I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard
Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.
Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.
Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.
Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.
SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.
SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.
Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.
Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.
Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.
Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.
Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.
MapCrunch. Environment artists rejoice. Random locations, filter by indoor or outdoor, rural or urban, specific country. Great for realistic/authentic building ref.
Frat boy kuna who tries to convince you to elope with him while, you guys are finishing up college. He knows it’s not ideal for you even in the slightest but fuck he wanted to be yours so badly. Sukuna was obsessed with you, it wasn’t enough to just show you off at frat parties or tattoo your name on him all over, he needed to be your husband. He knew how important your studies were to you though, and it was no way you would stop them just to have a marriage ceremony. That’s why eloping was the next best thing for him. He spent hours looking at rings just to get you to at least consider the idea. Even a maybe was better than nothing. You guys had been in his room at the frat house when he popped the question. His large body laying on top of yours entrapping you with his warmth to cover you from the aching cold of the back to school season.
“Would you say it’s too soon for us to get married?”
“What?”
“I mean…would you? Honestly, what do you think about it?"
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“I don’t joke about shit like that. I’m serious. What’s stopping us? We could just go to the courthouse and get married and not tell anyone. Then we would have one another forever.”
“You been thinking about marrying me Kuna? That’s so cute.” “M’ being for real right now and you’re joking.”
“…”
“…”
“Well it’s not a horrible idea. Elope now and then have a big wedding when we graduate and have good jobs.”
Sukuna sat up so fast he nearly fell off the bed and had to grab on to you to steady his grip. He couldn’t believe you were actually consider it. He thought it’d be a flat out no.
“Really?”
“You gonna promise me a real big wedding later on”
“baby idk give you the damn world if you want it. You make me so happy you know that?”
Fratboy! Sukuna who keeps you by his side at any parties he goes to.
He's usually the type to sit and just lean against the wall, drink in his hand while the music is bumping. He's known for having guys and girls alike by his side trying to get his attention all night. Who wouldn't want to be with him? Over six foot, known around the school, big as hell, covered in tattoos and piercings, everything about him just gave off sex appeal. The problem was he wanted you, you and no one else. It wasn't even a hidden fact either because at every frat party he was all up on you. Either standing behind you while you danced or holding you drink for you so you could talk with your friend. You made him your little personal errand boy.
Once he got with you, he never let you stray too far from him while at these parties. Dark heavy gaze followed wherever you went because he was obsessed with you. Now he lurked in the corner with his boys but kept you on his lap to talk to. You wanted to dance? That's fine, just make it in eyesight. You wanna go off with your friends? Cool, he'll be checking on y'all though because he knows how these parties can be. When it was just you two on the couch, he was clingy as fuck. Touching on your thighs, kissing your neck while telling you how good you looked, rubbing his thumb against your temple to soothe any relief or keep any chance of a migraine from the music and alcohol coming. Sukuna was obsessed with you.
Older! Bf Frank Castle who always uses his ass to cover your ass whenever you wear something a little too short and he doesn't want you to flash everyone when you bend over.
Older! Bf Frank Castle who keeps a gun on him when you guys go out because it's been more than one occasion of a guy trying to press him in order to impress you and try to get you to go home with them.
Older! Bf Frank Castle who's accustomed to you randomly coming home with a new piercing or tattoo whenever you have the extra money. Literally never surprises him at this point unless you get a really big piece you never mentioned at all before.
Older! Bf Frank Castle who makes you wear a plug while you're full of his cum when you guys go at after one of your little bratty spurts. You can be and plead all you want for him to take it out, but he'll smirk and say "you're not getting cleaned up brat. You'll have my cum all over you while we're out. And he's completely serious.
Older! Bf Frank Castle who loves a bit of risky car sex. Having someone as young as you who's always needy means he often has to take you to his back seat to fuck you till you're settled in. Which can be good knows how many orgasms. He'll fuck you, finger you, eat you out, whatever it is he needs to do to get you half asleep under him.
red solo cups are piled up in the sink, leftover clothes strewn about the place—over the backs of chairs and on couches. a few zyn pouches discarded here and there, and bottles decorate the floor. beer cans—crushed and uncrushed—are in a pile in the far corner of the room. smudges on the wall—proof of last night’s vigor and apparent lack of organization. it’s 4pm saturday, and sukuna’s frat house has transformed into a complete and utter wasteland from last night's frat party.
the gathering was meant to be something minute, straightforward, and distracting. something that wasn’t meant to end in him almost being outed to the entire fraternity.
when one of the fraters took his phone as a "challenge" and started to go through his text messages is when everything went wrong. they had stumbled across a contact name that had a simple red heart ‘♥️’ and started to go on an impromptu investigation of the messages.
kuna can't remember much of how it went down. he just remembers grabbing the phone from out of the guy's grip and cursing him out. when the guy responded with two hands in the air in surrender and a conniving grin, kuna didn't even give him a second to form a faulty excuse before rocking him right in the jaw.
toji was watching, leaned against the counter with a plastic cup of poorly-made punch in hand and a lazy grin on his face while the whole thing went down. ijichi, the fraternity’s secretary, had to break the two apart, and only with gojo’s help was he able to actually pull sukuna off the poor guy.
sukuna tolerates toji enough to call him a friend, since they've been acquainted with each other during every year of college—sharing experiences together like the two evil menaces they were. from carelessly arriving late to lectures freshman year, to being the heads of beta theta pi, and practically running jujutsu university in senior year. in junior year, it was scaring off any poor guy who attempted to apply to their frat house.
toji trusts him, too—enough to open up about his insecurities regarding the scar striking across his lip, and the background in which he grew up. these childhood factors affected toji much more than sukuna initially thought, and he was privileged with seeing toji under a certain light that most others would never be able to.
they had built a bond together, an unbreakable, brotherly bond that had been tested time and time again, and still remained unbroken. the friendship had ups and downs, whatever—however, there was a singular, outstanding, drawback that came with being best buds with toji. his tendency to just find out things—even if you tried your very best to hide them, it was like, somehow, he knew anyway.
kuna knows this best. when satoru, the frat’s newest member at the time, and school mascot, tried to hide his break up with suguru, toji found out within days.
at first he pressed slowly, just a few questions to gauge how messy the separation truly was.
“haven’t seen you with bangs guy in a minute, you two okay?” he mentioned one time while setting up a beer pong table for an upcoming party, the same one in which kuna’s fight would later break out in.
“his name’s suguru,” was the white haired nerd’s only reply as he set the low-hanging banner in place. it sounded pathetic, actually, but toji knew better than to poke fun at the poor guy’s misery, so he stepped over, and patted him roughly on the shoulder.
“don’t be so sulky, dork. you’ll be fine, you’ll get over it.” was what came out of toji’s mouth. satoru knew it was meant to be words of encouragement from toji, so he flashed a small, reassuring smile to him, and toji clapped him so hard on the back he would’ve fell forward if it weren’t for him catching himself. “there he is,” and toji went back to aligning the solo cups in triangular formations of 6—each on either side of each table.
so you can imagine what happened when toji caught kuna hanging out with you, the frat's financial advisor and probably the only reasonable member of the frat house (aside from ijichi), on multiple occasions, alone.
at first, he brushed it off. you two are in the same frat. the financial advisor and the president isn't an odd duo by any means. maybe meeting a few times to discuss logistics, maybe rooming or when the next party would be. he knows sukuna, and he’s not the type to get romantically involved with anybody, especially not someone with a title as weak as “financial advisor”.
he became more suspicious when he began to come across you two too many times. logistics meetings in cafés? discussing frat finances in the library together? frat acquaintanceship doesn't extend all the way to spending weekends at kuna's dorm.
when toji watches sukuna's contact go from 'online' to 'do not disturb 🌙', he knows something is up, and heads to kuna's dorm to check it out.
“i’ll be right back.” he calls to ijichi who’s currently bagging up empty cans. it’s not like his presence will be missed—toji wasn’t really contributing to the cleaning anyway.
m!reader!pov
sukuna, the ambiguous, forboding frat president had always caught your eye. even from day one, ever since him and his threatening, dark-haired friend had allowed you into the house under the guise that you'd be "useful for the numbers".
at the time he had never even glanced your way, and you thought that texting about how much party decorations would cost would be the closest you got to friendship—nevermind anything more. kuna was untouchable. he pretty much only socialized within the smaller circle of higher up frat elites, and very little at that.
so what you never expected was that he'd ask you out. he sent you an invitation to your café, the one where you two’d hang out “discuss costs” as sukuna usually put it. just a short, definitive message that read something like:
you will come to the café at 5 today.
you don't fully remember, but you replied something like:
our spot?
and sukuna hated himself even more as he replied:
yes. our spot.
the confession wasn’t anything grand. no flowers or teddy bears or chocolates, just sukuna paying for your sugary latte and mentioning that you’re his boyfriend now whether you like it or not right before he left.
that's how you came to love the powerful frat tyrant.
that brings you to now. cuddled up to kuna underneath the plush, cotton sheets you had bought for his bed a while ago (because despite how he presents, sukuna loves soft things). his dorm mate was no where to be found, not wanting to be caught anywhere near the massive, pink-haired guy because after all, he was still the same intimidating senior—just in softer fabrics now.
the moment is utter bliss. kuna's arms in a grip around your waist, large fingers meeting in front on your belly. you never pegged kuna to be the cuddly type, but when he was alone with you, his entire brand of mysterious and intimidating came pathetically crumbling down.
"ijichi told me you got into a fight at the party last night,” you chuckle to yourself, tracing absent patterns on his forearm. “god i would’ve loved to be there.”
“shut the hell up, brat.” he murmurs against you, biting into the spot between your ear and your collarbone. you yelp a little, “kuna!” and he apologizes with a nip to the earlobe. his voice is still a deep rumble, but he tries his best to soften it for you. “no more comments. be quiet.”
the dorm is quiet for a few moments before you hear the door unlocking. it takes whoever’s out there a few tries to actually twist the lock and open the door, which means it must be toji. he’s also the only one (besides yourself) who has a spare key. sukuna immediately stiffens behind you.
before sukuna even knows it, toji’s barging into the room. he stops dead in his tracks when he sees how snuggled up the two of you are, and a slow grin creeps onto his face.
kuna bristles, while you, on the other hand, are completely oblivious to the “secret” nature of your relationship. you just thought sukuna was low-key about everything.
“this is what the two of you are up to while everyone else is cleaning the house, huh?” he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest. he takes a slow look over of the two of you, taking a mental snapshot of the scary frat king currently cuddled up to the quiet guy who now holds a higher position than just “financial advisor”.
“i’ll let you two have your little morning time.” he says lowly, before leaving just as quick as he came.
sukuna, face pinker than his own dyed undercut, buries his face in your neck. you just giggle to yourself again. “turns out escaping to me after your disaster of a party wasn’t a good idea after all.” he pinches your side. his words are still rough, but there’s not genuine bite to them. “i said no more comments.”
a/n: idk what the point of adding the house being trashed in the first paragraph was it's kinda just there myb 😭😭
i wrote this on my phone so don’t mind if anything’s different or off 💔
synopsis you love streamer dynamight. you do not love student katsuki bakugo. there may or may not be a difference between the two.
*written throughout
it’s not like you were expecting much, or anything at all to be quite honest. with knowing the four boys, you were expecting something a little less furnished and a little less… beautiful? but the apartment you were let into was refreshing. the first thing you notice was well-maintained plants on the windowsills, hanging from the ceiling, even outlining bookshelves that were full of world-renowned novels and various records. fairy lights and sunset lamps illuminate the roof and walls, providing the perfect mellow atmosphere for the rest of the room. the couch, which denki, hanta, and eijiro were sitting on, seemed soft and clean, blankets draping themselves and the rest of the pillows. they were so focused on the smash bros on the screen that they didn’t notice katsuki letting you in, but you were so awestruck that it hadn’t bothered you.
it seemed to bother katsuki though, letting out a sharp “oi” that grabs all of their attention at once. “it’s y/n, say hi.” this in turn prompts the three of them to get up to greet you, giving you a dap up and a side hug.
“hi y/n, so nice to see you!” denki takes a look around the apartment before redirecting his gaze on to you, “do you like our apartment? it took forever for us to plan everything, but in my ahem humble opinion, i think it looks magnificent!”
you let out a small laugh, “did you just say ahem aloud,” getting a nod from the blonde, “but yeah it looks amazing. i wasn’t expecting you guys to have such a,” you gesture around yourself, “well-furnished place. most college students i know can’t afford to decorate like this. fuck, i definitely cant afford decor like this.”
katsuki lets out a sound of disapproval, “well we arent lame like other fuckers.”
hanta and eijiro flick their heads in his direction, wondering where the hell the gall came from to both insult fellow college students and you. they go to apologize for his behavior, but before they could let out a sound, they see you just cover your mouth to stifle your laughter before you can’t hold it and just let it out. you lightly push on his shoulder (though he doesn’t move), before dismissing his comment altogether, “whatever, you know im way cooler than you’ll ever be.”
this time its denki who reacts, widening his eyes, waiting for the ticking time bomb that katsuki is about to explode onto you in the form of a torrent of insults, but katsuki just smirks and rolls his eyes, before responding to you, “keep fucking dreaming baby.”
even though you aren’t the biggest fan of katsuki, being able to banter with the guy is something you admire, so you continue back and forth with him, trading insults (while he slips in pet names for you…?) and small jabs at one another.
the three boys watch you two dumbfounded, wondering who the man that claims to be katsuki is before turning to each other and creating a mental connection:
wow, they’re perfect for each other.
“you know,” you start, grabbing katsuki’s attention from the macbook screen that is playing a walkthrough of chongqing, china, “you aren’t as bad as i thought you were.” you put a hand in front of his face before he could say anything, “still pretty fucking awful though.”
katsuki just scoffs, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling, “and here i was thinkin’ i was doing a great job as a host,” and then he turns gaze to you, “but ya basically just told me to kill myself, fuckin’ great.” you nudge him, getting a laugh from him, “just teasin’. you aren’t as bad as the extras, definitely much cooler too.” he sighs, going back to staring at the ceiling, “just dont tell ‘em i said that, they’ll start crying on the spot.”
“can’t make that promise, katsuki. what if i get hit by a magical spell that forces me to admit everything that specifically you told me.” you hit your forehead with the back of your head and fall onto his bed dramatically, “oh the horror, what would you ever do? your friends would die of shock, and it’ll be your name as the cause of death: katsuki fucking bakugo.”
he returns the nudge with a grin, “you’re such a lil shit, you know that?” you move onto so that you’re facing the same direction as him, being able to look at him face-to-face.
he’s… honestly really attractive. the blonde hair seems to suit his facial features nicely, accentuating his crimson eyes. not only that, but his jawline is a lot more prominent now that you’re closer, and the way his body is much bigger than yours… his personality, though explosive and blunt, is still somewhat intriguing to you, and you can admit that it’s actually entertaining being able to talk to him. everything together makes you feel a flutter in your stomach, something you haven’t felt in a while.
“hey, nerd, yer eyes are exposing the fact that your brain is processing at 1000 miles a second. what’s goin’ on in that noggin of yours?”
“nothing, its just nice to have a friend.”
“oh, so we’re friends now.”
and before today, you would never even think of those words.
now though, in this very moment, you answer, “yeah, we are.”
a/n: starting slow! had to do writing parts for this as well cus… yeah! and yes in my mind the boys have a great eye for interior design (plus it helps them in relationships sooooo) also pls let me know if u want to be in the taglist!!! and if i forgot anyone pls let me know as well sometimes i miss the notifs ;-;
Pairings — Carlos Oliveira x male reader x Chris Redfield
⚠️CW⚠️ — gay, gay sex, power-bottom male reader, sub-top Carlos Oliveira, sub-top Chris Redfield, threesome, anal, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjob, ass-eating (reader and Chris receiving), Carlos has a big dick, Chris has a big dick, Carlos tops Chris, reader calls them good boy and soldier boy, body worshipping, frotting, fleshlight fucking, double penetration, dick smacking, collaring, choking, face-sitting, orgasm denial, face-fucking, sex toys, dildo fucking, praise kink, ass refer to as pussy, nipple play, raunchy gentle sex (I think), rimming, overstimulation, somewhat unrealistic, size kink, dry humping, size difference, age difference, breeding, and scent kink.
Word count — 11.8k
Summary — you take a vacation from your job as support for Hound Wolf Squad. Chris and Carlos were fine with it until your temporary replacement started to stress them severely. Both men return home exhausted, jittery, and stressed — you were gonna fix that.
Read before continuing — If you are younger than 18 or any of the warnings make you uncomfortable, this is your chance to turn around and leave. If there are no problems, you may continue.
A/n — screw canon. Original creator of the image
It was a quiet, peaceful afternoon. The home stood silent on a quiet cul-de-sac road in suburban America, with you as the only occupant. It was moderately sized, double-story, and fully paid off—thanks to the generous amount of money earned from your field. It was almost always empty, though. You and your older husbands worked for an international paramilitary organization, the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, always deployed on missions in different countries and continents, rarely spending time at home. However, Chris has been going rogue with you, and Carlos is following suit.
You worked in support of the men by gathering and providing intelligence and radio support—telling them where the bioweapons were located and about enemy movements. Seamless operations where you and your two men work in unison and harmony as if you were extensions of each other's bodies and minds. The operation was done with minimal casualties—apart from the combatants.
That was until you took a vacation break. You lay sprawled out on the massive Wyoming king-sized bed, blankets covering every inch of your body apart from one leg sticking out. Pillows that were once organized and neat now found themselves all over the place, with your head buried and nuzzling the soft, pillowy mass. There was still a hint of Chris and Carlos’s musk, a mix of cedarwood, smoke, and gunpowder with a sharp metallic tang. It was faint, but present. Despite them showering, the scent clung to their bodies like a cloud.
You received a message from them that they’re coming home—a mission was completed. Before you took your break, you’d been coming home more often, probably because the number of bioweapons discoveries is on the decline. This is one of those instances where you and the older men get to indulge with each other, wash away, and relieve yourself of the stress and hassle of working for the BSAA.
Subconsciously, your hips started to grind against the mattress. Your fingers gripped the pillow as you buried your head further, inhaling as much of the musk as you could. Your loins were feverishly burning and aching, gyrating your hips slowly in a heavy and circular motion. Your breathing was heavy and panting. The thought of being sandwiched between two heavily rugged and muscular bodies—feeling their hairy torsos and stubble prickling your skin. Their worn, calloused hands groping and grazing your hips and ass as they press their mark on you.
Your face is buried between Carlos’s hairy pectorals, groping the firm yet soft mounds, or being put into a headlock by Chris, marveling at his gigantic and muscular arms. You wanted to kiss and lick every ridge and crevice of their bodies, targeting the sweet spots that could pull a groan from their lips—tease and rile them until they pin you down and take turns defiling your body.
You don’t care if you’re considered greedy. Anybody would want to be in your position.
“Ngh…” you whined, your teeth digging into the pillow. Soft whimpers slipped past your teeth as the blooming feverish burn spread to the rest of your body. Everything was warmer and searing hot despite being naked—except a single garment of underwear. Beads of precum gush from the tiny slit, staining the threads of your underwear and seeping through to coat the blankets.
The human imagination is wonderful, as it conjures another vivid image that makes your dick throb. Both men were blessed with impressive endowments. Their massive dicks hung between their muscular tree-trunk thighs, dangling and flaccid, but still intimidating. Their balls were hefty and sagging, egg-shaped as cum churned internally. Even when erected, the combined length and girth made their massive dicks hang from the sheer weight. Especially when they were both in your hands.
You remembered the first time. Both older men had been competing with each other for months, and it came to a head after a night out at the bar. The memory was vague and blurry, but somehow, both men were stripped of their clothing, presenting you with their impressive assets and endowments. Your jaw dropped, and your eyes widened, a lustful and worried glint swirling and combining. Your mind was trying to process every detail, but your loins and ass were twitching with excitement—eager for their massive lengths.
Your ass clenched and unclenched, simulating the penetration. It was hungry, an endless black hole that wanted to swallow and struggle to absorb every girthy inch. Your mouth suddenly felt empty, your glands producing excess saliva—some of which dribbled down your chin. Then the special words rang through your ears: both men wanted to know who was bigger. Was this really a dick-measuring contest? You didn’t expect this type of contest from men like Chris and Carlos—maybe college frat boys, but men who were nearing their 50s? It was still endearing nonetheless.
Creeeeeaaakkk
The sound of the front door’s squeaking, rusted hinges echoed and filled the quiet house, followed by heavy footfalls—combat boots clicking against the foyer’s tiled flooring. Your ears perked, pointing up like a rabbit detecting a predator—the predators being Chris and Carlos in your case. You hastily got up, almost tripping as your limbs were tangled with the blankets. Your dick remained erect, bulging against the tight threads of your underwear, begging to be released and breathe, flopping and throbbing in the air. It was noticeable to anyone, but you covered yourself with a robe before running down to greet your husbands.
When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you didn’t see any people other than discarded tactical gear and boots by the door. You heard movement from the living room and followed to find Chris and Carlos slouched on the expansive sofa, arms perched on top, legs spread open. The air around the older men was quiet instead of the usual flirts from Carlos or praise from Chris. It felt heavy, dense with static. The only thing that shattered the stillness was Carlos's incisive tapping of his feet—he clearly seemed annoyed. Chris wore a scowl that looked as if it was baked onto him.
Something must have happened. Was it your temporary replacement until you returned?
You couldn’t help but ogle the older men's bodies without their combat gear. Carlos sported a tight-fitting black t-shirt—the Umbrella Corporation’s logo since ripped off—that hugged his pronounced muscles, particularly his bulging pectorals. The hems of the arm-holes made his protruding biceps most notable, large, and muscular—and his green cargo pants were slightly undone, leaving your mind to wander for a moment.
Chris was the same as Carlos, messy and undone, except he strutted in a tight compression undershirt—hugging his muscular frame, bulging biceps, and broad shoulders. His pants were in a similar state to Carlos's. You could see a print forming at the crotch—no, you’ll have enough time later.
“How are my two most favorite people—” you didn’t get to finish your sentence when Carlos pulled you onto his lap, burying his head in your neck. The robe you were wearing was discarded and thrown over the couch. Your dick grinded against Carlos’s muscly thigh, but he didn’t pay mind to it—surprisingly. Your nose was filled with the familiar musky scent of gunpowder, sweat, and smoke. Carlos’ scruffy beard rubbed against your collarbone; you could feel him sniffing—inhaling your calming scent as his calloused hand gripped your waist, playing with the bands of your underwear.
“Fucking awful, cariño,” Carlos grunts. You were no stranger to Carlos’ embrace after a successful mission. He holds you and leans to your level to pepper your skin with open-mouth kisses and bites, muttering praise for your work and typical flirts. Now, the man was acting like a feral animal that had gone days without hunting for food.
“That replacement of yours… they performed suboptimally.” Chris chimed as the couch crunched and sank from the combination of the two men’s weight. You feel Chris’s muscular arm wrapping around your midsection, pressing his forehead on your shoulder.
“By suboptimal, do you mean it's because they weren’t me?” You inquired, your eyebrow raised, waiting for a response. You combed through Carlos’s shaggy, jet-black curls—the strands of hair twisting and twirling between your fingers.
Chris opened his mouth to respond, but Carlos beat him.
“Yeah, they just aren’t you, cariño. We work so much better with you and not so well with them. Being near them felt soul-sucking—even on comms.” Carlos said, his voice a mix between annoyance and flirtation. Chris hummed in agreement.
“Oh, come on, they couldn’t have been that bad. I'm in the prime years of intense migraines, and my body already feels like it's gonna collapse. Also, I think I have permanent eye strain.” That was the main reason for your vacation break; it was too much.
The banging and throbbing headaches that felt like something was gonna burst out of your head, and staring at a monitor filled to the brim with information that you had to relay to your team? Plus, the constant anxiety of either Carlos or Chris, or both, being severely injured or killed was another factor.
“I think you just need a little more exercise, cariño.” Carlos joked.
“Wow, I’m still in good shape, I think.” You huffed, playfully slapping Carlos’s bicep. Even Chris laughed, his chuckle vibrating against your back.
“We should take an early retirement. We have enough money. And we can spoil our little minx.” Chris groans, rubbing his head against your shoulder before pressing open-mouthed kisses like Carlos.
“The command at BSAA would be running around like chickens with no heads,” you replied, soft gasps slipping through your teeth as both men worshipped your body with their mouths and hands.
“I’m starting to hate those cabrones. Something fishy is going on. Just wanna be here with you.” Carlos says. Was that a weak whimper you heard towards the end? The ministrations from both older men were weakening, transitioning to butting heads. They’re tired, but you could feel the undertone of desire and arousal—they wanted to ravage you.
“How about you both take a shower and meet me in the room? Let me take the reins,” You purred, lifting Carlos's head and pulling Chris to face you. Both men were stunned, but didn’t protest. They usually took the dominant role—this was new. Your hands left their chins and flattened against their clothed groins, palming their bulges. Choked hisses and groans were pulled from the lips as you teased them.
“I’ll be waiting.”
xxx
You were sitting on the master bed, doodling with your phone as you waited for both Carlos and Chris. You weren’t doing anything on it, fantasizing about having both older men wrapped around your fingers—this was the first time you’ve taken the reins. Your dick was pulsing and throbbing, bobbing between your thighs. Then, the common sound of the door hinges squeaking, and the heavy footsteps pull your attention.
And there they stood, completely naked, with their massive, heavily muscular bodies on full display for your viewing pleasure—only you get to see this, no one else. A grin spread across your face, your eyes glossing over the older men, and wetting your chapped lips with saliva. They were built like gods, sculpted with divine hands, piece by piece.
They were mountains of rolling muscles from years of working as a mercenary-guerilla fighter and military/law-enforcement service. Both men sported nearly the same powerful physique—broad, brick-built shoulders that are perfect for resting your head on, well-defined muscular arms that could crush a fruit or put you in a chokehold, and plush, meaty pectorals with pretty nipples to motorboat or fondle.
Carlos was hairier than Chris, his meaty pectorals covered in a pelt forest, except for his perky, bright pink nipples that looked like an oasis jewel found in the deep trenches of the rainforest. It converged past his mounds and trailed down his body, leading to his abdomen, where your happy meal awaits. His forearm was dusted with strands, mainly the upper area. Chris has hair dusted in certain regions; his arms and pectorals had a fine coating of hair, not as much as Carlos. Nonetheless, they represented peak masculinity in the rawest, most primal, and most natural form.
While their bodies were something to admire and worship, their dicks stole the show. Both men have impressive endowments. Nuzzled between their muscly, thick thighs was their massive, flaccid—yes, flaccid—cocks, hanging like apples from a tree. You could feel drool dribbling past your lips, your eyes locked on their cocks, your body having a physical reaction—your heart pounding between your ribs with anticipation, and your ass aching to be filled to the brim with their meat.
Both are eight inches, nine and some more when fully erected, and thick as a can of Coca-Cola. Veins snaked around their massive shafts; the main protruding one is most sensitive. Both men wore their crowns proudly; Carlos had his pulled back, while Chris’s remained covering his flustered, pink cockhead. Carlos’s dick was slightly darker with a muted pink cockhead; Chris’s was paler and had a bright, flustered pink cockhead. Their family jewels hung heavy and churning with backed-up cum.
And all of this was for you.
“I can’t believe this is all for me.” You purred, getting up from the bed and walking towards both men. Carlos had his arms resting on his hips, carefree and smirking, interested in what you have planned. Chris had his arms crossed with one hand on his chin—god, his hands were beefy and thick.
You stood before the two, feeling like a dwarf compared to them despite being of average height. Both men came closer until you were sandwiched on both sides—their massive, flaccid cocks brushing against your thighs. One hand rested on Carlos’s hairy pectorals, and the other grazed Chris’s chiseled, defined abs. The hair was silky and smooth, but scruffy to the touch—Carlos’s pectorals felt squishy with some firmness.
“Didn’t shave for you, cariño. I know how much you love Carlos’s personal bush—forest?” Carlos smirks, a soft moan slips and fills the room as your fingers briefly graze his sensitive nipple. You could feel his cock pulsing softly, slowly growing against your flesh.
“Good boy.” You cooed.
Carlos choked on saliva, coughing as red heat flooded his cheeks. He’s never been called a good boy, but hearing the words leave your mouth activated the neurons in his brain. Usually, he would say something more intimate in response, but nothing came up, as if his brain was a desert. Being called a good boy stopped him in his tracks. The older man guesses his dick is now the brain as the flaccid piece of meat was growing in length and girth.
You hummed at the reaction Carlos was experiencing and turned to your other man.
“Can’t forget about my obedient soldier boy.” You swooned, tracing fingers across Chris’s defined abs—tapping the rock-hard muscles. “Need to let go of that dominant energy…” Your hand moved to his muscular arms, softly gripping them and moving them to the side, giving you full access to his body.
“And let me take control.” Your hand was quick to grope the older man’s pectorals, specifically his nipple. Your fingers rubbed circles and gently pinched the solid nubs—a satisfied grin appeared as Chris’s massive body shuddered under your ministrations. Loud, choked groans slipped out like a flood, overshadowing Carlos’s. Like beforehand, you can feel his cock rising and hardening—the length and girth expanding.
Chris could feel the tingling sensation ignite his body—the feeling of your fingertips prancing and playing with his nipples was something he could get drunk from. His nipples were one of the most sensitive points, something that can be exploited to turn him into a moaning mess. He was a tough nut to crack; besides being a soft, sugar cookie around you and Carlos, he still had the aura of a commander and dominant man. Yet, here he was, a moaning mess as your fingers toyed with his nubs. His massive cock was growing, grinding against your thigh as he yearned for stimulation.
“Mmm, guess who the luckiest guy is who has two hung men to enjoy? Meeee.” You chuckled, your hands wrapping around Carlos’s and Chris’s massive cocks—your fingertips barely grazing each other from the sheer girth. The massive things were growing and throbbing in your palms, the veins pulsing against your skin as you pointed both cocks toward yourself. Your dick jumped with reinvigoration from the hefty weight in your palms.
Chris groaned from the sudden change of pace and from your muse. “Already having too much fun.” His breath hitched and slowed.
“That was bad, but sexy, chico. I do have the largest natural dick in the world.” Carlos boasted, chuckled under his breath, tilting his head back and biting back a groan. “This all-natural dick is one of two keys for this slutty hole,” Carlos grunts, gritting his teeth as his meaty, calloused palm gently slapped your cheek.
A soft gasp escaped your mouth, but something in you snapped—a new feeling of power overcame you. You tightly gripped and squeezed Carlos’s and Chris’s massive shafts. Both men let out guttural groans, gasping from the switch—the soft laughing from Carlos was snuffed out. Chris muttered, “Goddamn it, Carlos,” under his shaky breath. You huffed, and a sweet, innocent laugh reverberated between the two men, but they knew it wasn’t innocent—far from it.
“Not gonna continue?” You dared, fake pouting at the pained but aroused expressions of both Carlos and Chris. You could feel the massive things throbbing and pulsing more than expected—hushed moans further piqued your interest. The male penis is quite sensitive to personal preferences; this was new. Did they like having their cocks aggressively handled like this? Like those gooners on Twitter who like torturing their cocks (powerful strokes)?
Experimenting, you began moving your hand around them, up and down, keeping the same grip. The soft, clean skin moved with your strokes, every ridge and vein. The foreskin swallowed the cockheads before pulling back—exposing the muted and bright pink cockheads. Carlo and Chris were silenced, only letting out guttural moans and groans from the rough, but pleasurable treatment.
“O-Oh, fuck… f-ffeeelll so good.” Chris moans, his eyes and head rolling back. It was like fucking your tight ass: the same grip and warmth were too familiar. The older man had the urge to grab your hips and start humping you like a horny dog, grinding his massive dick against your thigh. His mind was descending further into submission, letting you use him like a real-life dildo.
“D-don’t stop… c-cariño… please don’t,” Carlos whines, his body shuddering from the pleasurable sensation. His chest heaved as his breathing became heavy. The bravado from earlier was stomped out, forced into submission by your expert hands—squeezing his dick roughly, but he was surprisingly enjoying this. He can feel his brain shutting down, replaced by a submissive autopilot. His body felt warm as he subconsciously moved his hips, chasing a high that he needed to be satiated. His hand was itching to lay itself on you—hold you.
“You take what I give you.” You barked, removing your hand from Carlos’s dick and slapping the heavy, massive piece of meat. Yes, you actually slapped his dick. There was an audible skin-to-skin contact and a gasped groan. You watched as it swayed slightly left to right, barely moving because of how hard it was.
“¡Mierda!” Carlos howled, looking down at you with a shocked expression. He just had his dick smacked like it was being punished for a crime—which was the truth. Yet, his dick was leaking beads of precum. Long strings of the translucent fluid gushed and dripped down his length. His dick had a mind of its own and throbbed—begging for more.
“I’m learning something new about you every day.” You said, humming and smirking. “As for you, my soldier boy—you’ve been a good boy, why not indulge?” You removed your hand from Chris’s dick, the older man missing the warmth, but he knew what you were insinuating. Without hesitation, his meaty hands grip your rear and thigh.
You could feel his massive cock press against your skin; it pulsed and leaked before he started rutting—frantically humping your thigh. Precum smeared everywhere, his laboured breathing was close to your ear. Panting like a dog, and humping like one—his codename is Alpha. Maybe he would want to change that.
You sighed with content. This man, who's been dominant in the relationship—alongside Carlos, was rendered into a whining, humping mess. You listened to him, thanking you for this opportunity. Your free hand comes to cup his cheek, Chris leaning into the embrace and rubbing his scruffy stubble against your palm.
Carlos, meanwhile, was having his dick slapped and toyed with. His drying, shaggy hair stuck to his forehead as his body was becoming unbelievably hot. “C-cariño… please, need you… need you to touch me again.”
“Mmm? You promise to be a good boy?” You breathed, cupping his cheek and cooing. Carlos’s hand holds your wrist gently, thumbing the skin as he eagerly nods and begs that he’ll be good. You peered down to see his dick bobbing, aching for contact. You watched him discreetly thrust his hips, trying to hide his way of temptations.
“Mmm, I don’t think you deserve it, yet.” You pondered. Carlos wanted to protest, but you spoke before he could. “Soldier boy deserves some reward, you must watch and continue stroking—BUT, you can’t cum.” You gave your final verdict. It was time to change pace.
xxx
Carlos lay beside Chris on the Wyoming king bed, dick in hand, and his head tilted to the side. His breathing was soft and slow, his hand moving languidly up and down—you were in between Chris’s hairy, muscular thighs, his dick inches away from your mouth. His jaw was slackened open as he was harnessing his self-control.
“No touching, soldier boy.” You motioned towards one of his hands pinned to his chest.
“U-understood… J-just need your mouth… please.” Chris said, whining but understanding the clear boundary you set forth. You gave the older man a warm smile, gripping his massive dick by the base. You let go of Chris’s hand, transferring it to cup his heavy, hairy balls—your fingers rubbing the soft sack.
“So big… smells so good.” You moaned, bringing it closer to your face. The scent of the body wash with a hint of masculine musk filled your nostrils, saliva pooling in your mouth as Chris’s dick looked intimidating up close. Chris gasps softly as your nose points against his sensitive dick.
Your tongue flattened against the underside, licking the skin until you reached the cockhead. Chris kept his hands glued to the side, his fingers digging into sheets. You take his moans with pride and continue. You slowly pulled back the shield covering the tip until it revealed the precum-coated, pink cockhead—beads of precum oozing from the slit. Licking your lips, you sealed your mouth around the head. The bitter and salty taste of precum flooded your taste buds. Your tongue swirls and flicks while your hand performs deep, long strokes—attempting to cause more precum to ooze.
Chris pressed his head against the pillow supporting him, his back arched, followed by a series of moans slipping out of his mouth. Carlos mimicked the motion with sultry, deep moans. You ordered him to follow your movement to make it challenging.
“Tastes so sweet, it looks good enough to eat.” You slurred, licking and slurping until the pink cockhead was cleansed of precum. You hummed contentment, savoring the bitter, salty flavor. Not one to take breaks, you slipped the cockhead back into your mouth and slowly maneuvered down the length.
Chris felt like he was on cloud nine. He couldn’t tell if the air was being punched or sucked out of him. Every inch your mouth swallows, you sucked and pull back with a loud pop before taking the rest. His body twitched under your grasp; he could feel his asscheek muscles clenching and flexing. Maybe he should be like this all the time. Then he feels every inch of his cock is wrapped securely in your tight, warm mouth. He feels your saliva heavily coating his cock.
“Mmmm.” Chris’s massive meat muffled your moans, stuffing and drowning the sound. Your moans did send stimulation. Your cheeks burned with a fiery sensation. Your nose was buried deep in the older man’s pubic region, his furry patch tickling your nose. You’ve taken these men into your mouth several times, but the struggle has been evident.
You choked and coughed aggressively as the cockhead pushed past your tonsils and into your esophagus. Tears welled in the ducts, threatening to roll down your cheeks as you slobbered around the massive piece of meat. Much to Chris’s pleasure, your throat spasming and clenching around his dick added to the experience. But once you’ve gathered your bearings, you begin bobbing your head up and down.
As you bobbed your head on the massive, hard piece of meat, your tongue ran around the length, targeting the prominent veins and the cockhead when half of his dick was in your mouth. Your lips were tight as you hollowed out cheeks, suctioning and tightening your throat around him. Precum flooded your mouth, extracting another moan as it was the best-tasting substance you’ve had.
Chris was a moaning, whining mess. While sucking his dick, you watched him resist the urge to grab your head and face fuck—he wants to stay a good boy in your graces. His chest heaved like he was struggling to breathe, his defined muscles flexed and tensed, and his dusted chest hair was matted. To your right, Carlos was in the same condition, moaning softly as he stroked his dick, mimicking your technique. His hairy pectorals were matted, and his nipples were rock-hard—you could make out a foam string of precum accumulating around the cockhead.
Your dick throbbed and spewed strings of precum, coating the sheets under. The room was filled with dick slurping and slobbering, the wet squelching sound of stroking, and the husky, choked moans from both men. If you lived in an apartment, you would’ve most likely received noise complaints.
“F-fucking hell… oh god… you’re milking my dick—s-so much. I-I can’t.” Chris grunts, almost like he was growling like a feral animal. His teeth ground against each other, and his body was sweaty and shaking—he could feel his climax. You sensed his climax from his tensing and pulsing in your mouth, his massive dick expanding, and his balls tightening to his taint.
“Not so fast, soldier boy.” You gasped, pulling back with an audible, wet pop. Your breathing was heavy and slow, your warm breath brushed against the massive, heavy meat—it twitched from the cold, missing your mouth. Webs of precum and saliva stretched until they were skinny strings of fluids, dipping before breaking—disconnecting your mouth and Chris’s cockhead contact.
“B-baby… why d-did you stop? Thought I was—” Chris groans, leaning forward with perplexity painted on his face. His dick throbbed painfully. He was on the cusp of his orgasm—ass and toes clenched. His heavy sack churned a thick load, and he was prepared to fire—shoot his thick, creamy load down your throat, draining his balls of weeks' worth of cum. Yet, the cannon fire was called when your mouth left his dick bare without the comfort of your warm, wet oral cavity.
“Because I want every inch of one of my favorite sausages.” You purred, your eyes half-lidded as you gave the aching, flustered cockhead a soft kiss. Your eyes scanned the impressive length; it was completely drenched with your saliva, glistening like both men on a hot summer’s day at the beach. Your face lowered until it was at face-level with Chris’s furry balls.
Chris was confused by your statement, but it wasn’t long until he got his answer. The confusion that whirled in his eyes turned into exhilaration—throaty, guttural groans slipping out of his mouth. His head fell back as your silky, warm mouth embraced his furry sack—your tongue lathering, your mouth sucking, and your hand fondling. Chris reached out for the nearest thing, groping and kneading the firm but soft object. It felt hairy?
Carlos groans as he feels a rough, meaty hand grope his right pectoral. He looks over to see Chris playing with his mound like it was a stress ball. He chuckles softly, “I always knew you liked these pecs… staring at them whenever I’m wearing compression shirts… y-yeah… just like that.”
Carlos squeezed his dick, gritting his teeth as he wanted to prevent an orgasm; he was going to beat your challenge. It was taking a toll on him as he had to ruin several potential releases—he was tired and weak. He weakly reached out and returned Chris’s favor, playing with his pectoral and nipple—his signature grin plastered on his face as the other man looked at him.
Chris couldn’t respond; his mind was foggy and mushy. His tongue perched out of his mouth as you gargled his balls, swishing them with your tongue. You moan softly, savoring the fresh, clean flavor and scent—you wonder how much cum was sloshing around. Your right hand stroked the length, the wet squelching rang in your ear.
Your tongue traveled lower, licking Chris’s taint—the fuzzy hair gliding against your tongue. The fuzziness intensified as Chris’s hairy cheeks rubbed your cheeks. You slightly pulled them, revealing the older man’s puckered, pink hole. Grinning, your hands gripped Chris’s thighs as your tongue lapped the ring of muscles, which twitched with each lick. The older man’s eyes widened, from Carlos toying with his pectorals to your tongue lavishing his hole was overstimulating his body. His balls tightened, and his dick throbbed, but the desperate orgasm was ruined when you squeezed his length.
“P-please let me cum, baby… Need to cum… hurts.” Chris groans and whines. You only hummed in response, slowly stroking his dick and teasing his asshole. The older man needed to cum! Release the pent-up load until his balls are drained. His mind was numb and mushy as the orgasm denial was getting to him. He could swear that his dick was becoming purple—or more flustered, deep red.
Then he feels the familiar warmth that he craved and the tapping on his thighs. That was the signal he’s been yearning for. “Urrrgghhh,” Chris grunts as the tension in his muscles relaxes, his body turning into mush as he unloads.
You felt his cock throbbing down your throat and his furry balls tightening. It wasn’t long until the first shot of cum hit your tongue. The thick, sticky, and delicious seed filled your mouth. “Mmmmmmm!!” You moaned. It was like a torpedo or a volcano as thick ropes of cum spewed from the slit, spraying the back of your throat—the creamy load sliding down with ease. You revelled in the taste, enjoying and swallowing every drop of cum, guzzling it down your endless gullet.
Chris labeled this as his most intense orgasm. It felt like every part of his being was drained. His body collapsed and remained still as your mouth milked his dick—your hand squeezing out every drop. Everything was now hazy, his breathing ragged, and his body felt airy. You detached from the dick, licking your lips and the cockhead of any leftovers—gulping the rest.
You looked over Chris’s disheveled, sweaty body. You were like the succubus that drained the energy, or in this case semen, of their latest victim. Chris’s dick was still erect, leaving you awestruck and giddy; he was ready for more. But it was diminishing in length and girth leisurely. Your attention turned to Carlos. He was still stroking his dick; it looked raw and a deep red. The massive thing was pulsing as if it were about to pop.
“C-cariño… p-por favor… did what you asked of me… need to cum… need your mouth.” Carlos grits, letting go of his throbbing, red cock.
You rolled from Chris’s legs to Carlos’s, intending to give the older man his reward for resisting his orgasm. Grabbing the length by the base, you tapped the throbbing cockhead against your tongue—moaning at the unique flavor from the accumulation of precum. Pained, but relieved, groans slipped out of Carlos’s mouth as you took his whole cock, sheathing the massive thing. He was confused when you didn’t initiate, but he saw that look in your eyes—you wanted him to fuck your face.
“Thank you, cariño… Oohhh, I love you so much, baby.” Carlos groans, his hands tangling themselves in your hair strands—gripping with an iron grip. He started thrusting his hips into your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin. Your choking and gargling, the fapping of Carlos’s heavy balls, and his needy and thankful moans filled the room. You did your best to keep up the pace, but since he’s been masturbating, his dick was incredibly sensitive.
¡Mierda! G-gonna cum soon… your mouth feels so good… d-dont want this to end… N-next time I get first dibs.” Carlos moans as he chases his much-needed release. His balls that have been churning and sloshing cum flowed to the urethra. You felt the same throbbing and it wasn’t long before you were fed another load of hot, thick, creamy seed and left another man drained of his energy.
Carlos let out guttural, raspy groans as his balls were drained and the life was sucked out of his dick. He squeezed Chris’s pectorals before slouching beside the exhausted man.
“You’ve been such good boys for me, but we’re not finished.” You announced, licking your lips of any remaining cum. Carlos and Chris perked up, bewilderment and arousal written on their faces—they just blew their loads, but their cocks haven’t gone flaccid. Both twitched and bobbed at what you have planned next, but neither man knows if they can handle it.
“¡Dios mío!”
“Oh shit… fuck..”
Both men muttered and moaned, hissing under their breaths. Chris had his legs spread wide open with Carlos sliding between them like a missing puzzle piece—the mercenary's legs overlap Chris’s. Their hairy asses, balls, and massive dicks rubbed against each other. They could feel their cocks twitching and pulsing from the contact. The warm, wet skin is grinding together, trading and mixing fluids. Carlos and Chris could feel their cocks expanding against each other as a new wave of arousal flooded their systems.
A flurry of moans filled the room as you wrapped both of your hands around them, pumping slowly and spitting to lather their cocks until they glistened like sunscreen-coated skin. You marveled at the feeling of having both men’s cocks in your hands, your eyes glinting with intrigue and lust—not to mention your mouth salivating again like you didn’t swallow two massive loads of cum.
Their dicks felt raw in your hands. You could feel the individual veins beating—pulsing under your palms like they're alive, like a heart. Your pumps were precise and mellowed, your thumbs pressed against their cockheads, drawing out stuttered moans—broken and raspy. There was the sound of wet squelching and fapping mixing with the heavy breaths and moans.
“B-baby, please… we just came… fucking christ…” Chris begged, gasping and clenching the bed. He could feel his and Carlos’s dick throbbing under the careful strokes of your hand. His raw, overstimulated cock pulsed and ached, already leaking beads of precum—his balls churning another load.
“I’m not gonna stop until I milk you both dry.” You purred, grinning as the sense of dominance was exhilarating. You already had these men wrapped around your finger, but you were gonna make them wholly addicted to you—more than they already are.
““¡Dios mío! Cariño… don’t stop… got my dick feeling so good… hurts, but hurts so good.” Carlos moans, his hips bucking into your hand—grinding and mashing his dick and balls further against Chris’s.
Both men’s brains were fried beyond belief, consumed by lust and the primal need to nut and breed. Their eyes are either rolling back into their skull or going cross-eyed as their cocks leaked like fountains—spilling a new batch of the bitter, salty nectar. Their refractory period is extraordinary for their age—a bonus in your eyes as their libido is insatiable.
“Keep stroking… yeah… keep stroking my dick…” Chris grunts, his head rolling back into the pillow. His hips followed Carlos’s, bucking into your hand and entering a rhythm. All Chris could think about was how hot it felt when Carlos’s dick rubbed against his—their massive, thick cocks trapped and squeezed together, gliding against each other as precum oozed from the tips and lathered their lengths.
As Carlos and Chris humped your hands, trying to chase and fulfill their sweet release, you watched their every expression—the pain transitioning into pleasure. Their faces remind you of those gooner videos from Twitter. Unhinged and disturbing, but kinda hot. Tongues sticking out and drooling over their chins, cross-eyed with nothing behind those irises other than the primal urge to spray their seed, and the aggressive humping.
They would make rounds on porn platforms. Again, you were greedy, and this was only meant for you to see. Only you get to see your older men act like complete gooners—mindless and horny, nothing in their brains but the urge to fuck you and spill their seed.
“How about we take things up a notch?” You motioned to the drawer, hinting that there was something special in the wooden compartment. Carlos and Chris were too consumed to hear what you were saying, all senses muted besides touch. You chuckled, amused by their hypnotized state. When you removed your hand, both men groaned and hissed, but continued to grind their cocks—craving the stimulation you left empty.
“W-why’d you stop, baby…? Need those hands again… shit just like that, Carlos.” Chris pleaded.
“What do you mean, take things up?” Carlos asked, panting as he continued to buck and roll his hips. “Yeah? Like this? You’re so needy and submissive, it suits you.” Chris fired back that Carlos was also good at being submissive—earning a chuckle from the other man.
You used the opportunity to crawl to the other side of the bed, where the drawer was. The bickering behind you ceased, filled in only by muttered curses and groans—probably because you purposefully put your ass on display, arching it and giving them a show, a preview for the main event. You snickered, giving a little shake to further their horny temptations.
Chris and Carlos wanted nothing more than to reach out and worship your plump, voluptuous ass—knead the flesh with their rough hands, the fat spilling through their fingers as they squeeze the mounds. But at last, they could only watch, not touch, until you say so.
You gripped and yanked the handle, the drawer slid open, squeaking, and the contents rattled from the force. During your vacation time, while both men were overseas, you had some urges that needed to be satiated, or you would’ve blown up both of their phones with nudes and videos of you whining for their dicks.
You browsed through Amazon and other sites, scrolling and clicking random products, assuming what you and the boys would enjoy. You even went down to the local sex shop for some items—the cashier gave you that knowing look as they scanned your items. You grabbed the items and closed the drawer, smirking as you crawled back to them.
“W-what is that..?” Chris manages to say, eyeing the boxed items, squinting his eyes to read what was on the box. You sat upright, picking at the box.
“A double-ended dildo, something for you two to test.” You proclaimed, tearing the box open and removing the extra packaging—your fingers eagerly pulling and clawing at the material, beaming at what was to transpire. The description says that the dildo measures 12 inches overall, with veins snaking around it like a roadmap, and offers a realistic frenulum and glans. The veins were detailed with distinct shades of muted blue before breaking off into smaller veins. The dildo was a fleshy, pink color, with the cockheads being a bright pink color—similar to Leon’s when he fucked you while Chris and Carlos watched from the sidelines.
That was a story for another day.
“Oh fuck… You can’t really be thinking that.” Carlos muttered, his eyes widened, shock evident in his voice as he watched you play with the massive dildo. Doubt and worry swam in Carlos’s stomach, but his dick throbbed at the thought of a dildo ramming its way into his sacred place. He doesn’t mind his ass being eaten out, but it was off limits to penetration, but the thought of the dildo splitting him open and pushing deep caused his brain to short-circuit.
“Baby… I…” Chris couldn’t form a coherent sentence. His mind was easily hazy and clouded, short-circuiting when you presented the dildo. The dominant mentality was eroding and was replaced with submission and wanting to be used by you for your pleasure while he sits back.
“Each of you gets 6 inches! It's simple, and if you do this for me…” You murmured, purring as you returned to all fours and leaned forward with your back arched, your ass shaking in the air as you gave teasing kitten licks on their throbbing cockheads—moaning audibly at the flavor of their combined precum and the musky scent wafting around them. “You both get to have my little bud, that’s if you’re good.”
“Goddamn, baby… ‘m your good boy… need to feel you, more of you.” Chris whines, groaning as his overstimulated, pink cockhead is flicked by your tongue. His lower half is spasming. He was descending further into a headspace.
“Seriously, cariño..? Get to feel that tight ass… need to feel it… breed… I’ll be good.” Carlos pants.
“I know you’re good boys. Now, Carlos, you have to go back some.” You mewled, cooing as you pulled back, cupping their faces in your palms. Carlos obeyed and scooted back. There was a notable sweat stain, similar in shape to Carlos’s ass. You prepared the massive toy, popping the lubricant bottle open. You squirted the wet, slick substance on your palm and lathered—stroking the dildo as if it were Chris and Carlos.
The wait was gnawing. Chris’ and Carlos’ nerves were spiraling out of control, but the sight of you eagerly and professionally coating the massive toy eased them. Once you figured it was suitable, you positioned the cockheads at their entrances.
Carlos and Chris hissed, gritting their teeth in pain as they felt the blunt, silicon cockhead of the dildo nudge against their tight ring of muscles. It wasn’t until your soft, soothing voice entered their ears—breathy and velvety as their tensed muscles relaxed. Then, the tip pushed in, and the floodgates opened.
Guttural, throaty groans rang out as the dildo seamlessly slid in without any resistance. Carlos and Chris could feel the oxygen bursting out in broken groans and gasps as the dildo stretched and pushed into depths that weren’t conceived of. Their muscles trembled from the new feelings as their asses were stretched wider. Their hairy taints pressed together as the dildo was fully sheathed. As the tension cooled, Carlos and Chris let out breathy pants, their asses clenching around the silicon toy—they could feel the veins molding against the gummy walls and the cockhead poking something that made their dick ache and leak.
But you weren’t done. Not in the slightest. You unboxed a fleshlight, removed the casing, and took out the rubbery sleeve. It felt squishy and soft in your hands—stretchy and tight as your fingers wiggled and explored. Like the dildo, you squirted a significant amount of lubricant. Your silence and the sound of gushing liquid attracted Carlos’s attention.
“Cariño… what’s that… shit, ride that…” Carlos moans, broken as he pushes back and forward on the dildo; Chris does the same to some extent. Their sweaty taints and greasy dicks slapped together—it was like a sword fight with two massive swords trying to push the other into surrendering.
“Oh, just another thing I wanna try… I am gonna need you to pause.” You said, eyes raised as you glanced at the man.
“Jodida mierda… we both won’t fit, Cariño…” Carlos groans, stilling his movement—slapping Chris' thigh as a sign to stop. The other man groans in displeasure, the silicon cockhead was grazing his prostate—so close, but not enough to ram into.
“You both fit in my ass just fine! I’ll make it work… and if it breaks, I’ll just use Chris’s card to buy a new one.” You smiled, humming and shrugging your shoulders as you positioned both men’s dicks under the entrance of the toy, lubricant oozing from the hole.
“Use my card for whaaaaaatttttt—” Not another word was mumbled as Carlos and Chris felt their cockheads enter something, something that was tight, wet, and cold. Their asses clenched around the double-sided dildo as a flurry of moans and hisses slipped past their teeth. Their raw, overstimulated, and throbbing dicks were tightly enclosed, grinding against each other as the rubbery sleeve swallowed every inch. A slick, wet squelch sound echoed as they bottomed out, filling the sleeve to the brim.
Their cockheads were bulging from the end; you could make out their flustered tips through the stretchy rubber. They looked like caged beasts that wanted to escape containment, clawing and poking through the barriers. You didn’t give them a chance to gather their thoughts. You started to pump the toy, slow, long strokes that left both men on the edge, twisting the silicone slightly at a steady pace.
Like the horny dogs they were, Carlos and Chris bucked their hips into the anal sleeve; the rich ribbed texture and sloppy interior from the lubricant mimicked the feeling of your ass. It was mind-numbing and tricking to see how similar the experience was. It wasn’t better than the real thing, but a close second. Their frantic bucking caused the dildo buried deep in their asses to ram into the bundle of nerves.
Beads and strings of precum mixed with lubricant, the sound emitted was raw and filthy—not to mention the wet slapping of their balls as the lubricant seeped through and coated their sacks. The tight enclosure of the toy was milking them as if they were cattle, their dicks grinding and frotting—the foreskins peeling back. You could feel their dicks throbbing through the rubbery material.
“Are you two thinking of me?” You questioned.
“Y-yes… thinking about you… riding me, using my dick for your pleasure… want the real thing. I need it—oh shit.” Chris whines, groaning with his tilted back and arched back—thrusting into the toy. “W-want to have you on my dick…”
Carlos waited until Chris was done before chiming in. “What do you think, cariño? Want to watch you bounce that fat ass… feel your ass milk my dick… take everything you want from it.” The man groans.
Your dick twitched at the words, and your ass begged your brain to give them what they wanted. You leaned toward the older man. “Yeah? Want me to pin you down and use your dick as my personal dildo?” You grunted, taking the third item, a collar, and latching it around Chris’s neck. You yanked on the string, pulling Chris closer to your face, his hot, heady breathing brushing against your lips.
“Fucking hell, baby… yes! I do want that! Overpower me…” Chris moans, but it's swallowed as you press your lips against his. It was a slow, but dominant kiss—sloppy though. Your tongues danced together, but he was overwhelmed by everything happening—you pushed forward and explored his oral cavern, mapping and tasting every bit, savoring it like a scrapbook. His scruffy beard is rubbing against your clean chin. Your lips parted with a string of saliva, and Chris’s hazy eyes stared into yours—a plea for more.
Your grip on the leash softened, and you turned to Carlos, moving from Chris’s side. “And what about my good boy? You want the same, or would you rather be choked?”
“Choked? Kinky, cariño. I’ve been choked several times before… but I think you’d be the only one to get a rise out of me… riding my dick and choking me at the same time.” Carlos gasps, breathing heavily and leaning for a kiss. You laughed, but gave in; you couldn’t resist the Carlos special despite turning both men into horny, insatiable vessels.
“I like the sound of that… I think you both deserve a break.” You proclaimed, plopping the fleshlight off their dicks—a slimy mixture of precum and lubricant oozed from the well-fucked and stretched out hole. There was a tiny protrusion at the end; they broke it.
The dildo was pulled out with a wet pop, and both men groaned from the emptiness—the void left behind as their holes returned to normal. You lie beside Chris with Carlos shifting and collapsing on the other side.
“W-why..?”
“Because I said so, and you both deserve a break before we get to the main event.”
“That’s fine by me…” Carlos murmured as he turned onto his side and buried his head in your nape, sniffing and rubbing his head like a lonely animal. His muscular arm wrapped around your waist. You could feel his dick deflating against your inner thighs. The same for Chris, but he nuzzled into your neck.
Their heavy, hoarse breathing turned into relaxed, soft panting—adrenaline diminishing. Maybe a five-minute break? Or ten minutes? They are old, in their early 50s. You’ll give them as much time as they need. Forget what they said about having the libido of a 20-year-old.
…
“Fuck, it just won’t go down.” Chris groans, wrapping his hand around his aching dick and discreetly humping his fist. The chain on his collar rattled gently, not loud enough to draw attention. What led to his being caught was his ragged and short breathing against your neck, a telltale sign of what he was doing.
“Now, I thought I said to take a break, but you’re too eager… horny and impatient.” You reprimanded, your voice was stern and sharp, but soft and honeyed. You sympathize with Chris, a small frown on your face as you sit up and pull on the chain.
“I’ll let it pass, though.” Your voice is hushed and gentle, your thumb grazes Chris’s chin and lips. “My temporary replacement wasn’t the only thing that made you stressed? Always gruff and focusing on others… rigorous on yourself… but let me take control…”
“Huh, what's happening this time?” Carlos groggily says, his voice raspy and hoarse, almost like a low grunt from being interrupted.
“Oh, just our soldier boy continuing without us… How about we show him some attention? Let him bask in your glory and presence.” You expressed, leaning into Chris’s body, pressing soft kisses and bites on his neck while your other hand explored the ridges and divots of his rock-hard and defined stomach muscles. Chris rolled over to lie on his back, his dick pointing north like the needle in a compass.
You inched closer, your body melding with Chris’s solid planes of his muscular body—your crusade of light touches and gestures continued.
“I’ve been wanting to give him the Carlos treatment.” You knew what that entailed, having experienced the Carlos treatment many times—ass munching and getting dicked down.
The mercenary was quick to leave your side and position himself between Chris’s hairy legs—speed was impressive, as if he’d been waiting for his whole life. He grabbed and perched Chris’s calves onto his shoulders, pulling the large man closer and spreading his hairy cheeks—exposing his winking hole.
“Stay still, or we’ll cut this short and leave you like this.” Chris stayed lying down, not wanting to ruin his chances.
With a soft laugh, Carlos buried his head and started munching—jiggling Chris’s soft but firm cheeks in his palms, his tongue lapping against the popped, pink rosebud, the prickles of hair dust around the hole grazed his wet appendage. The mercenary slobbered and pressed kisses against the rim, his saliva lathering the entrance like it was preparing for a ceremony. Carlos’s moans and groans were muffled beneath layers of cheek pressing against his face, the fuzzy hair grinding against his rugged, unkempt stubble.
Carlos’s tongue expertly lapped and thrusted against the tight rim, nearly breaching the walls of the rim. His movements were coordinated and efficient as if he were on the battlefield in some faraway country. His tongue pounded against the rim, demanding to be let in, but the muscles tightened with each swipe—Carlos knew he was wearing it down. With a final push, the mercenary’s tongue penetrated, licking around the gummy walls—his nose mashed against Chris’s furry taint.
A guttural, hoarse moan rang out. Carlos smirks as he continues to push his tongue back and forward in Chris’s hole; the dildo already stretched him out, plus he tastes the fragrance and remains of lubricant. The mercenary pushed as deep as he could, flicking his tongue in certain areas—calculating the location of the prostate. Desperate moans from Chris signaled that he had found it.
“Delicioso.”
While Carlos feasted on Chris’s fuzzy peach, you dined on his furry pectorals, groping and squeezing the mounds, and fondling the man's nipples. Your head lay on his chest, tweaking his nipples—the tiny nubs danced between your fingertips, solid and pointy. Your tongue lapped the pectorals, gliding against the fuzz before you took one of his nipples into your mouth, sucking on it like you were expecting milk to leak, and nibbling—your teeth slightly grazing.
Your free hand traveled down Chris’s navel and wrapped around his cock, the massive thing throbbed and leaked in your hand as you pumped it slowly—a pace that was leaving the man on edge with everything happening to him.
Chris was melting. You and Carlos were the sun melting him like a snow cone on a summer’s day. Each of his pressure points was being stimulated simultaneously—his ass, dick, and nipples. The same mind-numbing, submissive headspace was clouding his brain, derailing his train of thought. Gasped and needy moans slipped out of his mouth, much to yours and Carlos’s satisfaction.
“Think you’re ready, lie back.” Carlos hastily sat up, moving away from Chris’s ass—his knees pressing against the bed. Chris heard the lubricant bottle cap open, then a loud squirt into the mercenary’s palm.
Carlos generously slicked himself, stroking and lathering his massive, thick piece of meat. At last, he nudges the blunt head of his cock against Chris’s entrance, pushing into the other man’s tight heat. You could hear the combination of low grunts and gasped moans fill your ear. Chris felt like all the oxygen was being pushed out of his lungs in strangled gasps, his body tightened around Carlos’s cock as it was being stretched wider.
In one thrust, the mercenary was buried deep, his eyes rolling back into his skull and feral growls slipping out as he felt Chris’s ass spasm and tighten—massaging his dick with those inner gummy walls. His hips and balls flushed against his ass, and pubic hair tingling Chris’s taint.
“¡Dios mío! Taking me so well.” Carlos moans, stalling his hips and grinding in small circles to further deepen himself—staking his claim like he owns Chris’s ass. To Chris, it felt like he was in his lungs, his hole scrambling to adjust to the massive dick that put the dildo from earlier to shame. “Keep loosening up for me.”
Carlos pulled out inch by inch, Chris groaning from the shaft sliding against his anal walls. He pulled out until his tip was the only thing inside before snapping his hips and ramming—his dick punching the bundle of nerves that left Chris trembling and jaw slack. The mercenary set a rhythm of deep thrusts that constantly punched the air from Chris’s chest. Sparks of pleasure coursed through Chris’s spine and body—travelling through every vein.
“That’s my soldier boy.” You soothed and cooed, peppering kisses and muttering praises.
Chris’s vision was fading between darkness and light, his knees shaking and wrapping around Carlos’s waist, tightening and encouraging the mercenary to keep ramming into his ass—Chris needed the toe-curling, jaw-dropping, and mind-numbing feeling of his prostate to be abused until he was cock drunk.
Your murmured words of praise and comfort soothed Chris’s nerves. You gently yanked on the collar, motioning for another kiss, which further melted and cracked Chris’s demeanor. Not to mention the combination of Carlos’s Earth-shattering thrust and your slow, languid pumping left him sweating like a sinner in church. He needed more; he was hungry for more!
“B-baby… could you… ya know?” Chris asked, biting back his words as if they were lodged in his throat, refusing to spill.
“Mmm? I don’t know… You have to be more specific.” You teased, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “I can’t give you what you want.” You most definitely know what he wants. You noticed how he gestures with his face; he wanted you to sit on him, ride his face like a bull.
It was hard to speak when you were getting your ass split and rammed into by a massive thick that was unravelling your very being. Chris stuttered to get the words, hissing and groaning with each attempt, as Carlos wasn’t letting him speak. “F-for the love of god… p-please sit on m-my face… w-wanna feel your ride me… f-for me please? Please, baby… need you.”
As much as you wanted to continue the charade of teasing and edging Chris, you’ve become needy yourself. Your dick and ass wanted to feel the action, split open and bred by their cocks. Feel their thick lengths spear you open, the prominent veins grinding against your anals walls, and their blunt cockhead reaching into your guts—let them run loose and breed you as if you had the capabilities to bear children.
“Who am I to deny you?” You purred, giving one final peck on his lips before straddling his head. You faced Carlos and watched as he pummeled Chris’s snatch, your eyes analyzing his facial features; his head tilted back, his eyes sealed shut, and his canines digging into his bottom lip. The mercenary’s body was coated in sweat, his thick, dark body hair speckled with silver glistening.
Almost forgetting what you were doing, you snapped out of your haze and lowered yourself until you could feel the man’s eager lapping—his tongue brushing against the crack of your ass, his cold saliva sent shivers down your spine. Chris wrapped his muscular arms around your waist, forcing you to put your full weight on him.
A choked gasp and moan slipped out of your mouth as Chris vigorously lapped at your bud; faint moans could be heard as the man buried his face deep in your crack—eyes rolling back from the unique flavor flooding his taste buds. His scruffy, ragged beard itched and scraped against your skin.
“F-fuck..” You cried, rolling your hips down, riding his tongue. Unlike Carlos, Chris was uncoordinated and sloppy, but you didn’t mind. Soft cries and moans left your mouth as Chris lapped, slobbered, and made out with your hole. His beard created a delicious friction, a burn that lay over your skin. When you tried to move, he tightened his hold around your waist, refusing to let the source of desire and nectar leave.
“Taste so good.” Chris groans. He could die like this, and he wouldn’t protest, smothered under the weight of your ass—the plump cheeks cutting off his oxygen supply. He enthusiastically and sloppily continued to feast on your ass.
The room was a symphony filled with the guttural and muffled cries of pleasure, and the wet squelching skin contact—Carlos’s heavy balls slapping against Chris’s rear and his deep thrusts, and Chris hungrily munching on your hole like it was the last dinner. The temperature was sweltering like an oven as all three of you basked in each other’s bodies.
“Come here, cariño…” Carlos grunts, panting as he cupped your cheek with his right hand, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was hungry and sloppy, lips and tongue clashing together as you both devoured each other's mouths. You could taste the faint flavor of Chris on Carlos’s tongue. The ambrosia was shattering. Carlo’s thick, scruffy beard prickled against your chin as he deepened the kiss.
This was heaven on Earth, maybe Hell, but who really cares? The ice sheets of stress and agony were melting from both Chris’s and Carlos’s bodies—turning into puddles of pleasure and bliss, thanks to you. Not to mention that you’ve awakened something in both men, mainly Chris. Both found pleasure in you barking commands and taking the lead, and using their dicks as if they were dildos. Before, they both made it a mission to satisfy every whim and craving; now it was reversed.
For now, that is.
“Ay, Dios mío… gonna cum… damn it, Chris.” Carlos moans, pulling away from your mouth to jackhammer into Chris's hole. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, his rhythm breaking under the pressure of Chris’s ass swallowing and squeezing his dick, clamping and milking him. The mercenary’s balls were churning and tightening, ropes of white rushing to his cockhead.
The skin-slapping got louder as Carlos chased his release. You could feel Chris’s moaning against your slobbered, wet hole and see his dick throbbing with beads gushing from the tip. Your neglected dick leaked droplets of precum on the divots of Chris’s stomach, the translucent substance increasing its presence as you were itching on the edge.
“I know, baby… save your load because it's time for the main event,” you said.
“Fuck, you mean?” Carlos gasps, halting his thrusts in a bid to prevent his orgasm.
“Yeah, for my boys to know where they belong.” You purred, unhooking Chris’s arms around your waist and climbing off his head. Carlos followed you by pulling out with some resistance as Chris’s ass desperately clenched around him. A choked groan escaped, his dick throbbing clearly, missing the warmth and tightness.
“Why are we stopping? Was just about to—” Chris complained, grinding his teeth at the spoilage of his orgasm—lowly grunting from no longer munching on your ass or Carlos railing him into the bed until he was dumb.
“Shhh, just follow my lead.” You replied. The mattress groans from the weight moving on top of it, Carlos moving from Chris’s legs to resting on his back, his muscular arms behind his head like a total stud from those porn videos. The mercenary’s massive dick stood proudly, twitching and leaking. The massive thing glistened in the light from the copious amounts of lubricant and precum. You didn’t even need to prepare him.
You straddled Carlos’s hips, his dick wedged between your cheeks. Soft gasps and the mattress frame creaking filled the air as you bounced on the mercenary’s lap, purposefully sliding his dick between your cheeks. His pelvis and your rear clapped repeatedly—each bounce becoming rougher and higher. With one final bounce, you grabbed and positioned Carlos’s dick against your puckered entrance.
“Mmm… ngh.” You bite back a moan as the blunt head pokes your asshole—your hole and Carlos’s cock were kissing each other. Isn’t that cute? Precum oozing from the tip soaked your slobbered hole. With determination, the blunt cockhead pierced your hole and slowly descended on it, every inch swallowed by the scorching heat and tightness until he was fully sheathed. Your ass pressed against his pelvis, his bushy, thick pubic region grounded against your rear.
Groans bounced off the walls. Carlos’s arms left his hand and latched onto your hips, his nails digging into the flesh—surely leaving behind bruises, but there were love marks to you. The mercenary calms his breathing, but the way you were clenching around him with an iron grip was leaving him breathless—not to mention your ethereal body on top of him. He admired every square foot of your being.
‘So beautiful…”
You sighed in relief, your head tilted back as your body became mushy from finally getting what you’ve wanted for weeks. All your worries were blimped out of existence once his dick pierced and rearranged your guts. Your ass clenched around the massive thing, and you could feel the veins snaking around it pulsing, throbbing with blood flowing through it. The burning sensation subsided, replaced by an itch that needed scratching.
Carlos didn’t get time to recuperate when you set the pace. It was quick and rough, lifting slowly before quickly dropping yourself down—Carlos’s cock reached deeper inside you with each bounce, cockhead hitting all points that left you boneless.
The only sounds for several moments were gasps and groans that mingled sweetly together—creating a melody for the ages. Carlos gripped your hips as pleasure was building deep in his core. He didn’t dare to thrust his hips; your aggressive pace was leaving him drained as if you were milking his energy.
“Cariño… you’re so rough… Dios mío.” Carlos whines, but was silenced when your hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing his airways, but not hard enough to choke him.
“Dildos don’t speak, and you.” You grunt, turning to Chris and yanking on the collar, gesturing for him to come over. “Get over here and fuck me.”
Chris was a bystander watching the debauched scene in front of him; it was like his own personal porn video he’d watch during missions. It wasn’t until you yanked on his collar that he joined the action, positioning himself behind you and pressing his dick against your occupied hole. You stalled your bouncing, letting Chris push in.
Chris’s groaning joined yours and Carlos’s as he slipped in. It was like the fleshlight anal sleeve, but it was the real thing and not rubbery insides that barely put up a torch to your ass. His and Carlos’s dick were once again grinding against each other, trapped and squeezed by your anal walls—determined to milk them of their precious, thick seed.
You were packed to the brim. Two massive, thick cocks stretching your hole to the limits, your nerves flaring from the sensation. Your power bottom demeanor was faltering, your grip on Carlos’s chest and Chris’s collar loosening. Your dick throbbing against the mercenary’s abdomen, aching for an orgasm that was promised hours ago. This was it. You had renewed vigor.
“Your cocks belong to me, only me! All is mine and mine to use!” You moaned, restarting your pace. The bed frame creaked and groaned from the combined weight of its occupants fucking and the headboard ramming into the wall with enough force to leave a hole—classic American homes with subpar materials. Your grip on everything returned as you wanted to milk every last drop of seed.
Both men were a complete and utter mess, ragged and sweaty from the hours-long sex marathon. Their hands intertwined on your hips as your pace became intense and punishing, overwhelming them—frying their already mushy and hazy minds. Chris pressed his forehead against your shoulder, panting with heavy breaths.
Carlos didn’t think he’d last any longer. His vision was becoming blurry, and his cockhead gushed precum like a fountain—same for Chris, their fluids frotting inside your scorching, tight heat. Your choking him didn’t help, probably unlocking something in him.
Your pace was becoming sloppy, the pleasure pooling and coiling in your gut—tight and unbearable in your core. The double penetration, aggressive, milking cock pace, and the overwhelming sense of power that left Carlos and Chris placid and needy were pushing you towards the edge.
Both men felt it in their groins, already nearing the brink. The chain rattled in your palm as you gently pulled on it, prompting Chris to tilt his head forward. He was caught off guard when you latched onto his lips.
“Cum for me, breed me.” You momentarily pulled back to speak before devouring Chris’s mouth. Both men didn’t need to be told twice, as the dam broke, unleashing a torrential wave.
You gave one final bounce, stopping so both are buried to the hilt. You could feel them throbbing, followed by ropes of hot, thick cum spurting from the tips—guttural and muffled groans rang out. Their bodies stiffened, and glutes clenched as they came deep inside your ass, filling you to the brim—even some started seeping past their cocks. Your orgasm rippled through your body, your vision turning white, and a white-hot explosion that made your body seize. Ropes of cum squirted from your tip, painting Carlos’s hairy body like you dumped white paint on him—some even landed on his face.
For a moment, there was nothing but heavy breathing, the smell of sex and sweat wafting in the air, and the overwhelming sense of being full—despite feeding you massive loads earlier, they dumped gallons of cum in your ass. Your grip on Carlos’s neck loosened, and your bodies remained connected; then slowly, Chris pulled out with a slow, aching slide.
You collapsed onto Carlos’s body, your cum smearing against your chest. Chris collapsed beside you, panting with a hand on his—sometimes you wonder if you’ll accidentally cause one of these men to have a heart attack. It's best not to think that. Carlos followed next, his dick slipping out. Cum leaked out of your pummeled hole, you’ll worry about laundry later.
It was quiet except for the calm breathing. Carlos’s heart beat softly underneath, his thick, hairy body providing comfort as he hugged you.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, baby/Cariño.”
THE END
A/n — Hello, my strawberry patch and newly added seeds! This fic was hefty and my god. I’m tired after writing this. I hope y’all enjoyed this and like it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
Special thanks to my proofreader — @sagethegaywitch
cw: slight nsfw in the last one (reader asking sanji "how many times have you jerked off to me before we got tgt"), besides that completely fluffy and very lovey dovey boyfriends
also i feel like sanji would be the type to call you petnames in french and english because hes whipped regardless of language!!!
Started writing this in 2023 after watching the live action One Piece, and I just finished it three years later. I still haven't watched season two oops.
Warning for smut, bottom male reader, and outdoor play.
“Fuck you,” the man points a finger angrily at Sanji, and then, to your surprise, it gets turned your way, “and fuck you.” He ends before storming out of the kitchen.
For a second, it’s quiet. Everyone looks around the room before things go back to normal, and they get back to their duties. Even you quickly got back to work, not wanting to get yelled at again. For whatever reason.
“What did I do?” You ask one of the servers near the table where you place the serving platter. One of them offers a shrug, which does nothing to answer your question.
Sanji is laughing when you walk up to him. There’s something kind of scary about the control he holds over the knife in his hand while he’s laughing. It’s also kind of hot– like almost everything you saw Sanji do.
“What’d you do to that poor man?” Sanji asks around a laugh.
“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even know his name!” You say in frustration, also quite loudly, with the way multiple people turn and look your way. Your face goes hot with embarrassment after looking around the room. “I didn’t do anything,” you repeat, this time much quieter.
“Before you came in he was saying something about how he came here to cook but-”
“I thought you were teaching him?”
“I was. Now, as I was saying,” he looks up and sends you a smirk. He continues after you light out a sheepish sorry. “But he said I was too busy with you.”
“That’s not your fault,” you pause when the rest of his words catch up with you, “wait, what do you mean you're too busy with me?”
“I don’t know,” Sanji responds quietly, a light blush lighting up his face. He walks away after sending you a small smile, not even noticing how quickly he finished up plating the meal he was putting onto one of the serving trays.
Cooking is another thing Sanji was good at. He was good, but he was also fast. Much faster than you were, even after Sanji had started spending moments of downtime training you.
“He was angry that you were spending too much time with me instead of teaching him,” you say in realization after Sanji comes back. Your eyes fall downcast onto the table.
“Hey,” Sanji says, coming in close when he notices the sad look on your face, “you just need a little extra care, that’s all.”
You let out a soft laugh, “that’s one way to put it. He could have been a really good cook, and I just kind of ruined it.”
Sanji shakes his head, his brows furrowed, “you’re one of the best servers here, and when you finish your training,” Sanji hands you his knife, “you’ll be double the trouble.”
“And making even more new-hires quit,” you respond, looking down at the knife.
“No,” Sanji says with a laugh, "Let's practice your chopping skills,” he says after grabbing another knife.
It was just a few vegetables, ones that you chop yourself, but Sanji could do it much faster by himself. He steps up to your side after grabbing another knife for himself. You chop what is there silently, noting to give yourself a pat on the back later for not letting yourself get distracted when Sanji’s shoulder would brush against yours.
-
“What is it, lad?” Zeff asks when you knock on the already open door to his office.
“Hey, I’m just uh,” you pause, trying to find the right words, “apologize for getting that guy fired.”
“Apologize? You did me a favor!”
“How?” You ask in confusion and sit yourself down in front of the wooden chair in front of his desk.
“If he’s going to get frustrated that easily, he shouldn’t be working here,” he picks up the money he was counting and continues on, “you can Sanji.”
You want to question him more, but with the way he quickly focused on the money in his hands, you decided to just leave it. Besides, the yell from the kitchen coming through the doorway sounds a lot like your name.
“Order up,” Sanji says, ducking in close to whisper the words when you’re close enough to the platter. It’s almost a shame, you think, you have to leave the kitchen with such amazing looking meals that Sanji makes, only to return later with an empty plate, just to do it all over again.
The rest of the night runs much more smoothly compared to what happened earlier. It’ll probably become another horror story that you can tell the new hires. Since it’s one of your new skills, you should just give in now and play the role.
“All done?” Sanji asks after you come back into the kitchen empty handed.
“Yeah. It’s just two tables that I’m waiting on to leave,” you step up to Sanji and look over his shoulder, “what about you?”
“Just a little bit of prep work,” he responds, sending you a smile. “You wanna help?”
You glance around the kitchen, noticing that you two are the only ones left for the night. This also means you’re left with the small pile of dishes you see soaking in the water. Great.
“If you help me with the dishes in there,” you point a finger towards the door to the dining room, “and the rest are still at the tables.”
Sanji lets out a laugh, “if you give me a portion of the tips you’ve made tonight,” he says sneakily.
You let out a light laugh of your own, “a portion?” You go and grab a knife (another thing you’ll have to clean) and join him.
“Yeah,” Sanji says, drawing out the word, “I think 30/70 should work.”
“70?” You ask in astonishment. He’s chopping something you’ve never seen before. Your lack of understanding gives you the perfect opportunity to watch his skilled hands work. If you end up spending a second longer than needed watching him work, it’s because you’re trying to make sure you fully understand, and definitely not for another reason.
“I’m kidding. You don’t owe me any of your tips,” Sanji says, knocking his shoulder into yours and sending you another smile.
“That’s too bad, you probably could’ve convinced me,” you respond and go to grab one of the vegetables from the small pile he has.
“Oh yeah? You’re that easily persuaded?” Sanji asks, his brows raised.
“Really, it just depends on who it is,” you say, trying your best to copy the movements of his hands.
Sanji chuckles, “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says softly.
It goes quiet after that. You can hear light noises from the dining room, but what you mainly hear is the noise of the knives against the cutting board. That is, until you start to only hear your own. Too lost in the repeated motion, you fail to notice Sanji watching you.
“Almost,” he says into your ear before the heat of his body is at your back, “your slices should be thinner,” he places his head onto your shoulder before his hands are on top of yours, “use your knuckles to guide the knife.”
His body is warm right on top of yours, and you have trouble holding yourself back from leaning back into the warmth. His hands guide yours, easily correcting your mistake, “sorry,” you murmur.
“It’s okay,” Sanji responds softly, his breath puffing on your neck. He pats a hand on your side when he pulls away.
You miss the heat of his body, but he soon returns next to you to put all of the pieces into a container. As much as you hate to watch him go again to put it into the fridge, it gives you ample opportunity to watch his ass as he walks away.
You look away when Sanji comes back and wipes an imaginary piece of dust away on the table, “gotta go!” Sanji gives you a look of confusion, and you quickly clarify, “go check the tables, I mean.”
You let out a breath once you’re out of the kitchen. The two tables that were still in the dining room are gone when you look around the area. It makes you happy to see that both tables have left you tips, but that also means you’ll have to return to the kitchen and pretend like you weren’t just staring at Sanji’s ass.
You pocket the tips and head back to the kitchen with what you need to clean. Sanji cranes his neck to send you a smile when you’re back, one that you easily return.
“I see you brought me a present,” Sanji says with fake excitement. He grabs the dishes and puts them into the soapy, warm water with the others, “dry those for me?” He nods in the direction of the clean, but wet dishes beside the sink.
Grabbing a cloth and drying means you get to be beside Sanji again. It doesn’t allow you to stare at his ass, but you do get the occasional touch of his arm brushing yours. Once you’re caught up with what had already been out, you get to grab the ones directly from Sanji’s fingers.
“Sorry,” Sanji murmurs after his wet fingers brush yours.
“No worries,” you respond, sending him a smile. When his fingers brush yours again, Sanji doesn’t apologize, and you smile softly to yourself as you dry the plate in your hand.
“Almost done,” Sanji says down into the water, a sad edge to his voice.
The tone of his voice lights a fire underneath your feet to spur you closer, you just hope you aren’t reading it wrong. “Sanji,” you say softly and lean forward when the man turns his head. You almost want to pull away when his lips don’t respond to yours, but when one of his wet hands makes its way to the back of your neck, you let out a soft noise as your lips continue moving against his.
You pull back slowly from the kiss, smiling against each other’s mouth, “let’s finish these dishes,” Sanji whispers, his thumb moving in a slow circle against the back of your neck.
You press a soft kiss to his lips before pulling away, “are you going to hand me more to dry?” You ask with a smirk when Sanji just stands there.
“Sorry,” Sanji responds quickly, a faint blush lighting up his cheeks, “I got a little distracted.”
You eagerly finish up the rest of the dishes and quickly put them in their proper places. You return to Sanji as he drains the water and wipes down the counter before drying his hands. A second after he’s thrown the cloth onto the counter, your arms are wrapped around his neck to pull him into another kiss.
Sanji laughs softly into the kiss, his now dry hands going to your waist to get you even closer. Too wrapped up in one another, you both fail to hear the footsteps of another person entering the room.
“That’s why he quit,” Zeff says.
You jump away from each other, trying your best to act like Sanji’s tongue wasn’t just about to be in your mouth.
Sanji clears his throat before responding, “what?”
“You’re all over each other,” Zeff responds with a smirk. “Surely, he didn’t need help cutting that pepper, but there you were,” he waves an arm in Sanji’s direction, “practically on top of him.”
“I’m still learning,” you say defensively.
Zeff chuckles and holds his hands up in surrender, “I taught him too, but it wasn’t like that.” The man laughs again, this time much louder at the face you both make.
“Zeff! Gross!” Sanji yells.
Zeff laughs with a hand on his belly, “get out of here you two, and no fucking in my kitchen!” He yells as you both practically sprint from the kitchen in your haste to run from his words.
“Wait! Where are we going to go?” You asked Sanji.
He let out a laugh and continued walking until he reached the doors that led to the outdoor tables and bar. “Coming?” He asks after turning to look your way.
Once through the door, you sat on one of the leather couches and watched as Sanji placed a chair under each of the doorknobs. “Scared we’ll get caught?” You asked with a smirk.
“I’d rather not have an audience,” he stepped up to you on his long legs, “after all,” he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, “I want you all to myself,” he whispered into your ear.
His words make you shiver, or really, maybe it’s due to the cool night air. Though as you watch Sanji undress, you doubt the temperature will be a problem after all.
“I do plan on fucking you in the kitchen, you know that, right?” Sanji says as he gets his pants down.
“Can you fuck me out here first?” You ask impatiently.
“Almost,” he chides, “but there are too many clothes in the way,” he observes, looking you over with heated eyes as he fondles his cock through his underwear.
You push yourself off the couch, right into Sanji’s space as you start taking your clothes off. Thinking he was going to kiss you as you stripped down, you’re left confused when Sanji pulls his button-down back on.
“Be right back,” he says, pressing a swift kiss to your lips before he’s jogging through the balcony doorway.
Minutes after you’re fully naked, Sanji’s back through the door with a huff, “I almost started getting mad at you,” you said.
“Will you ever forgive me?” Sanji asks with a pout. He presses what he brought to your chest, your eyes flicking down.
“I think I can,” you whisper as you read the label on the bottle. You press a soft kiss to Sanji’s lips, the swoosh of fabric hitting your ears as he pulls his shirt back off.
You’re quick to open the bottle of lube to slick your fingers up. Your back meets leather, as does the bottom of your left foot, and seconds later, you’re pressing a wet digit into your hole.
All of your focus was on finding your prostate, even if one of the hottest men you’ve seen in your life was standing in front of you. Said man you could hear moan softly in front of you, the sound going straight to your cock.
As much as you wanted to put on a show for Sanji, you had trouble with the angle reaching your prostate. Evidently, the look of frustration must have shown on your face when Sanji opened his mouth to ask: “need some help?”
Your eyes opened to his tender gaze, a blush dusting his cheeks as a soft smile lay on his lips. He was still clothed in his underwear, seemingly set on teasing himself.
“A little,” you groaned, trying again to find your prostate. Your fingers were in deep, but still weren’t enough.
Sanji kneeled down in the space your lifted leg left for him, one of his hands trailing up and down the skin soothingly. He used what was left from your fingers when you pulled them free to make his way inside.
Two out, two in Sanji goes, his fingers going deeper than yours could. Your head falls back onto leather as Sanji’s fingers go to the hilt, your hole clenching down on the intrusion. With such skilled hands and fingers, it’s no surprise to you when he’s able to find your prostate easily, even as you clench down.
“There we are,” Sanji murmurs, his fingers rubbing against it.
The sensation sends shockwaves through your body, before ending in your cock. You look down to watch where Sanji’s fingers disappear inside your body before flicking up to watch Sanji. Your eyes see Sanji’s watch a bead of precum dribble down the head of your cock, warmth washing over you.
You whimper in protest when Sanji pulls his fingers free, but he makes up for it by leaning down to lick up the precum as it dribbles down your cock. “Wait,” you gasp when Sanji’s fingers make their way back inside, his tongue still on you.
Sanji’s eyes move to your face, the movement of his fingers coming to a halt. But it’s like he’s unable to help himself as he drags his tongue up your cock before stopping at the head to press the tip inside.
“Sanji!” You moan, your hips jerking up, “I don’t want-”
“Don’t think I can get another one out of you?” He challenges.
“I didn’t-” your words end in a moan when Sanji fucks his fingers back inside, “say that,” you grit out, trying your hardest not to come when he takes the head of your cock into his mouth.
Quicker than you hoped, you’re coming onto Sanji’s tongue as a third finger joins the other two to rub against your prostate. Sanji swallows it down until you're growing soft against his tongue, and even then, he keeps going.
The overstimulation has you whining, one of your hands in Sanji’s blond hair to pull him away. Sanji groans as you tug the strands between your fingers, the vibrations going straight through your cock.
“Sorry,” you say when Sanji finally pulls free. You knew how much Sanji cared about his hair, but perhaps you could convince him otherwise later. The sex-mussed style he currently had was really doing something for you.
Sanji swallows the gasp his fingers pull from you when he takes them out, his tongue making its way past your lips. He pulls away momentarily to focus on getting his underwear down, and you can’t help but lean up to kiss the pout of concentration from his mouth.
Sanji smiles against your lips as he gets them out of the way, tossing them behind him. You just hoped they didn’t fly off the edge of the ship to potentially land on someone underneath.
The first press of Sanji’s cock on your hole comes after he pulls your legs towards his waist, your ankles hooking around his hips. It barely leaves any room for Sanji to move back, the only way he can go is forward, but luckily, he’s quick to add lube to his cock before he can get too far.
You both gasp when the wet head of his cock makes its way inside. It goes easier than you expected as Sanji sinks to the hilt, probably due to your orgasm earlier.
Stretched open and full, you feel your cock starting to thicken once more. It glides against the plane of Sanji’s abs when he begins to move.
What started as a roll of his hips, soon turns quick and frantic. If the same person in that hypothetical you thought of earlier, getting hit with Sanji’s underwear when he tossed them wasn’t able to tell what he was getting up to, the sound of it sure made it known.
Sanji’s skin slapped against yours as your sweaty bodies came together over and over again as you chased orgasm. It nearly made you feel selfish, knowing that for you, it’d be your second. But Sanji didn’t seem to mind, quite the opposite, in fact.
He even aided you with a hand around your cock. His hand moved at the same pace as his hips, his fingers slick from a combination of sweat and lube.
You barely had time to warn him before your second orgasm was coursing through you, your back arching off the leather under your body. You pushed closer to Sanji, making it easier for his hands to move from your cock to your hips, moving your body like a ragdoll as he fucked you through your high.
With his hands tightening nearly to the point of pain, Sanji came with a loud moan, his hips coming to a rest.
You felt your cock get a valiant twitch as you felt Sanji’s throb inside you, his cock buried to the hilt as he came deep inside you. You clenched down on his cock, milking it dry for all Sanji was worth.
Sanji’s moans turned higher in pitch as you felt his cock starting to soften. It nearly felt like payback from earlier, you just weren’t sure if you were going to follow suit and make Sanji have another orgasm like he did with you.
He collapsed on top of you in a sweaty mess of limbs, your arms moving to wrap around him. He tucked his face into the column of your neck, his warm breath puffing against your skin.
“Think I can get another one out of you?” You questioned, breaking the silence. You made no effort to change your current position, even as you felt the press of Sanji’s smile into your neck. Instead, you both relaxed into each other, your hands tangled into the hair on the back of Sanji’s head.
“In Zeff’s kitchen this time?” Sanji asked, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he lay against your chest.
GAZPRICE AND READER CUCK CHAIR FIC WHEN OH GREAT WIZARD
Price has been sitting there watching the two of you grind pitifully against each other for the past ten minutes, which- normally for people wouldn’t be that fun, but John is 4 glasses of scotch in and having the time of his life.
You’re cute under Gaz, teary eyed and desperately whining. For what, you might ask?
“John! Please- please, John- let him fuck me already- please- fuck-! I can’t- please- just-!” You keep whimpering, trying to pull and tug at your binds- yeah, Price tied your wrists to the bed frame. It had been so cute, watching you kick and yowl all angry like- snarling that it wasn’t fair. Oh, but that angry attitude fell apart when John shoved your favorite between your legs, sweet gaz to kiss and lick at your needy little cock. And right when he was about to move to fuck you-
Price started his game.
“Ah ah. Neither of you have worked hard enough, sluts. Come on- frot for me, show me you want this.”
Gaz’s eyes had snapped to his- soft lips pushing into a pout that nearly made the older man take it back- having to grip his cock tight to keep his firm look.
Prices’ eyes slide up his sergeants sweaty back now, every muscle clenched as he rolls his hips back and forth across your sopping little cunt- his head bumping against your t dick. Slow, steady- keeping the same rhythm even as his arms shake with the effort of keeping himself up right now. Price can see how swollen both of your cocks are, how Gaz is leaking pre and making every movement slicker and slicker.
He hasn’t whined once though- Kyle Garrick has crawled through shit and blood and guts, Kyle has crouched perfectly still for 12 hours with a perfect shot lined up- he doesn’t complain, period. It’s funny though, seeing how quickly he’s begun to shake- your soaked hole seems to be the man’s one kryptonite.
Your pitiful sweet whimpers were probably what was breaking him more than anything. Gaz wasn’t a hard dom by any means on a good day- and with Price’s hot gaze on his back, keeping him in that light headed state? Oh, he was struggling.
Your hips were much less controlled, frantically humping his cock with teary whimpers. Kyle couldn’t even hold you still, forced to endure you falling apart under him. Tear stained face, wobbly lip and the most pitiful eyes looking up at him- Price saw it.
Ohhh, he saw it.
A twitch in the muscle of Kyle’s neck.
He squeezed the tip of his cock, smearing his own precum. That was what he wanted, what Price was waiting for.
Kyle looked up, his stern face cracking apart at the seams. Sweat dripping from his skin, full lips pulled into a desperate pout. Right at Price.
The captain steeled himself, tilting his head with a smile. More. He wanted more.
“Captain,” he says once. Price takes a deep puff of his cigar, stroking himself.
“Please.”
Fuck, that sounded so good. Price loved his favorite sergeant, loved listening to him beg to fuck the sweet boy under him. Price fucking loved having that power over him, loved seeing him shake and swear and sweat trying to follow his captain’s orders.
His hand sped up, a low groan escaping the older man’s chest.
“You think you deserve it, soldier?” He grunts out, excited by the way Gaz sucks in a desperate breath. You’re drooling, stuttering hips humping him so needily- driving the man to answer.
“Yessir- been good, sir,” the sergeant whimpers, his hips finally jerking against yours when his cock caught your entrance- nearly slipping in, only just avoiding disobedience. Price sits for a long minute, just enjoying the sights as his grip speeds up on himself- the pair of you looking over in desperation. Staring at his fist jerk up and down, needy and desperate- wanting that same pleasure.
“Well go on then, you filthy mutts,” the captain finally grunts out- and it’s like watching a bomb go off in real time. Gaz is slamming his cock inside to the hilt as you arch your hips, nearly breaking the headboard with how hard you’re tugging on your binds. You both let out choked grunts, starting the most desperate and frantic pace Price thinks you two have ever done in front of him.
Every slam of his hips claps loud and wet, Gaz’s noises engulfing your choked gasps. He sounds so fucking good, absolutely fucked out of his mind with pitchy whimpers. Full lips hanging open in need, eyes staring down at your teary face. Price could see how hard his balls were slamming against your ass, hear how hard his tip was slamming against your cervix- feel how hard you were cumming around Gaz’s cock in under two minutes.
Gaz’s moans get louder, like he’s trying to bite his lip and failing miserably before he cums deep inside. Every pathetic pump of his hips after is a reward for Price, pushed over the edge by your combined noises. It’s like music to his ears, listening to your overstimulated whimpers- looking at Kyle’s toned back as he trembled over you. Still not touching- but he did rip the sheets a little.
Price finally stands, filling his glass with scotch and standing over the pair of you. He pulls Kyle’s head back gently, tipping the alcohol into the man’s mouth with a hum.
“Hold it. Share with the pup,” John murmurs, staring when Kyle finally leans down to kiss you- lips desperately clashing as scotch leaks down your chins. It’s cute, absolutely pathetic.
he isn't your classic hero with a cape - a dirty toji x male reader short story
Summary:
In those final moments before an unfairly grim fate, everyone desperately wishes for a hero to come save them.
And when the hands of your stalker and soon-to-be murderer get tight enough around your throat to make you see white and go limp, your next-door neighbour, whose name you only know because of his past hook-ups, screaming it until the sun rises, angrily slams his door open after being awoken by the noise.
There he is, there's your hero... but little do you know, he's no good man.
wc: 22.4k words
warnings: stalking, homophobic speech and slurs, misogynistic language, attempted murder, attempted assault, actual murder... but the sex is consensual :)
what to expect: Boonies AU, top toji fushiguro, bottom male reader, BIG DICK TOJI, poverty, AGAIN TOJI HAS A FAT COCK <3, rough hentai unrealistic graphic nasty gay sex, PLAPPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAP, fingerfucking, buttsex, rimming, male squirting (mhmmm yep), homophobia kink, making out, and... eventual romance, maybe????
note: as always, the reader is referred to as "MC" because I hate Y/N. self-insert if you want to, as intended, or don't.
art: yuannoi (i think, idk straggots) and gegegexxx01
Tonight, the wind feels chillier than usual on your walk back home from the bus stop.
As such, you feel yourself shivering more than you usually do.
Granted, the walk back to your shitty, pathetic excuse of an apartment building in the middle of bumfuck nowhere isn’t ever exactly like those moonlit and effervescently fantastical and beautiful fairytale art pieces you used to see as a little boy dressed in rags in that long-gone antique shop your dad brought you to whenever he had something to sell to make barely enough to fill your stomachs.
Nah, the 10-minute walk from the bus stop that was weathered down by time and with torn-up fast-food bags at its feet instead of flowers, to your trashy and thankfully cheap-to-rent, because God does it look the part, apartment building is always the same.
But the chill in the wind tonight, something about it makes the goosebumps on your skin feel even more present.
Almost every night, when you finish your night shift at your god-awful and life-siphoning minimum wage job at the diner back in the backwater town you’re forced to call home, the dying, flickering streetlights guide you back home, the voices of crickets, stray animals, and local druggies sleeping in the bushes remind you you’re not alone (for better or for worse), and the sight of the shithole you call your home in the distance reminds you just how fucking dead inside and dead tired you are since you just got off work at motherfucking 3 AM.
Shit.
You. Need. To. Fucking. Sleep.
And when you fall asleep tonight, maybe your overworked and exhausted self will rest eternally this time.
…
No.
As pessimistic as you are about your life, that was taking it a bit too far.
You didn’t mean it because…
As much as life, from the day you were born, has been beating you down every goddamn day, month, and year, you will never let down your late father by giving up on your life.
Not when he literally worked himself to death by dumpster diving to keep you barely fed, and in his last days, selling anything he found (or stole) just to be able to afford you your first month of rent in the shitty apartment you live in that you got only because your landlord was tired of him begging on his knees.
Your life is full-on dog shit, no doubt about that.
… But if it wasn’t for your father’s unwavering love for a son that he didn’t even mean to have (He wouldn’t stop telling you that whenever he had too much to drink from the half-finished bottles he found in the alleys), you could’ve still been living in that tent deep in the dark forest that he made out of discarded sleeping bags and ropes that you spent your childhood and adolescence in.
Thank God the officials in your town don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone, and they didn’t order it torn down.
Despite him being anything but the ideal provider, despite him wishing the worst of fates on your mother, who ran away the day you were born, like a morning prayer, and despite him bringing you into this everyday battle called life because he got drunk and didn’t use fucking protection, he somehow loved you more than anything.
Despite your shitty situation, he never yelled at you for eating his share of food for the night, he stole books from the local library to read you bedtime stories when you were little, and hell, he didn’t beat you when you accidentally said you had a crush on the boy in the soccer field at the school you couldn’t go to when you were ten.
His love is the reason you keep on going.
And his final words, which he spoke in that tent, his trembling and weakening hand holding yours, his body falling apart because of the hard life he had lived, are what play in your head like a comforting and warm hug when your head is pounding from a lack of sleep.
“Don’t be a worthless piece of shit like me, you hear me, boy?”
Pfft.
It wasn’t anything graceful, but your dad was anything but a gentleman, so it suited him perfectly.
And frankly, his final words always somehow make you laugh even when your body is sore from standing all day on sticky diner tiles.
…
It’s been a few years since he passed away.
The tent you both lived in is long gone; you found it torn apart when you last checked out the spot where it was, probably rambunctious teens.
But that’s okay, all you need as a reminder of your one and only supporter is what’s hugging you and protecting you from the chilly wind.
Your dad’s signature windbreaker.
His “best steal,” he would call it.
It’s what he wore when he needed to sell something for pennies.
He said it’s all he had if he wanted to look presentable enough not to be kicked out of buildings.
You wear it everywhere because it makes you feel like he’s still with you and cracking jokes jovially as if your lives weren’t shit.
You did have to wash it somewhat… religiously to get the scent of cigs and beer off of it, but it’s staying with you for life.
…
Life is hard.
But for him, you will be a successful man.
For him, you will live a good life.
And for him, you somehow got a scholarship at the local community college in the hopes of becoming a man that your father can be proud of.
He told you he was already proud of you for surviving the hells of poverty, but now he can be proud of you for being on the journey towards something greater.
And maybe for him, you can find someone to love one day as well.
Heh, if only money wasn’t a goddamn issue every second of your life.
…
You’re not sure why you went down memory lane on your walk home.
Maybe it’s because you just needed something to comfort you while the leaves rustled and the wind whistled a bit louder than usual.
In any case, it worked, and just like that, you find yourself approaching your beaten-up and graffiti-covered apartment door.
God, it’s a hideous sight.
But… It’s nice to have a home to come to, shitty as it is.
Having lived in street alleys and dark forest floors for your childhood and adolescence, it’s still surreal and comforting, even after a few years, to finally have a door to come back to every night.
Well, thank God you have a day off tomorrow.
At least you’ll be able to, maybe, catch up on 7 days of sleep.
That is, if your only neighbour in this shithole doesn’t…
No, no.
Don’t manifest it.
If you don’t think of your neighbour’s nightly… ahem, noises, perhaps you’ll be lucky and have a rare night of uninterrupted sleep.
With a very long sigh, you pick up your step.
You’re a bit too exhausted to think of showering, or brushing your teeth, or even jerking off, you wanna shut your eyes and worry about the aches in your body later.
You’ll walk in, hang your father’s jacket on the nearby coat hanger, and plop on your bed-
BOOM BOOM BOOM
But unfortunately for you, your tired mind sealed your fate and caused you to make a fatal mistake.
Living in a lawless town such as this, your father gave one piece of advice that you always held close to your heart… but ended up forgetting in your exhausted haze.
Never walk, always run.
It happens instantly.
The reason you felt chills throughout your walk home was that you were being watched.
You were being followed.
…
No, you were being hunted.
The reason why you felt a bit more on edge tonight as you walked back home, stomped up behind you, shoved you against the apartment door right next to yours, and gripped your neck with one of his rough hands to make you look into his eyes.
And unfortunately for you, his face is a familiar one, and his voice-
“Hey, I’ve been wanting to talk to you…”
-is familiar as well.
When you first moved into your apartment, and with your father’s life savings and a shower to use instead of the pond near your raggedy tent, the first thing you ever did was head to the drugstore and buy the cheapest shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and body lotion you could afford, and cleanse yourself of the rough years you lived.
Then, a few weeks later, when you were trying to get your high school credentials as an adult at the local university through their Access Pathways program, that’s where you learned that maybe your dad wasn’t lying when he said that the only good thing he gave you was his handsome looks.
Who knew that having a home and good hygiene does a lot to make a man look good?
At the school and at your job, you’ve had plenty of people look at you appreciatively.
You’ve even had a few boyfriends as well, but… You weren’t at a point yet in your life where you feel like you could be a partner that a boyfriend could introduce to his parents with pride…
All of this is to say, you’ve learned that you’re apparently quite the looker.
And that comes with its… vices.
Case in point, the man pinning you against your neighbour’s door and looking down at you like your body was for him to rip apart and feast on.
“You shouldn’t have fucking ignored me tonight, MC… Especially not when I was trying to be so nice to you…”
He’s a regular at the diner you work at, and he’s a fucking creep.
It’s been a few months since he started showing up, but ever since the very first night you gave him service, he has made it very clear that he wants nothing more than to make you his property.
When you first took his order and turned around to head to the kitchen, you caught him looking at your ass in the reflection of the kitchen door windows.
A few days later, after that first interaction, he asked you if you had a boyfriend, and it showed in his face that he was pissed when you said you did.
Then the next day, he wrapped his smelly arm around your waist while you took his order, smiling like he wasn't doing anything weird.
Then… he began groping you, smacking your ass whenever you turned around, and even rubbing your head whenever he was leaving.
Frankly, he scares you. He terrifies you. But more than anything, he disgusts you.
The way he looks at you is as if you’re a meal.
The way he disrespects you in public and touches you inappropriately just because he wants you.
But you could never defend yourself or cause a scene… because what if you lost your job?
You tried telling your boss what this creep was doing to you, but what did he say?
“So? He pays well, so keep using your good looks, alright? They’re all you have going for you.”
Again, this is a lawless and dark town.
No one cares for anyone.
Humanity is useless.
Only money matters.
If only your father were still here, he would’ve lit that place on fire for what happens to you there every night.
But unfortunately for you, making enough money to pay rent had to be more important than protecting your body and standing up for yourself, so you had to learn to deal with the daily disrespect and inhumane treatment if you didn’t want to end up homeless once more.
If only that diner job wasn’t the most accessible one for you…
You had to learn how to navigate around the man’s inappropriate touches.
You tried talking to him as little as possible, and hell, you even began working in the kitchen just so you didn’t have to see him.
It worked well, and thankfully, you knew how to make good food, so your boss didn’t have a reason to take you out of the kitchen despite the man’s growing complaints about not seeing you on the floor as much anymore.
…
But you should’ve known he’d cross the line one day.
And here he is now… looking at you with this crazed look in his eyes, grinning with his yellow and rotting teeth, and gripping your neck with a bit too much strength.
Though his grip hurts and your voice is a bit tired from talking to customers and shouting orders to the kitchen staff all day, you still have enough fight in your exhausted body to finally speak your mind to this creep, especially now that you’re out of the diner.
“D-don’t- COUGH” Fuck, his grip hurts. “Don’t touch me, you fucking creep!!”
You’ve never spoken to him in that manner before, having to hold your tongue at work for fear of losing your only source of income.
It feels good to yell at him.
But, he doesn’t let go; in fact, the glimmer in his crazed eyes makes it look like he liked hearing you fight back for once.
“Oh, that’s no way to talk to me, sweet pea.” He traces his hand that wasn’t gripping your neck on your hipbones under your jacket. “Especially not when I give you all those gracious tips for looking as sexy as you do… I’m just here to claim what’s owed to me because of how well I treat you…”
He never touched you like this before.
The worst he’s done to you before tonight now was touch your bulge under your apron and try to unzip your pants when you were taking his order.
But now, he’s being full-on rough and self-indulgent.
“Fuck off! If you’re gonna follow me to my goddamn home like the disgusting creep you are, I’ll speak to you however I want!!!” You yell, trying to pry his fingers off your neck. “L-let me go! It hurts!! A-AH!” As much as you want to continue yelling at him, his dirty nails digging into your skin pains you greatly.
“Oh, my little prince…” He says in a disgustingly fake and sugary tone. “Hurting you hurts me more than it hurts you, trust me.” Liar, his eyes look terrifyingly jovial and alive. “I don’t want to make you cry, but you need to treat me better. If you just let me into your place and allow you to make right the disrespect you showed me by ignoring me, things won’t have to be like this…”
“I disrespected you?!?!” You scream as loud as you can with a constricted windpipe. “I’ve had to hold my tongue and be nice to you even when you grope my ass like the disgusting and vile pervert you are-
SLAP
AAGH-”
You didn’t even get to finish your words before he slapped the everliving fuck out of you.
The remnant noise of his slap echoes in the dark expanse around you two.
And tears immediately form in your eyes, but you try even harder to pry his fingers from your neck as his grip on your neck tightens, the pain far worse than what you’re feeling on your left cheek.
You can’t even sob; no sound will come through.
Even now, he doesn’t look angry.
No, he’s grinning like the evil maniac he is.
He likes the fight you’re showing.
It’ll make tearing into you and claiming you as his all the more delicious and worth it.
“I’m so sorry for hitting you like that, my boy…” His breathy and terrifying laughs tell you he’s not sorry at all. In fact, you bet he’d love to hit you even harder. “But you deserved it. How could you talk like that to the man who shows you nothing but love and worship almost every night…”
You can’t even fight back anymore, the lack of oxygen getting rid of what little fight your exhausted body could muster.
…
You didn’t even get to say all that you wanted to him…
“But again, you can make things up to me…” He begins rummaging through your jacket pockets to look for the key to your apartment. “Just let me into your home, let me do what I want… and I’ll treat you how you deserve to be treated.”
What… what’s he going to do to you?
“Actually… I don’t need your permission. Hah! I don’t even need you to be awake!!!”
He manages to find your key and holds it in front of your face, your blurred vision barely able to register the sight.
“You and I are going to have a fun night, MC…” His voice begins to sound like it’s coming from the end of a tunnel. “Tonight is when all my wildest dreams will come true… I can’t promise that you’ll live to see tomorrow, but hey, maybe you should’ve treated me better, handsome~.”
…
Your heart breaks.
It shatters into a million pieces.
But not because of what’s about to happen to you.
You’ve been through hell and back on the streets, and you’re sure you’ve been through worse.
But your heart breaks because this isn’t what your father worked himself to the grave for.
You were supposed to make him proud.
You were supposed to one day rake in millions, live in a penthouse, and make the world a better place, even for just one person, all in his honour.
You were supposed to give him a proper resting spot and not the pond your distraught 18-year-old self left his body in because you had nowhere else to leave him.
…
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
…
If he were here, he would’ve murdered this man.
Your dad was as malnourished and frail as you’d expect any man who barely had enough to eat to look, but he’d fight to the death if it meant keeping you as unharmed as you could be.
As always, in your worst times, the thought of him comforts you even when you feel your consciousness leaving.
He was a disgusting street urchin to others, but to you, he was your hero.
And that’s why in your final moment, you find yourself wanting to be saved.
But life was never kind to you.
No matter how much you fought for better days, maybe this was always how it was going to go.
A tragic start, a tragic end.
But maybe it won’t be too bad if you could see him once more and never have to suffer agai-
SLAM
The door you were pressed up against suddenly opens, and you find your back pressed up against something strong, warm, and firm yet soft.
“The fuck is going on here?”
A deep voice booms.
And you recognize it. He’s the only person other than you who lives in this wretched building.
And you only know his voice because of the groans and dirty talk you hear almost every night as he fucks someone into oblivion.
And you know his name.
Not because you ever talked to him. Hell, you’ve never even seen the man since he’s most likely never home during the day.
No, you know his name because it’s what every person he fucks screams like a worshipping prayer until the sun comes up as you writhe in bed from the never-ending rumbling and screaming coming from the suite next to you.
Toji.
Your next-door neighbour.
This past week has been shit.
Work has been shit.
Life has been shit.
His bank account looks like shit.
His sleep schedule looks like shit.
And the worst part of it all, it’s been way too goddamn long since he busted a hot, fat nut in some random bitch’s hole.
Toji’s a simple guy living a simple life in bumfuck nowhere.
He works the odd job that needs a guy of his build, makes enough money to buy cheap food and lube, and he spends free time by getting fucked up at the local bar and bringing the most willing whore (Boy, are there plenty) to his place so he can fuck away the built-up tension in his body… and God, isn’t he just full of it always…
His life isn’t anything glamorous.
And honestly, for a man in his late 30s, he’s sure many people think he’s a pathetic excuse who’s wasting himself away.
But eh, he’s fine with where he’s at, he’d say.
Kids? Fuck that shit. Just trying not to get evicted from his place siphons enough out of his soul already.
Marriage? Don’t make him laugh. His bosses nag him enough; he doesn’t need a whore asking him to take her out on dates or whatever the fuck it is that cunts want to do.
He just fucks men because they just wanna get down and dirty without the sappy shit.
It’s gay as all fuck, but eh, nothing beats a hole that he can fuck all he wants and shoot his load into and not worry about a devil spawning out of it.
Fucking hell, pregnancy is disgusting.
But all of this is to say, life ain’t so bad for him.
Sure, he hasn’t fucked a bitch into his mattress in a week, something that barely ever happens.
Sure, he lost one of his jobs because he punched his boss after he got called some racist shit.
And sure! He might’ve blown all his money on online gambling and got nothing in return…
But still, life ain’t so bad…
THUD
That is, that’s how he felt before a few minutes ago, until he was startled awake by something crashing into his goddamn door at fucking three in the morning.
“... the fuck?”
In his half-awake daze, he first thought it might have been a brain-dead deer or something that bumped headfirst into his door.
He tried going back to sleep until he started hearing voices.
Alright, druggies hanging outside of his place isn’t anything new, and he’s willing to let his being startled awake slide since he’s so goddamn fucking tired and beaten down from working construction today.
But when Toji closed his eyes a second time and opened them once more at the sound of yelling, that’s when he threw his blankets off him, put on a discarded pair of loose, old, and low-hanging sweatpants, and began stomping furiously to the entrance of his apartment.
“Holy shit, I’m gonna butcher these worthless idiots.” He mutters under his breath, not sure what to expect, but definitely sure that he’ll be throwing some choice words at the people responsible for waking him up in the dead of night.
His hand reaches his doorknob, and just as he’s about to open the door, he hears a scratchy and gross voice and an afraid yet softer voice going back and forth.
Curious as to what’s exactly happening outside his home, he stands in place trying to gather context clues.
“Don’t touch me, you fucking creep!!”
“Oh, that’s no way to talk to me, sweet pea.”
“Oh, my little prince…”
“It hurts!!!”
Seriously????
He got woken up by a bunch of sissy ass queers?
He got woken up not just by some relationship drama but by some loudmouth cocksucker drama?
You cannot be fucking for reallllll right now.
Sure, he fucks men because they don’t annoy him and whine as bitches do, but FUCK, he hates how sissy those gay pansies can be.
God, fuck his life.
He doesn’t need this shit.
And sure, it sounds like someone’s doing some creepy shit, but honestly, he doesn't give a fuck about anyone’s safety in his sleep-deprived state.
He’s gonna open this door, beat the shit out of these fucking fa-
SLAP
Damn, maybe he doesn’t need to beat anyone up; shit’s already hit the fan.
Nah, he’s itching to hurt someone.
If he can’t fuck the night away, he’s sure as hell gonna sleep the remainder of it away, and to do that, he’s gonna open the door, beat these sissies hopefully into real men, and then dream about life on a beach with tight holes to fuck and endless bowls of ramen… hah, maybe he should strive for more in life…
Anyways, he notices that the afraid voice has stopped fighting back, and Toji, not wanting to deal with a dead body in front of his home (a beaten up person is fine, not a dead one though), opens the door, and immediately feels a warm body land on him, the back of a guy’s head landing on top of his chest.
“The fuck is going on here?” He grumbles agitatedly, his voice deep and husky from sleep.
The words leave his mouth before he can think about it.
And immediately, he assesses the situation.
First, and unfortunately for his corneas, he sees probably the ugliest man he’s ever seen in his life, and that’s saying something considering the dumpster bin of a town he lives in.
Yellow teeth, bloodshot eyes, a hideous bald spot, and the most trashy of clothes, this guy offends Toji by just existing.
Sure, Toji isn’t the most luxurious of men either, but at least he can say he’s hot as fuck considering the number of people that wanna have sex with him.
… This was the guy saying shit like “Oh, my little prince”?
…
Disgusted shivers that Toji tries to ignore go through his body.
Not expecting much from the guy that’s straight up resting his head on his fuckin’ tits, he looks down so he can at least not look at Jabba the Hut in human form in front of him.
And damn! Colour him surprised.
He didn’t think guys this pretty lived in this cesspool of a town.
And you know what, he only ever saw other guys as holes to fill, but this guy… Toji might, for once, consider himself attracted.
Though he’s sure this guy, who’s certainly younger than him, would look much better naked on his bed instead of heaving for air with tears gliding down his face.
But wait a minute, he swears that soft hair and worn-out windbreaker look familiar…
…Right… This guy is his next-door neighbour.
Hm.
He’s never seen his face before, since the only time he sees him is when he sees the back of this guy's head every morning by the window as he runs to presumably the bus stop nearby.
Damn, he didn’t know he had a pretty boy living next to him all this time.
Well, he initially didn’t give two shits about beating up some pansies as long as he could sleep, but… things are different now upon visual examination.
…
An idea crosses his mind.
And if he plays his cards right, maybe he can kill multiple birds with one stone tonight…
Maybe it’ll work, but there’s only one way to find out.
With one arm, he protectively wraps it around your chest from behind, and with his other hand, he easily pries the man’s fingers away from your neck.
And with his plan in motion, he looks at the hideous freak of nature with vengeful eyes and darkens his voice.
“What the hell are you doing to my boyfriend?”
…
?
???
For a few seconds, all that can be heard in the dead of the night is the buzz of the old lightbulbs, the rustling of the leaves, and the wind kicking up dust on the gravelly road.
Uh. What?
Despite being exhausted from your definitely illegal 15-hour shift, despite having been almost choked to death, despite you currently heaving for air, and despite you still recovering from the fact that horrible things could’ve been done to your almost dead body, the main thing you’re feeling right now is straight-up confusion.
You’ve never spoken to him, and matter of fact, this is your first time actually interacting with Toji in person, but he’s… hugging you and calling you his boyfriend?
What?!
All you know about this man is that he’s just as much in the shits as you are if he’s living in this dumpster and that he’s goddamn manwhore supreme!
How is a guy supposed to think clearly when he was almost choked to death and is now being hugged by what feels like a behemoth of muscle who’s calling you his boyfriend?
But you don’t get too deep in your thoughts as the creep who followed you home shrieks disgustingly at what he heard.
“WHAT?! What do you mean by ‘boyfriend’?! I’ve been stalking and following MC for months. What do you mean you’re in a relationship with him?! I’ve never seen you in my life!”
…
This isn’t the only time he’s been following you…?
Fuck, you must have been too busy with work, assignments, and finishing your assignments at work to notice him… and you mean BUSY busy, because you should have been able to smell his disgusting scent from miles away…
Feeling the way you shiver uncomfortably in his embrace, Toji pushes the man away from you quite easily, making a disgusted face when he sees spit flying out of his mouth.
“God, you’re fucking disgusting,” Toji says with a grimace. “I should fucking paint this building red with your blood and innards for the shit you’ve been doing to my boy… But stalking and slapping him right in front of our goddamn home!?”
The way his deep voice booms around the area as he yells makes you flinch.
“Hah! Looking at him was your first mistake, but slapping him? My boyfriend? That will be your last.” He says angrily.
…
After hearing Toji speak and feeling the way his fingers pat you reassuringly, you find yourself connecting the dots and realizing exactly what it is he’s trying to do.
He’s trying to save you and protect you from this lowlife pervert by pretending to be your boyfriend.
…
Once that realization comes to pass, all the built-up tension in your body leaves, and you feel your body finally relaxing in his protective and warm embrace.
You… truly know nothing about Toji other than that he’s a slut, but he doesn’t realize just how much his saving you meant when the world has been nothing but cruel to your life.
“Baby…” Toji says, turning you around in his embrace so you can face him and turning his back to the man so he can act as a wall to keep you safe. “Baby, please be honest. Why didn’t you tell me you were being stalked? You know that getting rid of him wouldn’t be a problem for me…” His calloused hands hold your face gently, something you’ve never felt in your life before, even by your actual past boyfriends.
And it’s in this moment that a barely functioning lightbulb shines down on Toji’s face, letting you finally see the face not just of your next-door neighbour, but also your hero.
You don’t know where to start or where to focus, but your eyes naturally gravitate to his showstoppingly handsome face.
Your only reference for what a handsome man should look like is the magazines you see in the gas station when all you can afford to eat is a shitty hot dog, but Toji is in a league of his own.
Straight mid-length black hair, a handsome face with Japanese features and a jawline carved by the gods, green eyes that remind you of the forest you once called your home, and a charming scar on his lip that indicates he’s no man to mess with, Toji is a man in a league of his own and you can’t help but wonder why he’s in this shitstain town on Earth when he could on the big screen or on magazines…
And why stop at his face when his body is just as much a marvel in its own right?
Wearing nothing but low-hanging sweats that leave nothing to the imagination, you can see that Toji is a very active and hard-working man, considering the muscular and statuesque form he wears.
He’s carved and proportioned to perfection with clear-cut 8-pack abs you grind your cock on, meaty and plush pectorals to rest your face on as he bucks up into your from below, broad shoulders to rest your head or legs on he sucks your dick or eats your ass out, and biceps he could choke you with as plows you from behind… he’s male perfection in it’s most raw, primal, and natural form…
…
If your rapidly vivid thoughts that dance in your head as you check out his face and body are anything to go by, it makes sense why you hear him having wall-cracking sex almost every night…
If only he really could be your boyfriend…
…
Shit!
Right!
You have an act to go along with…
God, how did you go from almost meeting your dad in the afterlife to thirsting and marvelling over your neighbour who literally just saved your life!?!?
“I-I’m so sorry, Toji, I just… I know how stressed you’ve been with work and with how tight money’s been.” If there's one thing your dad taught you about survival, it’s that white lies are one of the greatest tools out there. So, going along with Toji’s act comes pretty naturally to you. “I just didn’t want to burden you… I’m so sorry, honey…”
“Babe… thank you for worrying about me, but what if I wasn’t home tonight? He was gonna fucking kill you!” He grips your shoulders angrily. “Fuck burdens and all that shit, if you’re gone then I have nothing to live for in this goddamn shithole!”
Toji is mentally patting himself on the back for paying attention to those shitty romance movies that sometimes played in the bar as he finished his drinks when there wasn’t anyone interesting enough to pay attention to, they’re giving him good dialogue to come up with.
“I-I know… y-you’re right. I can’t say anything other than that I’m sorry…” You know it’s all an act, but having such warm words directed at you makes you feel… good.
“No, honey, you never needed to apologize. None of this is your fault…” He says sweetly before turning around menacingly to the creep who listened to two and is getting increasingly and very noticeably enraged that Toji is allowed to talk to you so warmly and touch you so intimately when he can’t. “If anyone should apologize and make things right by slitting his wrists and throat right in front of us, it’s this waste of life.”
Toji squeezes your hand comfortingly before he steps up to the man, trying to keep a straight face and not vomit as the creep’s stench enters his nose.
“The shit I fucking deal with for some good ass…” He grumbles in his mind.
But he says something different outside.
“Listen here, and listen well, you worthless, hideous, disgusting, and deserving of death dipshit.” He says with a terrifyingly stoic tone. “I want to kill you. In fact, I probably will in the near future. And I will make sure your death is the most long-lasting and painful killing imaginable. But, the only reason I’ll give you the chance to run away is that I don’t wanna traumatize my boyfriend by turning you into a gorefest. So leave. Leave and enjoy the last days of your worthless life because I will find you. I can promise that.”
…
You can’t be certain if he’s acting or not.
But his warrior’s body and terrifyingly deep and threatening face make you think that… he might really do something vengeful to this man.
But someway, somehow, rather than scaring him into running away, Toji’s words only make the creep more enraged, and he begins to shriek like a banshee and stomp on the ground.
“N-N-N-NOOOOOO!!!!” He screams, fisting what hair he has left with whitening knuckles. “I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT! I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT MC! YOU CAN’T BE HIS BOYFRIEND! THERE IS NO FUCKING WAYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!”
His screams and shrieks actually make you cover your eyes because he genuinely sounds like a pterodactyl being crushed by a hydraulic press.
But somehow, Toji remains still and unbothered.
“I’m gonna have to get my ears checked after this…” He thinks in his head, trying and somehow succeeding in maintaining a straight face.
“YOU’RE NOT HIS BOYFRIEND! THIS IS ALL FAKE! HE’S MINE! I FOUND HIM FIRST! YOU’RE JUST SOME RANDOM YELLOW BITC-”
“Pfft.” Toji scoffs. “I’m not his boyfriend, you said? That’s fucking hilarious, considering MC’s in my arms all the time in our place…”
Toji will not mention that he only learned your name because of the pervert just now screeching it out.
“Cute name though,” he thinks to himself.
“BULLSHIT! IF THAT WAS TRUE, I WOULD HAVE FUCKING SEEN YOU! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK HE’S MY BOYFRIEND! HE’S MY PRINCE! HE’S MY BABY! HE’S MY FUCKTOY!”
Something about hearing this swine call you such things as if he owned you pissed Toji for some reason, and he found himself cracking his knuckles at the man’s tantrum.
“Keep calling him yours, and I might have to show just how pathetically wrong you are.” He says, taking note of how you’re actually shivering from how disturbed you are from this creep’s increasing display of insanity.
But once the man’s ear-piercing shouting turns into fast whispers of the most disgusting things a monster could say, and once Toji feels you clench onto the waistband of his sweatpants in fear, that’s when he’s done with the nonsense.
“Alright then, man.” Toji sounds both smug and annoyed as he grabs from behind, and just like the man did to you before, but noticeably more gently, he shoves you against his door. “Let me show you just how wrong you are, and that MC belongs to me and me only.”
…
What could he possibly mean by that?
“T-Toji?”
Your voice is faint, both from the abuse your throat endured earlier and from the fact that you were about to start sobbing in fear.
“What are you…-”
But you’re silenced when Toji brings his lips close to your ear and whispers something only for you to hear.
And it’s funny.
Despite the man’s never-ending and disgusting rambles as he actually crumples onto the ground from rage and jealousy, all you can hear is Toji’s deep and luscious rasp.
“Fucking work with me here, yeah?”
“W-wait, what do you mea- M-mm!”
Just like that, your world stops. But not his. You didn’t even finish your sentence because of him.
Because once his lips met yours, you once again lost your breath, but in a different way this time.
But he doesn’t stop or even give you the time to process just what the hell he’s doing to you.
Toji isn’t just kissing you; he isn’t planting soft kisses or giving you little chaste pecks that your past boyfriends gave to you on your first dates, fuck, with the way he’s kissing you, anyone would be crazy to think that you two aren’t ravenous lovers.
One wouldn’t think this man is trying to sell an act.
No.
He’s full-on devouring you on the spot, making out with you like a man starved to near death, but also a man who wants to make his lover moan brainlessly to the stars above.
“M-mmm… H-hah… Mngh-~”
He’s so good at what he does that the moans and gasps just leave your mouth with your systems not even allowing you to even think of holding them back.
Yours and his personal bubble is laden with the sound of wet and slippery smooches, his bare skin brushing up roughly against your clothes, and the deliciously contrasting duet of your two pleasured voices.
“Mmm… that’s right, babyboy…” He says as he deliciously pushes his weight against you on the door as he kisses you. Unlike with the other guy, Toji’s huge and muscular form, forcing you against a hard surface, is sinfully luxurious. “That’s my boy… that’s how we do it… so good… all for me…”
Fuck, your night has gone from one extreme situation to another, but from what was happening before… Shit, maybe your dad was right… maybe guardian angels do exist…
While devouring and exploring the inside of your mouth, his tongue, hot, squishy, wet, and big, dances across all your inner parts.
Claiming the roof of your mouth, your teeth, the inside of your cheeks, and your own tongue, Toji kisses like a predator that just caught its prey.
It’s messy, and it’s borderline animalistic, and it lacks grace and classic sensuality, but the primal and hungry nature of his kisses might drive you to blissful insanity.
It’s not like you're a virgin or anything, but your past experiences might as well have never even happened.
The way Toji grips your hair and chest as he eats you up easily overshadows the last dick you took, no contest.
And as much as you kind of hated your next-door neighbour for being responsible for so many of your sleepless nights and the dark circles around your eyes… You can’t blame his past hook-ups for moaning and screaming the way they did.
The sounds you make are unlike anything you’ve ever made before, and you don’t even have the opportunity to feel embarrassed because of how burning blue the pleasure you feel is.
But nothing perfect lasts forever because as the words he speaks get dirtier, as his kisses get messy to the point of the bottom halves of your faces getting slick and wet, as his hands were about to unzip your pants and jacket, and as your cock was about to splurt hot white cum in your boxers because of how hard and fast he was grinding your clothed dicks against each other…
Your spectator finally reached his boiling point.
“GYAHHHHHHH!!!!! NONONONONONONOONNOONONONONONONONONONONONONO!!!! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU BOTHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
And in a fit of maniacal rage, the pig throws himself at Toji and begins to slam his fists on his back like the trash he is.
“DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!”
He easily overexerts himself as he tries, to no avail, to beat Toji up for touching you the way he is, and it’s frankly such a pathetic sight that would make the nicest saint ever roll their eyes.
Obviously enough, Toji barely feels anything.
His blue-collar built body can handle most anything, especially the weak yet disgusting punches of a human swine, but on the inside, he is fucking enraged.
It’s one thing to hit Toji; it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with from his racist or abusive or racist and abusive bosses, coworkers, or customers.
And anyways, he’d just match their energy if he deems the paycheque isn’t worth the abuse, and then he’ll fuck the night away and move on with his life.
But to get in the way of him trying to devour this delectable piece of meat in front of him?
When he was already sleep-deprived and horned-up beyond comparison at that?
To desecrate his skin with such vile and putrid hands while he was getting his own hands travel all up on the prettiest thing he’ll ever see in this forsaken town?
To get in the way of him trying fuck some ass…
That’s grounds for execution.
And Toji revs up the chainsaw and rains hell like a madman.
With a furious and disgusted snarl, Toji pushes you into the apartment roughly, but not hard enough to actually hurt you, thankfully, considering the abuse you already went through earlier.
Next, he doesn’t even give you a reassuring look; he just swiftly turns around as he wordlessly yet violently charges towards the disgraceful monster like a bull eager to kill.
And eager to kill, he is.
Before the man can even react, Toji pulls his fist back before landing a meteor mash of a punch to the center of the man’s face.
And you don’t know what noise made you recoil more.
Maybe it was the chilling sound of the man’s nose cracking into a million shattered pieces in just a second.
Maybe it was the pained howls of a man who sounds like he’s getting tortured in the 9th circle of Hell.
… God, it was probably both.
But the man didn’t even get the chance to fall to the ground in unbearable pain.
Because Toji, when held back from what he desires most, is a ruthless man with the speed of a cold-hearted killer.
Right when the man’s nose breaks, Toji then circles the man and lands a kick that could break a building into the center of the man’s spine, making the sound of another crack, sending uncomfortable shivers all over your skin.
And the strength of Toji’s kick was so strong that it sent the man, despite his surely snapped spine, hurtling into the wall of the apartment building, making him crash face-first into the hard wall.
And you hope you’ll never have to experience crashing into a wall with a broken nose because the garbled up and tortured noises of the man are haunting.
With bones shattered, teeth falling, a brain garbled up beyond repair, and most likely newly acquired life-ruining paralysis, the man wordlessly slides face-first down the wall, leaving behind a grisly trail of red as he descends.
It wasn’t like in those action movie scenes that you saw on the TVs behind the windows in the shops downtown when you were a child.
There was no intense music, there were no over-the-top sound effects, and there weren’t any exaggerated VFX.
This was a real-life killing.
All that was heard was fist and foot meeting body, the exerted huffs and puffs of the scar-lipped man, and the bloody and bubbly gurgles of the man responsible for this whole fiasco.
It’s terrifying.
You’re shaking like a terrified child as your fists clench the material of your jacket.
It’s not like you haven’t seen people get beaten to death before when you were homeless, but the switch in Toji’s demeanour was truly something.
But beneath the terror you feel, there’s something else.
Something so rare that you genuinely have to question if you're truly feeling the emotion right now.
Relief. For once, you’ve been saved.
After your father passed away, you either had to run away or outsmart someone if you wanted to guarantee your survival.
But finally, you can feel relief as someone defends you for once.
Life in this town is fucked-up.
And that is further exemplified by how your relief feels even more euphoric when Toji forces the almost-lifeless man onto his feet, and you see the bloody and irrecoverable mess that the face of your assaulter has become.
Surely, you will never have to worry about this disgusting waste of space harassing you at work anymore, and surely, you won’t have to worry about him trying to kill and have his way with your corpse anymore.
Uncaring if the man is even conscious enough to register the words he’s about to say, Toji speaks heartlessly, cruelly, and most of all, triumphantly.
“How does it feel knowing that no one will cry when you die?” He says, with a smug lilt to his words. “How does it feel knowing that instead, people will be relieved when your body is discovered? How embarrassing does it feel knowing that you lived such a pathetic life only for it to end in such a debasing way?”
The man doesn’t respond to the heart-stabbing line of questioning.
He probably can’t, if the way his eyes roll back into his head is any indication of how conscious he is.
“Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t answering. Hearing your shrieks was more painful than the beating I gave you. Trust me on that.”
The dark chuckle Toji lets out makes you shiver in fear… but also… in awe. In reverence. In attraction.
“I guess all that’s left to do is to give you the burial you deserve, yeah?” Toji says in a mockingly sad voice. “Any last words?”
…
The man’s body goes limp. He says nothing. For he cannot.
“Good. See you in hell, pig. I’ll beat you even worse there, for all of eternity.”
And with a gleeful grin, Toji puts a good amount of strength in his arms and thighs, flexing greatly as he lifts the man up high and throws the limp body through the window of the empty apartment next to him, the sounds of glass shattering and the body landing on the carpet floor next door letting it into sink your soul that everything that just happened was in fact, very real.
You just watched a killing in real time.
And through the fear, you feel relief and gratitude for the next-door neighbour you once hated.
In this shitty backwater splotch on the planet, Toji saved you from what could have been a grisly and dehumanizing fate, a death that probably no one would have noticed.
And for that reason, your heart races and you feel light and fuzzy from the gratitude you feel for the man who walks back into his apartment and approaches you, face stoic yet breathing heavily from exertion.
A man who just killed someone walking towards you should be a terrifying thing, and it is! Yet… rather than racing from fear, your hearts from various colours of excitement.
Gratitude, relief, appreciation, and… attraction are amongst the emotions you feel in this moment.
And that’s why, when Toji’s just a footstep away from you after slamming his door shut, you finally speak words to him that don’t come from a script being written in real time.
“Toji, thank you so mu-”
But before you can even say the words you desperately wanna say…
“GUH-”
He once again roughly shoves you against one of the walls of his dark apartment and forces his weight on you once more.
“Shut up.”
He says darkly as he gets back to letting his hands pervertedly dance all over and claim your body… as if he didn’t just brutally beat someone to death.
But still, the pleasure coming to you once more doesn’t hold back your shock at him telling you to shut up when you just wanted to say thank you.
“H-hah!~ S-sorry?” You ask breathlessly after having a moan forced out of you once more.
To that, he just sighs annoyedly as he plants kisses and marks on your neck. “Whatever you wanna say, keep it. I don’t give a fuck. I’m just here to take my payment for saving your gay ass.”
You gasp harshly when he roughly shoves his hands under your pants and boxes to cup your ass, squeezing your cheeks so hard that he’ll definitely leave bruises. “Ngh! I just wanted to say thank you for saving me-”
He cuts you off once more after he takes one of his hands out from under your clothes to SMACK your ass to shut you up.
He then grabs your hair with a hand and forces the back of your head to the wall, making you look deep into his vibrantly green yet… heart-stoppingly intense gaze.
“Save you?” He says almost incredulously. “Pfft, I guess you could say I did do that. But believe me… if you weren’t as hot as you’re lucky enough to be, then that loser wouldn’t have been the only dead body next door…”
…
And just like that, your heart stops.
But his hands do not.
Neither do his words, despite your shocked speechlessness at his unashamed disregard for others.
“I went through a bullshit week with nothing but work and no ass, and all I wanted tonight was to at least catch up on sleep. But fuck that, right? Of course, I had to be woken up. And not by some animal crashing into my door. No.” He leans even closer to you, his nose almost touching yours. “It was just a bunch of faggots taking their stupid drama to my door, of all places.”
The slur makes you flinch since he was clearly referring to you.
“T-That wasn’t drama, he-”
You tried explaining what happened. Not that you needed to. The guy literally admitted to stalking you.
But your desperate attempt to explain was cut short once again, as Toji literally covers your mouth with his big hand, one of the hands that just played a crucial role in murdering someone just a few minutes ago.
“Clearly I don’t care what actually happened, yeah?” He says with a harsh sneer. “All that matters to me is that a bunch of pansies were getting in the way of me trying to at least get one hour of rest. Believe me, you would’ve gotten the same beating that bitch got if you didn’t have a cute face and a nice ass.”
Your heart stops, and the warm and fuzzy feelings of gratitude you were feeling just a few minutes ago are gone in an instant.
The moonlight coming in from the window that once made him look like a knight in shining armour now made him look like a heartless predator.
“You wanna know why I did all of this, MC?” He says with a proud and hungry smirk. “It wasn’t because I cared for you as another human, nah. I saved you for the sole purpose of being able to fuck you myself.”
You breathe heavily through your nose, which thankfully isn’t covered by his hand.
“I was livid that there wasn’t any hot ass at the bar tonight, but thankfully a sexy piece of ass got delivered ri~ght to my doorstep.” He says, grinding his clothed erection into your clothed thigh. “Be thankful, kid. That face of yours saved you from a real bad time. And hey, you don’t have anything to be afraid of… This is me being nice.”
It’s at this moment that you learned something.
Toji might have saved you, but he’s not a good man.
He might have saved you, but he’s no different from the countless other heartless souls in this town.
He might have saved you, but not for the purpose of saving you, but rather to save your ass.
He only killed that man because he wanted to be the one to fuck you.
You thought you had finally found another maybe kind soul in this lawless land, but Toji, just like everyone else here, is just another man with ulterior motives.
He genuinely could have cared less if you died and got violated if he wasn’t attracted to you.
And for that reason, you feel tears from your eyes and glide down your cheeks and fall in between where the skin of his hand and the skin of your face meet.
But he doesn’t apologize for being honest. No. In fact, he likes seeing you cry. It makes his boner throb harder than before.
“What is it, kid?” He says almost mockingly. “You’re sad that the man who saved you isn’t the hero you thought he was? Is that it?”
He wears a gleeful grin that doesn’t suit the situation you’re in.
“You’re sad that I would’ve beaten the life out of you if I didn’t wanna shove my cock deep in your ass?”
Your heart’s pounding like a drum.
“Well, if you ask me, and as much as I just wanna lick them up, you’re wasting your tears.” He says, blowing air on your eyes. “What even is there to cry about? I saved your life, and now I wanna give you the railing of a lifetime. Sounds like a good deal to me…”
He isn’t a good man.
“Besides, I’d say you owe me this…”
He isn’t a hero.
“And hey, I know you’re a cocksucker. I mean, if your boner I felt while we were grinding up on each other earlier is anything to go off, at least.”
He would’ve left you for dead.
“You wouldn’t dream of telling me no… would you, MC?”
… No. You wouldn’t.
Honestly, despite the valiant and chivalrous image that you constructed of him just because he saved you has all been shattered and spat on… You truly cannot deny the rush that you feel in your veins alongside the painful tugs you feel in your heart.
And despite the aforementioned tugs you feel in your heart, it’s pounding like a drum for a reason.
Toji’s hungry, smug, and domineering gaze… it makes your blood rush, it makes you gulp nervously yet anticipatingly, and it makes your cock, that never lost its hardness, throb even more painfully in your pants.
While it’s true that you’re still a bit heartbroken over the fact that he unapologetically didn’t really care about you, his kisses and rough touches left searing burns on your skin that you desperately want more of.
The thought of your now-dead stalker tearing into your body made you want to vomit… but when it’s Toji, handsome, sweaty, and with a stain of blood on his sweatpants… You can feel your knees rubbing against each other, thinking of him, making you see stars.
You want him. And you want him. Bad.
Easily recognizing the look in a man’s eyes of a need to get railed, Toji moves away his hand that was covering your mouth and playfully tilts his head as he looks at you, already knowing what you wanna say, but eager to hear just how you’ll say it.
“Well, MC? What’ll it be…?” His tone is hypnotizing and chocolatey smooth.
“Please, Toji… make me forget everything that just happened to me tonight….” Your throat still hurts from the previous abuse, but that just makes your voice more breathy and soft. “Take my mind someplace else…”
Toji raises his eyebrows at that.
Well, that’s more eloquent than the words he’s used to hearing when someone wants his dick.
He’ll have to train you into speaking like a back-alley whore it seems…
“Yeah, baby?” He says, planting a hand on the side of your face, tracing your lips with his thumb. “You want me to make sure that you can’t think of anything else? I can do that… But I want you to be more specific. How do you want me to make you forget?”
God, he’s a devilish man. He knows damn well what you want. He’s just toying with his meal before he tears it into a million sweat-drenched and cum-slick shreds.
But you’re too infatuated with the dangerous man to defy him.
“God, just… please… I want you to fuck me, Toji…” You say breathily. “Make me just another of the people you make scream all night. Make me make my own ears ring from the sounds of my own cries… You can do that, right?”
… Fucking hell, he was wrong. You are a dirty little bitch. You just have more class, and all you needed was to be pushed off the deep end.
He didn’t expect a guy in a trashed-up jacket like you to have such a sexily seductive air when pushed, but… fuck if he isn’t into it.
“Kid.” He says, once again gripping your hair and making you look deep into his gaze. “I woulda done that even if you didn’t ask.”
Five seconds of silence. Five seconds full of silent communication and transmissions of consent.
“Well then…” You say excitedly, but still with a whisper. “Take me, Toji.”
He grins ravenously.
“Hell fucking yeah.”
But before he can plant his lips on yours once more, he gets shocked into stillness, as one of your hands travels up to wipe away blood on his cheek that he didn’t even know was there.
“I know you don’t wanna hear it, but… thank you for saving me, Toji.” You say, looking into his eyes with a warmth that he has never in his life had directed at him before. “You don’t know just how much that meant to me. Thanks for being my hero for tonight…”
And just like he isn’t familiar with the warmth in your eyes… he just as much isn’t familiar with this… disgustingly warm and fuzzy feeling that is spreading all over his chest, starting from his heart.
…
He ignores it.
“Pfft. Shut up, fag.”
And just like that, he once more plants his lips on yours, this kiss serving as the opener to tonight’s impromptu film.
The journey to Toji’s bedroom is short yet deliciously chaotic.
The current soundscape playing around the two of you consists of the essential melodies of your messy and lust-driven makeout, you two moaning and groaning at different pitches, and the sound of things falling to the ground as you both clumsily and passionately crash into whatever it is you crash on as he guides you to the room where countless people see stars.
And when your eyes were forced open from pleasure when he teasingly pinched your nipples under your clothes, the ray of moonlight coming in from Toji’s open windows gave you a glimpse of what the home of the man who’s about to fuck your brains out looks like while he resumes planting kisses on your neck.
Frankly, it’s a mess.
Not pigsty, degenerate mess, but this place can have better days.
It’s really just the clothes, and mostly discarded underwear, that somehow make a trail starting from the apartment door to his bedroom door that prevents this place from looking like a homely home.
Perhaps those are what lay forgotten when he and his hook-up of the night ferociously take off each other’s clothes as they devour each other on the way to his bedroom… something you and he are currently doing right now.
You also notice posters of what seem to be rock bands and Marvel superheroes (Pfft, ironic) on the wall around his television in the living room, where a bunch of retro gaming consoles are hooked up.
Honestly, save for the dirty clothes on the floor and the two empty instant ramen bowls on the living room table, it’s not too shabby a place for a man you’re about to have sex with.
SHOVE
“Guh!-”
But your attention is brought right back to Toji when he roughly pushes you past the doorway to his bedroom, making you stumble backwards and, luckily, land unceremoniously backwards onto his bed.
What immediately hits you as soon as you fall onto his bed is the faint yet masculine, testosterone-laden scent of sweat, musk, cologne, and previous sexual encounters on his sheets.
It’s nothing glamorous, and it honestly might be a testament to how he really doesn’t use his bedroom for anything other than sleep and sex, and as such, probably doesn’t exactly clean it that much.
But honestly, it’s a heady scent that screams of the virility, long-lasting stamina, and sexual prowess of a blue-collar and lowlife bachelor like Toji, who spends his prime years fucking like the hedonistic champion you’ve heard him to be, living right next to him for quite some time.
And you’d be a liar if the scent filled with his pheromones and raw, natural musk didn’t make you leak even more inside your boxers, making a noticeable dark patch in your work pants.
And from what you can feel on your hands as you clench the bed in anticipation for just what exactly it is that he plans on ruining you beyond repair, his mattress doesn’t even have a bedsheet, just one blanket and some pillows.
God, he really is a lowlife. But why does it make your heart pound even harder?
Why does shit like this make your cock even harder and want you to scream for him to breed you like a pathetic whore?
He’s a killer who doesn’t care about people, and his place is a mess, but why do you want him so fucking bad that you want him to fuck your brains out and make you his stupid bitch for the rest of your life!?
Oh, you know why. After all, you have eyes.
That handsome face that was made for movies and porn, unbefitting of a man who lives the life he lives.
That strong, buff, and sinfully proportioned body of his that belongs in men’s magazines.
…
That huge, long, and throbbing bulge in his gray sweatpants that looks you dead in the eye as he likewise lusts at the sight of you lying on his bed, all for him to destroy forever.
This is a man.
A delectable and prime example of male excellence.
And you want nothing more than for him to rearrange your insides and coat your skin in his semen and sweat.
The silence as you both get hungrier and thirstier as you stare at each other is broken, but not by you, but by Toji.
“Fuck. You have no idea just how sexy you are.” He says lustfully, closing his eyes and looking up at the ceiling and granting you the sight of his sexy neck muscles. It’s almost like he’s thanking whatever’s above for giving him such a rare and tasty gift. “No joke, MC, I’m gonna fuck you up so bad tonight.”
God, the sight of his body, the sound of his lust-filled promise, and the way his cock is begging to be freed from his sweat actually makes you grip the blanket in your hands with your knuckles screaming in pain that you don’t even feel, for the way you yearn for him overtakes any other sensation in your body.
“Do it then, Toji.” You say with desperate eyes and an even more desperate voice. “Make me forget everything that happened tonight as I asked you to. Whatever you have planned… I want it all.”
And just like that, he brings his eyes back to you, and he wears the smirk of a man who’s won at life.
“Your funeral.”
With that, he tilts his head seductively and grips the waistband of his old and low-hanging sweatpants.
And finally, after you two grinding on each other like beasts in rut, after feeling pulsing heat under soft fabric, and after hungrily eyeing his tent for what felt like a torturous eternity, Toji roughly pulls his pants down, kicks them away and walks in between your legs, with the moonlight shining on his body like a sinful spotlight.
And it’s in this moment that you realize that Gods do walk amongst the humans.
His cock, slick and wet from the pre-cum that oozed out as he kissed and groped you, slapped against his sharp abs and then pointed at you, lowering down because of its sheer weight, girth, and length.
Easily over 10 inches, standing straight and tall, a bit darker than the rest of his body because of the constant use it gets, and pink like a rose at his glistening tip, his cock would break records on the porn websites.
His balls, thick, plump, and perfectly proportioned to the size of his dick, bounce alongside his cock, heavy from the hot and creamy cum that churns in them at overtime.
Finally, his cock is framed perfectly by an untamed bush, black, furry, and surely potent with the musk of a man such as him, a testament to the low-effort life he lives.
And you’re not sure what’s drooling more, you or his cock as it throbs pornographically, leaking dewy drops of his pre-cum onto your clothed thighs.
Toji’s dick… fuck, you’ve said it before, and you’re sure you’ll keep thinking it throughout the night, but damn it makes sense why his nightly lovers shout at the top of their lungs in ecstasy.
The hardest battle in the world is deciding if you want to keep looking at his huge cock as it hypnotizes you with every bounce, or at his movie-star’s face, as he relishes the hungry and mesmerized look on your face that he’s seen many others wear before you.
“... Talk to me, MC.” He says, breaking the silence with an arrogant tone and a just as arrogant bounce of his cock. “You scared? In awe? Hungry? How does it feel looking at the cock that’s about to tear you a new one?”
You’re not sure how you haven’t passed out from the overwhelming rush of arousal that flows through your blood, veins, nerves, and skin, but it’s a good thing you didn’t.
You don’t ever want to look at anything else other than Toji.
“All of what you said, Toji, is perfectly accurate…” You say breathlessly in awe. “Your cock was made for sex… It’s no wonder I couldn’t sleep whenever you brought someone home…”
That gets an amused chuckle from him.
“Yeah… my bad. Honestly, you’re so quiet I always forget I have a next-door neighbour in this building.” He begins to stroke himself. “But that’s neither here nor there. This time… It’s your turn. How about you be a good boy and undress yourself for me…”
So it begins. And that’s how he wants to play.
He wants his prey to make itself vulnerable to him, to tear off its own skin so he can see the meat inside.
And who are you to deny a man like him?
With shaky hands, trembling from both nerves and anticipation, you eagerly unzip your work pants that are stained with condiments and Pepsi that a kid spilled on you earlier today.
Sadly, you couldn’t be undressing from something sexier like a date night suit, but it’s not like you’re about to have sex on an Alaskan King bed with silk sheets, so it’s all good.
You discard your pants, socks, and shoes onto the floor quickly, maintaining lustful eye contact with Toji as he strokes himself off with both of his hands to fully wrap around his fat shaft to the private show he’s earned for himself.
The sight of your thighs and throbbing bulge in your cheap Fruit of the Loom boxers makes Toji bite his lip in horny attraction, and he groans as arousal heats his body.
“You’re so fucking hot, kid. I have to keep asking myself if you’re real…” He says with a deep rasp. “But when I touch you…” He then takes one hand off his cock and rests it on your thigh, rubbing up and down and covering your skin down there with his pre-cum, marking you slick and wet as his property. “I’m reminded that I won something better than the lottery.”
“T-thanks…” You say shyly. You’ve been told you’re handsome before, but Toji’s salacious words, accompanied by claiming touches, make you feel like a goddamn deity being worshipped.
“Keep going.”
His command is your duty.
You then unzip your jacket and… well, you fold it carefully and place it gently under Toji’s bed so that it will be safe and unharmful from whatever the night has in plan for you.
Toji raises his eyebrows as you show that much care for a worn-out jacket, unlike your pants, which you discarded without a care, but whatever, he’s too horny to say anything about it.
You then unbutton your work shirt before pulling it over your head and discarding it the same way you did your work pants.
And before you can reach for your boxers, Toji stops stroking himself and looms above you as he grabs your waistband.
“This one’s for me…” He says with a dark whisper. “I’ll do the honours of undoing the ribbon to my gift.”
And despite the flowery and suave words, his actions are anything but those of a gentleman.
He roughly, almost like he didn’t care how harsh the friction would be on your skin, pulls your boxes down your legs and throws them behind him carelessly.
And now, here you both are, naked as the days you were born, and with the moonlight highlighting the details and features of your bodies.
To Toji, you’re the best thing he’s ever seen in this town, fuck, maybe even in his almost 40 years of living.
Being on your feet and moving all day is rough on you, but it definitely gives you some good definition to your body, and Toji wants nothing more than to explore your entire body with his hands and tongue, and cover you in marks and fluids.
Your waist, your shoulders, your neck, your thighs, your cock, and your ass, he eyes it all, and actually salivates in his mouth at the sight of his fallen angel.
“God, if only I knew earlier that someone like you was living right to me… I would’ve fucked you every day, morning and nighttime…” He says, almost wanting to punch himself at all the lost time.
His reverence for your looks makes you flush bashfully… but honestly, as amazing as it is to look at him as he looms above you… You want him, now.
So, with shyness and intention, you hook a foot around his calf and pull him towards you.
“Well then… make up for all that lost time, Toji…” You whisper as you look deep into his emerald gaze, a forest you’d happily get lost in for all of eternity. “I’m all yours.”
And just like that, he breaks, and the dam collapses.
With a predator’s growl coming deep from his throat, he grins appreciatively as he descends on top of you, holding himself up with his hands planted firm on both sides of your head.
His shadow claims you with its broad wings, and his sweat that drips onto you from above brands you as his, forevermore.
“Fuck yeah, you are.” He says, revelling in his recent catch. “And don’t fret, kid. As fucked up of a man I am, I want you to have a good time as well, so just…”
Without any warning and with the expertise of a lecherous man who’s surely done it many times before, he hooks an arm around your waist…
“… let me do all the dirty work.”
…and propels the two of you forward toward the headboard, and in the process, flipping the two of you around so that you’re straddling him.
The instant and rough movement makes you see in blurry vision for a bit as your hands are planted firmly on hot, smooth, and muscular shoulders for support.
And while you may have been on top of other guys before, sitting on Toji feels like sitting on a golden throne made kings compared to your last partners, bless their souls.
Here, you feel like you belong.
“Fucking hell, you look good on top of me, kid…” He says, appreciatively and lecherously fondling your pert asscheeks, jiggling them and giving them soft spanks. “I reckon I gotta lock you up so we don’t have to deal with pigs like the one I dealt with earlier, hm?”
You don’t say anything to that, out of fear that you accidentally say yes and he’ll actually go along with it…
You’re inclined that he might just be crazy enough to follow suit with his words.
“But, that’s for later…” He says, slightly shimmying his body further back so he can lay his head on a pillow with no case. “I think it’s time I shut the fuck up…” He effortlessly hoists you further up his body, making you hold onto the headboard so you don’t crash into the wall and stand up on your knees with them planted on both sides of his handsome face. “And make you cry in the best way…”
With his face under you, he has full access to your most private areas.
With the moonlight shining down on you both, your hard cock makes a shadow that covers his face, a pornographically obscene sight.
Toji, an animal ready to pounce, eyes his meal.
Such a perfect cock and ass… and it’s all his to devour, savour, and claim.
Yeah, he’s a lucky man.
“MC…” He says from below.
“Y-yeah?” You whisper shakily, entranced by the sight of him under you and antsy from your carnal need to get ruined.
He reaches his right hand towards his nightstand to grab an almost empty bottle of lube, plain and unscented.
He then flips the cap and pours a generous amount of clear slick onto his right hand.
“For what it’s worth, at least our night is going better than we thought it would, right. You’re still alive, I’m getting some ass… this really is the best ending, huh?”
He speaks playfully as he coats his fingers with the clear substance, opening and closing them and feeling the strings of lube that stretch and break apart.
“Heh…” You scoff, irritated but amused as he teases you despite having a faceful of ass and dick above him. “I could’ve done without the strangling and being assaulted while I’m dead, but… yeah, it’s not too bad here with you.”
For a few seconds, Toji taps his fingers in a crescendo-like sequence on your ass as he absorbs your words.
“Aw… I’m glad you feel that way…” He says with a smirk. But then he lowers his voice to a bassy and lustful timbre. “But, there’s something you have to know, MC.”
Something about his tone makes you gulp nervously.
“Um, w-what is it?”
“With you in my room, on my bed, and in my hands…” He speaks, moving his face closer to your intimates, getting into position… “‘Not too bad’ is the last thing you’ll be saying when I’m done with you…”
He then moves two of his wet and thick fingers closer and closer to your asshole, you shivering from anticipation and the feeling of his skin on yours.
“… Because I…”
SHLICK
“NGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!~”
“Never play nice.”
Immediately, pleasure, pain, and white spots you’ve never seen before wreak beautiful, indescribable havoc throughout your body and soul.
With the roughness of a ravenous beast, hot and hard in pursuit of pleasure, but the precision of an experienced lover, he SHOVES his pointer and middle finger right past your ring of muscle, avoiding tearing your skin and hitting your prostate like a bullseye.
“Fuck! Fuuuuck!” You can’t even control the volume of the profanities that leave you. That first instance of pleasure hit you like a rush from bad drugs, and you immediately feel your system craving another hit.
Despite the open window next to you, with the starry skies and the moon being your spotlight for the show, the stars Toji makes you see are blinding and shine brighter than those above you.
He hasn’t even taken his fingers out yet!
He just pushes his two fingers deeper, and deeper, and deeper into your sweet spot as if it’s a little balloon that he could pop.
“T-Toji! That’s too- wait!!! Too much!!!!” You’ve never heard your voice in this pitch before. But with how he’s swirling the tips of his fingers around the spot where your sweet spot is located, that’s for sure not the first unfamiliar sound you’re going to hear from yourself tonight. “I… I… Hah… I can’t handle it! PLEASE! Khh!- I can’t- HNGH-“
Just with his two fingers, he’s melting your brain. Just with his two fingers, he’s bringing new sounds out of you. Just with his two fingers, he’s turning you into his fucking bitchboy.
And what Toji sees and hears is easily better than whatever the Stairway to Heaven could’ve offered him if he were a good and virtuous man and not a sodomite manwhore.
Your hands long slipped off the headboard when he shoved his fingers inside of you. Now, your face is right on the wall as your brainless moans take up all the space in his room, and your sounds surround his head as if he’s wearing headphones.
Violently horny in a way he’s never been before, Toji’s thick and huge cock leaks sticky and potent pre-cum at such a factory-like rate that the slick slides down his long, pink shaft like hot candle wax.
His need to breed you, fill you up, and permanently expand your stomach with his semen makes his cock throb like a fucking metronome, the tip slapping against his stomach so many times that the precum begins to create a glazy layer on his pornstar abs.
And he hasn’t even rained hell on you yet…
Holy shit, you have no idea just how far down he’s going to take you to Hell.
“MC…” He whispers, hypnotized by the sight and sounds he’s creating with his own two fingers. “You’re beautiful…”
Such wholesome words… but don’t misunderstand.
They are being spoken from the most hedonistic and concupiscent of minds.
Such words are typically uttered lovingly by devoted husbands who see their lovers as godsent blessings and angels, but coming from a man like Toji, the dirtier he makes you, the scratchier he makes your voice, and the more he leaves his mark on you… The more stunning you become in his eyes.
And he wants more. He wants to see more. To hear more.
And so…
schlick schlick schlick
“Mm-mngh?!” Your constant stream of moans gets cut off by an abrupt shout that comes from your throat.
“Show me more of just how fucking beautiful you can get…” He whispers, looking at you from down under with animalistic hunger and glee. “Shout for me, kid!”
SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK FWOP FWOP FWOP
“GAH! FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCK, TOJI!!!~~~”
Like a machine, he begins to roughly, and with no regard for holding back his strength, fuck your hole with his thick fingers, sliding his big, long, and calloused fingers out before STABBING them right back in, the bones of his fingertips jabbing your prostate repeatedly and mercilessly.
He finger blasts your asshole so roughly, quickly, and blindingly that lube is splashing everywhere near your hole, coating and glazing your asshecks and falling onto Toji’s face like rain.
The sound of his fingers full-on assaulting your prostate and walls is nothing but full-on pornographic. It’s wet, squishy, and fleshy, in the best and raunchiest of ways, and fuck, Toji is just salivating at the idea of your wet plushiness hugging his huge cock like a glove.
“Yeahhhhhh~~~” Toji says with darkened eyes that have never been more alive, as he sees the result of his finger work. “Fucking faggot doesn’t even need me to ask if he likes my fingers… your screams tell me everything I need to know, hah!”
“Mmm!!!~~~”
For some reason, he felt you tighten around his violating fingers when he called you that offensive slur.
Ah, seems like someone has a thing for the taboo~
“Aw…” He says with a bully’s teasing but hurtful tone. Hah, not like he wasn’t one back in his young buck high school days. “Stupid fag can’t even speak anymore. But you don’t need to, yeah? You’re right where you wanna be, right? Getting violated by a big bad boy like all faggots want… you’re where you deserve to be.”
Fuck, you shouldn’t be loving the degradation and disrespect as much as you are right now… but it hurts your heart and makes your skin crawl in the best absolute way possible!
His vile words feel like the perfect delicacy to accompany his relentless assault on your prostate, and he isn’t even wrong. You can’t say a fucking word because you have moans being forced out of you so much that your throat is starting to hurt even more than earlier because of the overuse it’s getting.
SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK FWOP FWOP FWOP
“FUCK, MC!” Toji yells from underneath you, getting more and more fired and horned up as he feels your hole slightly loosen from his fingers going in and out and in and out and in and out of you at a military weapon’s fire rate. “Just what kind of sissies have you slept with? With the way you scream, I can tell you’ve never been with a real fucking man!” He SMACKS one of your cheeks so hard that it literally goes numb for a second. “What did those pansies do with you in bed? Nibble on your ears and kiss your cheek while they fuck you like a sad virgin? Hah! Fucking lame… No wonder you sound like you’re having the time of your life… You were messing around with sissies before you met me.”
Your past boyfriends were such sweethearts and kind lovers that his saying such mean words makes you want to defend them, but GOD, you can’t say a fucking word with how he’s literally attacking your prostate like it’s a gate needing to be destroyed by a battering ram.
And the pleasure you're feeling and the mind-broken state he’s forcing you into is starting to make you think that he might be right!
“Well, it’s a good thing we found each other, MC… One night with me, and no man will ever compare. You’ll never be satisfied with any other pansy out there. And besides, I’m never letting such a pretty piece of ass like you ever get away from me… I don’t even care if I have to call myself a faggot if it means keeping you forever…”
He then whispers, his breath and deep voice shaky just from how hard he’s finger-fucking you. “You like that, boy? You want me to be your faggot? I’ll do it, baby… I’ll be that for you… Just as long as I get to keep your bitchhole until we fucking die… C’mon, MC… tell me you want me to be your man…”
“Mng!! NGHHHH! ANNHHHHH!!!”
So hot. So fucking sexy.
Whatever it is he does, whatever it is he says, it just makes the already overwhelming and life-altering pleasure and pain you’re feeling get amplified even more!
Yes. Yes! Fuck yes!
He can be whatever he wants! He can say whatever he wants! He can do whatever he wants to you!
Just as long as he can keep making you feel as amazing as you do, your life is in his hands for all you care!
With all the willpower that you can pathetically muster as he shapes your body to his liking, you look down at him with your teary eyes, messed-up hair, and sweaty face, and give him the closest thing to a nod as possible.
And in giving him that, you made yourself his, just as much as he made himself yours.
Your bodies are the paper, and your sweat and pre-cum are the ink that fills in the dotted lines of this intimate contract.
And Toji, the man he is, wants to reward you for doing exactly what he wanted.
“Ha…” He scoffs affectionately. “That’s my boy…” He whispers…
Somehow, impossibly so, and as a generous gift from your new man, Toji FINGER BLASTS your prostate like a goddamn assault rifle, and this time without even warning you, with a third finger added to the mix.
Your voice by this point is a goddamn wreck, and it’s a wonder how you can still even manage to let anything other than pathetic wheezes out.
“Such a good fucking boy for me… Just the wayyyyyy I like it… Mhm~...” He says, his arm sore, his skin sweaty, and his voice shaky and hot from the exertion he’s putting his arm just to make you burst. “Let me see you fall apart, MC… Let me see just how crazy my fingers can make you go, mhm?~” Despite his shaky tone, his lustful and debonair timbre makes his sound sensual as allllll fucking hell.
And despite the mindless state you’ve been in, and despite the even more mindless state you’re going to be in, your instincts that come from being in the presence and arms of a skilled pleasurer like Toji force you to at least respond to him, even if it’s difficult as all hell.
“M-mm! Ple- Gah, shit!” You sound ridiculous. He loves it. “Ple-ease! I’m clo- ANGH~ I’m so close, Toji! More, more, more!”
He brings his face closer to your intimates, the scent of your sweat and natural musk threatening to make his eyes roll back in delight.
“You want me to make you cum, kid?” He says, his whispery timbre somehow louder than your moans and screams. “You wanna paint my face white with your jizz? Wanna dirty me like the trashy neighbour you always thought I was? You want the man who kept you up all those nights to make you scream like all my past bitches?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyesyESYESYES. I wanna cum!!”
And with your pleas and wishes more than known to him, he smiles a handsome smile before…
“Alright then~.”
He closes the distance between his face and your asshole and begins to assault your hole with his hot, wet tongue alongside his three strong fingers.
“Mmmmmmmm~ Fuck~ Hahahahaha~ You feel so soft on my tongue, baby…” He says like a rich man indulging in the most luxurious of delicacies, in between flicking his tongue around your pucker, giving you another layer of pleasure to fall apart as a result of. “So good… so fucking good…”
His voice is muffled from being underneath you and getting faceful of your balls, perineum, and ass, but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
He eats you out like a goddamn champion with years of experience under his belt, flicking the tip of his tongue on your pucker, sneaking the tip of his tongue into you with his fingers sometimes, and pushing his face up against you from underneath, the friction of his face providing just another never-ending assault of pleasure on your balls
The wet, slick, and slushy sounds of his tongue on your ass sound like something out of the spiciest porn videos as he makes it his mission to make your brain factory reset through sex.
The area where tongue and intimates meet is hot, wet, humid, sticky, slimy, and sweaty as he licks, fingerfucks, and claims you in his pheromone and testosterone-induced rut.
And not once does he slow down his warrior’s pace, despite his heavy breathing and straining muscles. He maintains his brutal and fast assault on your pleasure points; no amount of pain is great enough to stop him from making you melt.
You’re both as close as can be, so much so that you can feel the scar on his lips on your own skin, a testament to how entangled you have become despite having just formally met not even a goddamn hour ago.
And when just a few more minutes of debauchery and hot, wet, and sticky assault, you feel something treacherously amazing coming. It stems from your prostate, battered and happy, then it travels up to your stomach and down to your toes that are digging into Toji’s sweat-scented mattress. It makes your skin tingle, it makes the hairs on your arms stand, and coats around your impossibly hard and throbbing cock like a hot veil.
Never has the moment before an orgasm felt like this before Toji came into your life.
This isn’t a little campfire, it’s a goddamn inferno. This is no drizzle, it’s a goddamn torrent.
This isn’t just an orgasm, it’s the beginning of a new chapter in your once-dreary life.
“T-TOJI!!!~~~” You screaming against the wall, the surface wet from your sweat, drool, and tears. “I’m… I’M-!!”
And this is what he’s working so hard for, it’s what he’s been ignoring the flaming pain in his arm for, it’s what he’s been holding his breath until the point of passing out for, as he ate you out without pause, and it’s what he’s killed a man for tonight.
Seeing you cum.
“Do it then, MC.” He says, his voice raspy and lewd. “Cum for your man, hm!~ C’mon… c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby!!!!” His face is completely drenched in lube, sweat, and drool, and his hair sticks to his face as if he just went for a swim. “Cum… cum, cum, cum, CUM, CUM, CUMCUMCUMCUMCUMCUMCUMCUM, FAGGOT!!!!!!! CUM!!!!!!!!!!”
And as if his words were the key to the safe, as if your body had made itself respond to his command with absolute obedience, your body, finally, after such a horrible day and traumatizing night, let itself enjoy the greatest pleasure you have ever felt in your dreary life.
Upon hearing your screams, Toji grins like a madman and shuffles himself up from under you to bring his face right to your cock, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out for the meal he worked so goddamn hard for.
Like an erupting volcano, your cock, in burning blue and white-hot pleasure, begins to spew creamy and warm cum all over Toji’s handsome face and sweaty hair, painting and glazing his skin like the world’s dirtiest and most erotic piece of art.
Everything that makes him him gets covered in your cream, claiming him despite his clear dominance over the entire night.
The scar on his lips, the dark circles under his tired eyes, his rough stubble from day unshaven, and his godly bone structure, all get covered in your essence, and Toji has nowhere he’d rather be. He’d drown in your semen if he could.
All the shit he’s gone through in life, and hell, all the people he heartlessly stepped on in life, and everything he did, mostly bad, it brought him to you.
His getting evicted and having to live in this dumpster hole because he fucked his previous landlord’s son in his office, it was worth it, because he is here on his dirty, sweaty and cum-drenched mattress getting his face jizzed on by the prettiest boy he just made his own.
The warmth of your cum feels like heaven on his tired and rough skin, the taste of your essence revitalizes his weary and bitter soul, and the grip of your hand in his drenches and now slimy hair makes him truly feel like he isn’t alone, despite his numerous nightly rendezvous on this very bed.
This moment is nothing like a picturesque love-making scene in a prime-time box office-smashing romance movie, nah, a visual like this belongs on some porn scene in the dark web, only for the dirtiest and depraved of men to jerk off to.
But for him, in his semen-glazed euphoria, maybe he finally found out what it’s like to feel… something like love, maybe.
And you, you’re not sure if you’re dead or alive.
Are you in heaven because of the sheer pleasure, euphoria, and ecstasy you’re in?
Have you been rewarded by the gods for persevering and gritting your teeth and surviving despite all the bad cards you’ve been dealt in life?
Fuck, you don’t know.
But all you do know, as you scream like a whore, shoot semen like a geyser, and shiver in delectation, jubilation, and rapture, is that you wouldn’t want to die any other way… in his hands.
In a way you never have before, and with neither you nor Toji knowing how much time has passed, you just keep on shooting and painting Toji’s already fair skin even more white and creamy, your essence marking your newfound man with your scent.
It’s beautiful, it’s filthy, it’s debaucherous, it’s amorous, and if only it could last forever…
…
But Toji is no merciful man.
And he wants to make it last forever.
So, while you’re still shooting cum and moaning up a storm, Toji, with a pearly white and cum-shiny grin, wipes his face with the hand that was fingers-deep in your ass, coating his fingers in your milk before he sneaks it back under your and towards its rightful place.
And with no warning, or even giving you the mercy of a short rest, he JAMS in four fingers this time, the addition of pinky stretching you out even more.
You’re oversensitive, you’re overwhelmed, and you’re overstimulated.
Even more so, considering you just had the orgasm of 10 lifetimes combined, so when Toji goes back to finger-fucking you despite the absolutely delicious shambles your body is in… your vision genuinely goes dark. Your head feels heavy and dizzy as you scream and cry brainlessly against the wet wall.
But in addition to the even more overwhelming fingerblasting you’re getting from your man, Toji, groaning in arousal, licks his lips appreciatively before taking your hot, wet, and slick cock into his warm mouth.
“MM-MMM-MMMHHMHMMMM!!!!~~~~~~”
In appreciation of your taste and slick heat in the mouth and in teasing of your continuous pleasured noises, Toji hums and chuckles as he plays with your cock with his big tongue.
The taste of your cum on your tip and your pre-cum on your shaft gives Toji a heady mixture of delicious flavours, and he loves to have a lollipop to suck on as he savours the world’s greatest treat.
Contrary to his amazing tongue work and ability to completely take your entirety in his mouth, Toji has never sucked cock before.
Just because he chose to only fuck men didn’t mean he was ever down to do the real faggot shit; he didn’t ever want to debase himself like that.
But for his newfound property? For his little faggot? For his new boy?
God, if it makes you feel good and makes you scream like a back-alley whore, he’ll do whatever.
Guided only by the memory of what his past encounters have done to him, he plays with your cock with expertise, a testament to his talents in the bedroom.
He swirls his tongue relentlessly, swirling it up and down your tip and shaft so quickly and lecherously that it genuinely feels like you have multiple tongues licking your cock.
He bobs his head up and down roughly and rapidly, making it feel like he’s fucking your cock with his mouth, his warm, hot flesh feeling like a dream, and the gentle grind of his teeth providing jolts of ecstasy that make you twitch as if you’re getting electrocuted.
And his deep voice as he moans, rumbles, and chuckles in arousal, appreciation, and euphoria provides a sensation that vibrates and reverberates around your entire cock like a goddamn sex toy.
For this being his first time sucking cock, he’s cemented himself as nothing but a goddamn sex god.
And it’s no surprise that once your eyes start rolling back, especially after such a life-changing orgasm earlier, you can feel that familiar rush coming back once again.
“T-TOJI- A-AGAIN!!!~ I- AH! I CAN FEEL IT AGAINNNNNN~.”
It’s just as intense as before, and you’re filled with just as much anticipation as before as that tidal wave approaches you once more.
You need it! You want it! You’ll die for it! You’ll-
“NGHH?!?!?!?”
But, to your dismayed surprise, Toji does something brand new.
As you got closer and closer to shooting your semen like a fucking firehose once more, Toji could tell.
The way your cock throbbed in his mouth even more, the way your hole tightened around his fingers oh-so-tightly, and the way your entire body began shivering and trembling… He’d be an idiot not to be able to tell you were about to erupt.
But Toji… he wants to see you in all your filthy glory.
Whatever sight is possible and within his reach, he’ll make sure he can make you do it.
So, just as you were about to shoot, he PRESSED the tip of his tongue extremely firmly against the slit of your tip, preventing you from spewing semen despite the overwhelming amount of pleasure you’re feeling.
And you just begin the tremble and shake even more above Toji, as your body is denied that rapturous release that you for sure felt approaching.
“W-w–Whyyyyyyy~~~...” You begin to sob stupidly as you feel the pleasure but are denied release on his terms. “I wanna… I wanna… I WANNNA!!!~~ NGH!!!~”
Your sad whines soon become those familiar moans as your body, as expected, becomes overtaken by pleasure, attacking you on all sides.
His fingers fucking you and opening you up beyond repair as a pace that some might deem evil, his tongue and throat that suck you off so hungrily, one might think he’s trying to suck the skin of your cock off, and his voice sending sex toy vibrations on your cock that spread throughout your body, FUCK, YOU NEED TO CUM!
But… you can’t…
Not with the tip of his tongue pressing against your slit like a fucking plug.
Why… Why is he torturing you like this? You’ve been nothing but good for him?
You listened to every word and followed every command!
So, why?
WHY?!?
And the worst thing is, you can’t even say anything about how frustrated you are.
The pleasure is so insane that you cannot speak, no matter how much you want to.
And… even if you could say something… maybe your submission towards Toji would prevent you from defying, opposing, or fighting back against whatever it is he chooses to do to you.
But, little do you know, Toji isn’t trying to torture you… mostly.
No, it’s all part of his scheme to see something even greater than your previous orgasm, which, yes, is entirely possible if his tongue and hands are involved.
He wants to see something even hotter, feel even dirtier, and get even wetter.
Oh, you aren’t ready… he’s got heaven doors ready to be opened for you.
After a few more seconds of agonizing but delightful torturous pleasure and denial… You feel something different happening in your body.
Something feels… off.
And you begin to squirm uncomfortably despite the overwhelming pleasure.
“Toji?! T-TOJI?!” You say in alarm and panic, the feeling in your lower stomach and cock getting stronger and stronger and completely unstoppable. “Something feels weird!!!!! It feels weird! FUCK! It FEELS LIKE I’M GONNA- NGHHGNGHHHHH!~ NONONO!~.”
You feel it in your shaft, something’s coming out. Something you cannot stop… not that he’d let it stop.
Is this what rocket engineers feel when they’re about to see a rocket launch up into space successfully?
Is this how one feels when he’s about to see a marvellous feat in human history?
Pfft, who knows, he doesn’t give a fuck about that shit.
But what he’s about to see is gonna be something he’ll keep in his own personal science book stored deep in his mind, for he’s pushing the limits of your body tonight.
Feeling your body shake even more, your cock throb and pulse maniacally in his mouth, and hearing your words devolve back into unintelligible nonsense… Toji deems it time.
And with the big red button right in front of him, Toji full-on roundhouse kicks it with all of his power.
All at once, he STABS your abused prostate with his fingers with all of his strength, and he finally… removes his tongue from your slit and positions his face in front of your cock once more with his mouth wide open.
And just like that, the dam shatters into dust, resulting in a tsunami.
PSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH
You can’t even scream as your body goes completely limp against the wall.
All you can do is tremble undignifiedly as your body is pushed to the absolute extreme.
Your cock doesn’t shoot this time.
It fucking squirts.
You’re not shooting semen this time, you’re violently shooting a clear and hot liquid like you’re fucking pissing.
And your body, soul, and goddamn existence feels like it’s approaching death’s door.
The tip of your cock is so overwhelmed and overpleasured by the friction of your squirt rubbing against the slit that you can feel what feels like a micro-orgasm accompanying your current one, and it’s a WONDER that you’re still fucking conscious.
And Toji… well, he feels like he’s on Heaven’s Throne.
With eyes blissfully closed and his mouth open and receiving, he basks in all that he's forcing out of you, like he’s taking a hot shower.
His hair is wet, his skin is wet, and his fucking pillow, blanket, and mattress are SOAKED, and he’s convinced that this is better than winning the lottery.
Like a man parched, and he honestly was from the mind-breaking sex he’s been giving you, he drinks up your liquid like it’s clean water from the purest and highest of glaciers, swallowing your warmth down his throat and feeling it travel down to his stomach, before opening his mouth once more and feeling your liquid fill him up in the most filthy and sinful of ways.
You taste like a dream… a wet dream, in the most literal of ways.
And all while this happens, you actually go faint for a few seconds, your body going into emergency mode and needing just a few seconds of rest just so that you don’t actually fall apart as you’re pushed to the sexual limits, toeing the line very dangerously because of Toji.
You’re alive… in the sense that your blood is still running, still breathing, and still squirting, but your brain is fucking fried.
The moans, whines, and screams you let out are brainless and stupid, your eyes are rolled far back, and your body is limp.
But despite your state, you have never been as blissed out as you are right now.
This is heaven, despite what it may look like, and you don’t ever want to fall back to Earth.
But alas, you must come back to Earth as your blinding orgasm ends and your vision slowly becomes less cloudy, as your ferocious stream gradually turns into a sad little trickle… and as your body begins to limply fall backwards onto the bed, your back about to fall unceremoniously onto Toji’s legs.
But the attentive man he is, Toji, soaked and satisfied, quickly surges forward, catching you in his arms, and letting you collapse ungracefully on top of him and in his wet, slippery embrace.
Your naked bodies are so wet that it looks like you both went for a swim… when in reality, you’re covered in just sweat, while he’s covered in drool, cum, sweat, and squirt… It’s absolutely filthy, obscene, and surely disgusting to normal people who live in actually safe cities or towns… but for you and him, it’s pure delight.
The single pillow, single blanket, and mattress below you two are drenched completely, soaked in all the aforementioned fluids and probably needing to be burnt once this night is over, but it’s where you two are creating a memory that you both hope will never die, even when you’re in your final seconds.
This isn’t the after-events of a romantic date night, with silk sheets and rose petals scattered on the bed.
Nope. All that’s here is a drenched and further desecrated mattress, a single nightstand that Toji got from a dump, scattered clothes on the ground, and a dead body next door… but it honestly, it suits two men like you who already live in a shithole.
It’s nothing romantic… but it’s yours and his.
…
But here’s the crazy thing.
Toji isn’t done.
Of course, he isn’t.
Because while you saw stars, galaxies, and universes that no one else has seen in your euphoric and orgasmic flow state, Toji’s painfully hard and virile cock remains blissfully tortured.
It was beautiful to turn you into his own personal fountain, the epitome of how sex can be artistic and filthy.
But as he feels you pant like a bitch on top of him, as he feels your face bury itself into the crook of his neck in search of comfort, and as he feels your slippery and wet cock rub against his abs, almost like you’re begging him for more, he decides that it’s finally time to put himself first and chase his own euphoria.
And by this point, he’s done with words.
Just as brainless as he made you, the sight of you, the feel of you, and the taste of you just as well devolved him into a beast, one who feels no need to warn or ease you into anything.
And so, with nothing being said, just his hands gripping your ass and his huge cock pressing its tip into your loosened hole… all he can do is pat your ass cheekily and… affectionately before he…
FWOP
“Mmmmmmmm!!!!!!!~”
“Fu~ccckkkkkk, yeah!”
… shoves the entirety of his thick, long, meaty, and more than 10-inch cock balls-deep right up into your asshole.
And terrifyingly yet blissfully so, it fills you up WAY more than his four fingers did.
You can feel your hole stretching even more to accommodate his huge and actually invasive size, but fuck, it feels even better than his fingers did, and he hasn’t even started fucking you yet!
His huge cock is hot, wet, and it fills you up perfectly as it pulses and throbs so violently inside of you that it’s almost like his dick is a fucking vibrator, and that’s just a testament to how horny he is and how badly he needs to breed you, ruin you, and abuse your prostate for his own pleasure.
“Fucking hell, baby… you’re so tight for me… so wet for me… so hot for me…” Toji is holding one of your asscheeks hard with one hand as he pushes his sweaty and squirt-wet hair back as if he just came back from a swim with the other. “... So good for me… You’re all mine, yeah, MC? This hole belongs to your next-door neighbour, mhm?”
Toji doesn’t realize the colour his voice is speaking in as he whispers roughly and possessively next to your ear.
In the bed, he’s always been mean, merciless, ruthless, and rough, even if he had pleasuring others in mind.
And he certainly has been all of those things with you.
But with you in his arms, and him covered in all of you, he can feel that familiar feeling he felt earlier when you thanked him with such… warm eyes.
And it’s weird.
And he doesn’t want to acknowledge it.
But… It’s not like he’s been given the opportunity to.
Because, unexpectedly to him, you move your face out from the crook of his neck to look at him in the face, and this time, he’s the one being worshipped.
Even with your hazy vision and with just some moonlight shining down on your filthy show, he looks just as handsome as he did when he saved you from a horrible fate.
He’s a vulgar mess, no doubt about it… But wow, is he as handsome as ever.
As he stares at you with wondering and expectant green eyes, you’re in awe at how he somehow looks even sexier in his messy state.
He shines from how drenched he is, his skin glossy and glistening with saliva, lube, jizz, and squirt, a beautiful sight painted with the most salacious of paints.
Clear liquid and cum glides down his face and drops from his chin like honey and milk, a mask he’s proud to wear.
His once soft black hair that previously fell to give him a charming, low-effort look is now soaking wet and pushed back, giving him a surfer’s look in the filthiest of ways.
It isn’t wholesome in any way, shape, or form… but somehow, for you, the sight of him made your heart sing and feel all fuzzy inside.
It’s one that you made together.
And despite the answer to his words being the most obvious thing in the world and truly not needing to be said… You press his forehead to yours in tired affection and whisper as you look into his bewitching green stare.
“I’m yours, Toji…” You say with warm eyes and a tired but adoring voice. “Forever as I wish and for as long as you command, I’m yours.” And perhaps in a quick moment of cheekiness, you say one more thing. “And again… thank you for saving me. I’ve never felt luckier.”
And with that, you plant your lips on his, kissing the neighbour that you used to vehemently resent, kissing the man who saved your life from a grim fate…, giving yourself to the man who made you his own.
And despite Toji exactly what he wanted to hear from you, he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, for your words, once again, made that unfamiliar and annoyingly uncomfortable warm and fuzzy feeling come back to his stomach and heart.
He doesn’t do feelings.
He won’t.
He can’t.
He never wanted to!
So why?
Why do you, the little runt who lives next door, who happens to have the prettiest face and cutest ass in this entire town, make him feel such fucking disgusting things whenever you thank him?
…
And despite how disgusting and wrong such warm feelings feel to him… why… why doesn’t he hate it?
He can’t say it’s love.
A selfish, vile, hateful, and harmful man like that cannot love after all the shit he’s said and done throughout his life.
But as you kiss him like a boy devoted to his saviour, and as he feels you all over him in body and substance… maybe he can admit that… he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you.
For the first time in his life, he found someone he wanted to hold when the dirty dance is all said and done.
And that is something he cannot deny that he loves.
And with that discovery made deep inside as you kiss him like a lover, Toji grips your hair with one hand tightly and shoves his finger back inside you and…
“I’ll never let you go, MC…”
PLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAP
“AAANHHHHHHHHHH~!!!!!”
“MMMMMMMHMMMMMM!!!~”
… begins to JACKHAMMER your asshole and prostate with his huge cock at a blindingly fast pace with the most merciless amount of strength possible.
As expected, despite the warm feelings in the air, soft and sweet was never Toji’s style in bed.
No, he doesn’t make love, he destroys and ruins.
He fucks you so hard and quickly from below that every time he pulls out and fucks back up into you like a machine set at maximum power, all that can be heard in his small and almost empty room is the deafening BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM of his hips slamming into yours like a freight train.
He’s so ballistically rough that when he fucks up into you, you legitimately fly up in the air just a little bit high enough to slam down onto his cock and meet him on the way down when he thrusts back up.
And as you two make out with each other like ravenous and insatiable lovers, as your hips continuously slam into each other, you both moan like absolute, brainless whores as you savour each other’s presence and bodies in the best of ways.
The pheromone-infused and musky haze that floats around you two as you fuck each other’s brains out ferociously and passionately is hot, the scent of your beastly sex floating around you two like a heady and musky cologne that’s warm, cloudy, and so rawly man and primal.
Neither of you can talk anymore, but you don’t need to, for your bodies and actions convey any possible message either of you wants to say to each other.
The way you hug Toji as you make out with him, getting your fluids all over your skin, speaks of your newfound adoration for this bad man.
And the way Toji grips your hair, brutalizes your prostate with his cock, fingerfucks you along with his cock… well, that’s just him being him, but he isn’t just being fuelled by the insatiable beast that is his libido. His newfound feelings also serve as gasoline to his engine, making him fuck you as hard and fast as humanly possible for a strong man like him.
And somewhere in this drenched, debauched, musky, hot, humid, and testosterone-ladened bedroom in a shitty apartment building in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, the tiniest spark of romance was born most unconventionally.
…
And, Toji can’t say that he hates it.
He’s not sure he can say who’s luckier.
Him for finding such a prize despite being a horrible man?
Or you for managing to snag his worship and devotion with just some sweet words and a nice smile?
Maybe both of you, actually.
Who knows.
He can’t believe that with just a little bit of time, he went from telling you that he wouldn’t have saved your life if you were ugly to wanting to, at the very least, sleep in the same bed with you tonight after all this is over.
He’ll probably, and deservedly in his opinion, be in the ground six feet under or bleeding to death in some alley from gunshots or stab wounds before he could ever utter such honest words to you… But for now, he grips your hair less tightly, a small step but one that he easily notices himself taking.
But regardless of his slow acceptance of his feelings, if he can even call them that, he’s still at his core, a hedonistic, pleasure-chasing deviant, and something like feelings won’t slow him down or soften his assault on your prostate.
Hell, his newfound appreciation not just for your body, but also for you as a person, makes his pleasure feel even more vivid and real.
Your slick, wet walls, despite the constant loosening they were subjected to, still hug, cling, and rub the entirety of his huge dick like a wet dream. Your slippery, hot, and fleshy softness makes his eyes roll back as he makes out with you and makes his tongue dance in messy circles with yours.
In this moment, you’re not both just on cloud nine.
You’re soaring high in the cosmos together.
And with the stars, moon, and dark sky being your backdrop on this passionate dance… your mutual pleasure begins to ascend higher than the stars that watch you.
Toji’s thrusts grow shaky, clumsy, and stiff, although he still maintains his power, and you can’t even ride him anymore, letting yourself be carried by his cataclysmic force… an indicator that in just a few seconds… you’re both about to explode like dynamite.
“Baby… BABY- GAH…! SHITSHITSHIIIIII~TTTTTT!” He, unfortunately, forced his lips away from yours ever since you started kissing him. The feeling of his impending orgasm made him bury his face in the crook of your neck in overexerted desperation this time. “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum, ho~~~~ly SHIT, I’m gonna cum!”
His words and thrusts turn you on like nothing before, and you cling to him like a lifeline as you feel your third orgasm of the night threatening to tip you over the edge once more.
“MMMM! Me too!” You cry into the pillow, your voice muffled by the wet thing but still audible to Toji. “Fill me up, PLEASE! Cum in me, Toji!~ Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, I’ll be your good boy forever if you fill me up, fuck, I just want you so bad, I never want to be anywhere else if it isn’t with you, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!!~~~~~”
“FUCK, BABY!!!” He shouts in the crook of your neck in ecstasy, the volume of his voice so loud that it vibrates on the skin of your neck. “Anything you want, kid, it’s yours. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it… You want me to fill you up and paint your slutty little insides white the same way you painted my face? GOD, I’ll do it!!!! WHATEVER YOU WANT, MC!!!!~”
Flesh slams into flesh, getting louder and louder and louder as your orgasm approaches.
Voices become scratchier and raspier as you both shout, moan, scream, and groan like madmen possessed by lustful demons.
It’s hot, it’s sosososososososo fucking hot, it feels like a goddamn sauna in here despite Toji’s window being open.
And though it’s been a long time coming, that oh-so amazing but torturous begins to bloom deep in your lower stomachs and cocks.
The combined volume of Toji’s violent thrusts sounding like thunderclaps in his room, your wet and lustful acapella duet, and his bed creaking for dear life actually begins to make both of your eardrums hurt, but neither of you cares.
For as you both come closer…
“MC!!!!!!!!! AW, FUCK, I CAN’T- FUCK! TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKEITTAKEITTAKEIT, FUCKING TAKE ITTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
… and closer…
“TOJI, AGAIN!!!! I’M GONNA CUM AGAIN!!!!~”
… and closer to the end of the night…
All that you can hear is both of you nearing the edge of glory.
And neither of you wants anything else.
For when you finally approach the edge, and jump off with your hands held tight and your bodies pressed against each other like lifelines…
Your voices that reach their breaking points as you desecrate each other’s bodies with hot semen are what you keep present in the moment and remind you that you’re in this beautiful and vivacious moment as your bodies ascend in orgasmic glee.
His voice, dark, devilish, and uncaring when you first met him, is now a beastly and desperate roar as he shoots generations of his seed into your asshole, his load thick, heavy, hot, and dense, from all the build-up, foreplay, sex, and realizations that transpired before this life-altering moment.
Your voice, terrified, scared, and scratchy from almost being strangled to death, is now utterly blissed out and jovial as you cum for a third time tonight, and though it shouldn’t be possible, the load that shoots out of your over-worked cock is just as thick and voluminous as your first, a testament to just how good Toji railed you.
Toji might as well consider himself a new man with how right cumming inside of you and painting your insides white with his male essence felt. You’re farrrr from the first guy he busted a nut into, but he has, never, not once in his life, felt this connected to someone in bed before.
Is kindness or, hell, even just hearing a thank you, really that rare in this town?
Has his life been so shit that he immediately became infatuated with the one person who ever showed kindness?
… Yes, yes, it has been, and it made him just as shit of a person.
But that’s in the past. He’ll probably be just a trash of a human as he always has been, but maybe for you… He’ll tone it down ju~sssstttt a smidge.
As soon as your orgasm started, you once again went limp, but lying on top of Toji as you began to splash your cum felt both wholesome and dirty like a filthily perfect combination.
The grip on your hair that comfortingly scratches your scalp, the other hand that’s now gripping your waist and holding you impossibly close to him, and the endless amounts of prime jizz that fills you up and brands you forevermore, it shouldn’t feeling loving… but a part of you can’t help but feel like the way he touches you now is, and it’s so barely noticeable that you’re convinced you might be delusional, is softer, more tender.
This moment in your always painful, tragic, and fucked-up life joins the little cardboard box in your head containing the few moments that made you smile and hold close to your heart.
Being in each other’s arms, covered in each other’s essences, and shivering in ecstasy and catharsis as your orgasms die down… it evokes such a warm and happy feeling in your heart, that despite the events that transpired leading up to this moment… you’re grateful that those horrors led you here, to him.
As you lie on top of Toji, hot, panting, and surely not the image of elegance, you know you’re happy where you are.
Yes, the man whom you’ve given yourself to is definitely no prince, and he probably will never be considered the way he talked to you earlier, and the man he killed earlier might not have even been his first, with how swiftly he did it.
But as he wordlessly yet gently grabs you by the hair, pushes you back, and makes you fall onto the foot of the bed and gets on top of you, and gets ready to fuck you missionary, making it clear that he isn’t going to give you a break, you realize that…
PLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPALPLAP
… You don’t need a prince.
You just need him.
4:42 AM
On the floor and sitting by the side of his bed, Toji rests his head back in relaxed yet feral on his drenched mattress as he grips your asscheeks hard and manually SLAMS you up and down and up and down and up and down on his cock that’s still just as hard as it was when the night first started.
5:06 AM
You both got so insanely dehydrated and drained that you had to beg Toji, while he made you fuck your cock against his abs as he jerked off like a fucking pervert, for a glass of water.
And what did he do?
He picked you up, stood up from his bed, IMPALED you on his cock, and began slamming you up and down his shaft once more while he walked out of his bedroom and to the fridge in the kitchen to fetch plastic water bottles for both of you.
He then drank some water for himself, and rather than letting you drink from the bottle as well, he, with his mouth still full, forced your lips open with his mouth and kissed you.
Immediately, your mouth was filled with water, saliva, and whatever human essence Toji still had in his mouth, but your parched self was desperate, so you drank the filthy mixture.
And Toji repeated the dirty yet affectionate act again and again and again, until you weren’t thirty anymore…
Only to drain you once more as he violently palmed the tip of your cock as he fucked you and made you squirt once more all over him and yourself with your back against his fridge.
5:47 AM
As the sun slowly came up while Toji was skull-fucking you and making you cry in pain and pleasure, a nasty idea came into his head.
And as a result, he’s now blowing your brains out with your body resting on his windowsill.
As you're getting your insides rearranged irreversibly, the lower half of your body is still inside and getting violated beyond repair, and your upper half?
Well, all you see as you get fucked with your head hanging outside Toji’s window are the green trees that surround your apartment building.
Thank God, you both live in the middle of nowhere, because someone definitely would’ve been able to hear your pleasured and brain-dead moans and screams as Toji rails you into a new life.
6:30 AM
With the sun rising and the sky turning blue, that’s when the rest of the world comes alive and gets ready to tackle the day.
But alas, even primal beasts like Toji, and yourself, as you have discovered, are still just human, even if it sure hasn’t felt like it for the past few hours.
Endless exertion later, non-stop rounds of hard sex later, and gallons of semen, spit, and sweat later, all you two can manage together as you tiredly chase your final orgasms of the morning is a soft and intimate frot.
Once again, as you two have made it your signature position, you're on top of Toji as he holds you tight with one hand in your hair and the other on your waist.
Your cocks are tired, not as hard as they were when the night was dark, and your balls barely have anything left in their reserves, but that final, trickling amount of arousal you still feel in your exerted bodies drove you to chase just one shot of ecstasy.
“Toji… are you okay?” You ask, not strong enough to still rub your against Toji’s as hard as he does.
In response to that, Toji kisses your drenched neck that’s covered in who knows what at this point. “Shut up, kid…” He says roughly. “I should be the one asking that… but yeah, I’m good. Uh… you good, then?” He says, quietly, not at all used to ever asking someone that.
“Mmm… good.” You say tiredly, his muscular body feels like a bed of its own. “M-mm!~ I think, fuck, I think I’m gonna cum soon…”
It’s faint, but it’s there, that very little jolt indicating your final leap into the depths.
And he feels it too, fuck, it might even hurt a little bit with just long and hard, how hard he fucked you non-stop for a few hours and until the sun came up.
Compared to when it was still nighttime and pitch-black outside, the morning sun coming into his room and shining down on you makes you look angelic, and the sight softens his rocky heart just a little.
“Mine.” He thinks to himself. “And if any fag ever tries to touch him again, I’ll shoot the bitch in public if I have to…”
And that little rush of possession drives him to push himself to the absolute limit to make you cum just one more time.
His powerful body is screaming and yelling in pain, but he doesn’t care. If he can just hear you cry in pleasure in his arms one more time today, it’ll all be worth it.
And so fucks, and fucks, and fucks his cock against yours, roughly as always but unfortunately much slower despite his best efforts.
But for you, it’s just enough.
The hot, slimy, and wet friction of his huge shaft grinding against yours feels divine, the scratch of his bush provokes jolts of pleasure on your shaft, and the way his skin rubs against yours makes you feel like the center of his world, and all this combines to create one final rush of heaven.
“Hnggggg!~”
“Aahh……… Haha… fuck, yeah…”
Neither of you can scream in delight as you splurt only two to three shots of cum on each other’s cocks, only able to groan hoarsely, but honestly, the warmth you feel in your heart for Toji overshadows the orgasm this time, his arms wrapping around your tired body as the sunlight keeps you warm as well, feeling like happiness, something you rarely ever feel.
And just like that, here you two are after everything was said and done.
The scene is filthy and pornographic yet serene.
Both you and Toji, after hours of endless sex, are drenched and shiny in sweat and cum and whatnot, and your bodies are just we all decorated from head to hip in scratches, bite marks, hickies, and bruises, and the bed is beyond saving, soaked, squishy, and stained from the dance that ensued and the fluids that came out like fountains.
Your hole leaks Toji’s cum nonstop, and Toji is probably gonna have to use up a whole bottle of Pantene shampoo to clean his hair. All in all, you’re both an absolute and fucked up mess.
But despite the disgusting result, the heavenly and indiscriminate morning sun shines down on both of you, keeping you warm and making you both look serene and like a dream in each other’s eyes.
And the unexpected connection you two have found and solidified after such a chaotic night, it feels like one that will last, because neither of you refuses to ever let the other go.
You have finally, despite the terrifyingly rocky start, found someone who cares, because of certain qualifications, but whatever, that you stay alive.
Toji has finally, after almost 40 years of living recklessly, selfishly, and cruelly, found someone who just knows how to show a smile because they were grateful.
God, this town has ruined both of you so badly that such minute things have made you immediately latch onto each other so separately.
Kindness is so rare that when it’s shown, even with ulterior motives, it feels like meeting a hero.
But Toji… he isn’t your classic hero with a cape.
You’re about to fall asleep when you feel Toji shuffle from under you.
You open your eyes slightly, it being very hard to do so, considering how tired you are. You can barely see Toji reaching to his nightstand to grab a jar of… something.
“Toji…?” You whisper quietly, that being all you can muster. “What… what are you doing?”
“Shut up. Just be quiet, yeah? You sound horrible.”
Those words translated into normal human talk would be “Shh, don’t speak. Your throat must be in a lot of pain, so rest your voice.” But he can’t say that, not in a few years, surely.
You obey and watch him open the jar before he dips his finger in and begins to rub… something on your neck.
Immediately, you feel a cooling and calming sensation, and you remember that before your body was thriving in pleasure and divinity, your neck was in agonizing pain from the strangling you got earlier.
…
Your heart beats quickly.
You won’t say anything, for he told you not to, but it could make you cry.
With a soothing balm that he stole from the local drug mart to use for himself when manual labour whooped his ass, he rubs your neck gently, and then moves onto your red, fucked-out hole.
“Mmm….~”
“Heh, fuckin’ fag sounds all blissed out now~ Good boy… you took my cock so fucking well…”
His tired voice sends delighted shivers throughout your skin, and your hole feels immediate relief as he swirls his balm-covered finger around your rim.
You didn’t see this ever happening from him, and honestly, he didn’t either.
But when he opened his eyes as he held you and saw the red and irritated skin around your neck, his body moved before he even realized.
And yeah, he doesn’t give a shit.
He’ll treat you well.
He’ll surely still hurt others and probably kill someone if he looks at you the wrong way.
He’ll never be a good man, but for you, he’ll try to be cordial
He’ll never be a hero.
He isn’t your classic hero with a cape.
But…
He doesn’t need to be.
All he needs to be is yours.
And all you need to be is his.
Now, for when you wake up in 48 hours... burn his mattress first? Or burn the body next door first?
credit : @/3-aem [gojo art] | @/somebitchprobably-graphicdump [first two borders] | @/diviniyae [scene breaks, last border] | @/slipng [moth image]
pov : second-person [you / your / yours] | male!pov [he / him / his pronouns]
info : satoru gojo x servant!reader | the gojo clan's daimyo castle
synopsis : you were raised in the gojo clan as a servant; you were raised with coldness, you were raised with distance, you were raised a mindless being meant to serve your superiors. your mask stays on your face, a wooden barrier from the world of luxury. you're just like the others, always just like the others—a ghost among men. so why does that one member of gojo clan keep his six eyes on you every chance he gets?
in other words : you're a simple servant who was raised to serve the gojo clan. the mask on your face—and everyone else's—makes you just like that. you're all the same; satoru gojo seems to disagree, and he makes it your problem.
tags / warnings : power imbalance, smut and suggestive content [praise kink for the reader - use of "good boy" and "baby" - handjobs], bad childhood memories [neglect, distance], lack of childhood altogether [reader raised to be a servant], gojo is a bit manipulative, persistent, and can be considered dub-con. please be wary.
word count : 15.4k
The clan was a strange one, that’s for sure.
It was clear to anyone who wandered into their territories, really. It was always too quiet, eerily so. You could roam the streets, and everyone would be walking with their heads lowered, as if their bodies were sculpted with clay into a permanent bow of respect to authority. There’d only be a few people out, too, as if everyone else was too scared about what would happen if they did look up, breaking their porcelain pose of submission. There was the noticeable absence of many background noises in the clan’s winding thoroughfare no matter where you were: idle chatter on porches, often old women with nothing to do with their time; the occasional whistle of the wind; the faint pattering of children’s footsteps as they screamed in bliss, echoing as they became distant memories; and shop keepers clamoring over each other in an attempt to gather people’s attention; all gone. Nature herself was terrified to speak in their presence, as the birds fell silent and the insects’ buzzing was barely a whisper in the wind.
It was grotesque, even.
The silence that rang loudest, however? Their sovereignty. Unlike the other clans—the ones who flaunted their power in an effort to gain others’ favor, such as the Zen’in Clan—, the Gojo Clan ruled over the Jujutsu world with quiet control, holding everyone by a leash.
It was uncommon for Gojo Clan’s leaders to lose their tempers. They wouldn’t engage in extreme political battles until they deemed the situation necessary, which was very unlikely. They had a habit of letting a situation simmer until they could swoop in and take what they wanted; they’d release curses and their strongest sorcerers—their strongest. No one wanted to waste their time for a futile thing. No one wanted to waste their time trying to rebel against them. Why would they? Even the most vile of humanity valued their lives far too much for any brutal death the clan could offer.
It was concerning, to say the least. The idea that a single clan could hold so much authority over those who considered themselves on the same level wasn’t one people could easily wrap their heads around. Being treated like animals wasn’t something those fools could comprehend.
You were only a kid when you entered the clan; to them, you had the potential to be a lovely, devoteful servant. To be led along like a lamb to the slaughter and serve.
Maybe that’s what made you easy. You were a child: naive and ignorant. You didn’t know what it meant when they dragged you by a chain into the melancholy clan. You just obeyed, and the clan liked that. If only…
Oh, well. Your compliance is what led you here—a simple servant among the Gojo family—, and you’d rather have a purpose here than none. The Gojo Clan didn’t take lightly to slackers working for them. You carried your weight and then some.
You were a servant. A lesser-being in the presence of deities.
And you were content with that.
It was monotonous, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You woke up, got dressed, groomed yourself (and bathed yourself, if you were lucky), and went along with your daily chores. You’d occasionally chat with your colleagues about mundane things such as the weather before the conversation slowly fizzled out. But this life was better than nothing. They told you that. You believed it. They gave you no reason to believe otherwise.
As much as you’d hate to admit it, the clan probably saved you from a mundane, agonizing life filled with sorrow. At least here, you were worth something.
You are worth something.
Years went by. You weren’t the same naive seven-year-old boy who never questioned why all the ‘games’ you played with the adults were bowing to the elders and sweeping floors. Now, you are aware of your purpose. You are okay with it.
You are.
“Servant.”
You perked up at the call. No one knows the names of the servants, so why would they know yours? It was always the people beckoning ‘servant’, and the nearest one would respond.
You’re alone here.
Politely, oh-so-politely, you bowed in the direction of the voice, your hands tucked down. Looking up isn’t allowed, as it’s disrespectful. “Yes?” You question, your voice laced with an exhaustion that was noticed in every servant.
“The audience hall needs attending,” they respond. The voice was stern and gravelly, yet weary and stoic. It’s definitely Nakano. Only his voice is so distinct and defined. “Second floor.”
“Right away.” You don’t lift your body from the bow until you hear him walk past you, his footsteps thudding against the wooden floorboards until you can’t distinguish them with the occasional creaks of the walls.
Taking a deep breath, you lifted yourself with a straight back.
Your steps were even and measured as you walked to the audience hall. This hall was a small one, though you heard from murmurs that there was a gathering occurring in that room. You weren’t too concerned, however. If you blend into the background, then no one would care for your presence.
Your hands adjusted the mask on your head, ensuring it wouldn’t slip off as you went through with your duties. All servants adorned them on their faces to keep anonymity. You never questioned why the servants would need to retain their anonymous personas as servants. It’s not like they were ever needed. Still, you wore it without complaints. It was a standard protocol, you told yourself. Part of the uniform.
The masks of all the servants were wooden and painted white. From a distance, one could mistake a servant for a cryptid under the guise of a human. You couldn’t blame them. You thought so, too. When you were younger, the other servants who took care of you also wore them. Their masks made them appear sickly and pale. You imagined their faces underneath to be the same: hollowed cheeks with drooping eyes and no emotion. With the masks, you could never read how they were feeling. Their body language was limited except for the stiff bow and polite nod given to authority figures as they passed through the halls.
How ironic that you do the same. Maybe that’s why they wore them.
So no one would know what they were thinking. Why would they need to know?
You reached the audience hall.
With tentative hands, you opened the doors with intricate designs, slipping inside and closing it behind you. You took in your surroundings immediately. It’s a habit you’ve gained over the years. You wouldn’t want to interrupt something important, would you? That’s not befitting of a servant. Especially one of your status amongst them.
A few important figures of the clan’s leadership were standing in an organized manner around the elevated portion of the stage. A figure was on the elevated floor, speaking while sitting languidly on a pillow. You didn’t spare him a second glance, but his voice was loud and clear. He sounds arrogant, you thought, though you quickly pushed the thought away. You can’t think of such things towards people above you. It’s rude and, frankly, out of character for you.
Still, you couldn’t deny how… demeaning he was. You were barely listening, as you didn’t have any right to, but occasional words and phrases slipped through your wooden mask. Trashy, he said. Stupid, old, idiots, selfish, weak…
He was right, of course. Most of the people here are manipulative for their own personal gain, but why would everyone bother listening to someone like him? He’s just insulting everyone.
You decided you didn’t care enough to think about it any longer.
‘Attending,’ Nakano said. Honestly, you didn’t know what that entailed. But by the looks of the few other servants offering snacks to the crowd, you had a feeling ‘attending’ was synonymous with ‘serve’.
Or ‘deal with’.
Being as calm as you could be, you walked to the back of the room. The sound of the man talking was muffled. Your mask blocked out a majority of the noise around you except for the sound of your soft breathing hitting the wood. You were calm. There were trays of food in the back, each placed with intent. Too perfect and symmetrical. Mimicking a few of the other servants, you gathered a tray with a few appetizers.
Your footsteps felt heavy. You were unsure as to why you felt so nervous. You’ve done this before. But the atmosphere was too tense and heavy for a regular meeting. The way the figure on the stage was talking, the way the nobles in the crowd looked angry yet refused to do anything, simply clutching their fists…
You were calm.
You maneuvered through different people in the crowd, arms stretched out to offer with your head bowed to display your humility. You’d occasionally stop by a person. Either they’d pluck a morsel from the tray and eat it without sparing a glance, or they’d pretend like they didn’t see you, focusing on the figure on stage, leaving you to wait like a dog for their attention before walking away when realizing it was futile, your tail tucked between your legs.
How embarrassing.
You continued this until the man on the stage stopped talking. When he sighed dramatically, everyone took it as a sign to leave. Some muttered curses under their breath, others blatantly insulted the speaker’s crass language. Maybe they didn’t want to be here.
The moment the last person left, the servants—you included—relaxed their arms, letting the trays drop to their waist-level. Everyone felt limp and dead.
The other servants walked back to set the trays down and clear everything out. It was time to clear the room for its next use. The tablecloths needed to be folded, the tables needed to be moved and rearranged to their proper spots. Some were already clearing off empty trays with only crumbles.
You took a step, ready to do the same. After all, you’ve spent years climbing the ranks to become head servant. It’s best to set a good example for the new people who only joined—
“Hey, servant.”
The voice was casual. Teasing, almost, if you really strained your ear.
A few of the other servants turned to the call. You did, too. Instinct. Like dogs trained for years. How pathetic.
Through the holes of your white mask, you could see him: the speaker.
White hair was the first thing you noticed. It was stark against the rich brown takamakura he rested his head on—white hair was an unnatural color, even in a place as marvelous as the Gojo Clan. He was sprawled flat on his back, one leg propped up.
His teeth were bared in a smile. Lazy and sly like a fox.
“Yeah, you. C’mere.” He barely lifted his hand from the ground to beckon you forward.
Oh, he was referring to you specifically. How interesting.
You were nothing but obedient. Rearranging the tray on your body, you stepped closer. Your shadow cast against his pale, smooth skin. He had no blemishes, which wasn’t entirely uncommon among people the Gojo Clan considered worth protecting more than others. While some of the sorcerers had prominent scarring on their bodies, a testament to their power, others looked like porcelain dolls without a crack. Shielded more than others, you supposed. Important.
“Feed me,” he commanded, his eyes narrowing. His smile never wavered. “I want those sweet tarts on your tray.”
He was just as impolite as before.
But oh, his eyes.
They held the ocean inside of them. You were grateful for the mask resting upon your face. You looked foolish, with your own eyes wide in awe, your lips pulled apart in a quiet gasp that was a disgrace to your station.
They were vibrant and full of a life you wish you could’ve had. The waves of the East Sea crashed against his pupils like the tide giving the shore a fleeting kiss before receding with haunting memories of something far too important. The clouds swirled like watercolor’s white; an angel’s wings glowing uncomfortably bright, overwhelming yet not nearly enough.
He was beautiful.
And you just openly stared.
Foolish.
“I ain’t got all day. I get it, I’m pretty, but multitask.”
You blinked and shook your head slightly. Ah, he was still waiting. Right. You need to do your job. As intended. As your purpose. Despite how weird the request was. Especially despite how weird his request was.
He was definitely around your age, perhaps a bit older. You’ve only fed children, not arrogant brats like him.
You sighed internally. You really needed to get yourself together.
Gently, you set the tray down next to his head and crouched down, your knees popping. Your body ached, and your muscles were sore, but you’d be able to rest soon. Or so you’ve been told many times before. You let yourself believe it like an idiot every time.
Your legs relaxed against the wooden floor when they finally had support. You don’t sit on the elevated part of the floor; that’s forbidden for servants. You’re beneath him, and you should show it in every way possible, when possible. (Not if possible, because it’s always possible.)
You plucked a tart from the tray and held it out, letting it hover over his mouth. He didn’t open it at first, just stared at the sweet treat above him, observing it. Then he opened his mouth wide.
You placed the tart into his mouth and pulled it away.
He closed. Chewed deliberately. Paused, as if contemplating whether or not the tarts were worth his time. Then opened his mouth again. I want another one, he seemed to say silently, looking at you expectantly. Like hesitating for a second was outrageous behavior when it came to feeding him like a cat.
How rude.
Both of you continued this for a while. It was a peculiar scene. You’d grab a treat, hold it above his mouth, and he’d eventually open his mouth and let you plop it in. He’d chew—this time with more haste, as now he knew they were to his liking—and open his mouth wide again.
His eyes were always on you. It was unnerving to say the least, but you did your job nonetheless until the tray was empty.
He didn’t notice at first, just staring at you without blinking. Then he processed that you weren’t feeding him and glanced at the now-empty tray, his head lifting barely.
“Get more,” he ordered, his neck relaxing again.
You looked around. The other servants from earlier were still there, cleaning the room. They hadn’t glanced towards the two of you: the head servant feeding an important figure of the Gojo Clan. But the tension felt high for some reason. It always was in the clan.
Some more platters were still on the table, but there weren’t any of the same sweets you fed him earlier. They were already cleared out by the other servants, and this was the last tray you grabbed.
You turned back to the figure and shook your head.
He huffed. “Hah?” His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and you could tell he was starting to get annoyed. “I said get more, or are ya’ pretending to be deaf?” His lips jutted out slightly in a pout, and you couldn’t keep a grin from creeping onto your face. You caught yourself and pursed them. What are you doing, smiling at his reaction?
You weren’t permitted to speak. You haven’t spoken more than a few words in three days. So you just shook your head again, pointed to the tray, pointed to the table at the far end of the room, and shook your head again.
He still didn’t get it. You could tell with the way his head angled more towards you, the way he squinted as if that’d help him figure out your signals. He muttered, “god, do I still have to do this?” under his breath, agitated. He cleared his throat too loudly. “Speak,” he commanded, but it sounded more like a request. Like you were given a choice. But you know better.
“There aren’t any of the same sweets you wanted at the table,” you answered immediately, clearing your throat as well. You needed water. Your voice was hoarse. “Would you like me to request the kitchen to make you more?” you offered. It was a common rule in the daimyo castle: don’t refuse without offering an alternative solution.
He stuck his tongue out childishly and made a “blah” sound as he waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t bother. ‘S too much effort.” You already felt like you had an idea on what this guy was like. Lazy, arrogant, cocky, and got everything in life on a platter. Sweets included.
Just like everyone else here.
You nodded. You were finished talking.
Now you just need him to dismiss—
“You a guy?”
You focused on him again. Huh?
“Most of the servants here are girls,” he commented casually, his eyes still on you. How long has he been staring? Has he even blinked? “Not many guys, considering the patriarchy.”
“Oh.” You hummed. He was making conversation? “Yes, I’m a guy.”
“Weird.”
No shame.
“You’re pretty lame,” he observed, his eyes travelling up and down your body with a calculating gaze, yet his mouth kept that lazy grin. “And quiet.”
You didn’t respond. You weren’t allowed to. You were earlier, but not now.
He waited a few seconds, the quiet enveloping the two of you before he groaned, lifting his arms to rub his face. “You can talk, geez. I don’t want to keep repeating that command over and over again like some record.”
This was… new.
“Forgive me.” You bowed your head.
He groaned again. “Stop apologizing. It’s making you more lame.”
You opened your mouth to apologize. Then closed it. Hm.
Sighing dramatically, he used his arms to push himself upright. Your gaze followed his face, which was contorted into what can only be described as boredom. “How boring…” he mumbled, proving your earlier thought. His slender hands reached and rubbed his eyes. He looked agitated.
You were still sitting on the floor, your knees aching against the wood, waiting for him to dismiss you.
“Massage my head.”
You didn’t sigh. You wished you could. But you couldn’t. And you wouldn’t.
Instead of pondering on what you would do later, your thoughts traveled to how to approach the command given to you. You’re not permitted on the elevated portion of the room, yet that’s where he is.
Perhaps you were thinking too long, because he groaned, albeit this time louder in a way meant to grab attention. He liked attention, you assumed, even if you knew you weren’t supposed to assume. “Are you slow? What’s the holdup?”
“I’m not allowed on that portion of the room—“
“I don’t care. Get up here and massage my head.”
You did as you were told. You always do.
As you crawled onto the higher floor, he sat up and swatted the takamakura away, letting it slide and clatter before bumping into a wall. It was expensive; he doesn’t have to worry about money, you concluded.
You sat behind him, your legs pressed together neatly. He was tall, even when he leaned back with his arms propping himself upright. Just massage him even if it’s weird, you told yourself. Just massage—
He pulled his arms back and plopped his head into your lap.
Well.
“Mm…” he whined and nuzzled into your thigh, and for the second time, your breathing hitched, and you let yourself freeze instead of listening to the commands given to you. “You’re oddly warm. It’s usually freezing here.”
“U-Uhm…” you stammered. Actually stammered instead of giving a straight answer. You hesitated. You’re not supposed to hesitate.
You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the mask’s old wood. “I have been told I have a naturally warm body temperature.” You spoke without adding anything meaningful to the exchange. It’s unlike you. It’s strange. It’s not normal. Why are you talking?
But he just laughed and sighed with content. Too comfortable, resting his head on a servant’s lap in the Gojo Clan—a man, no less. “Massage, please,” he asked again, but he didn’t sound upset with having to repeat himself. “Scalp,” he clarified.
Your hands, rough with calluses—all from chores and housework—began to work themselves through his hair, scratching the crown before working downwards. His hair felt like the silk many adorned themselves with. The position was awkward for your hands, but you could work with it. You always do.
He sighed, a faint smile slowly growing on his face. It was a bit embarrassing, actually. A few of the remaining servants barely glanced at the scene; the masks made it hard to tell, thank goodness. But if they were looking, you know they’d be uncomfortable with the situation. Not that they’d voice it out loud.
“Your hands’re… good at this,” he slurred. His eyes that held the sky closed. He was relaxed. His speech was still informal, you noticed. It’s been like that throughout the entire interaction, but you found yourself focusing on it more than you should’ve. More than what was appropriate.
“More,” he begged. Begged. Maybe he was begging. But why would anyone beg for something from you? Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe his words were just getting to you.
The heat underneath the mask was unbearable. Were you seriously this flushed over a man finding your massage good?
You’ve massaged others before when you were still training under the other servants. They were considered lower-class assignments, often given to the inexperienced ones; seniority still applied among servants (because the irony was bitter, how unimportant figures could continue to divide themselves). You shouldn’t be this affected by someone saying your massage was good, not mentioning the fact that he shouldn’t be complimenting you in the first place.
Maybe he wanted you to be offended because this task was supposed to be given to new servants. Maybe that’s why.
But god, you really didn’t feel offended. That’s probably worse.
His eyes snapped open, yanking you out of your curiosity regarding his demeanor, and he seemed to stare through your mask. He grinned, like he could see how flustered you were through the pale wood that concealed everything it was meant to conceal. “Why don’t you do this more often?” He questioned. “Your hands are great for this.”
You didn’t respond. Not because you weren’t told to. He said you could talk whenever.
No, you just didn’t know how.
At your prolonged silence—that was entirely out of character, considering all servants should respond when spoken to—, he laughed again. It was unguarded and unfiltered: just a light chuckle that sounded like the clouds. “So good… perfect.” The way he purred the last word was filthy.
Your hands never stopped moving. You wouldn’t let them. Because you were ordered to, you told yourself. No ulterior motive. Not because the praise made you feel something you haven’t felt in years.
It was strange how the world seemed to have come to this. First, Nakano ordered you to serve small platters to a few people. Now you were massaging a man’s head while he whined and furrowed his head into your lap. He was definitely messing with you.
“You can stop now.”
You pulled away like his snow-white hair burned you.
He didn’t get off your lap, though. Just stared at your mask. He was observing you. “You should take it off,” he said, a slender finger pointing to your mask, and you could’ve sworn his fingertips brushed the grainy texture. “I don’t like it.”
You faltered. “That’s not allowed,” you said calmly. Your heart rang like a caged dove. “I would be punished.” You instinctively reached and adjusted your mask against your face.
“Are you ugly?” Too blunt.
“That’s an opinion; I don’t know.”
“That is—“ he finally poked the mask, right where your forehead would be— “what an ugly person would say.” No one’s ever touched you so brazenly before, even if it was just your mask.
Then again, this guy is resting his head on your lap.
“I suppose so,” you replied. What else was there to say?
The man pouted, and suddenly his beauty evaporated once more into a sort of cute childishness. Cute. Him. Man, you must’ve been losing your mind. But his lips looked so… soft. Fragile.
But he didn’t get the chance to respond, as the doors to the audience hall opened abruptly.
Speak of the devil, it’s Nakano.
“Satoru,” he snapped, walking over to the stage with a presence that every servant in the vicinity noticed. They bowed.
You couldn’t stand up and do the same. You felt ashamed.
The man on your lap huffed, rolling his eyes with disrespect staining his skin. Nakano pretended not to notice, but his eyes twitched with irritation. “The elders have been looking for you. They wanted to… discuss the attitude you gave during your meeting.”
“More like scold me for being honest,” the man complained. Or Satoru, apparently. “I already know what they’ll say, so can I skip it?”
Nanako didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze traveled to you. You immediately bowed your head to ensure your eyes didn’t meet his. In an instant, you were aware of everything: the way Satoru’s head rested upon your lap—to intimately—, the way you were on the stage reserved for those of higher status, the way—
“And you, servant,” Nanako announced, his gaze pinning you to the wall like knives, “are bold to be sitting there, touching him so intimately.” It’s as if he knew what you were thinking. “Know your place, and get the hell—“
“Leave him,” Satoru said leisurely, his voice too calm for the tension. “I asked him to be here.”
“The servants shouldn’t touch you unless they’re bathing or grooming you.”
“He was massaging my hair,” Satoru argued, though the smile on his face showed that he didn’t really care about defending your actions. “That’s grooming, right?”
“It’s inappropriate,” Nanako continued, ignoring Satoru’s refute. “Especially in public where anyone could enter and see. The elders are already irritated with your behavior today; they’ll be furious.” For a second, you could’ve sworn Nanako’s voice softened at the end.
“Cease this immediately,” Nanako finished. “You’re already on thin ice.”
“Whatever,” Satoru grumbled, though he didn’t get off of you. It’s surprising to you that this Satoru hasn’t lost his head with his attitude.
“Get off.” Nanako’s definitely referring to you. “Leave to your quarters.”
You scrambled back to your feet, wincing when Satoru’s head hit the floor suddenly. He sat up and rubbed his head, but you were already scurrying out of the room in a hurry; an apology was the last thing you had in mind. The other servants could manage clearing the room. You just needed to leave.
You felt hot.
And all you could’ve focused on was the way he shifted on your lap.
God, you were fucked.
You pushed the memory out.
It was the safer option. You didn’t want to think about it.
Praise was a luxury. You don’t need it. You didn’t need it right now.
You want it, but you don’t need it.
It doesn’t mean much to you, anyways. Satoru probably forgot about you at this point. There’s no point in dwelling on the subject.
…How pitiful.
But despite what you told yourself, you put it upon yourself to do research. Not because you cared, heavens no—why would you care? The praise was nothing to you—, but because the whole interaction was too strange to ignore, even if you were above such things: a man so cocky and arrogant being allowed to give a speech saying how worthless everyone was? And they were forced to listen without complaining midway? Not only that, but he was clearly important. With the way he spoke to Nakano as if he were beneath him. And you weren’t punished on a whim when you got on the elevated floor and touched Satoru. If it were a regular day, you would’ve been struck immediately and left with bruises for days. Such instances have happened before when you were still learning. Yet Nakano left you unharmed. You had a feeling it was because of him, but you didn’t have proof.
You’d find proof.
Because you were curious. Nothing else at all. It was not because of the way he talked to you, his voice grating, yet the way he spoke—his praise—was like water against the shore. It wasn’t because his eyes were warm yet mirrored the ice that froze on rooftops during winter, a living paradox of the soul.
Of course not.
Curiosity. That’s it.
Being the head servant, you had a few privileges. That included cleaning places others can’t. ‘An honor,’ they said, but you knew what it was. Just another way to make you quiet while cleaning. Still, you never complained. You never complained when they showed you the vast library in the daimyo castle, ordering you to clean ‘every last bookshelf until this place is brand new’. Or when they led you to the basement full of rotting bodies and mold to polish up, as the smell was starting to become unbearable above.
You never complained. Not once.
In fact, right now? You were grateful.
The Archives were a series of rooms that were interconnected between themselves. Each section contained varying information, whether it be mundane objects or cursed artifacts, whether it be figures from previous bloodlines that have then since vanished, including those who have served and those who have killed. It even contained those from the Heian Era, which most considered overkill. Why would a clan as powerful as the Gojo Clan need records on members from eons ago? It was simple, really.
This is why the Gojo Clan was so powerful: one could compare different bloodlines and branches of the clan and trace lineages back before their time. It was for tactics, for strategy, for safety.
But it was restricted to everyone except for the elders of the clan.
And except you.
Lucky boy.
You waited patiently over the next few weeks. You did your duties as you were told, you bowed for three seconds before standing up when elders and nobility passed you, you washed your hands every other hour, so no one would have the right to say you were too disgusting to touch them. You did your job as you were always expected to. From the moment you were brought into the clan. You’re nothing but obedient.
Then someone asked you to clean.
You’re nothing but obedient.
Your hands trailed along the dusty paper, feeling the edges graze the pad of your fingers, as if teasing you with the mockery of a paper cut against your skin. The shelves towered over you, casting blocky shadows against the wooden floorboards. You took it all in.
The earth outside was raging in agony. The clouds’ tears plummeted down against the daimyo castle’s roofs, each echoing in the large room. Your breath was hot as it hit your face—a courtesy of the mask—, making the already stuffy room a bit hotter than before. But you’d have to bear with it.
Despite being in use for generations, they were arranged methodically to this day. The elders refused to let anything out of order, including files from before their great-grandparents were born. The top of the shelves held names lost to the passage of time from previous eras, and the names near the bottom were more recent. Left to right they were arranged alphabetically, down to the last letter.
Judging how Satoru’s name was constantly said with irritation, it was safe to assume his name wasn’t lost to the passage of time.
Walking along the edges of the shelves, you occasionally checked the first file in the row, peeling back the stained paper until you reached the ‘S’ section.
You were lucky his name started with ‘Sa’: those were in the front few, so it was an easy search from there.
You plucked his pages out. There were a lot more than you’d think. By the time you fished them all out, there were a good twenty pages. They seemed quite recent in updates compared to the others, whose papers were already starting to gain foxing stains from their old age. No doubt the elders kept track of his whereabouts more methodically, as the paper was organized with dates and notes scrawled in the margins.
You merely skimmed the pages, really, confirming that this was, in fact, Satoru Gojo.
You didn’t think he’d be much.
But, oh, he was so much more.
Full Name: Satoru Gojo
Title: Heir to Gojo Clan
Cursed Technique[s]: Six Eyes, Limitless, Lapse—
You dropped the pages, letting them scatter across the floorboards in a terrible mess like waves over the ocean’s surface; order had been broken.
First, your brain was silent, processing everything. Slowly and carefully, not missing a single detail. Letting them sink into your veins.
Then it hit you.
Oh, dear. You thought the heir to the Gojo Clan was a brat. Multiple times.
It made a lot more sense now, annoyingly so. The way everyone bowed to him out of obligation rather than respect? The way they sat through meetings and took every insult?
He was the first Six Eyes user in centuries. His presence demanded respect. He was glory sculpted from flesh and marble.
He was god.
Swallowing back your fear (and saliva), you gained enough courage to crouch—your legs were shaky, and you almost collapsed right there in the middle of the Archives—and picked the first page you could see in your view. With your trembling hands, you grasped it and held it to the dim candlelight on the walls. The light made everything clear. You needed to know.
Unable to find suitable maiden, seems uninterested
Has voiced recent intrigue in servant #19—
“Hah? Isn’t this place restricted?”
You swiveled around.
Hair as white as snow.
You stood up and bowed.
“Forgive me,” you said, feeling out of breath. The adrenaline was getting to you. He was getting to you. “I was ordered to clean this area.” He was getting into your head.
“More like snoop,” he retorted, chuckling. You could picture his irritating smile. Though, he didn’t sound upset despite you obviously looking through things you shouldn’t have been. “Those’re my files,” he commented, and you knew his gaze was taking in the scattered papers across the wooden floorboards.
Your grip on the single paper tightened. The crinkles from its weariness drowned out the patter of rain outside, awfully loud in the claustrophobic atmosphere. “Yes,” you muttered. Your mask was suffocating. “I was curious of who you were.” You cleared your throat. “Forgive me,” you begged again.
“Could’ve asked me ‘bout who I am.” Satoru smiled. You could hear it in his voice. “Instead, you’re sneaking around like a mouse.”
You didn’t argue and say you were told to clean, which was the truth, albeit stretched. You didn’t let an easy lie slip from between your cracked lips, saying the papers fell onto the floor, and you were picking them up. You’ve spoken too much. You’ve done too much.
He walked closer. His footsteps were soft against the wood. Only their creaking signaled his movement towards you. Towards you.
“I don’t know much about you, though,” he mused. “Seems unfair, huh, stalker?”
Stalker?
You broke your bow and stood up straight again. He loomed over you, just as the shelves that beckoned you closer with every wisp of paper. “I’m not a stalker,” you whispered. Trying to convince yourself.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he purred. “Especially with how you're looking at me right now.” And now you knew he could see you. All of you.
“It’s polite to make eye contact while talking to someone.” The excuse falls flat to even your ears. Because you both know servants aren’t supposed to stare, they aren’t supposed to look, they aren’t supposed to think. But here you are, staring at the sky in his eyes, looking at all of him, thinking about him.
He could’ve called out your deflection right then and there, could’ve punished you severely.
But he just smiled his aggravating smile. “Maybe.” He leaned down close. Closer than what should’ve been. His eyes glowed in the dim light of the room, grabbing everything’s attention. Your attention. “But maybe not.”
The mask was suffocating. Your breath was too hot. Too hot for comfort in this stuffy, stupid—
“Concentrate on me.”
Satoru was a bold, bold man.
He took another step closer, pushing you farther and farther backwards until—
Thud!
Your back was up against the shelf. The wood groaned in protest, threatening to fall onto you. You wish it would. The shelves pushed back at you.
The devil danced in his gorgeous eyes. “For a fan, you’re a bit too scared.”
You didn’t trust yourself to say anything. You’re definitely scared.
“I-I’m not a fan—“
“Wanna massage my hair again?” He asked abruptly, changing the subject just like that. Because he controlled this conversation. He leaned down closer. Closer, closer, and closer. “I’m afraid my hair’s a bit greasy, and it could use some help.” He paused for a second. “Maybe you could bathe me?” Closer. Like he wanted to see your eyes through the holes of your mask. “Dry my hair?”
“I-I don’t—“
It’s too hot down here in the Archives.
“Your fingers were just so good on me,” he drawled. Then he laughed. Mischievous. “I couldn’t stop thinking about them.”
You swallowed. Your face is hot.
“Oh, you like it when I say that?”
Damn him and his Six Eyes. Damn every Six Eyes user there was.
His arms were pinning you against the shelf. When did they get there?
“This is…” you trailed off. You didn’t know what else to say. “…wrong,” you finally finished. You didn't know what was wrong. Only that this was wrong. It was wrong, and you told him that. Even if you were just a servant to him.
His eyes narrowed. Not angrily, like you were something he needed to break. With something else in his eyes, like you were something he wanted to break up and observe. You tilted your head down to stare at the ground rather than his illuminating irises, noting the color of his kimono in the poor lighting: a color that reminded you of the moon.
His arms enclosed around you before gently resting his elbows on your shoulders, wrapped loosely around your neck. Forcing you closer to him.
Closer, closer, closer.
It was lazy, almost. The way his fingers played with your hair, mock-twirling it around his finger before grasping onto a lock and tugging it. You squeaked—embarrassingly so—before he tugged harder and forced you to look at him.
Bright eyes, you thought. That was always your first thought, even through the mask’s limited gaze. The next was beautiful.
“Do you like it when I tug here?” He questioned, his breath hitting the top of your head. He tugged again.
You whined. It was breathy against your mask.
“Good.”
THUD!
The shelves screamed again, full of torment.
You pried your eyes away from his eyes and looked up. Through the holes on your mask, you could see boxes and boxes of files tumbling down. They descended closer and closer and——
You closed your eyes and looked down, your arms—which were earlier stagnant—wrapping around your head as if to protect yourself. Satoru’s file, earlier gripped in your hand, glided across the floor to reunite with the others.
The boxes clattered around aimlessly, the sound echoing through the room.
They never hit you.
The warmth of arms was around you. It enveloped you. You felt lighter, even. Like you could feel everything and nothing at the same time. Like you were being pulled apart yet pushed together.
Satoru’s arms were warm. They enveloped you.
He snickered. “Wow, things just fall around you, huh?” His arms fell away from you, and the pulled-pushed feeling drifted with him. “You cursed or something?”
Oh god, you messed up badly. This was a violation in every sense, every rule book, every statement.
The patter of footsteps finally hit you, and barged in a few servants, no doubt drawn in by the noise. “What happened?!” one screamed, seemingly out of breath. They ran, you concluded, though you did notice their lack of respect.
You couldn’t be talking.
Satoru smiled so charmingly, you could’ve sworn they almost ignored the state of the Archives. “Just a small accident,” he declared. “We’re okay.”
You were breathing heavily, and the awful dread was slowly settling on your shoulders, just like his arms earlier. You didn’t have words that could describe all you’ve done. You lied, you snooped, and you’ve made a total mess of the—
“What happened to the Archives?!”
—the Archives.
Satoru chuckled, his teeth bared out in a way that felt comforting yet threatening. Like he was taking up too much space with his charisma. “I just said what it was: an accident.” He didn’t even bother facing the servants; that’s beneath him. However, he faced you the entire time, his eyes narrowing in your direction—a silent ‘shut up’ left unspoken between you two. His hand reached and grasped your shoulder, making you flinch, standing straighter despite the pain in your back. “He was just cleaning, and a bunch of boxes fell.” The lie was easy from his lips. You wished you did that earlier. “I came and checked if he was okay.” If you lied, you wouldn’t be here right now.
But you were here. So you nodded. You didn’t speak.
Satoru’s hand stayed on your shoulder.
The servants surveyed the damage to its full extent: there were boxes everywhere, papers everywhere, and both you and Satoru were in the center of it all like a symbolic ritual. It was hard to believe Satoru, really.
“Well…” the servant trailed off. But could they really afford to not believe him?
“Clean it up,” Satoru ordered, cutting off any chance the servants had of disobeying. The servants didn’t hesitate. Their doubt wouldn’t lead to their demise, they wouldn’t allow it.
It was pure instinct that you went to do the same—that you pulled away from Satoru with the intent of crouching to pick up the papers, to organize them in the fallen boxes, to fix your mistake from your insolence—, as that’s how you were raised since the beginning of your pitiful life, but the Six Eyes user tightened his grasp on your shoulder, his fingers wrinkling your smoothed kimono.
“Not you,” he drawled out, grinning. Sharp teeth, you noticed. “No, you still seem a bit… shaken.”
You swallowed. “Forgive me for—“
“Ah-ah-ah,” he tutted, though adjustment danced in his gaze. “What’d I say about the apologizing?” His tone was mocking, yet playful. Too informal. You’re not used to this.
And God, you hated how he mentioned that apologizing. You wished he would never mention that day. That’s why you’re in this situation.
“Let’s go elsewhere,” Satoru suggested, his hand falling from your shoulder for his finger to trail down your arm, tracing the faint patterns in the fabric. When his hand reached your wrist, his fingers encircled it. Not harshly like the other members of the Gojo clan when you disobeyed as a child. No, this was a loose grasp of only two fingers, the kind that lovers used when begging the other to stay. The kind that was clearly not intended to make you stay, but to make you want to stay.
But you felt more trapped than you’ve ever been in your entire life.
“You still look so stressed,” he noted. He leaned down, his face too close to yours. “That must’ve been scary, right?” Great, now he was baby-talking to you.
“I-I’m fine, sir,” you choked out. The mask was still too hot, too suffocating. “I’d like to help after my mistakes.” You bow stiffly; your hand is raised because he’s still holding it. You shouldn’t move your hand away because that’s not what servants do. Servants take it.
There’s the crinkle and rustle of paper that echoed in the room. The servants were cleaning up. You should’ve been cleaning up. But you weren’t.
Because Satoru wouldn’t let you leave. He just smiled at you while you remained bowing, waiting for a dismissal that would never arrive.
“I said let’s go,” he repeated, and you had a feeling he hated saying something twice. You weren’t even looking at him through your mask’s holes, but you felt afraid. Fear was a normal emotion in the Gojo Clan, but this time felt different. Like your stomach was being ripped out and torn to bits, leaving a vacant hole filled with dread.
You’re a servant; you obey.
“Of course.”
“You can rise.”
You looked up. He was still smiling. Satoru’s one hand still kept a grip on your wrist. His other hand traced along your jaw before grabbing your chin.
“My hair’s greasy. Let’s go wash it.” It was strange for him to say, as he looked at you with such endearing eyes—there was no way he meant it. You weren’t that naive.
“Let’s go.” He tugged you along, and you didn’t resist. When you and him exited the Archives, Satoru closed the doors behind him, leaving the other servants in the dark.
The bathing chambers weren’t rooms you entered often.
On the rare occasions that you were assigned to the bathing chambers, it was always for mundane things: gather items for those that refused to leave the calming water, cater to their very needs and desires before they had to ask you twice, ensure that the area was clean afterwards when everyone retired for the day.
Not to mention you’ve never even entered private bathing chambers, as they were reserved for those of the highest levels in the hierarchy and, therefore, not seen as often in the daimyo castle. Not only that, but many who did have private bath chambers in the first place had their own bathing attendants to take care of their every need. The attendants would wash their skin with the utmost care, would ensure the water was just right, and would ensure everything was perfect for someone of their status.
Head servants such as yourself did more of the organizing, the ordering, the catering and fulfilling of less personal tasks. You ensured that the servants under your section were where they were meant to be, when they were meant to be there. You took attendance of everyone, you reported servants who disobeyed and didn’t flinch when they were punished in front of you—how ironic, considering your current situation, entangled with a Six Eyes user.
You weren’t a bathing attendant. You did not wash anyone’s skin.
You weren’t Satoru’s bathing attendant. You did not wash Satoru’s skin.
You shouldn’t even be in his presence.
Yet…
After the episode in the Archives, he led you to his private bathing chamber as requested, his hand still grasping your wrist lightly like it was a leash—which it practically was, as he’d tug on it every once in a while as you both wandered the hallways, like urging you to focus on him silently. He told you to sit near the door and wait patiently. “Like a good boy,” he said before he changed into his robe and gathered his favorite oils for his bath that you would be attending. Because you had to wash his hair specifically. According to who, exactly? To him. And you were okay with it you’re nothing but obedient.
You complained internally that he was always in your head before the Archives. Now? You preferred it when he was just in your head. He was making things too complicated, making you feel things you never thought you’d be able to feel before. He was making you feel too much. That was a problem
That was a problem.
And when he called for you to enter—there was a cheerful glint to his voice, almost like he won something—, he was already seated in the tub, his body on display and surrounded by steam and water: something meant to be worshipped.
You cursed yourself for the thought. But you let it linger like a parasite.
Your footsteps were soft against the cedar floors as you made your way to the table residing beside the tub, which was already filled with varying bottles that many would kill to have a waft of.
You’ve massaged people in the past, yes, but you’ve never bathed anyone; this was unfamiliar territory for you. Your eyes moved between different vials and containers with a sense of urgency, as Satoru was waiting for you, trying to analyze each shape and color, trying to figure out which was which and what was what. Some had labels that did little to help—they had extravagant names, like “sweet sunshine” and whatnot, making you question where they were from—, others had none at all, and some that did were engraved in its glass (and only visible when the light hit just right).
“Use that purple one for my hair,” Satoru said, noting how long your hand would hover over each vial with indecision. “The others are for the water to smell nice. There are some soaps there, too: bars and liquid.”
You looked at him. Nervous. You never had anyone correct you without there being a physical punishment. Or at the very least, a scolding. Your hands shook, as if preparing to cover your face from a slap. “I—”
“Apo—logizing,” he drawled, looking at you intently. The grin wasn’t there. That scared you. You wouldn’t tell him that because your emotions were none of his concern.
You cleared your throat before turning back to the vials. You grabbed a pink vial and a purple bottle. “Thank you,” you settled on.
He chuckled. His eyes crinkled at the corners. You looked away. Why were you noticing such simple characteristics? Since when did you?
When has anyone looked at you like that?
You stood behind him, his fluffy hair facing you. You set the vials down carefully on a small stool at your feet before untying your kimono to let it pool onto the floor, leaving you in your cream hadajuban. You spent so much money to get a good kimono, and you wouldn’t want any residue on it, would you? That would be a shame.
Satoru turned his head back to look at you once more, his gaze running up and down your body. You felt exposed. “What’re you doing? This is my bath.”
You squeaked and adjusted your mask. It was a simple habit you’ve gained over the years: adjusting your mask under the scrutiny of others. You did your best to refrain from doing so, but old habits die harder than others. “I, um… didn’t want to get my kimono wet.” You spoke informally. What’s wrong with you?
But he smiled. “It was a joke.” He shouldn’t be joking with you.
You didn’t respond.
He faced in front of him once more, and you let yourself listen to the noises around you, as many as you could focus on: servants moving outside of the doors, the sloshing of water against his skin and tub, and wood against wood as you moved a chair behind him.
It was always too quiet, eerily so.
You grabbed a bucket from the floor and filled it halfway with water from the constant stream leading into the tub. Were you doing this right? You didn’t know. But Satoru leaned forward with his eyes closed as you gently poured the water to drench his hair, so you must be doing something right.
The water cascaded down his body, contouring his skin with the rain’s gentle kiss. Why did you notice such a thing? You were losing your mind.
You were losing your fucking mind.
After setting the bucket down, you perched onto the chair and reached down to grasp the purple vial. You opened and poured it onto your hand, watching intensely as it slathered over your palm. You set the glass bottle onto the stool with a clink! before rubbing your hands together, letting it spread evenly across your skin. You hesitated—you shouldn’t make this a habit, seriously—before reaching to touch his hair.
Tentatively, you began to work through the locks. His hair was a shock against your skin, making the world around you seem suddenly colorful when put against the colorless-color of Satoru’s hair.
His shoulders, defined with muscles that spoke of intense training as a weapon, relaxed under your touch. He let out a breathy sigh before chuckling, the sound sweet and smooth.
“Your fingers are so good.” He sighed again. He paused. Then turned his head slightly; it wasn’t enough to face you, but it was enough to show he was talking to you directly. “Why aren’t you anyone’s personal attendant, huh? Surely they’d want you, right?”
You swallowed. Why did he always say that about your fingers?
“I am the head servant of the—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” Satoru leaned back. You never stopped moving your fingers.
Fingers.
For some reason that you’d rather not know, Satoru loved your fingers.
You didn’t wonder why. It’s safer.
“It was a rhetorical question.”
The water sloshed onto the floor as he stretched his legs out in front of him, propping them up on the wooden edges of the tub. “Do you know what a rhetorical question is?”
“Yes,” you responded. “I did have a basic education. I understand concepts.”
“Wow.” Satoru hummed. “I didn’t know they gave servants an education.”
“They don’t,” you replied.
Satoru was quiet. Then he hummed. “Alright,” he said, and the conversation was finished, you assumed. And servants never start conversations.
The bathing chamber grew quiet, filled only with the sound of you scrubbing down Satoru’s hair. Your mind eventually tuned out everything, your hands moving on autopilot as your mind wandered.
It shouldn’t have wandered in the first place. You were meant to be focused on the current situation. You were meant to give your master all of your attention to ensure they were cared for with the utmost detail. Being distracted wasn’t something you could afford to do, not when you’ve spent so long climbing the ranks. Not when it cost you years of your life to get where you were today.
Everything went haywire the moment Nanako ordered you to attend that damned audience hall. If you were anywhere else in the building, you never would’ve met Satoru Gojo. You would’ve been doing your duties with no hesitation. There would’ve been no confusion.
But his praise.
Your saliva felt too thick to swallow.
When your fingers started to prune, it was only then, with the uncomfortable texture of your fingertips, that you realized how long you’ve been sitting, doing nothing but massaging Satoru’s hair like before.
Right. You were washing Satoru’s hair.
“May you lift your head? I need to wash the soap out of your hair.”
“Why can’t you massage it more?”
Your hands left his hair. His head leaned back to chase them, and you indulged. Your hands went back to his hair, not massaging, but present. “I am… done. Your hair is washed.” Water slid down your wrists and down your forearms.
“But why can’t you massage it more?”
“It isn’t good to overwash hair. I don’t want to damage it.”
“I work out a lot.” He leaned forward, slightly hunched, and turned his head to the side to look at you. Your hands hovered where he used to be before you let them rest against the edge of the tub. “I’m sure you could wash it more.” He was adamant.
“I still need to—”
“I don’t care.” He didn’t look angry at you per se, rather annoyed at your attempted refusals.
Refusals.
Refusals? Since when did you start refusing?
You didn’t respond immediately. “I still need to bathe the rest of you.”
He paused. His eyes flicked down at the tub, then to you. Then he grinned. That seemed to do the trick, as he didn’t argue any longer.
“Right,” he acknowledged. “I almost forgot about that.”
He turned back around. He leaned back. His hair almost grazed your mask. But you didn’t lean away from him; he didn’t permit it.
You grabbed the pink vial from the stool and popped it open. You let it pour out into the water before it disappeared with the steam.
“Please lean forward slightly,” you said, and he listened like it mattered. You grabbed the same bucket from before and filled it with water. You stood up and let it pour out, watching—with a rapt attention that you’d rather die than admit—how the water cascaded down his back.
The droplets slid down his fair skin like sweat, clinging onto him as they glided down to the water drowning the bottom portion of his body.
You tensed and set the bucket down with more force than necessary, the noise too loud to be comfortable. Get it together.
“Please wait here,” you said, as if he’d stand up and leave because he felt like it, dripping with water and not properly bathed. You were stupid, but you couldn’t shove words back into your mouth.
Along the walls were long tables, each with drawers and cabinets containing everything an attendant would require to bathe a member of the clan. There were more oils (with oddly specific names), tools for scrubbing dead skin and making it smooth, stones meant to be heated for the water, pastes and rice to whiten the skin. You didn’t know what the rest of the tools were meant for, but at least you weren’t entirely clueless.
Still, you weren’t aware of Satoru’s preferences when it came to bathing. You didn’t have the chance to ask his real attendants for advice, as Satoru made a beeline when dragging you here after the two of you left the Archives in the care of the other servants. Like he wanted you for himself only.
You hated that thought. You hated that you didn’t mind the thought.
You reached under your mask to rub your face, trying to wipe off steam and sweat that caught itself underneath. The hot water basins littered around were getting to you. That must’ve been the reason.
Your nimble fingers grasped and pulled open a drawer, revealing itself to your limited gaze. They landed on a tenugui: a flat cloth of cotton, good for absorbing water, perfect for drying up. You swung it over your shoulder; you’d use this when drying Satoru’s hair after the bath.
You closed the drawer, letting the echo fill the room. It was awfully loud. It filled the space between you and Satoru like a barrier he was desperate to claw at, to tease you with the thought of letting him close to you.
You walked along the edge, and you had a sense of deja vu—this was just like when you were walking along the shelves of the Archives. Both times you were doing it for Satoru. You walked into the Archives and risked everything you worked for out of curiosity regarding him. You were walking along the edges of a private bathing hall to find the appropriate tools for Satoru, to serve him.
Satoru.
Satoru Satoru Satoru.
He was already in your head. It was too late to debate it. You needed to get him out.
You didn’t want his praise. You didn’t want his sultry words. You didn’t want them. You swore under your breath. Nauseous.
You grabbed the nearest clean tawashi that lingered on the edges of the table. You returned to Satoru’s side.
“You took forever,” he groaned, slumping back in the water so he was almost submerged. Not that it would work, considering he was huge and barely fit in the tub while sitting upright, but he didn’t seem to mind.
You bit your tongue. He didn’t want you apologizing. He reiterated that many times, and you’d rather stay on his good side.
“Which soap would you prefer?” you asked, your fingers grazing over the many assorted bottles on the cart. You tried and kept your language formal, even if his was… less than formal.
“Whichever smells the best.”
You hated it when people did this.
“I trust your judgement, stalker.”
You didn’t make decisions for others. You executed their orders with precision. You listened and obeyed.
You didn’t think. You’re a servant.
“Forgive me, but I cannot smell these without taking off my mask.” You grabbed a few bottles and shook them, gauging how much product was really inside. “I could hold them out to you, perhaps, and you could tell me which you prefer.” You always provided and offered alternative options.
“Take off your mask, then.” Satoru turned to you. Lazily, with his arms slung off the wooden tub. “I don’t want to smell them.”
Your grip tightened. You needed to control yourself. You couldn’t be having this conversation again. It was inappropriate between a servant and their ward. “I am not permitted—”
“You said the same thing ‘bout being on the stage,” he reminded. “When I asked you to feed me.” He laughed heartily at the memory, then he looked up at you for once. Like the hierarchy of the Gojo Clan was beneath him, like looking up at a servant wasn’t an issue. “But you did it when I asked.” Amusement was the ocean-blue of his eyes, and you were drowning. “I think you enjoyed it, too.”
You quickly averted your gaze, ashamed of yourself. Just like you were when you scurried out of the audience hall, your breath warm and wet against your mask.
Just like you were after you ran to your quarters and took off your clothes because of the heat his words ignited inside of you. Just like you were when your hand drifted lower, even if you didn’t know what you were doing.
Just like you were when you were murmuring praises out loud against your arm.
You were only human when you touched yourself. Now you felt like something less than man because you couldn’t control yourself.
His praise.
“And—” he continued— “you know you’re not allowed in here. But here you are.”
“You ordered me to do both.” I’m not arguing, you told yourself. I’m above that. “I’m meant to serve.”
“I’m giving you the chance to refuse. I’m not forcing you to do anything.” He was lying. He had to have been. Because if you could refuse, then you would—you were. “I’m offering you a solution. Unless you WANT me to order you: take off your mask. Would that be better?” He pouted like this conversation was hurting him more than it was making you uncomfortable. “Don’t make me the bad guy.”
Vulnerable.
That’s what you felt.
Exposed.
In a way you haven’t felt until he rested his head on your lap with no such innocence.
And Satoru? He was not vulnerable. He wasn’t exposed in a way that made him feel anything but pleasure from your torment.
“I would be punished.”
“I won’t let them.”
“I don’t trust that.” You were disobeying. Refusing. Trying to find a flaw in his logic.
“I’m Satoru Gojo.” He announced his name like it held meaning—it did. “I can do whatever the hell I want.” He tilted his head like a puppy, but you felt like the inferior mutt under his penetrating gaze. “Even protect cute servants like you.”
“You don’t know what I look like,” you whispered. Since when have you talked so informally? No, you shouldn’t have. You should’ve been referring to him as ‘sir’. As ‘Gojo-Sama’ or not using his name at all, as his title shouldn’t bless your lips. You shouldn’t have been arguing with his very demands. He was above you.
“Then show me by taking off your mask.”
Your fingers twitched. What if you did want to show him your face?
The tawashi dropped to the floor a long time ago, and it barely made a sound through the tense air.
You didn’t respond, even when you lifted your gaze to meet his own once more through the holes of your mask. You didn’t respond, even when he looked at you with his piercing gaze that consumed you from the inside.
“I think you’re confused,” he commented. He thought you were stupid, no doubt about it. “I have the Six Eyes. I already know what you look like.” He leaned against the tub, his arms hanging out carelessly. Water was dripping off of him and onto the floorboards, but all of his attention was on you.
You weren’t used to this feeling. You weren’t sure if you hated it. You should’ve hated it.
“I just want to know what you look like without a piece of wood between us.” His teeth were bared out in a smirk. It was hideously-beautiful. “Skin looks different to me with materials between. There’s nothing for you to hide at this point, servant.”
You didn’t respond.
He raised his hand. His fingers were long and slender, foul and gorgeous. Pale as the rest of him with faint red.
He beckoned you towards him with a single finger.
Your feet moved on their own. There was no point in him using his cursed technique. Your feet moved on their own.
Your legs—shaky, weak, unsure, and hesitant—collapsed onto the floor. You caught yourself in such an unrefined position and mentally cursed yourself out; your discomfort shouldn’t cause your standards for yourself to lower. You pushed your knees together in a proper seiza with your hands in your lap. You were numb, but you were a servant.
His face was right in front of you, yet you couldn’t see him at all. He could see all of you.
The water from his hands dripped onto your hadajuban, darkening the cloth. Thank goodness you removed your kimono earlier.
His finger, earlier alluring as they pulled you towards him, reached to touch your mask. He didn’t remove it from your face, not yet.
Not yet.
No, his finger hooked underneath the mask before tracing its edges, contouring your face in the process. His skin brushed yours ever so slightly—a fleeting kiss of the body’s barrier—, and you gasped lightly. He was touching you. Not the other way around, where you’d massage him or wash him. He was touching you.
His infinity was off. And he knew you wouldn’t dare try anything.
The look in his eyes made it seem like he wanted you to try something, but that would be absurd.
“You’re such a good boy,” he murmured, his gaze remaining on you. You squeezed your legs tighter together; you felt hot. “I can see your eyes from here. It’s good, right?” You’re hot. You could see his sharp teeth. “Not being at a distance.”
You should’ve remained at a distance.
“I’m asking you to speak.”
He was asking you. He wasn’t demanding you. He was asking you. He was making you feel safe. Safer than you should’ve felt.
He didn’t bother waiting for you to answer. “You’re so soft.” Yet he was barely touching you. Just tracing your mask as if it were your face. As if he could pretend and imagine what your face felt like. As if he could dig his fingers in and feel your flesh before he tore it out. “So utterly beautiful.”
“Th—thank you,” you stammered, feeling compelled to respond after your prolonged silence. And he gave you permission earlier.
“You’re so much prettier on your knees.”
Your throat dried up.
“I was tempted to shove you down there in the Archives when I saw you.” He snickered. “Would’ve been funny, huh? Especially when the servants ran in.”
“I—“
“Would you like that? Or are you not into that type of stuff?”
“No.” You were too direct. Everything was wrong.
His finger trailed down the mask, his nail tracing the grooves of wood before he grasped your chin. “Good boy, answering me properly.” He wasn’t upset with your answer. You didn’t know someone like him could be so… okay with someone like you. Someone just like everyone else.
He hummed. “You like being called that, huh? Stop trying to hide it.”
You tensed.
“You seem uncomfortable.”
“Go—Gojo-Sama—“
“You got something to hide?” His grip on you tightened as he looked shamelessly at your legs. “You’re this turned on?”
Your hands didn’t move to cover yourself. The stayed rested against your thighs, even if your fingers were itching to claw at the thin fabric of your hadajuban.
You cleared your throat. “I…” you trailed off immediately, your mouth zipping shut. It was pointless to respond, as your arousal was clearly noticeable.
Damn it.
“No, no.” His fingers—once around your chin—slipped under the mask. You didn’t dare to move a muscle under his touch, to flinch from the smooth skin that dared to defy the hierarchy and kiss your face. “I wanted you to answer me.”
His fingertips grazed your lips, and you grew subconscious about their current state: chapped and cracked with a lack of moisture. Water was a luxury for servants, even those with a high sub-status among their class.
He didn’t say anything, though. He just leaned over the tub, water dripping down his body and onto the floor—as if mocking you with moisture—as his fingers slowly wiggled into the expanse of your mouth.
At first, you resisted, pressing your lips together tightly, but then he laughed.
“Don’t be shy, baby. Open wide.” His voice.
You obeyed.
His fingers shoved forward, and you choked. Coughed as his fingers coated themselves in your saliva.
“Daw, don’t choke,” he cooed. You were clearly an adorable sight to him, and that confused you.
What confused you more is that you were liking this; you wouldn’t say it out loud. He already knew.
“Suck,” he commanded.
You obeyed.
Best you could; you were too eager.
You whined against his fingers. When you heard yourself—your voice echoed against the mask and vibrated around his fingers—, you jerked back out of sheer mortification. But his fingers followed you back, never letting you retreat from your service. “Don’t back out now,” he said. “You can moan. I won’t judge.” He paused, his lips pursed while thinking. Then he smiled again. “I like hearing you.”
You were wary, but you continued to suck his fingers, your whimpers slowly growing louder each time. You were getting bolder. You let your eyes droop. Why did you enjoy this? You have no idea.
But throughout everything, you didn’t dare touch yourself.
Satoru, however, had no problems with that.
First you heard the muffled moans. They were drowned out by the squelching of your saliva coating his digits, the way you slobbered like a dog just because he ordered you to. But then your eyes snapped open when a surge of water cascaded out of the wooden tub: an immediate reaction to the jerk of his hips.
You saw the crease of his eyebrows, the way his dazed, cloudy eyes were focused on you—even with the mask concealing you, his Six Eyes was ignorant to the idea of privacy.
“Fuck—“ he muttered.
His other hand was below the water. He was fucking into his fist.
Because of you.
That made you feel good.
Freak.
Your nails dug into your skin through the fabric. You needed to touch yourself, you needed to be good. He didn’t give you permission yet. Squeezing your thighs together did nothing. You needed friction.
“So good—“ he whispered, breathy and broken with grunts, his eyes half-lidded and focused on you. Water sloshed out of the tub, dampening the wooden floors, but no one could pay attention. He certainly couldn’t, and your mouth was too busy.
“Good boy, such a good boy,” he praised, and you moaned again, your eyes rolling back. “So pretty sucking on these. You wanna suck on something else, huh?”
Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes; you felt disgusting, getting off on from a superior’s words. It’s all because of the praise, you told yourself. The praise—
“If you stay this good, I’ll give you such a good treat,” he offered, panting with a lazy grin on his face. “Because your mouth is just as good as your fingers. Need it on s’mthin’ else.”
You needed to please him. You were pleasing him. It felt great—amazing.
“Such a pretty mouth. You need to talk more.”
His fingers pulled out, saliva coating them in a thin layer, a string connecting them and your mouth before it broke.
Your hands moved up to wipe your mouth. He felt good.
“P-please—“
“Shit, just keep talking—“ he was getting off on your voice.”
You stared at your thighs. “I-I want to please you,” you choked out. “Please, let me serve you—” you let out a sob. Disgusting. But you loved it so much, it was killing you. You’ve never wanted something this much before; you felt loved.
And painfully horny.
“I—I’ll be a good boy, Gojo-Sama,” you whispered, the nickname unfamiliar on your hung tongue. “I’ll be good, I swear—”
Satoru let out a drawled moan, and you looked up: the most beautiful noise you’ve ever heard, the way he looked picturesque when he reached his climax, his eyes closed in bliss with his back arched.
Silence except for the water.
He panted, his tongue sticking out as he caught his breath. He slumped over the tub’s side, hair still damp from the water.
His gaze trailed up your knees to your… noticeable problem.
He smirked. But other than that, he didn’t acknowledge it. But he acknowledged it nonetheless.
“You were so cute,” he said, slowly recovering his breath. He reached out—the same hand that touched his cock—and poked your mask. Then gently traced the contour of your face with the back of his hand. So gently that you almost didn’t notice or care for his fingers grasping the edge of your mask and slowly peeling it off—
You snatched it and held it in place despite knowing his strength was superior. “Sir—“
“I jerked off to you,” he recalled bluntly, his eyes narrowing. “You got off to this. My fingers were in your mouth.”
Your hands shook. He was right, of course. The whole time you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you were still the ‘good servant’ who obeyed and never questioned. That ‘one head servant’ who executed his tasks with precision and never faltered.
Yet here you were. In a bathroom with Satoru. And the dread—the realization that you were in an intimate situation with the heir of the clan—began to settle in your chest.
“I think I’ve earned the right to see you WITHOUT the whole…” he gestured to his face, referring to the mask with a hint of disgust. “…mask.”
“I—I can’t do that.”
“Again. I jerked off to you.” You flinched at his crass wording despite his honesty.
You could feel the judgement radiating off of his wet skin. He was dissecting every part of you, every layer of flesh until he reached your core.
He sighed wearily. It was tired. Exasperated, even.
Dramatic.
“Listen, baby boy,” he started. Good, that nickname itself was making you so—
“You don’t like this whole… intimate thing because you like the idea of yourself being good.” He looked you over once before glancing up to your eyes through the mask—the thing he wanted to rip off.
“But I don’t care, and really, you shouldn’t either. You already fucked up so many times: you snuck into the Archives, you’re bathing me, you’re…” he trailed off, pondering for a moment. Then he smiled. “Well, you essentially helped me jerk off.”
You squeaked. God, could he be any more shameless?
You started to stammer a protest—to deny, deny, deny—, but he kept talking. “Truth is, you’re a pretty shitty person who gets off on this praise.”
Your mouth slammed shut.
“That’s the only reason you haven’t left yet: you like this. You like being what I’m thinking about when I’m fisting my cock, right?” His laugh echoed in your mask.
“Do you really care if I see what you look like?” he wondered out loud. “Or are you just scared to reveal how much you want this, too?”
Your ragged breathing slowly drowned out his words. Tears were spilling from your face; you liked this too much. You freak.
You loved this too much.
You freak.
You were hard. You were untouched. You wanted to be touched.
But he didn’t give you permission yet.
You were listening to him. Even after anything. Why were you doing that?
“Such a pretty boy,” he whispered adoringly.
You freak.
You finished bathing him in silence.
You finished drying him in silence.
Both times, you focused on your breathing. On the smell of the mask pressed against your face. On the singular grooves carved into the wooden planks by nature herself.
Not on your bare skin on his wet body. Not on the dips of his body, on the muscles of his defined back, on the strength in his legs.
Not at all. You were right in the head.
Painfully hard while caressing his hands, scrubbing off dirt, wondering what he would feel like on you.
As if he read your mind—after he was dressed in robes and you dried his hair (which is softer than you thought)—, he offered to take you somewhere.
Stupidly, you didn’t think much of it. If anything, you thought this was your punishment. Maybe he’d report you for sexual harassment, and he’d get away with it despite initiating it—though, you should’ve refused him harder, yet it’s not in your nature. The situation was a living paradox. Were you meant to refuse him and go against the unspoken motto of servants, or were you to obey him and fracture every code of conduct in the Gojo Clan? Hard to say at this point, but the damage has already been done.
Maybe you’d be demoted for good, and all those years you spent training would be futile. Maybe they’d execute you. Or worse, banish you without a name for yourself, leaving you to rot until the maggots had their way with you.
He saw right through you. He saw how you reacted to his praise with that look in his eyes. He saw how you reacted to anything positive, every degrading nickname that made you feel too much.
But no, there was no meeting with the elders. There wasn’t a chamber full of decaying bodies waiting for you. There weren’t clan members restraining you before they killed you in front of everyone as a lesson.
He led you to his private chambers.
Out of the hundred head servants. Out of the thousands of servants as a whole.
He led you to his private chambers.
He led you to his private chambers.
The doors were irritatingly extravagant. Dyed colors, soft and muted, bleeding on the door’s material as they slid open at Satoru’s push.
His hand was on your kimono. He tugged, and you followed his lead.
He shoved you inside and closed the doors behind him, letting you scramble to recompose yourself. Your hands, pruned from the water in the bathing chambers, shakily smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in your kimono—Satoru insisted on helping you put on because you seemed “too out of it” to dress yourself. Whatever that meant, though you believed him anyway. It didn’t matter how you shivered from his cold touch.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he reassured, though his gaze on you was anything but. “It’ll be torn off, anyways.”
You gasped. Huh?
He took a step closer to you before his hands grazed your waist, encircling around your body. You tensed when he pulled you close.
You were still… awfully hard.
The bastard knew it, too. The way he was rolling his hips against yours, watching with a lidded gaze as you arched your back. Watching the way you threw your head back with a slight hitch in your breathing, revealing a sliver of your real face and a tantalizing view of your throat.
“G-Gojo—“
“It’s Satoru, baby boy.” Satoru fell into temptation, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the column of your throat. You choked and tried to pull away, your hands pushing at his chest, but he kissed again… and again…
It felt good. Better than that. You’ve never been kissed before.
When did you stop resisting?
More importantly, when did the hands pushing him away slowly grip onto his hair? Almost like you wanted to keep him close. How absurd.
His lips were cold and delicate, but warmth blossomed against your neck. It was a God’s kiss; there was nothing human in the way the opposing temperatures clashed.
The sheer wrongness of it—the difference in status, the intimacy shared before and in the present—melted away, embarrassingly easy. Like it never mattered in the first place.
He never stopped grinding against you, and you never stopped whining.
You’ve only touched yourself a few times before; you never had time to indulge in such pleasures, doing so when the emotions clouding your head were too strong and bothersome. And, well, including the time after you massaged Satoru. It was simply a lapse in judgment.
You’ve never had someone to do it with. Was Satoru… going to be your first?
You couldn’t think of anything else, because Satoru nibbled on your throat, moaning against the skin—the vibrations were, strangely enough, soft and gentle—as he sucked on it, cherishing your skin as he slowly worked his way down. The movement of his hips slowed, his attention strictly on your body underneath his lips. His hair teased your neck, caressing while his fingers trailed up the side of your body to your kimono. He peeled it back, then your hadajuban, and your bare skin met the room’s soft light.
A startled gasp strangled past your lips when Satoru’s teeth clamped down on your shoulder. Pearly white and sharp as bones.
His hands grasped your waist again, tighter as his teeth stayed on that spot. You winced and tried to pull him off, but his hands remained.
He slowly started to grind his clothed cock against yours once more, drawing the moment out.
“Agh—.. fuck—“ you mumbled before letting out an embarrassing, cracked moan. Why was he going faster?
Satoru didn’t care when your hands started to tighten their grasp on his hair; he seemed to enjoy it, letting his eyes roll back as his jaw released its hold on your skin. He licked it with care before sealing it with a kiss: a bow to a gift.
His head furrowed in your shoulder as he just rutted into you, letting your voice ring out in the room while he let his own vibrate against your body, quiet prayers of lust. His arms hugged you close, pulling you deeper into the abyss of desire.
“God,” he mumbled, “you’re perfect.”
You didn’t respond; you were too busy trying to grind against him in time with his own.
“You like that?” He nuzzled against your cheek before letting go of your waist and grabbing your hair. “I think you liked this last time, too.” He tugged lightly, smiling against your shoulder when your movements faltered. “I got permission, baby?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
“It’ll be like a fucking leash, huh?” He chuckled.
When he yanked your head back, your mouth slipped out a strangle moan of pain. Satoru—he wasn’t just in your head; he was in front of you, teasing you—laughed with a glint of adoration in his eyes.
Adoration? Couldn’t be.
“Get on your knees, pretty?”
You’re a servant.
You’re nothing but obedient.
It was stupid, how fast you fell to your knees with your kimono mostly undone. A servant shouldn’t have been doing this with someone like him, shouldn’t have been so messy and unrefined in the presence of a superior, but you were so eager. And duty was thrown out the window the moment you touched yourself with his image in mind.
Clearly, Satoru enjoyed this just as much as you did.
His hands cupped your face best he could with the mask, slipping underneath it. “You’ll pleasure me.” He didn’t ask you, yet the command was sweet. You nodded dumbly. “Good boy.”
You need to cum. You need to cum so bad.
Satoru’s fingers were slender and long, teasing your covered face with another glimpse of his body. You needed to worship him like a statue.
You let yourself think something sacrilegious: you hated the mask right now, and you wanted to see Satoru without it. You wanted to see his true beauty despite everything.
His body, now dry and clean, was revealed to be more on display until it slipped down entirely. His undergarments were peeled off with little haste, but you pushed back the impatience. Your eyes were blown wide with curiosity and arousal as he teased you with unhurried motions. Until his slender hands pulled everything down, and…
He was… big.
You didn’t know what defined a big cock. You’ve only ever seen yours.
But he was big.
God… were you drooling? So stupid.
“Ever jerked off?” Satoru asked, tilting his head down at you. You looked up, and felt like he enjoyed the view of looking down on you. He was before, considering his status was much higher than yours, but something about the look in his eyes said he preferred this much more.
You nodded despite your embarrassment concealed by the mask, and he laughed. It was dangerous and low. “I doubt you’ve done it with anyone else.” You shook your head. “Ever had sex at all?” You paused, hesitant. You shook your head.
He hummed and pondered, though you doubted he was thinking anything meaningful. “Well, virgins are always cuter,” he commented; you were right. It wasn’t anything meaningful.
You were still turned on nonetheless.
It was a bit lithe with a few veins. It was a bit hard, but not too much considering that he jerked off not too long ago. It was hardening—because of you? Ha, you love that thought. The color: a bit pink, a bit pale. Pretty with a bit of cum spilling out.
“You’ve jerked yourself off,” he said. “Just do the same with me.”
It sounded simple enough, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like a daunting task you didn’t know how to approach.
You’d do it the same way you did with yourself. And you’d pray it was good enough to please him, because that’s your job as his personal…
…servant?
Your hands raised until they brushed against his cock. You could feel Satoru shiver from your feathery touch, and the idea that you were pleasuring him made you feel accomplished. You were being good. Good for him.
You took a deep breath before wrapping your hands around it entirely. He shuddered and let his back arch slightly, his hips pushing towards your touch. If his body wanted more, then at least you were doing something right at least.
It felt cold from the shower, uncomfortable. But you didn’t mind; you wouldn’t mind.
“Ha…” you breathed out softly, in awe of how he was reacting to you. You leaned closer, your hands tightening before sliding down to his base. He grunted, and his hips thrusted in your hands. This was dirty of you.
Doesn’t mean you would stop. You would serve him.
Without really noticing, as all your attention was on worshiping his body and cock like he wanted you to, you started rolling your hips on the ground. You were chasing the same pleasure you were giving him—how scandalous! As you’re a servant, and servants aren’t meant to get the same treatment they give their superiors. Then again, you’re currently—
Let’s not think about it.
Satoru’s moans didn’t echo in the room, yet the undeniable pleasure and lust coming from his mouth was trapped in your mask. Your hands never stopped moving against the skin; when they did, Satoru’s hands would cover your own and force them to move.
“Don’t stop,” he said, his voice cracked. You obeyed, your hands resuming their movements eagerly.
You let him thrust into your hands, and you let yourself grope and worship his cock with your hands. You let yourself forget about your status just for a moment.
“A—Am I doing this right, Gojo-Sama?” You asked tentatively, barely raising your voice above the squelching noise of Satoru’s cock and his cum slowly coating it.
“Fu—uck,” he drawled out, his head tossed back just like earlier. “You’re being so good,” he muttered. “Just like that…” he trailed off, then laughed lightly. “You’re such a fast learner.”
You whined and stroked harder. You were being good for him. You were being so good.
One hand of yours let go of him, letting you put it on your own torturously clothed cock. Your hips stuttered their own movement at your sudden contact; even you were surprised at your own motion. Especially since Satoru didn’t give you permission. But he was right. You’ve already broken so many rules, there was no harm in pleasuring yourself when you were doing so for Satoru! Right?
But you were meant to put all of your attention on him, and him alone.
But you needed to cum so badly.
Maybe Satoru noticed and pretended not to care. Maybe that’s why you could’ve sworn he laughed lightly under his moans and grunts. But you didn’t bother trying to distinguish between what was your fault and what was his. You were just palming yourself through your kimono while the hand around Satoru’s cock stuttered. Your servant-mind wanted to do two things at once: pleasure yourself and pleasure Satoru.
You could feel his hand on your wrist, guiding your motions along his length. It was a calming presence, the firm grasp he held on you. “Don’t falter,” he murmured between his delicious moans. You didn’t listen, your movements stiff when your other hand squeezed at your erection. You needed to cum; you would die if you waited a second longer. You threw your head back when you felt you were close.
He groaned before his hands trailed up your arms. Then your shoulders…
You squeaked when his fingers tousled your hair.
The gesture was out of character, even more so for the intimate situation you found yourself in with him. Still, regardless of what was going on in his head, you leaned into his touch. It reminded you of when the elder servants would praise you for your accomplishments when you were younger, their touch cold. Satoru was warm with heat.
“So cute,” he cooed. “Baby.”
Your hands slowly stroked his cock, caught up in the sensation of his touch and your own pleasure. Too slow for him, apparently, because—
YANK!
You let out a strangled moan of pleasure swirled with pain. “I never said stop, did I?” He asked sweetly, pulling your hair back, forcing you to confront his gaze. It was cold; it was attention.
You stammered. “I-I’m so sorry—“
“We need to get rid of that habit of yours, baby.”
Fuck. You apologized.
He sighed before his hands came to the one on his cock and pulled them off. You whined, letting both of your hands meet at your own hard length. It felt so good; his gaze made you feel terrible.
“You’re so disappointing,” he said, and you let out a choked sob. Your hands never stopped moving against yourself. Maybe it was because you were so painfully hard that you needed to release yourself. Maybe it was because Satoru looked at you with a hunger that made you feel seen and a distaste that you needed to fix. That was your job. You needed to please him, you needed to please yourself.
He crouched down, and the rest of his undone kimono fell to the ground around him like a shadow. His irritation faded into a soft look of—you don’t know. His hand, still in your hair, slithered down to cup your chin underneath your mask. “Here’s a deal. Make me cum, then we can deal with that…” he trailed off, his eyes darting down to your own hands before darting back to the holes of your mask, seeing right through it and into your eyes. “...problem of yours.”
You’re a servant.
You’re nothing but obedient.
I am so sorry if the smut wasn't to your standard! this is my first time writing content like that, and I had nowhere to start except for looking at other writers (ᵕ—ᴗ—). i'm also sorry it took me so long to update this! I had a really busy month- nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed!
I will probably make this a series thing. i'm not too sure about how that will go, but I will definitely try! and I will DEFINITELY make a better smut scene! if you... have any tips on how to write smut scenes, it will be greatly appreciated-
criticism is allowed, but please be respectful; i'm fragile.
plss more jock!leon and nerd!reader, maybe they study together?? or whatever?? get high?? who knows
previously
not something you want,
but something you need
male!reader, University!au, nerd!reader, jock!leon, cheating/tw, reader and zeno are toxic, continuation of twink!reader, no smut but mentions of an erection lol
You’ve been avoiding Leon.
Well, not exactly avoiding him, but definitely going out of your way not to see him again.
You’ve started taking longer routes to lectures, bailing on hangouts whenever Zeno mentions the rest of the team showing up, even staying home during shared discussion hours just to avoid the possibility of running into him.
Maybe, to anyone else, it would seem dramatic.
But if they’d spent an unforgettable seven minutes in a closet with one of their boyfriend’s teammates, they’d probably panic too.
Of course, Zeno doesn’t suspect a thing — or maybe he’s just never paid enough attention to notice your turmoil.
To him, you’re still hopelessly in love with him. That night was nothing more than alcohol-fueled stupidity. At least, that’s what he wants you to believe instead of acknowledging how much he’s been around lately.
The guilt gnaws at you enough that you play dumb for your own sanity, pretending the whole thing never happened.
And somehow, that works.
For a week.
Despite how the memory lingers in your dreams in the best possible way, you make it through without issue.
No Leon.
No fights with Zeno.
No problems.
You’re in the clear. Mostly.
A stack of books tumbles from your cart after a freshman clips the corner without looking. The sharp clatter echoes through the library, just loud enough for the librarian to appear from seemingly nowhere and shush you like it was your fault.
You apologize anyway, crouching to gather the scattered books.
Working part-time at the campus library isn’t glamorous, but it passes the time and puts extra money in your pocket for relatively little effort.
Collect books. Reshelve them. Help students find things they could’ve searched online themselves.
Easy.
More importantly, it’s quiet — a welcome escape from the exhausting chaos that comes with dating Zeno.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket.
You pull it out and check the message.
Speak of the devil.
going out with the boys. don’t wait up tonight.
You stare at the screen for a moment longer than necessary.
Finals week is creeping closer, which means the library stays open later and fills with students desperately trying to absorb entire semesters overnight.
You’ve gotten good at noticing who comes and goes.
Mostly because you’re usually the one stuck fixing whatever mess they leave behind.
So naturally, your irritation deepens as you push your cart toward the study rooms and glance through the windows.
And immediately stop.
Zeno’s lying.
His boys are here.
Albert stands at the chalkboard, aggressively working through an equation while Ethan looks seconds away from throwing himself through the glass. Carlos laughs loudly at something Ethan says, and you glance back down at the text on your phone.
Something sour twists in your chest.
Maybe you stop being the one who puts up with everything.
You hate that thought. Leon’s words an echo of doubt ever since you heard them.
Your eyes flick back toward the room just as Albert notices you. He smiles faintly and gives a small wave. The others quickly follow.
You force yourself to smile back, lifting your fingers in greeting.
Ethan mouths help me dramatically before Carlos yanks him into a headlock.
A laugh slips out before you can stop it.
No wonder the librarian hates them.
Your gaze drifts across the room again before catching on the far corner.
And freezing.
Leon sits near the back with a clipboard balanced against his knee, half-covered in equations and messy doodles.
He’s already looking at you.
That same look from the party.
Surprised. Focused. Like he hadn’t expected to see you either.
The eye contact lasts too long.
You break first.
Quickly pushing your cart forward, you turn on your heel and disappear down the nearest aisle before the old wheels can squeak loud enough to betray you. Not running but something close.
A second later, you hear the study room door open.
Shit. Maybe a bit of running.
You abandon the cart entirely and weave through the shelves, ducking deeper into the archive section.
Left. Right. Another right.
You know this place better than anyone besides the librarian himself, and even he rarely ventures this far back.
Your footsteps stay light and quick, almost feline — not at all like a grown man sprinting through a college library.
It’s ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
But you can’t seem to stop running.
Eventually, you slow to a halt and listen.
This deep in the archives, all you can hear is the low hum of the overhead lights.
You sigh in relief.
Maybe you lost him.
You wait another minute crouched low between the shelves before finally standing again.
You turn —
And immediately collide with someone solid.
You nearly yelp, but a hand clamps over your mouth before the sound can escape.
Wide-eyed, you look up.
Leon.
His other hand rises, finger pressed to his lips.
You nod quickly.
Leon slowly removes his hand from your mouth. Neither of you speaks.
The silence stretches unbearably thin.
“Excuse me,” you whisper finally, trying to sidestep him.
Leon moves faster.
Before you can react, you’re lifted clean off the ground.
“Leon—!”
The protest barely escapes above a whisper before he’s already carrying you deeper into the archives.
He shoulders open the supply closet door, slips inside with you still in his arms, then kicks it shut behind him.
Your back on the floor as soon as you were off it. He turns away from you.
The lock clicks.
“Leon, you can’t be—”
The rest of your sentence disappears the moment he turns around.
He looks furious.
Not cold furious.
Wounded furious.
His brows are drawn tight, lips pulled into a sharp frown, blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.
“…serious,” you finish weakly.
The closet is cramped, not nearly as small as the last one, but still close enough that one step backward has your shoulders brushing cleaning supplies.
Leon closes the distance instantly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for anything to—”
He kisses you before you can finish.
Hard.
Desperate.
Your brain short-circuits for exactly one second before your body reacts on instinct.
Your hands grab his face immediately, and Leon lets out a rough sound against your mouth as he pulls you closer.
Cold fingers slide beneath your shirt, gripping bare skin.
You shiver.
Leon doesn’t let you pull away for even a second.
His teeth catch your lower lip before he finally breaks the kiss long enough to mutter:
“Jump.”
That’s all the warning you get.
He’s already lifting you again before you can process it, hands firmly under your thighs as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.
Your back hits the wall.
You gasp softly as Leon kisses you again, even hungrier this time.
Your arms slide around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer.
When he finally pulls away, it’s only to press heated kisses along your neck.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
His voice comes out lower than you’ve ever heard it before.
You shake your head automatically.
Leon pinches your side lightly in response.
A punishment for lying.
“I don’t like that,” he murmurs against your collarbone before sucking a mark into the skin there.
You should care.
You really should stop him.
Instead, your head tips back against the wall.
“I’m sorry, Leon,” you breathe.
The sound seems to affect him instantly because he groans against your throat before kissing you again.
Slower this time.
“Don’t apologize, baby,” he says softly against your lips. “Just make it better.”
And honestly?
You try.
By the time the tension finally settles, you’re both breathless and trying to straighten your clothes like two guilty teenagers.
Leon stands in front of the tiny mirror attempting to fix his hair while redoing the buttons on his jacket.
You smooth down your sweater, still catching your breath.
Leon breaks the silence first.
“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… been a while since I’ve seen you.”
For the first time since dragging you in here, he can’t look you in the eye.
You laugh quietly.
“It’s okay,” you say. “I’m sorry too.”
Leon finally glances your way.
The look lasts all of two seconds before he suddenly grabs your face and kisses you again.
This one is different.
Gentler.
Almost embarrassingly affectionate.
You laugh against his mouth and shove lightly at his chest.
“Okay, down boy,” you tease. “I’m still on the clock.”
Leon opens his mouth to respond before his eyes drift downward.
To the marks blooming beneath your collar.
His entire face immediately turns pink.
“Oh my God,” he groans, pressing his forehead against the wall.
You snort, covering the exposed area by linking another button.
“Sorry.” He mumbles into the wall.
“It’s kind of cute,” you admit.
“That’s not helping.”
You laugh again while fixing yourself enough to look vaguely presentable before moving toward the door.
Leon, meanwhile, remains firmly planted in what has now become his shame corner.
You unlock the door before pausing.
He isn’t following.
“Leon?”
He groans dramatically without turning around.
“What’s wrong,” you step closer and he immediately angles his lower half away from you. “Oh.”
Right.
That’s wrong.
You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.
Leon’s ears burn crimson.
“What?” he mutters defensively. “You look hot all disheveled. You can’t expect me not to get hard after all that.”
Your laugh escapes anyway.
“Just give me a minute to calm down,” he grumbles.
Shaking your head, you move closer and press a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping out the door.
Behind you, Leon makes a wounded noise.
“That didn’t help!”
You leave him there anyway.
It doesn’t take long to relocate your abandoned cart and slip back into your routine.
Eventually, the boys pass through the library on their way out.
Leon lingers just long enough to throw you a wink.
Your stomach flips all over again.
You don’t have to be the one getting walked over.
His words echo in your head the rest of the night.
Zeno may have started this mess first, but that doesn’t make what you’re doing any better.
You pull out your phone, teeth worrying your bottom lip as your fingers move across the screen.
synopsis: You weren't ashamed of Bucky. No, that wasn't anywhere close to why you hid your relationship with him, but it was due to your brother, Steve's, potential reaction. He wouldn't be against it, but you knew the dynamics between you three would change (not to mention Steve pulling out the protective brother card alongside the shovel talk) so you decided to keep things on the down low. And it seemed to work, Steve was none the wiser, even if he did sometimes come close to walking in on you two.
Steve is a good man. The best, honestly. Which is exactly why you never told him about your relationship with Bucky.
It wasn't shame. God, it wasn't shame.
When Bucky looked at you with those grey eyes gone soft with want, his metal hand warm against your jaw, you felt it in your bones. This was right. This had always been right, even when Bucky was still finding himself, even when you were just the kid brother Steve had brought back from the dead (metaphorically) after the ice.
Steve would mean well.
Steve would pull Bucky aside for the shovel talk with that earnest Captain America expression. The one that made generals salute and villains rethink their life choices. He'd start analyzing your relationship like a tactical mission. He'd ask Bucky about intentions, timelines and whether Bucky was sleeping okay and eating enough because apparently being your brother gave him the right to monitor your boyfriend's protein intake.
And Bucky, the bastard, would take it seriously. Because he loved Steve too, in his own way, and he'd want to do right by him. And suddenly your fun, filthy, easy thing would have Steve's fingerprints all over it.
So you didn't tell him.
"You're evil," Tony said, not looking up from his tablet. You were both in the common room kitchen. You making coffee, him pretending to work while actually watching the security feed of the east hallway on a secondary screen. "You're both evil and I'm entertained."
"Don't know what you're talking about." you said, pouring creamer.
"Camera twelve, thirty seconds ago. Bucky just pulled you into the supply closet by your belt loops. You were in there for four minutes and came out with your shirt buttoned wrong."
You looked down. Damn. "We're organizing supplies."
"Uh-huh. And I'm organizing Pepper's schedule. Which I actually am, because I'm a functional adult who doesn't need to hide in closets—"
The door burst open. Steve strode in, fresh from the gym, towel around his neck, looking unfairly wholesome. "Hey! Have you guys seen Bucky? I wanted to go over some mission parameters, but he's not answering his comm."
Tony's eyes flicked to you. You took a long sip of coffee.
"Last I saw, he was heading toward the east wing." you said, which was technically true. Four minutes ago. Before the supply closet.
"Thanks, Y/N," Steve clapped your shoulder with that heavy, well meaning hand. "You're the best."
He left. Tony stared at you.
"East wing," Tony repeated. "You sent Captain America on a scavenger hunt while your boyfriend hides his...supplies."
"He'll find him eventually. Probably in the armory. Bucky's probably cleaning his guns."
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
You flipped him off.
The problem with living in a building full of super spies and geniuses was that privacy was theoretical. The problem with dating Bucky Barnes was that he had seventy years of repressed libido and absolutely no chill.
"Steve's in the gym," Bucky breathed against your neck, walking you backward into your bedroom. "Forty five minute routine. I timed it."
"You timed my brother's workout?"
"For us," Bucky said, like this was romantic. And honestly? It kind of was. His hands were already under your shirt, warm and calloused, the metal one trailing cool against your spine. "Forty minutes. I can make you come twice. Three times if you're loud."
"I'm never loud." you lied.
Bucky grinned, wicked and sharp. "Challenge accepted."
You were forty minutes into proving exactly how loud you could be—Bucky's mouth on your throat, your legs wrapped around his waist, the bed hitting the wall in a rhythm that was definitely going to leave marks—when the knock came.
"Hey! You in there?" Steve's voice, muffled but present.
You both froze. Bucky was still inside you, breathing hard, eyes wide.
"Shit." you mouthed.
"Didn't know he finished early." Bucky mouthed back.
The knock came again. "I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner! Just us, like old times. I feel like I haven't seen you all week."
Because you'd been avoiding him. Because every time you sat down for a meal, Bucky would look at you across the table with that look, and you'd have to excuse yourself to jerk off in the bathroom like a teenager.
"Yeah!" you called out, your voice cracking only slightly. "Just—just a minute! I'm changing!"
"Okay! I'll wait!"
Bucky's forehead dropped to your shoulder. He was shaking, you realized, with laughter or desperation. You couldn't tell.
"We have to be quiet." you whispered.
"He's right outside the door."
"I know."
Bucky pulled back slightly, just enough to roll his hips. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. "Don't." He did it again. The metal hand clamped over your mouth, stifling the moan you couldn't hold back.
"Everything okay in there?" Steve called.
"Fine!" you managed, voice muffled by Bucky's palm. "Just stubbed my toe!"
"Oh! You want me to get you some ice?"
"No!" you yelped as Bucky thrust again, watching your face with dark amusement. "I'm good! Just give me five minutes!"
"Okay! Take your time!"
You heard him settle against the door. Actually settle. Like he was going to stand guard.
Bucky raised an eyebrow. Still?
You nodded frantically. Still.
What followed was the most intense, silent sex of your life. Bucky's hand still covered your mouth, his eyes locked on yours. Every time you made a noise, he'd pause, shake his head minutely, and wait for Steve to shift his weight outside before moving again.
It was torture. It was exquisite.
When you came, it was with Bucky's name silent on your lips, your back arching off the bed, his hand keeping you quiet as your body shook. He followed a moment later, burying his face in your neck, his own release silent and shuddering.
You lay there, panting, listening to your brother hum the Star-Spangled Banner on the other side of the door.
"I hate you." you whispered to Bucky.
"I know," he whispered back, kissing your jaw. "Worth it?"
You couldn't even answer. You were too busy trying to remember how to walk.
Five minutes later, you opened the door. Steve beamed at you, then looked past you to where Bucky was sitting on your bed, fully clothed, cleaning his knife.
"Oh! Hey, Buck! Didn't know you were here."
"Just stopped by to borrow a book." Bucky said smoothly, not looking up.
"What book?"
Bucky paused. Looked at you. You looked at the ceiling.
"...The Great Gatsby." Bucky said.
"You hate The Great Gatsby," Steve said. "You said it was 'a book about a stalker with money.'"
"Trying to broaden my horizons."
Steve studied him for a long moment. You held your breath. Then he smiled, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. "That's great, pal. Self-improvement. I like it. You guys ready for dinner?"
"Starving." you said, and Bucky coughed into his fist.
The Avengers knew.
Of course they knew.
Natasha had figured it out in week one, because she was Natasha. She'd found you in the gym at 3 AM, Bucky's jacket around your shoulders, his hickey on your collarbone, and she'd just nodded once and said, "About time. He's less murder-y when he's getting laid."
She'd kept the secret without being asked. Natasha understood secrets. She understood that some things needed to stay small and safe before they were ready for the light.
Clint knew because he'd walked in on you in the vents. You'd been hiding from Steve, Bucky had been hiding with you, and things had gotten handsy. Clint had backed out slowly, given you a thumbs up, and later left a box of condoms on your pillow with a note:
For the greater good. Also, vents have cameras. You're welcome.
Tony knew because Tony knew everything, and he was enjoying the show too much to spoil it.
Thor knew because he was Thor, and while he didn't fully understand Midgardian courtship rituals, he understood that "secret love is the most passionate love" and had taken to giving you knowing winks that made you want to die.
Bruce knew because he had excellent hearing and the Hulk had apparently developed opinions about your relationship that he communicated through meaningful grunts.
And Steve—Steve knew that you and Bucky were close. Closer than close. Best friends, he'd say proudly, watching you two train together, watching Bucky teach you knife throws, watching you bring Bucky coffee exactly how he liked it (black, two sugars, in the red mug because the blue one had a chip).
"He's going to kill us when he finds out." Bucky said one day while holding you in your bed.
"He's not going to find out."
"He's Captain America, doll. He's going to walk in on us eventually, or Tony's going to get drunk and spill it, or—"
"Or," you said, looking up at him, "we keep being careful. We keep it ours. Just a little longer."
Bucky looked tired, but he was smiling. "You really want to keep sneaking around? The supply closets? The quickies in the armory? That time in the quinjet while he was flying it?"
"That was risky," you admitted. "But also hot."
"Everything with you is hot." Bucky said, and kissed you, slow and sweet.
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