sink.

He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray.

So he picked it up. It smelled like your stupid, intoxicating strawberry shampoo. He hated it. Hated how the whole bathroom smelled like you after you showered. Hated how your scent followed you everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to breathe you in. The guys on Reddit had warned him about this. Pheromones. Dangerous.

He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours.

And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.

He clutched the sink, bracing himself against it, breathing ragged and humiliatingly loud. He stared down at the pretty pink elastic wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he fucked his fist like he was trying to punish himself, desperately trying to imagine your hands instead of his own.

It worked too well. It scared him.

He came hard, so so hard the hair tie ended up coated in thick, frothy cum.

He carefully nudged the sticky pink tie back onto the edge of the sink, exactly where he’d found it. Then he washed his hands under scalding water like he was trying to burn the shame off his skin and walked out of the bathroom like a man fleeing a crime scene.

Rejuvenated? No.

Good? Not even close.

He just felt like absolute shit.

Get your shit together.

But how?

He picked up his phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. The fight was still eating him alive. The podcasts told him to take his frustration out on other girls or channel it into dominance and detachment. That’s what the current episode would’ve said.

But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. He didn’t want to be aggressive. He just… wanted.

And that was the problem.

For the first time in a long time, the alpha-male bullshit was starting to feel a bit too beta now. He was left with his own feelings like a normal person, and it was awful.

If he was truly a high-value male, he shouldn’t care. He should pivot. Download an app. Find some new, compliant girl to validate his stats. But the thought of calculating the facial harmony of a stranger made his stomach turn. He didn’t want a hypothetical female.

He wanted you.

He wanted you rolling your eyes at him. Laughing at him. Getting annoyed at him. Eating his pasta. Walking around in those mind-melting shorts. He wanted you to drop yogurt on yourself again just so he could lick it off your skin, linger on your neck, and kiss you stupid — the way he’d been fantasizing about since it actually happened.

He needed validation. He needed to be right.

His thumbs moved across the screen before he could stop himself. He ignored his usual echo-chamber subreddits and opened r/AmItheAsshole instead.

r/AmItheAsshole 

AITA for expecting my roommate (F) to reciprocate my (M) romantic advances after I provided optimal domestic value?

Throwaway. This is gonna sound bad but I need actual advice.

I (M) have been living with my roommate (F) for almost a year now. I’m not gonna lie, I’m objectively good-looking and I’ve been carrying a lot in this apartment. I pay my half on time, I keep shit clean, I do the dishes, I even cook sometimes. I thought I was doing everything right.

A few weeks ago she started walking around in these tiny shorts and tank tops. Like, really small. I took it as her signaling that she was open to something. That’s what all the advice says — if a girl starts dressing like that around you, it’s usually because she’s comfortable and maybe interested. So I decided to initiate kino escalation. Nothing crazy at first, just trying to break the touch barrier a bit.

While we were watching something on the couch I put my hand on her thigh. She freaked out. Got really upset and started yelling at me about how I was treating her like a transaction and that I only did nice things because I felt entitled to her. She even said I was basically calling her ran-through for going on dates.

I tried to explain it calmly. Like, statistically, if a high-value guy is right there doing everything right, why would she keep going on dates with random dudes from apps? It just doesn’t make sense. She told me to touch grass and hasn’t really spoken to me since.

I don’t get it. I’ve been consistent, I’ve been present, I’ve been providing a good living situation. I thought that was supposed to count for something. Instead she acted like I was the asshole for expecting anything in return.

AITA?

He hit post.

He sat in the dark on his bed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. He just had to wait. The logical thinkers would show up. They’d validate him with proper, objective analysis. They had to.

Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in.

He opened them expecting vindication.

Instead, he walked straight into a digital firing squad.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes

YTA. Holy shit. You did a handful of nice things and you think that means she owes you sex? You sound like an actual sociopath. I’m surprised she didn’t run out screaming. She literally told you to get your shit together. What part of that are you not getting?

u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes

You're not alpha, man. Kino escalation? Are you trying to con her, or actually want her to want you? YTA.

u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes

YTA.  She can wear whatever the fuck she wants in her own home, you creepy ass weirdo. I hope she breaks the lease and gets a restraining order. 

u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes

This is the most pathetic thing I’ve read on this site in eleven years. This is straight-up incel fanfiction. Poor girl having to live with someone like you. YTA. Go outside.

u/yuji_8847362 · 124  upvotes

Genuine question, not trying to be an asshole: do you actually like her, or do you just think she owes you because you did some nice things? Those are two very different things, and your post doesn’t seem to understand the difference. YTA, but I hope you figure it out.

u/KingNaoya69 · 231  downvotes

NTA. She’s clearly testing you. The clothes were an invitation. Hold your ground, don’t apologize, and she’ll come around. Women don’t respect men who grovel. If she actually didn’t want you she would’ve moved out already. She’s still there, isn’t she?

Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief.

He’d expected validation. Maybe a few reasonable voices cutting through the noise, acknowledging the statistical validity of his position, maybe even offering some tactical advice.

Instead, he got hit with minus three thousand downvotes, a mod-locked thread, and three DMs telling him to go to therapy.

He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess.

It didn’t.

It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.

He threw his glasses off and stared into the middle distance.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

He had no idea.

The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable — and honestly, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence. Slamming doors. Giving short, pointed answers. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.

He kept going back to the comments on his post, rereading them like he could find a loophole somewhere.

Yes, of course he liked you. But how was he supposed to want nothing from you if he liked you? He wanted your affection. He wanted you to want him back. But wasn’t that also expecting something in return? What the hell was he supposed to do?

Still… the Naoya guy had been weirdly right about one thing. You stayed. You hadn’t moved out. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to. If you hated him that much, why were you still here?

On the nth day, he was sitting on the couch when you came out of your room for water. You glanced at him — just for a second. You couldn’t help it. The silent treatment was getting to you too, even if you’d never admit it.

Your eyes were hard to read, but there was something in them. Something expectant. Like you were waiting for him to do something. To fix it. To stop being an idiot so the two of you could move on.

Oh, he thought.

Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.

Oh.

That night he unjoined six subreddits. Unfollowed every podcast except Joe Rogan — because hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or was it unteach a new dog old tricks? Didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time since he’d discovered the internet, he was pretty sure he’d been an idiot.

And he was going to stop.

He made a plan. Simple. Walk out of his room, find you, and say sorry. Three steps. He’d been a person for over twenty years. He could do three steps. He had this!

You were in the kitchen. You were standing on the flimsy little step stool you needed to reach the top cabinet shelves, stretching up on your tiptoes for the glass Tupperware that Satoru kept putting up there, even though you had told him multiple times not to put it up there because you literally could not reach it.

"Hey," he said from the doorway, trying not to startle you. "Can we—"

You startled anyway, because what other outcome was ever going to happen here.

The stool wobbled under your socks. You gasped, swore something, grabbed for a shelf edge that wasn't there, and fully expected to eat the kitchen floor tiles before officially murdering your roommate from the afterlife.

But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.

Well… almost.

He lost his balance as your weight shifted, and the two of you went down in a tangle of limbs and terrible timing.  The impact knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You landed sprawled over him, pressed against his chest, his arms secured instinctively around you—

Around your boobs.

You froze. He froze. The entire world seemed to fucking froze.

And as you laid there, from the adrenaline shock of it all probably, his fingers did a little squish!

Huh.

You didn't say anything. You couldn't breathe, let alone speak. You slowly turned your head. His face was right there and so, so close to yours. You panicked and looked into his equally panicked eyes, his poor glasses askew.

He was searching for something in your eyes, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the blue. And then, as his chest was still heaving so heavily, his gaze dropped down to your lips.

You were suddenly very aware— Aware of his warm palms right through the thin fabric of your shirt. Aware of the way your tits swelled into his touch. Aware of how his thighs bracketed your hips, and how perfectly you fit against him.

His breath hitched. And then his fingers flexed. He made a soft, barely-there sound in the back of his throat and squeezed again — slower this time. Kneading right over your hardened nipples.

You parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.

His arms slowly retreated, lazily dragged down your ribs, fingers grazing the soft of your tummy before finally falling away to rest on the floor, which somehow made it all worse.

"I—" His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.

You sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself into your room, slamming the door behind you. You backed up until you hit something, you didn’t even care what, and slid down to the floor, knees pulled to your chest.

Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Your skin was buzzing. The ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.

I fucking hate him, you told yourself. He’s a podcast-rotted incel. I hate him.

…Do you?

Because why the fuck had you wanted his hands to stay there? Why had that second squeeze made you want to straddle him right there on the kitchen tiles and fuck him stupid?

You were just touch-starved. That’s all this was. You were projecting onto your terrible roommate because he was being a sleazy little shit.

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand with shaking hands and unlocked it.

Hinge.

Your ol’ friend.

You needed a date. You needed a normal, boring, completely average guy with a decent hairline and zero opinions on hypergamy to save you from whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen.

You were in your room getting ready for your date, dressed to kill. Short dress, favorite lace panties — because after everything that happened in the kitchen, you were still weirdly, persistently horny. Might as well try to do something about it with someone normal.

Satoru was lingering in the hallway like always, doing his very obvious not-hovering hover.

"Going out?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to act so aloof and unbothered.

You didn't even look at him properly. "Yeah. I have a date," you said smugly as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. Hair down meant cute, but hair up meant business. And by business, I mean finally attempting to jump on some normal, average dick.

The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up.

He visibly gulped. His dick went from zero to painfully hard so fast he had to cross his legs just to hide it.

You furrowed your eyebrow at the uncharacteristic lack of response, but wasn’t entirely mad about it either.

"See ya," you chirped, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown, and walked out the front door.

The second the door shut, Satoru basically teleported to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, already fumbling with his pants, desperate to take care of the problem so he could think straight again.

But he spent exactly thirty minutes achieving absolutely nothing. What the fuck.

This had never happened before. Satoru was just staring at his ceiling, sweating, furiously gripping his aching dick, and completely unable to finish. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined you laughing at some beta joke a 100% mediocre guy had made, while his past-tense cum was proudly sitting in your hair. He was literally too jealous to finish.

But jealous or not, he was still agonizingly hard, his dick standing painfully stiff against his stomach, stubbornly refusing to just calm the fuck down. He let out a frustrated groan. Okay. Fine. No hand? No problem! He reached for the silicone fleshlight, but he hadn't washed it in quite a while, and when he picked it up, a funky smell drifted off it.

Okay, NEVER MIND.

Which left him with only one option.

Today’s the day.

He reached into the back of his bottom drawer again and pulled out a silicone cock ring.

He had bought it right after he absolutely demolished your cute little hair tie. Because what does a normal guy do in that situation? Grovel first? Solve the underlying interpersonal issue? Nah. He goes on r/sex to research why a piece of elastic felt so hella good around his dick!

He hadn’t touched it since. Post-nut clarity had done its job last time. But right now, staring down at his aching, neglected cock and feeling rejected, humiliated, and completely alone… it was time.

Fuck it.

He ripped open the packaging and wrestled the thick silicone down his shaft until it sat snug at the base.

Almost immediately, something felt off.

It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way — just uncomfortable. Constricting. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.

Ten minutes passed.

Nothing.

His brain was too far gone, and the pressure was quickly shifting from weird to genuinely concerning.

Fuck this.

He stopped. Tried to take it off. But it didn’t budge.

Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.

Oh fuck.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his lube, and squeezed way too much directly onto the ring. He tugged and twisted like his life depended on it.

Nothing. Fucking nothing. It just made his hands uselessly slippery.

Okay, oh fuck. Wasn't lube supposed to work?! Okay, new plan. Something else, something more slippery, something more oily—

Panic seizing him, he stumbled to the bathroom, dug under the sink, found your baby oil, and slathered it on.

Still stuck.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!

So he waddled out of the bathroom, practically sprinting into the kitchen buck naked. He tore open the pantry, grabbing the vegetable oil. 

This has to work.

It did not work.

Ten minutes later, Satoru was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, coated in a slick, highly flammable mixture of lube, Johnson & Johnson baby oil, and Wesson canola oil, panting heavily. 

Dick throbbing, but not the fun kind of throbbing anymore. It was turning a terrifying shade of angry red-purple, the silicone death trap literally suffocating his junior.

It was no longer just uncomfortable, nor just alarmingly stuck. At this point, it was a fucking medical emergency. 

He was so fucked he might be patient zero of mpreg.

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

Call an ambulance?

Absolutely not. 

The thought of a paramedic cutting a sex toy off him with trauma shears while asking for his emergency contact would genuinely kill him on the spot. He would rather die of necrosis.

Call his friends? 

Fuck no.

If any of them found out about this, the screenshots would never die. They’d revoke his alpha card permanently and hold it over his head for the rest of his life.

He stared at his contacts.

There was only one person who could help without turning it into blackmail material or posting it online. The one person who lived in this apartment. The one person who was currently out on a date with some random guy. The person he had a massive, pathetic crush on and who would probably rather rip his dick off than help him.

He hit Call.

You stirred your gin and tonic while your date went on about his fantasy football draft like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was a perfectly fine date! The kind of fine that made you wonder why you even bothered.

You were nodding along, even though you had stopped listening roughly four minutes ago. Then, your phone vibrated on the table.

Satoru.

You ignored it. No, actually—you declined it. You smiled sweetly at your date, asked a vague question about tight ends so you would seem like you were actually paying attention, and took a sip of your drink.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Annoyed, you held up a finger to the poor guy who was currently rating wide receivers, excused yourself, and off to the bathroom, fully prepared to yell.

“What?” you hissed the second you picked up. “I’m on a date, Satoru. If you locked yourself out—”

"Please come home," he gasped. He didn't even say hello. He didn't sound aloof, and he certainly didn't sound alpha. He actually sounded like he was drawing his final breaths on this earth. "You have to come home. Right now."

"What happened? Did something catch fire? Did someone break in? Are you—"

“I can’t tell you,” he whined, voice high and shaky in a way you’d never heard from him before. “I physically can’t say it out loud. Just— please. Please come home.”

You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread.

But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.

You practically kicked the front door open, your heart hammering. The apartment was completely quiet, and it smelled all wrong.

Like babies and an industrial air fryer?

"Satoru?" you called out, dropping your bag. "Where are you? The apartment better be fucking flooding, or else I swear to God—"

A pained, muffled whimper came from down the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open so you pushed it wide, fully prepared to absolutely tear him a new one for ruining your night.

Satoru was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked, perched on a bath towel soaked through with some kind of glistening sludge. He was trembling, sweating, aggressively gripping the mattress. And his dick — very visibly, very aggressively hard — was pointing straight at you.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

You exploded the second you saw him, because an impromptu dick is still an impromptu dick! “Some pathetic plan to finally fuck me? You couldn’t even be decent about it — you just called me home so you could sit here with your cock out?!”

You expected some sleazy line. Some smug little smirk. Instead, Satoru looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes behind his smudged glasses and let out a broken, wet sob.

"I'm not—" his voice cracked terribly. "I'm stuck."

Huh?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down.

And then your stomach dropped with them.

Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.

But that wasn’t the problem. His dick was an angry, swollen red-purple, veins bulging like it had its own heartbeat. And at the base was a thick silicone ring, cutting into him so tightly it looked like it might actually burst.

And all the anger drained out of you in an instant. Suddenly, you felt the harsh reality of the literal medical horror you were now a part of. 

"Oh my god. Satoru... what is going on?!"

“Fuck, it hurts— please help me,” he whined, voice cracking as he bounced his leg against the floor like that would somehow fix anything.

You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look. It was incredibly stupid and deeply awkward, being this close to his swollen, shiny dick.

“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, horrified.

Satoru nodded frantically, a tear slipping down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.

"Satoru, you know there is a fucking size chart to these things?! You can’t just buy anything with the size of your dick! Are you fucking stupid?!"

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!" he wailed, hands flying up to cover his face in absolute humiliation. "Wait—" He suddenly froze, lowering his hands just enough to look at you. "Did you just say I have a big dick? Wait. Fuck. OUCH. It just fucking hurts! Please, please help me, I've tried everything but it just won't budge! It hurts so much!"

You squinted at the shiny, slick mess coating his thighs and soaking into the bath towel. "Did you try lube?"

 "Yes!" 

"Baby oil?" 

"Yes!" 

"Did you... did you use the cooking oil from the kitchen?!"

 "YES! FUCK!" he sobbed into his hands again.

"Why did you even put it on?!" you yelled back, genuinely baffled by his astronomical stupidity.

“I was horny, what else?!” he cried and shook his hands. “You left with the cum tie in your hair—”

“THE WHAT?!”

Your hands froze in the air. Your brain forcefully restarted about three times trying to process the sequence of syllables he had just screamed at you.

The cum tie.

You suddenly felt the gentle pull of the pink elastic holding up your ponytail. The one that was your favorite. The one you had idly wondered before why it was suddenly so... crusty.

"You..." you whispered, a cold wave of fresh nausea washing over you. "You did what to my hair tie?"

“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed, face red and streaked with tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I used it, and then you put it in your hair to go out with the guy and it made me crazy so I put the ring on!”

Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out. Burn it. Shave your head. And then murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.

But then you looked down. His dick might actually pop! like a grease-filled water balloon. There was no time.

You took a deep, slightly deranged breath and shoved every horrifying thought into a box for later. You could have a full meltdown about having his reproductive fluids in your hair as an accessory after you made sure his dick didn’t fall off.

You aggressively ignored his stare, locking your eyes entirely on the crisis. "Okay. Okay, I've got this. This is a medical emergency."

Your brain started racing. You couldn't cut it off without risking severing something vital, you certainly weren’t a doctor, and the swelling was so so severe to just pull the ring back over the ridge. You knelt there, suddenly arriving at a horrifying conclusion that you were going to need a serious moment to accept.

Because there was only one way to get it off. And the only way to get it off was to get rid of the erection.

You had to make him cum.

“Okay,” you muttered. Then again. And again. Like repeating it would make it feel less insane. “W-we just need to… get it down.”

You bit your lip, giving yourself the quickest, most productive, and most threatening internal TED Talk in human history. Your hands twitched, but you finally reached out and wrapped them around his oil-slicked shaft.

“AGH— FUCK— NO!” Satoru immediately jerked back like you’d electrocuted him, slamming against the mattress.

"What the hell?! I barely touched it!"

“The skin’s too tight!” he cried out, practically hyperventilating. “It feels like a razor blade— you can’t use your hands, it hurts too much!”

You tried again anyway, slower this time, gripping him carefully. The skin was burning hot, painfully stretched over the trapped blood. You gave one experimental stroke.

“No— no no no, please stop—” His voice broke into a real whimper as fresh tears spilled down his face. He pushed at your shoulders, legs shaking. “Please, I can’t— it hurts so fucking bad—”

You yanked your hands back, heart pounding as your own panic officially set in. "THEN WHAT ELSE?!"

“I DON’T KNOW! I thought you might know!”

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"

A beat of deafening silence fell over the grease-scented bedroom. You looked at him. Then down at the problem between his legs.

Wait—

Your brain scrambled for literally any other fucking solution. Ice? Cutting it completely off? Calling 911 and collectively dying of embarrassment on the spot?

Nothing. 

There was nothing else.

God fucking help you. You might as well die from the cringe right here on the floor.

You stared down at his lengthy cock again. It was a pathetic mix of pre-cum against his oil-slicked stomach. Satoru was breathing in short, panicked gasps, tears still tracking down his flushed cheeks, glasses fogged and crooked, looking totally helpless.

“No,” you whispered to the empty space between his thighs, stomach twisting with reluctant acceptance. Coming to terms with your own fate. Girl, it’s your fault. Your fate had been sealed the second you decided to find a roommate on Reddit. “No, no, no.”

“What?” Satoru whimpered through his teeth, barely audible. “What ‘no’?”

If your hands were completely off the table…

A wave of heat flooded your face and dropped straight into your belly. Surely from disgust. Trust.

You shifted forward on your knees, your dress dragging through the oily mess on the floor. The fabric was already ruined and sticking to your skin. You braced one hand on his trembling thigh, leaned in, and took the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.

The taste was vile as hell.

Canola oil, baby oil, lube, and the bitter salt of his pre-cum all hit your tongue at once. You made a muffled, disgusted sound around him as your lips stretched and you sank down. The mixture mixed with your saliva and slid down your throat as he pushed deeper than you expected.

Satoru’s entire body jolted as the mushroomy head hit the back of your mouth.

“Whoa— oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked into a broken, high moan. His stomach flexed like he was trying not to fold in half. Both of his hands flew to your hair, oily fingers catching in your ponytail, clutching without quite pushing or pulling. I mean, you already had cum in your hair anyway. What was a little more oil and lube?

His hips twitched. His thighs trembled under your hand. He clearly had no idea what to do with himself.

You started moving, and it was messy from the first second.

Everything was slippery. Your lips kept sliding, saliva mixing with the grease until it dripped down his shaft in shiny, frothy strings. You had to suck harder just to keep any kind of rhythm, cheeks hollowing, tongue working in messy circles under the head every time you pulled up. The wet sounds filled the room — slick sucking, soft gagging when you took him too deep, his broken little whimpers.

You hated the taste.

You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor.

You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin.

And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off.

ANd what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.

Tingly heat was spreading low in your belly. Every throb along his length, every broken moan that slipped out of him, made you wetter. You weren’t supposed to be horny! You should’ve been so so disgusted. But the scent of him, the taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue, made your pussy clench around nothing. Your nipples were hard, rubbing against the inside of your dress. Your cunt felt hot and slick — whether from your own arousal or the oily sludge on the floor, you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

You bobbed deeper, taking him until your nose brushed the base and the ring dug into your skin, then pulled back with a wet gasp. A thick and slimy string of saliva and oil connected your lips to his cock before it broke.

Satoru was staring down at you like you’d personally broken his brain.

His chest was heaving. Tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes — pain, pleasure, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, it didn’t matter. His mouth hung open, glasses sliding down his nose.

Then his eyes dropped to your chest.

His gaze followed the way your dress had slipped lower during all the movement. Your tits were threatening to spill out completely. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

His hands left your hair and reached down. Big, warm palms cupped your breasts through the thin fabric first — almost careful. But then he yanked the neckline down hard, dragging the fabric under your arms, practically rrrrripping it open, until your tits spilled free.

A fresh tear tracked down his cheek as he stared at them like they were something holy.

“Holy fuck— your tits—” he breathed, cupping them fully. His thumbs brushed over your hard nipples before he started kneading with desperate, greedy hands. Squeezing, lifting, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers exactly like he had in the kitchen — except this time there was nothing holding him back, because you certainly wouldn’t make him stop. 

The moan you let out around his cock was involuntary and absolutely nobody’s business, alright? Your teeth grazed his sensitive skin and the vibration, combined with the impromptu bite, made his hips jerk violently. He let out a breathless gasp, hands tightening on your boobs almost painfully before he loosened his grip again, thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that sent sparks straight between your legs.

The lace of your panties was useless now, clinging to your soaked pussy lips.

But the dress had become a real problem, at least that’s what you were telling yourself. It was restricting your movement, getting in the way every time you tried to take him deeper. It was uncomfortable as hell, which was actually true.

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop!, lips shiny and swollen.

Fuck this dress. And probably him too.

You sat back on your heels and yanked it over your head, kicking it away. Now you were kneeling in nothing but your ruined lace panties — the ones you’d specifically worn because you were hoping to get laid tonight.

Well. You weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?

Satoru made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His wildest dream had just come true in the most deranged way possible.

You leaned back in and took him into your mouth again, sucking with more purpose now. One hand stayed wrapped around the base near the ring while your other hand stroked his thigh and lower stomach — anywhere to try and soothe him.

His clammy hands were right back on your bare tits, rolling them between his fingers like he was trying to memorize their exact shape. You moaned around him because it felt so fucking good. Unfairly good.

The taste was still awful. The room still reeked of canola oil. Satoru was still quietly crying above you — overwhelmed, terrified, and so turned on he could barely think straight. But the way he was touching you, the way he was falling apart in your mouth…

You were dripping straight through the lace right onto his fucking floor.

One of your hands snaked down your body. You pushed your panties aside and started rubbing desperate circles over your poor clit while you kept sucking him.

What a development. 

Righteous ideologies and all. Now you were naked on the floor of your incel roommate’s bedroom, sucking his cock while fingering yourself. Truly the most progressive way to handle this type of man.

Your pussy felt hot and aching. Your fingers slid through your own slick, making your hips twitch and another moan vibrate around his dick.

Satoru’s breathing sounded like a kettle about to boil over. His hands kept slipping on your oily skin, smearing the mess across your chest and shoulders. He was trapped in the most surreal, humiliating, perfect moment of his life — your mouth on him, you naked and touching yourself while the whole room smelled like a deep fryer.

He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.

“You’re— nghh— you’re actually getting off while—” His voice cracked as he looked down at you. You glanced up through your lashes, a little scowl on your flushed face, fingers still working between your legs.

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. The absurdity had burned straight through your shame. You were horny. Stupidly, painfully horny. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

Filthy sounds filled the room. He was crying. You were crying. Sweat was mixing with the oily mess coating your skin. You could taste your own tears mixed with the mess on his cock as they slid down your face. One of his hands was tangled in your ponytail, greasing it up nice and disgusting.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I can’t— ngh— I can’t believe this is real—”

You pulled off just enough to breathe. “Shut up and let me finish this,” you muttered, then sank back down, taking him as deep as the ring would allow.

His other hand relocated to your shoulder.

Then his dick throbbed hard against your tongue. Swelling, twitching and you knew he was about to blow.

You started to pull back, but his hands moved faster. One fisted tighter in your hair, the other gripped your shoulder hard. He held you in place. Rough. Desperate. But he didn’t mean to!

You made a surprised, muffled sound around him as his hips jerked.

“W-wait—fuck—I’m—!” he gasped, betrayed by his own body.

You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.

You manage to wrench your head back at the last second because there was no way in hell you were swallowing a mixture of cum and baby oil — popping off just in time. But it was too late to get completely clear.

Satoru came hard.

The first thick rope hit you across the cheek and lips. The next few painted messy white stripes across your chin, your chest, and down your neck. It kept cooooming in hot, twitchy pulses until he’d almost emptied his aching balls.

And suddenly you were back in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t a freaking Activia dripping down your tits.

It was him.

You stumbled backward onto your ass, cum cooling on your skin as he finally let go of you. You wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, smearing it further. He just stared down at you like he’d died and gone to heaven — you, sprawled on his floor, covered in his cum, panties twisted half-off your hips, your blushing cunt smiling up right at him and your panicked eyes unblinking.

Holy fucking nirvana, right there.

You felt disgusting. You felt filthy.

And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.

“Fuck— shit, fuck, fuck!” Satoru cursed, trying to stand up too fast. He slipped on the oily towel and nearly ate shit before catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you there, I just— it was too much, I panicked—”

He stumbled toward you on shaky legs, one hand reaching out like he was going to help you up, the other still hovering near his softening cock.

“Satoru,” you said, voice low. “Pull it off.”

He froze for half a second, then looked down.

And it was finally, finally softening. The angry red-purple was fading. The skin wasn’t stretched as tight anymore and there was a very small, very dangerous window before he’d be hard again and back in square one.

His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He grabbed the cock ring with both hands and yanked.

The sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was violent, painful, and made you cringe so so badly. The ring caught on the ridge for one horrible second before it finally slipped off with a wet smack and skidded across the floor.

For a moment, Satoru just knelt there, breathing hard through the fading pain. Fresh tears tracked down his flushed face as the relief finally hit him.

Then he looked at you. Really looked. At the mess he’d made across your pretty face and chest. At the absolute state of the room. At everything.

“I’m the worst,” he whispered. “I know I’m the worst. You should kick me out. You should call the cops. I didn’t mean to make it worse. You probably hate me—”

He looked like he was about to start ugly crying for real. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself for you to slap him.

And look — you wanted to. You wanted to go back in time so you would’ve never answered that fucking Reddit post, never answered his call, never come home tonight. r maybe… go back just a little bit. To when your tongue was sliding over his frenulum and you’d never been so turned on in your life.

Either way, you weren’t sure anymore. Your brain was more scrambled than the eggs you’d had for breakfast.

So instead of slapping him, you surged forward, grabbed his face with both of your hands, smearing his cum and your own arousal all over his jawline and kissed him hard enough to shut him up.

For half a second he stayed completely frozen — stunned that you were kissing him instead of murdering him on the spot. You nudged your tongue against his lips, urging him to kiss you back, because the last thing you needed right now was sucking your incel roommate off and then having him refuse to kiss you afterward. That would’ve been a new low. Truly historic.

But then he let out a shaky breath and kissed you back.

He kissed you desperately, messily, like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth. Saliva, cum, tears, and oil all mixed together as your tongues slid against each other. Teeth clicked. His hands came up to grab your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his own. He whimpered needily into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours like he was starving for it.

His glasses got knocked even more crooked.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, you reached down and started yanking your ruined lace panties off. They were twisted around your thighs and sticking to your skin from all the mess.

Satoru, still breathing hard and clearly trying to regain some sense of control, decided this was THE moment, HIS moment to be useful.

“Here— let me help,” he muttered, reaching down with both hands.

The two of you fumbled together in some weird horny trance, his fingers sliding against your thigh as he tried to tug the lace down your leg.

But his hand slid right off your slick skin and he lost his balance completely. With a startled gasp! he pitched forward and crashed down right on top of you, pinning you to the floor.

His full weight pressed you into the cold hardwood. Chest to chest, hips slotted between your thighs. The kisses making him hard again, dick now twitching insistently against your tummy.

Then Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked down at you. His hair was a mess, but there was something almost determined in his expression now.

“I’ve got it,” he said. Yeah. He definitely  got this. He’d seen the porn. He’d read the r/sex threads. He was a man, the man! He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Fluent in the dickology! Show you what a high-value male can do. You'll respect it. You’ll want it!

You stared up at him and raised one eyebrow.“…Are you sure?”

He looked faintly offended, but reached between your bodies anyway, grabbed his cock, and lined himself up against your slick folds. The blunt head nudged against your entrance before he pushed in with one unsteady thrust and you were honestly surprised he found your hole on a first try.

The stretch was intense. His cock bullied its way into your tight cunt, the sudden fullness making your back arch slightly off the floor. And it made you think that maybe… just maybe he’s a virgin incel but he somehow actually knows how to fuck?

Satoru made a choked sound above you. He braced his hands on either side of your head and started moving, a little too fast, a little too rough, like he was following some mental checklist of “how alpha males fuck” or something. 

His hips snapped forward, rolling against yours. On a few of his clumsy thrusts, the sharp angle of his hipbone dragged right across your swollen clit.

A spark of pleasure shot right through you, made your breath hitch and his dick catch inside of you. Your fingers scratched on his shoulders and for a second you were hopeful, hopeful that perhaps incels were just involuntarily celibate men with a dick game like this.

It died almost instantly. His rhythm fell apart just as the plushy walls of your pussy fully enveloped him fully in the slick warmth. His movement turned erratic as his hips started stuttering.

“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”

So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.

With a humiliated groan he slammed into your cervix one last time and came haard, painting your walls in thick, sticky white. His wobbly arms gave out again and he collapsed on top of you not very gracefully, face buried right back into your neck as he rode out the pathetic orgasm. He was breathing hard, the sound mixing with the wet squelching of oil, cum, and sweat between your bodies every time either of you shifted.

You stared sideways at the messy white strands of his hair currently tickling your pulse point, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock. The frustration burning hot alongside with the ghost ache right in between legs.

If he had just let you ride him instead. Ugh.

“…Really?” you said flatly.

Satoru, mortified, made a small devastated noise into your neck and laced his fingers with yours like that would somehow make it better.

You hadn’t come from the fingering earlier. You definitely hadn’t come from his forty-five-second marathon. 

You shoved at his shoulder.

“Satoru.”

He made a small, satisfied noise.

“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”

His eyes flew open. The bliss drained from his face instantly. He slowly nodded, guilty, not knowing if he should be terrified or glad.

You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch.

You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and stared down at him.

“You ruined my date,” you said, voice low. “You were stupid enough to trap your own dick in a death trap and made me come home to deal with it. You came all over me without letting me cum, and then you creampied me in under a minute.”

He opened his mouth, “I was just claiming what’s mine—”ready to say something even more stupid.

You cut him off, because you were not listening to that right now and ever fucking again. “Don’t. I swear to god, if you say one more word of that pseudo-alpha, podcast-bro bullshit right now, I can promise you this will be the first and last time you ever have your dick in any pussy. Ever.”

He froze.

You leaned in, eyes narrowed, pussy suddenly drying up at high speed.

“I’m serious, Satoru. All that ‘high-value male,’ ‘she’ll respect dominance,’ ‘women secretly want to be put in their place’ garbage? It’s not cute. It’s not hot. It’s not working. It makes you sound like a loser. You’re only lucky that I’m stupid enough to actually fucking like you.”

And Satoru deadass had nothing to say, because it didn’t make sense, yet it made all the sense. And in the middle of the gears grinding he blinked up at you because… did you just tell him you like him?

Before he could grab your chin and kiss you stupid again, you pointed between your legs.

“Since you made this mess, you’re going to clean it up. Now.”

The color drained from his face as he stared at you. “Y-you want me to eat out my cum?”

“Did I stutter?”

He was too stunned and properly terrified to argue. He knew that if he didn’t get his shit together right now, this really might be the first and last time he ever saw pussy in real life. So he scrambled down between your thighs without another word.

He’s going to do it for the love of the game. Can’t be that bad, right?

He gulped as he nestled between your soft thighs, eyeing your tight little hole as a little trail of his cum mixed with your frothy slick leaked onto the floor below you. And it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.

The reluctant pout on his face made it clear he was weighing eating his own cum against the very real possibility of never getting to fuck you again, so you made it easier for him. You grabbed a fistful of his messy white hair and yanked his face straight against your pussy. His nose immediately buried right between your wet folds, tickling the sensitive flesh.

And maybe he was currently terrified of you, or it was the fact that he finally smelled your sex up close — either way, he was now desperate to please you.

The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious.

He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.

For fuck’s sake, you lasted maybe fifteen seconds. You reached down, grabbed his silky hair again, and yanked his head up to adjust him.

He furrowed his brows at you, confused and a little offended, like he was about to argue — until his tongue accidentally flicked right over your clit.

His eyes widened slightly.

He did it again, slower this time. A testing little flick. Eyes wide, as if asking what the hell just happened, feeling the little knob jumping.

You let out a shaky moan, fingers tightening in his hair.

“That’s my clit, Satoru.”

His eyes darkened and he dove back in with completely different energy. Okay, he knew where your cute little clit was. Now onto figuring out how to make you come on his tongue. 

He started with the licking, up and down, until he pushed into your leaking hole. He almost immediately tasted his own cum, still warm, thick, and disgustingly bitter against your sweet pussy juices, and he made a guttural sound right against you.

He should have been disgusted, appalled, mortified through his militant incel brain. But why did it taste so wrong, it tasted so so right?

Eating himself right out of you — it was so pathetic, so raw, so hot. And you couldn’t fucking believe you actually made him do it.

Your pussy fluttered and he dove in like a man possessed.

A desperate whine vibrated against your clit as he started licking in earnest. Messy, unrestrained, starving. He was slurping loudly, tongue pushing deep to get more of the mixture, swallowing it down like he couldn’t get enough. Every time he tasted more of himself leaking out of you, another broken moan escaped him.

His hands gripped your thighs hard, holding you open as he buried his face deeper. He was whining and whimpering into your cunt like tasting his own cum inside you had flipped some primal, pathetic switch in his brain neither of you even knew existed.

“Fuck— you taste so good— I taste so good on you—” Every few seconds he would pull back just enough to breathe, drooling, and mutter broken little things against your skin. And you were once again left wondering where all the skill came from.

Then he’d dive right back in, tongue flicking over your clit before dragging down to lap at your hole again, like he was trying to clean you out and make you messy all over again at the same time.

It was deranged.

It was filthy.

And it was fucking working.

Your hand fisted in his hair, gripping tight. He moaned loudly at the rough treatment, the sound muffled against your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, biting then sucking on it, then flattening to drag it through your folds like he was trying to devour you whole.

You were gushing at this point, and not a drop ever spilled on the floor as he slurped you like his favourite boba flavour. His touch spread across your entire body as the orgasm built after getting edged the entire evening to fucking oblivion.

“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct.

Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?

He kitten-licked your poor clit, sending sparks right to your lower belly. Your back arched off the floor as his hand snaked up at the right damn time to flick your nipple.

Oh.

“Holy— ngh— fuck, ‘Toru—!” you screamed and came all over his poor face, thighs clamping around his head as you tried to suffocate him with your spasming pussy. You shook like you’d been electrocuted and he kept licking and licking, to the point you weren’t sure if you came again or if it was just one big orgasm. He wanted to taste every damn second of you falling apart because of him, for him.

His face was a mess. Half of it was shiny and wet with your slick, lips prettily swollen. He’d thrown his glasses somewhere on the floor in the middle of it. His pupils were practically heart-shaped, and he looked so wrecked it was beautiful.

He was so cum-drunk he only stared up at you with his mouth open, resting his cheek against your inner thigh, waiting.

And your eyes might’ve been heart-shaped too, because the sight of him made you throb all over again.

“Fuck,” you almost moaned, reaching down to grab his shoulders. “Come here.”

Satoru didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up your body like he was starving for it — for you. He crashed his lips against yours and the kiss was fucking messy. You could taste yourself on him as he smeared your slick across your chin, tongues sliding sloppily against each other like you were trying to devour one another.

His hands found your waist. He shifted his weight and rolled the two of you until his back was against the bed and you were straddling him in his lap.

You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him. His chest was heaving. And he was looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Everything was still disgustingly sticky, but the way he looked at you made your heart go thump thump thump in a way it never had before. So you reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and sank down onto him in one slow, slick motion.

Satoru’s head tipped back against the bed with a broken groan that made the muscles in his neck jump. His hands immediately gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your ass like he needed to anchor himself.

“Fuuck—” he slurred, voice so dazed. “Oh my god— you’re so warm— so fucking tight—tighter—”

You started moving, rolling your hips in frantic circles. Every time you sank down, you could feel the tip kissing your cervix, nudging right up against the entrance of your womb as he completely bottomed out.

It didn’t take long before his hands tightened on your ass and he started helping you. He pulled you down onto him faster, guiding your hips with desperate hands while lifting his own to meet you halfway.

“Shit— just like that,” he whimpered, kissing all over your jaw as his tip kissed your poor cervix again and again and again. “Ngh— you’re milking me so good—”

He was completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, babbling whatever came to his mind as you rode him. And every time you clenched around him, another broken sound slipped out of him.

His mouth searched for yours again, licking into the corners of your lips before kissing you deep. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and he immediately sucked on them, tongue rolling around your fingers with a needy moan that made your pussy flutter and squeeze around him even harder. Your swollen clit dragged over his lap and lower stomach with every roll, his happy trail tickling your sensitive folds and sending sparks up your spine.

Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.

One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other slid up and wrapped around your neck. His thumb brushed along the side of your throat as he started moving you faster, pulling you down onto his cock with more urgency. The sound of your skin loud.

“I’m so close,” he warned desperately against your lips. “Fuck— I’m gonna cum— you feel too good—”

His hand squeezed, holding you in place as he helped you bounce on him. Every time you sank down, he lifted his hips to meet you, fucking up into you until your jaw rattled. He was panting hard, forehead pressed against yours, completely pussy-drunk.

Satoru came with a broken, drawn-out moan, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside. He held you down against him, grinding up as he pumped his cum into you like he was unconsciously trying to fuck it into your womb. His hand on your neck tightened just enough to pin you down against him while he trembled through it.

Both of you were breathing hard. He held you close and kissed the side of your head as he hugged you.

“D-did you cum?” he mumbled against your skin, still dazed and half out of it.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, deadpan.

“WHAT?”

He blinked up at you, still glassy-eyed and fucked-out. “You squeezed me so hard I thought you did! Okay then— cum then!”

You stared at him for a second, somewhere between offended, frustrated, and fond, before letting out a short laugh.

“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”

You were still softly rolling your hips, using his softening cock like a dildo while you were still determined to cum again. Satoru just watched you, half-intently, half blissed-out, still breathing hard, feeling his cum escaping your pussy and pooling in his lap. After a moment, one of his hands slid down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit easily this time and started rubbing you.

“Fuck— you’re still so wet,” he mumbled, eyes locked on where you were grinding against him. “Keep going… I’ve got you.”

So you kept moving on his semi-hard cock while he fingered you, the combination making your thighs shake. Your breath started hitching and Satoru was watching your face closely now, still drunk but trying to focus.

When your mouth fell open so prettily and your eyes fluttered as he just hit that spot inside you with the angle of his cock, his other hand moved to your hip almost automatically. He gripped you and started moving you himself, guiding you in short, deliberate rolls so his cock and his fingers kept pressing right against that same sensitive spot from both sides.

“There?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Right there?”

You could only nod, a broken whimper slipping out of you as you started tipping forward, head on his sweaty shoulder until your thighs were trembling hard and you felt like a jelly.

You came with a sharp, shaky moan, clenching around his soft cock as the overstimulating orgasm tingled through you. Satoru held you through it, still moving you gently and praising you until you completely slumped forward against his chest.

He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.

And you stayed slumped against Satoru’s chest for a long minute, both of you just breathing each other in. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and reality slowly started to creep back in.

The room was in fucking ruin. You were both coated in a sticky mess, the mattress behind you was most likely ruined, and the floor was dangerously slippery. It smelled like greasy sex.

“Well,” you said.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

You slowly peeled yourself off his chest, shivering as the cool air hit your slick, overheated skin. 

You looked down at him and he still looked completely fucked-out, and you decided you could get used to that look. As you stretched, you felt his cum trailing down your inner thighs. Satoru’s eyes followed it from the front row, his spent dick giving a weak twitch at the sight.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. You paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “…Wanna join?”

Satoru’s heart practically stopped. His eyes widened and for a second he looked like he was going to follow you like a lost, oily puppy. But then he glanced around at the absolute state of his bedroom and reality hit him again.

“I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean this up a bit first. You go ahead.”

You pouted but gave him a soft, understanding nod. “Don’t take too long, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed one of his random t-shirts from the floor and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Left alone on the floor, Satoru stared at the opposite wall for a long time. He was deadass completely re-evaluating his entire existence.

He had just experienced the most surreal, life-changing two hours of his life, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely whipped for you. For once, he didn’t care what his old incel education had to say about it.

He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and wiped a smear of baby oil off the screen before opening Reddit.

r/relationship_advice

I (M) think I’m in love with my roommate (F) and I might have just completely fucked everything up in the most humiliating way possible

Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me.

I’ve been living with this girl for almost a year. She’s my roommate. For the longest time I thought I had everything figured out. I believed that if I just kept doing enough, she’d eventually see me as a potential mate. She didn’t, obviously.

Tonight I did something so fucking stupid I still can’t believe I’m typing this. I got a cock ring stuck on my dick. I panicked and called her while she was on a date and basically begged her to come home. She helped me. She got it off. And then… something else happened. Something I didn’t expect at all. And now she’s in the shower and I feel like I fucked up our friendship beyond repair. My entire worldview feels kinda off.

I think I’m in love with her. I’ve been a terrible roommate. I’ve been a terrible person tbh. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I think I love her. And I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

Please help. And be nice this time.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes

Is this the same guy who posted that viral “AITA for expecting my roommate to fuck me because I did the dishes” thread a few weeks ago?

u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes

You fucked her? Good shit bro. Don’t fuck it up this time.

Satoru looked up when you walked out of the hallway wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries. Something in his chest went soft at the sight.

He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other. He looked like he had no idea what he was doing.

You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look.

“‘Toru,” you said gently. “You’re not going to be able to clean this mess up right now. Just go wash up.” You paused, biting your lip. “Let’s just sleep in my room tonight, alright?”

He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. That was all it took. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.

He took the fastest, most aggressive shower of his entire life, scrubbing the residual oil and shame off his skin like he was trying to erase the last few hours.

When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm. It was safe. It made something in his chest loosen.

You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck with a soft, contented sigh. You fell asleep almost instantly.

Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek. A quiet, overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, he reached for his phone on the nightstand one last time.

He opened Reddit and went back to his post. The comments had already blown up again — some people calling the story fake, others demanding more details about the cock ring, a few calling him a simp.

Satoru smiled to himself.

He typed out one final edit.

Update: nvm, she’s tucked into my side. Take this as a PSA to all the other incels out there. Admins, please flag this as SOLVED.

── Dividers from petalpx and fairytopea and melocor!

[momorikoz]

ART REFERENCES IN JUJUTSU KAISEN SEASON 3 OPENING (2026)

Dead Mother I - Egon Schiele

Camille Monet and a Child in the Artist’s Garden in Argenteuil - Claude Monet

Kashiwade nu Hasuhi - Utagawa Kuniyoshi

Ophelia - John Everett Millais

Wada Heita Tanenaga - Utagawa Kuniyoshi

Two Sleeping Children - Peter Paul Reuebns

The Scream - Edvard Munchus

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

For the Valko requests, I would love to see some cute family fluff between MC, Valko, his cousins, grandma, and his sister (I think he had a sister in his lore, correct me if I am wrong), because I want to see how MC would get along with Valko's family. 🐺

𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄

synopsis: when valko brings you home for the first time, he warns you about everything: his grandmother’s food, his sister’s stare, his cousin’s stories, the family jokes that always cut too close. he forgets to warn you that love in his house is not gentle or quiet, but loud, practical, mercilessly observant, and served warm at the kitchen table. cw/tw: valko x reader. very soft domestic fluff. light family teasing. read here: ao3 ⋅ tumblr

Valko lost his nerve three steps from the door.

It was a small death, but you saw it happen; the brave lift of his chin, the twitch in his jaw, the small, tragic collapse of his entire face when a crash came from inside the house.

His hand tightened around yours.

“Dobro,” he said.

Another crash.

From inside, and older woman called, “If that's my good plate, I will put someone in the ground before supper.”

Valko closed his eyes. You turned toward him.

He opened one eyes. “She loves plates.”

“More than people?”

“Depends on the people.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and relief moved through him all at once, softening his shoulders, loosening the frightened line of his mouth. He'd been nervous all morning. Badly nervous. Valko, who could grin with blood on his teeth and make danger look like a door he'd simply forgotten to knock on, had spent the whole walk here giving you warnings no sane person could have prepared for.

Do not let Mika read your palm. He makes things up and then believes them.

Do not compliment Baba's curtains unless you want curtains.

Do not say you're full.

And, most importantly, if anyone mentions the soup incident, Valko had said, grave as a condemned man, they're lying.

You had asked what the soup incident was.

He had started to walk faster.

Now he stood before the old wooden door with your fingers caught in his, trying to look calm and producing, somehow, the exact expression of a wolf about to be bathed.

“Valko,” you said softly.

“Yes?”

“You're shaking.”

“I'm not shaking.”

“You are.”

“I’m containing myself.”

“From what?”

“Hereditary embarrassment.”

The door flew open.

A girl about his age stood on the other side, dark-eyed and grinning, with flour on her cheek and murder in her posture. She took one look at Valko’s hand around yours, then lifted her gaze to his face with the slow delight of someone finding a knife exactly where she had hoped one would be.

A slow smile cut across her face.

“Oh,” she smirked. “So this is why you changed your shirt twice.”

Valko made a sound. Small, wounded, entirely unlike a wolf.

“I changed once.”

“You changed twice. The first shirt was the blue one. The second was the one that made you look like you were going to court. This...This is the third.”

His ears went red.

The woman held out her hand to you. “Milena. His sister.”

“Unfortunately,” Valko added.

“Fortunately. Without me, you'd still think soap is optional in winter.”

“It isn't optional.”

“Because of me.”

You took Milena's hand. Her grip was warm, firm, and full of judgement she hadn't yet decided to use.

Behind her, the house breathed out heat. Bread, onions, some in old wood, something sweet cooling on a counter. There were voices everywhere, layered and crossing. One person laughing while another complained, a child humming under a table, chairs scraping, a kettle whistling like a bird losing patience.

Milena stepped aside. “Come in before Baba starts saying we were raised by wolves.”

Valko muttered, “We were.”

She looked at him. “And still, some of us learned manners.”

You crossed the threshold. The house was smaller than the noise made it seem, or maybe the noise had simply learned to fill every corner. Framed photographs climbed the walls in crooked rows. Herbs hung drying above the kitchen window. Nothing matched, and yet everything looked touched, mended, argued over... kept.

Valko leaned close as he helped you out of your coat.

“Last chance,” he whispered. “We can run.”

You looked past him to where an old woman stood near the stove, hands folded over her apron, watching you with bright, wolfish eyes.

“Too late,” you whispered back. “I think she heard you.”

“I hear everything,” the old woman said.

Valko went still.

Milena smiled into her shoulder.

The old woman crossed the kitchen with the slow authority of someone who had ruled this house before any of them had teeth. She was small, broad in the shoulders, silver-haired, with flour on her wrist and no softness wasted in her face. The softness, you realised, was elsewhere. In the bread covered by a towel, in the chair pulled out before you reached it, in the way Valko lowered his head without being asked when she came close.

“Baba,” he said, and for the first time that day, his voice lost its jokes.

She, of course, ignored him.

Instead, she took your face between both hands.

Her palms smelled of rosemary, yeast, and soap. Her thumbs rested beneath your cheekbones, and for one strange second the whole house seemed to lean closer. The cousins, the kettle, the old boards, even Valko, holding his breath beside you.

“So,” Baba Vesna said. “You are the reason he forgets to eat.”

“I eat,” Valko protested.

Teta Marika appeared by the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “You came here last week, opened the pantry, stared at a sack of potatoes for six minutes, then said, ‘I wonder what she’s doing.’”

“That was taken out of context.”

“What was the context?” you asked, because love had made you brave and terrible.

Valko looked betrayed. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

A boy leaning backwards on his chair nearly lost balance from laughing, another cousin caught the chair by its back without looking up from peeling an apple.

Baba Vesna patted your cheek once and released you. “Sit, dušo. Eat something before my family embarrass me properly.”

Valko gave a strangled laugh. “Before?”

No one listened to him.

You were placed at the long wooden table as if the decision had been made before you arrived. A bowl appeared, then bread, then butter, then a small plate of pickled vegetables. Teta Marika, Valko's aunt, kissed the air beside your cheeks and took the small gift you had brought. Mika announced that he already knew your favourite colour from Valko’s face. Luka told him that was the stupidest sentence ever spoken in the kitchen, which Mika accepted as praise. The little one beneath the table emerged, solemn and bread-dusted, and introduced himself as Niko.

“Are you going to marry him?” Niko asked.

Valko walked directly into the side of a chair.

The whole kitchen paused. You pressed your lips together.

Milena leaned against the doorway, radiant with cruelty. “Careful, Niko. Val only has two knees.”

“Niko,” Teta Marika turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “We ask guests if they want juice first.”

Niko nodded, absorbing this etiquette with grave importance. “Do you want juice before you marry him?”

Valko covered his face with both hands. You bit down on your smile so hard it almost hurt. This wasn't what you had expected.

Some foolish, frightened part of you had imagined a den in the old sense. Teeth, watchful eyes, a family arranged around blood and law, waiting to decide whether your bones could be allowed near theirs. Valko had never spoken of them casually. Whenever he said home, something tender and embarrassed moved through him, as though the word itself had fingers and knew exactly where to touch.

Now you sat beneath a crooked lamp while his grandmother tore bread with her hands and put the first piece on your plate.

“Eat,” Baba Vesna said.

You obeyed.

The bread was warm enough to steam between your fingers. The crust cracked softly, butter melted into it in golden lines. Across the table, Valko watched you take the first bite as if your mouth held judgment from heaven.

You chewed. Swallowed.

“It’s delicious.”

Baba Vesna clicked her tongue. “Of course it is wonderful. I made it.”

Mika leaned towards you. “He talked about you after the market yesterday.”

Valko’s hand hit the table. “No.”

“Yes, you did” Luka said sticking his tongue out.

“No.”

“You said, and I quote, 'she chooses fruit with such care'.”

The table went quiet for half a breath, your hand stilled around the bread. Valko looked at Luka as if betrayal had entered the room wearing his cousin’s face.

“That was private.”

“You said it in the kitchen.”

“That makes it private.”

Milena sat across from you and rested her chin in her hand. “He also said you have kind hands.”

Valko’s mouth opened, nothing came out. Your heart did something foolish inside your chest.

The teasing had worked him bright and flustered, but beneath it, something softer trembled. He was embarrassed, yes. Horribly, so. Beautifully, so. Yet the thing underneath was more dangerous than shame. This was exposure. A curtain pulled open in a room he had spent so long keeping dim.

He had spoken of you here.

At this table. In this warm, loud house. To these people who teased him because they knew what he looked like with no armour on. He had brought you home long before he ever brought your body through the door.

Baba Vesna filled your bowl with soup.

“He was always like this,” she said.

“Baba, please.”

“He was a strange child,” she said.

Valko groaned. “Please.”

“A sweet child,” Teta Marika corrected.

“A dramatic child,” Luka said.

“A biting child,” Milena added.

Valko pointed at her. “You bit first.”

“You looked biteable.”

“You see what I mean?” Valko turned to you with helpless outrage. “This is what I survived.”

There was love in it, the kind that had been cooked too long and reduced into something strong enough to stain. They spoke to him as if they had known every version of him and chosen, again and again, to keep putting food in front of whichever one came home.

You looked at him while he argued with Mika about whether a stolen spoon counted as a childhood trauma.

He caught you looking. For a moment, the noise thinned.

There he was.

Valko with his hair refusing every law of decency. Valko trying so hard to survive his own family and failing beautifully. His eyes met yours with a nervous brightness that made you want to reach across the table and be cruel to every fear that had ever found him.

Then Niko pointed his spoon at you.

“Are you keeping him?”

The kitchen stopped.

Valko made a tiny sound into his bowl.

Milena closed her eyes as if praying for patience and finding none. “Niko.”

“What? Mika said maybe she is keeping him.”

His gaze dropped to the table, to the bread by his hand, to the small old cuts in the wood. The blush still clung to him, but it had changed into something quieter now. Hope, perhaps. Or terror wearing hope’s coat.

You could have laughed. Everyone would have let you. It would have been easy to throw the question back into the room like a toy and watch them tear it apart.

Instead, beneath the table, you found Valko’s hand.

His fingers closed around yours at once.

“I’d like to,” you said.

The house held itself still for half a breath.

Then Baba Vesna nodded, once, as if some old contract had been signed in soup and honey.

“Good,” she said. “He is difficult, but warm.”

Valko bowed his head.

His shoulders shook.

At first you thought he was upset. Then you realised he was laughing, quietly, helplessly, with one hand over his mouth and the other holding yours under the table like he meant to keep it there until winter.

Mika groaned. “Ah, look at him. Finished. Completely finished.”

Milena reached for the pickles. “Good. He needed finishing.”

Teta Marika smiled into her tea. “Eat more, zlato. You will need strength.”

“For Valko?” you asked.

“For all of us.”

Dinner became less a meal than a storm with chairs.

Bowls moved, hands reached, stories climbed over one another and died unfinished because someone remembered a better accusation. Luka asked you practical questions in a calm voice: where you liked to walk, whether Valko had shown you the old river path, whether he still pretended not to like sweet things. Mika tried to read your palm and declared that you were fated to own a troublesome dog.

“That's just Valko,” Milena said.

“I am not a dog.”

“True,” Luka said. “Dogs listen.”

Valko began quietly placing the best pieces of food on your plate.

A soft carrot, the inside of the bread, a dumpling he pretended to move away from himself and somehow abandoned beside your spoon. He was not subtle. He had never been subtle. He was a wolf trying to hide a whole deer behind a napkin.

You noticed on the fourth offering.

His family noticed on the first.

Baba Vesna said nothing until Valko tried to give you the last honey cake. Then she leaned back in her chair and looked at him over her tea.

“Ah,” she said.

Valko froze.

It was one syllable. It landed like a bell.

“What?” he said.

“No, no.” She waved him off. “Continue. Starve for romance. Very noble.”

Mika threw his head back.

You picked up the honey cake before Valko could die at the table and broke it in two, placing half on his plate. “There,” you said. “No starving.”

He looked at the cake.

Then he looked at you.

His expression opened in a way that made the room, somehow, feel too small for your heart. It opened with that unguarded, bewildered softness he sometimes gave you when kindness arrived before he had prepared himself to receive it.

Milena saw it.

Her teasing quieted.

For a moment, she only watched him with something old and protective in her face.

Then she stood. “Come help me with plates.”

Valko blinked. “Me?”

“Her.” Milena pointed at you.

Valko frowned. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That's not a reason.”

“It has worked on you for years.”

You rose before he could protest again. Milena took two plates from the table and handed you none of them, which told you at once that this had nothing to do with helping.

She led you down a narrow hallway lined with photographs.

Behind you, Valko’s voice rose. “Do not interrogate her.”

The hallway smelled faintly of beeswax and dried herbs. The noise of the kitchen softened behind you, still there, still golden, but now wrapped in walls. Milena stopped by a window overlooking the yard and leaned her hip against the sill.

For the first time all evening, she let the smile leave her face.

“He likes you,” she said.

You smiled gently. “I got that impression.”

“No.” Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen. “He likes people easily. He likes old men who tell bad stories, stray cats that scratch him, children who throw rocks at windows because they want attention. Valko is built stupid that way.”

A laugh escaped you.

Milena folded her arms.

“He brings things home,” she continued. “Broken things, angry things. Things he thinks no one else will be gentle with.” Her gaze moved towards the kitchen, where Valko’s voice lifted in protest. “He does not bring people home.”

Your throat tightened.

From the kitchen, Valko shouted, “It wasn't soup. It was stew.”

Mika shouted back, “Stew cannot make a grown man cry.”

“I was overwhelmed by flavour.”

Milena closed her eyes for one second. “Bože, give me strength.”

You laughed softly.

She looked at you again, sharper now.

“He was nervous all week,” she said. “Changed his shirt three times. Asked me if the house smelled too much like onions. Asked Luka if his laugh was strange. Asked Baba if she could please not tell the story about the goat.”

“The goat?”

“Later.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “Maybe never.”

You glanced back towards the kitchen.

He had asked if his laugh was strange.

Something in you ached with such tenderness that it almost felt like anger.

You looked down.

“He didn’t need to worry,”

“He is clumsy with precious things,” she said. “Because he thinks his hands are only good for breaking them, even when he is careful. Especially then.”

“So be kind,” she said. “Or be cruel quickly. He will survive either, but I prefer to know which one I’m dealing with.”

There it was.

The knife under the table. The love with its teeth intact. You didn't resent her for it, you thought, strangely, that you liked her more for it.

“I’m not here to hurt him,”

“Most people aren’t, at first.”

“Milena.”

Milena’s gaze narrowed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” you admitted.

“With any of this,” you continued. “He makes everything feel…” You searched for the word and hated every pretty one that came. Fated. Wild. Tender. All too polished for the mess he made of your heart. “He makes everything feel like I’ve been walking past a door my whole life, and he is the idiot who opened it with his shoulder.”

Milena stared at you.

Then she laughed once, sharp and startled.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re gone too.”

You looked down, caught.

She seemed satisfied. “Good.”

“Is that approval?”

“That is me deciding not to be difficult.”

“You were being difficult?”

“Dušo,” she said, and now her smile had teeth in it, “I was being polite.”

When you returned to the kitchen, Valko was waiting near the doorway as if he had tried to remain seated and failed.

His eyes moved from you to Milena. “What did you say to her?”

Milena walked past him. “That you were adopted.”

“I’m not.”

“Emotionally, you're a wet dog we found in the rain.”

He watched her go, wounded on principle, then turned to you with genuine concern. “What did she actually say?”

You reached up and brushed flour from his sleeve. “That you’re warm.”

“That was Baba.”

“Family consensus.”

His mouth twitched. “You are enjoying this.”

“I am.”

“You were supposed to be intimidated.”

“By Mika?”

“By the bloodline. The history. The general atmosphere of teeth.”

“Mika told me my palm says I’ll own a dog.”

Valko sighed.

You reached up and plucked the dish towel from his shoulder. “You have flour on your sleeve.”

He looked down, surprised, as if his own body had been making decisions without him. Then he looked back at you, and the kitchen noise faded once more, though this time it was only the two of you making the world small.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

The question was casual enough for anyone else to miss the tremor underneath. You heard it. The naked, waiting part. You thought of his hand shaking outside the door. Baba Vesna taking your face between her palms, of bread steaming in your fingers, of honey cake divided in two, of Milena saying he doesn't bring people home.

“I’m all right,” you said. “Are you?”

Valko smiled too quickly. “I’m alive.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

His smile softened.

For once, he did not joke immediately. It cost him something. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed at his side, reaching for mischief and finding courage instead.

“I wanted them to like you,” he said. “I wanted you to like them.”

“I do”

“I wanted…” He stopped, then laughed under his breath. “I don’t know. Something stupid.”

He looked towards the kitchen, where his family had resumed their noise without mercy. Mika was accusing Luka of stealing the larger piece of cake. Baba Vesna had taken down a tin from the highest shelf, probably containing either biscuits or secrets.

“Valko, stop hiding her. I have photographs.”

Horror returned to his face with magnificent speed.

“No.”

“Yes,”

“No photographs.”

“Naked baby photos,” Mika added.

Valko went pale. “You do not have those.”

Teta Marika’s voice drifted after him, serene and deadly. “We have everything.”

He grabbed your hand. “We’re leaving.”

You let him pull you three steps before Baba Vesna appeared in the doorway holding a small album to her chest.

“Sit,” she said.

Valko sat.

It was remarkable how quickly a wolf could become a grandson.

For the next hour, they showed you the evidence of his life.

Valko missing two front teeth and glaring at the camera as though betrayed by dentistry. Valko asleep under the table with one hand buried in a dog’s fur. Valko at thirteen, all elbows and outrage, holding a fish half his size while crying because he had to put it back.

There was Valko covered in mud, Valko wearing a paper crown, Valko with Milena’s arm hooked around his neck while he pretended to hate her and leaned into her anyway. Valko standing beside Baba Vesna in the garden, holding a basket of tomatoes like he had been entrusted with the fate of nations.

Each photograph was another small door.

You had known him in pieces: the grin, the hunger, the awkward tenderness, the jokes he threw like branches over deep water. Here was the rest of him. Here was the child who had survived becoming himself because these hands had fed him, scolded him, dragged him upright, and remembered his softness when he tried to outgrow it.

At some point, while everyone argued over whether the goat incident happened before or after the soup incident, Valko bent close to you.

“You don’t have to keep looking,” he murmured.

You turned a page.

A tiny Valko stared up from the album, holding a wooden spoon like a sword.

“Yes,” you said. “I do.”

He stared at you.

Then, very briefly, he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

It lasted only a second. A shy, exhausted surrender. No one commented on it, though you knew every person in the room saw. That seemed to be another house rule. They would mock the wound, yes, but they protected the pulse.

Later, when the cups were cleared and the album returned to its shelf of holy embarrassments, you stepped outside for air.

The yard was cold, dark and soft around the edges. Herbs grew beneath the window, yhe old trees leaned towards the house as if listening. Behind you, the kitchen glowed gold, laughter pressing against the glass.

Valko followed after a moment, closing the door carefully behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You looked at him. “For what?”'

“The interrogation. The photographs. Mika. The marriage question. The soup litigation.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Milena.”

“I like Milena.”

“That means she behaved.”

“She said she was being polite.”

He winced. “Then she liked you.”

You leaned back against the porch railing, and he stood in front of you with his hands in his pockets, rocking once on his heels like he wanted to come closer and had forgotten the law of his own body.

Through the window, you could see Baba Vesna pretending to wipe the table while watching you both with shameless interest. You lifted a hand and waved.

She waved back.

Valko turned, saw her, and groaned. “For the love of...Baba.”

“She loves you.”

“That's her usual excuse for crimes.”

“It’s a good one.”

He looked back at you, and the teasing left him slowly, piece by piece. Out here, with the house at his back, he seemed caught between the wild thing and the loved thing. The wolf and the boy in the paper crown. The man who had brought you to the threshold with shaking hands and still tried to joke like fear could be made harmless if he gave it a funny name.

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

“Which part?”

“When Niko asked if you were keeping me.”

The question came lightly, too lightly. A feather laid over a blade.

You reached for him.

This time, Valko did not hesitate. He came into your space at once, as if pulled by a string tied somewhere behind his ribs. His hands settled at your waist, careful at first, then warmer when you didn't move away.

“I meant it,”

His eyes searched yours.

“For tonight?”

“For longer than that.”

He didn't kiss you immediately. Somehow, that made it worse. He stood there and let the answer enter him, slowly, like someone opening the door to a room he had been told was empty and finding it lit.

Inside, Mika yelled, “Are they kissing?”

Valko dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

“Leave them. He is finally being normal.”

You laughed.

He looked at you then, and the last of his embarrassment broke open into something bright, something almost boyish

“Welcome home,” he said, very softly.

You touched his cheek.

Behind him, the old house breathed and creaked and held its golden noise. Inside, his family waited with tea, teeth, stories, and a place at the table already made yours.

“Welcome home, Valko.”

© 2026, xxsyluslittlecrowxx. dividers by @uzmacchiato

[bedrottingdoll]

꒰˖`ꉂ 𝓦ho 𝒟o 𝒴ou 𝓦αnt? ✮˖ ݁.꒱

𝒞ospℓαყer!𝐵oყfriend (𝒮cαrαmouche & 𝐿ohen) x AFAB!𝑅eader ꒰ 𝑀ODERN 𝒜U ꒱

🕸️️๋࣭ ⭑ Summary: Your boyfriend looks exactly like Scαrαmouche in real life, and he's built a massive TikTok following from cosplaying him. One day, while he's filming, you see Lohen's burst animation leak and lose every functioning brain cell you have. He notices. So he does what any normal, well-adjusted person would do… fucks you in the Scαrαmouche cosplay until you forget Lohen's name. And when that doesn't fully work? He shows up in a Lohen cosplay you didn't know he ordered, in your bedroom, just to prove he can still be the one you fall apart for.

Warnings (cw) .ᐟ cracking in cosplay ꒰ roleplaying ꒱, blindfolding, degradation, rough sex, near-blackout from choking, creampie ꒰ a lot... ꒱ , oral ꒰ f and m receiving ꒱, mild cnc undertones ꒰ consensual roleplay framing ꒱, established relationship, manhandling, suspended 69 position, aftercare, lohen nation vs scaranation...

Word count .ᐟ 16k+

𖦹.`` ꉂ🕸️ Author's note: This is a concept I had for a fat while (like years, not just months) bcuz of those TikToks of ppl dating a cosplayer and they'd flex about it, and I finally, finally put a cosplayer x reader into writing. Thank you to my wonderful, smart, gorgeous bestest friend @vvalentiqq, who helped me with this, especially with the crazy ass sex positions, so props to her!! And this, as always, is cross-posted onto AO3.

LINKS ₊˚⊹♡ ˚✎𓂃 masterlist | ao3 | kofi | taglist | discord server

"Ugh, quit blinking, you keep making me mess up, Kuni!" You snap, yanking your boyfriend by the jaw closer to you.

He opens his right eye, the one you already applied eyeliner on, and glares, his eye rolling before closing back again. "I'm not blinking, and I'm staying perfectly still. It's your fault if you mess up, not mine. Don't get mad at me that you're shitty at this."

You take a deep breath, repressing the urge to slap him hard in the face, because you know it's useless. Your boyfriend lives to ragebait the shit out of you. You don't say anything in response; you scoot closer to his standing frame, your feet dangling off the bathroom counter as you continue working on his left eye.

"Do you want the wing straight up or straight out?" You ask, pausing with one hand on his jaw, and the other on his cheek, with the eyeliner hovering right above his lashline.

Kuni opens both of his eyes this time, stares straight at you, and rolls his eyes at your question like it should be obvious, "Neither? Obviously." He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms as he adds, "When have you ever seen me with that? You're my girlfriend, you're supposed to know that it goes out slanted. Not up, not straight. Slanted."

You narrow your eyes back at him, tightening your grip on his jaw in retaliation, "How am I supposed to know when you're ultra specific about everything and change your answer every time I ask? Two days ago, you told me to make it straight."

He flicks his eyes to the side like he's side-eyeing some invisible camera, and his eyes look annoyingly perfect when he does it. With the base shadow on his lids and the dark smudge along his lower lash line, and the contacts he doesn't need to wear.

His natural eyes are blue, but he insists on wearing indigo colored contacts because it's "more in character", and you've learned not to argue with him about Scaramouche lore because you will lose. Every single time.

He glances back at you, his tone dry, "I told you that because last time was Xiao, not Scaramouche like today. Obviously. How many times do I need to say it for you to understand?"

You glance at him, copying his dry tone, "Just one more time, and I'll poke this pen through your eyelid. You wouldn't need someone to do your eyeliner by then."

He gives you a challenging smirk in response, "Do it, then. You wouldn't get that far to do any actual damage. I'll sue you and use the settlement money to hire someone who can actually do eyeliner."

You don't dignify that with a response. You tilt his head back with your grip on his jaw, angling it so you can drag the liner across his lash line in one smooth stroke.

You smile involuntarily when it comes out clean and matches the other side perfectly. It always comes out good when he stops being a little bitch about it… which is never, but today sufficed that never.

"The other side matches," you say, leaning back to check your work, watching as his eyes open slowly like he's unsure if you're done or not. "Perfect, like always, because I did it. Not you."

He scoffs, stepping back and moving toward the bathroom mirror, examining just what you're calling 'perfection'. You watch as he tilts his face to the left, then right, and as he leans in, he narrows his eyes.

The eyeliner is actually the last step of a much longer process. This part, the eyeliner, takes ten minutes tops. The puppet joints took an hour.

Every time he cosplays Scaramouche, Kuni sits in front of his vanity mirror with a palette of dark shadow and a thin, angled brush that he uses to paint puppet joints onto his own skin.

Knuckles first, every finger, dark, then his wrists, then his belows. He does his shoulders himself too, twisting in the mirror to get the angle right on the backs of them, and the concentration on his face while he does it is almost scary.

He's already head-to-toe in cosplay, minus the hat. As cringeworthy as it is to say, your boyfriend does look like Scaramouche reborn, and it's not just because of how good the clothes look on him, or how invested he is in cosplaying him. He looks exactly like Scaramouche would if he were real and not 3D.

The height… the weight… even his fingers match Scara perfectly. Skinny and long, the puppet joints make him look more biblically real.

He hates wigs, absolutely despises them, and as any person who finds their 'celebrity lookalike', or any 'lookalike' in general, he dyed and cut his real hair to match Scaramouches.

His hair is naturally black, and after an abnormally long hair appointment, the hairdresser was able to cut and style Kuni's hair to match Scaramouches without looking like some botched bowlcut.

"It's not a bowlcut," Kunikuzushi told the hairdresser, probably 4 times, just to get his point clear, "It's a mullet, mixed with a hime-cut in the front, and don't you dare forget the lighter colored streak in the back."

You remember being told that day to stick around, not in the waiting room, but in a chair beside the table your boyfriend was getting his hair done at. You had to get up at least 9 times to reassure Kuni that the hairdresser was getting the back right.

And after that day, after every time he put on his cosplay for this character that he's so obsessed with… he didn't look like your boyfriend anymore.

But you don't really complain.

"It's… acceptable," Kuni says to his reflection, the tiniest praise for the war you just went through, while doing his eyeliner.

You hop off the counter, tossing your hair back, while holding eye contact with his gaze in the mirror, "It's perfect, actually. You're welcome." You poke his arm from behind, giggling at the way he makes a disgusted face in response. "I love you too, you ungrateful man."

He doesn't respond to that; he just walks out of the bathroom and into his room.

He's already in the corner when you step in, adjusting his tripod and ring light, and you know the drill by now. Stay out of frame, stay quiet during takes, and entertain yourself until he's done being internet famous.

You grab your phone off his nightstand and settle onto his bed on your stomach, feet up, pulling up Genshin Impact. It feels like a chore to open this game up now, but you have to, for that stupid free constellation event where you have to complete your commissions and spend 120 resin.

You spawn in Nod-Krai, already moving your joystick to run towards the crafting bench, planning to craft your resin into condensed resin, but to your dismay, you already have 5 crafted resin from the previous days you tried this trick.

Domains it is.

You can hear your boyfriend in the background recording the same TikTok, over and over, trying to get the perfect take while you're teleporting to a random domain. It's annoying, and all you can focus on while you wait for people to join your world.

Once people join your world, and you start the domain, you move on autopilot. You don't really pay attention, probably fighting air every now and then, until a notification pops up from the top of your screen.

Even though you're in a co-up domain, your thumb his the notification before you can even finish reading.

The video loads, and it's what seems to be some sort of POV shot. It's like you're some enemy Lohen just knocked flat, because the view is from below, on the ground. His hand reaches down and grabs you, or the camera's face, dragging you to his height, and you spot his other hand raising a weapon, but you aren't even focused on the weapon… you're focused on the face he makes.

A grin with manic eyes, the expression of someone who doesn't just enjoy violence… someone who's aroused by it.

It happens so quickly that you watch it again, on loop. You watch the jaw grab again, the way he yanks whoever it is upward, the way his grin widens before the hit. You screenshot the maniac grin on the 4th loop… then watch it play through again.

Your thighs press together.

You scroll to the comments after the 7th rewatch, needing to see if everyone's losing their minds as hard as you are.

@scaramouchewho okay so we're all in agreement that lohen is what scaramouche COULD have been if hoyo let him be unhinged, right?

@kuniscaraworshiper everyone in the lohen tag better remember who paved the way. Scaramouche is the ORIGINAL unhinged short king… y'all are so disrespectful

@touchinggrassfearsme i just want lohen and scara to kiss… then me at the same time next… then they can kiss each other again after THEN THE SAME THING AGAIN

@mpreglover6769angie GET PREGNANT GET PREGNANT

You laugh seeing this comment, and when you tap on it, you're left with…

(This comment has been deleted.)

@lohennation BREED ME LOHEN. BREED ME. TEASE ME. USE ME. DEGRADE ME. oh and scara can watch ig… (yes i changed my user because of this video)

@wanderermybeIoved, you people don't know one thing about Scaramouche, and I don't want people talking about him when you clearly don't care about his character development or lore. He's more than just a "hot angry guy." Lohen fans (who just became fans of him less than an hour ago, mind you) wouldn't survive 5 minutes of scara's actual story because their reading comprehension is lower than a 4th grader's due to their goon-rotted brains.

@fatuiworshipper the way Lohen is just Scaramouche if he wasn't busy being sad all the time. he's happy to be evil… that's so hot

You scroll back up and watch the burst animation again. Your thighs squeeze together, and your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. You've watched this video at least 20 times now, and around the 10th time, your underwear became a wet, sticky mess.

"Hey."

You don't hear him, you don't even flinch.

"… Hello??"

Nothing.

"Did you actually die? Should I call someone or check your pulse first?"

You don't hear your boyfriend because you're still on that Lohen video, grinning at some dumb comment of yet another person leaving scaranation for lohennation.

"You've been ignoring me for like ten minutes," Kuni says from across the room, and you can hear the shift in his tone, the way it goes from casual annoyance to genuine irritation, "what is so interesting about your phone that you can't look up for even a second?"

You look up from your phone before he can accuse you of cheating, which technically, in some tiny way… You kinda were.

He's standing by his setup, ring light off, his phone in his hand with his arms crossed. His expression looks like he's in between choosing to be mean about it, or letting it slide. He looks annoyed enough that he won't let it slide, and 10 minutes is a long time, unless he was just exaggerating.

"…Hi." You say, sweet and innocent, still lying on your stomach, still with the phone in your hand as you glance at it just once, like a random comment, before looking back at him, not fully engaged.

His gaze drops to your phone in your hand, then lifts back up to your face. The corner of his mouth lifts with slow, unbelieving amusement, like your delayed little “hi” is almost too stupid to be real. "Welcome the fuck back. Where did you go?"

"Remember Lohen from that one quest in Mondstadt?" You don't wait for a response, voice breathier than intended because your brain is still stuck on that video, "His burst animation just got leaked…"

You watch as your boyfriend's face changes into reluctant curiosity that fights with the irritation of being ignored. He walks over to his bed and drops down next to you. "Really? Show me."

You sit up, holding your phone out, and he just takes it, angling the screen toward himself. You watch his face as the animation plays, how his jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, and his gaze cuts back to you once it's over. "It's okay." He says, tone devoid of any emotion you can pick up on.

"Just… okay? Kuni. Did you see the grab, the way… the way that the angle is like a POV, like that's you, he's grabbing… the way he just, his hand goes like-" You mimic the way Lohen's hand, holding the weapon, goes from behind and towards who he's about to stab.

Kuni glances at your hand, then back at your face, your phone still in his hand. "Mhm. I saw the exact same video as you." His tone feigns nonchalance.

You drop your hand, continuing to yap while not reading the room, "And the grin… Kuni, the grin? It looks like he's about to-"

"I said I saw it." He hands your phone back, using his own to open TikTok, scrolling through his feed with such focused intensity that it doesn't do a good job of hiding how little he cares about this. "People are going to lose it over this."

"They already are, have you seen the comments?" You're already scrolling through them on your phone, looking for one that doesn't say anything about Scaramouche, but it's practically impossible. "Everyone's saying-"

"I know what they're saying, I don't need to see the comments to know." His thumb flicks through posts, and you can see his jaw working, yet again. "Same shit that infected my feed when Lohen was in that quest, and people barely had info on him. 'Scara's done.' 'We're switching.' Like their loyalty has a shelf life of milk."

He keeps scrolling through his TikTok feed, and annoyingly enough, every video that comes up is about Lohen. He's talking, ranting about character depth versus surface-level hype, something about Scara's arc having actual emotional complexity while Lohen is, "just a boy with a violence kink." He is making good points, but you aren't fully paying attention.

You're still scrolling through Twitter, lying back against the pillows, reposting mindlessly on fan art that already exists of Lohen, and trying not to laugh at the posts comparing Lohen to Scaramouche.

He turns his head to you, and he stops talking, because he notices your attention is elsewhere. You don't notice the sudden silence because your brain is so far inside your phone that the real world doesn't exist right now.

His lips touch your neck, a soft, tiny kiss with the warm press of his mouth against the spot below your ear, and he shifts closer. His hand lands on your thigh, his thumb drawing a slow line along the inside where the hem of your sleep shorts sits.

You tilt your head up slightly, giving him access without giving him your attention, as your gaze is still on your phone. Your body just responds to him on autopilot because of months of this exact pattern, him kissing your neck while you doomscroll, except this time you're scrolling through posts and posts of his… replacement.

His tongue touches the skin at your neck, a quick and wet drag followed by his teeth grazing that same area. His fingers itch higher under your shorts, pushing the fabric up your thigh.

"Kuni, not right now, I'm looking at something-"

He cuts you off with a "Mmhmm," not stopping at all because just a second after, he's sucking on your neck. His fingertips graze the edge of your underwear, tracing the elastic back and forth, back and forth. It's light enough that it could be an accident, but what he's doing to you is clearly intentional.

You're still scrolling even as your boyfriend, in cosplay, is practically making love to your neck, and his fingers… they slide down from the hem of your underwear, to where your slit is, through the fabric.

You let out a soft, quiet, "Mm…" moan, still not looking up. The only reply he gets is the little sound you make and the wetness between your legs.

His middle finger traces your clothed slit in a lazy back-and-forth, that's designed for teasing and nothing else. His mouth is still at your neck, and he bites softly at it while that Lohen video coincidentally pops up on your feed again. Involuntarily, your hips shift up against his hand while your eyes are still glued to the screen.

His fingers slide up from your slit, back up to your waistband. You let out the tiniest whine, but that whine turns into your breath catching when his fingers dip beneath your underwear and make direct contact through your folds.

"You're so soaked," he says against your neck. His tone makes your thumb pause just as you're about to click on the comment section. His cadence shifted into something that sounds less like your boyfriend and more like the boy he's currently cosplaying as. "And it's not because of me. It's hard to believe a pixel on a screen could make you this turned on… but I guess anything's possible with someone like you."

You feel his middle finger circling your clit, slow and teasing, not giving you anything that you want while you watch that video on loop, again. The pattern of it doesn't stop, but the desperation and need to have him stroke you properly makes your hips twitch, and your focus shifts from your phone to his hand, and only his hand, at an alarming rate.

"It must be embarrassing," he starts, the same condescending drawl Scaramouche's voice has, and it fits in his mouth uncannily well, "getting this worked up over a character animation. Over something that can never," the same index that was teasing at your clit pushes inside you, knuckle deep, and you clench around it, "touch you."

He's quick to add a second finger, his ring finger, because one isn't ever enough for you. He curls them upward, finding that spot he mapped ages ago. Your phone screen goes dark from inactivity.

He doesn't leave any achy part of your cunt unoccupied, especially if his thumb is currently being useless. His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs in circles while his fingers curl inside you. The dual stimulation makes your mouth fall open, and your phone falls out of your hand. Your phone hits the side of your stomach and falls down face-first beside you.

"There it is," he says against your skin, pressing a kiss to the mark he left on your neck. "Phone's finally down. Took you long enough."

He pulls his fingers out, and before you can even whine about it, he shifts on top of you, sliding down between your legs. You look down at him, and the visual of Scaramouche slipping under the covers and pulling at the waistband of your shorts is doing something to you that ten replays of Lohen's burst animation could never replicate. Because this is actually real.

He's sliding your shorts down when you mistakenly whimper out, "Kuni…"

He stops, hands pausing on the fabric at your knees. "Mm… no. That's not my name tonight." He pulls the shorts off completely, tossing them wherever without looking in his room, and his fingers hook into your underwear next.

"It's Scaramouche. That's who you're looking at… That's who's touching you. And, that's the only name I want to hear coming out of your mouth. Not Kuni, and definitely not Lohen. If you even try saying his name, I'm cutting your tongue out." He drags your underwear down your thighs, his eyes never leaving your face. "Scaramouche. Understood?"

You nod, too distracted by what he was saying to even realize you're bare from below, and you realize that the moment his mouth is on you.

His tongue drags flat across your clit, and you let out an involuntary, unfiltered moan at the contact. You'd care about his neighbors hearing if his mouth wasn't making you forget that other people exist.

It feels like he's reformatting your brain as he eats you out. Like every lick is deleting thoughts about Lohen and replacing them all with himself. His tongue works on your clit in patterns that make you let out dumb, uncontrollable moans. Two fingers slip inside you without warning, curling against your spot, and you can't help but grab onto his hair, that perfectly styled, dyed Scaramouche hair, and hold on.

Your hips twitch up, grinding into his face while your head tips back. "H-aah… f-fuck… Sca-"

He pulls back from your clit, fingers still working inside you, but at an even faster rhythm, "Louder than that."

You listen, brainless, doing whatever he says, "Scara… Scaramouche, I'm… hah… s-so close…"

He dives back onto your clit, mouth sealed on it, making you cum embarrassingly fast with his fingers curling inside your spongy walls. Your thighs shake around his head, and your grip on his hair tightens as you grind onto his face, clenching around his fingers. He goes slower once the aftershocks are over, and when you finally let go of his hair, completely out of breath, he pulls his mouth off your clit with a wet pop.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, the cosplay sleeve dragging across his face from his cosplay. The sight of that is so absurd and so hot that you almost cum again from that visual alone. The puppet joints look slightly faded on the two fingers he was fucking you with, and somehow that makes it worse.

He grabs one of the detached sleeves and slips it off his outfit. You watch him, brain still sluggish from the orgasm, fold it into a thick band, and you furrow your brows, confused. "What are you…"

"Scaramouche wouldn't let you see him lose composure." He slides up from between your legs, wrapping the fabric around your eyes, tying it behind your head before you can even protest. You can't see anything now, just darkness, and the sound of his breathing close to your face. "So you don't get to either."

You feel him move back and settle between your thighs, sliding them apart. You're still so sensitive from your orgasm that feeling his cock suddenly press against you makes an involuntary whimper slip out. He wastes no time slipping in, but he does it slow, stretching you open inch by inch, and you grab fistfuls of his sheets because the fact that you're missing one of your senses is making everything amplified.

"Oh my god…"

"Say my name," he says, and he feels deep enough inside of you that you can't tell how much more of him there is. You only know the stretch, the pressure, and how full you already feel.

A faint moan slips out of you before you manage, breathless, "Scara…"

"Yeah?" He says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, he knows you can barely think. "Too full to say it properly?"

Your fingers curl helplessly in the sheets. "Sc… Scaramouche…"

He starts moving, and because of the blindfold, every thrust feels amplified tenfold, so much deeper. His hands are gripping at your hips hard enough to bruise. You feel him closer, by your ear, voice still in character, "You think some new character is going to replace me?" He puncuates the end with a hard thrust, and your mouth hangs open with a gasp.

"Some battle maniac with a grin? Pathetic. I've been your favorite since 1.1," another thrust, and it hits you deep, he grinds into that same spot, "and no amount of leaked animations is going to change that."

"I know… hah… I know-"

He pulls back just enough that you feel the loss of him even though he's still inside. Your hips chase him up, a needy whimper spilling out because you don't feel him moving anymore, and you wonder why. You feel his hand leaving your hip to pull the blindfold off your eyes.

Light hits your pupils, and you squint, disoriented, and the first thing you see isn't him. It's your phone, held inches from your face, bright and open on the password screen. In a flash, your phone's unlocked from just your face, and just as fast as that happens, he turns your phone back to him.

"Wha… what are you doing?" You're still catching up, blinking through your vision that's trying to adjust, even more now that a phone was shoved up in your face. He's swiping through your apps with one hand while the other pins your hip to the mattress. His cock is still inside you, not moving at all, and it almost feels painful with how much you're craving him to.

He pulls up Twitter, looking at your feed first before checking your reposts, because of course, the first thing that comes up is someone reposting that Lohen burst animation for the millionth time, like people haven't seen it already. He scoffs, tapping on your profile picture on the side, and looking through your reposts.

"This one says," he starts, scrolling with his thumb, his tone almost bored as he reads your reposts out loud, while he finally starts grinding into you, but it's slow, painfully slow. "I would let Lohen degrade, breed me, use me, and rearrange my insides until I pass out… You liked that one, reposted it from the same account that has your face on it. How dense can you be?"

You face heats up realizing just how embarrassing that is, only after doing it a while ago, "That's… that was just a joke-"

"Let's go to your replies tab and see if you did anything other than mindlessly repost whatever you saw," you watch as his thumb moves across your phone, he shifts his hips forward in a slow grind that makes your breath hitch, "Oh, so you did comment on something… that's it? Three fire emojis and a fucking… crying emoji? That's your contribution to the discourse? Really? Was your brain rotting that badly that you couldn't even type words?"

You don't even try to come up with a coherent response for that, and he doesn't wait for one. He throws your phone somewhere on his bed and leans down, propping himself up on his forearms on either side of your head, and the closeness of him in full cosplay makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You know what's funny to me?" His eyes never leave your face as he rolls his hips, still a slow grind that drags his cock against your walls in such a way that keeps you in between being able to think and not. "You have a cosplayer. An actual, real person who dresses up as your favorite character and fucks you in it. And instead of appreciating that… you're reposting about a character that doesn't even have a release date yet."

A weak protest slips out before you can stop it. "I do appreciate-"

"Do you?" He thrusts hard this time, and it makes your back arch, your hands flying up to grab his shoulders as he continues at the same deep pace, watching your face change with every thrust. "Because I'm literally inside of you in a Scaramouche cosplay right now, and 20 minutes ago you were eye-fucking a burst animation while I was standing 12 feet away."

Your face burns, "That's not…" You swallow, trying to gather a thought that doesn't sound pathetic, "That's not fair, he's just a character, you're-"

"I'm right here." Another deep thrust, his hand slides up to cup the side of your face, tilting it so you're looking directly at him. At the eyeliner you did for him, the contacts, and the hair you even helped style. "And I'm the closest thing to a fictional character you're ever going to get. So maybe," he grinds into your spot, and your eyes roll, "act like it."

Humiliation and want feel like they're tangling so tightly that you can't separate them anymore. You can't even form a proper response for that, only being able to muster out a, "F-fuck… Scara…." as your fingers curl harder into the sheets.

"Mm." He keeps the angle, keeps rolling into that same spot, watching as it makes you go stupider quicker while his thumb traces your cheekbone. "You know what you should repost? A video of this. Me, in cosplay, between your legs. See how many likes that gets compared to a leaked animation."

Your brain decides this is the moment to let something slip. Completely irrational. "A lohen cosplay would probably get more likes because he's… trending." You don't even mean it as a dig; you say it in the normal, supportive tone you always give when he talks about content, while getting dicked down.

And the second those words leave your mouth, everything goes silent. He stops, completely. Cock buried inside you, and his hand on your face tightens. His thumb presses harder into your cheekbone. His expression doesn't change, but his eyes do. It's this flat, cold look you can see even with the contacts, and the silence stretches long enough that you realize what you just did.

You scramble to backtrack, "I didn't mean-"

"No, don't backtrack now," he cuts in, voice eerily calm, tilting his head like he's studying any new reaction you'd make, "You sounded very sure of yourself a second ago. I want the same answer you gave before you realize I didn't like it."

You sink back into the pillows, head shaking, "Scara, you know that's not what I meant…" but you stop at the end when you see the look in his eyes darken.

He lets go of your face and pulls almost all the way out to slam back in, both of his hands gripping on the backs of your thighs, pushing them apart. He's fucking into you at a new pace that's faster and rougher than anything before this, every thrust feeling like a point he's making without words.

"He's an animation," he says between trusts, his voice strained, but he's still in character. "He doesn't feel like this…" A thrust so deep it pushes you closer to the headboard. "He doesn't sound like this." Another one, harder, and the sound that comes out of you is almost unrecognizable.

"And he doesn't know that if he hits this angle," he shifts his hips and nails your spot dead-on, and your vision whites out at the edges completely, "you make that exact face."

Your legs are shaking around his grip, your hands grasping at anything, his shoulders, his arm, the sheets, the only thought in your mind is him, the body between your legs trying to prove a point with his entire being.

Then, your phone lights up next to your head. It's a Twitter notification, something about Lohen, and the timing is so cosmically cruel. He sees it, and before you can even squint to see what it's about, he scoots back, letting your head fall off the pillow. You look at him, confused, completely innocent to the change of position that's about to happen.

His hands leave your thighs to grab at your hips, and in one inhuman motion, he lifts you off the bed almost entirely. Your back leaves the mattress, the entire room feels like it's tilting as he hauls your legs over his shoulders, your full weight being suspended against his body. His hands grip the front of your thighs, your arms scrambling for anything, and they end up gripping at the backs of his thighs. Your head is still on the mattress, and your arms, but everything else is up in the air.

He's about to fuck you upside down.

You yell out of panic, "Wha… SCARA-"

"You were about to check your phone." He says, voice unbothered like he isn't holding you in the air with his dick buried inside of you. "While I'm inside of you… While Scaramouche is inside of you." He adjusts his grip, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, and slides his hips back before slamming into you hard, forcing himself so deep that you see white. "Do I not have your full attention?"

Even as full, and thought empty as you are, you still try to defend yourself, "You do… hah… You do, I wasn't-"

"You were reaching for it," another hard slam, and you cry out, your nails digging into the backs of his thighs. "Your hand almost moved. Almost. You were going to look at a notification while im fucking you."

He fucks into you, over and over, your legs dangling on his shoulders, the angle hitting something so deep inside of you that your body doesn't know how to process it apart from going completely boneless.

You're limp, even being fucked upside down. Your muscles gave up, and now you're just a body he's holding in the air and fucking into.

Your weight being nothing to him, your pleasure being everything.

"Scara… Scara, oh my god, I can't… f-fuck… I can't-"

"Can't what?" His voice is annoyingly steady, controlled, even though he's holding you up and thrusting into you with a force that should effect both of you, but it seems like you're the only effected one. Moaning sounds that aren't even words anymore, just vowels and air. "Can't think? Good. You shouldn't be thinking. The only thing in your head right now should be my name, and the fact that no pixel on a screen," he thrusts up, sharp, and the sound you make is practically a scream, "has ever made you feel like this."

Even with your mind blank, you can process his words enough to know that he's right. Because he's here, and real, and holding you in the air and fucking the coherence out of your skull. "SCARAMOUCHE- fuck, please… please don't stop-"

His pace only grows faster, his grip on your thighs tightening in such a way that you know it will end in bruises when you wake up tomorrow. You cum with the lower half of your body, suspended in the air. Your body locks up, ankles rolling, feet clenching around his shoulders as the orgasm rips through you in waves so intense that you can't even keep your eyes open, can't even suppress or care for how dumb you sound.

You can do anything except convulse around him while he holds you through it like you weigh nothing.

He cums exactly five seconds after, the way your walls clench around his cock not letting him pull himself back any longer. He buries himself deep with one final thrust up that pins you against his hips. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, filling you up as his fingers flex on your thighs.

There's so much that your body can't contain it, even in this position, you can feel some of his cum leak around where he's still inside you, dripping down between your ass cheeks.

He holds you there for a moment, catching his breath and you still catching yours, and then he finally sets you down. He moves back, lowering you, and you bounce back on the sheets, still out of breath, gasping, legs shaking, cum pooling more properly between your thighs now that you aren't in the air.

He's already pulling at the cosplay before his breathing even levels out.

"Finally," he mutters, yanking at the chest piece with the urgency of someone escaping a straitjacket, "I can take this stupid fucking thing off."

The outer layer comes off first, and he gets out of bed to toss it onto his desk chair without looking. Then the arm pieces, what's left of them, since one sleeve is still tied in a crumpled blindfold shape somewhere in the sheets. He pulls the one he's wearing off and throws it on top of the outer layers on the chair.

He's left in the sleeveless undershirt, the tight black one that sits flush against his chest and shows the puppet joints he spent way too long on at his shoulders. The shadow has smudged from the sweat, the edges bleeding where the lines used to be clean.

"I was literally cooking alive in that," he says, working at the fabric that sits on his hips next, "do you know how many layers this cosplay has? About four. Four fucking layers in a room with one fan and a broken AC because Ei cares more about being at work all the time than actually caring about a home she's barely at."

You don't respond because you are, at this moment, a puddle of a human being with no functioning brain cells and shaking legs. You're lying exactly where he put you down, staring up at the ceiling, legs still open because closing them feels like an exercise right now.

He glances at you once the majority of the cosplay is off, just the undershirt and shorts, and he gets quieter. He disappears into the bathroom that's connected to his bedroom and comes back with a warm, damp towel.

He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes your thigh to the side, wiping between your legs without saying anything. His movements are careful, clinical, almost, like the same precision he gives his cosplay goes into this too.

He cleans the cum off your inner thighs, the crease where your thigh meets your hip, folds the towel to the clean side, and gets the rest.

You flinch at the contact, still sensitive, and his other hand presses flat against your lower stomach to keep you still. "Stop squirming."

"But… It's sensitive," you say, finally, voice weak.

"I know it's sensitive. I'm the one who made it sensitive. Stay still."

He tosses the towel onto the bathroom floor when he's done, then goes to his dresser, pulling out a sleep set and underwear that are yours. A cropped top and matching shorts that somehow migrated into his drawer because you're here more than your actual house.

He comes back and slides the underwear up first, lifting your hips with one hand to pull them over your ass. Then, the shorts come next, doing the same motion he did for the underwear. He grabs the top next, and this part requires sitting you up, and you're not cooperative.

You're practically dead weight.

He pulls you up by the arms like a ragdoll, gets the shirt over your head, and guides each of your arms through the sleeves. You keep going limp on purpose, and it's irritating him. "You're not helping," he says, which isn't a helpful remark on his part.

You can't do anything but let out a tired, annoyed sigh, voice moving slowly as you say, "I can't feel my legs, Kuni."

He pauses as he's trying to pull the top down, giving you a sideways look, "That's a you-ca n't-help problem, that's a you-won't-help problem. Your arms should work fine."

You give him a fake, straight smile, shrugging at a languid speed, "They don't, actually. You broke those too when you held me upside down, and I had to hold onto your thighs for dear life."

He scoffs, dropping you back against the pillows, and you sink into them, boneless, dressed, clean, happy that you've trained him well enough to do this much after sex, because it pays off every time.

He pulls the covers out from under you, and this time you actually scoot to give him space to tuck them over your body. He grabs both of your phones and plugs them in, then walks to his closet to take the top off and replace it with a plain black t-shirt, and tugs on a pair of grey sweats. When he's done, he always backs toward the bed to get into the covers beside you, but you stop him.

"Kuni, can you please get me water?" You ask, with a tiny pout.

The exhale he lets out is so deep it could qualify as a controlled breathing exercise. He stands there for a full three seconds, covers still bunched in his hand, staring at you with the expression of a man who wants to only pass out in bed and rot.

"You couldn't have said that before I walked toward the bed?"

You look up, pretending to think, mouth curling up when you glance back at him, "I wasn't thirsty before you walked toward the bed."

He rolls his eyes, his hand coming up to rub his fingers at his temple in annoyance at all of this, "That doesn't even make sense."

You clasp your hands together, pouting, again, putting on a sweet expression just to mess with him further, "Please?"

He drops the covers and leaves the room. You hear his footsteps down the hallway, and they're loud enough that you know he's being loud on purpose.

Because Kuni doesn't make noise when he walks unless he wants you to know he's annoyed.

His house is massive; you spend 99 percent of your time in his room, so you actually get jumpscared every time you leave it. The hallways are long, or probably longer than an apartment floor in general, with marble flooring and clear walls with art on them that his mother picked out and he's never looked at once.

The kitchen is insane. Countertops that stretch for what feels like miles, a center island bigger than your own bed, and appliances that look like they belong in a once luxurious restaurant. Every surface is spotless because the housekeeper comes three times a week, and Kuni is already a clean freak on his own, so the combination creates a kitchen that looks perpetually unlived in.

He opens the cabinet, grabs a glass, fills it from the filtered tap, and when he turns around, his mother is sitting at the island.

She's been there the whole time, apparently.

Ei is on a barstool at the center island, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red wine in her right hand and her phone in her left. Her hair is long and ink-black, pin-straight, falling over one shoulder, and in the dim kitchen light, she looks less like a person and more like a portrait someone painted and forgot to hang.

She looks up from her phone at the sound of the glass filling.

Her eyes move over him, at the messed-up hair, the contacts he forgot to take out, and the faded puppet joints still visible on his knuckles.

And also the fact that he's getting a glass of water at one in the morning in a post-sex haze that he thinks isn't obvious but is extremely obvious.

"You're still awake," she says, her voice carrying that same low, unbothered tone that makes everything she says sound like an observation.

"You're home," he replies, matching her energy beat for beat, turning off the tap without looking at her. "When did your flight land?"

"Three hours ago." She takes a sip of wine. "I didn't want to interrupt."

The silence that follows is loud. He knows what that means, she knows that he knows, and neither of them will say it directly because everyone in this family treats emotional honesty like it's some disease.

"Right." He grabs the glass and turns to leave as fast as possible.

"Kunikuzushi."

He stops, but he doesn't turn around, his grip on the glass tightening.

"Eat something tomorrow. The fridge is stocked." She pauses to take a sip before continuing, "And take your contacts out before you sleep. They'll irritate your eyes."

He stands there for a second, then another, then another, then walks away without responding. And his footsteps down the hallway are quieter this time. Not on purpose.

He gets back to his room and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He walks up towards the bed and reaches over to hand you the glass. You take it, sitting up slightly, drinking half of it in one go while he stands there watching you like you just made him walk a marathon for a cup of water.

"Happy?" He asks, pulling the covers back.

You roll your eyes and hand him back the glass. He sets it on the nightstand and gets into bed, lying flat on his back. You immediately roll onto his chest like a magnet, your cheek pressing against the cotton of his t-shirt, and you can hear his heartbeat, still a little fast, coming down.

His hand finds your hair, starts that absent, repetitive thing he does, threading his fingers through the strands over and over. You press closer to him, tangling your legs with his under the covers, and his arm tightens around your back.

You close your eyes, and his fingers never stop moving through your hair.

He doesn't tell you he loves you; he never does first. But his thumb traces a slow circle against your scalp, and his breathing evens out underneath you, and he doesn't move even when your weight goes fully dead against his chest.

That's how you know.

You're in your room today, not at your boyfriend's house like you usually are. You do like being in his room and hanging out with him constantly, but it's also constantly exhausting. Some days, you'd just prefer to be… alone.

Your room is the complete opposite of Kunikuzushi's aesthetic. Light beige walls so you can hang up cute pink miscellaneous things on your wall without them clashing. A fluffy, soft, pink bed that used to be a canopy until you woke up to a fat spider next to your face, as if it was their bed too. Plushies… lots of them, on your bed, some kept on a large shelf you bought to store the expensive anime figures Kuni always buys you. Long story short, the general vibe of your room makes you seem like someone whose entire personality is soft and sweet.

You're lying on your stomach on the bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the fallout of the Lohen leak from 3 days ago. The internet has still not calmed down… if anything, it's worse.

@scaranation4LIFE scaranation we STAND. Every character had their tiny moment of fame… our show lasted four years. FOUR. We were even on the news… lohen's gonna last one patch and you're all going to be crawling back

@lohenxscarabeliever i don't want lohen OR scara… i want them BOTH to ruin my life SIMULTANEOUSLY. Why is this so hard to understand

@wanderersfavoritebuttplug scara… I’d never replace you for that sadistic twink (maybe) (we’ll see)

The comments are always talking about the same thing, at least every comment section under a Lohen Twitter post, as the diehard simp, the one who wants Lohen and Scara to fuck each other, the one who wants to cuck Scara in front of Lohen, and the very few actual loyal Scara fans.

… You feel like you're a bit of both.

You're deep in the comments, simultaneously looking at edits of Lohen on TikTok, then taking a Twitter break, then TikTok, when at some strange point, your bedroom door opens.

You don't look up, you assume it's Kuni because your parents aren't home, and you gave him the key ages ago. "Hey, Kuni," you say, still scrolling, legs swinging behind you, "if you're here to yell at me about using your newest Flower Knows palette before you did, it's not that big of a deal-"

You stop because when you look up, what you see is something you'd never, ever expect from a surprise visit from your boyfriend.

Kunikuzushi is standing in your doorway in full-on cosplay. But it's not Scaramouche, or some other male in the game… It's Lohen.

Your phone hits the mattress.

The character you've been losing your mind over for 3 days, the one you've seen on your phone screen a genuinely convincing number of times, is here, in real life, standing in your pink bedroom doorway.

"When did you-" your voice comes out strangled, your mouth feeling dry, and your throat feeling so tight that you cut yourself off. Your eyes scan the cosplay, again and again, confused at why he didn't tell you about this. Especially ordering a unique cosplay of a character that hasn't even fully come out. "When… when did you order this??"

He grins, a toothy, sharp-eyed grin that looks nothing like Scara's smirk. It's so strangely similar to the expression Lohen would make, and you wonder if he's spent the last 3 days practicing for this.

"I've been tracking you all day," he says, and his voice is different than normal, more confident, louder, less… restrained on what's deemed as good. "You've been hard to pin down."

He crosses the room, and your body does something it doesn't do with Kuni. It tenses out of something close to fear, but closer to not knowing what's coming next. His hand grabs the front of your tank top and yanks you off the bed. You yelp in a way that's higher, more startled, more genuinely caught off guard than anything Scara has gotten out of you in months.

"Nervous?" He questions, his grin widening, and his fists twist in your shirt, pulling you closer, until your chest is against his. He can feel your heartbeat… at least you assume he can, because you can hear it going haywire through your ears to the point that you'd believe it's audible even if he wasn't this close.

You deny because you hate admitting things to him when he's acting smug, even though anything you could say would be utterly pointless, as your face and the way you're barely moving prove his point way too well. "I'm not nervous…" You try a distraction, any, "Are you really wearing a wig, Kun-" but it gets cut off quicker than you can even finish the last word.

"Your heart feels like it's about to explode out of your chest." He leans in, his mouth next to your ear, and his voice drops, but he still keeps the edge of it in character, "What's different? You let Scaramouche do whatever he wants to you. But Lohen shows up and suddenly… You can't even talk?"

You knit your eyebrows, staggering to say anything that sounds like you're not any less dumb, "That's… it's different, you're usually-"

"Usually what? Predictable?" He pulls back to look at you, and you glance up and down at his cosplay once more, and it's even more annoyingly perfect up close. You seriously don't know how he does it; he even looks good in a wig, even though he hates them. "You know every move Scaramouche makes before he makes it. You're comfortable with that, and that's boring." He says it like an insult, and his grin drops suddenly, his eyes not leaving you once as he says, "I'm not comfortable. Are you scared of me?"

You answer a simple, "No." But the way you still haven't moved on your own since he appeared at your door proves without words otherwise.

"Liar." He shoves you, and you fall back before you can catch yourself on the bed, bouncing on the pink sheets, your tank top riding up slightly in the process. "Your voice had the tiniest crack in it."

He's on top of you before you can sit up, his knee between your thighs, his hand going to your jaw… and he does it.

The burst animation.

His fingers close around your jaw as he lifts your face toward his, slow, and the grin is right there, a perfect replica of the video you've watched on your screen more than 100 times.

"There's my favorite prey," he says, holding the pose for three seconds, and instead of reaching his arm back and stabbing you, he leans in to kiss you.

It's violent, that's the only word to describe it. Non ceremonial, just teeth, tongue, and a lot of force by him. His hand is still gripping your jaw, controlling the angle, and also making sure you don't pull away so soon. You make a sound into his mouth that's between a moan and a whimper, that's even more vulnerable than anything you've made during sex when he cosplays as Scaramouche.

He pulls back, unbuckling one of the belts on the cosplay, a strap that's a part of Lohen's design, and he wraps it around your wrists, binding them above your head against the bed.

"Every battle maniac needs a sparring partner," he says, tying the knot with one hand while the other shoves your tank top up above your breasts. "And you looked at me like you volunteered."

He strips your shorts, then your underwear, and he doesn't bother about being sweet with it. He yanks them down your legs and throws them somewhere behind him, and then his hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes them up toward your chest.

Mating press, that's what he's doing.

Your knees are at your shoulders, your hips are tilted up, and he's on the bed, kneeling over you. His weight is driving your thighs down, folding you in half. Your wrists are bound above your head; you're just completely open and trapped.

"L.. Lohen…" You whimper out in the voice of both someone in awe, and in the tiniest fear of what's coming next.

"Hmm." He unzips his pants, frees his hard cock from his underwear, which he slides down just enough, and positions himself at your entrance, and he pushes in.

The first thrust is the full length of him burying himself deep inside you in one stroke; the angel of the mating press makes it feel deeper than it should. His cock presses against your cervix, and the sound that leaks out of you is closer to a sob than a moan.

"AH- oh fuck oh fuck oh-"

"Too much?" He asks, and his grin, that fucking grin, is right there, his face inches from yours because the mating press puts him on top of you… over you, covering you entirely.

"N-no, just- hah-" You get cut off with the way he pulls back and slams back in, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, before just fully closing.

"Not convincing." He pulls back, again, slamming into you harder than the last one, like he's powering up his thrusts, and your back tries to arch off the bed, but his weight is pressing you flat, and you have nowhere to go. You feel his hands at your face. "Your eyes are watering."

You open your eyes back up to look at him, head shaking, even though you do feel something hot and wet sliding softly down your cheeks. "You're lying, they're n-not-" You're studdering from the way he's repeditely fucking into you, especially hitting your deeper spots on purpose when you try speaking, but he cuts you off anyway.

"They are." He leans down and licks a tear off your cheekbone. The act is so different from the way he's currently fucking into you, brutally, and you're turning incoherent faster than ever, moans spilling out uncontrollably as the sound of his hips plaping against your ass fills the room.

"You cry for Scaramouche because it feels good. You're crying for me because you don't know what I'm going to do next." Both of his hands leave your face; one goes back onto your thigh, the other finds your throat. "And that scares you… Doesn't it?"

His fingers close around your neck, and he doesn't choke you the same way Kuni does during normal sex. This version is different, new, something you've never felt before. Lohen's choke. His fingers press into the sides of your throat, squeezing the muscles, not your windpipe, but the tissue around it. The difference, the way this feels new, is because it feels like it's designed to hurt, not to just cut off air. The pain is sharp, and you can still breathe, technically, but every inhale aches, and the compression makes the blood rush to your head in a way that amplifies every sensation that a blindfold never could.

You can't move your hands, even as they itch to grab or instinctively hold at his wrists, you're reminded that they're bound together by his belt. Your moans just get more amplified thrust after thrust after squeeze, "Nghh- Lohen… hah…"

"You can barely even say my name." He squeezes harder, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat, and the pressure pushes you right to the edge of too much. "Scaramouche gets full sentences out of you… Full moans… Full 'please'. But me?" He thrusts deep, grinding, holding himself inside you while his hand tightens on your throat. "I get syllables… Half-words… or just plain denial over anything I say. You're so nervous you can't even beg for anything properly."

He fucks you into the mating press until your thighs are shaking against his hands, and your voice is hoarse from the sounds he's pulling out of you. His hand stays on your throat. The pressure of his squeeze fluctuates a lot, from him tightening when he thrusts hard, loosening when he grinds slowly, a cycle of both pain and relief that keeps you permanently on the edge of too much without ever crossing into too much.

Because Kuni knows your body, he knows how much it can take. He pushes you close enough to passing out that your vision darkens at the edges, your mouth falls open, your eyes lose focus, and then he loosens his grip and lets the blood rush back.

And the gasp you take is almost an orgasm on its own. "Please- hah… please, I can't… too much-"

"You can handle it, you just don't know it yet." He squeezes your throat and fucks into you hard enough that a plushie falls off the bed. The grin on his face is still, still beautifully intact, and it's the most terrifyingly perfect thing you've ever seen from this close.

"You know what's funny? You were scared when I walked in. Nervous. Couldn't even talk to me." He leans down until his lips brush yours, his hand still on your throat. "But you're not trying to stop me, are you? Your hands are tied, your legs are pinned, and we have a safeword you could've used at any point, and you won't, because you and I both know this is exactly the type of 'too much' that you crave."

You cum with his hand on your throat and his cock buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach. The orgasm hits different in a mating press, so much more intense. Your walls clench around him in rhythmic pulses that you feel in your entire pelvic floor, and he fucks you through it, his pace not slowing, his hand not loosening.

And by the time the aftershock fades, you're boneless, twitching, and making sounds that are barely human.

He cums inside you, you feel the heat of it, thick, pulsating, his hips pressing flush against yours and staying there while his cock throbs. His hand finally loosens on your throat, and his forehead drops against yours.

His breathing is ragged, and it's the first time you've ever heard him lose the composure of the character, and for one second, between the last pulse and first exhale, it's just Kuni.

Then the Lohen grin slides back. He stays inside you for a moment more, his cock still twitching with the last of it, before pulling out in one motion that makes your body clench around nothing.

You feel the immediate emptiness, the warmth of his cum already starting to leak, but you don't get to process that because his hands are on your hips and he's flipping you.

Your stomach hits the mattress, your face presses into your pillow, and the shift of his cock inside you during the rotation makes a wet, obscene sound that you both pretend not to hear. Your wrists are still bound with the belt, and they're now pinned beneath you. You feel him reach under you, fingers finding the leather, working the buckle loose with one hand, while the other grips your hip to keep you from sliding forward.

The belt falls away from your wrists, you roll them instinctively, flexing your fingers, and before you can even appreciate the freedom, you feel the belt loop around your neck instead.

He pulls it taut from behind. He doesn't choke you with it just yet; he just lets it sit snug against your throat with his fist gripping the trailing end like it's some sort of handle.

"Ass up," he says, and you barely get your knees under you before he gives up on waiting and pulls your hips back toward him.

He slams in at a rough, fast, punishing pace. The sound of his hips against your ass is echoing off your room in a rhythm that makes your plushies at the edge of the bed vibrate, causing a couple of them to fall.

He uses the belt as a way to anchor his thrusts while he rails into you with a force that has your fingers twisting in your sheets, and your neck being forced to arch back.

"Fu- oh my g-god, Loh-" You can't even finish his name, it just dissolves into a broken moan as he hits your spot from this angle. The deepness of the backshots makes your toes curl against the bedsheets.

He keeps going, his pace not slowing down at all, and you're too far gone that you barely register it when his rhythm stutters for a second, especially when you hear him mutter something under his breath that doesn't sound like Lohen.

"This stupid fucking…"

Your brain is somewhere between your legs; the only sound that's audible and coherent to you is the sound of his hips against your ass, and your endless moans.

He thrusts hard, and you let out a whimper, your fingers flexing on the sheets, and your feet coming up, clenching, then dropping again. But between the next few thrusts, you catch pieces of something that doesn't match the character he's trying to play.

His voice sounds like it's shifting, not into Scara like it's some muscle memory he has, but into Kuni, your boyfriend, sounding genuinely irritated about something that has nothing to do with sex.

"I swear to god, it keeps sliding," he mutters, and his grip on the belt loosens for a second as his other hand does something behind you that you can't see. He does another hard thrust, and your face falls against the pillow now that he isn't yanking on your neck. But he doesn't pull you back, choke you, or do whatever you expect him to do.

He complains.

"This is the last time I'll wear a wig. The last fucking time. I told you I hate these things and you always ignore it and tell me to suck it up when it's a character that isn't him-" a thrust that makes your spine arch, "and now I have gross, synthetic hair scratching at my face, and I'm going to lose my mind."

You're barely processing any of this, still, it all sounds like fragments to you that don't make sense because of the thick haze of being fucked into your mattress.

He grunts, clear frustration, and you hear something that sounds like a clip, or whatever mechanism that's keeping his wig attached to his actual hair, and his pace slows down enough that curiosity overtakes the pleasure for one stupid second.

You turn your head.

And it's Kuni behind you, one hand still on the belt at your neck, and the other holding the Lohen wig that he just pulled off his head. His real hair is back, dark indigo, messy, slightly matted from the wig cap he also tore off. He hasn't noticed you looking yet; he's too busy glaring at the wig with genuine contempt.

He's out of character, fully, completely, for once mid-fuck. He never breaks character, and something comes over you… Maybe it's the absurdity of the visual, maybe it's because you're fucked stupid enough that impulse control is just completely gone.

Maybe it's because the opportunity is just too perfect to pass, and you've seen that TikTok audio one too many times.

You gasp, loud, dramatic, your voice coming out in that exaggerated, scandalized tone that you know he's going to hate, "he's BALD. He's bald, and he's torturing people who have HAIR!"

The silence that follows lasts exactly one and a half seconds.

His eyes snap to you, and you're looking at him over your shoulder, half of your face pressed into the pillow, and you're grinning. That kind of stupid, shit-eating grin that you know is about to have severe consequences.

His expression goes through several stages in rapid succession. Disbelief comes first, processing it comes second, then recognition of the reference, and on the last and final stage, something dark and focused appears that makes your grin falter just slightly.

He throws the wig, and it hits your vanity mirror, sliding off somewhere that you don't care to watch, and his now-free hand shoves your head back down into the pillow. It's not gentle. His palm is flat against the back of your skull, pressing your face into the fabric, and your giggle gets muffled by cotton.

"You think that's funny?" His voice drops back into Lohen's, but it's rougher now, meaner, the edge of genuine irritation soaking through the character because you made a dumb joke while he was inside of you. "You think you're clever?"

You're trying to respond, but your face is pressed into a pillow, and his hand is keeping it there. What comes out next is a muffled, "Mm srrhyy-" that dissolves into a yelp when he slams into you so hard your knees slide forward on the sheets.

"Every prey animal thinks it's funny right before the teeth close." He fucks into you at a pace that's brutal, and way faster than anything before. Each thrust is showing you further into the mattress while his hand keeps your head pinned, and the belt around your neck pulls tight from the motion. "You want to make jokes? I'll give you something to scream about instead."

His other hand leaves the belt to grab at your hip, yanking you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the force of being pushed down and pulled back simultaneously has you making sounds into the pillow that are just broken, raw sounds. Your hands claw at the sheets above your head, your back arching down, while your ass stays up, and you can feel his fingers digging bruises into your hip while the belt drags against your throat.

"Mmph- wait, f-fuck, I'm sorryyy, I was k-kidding-" you manage between thrusts, your words slurring against the pillow, saliva starting to collect at the corner of your mouth because your jaw won't close properly. "Loh-hen, please, 'm sorry, I didn't m-mean-"

"You have a funny way of apologizing," he grinds out, and his hand on the back of your head shifts, his fingers curling into your hair and pulling your face just barely off the pillow, enough that your moans aren't muffled anymore. "Usually, people apologize without laughing. You're still smiling about it, I can hear it in your voice."

He's not wrong. You are still smiling, with tears in your eyes, getting absolutely destroyed because the image of your boyfriend ripping off a wig mid-sex with that look on his face will live in your brain rent-free forever. "Liar… 'M not smiling-"

"You are." A thrust so deep your smile actually drops because your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open around a moan that's more of a wail. "There… fixed it."

His other hand releases your hair and goes to his own head. You can feel the shift in his movements, slightly distracted, one-handed thrusts that are still devastating but less focused as he runs his fingers through his real hair, fixing it through the vanity mirror on the far side of your room.

Because even while he's railing at you, Kunikuzushi will not be caught dead with bad hair.

He's multitasking, fucking you into the mattress with one hand on the belt, and styling his hair with the other… the worst part is, he doesn't even slow down.

He pulls the belt back just enough that you're forced to arch your spine, the pressure on your throat lifting your chest slightly off the mattress, and the angle change makes his cock hit differently, shallower but dragging against your front wall with every stroke, and the sound that comes out of you is embarrassingly close to a squeal.

"Ah ah AH, oh m-my god, oh my god, right there, don't- nghhh don't move from that, please plea-hease..." Your words are tumbling out in a slurred mess, your brain is completely out of your control, and your hips are pushing back against his on their own because the angle is too good.

He cums with a groan, pressing into the back of your shoulder, biting down on your skin through a moan he clearly didn't want to let out. You feel his cock pulse inside you, the heat spreading, and his hips grind forward in small, lazy rolls as he empties everything. His hand goes slack on the belt, and his forehead drops against the space between your shoulder blades.

He stays there for a second, breathing, then he pulls back, letting go completely of the belt, and you fall forward because he was the one pulling your practically limp body against him. Your ass is up in the air, and you feel him slide out, and the gush of cum that follows is immediate. It's thick, warm, spilling out of you and down between your thighs.

He sits back and watches it, you know, because you hear the sheets shift, and you can tell by the way he doesn't move or speak, just watches the mess he made ooze out of you.

His thumb presses against your entrance at the rim, and more cum leaks out around the pressure, sliding down in a slow trail toward your clit. "Look at that," he murmurs, his voice back in character for Lohen, in an amused, fascinated tone. "You can't keep any of it in."

His other hand comes up and spreads you open with his thumb and forefinger, holding your folds apart, and you can feel the cool air hit the mess inside you. You feel more of his cum spill out from being exposed. You bury your face deeper into the pillow because the visual you can't even see is somehow still the most embarrassing part of this entire night.

"Lohen, don't just… stare at it-" You mumble into the pillow, voice a bit pitchy as your thighs try to close, but his knee is in between your legs before you can even try to hide.

"Why not?" His thumb traces through the cum leaking down your folds, collecting it, spreading it in a slow circle around your clit, and your hips jerk at the contact because you're so overstimulated. "It's mine, I put it there, and I'll stare at it for as long as I want."

He leans down, and you feel his breath warm against your swollen, sensitive skin. Then you feel his tongue, a single slow lick from your clit up to your folds that collects everything in its path. You let out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a sob, your fingers crushing at the sheets. His mouth seals around your clit and sucks one, hard, before pulling off with a wet pop that's so loud it echoes.

"Ahh- hhah, that's... you c-can't just do that and stop..." You whine, your hips chasing his mouth, but he's already sitting up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"I can do whatever I want." He says, like it's a fact, and his thumb pushes inside you lazily, scooping cum out and watching it drip off his finger before sliding it back in. "And right now I want to watch you try to keep it together while I play with the mess I made."

He does this for longer than is reasonable. Sliding his finger in, pulling it out with cum on it, pressing his thumb against your clit, watching you flinch and twitch and moan into the pillow while your body can't decide if it wants more or if it wants him to stop.

When you finally lift your head enough to look back at him, your vision is blurry, and your cheeks are wet, and your hair… let's not talk about that. But his hair, however…

It's perfect.

His actual hair, styled in Scaramouche's cut, falls over his forehead in a way that makes him look like a character rendered by someone who accidentally released him into the real world. He fixed it while he was fucking you, which means at some point of the most brutal backshots of your life, your boyfriend was simultaneously running his fingers through his hair to make sure it looked good.

And it does, it looks like Scaramouche wearing Lohen's clothes, the dark blue and silver of the cosplay framing his face differently than Scara's outfit does, and the combination of his real hair with Lohen's costume is somehow hotter than either one on its own.

"Your hair…" You start, breathless, head tilting, staring at him.

"I know." He doesn't elaborate, and for a second you did forget just where his fingers still are, but then you get instantly reminded when his thumb circles your clit again. His expression is annoyingly smug for someone who was complaining about a wig 4 minutes ago.

He slides back into you without warning, and you gasp, your head dropping back down, because you're still so unbelievably sensitive. Even though he did slurp some of it out, you still have his cum inside of you, and the re-entry just pushed every bit of the leftovers deeper. He does exactly two, slow thrusts from behind, enough to hear the wet sound of it, and enough to feel you clench around him involuntarily, and then he moves.

His hand wraps the belt tighter around your neck and pulls backward toward him. Your upper body lifts off the mattress as the leather digs into your throat. And at the same time, as if he's some pro multitasker, his other hand hooks under your thigh, and hauls you up.

The room tilts as he rearranges your body like you're a doll getting repositioned on a shelf.

He sits back on his heels, then further, his legs extending toward the foot of the bed, and he pulls you down onto his lap with your back against his chest. His cock is still inside you, and the angle of his cock in your folds shifts as gravity does the work of seating you fully onto him. Your weight pushes him impossibly deep.

"Oh my- f-fuck..." Your head falls back against his shoulder, your mouth open, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. You can feel him everywhere. The depth of this position, your full weight on his lap, is the kind of full that makes your brain actually go blank.

The belt is still around your neck. He grips the loose end in one fist, his other hand settling on your hip, and he snaps his hips up.

It's different from behind, and the mating press, and just any position he's ever tried with you. Every thrust pushes up into you while your own weight pushes down. The collision of both forces means he's hitting your cervix with almost every stroke. The belt pulls at your throat in time with his rhythm, and it's like a constant tug that keeps you slightly alert. He's using it as a leash while he fucks up into you.

"Lohen… Lohen, oh my g-god, that's so… hhh…" Your hands grip his thighs behind you for leverage, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin through the dark fabric of the cosplay pants. Every thrust forces a sound out of you that you didn't choose. The sound ranges from breathy moans to hiccuped whimpers to full, unfiltered whines that bounce off your bedroom walls.

"Mm, good girl… Keep saying my name just like that." He says against the shell of your ear, his grin pressing into your hair, and his hips don't slow down at all while his free hand leaves your hip to cup your breast, squeezing it through your bunched-up tank top.

Then, suddenly, the pace changes. It slows like someone pressing on the brakes. The frantic upward thrusts melt into something grinding, deliberate, circular. His hips roll instead of slamming. His hand on the belt adjusts, and you can feel the leather pulling higher on your throat, the pressure shifting from the side of your neck to the front, directly on your windpipe, cutting your air down. It makes the room tilt and your head go light.

"Lohen is fun. I'll give him that."

Your walls clench around him so hard that you feel his breath catch, a tiny fracture in his composure that he covers immediately. The shift from Lohen's energy to Scara's is like someone swapped an entire soundtrack mid-song, same instruments but a completely different vibe.

"But fun is temporary." His hips roll in that slow, calculated grind that's purely Scaramouche. The one that doesn't just find your spot but sits on it, presses into it, with the exact amount of pressure needed to make your eyes cross. "Chaos without control is just noise."

He thrusts so deep that your vision goes white at the edges and your mouth opens around a shameless sound you can't hold back. "I'm not noise." He pulls the belt tighter, your air growing thinner as your head feels floaty and warm. "I'm the only voice in your head that stays."

"Scara…" It comes out of your mouth before he can ask for it, before he can demand it, your body just defaulting to the name it knows and has moaned out more times than you can count. Just the same as muscle memory.

"There she is." His voice sounds satisfied in a way that Lohen's never was. It's settled, fully sure, like something just got confirmed that he already knew. His thumb traces the edge of the belt for exactly one second.

Then his pace goes feral, the leash yanks tight, and you can feel the grin return against the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin. The whiplash of Scara's controlled grind slamming into Lohen's chaos makes your entire body jerk against his chest.

Then he goes back to Scara, slow, precise, the belt adjusting to hit your windpipe just like before, and your vision goes soft and dreamy.

Then Lohen, again, fast and reckless, the belt pulling to the sides, sharp and painful. Your vision snaps back, too clear… too much.

Then Scara.

Then Lohen.

The switches accelerate, and you're caught between two different rhythms that you don't even have time to get used to either one before it switches back and forth, and you're left shaking, trembling, your thighs quivering helplessly on either side of his.

"You feel so fucking good-" you can hear Lohen's signature grin in his tone, his hips snapping up hard enough that you bounce on his lap, "You think you can handle more?"

And then, like a light to a switch, Scara's back, his thrusts slowing into a grind that feels torturous. "Of course you can't… You never could. You just pretend."

"Mm… mmnhh, I c-cant, it's too much," you're babbling, the words coming out in disconnected fragments that don't form a single coherent thought, "both of you at the s-same time… I can't… my brain… can't…"

Your body is trying to process two characters and one cock, and one belt on your throat that keeps changing how tight and how rough it's being pulled, and the gravity pinning you down, and his hands on you everywhere. "Please jus- hha, pick one, p-please, I can't think when you keep switching, I-"

"No." It doesn't sound like either character he's playing as he says that, almost himself. "You don't get to pick, you get both."

You cum on the fault line. On the exact millisecond where Lohen's chaos collides with Scara's control. The two rhythms are crashing together inside your body like a wave hitting a wall. The orgasm rips through you so hard that your vision actually blacks out for a second.

Your walls seize around him in rhythmic, violent clenches, your back arching against his chest, the belt pulling taut as your body contorts, and the sound you make is raw, unformed, the kind of noise a person makes when their brain short-circuits.

He cums with you, his groan is buried in the crook of your neck as his teeth bite down on your shoulder. The belt goes slack in his hand, and his hips stutter up as he fills you again. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, and his hands grip your hips hard.

His breathing is ragged against your neck, not in character, just Kuni, just like before, catching a breath he doesn't need to catch because the adrenaline is still making his body do human things.

He lets go of the belt and unloops it from your neck. The leather slides off your skin, leaving a warm, raw line that you'll see in the mirror tomorrow. His hands settle on your hips, gentle, all the urgency gone.

He turns you around, rotating you by your hips without pulling out. Your legs swing around until you're facing him, straddling his hips. When your eyes meet his, it's your boyfriend looking at you, Kuni, with his makeup smudged, his real hair messy and falling into his eyes, wearing another character's clothes with his own face underneath.

He grinds up into you, slow, not thrusting, just rolling his hips with his cock still inside you, his cum still inside, and the wet sound fills the quiet room.

He kisses you, a slow kiss where his hand cups the back of your neck. His tongue slides against yours, and your hands find his face, holding his jaw the same way you hold it when you do his eyeliner. Your fingers on his cheekbones, your thumbs at the corners of his mouth… the grip is so familiar that your chest aches with it.

He pulls out, the gush of everything between you spills onto his thighs, and you whimper at the loss, your hips chasing him involuntarily, still kissing him, before settling.

He leans back, lies flat, and looks up at you. "Sit on my face." He instructs, his hands already going for his bottoms, shoving the waistband down with both hands, lifting his hips, and kicking the pants and underwear off in one motion that sends them somewhere on the bed. He settles back onto the mattress with his cock resting against his stomach and the rest of Lohen's cosplay still on his upper half.

You're still on top of him, and you start to move toward his face, swinging your leg over to straddle his chest, and just as you're about to lower yourself down facing the wall, he stops you.

"Other way." His hands catch your hips, holding you in place before you can settle. "Face my cock, not the headboard."

You turn, shifting on your knees so you're facing his legs instead, and the second your thighs are on either side of his face, his hands pull you down. He doesn't ease you into it, his fingers dig into your hips and yank you flat on him. His mouth meets your cunt like he's been starving for it. His tongue is on you immediately, flat and broad, licking through the mess of his cum and yours that's still leaking, and the groan he lets out against your folds vibrates through your entire lower half.

"Ah- oh my god, Loh-" Your hands brace against his stomach, fingers splaying across his chest, your body jerking at the contact because you're still so overstimulated that even his breath against you would be too much, let alone his entire mouth sealed to your cunt like he's trying to milk you dry.

He doesn't let up; his tongue pushes between your folds, lapping at the cum he left inside you, alternating between long drags up your clit, and pointed flicks that make your thighs clamp around his head. His hands keep your hips pinned to his face, and every time you try to lift yourself even slightly because it's too much, he pulls you back down harder.

You look down past his stomach, past his lips, and his cock is right there. Hard again, flushed at the tip, twitching every time you moan. It looks helpless, which is a stupid word to use for a dick, but that's what it looks like.

Just lying there… hard… neglected, pulsing at nothing while his mouth does all the work on you. The visual of that all, combined with the way his tongue just circles your clit makes your mouth water and your body move on its own.

You lean down, lips pressing against the tip, soft, barely any contact, and you feel his hips twitch upward at even that little touch. You open your mouth wider, about to take him in, settling your weight forward onto your forearms on either side of his hips, and then his hands move.

They leave your hips, and you feel them slide down your back, his arms wrapping around your torso, his palms pressing flat against your shoulder blades from behind, and before you can even register the shift in grip, he lifts you.

Your knees leave the mattress, your thighs slide up his shoulders until they're hooked over them, his arms anchored around your back. You aren't straddling his face anymore; you're suspended above him, upside down, your entire lower body held up by his arms, and your upper body hangs between his legs with his cock directly in front of your face.

"KUNI- what the HELL-" Your hands scramble for something to hold, and the only thing available is his back, his sides, your fingers digging into whatever part of him you can reach. "Stop putting me upside down!! How are you even this strong??"

He ignores you, his mouth is still on your cunt like the position change was nothing, like rearranging your entire body didn't interrupt the rhythm of his tongue.

Your thighs are wrapped around his shoulders, your calves pressed against the sides of his head, and his arms are locked around your lower back and hips, creating a cage of muscle that keeps you from falling. Your stomach is pressed against his chest, your breasts squished between your body and his, and your face is hovering directly over his cock with your hair hanging down.

He doesn't pause to let you adjust; his tongue pushes inside you from below, curling, and the moan that rips out of you vibrates against his inner thigh because your mouth is right there, inches from his cock, and you can't even hold back the sound.

You take him in your mouth because his cock is right there, hard, flushed, leaking from the tip, and this is the only logical response you can think of.

Your lips close around the head, and you can hear, feel, his groan vibrate against your clit from below. The sensation travels through you, making your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and you take him deeper in response, your jaw stretching as you slide down his shaft.

His hips start moving, and he's fucking up into your mouth with thrusts that push his cock past your tongue and into the back of your throat. The angle of being upside down makes your gag reflex hit differently, sharper, your throat constricting around him with every push.

"Mmph-" You gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth and running up toward your nose because gravity is working against you, and your eyes water as he pushes in deep enough that your lips press flush against his base.

He pulls your hips down against his face at the same time, grinding your cunt onto his mouth, and the dual sensation of his tongue on your clit and his cock in your throat creates a never-ending loop.

Every sound you make around him vibrates through his cock and makes his groan against you, and every groan he makes against you vibrates through your clit and makes you moan louder, and the cycle just keeps building on itself until neither of you is making sounds that qualify as human.

Your hands grip the backs of his thighs, nails biting into his skin, your only anchor while the rest of you is suspended in the air, getting destroyed from both ends. His arms tighten around your back whenever your body jerks too hard, keeping you steady, and the strength required to hold you like this while simultaneously eating you out and thrusting into your mouth is something you'll think about later, when you have brain cells to think with.

His tongue circles your clit and then seals over it, sucking hard, and your entire body arches in his grip. Your moan around his cock is muffled and obscene, a wet, gargled sound that would be embarrassing if you had any shame left, and the vibration of it makes his hips stutter up so hard you choke.

"Mmngh-" Spit drips down your chin, or up your chin technically because you're upside down, and his cock slides out of your mouth for a second while you cough and gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft.

He doesn't give you a break. His mouth doesn't leave your cunt, his tongue pressing harder, faster, relentless, and your mouth finds his cock again through the haze, taking him back in because even choking on him feels better than the alternative of not having him in your mouth.

His hips roll up in longer strokes now, less frantic but deeper, and you can feel the tension building in his thighs, the muscles tightening under your fingers. His arms squeeze around your back, pulling your hips down harder against his mouth, and his tongue works your clit in tight, focused circles that are designed to break you.

Everything builds at the same time. His cock pulsing heavier against your tongue, your walls clenching against his mouth, the pressure in your core climbing toward something massive, and his breathing getting faster against your cunt, his groans getting louder, less controlled, desperate in a way he only gets when he's close.

You cum first, barely, by maybe a second.

Your walls seize, and your thighs clamp around his shoulders, and the orgasm crashes through you in a wave so intense your jaw locks around his cock. The constriction of your throat, squeezing around him, plus the vibration of your moan, plus the way your entire body shakes in his grip, is what sends him over.

He cums in your mouth with a groan so deep you feel it in your spine. His hips push up one final time, his cock pulsing thick against your tongue, and you swallow around him because there's nothing else to do in this position, the cum sliding down your throat (or up, gravity is still confusing) while his tongue works you through the last aftershocks.

His arms loosen, not all at once, because if he did, you'd drop violently onto the bed. He eases the tension gradually, lowering your hips back toward the mattress, and you let his cock slip from your mouth with a wet sound that you're too brain dead to be embarrassed about.

"Put me down," you mumble against his thigh, your voice wrecked, your arms shaking. "Please, Kuni, put me down before I die in this position, and you have to explain it to my parents."

He lowers you down carefully, his hands guiding your hips and legs until your back is flat on the mattress beside him. Your head is at the foot of the bed, and your feet are near the pillows, but you don't really care because you're horizontal and alive, and that's enough.

He sits up, looks at you sideways on the bed, completely destroyed, and he doesn't say anything. He just moves you, his hands sliding under your back and your knees as he repositions you properly to put your head up against the pillows where it belongs.

He's quiet when he cleans you up this time, zero commentary about you squirming, no dry remarks about sensitivity, just the warm cloth from the bathroom, careful movements between your legs while his other hand stays on your hip to keep you still when you flinch.

He brings new clothes from your dresser, a pair of underwear, which goes on you first, slides up your legs, then shorts, then a top he pulls over your head and feeds through your arms without asking for your cooperation because he's already learned you won't give it.

He doesn't talk the whole time, which is unusual, because Kuni always has something to say, always has a complaint or a remark or a correction. But right now he's just doing it quietly, focused, tucking the hem of your top down with his fingers before standing up and walking toward your closet.

He changes into the pajama pants and black shirt he keeps in your drawer, and he pulls the Lohen cosplay off in pieces as he does it, dropping each part onto the chair by your desk.

"I'm never wearing that thing again," he says, pulling the top layer of Lohen's outfit off his shoulders with a grimace, his tone flat and final. "Whoever designed this character hates the human body. It feels like it's over 6 layers, especially with the long-sleeve, the cape thing… everything." He drops the last piece and kicks it under the chair. "Scara's cosplay isn't even that heavy because Scara was designed by someone with common sense."

You watch him from the bed, half-lidded, sinking into the pillows, your body so heavy that you feel like you're melting into your own mattress.

He walks back and pulls the covers up, sliding in beside you without ceremony. The second he's horizontal, you're already moving toward him, pressing your face into his chest, your hand curling into the front of his shirt, and his arm wraps about your back.

He kisses your forehead, soft, and then the bridge of your nose when you lift your face up enough, then the corner of your mouth. It's small, quiet presses of his lips against your skin that feel nothing like Scaramouche or Lohen. These are Kuni kisses, the ones he gives when no character is being performed.

The ones he probably doesn't even realize he's giving because they come out of him the same way breathing does.

He tips your chin up with his finger, and his eyes are just blue. Not indigo contacts, not the ones he wore for the Lohen cosplay, just his natural, stupid, annoyingly pretty blue that you fell for before you even knew that you cosplayed.

"Who do you want?" He asks, his voice low, and it's the softest you've heard it all night.

You look at him, at the messy hair, at the body who dyes his hair for a fictional character and hates wigs and complains about having to style his hair everyday and who buys you an abmormal amount of primogems, and probably would get you c6 r5 Lohen the minute he drops because he does that for every character, even when he gets jealous when you simp for a character that you don't just ask him to cosplay like any other logical person dating a cosplayer.

"Kuni," you say, and your voice is small and sure. "Just Kuni."

His mouth twitches, and you can see the shape of a smile trying to form before he catches it and pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin and pressing his lips to your hair.

"Good answer," he murmurs into your scalp, so quiet that you almost miss it.

You close your eyes, your face against the fabric of his shirt, and you're asleep before you can respond. He stays awake for a minute more, his hand moving through your hair in slow repetitive movements. He stares at the ceiling fan, and he doesn't say anything.

He doesn't need to.

I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)

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[chuluoyi]

to court a princess

- gwayne hightower x betrothed!reader

a princess wed to a dashing knight should be living a fairytale—but gwayne hightower is also the son of the schemer who would soon plunge the realm into civil war. how long can you resist his charms... when he proves time and again that his affection is as genuine as his honor?

genre/warnings: arranged marriage, unrequited love, hurt/comfort, yearning, jealousy, mentions of injury & blood, fluff and lots of kissing afterwards, sunshine!gwayne and grumpy!reader, political drama, targaryen!reader (reader is rhaenyra's younger sister), spoilers! takes place in season 1 of house of the dragon

notes: gif by @/bladeofdreadfort. wc. 4.5k ! hotd s3 is finally here and so does my man gwayne <3 i really loved writing this so i hope you’ll enjoy it!

For the longest time, Gwayne had known that the matter of his marriage were not his to ponder. As the son of the Hand of the King, his future was a tapestry woven by him in a series of cunning, calculated moves.

Yet, he had never truly expected to be betrothed to you—a princess of the realm.

The young princess for the queen’s brother. By every measure, it was a masterful stroke of politics and his father had once again outdone himself. After binding his sister to the king, it was now his turn to seek the heart of the realm’s most coveted maiden after the Princess Rhaenyra.

However, to Gwayne, you were more than just a political alliance. You were a paragon of beauty, the girl haunting his dreams, the princess who has stolen his heart—

But seven hells, were you also one hard lady to entice.

Every charming smile he threw your way was met with an arched, unimpressed brow. Every poetic compliment he rehearsed tasted like ash and shattered against your coldness. You didn’t swoon like the ladies at the tourney grounds, nor did you soften at his obvious attempts to woo you.

Instead, you looked at him as if you could see right through the nervous man underneath.

Your assessing gaze was currently fixed on him from the shade of the courtyard gallery. Down in the dirt, Gwayne was sweating through his padded doublet, trying his absolute best to look formidable as his sword clashed against his squire’s shield—because he knew you were watching.

He has to look good. Your wedding was in three weeks, so he was fighting to impress—determined to give you a show of how your betrothed was as dashing as the realm claimed him to be.

With theatrical flair, he executed an aggressive sequence before driving his squire back with a heavy strike, deftly sweeping the poor lad’s legs out from under him, and sending him sprawling into the dirt with a breathless thud.

Breathing heavily, Gwayne smoothly rested the point of his sword near the fallen boy’s chest in a classic pose of victory.

“You are just dead,” he declared with his signature grin, before turning to where you were.

You leaned against the stone balustrade, looking down at him with an expression of mild, patronizing amusement. He flashed you a hopeful, boyish grin that begged for even a shred of your approval.

And as if deciding to grace him with your presence, you descended down the stone stairs. Gwayne’s smile widened, and he met you halfway as you reached the bottom.

Ignoring the staring stableboys, he dipped his head and took your hand, placing a kiss on it.

“Princess,” he greeted, his dark blue eyes meeting yours with an excited crinkle.

“An impressive display, Ser Gwayne,” you replied, smoothly pulling your hand back from his grasp. He was giddy, about to thank you for the compliment, when—

“I must commend your passion. It takes a truly remarkable knight to exert such effort against a boy half his size who is actively paid to lose to him.”

Gwayne winced slightly, but the grin quickly returned to his face, refusing to let your sharp tongue deter him.

“A knight, no matter the age, must practice for all manner of foes. It shall be a good lesson for my squire to learn,” he countered softly. He had always been a naturally courteous man, but he had been practicing an extra measure of gentleness ever since the betrothal was announced, even when you remained frosty.

He hoped that you would recognize it—that you would see he was willing to bend his pride just for you.

However, you merely lifted your chin higher, your eyes flashing with a challenge.

“Is that so? My, what a chivalrous soul you are. I suppose I shall sleep soundly knowing you are defending the realm with your immense prowess and formidable army of squires.”

One thing he could never truly understand, though... he hadn’t asked for this match any more than you had, yet why did you look at him as you would a liar?

And it hurts because... he remembers how the more innocent, younger you, who had wiped blood from his face, hadn’t looked at him as you do now.

“We are to be married in no less than a moon,” he reminded you, still with a smile. “Tell me, Princess... what must a man do to earn a genuine compliment from his bride?”

You held his gaze for a beat, letting the silence stretch just long enough to watch the slight twitch in his jaw. Then, a devastatingly sweet smile graced your lips as you tilted your head.

“Compliments are but wind, my good ser. If we are to marry soon anyways, what use would flattering you with empty words do?”

Gwayne let out a defeated chuckle. “I shall just continue striving to become a man worthy of your hand, then.”

You had just insulted him and mocked his swordsmanship in the same breath, and yet, somehow, he still found himself tethered to you still.

What a fool he was.

He didn’t give up just like that, of course. Gifts was also Gwayne’s language of affection.

He had commissioned a seven-pointed star necklace for you in Oldtown, crafted from the finest silver and diamond. He had watched his late mother and sister find such profound comfort in it, and so he had believed it would make a fine gift for you.

Yet, now that he presented the gleaming jewelry to you, you were rendered silent.

“You do not like it,” he realized, a note of disappointment building through his usual confidence.

“It is exquisite. Truly,” you started, your voice gentle but lacking the reverence he had anticipated. “But... you must not expect me to wear it often.”

“Is it the design? If it offends your sensibilities, I can have it redone, or—”

“I assure you, I know your intentions are kind,” you looked at him, a certain sternness in your eyes. “It is just a matter of preference, is all. I treasure this necklace from my mother rather greatly, and wearing it is how I keep her close to me.”

The tragic death of Queen Aemma was not so easily forgotten, least of all when you resembled her so much. Gwayne’s smile faltered, the enthusiasm in his eyes dimming when his gaze found the sapphire necklace of Arryn falcon on your neck, a heirloom passed down.

He looked down at the silver star resting in the wooden box, suddenly finding it so plain, before forcing himself to meet your gaze again.

“I just want you to know that... you are in my thoughts, constantly,” he murmured, his gaze rising to meet yours again. “Whenever I see something I consider beautiful, I think of you. I want you to have it. You should know I have no underlying intentions other than that.”

You gave him an appreciative nod, pursing your lips together. “Your kind thoughts are much appreciated.”

So he had failed, again. Sigh.

What better way to impress your betrothed and prove to the entire realm that you were worthy of her hand than by claiming victory at the King’s nameday tourney?

Even you would at least bestow a real smile upon him. That was what Gwayne was after.

Or at least, it was until his gaze drifted to the edge of the battlement grounds where the knights were assembling. There, he saw you.

With Criston Cole.

The sight struck him. You, who usually looked at him with indifference, were attentive, your eyes bright in a way Gwayne had never managed to make them. Cole, in turn, had a reserved smile, his attention entirely locked onto you.

It could have been anyone but Criston—the Dornishman!—Cole. Why him?!

A sharp spike of resentment flared in his chest. He decided right then and there that this cannot stand, and marched towards you both.

“Good day, Ser Criston,” Gwayne greeted with a forced smile, his voice dripping with a courtly cheer that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Cole returned his greeting, and he turned to you then. “My betrothed, fancy to have found you here. You shouldn’t have to sully yourself with the dirt.”

“I was merely wishing Ser Criston luck in the lists.” As always, the corners of your lips curled into that faux smile whenever facing him. “The competition looks fierce today.”

What about him? You hadn’t thought of wishing him, your own groom, luck?

“Fierce for some, mayhaps,” Gwayne nodded, his smile sharpening as he took another step forward, deliberately cutting off Criston Cole’s line of sight to you. He reached out, his gauntleted hand gently but firmly taking yours.

“But I sure do not fear a crowd of knights of modest beginnings and second sons. And I have hoped that I might find you in the stands later, and you would bestow upon me your favor to assure me of my victory.”

He looked down at you, the forced arrogance in his eyes momentarily cracked. He wanted you to look at him the way you had just looked at Cole, really.

But cruel, relentless you never granted it so easily.

“Your romantic sensibilities are commendable, ser.” You let out a soft sigh, as if lamenting, “but victory is still guaranteed by skill and the favor of the Seven, and not merely from a scrap of silk.”

The rejection was subtle, but in the presence of Criston Cole, it felt like a public execution.

“It is said even a scrap of favor from one’s bride can turn the tide of many battles,” Gwayne replied, his voice dropping an octave as the last traces of courtly cheer evaporated. “Unless, of course, your favor has already been promised to someone else?”

His eyes flicked towards Cole, searching for a reason to draw steel before the tourney even began. And that Dornish wretch had the gall to look at him in the eyes and retorted:

“May the best knight win, ser.”

Your betrothed had become terribly displeased and you knew it. Your hollow smile deepened, you stepped forward and smoothly slid your hand into the crook of his arm.

“No, no. You are free to ask me for it later, of course, my dear.”

Gwayne knew better that the honeyed words held no real affection. Yet, like a moth drawn to a flame, he couldn’t help but fall for it each and every time.

You held his leash, and you knew exactly how far you could play with and stretch it. But as he looked at you, a quiet ache settled in his soul.

Is it truly so wrong of him to seek your heart? How much longer would he have to endure this torment, giving everything while his affections remained completely unreturned?

“From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.”

That was the first thing he told you when the betrothal was announced. In a den of vipers, Gwayne Hightower was entirely his own man.

He didn’t possess the calculating ambition of his father, who viewed every living soul as a piece in his game of thrones. Nor was he prudent like his sister, Queen Alicent, whose motto in life was duty and sacrifice.

You know that. You really knew that your chosen betrothed was everything but unkind. He was everything the songs promised a knight should be— genuine, posh, with a touch of arrogance that made him charming. He held you in high regard, and his attempts to make an impression on you were sweet.

Despite how you behaved around him, the truth was... it took everything in you not to fall for Ser Gwayne Hightower.

But he is still Otto’s son. You hated the Lord Hand with every fiber of your being—the man’s thirst for power had already forced your childhood companion Alicent into your father’s bed, turned your sister Rhaenyra into a scheming cynic, and your own betrothal to Gwayne was just another piece of his grand design.

However, watching the tourney unfold from the royal box, your thoughts swirled with guilt and anxiety. In the end, he hadn’t asked for your favor at all. Ironically, his sudden silence unsettled you far more than his persistence ever had.

Looking back on your interactions, the weight of your biting marks pressed heavily against your chest. You had rejected him so many times, using your faux smiles and sharp wit as shields. Every time you remembered the look of hurt that crossed his face before he masked it with a patient smile, a fresh wave of guilt washed over you.

Did he deserve to be punished just for pursuing you? Was it fair to make him pay for his father’s sins?

Down in the dirt, Gwayne rode beautifully, unseating two seasoned knights from the Reach and splitting lances with a Lannister to thunderous applause from the crowd. For a moment, watching his silver and green armor gleam in the sunlight, a spark of pride flared in your chest.

Then, Ser Criston Cole rode onto the field.

The tension between the two men was palpable even from the high stands. They charged— one lance shattered, then a second. By the third pass, it was clear it was a matter of pride.

And on the fourth pass, the collision was catastrophic.

With a terrifying crack that echoed across the grounds, Cole’s lance struck dead center. Gwayne was violently unseated, flung from his saddle to hit the earth with a sickening crash.

A collective gasp sucked the air from the stands. Through the rising dust, you saw your betrothed lying completely still. Cole’s lance hadn’t just broken— it had compromised his armor. His steel breastplate was shattered to pieces, the shards visibly lodged into his chest, dark blood already pooling through the fractures.

Your breath hitched, your hand flying to your mouth in horror.

Six years ago, a similar scene had paralyzed your heart the very same way. Blind to the rules of propriety, you bolted from the royal box. Pushing past lords and ladies, you sprinted down into the arena—desperate to reach him.

The maesters and several squires had already swarmed him, unbuckling the undamaged pieces of his armor with hurried hands. Gwayne was propped up against a wooden barrier, half-conscious, his head lolling to the side as his eyes struggled to hold focus.

“Will he be alright?” your voice cracked, almost shrill, the composed facade of a princess shattered as you hovered over the maesters working on him. “Tell me he will be alright.”

“The steel hasn’t pierced the heart, Princess, but we must move him to immediately to extract the shards,” one of them mumbled, wrapping a temporary cloth around the wound to stem the bleeding.

Gwayne let out a low, guttural groan at the pressure, his eyelids fluttering. Through the haze of pain, he recognized your voice. He knew you were there.

Driven by a sudden, overwhelming surge to comfort him, you dropped to your knees beside him. Your hands were trembling as you reached out, using the hem of your sleeve to wipe away the grime and blood that smeared his pale cheek.

But before your fingers could trace his jawline, Gwayne’s gauntleted hand came up. With a sudden burst of remaining strength, he swatted your hand away—

“Do not touch me,” he rasped.

The words were raw and bitter, dripping with an icy venom you had never heard from him before.

. . .

Gwayne refused to meet your gaze. He pressed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone practically strained against his skin.

It wasn’t just the physical agony tearing him apart. It was the suffocating, absolute humiliation.

He had lost. He had been unseated and laid low in the dirt in front of the entire realm—and worse, in front of Criston Cole. He couldn’t bear to see the pity in your eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at the woman he loved and see confirmation that he was exactly what you always thought of him: unworthy.

“I’m— fine,” he choked out then. “So... go back to the Keep.”

It was funny how this was the same thing that had happened to him six years ago, during the Heir’s Tourney. He had been brutally unseated by Daemon Targaryen then, and just like now, you had come running to him, wiping the blood from his broken nose with your kerchief.

He fell in love with you then... and he has been in love with you ever since.

The girl holding his heart was a princess, and he had never dared to hope for more, never dreaming his conniving father would actually arrange your hand for him. He had thought it a blessing.

But his pursuit of you the past three moons had yielded nothing but a bitter truth— you despised him.

So he preferred to choke on the blinding pain, to let it consume him entirely, rather than suffer the indignity of your comfort.

You are in love with him.

You had spent weeks trying to resent the circumstances that led to your marriage with Otto Hightower’s son, reminding yourself over and over that he had fractured your family, sowing seeds of rebellion that would break once Alicent’s son came to age, and it would spell disaster upon you all—

But the wounded knight with broken nose six years ago had long since owned a part of your heart, and one week without Gwayne Hightower persistent on your heel, you had found yourself... sad.

“Mrawgh...”

“I’m not lonely,” you mumbled petulantly, brushing a hand against Grey Ghost’s silver scales as the dragon curled up, blinking his golden eyes shut to rest.

To occupy yourself, you spent the days with your dragon in the Dragonpit. Tending to Grey Ghost made the long hours pass faster— he was a recluse and not keen on flying often, but his quiet presence matched your somber mood.

Leaving him to his slumber, you walked away lost in your thoughts, entirely failing to notice how slippery the stone ledge had become.

Your foot caught on a heavy iron ring embedded in the floor. The world tilted as you stumbled backwards, losing your footing entirely. You braced for a painful impact against the stone floor, but a pair of strong arms wrapped securely around your waist, arresting your descent.

A sharp, ragged gasp left your savior’s lips. As you stabilized, you realized your hands had instinctively braced against his chest—pressing right over the bandages of the fresh wound.

“Steady there,” the redhead managed, a strained smile tight on his lips as he gently set you back on your feet. His green tunic made you realize who he was—

“Gwayne!” you breathed. Your hands hovered over him, trembling, almost terrified to touch him again. “Why are you—your wound! I didn’t mean to—”

“I am fine, truly,” he assured you, his voice softening as he offered a warm, comforting smile. “It is but a scratch, Princess. It takes more than a clumsy tumble from you to injure me.”

Just like a hundred times before, Gwayne Hightower sought you out. You could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and how he looked pale still—

From today to the day we breathe our last, all that I am is yours.

“You are supposed to be resting!” Your voice rose despite yourself. “Why are you here?!”

This wasn’t what you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him a lot of other things! Like he was a fool, and that you would forbid him to enter the lists once you two were wed, that you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—

His blue eyes crinkled with that familiar kindness as he reached out, softly tucking a stray strand of your loose hair behind your ear.

“If I wasn’t here, then you would take a fall.” His voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “I can’t very well let my betrothed hurt herself before our big day, can I?”

This was the first time since King Viserys announced your betrothal three moons ago that you looked genuinely worried for him. It made something inside him burst with joy, even if it was tinged with a bitter aftertaste.

Gwayne’s thumb gently brushed across the back of your hand that was still pressed against his chest.

“Tell me... Is this the only way I could truly have your attention? Must I be grievously injured, a step away from Death’s door, for you to look at me like this?”

Your eyes widened by a fraction. Precious, precious girl. He chuckled softly, a teasing glint brightened his eyes.

Just this once, could he be allowed to be just a little bit cruel?

“Even if you keep looking at me with those beautiful eyes...” he whispered, his smile turning a little wistful, “...my heart might just run out, one of these days.”

He gave you one last, kind smile—a look of affection that no longer held expectations, or reeked of the politics that bound your families. Then, he gently gripped your hand, pulling it away from him before turning on his heel to leave you to your own devices.

When your fingers fell limp into the cold air, a stinging realization pierced through you like a dagger:

Is this how he feels? Is this what he endures every time I evade him? How has he survived it over and over?

As his warmth retreated into the shadows of the Dragonpit, something sharp tore deep inside your chest.

You didn’t want him to go. The walls you had spent weeks building to protect your heart against the Hightower name crumbled into dust. Your eyes burned with tears that blurred his retreating figure.

He was nearly out of the pit when you gathered your skirts, abandoning your pride, and ran after him.

“Ser Gwayne!”

Before he could turn back, you lunged, throwing your pride and your fears to the wind. You crashed into his back, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist, burying your face against his spine. He stiffened, almost flinching—

But then he heard you sob.

“Princess...?” he asked softly. His tone shifted, turning from startled confusion to a protective concern as he carefully turned around within your embrace. He reached up, gently tilting your chin up, only to find your cheeks flushed and wet with tears.

Realizing you were truly, genuinely weeping, Gwayne’s breath hitched in his throat.

He didn’t think. He didn’t let past rejections dictate him. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his uninjured side.

“Shh, please do not weep,” he said in your ear, his own voice suddenly thick with emotion as he rocked you slightly. “Darling... please.”

Darling. Why did the word sound so devastatingly sweet in your ears? As you clung to him, you realized with absolute certainty that you wanted him to call you that for the rest of your days.

As he held you, feeling the warmth of your hands anchoring yourself to him, the pieces finally fell into place:

Has she... returned my feelings?

When your sobs finally quieted and your breathing turned calmer, you gently pulled back just enough to look up at him. Your eyes met his, and an ache settled in your chest.

He was such a beautiful man. Red hair, blue eyes, with ghost of dimples— still the very same wounded knight you had secretly harbored affections for with all those years ago.

Driven by a clear wave of clarity, you didn’t wait for him to speak. Reaching up, you stood on your toes and pulled him down by his collar—

—and pressed your lips to his.

Gwayne went rigid at your sudden boldness. But as your fingers tangled into his soft hair, any lingering shock vanished. With a low groan, he leaned into you, capturing your mouth in a kiss that felt like the bursting of a dam.

He drank in your sighs, his lips moving against yours with a desperate longing, as if he were trying to memorize the taste of you. He pulled you closer, his hands tilting your head back, anchoring you to him.

“You really are—” he growled against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged, “my utter undoing, Princess.”

Before the words could even fully register, you gasped as he gathered you up and hoisted you backwards, setting you down onto the broad stone railing.

Gwayne stepped between your thighs, pinning you to the ledge as his mouth descended on yours once more, even more ravenous than before. The kiss became a blur of lips, tongues, and breathless gasps—

His hands left your face to map the lines of your body, his palm sliding down the column of your throat to the curve of your shoulders. In his mind’s eye, he was already stripping away the heavy, suffocating layers of your gown, picturing the soft, aching swell of your breasts and the intoxicating dip of your waist.

In less than a week... as soon as you swear your oaths before the Seven, he would be graced by that sight.

Gwayne dragged his lips down from your mouth, leaving a trail of scorching kisses along your jawline before burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Ser Gwayne—” your voice came hitched, and that what brought him back to reality.

He bit softly at the sensitive skin there, swallowing the fire that was about to consume him. When he finally pulled away to breathe, his lips lingered against yours.

“Well, you did kiss me first, Princess,” Gwayne murmured, his eyes twinkling, voice delightfully raspy as his arms settled loosely around your waist. “If I had known a broken rib would finally get you to kiss me, I would have marched up to Grey Ghost and asked him to toss me by the tail weeks ago.”

“Please don’t,” you giggled, circling your arms around his neck.

“Ah, but think of the romance— a dashing knight, battered and bruised, crawling back from the Dragonpit just to collapse into his bride’s arms.”

A breathless laugh escaped your lips, giving way to a very sweet, genuine smile. To Gwayne Hightower, this was the prettiest you had ever been, and his heart throbbed.

Oh, so she does, he realized, a quiet reverence settling into his soul. She does return my affections.

Gwayne leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, finally certain that his heart was safe in your hands.

“You might not know it,” he whispered, “but I have been in love with you for a very long time.”

You looked up at him, your eyes bright with unshed tears, and he met your gaze with a look of such devotion it stole the breath from your lungs.

“So let me say this once again. From before, now and until the day we breathe our last, all that I am... is yours.”

In that moment, you couldn’t have known that the realm would soon be plunged into a senseless civil war, pitting your sister against his in a dance of dragons and blood. You couldn’t have foreseen the ashes, the betrayals, or the heavy price the Hightower green and the Targaryen black would have to pay.

None of that matters right now. All you wanted was to lose yourself in his embrace and savor the fragile perfection of your wedding to the man of your dreams... for as long as it would last.

[eikyuuni]

izuku letting katsuki fuck his girlfriend ⭑.ᐟ mdni ᭝ threesome, unprotected p in v, creampie, brief cum play, lots of praise from izuku in the cuck chair

your cheek's pressed into the sheets, hands fisting in the fabric as katsuki fucks into you from behind. low grunts under his breath, jaw tight, pace relentless. his hands are rough on your hips, dragging you back into each thrust, hard enough so you feel every inch, every grind, every low, deep press of his cock as he fucks into that same aching spot over and over again.

izuku's curled close, lying on his side just... watching. one hand resting light on your thigh, the other tucked under his head, soft eyes flicking between your face and down to where katsuki's cock keeps disappearing into you.

"you're taking him so well," he murmurs, thumb brushing a little higher, just grazing the edge of your ass, the curve of your hip. his voice is soft, too soft for how filthy it makes you feel. "look at you, angel... you're so full, he's stretching you out so pretty."

you nod meekly, eyes glinting as a sharp gasp slips past your lips when katsuki fucks into you harder, as if he's punishing you for forgetting who's inside you.

izuku hums, dark eyes flicking to katsuki's before returning to yours, smiling. "i know, sweetheart... it's too much, huh?"

katsuki growls low behind you. a quiet, "shut the fuck up," as he slides a hand up to the back of your neck, palm warm against your skin as he presses in so deep you let out a choked, ah— katsuki

"that's it," izuku coos, completely unfazed. "just breathe through it. you're doing so good."

his hand smooths up your back, soothing and warm like he's trying to calm you down while he let's katsuki fuck you stupid right in front of him. like he's not hard under his sweats, cock pressed tight, precum spotting the fabric as he bites the inside of his cheek every time you moan.

"he's so mean, isn't he?" izuku murmurs, low near your ear. "but he always gives you exactly what you need. you should say thank you, baby," he encourages, lips pressing to the side of your neck. "go on, tell kacchan how thankful you are."

katsuki's cock twitches inside you with every word as you stutter out a quiet "t-thank you."

he lets out a curse under his breath as he drags his cock out, eyes focused on your slick coating him before he slams back in—hips flush to yours.

"you're gonna make him cum," izuku says sweetly, sliding one hand down between your thighs, fingers gentle and warm as they dip past where katsuki's cock is still fucking into you, slow just for a moment so neither of them miss the way you jerk when izuku touches you there—firm pressure pressing into you, brushing past katsuki's cock where it's stretching you out, slick and messy and so tender it makes you cry out.

"that's it," izuku murmurs, thumb catching right over your clit, a teasing flick, "there you go. we've got you."

katsuki groans as he lifts your hips a little more to angle deeper. "shit—" he bites out, "she's squeezin' me so tight."

you sob into the sheets. izuku's hand doesn't let up, while katsuki's pace stutters hard, hips snapping into you.

"keep talkin' to her like that, she's gonna cum. can feel it... keeps clenching every time you talk." katsuki mutters, eyes fixated on his cock glistening every time he pulls back just to hear you beg for more.

izuku just hums, "she wants to," he says, his own fingers coated in your slick as they keep moving slow against your clit now. "she's being so good for you kacchan. letting you fuck her that deep, letting me touch— being so brave, don't you think?"

katsuki drags you back onto him, hard, and it knocks a broken little sob out of your chest. "you hear that, baby?" katsuki grits, leaning in, mouth hot against your spine. "you're our good fuckin' girl, yeah?"

"y-yeah," you gasp, voice trembling as izuku presses a little firmer against your clit. "wanna be good for you both..."

"we know, sweetheart," izuku coos, soft and breathless, curling a little closer to you, nose bumping into your cheek as he presses soft kisses there. "you're doing so good. we know it's a lot."

"is it too much for you?" katsuki mumbles, pressing his own lips against your skin, "or you just like whinin' for us?"

you shake your head fast, fingers fisting tighter into the sheets, "no! don't stop, please... i-i'm gonna—"

"yeah?" he growls, fucking you through it harder. "you gonna cum all over my cock, baby? gonna let me feel it?"

"she's right there," izuku whispers beside you. "let it happen. we've got you."

it hits hard—blinding heat sparking deep and low as your body goes rigid, pussy clenching around katsuki so hard he swears, stutters, and slams in once, choking on a groan as he cums with you.

"fuck— i'm cummin'—" katsuki gasps, forehead dropping to your shoulder as his hips twitch, cock pressing deep and grinding through it as he spills into you in warm thick pulses.

izuku hums beside you, his fingers wet with your release coming up to stroke your thigh, before pressing a kiss to your temple and muttering, "that's it... that's our girl."

katsuki's grip trembles against your hips when he exhales against your skin. chest rising and falling against your back, hands smoothing up and down your sides before he pulls out.

still braced as he drags his cock free—covered in your release, flushed, and still twitching a little. he watches the way your pussy flutters from the loss. watches how wet and ruined you are. how his cum spills out of you, dripping past your thighs and pooling where your legs are still spread.

"fuckin' hell..." katsuki mutters, fingers reaching down to drag through the mess, smiling when your body twitches from the sensitivity.

izuku's fingers are still brushing lightly over your skin. "she looks pretty, huh?"

you try to hide your face in the sheets, body still too shaky to move, still panting—and izuku leans in to press another gentle kiss to your cheek, "did so good for us," he whispers.

"too good," katsuki mutters, rubbing a hand over your ass and squeezing gently, watching another thick drip slide down and groaning under his breath. "fuck, look at this mess..."

your body twitches again at the roughness in his voice, involuntarily, over-sensitive, and izuku just watches it happen—eyes dragging slow between your thighs where katsuki's cum still glistens across your pussy and drips out of you in lazy trails.

he hums, thoughtfully. before shifting closer. lowering himself a little. hands gentle as they slide over your thighs to ease them apart again, despite the way they tremble in protest. despite the soft noise you make when the cool air hits.

katsuki catches the movement from the corner of his eyes and snorts, still breathless, "you're such a fuckin' perv."

izuku just smiles, pretty and flushed and way too focused on the mess. "mhmm," he hums, breath ghosting low, just before he leans in, "i'm just cleaning it up."

you barely have time to register the first warm press of his tongue—slow and gentle, licking a stripe through the slick mess between your thighs of both yours and his best friends' release, the tip of his tongue brushing your clit—before he hums low in his throat, hands tightening around your hips like he's settling in, like he's not stopping until there's nothing left.

a/n a repost from my old & inactive blog eikyuunimain (mariinktg) so if it looks familiar, that's why! likes and reblogs are much appreciated! | mha masterlist

[indiewritesxoxo]

MR. STEAL YOUR GIRL

the only place he wants to be is in your pants!

a collection of my sukuna fics where he swoops in and saves you from toxic relationships and terrible men!

ac: @hunnismokah sparkle div cr: @pixopix second div cr: @tsumiinum

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ pick your player! starring CYBERBULLY!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ betrothed starring FAIRY PRINCE!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ slim pickins starring REBOUND!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ cry for you starring FIANCÉ!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ knocked out up starring BABY DADDY!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ FREE SNAKE, PICKUP ASAP starring SNAKE!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ he's (not) my man starring COWBOY!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ love's laziest worker starring CUPID!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ broken hearts starring BANDIT!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ faking it starring TATTOO ARTIST!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ tell me (i'm yours) starring ROOMMATE!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ tourist trapped starring FRENEMY!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ to rope and ride starring SHERIFF!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ serial killer starring DETECTIVE!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ are you sick of me? starring TATTOO ARTIST!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ peaches + his prettiest peach starring BOWSER!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ loser + dorks and dicks starring NERD!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ best friend's brother starring PLUG!SUKUNA

𑣲₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ cheaters must die starring RING!SUKUNA

ᥫ᭡ˊ˗ the girl who cried wolf starring WEREWOLF!SUKUNA

[paxyfica]

Beach day

There is a very specific, highly entertaining phenomenon that occurs whenever you take your husband out in public. You like to call it the “Terror and Thirst” effect.

Today, at the crowded public beach, it is in full swing.

You are currently lounging under the massive shade of a navy blue beach umbrella, a trashy romance novel resting on your lap, watching the spectacle unfold at the shoreline.

Ryomen Sukuna is, objectively, a masterpiece of a man. Standing at a towering 6’4”, he is built like a heavyweight champion—broad shoulders, a thick chest, and a torso carved out of solid granite. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung, black board shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips, putting the intricate, sprawling black tattoos that cover his chest, arms, and stomach on full, glorious display.

He is hot as fuck. It’s a fact that is currently not lost on the group of college girls sitting on a blanket about twenty yards away. They haven’t stopped staring, whispering behind their hands, and aggressively adjusting their bikini tops for the last half hour.

But here is the catch: Sukuna is also terrifying.

He has this natural, resting aura of absolute disdain for anyone who isn’t you or your son. He’s a snob, plain and simple. He doesn’t smile at strangers, he doesn’t make polite small talk, and if someone stares at him for too long, he gives them a dead-eyed, chilling glare that practically drops the surrounding temperature by ten degrees.

Case in point: one of the girls giggles a little too loudly, pointing in his direction. Sukuna, who is currently standing ankle-deep in the surf, slowly turns his head. He doesn’t say a word. He just narrows his crimson eyes, his face completely blank, and stares her down.

The girl visibly pales, her hand dropping instantly. She quickly turns around, suddenly very interested in the contents of her cooler.

Sukuna lets out a quiet, dismissive scoff, turning his attention back to the water.

“You’re going to give those poor girls a complex, babe,” you call out, unable to hide your amusement.

Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, and the transformation is instantaneous. The cold, intimidating mask melts away, replaced by an expression so incredibly soft and devoted it makes your chest ache. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small, fond smile.

“Not my problem that they are annoying,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the crashing waves. “Besides, I only want one woman looking at me.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Smooth, Ryomen. Very smooth.”

“Dada! Splash!”

A tiny, high-pitched voice interrupts the moment. Yuji, currently sporting a pair of tiny black swim trunks that perfectly match his dad’s, is waddling furiously through the shallow water. He’s got a pair of bright orange floaties strapped to his chubby arms, his pink hair plastered to his forehead from the ocean spray.

Sukuna’s attention snaps to his son. He doesn’t say anything, just calmly wades deeper into the water, his massive hands reaching down to scoop the toddler up under the armpits.

“You want to splash, little man?” Sukuna asks quietly, his tone a low, soothing rumble.

“Yeah! Big splash!” Yuji cheers, kicking his little legs.

You watch, completely mesmerized, as your terrifying, snobbish husband hoists your two-year-old high into the air. Sukuna tosses him up—just high enough to make Yuji squeal with delight—and catches him effortlessly, dipping him down so his little toes drag through the water.

It’s a beautiful, chaotic contrast. The giant, tattooed wall of muscle, gently playing in the waves with a giggling, chubby-cheeked toddler.

They play in the water for another twenty minutes. Sukuna is quiet, mostly just listening to Yuji babble about the “big fishes” and the “salty water,” occasionally offering a calm nod or a soft chuckle. He is completely in his element, entirely unbothered by the rest of the world.

Eventually, Sukuna wades out of the water, carrying Yuji on his hip. Water is dripping from Sukuna’s pink hair, running down the hard planes of his chest and tracing the lines of his tattoos. It is a sight that should be illegal.

He walks over to the umbrella, grabbing a towel with his free hand and tossing it over his shoulder. He sets Yuji down on the sand.

“Go to mama, buddy. Let her dry you off,” Sukuna murmurs, running a hand through his wet hair.

But Yuji has other plans.

He shakes himself off like a wet puppy, sending droplets of water flying everywhere. He takes two steps toward you, stops, and then his head snaps to the left.

You follow his gaze. A new group of girls—three of them, looking like they just stepped out of a swimsuit catalog—have set up their chairs near the shoreline.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, dropping your book. “Not again.”

Yuji’s eyes go wide. He completely ignores you, turning on his heel and marching straight toward the girls. His little chest is puffed out, his arms swinging with an unearned amount of swagger for a kid who still wears pull-ups at night.

“Sukuna,” you warn, pointing at your son. “Stop him.”

Sukuna doesn’t move. He just stands there, drying his chest with the towel, watching Yuji with a quiet, amused smirk. “Why? He’s on a mission.”

“He is two! He is literally a baby!” you hiss, standing up. “Why does he act like a frat boy on spring break?”

“Son't ask me,” Sukuna replies, clearly avoiding your eyes, he took a sip from the bottle of water. He doesn't say it, but you can hear the lingering amusement in his voicd. “Let the boy have fun, babe.”

You groan, watching helplessly as Yuji reaches the girls.

He stops right in front of their beach chairs. He puts his chubby little hands on his hips, tilts his head, and unleashes the weapon: your bright, disarming smile.

“Hi!” Yuji chirps loudly. “I Yuji!”

The girls immediately stop talking. They look down at the tiny, pink-haired toddler, and the collective swoon is almost audible.

“Oh my god, hi!” one of them coos, leaning forward. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing ever?”

“Pweety,” Yuji says, pointing a tiny finger at the girl’s sparkly bikini top. He then flexes his little arm, showing off a completely non-existent bicep. “Look! Strong like dada!”

“I can’t believe this,” you whisper, burying your face in your hands. Sukuna lets out a low, quiet chuckle next to you.

“You are a terrible influence,” you glare at him.

“Babe, I didn’t do anything,” Sukuna says, his voice completely deadpan, though his eyes are dancing with mirth. “I’m just standing here.”

Down by the water, the girls are eating it up. They are giggling, offering Yuji a plastic beach toy, which he graciously accepts. But then, one of the girls looks up. Her eyes scan the beach, looking for the parents, and she spots Sukuna.

You can practically see the cartoon hearts pop out of her eyes.

She stands up, brushing sand off her legs, and walks over to Yuji, taking his little hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go find your dad.”

She leads Yuji back toward your umbrella, her eyes locked entirely on Sukuna. She has that look—the look of a woman who thinks she’s about to shoot her shot with a single dad.

“Excuse me,” the girl says, her voice dropping into a sultry purr as she approaches. She completely ignores you, standing right in front of Sukuna. “Is this little guy yours? He wandered over to us.”

Sukuna stops drying his hair. His smilr vanishes, instantly replaced by that cold snobbery. He looks down at the girl, his expression completely blank, his eyes devoid of any warmth.

He doesn’t say a word to her.

Instead, he steps forward, completely invading her personal space with his massive frame, forcing her to take a nervous step back. He reaches down and scoops Yuji up into his arms.

“Dada! Pweety girl!” Yuji babbles, pointing at the woman.

Sukuna looks at the girl for one more second. It’s a look that clearly says, You are entirely beneath my notice.

“Thanks,” Sukuna says. His voice is quiet, but it carries a heavy, chilling finality that makes the girl flinch. “Come here buddy lets go to mama”

He turns his back on her without another word, walking the two steps over to you. The girl stands there for a second, her face flushed bright red with embarrassment, before she quickly turns and scurries back to her friends.

You are trying very hard not to laugh. “You didn’t have to be so mean to her.”

“I wasn’t,” Sukuna scoffs, setting Yuji down on your beach chair. “I just didn’t care to speak to her.”

“She was totally hitting on you.”

Sukuna finally looks at you, and the ice in his eyes melts completely. He steps into your space, his large hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs gently stroke your cheekbones.

“Whatever,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate register. “I'm married”

Your breath hitches, your heart doing a familiar, stupid little flip in your chest. Even after all these years, he still knows exactly how to render you speechless.

“You’re such a sap,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

“Only for my wife,” he replies, leaning down to press a slow, deep kiss to your lips. It’s a possessive kiss, one that clearly communicates to anyone watching exactly who he belongs to.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Mama!”

You both look down. Yuji is standing on the beach chair, holding up a slightly crushed, sandy seashell. He shoves it toward you, his big golden eyes shining.

“For mama!” Yuji announces proudly. “Mama pweetiest!”

You melt. You absolutely melt. You take the sandy shell, pulling Yuji into a tight hug and kissing his salty, sun-warmed cheek. “Thank you, baby. It’s beautiful.”

Sukuna watches the two of you, his hands resting casually on his hips. “See?” Sukuna says quietly, reaching out to ruffle Yuji’s pink hair. “The kid might have my charm, but he knows the truth.”

At the end of the day, despite the playboy genes and the endless chaos, they were yours. And you were theirs.

And mom was, undeniably, still the best.

an: we're close to 1k what the hekk!!! what one shots do you wanna see next? i can't write smut for the life of me, english is saurrrr hard!! divider by: @pxrce-lain | the art and gif i got from pinterest! feel free to comment who is the orig art creator pls 🙏

[fatuismooches]

𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦?

A collection of cute moments spent with the Segments and the original Zandik.

♡ the eight-year-old segment

♡ the eighteen-year-old segment

♡ the twenty-five-year-old segment

♡ the thirty-five-year-old segment

♡ the forty-five-year-old segment

♡ the sixty-five-year-old segment

♡ the original zandik

[kamiflix]

▶︎︎︎ Feelin' On My Body (starring . various jjk men)

synopsis . In which you and your partner finally agree to free use. pairings (separate) . Sukuna x f!reader, Geto x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader, & Choso x f!reader. content . afab!reader, free use, somnophillia, modern au, oral sex, pussydrunk men, fingering, established relationships, dirty talk, manhandling, rough sex, degrading, unprotected sex, begging, choking, size kink(s), exhibitionism, throat fucking, pussy slapping, desperate men, thigh fucking, pervertedness, whining, them being overlyyy obsessed, praise, a bit of nipple play, filth, implied cum eating, etc.

word count . 8.8k || author's note: a singular twt vid inspired this post (technically sukuna’s part but eh) and i got a lil carried away in some bits (gulp)! banner art by Rororogi Mongera. <3

☆ Sukuna Ryomen

He’s woken up to his cock engulfed in something all warm ‘n wet, a sinfully slick tongue lathering up the side of his shaft—decorating his most throbbing vein in a sheeny gloss of saliva.

The thick pink of his brows begin to furrow as his brain struggles to depart itself from sleep, groggy eyes peeling open, and ears picking up on the nasty gagging ‘n swallowing coming from below.

When Sukuna looks down, he sees a head under the covers bobbing back and forth and back ‘n forth. Then he feels your mouth swallowing up his cock, the tip knocking into the very depths of your throat with the way he wastes no time in thrusting his hips forward.

A big hand comes to the back of your head over the thin sheet covering your face and you feel him hold you still as he instantly starts fucking your mouth.

“Why didn’t we agree on this sooner?” His bellowing morning voice breaks out into the wet silence, “Fuck, what a slutty tongue. Do you always wake up like this? All hungry for some cock?”

“M-Mhmm,” You squirm, throating his length with great fervor as his sudden thrusts take you by surprise.

Although you can’t see it, Sukuna flashes a wide grin before pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth and letting his brow furrow.

“Yeahh, I bet you do.” The man rasps, fingertips pressing into your head a little firmer, “You’ve probably wanted me to fuck your mouth first thing in the morning like this so many times, hm?”

Your throat tightens around him before you try tugging your head away, only to be stopped by a low grunt rumbling out of him.

“Ohhh, don’t take this away from me now. Come closer, let me give my wife’s throat a proper stretch.” Sukuna rasps heavily, a wet slick of precum dribbling out against the center of your tongue. You then swirl the oral muscle around his cock and feel it twitch in reaction. “Mhmm, love it when you spoil me like this.”

You can’t see it but your husband’s got the biggest grin on his face, cheeks tinted in a rosy hue and breath growing heavier by the second. His hips buck a bit harder and you could feel his rhythm steadily growing erratic as his cock swells further against the tight walls of your throat.

Thick spurts of salty precum flood into your mouth as you happily slurp over every ridge and vein pulsing down his dick. As your lips kiss his base, your nose is quickly left buried into the coarse hairs of pink at his groin. Your eyes roll further back into your skull and you release a moan in between your desperate sucks.

A guttural groan is ripped straight from his chest as his fingers begin to twist into the sheet over your head, anchoring your mouth in place just to feel the way your throat struggles around the thick girth of his cock. His tip smooches a little deeper and you're left to gag softly as a breath gasp jumps out of him.

Sukuna has always looved head, so to have you waking him up like this was nothing more than a wet dream come true.

One last thrust into your mouth takes place before there's a rope of warm cum pouring down your throat. His hand gets impossibly heavier against the back of your head and you swear you hear him choke before uttering, "Milk me, y-yes. Fuck, s'good."

Then a slight arch forms in his back as you swallow everything flooding into your mouth, earning a sinful purr out of his throat just before the thin sheet yanked away in one swift motion. Your flushed face and swollen lips are left exposed to his gaze and you try not to smile at how flushed his face is.

"Show me," Sukuna murmurs with a carefully cocked brow.

You obediently open your mouth and lull your tongue out flat to display the emptiness on it—no evidence of him ruining your throat left aside from the glistening traces of spit sheening over your lips.

The sight of you like this first thing in the morning doesn't fail in the slightest to have his cock twitching right back to life as if you'd never sucked him off to begin with. Sukuna's never had a long refactory period but fuck, you didn't think his cock would be curving up for your attention that quickly.

With a brash grin on his face, your husband casually gestures his hand your way as if to tell you to take care of him again. He's sure your mouth and throat are already tired but it'd be cute to actually see you struggle on his—

You're cutting off his train of thought by swallowing up his dick without the slightest bit of struggle. The way your mouth slops past his thick tip and suctions his length in to the deepest corners of your throat has Sukuna choking.

The moment you hear him do so, you flick your eyes up at him and let your tongue slather against the prominently throbbing vein resting at the left underside of his cock. Sukuna's hand curls into the sheet he'd pulled off of your head just moments ago and he weakly pushes his hips up and then tips his head over to the side.

In doing so, he just barely catches sight of how his dick is outlined against the clenching muscles of your throat.

"Fuckkk, that's it." He praises hoarsely before moving his shaky hands to the sides of your face. Then he steadies you completely and maintains eye contact with you for a couple seconds, smirk widening out across his face. "Swallow my cock juuust like that," Sukuna coos in between the next few slow rolls of his hips.

His hands tighten against the your face before he starts fucking himself into your mouth again, quickly picking up his once shallow pace, and letting his brows furrow at the sight. He watches closely as your eyes gloss over and specifically waits for you to gag loudly around his dick before he smiles.

Then Sukuna starts nodding as if to let you know he's about to cum and you don't think there's anything sexier than the face he makes every time he does. His brows would twist upward and his jaw falls open, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly while a louddd groan bellows out of his throat.

The feel of warm cum flooding down your gullet is just enough to serve as some form of breakfast for the morning and you're entirely content with that. Your husbands hips are relentless as he fucks his second load das deep as he can and you try your best to swallow every drop just as you did the first time.

Once Sukuna pulls out, you're finally allowed a moment to gasp and cough a couple times while he slumps back against the pillows.

It's quiet for only a few seconds before his head rolls over to spare you a glance and then his hand reaches out to cup your jaw and tilt your face up. Your lips are all swollen and slick, throat still tensing from the proper stretching he just gifted you with.

He thumbs at your bottom lip and then parts it to inspect the insides of your mouth again.

Making sure to whisper, “S’pretty,” as if to not let that go to your head and then moving to haul you up by your arm so he can lean in and kiss you—shamelessly licking at the corners of your mouth and capturing the few drops of his cum that somehow failed to run down your throat.

After quickly devouring your mouth to replace the taste of his cock with his tongue, his hands are felt at your waist, and he tugs you impossibly closer before hugging you. The gesture is unexpected—despite your many years of marriage—but his next few words make it all make a lot more sense to you.

“Next time, I should like to wake up and see you on top of me," Your husband demands.

You stare at him all innocently, “I dunno about all that, Sukuna.”

His somewhat affectionate stare quickly fades into a sharp glare, “I wasn’t asking.”

“Oh.”

☆ Geto Suguru

As soon as you sat up one morning, something thick ‘n sticky began to ooze out of you, warm rivulets of cum trickling down your inner thighs. The panties you had on the night prior? Gone, vanished without a trace. Your boyfriend of many years? Sound asleep next to you!

Just as you shift slightly, feeling the slick mess between your legs, the man in question begins to stir awake and releases a soft hum just as his eyes flutter open. Your gazes meet once he props himself up on one elbow, his eyes dropping before yours get the chance to as he catches the evidence of his indulgence seep out of you.

"Morning, sweet girl," He hums rather innocently before leaning up just to kiss at your cheek and whisper, "I left a little something inside you while you were sleeping.” Geto points out casually, “Hope you don’t mind.”

Truth be told, part of him hoped you would mind. He hopes you’d scold him for being soo perverted, despite the fact that you’re the one who told him you wanted him to use you whenever, even if you were asleep.

He hardly waited two days after receiving that consent of yours before he was fucking you while you dreamt of god knows what.

Even seeing you under the gentle glow of the morning's light, it's all he can think about. The way he'd spread your legs apart with insistent hands, feeling your unaware frame fall exactly how he needed it to whilst he positioned himself between your thighs.

Geto stuffed the thick head of his cock into your sleeping pussy, letting each inch stretch you out nice 'n slowly, your welcoming walls hugging him with a sloppy heat that made his breath hitch. Drool seeped from the corner of your lips as you readjusted yourself in your sleep, eyes remaining closed, and lashes fanning slightly against your cheeks.

The first thrust into you almost made him feel bad, considering how your body had rocked forward and your cunt clenched ever so sweetly around him as if to gasp.

“You’re s’good to me,” Geto mumbled into the dark room, “F-Fuck, look at you…” His hand went caressing across the side of your face before he tilted his head, “Don’t even know I’m inside you right now, huh?”

He couldn’t help but reel his hips back as he caught the faintest scrunch in your nose. Then he leaned over your body a bit, caging you underneath him and doing his best to hold back from fucking you like he really wanted to. Even though you weren’t awake to make fun of him for it, he still didn’t wanna cum too soon.

Geto’s cock plunged in a little deeper—slathering right against that spot he knows normally has your body arching away from him as if you couldn’t take it, “Would it be bad if I kept going til’ you woke up? Mngh.. you’d probably like that too much.”

Just then, your pussy decides to respond with a ringing squelch! around his cock as he bottoms out. You’re so wet around him that even the dark silks of hair decorating the skin just above his base is shimmering over from your slick. The bed below your bodies is already soaking and Geto nearly feels worse for knowing he’s doing all this to you and you’re missing it.

A pout pulls out his bottom lip for a moment before he shoots his gaze down some more just to watch your juices spill out all around his cock as he slowly rolls his hips back ‘n forth in a languid motion.

“Mmnh..” You’re grumbling in your sleep, but to him the noise sounds mostly like one of pleasure.

One warm breath falls from his mouth as he looks back up to your face, “Moaning in your sleep,” Geto whispers, stilling his hips a moment so that he doesn’t wake you. “So cute.”

While part of him wished you were awake to react and be in the moment of sex with him, the other part of him relished in having you so pliant. None of those whines you spew his way when you swear he’s going too fast or too hard or too slow or whatever-the-fuck. The list of complaints you teasingly throw your boyfriend’s way just to irritate or taunt him while he’s got his dick inside you is quite endless.

You once spent thirty minutes begging to suck him off just to complain about him “bruising your throat” the following morning.

Did you show all symptoms of having a bruised throat that morning? Perhaps. Is that his fault? Nooo, of course not!

Either way, Geto’s appreciating being able to fuck you while you’re sleeping. It’s a little surreal here ‘n there—considering how he’s talking to himself instead of talking you through it—but it’s enjoyable nonetheless.

Especially when your cunt seems to be wide awake as his pace picks up a little. You’re squeezing around him just how he likes it and it’s pulling the oxygen right out of his lungs, leaving him a panting mess above you within mere minutes.

Geto finds it moderately unfair how perfect you are for him even while you’re sleeping.

“Nngh-, shit. I’m gonna cum,” His brows furrow tightly, hands having found security on your hips in a neat fashion to keep your body a bit more steady for the way he rocks his lengthy dick into you. “You want that? My sleepy girl, you’re gonna wake up s’full of me.“

His rambles continue on as he grows closer to something creamy gushing out of his cock, words of filth flowing so naturally out of his mouth that anyone would assume it to be second nature to the man.

Then his tip crams up against a particularly sappy nook of your cunt and a whine squeaks past his lips, “Ah, imagine.. all my cum just leakin' out this pretty hole of yours.” Geto huffs as his hands trail further up your body just to give your tits a hearty squeeze, “Bet you’d call me a perv if you woke up right now—tell me how wrong it is to fuck you while you’re sleep...”

He knows that’s only half-way true, considering you did give him your full consent to this. But the thought of it. The thought of your eyes fluttering open with a gloss of confusion shimmering over them, your steady breaths quickly turning into panting moans, and your entire body awaking to your whorishly gorgeous boyfriend fucking you like the freak you’ve always known him to be…

That’s what gets him.

“You trust me so much.. hahh, fuuck..“ Geto chokes as the realization sends something sinful down his spine, his cock throbbing against your dormant walls, “Gets me so fuckin' hard I can barely think.”

Even though he’s keeping his voice pretty low, it’s getting harder ‘n harder to maintain that volume. You snore softly beneath him and somehow that makes your pussy feel all the more clenched around the head of his weepy dick.

“Mgh-, baby.. you’re getting tighter on me, c’mon now. I don’t wanna cum yet,” He puffs desperately, billowing his hips with slower thrusts as if to combat with your body’s natural reactions to him. “Relax that pussy for me, c’mon. Relax for Suguru, let me make you feel good.”

Your body does exactly that as if used to his cooing words—cunt adjusting to his size within the next few thrusts, oozing out slick all around his deft base as his balls are left flush with your skin.

“Atta’ fuckin’ girll,” Geto purrs hotly before letting his jaw fall open, “Uhuhh, you feel even better now. Can’t believe you listen to me even when you’re sleepin’.”

He thoughtlessly swishes a hand down in between your bodies, his thumb locating your clit and rubbing something utterly delectable into you. Something light like a moan escapes your throat and he worries for a moment that he’d just woke you up—his movements coming to a sharp stop.

When your boyfriend hears that alleged moan fade into another snore, he exhales slowly and then plucks his hips all the way back. His long cock bobs out of your pussy and the dew sight of slick ‘n filth alone is enough to make him draw his bottom lip in between his teeth.

Then Geto takes ahold of his shaft and pumps himself a couple times before tapping his tip against your puffy folds, swatting his cock in between them and then groaning out, “M’gonna cum. F-Fuuck, gorgeous…”

You just-so-happen to move in your sleep after he says that—unconsciously pushing forward and swallowing up his plump tip.

Geto’s face contorts into something just short of pornographic before he whines, “Y’gonna let me do that to you? Cum inside you while you’re sleeping? Ohmygoddd.”

Then he’s inching his hips forward as much as he can before cumming all inside your pretty pussy, leaving you nice and coated with his seed.

He had to put a hand over his mouth to conceal the sounds he’d let out in fear of waking you but right after he’s emptied himself into you, Geto pulls out and hastily holds a finger to your pulsing hole to stop his cum from spilling out.

Smirking, “You’ll probably wake up ‘n get soaked as soon as you feel what I left inside you….”

Which ultimately brings you back to now—the following morning where you’ve done exactly that.

You hadn’t minded what he’d left inside you at all. It may have been a little uncomfortable for you to sit up with the feel of gooey cum dribbling out of you in nasty globs but, it’s swiftly accompanied by dews of your morning arousal.

Then you were leaning back a bit and sending your boyfriend that looks he knows and loves, “Well? Are you gonna sit there ‘n stare at me all day or are you gonna clean up your mess?” You huff towards Geto.

His eyes seem to have a twinkle in them upon hearing those words, his body melting into position in between your legs faster than you have time to process.

You feel his palms come sticking to your thighs as he pushes them apart and swats his tongue over his lips, “You’re the one who said I could use you whenever I wanted. Don’t be such a brat about it, princess.”

Peering down at him, you cock a brow his way, “Yeah well, I didn’t tell you to leave your cum in me all night. Now less talking and more cleaning, perv.”

Oh fuck.

Do you even have any idea of what you just started?

Spoiler alert: no.

☆ Gojo Satoru

You made a mistake.

Giving your "sweet" husband Gojo the permission to bury his dick inside you whenever he wants was probably not in your best interest. Fairly enough, you'd given him that permission about a month ago now and he's only exhausted that free use a handful of times.

You expected him to be all over you nearly every night but, that simply wasn't the case. Instead, he waited for rather specific situations to pull the free use card.

Specific situations such as now, while you're laying across your living room couch with your phone pressed up to your ear. You'd received a call from one of your exes and now you're listening to him ramble on about how harshly life's been treating him since you left.

You swear you were seconds from hanging up the phone, but you were never quite given a chance to do so since the sound of your husband returning home from a long day of work pulled you out of the dully dragging, one-sided conversation. Before you could turn your head towards the hallway that led to the front door, you felt this sudden weight shifting down onto the backs of your thighs.

When you glanced back over your shoulder, Gojo was giving you this deceivingly innocent smile as his big hands moved to slide against your sides.

You gave him a greeting smile of your own before he leaned down to kiss at your forehead.

Then his ears caught the familiar voice on your phone.

He'd been no stranger to this ex of yours since you'd shared the many, many horror stories about what you'd experienced with the him over the years. But, Gojo wasn't in much of a mood to care or question you about it right now.

Not after the looooong day of work he's had—having spent the majority of it fantasizing about returning home to his beautiful wife.

Hence why it only takes one short push of his hips for you to feel the lump of his cock bulging out against his slacks and pressing into the cushioning of your ass. You gasp at it but quickly cover it up with a fake cough before the idiot on the phone could ask you any questions about it.

Then you look back at your husband again, only to find that all his attention is on your ass. His hands move to squish your cheeks together as he bites his lip, cheeks hued in blush just from how aroused he already is. Fuck, he'd been thinking about this—about you—all damn day.

And now you're in his hands, all soft 'n pliant for him. Gojo feels you glaring at him from just beyond his peripherals but he still doesn't care. In fact, he lifts one of his hands to wave your starring off entirely—silently signaling you to focus on your little phone call instead of what he's doing.

You let it slide for the time being and turn your head away with a roll of your eyes, humming into the phone in response to whatever your ex had last uttered to you.

This continues on for a few minutes with nothing unusual happening until Gojo smacks at your ass and you feel his cock rutting in between the valley of the two mounds. His pants are still keeping him constrained but it doesn't do much to conceal how much he's twitching beneath the fabric.

Nor does it aid with how hot you begin to get as he shamelessly begins to hump you. The sounds of his soft pants fan out from behind you and you're hoping this is all he'll do before he cums and leaves you to work your way off the phone.

Unfortunately for you, that's not at all what happens.

Gojo's hands get greedier as his dick gets impossibly harder and you feel his palms sneaking to your waist for a moment before he slips them right under you. Your stomach is given a soft squeeze as he smiles and then his hands are traveling up to your tits—successfully groping at them in sync with the rocking of his hips.

Sometimes you think he forgets just how big he is. Those long limbs of his are straddling your legs but that doesn't help with the weight of his firm body pressing down against you.

Then he has the nerve to crane over to your other ear. "Need you," Gojo whispers whilst his hips thrust lightly, his hands having snuck under your shirt by now.

He thoroughly cups your breasts and lets his fingers dig into your flesh while leaking an embarrassing amount of pre into his boxers—the moisture seeping through enough to leave a wet patch against his dark pants.

Before you can mute the phone to respond to him—or do anything, really—he's kissing at the side of your neck and muttering into your skin, "Gonna fuck you now, okay?”

As quickly as you can, you move the phone away from your ear and hope it doesn't catch your voice as you huff, “Satoru, wait.”

“Shhhh, you told me whenever I want, remember?” He cuts off quickly. His hands are moving right after he says that, reaching the flimsy waistband of your bottoms and tugging them down along with your moderately soaked panties to reveal your naked skin.

You look back with a pout on your face, gesturing slightly towards your phone, “But—“

Gojo meets eyes with you shortly while his hands fly to his thick belt to tug it out the way and then unzip his pants. His chin nods towards that pesky call of yours, “Who is that anyway?” He asks as if not already aware.

“Uh," You swallow thickly, "Remember uhm… Naoya?”

Unbothered, your husband flashes a smile. “Ohhh, that’s your ex, right?” He hums back to you. Your head nods in response and he scoffs in between his fingers steadily unzip his pants, “Fuck's he want?”

“He said I-, ah—Satoru..” Your breathy moan was prompted by the heavy thump of his cock against your ass with all its veiny weight as Gojo lets it bob and then slap at your cheeks.

Still looking at you, “He said you what?” Gojo asks.

Your lashes flutter—and despite the hushed back and forth going on here, your clueless ex is still talking to himself on your phone. “—Said he found some stuff I left over at his place, and then went rambling on from there.”

You mostly expected this to be the part where Gojo acts out of possessiveness or jealousy, but to your surprise, he only shrugs. "Why didn’t you hang up?”

“I was curious," You tell him honestly.

He nods, “Oh yeah?”

Your eyes drop to the way his hand is rubbing along his cockhead, smearing his own pre around his pinkened tip and leaving it to glisten under the dim living room lighting.

Then you gulp, “...I figured something might be wrong, but he’s just talking to me n-normally,” Your stammers come from his cockhead shhlicking down between your folds, kissing your hole all sloppy.

“Mh. Alright,” Gojo murmurs, nodding his head toward the phone again as his attention falls elsewhere, “Keep listening to him then.”

“But I thought you wanted to—“

His hand finds the back of your head all of a sudden and he pushes your face down against the couch cushions a bit, doing so to muffle the expected moan that’s ripped out of your throat as he bucks his hips forward all meanly.

“You heard what I said.” He warns as he watches you shakingly obey via drawing the phone back up to your ear. “Uhuh, don’t even worry about me, sweetheart. Just let me use this pussy til’ I’m satisfied. Pretend I’m not even here.”

It’s quite difficult to do that as Gojo wastes no time sprawling the lips of your pussy out around his wide shaft. Those gorgeous white lashes of his flutter in relief as he first begins to feed his cock into your cunt, eyeing the way you suck him in despite having to bite down on the couch to stop yourself from moaning directly into the phone call.

In courtesy of said call, your husband is even nice enough to go easy on you!

…For the first few minutes, anyway.

It doesn’t take much longer before his hands are properly anchoring your body down against the couch via your hips and his thrusting is timed perfectly with each time you try to open your mouth and speak to that stupid ex of yours.

The first few times you were able to play your moans off as a cough and told the bummy Naoya that you’d probably come down with a cold or something. You knew if you tried to work your way off the phone—even though you’d been doing so long before Gojo got home—your husband would probably punish you by edging you til’ your legs lost functionality in them and your pussy was a leaking mess all over this very couch.

So, you did your best to maintain the one-sided conversation for as long as you could. The only bad thing about it was that your talking and moaning made you squeeze Gojo’s cock all the more tighter and he fucking loved it.

He just couldn’t get enough of how wet this was getting you—how you seemed to relish in this kinda situation. It quickly let him know that this should be a reoccurring thing he does.

Free use is one thing, but executing it only when you’re talking to someone else was definitely in Gojo’s best interest now.

So in between him purposefully waiting until you’re mid-response to fuck you harder, he’d angle himself over and talk into your other ear all nasty, “Yeahhhh, you like this, don’t you? Getting fucked real good while that pathetic ex of yours rambles to you? Makes me wonder if you’d be this wet if I did this more often—fuck you while you’re on the phone…”

Then his hand would come down against your ass again, the smack surely loud enough to be heard on the phone.

“What was that?” Naoya’s grating voice asks through the call.

You bite down a little harder on the bit of cushion you already had in between your teeth so you could drool out a moan before lifting your face up and gasping. “M-My husband dropped something. Don’t worry about it,” You breathed out.

The man on the other end of your phone didn’t seem too convinced but he was in the middle of explaining something before he interrupted himself with his own question so, he returned right back to the topic.

Gojo’s lips curl against your ear—having picked up on the sly way in which you tried to remind Naoya that you’re married, clearly hoping that it would get the call to end sooner.

“Should I wait til’ you get a call from work next time?” He grunts into your ear just as his cock knocks into your cervix, smearing the area over with a glimmer of his glossy precum. “Think you could hold in your moans if I did that?”

You mindlessly move the phone away from your mouth and let your maw hang open as you look back at him, “Toru..”

Gojo gives you a toothy smile before shaking his head and tugging your body back to meet his heavy thrusts, “Uh-uh, answer my question.”

His hand then tugs your face all the way up by your jaw and the phone falls as he plows into you. In doing so, he also manages to force your body into this nasty arch against the couch that has all noises heard by your ex on the phone.

You even hear Naoya’s sentences fall short as he pauses for a long moment and listens closely. Then, “The fuck is that noise—“

Plap plap plap!

The smacking of Gojo’s hips to your ass is picked up by your phone in the best of quality, each slap of skin heard perfectly by the man on that call.

Eyes narrowing on his end, even though you can’t see it, Naoya glances at his phone sideways and his face twists up, “—Are you…”

“Mmgh! Fuuck, Satoruu,” You choke out helplessly. “R-Right theree, ah!”

The sudden encouragement from your lips is exactly what eggs Gojo on into grunting all loudly and leaning his body up. The prone bone position you two have been neatly tucked into this entire time is unmoving as he continues to pull you back onto his cock.

He moans upon feeling you cumming around him and leaving this creamy mess all over the thumping veins that decorate his length.

Shamelessly talking at a normal volume as if that call of yours isn’t ongoing. “There she iss, there’s my perfect wife.” Then Gojo reaches over and swipes up the phone, talking right into it, “Sounds s’pretty doesn’t she?”

Naoya’s spewing and sputtering out curses to the both of you but Gojo tosses the device faster than he has time to hear or care. Then his hands pin you down against the couch by your waist and his bucking becomes insistent.

The couch moves slightly, scraping the floor with how rough he was being before Gojo lets his leg slide off slightly so he can steady himself. Then one of his hands move to the side of the couch to hold it still while his dick angles somewhere to the left inside you.

You sometimes forget just how big ‘n strong your husband is—how easily he can fold your body and handle the janky movement of furniture at the same time. And it seems you’d forgotten it so much that now you were trying to run from him a bit.

He notices how your hips pull away whenever he tugs them onto himself and the cute attempt makes him grin. To distract you from your futile attempts of escaping him, Gojo weighs his head to the side and huffs, “You uh, you never answered my question, sweet thing.”

Your eyes roll back almost instantly and the man feels his heart throb at how pretty you look getting fucked out on him already. “Yes, ‘Toru. Hnngh-, fuck! I’d love it if you-, ohmygod… i-if you did this more often,” You moan to him.

“Babyyyyy,” Gojo coos, pearly sloshes of cum quickly pouring out from the head of his cock but not stopping nor slowing that bullying pace of his, “That’s so slutty of you. Wonder where you got that from.”

You just barely send a glare back his way. “D-Don’t act innocent.”

His brows shoot upward and he grins cheekily, “Hmm?” It’s almost like he wasn’t actively flooding your insides with cum. “Are you implying that I turned you into this?” You nod and he tuts, “Say it then.”

You hated loved when he challenged you like this—as if you were scared to admit it or something. Swallowing down your moans firmly enough to breathe, “You did this to me, Satoru.”

That dopey smile of his returns to his stupidly angelic face and he’s fucking his cum into you real’ good whilst talking, “Oh yeah? What’d I do, baby? Talk to me nice.”

“R-Ruined me,” You cry out with drool dribbling out from the corner of your mouth, “Turned me into a slut for you.”

“Fuck yeah I did,” Gojo replies proudly. Then he looks down and rocks his hips forward before stilling himself inside you just to feel you clench and unclench around him. “Now, are you gonna cum for me again or do I have to get that ex of yours on FaceTime?”

Your eyes widen, “You wouldn’t.”

“Hah,” The phone he tossed earlier is swiped right back up and you hear that signature ringing faster than you have time to process anything.

Naoya answers after only two rings. Though, it should be noted that he never even hung up the regular call.

“The fuck?” He spits as he’s met with your husband angling the phone up just right to show his smothered cock tucked inside you.

Gojo moves to tap at your head next, meeting eyes with you for half a second once you glance back at him, “Smile for me, sweetheart.”

☆ Nanami Kento

“You said anytime I want, my love.”

You didn’t think he would finger you while you had company.

It was movie night with a great deal of your friends scattered around your shared living room and yet here your fiancé was forcing your legs to spread open while you sat on his lap.

Two thick fingers were idly rubbing against your pussy over the fabric of your panties—a small blanket the only thing concealing the sight.

You whispered back to the man as quietly as you could, not wanting to deal with what was to come if anyone around you two figured out what exactly was going on under that blanket, “Kento this is absurd!”

“Shh, shh," Nanami hummed deeply, his eyes trained forward just over your shoulder whilst his fingers continued with their motions, "I can’t hear the movie.”

A frown took over the shape of your lips, “But—“

Already annoyed, “Shut up,” He cut off before glancing away from the TV screen to make sure no one was looking at you both. With no peering eyes found, he decides now as a good time to stuff your mouth full of his free fingers. “Isn't this so much better? Now suck.”

Your cunt twitched against the digits he had neatly rubbing against you and he took that as a sweet reply from you, your lips slowly molding around his fingers before you bobbed your head forward ever so slightly.

You made sure to keep the sounds of your sucking to a quiet slurp that could easily pass off as one of you sipping on something—and this surprisingly worked just fine for the next few minutes.

...At least until Nanami pulled your panties to the side.

Then his fingers lifted away from your skin for a few seconds to allow your poor pussy a moment to throb 'n clench around nothing before he smacked! at it lightly. The wet plp that rang out into the space surrounding you both surprisingly wasn't loud enough to cause any heads to turn.

Which, of course, was what you preferred.

But it did cause you to moan, "Ken," as his fingers fell from your mouth.

Nanami suppressed a groan but he couldn't quite stop his crotch from shifting under your ass. The hand that'd been occupying your mouth fell for a moment as one of your guests looked into your direction—to which your fiancé kindly sent them an innocent grin and then glanced to you as if you two had been having some casually whispered conversation that totally didn't involve him playing with your pussy.

He tipped his mouth up to your ear for a moment and made sure his words didn't escape the space between you whatsoever, “They’ll catch on if you keep moaning my name like that.”

Despite his warning, he purposefully begins to feed his thiiiick fingers past your dewy entrance—which accepts him nicely via squelching hotly in between your thighs.

“Fuck,” You whine after bringing some of the blanket up to cover the bottom half of your face.

As if that would properly conceal your sounds or something...

Nanami's behind you grinning as his free hand fingers your hip and forces your body to push back 'n forth against the very prominent erection in his pants, “Can you feel me? Feel what this does to me?” He asks softly, breath cascading down the side of your shoulder now, “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this all day. Seems like you have too.”

Just as he points that out, he's poking two fingers into your cunt and letting the tips of them swipe against your sopping walls—earning a gorgeous gloss of liquid arousal to spurt out from where you're currently connected.

Your body naturally slumps back against his a bit as your legs sprawl out some more over his. “Please...” You huff, unsure of what exactly you were even begging for.

“Your squirming will only make it worse, y'know," Nanami warns far too kindly.

“Nngh-," You moan again.

It's almost like you were caring less and less about the surrounding company!

“You're a mess, my love. Can you really not handle a couple fingers without my others in your mouth?” He sighs, sparing you no time to answer, and letting his fingers scissor out against your walls as they dig further into you.

He easily fucks himself knuckle deep and leaves his pointer and pinky to press into the plush of your surrounding skin.

Then, after plugging your mouth up with his digits yet again—since you can't seem to behave without them—his whispers felt like warm honey against your ear, "I suppose this means I can go faster now, no?"

“Mmgh!” Your grumbling around his digits truly has his cock aching in his pants. But he doesn't want to fuck you in front of everyone like this.

At least, not yet.

Though, the thought is most definitely tempting.

You figure this much based on how taunting his voice soothes out against your ear again, “Do you want them to see you like this, darling?” Then his fingers slide against the center of your tongue whilst his others curve into your cunt, “Should I move this blanket and let them?”

Your head shakes frantically and you even move a hand of your own to push at the one he's got buried in between your thighs, inaudibly begging for some sort of break or moment to at least gather your thoughts.

“Ohhh, don’t do that.” Nanami purrs in this suddenly condescending tone, tongue peeping out past his lips to lick a stripe against the side of your neck. Then his words feel just as warm and feverish as his breath is all pressed up against your skin, “I think you want it. You want me to toss this blanket and let everyone here watch me fuck you.”

“M-Mmph!” You grumble before slithering your tongue in between the fingers he's got lodged past your wobbly lips.

“Look at you, practically crying for it," He adds on in reference to your currently sobbing cunt. If only he could see how wet you had his slacks right now. Feeling it is one thing, of course, but he knows setting his eyes on it directly is another thing in itself entirely. “You want all our neighbors to see how pretty you look bouncing on my cock?”

Nanami slides his fingers out of your mouth just to let you respond with the quiet whimper of his name, “Kento..”

“I want them to see," He admits naughtily, “Want them to watch how wide I stretch you, watch how I make this pretty cunt squirt… shit.” Now his fingers were diving in and out of you at a faster rate, sloshing left 'n right each time they came out to slander your slick all over the place.

A friend or two surely caught on to what was happening under that blanket by now.

But... you think both you and Nanami lost it in yourselves to care enough by this point.

Which is confirmed and doubled down on as your head angles back and you lose all your senses with the way you kiss him.

Nanami groans lowly into your mouth, the sound vibrational. Then he sears his next array of admissions in between your lips, “Mmh, I knew it. You want it too, huh?”

“Yeah,” You huff, nodding slightly.

Neither of you were thinking things through at all. Moreso him than you, though.

Which is proven in the next number of minutes just after Nanami adjusts his cock out of his pants and works it past your quivering ring of resistance in slow motion. The wide stretch had your body squirming all over the place and the hand that covered your mouth was most certainly a necessity by this point.

Although one or two people in the room had caught on to what might have been happening between you and Nanami, they couldn't be entirely sure just yet. It was still dark in the room and the TV was loud enough in the moment to mask your muffled cries of pleasure.

“If you moan too loud, I’m moving the blanket and fucking you in front of everyone for real," Nanami warned—trying his best to at least let you try to give this a solid attemp-

“K-Kennn,” You whimper beyond the palm of his hand, killing that attempt entirely.

With a scoff, “Oh. You don't think I'm being serious, do you?”

One moment his cock is fully inside of you and the next... the blanket flies off.

Shit.

☆ Choso Kamo

Legs pressed up to his chest, thighs clasped together tightly, and something hot ‘n rock hard rutted in between them—occasionally nudging in between your folds and against your clit—you were woken up to the sight of your rather depraved boyfriend fucking your thighs.

Whimpering as quietly as he could, “FuckFuckFuckFuck-, nnngh… fuuuck-,” Choso gasped all pathetically.

The two of you had been napping and cuddling together just minutes ago but then he woke up so painfully hard with his cock already crammed up against the pretty curve of your ass. He just couldn't help himself!

And surely you didn't expect him to ignore his boner when you specifically told him that if he ever needed you, he could have you—no matter the place or situation.

So when you turned over in your sleep and he saw how nicely your thighs were hugging one another, he just couldn't help but imagine what his flushed cock would look like smudged in between them. He's already shown you time 'n time before that he's dangerously obsessed with your thighs.

Well, technically he's obsessed with all parts of you but, something about your thighs make him dizzy in his own arousal. Every time Choso has you riding his face, his hands are always groping and squishing your thighs. And he can't deny how attractive he thinks it is when you've just finished sucking him off and his cum spills down past your face and into the perfect crease of your clamped legs.

Which is exactly why he didn't waste much time repositioning himself so that he could hold your legs up now and slowly nudge his dick in between your legs. He tried to be careful of rubbing against your cunt as he held your limbs up against his chest with one bulky arm, the other propped somewhere to the side of him so that he'd be in a decent enough position to thrust against you.

“S-So pretty,” Choso grunted as he saw just how much he came already. Creamy globs of cum coated the entirety of his cock and smeared all nastily along your inner thighs, making it easy for his still-rigid length to slide back and forth now. All while he whispers, “I love you, baby. Love f-fucking you like this.“

His pelvis would clash with the back of your legs over and over again, the rough motion hard enough to have your torso rocking further up against the bed. If not for the pillows he adroitly set behind your head prior to getting off with your legs, you surely would've woken up from the top of your head knocking into the headboard.

Luckily enough for Choso, you wake up from feeling the other thing he'd been trying to avoid—the friction his cock created against your pussy.

It was an accident, really. He wanted to use your thighs really quickly and then go back to cuddling with you as if nothing ever happened but... well, after he came the first few times he was still hard.

He had to do something about it, right?"

“Go faster, Cho,” You're heard murmuring while your sleepily rub over your eyes, “C’mon, if you're gonna fuck my thighs like this then do it properly.”

“O-Ohh shiiiit,” Choso's breath gets tangled up almost immediately. He saw that you started to move and knew you were waking up but he didn't expect you to start talking to him like that so abruptly.

Then you give him a cute, but groggy smile as he mindlessly follows your instructions and picks up his pace, “There you go—good boyyy.”

Choso's eyes roll back and his hips are moving uncontrollably now. He probably would've ended up like this even if you didn't say anything but fuck, now that you have? Oh, the poor man was done for.

“Gonna cum,” He pants, watching through glossed eyes as you move your hand out to stroke at his cock each time it slots through the small gap he's created in between your thighs, “Gonna cum on you-, shit. Your thighs are s’warm.. They-, hahh-,” He’s cut off by you squeezing your legs—his eyes rolling back, headboard knocking up against the wall, and raw, husky groans pouring out of him.

Then you watch silky strings of cum spurt from his flustered tip, landing all over your torso, and even flying up to hit your mouth a little.

Choso's brows are left taut as he tries his best to keep himself from falling over on top of you and tugging your pajamas off just to plop his creamy cock inside you. Instead, he maintains his balance just fine and sways his head to the right before looking down at the way his dick is rubbing against your core again.

“Does it feel good for you too?” He pants cutely, doe-like eyes running up to your face, “Can you still feel me there? Against your pussy?”

You've clasped your bottom lip in between your teeth by now and your hand is left wet from his cum but you still manage a nod in response. To which Choso releases an eased sigh.

Then he leans up to properly, keeping his body steady on his knees and wrapping his other arm around you to come and pinch your clit somewhere in between his somewhat jittery grinds.

“Choso,” You call out in surprise, your hand flying down to hold his wrist.

He flashes this fucked-out little grin your way, answering his own question, “Mhmm, you cann. Fuck, you’re so wet from this.”

You let off a moan and then smile right back at him, “So are you.”

“Uhuh,” He gasps, “A-Always wet for my girl.”

You giggle at his dazed way of speaking now, wondering distantly just how many times he came while you were sound asleep, “I don’t think that’s how it works, baby.”

Choso's eyes soften in awe of you. “Don’t laugh at me,” He says with his plump bottom lip begining to poke out.

You gesture your hand out for him to come closer to you, “Awh, c’mere. Don’t pout.”

Casually ignoring you, your boyfriend naturally presses your legs down flat against your chest and his cock pops out from in between your thighs, dangling in the air with a drooling string of cum dripping from his flushed head.

Then he uses his strength to hold you down with one hand, the other grabbing ahold of his dick and letting it pat against your pussy—watching the way your plump lips press out around his shape through the fabric of your panties.

“You’re soaked from all that," He points out, noticing how the majority of your underwear is a dark shade indicating just how wet you'd gotten from waking up to his actions.

“Choso..." You murmur as you unconsciously send him a frown.

He looks up at your face, “Aw, now you’re the one pouting.”

Accompanying his words is a steady build up of something sloppy rubbing back 'n forth against the outline of your pussy. He doesn't really feel like taking your panties off or even moving them out of the way just yet, wanting to drag out your need for him as punishment for your first act towards him being those taunting words you threw his way earlier.

“Stop teasing,” You end up whining after the first few slips of his dick.

Normally you'd be all for this kinda thing but considering you woke up and immediately got horny from seeing your boyfriend finally taking advantage of the free use you'd given him months ago, it was a bit difficult for you not to be impatient now.

Choso lets out a hot breath as he decides to try something a little different. You'd already seen enough of his pathetic needy side for the day so, he figures it's time he switches it up now. Rasping out a rather commanding, “Say please.”

“Please?” You beg instantly while sending him that look you know makes him absolutely weak for you.

For the first time in foreve, Choso manages to ignore that look of yours and tips his head back a bit while thrusting his cockhead in between your drooling slit—bumping his own against your clit. “A little more than that,” He requests in a softened tone, “Say, ‘can I please have your cock, choso’?”

“I…” You swallow thickly at first—caught entirely off guard by his specific request. The worst part about it was the fact that you know he felt the way your cunt went twitching and clenching in reaction, yearning to be stuffed full of him sooner rather than later, “Can I please have your cock, Choso?”

“Good girl," He hums in between the slightly shy smile he sends down to you, "Now you get your reward."

Your panties are torn right off within the following moment. Choso hadn't exactly meant to rip the fabric off of you like that but, y'know, he was still just as needy for you as you were for him.

He couln't help himself!

When his cock finally begins to push against your hole, he breaks your legs open and displays this whorish look you've never seen from him before. Sounding far too confident as he hums, “Gonna fuck you til’ you’re wishing I kept using your thighs now, princess.”

As if he doesn't end up cumming not even a minute after being inside yo.

(not proofread) || perm multi tags (1/2):

@cupidstrace @navyllll @grignardsreagent @kingofpiratesiguess @etsuniiru @not-a-glad-gladiator @2kool4skoolll @daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @blubearxy

@wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @kitassecretgf @iam-souless @nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @withersworld @lilacsforveins @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke

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@a-jazzy-bee @miksde @zombiiesandmaltesers @sktvienna @dawnsoblivion @chloeee20 @naoybby @lateforlatte @lanamyersismywife @anosreep

[reignpage]

Free Trial

Summary: in which Gojo wants to try out the rope his adult toy designer friend created... on himself

Warnings: smut, no p in v, bondage, femdom, reader is the adult toy designer friend in question, breast play, dry humping, masochist!gojo, cumming in pants, set in canon universe, just a short little idea (kinda wanna make it into a series with him just trying out all sorts of sex toys lol. nobody say part 2 or make a request, I will end you), Gojo art by @_3aem on Twitter, not proofread Word Count: 2.9k

“Where does this even go?” Satoru wondered.

Looking up from your desk, where your newest idea was being sketched out, you answered, “It’s a sounding rod; it enters the urethra and stimulates the nerve endings there. That’s actually a part of my Vibrations Series, hence the bulge at the end — that’s where the battery goes.”

He whistled. You couldn’t tell if it was because he was impressed or terrified of the concept. Maybe both.

Satoru was your longtime friend. One of those ones you met in high school and brought into adulthood, in spite of all odds. You were a shy, keep-to-yourself kind of girl. You wanted to be alone, to get through the rest of high school without incident. He hadn’t cared. He latched himself on and never let go, and you were thankful every day.

Some more rifling through a box rang out in your relatively quiet bedroom.

“Okay, what about this one?” he asked.

You turned your head and hummed. “That’s just a rope, Satoru.”

He hooked a thumb under his blindfold to reveal a dazzling eye. It sparkled with mischief. “You’re the world’s most creative sex toy creator. I find it hard to believe this is ‘just a rope.’”

That was factually inaccurate — you were not the most creative anything. You were merely a mildly successful sex toy designer at a popular, well-established company. But Satoru never listened when you tried to correct him on that matter.

Returning to your sketches, you replied, “It’s made from a synthetic material that’s meant to adjust to the skin’s temperature. It warms up and is supposed to feel close to burning, without, y’know, burning. The legal team vetoed it, though. They said it was too dangerous and could catch on fire. Liabilities and all that. I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening.”

“Boooo,” Satoru said, sitting down on your bed behind you. “Suits always ruin the fun.”

You snorted in agreement.

A moment of silence passed, and you thought perhaps he had gotten bored, that he had gone on his phone and was sending memes to his poor students, who were off doing his missions for him. He soon opened his mouth again, however, and said something that had your hand, which was clasping your pencil, stilling:

“Wanna try it out?”

“…what?”

Satoru nudged your chair around with one of his long legs. You spun to face him. Blindfoldless suddenly, he had his legs spread and the long, blue rope dangling between his pale hands. “Let’s try it out. I always get sad when I look at your failed inventions. There’s usually never anything wrong with them, just legal stuff that gets in the way of fun and creativity. I feel for you, little inventor.”

Bullshit, you wanted to say. Instead, you fixed him a look and said, “No, Satoru. We can’t do this again. We promised.”

He groaned with an eye roll. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so serious. I’m curious, and you always get inspired after we try things out. It’s a mutually beneficial situation.”

“Don’t act like you’re doing this for me. You just want to get off, don’t try to manipulate me. I’m not in the mood to be tied up by a reminder of my failures, thanks.”

That should have been the end of that, you thought as you stood to take the rope away.

He snatched it from your hand before you could take it. You frowned. Satoru grinned. “Who said you were the one getting tied up?”

You blinked.

Satoru wanted to be tied up?

The thought of the blue rope digging into his fair, flawless skin, with redness blooming where the rope touched, had your knees weak. Would it be so bad to see him all tied up and at your mercy, you wondered. Were you even into that? Was he?

Cautiously, you reminded him, “You could break out of the restraints at any time you wanted, though.”

One of his hands crept around your thigh, tugging you forward and encouraging you to step between his legs. His hand was warm. He peered up at you with a smile. “I won’t. Not unless you tell me to.”

“...you’ll listen to me?”

“Yep,” he says, pressing a hand to his heart. “Scout’s honour.”

A shaky exhale leaves you.

Just like that, he knew he had you.

“Fine.”

And that’s how you end up straddling his hips with him leaning back against your headboard, arms tied behind his back, and blue rope running across his bare torso. He’s just in his boxers — you didn’t want to cross the line…again. Or rather, you didn’t want to cross the line too far. 

The rope frames him, tracing the natural planes of his body: the broadness of his shoulders, the unsubtle definition of his chest, the slutty dip at his waist. His skin appears almost luminous against the deep colour. Where the rope pressed in, it leaves a gorgeous flush, a blooming warmth that made the contrast all the more striking — dark blue against divinely-carved marble. 

His head rests back, just slightly tilted, exposing the long line of his throat. There’s no blindfold now. His eyes watched you from beneath half-lowered lashes, amusement curling lazily at the edges.

Waiting.

Satoru has never looked more delicate and powerful at the same time.

“You’re totally thinking I’m the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, right?” he asks though it doesn’t sound like a question at all. His brows dance. 

Naturally, you want to scoff and say something humbling, but truthfully, he’s not too far off.

Still, you don’t want to contribute to his huge ego, so you casually say, “Eh, you’re alright.”

You’ve tried out the rope on mannequins before so you’re somewhat experienced in the knots and rules, like making sure you leave it loose enough for two fingers to slip under and not knotting it so complicatedly that you can’t easily unravel it in case of emergencies. 

But it’s different when you do it on an actual person. His skin is soft and plush, unlike hard plastic. It’s warm and smooth, and reacts at your touch. Veins pop. Muscles flex. Breaths come out low and sudden. 

For the most part, Satoru was quiet. So were you. He allowed you to bend his arms however you pleased. It was a balanced exchange with how much he was staring at you. It made you self-conscious. Perhaps you should have worn something cuter when he came, you thought. Maybe brushed your hair and tidied up. In your defence, however, how were you supposed to know a simple visit to catch up after a long day of working was going to turn into lines blurring?

“Would it kill you to give me a compliment or two?” he grumbles petulantly. 

Swallowing a tense ball, you run your fingers down his chest, bumping up and down the thick rope. He shudders. “You look good, Toru. Blue’s totally your colour.”

One corner of his lips curls up. “Well, duh.”

“Is it too tight?” you ask, brows furrowed. You aren’t in this position very often at all, and you want to be sure you’re not breaking humanity’s only hope against curses. “Does it hurt?”

Satoru tries to stretch his limbs out, to no avail. He shrugs as best he can. “Been in tighter situations.”

“And do you like it?”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he replies.

A glance down at his crotch reveals a hardness too familiar and at the same time too foreign. And is that a wet spot?

“Seems like you like it too much,” you say absentmindedly. “Is being tied up actually turning you on?”

When he finally processes the weight of your gaze settling on his hard cock, his hips jolt up ever so slightly. The rope creaks with the flexing of his thick biceps. A challenge glints in his eyes. “You’re leaving a snail trail on my thigh with all the humping you’re doing,” he points out blankly. “If we wanna address my boner, we’ll have to address your clit pulsing in morse code, ‘suck me, Toru! suck me ngh!””

Cheeks flushed, you smack his chest. “Ugh, shut up.”

You were humping his thigh without realising it. Now that he’s made you aware, you can’t stop noticing how your wetness has soaked through your panties and shorts. Every shift and shuffle has the faintest squeelchhh reaching your ears. He must hear it too because he can’t stop smiling.

Fuck, you’re too worked up at the sight of his pretty skin contrasting with the rough rope. 

Breathlessly, you ask, “How does it feel, Toru?”

Long lashes flutter as he reflects for a second. “It’s good… The rope’s definitely warmer than I expected. I didn’t think I was into temperature play, but it’s better than I thought it would be. You did good, babe.”

“Yeah?”

Without really thinking about it, you shuffle forward. His face is buried in between your clothed breasts for the briefest moment before you sit back down on his lap. More specifically, right on his cock. 

Satoru sucks in a sharp breath. He throbs. “W-what’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as you begin grinding on his boner. The pulsing in your clit has you unable to think. All you know is that every time you feel his cock pushing against the small bundle of nerves through all the layers you cream even more. 

He groans, arms starting to fight his restraints. 

“Don’t,” you say. “You promised.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew you were going to be riding me like your pillow.”

“Ugh, that was one time, and I told you that in confidence,” you complain. “Stop bringing it up.”

He makes a tortured noise. “Then stop rubbing your pussy on my dick.”

Slowly, you remove your shirt. His eyes fall on your tits immediately. He stops resisting. 

“Do you actually want me to stop, Satoru?” you whisper, all shy. 

“Fuck no,” he replies without missing a beat. He looks downright mesmerised. Entranced. Positively bewitched. “Rub your pussy on me forever, baby. My hands, my thighs, dick, face, everywhere.”

Tempting…

A giggle escapes you. “You look like you’ve wandered into a sweet shop. Stop drooling.”

“I will as soon as you pop a nip into my mouth,” he retorts. Satoru darts forward, chasing a breast. You pull away all while you press a hand to his shoulder to keep him back. 

“Uh uh uh. You seem to be forgetting you’re not in control here anymore, Satoru Gojo. You’re all tied up and I’m on top. I hold all the cards, and you just have to sit back and do as I say.”

His cock throbs again under you. You moan, head thrown back. Satoru groans, “Oh, fuck. I love when you get all bossy.” He reaches forward despite your words and flicks his tongue against your hardened nipple. You clench around nothing. “Our friends don’t understand why you quit being a sorcerer to have a normal 9 to 5, but I get it. This suits you. They don’t see this part of you. Only I do, right?”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you guide his face to a breast and finally let him suckle on a nipple. The pleasure is instant. He sucks with no need for further instruction. So desperate. So eager. His satisfied moans vibrate through the sensitive bud, running through your veins, and pooling in your panties. The way he suckles, flicks his tongue, rolls it between his teeth — it’s obvious he’s doing this for his pleasure more than yours, and it’s getting you more hot and bothered than if he had been trying to make you feel good.

“You’re the only one who wants to get it, Toru,” you mutter. “You’re the most curious out of everyone because you know you get something out of it.”

Who can count how many times he’s taken one of your creations for himself? 

You’ve never asked questions about what exactly he does with the vibrators, the splitting bars, the freebie aphrodisiacs, or the costumes you win at company parties. Sometimes, you think he wants you to. But he never offers up the information himself.

Satoru’s words come out muffled because he doesn’t want to let go of your breast: “who doesn’t like orgasms and free things?”

Scoffing, you tell him, “You’re rich; everything’s basically free for you. And you can get orgasms from anywhere and anyone.”

He releases your tit with a pop! 

A long string of spit stretches until it breaks. Satoru nonchalantly mutters, “I only want orgasms from you.”

Then he latches onto the other one, sucking so hard your chest arches forward with the intensity of it. It’s almost as if he’s searching for milk, as if he thinks the reason you’re not leaking into his mouth is because he’s not trying hard enough. 

Meanwhile, your hips haven’t stopped gyrating on his cock. Chest to chest, you feel the rope rubbing your skin. The heat of the rope and his body keep you warm. Tingles from within erupt wherever you touch. It’s exhilarating and addictive all at once. 

You dig your nails where there’s no rope. He’s taken his Infinity down, or maybe he’s extended it to include you. It hardly matters. You’ve always been able to touch him.

“Satoru,” you moan, arms wrapping around his back. 

“I know,” he rasps. “Me too.”

Your hips work together. Faster and faster. With no rhythm. No rhyme. Just chasing bliss. 

His lips move from your tits, which he’s left slippery and sore. He kisses your neck, licking a drop of sweat from the curve that meets your shoulder. Satoru can’t touch you. He can’t break out of the rope— No, he can. He won’t. 

You both know he can easily rip the ropes to shreds. It wouldn’t even take anything from him. It’d be the easiest thing he could do, but he’d never want to disappoint you. 

“Dig your nails in,” he pleads, eyes rolling back. “Wanna feel it, wanna feel you.”

You only hesitate the most miniscule of seconds. Then, you’re digging your nails into his perfect skin, dragging it up his chiseled back. It feels wrong, like damaging David, even if Michaelangelo himself asked. But when his back arches and he hisses and his hips rut up into you at the same time, you can’t imagine this is anything but right.

The bed creaks. The headboard bangs against the wall. Pillows slip off the edge. The covers have disappeared. There’s only you and him and the ropes and the mixed juices you’re rubbing on each other.

Together, your bodies spasm with the force of your orgasms.

“Fuck!”

The air between you grows humid with your heavy breathing. Your hard nipples scrape his chest, his abs pressing to your belly, his cock and your clit pulsing in time with each other. 

Satoru calls your name out, eyes flashing. Objects around the room vibrate. They rattle. The walls creak, and in the haze of your bliss you almost see cracks forming along the surface, but a blink of the eyes washes all of that away. 

A loud snap! echoes.

The rope falls dully to the bed, completely loose, and totally damaged. Satoru’s broken free. He didn’t mean to. It just happened. His hands don’t grab onto you. He doesn’t flip you over and takes what he wants. He merely slumps onto you, panting into your neck, and clasping his hands together behind his back so tightly you’re scared he’ll break his own bones. 

Red lines criss cross around his torso. When your fingers graze the sensitive skin, he ruts up into you with a lewd moan. 

“Oh fuck, that was good,” Satoru eventually breathes out. 

“And never happening again,” you say, thoroughly disappointed in yourself. Again. Why do you keep falling for his games? Why do you keep cumming at his whim? Why do you want to do it again so soon? 

The allure of seeing a good looking man in something you designed was too much for you to resist. Now that post nut clarity is clearing your mind, you can only kick yourself mentally.

Pulling away, you throw your shirt back on, smacking the hands that reach for your tits away. There’s an uncomfortable wetness between your legs. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind the wetness on his own boxers. He’s always been more unbothered by the whole ‘doing things we shouldn’t scheme.

Satoru throws himself onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling and testing the marks on his wrists. He marvels at them. He’s not used to being marked up. With a happy little whistle, he pats his belly and replies, “Uhuh.”

“No,” you enunciate. “No ‘uhuh.’ It’s not going to happen ever again. You’re banned from touching any of my designs again.”

“Okay,” he says, looking at you with a faux innocent look. “You can touch your designs. I’ll just touch you. Good thinking!”

You give him a deadpan face.

And unfortunately when he winks at you, you know you’re both thinking the same thing:

It’s going to happen again.

[v3is]

SYNOPSIS   ᯓ★   After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.

PAIRING   ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader

TAGS   ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates

TAGLIST 𐔌 0 / 50 , open 𐦯  ᯓ★   . . .

NOTE   ᯓ★   divider credits to @kthice & art credits to @dewbiscuits   , logbook div made by me (raaaahh) ⟡   this is a rewritten version of my old CAITA, there will be a lot of changes in the plot because I didn’t like the original one when I reread it. Just a little reminder that this one will probably take longer, especially with my thesis and graduation coming up. Then I would actually have to find an actual full-time job and not internships (j#b, ew). Anyways, I really hope that everyone will like the new version of CAITA. Thank you for following the story up until this point sjkjkdjdkjs, enjoy!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ℘rologue ， chapter one ， chapter two ， chapter three ， chapter four ， chapter five ， chapter six ， chapter seven ， more to be added ♡

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა side stories . . . tba

© v3is, 2026 ﾒ do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on another platform + do not feed my works into AI.

[kkunai]

𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. height difference + jjk men — seeing you struggling to initiate a kiss, ft. gojo, nanami, toji, choso

tags \\ warnings. jjk men x gf!reader (separately). fluff, suggestive themes. size difference obviously: reader is shorter than the characters. little hint of an age gap in toji’s part (you; early 20’s, he early 30’s). reader gets referred to as ‘small, short, adorable’. nicknames used ‘baby, sweetheart, princess, little girl, angel’. includes drabbles for each character :: mlist.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

“what’s the matter, baby?” satoru easily notices whenever you’re internally debating something. you’d fidget with your clothes, look around and nibble on your bottom lip.

even if you say that it’s nothing, your lover knows that you mean the exact opposite. he walks hand-in-hand with you out of the boutique where he had bought you a pretty dress. his thumb rubs your skin gently, hoping to comfort you with whatever you’re struggling to say.

“it’s uhm,” you finally speak up. satoru halts his steps and tilts his head with a curious pout on his lips. he doesn’t want to pressure you into anything, so he keeps quiet.

his blue eyes follow your movements from behind his sunglasses. you step closer to him, your small hands travelling up to gently hold onto his jacket. you gulp before balancing your entire body on your toes—creasing your shoes a bit by doing so.

at this point, satoru knows what you’re trying to do. your actions are absolutely adorable and make the man giggle. he wants nothing more than to squish your cheeks together for being so cute.

especially because you’re failing to reach his lips.

“oh, do y’need help maybe?” satoru asks with a smug grin. you frown and try to stand on the tips of your toes, though that didn’t seem enough. your lover needs to lower his head a tad more for you to kiss him.

satoru tilts his head backwards instead. he loves to see you pout and struggle to carry out such an affectionate act.

he can’t help it—you’re so fun to tease, “c’mon, you can do it, baby!”

when you give up due to his constant teasing, the white-haired man gasps dramatically. you smack his bicep and turn around with a huff, “forget it.”

before you can take another step away from him—satoru’s hand reaches out to hold your wrist. he pulls you back against his chest, warm palm holding your cheek and tilting your head up so his glossy lips could meet yours.

“sorry,” satoru mutters against your mouth. his tongue sneakily swipes against yours which causes you to squirm. he gives your bottom lip a playful nibble in response, “couldn’t resist teasing you a little.”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

“welcome home, dear!” you greet kento at the front door as per usual. he sighs in relief and smiles tiredly, appreciating your appearance before him. he seems utterly exhausted from his most recent mission.

“it’s good to see you, sweetheart,” kento shuts the door behind him. he takes off his shoes and places them where they belong before doing the same with his coat. he looks down at you as you help him tidy his belongings, “you’re looking beautiful tonight.”

to say you’re flustered is an understatement. kento always knows just how to get you shy and embarrassed from the casual way he compliments you. you’re in your pyjamas and apron—barefaced with nothing extra going on and yet your lover is completely engrossed by your looks.

“thank you,” you murmur back with a bright smile. kento smiles as well after seeing your happy expression. that’s what he does it for.

you hold kento’s hand and feel its warmth engulf your skin. his palms are a little rough; probably from the hard work he put into those recent missions he did. you look up at the blonde man in front of you and want nothing more than to kiss him—show your gratitude for everything he does for you.

thus, you lean in and stand on your toes, balancing on one foot whilst the other floats a few centimetres above the wooden floor. it’s hard to find a balance, though your attentive partner is quick to lend a hand.

“careful,” kento whispers, his voice so husky that you feel a shiver run down your spine. his big hands settle on your waist and he doesn’t waste a single second after that.

he leans in as well, head lowered to yours and your noses lightly brushing against each other. kento’s lips find your soft ones—interlocking them in a passion filled kiss. you can feel his entire body relax even more. as if he’s waited all day to be back home. to be back to you.

to kiss and hold you close.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

“over here, princess,” toji calls you over with a subtle wave. he’s leaning against a brick wall, hands in the pockets of his black jacket. you walk over to him with an excited smile—happy to spend some quality time together with him today.

“hey, i missed you,” you comment and wrap your arms around his waist. you nuzzle your face against his chest to which toji reacts by giving you an awkward head pat.

the older man lifts your head up and away from his body by holding onto your chin. his eyes run over your face, letting out a short content hum. he’s missed you a lot too. not that he’d tell you that directly.

“how’s uni for ya?” toji asks. the pad of his thumb rubs your cheek and you lean into his touch. it brings a little smirk to his face—seeing how easily you become putty in his hands is rather amusing.

“been okay for most part,” you shrug and fail to maintain eye contact with your boyfriend. he probably doesn’t do it on purpose, but his half-lidded eyes makes your lower abdomen feel funny.

you’re still so nervous around him, though you’ve got the guts to at least kiss him first. you missed the feeling of his lips against you after all. the constant, soothing rubs of his thumb against your cheek only intensifies your desire.

you lift yourself up on the tips of your shoes. your cold hands cup toji’s face and he immediately gets what you’re trying to do. he snickers at the sight of you struggling to reach him and acts like he doesn’t know what you want.

. . until you whine about how you really want to kiss him. that man is sold the moment he hears your whiny voice.

“fuck. c’mere, little girl,” toji’s veiny hands go around your waist and move down to cup your ass, his lips crashing down onto yours with a desperation he’s never kissed you with before.

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

“do i need to add salt? she’s talking too fast,” choso ask whilst scratching his head. he’s watching a youtube video on his phone; specifically a cooking one. he’s attempting to copy a recipe in his kitchen and you’re helping him since he doesn’t know too much about phones. and cooking apparently.

you giggle and grab the phone from the counter. the lady’s words are incomprehensible due to the video being on two times the usual speed. you return the settings to normal with a light hearted chuckle, “yeah, because you’ve sped up the video, silly.”

“oh,” choso smiles sheepishly. he checks the stove and makes sure the food isn’t burning before turning towards you, “thank you. you’re a lifesaver, heh.”

you can’t help but admire the view of choso in front of you. he’s in an apron which is too small on him since it’s yours—his chiseled chest accentuated by the fabric. his black hair is up in a small ponytail and his cheeks are red. probably from embarrassment.

“you’re adorable,” you comment lovingly. choso’s cheeks turn even redder by your compliment and he sputters some words about how he ‘needs to focus on his cooking’.

you interrupt his stammers by getting closer. your lover stops and his lips are parted—giving you the perfect chance to capture them into a kiss. well, you try to at least

choso notices your silent struggles and blinks. it takes him a second to fully grasp the situation before he decides on helping you. he smiles warmly, his beefy arms effortlessly lifting you up to his height, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

one hand is on your thigh, the other holding the back of your head to deepen your shared kiss. choso pulls away and attaches his lips to your neck, settling you the counter, “want more, angel. you drive me crazy.”