Graveyard

24♒️

[peachjellyy]

Feel My Love

Description: Pope catches feelings for the one person who’s shown genuine care for him…his prison counselor. After being released he knows he needs to show that love to you in order to make you his.

Warnings: Pope Cody x prison counselor!reader, stalker!pope, obsessive!pope, perverted!pope, pet names (angel, baby) (andy), cursing, OCD thoughts, narcissistic cycle mention, mentions of sm*rf and b*z, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v sex, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 6.6k

a/n: i tried to research a bit into the narcissistic abuse cycle and rumination, so i hope i did it justice. I AM NOT A THERAPIST, COUNSELOR, OR PSYCHIATRIST!

You had met Pope about 6 months into his 6-year bid. His reputation had preceded him as every guard who came to bring another prisoner to see you had warned you of his seemingly violent tendencies.

Watch out for Pope man, he’s crazy. He’s a freak. Don’t turn your back on him he’ll kill you.

Occasionally he’d even be brought up by other prisoners.

I don’t know Ms. he’s just off. Stay away from him if you can.

It wasn’t unusual to hear these types of comments as almost all of the men that were kept behind these prison walls were violent in some capacity. You tried to shake the comments off knowing that if he did become a client, you couldn’t show any biases.

Plus to these men, fear was something they could sniff out, like a bloodhound searching for a dead body. You knew if they could smell fear dripping off of you you were better off dead.

When you got to work that day, you had a manila folder on your desk with Pope’s name and information. When you had asked the warden why he was becoming a client of yours, he barked out in a gruff manner “He was mandated by a judge” before returning to whatever unimportant matter he was invested in.

2:15 on every Tuesday and Thursday became you and Pope’s designated time. So that next Tuesday, Pope was escorted to your office, shackled at his hands, waist, and feet. You tried hard to not flinch at his unwavering stare and rigid posture as he walked outside your window.

You stood from your chair, smoothing any wrinkles that formed on your pants. You opened the door, greeting both the guard and Pope before moving back to let them into your office.

The officer nudged Pope forward, showing him into a seat, shackling him to the hooks underneath your desk. You twitched your brow at the rough treatment, but decided not to say anything to the guard.

You walked to sit behind your desk ready to start your session when you noticed the guard still standing behind the largely built man in front of you.

Again you quirked your brow, “Is there anything else?” you said, confused.

“It’s protocol to stay in the room. Especially for an animal like him.”

Your face shriveled in discontent at the choice of words, you looked at Pope who sat rigid, his body refusing to make eye contact with you, “He is a client and all clients get confidentiality for any and all things that are said in here. He is also a human who deserves to be treated as such, Officer Lyncook.”

The officer squinted his eyes in disdain then slowly walked out of the room, closing the door and staring menacingly through the window.

You turned your attention towards Pope taking a deep breath before introducing yourself.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I figure we can spend most of the time of our session introducing and getting to know each other.” You smiled expectantly.

Pope’s eyes still faced his lap, and he merely grunted at your words.

Feeling the unsettling energy he was emitting, you chose to speak mostly about yourself and what you focus on during the session.

“I’ve been a counselor for about 5 years, the last 2, I have been a counselor in the prison. I work with a lot of clients so I’ve heard just about everything.” You laugh to yourself. “Um…the point of our sessions will be to work through some of the things that are weighing us down. That could be anything…stresses, mental illness, substance abuse…family.”

Pope’s head and eyes rise to meet yours then flicker back to the floor. Clearly you had touched a nerve with the last example. That was something you would store for later.

“My purpose is to help establish and plant good healthy habits so when you’re out of this dark place you release some of those negative habits and people and move forward. The biggest hope and wish from this is to not come back, I think both of us can agree on that.”

Silence filled the room , all you could hear was his deep shallow breaths and the occasional sharp yell of a prisoner from the echoey hallway.

“Well Pope is there an-“

“Don’t call me that…please” he interrupted.

“I’m sorry…what would you like to be called?”

He takes a beat looking around the room nervously then responds, “Andrew”.

“Okay…Well, Andrew is there anything you’d like to ask or share?”

“How long do I have to keep coming here?”

“According to the judge and warden, we’ll continue sessions until the end of your sentence. I know it seems long but I promise the more we talk and work together it’ll go by fast.”

Andrew nodded lowly taking in that he would be forced to sit in his discomfort longer than he had hoped.

Andrew hadn’t developed feelings for you quickly. It was something that festered inside him despite how much he tried to fight it.

His upbringing had cemented the distrust of any counselor or therapist. And so after several sessions despite everything in his body screaming no he had finally let you in.

“My mom visited me on Saturday.”

You cocked your head in shock, in the short two weeks of seeing Andrew, he had never mentioned anything regarding his family. Well, at least not his mom. He had mentioned his love of his niece, Lena, and his relationship with his three brothers Baz, Craig, and Deran.

He mostly focused on the former and her mother, Cath.

But the one person he refrained from going much further on his relationship was his mother, Janine, or Smurf.

“Oh…how did that go?”

“She mainly talked about my brothers and her…”Pope looked up at you hesitantly. “Businesses”

“Hmm…did she ask about you at all?”

Andrew shook his head, “Nah, she never asks about how it’s going.”

“Does she visit you or call often?” Andrew shook his head again. “No letters?” you pouted. Andrew didn’t respond but the answer was written on his face.

“Can I ask how it makes you feel that she doesn’t ask about you?”

He shrugged lightly, “I’m used to it. She always wants to talk about herself or Baz. She only asks about me when she wants something.”

Instantly alarms start going off in your head. You immediately recognize the narcissistic tendencies from how Andrew describes his mother. You’re more used to the men sitting in the chair presenting those traits, so it’s shocking to see the ‘big bad scary man’ in front of you to be affected (as much as he tried to shield it) by his mother's actions.

“I noticed you said she mainly talks about Baz aside from herself, can I ask why?”

“Baz has always been her golden boy. Does whatever she asks without asking why. She says jump, he says how high. The day I started to question things is the day I stopped being her ‘baby’.”

“Her love and appreciation for you shouldn’t be dependent on your willingness to devote yourself to her.”

Andrew had never had anyone tell him that he deserved love without anything in return. His breathing starts to pick up lightly, he’s trying to hold in the dam that carries the weight of his emotions.

He refuses to let anyone see that side, even himself.

“Are we almost done here? I want to go back to my cell,” he says with hostility.

“Unfortunately, you can’t leave, but if you are feeling uncomfortable we can end this conversation. I won’t force you to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

Andrew’s hand fidgeted in his lap, tapping his fingers on his leg in a sequence of threes trying to settle his nerves. “Thank you.”

You gave a soft smile, “Of course. And I hope you know that if there is anything you want to tell me, I won’t share it with anyone else. What we say here will stay in these four walls.”

The rest of the session went the same as before where you had asked Andrew questions and he had vaguely answered them, not giving you too much to interpret.

3:00 hit the clock quickly. The guard outside the door tapped a few times before unlocking the door, signaling the end of their session. The guard unchained Andrew from your desk and walked him back to his cell.

On the way back, Andrew had a lot of things racing through his mind. He had questions about why you were so nice, why you wanted to help him, but most of all why did you make his heart flutter in his chest?

He wasn’t oblivious to the feeling of a crush, he had felt it not long ago for Cath. Seeing her smile at him, talk to him without fear, or smile at the flowers he left for her. But all of those things she did were quiet gestures.

Your gestures were loud and purely selfless. You cared for him and his comfort without any ill intent. Something he wasn’t used to for a very long time.

Even though he enjoyed that feeling, his mind wouldn’t let it last. His mind reminded him of all the dark and twisted shit he’s done and proved to himself that he wasn’t worth comfort or love or any other happy emotion.

While his mind reminded him of his past, you were intent on focusing on his future.

“Today, I wanted to talk, or more so ask about something I’ve noticed,” you asked hesitantly.

“Okay, have at it.”

Now a year into your sessions, Andrew had become slightly more trusting and was even open to learning some skills to use with his family and outside of prison.

“I’ve noticed you have a slight compulsive thought. Specifically, you tend to see a fracture in a relationship as a distinct fault within yourself.”

Andrew was rubbing his hands, nodding his head, processing what you were saying.

“With these compulsive thoughts, I’ve noticed you tend to get ‘stuck in’ for days on end and it has a direct correlation to your mood, self-esteem, and interaction with others. Am I okay to continue?”

“Yes,” he said with minor discomfort.

He wanted to oppose but how could he, you were the only one besides Julia who saw past his tough bravado and was willing to help him.

“I wanted to use Cath for an example.” Andrew’s face tightens at your mention of his brother's wife. “You mentioned that you had sent her a letter and she had blocked you from sending anything. Why do you think she chose to do that?”

“Clearly she’s scared of me. I mean I saw the way she looked at me before I came here.” his eyes flitted back and forth between his lap and your eyes as he spoke.

“Let’s change our thinking on this one. What else could she be scared of? What does she have to lose?”

“She could lose Lena, she could lose…I don’t know…Baz.”

“What does Baz provide for her?”

“I mean he provides a house, money, and I guess family. Her parents are gone so she doesn’t have anyone else.”

“It sounds like Cath has a lot to lose. She could lose almost her whole life. To me, it seems deeper than just that she’s scared of you. Plus have you ever been violent with her or intimidated her?”

Andrew’s eyes locked onto yours giving finality and honesty to his answer, “I would never hurt her. I would never hurt you either.”

Why did he mention you? Have you been showing signs of fear?, you thought to yourself.

“Why did you say that you’d never hurt me? Do you think I’m afraid of you?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed still puzzled by his thought process.

“Everyone is. I know what everyone says about me, I’m not stupid.”

“Of course you’re not stupid. Yes, people have told me stories about you” Andrew’s jaw clenches; his body tightens he’s visibly uncomfortable with the way the others have portrayed him. He knew this would be the catalyst between you and him and begin the cycle he was used to once again. Someone tries to get close to him, they hear the awful shit he’s done, and slowly but surely they break any and all ties that they have to him, and see his mere existence as a threat. “But I’m not concerned by any of them. I wanted to judge your character on my own and I’ve found that you are calm, kind, respectful, and have only inched towards violence when you feel backed into a corner, which we are still working on.”

Something within the air shifted. Andrew was still stoic and brave-faced, but it was like he now had an unreadable look behind his eyes.

The end of the session was near only 5 minutes remained. Andrew didn’t say much, but as he was leaving he whispered something that was almost impossible to hear.

“Thank you…for today.”

When Andrew was back inside his cell is when he knew. You were the only person who cared for him, who knew who he really was. It instantly sparked an interest and want for you.

He would be lying if he said he didn't think you were gorgeous. He knew he was attracted to you from the start, but he's not like most men where attraction leads to the entire want for more. For Andrew, he needed to feel a deep connection. He thought he had felt that with Cath, but after today the only person he could think of was you.

He managed to find a connection, outside of Smurf to dig up information about you.

He found that you grew up in Nevada, attended a college nearby, and moved to Sacramento when you accepted your position at Folsom.

He no longer cared whether Cath, Smurf, or any other person in his life because he just wanted to be near you.

He figured once he was out he’d either move to Sacramento or he’d move you to Oceanside. Either way, he’d make sure to watch you closely before doing either, so he could know even more about how to impress you and make you his.

Years had passed, and finally Andrew was up for parole. He was eager but scared that it wouldn’t be granted.

“You’ve got this…Think of all the things you’ve learned. I mean you’ve found some skills for your OCD, you’ve found some strategies on dealing with Smurf. You’ve come such a long way! Just be honest and whatever they choose we’ll handle it.”

Andrew’s hopes weren’t too high, he was prepared for the disappointment. All he could focus on was how you centered him no matter what.

Whatever they choose we’ll handle it. Like you were placing him in your future. Even on the outside.

So, when they granted him his early release, Andrew felt like he had a new lease on life. He was not only excited to be free but he was ecstatic to start a new chapter with you.

That ended up being the last conversation you had with Andrew but little did you know, he planned on having much more very soon.

It started with letters and a single white rose at your doorstep. Your doorbell was rung and when you opened it, you found no one, but you did find the note and the white rose.

You skimmed the letter and it had described how gorgeous and passionate you were and how this person couldn’t wait for your time together.

You tried to look to see who may have left this strange not but no one was in sight.

Suddenly, the rose and note became a daily occurrence. It should have scared you more, but never in any part of the letter did the person express any want to harm you for their feelings. In fact, it seemed the opposite, as if your mere existence was keeping them afloat.

You couldn’t explain why, but you didn’t call the police on them. Even if you could, what would you say? Each one of their notes felt so personal. It was almost familiar, like you knew them.

Occasionally, you’d get a client who would seek out your session outside of prison. You’d get a call from their parole officer and you’d try to help them find another counselor who could help them continue their practice.

It was very rare for you to accept any clients outside of prison since your caseload was so high, but when you got the call that Andrew Cody was seeking services, you were more than surprised.

The man who hardly spoke to you wanted to continue? Of course he had made some progress but it seemed as if he only made it so he could get out of prison.

Regardless, you accepted and agreed to meet with Andrew on Saturday afternoon at a cafe. You chose to make the drive down to Oceanside, so you could keep professional boundaries and he didn’t know where to find you, but little did you know he already knew everything about you.

When Saturday arrived, you woke up early got ready for the day, and made the long drive to Oceanside. You arrived at the café finding Andrew already seated at a booth towards the back of the building, near the large window facing the ocean. His eyes locked onto yours when he sensed your movement.

"Hi Andrew" you greeted him with a soft welcoming smile. Rather than the typical stiffening of his body during your sessions, it almost seemed as if his body eased.

Andrew felt weak hearing your voice, granted it had only been two weeks since you last spoke, but it felt like a lifetime to him. You were like a saving grace for Andrew, something that kept him going when his mind or the guards had begun their torture.

"Hi," he said in return.

"Can I ask why you wanted to meet with me? John didn't say much."

He could have told the full truth. He could have said that he felt that he was dying now that he couldn't see you anymore, but he was too afraid to see your reaction, so he chose to share the partial truth. "She's been drugging my food," he grunted.

You didn't need to ask who you knew he meant Smurf. “You know why she’d do that right? Do you remember what we talked about?"

Of course he had. He remembered every little thing you said.

He nodded stiffly, took a deep breath, and recited the words that he committed to memory. "She needs control over me to ensure I stay hers. She doesn't see me as her son but as a tool, a weapon that she can use at her mercy." He looks up to your eyes once more, “I just don't think I can do it much longer I'm sick of the lying, the pushing me away just to pull me back in."

"It's her cycle. Narcissists have their cycle and it will just continue until you remove yourself from it, from her." You reached out hesitantly to Andrew's tightened fist that rested on the table. You unfurled it and placed your palm inside of his hand. Andrew's breath hitched feeling your touch for the first time. It took everything within him to not rub his thumb soothingly over your knuckles.

You squeezed his hand encouragingly and said, "I know it's hard to think of a life without your brothers, without Smurf, but I think you’d be happier, you might have a shot at a normal life." You check your watch noticing the time is nearing the end of your session. "If you want out, I'm here...always."

Andrew's heart clenched, he felt that this was the sign he needed to finally pack up his old life in Oceanside and begin his new life with you. As you went to pull your hand away from his grasp and gather your things to leave, he held onto your hand gently not letting you pull away.

"Andrew?" you ask with confusion. Your voice held no fear, just genuine confusion. This was the man who self-admittedly hated physical touch, reminded him of the 'games' Smurf would play. So why is he accepting-no-begging for more of your touch?

His eyes flitted between the connection of your hands and your eyes, then finally stopped to stare at his lap. He pulled his hand away from your hand and into his lap. His hand felt cold at the loss of warmth. “I’m sorry,” he said apprehensively.

“It’s okay” you eased dipping your eyes to meet his and giving a kind smile. “I do have to go, but if you want to set up another session just let John know. He’ll call me and find a day for you. Okay?”

He nodded in understanding. You stood up gathered your things, and gave a polite wave goodbye before leaving the cafe and making your way back towards your home.

Andrew stayed in his seat and watched you the whole way. Even after you had left, he had stayed and filed every moment of your session with him in his brain.

He began thinking of how he would begin to remove himself from Smurf’s grasp without her or any of his brothers knowing where he went to and what was the motivation behind leaving.

That night he got his plans set. He had one more month of his parole and after that, he wouldn’t be required to answer questions to John about what he was doing and where he was going, he would officially leave his old life.

Sessions with Pope continued for the next month until suddenly after the last session he wasn’t heard from again. When you asked John, he said that Andrew had finished parole and didn’t think he needed to continue his sessions with you.

It was slightly upsetting anytime a client no longer needed sessions, especially when you knew there was still work that needed to be done. With Andrew, it was even more distressing.

Somewhere within the time of being his counselor, you had developed feelings for him. If you were honest, describing how you felt as feelings felt too juvenile, as it didn’t quite capture your true emotions. Somewhere in between right before his release and now, the line started to fray.

You tried desperately to contain it, hoping to keep those professional boundaries you tried so hard to build up, but it felt the more you both spoke with each other the more those walls seemed to crumble. So when you had the chance to see him in the free world, happy, and uncontained; it felt like you had no choice.

With you no longer meeting with him every Saturday, your mind started to race and wonder what pains he may be experiencing

However, eventually, you began to worry less about him and more about the secret admirer who seemed to amp up his infatuation with you.

The love letters that he left on your doorstep soon turned into someone, always conveniently walking a few steps behind. You started to receive phone calls with no voice at the end, only a soft breath breathing through the receiver.

The last straw was items within your house moving and going missing. At first, it would be something simple like the pillows on your couch being straightened, the dishes in your sink being cleaned, or even your laundry being washed and folded. This turned into your underwear that was in your hamper disappearing.

You started to piece all of those things together and realize who was behind the sudden changes in your life.

Andrew had done extensive tracking of your schedule. You typically left your house around 8:15, so he would break in around 8:30, giving extra time in case you'd turn around and come back home. One time he was almost caught when you left your work badge on your kitchen counter.

Andrew had begun making his way into your home while you were at work. He enjoyed seeing and learning a different side of you that He hadn't seen before. In your sessions, you rarely shared anything about yourself, especially anything personal. But now, standing here in your living room, he's inspecting the photos you have hung on the walls (he was very pleased to not see a man in your life, though Andrew would have made sure that that problem was eliminated), he feels so happy to see your head thrown back in laughter and childhood photos.

He regretted to find out that you were much less tidy than he would have liked, but he figured that he would happily handle any and all chores around the house from now on.

Today, he arrived a little later than normal, so he didn't see you leave but thankfully didn't notice your car on the street or in your driveway. He made his way in through your back door, heading into the living room to tidy up, when he went to the kitchen, he was happy to find no messes on the counters and no dishes inhabiting the sink, so he made his way into his favorite part of your house, your bedroom.

He didn't even make it past the threshold of your bedroom before he noticed you sitting calmly on the edge of your fluffy purple bedsheets. He felt the blood drain from his face. He was caught.

"Hello," you said while giving a wave with a wiggle of your fingers. "Come sit", you motion to him and pat the spot next to you.

Andrew wordlessly sits beside you, but refuses to make eye contact, too afraid of what he may see. You take your hand and hook a finger under his jaw to make him look at you. His eyes are misty and afraid, you need to choose your next words carefully to make sure he wouldn't shut down or worse, leave.

“Do you wanna tell me why you're in my house? I promise I'm not mad."

He took a few deep breaths, gathering words and his emotions to respond. "I'm in love with you". This was the first time he was admitting this truth even to himself. Whenever he was alone in his hotel room and fisted his cock raw while smelling your panties, he had always written it off as intense feelings, obsession, or perversion. Now that he was in the moment he recognized it for what it was. Love. He knew his version of love was askew and a little fucked but he didn't care, he'd do anything to prove his love for you.

You knew he was capable of love, you saw it in the way that he cared for his brothers, Julia, even Smurf until the end. You were just shocked that you were on the receiving end of his love.

"Why… why do you think you love me?" Your entire body was turned to face him and give your full attention.

"No, not think. I know I'm in love with you. You're the only one who cares about me, truly cares. You want me happy for me not for what you'll gain or what I'll give you. No one has loved me past all of the dark and twisted shit I've done. If you can't love me then I have no purpose.”

You closed your eyes and shook your head softly, “No, Andrew you do have purpose. You're worth so much with or without me.” Andrew’s eyes started to well at the anticipation of your rejection. He pushed himself up to leave but was stopped by your soft hands pulling his hand, encouraging him to sit back down. "But I do love you a lot." You smiled looking up to meet his eyes.

He turned his head at your words. His once tightened pursed lips had now parted, jaw slack in shock. “Wh-What? You do?”. Andrew had always assumed that his feelings were one-sided, thinking any relationship between the two of you would be forced. He’d have to kidnap you, isolate you from the world and you’d eventually develop feelings for him due to Stockholm Syndrome.

“Of course! You are such a generous person and you love people deeply no matter who they are or what they’ve done. Those qualities made me want more with you.”

The mix of feeling the touch of your hand and the confirmation of your feelings towards him made him feel dizzy. Too dizzy for him to reply until you say his name with concern, “Andrew?”

“Can I kiss you?” he rushes out.

You barely have time to nod before he surges forward and presses a hard and impassioned kiss to your lips. His hands have now left yours and are cradling your cheeks.

A light gasp escapes you as your lips meet, Andrew takes that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. The feel of his tongue exploring your mouth makes your body melt into him.

You pull away for a breath, Andrew grumbles in protest. You chuckle breathily, “Wow". Andrew's hands still reside on your cheeks but his thumb is toying with your bottom lip as he speaks in a kiss-drunk tone, “You have no idea how long I've thought about that."

Your mouth parts slightly, enough for him to slide his thumb inside. You lick and suckle on his thumb, a low moan leaves his mouth. The feeling of you sucking on his thumb makes him picture the way you'd suck on his dick.

You kneeling on the floor, his meaty hand fisting your hair in a makeshift ponytail. Your warm mouth enveloping his thick cock. Even just imagining you swallowing his seed made his dick swell more.

You reach up and grab his hand lightly, pulling his thumb away from your mouth and rest in his lap to ask, "You have? Tell me what you've been thinking about?''

A hint of red brushed over his freckled cheeks at having to voice his lustful thoughts to the very person he imagined committing these filthy acts with.

He nervously cleared his throat then said, "I always pictured you sitting on my face, licking into you. I pictured you taking my dick down your throat." He paused but it was evident he had more inside of his head.

"What is it, Andrew? What else did you think of?"

He relents, ignoring every voice in his head. Ignoring the memories of Smurf trying to control any sexual interaction he's had, any memory of Baz making him feel as if he was inadequate or off-putting.

"When I was in my cell…I would dream about fucking you on your desk. Letting you ride me with my hands still cuffed to your desk, not letting me touch you.”

“I want you to touch me.” You grab his hands again and guide them to your body.

Noticing his apprehension, you remove yourself from your bed and plant yourself in his lap facing chest to chest. You grab his hands and place them on your hips. At first his hands are stiff and unmoving, you guide them to squeeze intently at the fat of your hips and ass. With feeling you give permission, and he begins to squeeze on his and rut your clothed core into his lap.

You both grab at the feel of each other on your most sensitive areas. Your faces are merely inches apart, panting hot breaths on open mouths. You lean forward and pull him into a deep kiss, the mint from his toothpaste still lingers on his tongue.

Without breaking the kiss, you pull both of you off to pull off his dark clothes. The clothes that accurately represent the outward projection of Pope, but not the real Andrew that you’ve come to know and love. You see it now that his asking you to call him his birth given name was a way to open a piece of himself to you, without putting all his cards on the table.

He begins to shed your clothes, hands wandering to explore every inch of your body that he had so desperately craved to touch. He felt the buttery softness of your skin, the weight of your breasts, tweaking the peaks of your nipples, squeezing the pudge of your belly. The both of you stood face to face completely naked, drinking in the sight of each other in this moment.

Andrew had dreamt of this for three long years, he almost felt be was back inside of his cell dreaming about the angel that cared for him.

You grabbed Andrew’s hand as you lay on your bed, you guided him to kneel over you. “Andrew…I want you to show me how much you love me and let me show you how much I love you.” He nodded, although the only thing he could care about was showing his love to you. He felt your love, now he wanted you to feel his.

He dipped down, bringing his head to your core, he peered up at you to ensure that it was okay to continue. At seeing your head nod fervently and caress his cheek, he began to press feather-light kisses down your thigh trailing towards your wet folds. Before reaching it he lifted his head again and gave the same attention to the other thigh.

His kisses end at the valley of your thighs before he slowly gives kitten licks to your weeping hole, he moans in delight at your taste. "Angel, you taste so fuckin sweet, oh my god." he continues and splays his tongue flat against your entrance and licks a slow stripe from your entrance to the top of your clit. You gasp deeply and clench the bed sheets beside you. Andrew sees the pleasure written on your face, your pussy too, so he guides your hands to his hair and lets you grip his auburn locks instead.

With the feel of your hands in his hair nudging him closer to your puffy lips, he picks up his pace losing himself in you. Your hips lift from the bed to rut your face into him, your moans increase. "Andrew it feels so good! Don't stop!" his lift and see your head thrown back with your mouth wide open. His nose nudges your clit and his tongue licks into you with more intensity than before to bring you to your peak.

“God Andrew, I’m so fuck- m’so close!”

“Cum on my face angel” he whispers.

You rock your hips into his face even more, letting yourself fuck his face. With the last final nudge of his nose, your thighs clamp around his head and your release streams onto the lower half of his face. Andrew keeps licking until you finally come down from your high.

He lays one last kiss to your clit before peppering kisses up your body until he reaches your neck. Between pants you say, “Thank you Andrew…do you want to keep going?”. His face is still tucked into where your shoulder and neck meet. “Can you fuck me Andrew? Can we show each other how deep our love is?”

He pulls his head away from your neck to look at you, “Yes angel. Please I need it so bad.”

You bite your lip as reach down to grab onto his veiny length, he shuddered at the feel. He grasped his cock and helped you collect your slick on him to help make his first thrust easier.

“You ready angel?”

You nod, “Yes Andy.”

He pushed in slowly stretching you out deeply, you both released a sigh. His initial thrusts were slow and soft too afraid of hurting you. But you knew your Andy, he’d never do anything to hurt you.

“Andy baby?”

He stopped, worried that the contact was unwanted, “I’m sorry, we can stop!”

“No I don’t want to stop! I just want you to enjoy this…I know you’re scared of hurting me but I promise I’m okay. I want you to fuck me hard I promise.” You look deep within his eyes to prove you were honest.

He nods, “Okay”. The slap of his hips begins again but with a much more impassioned energy. His face tucks back into your neck, the tip of his pink tongue licking any part he can reach.

“Yes Andy, it’s good… make me feel so good.” you moan out.

His heavy balls create a thunderous clap against your ass on each thrust. Your already worn body is reaching closer and closer to your orgasm. After spending three years behind bars, without any release, you knew the same could be said for him.

“Angel you feel so fucking good baby. I’m gonna cum”

“I’m gonna cum too Andy…wanna cum together”

Andrew uses the rest of his strength to piston in and out of your pussy at an unbelievable pace. You wrap your legs around him pulling him deeper into you as you both finally tip over the edge.

“Shiiiit Andrew I’m cumming”, you cry out.

“Tell me you love me I need to hear it” he whines. He reaches down and rubs your clit bringing you closer.

“I love you Andy…so much! I love you so fucking much.”

Andrew’s pace stutters before giving one last push of his hips, groaning loudly into your ear. “I love you too angel!”

His warm seed pulsed into your womb. You had never felt so full. Andrew came down from his high but kept himself pressed deep inside of you.

You pulled his head away from your shoulder and gave him a peck to his plush lips. Tears were welling up in his eyes, this moment was worth so much more to him. This moment was trust, love, and acceptance. Something that wasn’t transactional.

You wiped away at his misty eyes, wrapped your arms around his neck, and pulled his body to yours.

“You okay Andy?”

“…yea I’m okay. m’just happy”, You can feel the slight pull of his smile on your neck.

“Can I ask…how did you know it was me? How did you know I was following you?” he asks.

“There’s only one person I know that would tidy my house and do my laundry for me.” You laugh. This causes him to snicker as well.

“Yea…I guess that’s true.”

You rub at the nape of his neck, playing with the sweaty hairs that are splayed against it. “I meant what I said. I do love you and I want no one else but you. You’re it for me”

Andrew picks his head up again, “I know…you’re the only person for me too. I only want you.”

The rest of the day was filled with quiet reassurances from both of you. Andrew continued to “show his love” for you multiple times for the rest of the day. When night came, you fell asleep to his heartbeat. Your legs tangled under the blanket. Andrew gazed at your calm face and peace settled deep into his bones.

His once cracked and fractured heart was now plump and full of love. The feeling pumping within him was strong and something he had craved for a long time, and now it was finally his.

a/n: omg i’ve had this one cooking for so long! thank you to @mushy420 for the inspo (and for being patient)!! this was so much fun to write 🤓!! i really hope you enjoy, feel free to comment, like or reblog if you did! if you have a prompt feel free to inbox me or send me an ask :) 🐛💗

[sillygoose067]

Devil in Disguise

Titus Danforth x wife!Reader

Synopsis: They thought Titus Danforth married a fragile girl, never guessing you were just as wild as he was. Together, you broke his family’s oldest traditions to build a love as dark as you both are. But when a night in the woods changes the very taste of your blood, even a hunter isn't ready for what comes next.

CW: dark romance, feral smut. horror elements. 18+ ONLY (minors do NOT interact) titus danforth x deranged!female reader. established marriage. mutual madness. animalistic outdoor sex in the woods + graphic bloodplay (biting neck to draw blood, blood drinking/licking). heightened senses (taste/smell). pregnancy discovery via blood taste. blood drinking rituals. possessive/overprotective husband. labor and childbirth. placentophagy (eating the placenta post-birth).

The darkness of the Danforth timberland was thick, damp, and ancient. It smelled of rotting leaves, wet pine bark, and bruised moss. Tonight, as it had been on so many nights since you took the Danforth name, the forest wasn't just a backdrop, it was an arena.

You had run through the brush until your lungs burned, the hem of your velvet dress torn to ribbons by brambles, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Behind you, breaking twigs and heavy, rhythmic footsteps tracked your every move. Titus was stalking you. He didn't chase you like a lover playing a game; he hunted you like quarry, his heightened senses catching the heat radiating off your skin, the scent of your sweat, the frantic cadence of your pulse echoing through the quiet woods.

When he finally caught you at the base of an ancient, gnarled oak, it was a collision of bone and muscle. He tackled you into the loam, the impact knocking the breath from your chest in a ragged gasp.

Before you could recover, Titus was over you, his muscular frame heavy and burning with heat. His silvery hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his jaw tight and twitching with that feral, electric intensity that made everyone on the estate flinch in his presence. He growled, a low, guttural vibration in his throat, his hands tangling into your hair to pull your head back, exposing the long, delicate line of your throat.

"Found you," he rasped, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. His fingers dug into your hips, anchoring you to the damp earth as his body crowded yours, burning through the thin, ruined layers of your clothing.

You slammed your palms against his chest, feeling the frantic, hammering thud of his heart beneath his ribs, pulling him closer, dragging your nails down his back until you felt him shudder against you. You were just as starved for the violent, dirty thrill of it as he was.

Titus shoved your skirts up to your waist, his rough, calloused hands sliding up your bare thighs, leaving streaks of black mud against your skin. He moved with a desperate, frantic cadence—jerky, fast, and entirely unyielding. When he drove himself into you, it was a sharp, searing intrusion that tore a loud, shameless moan from your throat, echoing out into the empty timber.

The loam pressed cold against your bare back while Titus brought the heat, grinding you into the soil with relentless, heavy thrusts. Above you, his face was a mask of dark, obsessive ecstasy. His eyes were unblinking and wide, locked onto yours, reading every twitch of pleasure on your features. You arched your spine to meet every frantic strike, your fingers clawing into his shoulders, sinking into the leather of his jacket, pulling his mouth down to yours in a bruised, messy kiss that tasted of pine resin and sweat.

He hooked one of your legs over his hip, driving deeper, his chest heaving as his pace grew wilder, almost animalistic. The rustle of pine needles beneath you merged with the wet, harsh rhythm of your bodies clashing together in the dirt.

"Look at me," Titus demanded, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding purr as his hand shot up to pin both your wrists above your head into the damp soil. He leaned down, his sculpted chest crushing yours, his hips slamming into you with relentless, brutal rhythm. "Look at me, my love. Tell me you’re mine."

"Yours," you gasped out, your voice breaking as a wave of intense, dark pleasure washed over you, making your inner muscles clench tightly around him. "Always yours, Titus—"

That drove him over the edge. With a guttural snarl, his control snapped entirely. He buried his face into the junction where your shoulder met your neck, opened his mouth, and sank his teeth deep into your flesh.

Sharp teeth cut straight through skin and tendon. You screamed into the night air—a sound split between pain and filthy euphoria—as your body trembled violently around his. Warm, thick blood welled up instantly, spilling over your collarbone and slicking his lips and chin.

Titus groaned into the wound, sucking greedily, lapping at the copper warmth pouring from your vein, drinking you in while his hips drove hard and fast to complete his release. He shuddered violently over you, his whole body locking tight as he emptied himself inside you, his lips still pressed tight against your bleeding neck.

He stayed there for a long moment, breathing heavily, his nose buried in your skin as he licked the fresh wound clean. He breathed in deeply, his acute sense of smell taking in the scent of your sweat, the mud, the raw metallic tang of your blood on his tongue—

Suddenly, his body went rigid as stone. The frantic heave of his chest hitched.

Titus pulled back slowly, his mouth smeared crimson, his dark eyes wide and vacant with a sudden, twitching panic. His mouth opened, his jaw working as his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, tasting the red smear on his lips again.

The metallic tang of your blood—a flavor he had tasted a hundred times, a signature he knew better than his own name—had altered. The iron was heavy, thick, underscored by a strange, velvety sweetness that smelled of turned earth, milk, and blossoming heat.

"What is this?" he rasped. The raspy pitch of his voice dropped into a dangerous, erratic register. He touched his stained bottom lip with trembling fingers, staring down at you like he was looking at a ghost. "Your blood... it tastes wrong. It’s changed."

He scrambled off you in a sudden, panicked flurry, hauling you up from the dirt by your upper arms with reckless speed. His eyes darted around the dark forest, his pupils dilated so far the brown had vanished entirely.

"Who has been in the pantries? Physician!" Titus roared into the black tree line, his voice echoing off the massive trunks like a gunshot. His jaw ticked wildly. "I will skin the old bastard alive! Someone has poisoned you! Someone brought something into the house—"

"Titus, stop," you breathed, reaching out and wrapping your fingers firmly around his twitching jaw, forcing him to look down at you.

"Do not tell me to stop!" he snarled, a vein bulging on his neck, his silver hair plastered across his sweat-slick forehead. "Your blood is tainted, and if anyone on this cursed land has dared put something in your cup—"

"Titus," you cut him off softly, taking his hand—the heavy, calloused one that was shaking with murderous intent—and dragging it down from your neck, pressing his broad palm flat against the small, barely noticeable, firm swell of your lower belly.

You looked up into his manic, dark eyes, a slow, wicked smile spreading across your lips. "I was waiting to tell you tonight. There is no poison."

Titus froze. His thumb twitched against your skin through the mud-stained fabric of your dress.

"I'm carrying your child," you whispered.

The frantic, twitching terror in his face shattered. His features worked for a second, catching up to the words, before melting into an expression of unadulterated, triumphant euphoria. A jagged, breathless laugh tore straight out of his throat. He didn't just smile; his whole face lit up with a terrifyingly bright, psychotic joy.

He seized you around the waist, lifting you completely off the forest floor and spinning you in the moonlight, burying his bloody mouth into the crook of your shoulder while laughing like a madman into the quiet night, his laughter echoing wild and free through the ancient trees.

By sunrise, the atmosphere inside the Danforth Residence was brittle enough to snap.

The servants moved through the wood-paneled corridors like terrified shadows, flinching every time a floorboard creaked beneath their own feet. Lord Titus was whistling down the grand gallery. He was humming to the dusty oil portraits of his ancestors. To the staff who maintained the estate, a furious Titus was a known danger—a man who might lash out with a crop or a blade; but a giddy, smiling Titus was a harbinger of total ruin. They kept their mouths firmly shut, their eyes glued to the hardwood floor, knowing the absolute law of the estate: whatever blood, madness, or miracles occurred within the Danforth grounds stayed buried in the dirt, lest they end up fertilizing the estate's grounds themselves.

Titus immediately plunged into an obsessive, smothering regime.

He dragged ancient, dusty leather tomes from the family vaults, obsessing over archaic Danforth pregnancy rites recorded centuries ago. By your second month, he personally presented you with a heavy crystal goblet every single morning, filled to the brim with warm, rich blood drawn from a newborn goat—a dark tradition meant to grant the babe unmatched vitality.

"Drink it all, my love," he would murmur, standing over your armchair, his thumb gently brushing your lower lip as he watched you swallow every drop. You savored the heavy, iron tang, leaning into his touch, loving the twisted, reverent worship burning in his eyes.

By the seventh month, however, his devotion had become a gilded cage.

He forbade you from riding. He wouldn't let you wander the forest alone. He barely wanted you walking down the grand marble staircase without his hand anchored firmly to your waist, treating you as if you were made of spun glass, despite knowing the violent nature that lived inside you.

"If you keep me cooped up in this mausoleum for one more day, Titus, I will tear your throat out while you sleep," you snapped one evening, picking up a heavy pewter platter from the sideboard and shattering it against the stone hearth. It hit with a deafening CRACK, denting the metal and scattering hot embers across the rug.

Titus didn't even flinch. He just leaned back against the dark mahogany desk, a slow, wolfish smirk spreading across his face—that signature, dangerous lopsided grin. His dark eyes sparkled with filthy delight.

"You look breathtaking when you threaten my life, my sweet beast," he said, his voice a low, raspy purr. He sauntered across the room in three quick, deliberate strides, crowding your space until you were backed up against the mantle, his oppressive heat washing over you. He grabbed both your wrists, holding them tight against your sides, leaning down so his mouth was an inch from yours. "You are carrying the future of this family. You stay where I can guard you."

"I am not a glass trinket!" you hissed, sinking your nails deep into his leather-clad forearms until you felt him tense. "I need to kill something, Titus! I am suffocating in here!"

He chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound in his chest, and leaned down, kissing you hard enough to press your lip against your teeth. "Fine," he murmured against your mouth. "Tomorrow, we go into the woods. You keep a silver blade in your belt, and the minute your legs tire, I carry you. Deal?"

The labor came on a night when a winter storm tore through the valley, howling against the heavy window shutters.

It was a gory, grueling affair in the master suite. Titus refused to leave the room for a single second. When the terrified local midwife tried to push him back, he shoved her aside so hard she nearly fell, taking his place on his knees beside the bed. He held your hand in a crushing grip, soaking in every scream, every drop of sweat, loving you deeper for the sheer, bloody violence it took to bring his child into the world.

When the final scream tore from your throat, a sharp, piercing wail cut through the heavy, blood-scented air of the room.

The midwife, her hands trembling violently, wrapped the infant in a strip of black velvet and held her out with bowed head. "A... a daughter, My Lord..."

Titus took the bundle. He looked down at the tiny, writhing creature covered in slick red, squalling with an absolute, vicious fury.

The man who had carved a swath of terror across the countryside—the man who had murdered his twin sister Ursula’s in cold blood—stood completely frozen.

Ursula had been born three minutes before Titus. Yet, because of the decrepit, patriarchal Danforth rule, she had been denied the title of head of the family purely for being female, fueling a bitter, bloody war between the twins that had only ended when Titus killed her.

As Titus looked down at his newborn daughter, a single, thick tear tracked through the dried sweat and grime on his cheek.

He sank slowly to his knees beside your bed, laying the baby gently against your bare, exhausted chest. His hand shook—a rare, incredible thing—as he brushed his thumb over the infant's wet brow.

"She is the firstborn," Titus whispered, his voice thick, rough, and trembling with an unholy resolve. He glared up at the high ceiling beams as if challenging every ancestor buried beneath the floorboards. "She will never fight for what is hers. She will never be passed over, nor forced to tear her way to the top through a sibling's flesh. The Danforth bloodline bends to her."

You reached out weakly, your fingers tangling in his dark, unkempt hair, pulling him down until his forehead rested against yours. "Our little monster," you murmured.

Later that night, after the midwife had been given a heavy purse of gold and escorted off the property with a silent, deadly glare, the storm outside settled into a quiet snowfall. The hearth crackled warmly in the master bedroom.

The baby slept soundly in an iron-forged cradle carved with ancient family runes beside the bed.

At the small mahogany table set near the fire, Titus pulled out your chair with quiet, formal grace. Resting on two polished silver platters—prepared precisely according to the oldest, most sacred Danforth tradition—was the roasted placenta, expertly seasoned with bitter herbs over oak coals.

Titus poured two heavy goblets of dark, blood-red wine. He sat across from you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that burned hotter than the hearthfire beside you.

He raised his goblet, his voice quiet, raspy, and overflowing with devotion.

"To our daughter," Titus said softly. "And to the beast who bore her."

You held his gaze, raising your glass until the silver chimed softly in the quiet room. "To the Danforth legacy."

[miasvelvetvoid]

high tide,

summary: You’ve always thought getting high with Andrew was harmless. Then tonight happens, and you realize you’ve been testing the limits of his self-control all along. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: needy!pope my fav, smoking, weed, subbish!pope barely, he’s so nerdy in this i love it, ocd tendencies, SMUT!! (dubconish, protected piv, fem oral receiving, fingering), cute ending, lmk if im missing some. word count: 5.1k amalia’s love note: shoutout to @wench-hunter-gatherer for this amazing idea, i hope i did it justice <3

The joint passed between your fingers and Pope's, the ember glowing orange against the deepening purple of the sky. The ocean stretched out before you, endless and dark, waves rolling in with that rhythmic crash that made everything else fade away. You were perched on Pope's lap on the old wicker chair on your balcony, his chest warm against your back, and the weed was hitting just right, that floaty, melty feeling where your body felt both heavy and weightless at once.

The air was thick with salt and humidity, that particular heaviness that came with coastal evenings. Your skin felt sticky, and where your bare thighs pressed against Pope's jeans, you could feel the heat radiating between you. The sun had dipped below the horizon maybe twenty minutes ago, leaving behind streaks of pink and orange that were slowly fading to deep purple. A few early stars were beginning to prick through the darkening sky.

“This is perfect,” Pope murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest into your spine. His breath tickled your ear, warm and smelling faintly of weed and the mint gum he'd been chewing earlier. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, adjusting his position, and you became acutely aware of the solid warmth of his thighs, the way his body cradled yours.

“Mm-hmm.” You took another hit, held it, watching the smoke curl from your lips and dissipate into the salt air. Everything felt heightened, the sound of the waves was almost musical, each crash and retreat a perfect rhythm. The wicker chair creaked slightly as you both breathed, and you could hear the distant sound of someone's music playing down the beach, just a faint bass line carrying on the wind.

Pope's hands rested on the arms of the chair, his fingers drumming slightly to some internal beat. You noticed he was being very careful not to touch you, even though you were literally sitting in his lap. It was so Pope, respectful to the point of awkwardness, even in an intimate situation. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself carefully still.

The weed was making you hyperaware of every sensation. The cotton of your tank top felt soft against your skin, and you weren't wearing a bra, hadn't bothered when Pope texted saying he was coming over. You could feel your nipples hardening slightly in the cooling evening air, and you wondered if he'd noticed. The thin fabric didn't hide much.

Your shorts were denim cutoffs, frayed at the edges, and they'd ridden up slightly when you'd settled into his lap. You could feel the rough texture of his jeans against the backs of your thighs, and the contrast between that roughness and the smooth warmth of his hands, even though he wasn't touching you, made you shiver slightly.

“You cold?” Pope asked immediately, his voice concerned.

“No,” you said, and your voice came out lower than you'd intended, almost husky. “Just... feeling good.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and you felt him relax slightly behind you. “This is nice. I needed this. Been a crazy week.”

You hummed in agreement, taking another hit before passing the joint back to him. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and even that small contact sent a little spark through you. The weed was definitely making you sensitive, making every touch feel more significant.

The ocean continued its endless rhythm, and you found yourself swaying slightly to it, your body moving in small circles. It was unconscious at first, just responding to the sound and the feeling of being high and relaxed. But then you became aware of it, aware of the way your ass was pressing against Pope's lap, the way the movement was creating friction between your bodies.

Pope's breath hitched slightly, and his hands tightened on the chair arms. You felt a little thrill run through you, he'd definitely noticed. You did it again, a little more deliberately this time, rolling your hips in a slow circle.

“You, uh...” Pope's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. “You good?”

“I'm great,” you said, and you let your head fall back against his shoulder, exposing the line of your throat. The movement pressed your body more firmly against his, and you felt him tense. “Really, really great.”

You could feel his heart beating faster against your back, could hear the slight change in his breathing. The joint had burned down to almost nothing, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray on the small table beside the chair. His hands returned immediately to the chair arms, gripping them like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

You wiggled again, this time more obviously, grinding down slightly. The friction sent a pleasant tingle through your body, and you realized with a lazy, weed-hazed smile that you were getting turned on. The sensation was building slowly, a warm pressure between your legs that was becoming harder to ignore.

“Jesus,” Pope breathed, and you felt him shift beneath you, trying to adjust himself. That's when you felt it, the unmistakable hardness pressing against your ass. He was getting hard, and he was clearly embarrassed about it, trying to shift away without being obvious.

But there was nowhere for him to go, and every time he moved, it just created more friction, more awareness of his growing erection. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of arousal mixed with affection. He was trying so hard to be respectful, even as his body betrayed exactly what he was feeling.

“Andy.,” you said softly, turning your head so your lips were close to his ear. You could see his profile in the dim light, the strong line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “It's okay.”

“What's okay?” he asked, his voice strained. “I'm not-I mean, I'm just-“

You wiggled again, deliberately this time, grinding down against the hardness you could feel pressing against you. He made a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and his hands finally left the chair arms, hovering uncertainly near your hips before returning to their safe position.

“You're so hard,” you murmured, and you felt him shudder. “I can feel you.”

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn't mean to-you're just sitting there and you're so-and I can't help-fuck, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” you said, and you pressed your nose against the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. He smelled like weed and ocean air and something distinctly Pope clean sweat and that expensive body wash he used, something woodsy and masculine. You let your lips brush against his skin, just barely, and felt him suck in a sharp breath.

His pulse was racing beneath your lips, and you could feel the heat of his skin. You kissed him again, a little more firmly this time, your lips pressing against the spot where his neck met his shoulder. His skin was slightly salty, and you let your tongue dart out, tasting him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.

“Kissing you,” you said simply, doing it again. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, feeling the vibration as he groaned. Your hands came up to rest on his thighs, and you felt the muscles tense beneath your palms.

“We're-we're high,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself of something. “And we're friends, and I don't want to-I don't want to take advantage or-“

“Andrew,” you interrupted, turning in his lap so you were straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips. The movement pressed your core directly against his erection, and you both gasped at the contact. His eyes were wide, pupils blown dark, and his lips were parted. He looked wrecked already, and you'd barely done anything. “I want this. Do you want this?”

“I-fuck-yes,” he admitted, his hands finally, finally coming to rest on your hips. His grip was tentative at first, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held on too tight. “I've wanted this for so long, but I didn't think-I didn't know if you-“

You cut him off by rolling your hips against him, grinding down deliberately. The friction was delicious, the seam of your shorts pressing against your clit through your underwear, and you could feel how hard he was through his jeans. The layers of fabric between you were frustrating and arousing at the same time.

“Oh god,” Pope groaned, his head falling back against the chair. His hands tightened on your hips, and you could see him struggling with himself, wanting to pull you closer, wanting to maintain control. His neck was exposed, the tendons standing out, and you leaned forward to kiss along his throat.

You worked your way up to his jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, occasionally letting your teeth graze his skin. He was making these small sounds, almost whimpers, and each one sent a bolt of arousal straight through you. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his thin t-shirt, and you could feel his heart racing.

“You're killing me,” he breathed, and his hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking more friction. “You're actually killing me.”

“Good,” you murmured against his ear, then caught his earlobe between your teeth, tugging gently. He made a strangled sound, and his hands slid from your hips to your ass, gripping firmly. The touch sent electricity through you, and you ground down harder against him.

You could feel how wet you were getting, your underwear already damp, and the knowledge that he could probably feel it too through the layers of clothing made you even more aroused. You wanted him to know what he was doing to you, wanted him to feel how much you wanted this.

Your hands tangled in his hair, and you tugged slightly, angling his head so you could kiss along his jaw. He had a day or two of stubble, and the scratch of it against your lips was intoxicating. You kissed the corner of his mouth, teasing, and felt him turn his head, trying to capture your lips properly.

But you pulled back, smiling, and kissed down his neck instead. His hands were kneading your ass now, pulling you against him in a rhythm that matched the rolling of your hips. The friction was building, that pressure between your legs intensifying, and you knew if you kept this up you could probably come just from grinding against him.

“Please,” Pope groaned, and you weren't sure what he was begging for. “Please, I need-“

You kissed back up his neck, along his jaw, and finally pressed your lips to his. The kiss was immediately intense, all the pent-up tension exploding between you. His lips were soft and eager, if a little clumsy at first, but then he was kissing you back with increasing confidence, his tongue sliding against yours.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him. The kiss was deep and hungry, all teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You could taste the weed on his tongue, and underneath that, something distinctly him.

Your hips were still moving, grinding against him in a steady rhythm, and you could feel him getting harder, if that was even possible. His jeans had to be painfully tight, and part of you wanted to reach down and free him, to feel him properly. But another part of you was enjoying this, the teasing, the building tension, the way he was completely losing control.

You broke the kiss to gasp for air, and immediately started kissing down his neck again. This time you didn't hold back, sucking hard enough to leave marks, wanting to see evidence of this tomorrow. He groaned, his hips bucking up hard, and you felt a surge of power at the response.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he panted, his hands sliding under the hem of your tank top, finally touching bare skin. His palms were warm and slightly rough, and the touch sent shivers through you. He explored cautiously at first, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then growing bolder, sliding up your ribcage.

When his thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, you both froze for a moment. You weren't wearing a bra, and he clearly just realized it. His hands stilled, and you could practically hear him thinking, trying to decide if he should continue.

You made the decision for him, arching your back and pressing your breasts more firmly into his hands. “Touch me,” you breathed against his neck. “Please, Andy, touch me.”

His hands cupped your breasts, and you both moaned at the contact. His thumbs found your nipples, already hard and sensitive, and when he brushed over them, you gasped, your hips jerking against him. The dual sensation, his hands on your breasts, the friction against your clit, was almost overwhelming.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. “So fucking good. I can't believe-I've thought about this so many times, but I never-“

“What did you think about?” you asked, genuinely curious. You rolled your hips in a particularly deliberate circle, and he groaned.

“This,” he said, his thumbs circling your nipples. “Touching you. Kissing you. I thought about, fuck, I thought about what you'd taste like, what sounds you'd make. I thought about making you come.”

His words sent a bolt of heat through you, and you kissed him again, hard and desperate. Your hands slid under his shirt, needing to feel his skin, and he helped you pull it up slightly.

His chest was muscular and tanned, muscles defined from physical work, and you ran your hands over him appreciatively. His skin was warm and smooth, and you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm. You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, and he shuddered, his hips bucking up hard.

“Inside,” you gasped against his mouth, the need becoming urgent. “We need to-bedroom-“

“Yeah, yeah okay,” he panted, and then you were both standing, stumbling, still kissing frantically. His hands were everywhere now, your waist, your ass, sliding up under your shirt to touch bare skin. You knocked into the doorframe, then the couch, giggling between kisses, drunk on him and the weed and the overwhelming need.

The journey to your bedroom felt like it took forever and no time at all. You were vaguely aware of moving through your apartment, of Pope's hands on you, of the way he kept stopping to press you against walls and kiss you deeper. At one point he lifted you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him as he carried you.

“Fuck, you're so hot,” he groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your ass to support you. “I can feel how wet you are, even through your shorts. Are you wet for me?”

“Yes,” you gasped, the dirty talk sending another surge of arousal through you. “So wet. I've been wet since I started grinding on you outside.”

He made a sound that was almost a growl, and then he was moving faster, carrying you the rest of the way to your bedroom. When you finally reached it, he set you down, and you started to pull away, intending to fall back onto the bed. But his hands tightened on your hips, stopping you.

“No, no, wait,” he said, slightly breathless, his lips swollen from kissing. “Don't-don't lay on the bed with those clothes.”

You blinked at him, confused and aroused and impatient. “What?”

“They smell like weed,” he explained, and his hands were already moving to the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing against your skin. “Gonna get your bedsheets all dirty and smoky, and then you'll have to wash them, and-“

He pulled your shirt up and over your head, dropping it on the floor, still talking in that earnest, practical way that was so quintessentially Pope. Your breasts were exposed now, and you saw his eyes drop to them, his words faltering for a moment before he continued.

“-and that's a pain in the ass, you know? Better to just-“ His hands went to the button of your shorts, and you realized with a thrill that he was undressing you without even seeming to realize what he was doing. He was so focused on his explanation, on the logic of it, that he didn't notice the way your breath had quickened, the way you were watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“-take them off now, and then the sheets stay clean, and-“ He popped the button and slowly dragged down the zipper, his knuckles brushing against your lower belly. The touch made you shiver, and you saw him swallow hard, his throat working. “-you won't have to do laundry tomorrow, which is good because laundry sucks, and-“

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and started pulling them down, kneeling as he did so. The position put his face level with your hips, and you saw his eyes darken as more of your skin was revealed. You were wearing simple cotton underwear, nothing fancy, but they were damp with arousal, and you knew he could see it.

“-the detergent you use is expensive, I've seen it in your bathroom, so it's better to not waste it on sheets that don't really need washing, and-“ Your shorts hit the floor, and his hands skimmed up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His face was inches from your core, and you could feel his breath, warm against your skin.

He finally seemed to register what he was doing, his eyes traveling up your body, taking in your underwear, your bare breasts, the expanse of skin he'd just exposed. His hands were still on your thighs, and you could feel them trembling slightly.

“Oh,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Fuck.”

You reached behind you and hooked your thumbs into your underwear, slowly sliding them down. His eyes were locked on the movement, watching as you revealed yourself to him completely. When you stepped out of them, kicking them aside, you were completely naked, and he was still kneeling in front of you, fully dressed, staring at you like you were something holy.

“You were saying something about keeping the sheets clean?” you asked, your voice teasing.

His eyes snapped up to yours, and the heat in them made your breath catch. “I, uh... I forgot.”

“Andrew,” you said, reaching down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip. “Your clothes smell like weed too.”

“That's-yeah, that's a good point,” he managed, and then you were pulling at his shirt, and he was helping you, yanking it over his head. You'd already seen his chest, but seeing it again in the better light of your bedroom made you appreciate it more, the muscle, the tan skin, the way his stomach tensed as you ran your hands over it.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly. He made a choked sound, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, and his hands came up to grip your shoulders for balance.

He was hot and hard in your hand, and you could feel him throbbing, could see the bead of precum at the tip. You swiped your thumb over it, spreading it, and he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your stomach.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he panted against your skin. “But if you keep doing that, I'm gonna come way too fast, and I want-I need to-“

“What do you need?” you asked, still stroking him slowly.

“I need to taste you,” he said, his voice muffled against your stomach. “I've thought about it so many times. Please, can I-“

“Yes,” you said immediately, and then he was guiding you backward to the bed, his hands on your hips. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you sat, then lay back, and he followed you down, settling between your legs.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you feel exposed and desired at the same time. Then he leaned down and kissed your inner thigh, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing higher. “So fucking beautiful. I can't believe I get to do this.”

He kissed his way up your thigh, taking his time, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. When he finally reached your core, he paused, his breath hot against your wet flesh, and then he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit.

You gasped, your hips jerking, and he made a sound of satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place. He licked again, more firmly this time, and then his tongue found your clit, circling it slowly.

“Oh god,” you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair. “Andy, that's-fuck-“

He was enthusiastic if a little inexperienced, but what he lacked in technique he made up for in eagerness. He experimented, paying attention to your reactions, learning what made you gasp and moan. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your back arched off the bed, and he did it again, harder this time.

“Yes, like that,” you panted, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Just like that, don't stop-“

He didn't stop. He worked your clit with his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking, and then you felt his finger at your entrance, pressing in slowly. The stretch was delicious, and you moaned, your hips rolling against his face.

He added a second finger, curling them inside you, searching for that spot that would make you see stars. When he found it, you cried out, your whole body tensing, and he focused there, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm while his mouth continued its assault on your clit.

The pleasure built quickly, that familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. You were making sounds you'd be embarrassed about later, but right now you didn't care. All you cared about was the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, the way he was completely focused on your pleasure.

“I'm close,” you gasped, and you felt him double his efforts, his fingers moving faster, his mouth more insistent. “Andy, I'm gonna-oh fuck, I'm-“

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, pleasure washing through you in pulses. Your inner walls clenched around his fingers, and you heard him groan against you, the vibration prolonging your climax. He worked you through it, only slowing when you started to squirm from oversensitivity.

When you could breathe again, you looked down at him. His face was flushed, his lips wet and swollen, and he looked at you with such satisfaction and desire that it made you want him all over again.

“Come here,” you said, pulling him up for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it made you want him even more. “I need you inside me.”

“Condom,” he said, pulling back slightly. “Do you have-“

“Nightstand,” you gestured, and he reached over, fumbling in the drawer until he found one. You watched as he rolled it on, his hands slightly shaky, and then he was positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Ready?” he asked, and you loved that he checked, even now, even when you were both desperate for it.

“Yes, fuck, yes-“

He pushed in slowly, and the stretch was perfect, filling you completely. You both groaned at the sensation, and he paused when he was fully seated inside you, his forehead dropping to yours. His arms were shaking slightly with the effort of holding still, and you could see the tension in his jaw.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed, his voice strained. “So tight and wet and perfect. I need a second or I'm gonna come right now.”

You clenched around him deliberately, and he made a choked sound, his hips jerking. “Don't-fuck-don't do that, I'm trying to-“

“Move,” you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Andy, please move, I need-“

He pulled almost all the way out, then slid back in, and the friction was delicious. He started a slow rhythm, deep strokes that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. Each thrust hit something deep inside you, and you could feel the pleasure building again already.

“Harder,” you urged, and he obliged, his hips snapping forward with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your moans and his grunts. He shifted the angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

“Oh god, right there, don't stop-“ You were babbling now, incoherent with pleasure, and he maintained that perfect angle, that perfect rhythm, driving you higher and higher.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his face buried in your neck. “So fucking good. I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long.”

His words sent a surge of emotion through you, mixing with the physical pleasure, and you pulled him down for a kiss. It was messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth, and you could feel him getting close, his rhythm starting to falter.

“Wait,” you said, pushing at his chest. “I want-can we-“

He pulled out, looking concerned. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” you assured him quickly. “I just want to be on top.”

His eyes darkened, and he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You straddled him, positioning yourself over his cock, and slowly sank down. From this angle, he went even deeper, and you both moaned at the sensation.

You started to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind, and his hands came up to grip your waist. From this position, he had a perfect view of your body, and you could see his eyes roaming over you, your breasts, your stomach, the place where your bodies were joined.

“Fuck, you're so hot,” he groaned, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. “I love watching you ride me. I love seeing you take what you need.”

You increased your pace, bouncing on him now, and the pleasure was intense. You could feel him so deep, hitting all the right spots, and the friction against your clit was perfect. One of your hands came down to touch yourself, your fingers finding your clit, and Pope's eyes locked on the movement.

“That's so hot,” he panted, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock.”

The dirty talk was unexpected and incredibly arousing, and you rubbed your clit faster, chasing your orgasm. Pope's hands were on your hips now, helping you move, and you could feel him getting close, his cock throbbing inside you.

“I'm gonna come,” you gasped, your movements becoming erratic. “Andy, I'm-“

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice rough. “I want to feel you come. Want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

Your orgasm hit you hard, your whole body tensing, inner walls clenching around him rhythmically. The sensation triggered his own release, and he thrust up hard, groaning your name as he came. You could feel him pulsing inside you, and it prolonged your own pleasure, waves of sensation washing over you.

You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. His arms came around you, holding you close, and you could feel his heart racing against your cheek.

For a long moment, you both just lay there, catching your breath, enjoying the afterglow. Then Pope carefully lifted you off him, disposing of the condom before pulling you back against his chest.

“That was...” he started, then trailed off, like he couldn't find the words.

“Yeah,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It really was.”

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. “About wanting you. This wasn't just... I mean, I really like you. Have for a while.”

You lifted your head to look at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. “I really like you too,” you said softly. “This wasn't just a high hookup for me either.”

He smiled, that genuine, slightly awkward Pope smile that you loved, and pulled you in for a kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, full of promise.

“Stay,” you said when you broke apart. “Tonight. Stay with me.”

“Yeah,” he said, his arms tightening around you. “I'd like that.”

Outside, the ocean continued its endless rhythm, and inside, wrapped in Pope's arms, you felt perfectly, completely content. The high was starting to fade, but the feeling of rightness, of finally being where you were supposed to be, only grew stronger.

You dozed for a while, comfortable in the silence, but eventually you felt Pope stir beneath you. “Hey,” he said softly. “You awake?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, not quite ready to move.

“I was thinking...” he started, his hand sliding down your back to cup your ass. “We should probably shower. Get the weed smell off properly.”

You lifted your head, seeing the mischief in his eyes, and grinned. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he said, his hand squeezing gently. “Wouldn't want to smell like weed tomorrow. Very irresponsible.”

“So responsible of you,” you teased, sitting up. His eyes immediately dropped to your breasts, and you saw his cock twitch with interest. “Think you can go again?”

“With you?” he said, pulling you down for a kiss. “Definitely.”

The shower was long and steamy, full of soapy hands and slippery skin and Pope pressing you against the tile wall as he fucked you from behind, his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. The water cascaded over you both, and when you came, it was with his name on your lips and his teeth on your shoulder.

Afterward, you dried off and climbed into bed properly, your sheets still clean just like Pope had wanted. He pulled you against him, your back to his chest, and you felt his lips press against your shoulder.

“This is perfect,” he murmured, echoing his words from earlier on the balcony.

And it was. It really, really was.

© 2026 all rights reserved - miasvelvetvoid. do not modify, plagiarize, feed my work to AI, repost or claim any of my work as your own without permission.

[gabesgirll]

NSFW 18+!!!

Part 2: Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody X links

TW: mentions of choking, age gap, stalker, CNC, inc3st (I don’t condone this btw), groping, public, perv!Pope, loss of virginity

1: Rough sex and choking - https://x.com/gbay141/status/2076829117840838932?s=46

2: Possessive Pope - https://x.com/daddyinevatable/status/2076834815035183497?s=46

3: Stalker Pope breaks in - https://x.com/break_urmind/status/2077834399685697877?s=46

4: Pope taking his anger out on you - https://x.com/gothgirlnsfw/status/1610425565718118402?s=46

5: Pope x trans user - https://x.com/transpounding/status/2078051556864544898?s=46

6: Reunion with Uncle Pope - https://x.com/nook_cranny444/status/2055339440583708936?s=46

7: Munch Pope - https://x.com/nook_cranny444/status/2057474626746237249?s=46

8: Fingering - https://x.com/nook_cranny444/status/2040490246995882336?s=46

9: Groping - https://x.com/amazingwaifu69/status/2066626749631230291?s=46

10: Brother Pope - https://x.com/snackolotl721/status/2078471148363235484?s=46

11: Shower Sex - https://x.com/hotwomennn/status/2077488119339991247?s=46

12: He’s sensitive - https://x.com/doeeyegirl/status/2078631721273024535?s=46

13: Perv!Pope - https://x.com/publicnudepoxf/status/2077365956884738365?s=46

14: Uncle Pope with Virgin user - https://x.com/babygirl1310776/status/2069261895392276483?s=46

[ccwpidsblog]

SAINTS AND SINNERS — iwtv

SUMMARY : Edmée Heart, the dutiful daughter of a pastor, lives a sheltered life bound by rules and expectations. But her quiet world begins to unravel when she catches the attention of Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt, two enigmatic men with dark secrets. Drawn to Edmée’s innocence, Louis and Lestat vie for her affection, each offering her a taste of freedom and danger.

RATING : 18+

CONTENT WARNING: season one spoilers, not entirely accurate to the show but we’re all grown here it shouldn’t matter much, eventual polyamory, heavy religious themes, daddy issues, more to be added

CWPID NOTES 🏹: this is a great way to come back and show how much my writing has improved. redeeming myself from the trash fiction i was writing before. ON A03 N WILL ONLY BE UPDATED ON AO3 (if im not being lazy)

Edmée remembered the Sundays before Louis de Pointe du Lac avoided the sun, somehow, he’d managed to arrive at church after a long night of sin. He was always late, slipping through the heavy wooden doors just as her father’s booming voice began the first prayer. From her family’s high pew, she could see him moving down the aisle, the faint scent of booze and perfume lingering on his clothes—a sinful whisper of the previous night’s indulgences.

He’d take his usual seat beside his brother, his strong frame settling heavily into the creaking wood. His head would bow, his eyes would close, and for the rest of the service, he remained still. Unmoving, like a statue carved from marble. At first, Edmée thought he might be sleeping, but there was something too deliberate about the way he held himself, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, his expression unreadable.

She couldn’t stop watching him. From her elevated view, she memorized the way the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across his dark skin. He looked ethereal, caught between shadows and light, the kind of beauty that left her breathless and guilty all at once. She tried to focus on her father’s sermon, but her gaze always drifted back to Louis.

At the end of every service, as her father stood by the doors shaking hands and offering blessings, Louis would rise with a graceful ease. He’d move through the small crowd, a charming smile on his lips, and when he reached her father, he always made a point to praise the sermon. “Your words speak straight to the soul, Pastor Heart,” he’d say, his voice like velvet dipped in honey.

Then he’d turn to her mother, taking her hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “A vision of grace, as always, Mrs. Heart,” he’d say, his words smooth and effortless.

But when his gaze finally reached Edmée, it changed. He wouldn’t kiss her hand, wouldn’t offer a compliment. Instead, he’d nod at her, a playful, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. That smile—the one that made her feel like the only girl in the world and completely invisible at the same time. If her skin had been any lighter, she knew she would’ve turned as red as the pew cushions beneath her.

In passing, he treated her the same. A quick nod, a flash of white teeth. But she noticed how he greeted the other women—the kisses, the murmured words that made them laugh and fan themselves, the lingering glances. With her, there was none of that.

Only a nod. A smile.

And it made her stomach twist with jealousy. The last time Edmée saw Louis was at Grace’s wedding. The church was packed, and the air was thick with the scent of lilies and the murmur of joyous chatter. Louis was everywhere that day—his laugh echoing above the music, his face alight with a rare kind of happiness that made him seem untouchable. He was glowing, his usual quiet intensity replaced by something brighter, freer. Edmée stood by the punch table, nervously clutching a glass, when he approached her. She didn’t see him coming; one moment she was alone, and the next he was there, his presence commanding and electric.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Maybe even more beautiful than the bride.”

Her breath caught, her cheeks burning.

“Don’t tell Grace,” he added with a wink, leaning in just enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of cedar and something darker, richer. Edmée could only nod, her voice stolen by his closeness, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Months.

Many months without seeing him.

The pew Louis shared with Paul and his family remained empty every Sunday, a silent memorial to all that had unraveled. No one dared to sit there now, not after everything. Not after Paul’s tragic passing, not after the whispers.

The whispers.

They followed Louis like a shadow, stretching long and dark through the town. The women at her mother’s so-called “Bible studies” spoke of him in hushed tones, their voices dripping with scandal and sanctimony. “Dancing with the devil,” they’d say, the words lingering in the air like smoke. Edmée would sit in the corner, quietly stitching or polishing silver, her ears pricking at every mention of his name. Her brothers were no better. On Thursday nights, they’d gather in the attic for their card games, their voices low and conspiratorial. Edmée wasn’t allowed to join, of course, but she’d found her own way around that rule. If she sat at the top of the stairs, just out of sight, her father wouldn’t scold her.

There, she could catch snippets of their conversations, each word painting a more vivid picture of the man she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“...seen him with him again...” “...spends his nights where no decent man would...” “...more dead than alive, if you ask me.”

The words made her chest tighten, her heart ache. She couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Louis de Pointe du Lac, the man who nodded at her with that secret smile, who complimented her at Grace’s wedding, couldn’t be what they said he was. Could he?

But her father’s rules were ironclad. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t go looking for answers. The world outside their home was a forbidden one, especially now. Edmée’s days were measured in prayers and chores, her nights spent reading scripture or mending clothes by candlelight. Her father had made it clear: the streets were no place for a proper young lady, especially after dark. The world out there was dangerous, filled with temptation and sin. But tonight, as she stood by the forbidden window, the temptation was unbearable.

The house was quiet, her family long asleep. The window, a heavy thing with rusted hinges, had always been forbidden. “Nothing good comes from looking where you shouldn’t,” her father had said countless times. But tonight, Edmée couldn’t help herself. She pressed her fingers to the cool glass, peering into the moonlit street below. At first, there was nothing. Just the empty streetlamps and the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. But then, she saw him.

Louis

He was walking slowly down the cobblestone street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his head slightly bowed. The gaslight caught his face, illuminating its sharp angles, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looked different—thinner, wearier, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed closer to the glass, watching him with the kind of hunger she didn’t dare name.

“Not tonight,” Louis said, his voice low but sharp. Another figure emerged from the shadows. He appeared with a startling grace, stepping into the lamplight as if conjured from the darkness itself. His hair gleamed like spun gold, his sharp, angular features both striking and unnerving.

There was a wildness about him, a dangerous energy that made Edmée’s heart race in an entirely different way.

“Louis,” Lestat’s voice purred, low and teasing, the sound carrying up to her window. “Out for another pensive stroll, are we? Tell me, do you plan to sulk your way through eternity, or is this just for tonight’s entertainment?”

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Lestat,” he said, his voice soft but heavy with frustration. “Oh, but you never are,” Lestat replied, stepping closer. “And yet, here I am, devoted as ever. You should be flattered, mon cher.”

From her perch, Edmée couldn’t look away. The two men stood in stark contrast—Louis, somber and grounded, and Lestat, all sharp smiles and restless energy. Their connection was undeniable, charged with something she didn’t quite understand but found utterly captivating.

Lestat reached out, brushing an invisible speck from Louis’s shoulder with a flourish. “And speaking of devotions,” he said, his tone turning sly, “you’ve been spending an awful lot of time on this street. Seems that you miss the little church mouse lately? What’s her name again? Edmée?”

She could see the shift in Louis as he seemingly snapped, finally turning to face Lestat. “Leave her out of this,”

Lestat’s grin widened. “Oh, mon ami, you wound me. I only meant to say she’s... enchanting, in her own way. So innocent, so untouched by the world.” He tilted his head, his gaze flickering upward as though he might sense her watching.

Panicking, Edmée ducked away from the window, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to steady her breath.

Had he seen her?

Had they seen her?

Who was he?

What was he to Louis?

As she sat there in the dark, the questions swirled in her mind, each one more troubling than the last. And though she couldn’t explain why, she felt as though she had glimpsed something forbidden, something that would change everything if she let it.

[tonycries]

Back To Black - N.K.

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

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

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

Word count. 15.6k

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

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

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

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

Perhaps a home. Perhaps shelter. 

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

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

The door opens.

And inside stands a handsome blond man.

Almost otherworldly.

“My lady.”

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

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

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

Whoosh–! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks thoughtful, nodding empathetically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You jump at the feeling of something touching your elbow-

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

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

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

My lady…

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

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

Why was he so cold?

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

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

Surely there was no other reason, right?

Lightning flashes.

The rooms lights up in ice-white.

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

You wondered what automatic mechanism that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re alone here?”

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

In the distance, the growl of thunder trundles.

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

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

You listen, enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

You wondered how he had the time to light it.

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

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

“-this is amazing.” You breathe.

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

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

He turns. “My lady?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

Of your exact size.

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

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

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

It all felt like part of a dream.

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

That, too, was the perfect fit.

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

“Oh, come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soft, cold hands get to work.

And you really did feel like a princess.

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swear underneath your breath.

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

“Oh, but I really couldn’t impose…”

“I insist.”

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

Right?

.

.

.

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

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

And with your profanities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quite.” Nanami quips.

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

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

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

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

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

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

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

.

.

.

The error message lasts until your walk in the gardens.

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone vibrates with a call.

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

No one answers.

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

No one answers.

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

No one answers.

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

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

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

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Answer me-”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Hello?”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Answer me-”

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

Heavy breathing.

This time, not from the phone.

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

Lightning flashes in the distance. 

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

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

You couldn’t sleep.

.

.

.

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

Of course, Nanami hadn’t questioned a thing.

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

Practically perfect.

Almost unnatural. 

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

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

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

One of them, at least.

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

The ceiling was high, almost never-ending.

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

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

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

You look behind you.

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

Baker’s Book (1901)

Sebastian’s Book on How to Keep the House Warm

Pride and Prejudice

A Historical Analysis of the Nanami Mansions

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

You’d fallen asleep there.

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

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

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

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

A candle snuffs out.

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

“If you so wish, my lady.”

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

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

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

You were on the final chapter now.

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

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

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

Or so they say.

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

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

A twig snaps.

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

The mechanic still wasn’t here.

“Yes, o’ mortal. It is true.

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

A demon.

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

Still linger.

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

Someone was watching you.

Somehow, it didn’t feel human.

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

He was the model worker, unsusceptible.

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

Someone was waiting.

You knew it didn’t feel human.

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

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

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

You stand up.

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

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

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

Forwards.

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

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

Forwards. 

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

You stop.

“Nanami Kento, of the Nanami Mansions.”

The book drops from your hands.

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

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

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

But you’re no quitter. 

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

And then—

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

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

You gasp. It can’t be-

Lightning strikes.

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

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

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

Two-toned hair bled red. Eyes pure white.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

You had to get out of here right now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footsteps.

Slow.

Steady.

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

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

“My lady.”

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

Carefully looping his arms around you.

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“It doesn’t?”

“Well-” His fangs glint, “-it does.”

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

With a mewl, you nod. 

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

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

On his knees for you.

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

“Yes, my lady?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am I am-” Sobbing.

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

Inside and inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-oh…”

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

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

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

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

You’re suddenly seeing white- why? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

“Ah ah, what an adorable feat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish, my lady.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again and again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm—?”

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

You’d made the centuries-old demon blush.

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

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

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

Even faster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So good.

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

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

“As you wish, madam.”

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

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

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

He only shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

“And that’s exactly what m’doing.”

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

Slashing against your most tender spots-

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

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

And that’s when Nanami can sense it.

Smell it.

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

Pleasure zipping through your body.

Toes curling.

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

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

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

He was mean.

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

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

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

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

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

And something in him seems to…snap.

“A-as you wish, my lady.”

He bows to you, right then and there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything you wish, my lady.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, he was being filthy.

He was being mean.

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

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

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

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

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

In and out. In and out.

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

Opening you up wiiiidely—

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

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

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

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

Murmuring, “Then bite on it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, his roverin’ wet shaft.

Bottoming out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

Restless, you nod.

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

Shit, even he was affected by the idea.

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

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

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

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

Snickering. “Breathe in.”

You breathe in.

“Breathe-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Nanami doesn’t laugh.

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

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

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

Oh, shit.

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

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

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

Swirls n’ hearts n’ his initials.

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

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

“I want you…”

“Yes—?”

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

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

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

“That is so, madam.”

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

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

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

Again and again and again.

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

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

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

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

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

Sounding so pained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean…?”

“Yes.”

“F-fuck.”

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

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

And then he kisses you fully.

You moan, shocked by his sinful, sinful antics.

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

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

In that fact that you knew he was proud.

You could sense it.

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

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

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

For mirrors don’t reflect demons.

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

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

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

“And here.”

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

Two peas in a pod.

Two demons in a mansion.

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love makes a fool of us all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plagiarism not authorized.

[tonycries]

Mooo!

Synopsis. Name: Fushiguro Toji. Age: (Do not ask unless you wish to be kicked). Type: Bos taurus—in other words…a bull hybrid. Other notes: This particularly proud bull hybrid is already mated—with you! Is known to be a patient and attentive mate, despite his rough exterior. Although if Fushiguro Toji isn’t available when you go into heat, you know who to ask…your sweet farmer Shiu. Got enough milk for two?

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader x Shiu Kong

Content. MDNI, fem!cow hybrid!reader, bull hybrid!Toji, farmer!Shiu, farm AU, hybrid AU, somewhat Iove triangIes, heats, ruts, matìng bonds, accidental heat-inducing, Toji turns that truck around, thrèesome, mmf, somewhat eiffeI tower, oraI (m + f), fìngering, spìtting, suffocating (he hopes to), chokìng, tongue f, brief breathpIay, Toji’s BIG, size differences, making it fit, pushing down on stomach, RULES, teasing, running from it, Toji’s mean, Shiu’s rather nice, MANHANDLlNG, fuII neIsons, Toji’s pìercings, taking turns, impromptu bIindfolds, guessing games, punishments, p talking, p sIapping, DP, big stretches, cervìx smooches, a bit fruity, Iactation, dùmbification, pùssydrunk Shiu, pheromones, creampíes, cúmpIay, KNOTS, implied marathons, implied brèeding, getting together, pet names, swéaring.

Word count.  14.8k

A/N. I’M BAAAAAAAAAAAACK and in honor of my 21st birthday thought 2 + 1 = 3. How about a 3soooome?? A continuation of this fic by me but can be read aIone, previous fic inspired by this tiktok by the gorgeous @/v4mpyrf4e <33

“Y’know…” Toji’s chuckle comes out sharp—it hits the back of your neck in a steaming pant. And he doesn’t have to use entirely a lot of force to drag you backwards- just the simplest tug usin’ his headlock and you’re gasping down his length. 

Just as you have been for hours now- for what feels like days.

The ground beneath you is dampened with sweat and spittle, those sun-cured hay cubes are a mess- your throat is run absolutely ragged. And yet Fushiguro Toji wasn’t one to slow down - especially not during his ruts. 

The bull hybrid leans in—and you can feel the smoothness of his septum dragging down the side of your face. He’s wrapping his tail around your left thigh and hauling you to his hips. “-you’re never gonna find another mate like me, girl.”

And just as you’re opening your mouth to answer - to agree, to gasp, to sob - the doors of the barn house slam open.

And there stands your dear farmer, Shiu Kong.

Now, Shiu Kong must have known what he was walking into.

He must have-

Or at least one would think—hell, Shiu himself had assumed so and mentally prepared himself for about fifteen minutes outside the barn house before walking inside to tell the two of you to keep it down (those sensitive horse hybrids were complaining!) But he had never expected- fuck. This was all that damned Kusakabe’s fault.

It’d been about two months since Fushiguro Toji was added to his farmyard roster. Ever since his supposed ‘best friend’ had gone and dumped the proud bull hybrid on Shiu’s otherwise idyllic farm. It was meant to be temporary - just a few days watching over him until Kusakabe returned from a Hybrid Farms Convention in Tokyo. Meant to be…

But he was bigger than the rest. Broader. Gruffer. With pierced ears and the sleekest black coat on his lower half. 

So Toji had drawn gazes - one of which being from you, his most prized cow hybrid, specifically.

And Shiu couldn’t have that.

Especially not given the fact that you were the sweetest, softest thing…oh, alright you were his favorite. A part of him almost expected that having a prime bull hybrid around so many unmated cow hybrids would be nothing but trouble. But he just didn’t expect Toji to go after his favorite- anyone but you.

Thus he’d spared no expense keeping the two of you apart. 

Yet in the end it hadn’t mattered how many padlocks (twenty, at the last count) or planks that Shiu had fastened on Toji’s separate enclosure—because a padlock is only as good as it’s locked. And only three days into Toji’s stay, he’d forgotten to lock that damned thing before leaving the farm on an errand- was about halfway out of town by the time that he’d remembered. 

And turned that truck around in the middle of the highway.

Of course, by the time that Shiu actually arrived at the farm and thrown those barn house doors open - much like he had done tonight - the two of you were already tangled up n’ mated. With you humming delightedly into Toji’s neck—bite marks down every inch of it. The creamy scent of pheromones wafting out of the barn house and saturating the farmyard air.

And Toji himself hadn’t spared you an ounce of mercy.

As teeth marks were indented all along your supple skin; especially ‘round each areola of yours which Toji pinched. Letting milk flood out of Shiu’s beloved cow hybrid. Looking straight at him.

Fuck.

Shiu remembers it as clear as day.

Did he mention that he was rock-fucking-hard then? He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that…

Because it only makes him think about how hard he was right now, too. 

He was staring at a vision that was quite similar: Toji was ramming into you like there was no tomorrow- so fast that he’s only seeing the blur of his angry cock and the smack-smack-smacking of skin-on-skin. Except this time you were on all fours.

So Shiu was given the perfect view of your pretty tail swishing from side-to-side. Only growing more agitated as Toji grows faster.

The farmer watches as Toji’s hand wraps around your tail and drags you backwards- so disrespectful. A few more bite marks. A few more shakes of your pretty thighs - he gets the sense that you’d be collapsing onto the floor if Toji wasn’t helping hold you up. And once again Shiu’s struck by just how pliable you are underneath the other man.

“C’mon now-” Toji grunts. “Giddy up. Almost there.”

You’re shaking even harder. Your skin was glistening with sweat. Your eyes dazedly drift towards the other man - and he knows by that glint in your eyes- he knows it. 

He knows that you’re about to cum.

And you’re throwing your head back with what he assumes to be a moan announcing your crescendo—“Shi- oh.”

Oh.

Were you about to…?

Oh fucking-

And Shiu considers himself an intellectual man - he really does. He’s usually quick with his quips and isn’t the most inerudite of the rowdy bunch down at the bars; but this…this leaves his brain blue-screening and his mouth hanging stupidly open. Almost in a mirror of yours.

He can only stand and watch - cock throbbing in his denim overalls - as you’re tremblin’ all between Toji’s harsh thrusts. The way he fucks you is rude—as if the sound of the other man’s name on your lips almost spurs him on further.

He had to remind you who your mate was, after all.

You’re growing limp once your wave of bliss is completely bated. And it’s with a deafening slurp! that Toji himself finishes.

Polishin’ off what Shiu assumes to be your sweetest inside with his long, clingy ropes of cum- so much so that he’s seeing a ring of white start to formulate around Toji’s length. Lucky fucker. Shiu’s mouth goes dry as Toji pins your hips to the hay-littered ground and fucks and fucks his cum into you ruthlessly.

After a few prolonged minutes, he finally sets your waist free and lets your body droop onto the floor completely.

And between pants, Toji manages to whisper- “What the fuck?” Though his keen senses had already picked up on the fact that the farmer had intruded on your little…rut session, it’s only now that Toji’s finally turning.

The veins on his neck popping and prominent. Eyes greener than the brightest field - narrowed. It was as if he was finally seeing the farmer as more than simple amusement or some guy to poke ‘round with his horns sometimes - a challenge.

Was it just Shiu or were Toji’s horns looking extra sharp tonight? 

“And remember that.” Shiu speaks with courage that he did not have—to hell with not biting the hand that feeds. Shiu might’ve been the farmer but he was less than a pigsty in Toji’s eyes. Or so he felt. “Next time your pretty girl cums, she’ll be saying my name.”

Toji doesn’t even pull out of you before he snipes- “Next time you say shit like that, they’ll carry you out in a wheelbarrow.”

“And replace me?” Shiu snorts. “You think she’d milk for anyone else?”

“Pig-”

You, pointedly, kept your mouth shut to avoid saying anything more inflammatory.

And you best believe that he’s stepping back from those barn house doors as soon as he could - what was that he said about considering himself an intellectual man? He’s letting the doors slam behind him and waiting for a moment outside until he hears the two of you start it up again—those horse hybrids and their beauty sleep be damned.

With that said, Shiu takes a deep breath and heads back to his farmhouse.

The time was 12:28AM and he spends the next hour rubbin’ his cock raw to the memory of you almost moaning his name.

.

.

.

“…What did you just say to me?” And something must’ve shown in Shiu’s tone, because his friend groans from the other end of the line—‘oh, c’mon man-’

And never in his life has he let out a louder sigh. Pointed, too.

Because here Shiu was carrying on his early morning duties - ensuring herd checks and watering some of the trees, just going into the barn house to do some milking - when he gets a phone call—and from who else? Kusakabe Atsuya himself.

Now, Shiu has long since gotten used to dreading Kusakabe’s phone calls. The man’s his best friend, but a phone call from him was never bound to end well - he’s the entire reason he has a massive bull hybrid mated with you in the first place. So needless to say it didn’t start off on the right foot. But then the words left his mouth—

“-Tokyo Hybrid Farm Convention-”

And Shiu almost ended the call then and there. 

But Kusakabe must’ve had an inkling. Because he yelped out a few pleas- “Wait wait wait wait- please, I promise you’re going to want to hear this.”

And Shiu had no choice but to groan and comply. At least hear the man out. “Alright, but you better be quick. The cow hybrids need to be milked before noon.”

“Oh please- you and I both know that you’re just impatient to see your ‘pretty girl’, yeah?” Kusakabe hurries before his best friend loses his patience. “Anyways—hear me out- there’s a Hybrid Farm Convention in Tokyo-”

“I’m not-”

“And this time it’s for the hybrids.” Kusakabe cuts him off. Then basks in Shiu’s stunned silence for a few seconds, “And I know I ended up dumping Toji on you for a few days…and eventually…permanently, but let me make it up to you by getting him a new hoof-trimming chute. And maybe while I’m there I can even get him fitted for a new bull ring.”

Shiu rubs his chin in thoughtfulness. “I have been meaning to get him a larger one…”

“Then it’s settled.” Kusakabe says gleefully. “I’ll get you the ring and take Toji off your hands for a day.”

“Can’t it be a few days?” Shiu grumbles.

“No way, man. He’s all yours- consider me the babysitter.” 

“Whatever- better than nothing.” 

“So I’ll pick him up in an hour or two, yeah?” Kusakabe affirms, and from the other end of the line Shiu can hear some shuffling. A truck door slamming. “I’ll have him back to you around midnight.”

“Take your time.”

And with just a few more words shared, Shiu’s ending the call. He stands at the door to the barn house in a way far too reminiscent of the night before—and from here he can see you nuzzlin’ up to Toji for warmth as the early morning sunlight creeps into your hay-scattered abode. It really was a heartwarming sight, the two of you - if only Toji wasn’t glaring at him as if he wanted to trample over him.

However, this time, Shiu was the one with the upper hand. “Guess what, hotshot?” He goads at the bull hybrid, and it works to make his ol’ golden nose ring huff. “You’re going to be going on a little field trip today.”

Toji scoffs and rests his chin on your head.

“Oh no- I’m afraid this one’s going to be a bachelor’s trip.” The most wicked smile twitches at his lips. He watches Toji’s brows furrow and his front legs start to kick at the ground as if about to charge. “You’ll be going to the Hybrid Farm Convention in Tokyo with your old pal Kusakabe, isn’t that exciting?”

The look on Toji’s face was ‘most certainly not’.

“Then we can replace that old-fashioned ring of yours with a new one. Make that ugly mug a little more handsome, hm?”

“My ass is more handsome than you.”

“Real mature.” Shiu shakes his head as Toji flips him off and struts away outside—his midnight-black hair gleams under the morning sun, and the muscles of his upper half are almost Herculean. Shiu follows your gaze to the bull hybrid. 

With a fond chuckle, the farmer then walks over to you and runs his fingers across your scalp. Reaching that one spot he knew you loved so much- scratching behind your hybrid ears. “I don’t know how you put up with him, pretty girlie.”

“He’s really not that bad once you get to know him.” You’re softly nuzzling into him.

Shiu shudders as he thinks back to last night. “Yeah, well I think I know him a little too- hey, are you feeling a little warm?”

“Hmmm?” Absent-mindedly you’re humming.

“I’m serious, girl.” Shiu’s brows furrow- and he’s taking his hand off of your scalp to feel the temperature on your forehead. “I think you’re a little warm.”

Eyes closed, you’re only pushing against him- yearning for his touch. And Shiu tries not to think about that too hard. “I was just in the sun, Shiu.”

“Yeah but…” Now that he thinks about it- you were particularly touchy today—almost needy. And he’s sure he wasn’t imagining the scent of soft sweet cream that lingered in the barn house today. Although that wouldn’t make sense - cow hybrids were prone to one heat cycle a month, for about a week give or take.

And you’d just finished your cycle two weeks ago…Shiu would know.

He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep those past few days. And as if that wasn’t bad enough- immediately after your heat, Toji’s rut had started up. 

The farmer turns his head and looks at the little homemade calendar hung up at the end of the barn. It contained all the dates of the hybrids’ heats and ruts and when he might expect them next—and not to brag, but it had a 97% accuracy rate. The 3% was when Toji wanted to piss him off and somehow manage to draw his rut out a little longer.

But according to that- you should be in the all-clear. He furrows his brows at the color-coded green zone. What can he say? Shiu Kong liked pretty things, okay?

Aforementioned Shiu Kong looks at you. “Maybe…hm, maybe it’s just a little fever, pretty girl. That brute must’ve worn you out.” You’re shyly bumping your shoulder into him, and he runs his hand across your body. “Now then I need you to get some rest, okay? Go sleep and I’ll bring over your breakfast- oh.” Just then, his hand dips up to the swell of your chest where your tits were. “And I’ll milk you tomorrow depending on how you’re feeling, does that sound good?”

Almost dazedly, you’re nodding with a smile. “Mmm s’good, Shiu.”

A thrill zips down his spine - he ignores it. “G-good. Go on now.” And right before he himself leaves the barn house, Shiu says. “And do try to convince Toji that it’d be good for him to get a new ring. The fool doesn’t realize the power he has in emptying Kusakabe’s pockets.”

Shiu gently closes the door to head back to his duties.

He flips Toji off behind his back.

.

.

.

At 12:21PM on the dot (Kusakabe said he’d be here half an hour ago) his best friend’s truck is parked in his vast farmland. And Shiu helps Toji into a hybrid trailer—he could have just gone in the passenger-side seat, but Shiu didn’t trust Toji one bit to not just open the door and jump out. Perhaps even outrun that truck at the first instance of missing you.

Honestly, he might just do the same with the trailer too…

But Shiu doesn’t tell Kusakabe this - instead he’s letting the man load his prized bull hybrid. And then clapping him on the shoulder, “Alright- he’s your problem now.”

“Just for today.” Kusakabe rolls his eyes. “A day longer and he might just drive the truck himself getting back to his mate.”

He whispers, “…I wouldn’t count on him not to do that today, either.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Shiu amends. Looking at the huffing n’ puffing Toji inside the trailer, arms crossed. “Just that he’s a romantic.”

“That he is.” Kusakabe tips his hat and waves himself off. “Alright- midnight, yeah?”

“Like I said- take your time.” He says, eagerly- perhaps a little too eagerly.

The other man gets into the truck and slams the door shut - the force causes that hunk of rusted metal to wobble and creak, like an old man’s laugh. Shiu gets the sense that the entire world seemed to be laughing at him at that moment—including his best friend. Was he really that obvious? 

Shiu walks up to Kusakabe’s window and leans against it. “What the hell are you laughing at?”

“Oh- nothing.” Kusakabe has the audacity to wipe off a mirthful tear. “Just that it reminds me of back then. Bet you’re really happy to have some alone time with your pretty girl, huh?”

“You say that like it’s been ages since Toji’s been here.” Shiu scoffs. “She’s known me longer- probably still likes me better too. You know she only lets me-”

“-milk her.” Kusakabe interrupts. Amusement on his features at the familiar words, “Yeah yeah. You’ve said it once before, man. Or maybe twice. Thrice. Fifteen times-”

“Whatever, man.”

Shiu kicks off the side of Kusakabe’s truck and gives it a customary slap on the bonnet. 

“Drive safe. Even if you get stranded this time, I’m not coming to pick you up.”

“What a friend.” Kusakabe starts pulling the truck ahead and calls out as he goes. “Take care of the pretty girl when her mate’s not around~”

“You know I will.”

And as he watches the truck pull away with Toji inside the trailer—the bull hybrid lets out a mournful sound. It’s as Shiu feels a soft head rest against him that he realizes you’d joined him in the farewell; longingly watching your mate be hauled off. 

“It’s just for the convention, pretty girl.” Shiu mutters to you. He reaches to scratch behind your hybrid ears but- the faint heat radiating off you makes him pause. “Is…it just me or has your fever gotten worse?”

“Mmm, dunno.” You murmur thickly. You push deeper against his body and Shiu’s suddenly hit with a lingering scent of dairy and fresh flowers, presumably from last night.

“If this gets any worse then we might have to pay a visit to Dr. Shoko…”

Fervently, you’re shaking your head. 

Although you liked the cool and composed otter hybrid, Dr. Shoko, actually visiting the doctor was another thing. And so Shiu let it slide - for now - as he advised you to stay out of the sunlight and get some more rest—he’ll bring some cool drinks over after he’s done tending to the horse hybrids’ hair.

Shiu watches as you totter off into the barn house once more.

He’ll have to keep a close eye on you…

.

.

.

3:18PM

The farmdog hybrids were particularly energetic today - Shiu spent just about two hours straight neglecting his tractor maintenance to throw frisbees with them. Ah, to hell with that old thing. Maybe next time he’ll accompany Kusakabe to those Tokyo conventions and see if they have discounts on tractors. 

Although he knows he shouldn’t have been so careless - but you can’t blame a farmer for letting loose! Especially not when - usually - whenever he did this sort of thing—it’d only end up with Fushiguro Toji trampling all over the frisbee for the sake of it.

Especially not when it’s exactly what got him to notice the state of you in the first place.

Shiu had thrown the frisbee too far. It had landed somewhere by the pond, and Shiu didn’t want Ino getting his coat all muddied again- so he told the canine hybrid to stay put as he himself trudged through all the vegetation and too-soft earth. Ah…remind him to unweed this mess sometime soon. Spike rushes stuck to his boots, and water lilies waded towards him as the farmer determinedly made his way to the frisbee. 

Just bending down to get it when-

Letting out softly—“Oh.”

When Shiu spots your curled-up self on the side of the pond bank—all cocooned amongst the lush vegetation like a little treasure just for him. He tries to shake that thought out of his mind.

You startle awake once he steps on a twig attempting to get nearer to the frisbee- “Easy there.” His deep tone soothes you. “Easy. Easy. It’s just me.” You’re following the voice and settling down once you recognize him. “What’re you doing here, pretty girl?” 

“Just resting.” You respond. Now that you were sure there wasn’t any danger, you’re settling back down into your comfortable position. “The water helps keep me cool, y’know?”

“That pesky fever’s still bothering you?” Shiu reaches down to measure the temperature on your forehead - and sure as day, he’s feeling the heat simmering. If he wasn’t mistaken—it was just a tad hotter than what he remembered it to be when saying goodbye to Toji. “Hm…it doesn’t seem to be getting better on its own. How about a visit to Shoko’s?”

“Shiu…” You whine.

“Now now, missy.” He tuts. “I need you to be healthy- not only would Toji kill me otherwise, but I wouldn’t forgive myself either.”

“I’m feeling fine…really. It’s just a little hot.” You insist. “Today’s been really hot- I promise m’gonna feel better once the sun goes down.”

“Hmmm. Alright.” Though Shiu still didn’t seem all that convinced. “But you won’t cool off with water just by looking at it.” 

“What do you-”

But those words are getting stuffed back into your throat once Shiu takes a little run-up and throws himself into the pond. Creating a resounding splash! and sending a wave of water into the air—like translucent sun-glittered frogs that take a soaring leap and land on you. 

You’re yelping as the cool water lands on you- “Shiu—! You little-”

And then jumping in after him.

He throws his head back and lets out a deep, joyous laugh. And if he smelled the soft fragrance of honey suckle and fresh cream…then he imagines some of the other cow hybrids are ready for milking again.

.

.

.

6:21PM

Shiu wasn’t celebrating—honestly.

Even he wasn’t that tactless.

It’s just that it was a little quiet without Fushiguro Toji around to cause trouble with the other hybrids, or with any guests, or with Shiu…or with practically anyone that wasn’t you. He wondered whether you realized the sheer extent of his special treatment. Which was why he decided to spoil the lot of you - especially you - today.

And for this Shiu’s apples were amongst the most famed in these parts - he hears they went for thousands of yen each in Tokyo. Lush and luxurious. Like biting into a piece of heaven—he knew that the hybrids were particularly covetous of this rare luxury. And luckily for him, they’d just been harvested today. 

So why not give you lot a little treat?

Those stingy middle-men would be here to load up the apples tomorrow morning; so before that he herded his hybrids to the picturesque orchard. Where the apple trees embraced the groves from either side, the tops of their branches nearly winding into the sunset-painted clouds and pulled them back, and beneath them lay crates upon crates of apples like treasure pots at the ends of rainbows. Those apples seemed to gleam even brighter as the sun dipped beneath the horizon; gilded. 

And Shiu kept his hands on his hips, a proud smile on his face, as he watched over the hybrids picking apples and digging through crates. All except for…

“Where’s…”

Brows furrowed- Shiu turns around and spots you slumped against the wooden entrance to the orchard. Those towering pillars were intertwined with vines, and amongst them you looked like the prettiest rose. 

“Something wrong, my girl?” He walks towards you, handsome features pinched in concern. Immediately, Shiu’s hand goes up to feel your temperature once more. “Fuck-” And almost as soon as it makes contact with your forehead, he’s pulling away—

“Shiu…”

“You’re burning up- pretty girl, why didn’t you tell me that it’d become this bad?” He hisses. And then he’s reaching down to gently clasp your hand. Those caramel-brown eyes of his are just so soft…“C’mon- lets get you to Shoko’s before she’s off—”

Yet oh-so-stubbornly you’re shaking your head. “Promise m’okay, Shiu.”

“But-”

“It’s not a fever.” And the hairs on his body stand on end at those words. If not a fever, could this be…“I think it must be the heat or something- that and Toji did wear me out a little last night.”

His jaw clenches. “I’m sure. But I still think it would be good to go for a check-up.”

You’re averting your gaze from his. “I’m alright. Trust me.”

And though Shiu was clearly displeased by this turn of events—how could he ever say no to his favorite girl? It was almost embarrassing how easily he’s bending to your will- and letting out a sigh he attempts to make sound annoyed rather than fond. “Oh, alright…but at least try one of the apples. I’m sure they’d be good for you.”

“Of course-” Then you take a step - and the faint dizziness that’d accompanied your fever makes you nearly fall into Shiu’s chest. Thankfully the farmer catches you easily with his scarred palms darting to your waist, his broad arms wrapping around your body- and the tips of his fingers graze where your tail starts.

And both of your breaths hitch-

“Hey boss- can we dig into the pears too or are those off limits?” Ino’s blissfully oblivious tone shatters whatever strange atmosphere had seemed to concentrate between you two.

And you both jump backwards as if electrocuted.

“The uh- the what-” Shiu whirls around at the farm dog hybrid, “Not a chance. Don’t even think about touching those.”

“…Oops.”

“Those are ¥5000 a pear-” He pinches his nosebridge and groans- as his most trusted dog hybrid scampers off with an armful of pears. As he does so, Ino’s dropping one on the grass that Shiu’s bending down to pick up. Wiping off the non-existent dust on his denim overall, Shiu pulls a pocket knife out and cuts a clean slice of pear in mere seconds.

Calm and controlled.

Somehow, just seeing how competent he was with it made something at the pit of your stomach- twinge.

Before you know it, Shiu’s holding the tempting slice out to you. “Eat.” When you look at him in hesitation, he chuckles handsomely. “They’re about to raid the pears anyway, so you might as well eat.”

And so you do - he watches every minute expression of yours as you bite into it. That glimmer in your eyes. That smile.

Fuck…

Chomping on the luxurious fruit, you’re soon raising your nose into the air and sniffing.

Shiu raises a brow, “Something wrong? It’s not rotten, is it?”

You shake your head and continue sniffing. “No, it’s just…” Your ears twitch towards him- and he finds it so cute how they move almost all on their own. “Something smells good.”

“The pear?” 

“No.” Shaking your head once more—the way you look at him then is just…different. “Like apples. And caramel. And honeysuckle.”

Shiu scratches behind his neck. “Well, I don’t know about the caramel- but we are in an apple orchard.” Gesturing at the sprawling land. “Help yourself.”

You smile and rub yourself against him lightly, soon joining your friends.

This was proving to be quite the strange day- fuck, were you getting hotter?

.

.

.

11:59PM

“I should have taken you to Shoko’s in the morning—”

This is all Shiu’s fault.

This is all Shiu’s fault.

But to understand just how badly he’d messed up, one would have to rewind the clock to about two minutes and twenty seconds ago; it’d been a long day at the farm. Exhaustibly so. Even more so than usual, Shiu was dead-tired—it was practically subconscious the way in which he’d scrubbed himself clean and slipped into his favorite pair of pajamas (the ones with the cows and barns on them). 

And he’d just - just - sat himself down on the creaky sofa in front of the TV, to get in at least five minutes of his favorite cheesy soap operas before he zonked out before it…when the front door started rattling.

Wait…rattling?

Knocking.

Shiu sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he heaved himself to a stand- “Yeah, yeah m’coming…don’t break the damn door down.” He’d at least expected Kusakabe to give him a call before he returned and started trying to leave him doorless- but ah. 

Shiu was grumbling a few choice words underneath his breath as he swung the front door and screen open. Only to be met with—

“Pretty girl?” In split-seconds, every ounce of sleepiness leaves Shiu as he darts to hold your faintish body. Your head was drooped, and your breaths were coming out rapid. You were supported by only some of the other cow hybrids. Immediately his hand is flying to your waist, and he’s throwing one of your arms around his shoulders- before giving up on any inhibitions and pulling you into a proper princess carry.

A worried Ino and the others trailed after. “The cow hybrids let me know that there was something wrong, boss. So I brought her here.”

“Good thinking. Thank you.” Shiu just barely has the thought to murmur. He hurries to sprawl you out across where you would be most comfortable: his bed. “We need to contact Dr. Shoko immediately.”

“It’s not her time of heat yet, right?” Ino asks from the doorway. Behind him were some of the other members of the barn house looking in concern.

“No.” Shiu shakes his head. He glances up and sees the commotion- “It might be a fever, or maybe it was too hot out? I don’t know—fuck, I should’ve just taken her in the morning when she first told me.”

“Should I get the truck ready now, boss?”

“Sure. But I don’t want to move her much right now- poor thing.” Shiu looks on sadly at the way you’re gripping his soft pillows and smushing them to your face—breathing them in. “I’ll call Shoko and see if there’s anything we can do from here-” Reaching over to his bedside cabinet and picking up the phone, “You guys get some sleep, and I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“You’ve got it.” Ino nods- and then he’s herding the rest of the barn outside. 

In this little bubble of his bedroom, this little nook of the farm which smelled like fresh cream and honeysuckle, and had the air of sluggish mornings that made one’s eyes droop; it was just you and Shiu and the ringing tone of Shoko’s clinic.

Ringing once.

Ringing twice.

It cuts and Shiu’s trying Shoko’s personal number this time. She picks up almost instantly- “Hello?”

“I’m not going to ask about the integrity of your sleep schedule, but I need your help-”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

And as Shiu lists off your symptoms - the clamminess, the rapid heartbeat, the puffs of pheromones now filling up his bedroom, and more importantly…the wetness between your thighs (he wasn’t a lecher- he promises, it just-so-happened that Dr. Shoko had asked him to double check as part of your symptoms) - he himself starts to get an understanding of your diagnosis. You were in heat. But-

“But wasn’t her heat just two weeks ago?” There’s a shuffling of papers on the other end of the line as Shiu realizes Shoko must’ve gone through your file at home. “And she isn’t known for having any irregular heats.”

“Could this possibly be triggered by something external?” Shiu asks.

“It is possible.” She answers. “Have there been any changes to her environment? Something that may trigger a stress response in her?”

“Well, just today I had Toji go out with my friend to a convention- could it possibly be the distance?” He suddenly feels a drop of guilt at possibly being connected to why you feel this way.

“Hmm, I don’t believe so. Mating bonds are of the nature to be most volatile in close distances, rather than when they’re apart.” She hums thoughtfully. “You said that her mate was away today, right? And this started just today? Have there been any…other changes?”

Shiu raises a brow. “Other?”

And he can’t see her, but he gets the feeling that had they been in her office- then Shoko would have her fingers crossed and a grave expression on her face. “Yes. Has she been close with any other hybrid on the farm? Perhaps nuzzling up to them? Perhaps giving off her scent?”

The tips of Shiu’s fingers, clutching the phone, feel utterly numb. “…Yes.” Him.

“Well then. I believe the matter is quite simple, Mr. Shiu.” Tell him. “It is a strange phenomenon in which the hybrid seems to have two mates.”

“…” He can’t quite seem to close his mouth. “What?”

“Precisely.” Shoko speaks as if merely commenting on the nice weather or a particularly good football goal.

“B-but—” Shiu clutches the phone and tries to keep his volume from rising so as not to awaken you - you’d fallen asleep wrapped in his sheets now. Nose stuffed into the fabrics coated with his natural musk. “I thought hybrids mated for life? With only one-”

“Most often, yes. But there are rare cases in which a hybrid might find themselves connected to two others, or even three. Sometimes these connections may be latent and only make themselves known when triggered by a heat or time apart from her original mate.” His jaw just keeps dropping. “And it seems that in your cow hybrid’s case, in the absence of one mate she found her second mate’s connection activated. This is likely what caused her to go into heat.”

“So it’s official-” He begs. “She’s in heat now-”

“Yes, and I suggest you just let her do what needs to be done with her second mate in order to get it out of her system, otherwise she may feel rejected.”

And it seems that the conversation was coming to a close- for there was a note of epiphany in her words. But before Shoko could end the call, he questions once more. “And about the…double mate thing- does that also mean that the second mate is mated to the original mate?”

There’s a pause.

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you, Mr. Shiu.”

Wait how did she—

And then she ends the call.

Shiu holds numbly onto the phone for a few seconds - the silence felt deafening. Before a sudden stirring makes him dart his eyes over towards you. 

Like an angel.

Your face was half-pushed into one of Shiu’s pillows - also patterned with cows and barns - and that blanket of his had twisted ‘round your body like a snake now—clammy with your sweat. Your fingers were clawing at the old creaky mattress, and your knees were pushing higher, and between them were- oh.

Were another one of his pillows.

And fuck- he’s never felt more jealous of an inanimate object in his entire life.

You were reeling your hips back—thrusting them forwards again- grinding down on the pillow. Wetness was seeping between those pretty, shiverin’ legs of yours and staining the cover. From here he could see a dark splotch starting to stain the silken fabric - smelling like the sweetest honey scent.

And it makes his mouth water.

“Baby- baby…” Shiu lovingly pats your leg, dawning you completely awake. He could see now that you were in the throes of your heat - but those eyes of yours were completely alert. “I need you to get comfortable, okay? This is gonna last about a week.”

“I’m in heat?” You blink. “Dr. Shoko said you’re my mate, Shiu.”

“So you heard that, huh?” He lightly chuckles. “Just know that we don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to. Heats don’t necessarily affect humans-”

“Then why’re you so hard?” Though that tone of yours was utterly innocent - the look in your eyes wasn’t. You knew what you were doing to him—and you’re only hiking up the temperature between the two of you as you’re leaning in. 

On wobbly arms, you’re pushing yourself up n’ leaning in so close-

Oh, how he’s dreamed of this exact scenario so many nights before. In this very bed. With his hand wrapped around his cock.

And Shiu knows he’s talking out of his ass - it’s the inhibitions taking over now…“You’ve got me there- but what about Toji-”

“Isn’t he your mate, too?”

And then your lips are on his.

.

.

.

Fushiguro Toji feels a disturbance in the force.

He can’t quite explain it- it’s nothing that he’s seen or even something that he’s felt. Nothing tangible to give reason to this madness. It’s just that something was…off. Kusakabe notices the hybrid squirming in his seat - yes, it seems that he trusted the bull hybrid enough to let him ride shotgun - and turns on the radio.

Just Toji’s luck, it was Scotty Doesn’t Know by Lustra.

“Turn it off.” Toji scoffs and crosses his arms.

“Why? Remind you of a certain someone~?” Kusakabe asks in-between singing at the top of his lungs.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

And even though Toji is merely looking at the smaller man- he shrinks into his seat. Did he mention he’d sharpened his horns for today? Kusakabe whimper, “O-oh nothing…nothing, just that ah- the lyrics might be a little reminiscent of ah-”

And Toji was even more infuriated because of that nagging sensation- that strange…fuck. “Spit it out.”

Kusakabe lets out a squeal and looks as though he utterly regretted letting the hybrid sit next to him. “J-just the fact that Shiu mayormaynothaveacrushonyourmate—” It’s out before Toji could even register it. “Pleasedon’tkillme-”

“If I kill you who’s driving?” Toji had now unbuckled his seatbelt despite Kusakabe’s protests. Snooping around the truck and trying to trace that little- scent? “What is that infernal- fuck. And I already know that farmer’s got a thing for her - though I’d pay for him to actually try. Would love to see his face as she rejects him.”

“Really? Because she was looking all cute and cuddly and a little feverish this morning.”

“What.”

And then it hits him—that scent. Fresh cream and sunny days and honey-

You were in heat.

“Fucker, step on it.”

Kusakabe whirls towards him. “What-” But before he can finish, Toji’s grabbing onto the steering wheel and damn-near crashing them on the highway as he speeds ahead.

The radio trills: ‘I can’t believe he’s so trustin’.

While I’m right behind you thrusting.’

.

.

.

“Mmm—” Shiu’s lips are hot and persistent- letting off the most sensual mwahs! as he continues the pattern down the side of your neck.

Listen, Shiu Kong might not be a hybrid like you, but if he kept his nose pressed against your sultry skin then he could almost feel it—those pheromones. 

It was wafting off your skin like an atmosphere that was entirely your own, a gravitational pull constantly tugging him closer; the sweetened scent of honey and freshly-whipped cream. It made him blush. It went straight down to his cock.

Fuck that- it was taking over him.

A guttural groan rips out of Shiu’s chest- he kisses a pathway down the middle of your body until he’s reaching your core. Once he does, he gives the hottest wettest kiss of all to your cunt—“Oh, baby. Lean back a bit f’me, yeah?”

And then he’s pressing an open palm on top of your stomach. Pressing you to recline on the bed.

“Good girl.” Shiu rumbles. Low. “Now squeeze those pretty legs around my head- yeah, just like that. Tighter.”

“Tighter than that n’ you’ll suffocate.” You gasp.

“What about it?”

Using his own strong arms - so fucking beefy from years of work at the farm - Shiu wraps your thighs around his sweaty head. His sharp, straight hair tickles your inner thighs; so much so that the farmer has to tell you to settle down. “Easy there- eeeeasy there, girlie. I’ll make you feel good during your heat.”

“I’m not a damn horse.” You huff.

“Yeah, because you’re gonna be the one riding, huh?”

The gasp that flutters its way up to your throat doesn’t get the chance to escape- because the question on Shiu’s tongue curls around your cunt. He’s letting the squashy end of his tongue dip between your swollen pussylips—giving you a loooong lick where you were most tender. Those cushiony tastebuds of his were massaging you already- and the way he’s twisting his tongue so deliciously as he enters—

“Oh.” You’re arching off the mattress, thighs plastering to the side of his face. And yet your pussy’s openin’ up for him so invitingly. “Keep going, Shiu…”

“Had no plans of stopping soon.” Gurgling wetly between your legs.

His tongue was just so soft and smooth.

The way he’s adjusting it in and out makes your mouth just water. In and out. In and out. Shiu notices that every time he hooked his tongue around the outer rim of your entrance made your pheromones surge. Fuck—that heat of yours was affecting him, too, and leaving him sippin’ on your pussy like an aphrodisiac.

Lavish lips plastering aaaaall over again and again- “Mmmm, my pretty cow hybrid. No idea how I lasted this long without this.” Breathing through his nose - he didn’t want to waste a single second of this. His usually-deep timbre shakes with pleading desire. “And what can this do?”

You’re squealing once you feel thick fingers curl around your tail. “That’s my tail…”

“I already know that, pretty girl.” Shiu shakes his head fondly - as though you’d been the one to say something ridiculous. And in-between lapping away at your leaking pussy, he tugs softly on your tail in order to bring you closer. “But what can it do-”

“Well she likes getting it pulled during doggy position.” 

Both of you would have recognized that voice amongst a thousand bull hybrids - ten thousand. That stature. That scent of freshly-cut grass and something deeper…something more alluring.

“And sometimes if you bite it she starts clenching like crazy.” 

Fuck.

Because neither of you had heard the door click open - except maybe in what felt like a distant dream. Something worlds away.

You’re feeling a sense of déjà vu. 

Shiu’s feeling cold sweat breaking out as he realizes that he hadn’t actually locked the door. In fact. 

Whoever had opened it must be gripping it so hard that its oak frame was starting to splinter-

Both of you experience a pang at the pit of your stomach- a draw. And Shiu gapes as he looks down at himself—what the fuck was that…? He’s looking up at Fushiguro Toji standing in the doorframe with the same shocked expression.

“The hell do you think you’re doing with my girl?” Toji spits, scarred lips twisted.

“Listen, man-”

“You’re not going to make her cum eating her out like that.”

“I…what?”

Toji manages to make Shiu shut up. This must surely be a dream? And it’s just about enough time for the other man to cross the distance between the door and the bed - kicking it shut behind him - and make himself quite at home on the bed. The mattress creaks under the weight of the hybrid; and you yourself are letting out a soft moan. 

He sits beside where you were sprawled-out, facing Shiu.

“You see…my pretty girl here-”

Shiu mutters underneath this breath. “Fuckin’ stealing my pet name too, now?”

But Toji has the courtesy to ignore it - for now. “-has a certain set of rules she needs to follow.” 

At this, the other man’s brows raise in interest. Satisfied at the attention; Toji himself traces his dominant right hand over your stomach, your hips, before lowering down to your cunt and holding those puffy pussylips of yours open. Pushing them apart. Pryin’ them apart. 

Both men gulp at the way you’re clenching around nothing.

“See…she might look all innocent and sweet- but she’s a proper little slut.” The words almost make Shiu flinch - and the bull hybrid takes great care repeating them. “Your…pretty girl is a proper- little- slut. And I know that she likes being fucked like one.”

And before either of you can make a move - Toji’s swiftly craning his head down and spitting a great glob of saliva on your cunt.

It trickles over your exterior and smears along your inner thighs- and Toji takes his sweet, sweet relish in swipin’ off some of that excess and popping it into his mouth. “So?” Toji asks. “Eat her out.”

Eat…Toji’s own mate out? Like this?

“What?” Toji has the audacity to look shocked. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing her- don’t act like you haven’t been fantasizing it. You’ve wanted her even before I arrived at this damn farm.”

Shiu’s lips tremble- he almost wants to because hell, he’s been given the permission now. And yet…“Is this some sort of trick? You’re not gonna use those horns on me afterward, are you?”

“No, not at all.” The other man replies - almost too breezily. He raises his brows at Shiu expectantly. And stares deep into Shiu’s eyes as he says. “So? The fuck are you waiting for-”

Those mere words make Shiu’s cock stand painfully erect.

However, there’s a reason they claimed that Fushiguro Toji was a ruthless man. 

Because humans always did move far too slowly for the bull hybrid’s liking. And he wastes not a second more before pawin’ at the back of Shiu’s sweaty scalp - taking just a moment to bask in the utter shock upon his features - and shoving—

Straight between your pretty, pretty thighs.

Which he honestly didn’t have to do because—well fuck, you didn’t have to ask Shiu twice to eat you out. Shiu lets out a strangled grunt that turns into a moan. 

And without further ado, he’s back latched onto your pussy- those handsome cheeks of his hollowing out as he sucks n’ sucks. And you don’t know whether he was doing this for you or himself. 

Shiu ate you out like he was going to die of thirst if he didn’t.

“Fuck-” He hisses. With every movement of his face, he nuzzles himself closer. “Fuck fuck fuck—more.”

Syrupy breath sticking against your pussylips. 

And his tongue was even worse-

“My pretty girl. More.”

He’s slithering it aaaaaaaall along your outer cunt - lapping up every wad of slick you were gifting him - and then rubbing his textured tastebuds along your exterior when it just wasn’t enough. Because your cunt was practically an aphrodisiac for him.

It’s as if the heat was contagious.

Because the longer he’s spending between those gorgeous legs of yours - the more he’s blabbering like a damn fool. The murkier his eyes are growing. The harder and harder his hips are coming crashing—! down on the rickety wooden frame of the bed—pathetically dry-humping it in time with the thrashes of his tongue. Slipping right between your velvety folds and yearnin’ to taste the honey between.

That thick silkiness of his tongue was just dizzying.

He was cleaning up the mess that Toji’d made earlier—tasting him, tasting you. Shiu’s face grows warm as he remembers.

That dextrous tip of his tongue delves between your pussylips - entering that cute hole - and is lapping up everything you’re giving him. “Babydoll, fuck my mouth even deeper.” Needing more. “Even deeper.”

“F-fuck- shit, shit shit.” You’re trilling out. “You’re practically nose-deep. How can you possibly go any deeper?”

With a needy whimper, you’re letting your hybrid tail swish towards him - and without further ado Shiu takes it and wraps his fist around it. Giving a gentle tug. Fuck.

And when he actually discovers that he’s able to manhandle you further onto his mouth with that tail of yours- nothing’s stopping Shiu from increasing his strength to give you a mean haul. “Mmm- yes- oh, Shiu. It feels so good, Shiu—!”

“But not good enough, right?” Toji speaks over you, in a haughty tone.

Your hybrid ears twitch in confusion.

And before you know it, you’re feeling the sensation of Shiu’s slithering tongue disappear. 

You whine out in disappointment. And you already know that that mate of yours must have something to do with it-

Sure as day; Toji has his fist gripping Shiu’s jet-black hair and reeling him back. The other man obviously had his face twisted into something ferocious, and the tension made the atmosphere pinch. But underneath that…there was an undercurrent of sweetness…the mottling of Toji’s gleeful pheromones mixing with his lustful ones.

And Shiu’s, too.

And if you weren’t mistaken- was that a faint blush on the tips of his ears?

It seems that Toji notices, too. “See anything to blush about here?” Then his eyes dip down to you. “Oh…right. Heh.” Leaning in oh-so-closely to the other man; Toji whispers in a gravelly tone into his ear. “But if you stand around blushing and bein’ a wuss for too long, then just know that she’s not gonna wait. She’s gonna dry up~”

He spits once more.

So disrespectful.

And then turns down to Shiu and warns. “Don’t eat her out just yet. Rule number one…” Your heartbeat races as he speaks those familiar words - Fushiguro Toji never was one to care for rules…unless it was in bed. “No running.”

“I’d never run from this pussy.” Shiu frowns.

“Not you, nitwit.” Mercilessly, he’s planting a smack at the back of the farmer’s head. “Her. Don’t let her run.”

Seemingly getting the green light to start up his sensual ministrations again- Shiu slowly starts lapping between your pussylips once more. Proddin’ his thickened tip into the deep orifice of your cunt. “B-but she’s not-”

“Look.” Toji interrupts. Just as you were starting to buck and lift your hips off the sodden mattress. “Look at the way she’s moving ‘round.”

“But that’s just-”

“But this pretty cow hybrid is in heat—and you can’t just leave her uncomfortable like this, can you?” Those dazed eyes of Shiu Kong’s open wider. He faintly nods. “So aren’t you the farmer?”

He nods again - looking as though he was about to faint.

“So herd your damn cow hybrids- c’mon- don’t let her run—” Spurred on even further by his words, Shiu’s plunging back in-between your legs and usin’ his tongue for his life.

Opening his mouth wiiiiiide to make sure that he’s able to reach every nook and cranny—the end of his tongue was just so dexterous and somehow managing to slip into spots you hadn’t even known you had. “O-ohhhh, fuuuuck-” Moans just keep bubbling out of your lips. “It feels so good, Shiu-”

And just when it looked as if you were about to buck—Shiu grabs ahold of your hips- so hard that he leaves neat semi-crescent nail marks on your skin. Plopping you back down onto the bed.

Plopping you back down onto his face.

From then onwards, he doesn’t let you move a single inch as he’s thrashin’ away his fat tongue inside your cunt. Stretching that pussy out to his textured tastebuds. 

And Toji had been watching the entire display closely…very closely. With his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. “Good.” His head threatens to tip backwards as he gives a harsh tug on his thickened length. “And now rule number two: squeeze those gorgeous legs around your head. Doesn’t matter if you suffocate.”

“That- that’s what I said—” Shiu keens.

“Then why’re you speaking?”

Goosebumps run down Shiu’s arched spine. “Oh…”

“A cunt like hers isn’t to be taken for granted.” Toji tuts from above you, and you can’t help but ogle the way his biceps bulge as he pushes down Shiu’s head. “Deeper.” Harder. “Deeper. Don’t waste time talking. Don’t waste time gawking like an idiot. In fact-”

His heated words make goosebumps scatter across your open thighs.

And you whimper-

“-don’t even breathe.”

They’re both driving you absolutely mad—

Toji catches your left ear between his fingers- as it’s been swatting furiously away the more aroused you grew. So soft beneath his touch.

He uses it to urge your mouth down to where his lap was.

“Rule number three…let her fuck back into you- but only if she really…really deserves it.”

“Make the pretty girl work for it?” Shiu looks up.

Toji displays a priggish smirk. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

And you don’t know what sort of expression Shiu might have on his handsome face right now - he was much too…preoccupied for that - but you can sense him nod. Short and sharp. As he keeps on lavishin’ your insides with his tongue; the farmer makes note of just how hard you’re clenching around him. “C’mon, pretty girl—” He pushes down your bucking hips. “Clench a little harder ‘round my tongue, would ya?”

“O-oh, now you’re just mean.”

“It’s what you deserve.” Toji chuckles. “Don’t think I can’t smell your pheromones gettin’ even sweeter- you’re loving this.”

You have no counter accusation - it was, after all, painfully true. And then Toji caresses your sweaty scalp with his thick digits—grabbing ahold of the back of your neck. “Now…lets see if you can be a good girl for me, too.”

An acrid sort of sweetness floods your mouth - because in mere sultry moments Toji has his legs positioned so that they’re practically straddling your face. On the mattress; he’s kneeling to the side of your head and letting his pursed, pinkened cocktip swab across your lips.

He’s rock-hard.

Instantly your jaw’s falling open to accommodate him.

And believe- that there was a lot to be accommodating. For Toji was so many countless inches, thick and decorated in a prominent network of veins across every inch of him. They zigzagged across each of his angles n’ ended up being the most prominent where your sweet spots were—Toji meant it when he said he was made for you.

He had a scruff of jet-black happy trail. He was an angry red at his tip. He was dripping precum.

It puckered out from the divot on top of his shaft—then ended up smeeeeared down the insides of your soft mouth. “Fuuuuck…” Toji himself whispers as he eases in. The bedsprings purr as Shiu bucks against the bed harder.

And before you know it, he’s reaching upwards and biting down on your throbbing clit. “Don’t forget about me, pretty girl. You’re not getting off easy. Rule number three, remember?”

“I—oh.” Shiu’s putting his fingers in now - fingers. Two of them. Long and perfectly calloused from years of hard labor to now massage your tender insides.

Both men are manhandling you oh-so-perfectly: Shiu dragging you down by your tail- and Toji using both hands to maneuver your head down. Letting you take up numerous inches of him. Thick and throbbing.

That rounded end of his shaft hits the back of your throat and you’re immediately coughing-

“Easy there.” Toji lovingly croons…“Not.” And you didn’t expect mercy, did you? Soon enough both of them are running their bodies ragged trying to draw out the most reactions from you—Toji fucking his cock into your suckling mouth, and Shiu hooking a finger not against the roof of your cunt to press on your nerve-filled spots- to make you clench. “C’mon- milk me. You can do better.”

“C’mon, little cow hybrid.” Shiu titters. His digits prove so effective in stretchin’ out your insides even more so than his tongue—and those tastebuds of his remain tickling your clit. “Won’t you squeeze me a little harder?”

“She can’t answer.” Toji laughs. “Got her mouth a little full.”

“Bull got her tongue.”

“Mmmm…” With that said, Toji’s flooding your tastebuds with a thick lacquer of his precum. He increases his pace a little more.

“Just a little harder-” Meanwhilst, Shiu whispers to himself as he keeps probing your sweet, sweet insides. “Just a little- a little—” And at precisely that moment; he’s hitting the bullseye. What else but the place marked X: your g-spot? “O-oh.” 

He damn near cums in his pants.

“Just like that.” Shiu continues. “Fuck back into my fingers. I know you can, girlie.”

“Accomplished rule number three already?” Toji asks the other man. “Yer nicer than me- I know that for sure.”

“What can I say? She’s my favorite.”

After a few more thrusts n’ bucks n’ smashes at your favorite spot - you don’t think you can even formulate a coherent thought. You’re being tugged back and forth by both men—and they aren’t showing any signs of slowing down soon enough. “The fourth and fifth rules are a little alike…” Toji rumbles from above you. “The fourth, of course, is to get ready.”

“Get ready?” Shiu asks. Though by the way he feels the heat in the room - your pheromones - flare up, he’s sure you’re anticipating whatever it is.

“And the fifth is to…” The end of that sentence teeters on the edge of Toji’s tongue as he reels his hips back, back, back, baaaaack- “-take it all like a good girl.” 

And that’s exactly what you’re doing.

Letting the entire length of Toji’s cock fill your mouth from tip to base- his fleshy cockhead searches your insides like a flashlight. It’s almost too pornographic the way you’re choking on his length—gagging, eyes watering. 

To which of course, your beloved mate reaches down to pinch your nostrils closed. “Now now…are you the one in heat or am I?”

“Mmmpf- mmm—” You keen. Moans bubbling from the back of your throat but having no way out.

“Oi- I think she’s close.” Shiu breathes.

He could taste it in the sweet treacly syrup leaking out of you - his favorite. He could taste it in the way your cunt walls were pounding faster than ever. He could fucking smell it in those pheromones of yours that just seemed to flare to life-

“S’that so?” Toji asks. “And that brings me to our sixth and final rule: if she wants something, then she can use her words to ask for it.”

“Hardass.” Shiu scoffs.

But they’re both increasing their pace. For competition or simply to drive you mad?

The sloppiest squelches and pops! fill the room—and Shiu watches as your tail starts twitching agitatedly once the pleasure almost gets too much. Oh his pretty cow hybrid. Once you’re so close that you feel like you could burst- “Toji, she’s close—”

“Then ask for it.” Toji keeps shovelling his cock deeper. Deeper. “Fucking ask for it, doll.”

“Toji-”

Slamming into your throat with a final thwack! His balls were damn near leaving an imprint on your chin. “You can ask the farmer to help you with your heat- but you can’t ask me to make you cum…?”

“She did.”

The tension in the room falters - but never bates - as Toji turns to look at the other man. “What?”

“She did-” Shiu hastens to explain. “Ask to cum, that is…” And as if to prove his point—he’s plummeting a few more pushes with his fingers, scissoring them inside you so that those slurping suctioning noises are extra loud. “-right here.”

Toji waits for a beat.

Before he lets out a little snicker.

Before he lets out an entire laugh-

“Maybe you’re not so bad- for you, that is.” And then he’s boring his forest fire gaze down at you. “Hear that? Yer damn lucky that you’re the farmer’s favorite—hah, better thank him.” Toji’s then tugging your ear to watch you squirm just a little.

He lets out a final few thrusts.

And waits until his cock was embedded deeeep into the back of your throat - and your nose was pressed against those tufts of black at his base. Until you were well and fully stuffed full of him. 

“So cum then, my pretty mate.”

And with a few more thorough slashes inside you—knockin’ Shiu’s burly fingers into your sweetest spots, slithering Toji’s length down every crevice of your mouth, you’re crashing into your high. 

It’s quick and searing.

It takes over your body faster than you can register. Burning through every other thought and feeling - you’re letting out erotic moans around Toji’s cock, and they keep getting louder as it keeps prolonging. Longer and longer. The more they’re toyin’ with your throbbing, sopping cunt. 

Those fervent peaks seem to get stronger - and within you feels practically white-hot in sensation. Pulling off of his bulbous tip. “Sh-shiiiiiit—” Keening out. “It feels so good- it feels so good-”

“You’re welcome.” Toji says. Shovelling his pinkish tip back between those lips.

At the same time that Shiu’s panting. “Anything for you, pretty girl.”

“Don’t fucking stop.”

Of course, as your mates they’re practically bound to listen to your every syllable.

And you don’t feel them rest - even take a breath - until your orgasm was well and almost completely disappeared from the horizon.

Tears of overstimulation were now springing to your eyes. Thighs twitching with the faintest splinters of sensitivity. “F-fuck…” Toji’s throbbing tip falls from your lips. It leaves a thin ribbon of slick connecting you to him still. You’re blabbering. “Fuck, I’m getting sensitive now.”

“Hm…Shiu climb up.” Toji says.

Both you and Shiu share a glance—and with something that looked like a half-shrug, Shiu’s attempting to heave himself up from the floor-

Only to be grabbed by Toji by the hand and yanked onto bed.

The farmer’s letting out a little yelp as he’s finding himself bounced onto the springy mattress - right on your other side. Sandwiched between the two buff, broad men- you don’t think you’ve ever felt your heart beat faster…ever smelled your pheromones so potently…

“Shiu, I need those off.” You huff. Batting those teary lashes of yours.

“Oh.” His face twists into something like ecstacy - how many times has he fantasized about those very words leaving your mouth?

And, flustered, the farmer starts unbuckling his overall one-by-one-

“We’re not trying to wait until her heat’s over.” Toji gruffs. And his veined forearm reaches across you - grasping onto the front of Shiu’s overall and giving it a good tug.

Those buckles are breaking free immediately. 

The bull hybrid smiles to himself proudly. “There.”

“I should have half the mind to return you to Kusakabe…” Shiu grumbles to himself, as he takes off the rest of his clothes. That sentence makes the faintest flicker of recognition light up in his brain - really, where was Kusakabe - but it’s evaporating soon enough once you start helping him take his boxers off. 

“I’m warning you in advance, however…” He starts.

“Why?”

“Yeah- are you hiding a 21-incher in there or something?” Toji scoffs.

“No no- it’s not that. I’m…above average- probably.” Shiu waves off, his burning blush creeping up onto his face again. “It’s just that I might have made…a little mess when I was eating you out.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean by- oh.”

Oh, was right. Right indeed.

Because of course- Shiu was naturally an impressive size. About eight inches. With a much more tan tip than Toji’s - and perhaps even thicker, too - and a girth that made your mouth water. He was smoother than Toji—less veins ‘round his shaft except for a single prominent one that went around the left side. And he was curved ever-so-slightly upright, too. 

But what really caught your attention was…Shiu had cum in his pants.

Just from eating you out.

“Oh…” Your eyes widen as you take in the dark splotch at the front of his boxers. 

Thick ropey white cum had seeped into it- and Shiu’s hastily snatching those boxers out of your hands to throw them over his shoulder. His hands felt sticky. “But that’s neither here nor there-”

“Of course it is.” Toji says after a moment of contemplation. “I’m adding a seventh rule.” 

Yours and Shiu’s eyes pop open. 

“Shit.”

“Shit-”

“What?” The bull hybrid looks at you both in mock innocence. “I was just going to say that the guest goes first…”

It’s…unexpected. To say the least. But you weren’t complaining - and by the way that Shiu’s reddened length perks up at the idea, you don’t think he is either.

“Um, so how do I…”

Toji angles himself towards you- “Get up a little, doll?”

You arch your hips off the bed; and Toji’s taking the opportunity to sidle his own hips underneath them. He’s manhandling you so that you’re simply sprawled-out on his chiselled front—and oh, how your mouth waters at the sensation of his rippling pecs and abs. The way they’re massaging you from behind at even the slightest movements—was that his v-line? 

And did you mention that Toji just-so-happened to have the cutest ringed piercings through each nipple?

They’re pushing into you from behind once the hybrid hooks both hands underneath each of your legs. And he’s lifting them aaaaaaaall the way up until your knees hit your tits. Spreading you wide, wide open.

A full nelson.

Except…this time, it’s Shiu’s who’s going to be basking between your legs. 

The aforementioned man takes a courageous gulp as he shuffles on his knees between your legs - and Toji’s - to lovingly gaze at you. “Fuuuuuck, my pretty girl…you really are so gorgeous.” Shiu whispers- underneath his breath as though he didn’t even mean for you to hear.

His darkened eyes sweep down your body like a caress. “The way that pussy’s dripping so much- shit, s’like a flood down there. Can you even feel yourself?” You’re squirming at his lecherous words. “And those legs. Trembling. And the way you’re just throbbing- I can see it from here.”

You’re gasping as he presses his hot length down on your cunt. 

Sandwiched between each of your pussylips: Shiu doesn’t think he’s ever seen a prettier sight. “You’re just so dirty, girlie~”

You shudder.

And Shiu could have kept going- it absolutely killed him to tear his gaze off of you. It really did.

But Shiu could sense Toji starting to get impatient if the slightly souring tint in his pheromones was anything to go by- hey, look at that…he’s reading pheromones now. Mentalling patting himself on the back; the farmer starts slide-slide-sliiiiiding his fattened-up cock between your precious folds. “Easy there, girl?”

“Yeah yeah- we’re easy.” Rolling his eyes, you’re getting jostled as the hybrid underneath bucks. And at this point, you’re honestly wondering which one of you was more excited for his entrance…“Just get on with it.”

“Unlike you, Toji, I don’t just- get on with it.” Shiu sounded offended at the mere suggestion. 

And as you both look towards him for further clarification, Shiu nervously bites down on the inside of his cheek and pushes his swollen cock down the slit of your cunt. “It’s just that…” He lets his particularly large tip kiss your hole. “-what if I end up hurting my pretty girl during her heat? I’d never forgive myself.”

“How cute.” Toji snickers. But there’s something that you recognize there—appreciation? “But not if you follow our rules, farmer boy. Remember those?”

Shiu rolls his eyes. “How could I forget?”

“Yeah- recite those.” And you’re gasping once one of Toji’s meaty palms drift up to your face - covering your dazed peripherals. “We’re both going to take turns fucking her using those rules, and my mate’s going to guess which one of us it is—how about that?”

“Mmm, sounds fun.” You smile.

And seeing that gorgeous smile of yours - what else was he supposed to be but putty in your hands? Shiu’s giving himself a few pumps before starting to press into your tight rim.

You’re tight.

So fucking tight.

His brows furrow n’ sweat starts beading at his forehead as he slowly - sloooowly - starts easing his proud cock inside. You’re arching into Toji’s back, whilst Shiu probes into your deepest depths. “O-oh.”

It was something so different.

Although he wasn’t exactly as vein-covered as Toji was; Shiu’s length managed to have the perfect curve that prodded ‘round the roof of your cunt. Somehow directly aiming for those tender spots inside—you’re feeling the pointed end of his shaft draw sensual zig-zags inside and you’re immediately begging for more.

Of course, that’s when Toji’s silently signalling Shiu to pull out.

Replacing the farmer’s cock with his instead.

Thick. Throbbing. Those patterns and groves on his shaft were just dizzying- and Toji’s already rendered your eyes sprinting to the back of your head with but a mere few inches inside you. 

He’s making your first ring of muscle streeeeeetch- and pressing a second overlarge hand down on your stomach to keep you from movin’ around too much. And you don’t need to see him to reach blindly behind you and tug on Toji’s newest bull ring—

“Don’t be mean, Toji.”

“S’not being mean, it’s just the rules.” Toji argues. His words come out in sizzling pants against the side of your face - somehow just his presence seemed enough to make your heat symptoms two times worse. “Now that the practice run’s over…”

Your eyes are fluttering open- only to see nothing past the gaps of Toji’s thick fingers. “That was just the practice run—?” Your poor puckered hole was already pulsating with friction.

But neither of them are answering.

Instead, it just seems that they’re intent on fucking any question or comprehensible thought right back into you—because just you’re feeling a sudden intrusion deep into your core. The bulbous head of it swipes apart your puffy pussylips- and the next thing you know, you’re seeing nothing but stars at the neverending inches of one of their cocks.

Somehow managing to probe even deeper than the first time- whoever this was was so fatly swollen that his cockhead opens up plunging crevices inside you. Perhaps even new ones.

You’re gasping away- “Please.” Both men are impressively managing to keep quiet as they’re easing inside. Not completely bottoming-out…but enough to make your toes curl. “Oh, please that feels so good.”

Hips attempting to chase more- he was going so slow.

But just as soon as you do - almost the very instant that your hips are breaking contact with the skin of Toji’s toned pelvis - you feel one of his hands pin you back down. Preventing you from moving a single inch.

Your hybrid ears rustle with the huff of laughter from behind you—and you know that there’s only one man who’d keep a hand oh-so-possessively on top of your womb as he sinks into your soaking wet cunt. Rule number one, remember?

“Toji-” You’re sputtering out, voice breaking so prettily at the end of your plea. “T-Toji move a little faster- ngh, please—”

Yet another failed attempt at a buck. “Good job, doll.” He gnaws on your ear lobe. “But don’t think we’re done here just yet…”

And then before you know it, he’s pulling out. The action lets out the loudest, sloppiest little plop! of pleasure between your legs- and it feels as though firecrackers are going off through your veins.

You’re practically shaking once another intrusion starts proddin’ between your legs. This time a bit more…timid. A bit more hesitant. A bit more inexperienced and careful—and you don’t have to pay attention to anything more as Shiu creeps your legs around his waist.

Letting his tunneling cockhead push into that wet hole of yours.

Unlike Toji, however, Shiu Kong simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“Oh…” It’s just about the most attractive thing you’ve ever heard - like music to your ears. But could you really blame the guy? “Legs- rules number t-two, remember?” This was the first proper taste of that syrupy cunt he’s getting—the exact same one he’s been dreaming of for ages…as much as that makes him sound like an utter pervert.

Maybe he was.

Maybe- what even was he? What was his name? Who was he?

Shiu can’t formulate a single thought.

Maybe he should be concerned about that…but for the time being, he’s collapsing his lower half into you. Funneling the smoother length of his cock inside; the farmer is the first of the two to actually bottom out. Thighs against your thighs. Forehead against your forehead. Cocktip against your cervix.

You swear you’re feeling Shiu intrude all the way up to your throat—“Shiu…keep moving, baby.”

“Oh- oh, you seriously want it?” He asks between uneven pants. And even more uneven are those semi-thrusts he’s poundin’ away at the back of your pussy—unwilling to break contact with your sopping womb for even a split-second to thrust back in. “You seriously want this ol’ farmer to fuck you like this? And that’s not just the heat talking-”

“It’s always the heat talking.” Toji scoffs. “This slutty girl’s always in heat. Honestly- who told you it could come early?”

“S’not my fault.” Shiu taps the side of your thigh to signal to you that- oh…you’re getting dangerously close to Toji figuring it out. 

Sure, it seems that he’d deduced by now that there was something regarding the startings of a mating bond between you and Shiu. And what sort of hybrid would come between that? But the fact that Toji himself shared it…

Thankfully in that moment Shiu’s creating a distraction - unintentional or not. Because just a few thrusts and he’s already starting to bead out hot, glutinous cum that sticks to the back of your pussy.

“Shit…” Shiu whispers to himself. You’re sensing one of his hands reach downwards to squeeze ‘round the base of his length—perhaps thinking that that would stop him. But the only thing Shiu’s managing to do is milk out a few more cobwebs of cum that are getting fucked and fucked in by his irregular thrusts. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Time’s up.” Toji cuts him off gruffly. “It’s getting too easy- hurry it up.”

“Yes…sir?” Fuck- he hates to admit it but the bull hybrid was correct.

Ah…you’d expected for the two to alternate between thrusts. But you just didn’t expect it this fast. Because all of a sudden, Toji’s going from merely caressing your front to wrapping his entire left arm around your middle. Oh, those beefy forearms of his were simply indescribable. 

Then Shiu’s reeling his sloppy, cum-glazed cock backwards for one of them to replace it in no time. 

Such plump inches of their shaft. Such impatient semi-thrusts as he leaves your mouth watering. He’s increasing his pace twofold once you’re accommodating him inside, and Toji’s pressing his palm deeper against your face. “Oh-” And you hadn’t expected them to stick to their damn six (or seven) rules so much, either…“Fuuuuuuck. Is it Toji?”

“Nope.” Shiu chuckles. From where he was positioned in front of you, the farmer leans down and kisses your lips. “Still me.”

In punishment, you’re getting a heavy spankin’ on your stuffed pussy.

“Shit.”

“And the rule-” Toji pipes up from behind. “What about the rule?”

“What about the rule, I mean—” It’s just then that you’re realizing - you haven’t been able to squirm a single inch since Shiu had begun swabbin’ your poor insides. “Rule number one- rule number one.”

“Good girl.” Toji laughs. “Next.”

And you’re soon coming to the realization that they weren’t going to make this easy for you: due to everything from their rapid alternations, to the way that both of them were fucking you so stupid—

“Toji-” You’re dragging your nails down whatever body part of Toji’s that you could reach. His biceps flexed underneath your touch. “And the rule is…oh, the rule is…” Brain landing on the closest one that you think you could remember. “Rule number six?”

“Half-correct.” Toji punishes you with yet another spank. The white-hot pain and pleasure that runs up your cunt is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “That was actually a trick round - no rule.”

You bite. “Silly me…”

“But half-correct deserves just a little bit of a treat, doesn’t it?” Shiu makes your case.

And the ever-mean Fushiguro Toji considers it for a few seconds - before he’s nodding and letting his fingers dip between your pussylips. Rolling over clit in circular motions. “Happy?”

“V-very much.” You respond.

And so the cycle repeats - as both men are fucking into you like damn animals.

“Shiu? Rule number one-”

Thwack! “Half-correct.”

“Toji? Rule number five.”

Thwack! “Half-correct again, doll.”

“Toji? Rule number six.”

Thwack! Thwack! “Wrong!”

“Shiu-”

“Toji-”

Shiu. Toji. Shiu. Toji. Shiu. Toji. 

Over and over again—until you’ve said every rule at least five times, and their names countless amounts so.

It was almost getting too much. There’s another switch; and this time the thrusts are like none before them. They were harsh. They were jagged. They weren’t hitting with any specific target or objective in mind—just with the sole purpose of indentin’ his fat cockhead into every spot inside you, and hitting his hips to yours until you skin was burning-

“Toji?” You’re guessing, “Ruler number- fuck…the one about getting ready-” Based solely on the way that both men had their hands tapping at your hips to let you know when a particularly hard hit was coming through.

“And which one is that?” Toji croons.

“Number four-” There’s a victorious little pebble of precum that Toji’s emptying out into your insides. 

“Mmm, good catch.” And you’re feeling the smile crawl onto your face. “But I’m not Toji.”

Fucking—thwack!

“But how about just a little reward?” And then a hot mouth starts kissing down the valley of your breast - from this angle you could only assume that it was Shiu. 

Shiu was lapping the soft targets of your areolas…just lightly biting…and oh—he lets out a wet gasp as a thin stream of milk flows from your tits n’ into the handsome man’s mouth. “Oh- this might just be my reward.” He says as he keeps massaging your chest, twiddling his fingers over where you were most sensitive. 

“Leave some f’me.” Toji grunts at the other man.

By this point you were a blabbering mess, and it didn’t help that the other two were only growing sloppier by the second. Perhaps it was the heat affecting you three. Perhaps it was the pressure being put on all your bodies - crushed together like this. Hips driving into you again and again and again—

Another globular tip swerves inside you. “I-is it…Toji?” You ask. Your lower lip wobbles at the sudden stretches on places that couldn’t be reached without such a girth - both of them had their merits and it was hard not to long for…both. The mere thought fogs your mind. “And is it…”

Though there could only be one answer. At least for this one.

Your poor tail’s being used as a lever to drag you down onto Toji’s extremely thickened cock until you sat on the bottom of it. “-rule number five?”

Toji kisses the side of your face. “Now that…is 100% correct.”

“And what would you like as a reward? Tell your Shiu anything, pretty girl.” Shiu says—drawing a half-serious scoff from the hybrid.

But of course. There can only ever be one thing.

Your mouth opens and the confession slips out of you before you can think it through fully.

And then there’s a beat of silence- hell, you think even Toji’s hips began to falter. For but a mere split-second before he’s bashing in the soft spongy platform at the end of your cunt—“Oh.” He breathes. “I don’t see why not…”

Thrill shoots through you.

And for the first time in a while - Toji removes his palm from your face. You’re wincing ever-so-slightly at the sudden flood of light, before that expression turns into something akin to yearning as you stare at Shiu’s cock throbbing between your legs. 

He was almost out-of-place with Toji’s fat length already stuffed inside you. 

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.” Shiu whispers to himself as he glides his blushin’ cockhead to drag along your outer cunt. Uuuuup the planes of your thighs. Lingering on that leakin’ slit that was so stuffed. And then squeezing the very tip-top reddened crown of his shaft into your entrance—did he mention that you already had Toji’s fat length stuffed inside you?

Shiu’s expression morphs at the tightest fit-

“Shit- fucking shit, are we sure—”

“Why not?” Toji asks. And Shiu thinks that that’s damn easy for him to say; especially considering that he was already kept hostage inside your gooey inside. That’s where Shiu was trying to be.

He’s attempting to drag you in using your tail.

The other man is rolling his eyes - and his hips. Letting off a few useless semi-thrusts that doesn’t push him even a single inch inside—not with the extremely plump circumference of the hybrid’s length inside. “Oh yeah? Then why don’t you- hah, pull out and try doing it yourself if you think it’s so easy?

“The early bull gets the pussy.” Toji smirks. “Besides- don’t tell me you’re forgetting rule number five already? The one about taking it all also means that you have to- mmm, put it all in-”

“I remember.” Shiu spits. Hands pushing your legs further open and grindin’ his hips close until his happy trail was roughly massaging your clit. “I’m just saying that it’s hypocritical to talk about the rules when even you wouldn’t be able to-”

“Guys-” You shrill above the constant arguing. “Guys.”

It takes you raising your voice loud enough to make the bedroom walls shudder for them to finally hear you.

And once they look at you- you’re huffing up at them. “I’m making my own rule.” Both pairs of pretty pussydrunken eyes widen in unison. “From now on- if you fight then you have to kiss and make up.”

“What-”

“What-”

“Pretty girl…” Shiu attempts to appeal to your softer side.

“Nuh huh.” Shaking your head. “So kiss—and then just fuck me.”

They share a look as if to question whether usurping of the rule-making was allowed…before it seems to dawn on them that yes—if it was you. And Shiu’s shrugging and leaning in - all the while still keeping his pulsating cocktip present between your folds - and Toji meets him halfway with only a few grumbles.

Shiu moans into the kiss.

And with a resounding sluuuuurp! he’s managing to squeeze just an inch or two of his cock inside. Double lengths stretching your walls until you were seeing white-

“Oh- oh.” You’re moaning. Shiu now had everything he needed to reel his bulky hips back and start pummeling you in time with Toji’s own thrusts. “I’ve never felt anything like this before—”

“Me neither.” The farmer manages through clenched teeth. The sensitive underside of his cock was rubbin’ and getting pulled by Toji’s own - those patterns of his veins, and the rock-hardness that mirrored his own - and even the slightest friction was enough to send spirals of white-hot pleasure pouring out of his bawling divot. 

“Tch- fine…me neither.” Toji groans. “But it only feels good because of me-”

“In your dreams.”

Without even being asked to or reminded of the newly-minted rule, they’re pressing a kiss onto each other’s lips—and then yours. Their pheromones twisting and melding into one. Their skin growing even more heated. Their cocks growing faster- 

And faster.

Both Shiu and Toji were moving at sloppy, lust-hazed paces that should not be possible for such a tight cranny. And yet they were managing to time it so that you’re feeling both of them exactly in the best ways: Toji and his deeeelicious veins pressing their patterns onto the sides of your channel, Shiu and his upright curve that spotted all your best nerve endings. 

They’re sandwiching you from above and below, too—Toji and his Herculean build, Shiu and his similar yet broader- and somehow stronger build.

They’re absolutely ruining you.

Ruining you.

Fucking you until your pussy’s feeling rattled and raw- and your eyes have completely bleared over with tears. Brain fried.

So it isn’t long before you’re feeling the pangs of an oncoming orgasm, and letting your mouth open to announce it—

“I-I’m going to cum.” But in actuality it’s Shiu that manages the declaration. And he’s stuffing his face into your tits, suckling out the sweet sweet milk that your hybrid body produces as he strings your gooey insides with his cum. “My pretty cow hybrid, I’m gonna stuff you full.” Looooong ropes of satin. So hard- that Shiu’s forced to hold onto both yours and Toji’s horns as he fucks your overstuffed pussy through his orgasm.

Those veins of Toji’s were making him twitch in pleasure.

You and Toji are crashing into your high rather soon afterwards too.

“Gonna…oh.” As the forceful waves of dopamine flood through every vein and atom inside you—practically make you vibrate with pleasure. You’re letting your eyes fly to the back of your head, and your toes curl as both men thrash that gooey g-spot of yours.

Perfectly synchronized with every peak upon peak of your high.

The prolonged wave of bliss soars—and it’s around the very crescendo that you’re feeling Toji empty his heavy balls out as well. They’d been thwack-thwack-thwacking! near the bottom of your slit for so long now, creating a carnal ache over your outer pussy- and it just feels so good to feel those globs of cum flood your deepest caverns.

Where Shiu had already made a mess before- “Shit…don’t stop.” 

And it’s with renewed vigor that they’re fucking and fucking you through the white-hot pleasure - so good that you’re sobbing. In-between this euphoric experience is when Toji’s keening his hips up into yours- chasing the wetness of your cunt even more—

Not just to fuck his pearly-white droplets of cum inside - but to try and squeeze, fuck, his swollen knot inside.

“Inside—” As you demand needily at your bull hybrid, Shiu watches on in something akin to awe. He starts nudging his hips back as though to give Toji more space-

But you’re wrapping your legs around his hips and dragging him to you. “Rule number one, remember?”

Letting Toji fuck his knot inside you as Shiu has his twitchin’ wet cock stuffed in there, too. The stretch was indescribable.

You think you’re cumming all over again just from it.

“My- my mates…” You’re sobbing out- sandwiched between the two buff men. Shiu leans in to kiss you, and once he’s taking a good long look at Toji too. 

“My mates…I suppose?” He says with a sheepish smile.

Toji looks between the two of you, seemingly having connected the dots. “Does this mean I’ve gotta get both of you pregnant?”

You smile. “Sounds good to me.”

Shiu. “Wait-”

Because heats lasted a week for hybrids. 

Shiu better get his human stamina used to it.

.

.

.

“I’m sorry…what?”

It’s a sentence that Shiu thinks he’s going to have to get used to a lot—telling people that the cow hybrid you’d had a crush on for the past few years but then gotten mated is actually your mate too - and that by association you’re her mate’s mate but honestly not really complaining about it is…for one a long sentence. 

And two, it’s probably going to get a bunch of weird looks.

It sounds like the stuff of a fantasy, maybe even those romance stories; and Shiu’s well and fully aware of how he sounds when he says it.

Which is why he’s telling Kusakabe first - it only seemed appropriate.

“It’s exactly as I said.” Shiu states matter-of-factly. “And you can ask Dr. Shoko if you think there’s been any mix-”

“No no, man. It’s not that I don’t believe you.” Kusakabe interrupts him. “In fact, I think it’s great that you finally managed to do something about your feelings- congratulations, man.”

“Thank you.” Shiu watches the herd from the door to the barn house - inside, the only pair were you and Toji. His breath hitches once you’re walking over from Toji to nuzzle up to him. He reaches to scratch behind those silken ears of yours—“But then what was all that about?”

“Ah- no, it’s just…” There’s a truck honk from the other end of the line, and Shiu realizes that Kusakabe must be going somewhere. “I assumed it was actually about the bull.”

Shiu squints. “The what thing?”

“The bull thing. I guess Toji forgot to tell you since you were a little preoccupied. But last night when Toji took over driving my truck we happened to run into…everything.”

Shiu snorts. “Serves you right.”

“And man- I needed this truck to transport this new bull hybrid for ol’ Gakuganji down in Kyoto. You know how he gets. It’s the only one big enough so…” 

And now…now Shiu wasn’t exactly having fun. “…And?” The two of you were looking at him in interest now, clearly having heard something about another hybrid—and Toji especially had had his smirk growing in synchronization with the increasingly ashen look on Shiu’s face.

“And so Toji said it’s alright, but would you mind looking after this new bull for a few days until I get the truck fixed? Just for a few days. I’m actually on the way there right now so thank you. His name is Sukuna and-”

“Noooooooooo-”

A/N. You babygirls asked and I delivered…

[erenmybbydaddy]

Eren Yeager twitter links (nsfw)

Tw: porn vids

Haiii I’m back :3333

Mhmm yes daddy

He’s too needy

He lovesssss take risks

Slow down daddy

How he probably sounds ?

This is how eren would look like irl tbh

[tonycries]

The Initiation - G.S.

Synopsis. From now onwards, you’re the madam of the Gojo clan - and your clan leader husband is going to prove it to everyone.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, EXHIBÍTIONÍSM, initiations, aphrodísiacs, wedding nights, oraI (fem + male), face-sítting, p talking, BRÉEDING, creampíes, matíng presses, first times (Gojo), use of “my wife” and “ma’am”, spítting, cúmplay, MARATHON S, overstím, Gojo is FÉRAL (and slightly ínsane), the elders are awful, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.0k

A/N. This was NOT supposed to be this long but yk what I’m not mad.

“I vow to love. I vow to heal. I vow to stand by my wife with a respect not deserved of even myself.” Every single elder at the shrine shivers when their clan leader’s blazing gaze narrows. Gojo Satoru. Death, himself, in his hauntingly beautiful form. “And I vow that everyone here - everyone - will know that.”

---

“A-an initiation?”

The sweet older women surrounding you don’t look even the tiniest ounce as confused as you feel right about now. They hum a low tune, bustling around you in a whirlwind of hands that tug and pull at your decadent robes. 

“Ah, it’s just a long-held Gojo tradition, madam-” Madam - the word seemed so strange still. “-and the young master will make sure to take good care of you.”

“But-”

“Very good care.”

Maybe it was the way the fussing crowd around you burst into titters, maybe it was the way your silky yukata was left ever-so-slightly open - in a way you were sure the elders would cry scandal at. But, somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different to this clan initiation.

Something more. 

And it’s something that plagues your mind over and over even by the time your make-up is finally perfected, and your reception robes brushed down for non-existent dust. 

“Beautiful.” your attendants breathe, gracing you with a synchronized bow so low that it almost looked painful. And with a few more appreciative nods, they’re guiding you out of the sweetly-perfumed dressing room, wordlessly leading you into the uproarious traditional meeting hall. 

“You’re not following?” you turn to ask, once you had almost one foot stepped cautiously into the room. 

At this, the woman stood at the very middle of your entourage flushes. A bright, blinding red that matches the way her lips sputter helplessly, “I- I’m honored, madam. But this is er- as far as I can go.”

Strange. 

And with that, the sliding mahogany doors shut. 

Despite what you may think about the council of elders, you had to begrudgingly admit that they’d decorated the chamber lavishly. Fit for a king - or, more likely, fit for the new leaders of the household, after your marriage today.

Dimly-lit with lanterns, and already heady with the smell of expensive sake, your eyes dart around the seated upon seated of clan leaders, elders, and prominent officials you couldn’t even name. All positioned around a long table encircling a strangely raised platform in the middle - as if a stage - it seemed that everyone and anyone was here to assess the new Madam of the Gojo household.

To watch. To wait. 

And at the head of it all - your husband.

Gojo Satoru was known by none to be a soft man, not even by those foolish enough to claim themselves close to him. More accurately fabled as the most vicious young clan leader in history; an angel of death that you’d be lucky to so much as even snatch a glimpse of before you never can once more. 

Yet, the way he beams once his summer blue eyes lock on yours made him seem like anything but. 

“Ah- my wife. My wife is here.” Gojo’s deep baritone sounded so reverent - out-of-breath, like he’d been whispering those very words to himself like a mantra all night. In the middle of it all, you hadn’t even noticed the way the hall had quieted deafeningly - not until his words echo throughout your ears. Rich blue yukata rippling when he’s patting softly at his chair, and you notice with a jolt that there’s no seat next to him. 

Damn elders. 

“Hah? Elder Tanaka really did it!”

“You know I never wanted the riffraff to sit at the table- not a place for-”

“Well what else? A madam should be as a madam is.”

You’re gritting your teeth, making determined strides past all the withering stares and hushed whispers. Stepping closer and closer up to your shifting husband-

“Take-”

And then you sit. 

Plopping yourself down unceremoniously onto the clan leader’s lap - from behind you, you’re hearing Gojo suck in a feverish breath. Panting. You’re washed over with his piney, syrupy sweet scent when his strong forearms immediately wrap around your waist to steady yourself comfortably onto his large, manspread lap. 

And in front of you, you stare defiantly back into every wizened snarl shot your way. If looks could kill, then this would be a massacre. 

It takes him a few gulps to regain his senses - hell, it takes you a few more. And Gojo was so warm, practically burning when he whispers in a rasping voice against your ear, “I was going to tell you to take my seat but…whatever my wife wants, hm?”

“The look on their faces,” you try to hold back what would be deemed an utterly unlady-like smirk. Back pressing up against every hardened curve and ridge down Gojo’s washboard abs through his clothes. “But, I-I’m sorry if-”

His arms around you tighten. “Why would you ever be sorry?”

CLAP! CLAP!

“The reception shall now commence.”

Perhaps it was to stop your quiet muttering, but soon enough your vision is promptly being filled with delicacies that make your mouth water. 

“I would advise you not to drink the sake, pretty.” Gojo waves off an attendant that offers another chair, starting to sift around the steaming contents of his own plate. And despite how you seemed to be the main scrutiny tonight, you let him feed you tiny bites, anyway - all for the haughty council to scoff at. Their master being so happily used by his wife “Seems we’ve been gifted with something special to drink for the initiation tonight.”

Something about his tone was strained. It makes you bat your lashes up at him in a way that has Gojo adjusting his lower robes with a gulp. “Something special? Is it poisoned?”

He chuckles out, “No- even worse-” Lowering. And you jolt when his gleamingly sharp canines sink into your earlobe. Dangerous. “-one sip of that for both of us and I’ll be showing this scum here exactly how you’re mine.”

Oh.

Oh. 

Shit, your spine sits ramrod straight at that purring little undercurrent in his tone - the implications. And just that slight jostle of your hips makes Gojo urgently dig one set of his slender fingers into your waist. It makes him hunch over, it makes him gasp, “O-or we might not even need that sake, heh-”

Eyes drifting to the platform, “I want to, though.”

And for just a second, the entire meeting hall stills. 

Every figure around the table barely even bothering to hide their blatant staring right now, some covering their gaping mouths - because the infamous leader of the Gojo clan was smiling. 

Smiling. A humorless, crazed little smile directed at you. “Then…” Barely drifting an inch even when his own free digits clasp around a tiny sake bowl, he cheers his sake cup with yours. Echoing over the twinkling clink! “-whatever my wife wants.”

And yet, you feel nothing out of the ordinary in the first few minutes - nothing but those billowing stares and Gojo’s warm proximity to you. Huffing out tiny bouts of laughter that tickle the crook of your neck, and your face burns at the stray peck or two he’s leaving down your exposed skin.

Not even in the first hour.

Or the second, and you’re half-wondering whether this initiation was nothing but a hoax. 

But veering into the third-

It happens. 

Something snaps. 

“S-Satoru?” you breathe out unsteadily when he’s suddenly growing quiet. Head craning to take in just how pretty Gojo looked right about now - robes hanging off his sculpted deltoids. A sweet strawberry blush taking over his high cheekbones, his collarbones, down further. “Are you okay?”

Of course, he wasn’t. Right now, Gojo Satoru felt so ruined he thinks he could faint. 

“Shit-” Gojo hisses from above you, snowy brows knitting together. You can’t even react before his muscular thighs bounce ever-so-slightly, shifting you just a degree higher on his lap. Just enough for him to seat you prettily by the edge of something big. Curved. Rock-hard. “Shit- shit shit- m’- m’feeling so-”

Gojo’s chopsticks clatter onto the tatami mats with a soft thud! And those fingers find themselves latching onto you. 

You, you, you - burning down the curves of your waist, sliding up your trembly thighs and just below where your robes were hiking up. He couldn’t get enough. 

“Sa-toru-” your words come out wobbly. Clutching at the slight opening of your yukata to drag in a useless attempt to drink in some cooler air. You felt like you were melting, and so were your words now. “Toru, I feel so-”

“What did you say?”

It takes you a few syrupy moments to even realize that it’s your husband speaking - because Gojo’s voice was several octaves higher than usual. Husky, like he was on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. Spitting a pained, “What did you say, honey?”

You bat your teary lashes - shit, when did you even get so stimulated - up at the thoroughly drunken elders that were sneaking peeks at the two of you.

Just for a split-second - barely enough to catch anything.

But enough for Gojo to curl the thick pads of his fingers around your throat, pulling in a roughened tug to have your back hugged even more flush against him. “Hey hey hey- look at me, pretty. Look at your husband.” Flexing his powerful back muscles in a drool-worthy way, bowing over in two to practically shove you into the cool surface of the table when he puffs up against your ear. “S-say that again?”

You’re pinned on top of the mahogany with his full body weight - and you can barely breath, barely even think before uttering out. “T-Toru?” 

And that makes Gojo Satoru shiver. 

Entire body wracking so violently, his nose buries into the tender column of your neck. Not just breathing you in - basking in you. 

Muffling out, “Again.”

“Toru.”

“Again.”

“Toru–”

It makes the strongest snap his glassy, cerulean eyes almost-comically open in a flash - winking his droopy gaze through molasses once, twice at the platform right in front of him. 

And Gojo’s barely even in control of his limbs when the mountains of his palms glide hurriedly underneath your thighs. In only a split-second, you’re carried in his arms in the easiest princess carry - but Gojo doesn’t stop there. 

No, he doesn’t simply walk out of the room like you’d expected him to - he does the complete opposite. 

Every widened eye in the room can only watch as the clan leader steps swiftly upon the now cleared-out table and onto the raised platform in only two treads. Splaying you out gently onto the firm tatami, you’re gazing up at a heaving Gojo.

Because despite the rich dinner tonight, Gojo was starving. 

The soft yolky glow of the lanterns overhead illuminates that greedy glint in his eyes - the way that his lips glisten with the slightest trail of translucent drool at the very ends of his parted, rosy pink lips. 

He’s never looked more ruined. 

“Please.” 

And it’s all but whimpered out into your mouth - pathetic and raw. 

You’re gasping sharp heavals of air when his candied lips attack yours, and through that delicious thumping between your legs that you could feel in even your ears - you hear the gasps. With a sweet, sweet whine you’re blinking your eyes open enough, “Th-they’re watching.”

“Oh.” But Gojo’s more worried about losing contact with the heaven that was your lips, chasing after to press wet peck after French peck. “S’what? You wan’ me to kill them all?”

The room drops a few chilling degrees in temperature for everyone but the two of you.

He could - he would. If you hadn’t shaken your pretty head frantically, that is, not quite ready for a bloodbath on your wedding night. Yet, you needed him so bad.

“Then- m’only gonna show them who ya belong to- who I belong to.” Calloused, rounded tips of his fingers bearing down your yukata, Gojo’s slipping in one of his cold digits between your robe to snap! snickering at your low keen. “And you’ve made it so oh- easy f’me to.”

He was so greedy. 

Stealing little spying looks down at the way your legs were splayed out, Gojo utters out a guttural, “Open- open up f’me, my wife. Show them how wet your husband’s made ya.”

And shit, you didn’t know whether it was that sake acting out on behalf of your limbs, or whether it was the way that you were so needy right now. But you could feel your thighs jittering open as soon as those humming syllables were out of Gojo’s mouth. 

“S-so embarrassing-” you whine, one hand swiping away your thin layers to show him that glistening wet plump of your pussy. Drenched. Seeping through the useless fabric of your panties to wink up at him- and oh, that makes Gojo groan.

It makes him throw his head back with a hiss - for only a split-second, as if he couldn’t take it. Before drunkenly shifting back to your pretty cunt no matter what. 

“Oh, shit.”

THUD!

The body of the one such rowdy clan heir that’d dared speak up right now hits the ground faster than your eyes hit their target. 

Fuck, you didn’t even see Gojo pull out one of his famed daggers from beneath his sleeves - but the thought of what more might hide underneath made your thighs clench. 

And Gojo notices - of course, he did. Why the fuck wouldn’t he?

“F-fuck. What a naughty pussy gettin’ drenched from just that.” he shrills - before bursting out in a bout of laughter. Laughter, humorless and feral. “Gonna be the death of me- f-fuck- you’re gonna-” For a second, you feel your skin burn in embarrassment, and your legs cross. Only for his eyes to glow a burning blue in disagreement, tutting out a low, “Tell me- hah- tell me what you want.” He’s burning up with every slow kiss down the edge of your mouth, thumbing open your glossy maw further to wrap his lips around your tongue and suck. “Anything- I’ll get ya anything.”

You’re pretty sure that everyone is gaping at the worshiped leader of the Gojo clan on his knees and begging. 

But you didn’t care - not when his solid index was drawing a slow line down the middle of your sopping slit. Bucking your hip up into an arch off the platform that makes Gojo’s achy cock twitch, and the aphrodisiac rush back to him with full force. Mewling, “Wan’ y-you, Toru-”

Eyes twinkling, “Me what, honey? The madam’s gonna hafta use m-more hah- big girl words than that.”

You want him.

You need him now. 

“So mean.” you’re huffing and puffing, yet Gojo only grins at the way he can feel your sloppily wet lips down there kiss him even wetter. Dribbling a soaking sheen down to his wrist, “Want you t-to touch me- p-”

You don’t get to say that magical word “please” because Gojo Satoru would never have you say it. 

He’s plunging out his long digits to hold up to the attractively dim lighting - yet, they’re already dazzling with the slick coating from your pre-soaked cunt. And he’s looking at a few elders right in their downturned bows as Gojo sticks his long, tender tongue out and licks. “W-whatever the madam wants. Dontcha think, elder Tanaka?”

You were the madam, and you’d be treated as such.

And shit, what that old man’s response was - whether he even responded - Gojo doesn’t give a shit. 

Because just one ounce of your sweet, sweet juices on Gojo’s tongue shoots his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Hips bucking up with a low moan, a few slurring swears falling from his lips when he feels his achy cock gush-

“Need you-” he’s gasping wetly, shuffling urgently down the expanse of the platform. Moves frantic - needy. Down, down, down until you feel his hot pants down at your cunt. “Need to- wanna- gimme a lil’ peck, m’kay?”

The syrupy ends of his sentence are slurped up down a long glide of the very edges of Gojo’s tastebuds down your swollen folds. Through your panties.

Barely even shifting them even an inch to the side when he lets your glissading juices down his tongue, drawing a sultry circle. He’s letting his eyes droop half-closed, murmuring a little growl at the very back of his throat. “Just one more-” Gojo’s voice cracks, two sets of nails pressing crescents down into your thighs with just how hard he pulls. Kisses. “-and me more-” And another. “J-jus’ one more- oh-” Another. 

And you’re barely even realizing it before Gojo’s latching his pretty lips with yours, squelching wet noises ringing in your ears and throughout all four corners of the room. 

“Th-tha’s” you manage to scoff, fingers threading into his cloudy locks and pulling. But not even that’s enough to get Gojo to part even a millimeter, in-fact he’s pushing himself even more nose-deep, rolling his tongue down your slit - like he’s trying to push through your panties. “-more than one.”

And fuck - he titters out a pussydrunk giggle down into the edges of your sloppy hole. Teasing tongue dipping just barely to circle around the very edge and then-

“Can you blame me?” Gojo smiles with his rubbed-raw lips. So fucked-out that you hear yourself gasp. Your slick was already drip! drip! dripping down his curved chin, smearing a wet gloss that sits all prettily on his features. “M’gettin’ practice to do this fer the rest of our lives.”

And everyone could see just how addicted the clan leader was. 

Everyone.

Slack-jawed and moving like he was mindlessly drawn to your pretty cunt, you’re being faced with a wet drawl of his lips down your sodden folds. Pressing the pointed tip of his nose against your plump clit he’s breathing you in all filthily. 

“Could get used ta th-this-” he spits. Once. And then literally, salivating down a wet glob right inside your snug cunt that makes you shiver. “-heh, fuck that- s’too heavenly to. I need-”

And then you’re flipped.

So fast - so sudden that you barely even register what’s happening before you’ve got Gojo Satoru smushed onto the tatami platform. Bleary eyes gazing up at you and fixating right onto your pretty face, your hips sat shamelessly on his face. 

“Toru what-”

“T-take those- off f’me, honey- please-” He couldn’t even bear to specify right now. You looked so unfairly pretty on top of him like that, even prettier when your soft, luxury robes are hitting the floor. Well, everything except those panties-

“Toru, those are gonna rip-” you yelp when you feel the stinging clench of his teeth biting down the plush of your thighs. Resting onto the sopping wet fabric of your underwear, it smears down a wet glide at his cheek. “-they’re so expensive.”

RIP!

Gojo spits back the tatters of your flimsy excuse of panties beside him - and then another saturated wad of saliva up into your cunt. “Have ya forgot that you’re the ah- madam now?” He’s snickering, curved fingertips swatting a wet smack! onto your ass, cold wedding band branding. “-jus’ use my black card ta buy the whole fuckin’ store. Dip into the hah- council’s funds fer all I care.”

And for those shocked elders snapping their eyes up - they’re met with the most obscene sight of Gojo’s gleaming tongue spreading your puffy pussy lips wide and proudly open. 

“Shit-” he’s bursting out in whiny keens. Spitting and sloshing the wet waves of every pearlescent slick that beads of you - and there’s so much of it. “Gonna get my face s-so soaked heh-” So much that Gojo was utterly ready to feed with his sliding tongue, swirling past your wet rim of muscle and fucking up into you languidly. “-didn’t even need a fuck- ch-chair, anyway.”

Your cunt sloshes all around his tongue, dragging up and down up and down up and- Thoroughly done teasing out your hole pliant, he’s dragging his lips up to suck around your peaked clit - before pinching it in a light bite. 

“Oh!” you yelp. Searing a grip into his scalp, “S-so mean-”

“Mhm— m’your big, bad mean husband- fuck-” Such syrupy, desperate whines that Gojo really can’t help but babble - over and over. “-that sake…feels like m’burning- m’dying-” He can’t stop, won’t stop, roughly attaching a hand onto the globes of your ass to help you ride. “-n’ m’fuckin’ addicted- so won’t ya toy with this hah- p-pretty pussy a lil’ n’ get even wetter for me? Please?”

God, it’s so subconscious the way that your fingers toy over your clit - tight, pressurized circles just the way you like it. 

“Like this?”

“Ohhh, yeah, wifey- let it all down m’tongue-” And Gojo’s in a hypnotic trance at how much more of your honeyed glosses of precum that soak and travel down his tongue. It works. Even more. More and more. Maddeningly. 

Until he just can’t fucking take it-

“S-stop that f’me. None of that t-touchin’ anymore oh-” he gruffs out, throat dry. “Let me-” Fucking jealous of you that he’s pushing his fucking sanity to gritting through his teeth. Gojo meanly slaps away your hand before taking it over with his own. Absolutely no warning before feeding your drooling pussy with inch after inch of his fingers. 

Two at a time. 

Three. 

Your gooey depths are clinging to him so tight, taking him like a fuckin’ champ when they’re curling at the very knuckles to press deeply. “Oh yeah- makes me w-wonder jus’ how nicely you’ll take my fuckin’ cock, too, hm?”

You’re barely able to even babble out a few incoherent moans before the very tips of his digits brush up against the bulging bullseye of your g-spot. Hard. 

“There-” you gasp. You all but cry. “R-right there, Toru-”

Swat!

“I love you, honey- oh, I love you- but right now…” Gojo’s petering his voice away, too in a heady trance with the sight of that rapidly thumping pulse at your cunt to focus on stringing any sentences together right now. And he’s licking back into your snugly-filled entrance, squeezing past the jostlie of his thickened digits to doubly penetrate you. “...jus’ wanna hear this c-cute cunt speak.”

It’s like Gojo couldn’t decide where he wanted to be next - licking up every wet dredge of your juices smearing down his wrist, hollowing his cheeks out when he sucks on your neglected clit, or drawing out the prettiest moans when he joins back in to fuck your quivering hole ragged. 

Every movement bruising - claiming. 

They’re cold inside your toasty walls. Reaching mushy nooks and crannies inside you that you didn’t even know were possible, rolling his tongue into your tight channel to drape your gummy walls with a sheen of his spit. His six-inch fingers pressing harsh against your sweet spots, you could scream-

“Oh she’s real talkative- s-so cute-” But your swashing cunt was doing all the talking for you, wringing out drippingly wet slurps and squelches that Gojo nods along drunkenly to. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was the way he was squeezed oh-so-tightly between your thighs - a lightheaded way to go that Gojo definitely wouldn’t mind. Because he was agreeing. “Mhm- I agree- hah- oh, I agree with ya, cutie-” Thick, white lashes bat innocently up at you, “-my wife would look s-so pretty when she cums, hm?”

And he’s right.

Drunken. 

Because when you do, the sight is so pretty that Gojo himself thinks that he could cum right there and right now in his boxers - the only thing holding him back being the stabbing need to cum inside you more than anything.

Your thighs are desperately attempting to close around his ravenous head, greedily slurping up every bit of your juices. Every bead, every splatter, every slow gush with your mess of an orgasm.

“D-didn’t even ngh- see it-” you whimper, wave after wave of white-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and making your spine arch in such a slutty way. “-didn’t even think I’d- oh-”

“S’quite alright-” he’s murmuring wetly. Head lolling all the way back to let you fuck your high on Gojo’s pretty face, convulsing cunt slobbering a translucent pathway all down the middle of his face. “Heheh- could never get mad- c-could never- oh fuck- use me.”

You’re gasping over distantly shocked mutters, “W-what?”

“Use me-” Gojo’s crying out, hips rutting up into the air like an animal. And he’s dangling helplessly onto the curve of your hips, jostling you desperately to fasten your vice-like grip on his hair. To ride him faster. To use him. “M’begging, my wife- fuck- let em’ see- let these fuckers see the way you u-use me.”

Voice breaking pathetically, eyes fighting not to scrunch shut, gasping and gulping for you to grind your dribbling pussy in smooth, sultry gyrations down rougher across his mouth.

And when you do, Gojo thinks he could faint. 

He’s letting out a rasping ah! ah! ah! curdle at the very back of his throat with every jolt of your hips, with every push of your cunt down his mouth that has him gasping for air. Every drawn circle making his fat head swell even girthier. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

It’s everything he could ever think about even when your high evolves into mere tingles, when the twitches of your legs slow down, and you find yourself lifting ever-so-slightly off of Gojo’s red, red flushed face. 

He looks so wrecked underneath - happily, so.

Flashing a brilliant smile that was dripping with all the coatings of your sloshing wet slick towards that little audience that you’d even forgotten you had. “Heh, next time my madam wants a hah- s-seat, she’ll have one. One way or the other.”

“T-Toru–” you’re whining, clamoring off to seat yourself down on his painfully hard lap. “-think they got the ngh- point.”

But, oh, the very moment your glossed pussy lips were meeting the thick bump of Gojo’s angry head through his clothes, you feel the syrupy rush of the aphrodisiac boil through your veins once more. You couldn’t even imagine how Gojo felt right now without even cumming once. 

Slotting over to resound a damp schwf! of skin on fabric. Barely giving you a moment to even recollect before you need him. You want to ruin him.

Purring lowly, “Toru…”

And the strongest gulps - Gojo Satoru gulps - a shiver thrumming down his hulking body and onto his gushing cock. It twitches up in a sodden little perk underneath you, and Gojo’s fingers attach themselves to your waist. “Y-yes, ma’am?”

“Really wanna taste you-” your lips drag across his and he keens with a slow suck on your bottom lip. “-wanna see if the r-rest of you is just as sweet?”

“Fuck!” You bounce up precariously when Gojo bucks up wildly, like he’d rip through his wedding robes and fuck you right now if he could. “Such filth from such a s-sweet mouth- ya really are gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

And to hear the most notorious clan leader admit shamelessly like this. To hastily untie his yukata and let it fall to the side, hear him break out in a sullen whimper when you kiss your way down his toned body, down, down, down his bulging pecs, his heaving abs, all the way to those soaked tufts of white at his pelvis-

“D-don’t tease-” 

Gojo just gasps at the hit of cool air when you’re shuffling down his stickily wet boxers in a fluid, sudden pull. Head throwing back before meeting your own widened ones - he was so big. 

You don’t think you’d ever get used to the sight, to the way that his swelling hot girth expands up a few sizes fatter at the hot puff of your feverish breath. Thumping veins prominent and blushing strawberry pink in flavor. Reddened and bulbous tip already slick with a gleam of precum, and one swipe with your thumb makes him gush out in a stringy gush of more and more-

“Shit-” 

Gojo’s letting his pathetically drooling lips sag open, eyes widening when your deft digits circle around that creamy white ring down Gojo’s length - down his underwear. 

He didn’t even realize. 

Curling his fingers around his thick base to glide over your lips like he was painting it in a pretty white lipstain. Letting your open lips drool and make a syrupy mess with his excess ribbons of cum. “Fuck- look what you do to me-”

You’re gasping with the realization that Gojo Satoru had cum in his pants from just eating your pretty pussy out - and it makes you grin. 

Pressing a sweet, sweet peck onto one remnant of his thick dredges of his slightly salty seed, it makes him rut at each of your kittenish peck after peck on his weepy head. Circular and hot. “Ya are sweet.”

And then you can’t speak anymore - because Gojo didn’t want you to speak anymore. Doesn’t think he could manage it without his hefty balls clenching dangerously once more - it was his first time, after all. 

“Handle- ah, handle me delicately, m’kay? Never done this b-before-” Biting down on his swollen lower lip when he’s watching your mouth stretch. Bulging out through your cheeks with the solid inches he was feeding you - throbbing length disappearing into your plushy mouth. 

Gojo’s so ridiculously big when the rotund ends of his cock kiss wetly against the very back of your throat. Branding a bittersweet bruise. You were sure that had it not been for just how needy you were with the sake, it would have been physically impossible to milk the entirety of his fucking soul out of him like the way you were right now. 

“O-oh-” he gasps - he pants. Chest caving it at how swelteringly hot you were inside, hugging around his sensitive cock so hard that Gojo sees stars. “Is- is this what it feels like?”

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru’s voice shiver just this way, you’ve never seen him so broken. Bouncing off the elders that see their precious leader this defiled. 

Thighs juddering up and flexing in a way that makes you salivate to lock around your neck. He’s practically headlocking you - whimpering out tiny pleas as if you could answer. “Can’t believe you’ve been holding out- can’t ah- A lil’ deeper- please? Please I know you can-” Shifting his hips up in a slow gyration of back and forths until your tongue was flattening to slide over every vein down his underside. Twirling over particularly sensitive spots at the jagged crevices that make Gojo whine. “-aww, tha’s right. My good girl- my good fuckin’ wife.”

He’s never felt like this before. 

And when you hollow out your cheeks and suck - oh, it has him hunching over rapidly. Shoving your nose up against that neat white happy trail, you’re breathing in his addictively masculine musk.

Moaning out a throaty, “Mmpf-”

“Shhh shh sh-” Gojo massages his finger down your neck, sneaking greedy feels for the outline of his thick cock down your throat. “Jus’ take it- fuck fuck fuck- don’ hafta do anything else, lemme take care of it, pretty.”

He didn’t even know what - he didn’t know how. 

But fuck-

You swirl your tongue over and underneath the sensitive bump of his slit, lathering it in a slow glissade of your salivating tongue that makes him jump. And he feels like he’s already seeing cloud nine and the pearly gates itself by the time you steady yourself into sultry, sucking bobs. 

Dancing a hand up to rub over his tight, cum-filled balls - and maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was just him - but it felt like he was about to burst already.

He was going to.

A slight hiss - not from you, not from him - manages to emanate its way into his melty mind, and Gojo’s finding it in himself to let his head throw back with a sudden laugh. Glassy eyes barely even focusing on the jaw-dropped figures around the table, “Y-your madam’s hgnh- taking me so well, isn’t she?” Head tilting drunkenly back at you, “Wontcha say she’s doin’ a damn good job-”

Only a few mutters - a few scoffs. 

And Gojo’s finding his digits twirling tightly to latch onto your scalp, hissing through clenched teeth. “Say it.”

A unanimous, humiliating “yes” echoes from all sides of the platform. 

And one from your wrecked husband right in front of you - “Yes- hahah-” he giggles. Brushing over the splattered mix of precum and cum that drips down the side of your thoroughly open mouth when you suck all his fat inches. Popping it into his mouth to taste. “-doin’ so well f’me I think- hngh- think I might-”

Of course, at this, you’re speeding up your greedy bounces. Fucking Gojo so heavenly with his mouth that he thinks he’s memorized every curve and twist of your tongue, every single tastebud-

“Naughty girl-” You’re being gifted with another smack! on your ass, and he’s having to haul you off of his reddened, angry cock with a tightened grip around your throat. With one, two slow pumps right in front of your face. And then up, up, up enough for him to hum into your mouth in an attacking French kiss. “-I like that.”

Gojo’s bulging biceps ripple when he seats you all prettily on his lap - just like earlier on tonight. Except, this time, you were facing him - and feeding your drooling cunt all angry inch by inch of his rock-hard cock.

“O-open up those hngh- pretty legs.” he murmurs in a heaving hot breath into your ear. Eyes blaring down at the way your squirmy legs were adjusting and readjusting around slender hips. “Open ‘em and t-take me-”

The way you do makes him gape, makes him gasp, makes him impatiently wrap two arms around the small of your back to fuck up past that tight little ring of resistence and into your walls depravedly. 

Just hitting the very back of your spongy cervix with the upwards curved tip of his head before gushing out thick, wet splatters of cum. The gripping cling of your cunt too good, the way you were sucking him up still fresh. 

And perhaps because of the aphrodisiac, but he was cumming so much. 

Such voluminous loads of seed that dump out into your gooey insides, it sloshes all around him and makes such squelches that reaches his ears. Drooling through the very edges of your sopping wet slit-

“S-see what happens?” Gojo’s whimpering in a way that a clan leader decidedly was not known for. Being the strongest, too. Driving a thumb along your bulging slit, he’s taking the opportunity to smear your pussy lips even wider to swallow more of him. To plug his cum back in. To show off. “See how ah- see what you do to me? Let everyone see-” 

And Gojo sounded so desperate, gasping out little utterances and praises into your mouth while he’s shoveling his swollen cock upwards into you. Taking the lewd advantages of years of combat to pummel every recoiling wall of yours with punishing, pressurized thrusts. 

“Wh-what do I do to ya, Toru?” you hum curiously, half-delirious. 

“Drive me fuck- insane, tha’s what-” he’s hissing, sparks behind his eyes. Swiping down to where he could feel the drilling nudge of his weepy cock, pressing down- hard. He’s mushing over the sensitive slit of his cock accidentally, “Oh- makes me wanna do this forever-” He’s nosing down the crook of your neck now, hiding away that innocent blush of his. “-to fuck you, make love to you, to breed you.”

You sputter out a sudden clench that has Gojo falling back down onto his elbows. Back hitting the tatami mats, your hands hitting his cushiony pecs. “Y-you wan’ to breed me? Hngh- you w-want an heir, Toru?”

An heir - an heir. 

An heir, an heir, an heir. God, it’s thundering throughout his mind and syrupy slowly turning into just about all he can think about.

“M-me? Want an heir?” He’s shuddering out, massive palms splaying out on the two globes of your ass to stretch your taut pussy further down his cock. “What makes you think- oh- what-” Until your perky lips were kissing his heated pelvis, your pulsing clit scratching deliciously down his tufts of white. And at this very second, peering up at you through hooded eyes, gaze half-curtained with his hair, drunken - all that Gojo can imagine is how pretty you are. And how much prettier you’d be as a mama. “C-can I get you hngh- p-pregnant- please, ma’am?”

Mere seconds of his thrumming shaft stretching you open pass as he looks dazedly to the side, “After all- s’what th-this initiation is for, right?”

And then you feel like you’re being spearheaded all the way to your lungs with all of Gojo’s girth. 

“Toru-” you whine, nails dragging little red lines down his broad neck and all over his shoulders. “-deeper. More please- it feels so-”

“More?” Gojo chuckles, hysterical. “You want m-more?”

He’s barely even answering his own question - let alone allowing you to answer. 

Because Gojo’s taking this as the cue to restrain your two wrists behind your back with one of his own, forcing you to whine and shudder out little sobs when your thighs strain to meet his jackhammering cadence. 

Ass stinging at the bruising slap! of his sharp hip bones, the way his heated cunt was swirling around your sweet spots so right. It felt like you were burning from the inside out-

“Ah ah-” Gojo tuts, snapping you out of your woozy reverie. Free hand coming to knock away one of your trembly palms snaking down to your neglected clit - when did you even start that? “Can’t ask me for m-more n’ do this. Move that hand so I can f-fuck you proper, honey-”

You barely even have the time to whine about it before he’s spitting a streaming waterfall of saliva onto his fingers, pinching at your clit. 

“Heh, don’t think I f-forgot about ya-” You whine at the way he was drawing dizzying circles, the cool burn of his matching wedding band. “Th-they say ya needa have the hngh- mother cum, too, ta make kids.”

Plural. 

“K-kids?” you muse. 

“Mhm-” he’s nodding like he doesn’t even realize. “How about- six-”

Maybe from the shock, maybe from the way that he was filthily spearing against your g-spot so good, you collapse readily onto your elbows. Feeling every slick and slide of Gojo’s abs rubbing up against you.

Each singular thrash into your cervix has Gojo’s babbles running more nonsensical - more pussydrunk. “Thinkin’ wh-whatever ya want- hngh- to fill ya up- Have you all r-round and ha- glowing.” Like it pained for him to even say, like it hurt with every sloppily wet thwack! of his heavy balls on your ass. “Have you be m-my madam- the mother of my kids- hngh- all with your pretty eyes-” he’s sobbing now. Swirling around his rounded tip till it hits sweets spots you didn’t even know you had. “-n’ my hair and hah- your personality- c-can’t imagine fighting over them for ya- wh-what do you think, cutie?” 

But as soon as you’re cracking your mouth open to fervently agree - at least, as much as your hazy mind could at this point, Gojo’s raising his right hand to palm over it. 

With a drunken smirk, “M’askin’ her, my wife- dontcha w-worry-” Nuzzling your cheek, “-haven’t forgotten about the mother of my kids.” 

And the saccharine-sweet sloshing is enough to ring throughout Gojo’s ears like his favorite melody - and he’s memorized every note. Pumping out more and more spurts of hot precum to stain your insides and dribble uproariously. Sleazing a grin your way, “Almost there- almost- but first-”

Every single elder he’s glaring upon jumps when Gojo graces them with one of his looks - even as barely-lucid and fucked-out as he was. He leers, “How about it? Heh, wanted a-an heir so bad n’ now you’re gonna get it. Happy now?”

As expected, no answer. 

But Gojo didn’t need one anyway - not when your ringing slurps as you swallow up his cock thunder across his ears. “O-oh, she’s tellin’ me something-”

“Wh-what is she sayin’, Toru-” you whine, lips wobbling uncontrollably in much the same way that your pussy folds were right now. 

“She’s sayin—” Gojo’s voice takes on a whimpering lilt, and he has absolutely no idea how you haven’t noticed that determined clenching of your gummy walls, the breathless pants of yours. So he only smiles, teeth sinking playfully into your ear lobe, “-that my gorgeous wife’s about to cum.”

Stars flurrying behind your lids, your toes curl and hips slam with enough force to rock the platform rickety. 

But if you didn’t notice your high - then Gojo certainly didn’t notice his, either.

Too caught-up, too busy rutting up in solid strides into your dripping cunt to notice that he was splattering your squeezing walls to be sopping wet with oozes of cum. There are so many gushes of it that Gojo feels dizzy, he feels like he’s about to break. 

“Wait- wait wait m’cumming again-” he gasps. Pinching your clit with two fingers to feel the way that jittery convulsion has Gojo’s potent seed coating his cock a glistening white. Something marshmallow creamy that makes him swallow. “D-didn’t even know I could hngh- c-cum again-”

Didn’t know if he even wanted to but- but of course, he did. 

He’s hissing at the dredges of wispy white that drip from between your slit, the very sight itself tipping Gojo over to sprinkle out a few more velvety ribbons that knock at your womb.

“Heheh- think this t-took?” Those mere words feel so sinful on his tongue, and Gojo’s ears flush a ruby red. But he can’t find himself stopping when he plugs out of your snug cunt, whimpering at the sensitive cling of your cunt as if she didn’t want to part ways. “Whoops-”

You whine at the warmly wet gush of your still-convulsing cunt, “Don’t think it t-took if you’re pulling out-”

SLAM!

You don’t know who’s actually gasping - the elders, Gojo, or you. Still reeling from the way you’re immediately flipped over onto all fours, cheeks smushed against the tatami mat so hard that Gojo wonders whether it’ll leave a mark for tomorrow. 

Assuming the two of you get out of this alive, that is. 

“Let them see-” he’s hissing, cupping your pussy to leave a few wet smacks that smear your abundance of his cum down onto the platform. So much of it. “-let them see how th-their heir is made since they wanna hah- see so badly.”

And god, the sight was supposed to taunt those in the fucking audience - but it has Gojo’s slick-sheening cock twitching up in interest once more. Barely even knowing what he’s doing before spreading open your pussy lips with one swipe of his bawling tip, and then inside-

“You d-didn’t think we were done, ngh, did you, my wife?”

As if you could ever be done with him.

Pound after pound. 

Gojo was so painfully hard right now he felt like he was going to explode - and he wanted- no, needed to be deeper than he ever has inside of you. 

Which is what found him placing an unapologetic foot on top of your head, the slight jostle in angle making him swoon in a probing push against the very ends of your cervix. And every shaky thrust too hard made you feel like he was going to fuck an heir right into your awaiting womb.

“M’sorry-” he gasps, tearily. Wet splatters of the salty substance hitting the side of your shoulder as Gojo bends - and folds and folds you pliantly right along with him. “Don’t mean to- hngh- didn’t- fuck but I need it so badly- s-so deeply- don’t think I’ve bred this cute cunt ‘nough.”

Pushing you down with his utterly full bodyweight, you’re pinned to the platform. For every eye to see the snapping, creamy strings that connect his glossy cock to your overfilled cunt. It sprinkles across your ass and down your legs, and he’s eyeing down at the glossy pool of mess sticking between your two sweat-sheened bodies from before. 

So badly. 

It’s so much - too much.

Placing kiss after gliding kiss of his syrupy precum down the very bottom of your pussy, whining at the slight recoil that has him pushing back from the elastic depths of your cunt. Such a splitting stretch that bullies you wordless. 

And it could’ve been hours - it could’ve been minutes until all that you can manage is a tiny huff that leaves your pouty lips with every wet squelch, and only makes his fat cock bludgeon even harder. He’s fucking you thoroughly, almost as if he hates you. 

Yet, sounding so badly apologetic that you can’t help but crack a smile - at least, as much as you could when your sweet insides were being ravaged by him. “S’all f-for an heir, isn’t it, Toru–?”

God- and then he’s cumming. 

Embarrassingly, almost-painfully - but still so needily.

It’s splattering and overfilling you so much that you feel your elastic walls pull taut at the sheer inflation, making you strangle out a sudden moan. Splat! splat! splattering a thin sheen down your inner thighs, the wet pumps have him fucking it even harsher to coat your spongy womb with his cum, knocking- begging for any sort of entrance.

Messy. So fucking messy that you feel your skin burn.

He can’t help it - oh, he can’t control himself when he’s pulling out for just a split-second to shuffle downwards and press his face right into your sopping folds. Latching his spit-slicked lips around your sensitive nub of a clit. Humming, sucking-

And through it all - you can just barely make out Gojo’s voice. Raw, broken. “D-don’t think it took…don’t think my h-heir took.”

“...”

It slowly evolves into Gojo’s own personal little manga - the very same that he gasps out over and over into your open mouth on the third round. Just a few more tears, a few more of his sloppy strokes in a prone bone that his aching body can barely even hold up.

Now well past the aphrodisiacs, and the allotted time for your initiation. But your audience was still seated, and the fatigue setting into both of you as you both cum with strangled cries - and Gojo’s stream of sweltering hot seed now noticeably wispier than usual. 

But still - still it wasn’t enough.

And by the fourth round, you’re wondering how the hell it was that neither of you had broken any bones, yet. Especially considering the sloppy full nelson that your greedy husband had somehow managed to wrangle you into.

Slipping and sliding across one another in a way that had Gojo crying out in frustration, drool dripping down the side of his lips  - all he really wanted to do was stuff his angry cock into you again. 

The fifth and sixth rounds start before the previous one had even ended, you think. And you’re riding on a constant wave of high while Gojo’s weepy cock sobs out a few more spurts of seed all throughout. 

Teeth clacking against your own in a mess of a kiss, voice dragging in tiny breaks at the very end of his throat. Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the rounded divot at the end of his overstimulated cock shivers out nothing. 

And Gojo knows he should be cumming - he feels like he should be cumming. 

But all his poor, half-softening cock can do is let out a gush of nothingness. Big, fat tears glistening down Gojo’s cheeks when he cums dry in the meanest mating press possible for both your tired bodies. Yet, still fucking you like he was with his cum again and again-

“You all-” Everyone jumps at the sudden, hoarse voice coming from the leader, having resigned himself to mere whimpers of your name and “heirs” by now. And the elders can’t even hold his droopy, barely-there gaze. Dangerous. “Bow. Bow to your new madam.”

A/N. Hope you all have a lovelyyy day.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[miasvelvetvoid]

jealous type,

summary: Jealousy isn’t your best look. According to Pope, though, it’s definitely your hottest. A harmless night out quickly turns into a game neither of you has any interest in losing. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: jealous!bambi, craig catches strays per usual, smut!! (unprotected piv, semi-public - derans office yikes, creampie), insecure!bambi, soft!pope, bambi needs reassurance, pope is so in love with her, random oc character bc I didn’t feel like adding amy in. word count: 2.8k (finally i wrote something small) amalia’s love note: this was SO fun!! switching the roles around in their relationship is so fun to me, also the idea of bambi also sometimes needing reassurance was such a great little thing to write. PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

The bar was loud enough that conversations blended together into a steady hum. Music played from the speakers overhead. Glasses clinked. People laughed. The familiar chaos of one of Deran's busy nights wrapped around all of you while you occupied the far end of the bar like you owned the place.

Which, realistically, you kind of did. Or at least that's what Deran liked to tell people. You were practically family now. The realization still caught you off guard sometimes.

A year ago you would've been terrified sitting here. Now you were curled against Pope like it was second nature. One of your legs was draped over his. Your arm looped through his. His hand rested comfortably against your thigh while he nursed a beer and listened to Craig complain about something that probably wasn't important.

Pope loved it. Loved every second of it. He'd never say it out loud. But you knew.

You knew from the way he immediately reached for you whenever you stood up. The way he always seemed calmer when he could touch you. The way his hand absentmindedly traced circles against your skin whenever you sat together. The boys had long since stopped teasing him about it.

Mostly because they all secretly thought it was cute. Even J. Though he'd rather die than admit it.

“That's bullshit.” Craig pointed accusingly across the bar.

You immediately perked up.l “What?”

“That guy is cheating.”

You followed his gaze. The dartboard. A random customer. You squinted. “No he's not.”

“He totally is.”

“No.”

Craig looked offended. “I've been playing darts since before you were born.”

You rolled your eyes. “You're like thirty.”

“Exactly.”

“That didn't help your argument.” Deran barked out a laugh from behind the bar.

Craig looked personally victimized. You slid off your stool. “Move.” you said waving your hand

“What?”

“Move.” Craig narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Then immediately surrendered his spot. Because despite being significantly larger than you, Craig almost always folded whenever you got bossy. The boys found it hilarious. You grabbed one of the darts and pointed dramatically. “Observe.”

Pope watched you go. The same way he always did. Like his eyes naturally followed wherever you moved. You didn't notice.

You never did. But everyone else noticed. J smirked into his beer. Pope ignored him. For the next fifteen minutes you became fully invested in proving Craig wrong.

You were laughing. Arguing. Threatening to ban him from future dart competitions. Craig was dramatically accusing you of corruption.

Deran was encouraging the behavior. J looked entertained. It was enough distraction that you didn't notice Pope disappear.

It wasn't unusual for him to move around the bar. Glare at people. Check something outside. Grab another drink. You barely thought about it. Until Deran suddenly froze. Mid-conversation. Mid-sip.

“Holy shit.” Craig looked over.

“What?” Deran blinked. Then laughed. “No fucking way.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Deran pointed toward the opposite end of the bar. “Is that Sarah?”

The name meant absolutely nothing to you. At first. You turned anyway. Then your stomach dropped. Pope stood near the far corner of the bar. Talking to a woman. Blonde. Pretty. Confident. The kind of woman who looked comfortable everywhere she went.

You watched as she laughed at something he said. Then Pope laughed too. Actually laughed. Not the small uninterested smiles he usually gave people. A genuine laugh.

Your stomach twisted. You hated it immediately. “What?”

Craig followed your gaze. “Oh.”

“Oh?”you repeated.

Craig wisely shut his mouth. Which somehow made everything worse. You stared harder. Pope looked... relaxed. That was the thing that bothered you. Not that he was talking to another woman.

The problem was how easy he looked. How comfortable. How familiar. Like they already knew each other. Like they had history. You watched Sarah lightly touch his arm while she spoke.

Your jaw tightened. Immediately. Unconsciously. Beside you, Deran looked delighted. “Oh no.”

“What?”

Deran grinned. “Nothing.”

“Deran.”

His smile widened. “You're jealous.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Craig immediately joined in. “She's jealous.”

“Shut up Craig!” You were. You absolutely were. The worst part? They knew it. You glanced toward J. Sure enough. The asshole was smirking. “You guys are insufferable.”

"Who is she?" you asked.

Deran looked thrilled you'd finally asked. “Sarah.”

“Very helpful Deran thanks.”

Craig laughed. “Pope fake dated her for a job years ago.”

Your head snapped around. “What?”

“Fake dated.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your stomach somehow twisted harder. “Why?”

“Long story.”

You looked back toward Pope. Sarah said something that made him smile again. The sight irritated you far more than it should have. Because suddenly all you could think was: I've never heard this story.

Your grip tightened around your beer bottle. Deran was practically vibrating with excitement now. “Oh this is fun.”

“Shut up.”

“You should see your face.”

“I hate all of you.” You tried to focus on the dartboard. On the game. On literally anything except Pope and Sarah. But your eyes kept drifting back. Watching. Cataloging every smile. Every laugh.

“How long are they gonna talk?” Your voice came out sharper than intended.

Craig and Deran exchanged a look. “Bambi-“ Deran started carefully.

“I'm fine.” You weren't fine. You watched Sarah lean in closer. Watched her say something that made Pope's expression soften. Watched him nod. Respond. Look genuinely engaged. And something dark and possessive coiled in your chest. “I need another drink.” You slid off your stool again.

Deran immediately moved to pour you one. “Maybe you should-“

“I'm fine.” Your voice was clipped. Cold.

Deran shut his mouth. Poured the drink. Slid it across the bar without another word.

Craig shifted uncomfortably beside you. “You know Pope's crazy about you, right?” His voice was careful.

You took a long drink. “I know.”

“Then why-“

“I said I'm fine, Craig.” The sharpness in your tone made him flinch. Made both of them exchange another worried glance.

Because this wasn't like you. You were warm. Soft. The feminine energy that kept them all grounded. And right now you were anything but. You were cold. Withdrawn. Hostile.

They didn't know what to do with it. Didn't know how to fix it. So they just watched. Nervous. Uncertain. Like pack animals who'd lost their center.

“Maybe we should-“ J started.

“Don't.” You cut him off. Took another drink. Your eyes never left Pope and Sarah. They were still talking. Still laughing.

And then Sarah said something. You could barely hear it from across the bar. But you saw Pope's reaction. Saw him smile. Saw him respond. And then you heard it. “-always were stubborn, Andrew.-“ Andrew. She called him Andrew. Your hand tightened around your glass. Hard enough that your knuckles went white.

“Bambi-“ Deran started.

“I'm fine.” But your voice was ice. Your expression was stone. And the boys knew. Knew you were anything but fine. You watched Sarah touch Pope's arm again. Watched her lean in. Watched her say something else. “Andrew, you haven't changed a bit.” Like she had any right. Like it was normal. The jealousy was irrational. You knew that. Pope was yours. Completely. Utterly. Without question. But watching some woman from his past touch him. Laugh with him. Call him by his actual name.

“How long did they date?” Your voice was carefully neutral.

Craig shifted. “They didn't really. It was fake. for Pope. For a job.”

“How long?”

“Like... three weeks? Maybe a month?”

A month. A month of her calling him Andrew. A month of her touching him. A month of her looking at him like that. Your jaw clenched. “Bambi, it didn't mean anything,” Deran tried.

“Then why is he smiling like that?” The words came out sharper than intended. Harsher. The boys fell silent. Because they didn't have an answer. Couldn't explain why Pope looked so comfortable.

You took another drink. Watched Sarah laugh at something Pope said. “I remember when you used to make me laugh like that, Andrew.” Watched him laugh back. And felt something inside you crack.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Sarah glanced at her phone. Said something about needing to leave. Gave Pope a hug that lasted too long. “It was so good seeing you, Andrew. We should catch up properly sometime.”

Pope's response was noncommittal. Polite but not encouraging. Sarah didn't seem to notice. She waved. Smiled. And finally left. The second she was out the door, you rolled your eyes. Hard. Stood up. And walked away without saying a single word to Pope. “Sweetheart-“ Pope's voice behind you. Confused. Concerned. You ignored him. Walked straight toward the back of the bar.

You pushed open the office door. Stepped inside. Pope was right behind you. “What the hell was that?” His voice was genuinely confused. Like he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

You spun around. “What was that?” Your voice was sharp. Cutting. “That was me watching some woman hang all over my boyfriend while calling him Andrew.”

Pope blinked. “She wasn't hanging on me. We were just talking.”

“She touched your arm. Multiple times. She called you Andrew. Over and over.” Each word came out harder than the last. “And you just let her.”

“Because we're friends.“ Pope's eyebrows furrowed.

You took a step toward him. “Nobody calls you Andrew. Nobody except me.”

Understanding dawned in Pope's eyes. “You're jealous.” It wasn't a question. It was a statement. And it made you want to hit him.

“Of course I'm jealous!” Your voice rose. “Some woman I've never heard of shows up and acts like she knows you. Like she has history with you. Like she has any right to touch you.” You were in his space now. Close enough to feel his breath. “And you just let her.”

“I didn't-“ Pope started.

You cut him off. “You laughed with her. You smiled at her. You looked comfortable.” Your hands fisted in his shirt. “You looked like you were having fun. Like you’d forgotten about me.” The admission hurt.

Pope's expression softened. “Sweetheart-“ His hands came up to cup your face. But you were already breaking. Already feeling the weight of everything crash down.

“I've lost everything,” you whispered. Your voice cracked. “My sense of safety. My peace.” You looked up at him. “The only thing I have left is you.” Tears burned behind your eyes. “And watching some woman touch you like she has a right to-“

Pope's hands tightened on your face. “She doesn't know me.” His voice was firm. Final. “Not like you do. Not even close.” He pulled you closer. “It was a job. I pretended to be into her for a few weeks. That's it, it didn’t matter .”

“But she thinks it did.” You could hear the insecurity in your own voice. Hated it. “She looked at you like-like she missed you. Like she wanted-“ You couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't say out loud what you'd seen in Sarah's eyes.

Pope kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Cutting off your words. Cutting off your thoughts. His mouth was insistent. Demanding. Claiming. You melted into it. Into him. Because this was what you needed. This certainty. This connection.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark. Intense. “I don't care what she wants.” His voice was low. Rough. “I don't care what she thinks. I don't care about her at all.” His forehead pressed against yours. "The only person I care about is you."

“I need you,” you whispered. The words tumbled out. Raw. Honest. “I need to feel-I need to know-“ You couldn't articulate it. Couldn't explain the desperate need clawing at your chest. The need to be claimed. Connected. Reassured.

Pope understood. He always understood. His hands slid down to your hips. Gripped hard. “I've got you.” His voice was rough. Commanding. “I've got you, sweetheart.” He walked you backward until your back hit the desk.

His mouth found yours again. Deeper this time. Slower. Taking his time. Taking control. You clung to him. Your hands in his hair. On his shoulders. Needing to touch him. Needing to feel him.

Pope's hands moved to your jeans. Unbuttoned them. Slid them down your hips along with your underwear. His movements were deliberate. Controlled. Completely in charge. You kicked them off. Let him strip you. Let him take what he wanted.

“Up,” he commanded. His hands gripped your hips. Lifted you onto the desk. You went willingly. Eagerly. Spreading your legs to make room for him. Pope stepped between them. His hands running up your thighs. Possessive. Claiming.

“You're mine,” he said quietly. His eyes locked on yours. “Nobody else. Not Sarah. Not anyone.” His hand slid higher. Teasing. “Just you.” You nodded. Unable to speak. Unable to do anything but feel. Pope's fingers found you. Slid through your wetness. You gasped. Your head falling back. “Eyes on me,” he commanded. Your eyes snapped to his. Held. “That's it. Stay with me.”

His fingers circled. Pressed. Worked you with practiced ease. He knew your body. Knew exactly what you needed. Knew how to take you apart. You whimpered. Your hips rolling against his hand. Seeking more. Needing more.

“Please,” you whispered.

Pope's eyes darkened. “Please what?” His voice was rough. Teasing. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” you breathed. “I need you. Inside me. Please.”

Pope pulled his hand away. You whined at the loss. But then he was unbuttoning his jeans. Freeing himself. Positioning himself at your entrance. His eyes never left yours. “You're mine,” he said again. Firm. Final.

Then he pushed inside. Slow. Deliberate. Filling you completely. You cried out. Your hands gripping his shoulders. Your body stretching to accommodate him. Pope groaned. His forehead pressed against yours. “Fuck. You feel so good.”

He started moving. Slow at first. Deep. Controlled. Each thrust deliberate. Purposeful. You clung to him. Your legs wrapping around his waist. Pulling him closer. Deeper. Needing him as close as possible.

“Nobody else gets this,” Pope said roughly. His pace increasing. “Nobody else gets to touch you. Have you. Love you.” Each word punctuated by a thrust. “Just me.”

“Just you,” you echoed. Your voice breaking. “Only you.”

Pope's hand slid into your hair. Gripped. Pulled your head back. Exposing your throat. His mouth found your neck. Kissing. Biting. Marking. Claiming you in every way possible. You moaned. Your body arching into him. Taking everything he gave.

“That's it,” he murmured against your skin. “Take it. Take all of me.” His rhythm was relentless now. Hard. Deep. Exactly what you needed. You could feel your orgasm building. Coiling tight in your belly.

“Andrew-“ His name fell from your lips. Desperate. Pleading. Pope groaned. His grip tightening. “Say it again.”

“Andrew,” you gasped. “Please-I'm so close-“

“I know.” His hand slid between your bodies. Found your clit. Circled. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

The combination of his words and his touch pushed you over. Your orgasm crashed through you. Hard. Overwhelming. You cried out. Your body clenching around him. Pope groaned. His rhythm faltering. Then he was coming too. Spilling inside you. Marking you. Claiming you.

You collapsed against him. Both of you breathing hard. Sweating. Trembling. Pope's arms wrapped around you immediately. Holding you close. His face buried in your neck. Grounding you. Anchoring you.

“I'm yours,” he said quietly. His voice rough but certain. “Completely. Nobody else even comes close.” His hand stroked your hair. Soothing. Comforting. “And you're mine. Always.”

You nodded against his shoulder. Unable to speak. Unable to do anything but hold him. Feel him. Let his presence chase away the fear and insecurity. Pope pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand cupped your face. “Sarah doesn't matter,” he said firmly. “What we had-if you can even call it that-was nothing.” His thumb brushed across your cheek. “You're everything. You're the only one who matters.” Tears slipped down your cheeks. Not from sadness. From relief. From the overwhelming certainty in his voice.

“I love you,”you whispered.

Pope's expression softened. “I love you too.” He kissed you. Soft. Sweet. Different from before. “And I'm not going anywhere. No matter what.” He helped you clean up. Helped you get dressed. His movements gentle. Caring. Taking care of you the way he always did. When you were both presentable, he pulled you back into his arms. Held you close. “We're going to be okay,” he said quietly. “I don't know how yet. But we will.” You nodded against his chest. Believing him. Because if anyone could make it happen, it was Pope.

“Together,” you whispered.

Pope's arms tightened. “Together.” And for the first time since Smurf went away you felt a flicker of hope. Because you had Pope. And Pope had you. And together, you could survive anything.

© 2026 all rights reserved - miasvelvetvoid. do not modify, plagiarize, feed my work to AI, repost or claim any of my work as your own without permission.

[donttakehometomommy]

Pope Cody P!links

Picking you up outside his motel after Baz said no one would want his kids

You catch Pope raiding the yacht, he has to distract you

Visiting you at one of Smurf's properties

Distracting himself from a job he can't do because he's on probation

The kind of punishment you get when you turn off your location, especially if he was working

He's got a pool in his backyard and you want to go to the beach

Breaking in your new apartment

Using you as a stress toy after they hit the base

He's been a good boy

Afternoon cuddles

Something to look forward to next time he sees you

Staking his claim after you gave Craig a nipple piercing

[tonycries]

THIRD MASTERLIST! This masterlist has all my writing from 11/12/25 up until right now — for my earlier works check out my FIRST MASTERLIST and my SECOND MASTERLIST <3

Who Let The Dogs Out?

CHANEL

Creep

Kitty Kat

Guilty

No Mercy

Superman

Stateside

Right Round

HISS

Cola

It's Raining Men — Every specimen: the hot nerd that tutors you, his punk best friend, the pink-haired frat president, the sensible history professor, the emo boy with 11 inches, the buff campus security! They have only one thing in common—bréeding you.

ROCK ME! — Gojo Satoru: the handsome captain of the Tokyo Free Blades, the biggest heartthrob in ice hockey, infamous for his rivalry with a certain pink-haired center. Ryomen Sukuna: the mean captain of the Heian Hawks, the one always in the headlines for starting a fight, 6’6 tall and livid over losing his title to that smug bastard. You: the only thing they both want more than a Stanley Cup.

Nothing Is Lost — Research on the Herwi clan of Pandora is both sparse and sacred. Current reports claim the existence of an icebound Na’vi residing in the bitter sub-zero mountains of Pandora: snow-white and unforgiving, as elusive as the fleeting snowflakes. Though physical evidence of these people are so far non-existent, and so are the eyewitnesses alive to tell the tale.  As a scientist on Pandora, you have only one goal: to prove the existence of the Herwi clan. As olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan, Gojo Satoru has only one goal: to make you his mate.

TOPIA TWINS — When both Gojo twins want you for Valentine’s Day, do you: A. Choose the frat boy extraordinaire you’re in a messy situationship with. B. Choose the cute nerd that tutors you but is too afraid to confess. C. Choose both of the above.

The Monster — “Here ye, here ye—a royal wedding is upon the horizon! The uniting of two kingdoms long held in fierce battle: hybrids and humans. At the first light of sunset His Majesty, King Gojo Satoru, the sole snow leopard hybrid in all the lands, shall wed Her Royal Highness, the princess: you. For one moon the princess shall have to succeed - or survive - in marital bliss with the King, in order to commence peace negotiations between the two kingdoms. But remember, dear princess, no matter how gentlemanly a hybrid may seem…they still remain hybrids. They possess powers. They undergo ruts.  And humans aren’t built to handle them.”

Confident — “To the esteemed and venerable House of Gojo, Hereby is your formal invitation to the Choosing Ceremony; our proudly ancestral tradition in which an eligible candidate is put forth by every clan in high society—and out of them all, only one shall be chosen as future husband to our Madam.  And for that, the Madam has specifically requested the presence of Gojo Satoru. Specifically.  It does not matter to her that your candidate has no cursed energy so to speak of, and it would be our greatest honor to start bridging stronger relations between our two dignified clans.  We hope for your good health, and a reply from Gojo himself soon.” Or in which if Gojo Satoru hasn’t manifested his powers yet, you know a way to make him…snap.

Puppy Princess — A jester marrying a princess? Not even in the most terrible joke.  Gojo Satoru has loved you ever since the first time he made you laugh, he’s loved you since you appointed him as your personal jester—and he’s loved you even when your royal engagement was announced.  But if only a prince can marry a princess…maybe a jester can wreck it.

It's Raining Men — Every specimen: the hot nerd that tutors you, his punk best friend, the pink-haired frat president, the sensible history professor, the emo boy with 11 inches, the buff campus security! They have only one thing in common—bréeding you.

Folded — Toji Zenin. Nephew of Naobito Zenin. Leader of the powerful Zenin clan. Also…your newly-wed husband with a taste to give the family an heir. Now.

Homewrecker — Six months since you’ve broken up with Toji Zenin - hotshot center for the men’s national team, perhaps the most feared man in ice hockey - and you’ve moved on…somewhat. Six months since you’ve broken up with him, and listen- Toji doesn’t mean to be a homewrecker, but he’d totally still wreck that p—ahem. Now if only he could get that two-timing boyfriend of yours out of the way…

Daisies — Five times Fushiguro Megumi and his particularly determined elementary class attempt to matchmake the strong, surly divorced Fushiuro Toji with you—their pretty elementary school teacher. And the one time it doesn’t end in disaster.  (Or in other words; the one time Fushiguro Megumi might just become a big brother?!)

Last Christmas — Geto Suguru cannot love. Geto Suguru cannot long. Geto Suguru cannot desire to touch—and especially not a non-sorcerer such as you. Not in his past, his present, nor his future. That’s until a visit from the three ghosts of Christmas might just force him into admitting the one wish he’s been denying himself all these years: you. In his bed.

It's Raining Men — Every specimen: the hot nerd that tutors you, his punk best friend, the pink-haired frat president, the sensible history professor, the emo boy with 11 inches, the buff campus security! They have only one thing in common—bréeding you.

LET THE WORLD BURN — Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. You knew of Geto Suguru before he was the Fire Lord responsible for tearing apart the nations, you knew of Geto Suguru before his name was soaked in rage and dragged through battle: the banished prince with a sad smile. You knew of Geto Suguru because…you were his first love. And his only.  And now you’re arranged to marry him. But it’s not a ceremony of love; you want revenge—and Geto carnally needs you.

It's Raining Men — Every specimen: the hot nerd that tutors you, his punk best friend, the pink-haired frat president, the sensible history professor, the emo boy with 11 inches, the buff campus security! They have only one thing in common—bréeding you.

Golden Brown — Dearest gentle reader, it’s a royal affair! This social season we answer the age-long question: can a knight truly love a princess? For amidst the celebrations and pomp of your royal betrothal, rumors circulate that a certain handsome knight, Choso Kamo, already has his eyes (and hands) on you. Is forbidden romance in the air?

Walk Em Like a Dog — Name: Choso Kamo. Age: 23 Hybrid type: Canis lupus familiaris AKA puppyboy. Diagnosis: He’s in rut, and who does he need? His pretty owner—you!

Internet Girl — On campus? Choso Kamo’s the sweet, shy nerd you share film class with - the one who can barely meet your eyes without blushing. Online? Choso Kamo is really @cursed(your)wombz—the #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends with 820k followers to see his…nine inches. And he might just be looking for a partner.

Imposter Syndrome — 8010—DOKI-DOKI-GF: Are you a complete n’ utter nerd that just can’t seem to find a girlfriend? Have you lied to your family and told them that you’re seeing someone (when you really aren’t)? Do you need to save face at the next family dinner before your uncle makes fun of you until the end of time? Well, call our hotline NOW to access Tokyo’s #1 rent-a-girlfriend service! Choso Kamo, unfortunately, is all of the above.

Doctor! Doctor! — How many doctors does Dr. Nanami Kento (MBBS) consult regarding his strange symptoms as of late? Six. How many different solutions is he given regarding them? Six. How many of those solutions include being ridden right back to health by you (MBBS, MS)—the cute lil’ surgeon he’s had his eyes on? Only one.

It's Raining Men — Every specimen: the hot nerd that tutors you, his punk best friend, the pink-haired frat president, the sensible history professor, the emo boy with 11 inches, the buff campus security! They have only one thing in common—bréeding you.

Older — Your duties as a nanny are simple: pick Itadori Yuji up from elementary school, bathe him, feed him his veggies, and take care of him until his hot blond dad gets home. It doesn’t include something like…spending Valentine’s Day with the overworked, overstressed, absolute DlLF Nanami Kento. Does it? Does it?

Guys My Age — (!) Two assignments overdue: your law professor and your history professor. Objective: After teasing them all semester, Professor Higuruma Hiromi and Professor Nanami Kento…snap.  Time: At the same time.

CASE 143 — CASE 143. Objective: To take care of the problem that is Agent 7:3 [CONFIDENTIAL—Name: Nanami Kento, Age: 27] once and for all. The most feared spy in all of Tokyo’s underbelly, with a conviction rate of 100%. And, this time, he’s probed into your higher-ups far too deeply—to take him out you must go undercover…as his wife. The problem: You're Wanted, and Nanami Kento wants you. Badly.

RUNRUNRUN — Five times that Ryomen Sukuna - most desired man on campus, frat boy extraordinaire, your longtime FWB - would rather sIeep with you than tell you how he feels. And the one time he finally, finally does both.

West Coast — Down on the West Coast, there’s nothing ‘round these parts but your diner. Same old regulars. Same dirt roads. Same men that can’t fúck you right. Until Ryomen Sukuna - leader of the infamous Curses biker gang, heaven and hell on wheels - rides in to mess this whole town up (and your insides along with it).

It's Raining Men — Every specimen: the hot nerd that tutors you, his punk best friend, the pink-haired frat president, the sensible history professor, the emo boy with 11 inches, the buff campus security! They have only one thing in common—bréeding you.

ROCK ME! — Gojo Satoru: the handsome captain of the Tokyo Free Blades, the biggest heartthrob in ice hockey, infamous for his rivalry with a certain pink-haired center. Ryomen Sukuna: the mean captain of the Heian Hawks, the one always in the headlines for starting a fight, 6’6 tall and livid over losing his title to that smug bastard. You: the only thing they both want more than a Stanley Cup.

Beast — Four arms. Four eyes. Two mouths. Ryomen Sukuna has everything he needs and more: power, riches, enough concubines that he’s grown bored of such frivolities. That is, until you’re entering his royal estate as the newest addition—and he just didn’t expect such a puny little human to become…His favorite.

©2026 tonycries. All work belongs to @tonycries. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. This includes themes, headers, and pinned.

[agnireed]

WORTHWHILE

PAIRING ➩ professor jack abbot x reader

WC ➩ 9.1k

SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is a married professor who is trying his best to suppress his perverted desires, until you walk into his classroom.

WARNINGS ➩ Jack is not a very good guy and isn’t very nice to reader most of the time but she’s a willing participate. Age gap (reader is in her first year of college and jacks 50). mild dubcon but again she likes it, manipulation, infidelity… he’s a pervert!

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Not pretending to know anything abt how college works… it’s pwp just use your imagination ok.. not proofread as always and slightly rushed ending so forgive me lol I wanted to finish this already

There was an air of mystery around the fact you’d gotten into college.

Sure, it wasn’t necessarily a prestigious one and the acceptance rate was nearing a full hundred but nobody who had encountered you during your high school career would have planned on seeing you continue your education.

You didn’t like the word stupid but in the nicest way possible, you certainly weren’t the brightest bulb around by any means.

You had a hard time grasping general concepts and studying felt pretty close to what you imagined torture would be like, not to mention your almost complete lack of social skills.

They weren’t inferior in a way that actually mattered or at least mattered in your opinion. You could show up at a house party and know every single name in the building, you were charming and magnetic with your personality and you liked to consider yourself a nice girl.

But you were a bit slow to understand sarcasm and terrible at vague statements.

You’d get a little dazed out look on your face, head slowly tilting like a confused puppy as you blinked your long eyelashes.

Most people were used to you and it was only mildly frustrating to watch as they laughed softly with light pity but mostly amusement, almost like they wanted to pat your hair and comment on how cute you were. You didn’t really recognize the cruel intentions behind the way they’d repeat themselves slower like you needed to be baby talked to even begin to understand, so you’d smile unknowingly and give your best answer.

So you weren’t stupid, it would be mean to call you stupid, but you certainly were not the college type.

It seemed like a majority of your professors agreed with that sentiment, noticeably enough that you’d call your mom three times a week to tearfully ask her to come home. She’d wait patiently through your whining and then tell you that you had to stick it out, college was good for you and she had complete faith that you’d be able to graduate.

You figured she was just saying that to make you both feel better but you didn’t like to argue with her when she used that tone of voice.

Your female professors would turn their noses up at you as soon as you entered in the morning, a few minutes late and still applying your glittery lip gloss. You’d sit down with a bang curler still in your hair, trying to get the perfect bump by noon, and click your bedazzled pink pen above an empty notebook page.

They didn’t seem to hold any kindness towards your choices in attire but that was one thing you weren’t willing to give up. You’d spend the best years of your young adult life rotting away in a dorm that was a quarter of the size of your bedroom back home but you weren’t going to suddenly change your fashion sense.

The male teachers weren’t any better although they had their own form of judgement.

It was in the soft way they spoke to you, eyes lingering a little too long on the smooth skin of your thighs that your skirt didn’t cover, and how they over explained simple topics like they were getting a sense of achievement from being the one to teach you something.

Your mom used to tell you that being pretty could be a weapon but you’d only ever felt like a target since moving away from home.

There was only one class that you got a bit of comfortability in.

Professor Abbot was not at all like the judgmental and patronizing peers around him, he was your favorite part of coming to campus everyday. There was plenty of mornings you’d wake up with the urge to ditch your classes and go get your nails done or have a nice lunch with your friends but you hated missing Abbots class.

His voice was always so low and smooth, never changing pitch with the students he might consider more academically challenged or seeming frustrated with the overachievers. He remained as calm and collected as always, never cracking a smile through his lectures or attempting to joke around while you were taking notes.

He was a professional at its finest and you couldn’t help but appreciate how much he didn’t seem to have an opinion on you.

His eyes would go right past you when he was checking attendance in the morning, never lingering or scanning down your figure lustfully. He didn’t try and gently touch your fingertips when he passed back papers and there was no awkward tutoring offer that felt like an innuendo.

You liked Jack Abbot because he was a good professor who seemed to let you and your bright outfits bleed easily into the rest of the class.

It was a fun change to get to be invisible.

-

Jack felt like you were suffocating him.

He’d always known something was deeply wrong inside of his mind but he’d spend the first five decades of his life suppressing it.

It was a little bit concerning when he kept getting older but his taste in women did not, porn tabs with raunchy titles hidden deep in his private browsers and his gaze wandering in the wrong direction at the grocery store.

Jack did what he was supposed to do and married a woman his age, somebody calm and pretty enough for him to enjoy spending time with.

His wife was a beautiful woman in all definition of the word, independent and funny when she needed to be. But Jack always wanted something different.

He would listen to his colleagues or friends speak about their families, praising the never ending beauty of their wives and their admiration for the way life was changing the features they’d fallen in love with, and feel nothing but annoyance.

There was a large part of him that figured they were all just bullshitting eachother, too afraid to say what they really thought and desired in fear of judgement, but he certainly wasn’t going to be the one who tested that theory.

Years passed after he’d gotten married and he figured he was doing better with his peculiar interest. He’d stopped watching porn of young college girls after his wife fell asleep and he didn’t picture her as somebody smaller, tighter or even prettier when they had detached vanilla sex.

He’d shut his mind off and go through the motions but he wasn’t letting his fantasies keep bleeding over into his real life commitments.

And then you walked in.

Jack had, shockingly, never found himself actually attracted to a student before. It was a lot different than in his mind, actually being at work and putting names and faces to the taboo concept of wanting to fuck a younger woman.

He wasn’t a porn addict by any means and he knew he wasn’t a pervert, or atleast he had really hoped he wasn’t.

You were almost the exact image he had been picturing in his head for the last twenty years whenever he needed to get himself worked up. The type of style and bubbly nature he would secretly wish upon his wife, the smile and dazed expression that haunted him late at night when he was trying his best not to circle back to those videos he still had bookmarked.

Jack figured the universe had sent you to truly test him once and for all.

He had never cheated on his wife and barely even gazed in another’s direction but now you were almost all he could think about.

You always sat in the front row, eyes a little too eager for somebody the other professors constantly criticized in the lounge. He knew what they thought about you and his own opinions weren’t too far off.

Scandalous. Whiny. Dumb.

Jack actually agreed with all these labels but he would place them in a much different way. He had no negative connotations to associate with you and your tendency to be a bit… slower.

He liked it when he could tell you weren’t quite understanding what he was saying to the class, eyebrows furrowing and hands clenching around your pen like you were contemplating asking him to repeat himself but didn’t want to face the embarrassment.

There was a genuine effort that went into pretending he didn’t notice you in any special way, avoiding looking at you unless you were too focused on a conversation with your friends or fixing your hair to notice his sharp gaze locked on your frame.

He’d take the thought of you home with him and he fell right back into those bad habits he’d worked so hard to suppress in recent years, meaningless sex with his wife followed by him watching deplorable videos in the bathroom with his fist wrapped tight around his aching length.

He let himself think about you the most then, wondering if you’d even know what to do with a cock like his or if you’d be just as stupid in that area too.

Jack figured a girl like you was used to attention, especially from perverts like he apparently was, so he offered you none of it.

-

You were going a bit crazy lately in that overly bratty way your mom hated so much, and she loved to remind you just how much it bothered her.

At first you had really enjoyed how normal you felt in Professor Abbots class but the appeal quickly wore off. You figured it probably wasn’t normal to get so attached to a college teacher but you just really liked his teaching style and for the first time in your entire life you were putting actual effort into your studies.

You didn’t care if you failed every single class but you wanted to do well in his.

And you weren’t doing terribly but he was completely void of any feedback when you messed up or praise when you got a good grade. You just wanted something from him, anything at all.

Even a smiley face in the corner of your papers or an email about how consistent your attendance was. Maybe you’d even be content with him telling you where you needed to improve, giving you some pointers or a simple thumbs up.

You didn’t understand and it wasn’t something you were accustomed to.

People looked at you, men especially.

But apparently not Jack Abbot.

You started to find him in between classes so you could catch his attention easier, asking him softly to remind you when your essay was due or getting a light correction on which pages you were meant to be reading that weekend.

He’d give you a glance then, sitting behind his desk with a flat expression and empty eyes as he briefly gave you whatever answer you were seeking. Then he’d look back down at the papers scattered in front of him and completely miss the way your lips downturned into a disappointed frown.

Once you’d asked him for an extension, hoping he’d ask you why you needed it and give you a chance to have a real conversation with him.

He had simply nodded and told you that you could have another week.

You’d been terribly upset about it, teary eyed as you stomped back to your dorm and called your mother to complain. She told you to stop thinking about it, scolded you for even caring about one specific professor when your grades were so poor and then sighed apologetically when you started to cry.

The next morning, you’d gone straight to his room despite the fact your schedule didn’t put you in one of his lectures until the afternoon. You’d braced yourself at the door to prepare the light speech you had rehearsed the night before, wanting to demand he give you some type of feedback that would help your academic performance (mature phrasing courtesy of your mother’s revisions).

You were stopped by the voice of another student, one of the pretty girls who often complimented your outfit choices with a bit of a judging sneer.

“Please professor, you don’t understand how hard I’ve been working on this project.” Her voice was beyond desperate and your eyebrows furrowed as you shifted so you were standing back in the hallway, back pressed against the wall as you listened. “I really only need one more night to finish it. My mother’s been ill and I’m the only one who can take care of her.”

You thought she was being a little ridiculous in her begging considering how nice Abbot was whenever you had asked him for an extension, barely blinking an eye before accepting and not even demanding an explanation.

“I told you no exceptions.” His voice came out harsher than it was during lectures and you stiffened a little at the small rejected noise she had made in response. “If you desire special treatment then I suggest you transfer classes sooner than later.”

Her footsteps got closer, speeding up as she rounded the corner you were pressed against and wiped at her teary cheeks.

You waited a few extra seconds before you were going inside, any plans you had to confront him thrown out the door. He sent you a slightly irritated look when you came in, no doubt bothered by the second interruption in such a short span of time.

“You didn’t give her the extension?” You asked curiously before you could stop yourself, stopping a few feet short of his desk and blinking at him in confusion.

“She doesn’t need it.” He sighed and shook his head, still staring down at his papers as he took off his glasses and set them down on the dark wood.

He finally brought his gaze back to you and you felt a little embarrassed by the frown on your face, far too childish for the setting you were both in but you were bothered by his answer and the implications.

“I don’t need it either.” You said in a less confident voice than you meant to, making it even more clear that you were upset.

There were a few tense seconds of silence before he was scoffing and rubbing his temples, actually managing a slightly amused look unlike anything you’d ever seen on his typically stoic face.

“You do.”

It was obvious what he meant, even to somebody as slow to catch on as you were, because you’d heard it for your entire life. You needed the extension because you simply weren’t as smart as she was, the special treatment wasn’t because he liked you or thought you were a good student but rather the fact he assumed you needed extra help.

You stood there stiffly for a few seconds before you were following the footsteps of your peer and stomping out of the classroom, although for much different reasons.

You turned in your essay that night at two in the morning, ignoring the extra week he had given you to finish.

-

Jack didn’t know it was possible to get this hard over an essay.

He was lying in bed when the email came in, blankly staring at his ceiling and listening to the sound of his wife snoring that felt closer to nails in a blender. His phone screen had illuminated his face for only a few seconds, just long enough to read your name in the submission tab, before he was getting up and leaving the room.

There was no need for the usual porn videos of young girls with your hair color being taken from behind, absolutely no effort being put into making up a fantasy or trying to picture what you’d look like with his cum all over your pretty pouty lips.

All Jack needed was the words in front of him, awkwardly spaced paragraphs and typos between sentences that didn’t flow in the way a college students should.

His perfect stupid girl had wanted his attention so bad that you stayed up late into the night just to send him a below average essay.

There was a deep satisfaction that came along with the picture of you sitting behind your desk with tired eyes and the hope that you could impress him somehow. Jack almost felt bad for you and then immediately came to the thought.

He let his fond pity bleed through a little after he got himself together enough to pull out his laptop, sitting in his home office with his reading glasses perched on his nose as he typed up a response.

Your grade wasn’t the best, he knew you’d get that cute disappointed look you always did when you were below passing, but he’d left something in the feedback section for the first time since you had joined his class.

Jack closed his laptop screen halfway, just enough for the light to fade to black and give his eyes a rest. He rubbed a hand over his stubble and sighed deeply, trying not to think about what he’d gotten himself into.

-

Clearly you didn’t need the extra time.

You were positive you’d read it probably three dozen times as you walked across campus to get to your first lecture, still thinking about it while you sat through the earlier classes you couldn’t care less about if you tried.

It wasn’t much, it wasn’t even necessarily positive, but he had actually said something about your work.

He even almost seemed to possibly be joking around with you, maybe lightly teasing about how upset you had gotten the day before.

You didn’t really care what the context was or how poor your actual grade had been because all that mattered was that he had seen your effort and directly acknowledged it with more than a percentage logged onto a computer system.

You had felt a surge of confidence after you saw it, utilizing it in the best way you knew how by applying a little extra perfume in the morning and clicking your way to class in your favorite pair of kitten heels.

Jack wasn’t behind his desk when you got into the room, a handful of minutes early but not enough that it should be as empty as it was.

Your eyebrows furrowed in soft confusion, faltering in the entrance as you glanced at the clock on the wall to double check you hadn’t somehow mixed up the times.

Slower footsteps behind you made you shift out of the way, shoulders sagging in slight relief when Jack passed by you casually. He didn’t even send a look your way but you followed him deeper into the classroom, stopping in front of his desk and clearing your throat.

“Is class cancelled professor?” Your sweet voice caught his attention finally, stopping his movements to look at you.

You wondered if you imagined the way his eyes lingered around your mouth for a second or two.

“For those who got an eighty percent or higher on the most recent exam.” He answered back easily, watching as you started to form that familiar pout.

You both knew exactly why you were upset, the seventy nine you’d received being burned into your mind. You didn’t mind when you saw it, both because you had been so excited about his comment and because it was actually a very good grade by your standards, but now you felt embarrassed.

Nobody else had gotten below an eighty. Nobody else was supposed to come to class today.

“You’ll only teach me sir?” You shifted in place and watched as his jaw tensed a little, thinking he was just growing irritated you were still standing there interrupting his preparation.

There was a moment where he didn’t say anything at all and you felt the ridiculous urge to call your mother and cry but you tried your best to swallow the tightness in your throat.

“That’s pointless I suppose.” He eventually sighed like you were overly inconveniencing him by showing up to a class you had no idea wasn’t going to be happening. “You can have it off as well.”

You wanted to argue with him just for the sake of it, tell him that you were still willing to learn from him even if you were the only one but you knew it wasn’t realistic for him to only teach one student. The silent acknowledgment that it was especially ridiculous if that student was you only making it sting that much more.

Any confidence you had gained from his comment on your essay was eviscerated now and you could do nothing but take a deep breath and leave the room.

-

He figured he must be getting sicker by the day because you never looked more beautiful than when you were about to cry.

It was a new addiction of his and he made sure to utilize it whenever he could.

Which was often considering just how easy you were to get to that state, always so vulnerable with your emotions and unable to hide the tears that would build up whenever he would scold you or dismiss you entirely.

Jack would do it almost daily now that he knew how gorgeous of a sight it was, the slight wobble of your lower lip and the way your chest heaved when you tried to take an unsuccessful calming breath.

He was almost desperate to see you really breakdown, longing to watch you fully cry now that he’d gotten a taste of it.

You got the closest to that exact scenario a few weeks after the issue with the essay, coming in twenty minutes late with a flush to your skin and your eyes slightly panicked. You were never late to his classes despite your tardiness in all other aspects of life so it was completely out of the ordinary for you.

You’d begun to explain yourself when you saw the frustrated look on his face but he’d sharply held up a hand to stop you from speaking, pointing at an empty chair in the third row silently that you immediately scrambled for.

Jack then launched into a rant about how one late student can shift the dedication and focus of an entire class, not saying your name or looking in your direction but letting it be very obvious that you were exactly who he was referring to.

It was erotic to watch you grow more and more embarrassed as he spoke, attempting to shrink down deep in your chair to avoid the looks your classmates were sending you. He had to stop himself when your eyes started to water because he could feel his pants tightening around the zipper, moving to stand behind his desk as casually as he could manage.

He was a very sick man and he didn’t necessarily see the point of denying it much longer.

The process of breaking you down didn’t take very long considering you were clinging on to his every word and endlessly seeking his approval despite the fact he never once offered it. You’d take all of his criticisms like negative attention was better than none at all and he’d touch himself under his desk after you scurried out of the room with your head hanging low.

There was a part of him that had hoped he’d be able to hold out longer than just a few weeks but apparently he was also a weak man because he didn’t last very long at all.

You had come into class a few minutes early as always but with a few noticeable differences.

Your skirts were already bordering on a dangerous length but they were still relatively appropriate for a school setting. Nothing like the one you were currently wearing, flashes of the lacy fabric you were sporting underneath showing when you bent down to grab a dropped lipgloss tube.

Jack had frozen at the sight of it, too irritated to even be aroused by the brief glimpse of your panties he was a first row viewer to.

He didn’t think you were doing it intentionally judging by the way you were continuously tugging it down by the hem as you adjusted in your seat, face a little embarrassed when you caught a classmate looking for too long.

Maybe you’d gotten the wrong size or accidentally put on your roommates clothes instead. Or maybe you were just too stupid to realize half your ass was hanging out from the bottom of it.

Whatever the reasoning behind it was, he felt a low simmer of anger sitting in his stomach as he pushed through the lesson.

You’d gotten up to leave after the lesson but he had stopped you with a call of your name, voice rough and firm. You froze up immediately and turned to look at him with those big nervous eyes of yours.

“See me before you go.” He said it simply, only watching you long enough to see the way your shoulders deflated.

You lingered around your spot until the rest of the class cleared out before hesitating and slowly approaching his desk, fiddling with your fingers and constantly shifting in place while you waited for him to say something.

“Do you think it’s fair that your classmates pay to attend a class full of distractions?” He started slowly, not letting his tone change at all to avoid tipping you off on how furious he was.

You looked like a kicked puppy as you took a few steps closer and started to shake your head in denial, still tugging at your skirt to try and cover yourself more.

“I-I’m so sorry sir. I accidentally shrunk it in the wash and didn’t realize until I left my dorm.” You were already looking like you might start to cry if he went any heavier with the scolding.

Jack felt the anger turn into a different type of heat at the desperation in your voice, the look on your face as you rubbed your legs together uncomfortably. He felt fond of your reasoning despite how clueless it was to make such a mistake at your grown age, but it was okay because you were his stupid girl after all.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me.” He interrupted you flatly and your lips pursed in upset. “You should apologize to every boy in this class today who had to suffer through your choice of attire.”

-

You couldn’t speak, unable to get any words out that could possibly make this situation better.

You were a spoiled girl, well behaved even when you were a little bratty, and you had never once been scolded like this in your entire life. You felt beyond embarrassed and you knew it was showing throughout your entire body, throat tight and lumpy like you were choking back on a sob.

The classroom hung in a painful silence as you genuinely considered running out of the room and dropping his class all together.

Your mom would just have to understand your reasoning, the devastation that came along with disappointing Professor Abbot.

“Get on your knees.”

His voice was low and smooth like he was simply telling you to close the door on your way out. Your body stiffened in confusion as you stared at him, trying to understand what he wanted and why he was making a request like that.

“My knees?” You sounded a little choked and he raised an eyebrow at the question. “Sir I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“You wanted to apologize didn’t you?” His eyes sharpened into a light glare and you felt another wave of anxiety, not wanting him to be any more upset with you than he already was. You nodded your head eagerly after a moment and he sighed, taking off his glasses and pushing his chair away from his desk just enough to leave a space below him. “Then get on your knees.”

You frowned softly, still not really understanding why this would make the situation better for either of you, before slowly walking to the other side of his desk. Your heels clicked softly and then stopped once you were close to him, the closest you’d ever been.

You gave him one more expectant look that he met with one of boredom and low patience before pointing down at the floor.

Your knees hit the cold marble a little too harshly and you bit your lip to stop from wincing in pain, not wanting to mess this up and give him anymore reasons to scold you.

There was that need building again, the overwhelming want to impress him and show him you could follow instructions. You wanted to be a good student, you wanted to be his favorite, and if that meant kneeling before him and apologizing then you’d do it.

Jack watched you for a long few seconds once you were on the floor, scanning over your hesitant face and the way you shifted in place like the embarrassment was making you physically itch.

“Come here sweetheart.” His voice was softer now and you really wanted to cry at the sound of it, so unlike the usual tone he took with you and the other students.

It was enough to make you entirely forget any hesitance, shuffling closer as you dragged your knees across the floor and ended up directly between his legs. You had to crane your head back to even look at him, eyes lashes fluttering as you waited for him to tell you what to do next.

“Now tell me how sorry you are.” He instructed and your face got warm, worsening when his hand was shifting off his arm rest to brush some of your hair out of your face.

“I’m so sorry sir.” You whispered, so thrown off by the entire exchange that you couldn’t even think of anything else to say.

“For what?”

You fell silent again, almost unable to remember what had led to you being on your knees in front of him. His face was starting to harden again the longer it took you to answer and a shaky breath left you in a small panic that he would go back to being upset.

“You’re sorry for being a whore.” He finally said simply and now you felt like the air had been smacked out of your lungs, head tilting in confusion before you were starting to shake it as a denial. The word felt extra harsh falling from his mouth, typically so professional and dignified. “Say it.”

His tone was back to being sharp and there was no room for argument now unless you wanted to severely disappoint him all over again. You couldn’t stomach the thought so you wiped at your watery eyes and looked down between his thighs to avoid seeing his face as you echoed his words back to him.

“I’m so sorry for being a whore sir.” You said quietly, voice weak and unstable.

It was silent again and you hoped you had done enough to even slightly placate him, not daring to look up and check his reaction. You didn’t necessarily need to considering his hand was touching you again although a lot less kindly, gripping your chin and forcing you to stare up at him.

His touch was harsher than anything you were used to, shifting forward to wrap around your neck with a light amount of pressure as your eyes widened.

“Again. And look at me this time.” He was practically hissing through his teeth and you felt the tears falling before you could stop them, so wrecked that you had made him this frustrated with your stupid mistake.

“I’m sorry for being a whore sir, I’m so sorry.” You were fully crying now and his eyes darkened in response, staring down at you and parting his lips like he needed the extra assistance to take deep breaths.

You waited for further instructions eagerly, feeling a little lost when he was letting you go and pushing his chair back away from you so you could comfortably stand up without bumping him.

“You’re dismissed.”

You wanted to argue, staying on your knees for nearly a full minute after it was no longer necessary. You didn’t feel like you had made it up to him yet and that was settling in your stomach like a disease but he had already gone back to shifting through his papers and you knew he had no more time left to offer you and your ridiculous situation.

You made a small pained noise as you got off the floor, knees sore and stiff. You spared him one last longing glance before you were speed walking out of the room.

-

Jack had, for some reason, figured it would be harder to break you despite how obvious it was that you were the perfect candidate for his sick desires.

You were desperate to satisfy and clearly lacking any attention other than lustful, dumb enough to blindly listen to him without asking too many questions and a big enough whore by nature to want to please him.

It started out small, he needed to make sure you weren’t going to run crying to your mommy the first time he stuck his dick inside of you.

But you were more perfect than he could ever imagine.

He found out it was easier to take advantage of you when you were already in hysterics which was okay with him considering how beautiful you were when you cried. It made him harden almost instantly to watch as you gasped for air and tried your best to apologize to him for whatever imaginary issue he had made up just to scold you.

He would spend a few minutes degrading you, getting you so upset you were willing to do absolutely anything to stop the bad feelings, and then abruptly switch over to comfort.

The shift was so jarring the first few times that you would get this cute dazed out look on your face, blinking at him behind those wet eyelashes like you thought he had become an entirely different person.

A few extra petnames and a soft touch to your arm would snap you out of it and you’d practically press yourself against him to try and soothe the damage he’d done a few seconds prior.

It was addicting, especially when he actually began to train you the way he wanted.

He hadn’t fucked you yet, you understood enough to know you weren’t supposed to be doing that with somebody his age and especially not your teacher. He could still see the fear in your eyes whenever you thought about it and he couldn’t risk you telling anybody about your after hours feedback sessions.

Jack did other things though to hold himself over until he could actually have you.

The first time was still one of his favorites to get himself off to late at night, reminiscing on the way he had bent you over his desk and pulled your soaked panties down to your ankles.

You’d been crying even when he pressed against you, wiggling your hips on the aching tent in his pants and sobbing into your forearm when he thrust against you. You liked it, he knew you did considering you were so wet it was starting to coat your thighs, but you were so confused by how good it felt and could only whine and sob while he humped you roughly.

Jack also liked to fill your throat, a guilty pleasure he almost couldn’t go a day without anymore.

You seemed a lot more relaxed when it came to that, almost eagerly getting on your knees whenever he got that look in his eyes.

“Fuck bunny there we go.” He’d tangle his hands in your hair, wedding ring catching some of the strands, and fuck himself deep into your throat while you gagged and squirmed below him. You’d look up at him with watery eyes and spit running down your neck, the praise that came along with this specific act making it your favorite. “You’re taking me so deep baby. You like being a cock slut sweetheart? Does this make you feel good?”

You would try to nod the best you could, choking on his length and the way he’d speed up whenever you tried to slow down and take a breath. He could almost close his eyes and let himself pretend he was actually getting to fuck you.

The first time, he had came all over your face and then listened to you sob afterwards.

His sweet sensitive girl was always such a crybaby.

You’d told him that you wanted to taste him in your throat so he forced you back down onto your knees and fucked your sore throat all over again so he could give you what you had asked so nicely for.

He was obsessed with you.

He’d lay in bed at home and think about the taste of your sweet untouched cunt, the way you squirmed and whimpered when he took you out to his car and sucked your clit into his mouth until you were soaking his stubble. You got more shy with that, clenching your thighs and trying to get him to something else but eventually letting him get between your legs and lick into your hole until you were humping his face.

Jack barely even spoke to his wife and he didn’t need to use his old porn websites because he had dozens of videos of you in various positions.

You were his favorite hobby and the only thing that scratched that deep perverted itch he was finally beginning to explore.

-

You hadn’t meant for your other classes to become so irrelevant but you felt like you barely had time to focus on anything other than your lessons with Jack.

He’d told you to stop calling him professor, sticking to his name or the title of sir when you were alone together, but you had a hard time breaking the habit.

You respected him so much and you knew his ways of teaching weren’t conventional, he knew it too clearly considering how often he reminded you that you couldn’t tell anymore, but you felt like you were really prospering after your time with him.

He would go on and on about what a smart girl you were becoming, help you with your studies even if it meant that you had to sit in his lap and try to focus through his fingers being deep in your cunt.

You’d started to thrive with his praise and guidance and when he started to tell you that you should drop your other classes so you could focus more on his, you were quick to listen.

Your body started to crave him just as much as your mind did, both his approval and the feeling of him touching you. You’d never been a very sexual girl growing up despite knowing how you looked and having a general idea of what boys wanted to do to you.

Your mom had told you before that the best way to handle sexuality was to ignore it so you did. You didn’t kiss any boys under the bleachers or touch yourself late at night when you got that unfamiliar heat between your legs.

Jack was the first person to ever touch you and now it was almost your bodies natural instinct. You’d start to get wet and uncomfortable under your skirt the second you heard his voice and you would almost crave the taste of him in your throat when you had to go a few days without it.

It started to bleed into your life outside of school and now you had a lot more free time considering your neglect of any other responsibilities.

You’d miss him when you laid in your dorm, a pout on your face and tears filling your eyes as you thought about the occasionally gentle way he’d touch you.

Jack didn’t talk to you about his life at home but you saw his ring, felt it against your warm skin, and you occasionally would get a glance of the wedding photo he kept on his desk before he’d slam it face down to keep you focused.

He’d tense up whenever you asked about his wife, kissing his jaw softly and requesting he tells you that you’re atleast prettier than her if nothing else. There was a handful of times he had directly punished you for your prying, a sharp hand across your thighs or your mouth when you got particularly pushy.

It had been months of him touching you in his classroom, kissing you in the back of his car while you panted for more contact and praising you in a way that felt hypnotic.

You couldn’t stomach it one night for some reason and you ended up making the mistake of calling him. He’d given you his number for emergencies only alongside strict rules about when and how you were allowed to contact him but you didn’t think it was fair. You were always accessible to him whenever he needed you and you just wanted him so bad you could barely think.

You didn’t mean anything by it despite knowing it was wrong, you just wanted to hear his voice before you went to sleep.

It rang a handful of times and you could almost picture him at home, excusing himself out of the room and already disappointed that you had even broken one of the conditions but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

You automatically smiled when you heard the ringing stop, happy he had answered you at all even though it slightly faded when you heard the sharp breath he sucked in.

“I knew you were fucking stupid but this is a new level.” His voice was so harsh that your chest tightened, grip tight on your phone at the insult. “What are you thinking calling me while I’m at home?”

You didn’t have the ability to say anything, completely stuck on the word he’d spat out like you disgusted him.

You’d been called stupid enough times in your life for it lose its effect but it still stung. Jack himself often said it, gently whispering how he’d help you get smarter and learn how to properly navigate things. It didn’t feel as bad as a label if it meant you got to spend more time with him trying to teach you.

“I’m sorry Jackie.” Your sadness was obvious in your tone, rolling onto your side and curling into a ball as you stared at your dorm wall. “I just missed you.”

-

Jack couldn’t tell if he was more irritated or turned on.

He’d been in the worst possible situation for you to call, his wife under him for the first time in a handful of years. It wasn’t at all good and he was practically counting down the seconds until it was over but he didn’t need her growing suspicious about where he was getting his real pleasure from.

It seemed like it had been pointless considering the speed he’d gotten out of bed when he saw your name on his phone screen. He should’ve changed the contact to something less obvious but he hadn’t expected you to break the rules, you were normally such a good girl for him.

She’d stiffened and called after him as she covered her chest, asking him what was wrong and where he was going.

Jack knew right away that it wasn’t an emergency, had come to know you like the back of his hand and figured out that you were simply being disobedient before he even picked up the call.

Your soft sad voice had slightly disarmed the rush of anger he felt.

He liked the way you looked when you cried but only when he was the one who got to fix it afterwards, not while knowing you were most likely alone in your dorm and already feeling needy for his attention.

Despite the twisted way he was going about breaking you down and getting you attached to him, Jack did care about you. It was more for him than a pretty young girl he was trying to fuck, he was sure he could find somebody a lot less controversial if he just wanted to explore that urge.

He had to really collect himself and his annoyance so he didn’t upset you, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sat down on the edge of the bath tub.

“I know you miss me bunny but you can’t call here.” His voice had softened and he could hear you audibly whimper at the sound of it, his cock stirring slightly in his sweatpants. “I thought you were being a good girl for me lately.”

“I am a good girl.” You sounded a little out of breath and he closed his eyes and tried to picture you saying that in a different scenario that was less annoying, on your knees preferably. “Can’t I just see you?”

It was quiet for a few seconds and he slightly shocked himself as he actually considered your request. Jack knew it was beyond stupid to try and leave his house and his wife in bed, already confused and suspicious about his late night phone call, just to go sneak off and see you on campus.

But he longed for it just as much as you did.

“Jackie?” You whispered when he didn’t reply and he could hear you moving around on your bed. “Will you come see me Jackie? I want to feel you.”

“Bunny.” His voice was harsher now, losing patience and needing to take a few deep breaths.

“I’ll let you fuck me.” You ignored his warning and kept going, tone getting needier and now he was hit with the realization that you were starting to sound a little fucked out. “You can finally put your cock in me.”

“If you’re touching yourself then you’ll never get my cock again.” He spits the words out, hissing them as quiet as he can possibly be while also making sure you understand just how serious he is.

He hears you whimper and then all the rustling of your blankets stop, confirming that he was right in his assumption. Now any hesitance is gone from his body, morals being set on the back burner as he walks past his bedroom doorway in favor of heading downstairs and grabbing his truck keys off the hook.

He hangs up on you as soon as the ignition starts, listening to the soft relieved giggle you send through the speaker for a few brief seconds before he’s needing silence to focus on getting to you as quick as possible.

-

You’re giddy when you open your door for him.

Your roommates thankfully at her boyfriend’s place for the weekend which is part of the reason you had been missing Jack so bad. Half because you were lonely there by yourself but also because you were achingly jealous that she got to go over to her partners place so simply while you weren’t even allowed to call Jack.

He looks the most casual you’d ever seen him, button up shirt and slacks replaced with sweatpants and a hoodie that he has pulled up to attempt to cover his identity even a little bit.

There’s really no point considering it’s a weekend and it’s far too late for anybody to be wandering around and accidentally running into their professor standing in the hallways.

Still, you’re quick to softly grab his arm and pull him inside.

He kisses you deeply as soon as the door closes which slightly surprises you but you try not to let it show, not wanting him to suddenly remember what you are to each other and stop.

It’s the sweetest act he’d ever done with you, a sensual greeting kiss with his big hands rubbing the small of your back under your tank top.

You kissed often, especially once he realized how much you liked it, but it was always over the line of filthy. It was a lot of spit and tongue, licking into his mouth more than you were actually kissing and whining desperately as he touched you throughout it.

This wasn’t at all like that and you felt a little dizzy at the realization it almost seemed romantic.

You pushed the hood off so you could run your fingers through his hair and you were grateful he was letting you touch him, another rare feature of your times together.

Jack liked to be in control when you were having your lessons, he liked you on your knees or sitting on your hands so you couldn’t touch him even if you wanted to. He would smack your mouth or press his thumb into the side of your throat when you’d get too greedy and try to grab onto him anyways.

Now he was letting you rub through his hair and then down over his shoulders, clinging to him as you kissed each other desperately.

“You needed me baby?” He said against your mouth when you finally calmed down and you nodded eagerly. “Wanted some cock so bad you were willing to break my rules?”

“I’m sorry Jackie.” You frowned softly and leaned back so you could properly see his face, searching it for any obvious signs of disappointment or anger. He was simply looking at you fondly which made you feel a little bit better, especially considering the heat in his eyes. “I got so needy by myself.”

He kissed his teeth in light disapproval but pressed his lips to yours again as he lifted you up enough to bring you towards your bed. You made a small surprised sound but easily rested against his firm chest as he moved you effortlessly.

“My sweet slutty girl. You just saw me a few hours ago bunny, you’re that insatiable?” His voice was that low rasp you liked so much and you could only stare up at him with wide eyes as he laid you down gently on your back, head propped up on one of your fluffy pink pillows. “My tongue in that pretty cunt wasn’t enough for you?”

You frowned at the question, knowing both answers were technically wrong. You could agree and get scolded for implying the way he ate you out in his truck a few hours ago was unsatisfactory or you could confirm just how needy and slutty you were when it came to him.

Luckily you didn’t need to answer considering he was kissing you again, deep and sloppy in that way you liked so much. You were eager to return it even when he was pulling your sleep shorts down your legs and rubbing you over your panties.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” He said lowly against your mouth as he felt the wetness coating your underwear, eyes darker when you whined and nodded your head quickly.

“Yes sir yes, you can fuck me.” You whimpered when his thumb was circling your clit a bit too harshly, that rare gentleness he had came in with already fading. “Please fuck me.”

-

Jack wasn’t soft with you and he didn’t take his time.

Simply because he didn’t need to be.

He’d spent the entire school year working on molding you into this exact being, his desperate bunny girl that would do anything he needed. He probably didn’t have to go as hard as he did with breaking you down but he was risking his career, his marriage and his entire life.

So it was only fair that you gave up yours in exchange.

He was sure you’d agree if he presented it to you like that. You would probably drop to your knees and choke on him just as a thank you, blinking up at him from the floor with those teary eyes of yours.

He needed to be positive that when he finally had you, he’d never lose you. Jack couldn’t let you have the option of leaving and especially not if there was any small likelihood that you’d tell somebody about your relationship

Now he was certain that you weren’t going anywhere and it only was partially due to the way he was currently forcing himself inside of you, listening to you cry and beg him to slow down like you weren’t so wet around him you were coating the cute pink blankets beneath you.

You didn’t want him to stop, you just wanted it softer. You wanted him to kiss you and tell you what a pretty girl you were being for him but Jack figured you had the rest of your lives for him to take care of you.

For now he just wanted to pin you down and fuck your virginity out of existence.

He had fantasies, of course he did he was only human, and most of them were dark and perverted but he had never actually fucked anything the way he was fucking you. He was a married vanilla man who had an odd fixation on some strange porn but this was a whole new side of himself that he didn’t recognize.

“Jackie.” You were calling his name repeatedly, soft and pained little whimpers that only made him get impossibly harder inside of you.

He had you on your stomach, his thumbs pressing down into the small of your back and surely leaving bruises.

“Be quiet and take it baby.” He could only grunt in response, not able to stand the sound of your whiny voice paired with how tight you were around him. He should have known fucking a virgin would wreck him, enlighten him to a new world he wouldn’t want to ever leave. “Fuck I could be inside you forever.”

That made you whine even louder, arching your back and attempting to either squirm away from him or rub yourself against the bedding.

“You like the thought of that bunny? You just want my cock inside you all the time?”

“Y-yes Jackie yes.” You were fully sobbing by now and barely able to speak, he wasn’t sure you were even processing what he was asking you and figured instead that you just kept mindlessly agreeing to try and appease him.

Jack realized pretty quickly after finishing deep inside you, cleaning you up with his tongue and listening to you whimper and ask him for more only half an hour after, that this was what the rest of his life was going to look like.

And he couldn’t help but think the risk was worth it.

[janeisoffline]

Simon Riley when you are ovulating (18+)

When you are ovulating, Simon’s cock weeps from overstimulation, but he never complains.

You’ve been riding him for who knows how long, and he’s on his… actually he can’t even remember how many times he’s cum. You’re feral, truly feral, bouncing up and down his length, sitting down fully until his tip is pressed against your cervix and leaking precum. Grinding down on him, your hands fall to his chest, digging your nails into his skin to steady yourself as he writhes beneath you.

He’s a whimpering, whining mess, cursing under his breath, with his eyes rolling to the back of his head when your pussy clenches down on his length. Every time your ass slaps against his thighs a breath of air is knocked from his lungs, leaving him gasping and clutching the bunched-up sheets around his limp body.

“C-can’t take anymore l-lovie,” he stutters, placing both hands on your hips, but instead of moving you away, his own hips buck up just to feel more of your warm, wet walls around his aching cock.

His mouth hangs open as drool drips from his chin, his eyes half-lidded while he watches your breasts bounce directly in front of his face, and he can’t help but suck one nipple into his mouth to bite down and relieve some of the unbearable pleasure. You moan out, your fingers moving to tangle in the hair at his nape, pulling harshly on the strands before pushing your chest out for him by arching your back.

“One more Si, p-please… need it, need your c-cum,” you beg, gazing down at him with fucked out eyes, obscene moans flooding his ears each time his cock knocks against your cervix.

Your knees dig into the mattress on either side of him, caging his body underneath yours while you ride him as if your life depends on it. Skin slaps against skin, the sounds sharp and loud, the headboard bangs against the wall, sure to leave a dent or scrape the paint, not that either of you care. The smell of sex hangs in the air so thick you can taste it, musky from the salty sweat beading across the two bodies that move together in tandem.

“So g-good,” you praise, bouncing harder, faster, pushing him deeper inside of you while your walls suck him in, and clench down as if your pussy never wants him to leave.

The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no parts of you empty for too long. He sucks, bites, licks on your nipple, letting it peak between his lips before moving off with a pop and focusing on the other. One of his hands slides from your hip, finding your clit with ease to rub tight, quick circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves instead.

You cry out in pleasure, sinking down fast to grind against his fingers before lifting up once more. With the added stimulation, your body grows weaker the closer and closer you reach your climax, and you beg him to help you.

“C’mon lovie… I g-got you,” he says, planting both feet on the bed behind you, and steadying you on top of him before he begins to pound into you from below.

His balls clap against your ass, sensitive and empty, and he whimpers every time. You slump against his chest, your nipples dragging across his rough skin, his fingers still working your clit, and you’re walking the edge of your orgasm faster than you would like.

“C-close… I’m so…”

He thrusts in deep and hard, knocking the air from your lungs, cutting off your words as a sharp gasp rips from your throat when his tip nudges against your sweet spot. Stars burst behind your eyelids, the sheer ecstasy rushing through your body is enough to have you cumming on his long, thick cock.

“That’s it. Cum on m-me,” he encourages, eager to feel you come undone, his cock crying out for him as it bullies your insides and bruises your cervix.

Your muscles draw taut, your body becoming rigid as pleasure consumes your entire being. Cum gushes from your entrance, leaking out around his length for the umpteenth time tonight, dripping from his skin and pooling onto the already wet sheets below. Your pussy clenches impossibly tight and pulses rhythmically around him.

He fucks you through your high, drawing it out as long as possible before giving himself the same release, his fingers only letting up on your swollen clit when your body begins to jerk and twitch from his overstimulating touch.

“Shit- gonna f-fill you up again lovie.”

With a few more thrusts he’s burying himself to the hilt and releases his seed deep inside of you. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, leaking out from his tip against your cervix, coating your walls and dripping out when there is no more room left inside of your raw walls. Your belly tingles from the sensation, your skin burning from his touch, your body weak on top of his as his thrusts slow and he collapses onto the pillows again.

Simon’s chest heaves against yours while he tries to catch his breath, his heart pounding in your ear as he comes down from his intense high. You do your best to recover too, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps, the sound of your blood whooshing past your ears louder than any of the lingering whimpers and whines from stimulated sensitive body parts, your legs and arms trembling from the prolonged activity, it is all too much and not enough at the same time.

His cock continues to twitch inside of you, the mess continues to pool underneath you, and knowing you, you still would want more.

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[dearkeery]

mornings at robby’s | j. abbot

summary: Robby had asked Jack Abbot to house-sit while he’s off on his three-month sabbatical. It just so happened that Robby also asked you, his sister. Out of all the things he’d managed to list, one would think Robby would have the decency to let you know that you weren’t the only one tasked to keep his house intact. But no, of course he didn’t because where’s the fun in that?

pairing: jack abbot x fem!doc / robinavitch!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI. explicit content, smut (80% filth, 20% plot), sexual and suggestive themes, unprotected p in v, m-receiving, inappropriate use of jack abbot's wedding ring, ass!jack abbot (a bit?), competency kink (more of an internal power struggle), reader is early 30’s, in case i miss anything: reader's discretion is advised. if this fic makes you uncomfortable at some point, i suggest to stop reading.

word count: 3.7k

note: honestly have zero idea what brought this on. enjoy!

Robby’s reminders were fairly simple: No smoking, no parties, no pets, no babies—yours or anybody else's.

You remember rolling your eyes at your brother when he was listing things. You weren’t a smoker, you’ve never been to a party in what felt like forever, you have no pets and you’ve got zero plans of having children of your own; did he really think you’d want to care for one at all?

By now you’ve lost count of the times you’ve been to Robby’s place. It didn’t matter if it was for breakfast or a random weekend afternoon for a harmless grocery shopping in his pantry. You’ve come by so much he was beginning to be a huge dick about your frequent visits. Why are you here? This isn’t the reason why I gave you a duplicate. You can’t just take all my eggs and leave! Non-sense, really. What’s the point of having a big brother living in the same city as yourself if you cannot mooch off them?

You let a week pass by before you eventually caved and decided to do your sisterly-duty of making sure Robby’s house hasn’t burnt to the ground. Yet. 

Conveniently enough, his house wasn’t that far from your apartment that you could easily deviate from your usual route on your morning runs to drop by and visit. You figured, house-sitting was an errand you can check-off your own list on your day-off. You didn’t really have the time to check on Robby’s home considering you were working overtime five times a week on top of your fifteen-hour shift at PTMC. 

Huh. 

To your surprise, you found Robby’s house immaculately clean—spotless. It was as if he hadn’t lived in it at all. There was practically no sign of Robby left other than the picture frames lined atop the family mantel and the ACDC poster hung by the living room wall. You didn’t think he’d leave his place this clean. 

Clearly, you expected a lot worse from your poor brother. It wasn’t because he was that bad at housekeeping, but as you know from experience, he isn’t exactly above purposely leaving the entire place a wreck just to annoy you. 

One time he’d left the entire sink filled with dirty dishes when he went away for a medical conference in Chicago. He even left you a note that said, “Oops. Too lazy. Hope you like it.” 

At the immaculate state of Robby’s house, your surprise would surely be well-expected. 

Without removing your airpods, you close the front door with your back as you toss the keys onto the accent bowl you’ve gifted him for his 51st birthday. 

You eased your way into the kitchen, thinking you’d be proven wrong by how the living room looked. To your dismay, it was just as clean as the previous room. You can probably hear your shoes squeaking against the cold tile-floor. 

Now that you thought of it, walking around Robby’s home in your running shoes would be a crime against whoever managed to get his house this clean. Too bad you weren’t Robby. 

You make your way out of the first-floor bathroom, heading for the stairs. 

Hopefully, your brother had only half-assed cleaning his home and left the entire second floor looking less staged and more lived in by someone like Michael Robinavitch himself.

“I’m that bitch, been that bitch, still that bitch,” you sing animatedly, mouthing the lyrics to Megan Thee Stallion’s Savage. Mel’s crash-out playlist has been coming in handy on your runs, you’ve got to make sure you compliment her about it. 

Your footsteps are heavy against the floorboards as you round your way through the stairs to the second floor. Just when you’re about to walk towards the hallway leading to Robby’s bedroom, you see him: Jack Abbot. 

Not just Jack Abbot. 

Naked Jack Abbot. 

Right in the center of your brother’s entertainment area; bare ass with muscles hard like stones rippling underneath his skin as he held onto a yoga pose so obscene it was rather enough to make you forget whose naked ass it was you happened to be staring at. 

You gulped, absent-mindedly taking off your airpods. 

You have always thought him to be muscular and fit. Logic dictates he would be; after all, he was a military man first before he was a doctor. But you hadn’t expected Jack Abbot to be so… jacked. 

He met your eyes the second he caught sight of your figure through the mirror. 

The two of you froze instantly, unsure of where to look other than your respective gaze. 

Jack recovers faster than you, the look of shock on his face now replaced by the cold smug stillness he usually carried so effortlessly. 

Screw his military instincts. 

“Enjoying the view, Robinavitch?” 

With that, you blinked, immediately turning your back against him so fast you could’ve easily gotten yourself a whiplash. Jack Abbot is buck naked. You find the need to remind yourself. Buck naked in your brother’s house with nothing else but a giant grin now plastered on his stupid face. 

Up until this point in your lives, you hated his guts. He’s always been so insufferable. Arrogant. A huge prick and a know-it-all that fondly maintained a liking to making you feel incompetent and small. 

You feel an unfamiliar warmth spread on your ears and your chest. 

What the fuck is wrong with you? 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You tried your best to sound miffed by his presence. 

He’s on his feet now, one hand taking off his own earbuds whilst the other covers himself. 

“House-sitting for Robby. Isn’t it obvious?” 

You face him again as if to correct the previous notion, “I am house-sitting for Robby.”

“Really?” He arched a brow as he continued to watch you intently. “How come I didn’t see you last week?” 

“Didn’t think a visit would be that urgent.” You answered him with a pointed look, fighting every fiber in your being from looking anywhere else but his eyes. 

He doesn’t say a word but only smirks, reaching for the towel haphazardly draped on the leather couch. You willed yourself to look away but in the corner of your eyes you watched him as he turned to his side and wrapped the towel around his waist. 

He’s waiting for you to break the ice. 

Speak goddamnit. 

“Are—are you decent now?” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

You rolled your eyes, knowing full-well that remark was accompanied by a smug look on his face. 

Why does he have to be so full of himself?

You turned his way to see him still half-naked. 

“You could’ve at least put on a shirt.” You snarked. 

He merely shrugged, “Pretty sure you’d rather have me covered from the waist down, Robinavitch.”

“Please.” was the only remark you could utter. 

Fucking hell.

You didn’t expect him to be this hot naked. 

Half-naked. 

You try diverting your gaze anywhere else but at him. Him and the sharp V-line starting  from his waist and disappearing just below the cotton-fabric of his towel. Only when your eyes landed back to his eyes did you realize that just like you, Jack Abbot was staring. 

Suddenly, you’re hyperaware of the fact that you weren’t in your hospital scrubs; the outfit he usually and more importantly regularly saw you in. You were in your favorite set of athleisure, chest exposed, skin still visibly sticky with sweat from your morning run. 

“It’s rude to stare, Abbot.” you reprimand as you mirrored the same proud look he had. 

“Could easily say the same thing, Robinavitch.” He answered, eyes trailing down onto your physique as though cataloging every part of your body he could hungrily gaze upon.

You scoffed a laugh because it was the only noise you could manage to muster. 

Robby’s house is unexplainably hot all of a sudden. It didn’t make sense. There must’ve been faulty wiring in his cooling system. 

Jack pulls you back to where you stood, chuckling with sarcasm. “Sure fire way to win an argument: Laughing.” 

“This barely counts as an argument.”

The corner of his lips lifted infinitesimally just as he tauntingly asked, “Then what is this?”

Oh, you hate him. You hate his guts. 

He’s enjoying this. Seeing you flustered and uneasy; catching you off guard just so he can say he had managed to shake the better Robinavitch under his palm. 

It was barely eight in the morning and Jack Abbot had decided to play a dangerous game. 

You’d kill Robby for being so despicable; for messing with you worse than a month-old load of dirty dishes. This… Jack Abbot and you with little to no clothing under one roof was simply diabolical. Even for Robby’s taste.

But killing your own brother would have to wait. For now, you’ll have to deal with his best friend. 

You walked towards him, closing the huge gap that parted the two of you as you maintained your gaze upon him. His hazel eyes looked at you, visibly amused but nevertheless maintaining his cool and detached demeanor. 

Your hand swiftly took the shirt placed on the armrest of a chair you assumed to belong to him. Jack had gone completely still. 

“Depends on what you want it to be.” You softly suggest, eyes lingering on his for a beat longer just before it lands on his lips. “Why? Did you think I’d cave and run off after seeing you… exposed?” 

You caught the way he was breathing and you swore you felt as though fire was being lit up on your abdomen. He was pissed. You know he’s aware of it. 

“Not so talkative now, aren’t you, Jack?” You smirked, pushing his shirt against his rock-hard chest with a gentle shove. “You’re in my brother’s home. The least you can do is be decent.” 

You were about to let go of his shirt when you felt his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist. Your eyes darted back at him. 

He had regained himself. 

“I distinctly remember there were no rules against nudity in your brother’s home.” He said, mimicking the tone of your voice. “No smoking, no parties, no pets, no babies—yours or anybody else's. Remember?” 

“That doesn’t mean I have to stomach seeing your wrinkled ass unprompted.” 

Jack laughed at that. 

“Wrinkled, you say?” He asked, voice sounding like a grunt just enough to make your knees tremble. “Then why do you look like you’re desperate to climb me, Robinavitch?”

Your breath hitched as you realized how close his face was from yours. 

You might’ve just crossed a line with Jack Abbot. 

You tried to break from his hold with just enough force in order to free yourself, but to no avail. He was simply and undeniably stronger.

“What? No snarky comeback off that smart-mouth of yours?” You hated the arrogance lacing his tone.

Incompetent and small.

That’s how you’ve always been to Jack Abbot. 

Right now, the longer you fail to make another move, the more ammunition there is for him to use against you. Abbot can continue underestimating you and that’s the exact thing you can use to your advantage. There’s simply no way you will come out of this with a losing hand. 

Stubbornly, you lifted your chin high as you met his gaze, hazel eyes trying to decipher what’s inside your mind. 

“You know what I hate the most?” 

You edged him on with a question he least expected. You know he isn’t going to do anything else other than talk you into embarrassing yourself more in front of him. He enjoyed that more than anything else. You know he liked making you feel uneasy and small and below him. Now, you’d called his bluff. There’s no turning back. 

You catch his jaw clenched just as his grip on your wrist tightened. 

“Men who talk too much.” 

Without missing a beat you pull his weight towards you using his hand still wrapped around your wrist and kiss him. 

Jack Abbot had remained stoned to the ground despite the fact you were kissing him. He was yet to recover from the shock of having Robby’s sister in his arms—with her tongue invading his mouth. 

You feel his grip on your wrist loosen and it was enough for you to break free. With his shirt now on the ground, completely forgotten about, you take your hand and wrap it around his nape.

Come on, just a little more and you’d win against Jack Abbot. 

With your teeth clashing, he manages to speak, “Is this really what you want?” 

He felt your smirk in between kisses. 

You wanted nothing else but win. 

Instead you say, “I want you, Jack.”

You feel the last string of restraint leave his body and that’s when you knew winning was the only thing you’re destined to get out of this unlikely endeavor. 

Jack pushed you towards the wall as if to cage you in his hold. One hand caressed your jaw while the other supported the small of your back. His kisses were hot and heavy and fueled with need you couldn’t quite understand how it came to being. It was as though he’d been starved for far too long and now, here you were, offering yourself to the enemy with all too willing hands reaching out for him. 

You feel him push his body against you, fully aware of the fact that you can easily unwrap his towel loose to get a hold of his erection. He was hard. Just like how his muscles felt beneath your touch. 

You slid your left leg around his midsection as you let out a moan. Jack’s hand left the small of your back and snaked its way onto your ass. You bit his lower lip and slid your tongue into his mouth as you continued to kiss him passionately. 

“Take off your clothes.” He ordered, already working on pulling down your leggings just as you remove your sports bra. You didn’t even find yourself opposed to the idea. You just willingly gave in to whatever he wished. 

“Fuck, Robinavitch.” He breathed, taking your lips into his, speaking in between kisses, “You have no idea how I longed to touch you like this.”

Jack’s kisses were doing more things to you than you’d initially expected. It was— it was more than ordinary. You always felt aghast by the idea of him touching you whenever Santos and Javadi would suggest it, but now it made sense. His touch was burning, his kisses fervent with more than just necessity. It almost felt as though Jack Abbot was fueled with nothing else but greed. 

His right hand made its way to your breast, caressing it, twisting your nipples in between his thumb and pointing finger. You find yourself failing to contain your whimpers as your hand finds its way to his hair, pulling him as close as possible to your body. Jack offers himself quite willingly, taking one bud in his mouth—the heat of his tongue just enough to cloud your better judgment. 

“Christ—” You curse, biting your lip as you arch your back, pushing your body further towards him. 

Just when you think Abbot could never have you completely at his mercy, you feel a cold and foreign friction down your slit. 

What is it? Was that his wedding ring?

“Already fucking wet for me.” He grinned, his ring finger gliding amidst the wetness of your clit. “Is this what you want?”

You fail to answer, settling with moaning his name, growing all the more impatient with his relentless teasing. 

“Just say the word and I’ll stop.” He says, despite his lips trailing kisses down the crook of your neck and onto your clavicle. 

A whimper tore itself off your throat when you felt him slide a finger inside you. 

“Please. Don’t stop.” 

“That’s it.” He said, the famed smug look finding him once again. “Beg for it.”

He finds the need to ask again, pushing yet another finger. “Do you want me to stop?” 

You could only moan and squirm as an answer. 

You catch him smile, pulling his fingers in and out of your pussy in an agonizingly slow manner. 

“I need your words, Robinavitch.”

You hate him. You hate him so badly. 

You curled your leg around him tighter just as you wrapped your other leg around his waist. He pulls his fingers out of you and catches you with practiced-ease as if your weight had meant nothing to him.  

“Don’t stop.”

You wanted to win. You wanted this round against him. 

That is what you wanted. 

Isn’t it? 

Jack pulls away momentarily, planting wet kisses on your cheek and on your jaw as though marking you in subtle ways he can claim his territory.

“Tell me where you want me to fuck you.” He breathes, kissing you once more just as he begins listing parts of Robby’s house he’d been fantasizing about fucking his bestfriend’s sister. “The couch, Robby’s bed, or this wall? I will fuck you whichever way you want.”

Win, Robinavitch. 

You wanted to win. 

“I want you on the couch.” You ordered as you caught your breath, sliding off of his grasp and nudging him towards your brother’s leather sofa. 

Jack Abbot doesn’t even stumble. He simply let his body fall onto the leather surface and watch your naked body flaunted before him. 

“Come here,” He stated, clearly thinking you’d sit on top of him. 

With nary a word, as you kept your eyes pinned on his, you dropped on your knees to take him. 

With a gentle tug, the towel is lost.

You see the faint hesitation in his eyes fade behind the glint that settled quickly at the forefront. Hunger and greed. Who knew Jack Abbot could be so possessive? 

As your hand wrapped around his shaft, the reality of what you’re about to do befall you. He was… well-endowed, to say the least. So much so, you’re beginning to second guess your ability to take him. 

Jack must’ve sensed your reluctance, causing him to gently hold your hand to pull it away from him.

“You don’t have to.”

Win. Win. Win. 

You pulled your hand free and smirked, “Underestimating me, Abbot?” 

Jack stilled and his hazel eyes darkened. He looked at you in a way enough to scare most people. Too bad you weren’t ‘most’ people. 

Instantly, Jack’s breath caught in his throat the second your lips envelope around his head. He feels your tongue dance around him, teasing him just like he did with you a while back. You look at nothing else but him, refusing to look away as you ease down on his girth and length, making sure he gets to see how well you take him. 

“Fuck—” He gasped, breathing your name, hand darting out to catch the side of your head; fingers weaving through your hair and forming into a grip. You feel the pressure of his hold, fueling your own greed to win. Win win win. 

Slowly, you drew your head back as Jack guided you down the entirety of his length. With both your hands, you hold him in place, twisting and pulling him as your mouth nestled his head. 

You watched Jack’s chest begin to heave just as his hips jerk ever so often. 

With it, you let him go with a pop—sliding your tongue underneath his length, causing Jack’s thighs to shake. 

“God—you’re so good, Robinavitch.” He praised through his groans. “So good, you take me so fucking well.” 

You let the praises go straight from your left ear, out to the right and continue to please him. You tightened your grip on his shaft as you drew your head back once more—taking him closer to the edge. 

He went completely rigid. 

“Stop—” 

You looked at him puzzled, “Why? Did I do something wrong?” 

You see a faint smile creep into his lips just as his calloused thumb grazed over your cheek, falling onto the corner of your lips to wipe the saliva pooling off it. 

“You’re nothing short of perfect.” He simply said, “I just don’t want to come yet.”

Oh. 

Without a word, he leaned forward, taking you by your arms as though guiding your way to his lap. 

“Sit.” He commanded whilst fisting himself. 

His free hand held you by your waist as you positioned yourself on top of him, clearly not needing anymore of his instructions. 

When he lets go of his shaft, he pulls you into yet another kiss, each time more fervent than the last. 

“So wet for me.” He said in between kisses. 

You feel him sliding along your slit as though to gather all your wetness, just before he pushes your hips onto him. Indistinguishable moans and groans echoed through the four corners of your brother’s home the second both yours and Jack’s hips met, grinding desperately to meet your own ecstasy.  

Jack’s right hand was planted on the crook of your neck—his thumb pressing onto your pulse point whilst the other remained on your waist, guiding the way you grind against him. 

Thirty minutes ago he wouldn’t have imagined himself being in this position; with you grinding on his lap just to prove a fucking point. 

You continue moving against him swiftly; fucking him with purpose as you feel the coil tightening in your abdomen. 

“Yes, that’s right.” Jack urged you further, letting out a groan. “Use me, Robbie.”

You whimper against his lips, refusing to breathe. 

“That’s it, baby.” Jack grunted, feeling his own hip jerk. He takes his hand away from your neck—his thumb finding your clit instead. “Come for me.”

“Oh my god, Jack.” You begin to shake around his thumb, feeling yourself close. 

The release, inevitable with the way his touches burned punishingly and so unforgivingly. Your thighs shake underneath his hold just as you relish in your own high—moaning no one else’s name but Jack Abbot’s. 

With both of your chest still heaving from your respective orgasms, a wicked smile is discernible on your lips the second you meet Jack’s gaze. 

You bucked your hips against him, still relishing the feeling of his entire length inside you, just as you declare, “I win.”

note: reblogs and comments are highly appreciated i would love a chat with yall ◡̈ ᥫ᭡

[spikedfearn]

FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH

ONE-SHOT

pairing: dr. jack abbot x younger resident!reader summary: You’re used to handling things alone, even if handling them means skipping meals, ignoring problems, and laughing before anyone can see where it stings. Then Jack Abbot starts noticing too much. He pays attention in that quiet, maddening way of his, all dry comments and practical solutions, until calling him your sugar daddy stops feeling like a joke and starts feeling like the only safe label for something you’re too terrified to name.

Because the problem with Jack Abbot isn’t that he wants to take care of you. It’s that you want to let him.

wc: 12.9k

a/n: and here it is, the accidental sugar daddy abbot fic i started over a month ago!! was initially toying with the idea to turn this into a multi-chaptered story but eventually settled on a one-shot instead because i have way too many ongoing fics i need to finish at some point lmao. i really wanted to take the sugar daddy trope and make it feel more grounded and in-character for jack, less flashy billionaire fantasy, more quiet practical care that gets way too intimate before either of you knows what to do with it. not beta read.

warnings: age gap, workplace power imbalance, attending/resident turned sd/sb dynamic, class/money insecurity, possessive/soft dom!jack, semi-public sex, piv, car sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, mild degradation, biting/marking, daddy kink adjacent, public humiliation, no use of y/n

MASTERLIST

By the third time your card declined in front of Jack Abbot, you were ready to walk into traffic and let Pittsburgh finish what your bank account started.

Not dramatically. Not even with much feeling.

Just a clean, practical exit from the kind of humiliation that made your skin feel too tight over your bones.

The cafeteria at PTMC was too bright for this hour, all hard fluorescent light and polished floors and the faint, permanent smell of fryer oil losing a war against antiseptic. Behind you, the emergency department pulsed on with its usual awful rhythm—monitors chiming, stretchers squealing past, somebody coughing low and ragged, the sound dragging itself through the corridor, Dana Evans barking for someone to move their ass before she moved it for them. It was a living thing down here. Hungry. Overlit. Never satisfied.

You had a wrapped turkey sandwich in one hand, a bruised banana in the other, and that particular, skin-tight shame of being broke in public.

The cashier, who looked as tired as everyone else in the building, tried not to make a face at the register.

“Sometimes it’s the chip,” she said.

“It’s not the chip,” you said, because apparently your mouth had decided the truth was less embarrassing than optimism.

You could feel the line behind you growing restless. A respiratory therapist with a Diet Coke. A med student in wrinkled scrubs whispering urgently into their phone. Dr. Whitaker, gentle-eyed and awkward, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to give you privacy by force of will. Somewhere near the coffee station, Santos was talking too loudly about a procedure she “absolutely could’ve done faster if anyone had let her finish,” and Dr. Mohan was answering in that careful, measured way that made even a correction sound like she’d considered the whole person first.

You shifted the sandwich lower against your palm.

“It’s fine,” you said, already turning. “I don’t need it.”

A hand reached past your shoulder and tapped a card against the reader.

The machine beeped.

Approved.

You froze.

Jack Abbot stood close enough behind you that you caught the familiar edge of him before you looked up—the clean, medicinal bite of hospital soap, the stale warmth of coffee, the faintest trace of sweat under scrubs after too many hours on his feet. He didn’t look at you right away. He watched the cashier print the receipt with the same expression he wore when waiting for labs, jaw set, eyes tired, patience worn thin but not gone.

“Bag?” the cashier asked.

“No,” Jack said.

You stood there with the sandwich in one hand and the banana in the other, suddenly too aware of the bruised peel, the cold give of the sandwich through the cloudy plastic, the line behind you, and Jack Abbot’s shoulder beside yours.

You stared at him. “Seriously?”

He finally looked at you.

Jack Abbot always looked like he’d been awake since the Clinton administration. It should’ve made him less attractive. It didn't. The exhaustion sat under his eyes and in the lines bracketing his mouth, but there was something about him that made tired look like discipline instead of defeat. His hair was a little mussed, his scrubs were creased at the hips, and his stance had that slight adjustment you’d learned to notice after months of seeing him around PTMC—the subtle distribution of weight that came with his prosthetic leg and the old damage he carried without announcing it.

“What?” he said.

You lowered your voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“That’s my lunch.”

“Looked like it.”

“You paid for it.”

“Sharp today.”

You huffed, heat crawling up your neck. “Jack.”

That got you the smallest change in his face. Not a smile. He didn’t hand those out recklessly. More like one corner of his mouth remembered humor existed and gave a half-hearted twitch before giving up.

“Eat the sandwich,” he said.

“I was going to.”

“No, you were going to put it back and pretend you weren’t hungry.”

You opened your mouth.

Jack’s eyebrows lifted.

You closed it again.

Behind him, Whitaker looked down at his shoes like they might offer instructions, visibly desperate not to be part of this. Santos, unfortunately, had no such instinct.

“Damn,” she said, appearing at Jack’s shoulder with a coffee she had definitely not paid for recently enough to still be that hot. “Abbot’s buying lunch now? Is this a resident perk, or do I need to almost faint near the muffins?”

Mohan didn’t look up from stirring sugar into her tea. “You would never almost faint quietly enough to qualify.”

“I don’t faint,” Santos said.

“You got lightheaded during central line training.”

“That was low blood sugar and a hostile learning environment.” Santos pointed two fingers toward Jack. “But I’m serious. I want in on the cafeteria patron program.”

Jack looked at her.

Santos looked back.

The silence lasted exactly long enough for her confidence to thin at the edges.

“Or not,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “Noted. Very selective program.”

Dana passed behind the group with a stack of charts under one arm and a look sharp enough to split sutures. “If any of you are done loitering in my cafeteria like it’s a damn wine bar, I’ve got three beds backing up, a grown adult arguing with registration, a kid melting down in triage, and a Lego stuck in one of their ear canals.”

Whitaker blinked. “Who? Adult guy or kid guy?”

Dana didn’t slow down. “That’s the part that’s gonna disappoint you.”

Santos grinned. Mohan gave a small, resigned sigh. Jack, without looking away from you, said, “Eat.”

Your face was still hot.

The sandwich felt heavier now that it had been purchased by him. Not because it was expensive. It was hospital cafeteria turkey on wheat, overpriced and bland, the cloudy plastic crinkling under your fingers every time your grip tightened. But Jack had noticed. That was the part you didn’t know how to hold. He’d seen the little calculation you’d tried to hide, the quiet defeat of deciding hunger could wait until later, and he’d stepped in with no fanfare. No pity. No soft voice.

Just a card tapped against a reader and a dry order to eat.

“I can pay you back,” you said.

Jack’s eyes dipped briefly to the sandwich and then back to your face.

“Don’t.”

“I don’t like owing people.”

“You don’t owe me.”

“That’s not how money works.”

“It is when I decide I don’t care.”

You gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “That’s very generous of you, Dr. Abbot.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

You should’ve let it go.

You really should’ve.

But the humiliation had already burned off into something else, something warmer and more dangerous, because Jack was standing there with his tired eyes and that blunt, immovable steadiness, and you had never been good at leaving tension alone when you could poke it until it bit.

“Careful,” you said, tucking the sandwich against your chest. “People are gonna think you’re my sugar daddy.”

Whitaker made a strangled sound and turned toward the condiments with the strained focus of a man suddenly invested in ketchup packets, while Santos choked on her coffee hard enough that Mohan closed her eyes like she was choosing patience on purpose. Jack only stared at you, and for one awful second, you thought you’d gone too far.

Then Jack took the receipt from the cashier, crumpled it in one hand, and said, flat as a dead monitor, “People think a lot of stupid shit.”

He walked away before you could answer.

You watched him disappear through the cafeteria doors and into the arterial chaos of the ER, shoulders squared, limp controlled, already swallowed by the work waiting for him.

Santos leaned closer, grin wide enough to be medically concerning.

“Oh, that was not nothing.”

“It was lunch,” you said.

Mohan looked at you over the rim of her cup, thoughtful in a way that made you feel unfortunately examined. “He noticed before anyone else did.”

You pressed the cold sandwich wrapper against your burning face.

Dana shouted from somewhere down the hall, “Santos, if you’re socializing instead of working, I’m assigning you Lego ear.”

Santos snapped upright. “I’m not socializing.”

“Good,” Dana called. “Then you can do it faster.”

You stood there with Jack’s lunch in your hands and tried very hard not to smile.

It would’ve been easier if that had been the end of it.

But Jack Abbot, you learned, was not a man who did anything halfway once he decided it made sense.

He didn’t become flashy. He didn’t start acting like some rich asshole in a bad romance novel, throwing cash around and waiting to be thanked for it. That would’ve been easier to resist, probably. Less intimate, anyway. You could’ve rolled your eyes at that. You could’ve made fun of him. You could’ve called it ridiculous and kept your pride intact.

Jack was worse.

Jack was practical.

He bought your coffee the next morning because, as he put it, “I was already standing there.” He brought you half a container of pasta from the staff fridge because “Robby ordered too much and nobody here understands portions.” He left a protein bar beside your laptop during a night when the waiting room looked like every bad decision in Pittsburgh had agreed to arrive at once. He noticed when your left shoe started peeling at the sole and said nothing, which somehow made you more self-conscious than if he’d pointed at it.

Robby noticed before you did.

Or maybe Robby noticed everything and simply chose when to weaponize it.

It was just after noon on a bad shift, the kind where every hallway seemed to have sprouted a stretcher and every call light sounded like one more thing nobody had enough hands to answer. You were near the nurses’ station, trying to make sense of a scheduling conflict that had three departments blaming each other in increasingly creative language, when Robby came up beside you with a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

His hair was doing that thing where it looked like he’d run both hands through it enough times to qualify as a cry for help.

“Is Abbot feeding you?” he asked.

You nearly dropped your pen. “What?”

Robby glanced toward trauma two, where Jack was leaning over a chart with Dr. McKay, both of them listening while Javadi spoke quickly and carefully, too eager to be casual. Jack’s attention was fixed, but his expression had that faintly skeptical set that made med students stand up straighter by instinct.

“Food,” Robby said. “Coffee. Whatever else he’s pretending is a coincidence.”

“He bought me lunch once.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And coffee.”

“Sure.”

“And maybe pasta.”

Robby’s eyebrows rose.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you have a point?”

“Not one worth putting in writing.” He took a sip of coffee, then winced like it tasted exactly as bad as he expected and somehow worse. “Just be careful.”

That killed the humor faster than you wanted it to.

Your eyes shifted back toward Jack before you could stop them.

Robby caught it. Of course he caught it. He was annoying that way, all ragged compassion and clinical perception, the kind of man who could call out a hemorrhage, a lie, and a panic attack in the same breath.

“He’s a good guy,” Robby said, quieter.

“I know.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s uncomplicated.”

You swallowed. “I know that too.”

Robby’s face softened by a fraction. It made him look older, which was unfair, because he already looked like the hospital had been chewing on him for years and kept forgetting to swallow.

“Okay,” he said. Then, because sincerity seemed to physically pain him if left unbalanced, he added, “Also, if this turns into some HR nightmare, I’m denying I noticed.”

“There’s nothing to notice.”

“Great. Love that. Very convincing.”

You looked back down at your schedule so he wouldn’t see your face.

Across the department, Jack glanced up.

For a second, through the moving bodies and swinging privacy curtains and fluorescent glare, his eyes found yours.

He didn’t smile.

He just looked.

That was becoming the problem.

Jack didn’t flirt the way other men flirted. He didn’t crowd you with charm or drown you in compliments or make a show of wanting to be watched. He looked at you like noticing was a form of pressure. Like every detail went somewhere and stayed there. The coffee order. The bad shoe. The way you tucked your hands into your sleeves when you were cold. The way your voice got flatter when you were trying not to admit something hurt.

You wished he’d be less good at it.

You wished you liked it less.

The car thing happened on a Thursday.

You were leaving PTMC after a shift that had somehow lasted ten hours despite only being scheduled for eight, which felt like a violation of both labor law and physics. Your head ached from fluorescent lights. Your feet throbbed. The parking garage smelled like wet concrete, exhaust, and old rain, with the city beyond it slick and dark under a spring storm that had rolled in hard after sunset.

Your car made the noise again when you turned the key.

Not the cute noise. Not the “haha, she’s old but reliable” noise.

The expensive one.

A grinding, metallic cough dragged itself out from under the hood, followed by a rattle that sounded like several important pieces had started a fight and nobody was winning.

You shut the engine off immediately.

“Please,” you whispered, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. “Not tonight.”

The car answered by doing absolutely nothing, which was at least better than exploding.

You tried again.

The sound came back worse.

A knock hit your window.

You screamed.

Jack stood outside in the harsh garage lighting, rain clinging to his shoulders, one hand braced on the roof of your car. He looked unimpressed by your survival instincts.

You rolled the window down halfway. “Jesus Christ.”

“No,” he said. “Just me.”

“Do you always lurk in parking garages?”

“Only when cars sound like they’re about to die.”

“It’s fine.”

Jack looked at the hood. Then at you.

“That’s not a fine sound.”

“It does that sometimes.”

“It shouldn’t do that ever.”

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. “I’m taking it in next week.”

“You’re not driving it until then.”

A laugh slipped out of you, brittle and defensive. “Okay, Dad.”

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.

Your stomach dipped.

Not fear. Not exactly.

Something else.

Jack leaned slightly closer to the open window. “Pop the hood.”

“I don’t need you to—”

“Pop the hood.”

There was a particular tone he used in the ER when people were bleeding, lying, or being stupid about symptoms that could kill them. Apparently, your car had been triaged into that category.

You popped the hood.

The storm pushed rain sideways into the garage, misting the concrete in silver sheets beyond the open level. Jack moved around to the front of your car and lifted the hood, shoulders hunching slightly as he looked inside. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just dark scrubs under a gray zip-up that had seen better decades, sleeves pushed to his forearms. The overhead light caught the tendons in his hands, the salt at his temples, the hard concentration in his face.

It was obscene, honestly, watching a man become attractive over engine trouble.

He checked something, frowned, checked something else, then lowered the hood with more control than the situation deserved.

“Do not drive this,” he said.

You were already shaking your head. “I have to get home.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Jack.”

He stared at you over the hood. “You got a better plan?”

You did not.

You had forty-three dollars in your checking account, a rent payment looming like an execution date, and a car making noises you couldn’t afford to identify. But admitting that felt worse than standing barefoot on broken glass.

“I can call someone,” you said.

“Who?”

The question was simple. Too simple.

That was the problem with Jack. He had no patience for the decorative lies people used to get through conversations. He stripped things down until you either told the truth or stood there bleeding around it.

You looked away first.

Rain ticked against the garage opening. Somewhere below, an ambulance siren rose and fell, dopplering into the wet city.

Jack’s voice dropped. “Get your bag.”

“I don’t want to be a problem.”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t want you fixing everything.”

“I’m not fixing everything.” He came around to your side of the car, opened the door, and stood back enough to give you room. “I’m stopping you from driving a death trap.”

You didn’t move.

Jack exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh.

“You can be mad in my car,” he said. “It has heat.”

That was how he won.

Not with softness. Not with a speech.

Heat.

You grabbed your bag and got out.

Jack’s car was clean in the way a person’s car got when they didn’t spend enough time in it to make a mess. There was an old coffee cup in the holder, a folded jacket in the back, a snow scraper on the floor, and a faint smell of leather, rain, and whatever soap he used that always made you think of hospital sinks and his hands.

He turned the heat on without asking. Then, after a second, he aimed one of the vents toward you.

You noticed.

You hated that you noticed.

Neither of you said anything as he pulled out of the garage. The rain blurred the windshield, smearing Pittsburgh into traffic lights and dark brick, ambulance bays and slick streets, the city looking bruised and alive under the storm. Jack drove with one hand low on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift, fingers flexing once when his leg seemed to bother him.

“You okay?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

His eyes stayed on the road. “Yeah.”

“Your leg?”

“I said yeah.”

“Right. Sorry.”

His jaw worked.

Then, quieter, “Long day.”

That was as much as he usually gave. A door opened an inch, then locked again.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The wipers dragged water from the glass in steady, tired arcs.

At a red light, Jack said, “Where do you take the car?”

You laughed weakly. “To a mechanic who knows me by name and already looks tired when I walk in.”

“I’ll call someone.”

“No.”

“You don’t know who yet.”

“I know it’s going to involve you paying for something.”

The light turned green.

Jack drove.

You looked at him, incredulous. “You’re not even denying it.”

“Seemed like a waste of both our time.”

“Jack.”

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you know a guy.”

“I’m old.”

“You’re not that old.”

That got you a glance. Brief, sharp, almost amused.

“No?”

“No,” you said, and then because you had apparently decided self-preservation was for other people, you added, “Just old enough to have a guy.”

The corner of his mouth moved.

You felt victorious and doomed at the same time.

“I can handle it,” you said, softer. “The car. I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you can.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

Jack was quiet long enough that you thought he might not answer.

Then he said, “Because figuring it out shouldn’t mean hoping your brakes make it another week.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

You looked out the window so he wouldn’t see it.

The thing about being broke—really, really, broke—wasn’t just the lack of money. It was the math. The constant, grinding math of survival. A sandwich became a calculation. A repair became a catastrophe. A strange noise under the hood became a negotiation with God or luck or whatever indifferent force kept old cars alive for one more day. You got used to making everything stretch until stretching felt like living, and then someone like Jack came along and called it unsafe in that blunt, infuriating voice, and suddenly the whole thing looked different.

Not brave.

Not independent.

Just exhausting.

He pulled up outside your building and put the car in park. Rain ran down the windshield in crooked streams.

You didn’t reach for the door handle.

“Thank you,” you said.

Jack nodded once.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“I’ll pay you back if your guy does anything.”

“No.”

You shut your eyes. “Please don’t make me fight you in your car. I’m tired.”

“I noticed.”

“Stop noticing.”

“No.”

Your eyes opened.

Jack was looking at you now, body angled slightly in the driver’s seat, face cut by passing headlights and dashboard glow. Up close, in the dim, the lines around his eyes looked deeper. So did the restraint. He wore it like part of the uniform, like scrubs and a stethoscope and whatever pain he kept filed away under function.

Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “Why?”

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

“I don’t know,” he said.

It was the first answer he’d given you that didn’t sound like a diagnosis.

That made it worse.

You tried to smile, tried to make the air lighter before it crushed you. “This is getting very sugar daddy of you.”

The joke landed differently in the dark.

You felt it. So did he.

Jack’s eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second. Maybe less. Long enough for your pulse to trip, not long enough to accuse him of anything. Either way, when he looked back up, his face had gone still in a way that made the warm air from the vents feel suddenly too hot.

“You should go inside,” he said.

You nodded.

Neither of you moved.

Then his phone buzzed in the cup holder, snapping the moment clean down the middle. Jack glanced at the screen, saw Robby’s name, and declined the call before typing something one-handed with the resignation of a man who knew better than to leave him unanswered too long.

You opened the door before you could do something stupid, like ask him to come upstairs.

“Night, Jack.”

His hand tightened once around the phone.

“Lock your door.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Yes, Doctor.”

His eyes lifted.

There it was again, that almost-smile. Faint. Dangerous.

“Don’t start,” he said.

You got out before your face could betray you.

The car repair cost eight hundred and sixty dollars.

Jack didn't tell you this.

The mechanic did, because you called behind Jack’s back after getting one text that said, Car’s handled. Pick it up Friday.

Handled.

Like it was a chart. Like it was a consult. Like it was one of the million things at PTMC that needed to be assessed, fixed, signed off, and moved along.

You stood in a supply hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, your grip tightening around the case while the mechanic cheerfully explained that Dr. Abbot had already squared it away.

Squared it away.

You were going to kill him.

Unfortunately, when you found him, he was in the middle of resetting a dislocated shoulder with Robby at the bedside and King handing over medication with careful, focused precision. There was a teenage patient crying, his mother pacing, Dana telling everyone who wasn’t useful to back up, and Jack looking exactly like a man who could not be murdered until after he finished being competent.

You had to wait.

That made you angrier.

By the time he stepped out, stripping off gloves and tossing them into the trash, you had worked yourself into something sharp enough to throw.

“Eight hundred and sixty dollars?” you said.

Jack stopped.

Robby, behind him, stopped too.

Dana looked up from the desk.

Santos, who had the survival instincts of someone convinced she could talk her way out of anything, immediately leaned over the counter.

Jack’s eyes flicked over your face. “Not here.”

“Oh, no, definitely here.”

Robby pressed his lips together and took one very deliberate step backward.

“Coward,” Dana muttered.

“Experienced,” Robby corrected.

Jack lowered his voice. “You called the mechanic.”

“You paid the mechanic.”

“Yeah.”

“Eight hundred and sixty dollars, Jack.”

“Would’ve been more if you kept driving it.”

You stared at him. “That is not the point.”

“That is exactly the point.”

“I told you I didn’t want you fixing everything.”

“And I told you I wasn’t letting you drive a death trap.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

For the first time, something like frustration cracked through his calm.

“No,” he said. “I don’t get to decide everything for you. But I do get to decide what I do with my money.”

Dana made a low sound. “Jesus.”

Santos whispered, “This is better than whatever I was supposed to be doing.”

Mohan, passing with a chart, said, “You're supposed to be working.”

You barely heard them.

Your whole focus had narrowed to Jack’s face, the stubborn set of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders. He looked tired. He always looked tired. But underneath it was something else now, something protective enough to be annoying and personal enough to hurt.

“I can’t pay that back right now,” you said.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“It makes it done.”

You laughed once, without humor. “You’re impossible.”

“Usually.”

“You can’t just—” You stopped, aware suddenly of how many people were pretending not to listen. Your voice dropped. “You can’t just keep doing this.”

Jack’s gaze held yours.

“Doing what?”

The question should’ve been innocent, but it wasn’t. Not after the lunches, the coffee, the rides, the mechanic, or the way Jack looked at you like you were a problem he wanted to solve with his bare hands. You stepped closer before you thought better of it.

“You know what,” you said.

For a second, the department moved around you, loud and bright and indifferent, but you and Jack were still.

Then Dana slapped a chart down on the counter hard enough to startle everyone within ten feet.

“Okay,” she said. “As much as I’d love to watch whatever this is turn into a workplace training module, Abbot, bed nine needs you. You—” She pointed at you. “Take a breath before you rupture something expensive.”

Jack’s mouth tightened, but he listened.

Of course he listened to Dana. Everyone did, eventually.

He stepped past you, close enough that his sleeve brushed your arm.

“Friday,” he said under his breath.

You turned your head. “What?”

“Pick up your car Friday.”

Then he was gone.

Santos waited exactly three seconds.

“So,” she said, bright-eyed. “How does one apply for the Abbot scholarship fund?”

Dana pointed at her without looking. “Bedpan in curtain three.”

Santos deflated. “Damn it.”

You hated how badly you wanted to laugh.

By Friday, when you picked up your car, there was a new pair of black nonslip clogs sitting in the passenger seat.

Not fancy. Not wrapped. Just sensible, comfortable work shoes in your size, made for twelve-hour shifts and the brutal, steady wear of the ER. A sticky note was pressed to the box in Jack’s blunt handwriting.

Your old ones were unsafe.

That was it. No apology, no explanation. Just another problem he’d noticed and solved before you could decide whether to be grateful or furious.

You sat in the driver’s seat for a long time, staring at the note, then laughed until your eyes burned.

The fundraiser was Robby’s fault.

At least, that was what you told yourself, because blaming Robby was easier than admitting you had agreed to attend a hospital donor event while quietly hoping Jack would look at you in something other than scrubs.

PTMC held one every year, apparently. A grim little ritual where administrators, donors, board members, and exhausted medical staff gathered in a hotel ballroom to pretend the emergency department wasn’t being kept alive by overworked staff, aging equipment, and the quiet fact that everyone had learned to make do with less. There would be speeches. There would be bad chicken. There would be wealthy people using phrases like “frontline heroes” while nurses calculated how many working monitors the cost of the floral arrangements could’ve bought.

You hadn’t planned to go.

Then Gloria Underwood’s office had needed extra administrative support for check-in, and Robby had said, “It’s easy money. Wear something nice. Try not to let the donors explain healthcare to you.”

You’d said yes before checking your closet.

That was how you ended up in your apartment three nights before the event, sitting on the floor in a towel, surrounded by every dress you owned and the creeping realization that none of them worked. Too casual. Too tight in the wrong way. Too old. Too funeral. Too “college career fair,” stiff in all the wrong places and not nice enough to pass under ballroom lighting. One had a broken zipper. One still had a stain from a margarita incident you refused to revisit.

Your phone buzzed.

Jack:

Car still running?

You stared at the message, then at the graveyard of dresses around you.

You:

yes, dad

Jack:

Don’t.

You smiled despite yourself.

You:

thank you, by the way for the shoes too even though you’re insane

Jack:

You going tomorrow?

You stared at the message for a second too long, then looked down at the heap of rejected clothes around your legs.

You:

maybe

Jack:

That means yes.

You should’ve stopped there.

Instead, with the fatal confidence of a woman sitting half-naked on her bedroom floor and losing an argument with formalwear, you typed:

You:

it means maybe now i just need a dress that doesn’t make me look like i wandered into the fundraiser by accident

The reply took longer than usual.

Jack:

Show me.

You stared at the message, suddenly aware of every inch of bare skin the pile of rejected clothes wasn’t covering.

You:

the dress?

Jack:

What else would I mean?

Your face went hot.

You:

don’t ask me that when i’m half naked on my bedroom floor

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Jack:

You have tomorrow off?

You stared.

Then stared harder.

You:

why

Jack:

Answer the question.

There were several smart things you could’ve said.

You said none of them.

You:

yes

Jack:

I’ll pick you up at 10.

Your stomach flipped.

You:

jack

Jack:

10:30 if you’re going to argue.

You:

you don’t even know what i was going to say

Jack:

I’m learning patterns.

You pressed your phone facedown against your thigh and sat there half-dressed and mortified, thighs pressed together, waiting for your body to stop reacting like he’d put his hands on you.

The next morning, Jack arrived at 10:28.

Of course he did.

He drove you to a small boutique outside downtown, the kind of place you would’ve walked past without entering because the window displays didn’t include prices, which meant the prices were rude. Jack parked, got out, and came around to your side before you had fully finished spiraling.

“I don’t like this,” you said as he opened the door.

“You haven’t gone in yet.”

“That’s why I still have hope.”

He gave you a look.

You stepped out, hugging your coat tighter around yourself. “Jack, I’m serious. I’m not letting you buy me some expensive dress.”

“Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“That was too easy.”

“You said some expensive dress.” He closed the car door. “Find a cheap one.”

You stared at him.

He headed for the shop.

“That is not a loophole,” you called after him.

“It’s exactly a loophole.”

Inside, the boutique was too quiet, too soft, too expensive in ways it didn’t need to announce. Pale wood floors, warm lighting, racks arranged with almost insulting confidence, the dresses hanging with more breathing room than your apartment closet could spare. The air smelled faintly of steamed fabric and perfume, and the woman behind the counter looked up with the calm precision of someone trained to know who was buying before anyone spoke.

You hated that. You hated more that Jack didn’t seem to notice.

Or he did notice and simply didn’t care.

He told her what you needed in a few clipped sentences: hospital fundraiser, semi-formal, comfortable enough to work check-in, not black unless you wanted black, shoes optional because you had shoes. He didn't mention size like a man trying to guess or gesture vaguely at your body like an idiot. He looked at you when that part came up and let you answer for yourself.

That tiny bit of respect did something inconvenient to your chest.

The saleswoman brought options.

You rejected the first three.

Jack rejected the fourth before you could come out of the dressing room.

“No,” he said through the door.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, startled. “You haven’t even seen it.”

“I saw the sleeve.”

“You can diagnose a bad dress by sleeve?”

“I’ve diagnosed worse with less.”

You pulled the curtain back just enough to glare at him.

Jack sat in a low chair outside the dressing rooms, one ankle braced carefully, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He looked absurd there, too solid and worn-in for the soft gold mirrors and velvet hangers, like someone had dropped a combat medic into a room built for silk and champagne.

His eyes flicked to the sliver of dress visible through the curtain.

“No,” he repeated.

The saleswoman, traitor that she was, nodded. “He’s right.”

You shut the curtain. “I hate both of you.”

The fifth dress was the problem.

You knew it before you opened the curtain.

The fabric skimmed instead of clung, soft where it needed to be, structured where it counted. It made you look like you’d meant to be invited. Like you hadn’t spent the week calculating grocery money in your head and pretending exhaustion didn’t count if you kept moving. The neckline was tasteful, but not innocent. The color warmed your skin without washing you out. You turned once in the mirror and felt something low in your stomach shift.

Confidence, maybe.

Or danger.

“Let me see,” Jack said from outside.

“You’re bossy.”

“Yes.”

“You admit that way too easily.”

“I’m old.”

You smiled, then caught your own face in the mirror and watched the smile fade.

This was a bad idea. Not the dress—the dress was perfect.

That was the bad idea.

You opened the curtain, and Jack looked up.

For a moment, he said nothing.

The shop noise seemed to thin around you—the music, the soft movement of hangers, the saleswoman tactfully vanishing somewhere behind a rack. Jack’s gaze moved over you once, controlled enough to be deniable and slow enough to ruin you anyway. He didn’t leer. He didn’t smirk. He just looked, jaw set, eyes catching for half a second too long at your waist, your hips, the neckline of the dress, like the only thing keeping his hands to himself was the fact that you were standing under boutique lights instead of somewhere with a locked door.

His jaw shifted.

Your fingers tightened around the curtain.

“Well?” you asked, because silence was going to kill you.

Jack leaned back slightly, but it didn’t make him look relaxed. It made him look like restraint had become physical.

“No,” he said.

Your face fell before you could stop it.

Then he added, lower, “That’s the problem.”

The words landed low enough to make your stomach tighten. You looked down at yourself, then back at him. “Too much?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

His eyes returned to your face like it cost him effort.

“It fits.”

It was such a stupid answer. Controlled, careful, almost useless—and somehow hotter than a compliment, because you could hear everything he wasn’t saying in the rough edge of his voice.

You stepped fully out, smoothing your palms down the front of the dress because you needed something to do.

“It’s probably expensive.”

“Probably.”

“Jack.”

“You like it?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s my point.”

You exhaled, trying to laugh, but it came out thin. “You can’t keep buying me things.”

He stood. Not quickly, not dramatically. Just unfolded himself from the chair and came closer, stopping at a respectful distance that still felt indecent because his eyes hadn’t left the dress, or you inside it.

“I can do what I want.”

“You sound like a nightmare.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You glanced toward the mirror, unable to hold his eyes. In the reflection, he stood behind you, hands at his sides, older and tired and steady, and you looked like something neither of you could keep pretending was professional.

The thought went through you too sharply.

You swallowed. “People are going to think I’m exactly what I joked about.”

Jack’s reflection didn’t move. “What’s that?”

You met his eyes in the mirror. “Your sugar baby.”

There. Said out loud in the warm boutique light, with the dress between you as evidence.

Jack’s gaze held yours. Then he stepped closer, just enough that his voice didn’t have to carry. “That what you want this to be?”

Your mouth went dry. The smart answer was no. The honest answer was more complicated, and the answer your body wanted to give had no business being spoken in public before noon.

So you made it worse on purpose.

“I don’t know,” you said, tilting your head. “Depends on the benefits package.”

Jack looked at you for a long second. Then the almost-smile appeared, brief and devastating.

“Change,” he said. “Before I regret asking.”

You spent the rest of the day pretending your hands weren’t shaking.

Saturday night came wrapped in rain and reflected light.

The hotel ballroom looked too clean, too bright, and too expensive for a fundraiser built around people who spent most days trying to keep the whole place upright. White tablecloths. Gold fixtures. Centerpieces too tall for conversation. A stage at the far end with the PTMC logo projected behind the podium, clean and official and nothing like the controlled disaster of the emergency department. Nurses and doctors looked strangely exposed out of scrubs, like actors at the wrong rehearsal. Dana wore navy and carried herself with the same brisk authority she had at the nurses’ station, like the ballroom was just another crowded hallway she intended to get under control. Robby had put on a suit, but he wore it with visible reluctance, one hand already tugging at his tie before the first speech had started.

Dr. McKay arrived with her hair pinned back, already checking her phone for updates about her son. King stood beside her, fidgeting lightly with her bracelet while listening to Whitaker ramble about how strange it was to see everyone with “normal arms,” which he then tried to explain and somehow made worse. Javadi looked polished and nervous, her mother somewhere in the room like a pressure system. Mohan was composed, elegant, and already listening to the opening remarks with the patient focus of someone rationing her tolerance carefully.

Santos wore a sharp dress and confidence like body armor.

“Okay,” she said when she saw you. “I’m going to say something, and I need you not to make it weird.”

“That’s never a good opener.”

“You look hot.”

“Santos.”

“What? I said don’t make it weird.”

Mohan, passing behind her, said, “You made it weird by announcing you weren’t going to.”

Santos ignored her. “Abbot seen you yet?”

You busied yourself with the check-in list. “Why?”

“Because I’m invested.”

“You need a hobby.”

“I have one. It’s being right.”

You were saved from answering by Dana appearing at your side with two badges and a look that missed nothing.

“You doing okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Dana’s eyes swept over your face, then the room, then the entrance where Jack had not yet appeared. “Uh-huh.”

“You too?”

“Me too what?”

“Nothing.”

Dana handed you the badges. “Honey, I’ve worked ER longer than some of these donors have been pretending to care about ER. I know when there’s a thing.”

“There’s not a thing.”

“Then stop looking at the door like you’re planning an escape route.”

You opened your mouth, found nothing useful, and looked back down at the check-in list.

Dana smirked and walked away.

Jack arrived ten minutes late in a dark suit, and something behind your ribs fluttered hard enough that you had to look away.

It wasn’t fancy. That was the worst part. No special tailoring, no flashy tie, no clean magazine version of him. Just a dark suit on a man who looked like he’d rather be elbows-deep in a trauma bay than standing under chandelier light, his hair slightly unruly, his face tired, his posture adjusted in that familiar way. The jacket sat broad across his shoulders. The shirt opened at the collar because of course he looked better slightly undone. There was a roughness to him the room couldn’t soften, something lived-in and disciplined and worn close to the bone.

Robby said something to him at the entrance.

Jack answered without smiling.

Then his eyes found you.

Everything else blurred.

Not fully. You were still aware of the check-in table under your hands, the murmur of donors, Santos whispering “oh my god” somewhere behind you with absolutely no attempt to hide it. But Jack looked at you in that dress, and the rest of the room slipped out of reach for one dangerous second.

He walked over slowly.

“Hi,” you said, which was embarrassing because you knew more words than that.

Jack’s gaze moved over your face first, then the dress, then back up slowly enough that your skin warmed beneath the fabric he’d bought.

“Hi.”

You tried for a smile. “You clean up okay.”

“I was going to say that.”

“You can still say it.”

“No.”

“Too generous?”

“Too easy.”

His eyes dipped again, just once, and something in your stomach tightened before he seemed to remember the room around you. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

You stared. “What is that?”

“Receipt.”

“For the dress?”

“For the car.”

Your stomach dropped. “Jack.”

“Relax.” He slid it across the check-in table with two fingers. “It says paid. That’s all.”

You looked down.

Paid.

Your throat tightened.

“You said you didn’t like owing people,” he said.

“I still owe you.”

“No.” His voice stayed quiet, but something in it made the word feel less like comfort and more like a line drawn in permanent ink. “You don’t.”

You looked up at him, and for a second the ballroom felt too bright, too crowded, too public for the thing trying to break open in your chest.

Before you could answer, Robby appeared beside Jack with the timing of a man either doing you a favor or robbing you of a bad decision.

“Abbot,” he said, “Underwood wants us near the front for the photo.”

Jack’s voice came out clipped. “No.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. She used the phrase ‘visible leadership.’”

“That makes it worse.”

“I agree.”

Robby looked at you then, eyes flicking once between your dress and Jack’s face. His mouth twitched.

“You look nice,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Abbot looks like he’s about to be taken out behind the building and shot, but that’s formal for him.”

Jack gave him a look.

Robby clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, visible leadership.”

Jack didn’t move immediately.

His hand came to rest at the edge of the check-in table, close enough to yours that your fingers could’ve brushed if you shifted an inch.

“Don’t disappear,” he said.

Your pulse kicked.

“I’m working.”

“After.”

Then Robby dragged him away with a level of cheer that was clearly retaliatory.

You watched Jack go and tried to remember how to do your job.

For a while, the event was exactly as awful as promised.

Speeches about resilience. Applause that sounded expensive. Donors talking about “the Pitt” like it was a concept instead of a place where every decision had a body attached to it. Gloria Underwood spoke with smooth authority while Robby stared at the middle distance like a man practicing astral projection. Langdon appeared late and left early, moving through the edge of the room with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Collins was mentioned by someone near the bar, her name landing with that particular hospital weight of people who had been part of the machinery and then weren’t there in the same way anymore.

You checked people in. You directed donors toward their tables. You smiled until your cheeks ached.

And Jack kept finding you.

Not obviously. Not enough for anyone to call it hovering. But he passed behind your chair and set a glass of water near your hand. He appeared during a lull with a plate from the buffet because “you weren’t going to get one.” He stood beside you while an orthopedic surgeon whose name you immediately forgot talked at you for seven minutes about golf, his presence quiet and solid and just intimidating enough to make the man eventually wander away.

At one point, you leaned toward him and murmured, “This is very attentive of you.”

He didn’t look down. “You looked like you were going to stab him with a pen.”

“I was.”

“Bad idea.”

“Because violence is wrong?”

“Because you’d still have to finish check-in.”

You laughed into your glass.

Jack looked at you then, and the humor in his face faded into something warmer before he caught it.

You saw him catch it.

That was the dangerous part.

Near the end of dinner, a donor with silver hair and a smile like a polished blade cornered Jack near the bar. You recognized him vaguely from the check-in list, one of those names with a foundation attached, the kind of man who spoke slowly because he expected people to wait for the privilege of his point. His wife stood beside him in pearls, looking around the ballroom with faint disappointment.

You were close enough to hear because you’d gone to retrieve extra place cards from the side table.

“Dr. Abbot,” the man said, clapping Jack on the shoulder like they were old friends and not strangers separated by several tax brackets and a moral canyon. “Hell of a turnout. You ER people clean up better than expected.”

Jack’s smile was minimal and false. “We try.”

The man’s eyes shifted to you.

You felt it like cold water.

“Well,” he said. “Some of you more than others.”

Jack’s face changed by degrees. Anyone else might’ve missed it. You didn’t.

“This is—” Jack began.

The man cut in with a laugh. “No, no, let me guess. You’re the resident I’ve been hearing about.”

His wife made a soft sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite disapproval.

Your fingers tightened around the place cards.

Jack went still.

The man looked pleased with himself, encouraged by his own cruelty. “Abbot and one of his young residents,” he said, eyes moving over you slow enough to make the dress feel suddenly too visible. “People do talk.”

Jack’s voice came out clipped. “Don’t.”

“Relax, Jack. I’m joking.” He lifted his glass slightly, like that made it harmless. “I just didn’t think you were going to start making public appearances with your little girlfriend now.”

The words entered you cleanly: little girlfriend. Not girlfriend—that would’ve been embarrassing enough. Little, like you were an accessory, a midlife crisis in a nice dress, something young and decorative Jack had brought out because he could. Something people could reduce in one glance and one ugly little adjective.

Heat rushed to your face so fast it felt like pain, and still you smiled automatically, hating yourself for it.

“It’s not—” you started, because apparently your first instinct was to make yourself smaller for the comfort of a man who had just insulted you.

Jack’s voice cut through yours. “Don’t call her that.”

The donor blinked. So did you. The room didn’t stop, not exactly—the music kept playing, silverware still clinked, someone laughed too loudly near the stage—but the air around the four of you tightened.

The donor’s smile twitched. “Easy, Doctor. No harm meant.”

“I’m not interested in what you meant.”

Jack didn’t raise his voice or step forward. He simply stood there in his dark suit, tired eyes gone cold, body held in a kind of controlled restraint that made the donor’s hand fall from his shoulder.

“If you’ve got something to say about me,” Jack continued, “say it to me. Leave her out of it.”

The wife looked away first. The donor’s face colored.

“No offense intended.”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Your breath caught.

People were starting to notice. Not enough to make a scene, not enough for anyone to step in, but enough that the space around you felt suddenly brighter. Dana had turned slightly from the bar, her attention fixed and assessing. Robby watched from near the stage, glass lowered now. Even Santos had gone still, the eager curiosity wiped off her face by the look on yours.

You couldn’t stand any of it. Not the attention. Not the humiliation. Not the awful, sharp thrill of Jack defending you like he had any right to. Like he wanted the right.

You set the place cards down.

“I need some air,” you said.

Jack’s head turned toward you immediately. “Wait.”

But you were already moving.

You slipped out of the ballroom and into the corridor, then through a side door onto a covered terrace overlooking the wet street below. The rain had softened to a mist, silvering the railings and turning the city lights hazy. Cold air hit your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms where the dress left them bare.

You gripped the railing and forced one breath in, then out. In, then out. In. Out. It didn’t help. The door opened behind you, because of course it did.

You laughed under your breath because the tears were already gathering hot behind your eyes, making the terrace lights blur at the edges, and you refused to let them fall here—not in the dress Jack bought, not with your hands locked around rain-cold steel, not because some rich asshole had found the ugliest name for what you were already afraid this looked like.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said.

Jack let the door close behind him. “Done what?”

You turned on him. “Made it worse.”

“They made it worse.”

“Now everyone thinks I’m exactly what he said.”

His face changed at that, anger tightening somewhere beneath the surface, but not at you. Never quite at you.

“They don’t know what you are.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“And what am I?”

The question came out too vulnerable to take back.

Jack didn’t answer right away.

Mist clung to his suit jacket, darkening the shoulders. Behind him, warm light spilled through the glass door, all gold and soft edges, turning the ballroom into something distant and unreal. Out here, the air smelled like rain on stone, cold metal, wet city streets below. Everything was sharper than it had been inside. The railing under your hands. The damp hem of your dress against your legs. The silence between his breath and yours.

He looked so out of place and exactly right, a man built for crisis standing in the aftermath of one he couldn’t stitch closed.

You hated that you wanted him to say it.

You hated more that he looked like he wanted to.

Instead, he said, “Not that.”

A hard little laugh left you before you could stop it. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one I’ve got.”

“Great.”

Jack came closer, stopping beside you but not touching. The restraint was worse than touch. You could feel him there anyway, the heat of his body cutting through the cold night, the careful space he left like distance could still save either of you.

You stared out at the rain-blurred city. Headlights smeared over the street below. Somewhere, a siren rose and faded, thin and familiar enough to make your stomach twist.

“You bought the dress,” you said.

“Yes.”

“You fixed my car.”

“Yes.”

“You buy my food. You show up. You pay for things before I can even figure out how to say no.”

Something moved in his jaw, but he didn’t interrupt.

“What do you think people are going to call that?”

“I don’t give a shit what people call it.”

“I do.”

“Then tell me what you call it.”

The words took the air out of the terrace.

You looked at him.

Jack’s eyes held yours, tired and dark and unflinching. He wasn’t letting you hide in the joke this time. He wasn’t letting himself hide either. That was the terrifying part. The thing between you had been allowed to live as banter because neither of you had forced it to stand under direct light.

Sugar daddy. Old man. Doctor. Daddy.

All those little names you used to turn intimacy into comedy before it could ask something of you.

Now Jack was standing there asking.

Tell me what you call it.

Your mouth felt dry.

“I call it confusing,” you said.

His expression shifted.

You kept going because stopping felt worse. “I call it you being too good at noticing things I wish you wouldn’t. I call it you making it really fucking hard to feel normal around you. I call it embarrassing when someone says the quiet part out loud and I realize I don’t even know how to defend myself because I don’t know what we’re doing.”

Jack’s hands were still at his sides, but nothing about him looked relaxed.

You swallowed. “And I call it unfair that you get to act like this is all practical when you look at me like that.”

His voice dropped. “Like what?”

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what I look like under the dress.”

The words left you too soft, too honest, and Jack inhaled slowly. Neither of you moved while rain whispered beyond the overhang and the ballroom noise pressed faintly through the door, muffled and useless, like it belonged to a different night.

Then he said, rougher than before, “I don’t.”

The words went through you slowly, leaving heat in places they had no right to reach.

His eyes lowered, not all the way down your body this time. Just to your mouth.

“But I’ve thought about it.”

The terrace went silent.

Or maybe your body stopped receiving sound from anything that wasn’t him.

You stared at him, suddenly aware of everything at once: the dress clinging where the mist had touched it, the cold air slipping beneath the hem, the damp railing at your back, the small, charged space between your body and his. Jack hadn’t touched you, but the way he looked at you made it feel like he’d already imagined where his hands would go first. The want in his face wasn’t polished or easy. It looked dragged out of him, unwilling and hungry, like every careful thing in him had finally started losing.

“Jack,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

You stepped closer, just enough to watch his control take the hit.

“What was I going to say?”

His eyes lifted.

“That we shouldn’t.”

The truth of it sat there between you, almost laughable.

You shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. The age gap was there, humming under the surface. The hospital. The money. The care. The fact that everyone seemed to have noticed before either of you had admitted it out loud. The fact that Jack carried enough damage to make most people step carefully, and you were standing there in a dress he bought, wanting him to ruin every careful thing about you.

“You’re right,” you said.

Jack nodded once, like the verdict had been delivered.

Then you added, “That's what I was going to say.”

His eyes sharpened.

You took one more step.

“But it’s not what I want.”

For the first time all night, Jack looked shaken.

Not much. He’d never give that much away in public. But you saw it in the slight part of his mouth, the break in his breathing, the flicker of something raw beneath the restraint.

“Say that again,” he said.

The words nearly undid you.

You lifted your chin because if you were going to tell the truth, you were going to do it with your head held high.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Jack looked at you for one long, unbearable second, then lifted his hand slowly enough to give you every chance to step back.

You didn’t.

His knuckles brushed your jaw first, careful in a way that made your whole body ache. Not rough. Not yet. Worse than rough, maybe, because he was still holding himself back and you could feel the effort in every inch he didn’t take.

“You’re not my little girlfriend,” he said.

Your chest tightened. “No?”

“No.” His thumb shifted under your chin, tipping your face up by degrees, not forcing you, just making it impossible to look anywhere else. “You’re not little. You’re not a joke. And you’re sure as hell not something I’m ashamed of wanting.”

The words sank through you, hot and low, settling in every place he still hadn’t touched. Jack’s eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there long enough to make the choice for both of you.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t frantic at first.

That would’ve been easier.

It was deliberate, a firm press of his mouth to yours, steady and devastating, like he had finally decided to stop lying but still hadn’t given himself permission to forget where you were. His hand held your jaw; the other stayed at his side, fingers curled tight like touching you anywhere else might finish what the kiss had started.

You made a small sound against his mouth.

That was what broke it.

Jack stepped into you, guiding you back until the rail met your spine, and the kiss turned filthy in one sharp, breath-stealing shift. His mouth opened wider, tongue pushing past your lips to lick deep and slow against yours, wet enough to make your knees weaken, sure enough to make heat pool low in your gut. His breath came rough through his nose, his hand sliding from your jaw to the side of your neck, thumb tucked beneath your chin like he wanted to feel the exact second you stopped fighting him and melted under his palm.

You grabbed his jacket.

He made a low sound, almost a warning.

You pulled him closer anyway.

The rail pressed against your back. Damp air cooled your bare arms. Inside, beyond the glass, the fundraiser glowed on with its speeches and donors and useless flowers, but out here Jack’s body cut off the light, his mouth hot and sure, his hand at your neck keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

When he dragged himself back, he didn’t go far.

His forehead hovered near yours. His breathing was harsher now. So was yours.

“This is a bad idea,” he said.

You laughed, breathless enough that it came out softer than you meant. “You kissed me.”

“I know.”

“So your professional opinion is hypocritical.”

His mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed dark, fixed on yours with a heat that made it impossible not to remember his tongue in your mouth. He looked like he was still tasting you, like he was one wrong word away from dragging you back against the railing and making a mess of that pretty, expensive dress.

“You keep talking,” he said, voice low enough to feel like it belonged between your legs instead of in the open air, “and I’m going to forget we’re still at a hospital fundraiser.”

Liquid heat shot through you, sharp and shameless. You curled your fingers higher into his lapels. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“It should.”

“It doesn’t.”

Jack searched your face for one last sign that you wanted him to be better than this.

You didn’t.

His thumb dragged once along the side of your neck, slow enough to make your thighs press together under the dress, then he stepped back and opened the door.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

His eyes held yours.

“My car.”

The walk through the ballroom should’ve been humiliating. Maybe it was. You couldn’t tell. Jack stayed close without touching you, which somehow looked worse after what had just happened, like distance had become another form of confession. Your mouth still felt swollen from his, your skin too awake beneath the dress, your whole body lit with the kind of want that made every normal step feel rehearsed.

Robby saw you first, because of course he did. His eyes moved from Jack’s face to yours, then back again, and he lifted his glass slightly—not smiling, just acknowledging the inevitable.

Dana caught your eye from near the bar with one eyebrow raised. Santos looked ready to say something disastrous until Mohan turned her gently but firmly toward the dessert table. McKay glanced over, clocked enough to know better, and immediately pulled Whitaker into a conversation he looked relieved to have guidance for. Javadi watched for half a second too long, then looked away like she’d remembered curiosity had consequences.

Jack ignored all of them.

You loved and hated him for it.

The elevator ride down was worse.

Mirrored walls. Soft music. Your reflection beside his. His shoulder inches from yours. The phantom feel of his hand still on your neck. Neither of you speaking because speech had become a loaded weapon and you were both already wounded.

In the parking garage, the air smelled like rain and concrete again.

Jack unlocked the car.

You stopped by the passenger door, suddenly aware of the line you were crossing. Not the moral one. That had been smudged for weeks. This was more physical. More real. A door. A backseat. His face in the dim garage light, turned toward you with all that want and all that control and all the consequences waiting behind both.

He saw the hesitation immediately.

Of course he did.

“You can change your mind,” he said.

The words loosened something in you.

Not because you wanted to.

Because he meant it.

You stepped closer. “I’m not changing my mind.”

Jack’s eyes searched yours.

“Tell me if I do something you don’t want.”

“I will.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

He nodded once.

Then you said, quieter, “Do you?”

His face shifted.

“Do I what?”

“Know what I want.”

The garage seemed to hold its breath.

Jack opened the back door.

“Get in,” he said.

Not loud. Not cruel.

Just low enough to go through you like a match.

You got in.

The door shut behind you, and for one suspended second you were alone in the dark leather backseat with your heartbeat, the rain ticking somewhere beyond the garage, and the reflection of Jack moving around the car in the tinted window.

Then the opposite door opened.

He slid in beside you, too big for the space, too warm, too close. The dome light cut over his face for a second before it faded, leaving him in shadow and stray fluorescent spill. His knee brushed yours. His hand came up, not touching yet, braced against the seat near your hip.

“You still think this is about money?” he asked.

Your breath caught.

You shook your head.

“Words.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t think it’s about money.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

“What’s it about?”

You could’ve said care.

You could’ve said want.

You could’ve said every soft, terrifying thing his hands had been saying for weeks with coffee cups and repair bills and the new shoes you wore until they stopped hurting.

Instead, because you were trembling and stubborn and still you, you whispered, “Your sugar daddy complex.”

Jack’s eyes flashed.

Then he kissed you hard enough to knock your head back against the seat and it was nothing like the terrace—careful and slow and weighted with confession. This was hungry. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugged, and the sound you made was swallowed by his mouth as his tongue slid against yours, wet and deep and tasting like the whiskey he'd barely touched all night. His other hand found your waist, gripping the silk of the dress, bunching it, pulling you across the seat until your hip hit his and you gasped into his mouth.

"Jack—"

"Don't talk." His lips dragged to your jaw, your throat, the spot behind your ear that made you arch. "Just—let me —"

His hand slid up your thigh, pushing the dress higher, and the leather was cool against the backs of your legs but his palm was hot, rough, callused from years of work and combat and things he never talked about. You spread for him without thinking. He made a sound against your neck—approval, hunger, relief—and his fingers pressed higher, found the wet heat through your underwear, and stopped.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're already—"

You bit his earlobe. "Your mouth on the terrace did that."

He laughed—a low, broken thing—and his fingers hooked the edge of your panties, dragged them down your thighs. You lifted your hips to help, and he dropped them somewhere on the floor mat, already forgotten, already gone. His hand came back wet.

"Look at me."

You did. His eyes were dark, half-lidded, his breathing ragged. The garage light caught the silver in his beard, the flush rising up his neck, the way his thumb was already circling your clit like he'd done it a thousand times before. He hadn't. But he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I tried to be careful with you,” he said, voice rough, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, gathering, teasing, “I tried so fucking hard. Then I walked in and saw you at that table in the dress I bought you, and I knew I was done.”

Your breath hitched as his middle finger pressed inside you, just the tip, just enough to make your hips buck.

"—and you knew, didn't you?" He pushed deeper, slow, watching your face. "Knew what it was doing to me."

You couldn't answer. His finger was inside you, thick and deliberate, curling, finding the spot that made your vision blur. Then a second finger joined it, stretching, and you heard yourself whimper—high and desperate and not caring who heard.

"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."

He worked you open like he had all night, like the parking garage was empty, like the world had shrunk to the space between his fingers and your cunt. His thumb pressed your clit in slow circles while his fingers pumped—not hard, not fast, just deep and aching, stretching you until you were dripping down his hand, until your nails dug into his shoulder through his jacket.

"Jack—I need—"

"I know what you need."

He pulled his fingers out slowly, deliberately, and you watched him bring them to his mouth. Watched his tongue slide across his knuckles, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of it—this tired, controlled man in his undone suit, licking your wetness off his fingers like it was the best thing he'd tasted all night—made your hole clench around nothing.

"Get on top of me."

It wasn't a question. He was already reaching for his belt, the buckle rasping open, the sound sharp and final in the close air of the car. You climbed over him, the dress bunching around your waist, your knees finding the leather on either side of his hips. His cock was hard beneath his briefs, straining against the fabric, and you reached down and wrapped your hand around it.

He hissed through his teeth. "Fuck —"

He was thick. Hot. The head slick with something that might have been precum, might have been your imagination, but when you stroked him once, slow, his hips bucked into your palm.

"If you keep doing that," he said, his voice strained, "this is going to be very embarrassing for me."

You laughed—breathless, wild—and leaned down to kiss him. "Then stop me."

He didn't.

His hand found your hip, guided you forward, and the head of his cock nudged against your entrance. Wet. Ready. The two of you hovered there, breathing each other's air, and his forehead pressed against yours.

"Tell me you want this."

"I want this." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I want you. Please, Jack—"

He pushed inside you.

The stretch was a shock—full and deep and so much more than his fingers had promised. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, your head falling back as he filled you inch by inch, until you were seated in his lap, his hips flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt inside your tight, wet heat.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, you feel—"

He couldn't finish. His hands found your hips, held you there, and for a moment neither of you moved. Just the feeling of him inside you, the throb of his pulse through his cock, the way your body adjusted, accepted, wanted.

Then you moved.

Slow at first—a roll of your hips that made his eyes roll back, a tilt of your pelvis that drove him deeper. His grip tightened on your waist, guiding, and you found the rhythm together: him thrusting up as you sank down, the slap of skin loud in the enclosed space, the wet sound of your bodies meeting.

"Look at you," he said, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on where you were joined. "Taking all of me. Fucking yourself on my cock in a parking garage."

You moaned, riding him harder, the dress bunched around your waist, the silk skin-warm and bunched up. His thumb found your clit again, pressing, circling, and the pleasure coiled tight in your belly, hot and sharp and building.

"The dress," you gasped. "You bought me this dress—"

"I bought it so I could take it off you." He tugged at the strap with his teeth, the fabric slipping down your shoulder, exposing your breast to the dim light. His mouth was on it instantly—hot, wet, his tongue circling your nipple before he sucked, hard, and you cried out, your rhythm faltering.

"Say it again." His mouth against your skin. "Say sugar daddy again and see what happens."

You laughed, breathless, your hips grinding against him. "Sugar daddy."

He bit your shoulder—not hard, but enough to make you gasp—and then his hand was in your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Then take what I give you." His voice was low and rough and it made your pussy squeeze around him. "Take this cock like you've been wanting to since I fixed your goddamn car."

You did. You rode him harder, faster, the leather squeaking beneath your knees, the car rocking with the motion, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His hand stayed in your hair, his other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, and he thrust up into you with a rhythm that was pure instinct—hungry, claiming, the restraint he'd held for weeks finally snapping.

"That's it," he growled. "That's my girl. Taking what she needs."

"Jack—I'm close—"

"I know. I can feel you. You're squeezing me so fucking tight—"

His thumb pressed harder on your clit, circling faster, and the orgasm hit you like a wave—sudden and overwhelming, your vision white, your back arching as your cunt clamped down on his cock, pulsing, milking, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. You heard yourself cry out—his name, a curse, something that might have been a sob—and he kept thrusting through it, drawing it out, letting you ride him through the aftershocks.

"Fuck—" His voice broke. "I'm going to—"

"Inside me." You grabbed his face, forced him to look at you. "I want it. Please."

He came with a groan that was almost a prayer, his hips driving up one last time, his hand gripping your hip so hard it would leave marks. You felt it—hot and thick, pumping into you, filling you, his cock twitching with each pulse, his breath ragged against your lips. The sensation pushed you into a second, smaller climax, your body clenching around him, drawing out every drop.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours. His breathing was harsh, uneven, mingling with yours in the close air. The car smelled like sex and sweat and the faint, stubborn trace of hospital soap beneath his cologne, and your thighs were slick and trembling, and his cock was still half-hard inside you, and it was the most real you'd felt all night.

Then he laughed.

A low, disbelieving sound, his shoulders shaking against yours. You started laughing too, breathless and giddy, and you kissed him—messy, open-mouthed, tasting salt and spit and the whiskey he'd barely touched.

"Well," he said, pulling back just enough to look at you. "That was—"

"Stupid," you supplied.

"Reckless."

"A really bad idea."

His hand came up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "Worth it."

You kissed him again, slower this time, and you felt him smile against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were still straddling him, his cock still softening inside you, and the reality of it settled into your bones like warmth.

"We should probably—" you started.

"Yeah." He didn't move. "In a minute."

His hand found yours on his chest, lacing your fingers together, and the garage light caught the gray in his hair and the tired lines around his eyes and the way he was looking at you like you were the first real thing he'd seen in years.

"I'm not going to pretend this was casual," he said.

"Good," you said. "Because it wasn't."

He helped you clean up with the wet wipes he found in the glove compartment—absurd, practical, so perfectly him—and then he helped you rearrange the dress, his hands careful now, almost reverent, smoothing the silk over your hips like he was putting something precious back together. The fabric was wrinkled now, carrying the memory of his hands, and when you looked at yourself in the window reflection, you saw the flush on your chest, the bite mark on your shoulder, the way your hair had come loose from the careful updo.

You looked like someone who had been thoroughly, completely, indisputably wanted.

He watched you adjust the strap, his eyes following the small, careful movement like it mattered. You sat half-turned against him in the backseat, put back together enough to face the world again, though both of you knew exactly what had happened here. Jack’s hand rested at the back of your neck, thumb moving slowly against your skin, and in the dim garage light he looked less like the man everyone trusted in a crisis and more like someone who’d finally let himself want something he couldn’t triage.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look like you’re about to disappear into your own head.”

That almost-smile moved over his mouth, faint and tired. “You diagnosing me now?”

“I learned from a very bossy doctor.”

“He sounds unbearable.”

“He is.”

The quiet settled, full of everything waiting outside the car: the fundraiser, the rumor, the receipt, the repaired car, the shoes, the dress, every careful thing Jack had done before either of you had dared to call it care. You looked down. “I don’t know how to let someone take care of me without feeling like a burden.”

Jack didn’t answer quickly. That made it worse. Better. Finally, he said, “Needing help isn’t the same thing as being helpless.”

Your throat tightened. You hated him a little for knowing exactly where to put the words. You loved him a little for it too.

“Jack,” you said softly.

He waited.

You smiled, small and shaky. “Do I get an allowance now?”

For half a second, he stared at you. Then his eyes closed, and the laugh that left him was quiet, rough, almost unwilling. It felt like winning something no one else got to see. When he opened his eyes, they were warm.

“You get breakfast.”

“That’s it?”

“And your car.”

“Already got that.”

“And the shoes.”

“Also already got those.”

“And whatever else you need,” he said, thumb brushing once at your neck, “if you stop acting like needing it makes you less.”

Your smile faded into something softer. “That sounds an awful lot like a boyfriend.”

Jack looked at you for a long moment, tired and undone and still there. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m working up to that.”

The fundraiser was still waiting upstairs, all polished glassware and polite cruelty, the kind of room where people could turn want into rumor before the night was over. You would have to go back to PTMC after this. You would pass Jack in hallways. You would hear his voice over trauma bays, see his name on charts, feel the weight of every title that should have made this impossible.

But in the backseat, with his thumb moving slowly against your skin, Jack wasn’t looking at you like a mistake, or a risk, or something he’d have to explain away in daylight.

He was looking at you like something worth keeping.

And for what it was worth, you finally believed you were.

[pope-codys]

I LOOOOOVE

[miasvelvetvoid]

bambi series,

summary: One secret changes everything. As the Cody family’s carefully buried truths come to light, you find yourself caught between running from the people you love and fighting for them. In the end, loving Pope Cody doesn’t just change your life, it changes the entire family. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: sexual content/smut, abusive relationship (not andrew), bestie!deran trope, not timeline specific, fix it fic, some parts are dark, mentions of SA/grooming, parental abuse, smurf and baz, manipulation, j redemption arc, murder, violence, canon show themes, substance use, drinking, gun use, possessive!pope, jealous!pope, soft boy!pope, discussions of mental health, warnings are chapter dependent. total word count: 49.3k amalia’s love note: finally started a masterlist for this series lol, love yall

doe-eyed running to my tranquility (smut, angst)

After escaping your abusive boyfriend, you get pulled into the dangerous world of the Cody family and unexpectedly become the center of Pope Cody’s obsessive attention. As dark secrets unravel around you, Pope grows fiercely protective, pulling you deeper into his chaotic life until the line between safety and danger disappears completely.

take what you want (smut, fluff, angst)

After a job goes wrong, Pope disappears for four days, hiding his injuries and burying himself in silence. But when you finally confront him, you realize his biggest problem isn’t violence, it’s that he doesn’t believe he’s allowed to want or need anything. So you show him exactly how badly you want him to take what’s his.

i love the sick (angst, dark)

What starts as a simple night watching Lena turns into something far more dangerous when Baz leaves you at Smurf’s overnight. As Smurf slowly tightens her grip, quietly isolating you from the outside world, J is the only one who notices the pattern for what it really is and for the first time, he steps between you and his family. The night cracks open the fragile balance you’ve built with the Codys, exposing a darker, more volatile side of Pope Cody that leaves your relationship hanging by a thread and forces long-buried truths dangerously close to the surface.

all my morals shot (smut, dark, angst)

One secret sends you running from the Cody family, but escaping Pope Cody proves impossible. As buried truths come to light and old wounds turn into reckless choices, you’re forced to confront the feelings you’ve been trying to outrun. Meanwhile, Smurf realizes too late that you’ve become a threat, not because you’re using Pope, but because you’re the first person who truly chooses him. And no matter how hard you run, Pope always finds his way back to you.

mirror (fluff, angst)

Vignettes from your years-long friendship with Deran Cody, and the long-overdue conversation that finally puts the pieces back together.

queen of nothing (angst, dark, smut)

As the Cody boys begin seeking comfort and guidance from you instead of Smurf, her resentment grows into something far more dangerous. Meanwhile, Pope’s fear of abandonment threatens the future of your relationship just as things are finally starting to feel real. Oh, and where the hell is Baz? Because whatever he’s up to, it can’t be good.

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