Synopsis. (!) 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.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higuruma Hiromi
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, history professor!Nanami, law professor!Higuruma, college AU, you’re such a TEASE, driving them wiId, they’re overworked, they’re older, tutoring, STERN Nanami, fíngering, rings, p sIapping, p talking, chokíng, rídin’ Higuruma’s nose, oraI (m + f), pússydrunk Higuruma, manhandIing, dragging, running from it, bíting, BOTH, fuII neIsons, bIindfolds, guessing, DP, SAME TIME, spítting, DÚMBlFICATlON, cervíx smoochin’, big stretches, they’re FÉRAL, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.2k
A/N. You babygirls said you wanted more law professor!Higuruma so…I said why not have BOTH?!
He had you next hour.
Professor Nanami Kento - head of the History Department, PhD with Distinction - had you in his next class.
And he wasn’t even half as prepared as he should be: the coffee-maker in the staff room had broken down.
Goodness knows how many times the blond-haired man has haunted that very station. Slouched over, sighing, sipping on his seventh coffee of the day.
And although he could blame it all on the higher-ups and their stingy funding, or perhaps the frat boys of Delta Jujutsu Pi that’ve made it a challenge to sneak inside—he blames you. He wouldn’t even have latched onto such a respite had it not been for the way you made his blood pressure rise…in all sorts of ways.
Nanami’s eyes glaze over, and his hand absent-mindedly drifts between his legs. Perhaps if he got his pent-up energy out first…
“Kento.” A knock at his cubicle. And Nanami jolts his hand away as though it burned-
It was Professor Higuruma Hiromi.
The head of the Law Department. Also PhD with Distinction. The man with dark circles and even darker suits, all prim and poised as he waded through the hallways with his stacks of documents—of course, Nanami was one for suits, as well.
They really brought out his broad shoulders- at least, that’s what you told him.
Another reason why he needs the coffee.
Fuck.
Nanami attempts to even out his breathing as he looks up. “Hiromi.”
If Higuruma thought anything of Nanami’s startled reaction, he makes no indication. Instead he holds up a slim file in his hand, “Are you free? Could you help me with looking over this essay?”
“Of course.”
They were the only two in the staff room right now, besides- anything to take his mind off of you.
Nanami adjusts the gold-rimmed glasses on his face before he takes the file from him. Flipping it open to find a jumble of justice and law jargon that his history-inclined brain balks at—“I never thought you’d want a history professor’s opinion on an essay about…” He squints at the title, “-the scope of judicial power and judicial review. Does this have any names of 14th century shoguns that you need me to check?”
“No- no.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face, though Nanami gets the impression that it wasn’t for him. Rather it was for whatever ravaged at the man inside- making him look up at the ceiling with a hollow sigh—“Man, I need some coffee today.”
“Understandable.” Nanami pushes his glasses up.
“The machine’s broken, right?”
“Right.”
Higuruma only lets out another sigh that Nanami relates to well.
“If it helps, Dean Yaga said it’d be fixed by tomorrow.” Nanami attempts- he never was the type of sociable guy some of the other professors were. But he gets the feeling that Higuruma was the same.
He runs a hand down his face one last time- “That’s too late, I have tutoring this evening with…” And how Nanami Kento related to that, as well. Before he seems to shake himself out of it- somewhat. “It’s alright, could you just check the grammatical and citation stuff for me?”
“Of course.” As Higuruma leans against the partition and waits, the other professor skims through the writing. It wasn’t half bad, to be quite honest, and had it been for his own class then he would’ve given it an A—none too many mistakes except for the odd careless error. At least it was human-made.
After a while of silence, Nanami’s partway through the conclusion when he asks. “Did you happen to get tired of looking through so many essays?”
“No, it’s just…” The dark-haired man sighs once more- for about the twelfth time since he came in. “-this student, you know?”
Nanami nods—he did know. “Trouble student?”
“Not quite.” He almost gulps.
Nanami narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t attend?”
“No, she attends every class.”
“Then what?” He leans back in his chair, essay forgotten now. “The legacy kid? The credit-chaser? The class clown that isn’t actually funny?”
Higuruma cuts through them all with a fierce shake of his head. “No, no, and no—” Almost gulping. “It’s just that this student is a little…distracting.”
The tips of his ears were red.
Instantly, Higuruma looks like he regrets it.
“F-forget I said anything-”
He does.
But Nanami looks squarely at the other man.
“I have a student like that, too.”
The law professor looks at him in wary interest. “Oh?”
“My star student, actually.” Pushing his glasses up, he opens up one of his cabinets and pulls out a thick, paper-stuffed file. And though Nanami Kento does collect his students’ work for the semester to review, he never does keep them quite so close - none other than yours.
Higuruma looks through them with slightly widened eyes. “All hers?”
Nanami nods, “So diligent that it’s almost distracting.”
Higuruma pulls out an empty chair beside Nanami and sits. Legs spread. Dark eyes thoughtful. “Mine, too.” He starts—“Never have I had a student ask for so many hours of extra tutoring.”
“Mine’s basically set up a tent in my office.” Nanami chuckles- though he can’t deny the slight pang it sends down to his cock. “Always taking on more assignments for extra credit, always answering questions first-”
“Always first in class and last to leave?”
“Exactly.” Nanami agrees. And he leans a hand on his desk as he watches the other man go through those papers - they were some of his most prized possessions, he feared to admit. Words from your heart. Swooping slashes of ink from your hands.
It was a part of you in those papers that Nanami Kento held dear to him- fuck, it was a part of you that sometimes he’d bring up to his greedy nose and sniff. Almost as if he could feel your skin through these very parchments.
It made him so fuckin’ hard.
But Higuruma didn’t need to know that.
Though the careful manner in which he handled those papers - how he leaned in just a little to drown in the ink - made him wonder…
“Always wearing the skimpiest skirt to class?”
And the other man looks up in shock- as though conveying something in his silence. Oh.
He flips the file over to look at the name typed-out on the cover, and it reads—yours. Ultimately, he continues—“A-always sittin’ in the front row with her legs spread just a bit?”
Nanami nods. “Always leaning over the desk when she has to speak in private.”
There’s a slight hardening within Higuruma’s eyes - though not of any unpleasant kind - it’s almost as if something deep and carnal was stirring awake right now. “Always wearing the prettiest black lace underneath?”
“She wears baby pink for me.” Nanami can’t help but smile.
“Fuck.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face again- and if Nanami didn’t know any better then he would’ve sworn that the other professor looked even more weary than when he first came in here. “And her panties-”
“Matching set.” Nanami responds without missing a beat - and he knows he’s some ol’ pervert for this.
He knows he is.
But he also knows about the smile that’d spread across your face the moment you’d realized he’d seen. “Bent over too low when picking her pen up one class.”
“Fucking—fuck.” Higuruma sounds agonized.
Nanami leans back in his chair, making it bounce a little bit. With a slightly breathless sigh leaving him, and his cock hardening even more in his pants–he’s forced to manspread under the table a little more. “She’s a needy lil’ thing, isn’t she?”
“That’s putting it lightly.” Higuruma’s lips quirk up into a sensual smile - as if he was reminiscing on the memories. “Wanting to fuck her professors? Seriously?”
“Believe she’s thought of both of us at the same time?”
“Don’t even say that-” The law professor looks around, even though there was no one else here. Looking back at the man with somewhat pleading eyes, “I have tutoring with her this evening. If I can’t even fucking grade her essay without getting a hard-on then what d’you think will happen if I’m thinking of that—?”
“Oh…” Nanami hums to himself, hands lacing in front of him. The coffee-machine really was broken. “-maybe that won’t be an issue.”
Higuruma glances at him with furrowed brows, “How so?”
“What time is your tutoring with her?”
“You mean…”
The blond man shrugs coyly- “I’m not implying anything…but which one of us two do you think is her favorite?”
“And people think you’re the gentleman of us two.” Higuruma grumbles but ultimately spits out the time. It seems you’d opted for tuition classes with your law professor in the after-hours—when the offices were snug, and the department was empty. And he feels his cock perk up at the fact- how many times has he raced back home to plunge into a cold bath after your tuition classes? How many times has his shower heard your name whispered? “I’m most definitely the favorite, by the way-”
So lost in his thought, Nanami nearly doesn’t catch the sentence. He looks over at Higuruma. “Does she call you ‘sir’, too?”
“She does.”
“Well, then we’ll find out, won’t we?”
.
.
.
The two hottest professors on campus.
Higuruma Hiromi (38) with his sleek-cut suits, his polished shoes, and those sleepy eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of your soul. The depths of your body - exposed underneath him. He was a stern teacher, not afraid to make you do an assignment over and over and over again…(and you gladly would). Higuruma’s justice classes made you…wet you had to admit, hearing him bark out simulations of court cases. Orders. Commands.
You could practically hear a sigh echo out across the room every time he acted out his attorney days.
Every time he banged his gavel down made your knees weak.
It was no wonder that students in the law department tittered n’ scattered any time the ruggedly handsome professor walked past.
On the other hand was your history professor.
Nanami Kento (31) with his beefier build, his strong arms, his gentle eyes—twinkling down kindly upon you every time he corrected a mistake. Which - you have to confess - you’ve made a few more times than you really had to, just to feel his molten gaze upon you again and again. He often caused your heart (and something else entirely) to flutter at the deep musicality of his voice, managing to make even the most boring of history passages something interesting. Something that swept the class up easily.
Nanami was reputed around campus for being a complete gentleman - never looking down upon someone, never letting them walk in after him, never letting them pay him a compliment without receiving a sweet one back.
The dream husband.
The stern and the nice.
Both of them- frat guys hated them.
It hadn’t been intentional to join both their classes- honest!
But after seeing them on your first day, how could you not commit to maintaining a spotless attendance? You had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the class behaved in the same manner for much the same reason - though none took it quite as far as you.
The skirts. The extra credit. The bending.
Speaking honestly, you were a teacher’s pet. Through and through.
And the tightness in their pants whenever you left a class told you- they were the best professors. To you, that is.
Which is why you’d been a little less than happy when Professor Higuruma had told you that someone might be joining your weekly tutoring.
Invigilated tutoring?
What the hell was invigilated tutoring?!
You admit that you’d been forced to hold back a groan of disappointment. Picking such late hours had been a conscious decision—right up there with those tight pencil skirts that you knew your law professor loved but would never admit to.
Professor Nanami was more the type to like free, flirty pleats that barely reached your thigh - and you loved the way his eyes would follow them behind those glasses of his. Even though he pretended they didn’t.
And right now you were wearing a mix of both.
Tight on top, flared at the bottom
Seated opposite his desk - thighs shut, skirt pulled down as low as it would go - more concentrated than you’d ever been during one of these tutoring sessions. It’s been about half an hour since the start of today’s tuition. Higuruma’s office was a cosy space, decked out in the most expensive-looking mahogany banisters, and shelves, and a witness box in the far corner.
It gleamed at the light—down knowingly at you, almost as if waiting for you to make a move.
But how could you? If there was a potential visitor, then you didn’t want to risk Higuruma’s job- as much as you loved teasing your two hot professors, it wouldn’t do to get them fired!
So you kept your hands and your skirts to yourself.
And even Higuruma himself had his eyes raised, possibly wondering why you hadn’t leaned over his desk or lingered a touch at his shoulder for help.
But oh, how you wanted to…
The professor looks down at his watch, “He’s late.”
You’re glancing at the closed door, “Maybe the invigilator isn’t coming?”
“Oh, he will.” Higuruma crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Trust me, he won’t miss this.”
A shiver runs down your spine.
You wondered what made him so sure.
And yet, you edge closer over the desk to him anyways.
It’s about forty-five minutes into your tutoring session when the door you’ve been sneaking glimpses of this entire time- clicks! And a looming figure walks into the room, his figure nearly taking up the whole frame.
Your jaw drops as you realize—
It’s Professor Nanami.
“Ah- Kento.” Higuruma beckons him over warmly- and you’re nearly suffering from whiplash from watching the two interact. These two are close?! Professor Nanami had been completely normal during your last class, if just a little more distracted than usual - and what was this? “We’ve been waiting.”
He looks at you as he says this.
“I had to penalize a student for missing a few assignments.” Nanami says smoothly, before bringing up a chair beside you and taking his seat. His movements were fluid and precise - as if he wasn’t questioning for a single moment why you were here so late, why you were dressed like that for him, and why you were so damn close.
You’d been staring into his handsome face for so long that he clears his throat. “Continue.”
“S-sir?” You’re chirping- and in your peripheral vision, Higuruma shuffles in his chair.
“Continue.” Nanami repeats in a stern tone. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that—“Just as you are. I would like to take notes for teaching my own classes.”
“You heard what he said.” Higuruma nods- and now you’re looking his way to see the most knowing smile on his face. “Continue, angel.”
Your thighs squeeze at the pet name.
Nanami quirks a blond brow and notes something down.
And so you’re ducking back into your work—
“Your blouse button is undone.”
Slightly gasping, you’re reaching down to fix it-
“No, don’t button it.” He interrupts you with his low tone, gravelly with something you can’t pinpoint. You’re looking up at Nanami to find his gaze unwavering from you already- “I was merely noting it. Nothing to fix.”
“But-”
“You unbutton it for my class, too, don’t you?” He asks, and you’re unsure what to say-
“Answer when your teacher speaks to you.” Higuruma’s humming tone echoes—and from the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying this. He cocks his head down at you, “Or haven’t they taught you that yet?”
“Th-they have.” You’re squirming in your seat, a slight heat simmering in your stomach. You turn to Nanami, “And I do.”
“Hm.” With nothing more said- he writes something else down in his notes.
And you think you’re in the clear.
For now.
It’s barely a few sentences later on your work that Nanami speaks up again-
“Your feet are touching his.”
You pull away-
“You’ve been writing the same sentence over and over.”
Your hand pauses-
“Your thighs are parted more so than before.”
Immediately, you’re smacking them back shut again- you hadn’t even realized. And how the hell had Nanami even seen?
And you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice - so unlike everything you know of him - as he continues. “And your bra is peeking out.”
“Never seen one before?” You mutter underneath your breath, just about to fix your collar (that you’d very purposefully left open)—
Before Nanami’s voice cuts through again. “Never seen one of yours in black before, is what.” Even as you’re looking at him in slight sensual shock- he doesn’t look up from his papers. “What happened to the baby pink you show-off in my class?”
And Higuruma merely leans back and smiles. “Black is my favorite color, remember?”
“How could I forget?” The history professor answers.
“Though I myself am curious about this baby pink of yours…”
And you have nothing else to do but gape- they knew.
Oh, how they both knew by now.
And by the looks in their eyes, they’d been dying for this very moment.
To confront how you’d been toying n’ teasing them all semester through now- enough so that they’ve apparently begun trading secrets about their unruly star student. You knew that Higuruma tended to have his ears grow hot and red any time he bumped into you in the hallway, and that Nanami would loosen his tie as if undressing whenever you wore a particularly scandalous thing to class - but you hadn’t known they’d been pushed…to this extent.
And you were glad for it.
So you sigh—slouching back in your chair. “So you both know. What now then? Do I get written up or something?”
But Nanami only looks at you through his glasses. “Sit up straight.”
He’s never uttered a command like that in his entire life during your usual lectures. And when you don’t move - merely looking at the blond man with raised brows - Higuruma pipes up. “You best listen to him now, angel.”
“Oh please.” Fluttering your lashes at them both. “And what’re you gonna do about it?”
Higuruma looks at Nanami.
Nanami calmly puts his notes down on the other’s table, and looks at you.
“Why-” He pushes his glasses up his handsome nosebridge. “-teach you a lesson, of course.”
“Both of you?” You could feel the elated giggles bubbling up in your throat- and you could feel the space between your legs start to grow wetter already. Looking between both of them—“Do it then.”
And then it’s a blur - you don’t know where Higuruma’s lips end and yours begin. He’s reached over the surface of his desk to kiss you like a starved man- and he groooans into that very kiss like you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hand on your cheek.
The tips of his canines start nibblin’ on your lower lip- and you’re kissing him back even deeper. “Shit-” Higuruma’s husky tone scorches across your face, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do this for so fucking long.”
“Mmm, you kiss like husband material.” You’re giggling into the kiss. Both of your hands end up on his shoulders, and you could feel the shifting of his muscles through his slim suit.
“Shit- and you talk like trouble.” He echoes out in an almost pained tone- like every second that his lips were away from yours ached.
And those plump, pursed lips press against yours once more—so much sweeter than you would have expected this booming lawyer to kiss. He’s using the hand on your cheek to tilt down your chin- “May I?” Before the short nod you give lets him slither his tongue in wetly, lappin’ at your sweetest taste. “Shit, you’re really like sugar on my tongue.”
And you’re whining into the fervent kiss, letting it go on for a few more minutes before you’re breaking away with the most lecherous plop! And a thoroughly flushed professor chasing after your lips drunkenly-
“And what about you…” You’re kissing down Higuruma’s sharp jawline, looking at the other man who’d been sitting quietly this entire time. “-sir? Haven’t you wanted to kiss me even once this semester?”
Nanami shivers but he hides it well. Uncrossing his legs and revealing the most rock-hard, aching bulge between his legs—“Kiss? Perhaps.”
And you’re gulping at the sight.
Higuruma scoffs out a slight burst of laughter. “Perhaps.”
“But I’m a gentleman, my love.” Nanami continues, leaning back in that luxurious armchair. He takes off his coat to reveal a pale blue button-up, and beneath that was revealed the most chiselled body you’ve ever seen. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and beckons towards you. Manspread. Lap so welcoming. “Which means I’ve thought of far, far worse.”
Higuruma - with a final sloppy kiss plastered across your mouth - lets you walk over to Nanami.
Which you do on wobbly legs- plopping down unceremoniously on his lap. More than enough space there for you. He wastes no time bending you into shape in his strong arms, flipping you around to face the other man, and spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open-
Riiiiiip—!
“Whoops.” Nanami’s thoroughly unapologetic tone gruffs against the shell of your ear. Two of his vein-covered forearms were hooked underneath your elbows, and Nanami looks on boredly at the clean split down your skirt—“I always thought you’d look better without these anyway.”
Before he’s spreading your legs even further across his lap. Tearing it even more.
Exposing you for nothing but your tremblin’ legs and those drenched panties. Pretty black in color.
So lacy that it was practically nothing.
Higuruma’s eyes widen, “Dirty girl.”
Nanami breathes, “No, that’s called being a slut.” And shock runs through your body at his words- at Nanami ‘Gentleman’ Kento’s words. Before it’s suddenly overtaken by the sudden feeling of him smearin’ aside your panties and stuffin’ his fingers inside.
Those thick crowns dooooown to the golden ring on his middle finger.
They were long and thick. Swirling and swirling the tip of his digit right ‘round your clit- and when you’re shuddering and unable to take it any longer—he pulls away and licks off that excess slick with a slurp!
Humming to himself as though it was the greatest delicacy in the world. “One thing you should know about me, darling, is that just because I’m gentleman-” And you’d been so caught up in his ragged tone, you didn’t even realize that he’d snaked his hand back down between your legs. “-doesn’t mean that I’m not depraved.”
And he’s ending off the sentence not with a full stop- no, but with a sudden shove of his fingertips between your folds. So swollen n’ sweet with slick.
You buck and he lurches his hand out to slap you on top of your pussylips.
“Down, darling.”
“Please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for.
But Nanami’s mouth waters already at the sound of it, and he’s keeping it at bay by pushing n’ pulling on the first ring of muscle at your cunt. “I said down.”
Head throwing back against his collarbone. “Oh.”
Fucking you with just the first inches of his fingers- “It doesn’t mean that m’not desperate.” Continuing as though your eyes weren’t bulging, as though your legs weren’t shaking, as though you weren’t arching off of his muscular chest. “It doesn’t mean that m’not ready to debase this pussy like she deserves.”
“Y-you mean—” You’re hiccuping, eyes starting to water at the sheer raw stretch. It was the type that left your pussy burning in the most delicious way - the feeling of having Nanami Kento’s scourin’ fingertips eager to enter your cunt. “-that whole gentleman thing was just a lie?”
“It’s not.” He responds. Final. His blond strands fall over his forehead as he keeps his eyes locked on your glistening hole, scissoring his fingers at that entrance n’ spreading you even wider. “I’m nice…”
Adding in a third finger before you’re even registering his second.
“-to everyone but this slutty pussy, that is.”
“Sh-shit—” Mewling at the top of your lungs, you’re clawing down Nanami’s strong forearms. They were the perfect thing to hold onto- just about the only thing you could hold onto as he utterly ruined your pussy with short, jerking thrusts.
Bulging the sides of your velvety walls open with his globular tips.
Cold metal ring shocking you.
So thick that he manages to probe into a few of your sensitive spots without even trying. Dragging his flexible fingers across every inch of you.
Scissoring and opening up and scissoring—deep.
Tears track down your cheeks at the sheer stimulation.
“Go easy on her, Kento.” Higuruma can’t help but groan at the sight of your pretty crying face. And soon enough, you’re hearing the metallic clinking of a belt buckle- “Don’t want to break our star student, now, do we?”
Nanami purrs against your temple. “Mmm, I don’t mind.”
“Just remember that she’s tutoring with me.”
The sound of Higuruma’s belt hitting the polished wooden floorboards is enough to make your eyes startle open- and oh, how you’re so glad it did.
Because then you’re greeted with the sight before you: of Higuruma Hiromi in utter ecstasy. All because of you.
He’d taken your seat from prior, chair angled perfectly to face the show taking place in front of him.
Where Nanami had your legs spread aaaaaall the way as far as they would go - until Nanami could hear your joints threatening to pop - and facing the dark-haired man. His dark eyes glinted as they stared down at your glistening hole, swallowing Nanami’s rams easily.
Slurps n’ squelches emanating like music.
Cunt dripping everywhere over the history teacher’s tight trousers. And the larger that puddle you were forming seemed to grow, the harder Nanami’s hammerin’ pace seemed to become.
You could barely keep your eyes open long enough to see Higuruma tug down his black pants- that throbbing erection of his making an appearance. He wraps his hands around his thickened base and starts tugging, soft grunts leaving his mouth at the rapid pull-pull-pull of his cock. “Shit, she’s so fucking wet- be a little nicer with that pussy o’ hers, would you?”
“Hmmm…I don’t think she deserves it.” And with that said, Nanami plants yet another sodden spank on top of your cunt. Ring grazing your front- “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, has she?”
That stinging sensation zaps throughout your entire body and makes you buck. “I-I have—”
Before yet another thwack! of Nanami’s calloused fingertips follow.
Harder, this time.
“I was talking to this pussy, actually.”
And he doesn’t even wait for the primal sting to pass by before openin’ your cunt up and thrusting his fingers inside again. In and out.
Push after push into your gooey depths.
You’re so sensitive n’ wet by this point that even the slightest movements have you emanating out the loudest sounds. Squelches upon squelches—every time he’s hitting a spot deep inside your hole. “Mhmm…mmmhm.” You could feel Nanami’s head slightly nodding above your own, as if locked deeply in a conversation with your pussy’s sounds. Just one whine of yours and he’s spankin’ on you once more- “Wait your turn, my love. She’s talking t’me.”
And Higuruma- ah, Higuruma has the audacity to snicker at the action. “Now that’s just bullying, Kento.”
“Is it?” He’s slappin’ down on your pussylips once more. Listening for the sound, “She says it isn’t so.”
You’re sending a narrowed glare his way that makes the law professor roll his eyes fondly.
“Oh, alright alright-” And he half-heartedly waves off at his colleague. “Be a little nicer to my dear student, won’t you?”
“Spoiled brat.” Yet another spank. Nanami sinks his canines into the shell of your ear, and he’s tuggin’ and teasing—he’s spreading his legs even further and settling you down. With your back against his rippling chest, he pushes and pushes his greedy fingers inside your pussy. “And why do you think you- hah, deserve that, huh? Haven’t you been fucking torturing us all semester long now?”
Higuruma groans. “Can’t deny that, angel.” His hands fly even faster up and down his cock- ravaged and reddened with need.
“Mhmmmm.” The blond-haired man agrees, “Haven’t you been wearing those slutty skirts expecting to get fucked in them? Haven’t you- fuck, haven’t you been wearing that damn lingerie hoping we’d take a peak? Aren’t I right?”
He waits for your pussy to answer first- and then you’re answering. “I-I mean-” Attempting to.
“Haven’t you been bendin’ over and shit just because you wanted to show up in our wildest dreams? To consume our thoughts and make our cocks twitch?”
“Well-”
“And we did.” Higuruma pipes up next. He was so needy that he was practically bucking off of his chair, making it creak with movement. Short, jerky thrusts.
“Oh, yes we did.” Nanami continues. He leans down to your ear, as if exposing a secret- “I’d look forward to our classes everyday, my love. I’d have to fuck my fist raw before class- just so I wouldn’t fuck you senseless in front of everyone like how you were begging me to.”
Higuruma moans as he thumbs down the line of his flared tip - that pinkish, slippery line. He twitches as though he’s near to cumming already. “Me- me, too…”
“And you still expect me to be a gentleman?”
You’re restless, opening your mouth to defend yourself and—
Nanami only leans down and spits a glittery wad of spit between your pursed lips. “Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking, darling.”
And your ears pop with pressure-
He’s hittin’ the plushness of his palm against your pussy with a loud smack! Smearing the curves n’ divots of his fingers dooooooown and up your walls, down and up.
His crown fingertips reach for your deepest innards- and you swear you can feel him stroking your very cervix. Runnin’ his frigid ring across your walls.
Drawing a few lines and marking his placement right back there, before he tunnels his digits at a frenzied pace - fingers almost nothing but a pale blur between your legs. His speed is so feverish that it leaves your sheen tricklin’ all down your thighs.
Trickling and trickling and—
And then you feel Nanami hook his fingers against your g-spot.
The pleasure shoots up your body like a lightning strike, “O-oh my god—right there, Kento.”
“Kento? Who’s Kento?” Nanami doesn’t even falter his fingering to answer, cooing in that tone that you’d almost mistake for something sweet. “I think you meant sir-”
“S—fuck.”
“Say it.” He huffs against the side of your face. Teeth almost out for blood- “Say it. Call me ‘sir’ or you don’t get to cum.”
“I—”
“Say it.” Higuruma, to your surprise, echoes from his seat. Where he had his gaze burning into your spread-open pussy n’ his mouth drooling at the vision of you—“Say it, angel. I need to see that pretty pussy cum.” Hands rubbing faster and faster-
“She deserves to cum, mhm.” Nanami nods. “But do you, huh?”
“I-I do.” You’re nodding up at your desperate professors. One just barely in your line of vision- but his fingers were working up such a storm. His slightly-tanned arms pinning you down, working your pussy open, hitting that target of your g-spot like a cute button. Again and again—
Blond hair ruffled. Glasses slipping down his sweaty nosebridge.
And then the other one that was just creamin’ his precum down his hands. With his hands on his swollen erection - one of them creating a tunnel for him to fuck his fist, the other flattening over his dribblin’ divot to stop from cumming already.
Sleepy eyes half-lidded. His pale thighs shivering as they bucked n’ rutted.
And the vision itself is enough to make you cum- but then again it just felt so good on Nanami’s hands, and underneath Higuruma’s gaze. So you can’t help but let your lips wobble open—“P-please let me cum-” Stars bursting behind your vision once Nanami presses down on your clit as well. “-sirs.”
The two older men look at each other.
“Sirs?” Higuruma asks, voice breathless with ecstasy.
“She just begged for both of us.” Nanami grumbles out - though not quite unhappily. It made his cock twitch deep in his pants to have you whimperin’ like this, and he continues. “Alright then, you slutty pussy.”
And it takes only a few more strokes - a few more direct thrashes along your g-spot - for you to hurtle straight into your high.
It’s so strong that you’re seeing white behind your eyelids—and your mouth blabbers out an unintelligible combination of both professors’ names. Toes curling. Sweat beading down your temple.
Nanami holds you down as you’re thrown through wave upon wave of your orgasm, your hips bucking up and down desperately. Riding throughout your bliss- and if that wasn’t already enough, he counts underneath his breath to measure how long it takes between your peaks of euphoria. Before hittin’ away at your g-spot just in time with each one.
The sensations that take you over are just incredible.
And your head falls back limply against Nanami’s shoulder.
Shivering. Almost as if you were in heat- and your pretty pussy gushes out honeyed slick as though to give credit to that statement.
Lavishing Nanami’s open thighs with all your sap—Higuruma eyes the mess and gulps. “Kento, give me a taste of that.”
Nanami scoffs. “In due time.”
“Kento, I need her pussy on my face now.”
Slowly but surely, you’re fluttering your eyes open at the feeling of being shuffled around - only seeing the beautiful, brown eyes of Higuruma Hiromi staring down at you. When did he get so close?
“Hiromi?” You’re blubbering out stupidly, still suffering from the aftershocks of your previous high. Those zapping bursts of electricity made your thighs twitch sensitively- “I mean- sir?”
Higuruma shivers, “You trained her well, Kento.”
“Mhmmm—” Nanami noses down the column of your throat proudly.
“Maybe now it’s time for a reward then, huh?”
You’re perking up. “Yes, please.”
Nanami snickers. “You spoil her.”
And in almost no time, you’re finding yourself handed off to the law professor - Nanami stands up and gets off of the armchair. While Higuruma takes his place-
At least, that’s what you think is going to happen.
But what ends up happening instead is that Higuruma seats you down on the chair, letting your barely-clothed pussy rub up against the cushion. Something in his eyes gleams at the way you’re squirming, and he speaks to you in a gentle tone. “Can you turn around and hold the headrest f’me, angel? Be a good girl f’me?”
“A-alright?” Confused, you’re just doing what he says. He meant that you had to turn and climb your knees onto the seat, ass turned towards the professors, back slightly arched.
“Mmm, good.” Higuruma admires the view. “Arch that back just a little more f’me now, alright?”
“Like this?”
And still not sure what he was about to do, you can only follow his commands. It almost feels like a doggy position- and you hold onto the wooden headrest for dear life.
“Mhmmm.”
And Nanami’s the first to mutter to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re…” He takes in the sight of you - with your front resting against the backrest of the chair. You have your spine bent, your ass cheeks displayed for them, your cunt not quite on the seat—“Hiromi, you dirty dog.”
“Couldn’t help myself.” Steadily, Higuruma’s kneeling on the floor.
There’s no warning before he then shoves his face nose-deep into your cunt- straight from behind.
Higuruma grabs onto either side of your ass cheeks, his prominent nose curvin’ up the slit of your pussy. He’s using his grip on you to draaaag you further down onto his face—“Mhmmm—spread those legs.”
He’s muttering.
He’s spitting- stern lips pursing and letting out a rivulet of saliva.
It strikes vertically down your cunt before Higuruma’s running his fat tongue over it. Smearing around the mess he’s made- but most importantly, smearing around the mess that you’ve made.
You’re whining as Higuruma’s textured tastebuds seem to take over your pussy. All the way from the plumpness of your folds, and then dipping between them to tease your hole- you’re still so sensitive from the massage that Nanami’s fingers had simmered into you. And you’re trembling your thighs further open, “P-please- fuck-”
“I’m a lawyer so I’m really good with my tongue, y’know?” Higuruma pants out, scorching hot against your needy pussy. “But that means my fees are high, too-”
“A-and what are your fees?” You’re sobbing out.
“Mmmm…” He takes the time to think—and by that, you mean that he rovers his mouth over where your clit was throb-throb-throbbing. The law professor takes his sweet time spreadin’ open your pussylips with his tongue, before letting his tongue flop out n’ draaaaaag down your clit-
And his next words are so lecherously muffled. “Ride my nose raw, sugar.”
You gasp.
In the background, you can hear a gruff bout of laughter that notably doesn’t belong to Higuruma.
You grip onto the headrest of the chair harder than ever- because in a split-second, Higuruma’s thumbin’ your folds open and stuffing your hole all full of his tongue.
So loooong and slick- curving right against the roof of your pussy. It makes you jolt to feel his honed, flexible tip zig-zagging its way down your channel—mazing and mazing inside that it’s as though his wet muscle was never-ending.
Higuruma Hiromi was damn ravenous.
He feels your knees start to slip away from him- and he claws his fingers deep into the globes of your ass cheeks to pull you back. Uncaring if you’re whining for mercy- “A-aren’t you supposed to be the nice one, sir?”
“Spoiled.” Nanami’s voice echoes from the distance.
“Mmm- keep calling me that, yeah?” Groans wrenching from the back of his throat at the mere sound of that title being said in your pretty voice. How nice it was to make you beg. “And no—”
“No?”
“I am being nice by letting you ride my nose, aren’t I?” His head jerks just a little upwards to look at you- and Higuruma can just barely make out the shock on your face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to ride it-”
“Hiromi-”
“Ever since ya fuckin’ met me, huh?” His rough tone vibrates through every vessel of your body- pushed even further by the constant swabbin’ he was doing inside. Swab after swab. “Ever since ya first saw me- don’t think I didn’t see how you stared at me.”
You’re clawing further up the headrest. “B-but how did you know-”
“Oh, angel…” Higuruma almost chuckles. Something dark and depraved- “If I was wrong then you wouldn’t be so fucking wet- I can barely breathe.”
Both of his roughened palms plaster around your thighs. Draaaagging you bodily - as though you were nothing against him - to glue your pussylips to his own lips.
He makes out with your pussy like a man parched.
“And I don’t need to.”
Your vision blurs with pleasure as Higuruma spreads your folds perfectly apart- and starts rammin’ his tongue into you wildly. Thick and thirsty for the taste of your sweet, sweet juices—any time that even a mere droplet of your sap starts to drip down your thighs- you can best believe that Higuruma was whipping his head down to slurp it up. “Harder.”
“I-I am-”
“Faster.”
“Fuck-”
“Raw, I said raw.”
Practically addicted to it.
He’s pussydrunk in with just a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. And you yourself can feel your pupils start to circle inside the whites of your eyes.
Spreading yourself even further on the chair to meet his utterly ravenous mouth-
“Didn’t forget about me now, did you?”
Nanami Kento sounds the closest he’s been since he had you on his fingers- which could feel like minutes, hours, days ago by now. It takes you significant effort to blink away the clingy film of tears on your eyes, and you’re opening them to find that he was actually…standing right in front of you.
Nanami had rounded the side of the armchair - and if you looked up, there his handsome face was. So now you have your law professor at your behind, and your history professor’s crotch in front of your face. His pants much too tight.
His cock thick and throbbing underneath there.
Clasping onto the headrest of the chair, if you raised your head juuuuust a little then you’d be able to mouth over the twitching erection he hid underneath there. “K-Kento?”
Nanami looks down at you through his gold-rimmed glasses. Grinning at your teary expression, “Only a few minutes with your nice teacher n’ you’ve already forgotten your manners, my love?” His hand falls to his formal pants, “Guess we have to go back to lesson one.”
“O-oh…”
Nanami had already unbuckled his belt and lets it drop to the floor—clink! Followed right along with the popping of his buttons, it doesn’t take too long before you’re face-to-face with his rock-hard bulge. Achingly hard. Almost painfully hard.
Barely held together by his boxers, he seeps out such volumes of precum that it creates a dark patch on the silken fabric. It glistens just a bit under the dim lighting of the office- something that makes you gulp.
And something that makes Higuruma nudge his tongue even deeper inside of you- shit, you could feel yourself growing more aroused. And he could taste it.
“Did you know she gets sweeter n’ sweeter the wetter she gets?” Higuruma slurs from in-between your legs, latching onto your clit with a loud squelch! “And you won’t believe it…but right now she tastes like the tastiest strawberry candy- heh.”
“Is that so?” Nanami’s nose crinkles as he looks down at you. He’s admiring that drunken expression on your face for a little bit, before reaching his right hand down and clasping at the back of your head. “Filthy girl.”
You shiver. “C-can’t help it-”
“Ah ah—not another word out of you.” The blond-haired man continues. His grip tightens- “I expect you not to speak when your professor is speaking-”
Cocking his head just a little, Nanami takes a glance at the famished way that Higuruma was kissin’ between your legs. Gasping. Gulping.
He had his mouth gaped wide open and was dragging it across every inch of your pussy that he could reach- sticking that long tongue of his between your pussylips. You’re almost sandwiching his tastebuds for a bit before he manages to flicker his tastebuds inside again—then in and out, in and out, in and out.
Faster than before.
Reeling back out to slap! your pussy with the flat surface of his tongue.
Then probin’ back in again.
Higuruma’s just being so loud-
“-and when this pussy is speaking.” The rest of the history professor’s sentence makes you gasp - brain so muddled that you’d almost forgotten what he was saying. Almost forgotten that he has a firm grip on your sweaty scalp—one that he’d now turned into two hands upon your sweaty scalp.
Tugging your head forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll to smush your face against his boiling hot erection.
Your jaw falls open and soon enough, you’re salivating all over his clothed cock.
Tongue lavishing across the cotton of his boxers- feeling every ridge n’ vein along his shaft.
He groans at the feeling of your heated mouth, and his fingers dig into your scalp even deeper. Tugging. Needing. One set of your fingers reach upwards to fumble its hem, and you take Nanami’s round, reddened tip into his mouth.
Moaning at the large size of him.
Moaning at the salty taste that floods your mouth-
“Hey now…” Higuruma’s choked-up tone echoes from behind. You’re feeling his tender fingers start to pull your hips back onto his face, “-don’t steal my star student away.”
“Have you forgotten that she’s my star student, too?”
“Her pussy’s on my mouth right now- so who’s in charge?”
“Well, let’s ask how she feels about it…” Nanami’s voice trails off—and only too late are you realizing that he isn’t talking about your pussy this time. He’s talking about you- waiting for your answer.
And you’re attempting to muffle out something, letting the globular edge of his cock swirl around your mouth a few times. Around and around. Just the crown of his mushroom tip prods into your every orifice inside- you’re opening your mouth to answer when Nanami jerks his hips forwards.
Fucking his cock deeeeep into your maw.
And with it, whatever words were in your throat, too.
“I dunno about that-” Nanami hums down at the chokes n’ strangled gasps you’re letting out, just the barest noises of whatever was able to filter past his swollen shaft. “-but it sounded like a ‘you, sir’ to me.”
“Didn’t know you were that depraved.” Higuruma spits out. Dark eyes narrowed as he’s grinding you back to him n’ lapping away at your oversensitive pussylips.
“I’m a gentleman, what can I say?” The other professor responds.
As the slurps n’ sucking continues, Nanami looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He admires the way your mouth leaves a glittering glaze of spit from the tip of his cock and doooown to about halfway down his shaft—so cute how you couldn’t fit it all. “And as Head of your pussy-” Fuck, when did he even assign himself that? Is he pussydrunk already? “-I say you can’t cum until you’re fitting my cock aaaaaall the way…”
The history professor’s left hand lifts off of your scalp. Then dragging down the front of your throat - down, down, down.
“-here.”
He points to a spot way past the back of your throat.
He fucks your mouth like he’s agonized every second he isn’t reaching for it.
Higuruma growls.
And thereafter it’s almost like a tug-of-war - on one end you’re being hauled forwards by Nanami’s grip on the back of your head. His hands strong and unwavering, no matter much you’re gasping for air- fuck, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami Kento was gone for the feeling of your mouth tightening around his hot cock.
Rutting those toned hips up into your velvety cavern like an animal-
“Just a little more.” That left hand of his wraps around your throat now, his thumb markin’ at the spots where he can feel his rounded tip probing inside. “Just a liiiiittle more now- about four inches? Heh.”
“Mmm—” Your eyes go wide in surprise.
And Nanami responds by pushing his hips even further, nearing the tip of your nose to those curls of blond at his base. “C’mon, c’mon.”
And on the other end, Higuruma had his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. Into the flesh of your ass. His tongue fishing around your insides before he pulls out and starts nibblin’ on your damn clit—
He’s thirsty. Depraved.
“Noooo, angel.” He’s gluing his chin to the front of your pussylips. Head moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as the law professor lashes his tongue across. “Come back to me-”
“Mmm—” You’re being pulled off of Nanami Kento’s reddened, dribblin’ cock with a plop! Just from the sheer pressure of Higuruma manhandling your body from the other side - dragging you all down his handsome face. “Fuh-fuck-!”
“Where’d you think you’re going?” Only for Nanami to barely let you breathe for a split-second before he’s pulling your mouth down his shaft again.
Shovelling a gooooood few inches of his vein-covered cock inside- he marks that spot out on your throat. Even deeper than the last time you had him- “Mmm, not bad. Just a few inches- mmm, more.”
“Ride my nose.” Higuruma begs from the other end. Breath breezing down your gooey core, it makes your thighs shiver- “Ride my nose, I don’t care. Ride my nose, ride my nose—”
And you’re just so overstimulated from all ends.
From the draaagging of Nanami’s thumb down the front of your neck, from the sensual touch of Higuruma’s nose being sandwiched between your pussylips, from the pleasure of them both playing with your body. It’s as if you’re their favorite toy to taste, to fuck - to worship because of the way they were being driven to absolute madness by those carnal sensations.
You can only jolt your body back and forth.
Down Nanami’s cock. Up Higuruma’s ready face.
Riding his nose just like you wanted- “S-so—” Somehow barely managing to gurgle out past the pulsating tip of his cock, “So close-”
“Close?” Higuruma perks up. “Fuh-fuck- I have you, angel.”
“Remember- no cumming until you take it here.” Nanami presses his thumb somewhere near where your voicebox was bulging with the intrusion of his inches. “You’re not there yet, darling…”
“But-”
“Please let her cum.” But to your surprise, it’s your law professor who is pleading your face.
Nanami raises a blond brow, “Oh?”
“Let her-” He slurps away on your swollen nub- sensitive and throbbing. He’s hollowing his cheeks out to get that suctioning sensation, already making your knees feel weak with pleasure. “Need her to- fuck, want her to cum on my tongue. Let her cum already.”
Nanami thrusts even deeper, “Hmm…I dunno.”
“I’m the one asking you.” Higuruma grumbles. “Let her cum-”
“Mmmpf- please.” And your brows furrow as the pit of bliss in your stomach grows stronger.
“Let her-” The law professor continues, “I’m begging you- fuck, she’s becoming so sweet. Let her cum-”
Pale brows furrowing. Sweat lines down his temple- “I don’t…just fit-” And he’s scrapin’ his bulbous tip down the roof of your cunt—all the way along to the back of your throat and targeting even further. “If she takes it until-”
Higuruma’s nose helping your grinds and bounces. “Just let her cum-”
“If she takes it-”
“Fucking let her-”
“G-gonna—” It’s the last thing you’re managing to get out before a sudden slam! of Nanami’s hips shut you up- and before you know it, you’re feeling the carnal scratch of his pubic hair. The feeling of his tawny curls at your skin, the intrusion of his throbbing shaft all the way down your throat.
And his thumb tapping where he’d marked a treasure spot - a spot he was supposed to meet. Nanami doesn’t have to say a single thing for Higuruma to bite his sharp canines down on your clit.
And before you know it, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night.
Not just your second, but your third, perhaps even your fourth.
Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your moans are nothing but soft crackles at the back of your throat. Higuruma draaaaags you all throughout those waves of bliss, elongating them with the thorough lavishing of his tongue.
Probin’ into every sweet spot.
Inside and out.
He digs his fingers into your thighs, now accomplishing his dream of having you ride his nose. Because you’re being made to arch your back n’ bounce your hips lecherously up and across.
Hittin’ those best angles- the peaks of your high absolutely burst through you.
And Nanami? Your history professor was enjoying the view - cocking his head to the side and smiling as you shatter on Higuruma’s face. He watches about half your orgasm bate, before starting to fuck his swollen cock back in and out of you. Thrusting.
“Now now—” Nanami murmurs. “You should be thankful my rubric’s so generous this time.”
You can only look up at him with your teary eyes.
That sight is enough for him to bite down on his lower lip n’ stop himself from cumming. No, he had something more important in his mind…
“Thirty seconds to finish up.” He says meanly. “Before I either drag your pussy off of his face or you have to drag yourself off, m’kay?”
“Tch- stingy.” Higuruma keeps lappin’ at you even after your high has passed.
And once that thirty seconds of more bliss have passed - just like Nanami said - he grips both hands ‘round the back of your scalp and wrenches you off of his cock. Off of Higuruma’s mouth. He’s bending down to spit straight between your lips—
“Now, I’m gonna be nice this one time because you took all of me. Understood?” The history professor states, so firm. “Nod if you understand, my love.”
You nod.
“Good.” He then kisses your lips- tasting you, tasting himself. “Now…do you want it from the back or face-to-face? Because m’fucking you filthy either way.”
“From- from the back.” You pant out.
And Nanami gives a single, stern nod before he lets you go. “Brace yourself.”
You’re collapsing back into the chair—sitting your ass down on it this time. Before the law professor suddenly has you in his arms - he supports you in getting off of the armchair and standing up. Now in the middle of his office, you’re stumbling onto your wobbly feet.
Your arms loop around Higuruma’s neck. “Hiromi…”
“Mmm, I love it when you call me that.” Higuruma kisses you.
“How unruly.” Both of you snap your heads at the sound of buttons popping- only to find that Nanami was taking off his button-up. And you were right- fuck, you were so right. He was so thoroughly chiselled underneath, almost Herculean in nature.
With the most naturally defined ridges n’ curves of his muscles—his firm pectorals, his washboard abs, his meaty thighs that make an appearance.
Nanami sheds of all his clothes before he stares down the two of you- “Addressing your professor by name? Clearly going against objectives to get ready? Making me jealous? What an undisciplined class, no need to be standing around.” He looks at you, “I’ll be fucking you until you can’t stand, anyway.”
A shiver runs down your spine—“Oh.”
“Now, darling.”
Higuruma lets you waddle away to Nanami- who merely swivels you around and bends you over the edge of his colleague’s desk. Papers and ink flying everywhere across the office as he does.
Folding you forwards until your head hits the table. Kneeing your legs apart.
It’s hitting you like a truck - your history professor is about to fuck you against your law professor’s desk.
“Stay still.” He gravels in your ear.
Nanami’s barely letting you take a breath before rubbin’ his bulbous tip down your dripping wet slit from behind. Hand gripping his thick hilt—up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Getting his inches coated in a glaze of your sap, Nanami hums at the feeling of you attempting to contract around him.
“This naughty girl’s reeeeal needy for me, huh?” Scorching breath heating up your skin, he kisses down your arched spine. “She says she can take all of me- can you?”
“Y-yes—” You’re sobbing into the polished mahogany. Bucking your hips up, “I want it, sir.”
You’re jolting as his puckered, pinkish tip smooches at your wet entrance- he’s just so thick that he can plug your hole up easily. Nanami’s tip throbs against your hole, and he reaches a right hand down to feel your pretty stomach - to feel where he’s going to be hittin’ with his hungry cock.
He breathes out airily—“You want it?”
“Yes-”
“Say please.”
“Please-”
“Hmmm?”
“Please, sir.”
Nanami lurches his hips back, back, backwards- “As you wish then, teacher’s pet.”
And then you’re being stuffed with an inch or two of him.
And by stuffed—you were seriously stuffed.
Thick and thorough. Almost too big to even fit in - Nanami fills out the orifice of your cunt without even trying. His ruby-red tip just manages to squeeze between your pussylips, before the first ring of muscle at your entrance makes him falter.
And he’s gritting his teeth at the sheer tightness, voice coming out as nothing but a hiss. “Fuck- didn’t you say that you can take it?” He’s pressing his left hand down at the base of your spine, leaning his weight in to keep you still. “Come back, my love- class isn’t over yet.”
You hadn’t even realized you’d been clawing at the desk until now. “S-sir—”
Just that is enough to make Nanami’s ravaged tip twitch inside of you- spurting out a few more dollops of pre. “Yes, darling?”
“I d-don’t—” Fuck- you swear you could feel him grow even harder inside of you at the sight of your teary expression. Staring at your history professor over your shoulder, “I don’t know if it even can fit.”
“Awww, my poor baby.” And you should know better than to let Nanami Kento hush your cries, you should know better than to let him lull you.
But you can’t help but get pulled into his big, strong arms anyway.
“My poor, poor baby.” And from one corner of the room, you could hear Higuruma’s distant laugh. Although you don’t have the time to wonder what it means, because Nanami’s continuing- “None of those boys ever taught you how to take a real cock, hm?”
And you can only nod.
“None of those boys have ever fucked you right, hm?”
Nodding once more.
“Don’t you worry, darling. If you can’t take this one…”
He presses a chaste peck against your hairline. Letting his soft breath waft over the crown of your head, and his chest ripple with his words, soft.
“-m’gonna make it fit.”
And that’s the last thing you’re hearing before Nanami’s rammin’ his swollen, aching cock into you like an animal- his furious cockhead burrowing in deep.
He manages to shovel just a few more inches inside, before the snugness of your channel acts up once more. Leaving him barely even able to reel his hips backwards—just that much of a tight fit that’s making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.
He shakes.
His groan cracks at the back of his throat. “O-oh.” Both of Nanami’s hands fly to the sides of your hips, and his fingers fucking shake where he holds you. “Oh, yeah.”
“Shit-” You’re flinching at the scalding sensation of his breath. Gusting.
And even that mere shiver- Nanami catches onto it. And it’s only making him clasp your body even tighter, pulling you into him—“You’re really not getting away until we make it fit, my love. Good luck.”
No matter how much his ravenous hips are rutting n’ bucking and trying oh-so-desperately to hammer even more of his inches inside- he can only fuck you in short, needy half-thrusts. The rest of him left to throb wildly behind you, he keeps on stretching and stretching your insides just to fit inside.
Each one of his bucks so desperate. So greedy.
The pointed tip of Nanami’s cockhead prods away at your innards as though he’s trying to claim every single ounce of space inside you-
“Have you forgotten that this is a joint class, Kento?”
Higuruma’s voice is enough to send pulses of adrenaline flowing through your body - and you’re just managing to look around Nanami’s toned frame. The law professor stands behind the two of you with his arms crossed, clothes mostly on except for his trousers being tugged down.
He held his blushin’ cock in one hand, pumping furiously at the sight of his star student.
Nanami himself sighs—though he doesn’t stop his sloppy scouring of your innards for a single second. He looks straight at the other man as he asks- “Oh yes…would you like her now or after me, Hiromi?”
“Now.” Higuruma narrows his heady eyes at the two of you. And the blond-haired man slightly growls at his answer, seemingly grappling with the thought of leaving your pretty pussy right about now- “But don’t pull out.”
You feel like you’re experiencing whiplash. “What?”
Nanami only raises a sharp brow.
And Higuruma himself can’t help but crack a sleazy smirk-
Before you know it, he’s rounding the two of you. Coat off. White button-up flapping open.
He tugs on the smooth, black tie that was hanging haphazardly from his neck- and gestures something indiscernible at the other man.
Though, clearly both professors understood.
Because one second you’re slouched on top of Higuruma’s desk, droolin’ stupidly over some important documents as Nanami Kento pounds you into oblivion - and in the next second, he’s lifting you off of it.
Cleanly off the desk.
One hand wrapped around your waist, the other putting you in a headlock.
He pulls you up as though you’re nothing- and you’re ogling the way his biceps bulge around your throat. Feeling the cushy firmness of his strength—“W-what are you-”
“D’you know what a standing full nelson is?” Higuruma asks. And for a second you think he’s asking you - maybe this was some strange sort of quiz - but then Nanami nods.
“Thought that only happens in fiction? Don’t tell me you’re a secret freak, Hiromi?” He scoffs, though he pulls out either way.
“And look who’s talking…” Then Higuruma looks at you and taps his shoulders. “Hold on, angel, he’s going to lift you.”
“Shit…”
As expected, you’re holding onto Higuruma’s broad shoulders for leverage- whilst Nanami bends and loops his hands around your legs. His strong forearms where your knees were.
Scooping you up into his arms.
Holding them up.
Holding you up.
Hoverin’ well over six feet in the air.
Yelping, you’re digging your nails into the law professor’s shoulders - but if it hurt, then he doesn’t’ react to the pain. Honestly, you don’t even think he could feel it right now—because Higuruma was holding out his tie.
Measuring it against your face-
Tying it around your face like a blindfold.
He knots it at the back of your head, and suddenly the room is curtained in nothing but pure black. You could only hear the gruffness of both men’s chuckles, and Higuruma asking. “Everything alright, angel?”
“Of course, it is.” Nanami mutters- almost to himself. Though he does stretch your legs a little wider, presumably to show to the other man—“Look how fucking drenched she is.”
“Good girl.”
“Naughty, you mean.”
“I must beg to differ.”
And you’re arching against Nanami’s toned front, the plushness of his abs digging against your back. It was the most sensual massage you’ve felt in your entire life- “Please- ngh, what’s with the blindfold?”
“Oh, that…” Higuruma starts. “Guess.”
“What?”
“Guess.”
Brains wracking- “You aren’t going to leave me hanging, are you?”
“No.”
“Is this a roleplay?”
“No.”
“A kink thing?”
“Well…”
“A BDSM thing?”
“Guess.”
You’re feeling helplessness wash over you—“B-but, I already did-”
“No, my love.” Nanami’s the one to speak up this time. He leans down so that he’s pressing an innocent kiss to the edge of your hairline, “We’re going to make this slutty pussy guess which one of us she’s being fucked by.”
Your jaw drops.
And your cunt grows even wetter.
An occasion that the two professors are watching with awe-
Higuruma in particular finds himself breathing out—“And your time starts…now.”
And then you’re hearing the shuffling of his trousers- right before a sudden proddin’ intrusion starts up at your entrance. It was hot and throbbing—so needy that your teeth are set on edge by the sheer volume of precum that he was emptying out.
You’re feeling his thick tip start to eeeease in- squeezing in past the tightness of your channel for a bit before pulling back and fucking you ruthlessly in semi-thrusts.
“H-Hiromi?” You guess. Surely, with him being the one that was removing his trousers it must be…
“Wrong.” Nanami grins.
And then you’re feeling his cock give you a few vicious pumps before he’s pulling away - leaving you all empty and yearning for more. Your glistening hole clenches a few times around nothing, before a sudden globular tip starts kissin’ your entrance once more.
You’re bucking back in Nanami’s arms in an attempt to figure out just who it might be- but the history professor holds onto you firmly. Not a single inch.
Not a single inch less.
Whoever was fucking you takes no more time before swabbin’ his swollen erection inside once more- biting back a groooan at the feeling of your tightening walls.
It’s the same short, jerky thrusts from before just to fit in.
“Sir?” You’re gasping out. But surely, it can’t be twice in a row…“No wait- is it Hiromi this time?”
The cadence of his hips stops abruptly. “Can’t get enough of the law, can you?”
Nanami.
And you don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’re just feeling your brain melt at the sheer stimulation between your legs, you don’t know whether it’s the fact that both handsome men had you sandwiched between their muscular bodies—it was just driving you wild. Making you stupid.
A line of drool slicks down the side of your mouth, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate before leaning in and lickin’ it off. “I should punish you for this.”
“I-I—oh, fuck.” Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue get swallowed up by the feeling of yet another round, ruddied cockhead pushing inwards. Pulsing. Prying apart your walls. And you’re noticing that this one is slightly slimmer than the last, more pointed, more honed, more of its curvaceous tip that tilts to the left.
It makes you shiver at the feeling of his bawling divot dragging across your walls so perfectly. “Is this- sir-”
“Try again, angel.”
It was a struggle to piece your thoughts together, and Higuruma’s voice is the only thing that makes you realize-
“Hiromi.”
“Mhmmm—” Before you know it, the other man has one hand dipping between your jittery legs. His fingers easily locate your clit to tug n’ pry like the cutest gummy - how sweet. And he’s timing it to the constant probes of his looooong, smooth cock. “Good girl. A++ for that.”
“You’re quite the generous grader.” Nanami scoffs. “I would have given that a B.”
“What can I say? I do have a soft spot for her…” Higuruma’s cock was slightly lengthier than Nanami’s, you’re noticing - though not quite as thick. And with less veins that didn’t massage your inner orifices as much, but made it soooo much easier for him to slip even deeper.
Especially with this position, he manages to probe his cockhead further past where Nanami’s thicker one was able to fit.
Reaching almost for your throat with his blushing, frenzied tip- Higuruma gives a final roll over your clit before he’s pulling out. Letting a few ribbons of sap gush down your legs after him-
Ones that are being fucked right back up with a second length.
Thicker. Harder.
Throbbing so much that you swear you can count them all the way at the top of your head- Nanami’s shaft was next. And he’s lavishing your entrance with so much attention—draaaaagging his vein-decorated shaft in and out. In and out. In and out.
“S-so?” He rasps out from behind. Higuruma’s cockhead had mazed open your insides just a bit more, and Nanami struggles not to let his voice tremble. “Which one of us, darling?”
“Y-you—”
That earns you a bite on the shell of your ear. “No.”
Before he’s pulling back out.
And your breath catches- “Wait- I meant sir. It’s you, sir—”
“Too late for that now.”
“Awww, come now.” Higuruma coos as well. “How are we supposed to make an example out of our star student if she just keeps makin’ mistakes?”
“I think she’s gettin’ lazy now, huh?” The other man responds. And now both of their ruddied cockheads were droolin’ all over your entrance- mixing with the sweetened syrup that was already dripping out of you and creating such a mess. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve our cocks at all?”
“Don’t say that—” You could feel your law professor’s eyes turn to you. “You deserve it- hah, don’t you, angel?”
Shivering at the feeling of both cocks sandwiching between your pussylips. Now that they’d both pulled out- it’s as if they were fighting over who can be next. Rubbin’ and teasing. “I do—” Your voice cracks on that last note, “P-please, I do-”
“I’m still not convinced.”
Higuruma continues, “Promise us you’ll be a good girl? That you’ll listen to what your professors have to say?”
“I will I will-”
“Promise us that no more of that teasin’ stuff in class?” His prominent nose slides down the column of your throat, breathing in your essence. “None of that bending over?”
“Yes—” But you could already hear the question in your throat - and it seems that they could, too.
And it makes Nanami gruffs out. “Because - forgive us - but you do realize that it’s not just us seeing your little…display, darling?” He spreads open your legs even wider, and Higuruma’s ministrations grow even more frenzied on your clit. Squeezing. Pinching. Flicking.
And you’re restless- “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I mean to say that there are others more…undeserving that see those legs of yours, those panties, those tits.” There’s a sharp edge to his words—“Those boys in class can’t take their eyes off of you.”
“We can’t either, of course.” Higuruma responds. Squeezing his cock inside- “But at least that little performance of yours is meant for us, right?”
“Don’t like the way they look at you.” Nanami’s also squeezing his cock inside now - both of them bullying your hole at once. Creating a stretch that makes your vision go white- so much carnal stimulation that your entire body wracks with shakes. “Don’t like the way they turn to look. Don’t like the way they have to mysteriously…disappear into the bathrooms any time you do your little show.”
“Given…we do the same.” The law professor continues—“Because fuck- how fuckin’ pretty you look all dressed up in silk. Makes it hard not to cream my pants everytime I see you- but none of those boys have the balls to back that admiration up.”
Giving you a thorough slam—both of them.
Higuruma’s the one to continue, “But we do.”
“Because I rub my cock raw to you, my love.” Nanami ends off, holding you close to him. “N’ none of those boys could ever fuck you like we do.”
“Yes, p-please—” And you’re pushed between both of their sculptured fronts. Unable to see them- but you could feel the ridges and curves of their muscles, the way they were both leaning in as though they couldn’t get enough of you. “I only want…ngh.”
One of your arms wrap around Higuruma’s neck, and the other reaches behind you to attempt to clasp onto Nanami’s.
“Just want the two of you…”
“Hmmm…” Nanami’s cock twitches at your gooey entrance- “A+”
And then they’re alternating between fucking you—
“Hiromi.” You’re gasping at the intrusion of his smoothened tip, the velvety texture of him reaching for so many spots inside you but most importantly- that g-spot.
And then he’s pulling back out.
“Sir- fuck, Professor Kento.” Nanami swabs his thickened tip inside and hits that precise spot. Although he decides to take it a few steps further this time and dig his rounded tip into the very back of your pussy, bottoming-out. “Shit shit shit—”
Thrust after thrust.
Pulling out. Shovelling back in.
Making you guess just which one of your two older professors were takin’ over your pussy right now- it made your head dizzy just trying to keep track. Bounced up and down in their arms.
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi.”
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Professor Kento.”
“Hiromi—” Before your voice shatters at the feeling of…two thickened lengths attempting to fit inside. Fighting against the resistance for a few sloppy strokes before they’re siiiiiiiiiiiinking in- “And Professor K-Kento, sir…” The feeling of their large, slick-glazed cocks were just incredible - rubbin’ against your walls and one another. Like nothing earlier.
It was a stretch like you’ve never felt before, hittin’ spots that you didn’t even know you had.
And both professors held onto your shaking body tight- they shovelled their lengths in and out of you. Two blushin’ cockheads heading for your g-spot, before their slide-slide-sliiiiiding all the way down to end up at your cervix.
Stretching apart your walls.
Making your channel bulge.
Letting the curves of their mushroomy tips drag apart your walls, n’ press into the sweetest spots of your nerves. Both of their heavy ballsacks smack-smack the front of your cunt right on time with their thrusts. Thrust after thrust.
Again and again.
Nanami grunts at the sensation of Higuruma deep inside you, “F-fuck…”
“You can say that again.” Higuruma himself replies.
By now, the jostlin’ about had meant that your blindfold was falling off- and you could see the two men upon either side of you. Shovelling their hot cocks deep inside your pussy, positively ravaging you.
The law professor’s fingers weren’t letting up on your clit just yet, either.
He quirks his digits just a bit to draw a little heart upon it—and soon enough you find yourself throwing your head back with a moan. “G-gonna-”
“Shhhh—” Nanami grins. His ears keenly listen to the noises from between your legs - they were just so much louder now that you had two thickened shafts ramming into you. “This pussy says she’s gonna cum soon, darling.”
“Y-you little-”
A harsh hammerin’ on your spongy cervix. “Pardon, my love?”
“Nothing—oh.” Even their thrusting styles were different - Nanami Kento with his thorough, solid slashes as though he was trying to reach your womb every single time. And Higuruma Hiromi with slightly slower, smoother glides of his cock - soothing through the nooks n’ crannies that Nanami had activated first.
It was the perfect combination.
Naughty and nice.
Though not exactly in the way you’d initially thought.
And perhaps this manner was what was making you so desperate to cum again- “Please-” Gasping. “Let me cum—”
You’re looking between a grinning Nanami and Higuruma. Dazedly.
“Please may I-” Choking out in-between the moans and droplets of saliva that were gushing out of you- falling onto Higuruma’s puffed-out chest. “-cum, sirs?”
Both of their rock-hard cocks twitch deep inside of you.
And you’re briefly seeing a silent conversation pass between them-
“Go ahead, angel.”
“Cum all over my cock, darling.”
And it might have been minutes, it might have been seconds, it might have been split-seconds later once you’re crashing into your high. The waves of white-hot pleasure taking over you until it felt like your body was burning up.
Feverish.
You’re crying out as you attempt to bounce your lewd hips back into both their shovelling shafts- but they’ve already got you. They’re holding onto your perspired body - so limp now with pleasure - and lettin’ their pointed cockheads hit each and every nerve bundle inside.
Pinpointing your g-spot with their lengths.
Targeting it especially through peak after peak.
After peak.
Your cunt trickles with honeyed slick- and it slips between your three bodies to drench Higuruma and Nanami’s cocks. Their thighs. Their bodies.
Making it even louder to thrust into your cunt—you’re forced to raise your voice just a little just so that they can hear. “Sh-shit…” Until eventually you’re feeling so raw on their relentless cocks that you’re unsure whether you want them to elongate those waves of bliss or whether you want to fucking run away—“It feels so- oh, it feels…”
“And what do we say?” Nanami’s deep baritone croons out. He doesn’t slow down for a single second as he speaks- even though he himself was feeling a little sensitive by this point.
He hits his full ballsack against the front of your cunt and hisses- “Can I have it all inside…” You’re looking between them with wide, heart-shaped pupils. “-sirs?”
And you should’ve known what that would do.
You should’ve known how much that would break them.
Because with only a few final thrusts, both Higuruma and Nanami cum inside you with loud slurps! of your greedy cunt. Gobblin’ up all those white ropes of seed that they were emptying out - sheer volumes that they’d been holding onto for hours, days, this entire semester.
Nanami furrows his golden brows and presses his face into the crook of your neck. Groaning as he fucks you through his orgasm, “A-and here I was just expecting a thank you…”
“Our girl always was the sweetest.” Higuruma coos.
Your history professor rides through his high with his teeth grit, jaw working overtime to keep his noises to a minimum - he wanted to hear your soft gasps and groans even more. Though his body shakes as it keeps on thrummin’ with pleasure.
Visceral.
Meanwhile, your law professor let out such husky grunts after each splat! of cum that he emptied out against your womb. He couldn’t even handle fucking you properly anymore and his hips kept on stutterin’ through his waves.
Cheeks flushed. Gaze locked on you.
He didn’t want to tear it away.
Both of them are cumming so much that you nearly can’t tell who’s who - with their dollops of heated, syrupy sap. Each divot bawling them out messily—you can feel them stick against the end of your pussy, right where your cervix was, before being stirred about by the motions of their cylindrical shafts.
Their prominent veins massagin’ your sweetest spots. Their globular cockheads pumping every single droplet inside you.
Every single droplet.
Not a single bead of that ivory cum escapes—but they’re both still looking at each other with the same idea.
And you’re seeing yet another silent conversation pass between them that you miss. “Oh?”
In almost no time, Higuruma and Nanami have you splayed out on the polished desk - back against its flat surface, legs held high in the air. This time, however, both their faces were between your pussylips and attempting to beat the other—
They were lappin’ their dual tongues over your leaking cunt like they were starved.
Nanami’s hand pressing down on your stomach to make a few more droplets spray out of your hole- Higuruma’s hand flicking over your clit still.
You lean back on your elbows and watch them.
And what a sight it was: both their handsome faces between your legs.
They nudge their noses against the creamy layers on top of your cunt, and swivel the mess around like mad. You could see through your tears the exact moment - the exact moment - that their pinkish tongues meet in the middle.
Where Higuruma’s tastebuds overlap with Nanami’s as they’re suckling on your clit- and they both flinch at the sensation before moaning—
And that’s before the door clicks.
“Oi, why are the lights still on? Don’t you know that campus has closed a long time ag-”
You pause.
Nanami pauses.
Higuruma pauses.
And so does Professor Shiu Kong - Head of the Mathematics Department, also PhD with Distinction.
His jaw drops as his eyes drift over from the mess of clothes on the floor, to the mess that’d been made of you. Bite marks all over your throat. The blindfold still around your neck. And even more - you could see the way his hands tighten on his files as his gaze probes deeper, taking in your leaking, lecherous cunt.
No one moves.
Except for Shiu, who steps inside.
Your heart was in your throat.
Getting ready for a berating of some kind- or potentially even worse. Perhaps a suspension, perhaps Nanami and Higuruma would be fired at once-
“So…” Shiu’s husky voice interrupts your thoughts. “-got room for mathematics?”
A/N. Heheheheh ofc we got room for youuuuuuuuu Shiu <33
you sat against the headboard on your nintendo, humming to the cheery background tune in the new tomodachi life demo. you were customizing you and your boyfriend into the game, so there choso lied on your chest, messing with one of the many scattered plushies on the bed and listening to your mindless commentary on the game.
“i completely forgot our heights sh– ohmigosh, i'm dancing. wait, stop, stop dancing. i can’t do the heights, tell her to stop what the hell.”
but choso wasn’t fully there. his bare chest was flushed against your waist, his cheek against your rising and falling chest, and your bare legs were entangled with his as if you were one. of course he was turned on right now. he couldn’t help it when he’s so close to you.
he wanted your hands in his hair, your gaze upon him, your attention solely his—safe to say he was needy. he was restless, taking staggering breaths as he tried to allow the feeling to pass. his efforts were obviously futile, as his cock was hard against the bed, throbbing at every shift. his hand left the plushie, grazing over your thigh, watching the goosebumps appear across your skin. he could hear your breath hitch, your finger twitching, but your eyes stayed glued to the game.
“baby,” he murmured softly, barely above a whisper. he rose, hovering over your body, his brows furrowed with pleading eyes. his hands trailed up your arms, intertwining his fingers with yours before slowly removing the nintendo from your hands.
his lips pecked your cheek, traveling to the corners of your lips, “can’t you put this down for a second?”
your protests were weak( if there was any tbh) , “cho, i was making you…”
“but i’m right here?”
“smartass, i mean-“
before you knew it, his lips greedily latched onto yours, pulling you into a deep and desperate kiss. his tongue immediately slid into your mouth, twirling around yours.
he lifted your leg, resting it on his hip and placing a knee between them. you could feel his erection pulsating against you, teasing the inner corners of your thighs. you ate up his eager whimpers as his hands trekked up your thighs, slipping under your shorts and gripping your ass, leaving the area aching and red. his other hand found its way under your shirt, groping your breasts, rolling your buds between his two fingers. you squirmed under his touch, hands clinging to and scratching his biceps as you moaned pathetically into his mouth.
he broke this kiss for barely a second before swooping back in, devouring you whole, completely drunk of your taste. his hands left your nipple, instead holding the back of your head and pushing you deeper into the kiss. slick built up in your panties, soaking through and leaving a wet patch. lewd, wet smacking sounds filled the room as salvia dripped down his chin.
you could feel yourself growing hotter at the moment, feeling sweat build up between you two. before you died of overheating, he broke the kiss. a sinful string of salvia between your tongues followed for a split second before detaching.
both of your pupils were blown out, heaving and panting like dogs in heat. your fingers grew weak against his arms. “mm...ok, i’ll put the game down.”
description — you hitch hike to escape your small town, but the man that picks you up isn't the savior you initially see him as.
word count — 11,886
tags — dead dove do not eat!!! smut, noncon, age gap, drugging, perv joel obviously, body betrayal, throat-fking, creampie, forced breeding, what else is there to miss? oh, he spits in your mouth once. this is actually evil and entirely self-indulgent. read at your own risk. this is not meant to romanticize or promote the behavior written and is purely fantasy. THIS GETS SUPER DARK SUPER FAST, BEWARE !!!!
notes — this has been hiding away in my wips for almost a year, and I finally rushed out the ending. so yeah, kinda sucks near the end, but i was gooning writing it, so sue me.
You sighed sharply, letting your arm fall to your side for what felt like the hundredth time. The weight of the sun pressed heavily on your shoulders, the heat clinging to you like a second skin. A warm breeze teased strands of your damp hair from your face, a mercy against the uv rays. Tilting your head back, you gazed at the expanse of blue sky that had darkened in the hours you stood on the side of the road, your patience steadily unraveling like an old, worn thread.
How hard could it be to hitch a damn ride?
All you wanted was to escape the stifling monotony of this rundown, bumfuck-nowhere town. Where time seemed to crawl and every day bled into the next. There was nothing to do except drink cheap beer in collapsing barns with the people your age you could tolerate—which, frankly, wasn’t many. Your graduating class had barely scraped together two hundred students, and most of them were already neck-deep in their great-grandparents’ conservative, redneck ideologies, content to stay trapped in the same traditional, endless loop you were desperate to escape.
Entertainment options were laughably slim, unless you counted gossiping at the diner or staring at the peeling wallpaper of your living room. The highlight of the week was usually a herd of cattle escaping or a barn dance, where everyone pretended their lives weren’t as dull as dishwater.
It was no wonder that generations before had filled their houses to the brim with children. After all, raising a family gave them something to do, a purpose to cling to in the otherwise monotonous grind of small-town life. And maybe, just maybe, it helped fill the silence that crept in at night, the kind that even wolf songs couldn’t drown out.
It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At night, the air hummed with the songs of frogs and crickets, a sound that felt almost sacred. The stars lit up the sky in a way that was impossible to see from the city, their light twinkling like scattered diamonds. Fireflies blinked alongside them, tiny, fleeting beacons in the dark. Those moments, rare and quiet, made this place almost bearable.
Almost.
But Christ on a cross, when the sun rose, it brought the same crushing realization: there was nothing for you here. Nothing except Sunday mornings at church, where people whispered behind hymnals and dissected the sins of their neighbors, the same people they'd smile brightly at as they prayed for blessings to come to them. At least they handed out free donuts. Small mercies, you thought bitterly, kicking at a loose pebble on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet.
You adjusted the straps of your backpack, the weight of it pressing uncomfortably against your spine. The highway stretched ahead in an unbroken line, a mirage shimmering in the distance, promising freedom just out of reach. All you needed was someone to pull over, just one car willing to take you somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t here.
You even went so far as to wear the most revealing clothes you could find, not that your wardrobe had much to offer in that department. A perverted driver was still a driver, and at this point, you were desperate. You’d taken scissors to an old shirt, hacking it into a crop top that bared your midriff. The fabric was frayed and uneven, but it did the job. Your shorts were another matter entirely, uncomfortably tight and clearly too small, leftovers from when you were a kid. The waistband dug into your skin, and you had to keep tugging them down to avoid cutting off circulation.
God forbid any girl showed an ounce of skin in this town. The stares you got on your way out were enough to make you want to sprint out, but you were banking on that very same scrutiny to catch the attention of a passing car. Modesty might have been the golden rule here, but you weren’t above breaking it if it got you out of this dead-end stretch of nowhere.
You felt ridiculous, humiliated even, but the thought of staying here was far worse than enduring the leering eyes of some old man. You were used to that already. Men in this town had a way of looking at you like you were an object on a shelf they might pick up, inspect, and set back down when they were done. You’d learned to ignore it, to shrug off the uncomfortable heat of their stares and the muttered comments you pretended not to hear.
This was just more of the same, except now you were using it to your advantage. If showing a little skin meant one of those creeps would stop and offer you a ride out of this godforsaken town, then so be it. Dignity wasn’t exactly high on your list of priorities right now—freedom was.
If only one of these fuckers would actually stop. You’d been standing here long enough to feel the sunburn creeping across your shoulders, sweat pooling at the small of your back. You threw your arm out every time, trying to look as pitiful, or enticing, as possible, but all you got in return were waves of hot air as they sped by.
Was it just your town where men stared at women like predators? Or was that just how men were everywhere? You had no way of knowing. Your entire life had been spent here, in this suffocating bubble of prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sometimes you wondered if the rest of the world was different, or if the same lecherous glances and whispered judgments waited for you on the other side of this horizon.
Still, staying here wasn’t an option. Even if the grass wasn’t greener anywhere else, at least it would be different grass. And different was all you were asking for.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by the thunderous roar of an engine, deep and rumbling, shaking the stillness of the road. A semi. Your heart leapt, both with hope and a twinge of unease. You’d heard the stories, truck drivers were lonely old men who’d fuck anything with a heartbeat, and even that was a stretch. The thought made your stomach twist, but desperation outweighed caution.
Throwing your arm out again, thumb raised high, you focused on the massive vehicle barreling toward you. The sheer size of it was almost intimidating, the largest thing you’d seen on the road. Its grill gleamed in the sunlight like a steel beast, and you could already hear the hiss of brakes as it began to slow down.
This was it. Maybe luck was finally on your side—or maybe you were about to make the worst mistake of your life. Either way, it wasn’t like you had much to lose.
The semi groaned to a stop a few yards ahead of you, its engine idling. The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man, an old man, just as you’d expected.
His hair was almost completely gray, though uneven splotches of the lighter color dotted his scruffy beard like it couldn’t decide whether to age gracefully or not.
The glare of the sun bounced off the truck, making it hard to get a clear look at him, but you could tell enough. He was much larger than you, his frame broad and solid like he’d spent his life lifting things far heavier than the backpack you hauled. His hair had a slight curl to it, messy and unkempt, like he hadn’t seen a comb in days.
He tilted his head toward the passenger side, gesturing with his chin as he spoke. His voice was deep, slow, and unmistakably southern.
"Well, don’t just stand there, girl. You need a ride or what?"
There wasn’t much kindness in his tone, but there wasn’t any malice, either. Just a bluntness that matched the heat of the day. Your hesitation lingered for a moment before you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.
You all but scaled up the side of the truck, your legs shaky from a mix of exhaustion and the strain of hauling yourself up. The heat of the day clung to you, making every movement feel heavier than it should have. By the time you managed to get one foot inside, your muscles were screaming in protest.
The older man was already back in his seat, one wrist draped lazily over the steering wheel. He chewed on a wad of tobacco, the sound wet and unmannered as he watched you crawl in with a measured gaze. His eyes flickered up and down your figure, lingering just long enough to make your skin crawl. You swore you saw his hand shift subtly, adjusting himself as a low groan escaped your lips from the effort.
You settled into the passenger seat, the cracked leather sticking to your bare thighs. His stare lingered for a moment too long at the way they expanded before he finally spit into an old plastic bottle by his side.
“Where ya headin’, sweetheart?” he drawled, his lips curling into a half-smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.
Now that the sun was no longer blinding you, you could finally get a good look at him. To your surprise, he wasn’t all that bad-looking. In fact, he was quite handsome in a rugged, weathered sort of way. His deep chocolate-brown eyes had a sad look to them, like they had seen more than they cared to share. His nose was prominent, giving his face a bold, defined structure that worked with the lines etched into his skin. Those wrinkles, instead of detracting from his appearance like you'd expect them too, seemed to enhance his features.
Your eyes flicked to his hands resting on the wheel. They were large, rough-looking, the scarred, calloused kind of hands that did hard labor. An old, scratched watch clung to his wrist, the leather strap worn and glass cracked, but still functional.
Practical, like him, you figured.
Despite the circumstances, you found yourself momentarily distracted by his appearance.
“Well?” he asked again, the smirk on his face still lingering as he spit tobacco into his bottle. “Where ya headed?”
You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “Anywhere but here,” you muttered, your voice low but firm.
He chuckled at that, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the cab. “Fair enough. Lucky for you, I ain’t goin’ anywhere near here for a good long while. Buckle up, sweetheart.”
You slid your backpack off your shoulders, letting it rest on your lap as your fingers found the charms hanging from the zippers. You twisted them absentmindedly, trying to occupy your mind and ignore the creeping weight of his gaze. The truck didn't move. Confused, you glanced at the gear shift, expecting to see his hand on it. Instead, his hand rested on his thigh, his fingers tapping lazily against his jeans.
Looking up, you caught him staring at you again, his dark eyes locked on yours for a moment before shifting downward. He sighed, tilting his head slightly like he was deciding what to do next. Without saying a word, he leaned toward you.
Your breath hitched as he closed the space between you, his face so close you could almost feel the faint stubble on his jaw and the silver strands in his hair. His arm brushed your shoulder as he reached for your seatbelt.
"Seatbelt's stuck," he muttered, though you hadn't even tried to buckle it yourself. His large hands gripped the strap and gave it a few tugs, his breath fanning across your cheek as he grunted, the plastic clicked before the webbing slid free and he pulled it across your chest.
The motion seemed smooth at first, but you stiffened when his knuckles grazed the curve of your breast. He didn't pause or acknowledge it. His gaze wasn't on the seatbelt or even his hands, it was fixed lower, right where the strap pressed against your chest. His eyes lingered there shamelessly.
He adjusted the strap, tugging it tighter against your chest, his fingers brushing over the swell more than once. The way he moved was deliberate, too slow to be casual, like he was testing how far he could push before you said something.
It didn't feel accidental, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to call him out on it, either. Your throat tightened, and you froze, unsure whether to flinch or let him finish.
“There,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, as he clicked the belt into place. For a moment, he didn’t move, his face lingering close enough for you to see the faint lines around his eyes and the uneven streaks of gray in his beard. Then, without a word, he leaned back into his seat with a grunt, as though the small task had been a chore.
His hand moved to the gear shift, and the truck rumbled forward, pulling onto the road with a jolt. “Can’t have you flyin’ out the windshield,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor.
You didn’t respond, your heart still racing from the unnecessary closeness. Staring out the window, you gripped the straps of your backpack tightly, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his hands, unease prickling along your skin.
Joel glanced at the cracked dashboard clock, tapping it lightly with his knuckle as if that would somehow make the time change. "We’ll probably hit a truck stop in a few hours," he said, his voice breaking the long silence in the cab.
He finally broke the silence with a grunt and a glance at the dashboard. “’Bout two ‘til we hit the next one,” he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his neck like it ached. “Gonna pull in there, grab some food. Might get a room if the lot ain’t full.”
You didn’t look at him, just nodded a little, eyes fixed on the streak of pavement disappearing beneath the truck. “Okay.”
He glanced at you then, like he was waiting for more. When you didn’t say anything, he added, “They got showers too, y’know. Clean ones. Not five-star or nothin’, but they get the job done.”
“Cool,” you murmured, trying to sound neutral, like you weren’t clocking every word.
Then he smirked a little—just a flicker, barely there, but you caught it. “Don’t worry, you can have your own bed,” he said, voice low, tone meant to be reassuring but sitting wrong in your gut. “Unless, uh... you’d rather save a few bucks.”
You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. “I’ve got cash,” you said, flatly.
“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Joel said with a chuckle, eyes flicking to your chest again, not even subtle about it this time. “Just jokin’ around.”
You looked away, jaw tightening.
He scratched his beard, shifting in his seat again. “You’re real quiet,” he said after a moment. “Kinda figured a girl like you’d be more talkative.”
“A girl like me?” you asked, without looking at him.
“Yeah,” he drawled, his tone casual as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “C’mon you ain't exactly dressed for church, honey.” He turned to you with a grin.
You rolled your eyes before you forced yourself to focus on the landscape outside, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the empty fields. But even as you tried to tune him out, you could feel his gaze darting toward you. It wasn’t constant, but it was enough to set your nerves on edge—quick, almost imperceptible glances at your legs, your chest, the curve of your neck.
Every time you caught him, he shifted slightly, like he hadn’t been looking at all. His fingers rubbed idly against his thigh, the movement subtle but deliberate.
“Don’t get too quiet on me now,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the uneasy silence. “A guy can only handle so much quiet before he starts gettin’ lonely.”
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “I’m just tired,” you muttered, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.
“Tired, huh?” Joel’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily adjusting his belt. “Bet you’ve had a long day, stickin’ that pretty thumb out on the highway. Lucky for you I came along. Not everyone out here’s as friendly as me.”
The way he said “friendly” made your stomach churn. You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your backpack as an excuse to look away. “Yeah,” you said flatly, unsure of what else to say.
He chuckled again, a deep, gravelly sound that filled the cab. “You know,” he started, his tone turning thoughtful, “truck stops ain’t so bad. Some of ’em even got little diners... Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even find a little entertainment.”
You glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. You gritted your teeth, damn religious upbringings, you forced yourself to be polite and dryly humor his conversation. “What kind of entertainment?”
Joel shrugged, his fingers still idly tapping his thigh. “Depends on the stop. Some got TVs, little gift shops... and sometimes, you meet interestin’ people. Y’know, folks passin’ through, lookin’ for a little... company.”
Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m not really looking for company,” you said quickly.
His grin widened, and he let out another low chuckle. “Didn’t think you were, sweetheart.”
You turned back to the window, your heart pounding as the shadows outside grew longer. The truck rumbled on, the uneasy tension between you thickening with every mile.
The truck’s turn signal clicked lazily, a rhythmic tick that cut through the hum of the engine as Joel guided the semi off the highway and into the glow of the truck stop.
The lights hit first, flickering fluorescents mounted on leaning poles, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The parking lot was littered with rigs and pickups, a few scattered sedans, and the occasional figure ducking in and out of the convenience store’s heavy glass doors. Beyond that, a rundown diner and a flickering neon sign that buzzed louder than it glowed. It wasn’t much, two diesel pumps, a few bent metal benches out front, and a crooked billboard advertising pie that probably hadn’t been served fresh since the Reagan administration, and behind it, the shape of a small roadside motel slumped under a sagging roofline.
Joel shifted the truck into park with a heavy hand and let out a grunt, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked. His faded shirt lifted just enough to reveal a strip of his stomach, leathery and scarred. He caught you looking, not at that, exactly, just observing the place, but he smirked like you’d been staring.
“Not bad, huh?” he said, pulling the key out of the ignition. “Cozy little stopover.”
You looked out at the rows of trucks and diesel pumps, trying not to fidget. The stillness inside the cab after the engine died was sudden, as if the noise from the it had been cushioning something you didn’t want to feel.
You said nothing, unbuckling your seatbelt with a quick snap and reaching for your backpack, your fingers finding those familiar charms again. You rolled one between your thumb and forefinger, grounding yourself. The tension in your chest hadn’t left since you climbed into the truck. If anything, it’d only settled deeper.
Joel opened his door and climbed out with a grunt. “Food’s better than it looks,” he said over the roar of the diesel engine cooling off. “Diner’s got burgers, eggs, hash. All the heart-attack bullshit you could ever want.”
You followed after a beat, the door heavier than you expected. He waited for you at the base of the steps, one hand resting on the open door like he was holding it open for a date. You stepped down, trying not to flinch as his eyes moved with you, tracking every inch.
You stared past him at the diner, its windows fogged and glowing yellow under too-dim lights. A man smoked on a bench by the door. He looked tired. Everyone here did.
Joel jerked his chin toward the motel attached to the back of the lot. “Gonna check if they got any rooms left,” he said, spitting a wad of his chewing tobacco into the dirt. “You hungry, or what?”
“Yeah,” you said, your voice flatter than you intended. “Starving.”
He grinned at that, like it pleased him. “Go on then, I'll meet'cha.”
Inside, the diner smelled like grease and bleach, two things that didn’t mix well. The waitress behind the counter didn’t look up when you entered, too focused on a crossword puzzle. Joel slid into a booth a few minutes after you had, patting the cracked vinyl across from him.
The seat felt sticky. He leaned back, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest like he owned the place, the other already reaching for a menu he clearly didn’t need.
“Go ahead,” he said, nodding at you. “Order whatever. I’ll cover it.”
You eyed him, unsure if it was kindness or another invisible string. He caught your look and smirked.
“C’mon. Not tryna poison you. Just don’t like eatin’ alone.”
You nodded slowly, glancing down at the menu as he watched you over the top of his.
Joel leaned back in the booth, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight. One arm sprawled across the top, the other cradling his plastic cup of water. He let out a long sigh, an exaggerated exhale, like he was trying to be noticed.
“Been on the road five weeks straight,” he muttered, glancing out the window like he might spot someone he used to know. “Start talkin’ to myself if I don’t get some damn conversation.”
You looked up, cautious. He smiled, but it was thin. Forced.
“Life gets quiet when you get to my age. Too damn quiet, sometimes,” he said, fingers tapping idly against the side of his cup. “Wife gone. Kids don’t call. Truck’s about the only thing still wants me 'round.”
He chuckled softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. More like he expected a certain reaction and didn’t care if it was genuine.
“That’s why I don’t mind pickin’ up company when I can,” he added, taking a sip and eyeing you over the rim. “Makes the road feel less... long.”
You didn’t respond, just nodded faintly. He didn’t seem to care—he’d already settled into his little performance.
“Not askin’ for much,” Joel went on, looking down at his calloused hands. “Just someone to talk to. Hearin’ a pretty voice now and again reminds me I’m still 'round, y’know?”
His eyes flicked to your mouth when he said it.
“Hell, you don’t even gotta talk if you don’t want, face's pretty 'nough on its own,” he added with a little grin, eyes crinkling like he was doing you a favor. “I’ll just ramble on till I lose my voice. You can pretend I ain’t even here.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you want someone to listen to you talk till your mouth hurts.”
That got a chuckle out of him. “Alright, fair,” he said, scratching at his beard. “I like a little attention. Guilty as charged.”
The waitress came over, tired eyes scanning the table. Joel ordered without looking at the menu—“bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles, fries, and a Coke,” before nodding at you to go ahead.
As you gave your order, you could feel his gaze on your face, lingering just a tad too long on your lips when you spoke. When the waitress walked off, Joel leaned back again with a grunt.
“Bet you think I’m some sad old bastard,” he said, smirking.
You tilted your head slightly. “You don’t seem all that sad.”
He laughed again, low and knowing. “Don’t gotta be sad to be lonely, darlin’.”
He said it so easily, like it was the kind of thing he’d said a hundred times before. Like it worked on someone, once.
There was something off about the way he spoke—too rehearsed, maybe. Like he’d said this all before. The “poor old man” routine. Alone on the road, no family, no one to talk to. It felt... thin.
Still, something about it tugged at you.
Maybe it was the way he sighed after every sentence, like he didn’t expect you to care. Maybe it was the worn in look behind his eyes.
You glanced down at your lap, your fingers twisting the zipper of your backpack until it bit into your skin.
You knew better. You really did. People didn’t get like this for no reason. Men didn’t hand out kindness for free. But even as your gut whispered caution, another part of you, smaller, quieter, felt bad for him.
He wasn’t pushing anything. Not yet. And you were tired. Not just from standing on the side of the road, but from months of going nowhere, of waiting for someone, anyone, to see you.
Joel caught your eye again, that half-smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to lay it on thick,” he said, almost sheepish now. “Guess I don’t talk to people much these days. Gettin' rusty.”
You tried to smile, but it came out just as performative as his. “It’s fine. I get it.”
He tapped a finger against his glass, his tone softening. “You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.
You hesitated. “Not really. Just… done with where I came from.”
Joel nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ out. Some places don’t give you much reason to stay.”
His voice was quieter now, less performative. For a second, it felt more real. Or maybe you just wanted it to.
You studied him for a beat longer—his hands, his eyes, the worn creases in his skin. You could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers pulling your seatbelt earlier, still see the way his gaze had lingered a second too long.
But right now, he looked tired. Lonely. And something in you, despite everything, softened just a little.
“I appreciate the ride,” you said quietly. “Really.”
Joel looked at you for a second, then nodded once and leaned back again. “Ain’t no trouble,” he said. “Like I said, road gets real damn quiet.”
You both fell into silence after that, the kind that wasn’t entirely comfortable.
He’d tried to make small talk over greasy plates and chipped mugs of diner coffee—asked about your favorite music, your family, whether you had a boyfriend “waitin’ around somewhere.” He framed it as harmless banter, chuckling over his fries, talking with his mouth half full like it wasn’t meant to mean anything.
You mostly nodded, gave short answers. Your appetite had all but vanished the longer his eyes lingered on you.
They didn’t wander constantly, Joel wasn’t that obvious. But every so often, as you cut into your food or brushed hair out of your face, you’d catch him watching you instead of eating. His gaze would always drop quickly, back to his plate or the tabletop, but the silence between those glances felt thicker each time.
You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were tired, overthinking.
But by the time he paid the bill and motioned for you to follow him outside, your stomach had twisted into something tight and uneasy.
The air had cooled a little with the setting sun. Crickets had started their nightly hum, and the truck lot buzzed quietly with the sound of engines cooling and the occasional burst of laughter from inside the diner. But your ears were filled with the sound of your own footsteps following Joel’s.
He led you past the edge of the lot, toward a squat, single-story row of motel rooms behind the diner. Faded numbers were bolted onto each door, and the porch lights above them flickered weakly, as if unsure whether to bother staying lit.
Joel stopped in front of one, jingling a key in his hand. “Only had one left,” he said, turning the knob. “Told the guy it’s just for a few hours’ shut-eye. Not like I’m settlin’ in.”
Your heart skipped. Just one?
The room door creaked open. Joel stepped inside first, tossing the key on the nightstand and flipping on the light. A yellow glow filled the room, bouncing off stained wallpaper and a twin bed with a faded comforter. The A/C unit in the window rattled weakly.
The moment you stepped into the room, something felt different.
Not in the air itself, the motel room still smelled like bleach and dust, but Joel’s presence had changed.
He didn’t say much after unlocking the door. Just let it swing open, stepped inside like he owned the place, and gave the room a lazy once-over. Gone was the exaggerated sighing, the talk of loneliness, the half-hearted chuckles meant to make you feel bad for him. Now he moved slower, more comfortably, like someone who’d settled into something.
You weren’t sure what.
He let the door close behind you with a click that made your pulse hitch. He didn’t bolt it, he didn’t need to. The message was already clear.
Joel walked over to the table near the bed and dropped the room key with a soft clink. His hand hovered for a second, then he sat in the chair near the window, stretching out with a tired grunt. One arm slung over the backrest like he was getting ready to stay awhile.
“Not bad,” he muttered, adjusting the waistband of his jeans before running a hand through his graying hair. “Could be worse.”
You didn’t answer. You were still standing near the door, backpack hugged to your chest like a shield.
Joel’s eyes flicked up to you. Slower now. Less polite. Like he didn’t feel the need to pretend anymore.
"You can sit, y’know,” he said. “Ain’t gonna bite.”
He grinned at his own joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were darker now. Not cold, just… sure. Like whatever this was, it was already decided in his head.
You moved slowly, choosing the edge of the bed farthest from him—you wished the separate beds calmed your nerves, they didn't. The springs creaked as you sat, and the sound felt too loud. You kept your backpack in your lap, your hands gripping the strap.
Joel let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Y’know, most folks would be grateful by now,” he said idly, like he was commenting on the weather. “Free ride, free food, place to rest. Ain’t a bad deal.”
Your spine stiffened slightly. There was no edge in his voice, no threat. But there was something underneath it. Something that made your stomach coil.
“I am grateful,” you said carefully.
“Mm.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “You’re just real quiet is all. Hard to read.”
You didn’t reply.
Joel scratched at his jaw. “Guess it’s just been a while since I had company.” He looked at you again, head tilted, lips just barely curved. “It’s nice. Real nice. You're nice.”
You felt your shoulders tense. He wasn’t doing anything, not really, but you could feel it building. The shift. The subtle way he took up more space now, like just getting you through that door had changed everything.
Joel stood up, stretching again with a low groan, and walked toward the mini fridge. He bent to open it, empty, but lingered there a second longer than needed. When he straightened, he looked at you again. Still that same expression. Casual. Relaxed. Like this was just the natural next step in whatever he thought was happening here.
“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” he said, voice lighter now, maybe even cheerful. “You want soda, water, somethin’ stronger?”
You blinked. “Coke’s fine.”
He nodded, already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the knob, then turned back.
“You lock that behind me if it makes you feel better,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I’ll be back in five. Don’t go disappearin’ on me.”
He winked. Not playful. Not mean. Just… like a joke he thought you were in on, even if you didn’t know the punchline yet.
Then the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone.
The silence returned.
You sat still, backpack clutched to your chest, heart pounding a little faster than before. You weren’t sure what Joel thought this was. But for the first time, you were sure of one thing:
He thought he was owed something.
You weren’t sure why you stayed.
Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the weight of your backpack digging into your spine for hours that made you too tired to run again. Maybe it was something worse, something harder to admit. That small, scared voice that told you: This is what you asked for, isn’t it? A ride. A room. A way out.
You told yourself it was fine.
But when Joel came back a few agonizing minutes later, holding a single room-temperature soda like it was some kind of gift, that thin illusion started to crack.
"Vending machine’s shot to hell," he said, tossing it onto the end of the bed like he expected you to jump at it. “Still good, though. S'just warm.”
You nodded, reaching to take a grab the bottle. You tried not to acknowledge the way your heart sped up as you leaned closer to him, your hand shaking.
Joel didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. He kicked off his boots, grunted as he lowered himself into the creaking chair near the TV, and grabbed the remote from the armrest.
The television flashed on, its speakers crackling as static fizzled into some old cable rerun. The volume was too loud for the tiny room, but Joel didn’t adjust it. He just leaned back and settled in, letting the laugh track fill the silence like white noise drowning out your thoughts.
You nerves were so shot, you hadn’t noticed the bottle hadn't hissed when you twisted the cap.
When your leg started to shake it was just a tremor at first, barely noticeable. But it spread, up your thigh, into your stomach, into your chest. Your heart fluttered under your ribs, fluttered wrong. Your throat was too dry. The lights were too yellow. The TV too loud. His breathing, even and steady from across the room, was the only rhythm that didn't match your panic.
You stood quickly, too quickly.
“Bathroom,” you muttered, grabbing your bag without really knowing why. Just needing it close.
Joel gave a vague nod, his eyes barely lifting from the screen. “Take your time.”
The bathroom was even smaller than you expected. Dim light. Cracked tile. A fan in the ceiling that buzzed faintly behind the walls. You closed the door and leaned against it, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands.
Your reflection stared back at you, paler than before. Eyes wide. Lips dry.
You didn’t even notice you were crying until the first drop hit the sink.
You weren’t scared, not exactly. But something inside you was twisting tight, something old and instinctive that didn’t care about politeness or gratitude or second chances. Something that whispered, Leave. Now.
You splashed water on your face. Once. Twice. The cold shocked your nerves, grounding you just a little, enough to breathe. But your hand trembled as you reached for the towel, and you had to brace yourself before you looked in the mirror again.
You stared at your own eyes for a long time.
You could still leave. You hadn’t unpacked. Your legs worked fine. The door wasn’t locked.
But outside that door, Joel waited. Not a stranger anymore. Not really. And that was somehow worse.
You dried your face, turned off the faucet, and in front the door of the bathroom for a beat, staring at the crack under it, the yellow-lit room shared the space of flickering blue light from the TV.
“You alright in there, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice warm again, sounding gentle despite how he'd had to hollar over the TV.
You took a breath. Then another. You told yourself you were overreacting.
People were weird, sure. Joel was… weird. But maybe that’s all it was. Maybe your nerves were shot from being on the road, from standing in the sun for hours, from not eating enough. You were tired. That made everything feel worse.
One night. Get some rest. Ditch him in the morning.
That was the plan. Simple. Safe.
You pushed open the door and stepped out into the dim light of the room again, trying to slide your expression back into something neutral. Something nice.
You gave him a polite, too-sweet smile in return, it was automatic, from that church-girl buried deep in your gut. You didn't owe him anything, but you still felt like you had to at least perform gratitude. Like that was part of the deal.
It was tight-lipped, polite, instinctual. The same smile you’d been trained to give since you were a kid, the smile that didnt reach your eyes, that said I’m fine, thank you, don’t worry about me.
He smiled back.
Not kindly. Not broadly. Just this thin, smug little thing tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He tried to play it off like nothing. Reached for the remote. Adjusted his posture. But it didn’t go unnoticed, not by you. Joel looked over at you from the chair, his arms resting behind his head now, relaxed.
You crossed the room, easing yourself onto the top of the bed. The blanket was old and dusty and reeked of stale detergent. Still, it beat the side of the highway. You opened the Coke and took a sip. Flat. Warm. Still, it gave your hands something to do.
On the TV, that same crusty sitcom was still going. Joel had turned the volume up since you'd gone. The laugh track punched through the tiny speakers like a drill to the temple. The jokes came rapid-fire—loud, overacted, dated.
You weren’t really listening until one of the characters—a middle-aged man with a gut and a mustache—joked about slipping a woman something to make her “act with less prudence.” The studio audience howled. His female co-star gave him a fake slap on the shoulder with an annoyed glare. The scene moved on.
You didn’t laugh. You didn’t even smile.
Joel did.
Not loud. Just a low huff of a chuckle, amused. Right in time with the laugh track. Like it had hit a nerve in him. The wrong nerve.
You stiffened. Your spine straightened just a little more. You didn’t look at him.
It was the type of joke that made men laugh in bars when they’d already had too much and weren’t watching their tone anymore.
Joel’s laughter stopped as quickly as it came. But when you risked a glance, you saw it, that same smug curl at the edge of his mouth, his tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on something he wasn’t going to say out loud.
You looked away.
It’s the show, you told yourself. It’s the show. He’s just laughing because it’s on.
But the hairs on your arms were standing up anyway.
You shifted around on the stiff mattress for what must’ve been the better part of an hour. The bed creaked with every movement, the scratchy comforter brushing against your skin like old sandpaper. You kept changing positions—legs folded under you, then stretched out, then pulled back in. Nothing felt comfortable. Nothing felt settled.
You kept reaching for the bottle of Coke on the side table, fingers brushing it absentmindedly before pulling back. The ritual repeated over and over until finally, you just brought it into your lap. The half-full bottle had lost what little fizz it had, but you held onto it anyway. The weight of it in your hands was something solid, something to focus on. It gave your fingers something to do besides twist the hem of your shirt or pick at your skin.
Joel hadn’t said much. The flicker of the TV lit up his face in little bursts. Every so often, he’d glance over at you. Not long enough to say anything. Just enough to make your body flare up with heat as your blood rushed.
You tried to focus on the show, but your brain had gone fuzzy. Not foggy, exactly, but distant. Like your thoughts were moving through syrup. Your limbs felt a little heavy, your eyes dry.
The Coke sat in your lap like a small weight. When you went to take another sip, you hesitated, your hand lifting slower than you expected. The bottle felt heavier than before. Not by much. Just enough for you to notice.
You frowned a little, blinked once, then twice. Maybe it was exhaustion. Your nerves had been running hot all day, your body could just be crashing. That had to be it.
Still… something felt off. You gripped the bottle a little tighter.
Your head rolled slightly on your shoulders as you tried to blink the haze away. You gave a small shake, like maybe you could rattle the exhaustion out of your skull, but it clung to you—draped heavy over your limbs like a damp blanket.
You weren’t that tired.
At least, you hadn’t been.
You blinked again. The TV was still flickering, the show’s punchlines rolling out like clockwork. Joel chuckled along with the laugh track, low and content. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was exactly the way he wanted it.
You didn’t look at him. You just focused on the bottle in your hands.
It wasn’t spinning, but it felt like it could be. Your fingers curled a little tighter around it as if that might tether you to the present. You told yourself again that you hadn’t eaten properly. That this was just your body protesting the long day. That the motel room was warm, and Joel’s TV was loud, and your senses were frayed.
But still… your skin was buzzing. Not panic, just static. An edge.
You reached for your phone without thinking, fingertips fumbling slightly with the zipper of your bag. You didn’t even know who you’d text if you needed help, but the need to do something was rising in your chest, your instincts growing louder, like background noise you could no longer ignore.
“Feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” Joel asked suddenly, not looking at you.
You jumped slightly at his voice, your fingers freezing over your backpack. You glanced at him.
His eyes were still on the screen, but his smirk was back. Not wide, not obvious, just there. Subtle, like he was hiding something behind it and didn’t care enough to try hard.
“I’m fine,” you said automatically, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Joel made a little humming sound, like he didn’t quite believe you, but he didn’t press. Just leaned back further in his chair, exhaling like a man pleased with how the day turned out.
You turned your eyes to the bathroom door again.
It wasn’t far. You could go in, close the door, lock it. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.
You planted your hands on the edge of the bed and pushed yourself up. Your legs didn’t respond the way you expected.
For a split second, it felt like they weren’t even attached. Your knees nearly gave out as you stood, a sharp, disconnected jolt rushing through your lower body like the numbness you get from sitting too long in one position, but worse. There was no familiar prickle of circulation returning, no tingling promise of sensation coming back. Just absence.
And something about that absence made your chest tighten.
You reached out, grabbing the wall for balance. The Coke bottle in your hand slipped from your fingers.
Behind you, Joel’s chuckle drifted lazily through the static of the television. Not loud. Just enough to make the air feel thinner.
“You alright there?” he drawled, voice a little too casual. A little too slow.
You didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just, stiff legs.”
Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears, it was muted, distant. You could feel his eyes on your back now, tracking your movement more attentively than before.
You didn’t turn.
Didn’t say anything else.
You pressed your hands against the rough motel wall, the chipped paint cool against your skin. Your legs felt weak beneath you, shaking softly, and you couldn’t seem to make them move.
Your breath came fast and shallow, chest tightening with each inhale. The vintage chair creaked faintly nearby, a reminder that Joel was still in the room, still watching.
You didn’t look over.
Your eyes darted to the flickering TV, its pale light casting long shadows on the cracked wallpaper. It buzzed softly, filling the silence with pointless noise.
Maybe not so pointless.
You could hear him settle out of his chair, the scrape of fabric on denim. Joel’s footsteps shuffled behind you, slow and deliberate.
“Everything alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, smooth, and far too casual. Almost mocking. It didn't sound like a question.
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
Instead, you pressed your palm harder against the wall, willing the tremors in your legs to stop. But the more you willed it, the worse it felt, like your body was betraying you, leaving you trapped between fight or flight, but doing neither.
You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, biting your lip to keep from shaking or crying. Your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.
You wanted to run. To scream. To disappear.
But you stayed still.
You didn’t realize he was approaching again until the floor creaked just to your left. A soft sound, but close. Too close.
“Hey, c’mon now,” Joel said, voice gentle in a way that made your stomach twist. “You don’t look too good. Maybe you should lie back down.”
His hand reached out, palm warm and rough as it hovered near your arm. Not yet. The faux tenderness in his tone didn’t sit right with the look in his eyes. They were too alert, too interested.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice was hoarse and small. You hated how it sounded.
“You sure? ‘Cause you’re swayin’ a little.” His hand landed on your arm this time, solid and steady. But he didn’t grip.
That should have made it better. It didn’t.
It was the stillness in his hand that made your skin crawl, how his thumb pressed, then circled slowly, like he was mapping out your pulse.
“C’mon,” he said again, guiding you gently, not forcing, but not offering space to resist. “Just for a minute. You’ll feel better when ya do.”
When... not if.
You let yourself be led. Partly because your legs still felt unsteady. Partly because you didn’t know what would happen if you pulled away.
He walked you the few steps to the bed, hand never leaving your arm, and helped you sit. His other hand reached for your shoulder, too familiar now, the way it rested there a beat too long.
You flinched.
Joel paused, then gave a soft chuckle under his breath. “Easy now. Ain’t tryin’ to scare you."
But when he leaned in to adjust the pillow behind you, his knuckles dragged against your collarbone. His other hand hovered lower on your side, not quite touching your hip—but close enough that the heat of it made you recoil inside.
“You’re all tense,” he murmured, gaze slipping down your frame like a slow leak. “Just breathe, alright? You’re safe.”
The worst part was how convincing his voice sounded.
But you knew better.
Your body knew better.
You sank down against the bed with a strange sort of heaviness, like your own limbs no longer belonged to you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, a dry, musty scent rising up from the sheets.
You tried to sit upright, to keep your spine straight, but your body leaned without permission, your muscles slackened under the weight of your own breath.
Joel didn’t go back to the chair.
You heard the soft groan of the mattress again, felt the subtle shift beside you before your eyes caught up. He sat on the edge of the bed now. Right next to you.
Not touching, but close.
You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes trying to focus. Your brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, every thought dragging through molasses.
“Why…” you started, but the rest of the sentence didn’t come.
Your tongue felt thick. Heavy. Wrong.
He smiled, small, faint. You might've miss it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking. Because watching him felt like the only thing tethering you now.
“You okay, sugar?” he asked again, quieter this time. Closer. He didn’t sound worried. Not really.
You tried to speak, but your words came out slurred, barely above a whisper. “M’fine…”
It took all your strength just to swallow the lump in your throat, even that felt like work. You could feel your pulse behind your eyes now, slow and sluggish.
Joel didn’t move away.
His arm rested across his lap, hand curled on his thigh. The same hand that had guided you here. The same hand that lingered too long.
His eyes weren’t on your face anymore.
You saw that.
You felt that.
Still, you couldn’t quite pull your body back. Couldn’t seem to make your limbs respond.
You were here. And so was he.
And something deep in your gut told you the space between you wouldn’t stay empty much longer.
Joel's calloused hands reached toward the strap of your bra that had peaked out from your shirt. He lifted it in his fingers almost carefully, letting it lead up to the top of your bra. Your mumbled incoherently at his touch. He shushed you softly.
He didn't speak anymore, he didnt need too. He brought his fingers back up to your collarbone before laying his palm across it, the strap caught between his fingers as he pushed it down your shoulder. His body leaned forward to press his lips to your collarbone. His beard was scruffy and sharp against your soft skin, like needles.
His lips were dry and cracked, the wetness from his saliva being the only softness. He pecked at the bone a few times before his mouth wrapped around it, sucking.
Your hands weakly moved to his shoulders, but his hands patiently wrapped around your wrists, pushing them to sit by your head. The bed dented down. Your writhed weakly. He continued sucking and nipping at the spot till a dark mark appeared.
The knot in your stomach churned as he licked over where he bit to soothe your skin, his beard felt like a hundred tiny needles digging into you. Red appeared around the purple. His thumbs pressed into your wrists, feeling your pulse as you whimpered. His mouth lifted for a moment, his breath hot on your irritated skin.
"Your hearts finally slowin' down sweetheart, ain't losin' ya am I?" He huffed with a humor only he had. His mouth wrapped around the mark again, his tounge tracing your collarbone as he hummed.
He hadn’t lied, your heart finally slowed, but the panic stayed lodged in your chest. Each beat hammered against your ribs, like it was trying to tear its way out and leave you behind. The thump in your chest spread your blood throughout your body, heat rising on your skin.
His hands weren’t tight on your wrists, his thumbs traced slow circles on your pulsepoints before sliding into your palms. His mouth kept defacing your shoulder. There was no violence in it, if anything, he almost seemed to be comforting you.
You couldn’t decide if that made it better, or worse, or if it changed anything at all.
Your knees dragged upward in another weak attempt to slip free, but your bones felt like wet cement, heavy and useless. You turned your head away with a thin whine, your body mustering what little control it had to spill tears that slid into your ears. Your chest heaved as you writhed.
Joel shushed you without cruelty, his hum low and pitying, the vibration running from his throat into your collarbone. His mouth scattered pecks over the marks fresh on your neck and shoulders before he propped himself on an elbow, still looming above you. One calloused hand smeared the tears across your right cheek while his lips caught the ones on the left—and you swore his tongue slipped out to taste the salt straight from your skin.
“Don’t cry, sugarpie… I ain’t gonna hurt you, promise. Didn’t mean to upset you none. I just get real lonely out on the road, is all.”
He looked and sounded so genuine, like he truly believed every word he spoke. His lips brushed your ear when he talked, his voice almost swallowed by the blare of the TV—and now you understood why it was so loud. Not that it mattered. The only sounds you could make were thin, mousey whines, easy to mistake for the creaks of the old bedframe or an actual mouse.
Your lips trembled as you turned your face from his hands, eyelids pressed tight. The only refuge you had was to pretend, if only for a moment, that none of this was real.
“Hey now… look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby.” His voice stayed soft, but there was an edge of annoyance beneath it.
When you didn’t obey, his hand closed around your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered. He tilted your head toward him, but your eyes stayed shut. He clicked his tongue, then used his other hand to peel one eyelid open. Your iris was barely a ring around your blown pupil, whatever he’d given you was already winding through your blood, sinking heavy into your bones.
He smiled softly. “There she is…” he whispered, letting your eyelid flutter shut as his hand slipped into your hair, fingers combing slow like he meant to soothe. “Pretty, pretty girl.”
His lips met your forced pout in a mockery of a kiss, his tongue brushing gently against them, coaxing for a response you never gave. When you didn't reciprocate, he nipped at your lips gently.
He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your eyes still screwed shut, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of his touch. His hand hovered at your shoulder, and he grinned at the weak tremors rippling through your body. Slowly, he let his fingertips trail down to your hip, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to trace the waistband, his blunt nail dragging a cruel line across your pelvis.
"It's okay, hun." He whispered as he slipped another finger into the waistband.
You felt his hand turn in your shorts, the pads of his fingers now touching you. You tensed but made no move to resist, not that you could. His hand slowly, painstakingly, moved deeper into your shorts. You quietly cried as his middle and pointer finger dragged across your clothed clit before it was quickly replaced by his palm, fingers down to your slit. Your heard a gravelly groan reach out of his throat.
"Fuck sweetie, you're soaking through your panties." He chuckled near the end of his words before exhaling heavily.
Your eyes wanted to shoot open, but only managed to lift with a furrowed brow. His eyes met yours, his bottom lip between his stained teeth. Confusion was painted on your features.
"Yeah baby, you're panties are fucking ruined." He huffed, his palm pressing onto your swollen clit.
A humiliating gasp was ripped from you as more tears fell from your eyes. No, no no no...
"Mhm, shit baby, see? Your body knows I'm not hurting ya, what was all that fuss about?"
The pads of his fingers brushed over your clothes slit, the wetness became more obvious as you heard a sickening squelch when he pressed them into your sopping hole over your panties.
"Ah... Joel.." you cried, your voice never felt smaller.
His hot breath fanned your face with a pant, "Yeah, baby, say my name."
You shook your head weakly, your eyes traveling down to where his hand disappeared into your shorts. You remembered you had hands as you tried to push his hand away. In your haze, you accidently pushed him closer, letting his palm rub harder into your clit.
You wanted to puke when your felt a shot of pleasure crack through you, you wanted to die when you felt your hips roll into his hand. Your voice cracked with a wordless 'No'.
Joel beamed, "You got such a needy pussy, baby... look at her, she wants so bad. She knows whats best for you... she just wanna feel good."
You grit your teeth as your hips rolled again, his hand meeting it with a circle of his own. Your nails dug into his forearm, but they barely made an indent. You felt his leg cross over yours as he hummed your thigh. His cock was hard in his jeans, the bulge large and visable despite your brain fog and the dark room.
His hand left your shorts for a moment, and you felt a wave of relief before you felt them fall straight to the button on them.
He unbuttoned them with one hand as he groaned, lifting himself to his knees. He grabbed at the waistband at both your hip bones and tore them down. You tried to cross your legs but one of his hands met your thigh and shoved it to the side, just long enough to get your shorts off.
He brought both hands to the back of your knees, dragging you down for his thighs to meet the back of yours. He spread you open and stared down like he was holding his fridge open, deciding what he wanted to feast on. He barely felt the tug of you trying to close them. In a last ditch effort you moved your hands to cover your crotch, and that's when you felt it.
You were completely soaked through, the wet spot making your white panties transparent. It was like something inside you broke at that moment. Your body had decided to completely betray you.
As if he noticed you resolve falter, he brought his hands to the side of your panties and ripped. One side, then the other. Throwing them across the room to land somewhere on the carpet. You bit into your hands as you stopped pulling away. Eyes distant but open, he would take it.
His hands lifted your shirt over your bra before he shoved that up too. It squeezed over the top of your breasts almost painfully.
"God bless you, baby... perfect fucking pussy," his hand slapped it as he leaned forward, "and perfect fucking tits."
His mouth wrapped around your nipple, tounge circling it wildly as he sucked the nub between his teeth. Your body reacted how it wanted, and you could only whimper and whine pathetically. He rested above you on one forearm while his other hand met your leaking slit again. His thick middle finger dragged up and down it, your wetness coating the pad. He brought it to you clit, circling slowly before he flicked it.
He moaned around you nipple when you jumped with a cry. The more your body reacted the more he seemed to lose it. He switched to the other nipple, "Gotta give her some lovin' too." He chuckled.
The actions repeated for a few minutes you think, your perception of time got foggy with each circle, flick, and switch.
The vibration from his groans tickled your breast, making your back arch further into his mouth. He was almost fucking drooling, copious amounts of spit shined your chest like you'd been rubbed down in oil.
He abruptly moved down, his hand leaving to grip your hips, holding them down as he settled between your legs. He licked a long stripe across your slit, shaking his head side to side as the muscle circled your clit before he sunk it into your organ. His hands moved to your chest as he tounge fucked you, fast and unrelenting. He only lifted from you to spit on you pussy before he flattened his tounge across your entire slit and diving back in.
Every groan and moan from his vibrated against your clit and the inside of you. You felt breathless and violated. And when a knot formed in your stomach that you couldn't decipher at first due to the sinking dread that had settled there, it was too late.
With a broken cry, you threw your head back as your legs shook around his head. His voice raised over the tv for a moment with how loud he growled against your pussy.
He detached from you before appearing in front of your eyes and shoving his hot tounge down your throat. You grimaced as you tasted yourself, your pussy still throbbing from your orgasm.
"Sweet as cherry pie, baby." He mumbled against your mouth. His tounge dragged along the inside of your mouth, just another hole to him. Along the ridges of the roof of your mouth to the back of your teeth.
He sucked on your tounge harshly before unlatching, raising back on his knees again with a hushed 'Fuck...' undoing his belt. The clink of metal echoed, as he stood. He didn't bother taking his jeans off, just shoved them down enough to release his raging cock.
He walked to the side of the bed, grabbing your arm and dragging you closer. His dick hung heavy as it twitched, face level with you. You closed your mouth tightly and turned your head, only to met with a gentle but forceful tap from the back of his hand. The same hand grabbed your jaw as he leaned down to meet your eyes.
"I'm only gonna say this once, you don't fucking bite. I don't wanna hurt you, sugar, but you bite my fucking dick and I'll knock your teeth out." He said it sternly with raised brows.
You only looked at him fearfully before he spoke again, "Do you understand?" You nodded.
He loosened his grip and brought his thumbs to the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. "Relax your throat, sweetheart. Be good for me, m'kay?"
What else could you do other then what you were told?
The tip leaked as he dragged it across your lips before he got an idea, backing up and manhandling you to lay with your head upside down on the edge. He returned to your lips, a couple heavy slaps of his cock landed on your cheek before he told you to stick your tounge out, and he slid into your warm waiting mouth.
He groaned as he moved till his balls touched your nose, stilling there for a moment as you suffocated. You whimpered around him as you brought your hands up, "Breath through your nose, sweetheart." He instructed.
He pulled out leaving just the tip in your mouth before he slowly bottomed out again. He didnt waste time changing the pace, his hips thrusted steadily. Drool dripped from your mouth as he fucked it, his heavy, twitching balls smacking your nose each time. He brought his hands to take your wrists, settling them on your stomach as he leaned forward so he could thrust harder. He panted and groaned, cursing occasionally inbetween.
One of his hands left your wrist to smack your pussy once before he lifted himself. Bringing one knee to the mattress, he stood as he thrusted downward into your throat. His hand enveloped it with a growl when he saw the shift inside of it. His eyes were locked on the bulge that appeared in your throat when he shoved it down.
His thrusts became sloppy as he got louder. He lean forward again, fully pounding your throat before hot seed filled it. You felt it hit your uvula in bursts, forcing you to cough and gag, your body desperately trying to suck in air through your filled neck. He stilled at the deepest point, his tip twitching to hit the back of your throat as you felt his balls tighten against your nose. He exhaled roughly before giving you one more slowly thrust, pulling out.
You gasped desperately, veins bulging in your face and neck. Your eyes were pink and your head was swimming due to it hanging upside down for so long. Spit and snot leaked down from your face along with his cum.
Kneeling next to you, he nuzzled your head with his own with soft shushing. "That's it, breath, honey... You did so good, took it so good. Made me feel so good, baby..." he muttered, kisses moving across your temple.
When your coughing subsided you breathed a sigh of relief that it was over, mumbling incoherently as your brain struggled to process. The fog lifted when you felt his hands around your ankles from the other side of the bed, dragging you to lay on it again. He crawled to join you before twisting you back around so your head was at the pillows.
Cries came more freely now as you saw his still hard cock scoot closer to your pussy. You head turned before narrowing in on a sheet of tablets sitting on the side table he'd been sitting at. Two blue pills missing.
Your throat burned as a weak cry tried to crawl out, but he'd abused it to the point of you loosing your voice. Pathetic squeaks falling from your mouth instead. You felt his cock slap against your pussy, it instinctively pulsed at the pressure. He pressed the tip to your clit, thrusting against it. Your back arched as your hips rolled with his, your brain was so fuzzy you didnt even register the noises spilling from your lips.
The stretch was sudden as he pushed into you. Your lips trembled around him as he slid inside easily. Your spit and already soaked his cock immeasurably, but the lube that leaked from you without permission added to it ease of which he came inside you without friction. You felt impossibly full when his hand came down to push on your lower stomach as he began working.
There was no build up, the speed was set from the jump as he hauled himself over you. His hips met yours with heavy thrusts, pounding into you without thought. The only time he let you breath was when he kneeled again, only to grab the back of your knees and shove them next to you head as he somehow fucked you harder. He felt no need to speak anymore, only occasion growls of how wet you were, which you hadn't needed verbal acknowledgement of. It was clear from the wet slaps that echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ears as you laid limp and took it.
Your mouth hung open as noises continued to force themselves from your throat, you had been so gone that you didnt flinch when you spit into your mouth, your throat instantly tensing as you swallowed it. You had lost almost all feeling, your hearing muffled, you took no notice of the impending release.
"Fucking shit baby... pussys so fucking tight 'round me... you gonna cum again? Hmm? You love this fucking cock, you know you do. You're body knows you do."
It went in one ear and out the other, you were reduced to a whimpering hole.
You didnt react when he pulled out to flip you onto your stomach, shoving one knee hip while the other stayed straight. He laid atop your seemingly lifeless body as he shoved himself back in and quickly resumed his previous pace. The cupped smacking sound reverberated with his pounding, your voice now muffled by the pillows you faced.
You felt his weight as his chest met your back and he rutted into you. Your fingers twitched with a mix of exhaustion, pleasure, and anxiety. He swiped your hair from your shoulder as he sucked another mark onto you from behind. Your voice raised a pitch as he thrusts began sloppy again.
"You're gonna make me cum again, honey... fuck yeah that's it, you can take it, knew you could." You whimpered as he lifted your hips, shoving you onto him just as harshly as he was fucking you. But you tightend around him all the same.
"Come on, cum with me, baby! Want your pussy to clamp down and suck my cum right out of my cock... milk me fucking dry, baby... lemme fill up that sexy fucking pussy!"
A scream was at the back of your throat as your body jumped like you were electrocuted. It came out as a broken cry as you shook violently. He didn't stop even after your orgasm run its course, only fucked you faster. Your hips pulled away as you mindlessly scrambled away from his unrelenting ones, but you were still under the influence of his roofie, and he was still so much stronger.
And so for another agonizing few minutes you shook and writhed and cried till he bottomed out. Cumming deep inside your abused cunt. You felt the warmth fill you as his tip hit your cervix, it spread quickly down to your opening where it leaked down onto the bed. He let himself to thrust a handful more times as he drained his balls inside of you.
And then he stayed there, his hand lifting your hips to keep it from leaking out. But there was so much, it filled your entire cunt. You felt his hands reached and pinch your slit closed around his cock. His mouth came to your ear as he whispered.
"Gotta make it stick... make sure you get nice and full."
You have nothing left in you to protest, only tears slipping by. You're so fucking dirty, cum and spit and snot and tears and sweat. The blanket your sprawled on feels like got left out in the rain.
You feel his cock soften inside you of before he pulls out. Two fingers immediately replace it, stuffing the little that leaks out back into your brushed pussy. You begin to lose your senses, your body unable to force itself to fight awake anymore.
You only feel the repeated drag of his fingers, a clicking sound like a camrea accompanied by a flash of light, and his breathless heaving. The bed shakes as he falls next to you before you feel his arm loosely wrap around you waist, pulling you into him. You eyes droop as you gave in. A lump forms in your throat when you feel a twitch against your ass as you slowly loose consciousness.
today's episode of...who the fuck did I marry? (literally)
synopsis: so you woke up next to the hottest man you've ever met. except, you've never seen him before and he swears he's your husband. and the more you talk to him, the less certain you are he's even human. what'll break first? him? or your sanity?
pairing: eldritch-esque entity!gojo x f!reader
wc: 7.3k
content: mdni, DARK CONTENT, angst, light smut, gojo is an entity masquerading as a human lol, but he's down BAD for you, basically God!Gojo has no concept of any kind of societal norms and is pathetically in love with you, technically kidnapping, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, gojo gets everything he wants and that includes you, Geto guest starring as fellow gaslighter LMFAO, some slight body horror (occasional extra eyes and limbs), wet dreams, fingering, touching, casual affection, mentions of taking meds (that aren't actually needed), reader is convinced she's going crazy, messed-up dynamics, some codependency
a/n: this was a super special commission from @specialgradefckr that was SO fun to write!! hope you guys enjoy too <3
The man sitting across the table from you was not your husband.
It didn’t matter what the shiny gold ring on his finger said – or the glittering diamond on your own. His mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. Pretty pink lips parting, the bright white teeth behind them opening wider, the sharp tips of his canines catching the bright sunlight streaming through the window of an apartment you’d never been in before.
You weren’t even sure he was human.
Or if you were still asleep.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” He cocked his head to the side, but he couldn’t even get that right. You guessed it was supposed to be cute (well, it kinda was) but it was angled too far, his ear nearly touching his shoulder.
The newspaper in his hands was upside down. The coffee in front of him was half sugar. He hadn’t blinked once in the past two minutes.
You might not have picked up on that if his eyes weren’t so blue. It wasn’t the same shade as the oceans or the sky. Nothing in nature matched what was staring straight at you. They shimmered, brilliant and burning, intensely focused on each little twitch of your face.
Spit was pooling in the back of your throat, pulse pounding in your ear as you smoothed down the hem of a thin slip you definitely didn’t own and certainly hadn’t dressed yourself in the night before. No, you just tossed on a ratty old t-shirt before crawling into your own bed, pulled the comforter over your body and crashed. When you woke up, you were here, wherever here was, with no fucking clue how you got here. Or who he was.
With him half on top of you, sturdy arms wrapped around you and the prettiest man thing you’d ever seen purring good morning in your ear. Kissing your cheek like you and hugging you tight like you were some stuffed toy he always slept with.
You pinched the back of your hand under the table. Hard enough for your nail to break the skin. You weren't dreaming.
So he was, for better or worse, real.
“I should go,” you cleared your throat, glancing down at the almost untouched plate in front of you. Pancakes, apparently, although you’d personally never had any that were so…spongy. You poked it with a fork when he first set it down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stomach it.
“Is my cooking not good enough for you?” He quizzed, stark white brows scrunching together like it was a problem he had to solve. Like you were.
“What do you mean?” He frowned as you stood up, dropping the newspaper he wasn’t reading to stand too.
You stepped back, only glancing away to mentally calculate how far away the front door was.
“I should go back home,” you slowly reiterated. Not that you had any way to get there. You didn’t have your phone, your wallet, your keys. No clue how fucking far you were from your place.
“This is home.”
You shook your head slowly, left hand closing into a fist, but it just reminded you of the ring on your finger. Five carats, set in white gold and glimmering while you reflexively looked down at just another detail that didn’t add up.
“No,” you muttered. “This-”
You blinked, and you were on the couch. It was softer than yours, didn’t creak when you shifted, missing all the spots and stains that came from people actually sitting on one. It scratched something in the back of your brain, bothered you for a reason you couldn't name as you sat up and looked around to confirm your suspicion.
“I'm worried about you,” Satoru murmured, carrying a glass of-
Wait.
How the hell did you know what his name was?
Was it on something you’d seen without realizing it? On his phone when you were waking up? On a diploma or piece of mail somewhere your brain had subconsciously picked up on?
He placed the drink on the clean coffee table in front of you. There was only a small vase with a few white-and-blue flowers stuffed in it as decoration on it. No coasters in sight. And somehow, no scratches or water rings staining the light wood finish either.
“Who are you?” You asked, hearing how hoarse you sounded. Scared.
You didn’t want to take the water – but all you could think of was how sore your throat was, reluctantly reaching over to take a sip.
“Your husband?” He insisted, firm and a little sarcastic, like it should be obvious.
“I’m not married,” you scoffed, even if the weight of the ring on your finger got heavier by the second. “I don't even have a boyfriend.”
He made a soft sound, a coo, humming like this was still normal.
And then it clicked.
It had to be a prank. Probably pulled by one of your asshole friends who heard you complain one too many times about how sick of being single you were – or maybe even part of a shitty show that would only get aired on an absolutely unethical network.
“Are you an actor?” You asked, and he laughed, as if you made a joke. “It's not fucking funny. Did someone pay you? Or-”
“I'm your husband,” he echoed, like it was one of the only lines they'd given him.
“Seriously, are there cameras somewhere?” You started to stand, but your legs felt like jelly. Not quite limp, but unsteady on your feet as you took a step forward. But you bumped into the corner of the table right as he grabbed your arm to steady you, water spilling on the carpet, the cup remaining intact and rolling under the couch.
The only stain on it.
“Cameras, baby? Really?” He dismissed, innocence you didn’t believe in shining in those big blue eyes.
“That’s not a no,” you pointed out, looking up and around from the furniture to the corners of the room for any blinking lights or objects out-of-place.
But nothing stood out.
Except for the fact there wasn’t a single personal item in sight. No photos or signs. No bookshelves stuffed with albums of memories or even shoes or socks left forgotten on the floor?
“I mean, it doesn’t even look like anyone lives here,” you kept going when he didn’t deny it, gesturing to what could be a stock photo for a bachelor pad. “I mean, you didn’t bother photoshopping a single photo of us? That’s just lazy-”
He slid a photo album across the table you were pretty fucking sure had just been empty.
You stopped, stared blankly at the clean black leather, uncracked. Shiny as he flipped it open to the first page.
And there you were, in a white wedding dress you’d rather die than wear, one of those poufy princess ones you couldn’t believe actually existed. Your mouth fell open, mid-exhale as your fingers trembled to flip through yourself.
If it was edited, he’d done a good goddamn job at it.
His arm was around you, fingers flexing against your waist and a beaming smile across his mouth. No glaring issues or missing fingers to point at. But the flowers in the vase were almost identical to the bouquet in your hands in the photo.
You pulled one free from the plastic, flipping it over to find a date on the back. Almost a full year ago.
“What is this?” You asked, but the bite in your voice was gone.
“Our wedding pictures, pretty girl,” he answered, and his bottom lip pushed out like he felt bad for you.
You didn’t know what was worse, the pity on his face or the pride in his voice.
Each photo was more perfect than the last. The lighting, the shadows, your makeup, his suit, all the tiny details that might give the deception away in order and as expected. Not even a stray hair in sight.
Your family was in them. Standing in the background or barely in frame, friends laughing and drinking and toasting to a marriage that just materialized.
“You wanna call someone and ask?” He offered, a calm expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but think he’d done this before.
“Where’s my phone?” You felt weak, your brain getting foggier as you tried to organize and collect all the information being splayed out in front of you.
He dug it out of his pocket, and you wanted to protest – tell him that it was weird as shit that he had it.
You held your tongue though, trying to think of who wouldn’t go along with a prank like this and would actually come clean if they knew someone who would.
It was kind of hard when your homescreen was him though.
A candid too, one that looked like it’d been taken in a restaurant somewhere, across the table from him with a candle burning and casting warm shadows on his unnaturally pretty face.
Your thumb still unlocked it though, and all your contacts were still there – even if there were also now a thousand more photos of him clogging up your storage when you scrolled through.
It took five phone calls to convince you that something was very, very wrong.
Family members, friends, even a fucking coworker, and they all thought you were the one pranking them. Chuckling at your discomfort, asking how Satoru was, inviting you both over for dinner before your panicked pleas for them to tell you the truth twisted their amusement to concern.
When the last one hung up on you, you couldn’t even look up.
Just stared down at the smile on your screen, the first full squeeze of fear taking hold in your heart when he said nothing either, waiting for you to look up at him. You could feel his eyes on you. Oppressive and heavy, almost as if some invisible force was pressing against you.
“I think we should schedule another appointment with your psychiatrist,” he hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, like he really just wanted what was best for you.
Which, according to him, was an emergency session with a man you’d also never seen.
You had a psychiatrist already – an appointment you always kept. Every three weeks, curling up on a couch and complaining about work and your friends and venting about everything that bothered you from stupid to significant.
But he was about half a foot shorter and balding. Not another absurdly attractive guy who shouldn't know your name and still somehow did.
You blinked at him.
He stared back at you.
The clock ticked – your appointment time slipping by in silence when you refused to speak at first.
You broke first. Glanced out the window at the barren trees outside, wind blowing a brittle chill and frosting the edges of the glass. Shifting seasons. “Weird weather we’re having, huh?”
“Is that what you’d like to talk about today?” He cooly replied, a sharp edge of sarcasm cutting through the tension.
You shrugged, not that you expected him to answer back with anything actually helpful.
It was summer last night. The heat had choked out the ac in your apartment, your skin sticky and slick with sweat when you fell asleep, mumbling under your breath it was too fucking hot before you got under the covers
That was the first thing you’d noticed this morning. Your first clue. Eyes still closed and thinking that it was freezing – that your ac must have somehow fixed itself.
The weather was wrong outside. The man on the other side of the door kept saying he was your fucking husband when you knew he wasn't. And the rest of the world seemed to be in agreement.
“What brings you back so soon?” Your new psychiatrist asked, one hand firmly gripping a ballpoint pen while the other pushed a thin pair of glasses higher up his nose. How were you supposed to answer when you didn't even remember seeing him once?
Rationality hadn't quite let you, your brain suggesting reasons you didn't fully believe. Maybe your old one quit, some family emergency or last-minute thing and this was just a replacement he'd forgotten to tell you about.
You looked over the diplomas proudly displayed on the wall for a Suguru Geto. You made a mental note of the name, one you were sure you’d be searching and scouring the internet for later to see if any of them were real and he was actually an accredited doctor.
God, that really did sound fucking insane.
Genuinely suspecting the fact a (hopefully) licensed psychiatrist was just another paid asshole fucking with you?
There was a calendar by the diploma closest to the windows, and even though the days hadn’t been marked off, it was still on the last month you remembered. You pretended not to notice, shifting your stare back to him.
What the hell had happened in the past twelve hours?
“I’m not crazy,” you preemptively said. It wasn't very convincing coming from someone sitting on this side of the desk though.
“Did I say you were?” He smiled, but it was sly. He reminded you of a fox in a funny way, casual remarks coming off crafty. A hint of cruelty hiding underneath his polished, professional surface.
“You’re staring like something’s wrong with me.”
“What would be wrong with you?” He returned your statement with another annoying question, your scowl coming easily as you picked at your cuticles in your lap.
“I don’t think anything is,” you argued back. Except he wasn’t arguing – he was just setting traps and waiting for you to walk into them.
“Then why are you here today?”
Because you fell asleep and somehow in eight hours you’d gone from your bed to living a stranger’s life? Even worse, becoming a stranger’s wife?
“Why don’t you tell me?” You frowned, eyeing the thick folder he pulled out when you walked through the door, one he quickly closed before gesturing for you to sit.
“Your husband started bringing you here before for, ah, memory issues for the past year,” he soberly said, like his seriousness could make up for the fact he was full of shit too.
You almost scoffed. A year? No fucking way.
“Memory issues?” You repeated, daring him to elaborate and dig them both in a deeper hole.
He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing like he’d decided on a different approach since the current one wasn’t working.
“We could start considering inpatient treatment,” he started to suggest, a flare of panic seizing your chest at the thought of a future spent in grippy socks and stuck with needles.
“No,” you swallowed hard, shaking your head and quickly turning to where your husband was waiting on the other side. Even if you didn’t know him, couldn’t remember a fucking thing about him and didn’t have an explanation for any of it, he wouldn’t let that happen, would he?
“How about this? I'll write you a new prescription then and schedule a follow-up in a few weeks to see how you're feeling,” Suguru smiled at you, but it was cold.
“Sure,” you returned his fake smile.
It wasn’t like you had another choice. How hard would it be to flush pills anyway?
“Mind sending your husband in for a few minutes?” Your possibly-fake psychiatrist asked, and you could feel your brow twitch, threatening to betray your suspicions. You weren’t all that familiar with privacy laws, but it still felt like a breach of confidentiality. “I would like to discuss a few details of your care plan.”
Care plan – like you were some troubled child that needed nurturing and hand holding instead of actual answers.
Stuck sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair out in the hall while they chatted behind a closed door, unable to hear what they were talking about. Just that the man you were supposedly married to looked thrilled walking out, leaning down to kiss your cheek and promise to pick up your favorite food on the way home.
You figured out two answers of your own about him in the car. The first being he was a really bad driver. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed on the way there, but you guessed you’d been busy staring out the window trying to discern whether or not this was just a really weird vivid dream or not. But now? Paying full attention to the way his hands were positioned on the wheel, the complete and total lack of awareness he had for anyone else on the road?
It was ridiculous.
He rear-ended someone five minutes into it. Completely crushed the back of her bumper, about to drive away until you hissed at him to stop and give the other driver his insurance information. He cocked his head to the side like he didn’t really understand, but he got out of the car anyway – in the middle of the busy road and blocking all traffic behind him.
The woman he hit was pissed, short hair bobbing in the wind as she started shouting at him while you attempted to hide your face in the passenger seat.
Until your husband just grinned at her, pointing at her probably totaled car and casually chuckled. That was all it took for her to freeze, mouth hanging open, cheeks blushing when he took another step closer.
“I think that was your fault,” he hummed, and she nodded.
“I must’ve stopped too fast,” she said it like she hadn’t been screaming three seconds ago, her eyes glittering like he was a goddamn celebrity who was so kind to grace her with his presence and hadn’t just hit her car.
“Yeah, you should be more careful,” Satoru cooed, all condescending and still somehow charming, clapping a hand over her shoulder and squeezing before getting back in the driver’s seat.
You stared at him, and he just looked to you for approval.
“Do you always get what you want?” You asked, too surprised to even frown.
“Pretty much,” he flashed a smile. What, was it just pretty privilege?
That the world bent around him because he thought it should?
You weren’t sure when you started to bend too.
Just that the proof (and inconsistencies) started piling up – and started burying you beneath it.
He knew everything about you – things you never told anyone else. Not just the easy stuff like your favorite color or food, but what hole-in-the-wall restaurants you liked to order it from and what day you liked to do your laundry on. Could recite off when you were born and what you got for your fifth birthday, collected memories of yours like coins or stamps he wanted to save.
Any way you tried to slice it, he was either the most sentimental man you ever met or a stalker.
Maybe both.
When you asked for the marriage certificate, he pulled it from the shelf on a bookcase in his office. When you wanted to know what college he graduated from, suddenly there was a degree hanging on the wall. If you questioned how long you’d been dating, tried to pick apart his timeline, he pulled up the messages between you from as far back as your first date.
“You don’t trust me,” he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip too far as he tossed his phone on the couch.
You bit your own lip. Looked at the floor so you wouldn’t have to find something wrong with his face.
“Why me?” You asked instead. Why couldn’t he go pick some other girl to torment? Get a divorce and unbind his life from yours?
“Would you believe me if I said it was love-at-first-sight?”
You didn't really believe anything he said.
Even if he always had an answer (or an excuse) at his disposal.
But other stuff stood out, getting ready for work a few mornings post your psychiatrist appointment just for him to furrow his brows and station himself by the front door to ask where you were going.
“My job?” You huffed, slipping on your shoes. All your clothes had come with you here, half his closest stuffed full of them, your shoes set up on a nice little rack by the door. There were a few things you knew you hadn’t bought, frilly and flimsy and all in that unnatural shade of blue, but you ignored them.
Foolishly tried to kid yourself that pretending they weren't there would make them go away.
“You don’t work,” he casually replied.
“I do,” you insisted, trying to push past him before he stopped you with a firm hand wrapping around your wrist.
“Sweetheart,” he tried to sound kind, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. “You quit six months ago.”
He guided you back to the kitchen table, sat you down softly before walking over to one of his dark cabinets. Pulled out something from the top shelf and returned to you like he was every ounce the devoted husband he was pretending to be. He handed it to you, something you were sure was supposed to be a show of trust.
The pill bottle was clear. Thick, almost translucent, white label stretching around with pretty blue pills rattling inside when you shook it.
Simple instructions printed neatly below your name to take two a day with food.
“I’ll make you breakfast, baby,” he promised, waiting for you to open the cap and take two. Part of you wanted to accuse him of just not being able to open the child-proofed caps.
You slowly did, feeling ill already, although it was hard to tell if it was from the idea of eating his cooking or taking the pills.
He waited for you to put them in your mouth, stood there while you let them sit on your tongue.
“Don’t make me check,” he chuckled, a low warning you could tell he meant.
You swallowed.
And still, through the side effects and brain fog they seemed to bring on, you clung to the edges of your sanity, the logic remaining. Enough that when he was distracted typing away at his laptop, you were trying to text former coworkers, your old boss, anyone that would know anything more.
But none of the messages were ever marked delivered. And when you looked up your former place of employment, you discovered everything about them had been scrubbed online, completely wiped. Like it never even existed.
And when you managed to slip past him four days later down the stairs and out into the parking garage, you couldn’t find your car.
The days dragged on - no job, no distractions. Just him and the cocktail of prescription drugs to coast on.
His work schedule wasn’t kind to you. Allowed him to ‘work’ remotely, although he barely seemed to be in his home office, usually too busy bugging you. Half the week he never even stepped foot in there at all. But they never fired him. Never seemed to pester him to finish projects or demand for more of his time.
You, apparently, were the most difficult part of Satoru Gojo’s life.
“One kiss?” He pouted, pointing to his cheek and leaning against the wall by the office door, an easy grin on his face.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you excused, itching to walk away for the few hours of peace you got a day.
“Later then,” he shrugged, still unbothered, like he had all the time in the world.
He liked to take you shopping after work or on weekends, doll you up in dresses and treat you to overpriced restaurants where he always seemed to score free meals or desserts every time. Although, the first time, he accused a waiter of flirting with him (and eventually you) just for asking questions about what he wanted to eat, demanding to speak to a manager. Squinting and scrunching his nose up like ‘is the food to your taste?’ was the equivalent to asking what color underwear he was wearing. No one listened when you tried to apologize for him. Paid any attention to you saying it was fine. The waiter was fired and your food was comped.
People stared when he passed by. Men asked him about his cologne and his clothes. Women told you how lucky you were to lock him down.
As if it had ever been your choice in the matter.
Sometimes, you'd slip. Forget that you should be fighting this. Instinctively reach out for his hand in crowds in public, offer him bites of your food, roll over closer to him in bed on cold mornings. And somewhere deep inside, you knew it wasn’t right, but you seeked his comfort anyway, soothed yourself with his freezing hands and warm voice like it’d make your skin stop crawling, like it’d scrape away all the paint and varnish covering up the ugliness hiding underneath your relationship.
You always snapped back to what was left of your reality eventually.
It was after you pulled back that it would be there, the unsettling discomfort of his stare when you turned away from him.
It was the worst in the mornings.
Crawling out of the sheets first, leaving him with his legs tangled in the blankets. He only ever slept in his boxers, his chest bare and rising slowly. It took too long to fall, like he was faking it. Mimicking sleep like he was imitating something from a movie.
And even when his eyes were closed, long white lashes fluttering, you could still feel them watching.
His body, however pretty, however perfect, felt more like a shell, a casing containing something too big for it. A man who’d never been told no – and knew how to make sure it was never an option for you.
Not when every day you teetered closer to crazy, swallowing pills you didn’t need, sitting next to Satoru on the couch with a strong arm slung over your shoulder, stuck in a never-ending routine of brain-numbing domesticity.
You couldn’t even lay in bed and sleep in late.
The sky outside his window never seemed to get lighter until you got out. Your phone was always out-of-reach – Satoru didn’t confiscate it, but you conveniently could never find it once night time rolled around. He never had watches around either – even though he seemed like the exact sort of asshole that would own a Rolex and brag about it.
You might’ve called him out. Confessed your suspicions, made a whole fucking list of them to shout at him, scrutinize every tiny detail and demand answers. Until you started seeing the eyes and were forced to reconsider the growing possibility that you were the problem here.
He was talking – he almost always was. Telling you some convoluted story you were pretty sure was the plot of a bad tv movie he must’ve watched while you were sleeping, one you had overheard blaring from the bedroom, the volume also perpetually stuck too loud. He never left the remote out for you to change it either.
Your stare had been fixed on the tv anyway, nodding along bored until you caught a glimpse of it out of the edges of your vision. Right below his cheek. An extra eye, just as bright and observant as the other two. It blinked, and you turned.
But it wasn’t there anymore, and Satoru was staring at you innocently, head tilted to the side like he was pleased to have captured your attention at all.
“Everything alright, pretty girl?” He purred, reaching out to place his hand over yours. You didn’t pull away, couldn’t convince your body to move when the surprise had left you practically paralyzed.
You tried to sleep it off.
But they kept popping up. Behind you in the mirror. When he was making breakfast. On his hands and face and even once on his back. The second you looked, the moment you tried to look directly at it, it was gone, dissolved back into normal skin like it’d never been there at all.
And then came the ones in places they couldn’t be.
On the walls and in the furniture. Constantly being watched whether you were alone or with him.
You used to think you could get used to anything.
But the paranoia never ended – and you were starting to question if maybe he’d been right this whole time. How much of this was him? And how much was in your head?
“How have you been doing since the last visit?” Your psychiatrist asked, fixing you in the same cold stare as last time. You hadn’t wanted to come back, but Satoru insisted – and despite all your digging, you couldn’t find any proof he wasn’t who he said he was.
“Fine,” you lied.
You were one string away from unravelling. On a short tether ready to snap with one more eye, one more changed memory or crooked detail that didn’t match up.
“Have you remembered anything? Any flashes? Images?” He asked, like someone who had a degree probably would.
You shook your head, the urge to claw and scratch and fight this slowly seeping out. “Um, no.”
“Well, we can talk about something else then,” he smiled, and it still didn’t reach his eyes. He shuffled through the folder in front of him. “How about your family then? Or maybe your friends?”
Your mouth had started to open, to dismiss the idea of talking about the one area of your life you still considered somewhat private until a name he shouldn’t have known left his lips. Until he continued to mention more information you only ever told your old psychiatrist about.
“I think I’m done today, actually,” you muttered. You brushed down your skirt, standing up and hurrying over to the door to twist the knob just for it to bump into something on the other side.
Satoru had been listening in.
But he didn’t condemn you for ending your session early. Just wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders and brushed your hair out of your face before asking if you wanted to go out to eat or pick something up.
Suguru Geto would never be able to give you the help you needed.
You didn’t think help like that even existed. What god would be able to overwrite your husband when it seemed like he was the one who made the rulebook? Who never did wrong and always got precisely what he wanted?
In a weird way, there was an odd comfort in being with him. He didn’t make you feel crazy – even when you threatened to throw his shit out the window and cried yourself to sleep when you did toss his stuff out just for it to reappear in the same spots. He just cooed that it was okay, promised that it would be better soon, pressed faint kisses against your shoulder blades and down your skin like his touch could make the world stop spinning.
Something was seriously wrong with him and you.
You were both bad at pretending to be normal.
Maybe you didn’t remember him. Maybe you hallucinated the eyes on the walls and the secrets buried in his skin. But here he was, sitting on the couch while the sun was still out watching a girl get her back blown out with a fucking notepad in his lap.
Squinting at the screen while she got backshots in 4k Ultra-HD, her gasps and moans the soundtrack while he made unintelligible scribbles on the page. Pants on, fully clothed, not even fucking erect or hard or anything.
If he noticed you behind him, he didn’t say it.
“You're not jerking off,” you dryly commented, leaning against the doorframe.
“Do you want me to?” He glanced over his shoulder, sincerely asking.
You stared at him, lips parting as you tried to formulate what the fuck you were supposed to say to that, your own eyes shifting down to where the notepad was suddenly gone, his hand already tugging down his zipper and about to pull out his cock.
Maybe you would've said no, but you shut up the second you saw it. And really, it was kind of fucking absurd.
Even more than the situation itself was.
Bigger than what the guy on screen was packing, like someone copy-and-pasted what an ideal one was supposed to look like, vein throbbing and pre-cum leaking around a pretty pink swollen tip. As if it hadn't just been soft and hidden under his jeans a handful of seconds ago.
“I'm, um, going to bed,” you awkwardly stammered, jutting your thumb down the hall.
Sleep washed over you here. Like a hand pushing your hand under waves until you were forced to suck water into your lungs.
But you never drowned.
You dreamed of being somewhere vast, where the dark stretched out endlessly in each direction. Outside, you guessed?
Except there wasn't a sky. No ceiling. Just space – cold and cruel but not empty. Eyes were everywhere. Instead of being on CCTV, you were being captured from every goddamn angle by the same unblinking blue eyes that haunted your days. You used to think two was a lot. That it was all he needed to see though you.
Here there had to be at least two hundred.
All watching you splayed out for their viewing pleasure. Pale hands held your wrists in place, veiny arms and thick fingers tracing and groping you. Squirming against (into?) him while another set of palms spread your thighs. His touch seared.
Burned into your soul with each pattern he painted and pressed along your skin and inside you. It wasn’t like he had a face, or like you could hear his voice. But you knew it was him all the same.
And you didn’t resist.
Didn’t want to.
When dreams had blended into your waking world already, what was so wrong about letting yourself have him like this? The rest of your life was wrong anyway. You closed your eyes, rested your head back for another hand to hold it up, fingers petting your hair while another set did the work of spreading you open and stretching you out.
It didn't feel like fingers though, not when each touch was pure energy, electricity that raced through you and back down, pressure building and cresting just to come back twice as hot with each pump of something thick and hard thrusting inside you. It curled cruelly, reached places you never could on your own, invisible and intoxicating as it dragged you close to your climax just to rinse and repeat.
Being rearranged and remade into something that fit him better. That felt better.
Time didn't exist. It could've been five minutes or five hours. Lost in the void of him while he lost himself inside you.
You could've lived in it.
But your life had taken on its own dreamy shape, one that bordered on fantasy.
The sheets were damp. Thighs soaked and slick.
“Sleep good, sweetheart?” He prodded when you woke up to the sun shining through the window, a lazy arm slung over your side. Deceptive. You knew if you went to slip out, if you pulled away too soon, his relaxed grip would turn into a harsh squeeze, holding you against him until you whined that it was hard to breathe.
You were about to turn around to look at him, but his fingers groped your tits and when you started to count how many there were on you, there were too many.
In your panic, you elbowed him, pulling away before he could fully react.
And you saw it.
Not just a glimpse. Not a flash.
But a full second where there was an extra arm attached.
It was gone again by the next blink. But you'd seen it, and it felt like everything shattered again.
“You-” You started, pointing at where it had been.
“I what?” Satoru dared you to say it.
“You had another arm,” you accused, voice trembling.
“You must have missed your dose yesterday, huh, beautiful?" He crooned, still smiling at you like it was okay you just implied he was a fucking shape shifter or alien or some fucking creature charading around as your husband.
He'd pull documents out of thin air the same way he made an entire limb disappear. Convinced people to give him whatever he wanted for free with just a wink or a purr.
How easy would it be for him to do the same to you?
“I'm not crazy,” you said it again, but you weren't so confident.
Because whether it was real or not, pieces of him, thoughts and images and daydreams, had all started to seep through into your heart. Consideration or codependency, although maybe that was just you coping. Telling yourself that it wasn't some fucked-up form of lust or love.
There was too much you couldn’t reconcile from reality and the world he was trying to convince you of.
Something had to snap - and it was you.
And still, he tried to act like everything was normal, tried to hold your hand in the waiting room and took you to the conveniently-available doctor.
Suguru Geto tapped his pen against his desk.
And you tapped your nails against your leg.
“I think my husband isn't human,” you admitted. Said the big bad words that had been bouncing around in your head out loud. “I don't really know what he is, but-”
“You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Suguru dismissed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“I know,” you nodded.
You'd come up with a list of theories on the car ride here while Satoru promised to prove how much he cared about you. An alien disguised as a human? Some freak stalking you? That one didn't explain the arms or the eyes. The dream you guessed could've been all you, spurred on from seeing his cock.
“One moment,” Suguru held up his finger, and you figured this was it. He'd call the psych ward and you'd have white walls to look forward to instead of the cool blue of Satoru’s bedroom.
He stood up, walked towards the door where Satoru was waiting outside. Offered you another professional smile before stepping out.
Your file was left on his desk.
It took you two seconds to snag it, flipping through it, half-expecting it to be normal. To be another piece that you'd be left wondering if it was fabricated. But no, most of them were in familiar handwriting, notes taken by your previous psychiatrist, signed and dated precisely how you remembered.
Suguru was a fraud – and your husband, whoever (or whatever) he was, was too.
His office was unfortunately on the third floor, too far from the ground for you to make an escape through the window. So, you did the next stupid thing you thought of, pressed your ear against the door like you'd hear anything that would fix the anxiety churning in your stomach.
Your brain was trying to block out the information you found, to hit erase and rewind the clock on today. You felt fuzzy, thoughts slipping away before you could fully hold onto them.
“You really fucked this up,” your pretend psychiatrist grunted, irritated as you tried to blink away the fog, to drag your mind out of the haze and back to clarity. “I told you this would happen. Just scrub her memories and then add your own.”
“I want her to like me for me,” Satoru whined, and the next blink made the world around you sway.
“You're an idiot,” Suguru scoffed at him.
“Am not,” he argued back. “I'm intelligent, attractive, attentive, shouldn't that be good enough?”
“Not when she doesn't know you,” Suguru retorted.
You felt like you were going to pass out.
“Well, you said she started to figure it out so-”
You didn't mean to make a sound, but your knees threatened to buckle, and you had to lean against the door to stop yourself from falling. They immediately stopped talking. The doorknob jiggled, and then opened, Satoru catching you before you could collapse.
“There's my smart girl.” He poked your nose, one long finger pressing softly against the cartilage as he chuckled. Like an owner playing with its pet.
A kid testing the limits of his toy would probably be closer. More accurate.
A vein throbbed across Suguru’s forehead, annoyed at how this was playing out. You guessed he was like him too. Something that was out of your understanding, too much for you to fully conceive, under the cover of human faces and fucking around with someone like you because they could.
“What are you?” You bluntly asked, unable to pretend to not know. To act like you hadn't been listening.
“Your husband.”
You wondered what he'd do if you asked for a divorce. Although, here, in his arms, with him looking at you like he loved you, like in spite of everything else that was real, you didn't want one.
What vows had he sworn?
For better or worse? In sickness and health? Human or not?
“Fix this.” Suguru didn't ask. Demanded.
Satoru frowned, but there weren't any frown lines. Barely even a crease between his brows either. An emotion he hadn't mastered well in this body of his.
“I could just reset her,” he grumbled, unhappy at the prospect.
You barely had any strength left – but you scraped together enough to shake your head. You didn’t want to be fucking reset.
“No,” you hoarsely said. “Don't.”
Satoru’s face immediately brightened, grinning and pulling you closer, squeezing too tight again, until you hit his chest twice to get him to stop.
“Sorry, Suguru,” he shrugged. “I do what my wife wants.”
You fiddled with your ring in the car on the way home. For the first time, it felt like yours. Or maybe, you'd just accepted it as part of you. Let go of the pieces of you that didn't fit anymore. Shed those parts of your skin like he stepped into this one.
“What do you want?” You asked as he ran a red light.
“You,” he easily answered.
“You could've asked me on, like, a date,” you grumbled, resting your head against the window.
“Do you want to go on a date now?” He quizzed, cocking his head to the side at the correct angle this time. Learning, adapting to acting his role out.
“I want to go home,” you murmured.
The image in your head wasn't your apartment anymore. When you thought of bed, you thought of his.
And when he parked the car (and managed to scrape the front bumper against the concrete wall), he still hurried around to open your door for you, to hold your arm to steady you.
Took off your coat when you got back inside, got down on his knees to take your shoes off.
“You know you can ask me for anything, right?” He hummed, and there was something unsettling at the thought he could actually conjure up anything he wanted.
But being scared was exhausting.
So you didn't say anything when he followed you to the bedroom.
You stripped off your clothes, one piece at a time, methodical, precise. He stared, reverent. The lump in his throat bobbing as he took small steps forward.
“Do you love me?” You asked, unsure.
“You're the only thing I care about,” he reassured, fingertips settling slowly on your hips, one-by-one too. Dipping into the flesh, feeling it for himself and breathing in your air. His eyes glowed.
Literally.
A bright gleam that hurt to look at, burning into you with a dangerous intensity. When he spoke, his voice reverberated into your core. “Do you love me?”
warning ladies !! do not spit in gojo’s mouth unless you’re ready for him to nut instantly!
“c’mon baby,” he whines, voice all breathy and cocky, his blue eyes sparkling looking greedy. “i’ve been good. spit in my mouth, please?”
you laugh, because this six-foot-whatever menace who can literally warp reality is pouting like a brat because he wants your spit.
“you’re so fucking weird, toru.”
“you are weird,” he corrects instantly, tongue already poking out a little. “now c’mon.... i’m dying here. my dick’s so hard it’s bout to file a complaint.”
you roll your eyes but lean in anyway, gripping his jaw with one hand, thumb pressing into the soft skin just under his bottom lip. he opens wider, eyes half-lidded, that signature gojo smirk twitching at the corners because he knows exactly how nasty this is.
you gather it slow on purpose, letting him watch, then spit directly onto his waiting tongue. thick, warm, right in the center.
the sound he makes is downright criminal. a broken little moan-groan that vibrates straight through his chest and into yours.
“fuck— again,” he gasps, “do it again. spit like you mean it.”
you do it again, messier this time, letting some of it miss and drip down his chin. he doesn’t even wipe it. just lets it slide while his eyes roll back.
“you’re actually getting off on this, huh?” you tease, grinding down slow on the massive bulge straining against the fabric. “big bad strongest and all it takes is a little spit to make you stupid?”
“shut up and degrade me properly,” he whines, but he’s grinning like an idiot, tongue still out. “call me a nasty little slut or sum. i’m literally leaking for you right now.”
you laugh again, i mean you can’t help it. before you do the request, you reach down and shove his sweats just low enough to free him. he’s flushed dark at the tip, already dripping down the shaft.
“open wider, pretty boy.”
he obeys instantly, loving every second of being absolutely humiliated by you.
you spit again, then lean down and lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue while you sink down onto his cock.
satoru’s whole body shudders. he moans into your mouth, hands scrambling on your hips, already babbling.
“more!! fuck— spit on me while you ride me. please baby i’ll do anything. i’ll buy you a country. i’ll cancel infinity for the rest of the night. just keep spitting in my fucking mouth—”
Synopsis. 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.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, streamer!Choso, (sort of) B́J Alex AU, cámboy!Choso, college AU, he’s a nerd, film nerd!Choso, secret identities, masks, píercings (ears, tóngue, D), tattoos, chat, streaming, you’re a fan, identity reveal, exhíbitíonism, oraI (fem rec.), again PlERCINGS, tongue f, spítting, p sIapping, p talking, letting the viewers choose, fíngering with rings, overstím, dúmbifícation, Jacob’s Ladder, rough s, fiIthy s, he’s sIightly mean, tummy buIges, making it fit, pressing down, talking you through it, cIit pinching, pússydrúnk Choso, matíng presses, chokíng, manhandIing, mocking, sIight níppIe stim, creampíes, chat Iove you, cúmpIay, getting together, Phantom of the Opera references, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 14.9k
A/N. Hehehehehe-
Sunday was the night you’d found him; sprawled out on your bed and thumbing through the Internet. Some glitzy pop song you couldn’t name blasted from your speakers, and the room was saturated in the tingly excitement of having speedy Wi-Fi, no assignments, and the night to yourself. LED lights pink.
You’re checking some of your messages - doling out a few hearts, a few reposts - when that bell-shaped button bursts in blue. A new notification.
@cursed(your)wombz liked your repost.
It was on a photograph of the Sun—big and yellow, seemingly melting over a grey horizon.
Which was perfectly ordinary- this was the Internet, after all. And though your list of followers was modest, of course you’d interact with a stranger here and there.
The problem was in the way the notification disappeared as soon as it came.
An…accident maybe? This person had liked and unliked your repost. And without a second thought, you’re typing their username into the search bar.
And clicking on their profile.
@cursed(your)wombz huh?
He had a pitch-black profile picture and a layout with nothing of note, a banner as equally colorless and unnotable, and a simple bio stating:
I know what you want…
- C.
And beneath that was a link.
It stood out stark against the black background. You don’t click on it, of course- for fear of being something malicious, you’re avoiding it like you’d avoid a minefield.
You’ve already heard one too many horror stories on here about such things. One click and you’d find your address posted somewhere. Instead, your eyes drop to the number of followers he had…and your eyebrows are immediately shooting up.
0 Following.
581k Followers.
Now that makes you blink.
Okay- alright, maybe it wasn’t the most astounding number you’ve ever seen throughout your expansive time on the Internet - but it was still niche celebrity-status. Especially on this app. Especially to be stalking an account like yours…where all you did was repost the stray picture of a pretty landscape or yell into the aether about your missing assignments for your friends to comment on.
Now that was a little strange.
And so you’re scrolling down.
And you never quite know what you’re in for whenever you enter the realm of a person’s account—fanfiction with tags you never knew existed, one part of an argument on social media that really shouldn’t exist, mpreg.
Which was all fine and dandy to be quite honest- you just never expect to be met with the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on.
The first picture you’re seeing- pinned.
Posted just an hour ago. It’s a mirror selfie taken at a low angle; of a man with his body angled towards the lens and his phone covering his face. In nothing but a towel. With nothing but his chiselled body. His beefy arms flexed as he takes the picture, biceps rippled with a few veins—though still lean and almost smooth to the touch. Pierced nipples. Defined abs. Your eyes linger on the sparse dusting of dark hair leading below, below, below his fluffy white towel…
The picture cuts off just a few inches past his navel. You know because you’re enlarging it.
The photo is almost vampiric in nature.
Somehow.
Dimly-lit. Beautiful—he clearly knew his angles and lighting. It’s slightly blurry and you can’t make out much of the man’s features - nothing more than the slender length of his fingers, silver rings, and the outline of his dark (perhaps brown?) hair. Touching his shoulders. From just above the hem of his towel, the amorphous blur of a tattoo snakes down his left v-line - and no matter how much you’re zooming in, you can’t quite figure out what it is.
Something twists at the pit of your stomach as you’re latching your eyes onto the very obvious bulge he was sporting through the towel - very.
The flash created a shadow of his lengthy cock—oh. Hanging between thick thighs, heavy and needy. And it also illuminated the slight dampness clinging onto his body; perhaps he’d just gotten out of the shower, or was about to take on after a workout.
Whichever scenario it was, both made your thighs clench- fuck.
Fingers slightly shaky, you’re exiting out of the picture and scrolling down for more.
The next post is a video seemingly taken from the very same instance: it was from the point of view of the beautiful man. Facing downwards, as he zoomed the camera in on his bulge and ran one vein-covered, ringed hand down his abs- down his pelvis- down to that throbbing erection and squeezed himself through his towel.
And then through your speakers echoes out the most pornographic moan.
Thank goodness your dorm had thick walls.
And that’s when you decide that you’ve seen enough.
Not enough as in enough enough to block this strange man and move on with your life- of course, not. As quickly as your fingers would possibly let you, you’re exiting out of the video and scrolling up to a bio that seemed to have more to hide than the first time you read through it.
The link stands mockingly stark - almost winking at you - against the dark background. You think you know what it is.
And you click on it.
Suddenly, your laptop screen’s flooding with a gaudy pink color. A loading circle swivels in the middle of it for a few seconds, before you’re met with a logo in swooping, slanted black script: C4mBoyfriends. Better than that boy in your dms.
Rapidly, you’re opening up a new tab and typing in the name.
“C4mBoyfriends is an adult streaming platform that hosts webcam performers that choose to label themselves as male. Here they can stream live video, post photographs, and interact on forums with a wide array of paying viewers—for a range of content catering to specific niches or sexual roleplays. C4mBoyfriends, since its recent launch, has shot up in the industry as one of the most-visited adult sites and the safest for its performers. All cuts go to the performers themselves and the site runs on separate donations from its audience.”
Ah- you’d guessed right.
Excitement burbles at the pit of your stomach for a few seconds. You’re clicking back onto the tab with the pink logo, and finding that it’d stopped loading.
It was in the layout of a streaming device, with static images of ongoing streams on one side of the platform, and different pages listed out on top. But what took up the majority of your screen was the vision of the very same man from before- from the mirror selfie, from the video.
This time, it was a stream.
@cursed(your)wombz is streaming—#1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends [101 week streak]. [Only solo]. Your internet boyfriend <3
0 Subscribed.
820k Subscribers.
455k Currently watching.
This time, he had his towel lifted up and his hands fisted around his fat cock.
Perfectly angled.
Your jaw drops. He was about eight- maybe more inches, though you weren’t in the state to count. Way too entranced by the way his veiny, ring-decorated hands were wrapped around his cock. Large. He was just so loooong and standing tall between wide-spread legs, shiverin’ every time he’s gliding his hand up and down. Up and down.
Again and again.
Getting faster by the second before he arches-
The edge of his thumb’s reaching for his ruby-red crown—then smearing the glistening liquid that just kept on foaming from the top. He lathers it upon his palm and drags it down his hot erection, making every inch gleam underneath the off-camera lighting.
You’re clicking on a button to increase your volume.
And just in time, too, because then he snakes his left hand down and squeezes his heavy balls- letting out a botched groan that leaves your shorts oh-so-wet.
Deep and guttural; there’s a slight quiver in them as he whispers. “F-fuck.” Just so full and sensitive—the man’s head tips backwards and his hips buck off the cushioned chair. Sluttily. As though he was fucking something invisible. It’s creaking ever-so-slightly as he settles back down, composing himself just a little bit before he starts cumming.
Pearly white droplets of cum.
Beading from the very top of his shaft - where he was the most pink n’ angry - shaking as he empties out. Globs of it start to glide down his length, and a few more collect where his silver Prince Albert’s piercing was positioned right beneath his mushroomy tip.
You’re just letting your eyes linger upon that little heap of satiny sap, when the man thumbs upwards and smears that, too. Such a mess.
And you think that might be all- but then he’s reaching his non-dominant hand upwards and pressing down on his frothing cockhead. Stopping himself from cumming - and as he leans to the side, you swear you’re glimpsing the twinkle of even more piercings on the upper side of his shaft. Was that…a Jacob’s ladder?
You’re rendered so damn speechless that you almost don’t register him speaking- “Awwww, did my pretty sluts wanna watch me cum?”
A shiver runs down your spine at the hitched tone of his voice- drunk on lust. He’s slightly slurring. So alluring, you almost catch yourself nodding.
“Well, too bad.” The man meanly snickers, before he’s suddenly reaching out with his non-dominant hand and angling it higher. The screen shifts to display that very same mouth-watering body from the picture—though, this time with the addition of a black-and-white mask that covered his features from forehead to his sharp jawline.
The only opening in it was a concave cutout for his mouth - almost reminiscent of a Phantom of the Opera mask. In the background was a clearly expensive bedroom of a clearly expensive home - far different from your single dorm - an artwork that you couldn’t name on the wall behind him. Something like a photograph or a portrait. Something about it was so precise- so cinematic. Like watching a movie scene. He continues, “Because you know why? You don’t deserve it.”
There’s a flurry of comments on one side of the screen, so fast that you wonder how he reads it.
“Didn’t I tell you to spam me with your nastiest stories in the chat?” He asks, and from beneath his mask you catch the outline of dark eyes shifting down those hurried words. Those needy comments. “None of you are nasty enough, so none of you get to see me cum…”
You’re tearing your eyes off of him to peruse what they were saying.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: nuuuuuu please, curse! i’ll get on my knees!!
@vampzo333: me too ME TOO
@likezmenpregnant: My story about the body pillow wasn’t nasty enough? TT
@CCpervnextdoor: AWWWW I’m begging~
@Curse’swifey: I’LL PAY YOU EXTRA PLEASEEEEEEE
@Curse’swifey donated 500 cherries.
“Tch- what a desperate bunch. Just fucking look at yourselves…” And though his words weren’t in the least bit nice, you couldn’t deny just how badly he made your cunt twinge.
Curse…that’s what his name was, huh?
You’re squeezing your thighs together- your sleep shorts were definitely soaked.
Curse rolls out the kinks in his neck just a little, and stares down at the camera with a crooked grin. “But that’s not gonna be enough. I said to be nasty- so be nasty.” The active chat becomes nothing but a blur once more: pleas, donations, stories half-typed in their urgency. “And in return I’ll moan whatever name you want me to moan when I cum.”
Before you know it, you’re opening up the sign-up page in a new tab.
Keeping Curse’s livestream playing in the background as you zip through your details. You’re picking out a username for yourself: Ietsmakeamovie and hastily going back to the ongoing stream with your newfound handle. Was it too obvious to make it the same username as your other account? The one that he had stalked?
Fuck- you’re too wound up to think of something else at this point. You decide that you’ll change it later…
Luckily, Curse’s stream didn’t have a paying threshold before you could comment. And you’re jittery with excitement as you pull the laptop closer to yourself and start typing out something—hitting send before you could overthink it.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Seeing you is the first time I’ve gotten this wet.
Curse’s eyes drift down the chat, and he seems to latch onto something. Eyes widening just a fraction.
“The first time?”
Fuck.
You’re feeling a jolt at the way he addresses you - never expecting him to pick out that comment amongst tens of thousands of others that were uttering even filthier things. Curse leans in and speaks with his deep tone, “Those other boys didn’t know how to treat a perfect pussy like yours, huh? This is why they call me the Internet boyfriend, baby.”
@Ietsmakeamovie: Yeah.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Fuck, you’re so hot.
@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t even wanna look away to touch myself.
You feel embarrassed typing it all out - but you console yourself with the notion that no one here knows who you are. And you don’t know anyone here, either.
Curse leans back and starts pumping his cock even harder—taking his left hand off the drivelling top. His milky-white precum is frenzied n’ sticks to his hand like glue, and the chat grows more and more excited as Curse’s actions do the same.
“That’s alright, baby, you don’t have to finger yourself.” He chuckles, eyes locked on the comments. “I’d be doing that for you if I was there.”
@Ietsmakeamovie: Wish you were. You’d reach so much deeper.
@Ietsmakeamovie donated 1000 cherries.
“Fuh-fuck—” He hisses, head throwing back in his chair. You take the time to admire the lines of his prominent Adam’s apple - the way it bobs every time he’s taking a shaky swallow. “No need to donate or anything, baby, just keep- ngh, talking t’me like this and that’s enough…”
@0003h0lesforCurse: holy shit. i’ve never seen him like this.
@CCpervnextdoor: Needy Curse I like it~
@bewbsRlife: KEEP GOING OP KEEP GOING!!
You giggle to yourself.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Enough to make you cum, Curse?
“Greedy, greedy girl…” Through the slightest gaps in his mask you’re catching the way his nose crinkles in amusement. A wolfish smile. “S’that what you all want?”
The chat explodes in agreement.
He cocks his head, “Movie?”
Was that your new nickname now? Hastily, you reply-
@Ietsmakeamovie: Mhm.
“Well then…” He grins, toned body arching off the chair. “Get ready for a show—” Darkened gaze narrowing at the comments, “And you better not take your eyes off of me for a single second- hump your damn pillows if you have to. I don’t care.”
Quickly grabbing your own puffy pillow, you’re stuffing it between your legs.
Right as Curse lets his head loll backwards- and his cum drizzles out of his cock. He’s been edging the poor viewers and overstimulatin’ himself for so fucking long now—all it takes is a few pumps to let the cascade of white coat his hands and his rings. Just the slightest bit of silver peaking through.
Hard and fast.
The man’s cockhead flushes even redder as he drags his high out deliciously. Every burst of dopamine. Every heaving pant. Every pretty moan escaping him.
It seems to be ramming into him in waves- gooey ribbons of seed coat his digits. Getting smeared like a gloss across eeeeevery single inch, ridge, and vein—and since Curse’s pace was something furious, a few globs of cum splatter across the towel and onto his thighs. A mess that he’s seeming to love.
Because in the next few seconds, he’s wrung out just the final bits of pleasure in him- and is raising his cum-coated fingers up to his mouth and sucking. Staring straight into the camera lens as he does so.
You’re watching slack-jawed as those long, lacquered digits disappear between his lips. Finishin’ them off squeaky clean and letting his head tip to the side.
He mouths, “Movie—”
Part of your username.
Though you hadn’t asked for him to moan your name, as he’d promised to do to one of the viewers had they been nasty enough. And this special treatment…
Maybe he did it to every new viewer. Maybe he just liked how much you complimented him- though everyone else did, too. Either way, it’s perhaps what sets off the bursts of electricity between your legs—and soon enough you’re hurtling into a high you hadn’t even realized had been building up and up and up.
Your lashes flutter shut as the orgasm overtakes you.
Hips ruttin’ away into the plushness of your pillow- you wonder just how much better riding him would be…
And that’s setting off a whole new layer of dopamine at your core, your cunt quiverin’ as white-hot pleasure makes your heartbeat throb in your ears. Chest pounding. Breaths heavy.
By the time you’ve finished pushing through your high, you’re coming to find that Curse had somewhat cleaned himself up with the towel and was bantering back n’ forth with the chat. He rests his head on one hand and sweeps his eyes down the usernames, “What happened to dear Movie, huh?” Curse pretends to pout. “The first stream wasn’t too much for her, right?”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: kekekeke you’re too freaky, curse!!
@CCpervnextdoor: So dirty~
@daddytoeknee: Must thank Movie for the show though…
Urgently, you’re gathering yourself and tapping a few buttons on-screen.
@Ietsmakeamovie subscribed to @cursed(your)wombz.
@Ietsmakeamovie donated 2500 cherries.
@Ietsmakeamovie: It’d never be too much.
“Ahhh, there you are.” Such a beautiful smile smears across his face, and Curse’s leaning in to take a closer look at the comments. “And thank you for subscribing, same time tomorrow?”
You’re unsure whether that was directed at you or everyone viewing- but you’re chiming in agreement alongside the rest of the comments. And Curse reads through them, lingering for just a little while longer before he grins.
“Heh- bye, sluts.”
And he covers the camera, the stream cuts off.
Yet your heart still thunders.
Ignoring the time at the bottom of your laptop screen, you’re then clicking on his profile and scrolling through what other videos he had…
.
.
.
It was your fault that you kept dozing off.
Honestly.
You should have known better- and you know that you should’ve known better…but you couldn’t help yourself. After Curse’s initial stream, you spent some time browsing through the numerous photographs and short clips that he’d posted; there were even some saved streams that were each dirtier than the last—each with his attractive mask and his even more attractive voice, his sensual cock getting pumped over and over for the audiences.
And so you’d left a few comments, a few hearts.
Throughout all of them, you made the peculiar discovery that they were all more high-quality than the last. The standard of being the #1 on the site, you guess. But the lighting and angles were all just so perfect…
You’d watched them for just a little while- at least, what you’d thought was a little while. Because by the time you’re realizing that your laptop battery was dying, and your eyes were tired, you’re turning your head in the direction of the dorm windows and- fuck.
Why was the Sun coming up?
And so you’d rushed to get at least half an hour of sleep before you had to get up for your 8AM lecture.
Professor Yaga taught Film 101 as though he was trying to scare everyone off it. Rigorous coursework and never-altered deadlines. Though you yourself wouldn’t consider him an unreasonable man, it was impertinent to be punctual and alert in his classes - and right now, you were feeling neither of those.
By the grace of the universe, you’re somehow managing to stumble into class just two minutes after it starts. It’s not enough to rouse Yaga’s anger - and either way, you had made a name for yourself as one of his most avid students - though it does get you a sternly raised brow as you apologize and take the nearest open seat.
Just-so-happening to be in the very last row.
At the very forgotten corner.
Right beside who you knew to be Yaga’s actually most avid student—Choso Kamo.
Had it been a race between the two of you - perhaps between the entire department - Choso would have finished five times before anyone’s even stepping past the finish line. You would’ve gotten second. And that wasn’t to diminish your abilities in any way - you’d long since proven yourself to be one of the best students this course had even seen - it’s just…Choso was a film nerd through and through.
If there was anyone that could live up to such a title, then it was him.
Choso lived, slept, and breathed film and television. He could name any television show around the world with just a single frame, and most he could recite line-for-line. Oh, that? He learned Korean just to immerse himself in that scene in Parasite. That scene? It was from the 1957 Sri Lankan film Amba Yahaluwo, by the way did you know that Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was filmed there, too?
Knitted vest. Hair in two messy space buns.
Clunky glasses rested atop his nosebridge, and dark bangs covering most of his vision, you’d often see him tottering around campus with a column of books that was damn-near taller than him. And despite his towering demeanour - from your mental counting, Choso was around 6’2 or more - around most of the student body, he was the type that couldn’t meet your eyes no matter how many classes you shared with him.
Even now, as you seated right next to him and smiled- Choso softly yelps and turns away from.
You don’t take it personally, of course, as he was simply the shy type. And by the flush that rises to his high cheekbones, you know he - at the very least - doesn’t dislike you.
Situating yourself, you’re opening your bag and pulling out your laptop. Opening it- fuck.
The briefest flash of one of Curses’s previous streams—where he had his cock in his hands and his face contorted mid-ecstasy flashes across your screen. And you can’t slam your laptop shut fast enough- cracking it just the slightest bit to exit out of the numerous tabs, fingers nothing but a blur. Thank fuck your volume hadn’t been set on high.
Head ducked, you’re looking out from the corner of your eye to check whether Choso had seen anything.
But if he did, he shows no indication.
Only keeping his back ramrod straight- his gaze ahead- his flush fiery as he listens to whatever Yaga was saying.
And so you think you’re in the clear…for now…
Opening your laptop up once more, you’re logging onto your lecture platforms and attempting to forget about last night. Which was difficult when that smile upon Curse’s face, just beneath his mask - was the only thing running through your mind.
And before you know it, you’d been staring blankly at your screen for a few seconds—before Choso inches in just a centimeter closer. Unwilling to let himself take up even more space. He keeps his eyes trained ahead and his voice - fuck, you’d never heard his voice before but it was just so deep and measured, something you wouldn’t have expected out of him - low.
Whispering to you, “H-he’s on Chapter 18 of Stone Butch Blues, we’re about to write a screenplay for the zoo scene.”
“Ah…” You don’t know whether you’re more surprised at the timbre of his voice or the way he managed a proper sentence out to you. All your previous attempts at conversation throughout the semester had been futile—and you’d long resigned yourself to the idea that he was too nervous to ever talk to you. “Th-thank you.”
He doesn’t answer but nods in shy acknowledgement.
And as you’re opening up your file, you bask in the realization that Choso Kamo was actually hot underneath those glasses. If only you could see his features further…
Maybe you’re being a little delirious. Your eyes feel heavy.
Heavy.
Heavier.
Tap-tap-tap.
A shake.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
A warm hand on your shoulder, by the time you’re opening your eyes- you’re looking up into even warmer, molten chocolate-colored ones. They were framed by fawny eyelashes and thick glasses that made his shy gaze seem ever-so-slightly amplified.
You think you’re stunned for a few seconds before Choso speaks, “U-um…class is over.”
“Oh.” That makes you dart your head up and look around, noticing that most of the students had filtered in or were in the process of already doing so. “Oh, shit-”
You’d seriously slept through all that?
And Yaga had left you alive?!
No, you weren’t going to question this act of mercy—thank goodness for the last row, because he likely hadn’t been able to see you. Shooting upright, you’re grabbing all your things and hoping you hadn’t snored next to the sweet boy - “Thank you so much for waking me.” You’re turning towards him and saying, earnestness seeping into your tone. “Knowing me, I would’ve slept right through till next class. Might actually have been more convenient.”
He startles into a laugh then raises a hand up to his mouth and quietens himself down, “It’s alright.” You’re staring closely at the little bells of laughter, and he turns his eyes downwards. Bashfully admitting, “Happens to me too, whenever I stay up um- studying. Long night?”
You sigh, “You could say that…” Not a long night studying, but…
And as the conversation quietens down and Choso worries down on his bottom lip, you’re hiking your backpack up on your shoulders and saying. “Well, I guess I should be going then. Catch up on the recordings of the lecture and everything-” Turning, “See you ‘round—and thanks again.”
You make all of five steps before Choso finally gathers up the courage to call out-
“Wait—!”
Confused, you’re facing him once more. “Yes?”
And his hand was out, his fingers were slightly trembling. He was mouthing out the words as though still debating whether to speak them into existence - whether he was capable of. “I…we-” Eventually mustering up the courage once you give a reassuring nod, “When will we meet up?”
That makes you pause.
Was he…
“F-for the assignment.” Choso clarifies, a flush rising to his cheeks as he likely realizes he should’ve led with that. “Professor Yaga’s mid-semester project he always does…”
Ah—you’re clapping a palm on your forehead. How could you have forgotten? Yaga had announced at the start of the semester that about halfway through, the class would be paired up or put into groups to work on a collaborative project that contributed to about 50% of your grade. This semester, it was to write a full-length movie screenplay for a book or musical of your choice. And you’d been excited for it, in fact, but after the…activities of last night it’d completely slipped your mind that he’d be delving more into it this lecture.
And the poor boy stumbles through his explanation, “H-he let everyone choose their partners, and I wanted to wake you up but…you just looked so peaceful.” He fidgets with his fingers and flushes, “I th-thought one of your friends would come up here and choose you but-”
Probing him gently, “But?”
“B-but I’m afraid you ended up paired with me.” Choso just looks so genuinely apologetic- “I’m sorry- no one picked me either. I should’ve woken you up, but we can go talk with Professor Yaga about changing partners if you’d like-”
“Hey—wait.” You’re cutting off his spiel, something in your chest aching at the utterly devastated furrow between his brows. You take a step closer to him, “I would love to do the project with you, Choso. No need to talk to Yaga about anything.”
He looks up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “B-but your friends…”
“I don’t really have close friends in this class, anyway.” You smile, “I’d much rather do it with you.”
“Really—?” Breathed. As if he couldn’t believe it.
And it’s after some time - and a deep inhale - that he speaks again. Finally sinking in that someone would choose him of all people—that you would, that he speaks again. “And um- would you like to work on the script at my place?” Before you can answer, his breath hitches and his head shoots up. “N-not that I’m pressuring you into…it’s nothing weird, I promise! We can meet anywhere else you like- the library, your place- wait, no that’s weird, too…”
“Choso- Choso.” You giggle. And if this was anyone else then you would’ve assumed that they were putting the moves on you. “I’m okay with your place.”
.
.
.
The apartment was a fair distance away from the campus dorms.
Which made sense, you suppose, given the fact that less than half the people there would be able to afford the rent on such a place—especially after tuition. The highrise dove into the clouds, its vermicular body scaled in glistening windows and gold-accented furnishings within. You got the distinct feeling of being swallowed whole as you entered through the widely-gaped entrance, with several doormen and security that eyed you up and down, bowed at Choso.
You thanked them and made your way - slightly speechless - through the hallways.
This was everything you could ever dream of, and you’re sure you spot the odd actor or two down in the lobby. As you’re getting into an elevator the size of your entire dorm room, Choso punches in one of the highest floor numbers and turns to you-
Throughout the bus ride here, you’d been the one chattering away. And so it surprises you once he finally speaks, “I-I’m sorry…my place is a bit of a mess.”
“Can’t be as bad as mine. I won’t judge.” Who cares about a mess when he lives in a place like this? You couldn’t wait to go inside…
He pushes his chunky glasses upwards and gives you a shy smile, “Thank you.” Looking down at his polished shoes, “You’re so sweet.”
“Thank you.”
And you rise upwards in silence.
Soon enough, you’re finding yourself being led up to his massive apartment. He’s punching in the numbers of the code and setting his backpack down—telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you shuffle inside awkwardly; past the lavish furnishings and the alien-shaped lamps that all rich places seemed to boast.
He leads you in the direction of the master bedroom - where Choso said that his film collection was vast and likely to reveal techniques that the two of you would be able to incorporate into your own script.
“I even have a copy of Momijigari- it’s one of my most prized possessions.” He shoots you such a charming smile, eyes twinkling behind his glasses, over his shoulder. Heading inside.
And you can’t help but follow.
A single step inside his not-so-humble abode and you’re feeling a sudden sense of déjà vu wash over you, rendering you unsteady on your feet. Not quite sure why, you’re sweeping your eyes around the space: the high-quality camera equipment in one corner (not unusual to see for a film student), the chic furnishings, and then over to the empty wall space above the king-sized bed, something in you remained dissatisfied as they find nothing there but white plaster.
Choso notices that you’ve stalled behind and looks over at you curiously—he was taking a seat on the carpet, laptop opened up on top of the coffee table. “Something wrong? I’m sorry, I know it’s really messy but-”
“No, you’re good.” You shake your head, “It’s actually not messy enough.”
He smiles.
That night, you went home and wondered why Choso’s smile looked so familiar.
.
.
.
The musical that you’d chosen for your ‘adaptation’ was The Phantom of the Opera, suggested by you, of course.
And if there had been any connection to the masked man you’d been watching the night prior, then you were just glad that Choso had no idea.
It was far easier, given the fact that it’d already been adapted from the initial novel—though that only meant that Yaga would be critiquing yours even harder.
So you had to strive to be more cinematic, than the others in your class, stronger in ways than the ones before you - and though you doubt you’d ever match up to Schumacher’s visuals, there was little doubt as to whether you’d be the best amongst the students. This was a screenplay made to impress, and in the week since you’d pored over it—and Choso Kamo’s mahogany coffee table typing away at it, you only grew more determined in the fact. And throughout the week, you’ve been flitting in and out of that very apartment of his.
Choso had been a lovely partner for the project - the best you could’ve ever asked for - and you’re coming to find that he was actually far more funny than anyone ever gave him credit for. Far more open. Far more active when it came to something he was passionate about.
And of course, you knew that he’d be sweet.
Despite his initial insistence that he could do the project himself, you’d taken up half the work. And you’d joined him in browsing through his massive catalogue of movies, in searching up screenplays to read, and in annotating them for techniques when starting to write yours.
You’ve come to make friends with one of the doormen by now.
Just today you’d watched the 2004 Phantom of the Opera adaptation. And after a few hours of occupying his space and getting to know the nerdy boy a little better, you’d go straight back home to…Curse.
Whenever Choso made you feel tingly with his sweetness, Curse would amplify that heat to right between your legs.
It’s been a week of getting to know Choso Kamo, and a week of having Curse splashed across your laptop screen—cock furiously hard n’ his moans echoing. He’d smile and utter your username whilst wearing his iconic mask and it’d be a high strong enough to follow into the day after. And often Choso would ask you what you’re so happy about.
Today, in particular, Curse had just finished one of his streams - cumming aaaaaall over the desk this time - when he’d settled himself back down and started chatting with the comments. Responding to one or two of yours.
You’re just about to joke about why he was sticking so long after his orgasm when he speaks once more-
Voice somewhat serious, “Alright, now…settle down, settle down.” Curse waves his hand airily at the camera, throwing a middle finger up when the chat only gets more frenzied. “Tch- what brats you all are, would you wanna roleplay that someday?”
@vampzo333: YES PLEASE.
@likezmenpregnant: How about you be the brat…?
@Ietsmakeamovie: I would like that.
@sixeyesorsixh0les: ^^
@0003h0lesforCurse: ^
“Fine fine…” Underneath the mask, he rolls his eyes fondly. “But I really do have something to announce-”
@likezmenpregnant: You’re pregnant.
@Ietsmakeamovie: I’m the father-
@Curse’swifey: NO MEEEEEEEEEEE!!
“I’m thinking of getting a partner for these streams.” He finally admits, rubbing his chin as though still in thought. And your heart stops-
@bipplruletheworld: so down.
@Cursenoticeme44: Omg yeeeeeeeeees!!
@daddytoeknee: YESYESYES.
The chat practically explodes, and you’re unsure what to feel about it—after all, you don’t know Curse and it’d be strange to feel a little possessive over his solo streams, however, you did have your preferences. But then again, you can’t help but imagine just how much hotter it would be to have two people- perhaps to see him make expressions he never has before…
Ultimately, you’re quiet as Curse leans in and scans the chat. His brows furrow just a little as he sweeps through the blurring usernames, “I dunno…I’m still thinking about it- I haven’t even asked this person, to be honest. I just wanted to know what you guys thought.” Nodding his head along or huffing out laughter at some of the comments, “Movie?”
You jolt—at being called out.
He wanted your opinion specifically? You suppose you did contribute to about half his comment section most streams.
But you stall as your fingers reach for the keyboard.
Biting down on your lip and contemplating for a little while. Though he waits as patiently as ever-
@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t mind!!
Something seems to wash over him as he reads your comment, nodding. “I see.”
He moves onto something else and his expression was indiscernible.
You’re flickering your eyes to the artwork behind him, the small corner of it peaking into the frame, and it suddenly hits you that it’s the theatrical poster of The Phantom of the Opera (2004).
.
.
.
It can’t be.
It can’t be.
It can’t be.
There’s something your brain was telling you that you’re absolutely refusing to believe—after all, how many people in the world loved The Phantom of the Opera? Hell, how many people in the world have watched The Phantom of the Opera?
That didn’t mean that everyone you came across had a secret identity as one of the hottest streamers on C4mBoyfriends.
You were being paranoid, you told yourself. You were being utterly silly- and the next time you’re going over to Choso’s apartment was the very next day. Which wasn’t entirely ideal, given how much you’d tossed and turned after Curse’s last stream conjuring up all the possibilities…but Yaga wouldn’t accept a request for an extension even if you were set on fire in front of him. And so you went.
The pit of your stomach twists as Choso swings the lavish wooden door open and gives you a beaming smile. So innocent. So sweet.
He shakily pushes his glasses up as he welcomes you in. “Come in—s-sorry if I took a while to get to the door, I’ve been doing some decorating recently.”
His nervous smile is what makes you find your voice. And you’re dubiously looking around the luxurious apartment, “You need to do some decorating?”
“Believe it or not, yes.” Choso huffs. “Would you like something to drink? Or maybe to eat? I checked out that bakery you recommended last time and you’re right- they have the best Danish pastries.”
“Actually, Choso…” You’re shaking your head, shooting him a grateful smile. “I’m good. I’d think I’d prefer to start right away, if that’s alright? I really wanna get to Act 2 today.”
“O-oh, of course—!”
And he’s sweetly guiding you inside, whilst you attempt not to look like you’re taking two steps at a time. Back to that familiar room. Back to that familiar desk. Back to that (somewhat) familiar bed which most certainly did not have an artwork from The Phantom of the Opera on it—
You open the door and the first thing you’re seeing is the familiar plane of that white mask. The Phantom.
Choso follows behind you and catches you staring at the poster. Gravelly tone echoing from behind, “I told you I did some decorating.”
And you jump-
Swivelling around to find him bearing you a sheepish smile, “Sorry if I startled you.” He pushes those chunky glasses up, “Tea?”
“S-sure…” You breathe, if anything for a thing to occupy your mouth with. Wait- not like that—!
And as Choso disappears down the hall, you’re taking a seat on the bed you’ve sat on countless, countless times before without a single care in the world. Now you’re sinking into the very - the very - edge as though it’d swallow you whole.
Body just resting on the plush comforter before-
“Hey, so I also have coffee if you would prefer?” Comes Choso’s sudden voice.
And you’re startling once more- “Just tea is fine, thanks.” Barely managing to get that through your lips, you’re watching as he disappears…as the sound of his footsteps echo…
Before darting off the bed and now heading towards the camera equipment you’d noticed in the corner the first time you’d been here. What you’d assumed to be part of another one of his classes or personal projects. Now, you’re leaning in and wondering with just which camera he showed his pretty cock off to millions, at just what height of his tripod he made your cunt so heated.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck this was real.
Now, you’re noticing things in the room that you’d never noticed before. Like the ring light kept underneath his bed, and the dresser in the corner with numerous rings- those weren’t costume props or anything. They were pure silver.
Heavy.
Heavy, like the pit in your stomach—excited and swirling. Just trembling at the tips of your fingers - ever-so-slightly - you’re reaching out as though to touch it, as though to feel the alternate version of Choso that you knew longer than you knew Choso-
“Ah, so you’ve realized.”
And then his voice permeates the room.
The room that suddenly seems smaller, the room that suddenly seems to rise ten degrees in temperature - though goosebumps skitter across your skin. And almost as though in a horror movie, you’re turning in slow motion to face the bespectacled man who was now holding up a tray of steaming hot tea.
He walks over soundlessly and sets it on the coffee table with a slight click! And besides that, Choso walks over to the dressing table and puts his silver rings on.
One by one.
His eyes hold court with yours through the mirror, “How long?” Voice a deep timbre.
You’re taking a step closer without even realizing, “Um…just last night. Just now- actually.”
He chuckles and you realize he’s asking how long you’ve known about Curse.
“I-I found you by chance. About a week ago, actually…” And then you say what’s been on your mind ever since you had, “Ever since you liked and unliked my repost.”
“Ah, a rookie mistake.” Choso comments. “I should have known better than to stalk using my public account.” And with all rings now put on and glinting in the lighting of his bedroom, Choso shuffles through his jewellery tray to pluck his earrings in and one eyebrow piercing. And then…one lip piercing—a lip ring that twinkles mischievously as he smiles.
He rises and you think you’ve never quite appreciated his built frame.
His deep eyes as they’re locking in on you. Echoing out, “Though…you really can’t say much- can you, Movie?”
And though you knew that he knew- you can’t stop the zaps of electricity running through your body.
Sputtering out, “Yeah-” Your fists clench and you’re looking up at the object of both your fantasies and your secret interest these past few days - melded into one. “Yeah, I really can’t. Choso you’re so…”
“Different?” He fixes his glasses, “Though I really am shy, I can’t deny that- especially around you. But it helps to be a little more antisocial when I’m around idiots.”
He leans in closer- so close that his scorchin’ hot breath wafts across your features. You have no idea how you’d diminished such a distance so soon…
“And if my memory serves me right-” Choso taps on the edge of his chin, in mocking thought. “-I seem to remember that Movie agreed to have a partner on my stream.” You shiver. And he looks at you adoringly, “So how about it? Wanna make a movie, baby?”
You step a little closer.
“Only if I get to match wardrobes.”
He chuckles and picks you up to spin you around-
And then it’s getting to work. And then it’s shuffling through his closet to find a mask that matches his own.
He stretches on the rubber a bit and brings it to you—“I bought this one when I first started, but it ended up being too tight- I think it’d be just the one for you.”
It was. It fit perfectly.
And then he paces around the room and starts to set up- before Choso’s gaze catches you hovering around the bed, and then he’s clicking his tongue and forgoing the tripods altogether. With just the professional lights and the high-quality camera, Choso places the camera on top of the coffee table. Facing the foot of the bed - everything and anything could be seen.
Just with a few clicks he’s started the stream.
And with just a little nudge he’s urging you to sit next to him.
“Hello, my little sluts—” Choso- or should you say Curse croons towards the camera. On one of his monitors you can see him being projected there - waving, in his knitted vest that clashed with his mask. You stand off awkwardly out of sight from the camera. He smiles. “As you can see, things are a little different today…”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: uuuuuu change of angle!! change of angle!!
@bewbsRlife: ARE WE GETTING A SURPRISEEEEEEE??
@likezmenpregnant: Pls be pregnant, Curse <3
“No- no, I’m not pregnant.” He laughs, “But I have been thinking about what we talked about last night.”
@bipplruletheworld: omg this can’t be…
“And guess what? I did what you guys told me about- and I talked to her.”
@bipplruletheworld: yessssssss
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE^^
@bewbsRlife: WOOOOOO-
@daddytoeknee: Omg where’s Movie, Ik she’d love this- heh. Imagine this WAS Movie though…
“So, my little sluts…” Choso announces, “I’d like to introduce you all to my new partner—” And he’s reaching out and clasping your wrist, looking up to check for reassurance before continuing. Miming whispering to the camera, “And this is her first time on stream, so be nice…”
You’re sheepishly walking into their view.
Slightly bowing your intrusion into the stream, “Th-thanks for having me?”
“Isn’t she cuuuuute?” He asks the commenters, and there’s a flurry of agreements. You’re even spotting a few questions about your name n’ interests, even kinks, amongst those - all of which Choso waves off with a laugh. “Now now—we can have the Q&A later. For now, let’s get to the fun part…”
@Curse’swifey: FUCK THAT’S MY FAV PART-
@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Movie you’re missing out on a historic moment uwu
And the fun part consisted of clamoring onto the bed as fast as lightning. Letting the mattress dip n’ creak its protests out as Choso sits on it with his back turned to the camera, then lovingly pats his manspread thighs as a signal for you to climb on. Meaty muscles. Thick enough for you to want to sink your teeth into- how could you never have noticed?
Perhaps because this was the polar opposite of how he acted when he was on campus - always keeping to himself, never taking up too much space. Now he was practically vacuuming it all up so you had nowhere else to sit.
And you were more than happy to climb onto Choso Kamo’s lap.
Sitting your ass down on his readily-awaiting seat. From under your skirt you feel something hot—and throbbing between his legs. Cylindrically shaped and curved to the left.
Just the slightest movement makes his rock-hard erection twitch underneath- and you’re whimpering at the lewd sensation. At the way he drips out a hefty dollop of precum that seeps through his trousers and sticks to the front of your panties, making you gasp—“Ch-Cho-”
“Shhhh.” Choso wraps a hand ‘round your throat and cuts you off.
And before you know it, he’s bouncing his knees to get you to slide your drippin’ pussy up and down his bulge. Up and down. Turning towards the camera, “Ya hear that?” Up and down. “My girl’s so needy- she’s already begging for it. But I dunno if she deserves it, huh?”
@bewbsRlife: I MEANNNN
@theh0rniestsoldier: i’m feeling mean today…
@daddytoeknee: Give her your mouth!!
“Mouth? I love that idea.” Choso titters.
And then he’s giving a teasing slap on the side of your ass cheeks—smack!
“Please-”
“Sit on my face now, baby.” He purrs, eyes flickerin’ with pure need underneath his mask. Then leaning in to whisper in a loooow tone for only you to hear. “You know Choso, but let’s see if you can handle Curse.”
Then he leans back on the bed - his head pointing in the direction of the camera.
And you’re shuffling up Choso’s toned, brick-hard body—straddling your knees upon either side of his head, veerin’ your hips right atop that pretty face. You’re sitting - right in front of the camera. Though nothing was revealed…yet.
And Choso’s digging his tongue up to you instantly- he isn’t even making it past the fabric of your panties. But that doesn’t stop him from lettin’ his tastebuds take a looooong, luxurious lick of your swollen pussy.
Right down your sopping wet slit.
Suddenly, the room echoes with one of his pornographic moans- the very same ones you’d listened to night after night through your laptop speakers. Now they’re even louder, and somehow even sexier, sending electricity shooting straight up, up, up from your core.
And even more treacherous was the way you’re feeling something cold…and metallic at the very middle of Choso’s tongue. Rock-hard. It takes whatever’s left of your rationality to realize that it’s a silvery tongue piercing smack-dab where his tastebuds kissed your pussy. Scraping alongside where you were most sensitive.
Instantly; your head tips back and saliva starts bubbling at the sides of your lips. “Fuh-fuck…” And before you know it—you’re starting to drag your throbbing pussy up n’ down his features.
Short, barely-there jerks of your shy, shy hips.
And Choso chuckles huskily to himself at the cute way you were yearnin’ for his mouth. But what you didn’t expect was for him to reach one ringed hand up and squeeze the left side of your hips.
Your only warning.
Before he’s suddenly tightening his hold on you and reaching one more hand up- snaking it beneath your skirt like some pervert. Choso edges towards your throbbing cunt and places one good slap—
It’s the resounding smack! of skin-on-skin that makes you halt more than anything.
Jaw-dropped. Thighs quivering. The white-hot pleasure runs through your spine and leaves you barely hearing his roughened words, a tone lower than you knew his voice to be- as though drunk on the delicious taste of your pussy already. “Greedy, greedy girl…” Choso tuts, “Don’t tell me you’re trying to enjoy yourself without letting our dear audience in on the fun?”
Oh, shit.
You’re letting your head snap to where the camera was positioned and blinking its one gluttonous eye. Comments flooding the screen of the monitor so fast that you couldn’t read them-
You’d completely forgotten about the stream for a second.
“I—oh, I um.”
Yet another harsh smack! “Forgot, huh?” Amusement seeps into Choso’s words, as though he’d already guessed the situation.
You admit, “M-maybe…”
“I’m afraid I can’t blame you, baby.” Smack! “Curse’s mouth is too good, huh?” He yammers on and on, his tongue nudging deeper, his rippling tastebuds skidding into every ridge- as if trying to fuck you through your damn panties. “This pussy’s too good–she’s purring f’me already. Hear her?”
And you’re not sure why- but you’re nodding to whatever he says. “Y-yes—fuck.”
“Mhm. So why don’t we let our lovely audience hear, too, huh?” You’re barely given the time to register his suggestion, before Choso husks out a command. “Lift your skirt up, baby.”
Your thighs squeeze around his head at the notion-
And your fingertips touch the short hemline of your skirt.
@Cursenoticeme44: Holy shit.
@theh0rniestsoldier: i’ve been waiting for thisssssssssss-
@daddytoeknee: WOW.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: bby’s so needy!!
@R€4leater: munch Curse #canon
The chat explodes as you let them bear witness to Choso’s face stuffed between your pretty legs- he’s redly-flushed and ravenous. They could see the slightest glimpse of his nose n’ the way he’s driving it between your sodden pussylips, diving and diving, they could see the glossy layers coating your cunt—and the way Choso’s pink lips come up to suck on it.
Those handsome cheeks of his hollow out, as he’s makin’ out with your pussy through your panties.
Like a man starved.
Long canines slightly nippin’ at your folds- almost wolfish in mannerisms.
“Oh p-please…” You’re quivering atop him. You don’t even know what you’re begging for—just that it feels so good to have him veering his tongue hungrily against your cunt like this. And you wanted more.
More, more, and more.
Choso’s holding onto your restless hips with a clammy hand- he’s stuck to you almost like adhesive. And he guides your hips - he fucking slows them down - whilst you continue moanin’ and shaking atop his raw mouth. Glistening wet tongue extending even more than its usual length to slide-slide-sliiiiide your panties to the side-
And you’re gasping at the sudden whiff of cold bedroom air against your naked pussy. “Ch-” A spank. “I mean- fuck, Curse?”
“Mhm, m’here, baby.” He drawls out. Slightly slurring with all the extra globs of your pussy juices - pooling straight into your mouth, n’ Choso reaches up and smooches your soft swollen folds to smear it all around. Like some gloss. “M’here aaaaaand- so are 820k sluts that wanna watch you break.”
“B-break?” You’re gaping, “I thought you were just gonna- ngh, eat me out…?”
“Baby, Curse never ‘just’ does anything.” And you’re shocked to find him sliding his tongue out, tipping his head back to refer to the camera on the coffee table. “Isn’t that right, fuckin’ pervs?”
@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah.
@0003h0lesforCurse: duhhhhhhhhh
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU’RE THE BEST CURSE
@Fishygurodad: Fuck, her pussy’s divine.
“Heh…” Choso smiles into your cunt, “And so whaddaya say? How many slaps before I stick my tongue in her?”
@vampzo333: 3
@bbynohuuuuzz: 14
@Ilikepr1menumbers: 29
“Since m’feeling nice- read your favorite one out, baby.” He murmurs.
To which you’re unable to do anything but- you tilt your upper half just the slightest bit closer to the monitor and pick out the first one you can read through the blur of words and numbers:
@Fishygurodad: Until she cries.
Oh.
Your blood runs cold.
Your cunt grows heated.
And before you can either rectify your recitation or beg for mercy—Choso doesn’t hesitate before fixing the rings on his fingers to be slightly higher than before. Making sure they’re in line of him planting one- two- three good, loud spanks on your sobbin’ cunt. “O-oh my god- fuck, mmm, oh my god.”
Until the skin of his fingertips seems to redden, and your pussylips feel raw - “How about that?” He asks- not from you, but from the viewers.
@daddytoeknee: I don’t see her crying yet…also idkkkkk I’m getting Movie vibes.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: movie would’ve loved this-
And then it’s one after the other. Again and again, Choso’s emblazoning the rude outlines of his rings against yours - until you’ve fucking memorized the ridges n’ patterns of the one ring on his middle finger with the carving of an octopus.
Tentacles flared out.
“Shit, not that damn ring again.”
And as he’s doing so he can’t help himself- fuck, he can’t heeeeelp himself. His canines dig into the sticky fabric of your underwear like a damn dog - and throughout the duration of what his hands were doing, you’re hearing the sharp riiiiip of fabric tearing—!
Soon enough, your panties are tattered and ruined in Choso’s maw- just from his mouth. He spits it out and continues swerving his thickened tips inwards to give a loving pinch on your clit—and you can’t help but burst into peals of shrill, needy cries. Both pain and pleasure mixing as he doles out a final swat-
Before Choso swipes your pussylips apart and spits- the glutinous glob of his saliva landing directly on your hole. He doesn’t give it the time to seep back out—instead, he’s surging up and shoving his face between your legs.
This time, without the barrier of your panties in the way.
@CCpervnextdoor: HE FUCKING RIPPED IT OFF WITH HIS MOUTH??
@bewbsRlife: HOLY SHIT CURSE-
@Fishygurodad: Shiiiiit, I’d do the same ngl.
And then Choso’s shoving his tongue inside and slurpin’ all around your wet hole like a damn animal…
In and out.
In and out.
Probin’ into slippery sweet spots.
Chin hitting the back of your slit. Plastic mask rubbing against your clit.
Choso’s pierced tongue was going absolutely fucking wild inside of you. He wastes no time before gripping either side of your cute hips and slammin’ your pussy down onto his mouth- hard and fast. The perverted nerd is slashing his tongue inwards, smearin’ apart your glue-covered folds. As deep as he could go. He doesn’t care if it hurts, he just needs to make sure that loooong slick muscle of his tastebuds were scrapin’ every inch of your walls.
With the curved tip of it, he flexes it against a sweet bundle of nerves. Making you buck with a pitchy moan of his name—“Ch-Cuuuurse—!” And the sensation was made even more delicious with the way his orb tongue piercing presses in contrast against your hot cunt. “It feels so good, Curse.”
“I already know.” Choso pipes up- cocky in all the ways you never knew he could be. “I already know- but what about those fuckers watching, huh?”
“W-well…” Spit drivels down your chin, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes focused to read the urgent chat.
@bipplruletheworld: they’re so HOT!!
@NERDSAREMYBABYGIRLZ: OHHHH WHAT A MUNCH
@daddytoeknee: Me next <3
And it was clear that they were seeing the effect he had on you- how could they not?
Your eyes were dazed and teary, your thighs were shaking like leaves in the wind, Choso was making your body twitch—just from the way he’s reeling his entire tongue out. And breathing out steadily and slowly against your twitchin’ pussylips, freezing cold air that leaves you even wetter on top of him.
He’s unfastening his mouth - leaving it wiiiiide open for all the satiny ribbons of your slick to enter his gullet. And once you’re done- that isn’t enough riling you up.
Choso leaves a good slap on your folds and asks, “So…what about it?” Muffled through his mouthfuls.
“They agree- they agree—” You’re keening out. Star-struck, seeing pleasure burst behind your shuttered eyelids at the sudden stinging. “Fuck- you’re the hck! best I’ve ever had, Curse.”
“I agree.” He hums. And as if this entire ordeal wasn’t sinful enough, Choso’s swashing around the silky-smooth sap he’d collected from your leaking pussy. Letting the flavor seep into his tastebuds, before he’s then spitting again on your pussy. A semi-opaque layer of lewdness that coats your inner thighs in a sheen that catches the lighting.
Perfect on camera.
You’re squeezing your wettened thighs together and creating an audible squelch!
“Awwww, look- this pussy agrees, too.”
The gooey addition startles you- and you rut.
Only straight down onto his awaiting fingers.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: oh, shit is he…
@legsopenforcurses: With the rings on, too!!
@likezmenpregnant: My show is onnnnn
It’s such a fucking mess for him to navigate- even with his own fingers. Soon enough, you’re arching your back as you feel him intrude a single ringed digit between those utterly swollen pussylips of yours—almost difficult to find your snug hole between them. You’re damn lucky that Choso’s fingers were slender as well as incredibly lengthy.
Because he’s circlin’ your tight orifice a few times - only a few times - before inserting the sections of his finger. Quirking just right and hitting the exact bundle of your nerves.
That infamous g-spot that made you yelp once he starts and keeps on hitting.
And his rings- oh, fuck, his rings.
Just so chunky and textured. They were the perfect designs to press up against your walls and massage them stupid- every drag meant that you’re feeling them dig into ridges n’ crevices you hadn’t even known existed.
Hitting and hitting. Curling his dexterous finger and scraping- “Fuuuuck, oh my god.” The doughy tip of his finger soon becomes damn-near molded to the area where it was, and your eyes flicker to the back of your head as you continue anglin’ your hips so he could hit it perfectly. “Right there, Curse- r-right there.”
“I know.” Choso rolls his eyes - at least what seems like it underneath his mask. “That’s why I’m hitting it. Honestly…is my girl dickmatized?” He utters as he sucks on your clit—ultimately erupting a sobbing slurp! that makes him nod. “Mhm, I think my girl’s dickmatized.”
Tipping his head back before you can refute his claims. He then addresses the audience-
“Whaddaya think, my little pervs? Dickmatized already…maybe I should go easy on her, huh?”
@olderandR4w: nooooooooooo
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: NEVER.
@Fishygurodad: Go even harder.
“Tough crowd.” And with that said, Choso’s stuffin’ in just a few more fingers. Each with their own numerous rings and sopping wet sounds accompanying them—slurp!
One.
Two.
You’re counting about three of his prolonged digits pushin’ your tight walls to their limits, rubbing your sweet spots raw with his constant bashing rhythm, before lustful fogginess coils around your brain. And it’s around here that Choso catches onto the glazed look in your eyes and chuckles—
“Ohhhh, you really are dickmatized.” He hums to himself, though you’re sure the professional mic picks it up either way. “And so soon, too. Probably hasn’t had a good finger-”
A fourth being added so that he can scissor apart your velvety channel whilst still multi-tasking with his other fingers to ram into your g-spot.
“-or even a good mouth on ‘er…” To emphasize his point, he presses a dramatically loud kiss upon your clit. One that’s making you bounce n’ bounce your hips atop his clammy face, and grind your throbbing nub down on his pointed nose. The addition of his mask just makes that cool touch even more lecherous. “My poor girl.” Choso still mutters out despite the way he’s gluing your cunt to his mouth. He pulls away from your clit with a loud pop! “What do you think, my slutty audience?”
At the slurring question you’re letting your head down to watch him. “Ch…Curse, what’ve you got on your mind-”
“M’just asking what else you deserve, baby.” He coos. And questions them once more, “How about a little quiz? Which parts of Curse are going to make my poor, poor girl feel the best? A). My fingers. B). My mouth. Or…”
And he pretends to listen to your noisy wet pussy once more.
“Or C…” You could practically feel the grin plastering against your needy pussy. The way his eyes narrow in sinful amusement beneath his mask- you didn’t have to see his full face to know that Choso was enjoying this perhaps way more than he should. “—all of the above.”
And it was futile to think that they would answer anything else.
C floods your vision.
You’re letting your mouth droop, and your gaze meet Choso’s own between your legs- but you’re finding that you don’t have to say a thing for him to already know the answer.
And as expected, he gives a final roll of his tongue atop your clit - before munchin’ on your aching cunt once more. This time, he’s tunneling his fingers deep into your cavern whilst still licking inside with his prolonged tongue—when stretched out, Choso’s tongue could reach almost as deep as his fingers could.
Your cunt was being stretched-out to lengths you never thought about before.
Not only were Choso’s fingers thicker than yours, but his tongue was something ravenous- no matter how much you’re flinching in sensitivity, he isn’t slowing down. “Mmm-” He groans, barely breathing through even his flared nostrils. You’re hit with the distinct feeling that he thinks he doesn’t even have to breathe as long as he had you on him like this - “Mmm, hold still.”
Taking advantage of the fact to lavish your sensitive inches with kiss upon kiss. To grind his nose down purposefully on your clit. To glide his metallic piercing across those hidden spots. To bash your poor g-spot in again and agaaaain with his fingers before his tongue’s coming to the rescue to soothe the slightly raw sting-
So it’s not long before you’re throwing your head back and cumming.
Perhaps the strongest you’ve ever felt when you’re in the throes of your high.
You barter your hips forwards and keep up a steady pace - one that’s making Choso hit the exact spots you wanted him to during the peaks of your high. The utmost peaks. “Shit—shit, just like that.” Breathless. “K-keep going, baby, it feels so good.”
And he doesn’t even answer - too caught up in fucking you through your orgasm.
In the way you shudder above him. In the way you’re only getting even sweeter by the second-
Bodyheat raising a few degrees in temperature; your heart sings and the bed creaks with how much you’re jostling from above. This was even better than touching yourself to videos of him, there were so many thrills of bliss that he’s wringing out of you- like he’d wring out of himself during his solo videos.
With both his fingers and his tongue, slurpin’ and sliding. Those doe-like eyes of his are edging straight to the back of his skull as he feels your drenched walls cleeeeench around his pierced tongue, as though it’s the best thing he’s ever fucking felt. And you’re acting on impulse - you really are - because the coffee table was positioned right beside the foot of the bed.
And all you had to do was reach your arm out to grab the simple camera there. Turning it into your point of view as Choso’s sweaty brown bangs stick to his forehead, as sweat trickles down his temple, as he lets out soft yet unyielding moans whenever you’re squeezing your thighs around his head.
@cockycockowner: no homo but that’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.
@theh0rniestsoldier: woah he’s PUSSYDRUNK
@Fishygurodad: Show me his POV.
@daddytoeknee: Don’t you know that she’s his girl now smh?^^
@daddytoeknee: Movie-core- wya ml??
Choso cocks his head and keeps making out with your pussy in all the ways that make your toes curl—pleasure elongating from your orgasm and spreading into every part of you. Your vessels, your cells, your atoms.
They’re all buzzing with pleasure and still aching for more once Choso finally pulls away with a loud pop! of his lips releasing.
When they do, you’re sneaking a look down at him and noticing just how red n’ swollen they were. Even the skin around his jaw was flushed with the constant ramming contact. And the viewers are just gobbling it up - subscribing bells keep dinging here and there, and everywhere.
Just a single look at his stats on-screen reveal that Choso’s climbed up to 870k just since you’d started this stream.
And it’s after a little while - after he’s had his fill - that the dark-haired man finally taps at the side of your thigh to gesture for you to get up. Though, even then, he’s tightening his grip on your body—going against his own fucking instruction to press a final few open-mouthed kisses before he’s done.
He chases after your pussy with his maw for a little- before he’s finally sitting up.
And it’s only then that he seems to notice the camera in your hand, blinking his glazed eyes a few times to make sure he isn’t dreaming things up. Once it finally registers, the most attractive grin spreads across his face. “You changed POVs?”
“Had to.” You admit, “I wanted them to see how pretty you are…”
“Guess you finally learned about sharing, hm? Greedy girl.” He chuckles darkly to himself. And then he starts looming closer, “But you realize that the show’s not done yet, right?”
You gulp.
@Fishygurodad: Fuck her already, damn!! I’m only here for her.
@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Hate to admit it, but he’s lowk right. I think I’ve discovered I’m bi…
@vampzo333: ^^
@girrrrrrrrrrth: ^^
“So impatient.” He looks at the monitor, reading the chat and tuts. “Honestly- so ungrateful. I should end the stream right here and fuck her on my own terms.”
There’s a frenzied flurry of comments- all of which you were sure were begging for Choso not to stop and bashing that one commenter for attempting to start a revolution. To which you’re only giggling and handing over the camera to him.
Choso - as the expert - then positions it somewhere by the edge of the fluffy pillows: where they’d be able to see the expanse of both your bodies and where you’d soon be connected…
And then you’re shedding your clothes in a hurry- making it to your smart blouse before he’s reaching a hand up and tearing through it. The buttons hit the floor, and at your noise of displeasure Choso merely lets out a half-delirious giggle.
He leans in and whispers, “I-I have a Phantom of the Opera t-shirt I’d love for you to wear.”
The change in demeanour gives you utter whiplash, and you can’t help but stare at him open-mouthed.
“What?” Choso asks, next moving on to shrugging off his own fabrics. They’re landing on a heap beside the bed, and your lips slightly part at the display of his red-hot erection—it’s just as large and sensual as all those streams had proven him to be. Polished strawberry top. Slender veins along the middle.
A happy trail of dark brown - nearly black - glistened with the splattered remnant of his precum. Just like the gleaming mess across his chin, mouth, and cheekbones that Choso wore like a medal.
He was slightly longer than even on camera- and even prettier up-close. Way up close- he shuffles his body up yours n’ fucks your tits a few times to dollop out glistening translucent precum across yours tits.
“Lighting’s not the best here.” Choso explains- or at least attempts to pin an explanation onto that. Onto something he’s clearly been wanting to do for so long. “Had to highlight ‘em, baby.”
You scoff, “It’s just…” Throwing a cautious glance at the camera, you lower your voice. “You’re so different from how you are in real life.”
“Oh? And how did you expect me to be, huh?” He positions himself between your legs - wrapping both of them around his waist. Before then thinking better of it and throwing them even more lewdly around his neck instead—his plush priggish tip kisses your entrance. “Did you expect me to be like…”
He trails off.
He doesn’t need to complete the rest of his sentence- and you don’t think you’d have heard him even if he tried.
Because in that very moment, Choso’s jerking his pale hips back a mere few inches—then plopping his globular tip between your pussylips and push-push-puuuuuushing. Fucking past the initial restraint of your first ring of muscle, he’s funneling in some thick inches that make your heels bang against the muscles of his back.
And he doesn’t even seem to notice.
He doesn’t even seem to breathe as he’s letting his cock swerve inside. Get suctioned inside. Get his Prince Albert’s piercing crept down your sensitive innards. Get gobbled up between your greedy legs-
You clench ‘round him and Choso throws his head back with a low, broken moan.
“Oh p-please—” He’s babbling out through unsteady pink lips, a lazy line of dribble starting up from one corner of his mouth. Those long lashes of his flutter as he’s reaching one bulky hand up to grip the headboard, and placing his right one on your hips- keeping you steady.
Fingers trembling. Muscles rippling.
@likezmenpregnant: Woah…make him do that again…
@sixeyesorsixh0les: SUBBY CURSE HELLO??
@whimperwhiteboywhimper: oh I am SO here for this
@Fishygurodad: Whatever…
Your eyes bulge once his throat cracks with what sounds like a whimper—“Please it feels so good.” And though you couldn’t quite make it out, even the chat seemed stunned as Choso punctures out a broken stutter of his hips. Delving a few inches into your goopy insides- though not enough to bottom out completely, as you’re still too wound-up for him to fit completely. And you’re able to pinpoint exactly where he’s using the orbed metal of his first piering. With more to come…“Ngh- oh.” Broken noises emanating into your eardrums and the mic. “It f-feels shooooo good, baby.”
Choso’s head drops into the crook of your neck, and there - and there - you’re feeling his cheeky grin.
And suddenly you’re understanding.
Oh—he was toying with you.
And he was doing it in a way that’d completely fooled you- and perhaps all of his viewers, too.
But before you’re able to open your mouth to bite back something at him, Choso staggers his hips back and gives you a vicious jackhammer with his cock, “O-ohhhhh, my god—” Your toes curl atop his shoulders, slippery with sweat. He hadn’t even rammed all the way inside yet, and yet the slightly left-leaning angle of his shaft was driving you wild.
Big and thick.
Running the slick globe of his tip down your walls, Choso probes a direct hit to that spot you loved so much. And he knew you loved it so much—he’d mapped out your entire pussy earlier, of course.
And yet, he’s still gasping as though the pearls gates of heaven had descended right here and there. He’s letting his sweet caramel eyes widen convincingly as he peers down at you, “I-is that…the spot, baby?”
@Curse’swifey: HE sounds SO NGH.
@daddytoeknee: Daddy likey…
@daddytoeknee: Also Movie would’ve really LOVED this, huh?
You hiss, “Curse, you should already know-”
“But how could I know—?” He exclaims. “This is my first time, after all…” Then Choso’s plastering his clammy tattooed hips - with a snake on the side - to yours, as though the two were connected by the force of the world’s strongest magnets: pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing. Every single battering ram of his mazing cocktip ends up lodged against your sweetly bruised g-spot, marking his circumference out with the sheer pace at which he was hitting it.
“Shit—” Your nails clench on the sheets, and feeling jealous- Choso guides them to fist his hair instead. “Shit, right there. It f-feels so good-”
“There?” The once-nerdy man breathes out in awe. Disbelief every single time - or at least the mocking imitation of one. Swipin’ a line of precum down your nervy spot once more, “Th-there, baby—?”
Something breathy- octaves higher in his tone. “Yes- yes there-”
“There-” Choked up and ruined. Husky grunts hatching in the back of his throat. There was something there in his words that you couldn’t quite pinpoint—a sort of undertone of primal need, primal amusement as he ruined your pussy with his speedily pap-papping hips, but acted as though he had no idea what he was doing. Every single syllable uttered was met with a thorough whack of his curved cockhead against your particular spot- “There there there there- there-”
“Fuh-fuuuck-”
“So this g-spot’s really m-mine now, baby?” Choso asks.
You whine, back arching off the mattress. “Yes-”
“Does she really have my mark on it now?”
“Yes…?” Eyes shooting open as you’re half-registering his question in your hazed brain. He bores his dark eyes down at you intensely. And as though to emphasize his point, you’re feeling his perfectly round tip squeezing into your throat by the next few thrusts. Deeper and deeper.
His Jacob’s Ladder starting to ease its frigid way past your entrance and glide across the roof of your cunt. It was a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
Choso probes even more, “I-is she really shaped to the shape of my cock now?”
“Cho—ngh.” Quickly shutting your cockdrunken self up. Quickly reaching a ringed hand up to squeeze your throat- before he’s languidly snaking his way up to squeezing your pretty cheeks together.
Smushing your face in a way that was almost disrespectful- though, not that you were in any state of mind to call him out on it. And there’s a mean inkling in Choso’s tone as he coos, “Awww, b-baby, why aren’t you answering me?” Another rude slap! of his hips make your own sear in flames- that damn strength of his. Those damn piercings of his. “Is your poor, poor Curse not good enough?”
Before you can answer, he’s looking at the blinking camera.
“My babies, my girl doesn’t love my cock anymore…”
“I do—I do-”
Squeezing his doughy-soft restraints - those contrastingly mean fingers of his - around your cheeks. He’s managing to smush your mouth shut and make you echo out the most pathetically pleading whines—as he fucks you. Determined and targeted.
The glossy rotund edge of his tip presses against your g-spot a few more times before you’re managing to make yourself take a peek at the comments on the monitor.
Almost too far away- almost too blurry with the tears in your eyes.
@Curse’snewestharem: Awwwww poor bby </33
@CCpervnextdoor: I would LOVE your cock, Curse!!
@girrrrrrrrrrth: is it just me or is he teasing us?
@Fishygurodad: ^^Yeah, he’s totally a fraud.
@Curseswombmommy: ^^girl shut up
“Th-they really think you’re oh-so-innocent…” You’re whispering up at him. Overstimulated tears in your eyes.
Breath hitching every time he’s surging his tattooed hips forwards and hitting that one spot particularly hard. Though there was never such a thing as too hard…
And Choso’s shooting you a secret smile - one just between the two of you - before morphing his expression into that of picture-perfect innocence. Roleplaying the demeanor of his nerdy self on campus, mixed with the utterly sultry—sexual way he was draaaaagging his lengthy cock in and out of your cunt.
Eventually, Choso’s emptying his inches out n’ bruising the bottom of your pussy. All of his nine - you seriously felt nine throbbing inches - inches shaping out the in-betweens of your legs. All of the beaded barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging inside- the slitherin’ feeling of them making themselves at home. Zig-zagging and slithering.
He feels the sponginess of your cervix and presses a hand down on your abdomen just to make sure, before changing that excitement into one of almost-genuine bafflement- “I-I really bottomed out?” Choso’s pinkish bottom lip juts out and quivers dramatically.
“Of course, you did.” You’re ready to scoff-
But whatever sarcastic sound was in the back of your throat gets quickly dissolved at the sight of Choso with genuine tears in his eyes. Glistening. “But I never- ngh, never thought I’d be able to.” He puts some more merciless pressure on your stomach that makes you buck—
And the only thing you can do is let your head tip back into the pillows.
The only thing you can do is let out a few mottled moans as he rubs over the small tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushing his palm down so that he could feel it.
Whispering out, “I-I never thought this pussy would claim my cock as- ngh, hers, hm?” And for the moment there, you’re completely sure that he isn’t talking to you. Rather, your pussy that was sobbing out squelches after every one of his jackhemmerin’ thrusts. “And it’s not too big, right?”
“N-never—”
“Because m’just a nerd with a- hngh, biiiiiig fuckin’ cock.” How pitiful, right? He’s letting his long, dark lashes flutter as Choso avoids meeting your eyes—as though in shyness. He drills his hips even deeper - one unforgettable strike after the other following every word he spoke. “Just a big- fat- fucking- cock-”
“Please—!” Eventually, your arms reach upwards and you’re grabbing ahold of whatever part of him it is you could reach first. Which just-so-happened to be his bulky deltoids.
Choso’s brows genuinely seem to furrow at the lewdness of you digging your nails into his muscles, leaving your marks for everyone and anyone to see even after this stream has ended. And so he continues in his faux-innocent tone, “Oh? Did that feel good, baby?”
Purposefully slidin’ his cock across your g-spot so that you’d have to cry out. “Y-yeeees—”
“I didn’t even know, baby.” His mouth hangs open, and the most lustrous squelches! echo between your two connected bodies. Your cunt n’ his precum were making such messes…“I had no idea…”
His Jacob’s Ladder leaves your channel feeling raw n’ overstimulated- you feel raw and overstimulated.
And you’re laid-out on the bed dazed and feeling so fucking good as Choso’s picking his pace up even more, you notice for a split-second that his hands have moved. No longer was he holding onto your cheeks n’ watching you squirm—now, the nerdy man hooks both hands around your sweaty thighs and pins them close to his body.
Holding them in place as he leans down, down, dooooooown until the caps of your knees hit your tits.
You’re keening at the stretch, and a searing burn spreads from between your pussy and along your hamstrings. How did he even hide such strength underneath those soft knitted vest? Such a body?
Before you know it, you’re being pressed into your first-ever mating press.
And Choso gapes as though he was just as bewildered as you, “O-oh…did I do that?” He’s fucking asking you—however, when your stunned expression bears no answer, he turns and asks the same question from the camera. The bursts of replies obviously agree n’ tease him. And he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly, “Did I really bend you in- heh-” A slight chuckle escapes him. “—half, baby?”
And what else can you do but nod and nod and nod—?
“I think this is called a…breeding press?” He cocks his head ever-so-slightly, before shaking his head. “No wait- a mating press.”
“A m-mating press.” You’re repeating lamely.
“I c-can’t believe I’ve folded you into a mating press, baby.” Choso nearly snarls at himself, his hips accelerating until that rouge-tipped cock of his was almost nothing but a blur. “Can’t believe—s’like my body is moving before my mind, ngh. My fat cock’s not hittin’ you too deep, right, my girl?”
“Not in the l-least…”
And he really was long enough to make each and every probe feel as though it was slam-slam-slamming into your throat- the capped crown of his shaft was entering crevices n’ crannies you hadn’t even known you possessed. All marked out precisely by the silvery orb of his Prince Albert’s.
Just then, after your answer, Choso reaches his left hand up to wrap ‘round your throat - and then hauls you back down to meet his slapping hips.
A thrust even harder than the ones before it.
Your breath gets snatched out of your lungs, dissipating into the heady air filled with the contact-riddled sounds of sex. Hard and fast. Only getting harder the longer you have your ankles looped ‘round his neck—“Not too hard, is it, baby?” Chosos asks you once more.
And you don’t have anything to spit out besides, “Oh f-fuck off.”
He gasps dramatically-
Well, not exactly dramatically. But in a way you knew was fake, and in a way that sends the chat exploding into comments.
The nerd pouts cutely, “Well, that’s not very nice…”
You’re rolling your eyes—right before Choso’s genuinely sending them rolling with his two fingers clamped around your clit. Using the silvery edges of his rings, he runs a few massages that end up with you sobbing and blabbering out your pleasure.
@Curse’swifey: FUCKKKKKKKKKK they’re both so hot. THEY’RE BOTH SO RUINED.
@peepeesarebetterfictional: they both look like they’re gonna cum soon hehe
@bewbsRlife: CUM CUM CUM CUM CUM
Biting back. “I would argue th-that that’s not very nice, either.”
“But m’just trying to make my gorgeous girl cum…” And from where he’d been looming his pretty face above yours, Choso then lets his head droop down between your tits. During his ravenous pace, he’s roverin’ his mouth all over to kiss and suck at your tits, your nipples.
His cold lip ring drags across your left areola- and he catches onto the way you’re shivering. Before Choso then grabs your nipple between his lips n’ hollows his cheeks out sucking—“Promise m’just trying to make you feel- hah, good.” He mutters, slightly muffled. “Promise I just wanna fuck my cock raw if it means making my lifelong crush feel good…”
“Cho- Curse, are you…?” Your eyes widen.
And his own flap droopily a few times, “Hmmm?”
And that proved it.
That proved it.
Because Choso Kamo could be pretending to be a stuttering, panting, blushing mess on your heavenly cunt all he wanted- he could pretend to be pussydrunk out of his mind. But at the end of the day, it was impossible to hide when pretend turned into something…more.
When the cocksure streamer that’d been driving you wild all this time morphs into the contentedly pussy-whipped nerd you expected him to be deep down inside.
His eyes genuinely glazed and blinking longingly.
His hair drenched in sweat.
His skin flushed with need- and only flushing even more fiercely the longer he kept his eyes on you.
Without much ado, you’re throwing your hands around his neck and tuggin’ him as far as he could crane his neck when his entire body feels like collapsing onto you and into your maddening pussy.
Choso pistons his hips slightly upwards to hear the slurp of his Jacob’s Ladder sliding across your walls, and he grooooans—
“Curse, baby…” You hum.
“Mhmmmm?” He replies with half-lidded eyes. Barely focused.
This was the big, bad #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends? As though sensing your thoughts, Choso’s fingers grow a little more frenzied on your clit. “I need you to cum inside, okay?”
He jolts at the idea- that sinful, sinful idea. Before chuckling, “Never had any other plan, baby.” And then he turns to the camera, “What do you think, fuckers? Think my girl deserves to cum?”
@Fishygurodad: Yes.
@Curse’swifey: YES.
@likezmenpregnant: Yesssss~
@girrrrrrrrrrth: yesyesyes.
@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah-
He’s holding out a little longer to make sure there wasn’t a single ‘no’ in there - and had there been one, you’re sure that Choso would have stopped and edged your incoming orgasm until it was a wave of complete agreement.
Luckily for you, they liked you.
And all he does now is press down harder on your g-spot from inside, lingering, and massage a pretty heart on your clit once more, lingering—before a final, thorough stroke is all it takes for you to hurtle into your second high of the night.
For you to arch your body into his chest, and shutter your eyes. “Ch-Cho…”
Barely a whisper. He’s crashing his mouth into yours to make sure that secret between you two isn’t revealed. And you’re moaning deeply into Choso’s mouth as you cum—“Feels so- oh. It feels so…”
“Mhmmmm.”
Unable to even find the words.
The only thing you can do is riiiiiide out the massive wave of your high. It’s torrential; pure bliss floods your system from head-to-toe, and no matter how much you’re squirming your overstimulated hips, Choso only succeeds in batterin’ away his pierced cock into eeeevery single hidden sweet spot inside of you. The ones that prolonged your bliss and left spikes of euphoria leading up to your brain.
Your cunt clenched so tightly around his cock- almost as though you didn’t want him to even pull out. And Choso’s sweaty head drops once more into the crook of your neck as he cums with a shudder.
The knot between his brows deepening, the bedsheet around his knees bunching up as he surges his body upwards. Almost animalistically.
Choso bottoms out his furious, twitching cock and keeps it there- “Oh, fuck…” It didn’t sound like he was acting once his bawling red divot starts splatterin’ out more milky white wads. Deeep in the back of your pussy, right where your womb was, Choso puddles out his ecstasy in long ribbons. “Oh fuck fuck fuck—fuck. Always knew it’d feel this good.”
Wave upon wave.
Toes curling. Eyes scrunching shut.
If you thought his moans were sensual before, then you weren’t prepared for the ones your pussy was able to drag out of him - ragged and hollow utterances of your name. Over and over like a broken record, like a mantra.
He’s fucking into you to milk them out of his hefty balls- then fucking you again just to pump those webbed wads right back in. From the top of his rotund tip and dooooooown to the tufts of hairs at his base. All nine inches of him being used to stuff you till the brim—
You’re sure your insides look like an utter fuckin’ mess by the time he’s slowing his tattooed hips down ever-so-slightly—still shaking from the aftermath of his orgasm. This was far stronger than anything he’s ever experienced before.
Drunkenly, you’re blinking your eyes up at him. “Always?”
He smiles, “Ever since our first lesson of Film 101.” Admitting, he lovingly wipes off a bit of his cum you were foaming between your pussylips. “You referenced Pride and Prejudice when talking about the best lines of dialogue of all time, and I-I’d been a goner since then.”
“Corny…” You snort. Though you can’t help the flutter of your heart.
“So um- coffee after this?”
“It better be dinner.”
He laughs in agreement. “Also I bought a vibrating piercing the other day and have been dying to try it…”
Your eyes widen.
And once you’re helping him pull out- Choso reaches for the camera and gets a good shot of the cum leaking between your legs. Before you’re both waving at it, “Thank you for joining us, today—this was the most fun I’ve had on stream yet- heh.”
You’re shooting the camera a pretty smile, too.
And Choso kisses the corner of your cheeks, “Until next time. This has been Curse and Movie.”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: holy fuck??
@Curse’swifey: WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT NO WAY-
@bewbsRlife: HOLD ON-
@CCpervnextdoor: SAY SIKE RN?
@bipplruletheworld: oh my god that’s amazing.
@likezmenpregnant: Oh, a love story for the ages~
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU TWO LOOKING FOR A THIRD??
@Fishygurodad: Damn.
@Fishygurodad: Hmu when he messes up.
@daddytoeknee: Stfu he won’t.
@daddytoeknee: Also I totally called it <3
A/N. I did NOT plan to have me inserted and beefing with Toji Fushiguro but here we are-
arranged marriage w/ naoya starring toji
𝐜𝐰: mdni. 18+ dirty, filthy, hopin' dick smut. 𝐰𝐜: 1358
Naoya, if anything, is prideful.
So when, during your first meeting, you huffed under your breath that you doubted a smug little worm like him could make you cum, he had to prove you wrong.
What Naoya didn't expect was that asking his cousin Toji to give him some pointers for his wedding night would turn into a full, hands-on demonstration.
"AYE! Ya seein' this?" Toji barks, sweat dripping from his brow as his hips slam into you, his thick cock punching into your guts for the umpteenth time.
Noaya nods dumbly, blinking down at you.
Sprawled out beneath Toji, your legs shaking, a mess of drool and smeared lipstick as you mewl uncontrollably. Bleary eyes fluttering, only the whites visible as your pupils remain lodged in your skull.
Naoya is utterly mesmerized by how just a few rough strokes turned your haughty remarks into slack-jawed moans.
From defiant brat to complacent dripping slut in mere seconds.
Naoya's own sweat slicked palms hold your trembling ankles up, spreading you wide for Toji's access and also wide enough so he can see a bird’s eye view of everything—and fuck, was your slutty cunt a delectable sight—you'd make him such a good wife by how obediently your swollen, weepy pussy clings to Toji's cock training you. Your hungry pussy so greedily sucking Toji back in the second his thrusts have him pulling out.
"The bitchy ones are the messiest—remember that for next time, kid. Gotta have a towel ready f'er 'em." Toji says it like an afterthought, although it's too late now, your sticky drool, squirt and probably piss too is practically everywhere.
Toji hoped you weren't thinking about passing down that pretty wedding kimono of yours as it's thoroughly stained with your creamy juices gushing down the crack of your ass in a vulgar mixture along with his nut.
Fuck—he probably shouldn't have cum in you so much but as long as you had a Zenin, Toji knew his family really didn't care whose it was. Thankfully too, he knew Naoya would be more than happy to raise it regardless, heh, he looked up to him so much the chump might even love it more if it was his.
“Look here ” Toji mutters, smirking. “Even y'er runt ass can do this.”
Reeling his head back, Toji hawks and spits a thick loogie right onto your swollen clit, smearing it in as your slutty button throbs beneath the weight of his hand.
“She’s already a fuckin’ fountain, but you can never get it too wet. Gives it a gud sting when ya—” Toji slaps your puffy clit hard. "—do this."
You twitch violently, your hips bucking up but Toji's powerful thrusts jackhammering into your cunt quickly fuck them back down to the floor.
The flood of sensation has your tears finally breaking, running down your pretty cheeks, further ruining your bridal make-up to match the fucked out state of the rest of your body.
Although Naoya, for what it's worth, thinks you've never looked more perfect for him. Ruined. Compliant. Just how he expects his future wife to be for him and he is eagerly soaking up all of Toji's notes, watching your every reaction so he could do it, and do it better.
He'd have all the time in the world to break you all on his own.
Naoya had always been a quick learner and you'd be his after this.
"Stop daydreamin' ya cuck!" Toji growls out, "Now just look at the way them cute lil’ tooties curl, fuckin' slut. She can't get enough. Bet she'd squirt if ya sucked on em a lil’ too."
The butt of Toji's heavy palm comes down on your clit again, harder this time, a squishy audible 'SMACK' echoing off the walls as Naoya's tongue experimentally slips between your manicured toes.
"NRGHH! PUHLLEEASEE!" you cry desperately, thinking you just might go crazy from the pleasure.
One of your hands pushes against Toji’s chest, the other scrambles for Naoya’s thigh as if begging for mercy from the overwhelming assault on your pussy and feet. It's too much, too good, too humiliating all at once and you think you just might die from it all.
“Heh, yeah,” Toji snorts. “A lil' runner like ‘er definitely feelin’ it now. But she's y'er wifey, so ya gotta teach her to take it.”
Toji's dick slams into your womb for emphasis, your choked moans dribbling over your lips, coalescing with tears and spittle as the men above you turn you into the pathetic little mess they desired you to be.
Your mind finally blanks, overwhelmed with the one lingering thought of—
What kind of den of devils did you walk into by marrying into the Zenin clan?
In turn, Naoya’s nearly at his limit too.
You look so beautifully fucked out—eyes glassy, mouth parted, legs trembling—and he can still taste you on his lips. A hint of salt from your toes and the sweetness from the squirt that hit his face earlier still lingering on his tongue.
He never thought merely watching you get destroyed would turn him on this much.
But he can’t take it anymore. Jaw clenched, one hand starts to slip from your ankle, reaching down toward his waistband—
"Fuck ya doing, boy? Nuh-uh, none of that shit."
Toji snaps, his senses from heavenly restriction alone alerted him but he's not even looking up either to confirm it.
He's also too entranced by the way your body is falling apart underneath him. Following the sight line of his visible dick print pounding into your tummy up to the view of the sweat bouncing off your cute bitten up tiddies. More drops flying off the harder he ruts into you, room filling with the intoxicating musk of your well fucked-out cunt.
“Better not catch ya tryin' to stroke that lil’ pecker while I’m graciously givin’ ya a lesson. This is about her pleasure. Watch and learn, runt.”
Toji groans through his teeth as his thrusts start to falter, becoming heavier and more erratic. Something deep in his balls tells him this next load will knock you up for sure, but he doesn’t even consider pulling out. Hell, if he did put one in you he'd have the perfect excuse to keep fucking your pretty pussy after this too right up until it finished cookin’ in ya.
But, you are Naoya's wife, after all. Toji thinks his cousin has been a good student up until this point, Toji would throw him a lil' bone for his patience, he supposes.
"...tsk, hold her right ya lil' cuck and I might let ya have first go at her ass next. Gotta get that lesson in too."
"Y-Yes, Toji-kun!" Noaya responds eagerly, swallowing thickly.
Naoya feels his dick throb painfully in his pants, resisting the urge to rut into his own thigh like a dog in heat, more excited than he expected at the prospect of getting to fuck you at the same time as Toji.
However, you just continue to whimper, thighs trembling harder as the men above you speak like you are not even in the room despite being the object of their lust as you are used like a fancy fleshlight they are breaking-in.
The threat, no—the promise—of being tag-teamed by both men makes your cunt pulse, clenching tighter around Toji’s cock, as you cum in erratic spasms of ecstacy, nearly causing Toji to bust in you. Toji is a goner regardless and his hips manage a few final pulses before another wave of vicious white paints your walls.
“Whew…” Toji exhales, chest heaving as his muscles twitch and his hips give one last lazy thrust—burying the final creamy dredges of his release deep inside you.
He pulls out with a wet pop to view, your pussy fluttering so obscenely around nothing, legs still stretched wide by Naoya’s tightening grip (who, by the look of him, is about to burst too).
With a smug grin, Toji finally locks eyes with you—addressing you directly for the first time—as he rather gently brushes a sweat-damp strand of hair from your face.
𝐚𝐧: no one save me i'm exactly where i want to be. 😇
busted this out quickly to hold y'all and myself over until i can finish incel!naoya. this was also inspired by a very unhinged conversation major shoutouts to @kamiflix for sparking this idea. NAOYA GIRLIES RISE!!!
tagging the naochan luvvers:
@yenayaps @madamechrissy @veejiez @sytorusdoll
and the haters:
@uhnosav @jaibunni 😘
𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼? then please 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 or 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! you can also join my gen. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (no tags under 2k) or contribute to the 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨$𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝.
♡ spawned from this ask which was inspired by this fic.
｢𝓬𝔀: smut ﾉ MDNI 18+ ﾉ naoya x milf!reader ﾉ canon au ﾉ brief mentions of toji x reader situationship/marriage ﾉ reader has a baby girl with toji (tomie) ﾉ naoya also becomes our baby girl ♡ ﾉ heavy lactation kink ﾉ reader bullies naoya until he breaks ﾉ dommy mommy reader ﾉ naoya tears ﾉ dirty smut ﾉ cowgirl ﾉ fluffy bits ﾉ naoya got lots of mommy issues to heal ﾉ reader is a kamo and has blood manip CT ﾉ there's a bit of plot too sprinkled in too ﾉ tiny mentions of choso and gojo as well ﾉ art: fateshatter ﾉ 𝔀𝓬: 9714｣
Someone will die soon.
Naoya scowls, glaring up at the ceiling in his bedroom.
The slated bamboo above him offers zero consolations to the fact that the universe is, personally and specifically, out to get him.
Fate has decided he should share a wing of the Zenin estate with Toji's latest scandal—a pretty wife and a newborn daughter—the latter of whom has declared war on his sleep schedule.
Flipping onto his stomach, Naoya crushes two pillows over his head to no avail—the piercing wails cut straight through.
Tsk. This entire situation is a special grade clusterfuck.
All thanks to Toji "deflowering" and knocking up the Kamo clan's most precious eldest daughter—yet another scandal he’d dragged back to the Zenin household.
Truthfully, you are equally at fault.
A debutante turned degenerate, you're the furthest thing from pure or lotus-like. Your true nature has stayed hidden from good jujutsu society only through your father's willful blindness—and even now, thoroughly scandalized, you can still do no wrong in his eyes. Nor in Choso's, your annoyingly overprotective half-cursed cousin.
As far as they were concerned, you'd been “corrupted against your will”.
So the blame landed squarely on Toji. And with his less than stellar reputation—to put it generously—no one dared argue otherwise.
Not that it stopped his snark every time he was scolded for it: "That garden had already been ransacked—I merely pitched a tent."
So despite being little more than glorified fuck buddies, both clans scrambled to save face. A shotgun wedding was arranged overnight. Heavens forbid a disgraced black sheep and a thot-daughter spark a war between two of the most powerful families.
The result: you and your squalling little parasite are now Zenin property.
But that alone wouldn't have landed Naoya in this mess.
No—this situation is special.
Seeing as the union only granted you and your daughter entrance to the family—not Toji.
Not that he'd return even if given the chance. He only agreed to marry you for your sake, and your daughter's. Nothing beyond that. So without any real tie to an actual Zenin, you're little more than a ward who took on the name.
Yet Toji thought enough of you not to throw you to the wolves entirely. Before leaving to do gods-know-what as an assassin, Toji asked Naoya personally to watch over you both.
Naoya scoffed at first. Playing babysitter to some woman and her infant? Technically his father Naobito's responsibility—nothing he'd have to bother with until he assumed the role of heir.
Still—Naoya wasn't about to deny a request from Toji, who made it a point never to ask his family for a fucking thing (and who could also destroy them all on a whim.)
Toji-kun said he trusted Naoya alone with the task.
And to Naoya, that acknowledgment was everything.
Fine.
However, that just means seeing to your proper treatment—it didn't mean Naoya signed up to be sleep-deprived.
Fuck—and if even a hint of a dark shadow appeared on his flawless complexion by morning?
There. Will. Be. Bl—
The final straw arrives before Naoya even finishes the thought.
A possessed banshee, 7th ring of hell, kind of screech—that even rivals some curses he's previously exorcised—rings out so loud his right ear pops.
That’s fucking it!
Naoya is out of bed, his room and down the corridor in only four strides.
You had to be awake.
Not even the dead could sleep through this.
So, why the hell hadn’t you handled it already?
How hard is it of all things to get a baby to shut the fuck up?
You’re its mother aren’t you?!
Reaching your quarters, Naoya yanks the shoji door open.
And immediately freezes.
As he expects, you’re wide awake.
Yet nothing could've prepared him for your silk robe to be wide open and resting at your elbows—leaving your breasts completely exposed.
Seated in the midst of tangled blankets and sunken pillows, you shift restlessly to find a position that comforts your baby girl enough to latch while she stubbornly thrashes in your arms.
You give up with a weary sigh, returning to the rocking. Her cries have lessened to frustrated whimpers now that she's moving, but they haven't stopped.
From the doorway, Naoya gives you a measured once-over.
You look like shit. Hair frizzy and damp at your temples, tired eyes, a slight tremor of exhaustion in your hands as you reposition your daughter.
That said, somehow, infuriatingly, you still manage to look appealing.
The moonlight spilling through the slatted window ensures it as it traces your plush curves, highlighting the faint sheen of exertion on your skin catching the light like a glow.
Gaze dropping, Naoya’s jaw ticks at the sight of your swollen, milk-heavy tits—nipples taut and glistening with pearlescent drops, coaxed free by your baby's cries.
A creamy bead falls, dotting your daughter's cheek and you gently wipe it away.
You haven’t noticed Naoya yet, too wrapped up in cooing out the same soft mantras of comfort that have proven useless all night.
Leaning against the doorway now with his arms folded, Naoya narrows his eyes, not used to being ignored. Even if unintentionally. However, his scathing reprimands die on his tongue, something about the scene turning his mouth desert-dry.
Every second drags like an hour, and Naoya with no patience remaining, sharply clears his throat, announcing his presence.
Your head lulls over to him without startling nor making any move to cover yourself. You just give him a drowsy, crooked smile that practically screams finally, someone capable of rational thought and basic impulse control.
"Tch. Pathetic reflexes. A curse would've killed you both by now."
You resist the urge to roll your eyes.
Technically, many would consider Naoya’s very presence to be a curse all of its own.
However, in your defense, your own senses have been greatly off kilter since your pregnancy and childbirth. Not to mention, the sheer exhaustion a newborn brings to a first time mother—you’re too concerned with your daughter, Tomie, to notice anything else.
Of course, you don’t expect Naoya of all people to realize that though.
“See, Tomie?” you whisper preciously to your daughter as you continue rocking her, “You woke up your cousin with all that fuss. Now Nao-chan’s just as grumpypuss as you, my love.”
Nao-chan?!
The nickname lands like a slap and Naoya flinches, no longer reclined on the door.
You weren’t even that much older than him—so what gives you the right to reduce his name to something so…ugh, cutesy?
It makes him sound soft.
Like some harmless stuffy to be cooed at alongside the child in your arms. Nevertheless, a small flush creeps up Naoya’s neck all the same.
Tutting, you shift Tomie upright so she can get a proper look at her cousin, still rooted in the doorway like he's being personally affronted.
She stills at the sight of Naoya, matching his energy.
Appraising him with tiny copies of Toji's stark emerald eyes, Tomie holds that same unsettling scrutiny packaged in a cute face that carries you both unmistakably.
Not to be outdone, Naoya sharpens his gaze, his lips set in a thin line.
You snort under your breath at the scene.
Looks like the infamous Zenin scowl curses another generation—and Naoya, the pompous heir himself, doesn't look remotely inclined to lose a staring contest to someone who can't even burp unassisted.
Growing bored, ultimately Tomie gives first as she blinks, babbling baby talk. A chubby arm wriggling free and batting clumsily toward him, breaking the stalemate.
"Oh?" you simper, eyes flicking from Naoya, who looks smug to have bested an infant, to your daughter.
"Not you being the mature one, my girl."
Your giggles make Naoya bristle, his mouth opens to speak—but you're already talking over him.
“C’mere, she wants a truce.” you beckon sweetly, inviting him in.
Frankly, you’re thrilled something has caught your baby girl’s attention long enough to distract her from crying—even if it is her obnoxious ass cousin.
Naoya, for his part, fully intended to reject the invitation.
To snap at you to—shut that thing the fuck up and put those saddlebag tiddies away while you're at it—to be done with the whole debacle so he could sleep. But his scathing reply dies somewhere between your airy laughter and the light sheen of milk saturating your areolas.
Conceding like he’s being called by some unknown force, Naoya crosses your threshold. He reasons that if a quick greeting would quiet the petite goblin for the night, he could comply just this once for his own sake.
Approaching your futon, Naoya sits beside you, back straight, on his knees. His posture is cautious, as if through mere proximity alone either your baby girl or your milk heavy tits could explode at any moment.
Which brings him to the point that you still haven't moved a muscle towards covering yourself for some fucking reason that eludes him entirely.
However, Naoya isn’t about to let a mere pair of tits shake him. If you don’t care, neither does he. At least that’s what he tells himself as he forces himself to keep his eyes level with yours.
Noaya, steady with all the focused determination expected from the leader of the Hei and Zenin heir—eyes shoot to your tits again the moment you glance at your daughter.
Fuck.
Swallowing heavily, Naoya doesn’t even understand why he’s so enthralled with them. He’s seen plenty of boobs, ones that look way better than yours too. From this close, Naoya can make out the strain of them, skin stretching thin and the small veins showing from underneath. Not the delicate sight of a lady’s chest, no, yours are so obscenely engorged—not to mention leaking—more like fattened cow udders.
So huge, in fact, that they look heavy and feverish.
Or…maybe, that was just him.
The room is getting kinda stuffy.
Shit. Naoya just can't seem to look away from your ginormous mommy milkers. Unable to decide if he's repulsed or utterly entranced. And he's so busy wrestling with that internal crisis that he doesn't stop you from doing something completely fucking unhinged—
—like handing him Tomie.
Realization hitting, for the briefest, teeniest micro-second, Naoya nearly yeets her.
Not even to be an asshole. Just pure reflexes.
Naoya genuinely abhors children. He’s never held anyone’s child and he sure as hell hadn't expected you to dump yours into his arms out of fucking nowhere.
Thankfully—as that very well would have been his ass once Toji found out—Naoya’s a well skilled sorcerer. His own self-preservation instincts reduce the action to a mere undetectable twitch of muscle.
Even so, he looks far more petrified than he realizes and that you do pick up on.
It doesn't register to him how ridiculous he looks until you're practically shaking with suppressed laughter at his statue-like posture.
“She’s not made of glass, you know,” you chuckle at Naoya clearly being so majorly out of his depth. “Just relax, yeah? Rock Tomie a little—she likes you for some reason. You can manage that can’t you?”
Naoya looks at you like you've sprouted two heads.
He doesn’t want to rock a fucking baby—even if it is Toji-kun’s offspring.
Who the fuck do you think he is?
Besides, relaxing wasn't really an option considering how close he'd come to his own death sentence moments ago. But even stranger, he realizes, he hasn't said anything cutting in a minute to remind you of your place, which is frankly weirding him out more than holding the baby is.
However…
You’re simply trusting Naoya to hold her at the moment, easy as that.
He’s the Zenin heir—of course that’s fucking something ‘he can manage.’
To Naoya’s surprise, Tomie has actually settled—tension gone from her tiny body, that very Zenin furrow smoothing from her brow as though to say finally, another Zenin graces her prescenes.
She gurgles up at him, blows a bubble and pats his chest with a proprietary little hand.
Naoya frowns. Why does this feel less like soothing a child and more like being evaluated?
"There—" you yawn unceremoniously, a flicker of life returning to your voice as you treasure the break. "See? She's just bored of mommy. Probably wondering where that deadbeat daddy of hers is."
Your slanderous, yet entirely accurate, remark about Toji is what finally has the venom returning to Naoya’s tongue.
You of all people should consider yourself lucky to be married to him and birth his child.
Eyes flaring, Naoya turns to you and—
Big mistake.
You're in the middle of a stretch. Arms overhead, back bowed, the sheer weight of your tits pulling at your spine until something cracks between your shoulder blades. Milk beads at your nipples from the motion—then scatters. Futon. Blankets. Your lap.
A single drop landing square on Naoya's robe.
He braces for disgust. For his throat to tighten at the sheer audacity of your bodily fluids landing on him.
But the feeling never comes.
Just an overwhelming chemical need to lick the creamy droplet from his sleeve before it soaks in.
“Aha!” you whisper excitedly, attention still on your baby girl in his arms. “My little angel is finally asleep.”
You lean into Naoya, shoulder resting against his, your nipple grazing his arm—and a dribble of milk trails down his sleeve. The drops bleed through the fabric, faint but undeniable.
He doesn't want to notice.
But he does, along with its scent—something like warm mochi and milk buns and pure want to taste it surges so hard this time he bites his cheek.
"Aww, how sweet..." Seemingly oblivious, you dare to poke his cheek, cooing. “Tomi-chan loves her cousin Nao-Nao~!"
Nao-Nao?!
Hairs up on end, Naoya wants to hiss at you.
But your tone is too pure, too genuine.
You’re just… like this.
A gentle aura surrounding you while next to your newborn causes you to mother everything in your surrounding area.
And that makes it all the worse.
Naoya doesn’t need mothering. He never did, not even as a child himself.
Yet those thoughts contrast the awkward and unfamiliar warmth Naoya is so insistently trying to keep out of his chest.
Truly, he’d rather be put out of his misery than suffer it a moment longer.
As a Zenin, Naoya had been trained to treat any affection as weakness—and weakness as a Zenin was the worst sin one could commit.
There’s an unspoken understanding in the clan: No scared cows.
No one member valued more than the strength of the whole.
And now, as a Zenin, you'd be no exception either. Even at the risk of Toji’s or the Kamo clan's displeasure.
The Zenin are well practiced at making consequences look like natural outcomes—be it accidental or personal failures.
Watching you smile so tenderly at your child, Naoya tells himself what he feels isn't guilt.
It's obligation.
Toji left you and Tomie in his care. Therefore it falls to him to set you straight if you both are to survive.
That's all.
"You're Toji-kun's wife and my ward.” Naoya growls—albeit low, careful not to trigger Tomie into another hellish chorus.
“You will henceforth address me, the future head of this clan, as ‘Naoya-sama’."
His words are cutting and to the point.
“And fuckssake, you will cover yourself when in front of men. You are not a Kamo any longer, you’re a Zenin. You will act accordingly or you will be handled.”
You retract immediately, smile dropping, wetting your lips into a pretty little pout that might have worked on a lesser man.
Naoya considers, for a moment, that he almost feels bad for you. Your lack of discip—
Then you dissolve into hushed giggles and he regrets it entirely.
"Oh my gawwwd, you're actually deadass right now, aren't you!?" Hand over your mouth, tears of amusement prick your eyes as you try to keep your voice contained.
“..or you will be handled”, you mimic, trying to sound as pompous as Naoya, although you don’t imagine anyone ever could.
Noaya growls but you pay him no mind through your amusement, so he is almost startled when you suddenly stop and crowd his space once more.
“Handled, huh?”
Naoya keeps his eyes on yours through sheer force of will—refusing to acknowledge your tits swaying in his peripheral.
“And just who is going to handle me…” You challenge, batting your eyes with a sensual pull of your lips, “...you, lil Nao-chan?”
Naoya grits his teeth, his eyes flashing.
Here he was trying to warn you and you’re making a mockery of him?!
If you weren’t Toji’s wife he’d teach you a lesson, he’d—
"Awe, c'mon, Nao-Nao," you purr, caressing his arm which he quickly snatches away. "I thought you'd be the fun one! Ya know…Toji said you were the only half-decent guy in the family."
He stiffens.
"Toji-k-kun…” Naoya clears his throat. “...he said that?"
“Mm-hmm.” You hum. Not missing how Naoya’s golden eyes catch light at his older cousins' praise of him. “Told me you were the only one here Tomie and I could count on.”
The light blush on Naoya’s ears creeps down his neck and just like that Naoya begins rocking Tomie as you initially suggested. Carefully, too—as if in this very moment he's made it his life’s mission to earnestly exceed all of Toji-kun's expectations for him.
Chest puffed and prideful, Naoya insists that, as future clan leader, it's ‘only natural’ Toji-kun would say such a thing about him.
You on the other hand have to perse your lips to keep from bursting into actual hysterics this time.
Why’s that?
Because you just lied through your goddamn teeth.
The only thing Toji told you was that Naoya was an easy mark.
And he is.
Almost painfully so.
The way his ego swells. The way his whole aura brightens just from hearing his cousin's name.
It’s all too adorable, honestly.
Naoya is too easily charmed and you're no stranger to charming all kinds of men. Hell, that's how you got knocked up in the first place.
But this type of emotionally stunted man?
Oh, you could definitely have some fun with him.
With Tomie finally asleep, you feel the familiar pull of mischief tug at you.
“Besides, Naoya-sama~~”
Your voice is all velvety compliance causing Naoya to completely miss the sarcasm underneath. He's also too distracted by your head on his shoulder and your boobs molding into his arm as you reach across him to fix Tomie’s swaddling.
"I think I'm decent enough, no?" Your lips curl deviously. "Seeing as I don't exactly count you as a man."
Naoya’s cursed energy spikes, fury bleeding through his veins—but your Tomie shifts in his arms and Naoya has to choke it back, holding his fury.
You just cock your head, all innocence, like you haven't said something utterly slanderous.
"You shameless fucking slut—" The chill in Naoya voice drops to frostbite temps, “I know you of all peo—”
“Aye!”
The whiplash is instantaneous—Naoya doesn’t finish the sentence before you have two fingers pinching his cheek, twisting with the particular ferocity of a momma bear who's been awake for thirty-six hours and has simply stopped tolerating bullshit.
"Watch your fucking potty mouth around my damn kid, asshole."
Naoya seethes. He wants to tear into you—the thot-daughter of the Kamo clan, standing on absolutely zero moral grounds—he really, genuinely does. But the twist on his cheek tightens and this time he doesn't even need his survival instincts to do the math for him.
Naoya doesn't know your grade but you aren’t a weakling.
Half his cheek isn’t worth it—especially if it woke the little hellhound in the process.
"...Whatever."
Satisfied at him backing down, you release him, smirking at the red blooming across his face.
Naoya resists rubbing it. Instead he huffs, hoisting your Tomie up onto his shoulder and bouncing her there in pointed silence. She'd stirred more from your outburst than anything he'd done all night.
This is all fucking ridiculous.
Naoya thinks and the second she settles once more he thrusts her toward you.
"Here. Take her. You're welcome, by the way—since clearly it takes a real Zenin to do what her own mother couldn't manage all night."
Rolling your eyes, you stop just short of slapping the shit out of Naoya.
The facts remain: that even as a newlywed, your ass might as well be a single mother. Your exhaustion is near biblical and your nerves are near shot and Tomie—the perceptive little thing she is—has likely picked up on every ounce of it, your nerves feeding hers in one miserable feedback loop tonight.
Yet, thanks to Naoya of all people, that loop is finally broken.
Shaking your head, you reach for your daughter—and then your body seizes. The pain hits your chest like a vice, jolting you back hard enough to steal your breath. Your hands fly to cup your breasts on instinct, fingers sinking into the weight of them.
"OH, shiiii—owwww!" You wince.
“What the hell now?” Naoya still holds the baby out to you expectantly, brow arching as you curl into yourself.
"What the hell do you think, Naoya?" You grimace, biting back at him.
Face crunched in pain, eyes shut, you’re careful to take measured sips of air.
“She cried all night and didn't eat. My tits are fucking killing me."
Realizing this meant he’d have to hold your baby girl even longer, Naoya makes an exasperated sound as he brings her fully into his arms again.
“You know this is your archaic ass family’s fault, right?”
You crack an eye open at his diva-like attitude.
“I asked for a pump and the old battleaxe of a caretaker said no. ‘All Zenins are fed from the source’, you mimic in a nasally voice. “Like be so fucking for real—what damn century is this again?!”
Naoya snorts.
You've never had house rules imposed on you—your father let you run the streets without consequence. So really, you're in no position to complain about the Zenin clinging to their traditions, insufferable as they may be, at least they had them.
"You know—Zenin wives are typically chosen for their training and poise. To think that the Kam—" Naoya stops.
Mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-everything—his mouth open, agape like a fish.
Robe now pooled around your hips, you begin working one of your swollen breasts in both hands. Clinical in the way only fatigue makes a person, no couth left in you at this hour. Your thumbs knead carefully, pressing firmly into tender tissue, heel of your palm dragging across a tight knot to stimulate the stagnant flow of your milk glands.
A deep moan slips from your lips in tandem with a hard squirt spraying from your breasts as a reward for your efforts.
Another escapes, then another.
Your oversensitive nipple is drawn taunt with the prickly pain of relief as a thin stream begins to run along the curve of your tits, painting your skin in shiny rivulets all the way to your bellybutton.
Through it all Naoya has not even blinked, nor taken a breath for that matter.
Oblivious to his own staring—and your haughty smile.
"Really now, Nao-chan? You're salty I don't consider you a man—" you muse, hands still diligently working out small drops of milk, "—but how can I? When you’re drooling over my tits like a thirsty newborn."
Shaken, Naoya’s eyes lock on with yours. The flush that had been camping at his neck floods his face all at once, searing his cheeks.
“I...”
You hush him.
Two fingers find your sternum, unhurried—drifting down your chest, down your belly, tracing the streaks of milk all the way down to your navel, gathering in the soft pudge of your mommy tummy.
Fingers thoroughly soaked, you gradually lift them to his lips. You hover them patiently, like you would a treat to a dog.
“Open.”
Not used to taking orders, Naoya hesitates—then parts his lips anyway. Your fingers slide in and the taste hits him, rich and creamy with a faint savory edge he wasn't expecting.
It's good. Dangerously good.
His brain short-circuiting, Naoya doesn't stop even when the taste fades, lapping at your fingers and sucking the remnants from your nails with an eagerness he'll hate himself for later. A low croon threatens to escape his throat—the kind of sound he'd never make consciously—and he forces it down along with the last traces of your milk.
More—he wants more.
One look in Naoya’s eyes tells you that. Dark, hooded, their usual sharp calculation completely gone—replaced by something unguarded and hungry. He's still tonguing your fingers like there might be something left to find. The needy, restless flick of his tongue stroking heat into your core.
"Good," you murmur, retracting your fingers. "Now, go put Tomie down on her futon."
Naoya doesn't move.
But this stillness is different. Every muscle is coiled, feral cursed energy strumming hot through his veins. A wire crossed. His restraint is less like surrender and more like the moment preceding a strike.
"Go on," you simper, "...and I'll let you sample from the source... you know the proper way to feed a Zenin."
Naoya says nothing. His aura speaks for him as he rises smoothly, crosses to the tiny futon, and sets your daughter down.
You simper in approval—he's not half bad at this—but you couldn't tell him that now. Not with the tension this thick.
Returning, Naoya lingers at the edge of your futon. The particular stillness of someone who's already decided how this ends—he’s just letting you go first.
"Well, c'mere—don't go shy on me, Nao-Nao."
You crook a manicured finger at him, giggling.
Poor thing doesn’t realize he’s playing right into your hands.
"I'm not shy."
He's not. But you're Toji's wife, and he's well aware of that. Somehow though, it only makes whatever this is more forbidden.
More worth taking.
"No?" Your voice dips playfully, baiting.
"Just a virgin then?"
Naoya sucks his teeth. He's never met a woman as infuriating as you he decides.
"I'm no virgin, whore."
No real bite to Naoya’s voice this time though, not as he drops to his knees in front of you like a good dog. His own annoyance betrayed only by the whitening of his knuckles in his lap.
"Gotta be mommy issues then," you murmur, closing the remaining distance with a crawl—one last barb delivered right as you sink into his lap, forcing him cross-legged beneath you.
His contained fury is the most endearing thing you've seen all night to be sure.
"Shut u-up," he grits, voice scraping thin.
You rest your arms on his shoulders, holding deliberate space between your bodies. Tilt your head and take stock—he's handsome, you'll give him that. Good bone structure, pretty mouth.
Shame he ever has to open it.
Your fingers drift to the piercings at his earlobe, toying lazily—while your other hand works the short hairs at his nape, featherlight scratches that make him shiver.
Naoya steels himself, an unwelcome and unexplained feeling blooming in his chest as he wills himself to stay focused.
"I'll shut up once you help me." Your hand leaves his ears to find his wrist, guiding it to your body. "Please, Nao-chan. It hurts."
The need etching in your voice worms its way under his skin like a tick and Naoya is finding his ability to keep control greatly diminished from all the blood flowing into his cock.
"Massage from the base," you breathe, giving him instructions to stimulate the milk flow. "Pressure out, not in."
Naoya's palm flattens flush against your breast and whatever plans he had for control slip away on contact.
The heat hits first—it's swollen, much heavier than he expected. Then the give of it, firm but yielding as his fingers curl to sink deeper. Naoya can feel the subtle shift of milk tracking beneath your skin, your breath hitching when he finds the right pressure, your nipple drawing tight against his palm.
"Just like that," you sigh when his rhythm smooths out. "You're a natural."
He adjusts without being told, reading your body's responses, and soon adds his second hand—finding the knot easily, pressing with both thumbs.
Surprise flickers across his face when milk spurts over his knuckles.
He nearly stops breathing.
You don't.
Your shaky exhale of relief punches straight through him and his cock throbs against his robes like a second heartbeat.
Naoya shifts, trying to adjust himself without you noticing.
You do however, gaze dropping, at the motion. He's so much larger than you'd have guessed for a man with such a fragile ego.
"Hmm. Certain parts of you are definitely enjoying this, Nao-chan."
Naoya clicks his tongue but doesn't deny it. He's too fucking hard to deny it.
His hands move again—one on each breast now, thumbs circling, palms compressing—drawing a deep moan past your lips. He watches with something close to reverence as milk wells up with each careful stroke.
The less your chest aches, the lower heat travels, melting into your core. You’re pulsing at the thought of his thumbs sweeping the same circles across your clit.
Breath heavy, biting your lip, you grasp at the robe on his shoulders to brace yourself. A momentary loss of your own control which Naoya is in no position to take advantage of.
Not when his attention is fully captured by a fat, opalescent drop welling on your nipple, shiny even in the dim light.
Eyes wild with need, Naoya’s tongue nearly pokes through the inside of his cheek.
"You wanna taste."
It’s not a question.
"I already said you could—or would you rather lick it up again, like a dog?"
But you’re just as desperate to be drained as he is to drain you. Naoya notices, you can tell. But his jaw is clenched so tight his molars might crack, eyes still glued to your nipples, and you almost tell him to relax before he breaks something and really does require nursing.
Your tits ache too badly to wait on his pride all night.
This time Naoya doesn't flinch when you cup his cheek. You guide him forward with unhurried gentleness—the same patience you show your daughter—and something about that tenderness dissolves whatever protests he had left.
His mouth closes over your nipple and he sucks, greedy and unguarded. Your fingers card into his hair immediately, drawing him in as the first pull sends an achy relief flooding through your breasts.
Naoya moans around you, shameless. Gluttonous. All pompous pretense abandoned.
"There it is," you murmur, smiling as you stroke him affectionately.
Your touch only makes him hungrier though—his tongue flickering, writhing for more even as your milk flows steady now. You jolt when his hands grip your hips without warning.
Naoya braces himself but he's nowhere near steady. Nothing about him is. Breath ragged against your skin, his whole body carries a tremor he probably doesn't realize is visible.
"It's okay, I'm not going anywhere…" you whisper, honeyed coos finally reaching him. "You’re a good boy."
Naoya freezes.
He unlatches with a wet gasp—glossy white ring around his lips, golden-brown eyes blown wide and wild. Something just cracked open in him that he wasn't prepared to feel.
"Don't—"
Croaking on his own spit.
"Don't what? Praise you?" Your hands keep working through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, lulling him toward a surrender he's still trying to fight. "For doing so well?"
"I'm not a child."
But his voice wavers, unconvincing even to his own ears.
You're teasing him, yes—but there's no cruelty underneath it. No disdain he can pinpoint as an excuse to push you away and escape from whatever this is.
"No?"
Bending forward, your lips ghost against his temple as you whisper:
"You don't want to be my good boy, Naoya?"
His nostrils flare—anger, need, humiliation—all of it written plain across his face.
Like an animal he’s cornered, unsure of his next move.
A moment passes.
Then Naoya’s gaze flicks sharply to your other breast he’s yet to sample.
You raise a brow, but Naoya has just enough pride left to not dignify your question with an answer. Can't anyway—his mouth is already latching onto the next target—the conversation over.
Need won. Clearly.
Naoya feeds more ravenously this time—tongue rolling around your sensitive flesh, teeth scraping in a way you'd smack him for if it didn't feel so fucking good.
He's messy about it too. Milk running down his chin, neck and spilling into his collar.
Fuck—this little shithead can really work his tongue.
Your head lulls, arching into him, melting against his mouth as you let him take his fill.
Your own lust is dampening your thighs now.
Damn. This wasn't the plan.
You'd meant to tease him a bit—let him suck on your fingers, string him along and then duck him. Peel his pride back layer by layer, slowly, to keep yourself amused living amongst such a stuffy clan.
You had no idea how affection-starved Naoya was.
Let alone how much seeing him like this would turn you on.
Your pussy is screaming at you, becoming impossible to ignore. You haven't seen Toji in weeks—relief is overdue in more ways than one.
"N-Naoya…?"
You call him, but he doesn't answer.
His thoughts are in disarray—walls crumbling around something long abandoned inside him.
What this is—what he’s feeling? It’s deeper than anything he's charted. And it has nothing to do with your tits, your supple skin, or the way your milk dissolves on his tongue.
Naoya rarely finds himself lacking.
An upbringing in the Zenin estate hones you for perfection built from very specific arithmetic—cursed technique, tradition and hierarchy. Assembled inside those walls you learn quickly that anything useless you cut out—or someone else cuts it out for you.
But now?
Your gentle words.
You warm embrace.
Your hand moving through his hair like—like he's something worth tending to.
Like his worth was never something he had to earn.
It's driving him mad.
Worse—he doesn't want you to stop.
“Hello? Earth to Nao-chan.” You lit, snapping him out of his daze. “Not you milk drunk already, baby?”
Pouty and petulant, Naoya’s arms snake around your waist to drag you closer until his face is buried between your tits, ignoring you.
Your hand slides between your bodies and finds him—thick and straining through his robes, the rigid shape of his cock unmistakable even through the layers. You lazily trace the outline of his long length with your palm.
Naoya's hips jerk up, gracelessly bucking into your touch.
You won’t let him go soft on you at the moment. Figuratively or literally.
"Aw, Nao-Nao," you coo mischievously. "What would Toji-kun think if he saw you like this?"
That finally gets you a reaction.
Naoya looks up at you scowling—though not to much effect as your nipple stays lodged in his mouth like a binky, spit-slick against his bottom lip.
He doesn't pull off—can't, maybe.
Because as much as he worships his older cousin, the realization is settling in like rot: Toji-kun, for all his monstrous strength—enough to tear apart the entire Zenin legacy—wasn't strong enough to resist you.
Hell, could anyone? Naoya considers the strongest he knows but—pshhh—he’s seen how Gojo is around women, too—he wouldn’t stand a fucking chance against you either.
It makes him feel slightly less pathetic, if only barely.
"He'd not have any room to talk," Naoya growls against your skin as he continues to fuck himself against your palm, grinding his cock against your hand through the fabric in urgent thrusts.
You’re feeding him and unraveling him at the same damn time. Leaving him chasing release and something else he can't articulate.
“Shit—let me fuck you before I completely lose it.”
Naoya’s hands shoot to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh, gripping hard enough to bruise.
You blink, a part of you shocked he's even asking—even if it is half-demanding and half-begging.
"Oh? So now you want to be in charge?"
Your hand withdraws and you let him roll your hips forward against his—it’s more leisurely than the pace Naoya wants though, especially as your robes spread around your thighs and your bare pussy slides against his clothed cock.
You're so soaked, and he can feel your juices flooding through the silk, your wet heat branding him through the fabric.
Naoya grits, caught somewhere between rage and ruin.
God, how he wants to slip his cock inside you—inside your mouth, your tits—and definitely that haughty lil cunt of yours.
See what was so good it even stopped Toji-kun from pulling out.
"You think you're fucking me, Nao-Nao?"
Cradling his head, you swipe at your own cream still lingering at the corner of his lips.
“You still have my milk around your mouth, baby.”
Naoya groans, barely controlled, like he's trying to rut through the layers of fabric.
He doesn't even realize how undignified he looks. The sounds he makes suckling at your tit are sloppy and needy—and you know he'd be mortified if he could hear himself over the squelching of your pussy rubbing against his silk robe.
Tightening your grip in his hair, you wrench his head back, forcing him to release your nipple with a wet pop.
A string of milk stretches from your bud to his lip—then snaps.
Naoya gasps.
Lips trembling, chin sopping, eyes unfocused. Poor thing. He looks completely ruined and you've barely started.
Naoya’s fists the fabric of your robe, already working at the tie. His gasps puff against your throat, mouth grazing up to your chin as he nibbles harder—threatening meaner bites.
"L-Let me fuck y-you."
Naoya is begging now, not even trying to mask his need.
You tilt your head, considering, pondering on it like Naoya wasn’t on his last thread of sanity, driven to insanity by the treacley taste of your creamy milk.
"Mm. No."
"I need—"
Cutting him off, you push Naoya onto the futon in one smooth motion.
"Haven’t you realized I know what you need, Nao-Nao?" Your voice is syrupy as you straddle him, hovering.
"I-I—Fuck—" The word scrapes out of him, guttural, clutching the sheets and throwing his head back onto the futon as his hips buck up into nothing.
You stay perfectly still. Not letting him take a single thing.
"Look at you." You coo, skimming a finger along his milk-stained collar. "Reduced to humping the air? Imagine, a Zenin heir with so little self-composure."
"S-Shut the fuck up, s-slut."
But his insults don’t stop his hips, microthrusts wanting to chase the feeling of your messy pussy sliding over his cock again.
"Why?" You swivel your hips—one deep agonizing grind that lets him feel your cunt clench against his cock through the ruined fabric. He's dripping now too, precum mixing with yours.
"I think you like it when I make you beg. You want to, don't you? So beg me."
Naoya's cheeks burn. He could easily flip you, pin you, and have his way.
He won't though.
Even through your teasing there's a care to your touch he's never let himself experience—and resisting it has his nails biting crescents into his palms, hard enough to bleed.
"I bet you'd cum just like this…"
Your plush lips ghosting his Adam's apple, smirking as he squirms under you.
"...without ever getting inside. Soiling your own robe like a needy, prideful little boy who couldn't simply ask nicely."
The moan that rips from Naoya's throat is feral with need and thick with humiliation. His hips shoving upward, wanton for contact.
You don't give it, suspended just above him, your drooling cunt barely grazing his cock, watching him fall apart with all the patience in the world.
"Naoya, baby" Your hand slides up to cup his cheek, tenderly. "Tell Mommy what you want."
Naoya’s eyes go wide.
Every muscle taut. Cheeks flushed dark.
The Zenin composure he was built from crumbling, reducing him to this.
On the brink, never has Naoya waited this long for something. Never has he been this turned on—and as much as he’s fucking furious about it, he’s also way past giving a fuck.
His eyes rake your body and snag on the trail of milk—smeared on your tits, your belly, all the way to your cunt where it glistens in the dim light.
His mouth waters. Whatever resolve he had left shatters.
"Please..." Naoya whimpers, tears dusting the edges of his eyes, too wound up to realize he's handing you everything. "...fuck me."
You raise a brow, waiting.
Oh, he’s so close.
He knows it too. He knows what you want.
Naoya can see it on your face but there's no coming back from it once he says it. But what choice does he have? He’d die if you sent him away like this.
"Please, fuck me—"Naoya’s voice cracks clean in half, a single tear running down his cheek. "—Mommy."
You push his bangs up fondly, planting a chaste kiss right on his forehead.
"That’s my Good boy."
Naoya watches you with tears burning his eyes, chest heaving, too far gone to resist you any longer.
You tug the ties loose on his robe until the fabric falls away. His cock springs free—angry, leaking and bobbing with every shaky breath he takes.
You have to admit it's pretty. His flushed red, cockhead peeked through its foreskin. You can feel his whole body shiver as you peel it back more.
Your mouth is watering for a taste yourself and god, if Naoya wasn’t such a fucking tool you’d gladly suck him off.
That could come later though—you’d make him earn that too. Subservience looks good on him afterall.
You'd be tempted to deny him longer if you weren't so hard up for it yourself, your gooey walls vibrating at the thought of a cock inside, at long last.
Toji's been gone for weeks and you need a stress release, bad.
You position your cunt just above the swollen head of his cock—close enough for your juices to drip salaciously onto his tip, dribbling down his shaft.
Naoya squirms beneath you, and you drink it in.
"Craving to wet your cock inside Toji-kun's wife, hm?"
He can't answer—not when you sweep his cockhead through your folds, letting him glide through the mess of your wetness and the milk still coating your thighs. You're soaked enough to take him whole right now, no prep needed, and the thought makes your cunt clench around nothing.
Naoya moans, hips snapping up, trying to piston into you—and you shove him back down by the hip, pinning him to the futon.
"Behave."
"I'm—" He swallows, voice wrecked. "I'm trying."
You smile, wiping the sweat off his brow with something close to care in your touch.
"Try harder for Mommy then, yeah, Nao-baby?"
You don't wait for his response.
You sink down, pussy swallowing him whole in one brutal stroke.
The stretch punches the breath out of you—wet as you are, he's still thick enough to make your walls spasm, to make your spine bow as he splits you open. You hate how good his cock feels dragging over every ridge inside you, the fat head kissing your cervix hard enough to make your thighs tremble.
Naoya gasps like you've knocked the wind out of him. You watch his mind go blank.
Hands flexing useless at his sides. Mouth falling open, slack and dumb. Eyes rolling until you can only see the whites, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
"Y-You're f-fuckin’ tight," he rasps, too loud. "F-Fuck—you're tight, y-you're so—"
Clamping your hand over his mouth, palm pressed to his lips, your nails curl into his cheek. You feel him arch off the futon beneath you, a muffled whine vibrating against your skin.
"Shh." You hush. "You'll wake the baby."
Naoya nods furiously, chest heaving. You smile once he settles.
"Atta boy."
Naoya whines as you start to move—hand still clamped over his mouth, bracing yourself as you ride him. A calculated wind at first, controlling the roll of your hips as you get a feel for him. The way he stretches you. The way a meaty vein throbs against your g-spot as you move.
Shit—Not bad.
Naoya trembles beneath you, hands fisted white-knuckled in the sheets, whole body wracked with the effort of staying still. Of not fucking up into you like a desperate, rutting animal.
"Mmmm," you murmur, rotating your hips in a lazy figure-eights. "Just like that, let it all go. Let me ride you. Let Mommy take care of you."
Naoya’s whimpers bubble under your palm—pathetic, needy. He knows he’s being used. He’s maintained zero control of the situation.
And yet?
He can’t deny a he’s a fucking fiend for it.
Not when your cunt grips him like a fist. Not when he can feel how wet you are— slick saturating his balls, staining the futon beneath you both. Your gooey pussy squeezes him so tight he can barely breathe, silky and warm, milking his cock like she was made to ruin him.
Then you feel it—his balls twitching underneath your ass, drawing up tight. He's close.
Fuck, already?!
“C-Cumming that fast?” you pant out. “ T-That fast? From your cousin’s wife’s tits and cunt? Do I feel that good?”
Naoya is groaning as his eyes squeeze shut, biting his inner cheek and fisting the sheets.
"Nuh-uh." You tsk, stilling completely. "Bad boy. Not allowed."
Naoya's eyes fly open as yours begin to glow—red and ancient, blood-dark lines blooming beneath your lashes. He feels it. Your cursed energy pouring into him, flooding every vein, every capillary, settling hot and heavy in his balls.
The Kamo inherited technique—blood manipulation—seizes complete control.
Instantly, he veins in his balls bulge obscenely, his cock swelling even harder inside you. But he can't cum. You won't let him.
Naoya cries out, breaking into a sweat, pleasure flaring through him to excruciating levels as every one of his nerve endings lights up.
"I may be a Zenin by name," you breathe, leaning in until your tits smush into his chest and your lips brush his ear, "but I'll always be a Kamo by blood."
You bite down on the tender tissue, feeling him shudder beneath you, cock throbbing helplessly inside your cunt.
"Don't worry." You sit up, savoring his broken whine from the loss. "I'll let you cum, Nao-baby. I'm going to milk you dry—just like you milked me—after I get my nut."
You lift up just enough to meet his wild, glassy eyes.
"Nod if you understand."
Naoya nods. He understands perfectly now—understands exactly how you wound up pregnant by Toji. Understands why a man like that couldn't stay away.
He sobs beneath your hold, tears spilling hot over your fingers, breath hitching against your palm. You clench, a methodical squeeze—and his whole body jerks violently, a broken "nnngh—!" muffled against your hand.
You ride him in earnest now. Harder. Faster. Greedy for it. Your tits bounce wild, milk spilling with every slam of your hips—they’re sore but you don't care, chasing your pleasure like nothing else matters. You're soaked, the sound of it obscene—wet squelching filling the room, your arousal and milk splashing filthy with his pre where your bodies meet.
Naoya’s cock hits that gushy, spongy spot inside you over and over and your rhythm starts to falter.
"F-Fuck—"
You're getting sloppy. Losing focus. Your thighs burn from exertion but you can't stop, can't slow down, bouncing on his cock like you'll die yourself if you don't cum on it. Your pussy greedily convulsing around him—shit, you could easily fuck your own self stupid if you aren’t careful.
You learned well enough not to underestimate Zenin dick fucking around with Toji.
Thankfully, however, Naoya is ruined. Flushed crimson from chest to ears beneath you, his tears streaming and his cock so engorged inside you that he looks like it must hurt. His hips spasm with aborted thrusts, toes curling as he is fighting his body's urge to rut even now.
He’s still trying so hard to be a ‘good boy’ for you and that thought alone almost makes you cum.
You consider, through the haze of your own pleasure, appraising his pathetic form beneath you, that you might accidentally give him a brain aneurysm if you keep this up much longer.
“P-Puulease—Mommy” he gasps out when you lift your hand from his lips.
"Wait your turn," you moan, brows furrowing as you try to concentrate.
You're close. So fucking close. You use him like a toy now, hips rolling carnally, chasing the tingling friction. building white-hot at the base of your spine. Your nails dig into his abs as you tilt, angling yourself so his girth scrapes against your g-spot with every bounce.
Quiet sobs tumble over your lips as you tense, fucking yourself on him until—
"O-oh—oh fuckfuckfuck—"
You shatter, orgasm ripping through you, pussy fluttering wild around his length and gushing to coat his balls as you ride it out. Vision edges white, as your thighs quake, your hips rotating in stuttering circles as the waves crash through you.
Chest heaving, when you regain your senses again, Naoya is barely there himself, sanity hanging by a thread with eyes blown—watching you cum so erotically on his cock like a man witnessing something holy.
You bring your face centimeters away from his, your lips ghosting his own as you release your technique.
"Cum."
And he does.
With a broken moan Naoya busts inside you—cock pulsing thick and hot, spurts of cum flooding your cunt white as his hips stutter up helplessly. You let him pull you down, let him clutch you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to earth as your lips smash together.
You seal your mouth over his, devouring every ragged cry. Your tongue sweeps sweetly against his trembling one as you steady his face in your hands, thumbs brushing his tear-damp cheeks, kissing him quiet.
All the while his cock continues to pump you full—and you’ve kept your promise.
This is the most Naoya’s ever cum in his entire life.
When he comes down enough, Naoya rolls onto his side, taking you with him as he curls into you—face buried in your chest, sucking in breaths, completely undone and still twitching inside you.
A bit overspent yourself, not having activated your ability since Toji got you pregnant in the first place, you don't move yet. You keep him buried inside of you, pulsing with the aftershocks of what he just let himself become.
His arms wind tight around your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear. You cradle the back of his head, stroking softly.
He doesn't speak and you don't rush him. Not eager to test for any remaining snark you failed to fuck out of him.
It feels good just being needed like this, you are a mother afterall.
Eventually the heat between your thighs starts to cool, and you shift—peeling him off slowly, feeling the thick spill of his cum leak out of you. He shudders at the loss, an inaudible sound catching in his throat.
You ease him onto his back, robes rumpled beneath him, face still ruddy. He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes—quiet, stunned, like he doesn't recognize himself.
And then—
A single, involuntary whimper escapes him when his gaze catches on your breasts again.
Still heavy and still leaking—milk beading at your nipples.
You smile.
"Still hungry?"
He turns his face into the pillow, ears burning.
You laugh—not mocking this time. Your voice is warm, almost fond.
"Poor Nao-chan," you murmur, settling beside him as you reach for a baby wipe nearby. "Your first time letting someone take care of you, and now you don't know what to do with yourself."
"I didn't say I wanted—"
You wipe his chest clean of milk, sweat—all of it with a tenderness that makes him forget what he was saying. Naoya’s throat bobs as he goes silent.
Unhurried, you wipe yourself off next. Then once satisfied, looking over to confirm that Tomie is still sleeping peacefully, you secure the discarded blanket over you both, effectively tucking him in, before gathering him in your arms.
"You don't have to say it," you whisper against his hair. "Mommies always know."
Sure, you certainly aren't his mother.
Yet something in your heart still aches for the broken little boy inside Naoya all the same. His cruel upbringing was hardly his fault, although it's been everyone else’s problem since.
Plus, you're fairly certain you just did more for his mommy issues in one night than years of therapy could ever achieve—even if someone managed to drag Naoya there, against his will.
Sigmund Freud couldn't have even accomplished this. Someone should really give you a nobel peace prize.
You hum a low lullaby against his temple as Naoya’s eyes close. He doesn't fight it. Between your soothing song, warmth and the exhaustion your technique left behind, he doesn't have the strength to fight you—nor does he want to.
Naoya’s lips are at your nipple again. He's not sucking this time—just holding you on his tongue, lavishing slow and kitten-soft licks, nursing you like a pacifier.
"You did well, Naoya."
It's the last thing he hears as sleep pulls him under.
⟡
Hours later, Naoya wakes to the sound of your voice.
His eyes squint against the harsh morning light pouring into the room. As they adjust, he makes out your shape—sitting on the edge of the futon, knees tucked beneath you, fully dressed, bouncing Tomie in one arm while you chat on the phone.
A dizziness hits him all at once. Naoya finds himself sluggish, bodily functions recalibrating as the effects of your technique linger.
He feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck.
A truck that happened to also fuck him stupid and then tucked him in after.
Grumpy, the loss of your warmth pulls a low growl from him.
Naoya hauls himself across the futon and plants his head in your lap, nuzzling into you like you owe him now.
You try to ignore him, continuing your conversation, but Naoya is persistent. His nose keeps traveling higher—nudging toward the apex of your thighs and burying his face into your mound. The lingering musk of sex is still strong through your kimono and Naoya's cock stirs, already half-hard at the thought of tasting how well his seed has marinated inside you.
Naoya hums petulantly into your pussy, clearly territorial of whoever has your attention.
You roll your eyes at the display.
Give men an inch and they will always take a mile.
You threw him a crumb of affection and now he's acting starved for it.
Shifting your daughter to one arm and wedging the phone between your shoulder and cheek, you card your fingers through Naoya's hair. It's enough to soothe him—for now. He sighs against your thigh, using your plush lap as a pillow, and drifts back toward sleep.
"Huh? Say that again—" You grit, more irritated now at the man on the other line than the one in your lap. "Ugh, fine. I'll spot you this time, Toji."
Even half asleep, Naoya goes deathly still.
You smirk, feeling him tense in your lap as you continue to speak.
"But that’s only on the condition you visit Tomie this weekend, you oaf. She'll forget your face if you keep this up, ya know."
A pause. Then snort.
"Hm? Oh yeah. Yup, uh-huh.” You smirk amused by whatever Toji's saying on the other line. "Yeah, yeah, Ji. I'll let him know—and jeez, I got it, okay…I'll do the transfer now. GOODBYE."
You hang up with a huff, mildly annoyed—until you glance down and see your daughter happily cooing, her tiny hand patting Naoya's head alongside yours as you reluctantly transfer Toji the money he asked for.
Naoya, mortified, had been holding his breath this entire time—just in case Toji could sense it over the phone—sighs in relief.
"Shit... that was close," he mumbles, wincing as your daughter's pats turn into enthusiastic slaps against his temple.
Toji-kun told him to take care of you, sure.
He's fairly certain this wasn't what he meant.
"Huh? Oh, you mean Toji?" You blink down at Naoya. "I already told him."
Naoya shoots upright like you just announced a curse had just blown up half of Tokyo.
"Relax, Naoya, my god." You wave a hand, dismissing him. "Toji's cool about it. We were never exclusive or anything, ya know."
Naoya exhales, exasperated, and flops onto the futon, on his back, his hand over his face as you rise shuffling elsewhere in the room.
He knows his cousin—this won't be the end of it. Toji will definitely expect something in return.
But Naoya can't think about that now. His head is throbbing, it's early as hell, and he's gotten maybe two good hours of sleep.
He knows he should return to his own sleeping quarters—but this is his wing after all and he honestly can't be arsed to move for anything right now.
"However," you add lightly, when you see Naoya's body bracing for blow, "he did say you have to bankroll a parlay for him every time you fuck his wife."
And there it is.
Naoya doesn't even lift the hand over his face, just grunts.
"Sure."
"Anddddd, he's charging you by the ounce for—and I quote—'sucking up all his tiddy milk like a pansy lil b-i-t-c-h.'"
You spell out the word in lieu of saying it now that Tomie is awake.
Naoya groans, wishing he'd woken up earlier. He's not sure what kind of narrative you fed Toji, but he's too exhausted to argue about it now.
"...Fine." Naoya replies, wincing at your giggles prickling his skull.
Toji's money schemes don't matter much to him anyway—he's rich, he can afford whatever bullshit ‘tiddy milk tax’ this is.
Naoya just needs you to shut up about it now.
Every chuckle out of your mouth drives another rusty nail into his skull.
"Oh, one last thing," you call over your shoulder, smirking as you scoop Tomie's diaper bag and head towards the bathroom to change her.
"Toji says if you get me knocked-up, you’re raising that one too."
You laugh hardly, leaving the room with Tomie happily cooing in your arms.
Whatever.
Naoya sighs, smashing two pillows over his face.
He'd just pull out next time.
Simple. Problem solved.
It's a small price to pay for your soft creamy tits and that sweet, gooey mommy puss—
♡ hope u enjoyed! i hope to see a lot more recruits in the naoya army after this fic lol!
also i loved writing in tomie here. i didn't name toji's and your's baby in the previous one but i really like this name so i decided to use it. shes so sassy shes def gonna give noaya hell. hsjdfbvjshdbfvhsd. read my other naoya fic here
Status updates: Caracal!sukuna p4 (20% done), invisible man!gojo (35%), stepdaddy!nanami (60% done), nerd!geto p2 (45%), 69 choso fic (30%) [y'all remember caracal sukuna won the poll so freddy!sukuna and elevator will have to wait!] stepdaddy!nanami next
𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼? then please 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 or 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! you can also join my gen. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 or contribute to the 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨$𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝.
tags: ep6 but with even more seducing and sexual tension. 18+ smut. making out, hickies, teasing, inexperienced virgin reader, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, he’s sweet
a/n: I had many thoughts when I watched ep6- I wrote this just for me tbf so it’s just a lil recap w a continuation of how I’d fold - started writing this last july….
prologue | main masterlist
you woke up erratic, panicked, and confused. you looked around your surroundings and were taking it in but first you tried to remember what happened.
the last thing that happened.. was fighting with Mae... she used the force to push you away and you just saw black and woke up here.
then you remembered all that happened before then and seeing your old friend get brutally killed. Sol told you to get Mae but you never saw him again. Was he safe? Did that sith kill him?
you calmed yourself down and took a proper look around, it looked like you were in a cave someone had a small base in. there was a small pond-like bath on the floor, random barrels all over the place but what gets your attention is a container.
you got up but not before feeling a small pain on your right side. you lifted up the unfamiliar top you were wearing and it was bandaged up but was stained red.
you sighed and went straight for the container, taking a small sniff then drinking all the remnants. you put it down when you heard some noises which quickly alerted you.
you looked to where it came from and you walk straight towards it.
it was just a small creature that ran away at your presence. There was a sack of stuff right next to it so you quickly dug through it and the first thing you found was a knife.
that was a good thing to keep.
you set it aside and dig through it more, next was a bunch of clothing that you quickly put on.
you walked out of the cave and all you could hear were the sounds of loud waves. your eyes widened as you got to the entrance and it wasn't like anything you've ever seen. all you could see was the ocean.
the sky was grey and there was a slight bit of fog as you tried to look further into the ocean.
it was a completely unfamiliar planet to you and you’ve made your way around the galaxy.
there were a bunch of rocks and somewhat of a walkway below the cave so you carefully went down.
you walked closer to the shore quickly noticing a small family of skura, you then stood on the rocks and looked at the waves coming in. it looked like there was no end.
the only thing you could see was a tiny island with a platform on the end of it.
and a ship on it.
you felt a tiny bit of hope when you suddenly felt his presence so you looked behind you only to find him walking alongside the path by the rocks. he had walked past you, just completely ignoring you.
you followed him as quietly as you could, on his tail to where he was always in your eye sight. you snuck behind him for quite some time until finally he stopped.
he put his sack down then he started to take his cloak off and you just watched blankly as he took off everything he had on.
it didn't do anything for you because you were smarter than that and in your head still considered yourself a Jedi. that kind of attachment was a huge no from the beginning of your training so you never cared for that attachment even after leaving the order.
but that long scar on his back did catch your attention for a slight second.
after taking everything off he went into the small body of water that was surrounded by big rocks that blocked off going into the actual ocean. you kept your eye on him with your knife on your right hand. but as he got further into the water that was when you saw something on a rock almost right in front of you.
his lightsaber.
you had to play it safe so you moved slowly and quietly then you bent down to grab it. you held it in your hands, admiring it for a few seconds before he spoke, "how's it feel?"
"don't move." you say, getting into the defense position you always did, and hold his lightsaber out as he turned around to look at you.
"feels good doesn't it? to hold one again after so many years? assuming you didn't keep yours after you left. even your stance is still good, just keep your legs more apart so you can move around more swiftly before attacking." he says and starts to swim back to you.
"stay right there." you threaten and hold the saber with both hands, pointing it towards him.
but he didn't stop. just brought a hand up and pointed towards his clothes. "well if you're not gonna join me, I'd like to put my clothes back on."
you remained silent until he got closer, carefully watching his every move in case he tries something. he got out of the water, standing up completely bare, and walking towards you. "you're thinking in your head if it'd be an honorable act to kill me here, after what you witnessed, it'd be justified. and a few hours later it's pure vengeance?"
he picks up a piece of clothing and slips it on as he speaks, "now you're wondering how I'm reading your mind... I can't."
"not exactly. your rage betrays your thoughts." he explains and grabs his shirt and slowly puts one arm in the hole.
"why did you bring me here? why not kill me? am i meant to be your prisoner?" you quickly ask, your eyes still have yet to waver from his.
"prisoner? you're the one with the weapon, not me." he says and finishes putting his shirt on.
"did you kill Sol?" you suddenly ask and feel anxiety arising in your body waiting for his answer.
he waits a few seconds before he responds. he looks back up at you, his eyebrow slightly raised, "no."
you felt a wave of relief wash over you before more anxiety came in once again.
"did you kill Mae?" you ask and take a step closer.
"no, interesting you asked about him first though. he was your master. taught you everything you know, but he's more to you than you'd care to admit." he finishes and reaches down to grab his sack.
he puts it on his shoulder before continuing, "it's a special relationship, isn’t it? between a master and pupil." he walked around you then walked back to where you came from, knowing you'd follow behind him.
you kept quiet as you walked back, many thoughts running in your head. at least you knew that Sol was safe but his words. how could he know so much about you already?
and how was it that he wasn't reading your mind when he was for the most part spot on? you couldn't let him know that obviously but it just feels like he might know it already.
why hasn't he killed you? and how does he know so much about being a Jedi?
you saw the giant rock with the platform out of the corner of your eye and that's when you decide to speak up, "you talk as if you're a Jedi."
"I was. A long time ago." He says and you furrow your eyebrows.
"i've never heard of you." you mutter making him chuckle.
"it was a really long time ago." He responds and you walk slower.
"why'd you bring me here?" you ask and look at the back of his head.
"why do you think?" he asks back almost making you roll your eyes.
"leverage. against the Jedi council." you answer honestly and he turns to look at you, "everyone does seem to want you."
once he turned his head back around you couldn't hide the eye roll. it was such a small way of testing the waters to get a reaction out of you but it wasn't enough. at least not enough for the reaction he wanted to see.
“if you keep me here Sol will find me. his strength in the force is extremely powerful.” you confidently say and he turns to face you.
with a puzzled look on his face, he corrects you, "you think that's his strength…..? that's your strength in the force Y/n, someone should teach you that."
"I'd start swimming if you want to get to the ship before sundown or you could wait for the tide to calm down." he says and you quickly look at the platform. “are you hungry?" he adds and you look at the waves.
they weren't slowing down.
you heard him walk away and you knew you weren't going to swim out there. you needed answers.
so you followed his tail again but never getting too close.
he went into his cave and went directly to put his sack on the bed where you were laid earlier. "what did you mean by my strength in the force?" You asked and he quickly responded, "Exactly that."
he walked over to his small crockpot and bent down to stir the stew he was making. "if you were a Jedi you'd know it's something you always need to do. without training it fades." you say and slowly start to feel curiosity growing.
"that's what they told you. the Jedi teach there's only one way to use the force, if you don't do it their way, it fades." he says looking directly into your eyes, as if it'd make it stick to your head.
he dipped his finger in the substance and licked it, "but there's another way."
"below the surface of consciousness are powerful emotions. anger, fear, loss.... desire." he explains, making sure to meet your eye at the final word. you shake your head as he pours some of his stew into a bowl.
the memories of your training coming back all at once and you knew where this was going.
“that's the path to the dark side." you reply and he lightly shrugs.
"more so or less." he says and stands up.
"you murdered my friends." you mutter and he doesn't wait to respond. "I killed Jedi. I killed those that threatened my existence."
"You killed Yord." you added and he slowly started to walk towards you.
"The man that didn't hesitate to turn you in for a crime you didn't commit, who wasn't even willing to hear what you had to say." he says and continues walking towards you.
"You killed Jecki!" you say with the slightest crack in your voice.
"And where would that have led you? Having the same relationship you did with your master? One sided? Why do you love people who can only go so far but not as deep as you can, as deep as you need them to?" He questions and holds the bowl out for you.
"I am not my sister, I'm not so easily corrupted." You spat and turned around quickly walking away from
him.
you stormed out of the cave and he calmly followed behind you.
you took a drop breath and looked over at the ocean, hoping the waves could calm you down because he was really pushing you. you never imagined you’d be put in a situation like this.
it was unlike anything you’ve ever endured. and he was unlike anyone you’re ever met.
"You forgot about something?" he asks and you quickly turn to look at him as he leans against the side of the cave.
"You stayed here to do something, do it." he says and walks over to you. you brought the lightsaber up, as a warning but he held it with you and aimed it to his abdomen. "Turn it on."
"A Jedi doesn't attack the unarmed.” you say, locking eyes with him and attempt to pull the saber away but he quickly grabs your arm and pushes the end of the saber to his stomach. "Why do you still think of yourself as a Jedi? They didn't want you." he snaps and you try your hardest to remain calm.
"That's not true, I left."
"Why?"
"Because I chose to.”
"Are you sure?"
"Let me go!" you plead and he forcibly moves the saber below his chin.
you were feeling slight anger bubble up in you and his words were only making it worse. you were also feeling frustrated, at yourself just thinking of those memories. of the buildup that led to that decision.
you gripped onto the saber yourself, kind of fighting with him to keep it steady. “What you're feeling right now, this anger and pain is who you are. The Jedi saw the real you and that's why they threw you away" he says, gripping his lightsaber to make sure it stays there.
"They didn't throw me away." you were barely able to say it. your voice cracked, tears were welling up in your eyes, and your breathing became more rapid.
"Then why aren't you a Jedi?" he asks and lets go.
you could hear your loud heartbeat in your ears and you just wish you’d be anywhere but there. you wish you were back in Khofar, Coruscant, anywhere that wasn’t with him.
wishing you could be with anyone that wasn’t this man. he clearly was willing to do anything to see you break and maybe you just weren’t as strong as you thought. as strong as you’d want and need to be.
"Why aren't you a Jedi, Y/n?" he asks again and he broke you.
"Because I failed!" you yelled, turning the lightsaber on and pushing him back against the wall with just your forearms.
you held it near his neck, somehow having enough self control to not separate his head from his body. you were breathing heavily, mentally kicking yourself over the fact you let him get into your head but he didn't fight you. he didn’t even look shook up or nervous.
"I understand. I lost everything, Y/n. But when you lose everything." he calmly explains, lightly putting his hand on your right arm, "that's when you're finally free." you couldn't get any words out.
you just retained eye contact and felt gutted that you could somehow relate to his words. it shouldn’t be something that you can relate to, especially not by someone like him. you were meant to be different than him, not feel similar to him.
you turn the lightsaber off while taking a step back then dropping it to the floor before walking back into the cave.
a tear fell down your cheek but you quickly wiped it away because it's probably what he wanted.
disappointment hit you.
you always had that anger from your childhood trapped inside you. it's taken it's toll on you over the years, especially when you left the order. him bringing those memories back was like a stab in the heart.
his last words only had you filled with even more curiosity and you couldn't leave until you had your answers. you needed to know more.
more about the force. more about him.
__________________________________________
a good hour had passed when you were finally able to calm yourself down and when he offered you food again, you didn't reject it.
you realized with all this running around, you hadn't been eating well the past few rotations. your eating habits would probably become worse because of this but that's a thing to worry about for later.
right now you wanted to see if you could somehow crack him.
you had been watching him work on his mask when you finally had the courage to ask, "did you give the same pitch to my sister?"
"I was wrong about Mae. I thought she wanted more than just revenge, I thought she wanted what I want." he explains and you quickly butt in.
"what do you want?" you ask and he stops.
"the power of two." he responds turning to look at you and you're hit with whiplash.
the power of two.
you don't say anything. he turns back around before slightly turning his head to look at you for a brief second then looks straight ahead again.
he grabs the ends of the back of his shirt pulling it forward then uses all that extra length to wipe sweat off his face.
you couldn’t help but look at the scar along his back. it was long and it was safe to assume it must’ve been painful when he received it, just based on how it looks.
it had two ends on each shoulder blade and they connected by the middle of his back. one end was nearly reaching his left side. it’s color was a bit lighter than his skin tone, nearly white so it popped out more.
you quickly realized it was something so subtle, that it was quite obvious what he was doing. how he hasn’t quit it yet was beyond you.
"Do you want me to ask about your scar?" you ask and he chuckles before turning to look at you.
"What makes you say that?" he asks and you shrug.
"Just an odd way to wipe some sweat no?" you test making him shrug nonchalantly.
“I don't think so." he says and you hum.
you sighed and decided to ask anyway, "Where'd you get it?"
"How do you think I got it?" he asks, making you fight the urge to roll your eyes.
"Why do you always want my opinion before you respond?" you ask because he kept doing it.
"Maybe I want to hear what you think." He responds and you hit him with a fast rebuttal, "why's that?"
"I like hearing a second voice." he responds and turns back around.
you're once again left speechless and you weren't sure how to respond. how could you respond?
there was only one thing in mind, a popular phrase that always makes its way back into your life.
"looks like someone stabbed you in the back." you say making him chuckle.
"something like that, let’s just say someone.. threw me away." he admits and your eyes widen remembering what he said earlier.
"your master?" you ask softly and he stops.
he just stays silent and you nearly feel bad for asking but not bad enough so you kept pushing.
“so was it like getting pushed to the dark side since there was nothing else going for you?” you ask and he turns to look at you again, “in the sense that you’re left alone.” you add making him chuckle.
“that’s.. brutal. what makes you say I’m alone?” he asks, slightly tilting his head.
“just an observation.” you clarify and he nods.
“seems we might have that in common.” he says, making you scoff.
the audacity.
“think about it, right now in your life, who do you have to rely on?” he asks and you bite your tongue.
there has to be someone you could say to prove him wrong. but unfortunately, there wasn’t and your best friend was a small PIP droid so point proven..
“It’s not always a bad thing.” he implies and stands up, setting his tool next to his mask.
“why would that be?” you ask and cross your arms against your chest.
“because sometimes with the way the galaxy works, it could bring two people that are alike together..” he said his words slowly as if to carefully construct his sentence off what you might want to hear.
“what are you trying to say?” you ask and raise an eyebrow.
he leans against the back of his chair and folds his arms together. there was something in his eyes this time that you couldn’t pinpoint what it was but it sent shivers down your body.
“that maybe I won’t repeat the same mistake with you.” he nearly said it in a whisper but you heard it clearly.
you gulped and shook your head, “how would you know that?”
“just a feeling..” he whispers and you feel your heart start to race.
why was that happening?
“I think you’re imagining things. must be what happens when you’re just so lonely.” you reply, making him crack a small smile.
“maybe. although something just tells me you want something else that I want as well…” he says in a sultry tone and you feel yourself growing nervous.
this was such a bad sign.
you should run off and see if the tide is clear, go hang out with the small family of skura you saw earlier, do anything to not entertain this in any capacity.
but you couldn’t move. he wasn’t even doing anything. you just didn’t have the willpower to tell him he’s crazy and leave. you couldn’t bring yourself to and that was the scary part.
you’ve come across all kinds of creatures and people that try their hardest to persuade you but it was just the way he was speaking that was like putting you into a trance. you felt stuck. entrapped. conflicted.
you’ve never felt this way before which just made it all the more confusing.
suddenly as if your conscience grew its own mind you shook those feelings away, because you knew better than to cave in into what he’s trying to feed you.
he did already break you earlier but that didn’t mean he’d be able to do it for this. you couldn’t let him.
“Now you’re definitely imagining things.” you say and let out a chuckle.
he didn’t believe you. he found it very hard to especially with how long it took you to respond along with other noticeable things like how your body language wasn't matching your words.
“couldn’t come up with something more clever? am I already getting into that pretty little head of yours?” he lightly teased and you just shook your head.
“you can think that if you want.” you quickly said and a small smirk tugged on his lips.
“I think I just might.” he responds, making your face grow warm.
there was a moment of silence between you two, you found it hard to break his gaze and he wasn’t going to be the one to break it for the sole reason of doing anything to see you crack.
he could already sense he was close and he hasn’t even touched you yet. he did have an idea of how he could get you how he wanted but now he was improvising.
you surprised him. you were already a curious person but for it to go to this extent? you were nearly at his mercy just from some little words?
he didn’t find it pathetic, only because it’s you. if it were any other being sat in his base looking at him the way you were, he’s not so sure he’d feel the way he did now.
he took a step forward, slowly walking towards you which had you now on high alert. you quickly stood up as he went down the steps and you began walking backwards.
he wasn’t stopping and the eye contact was so intense your heart began racing again. you kept taking steps back until your feet hit something and before you could think of doing anything, he took the final steps to be right in front of you.
Your butt was against what felt to be a barrel, and you should’ve just ran. although deep down you felt a greater need to stay.
“you’re curious aren’t you? about how those emotions take a play in the force?” he quietly asks and you stay still.
you were looking up at him as he slightly towered over you. was there really any point in lying to him or yourself at such close proximity? he’s read you so easily already and you did want to know.
what harm could possibly be done with a bit of curiosity?
“a little.” you whisper and a half smile appears on his face.
you looked down at it for a slight second before looking back up at his eyes that were now filled with something unfamiliar yet again.
“well you showed a good amount of anger earlier, it’s a start. you used the anger you felt to attack. if I were any other person I’m sure you would have been angry enough to kill me. or at least be able to attack in a faster manner which you know is helpful in combat against someone with a lightsaber.” he explained and you nodded.
it made enough sense for you to not shut him down and call it lies. but it did raise some questions.
“can’t you also be blinded by it? that would just lead to sloppy movements and a chance for the enemy to catch you off guard..” you explain and he hummed.
“if you have these emotions on the surface, you’d have to control it properly in order for it to fully help you. so yes you can be blinded by it, it takes discipline and patience in order for any of these to help you.” he says making you nod.
“fear for the most part works slightly different. fear could be for your life, of your decisions, an enemy. the way you use fear is to think of it like a life or death situation. finding ways to escape. thinking of it as your last fight.” you were taking a mental note of everything he was telling you because not only did everything sound reasonable but what he said earlier was right.
you’re not a Jedi.
everything happens for a reason and you left the Jedi order for a good one.
“loss could be a mix of anger and sadness, a very dangerous combination. this was how Mae was able to take the lives of two Jedi.” he explains and you gulp.
you knew she killed Master Indara but Master Torbin apparently said his peace to Mae then killed himself, according to Sol’s speculation. guess he’s counting it because she handed him the poison and he drank it willingly.
that only meant…
“you killed Master Kelnacca?” you whispered and looked down.
of course he did.
his silence was enough of an answer but he nodded as well. “she had a change of heart and wasn’t going to get the job done.”
you shook your head, looking back into his eyes, and he continued, “she used the feeling of loss towards family, towards you, to help her fight against Indara. But once Sol told her you were alive, something changed in her.”
“you being alive changed her perspective on everything we’ve worked for. on everything I taught her. because of that, she isn’t fit to be my acolyte.” he explains, making you hum.
it was all becoming to be too much. it was so much information and these past few days have been a whirlwind of emotions for you. Mae being alive also changed things for you.
it mainly caused confusion.
confusion on every aspect and every decision of your life. there was never even an ounce of hope that she somehow would’ve survived. but now that you’ve seen her, and hugged her, so much is going to change.
he clears his throat and you look back into his eyes, “shall I continue?”
you blinked, feeling uncertain if you really wanted to know about his last emotion example. but he didn’t look like he was going to move and you didn’t really want to fight him off so you slowly nodded.
“now desire works in an ample of ways… it’s the one emotion that is very versatile. you could have a desire for more power which will make you fight hard for it. desire for power is motivation for some people and they won’t stop at anything until they get it.” he explains, making you hum.
“desire for knowledge is also something that will make someone do anything for. especially if it could help them in any way.” he says and gives you a look.
“fair enough.” you mumble earning yourself a chuckle from him.
“regular ole desire.. that can be used for a handful of things. if you practice enough that’s how you can get something you want without even needing to use mind control tricks.” he explains and never looked away from you.
his stare was deafening, you didn’t have anything to say and you couldn’t tell if it was because you were speechless or because he was slowly but surely getting into your head again.
“desire might be the most important one of them all…” he whispers and your breath shudders when you feel his hand on your arm.
“it’s nearly crucial to know how to control your desire… otherwise you might end up somewhere you don’t want to be.. or it could lead you somewhere unexpected..” he whispers and leans down.
“is that why you brought me here?” you whispered back and he’s silent.
almost as if he’s contemplating on if it’s a good idea to be truthful.
“earlier I said that I had a feeling you want something else I want…” he whispers and leaned his head down so he could look directly into your eyes.
you stood still. your eyes slightly widened at what the insinuation would be because just looking into his eyes, you had a feeling it wasn’t a good thing..
“what would that be?” you whisper and your heart starts pounding.
your stomach was filled with nerves and every fiber of your being was telling you to shove him off and swim to the platform to get his ship and leave.
but your heart and mind were set on staying.
“a desire that you’ve always kept in the back of your mind. it’s always trying to break free but you won’t let it.” he murmurs, leaving you wide eyed and speechless.
“are you scared of the implications?” he whispers and lightly rubs your arm.
a test.
he was testing the waters again. to see how much you’d let him get away with.
“you can be honest with me. it’s not like you’re a Jedi.” he says, making you bite the inside of your lip.
this was even more tough than the Jedi trials.
this was tough mainly because you didn’t think you were so easy to read or that something like this would ever happen to you in the first place.
and yet he was able to see right through you.
the one thing that has always loomed over your head. the one thing that you were always curious about. it was one of the main things you were taught to not want or rely on.
attachment.
your desire for attachment has grown over the years and it’s only become more strong and prominent in your mind that it’s something you want. something you desire to have.
you always kept it in the absolute back of your mind. locking it into a box and throwing the key away but sometimes the box would be unlocked and the mere idea of attachment takes a hold of your thoughts before you forcibly close it shut again.
and yet it seemed like he somehow had the key.
“not scared, just curious..” you said, telling half a lie.
he hummed and straightened up before bringing his right hand up to softly lift your chin up, “are you sure?”
you flinched for a second before your body relaxed and you practically melted into his slight touch.
“maybe not scared but it’s way more than just curious, isn’t it?” he asks and moves his hand up to cup your cheek.
your skin was hot, enough of an answer but he wanted to hear you say it.
although feeling your reaction to his touch did tug on his heartstrings more than he’d care to admit.
his thumb was lightly caressing your cheek, his own heartbeat starting to race as well, “you crave it. you need it. why don’t you let yourself have it?”
you tried to think of something clever to say but you just went with a truthful response this time.
“I- uh never opened myself up like that.” you quietly admitted, wanting to look away from his eyes out of embarrassment but also wanting to see his reaction.
his eyebrow raised, wondering how such an ethereal girl would not want to give something as simple as attachment, a try.
“it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you did.” he says, trying to ease your mind on just the idea alone.
“hm you sure?” you mumble making him grin.
“positive.” he affirms and you don’t say anything.
he lets you go earning himself a small frown but he got the grand idea of having you sit on the barrel. so he grabbed your waist and just lifted you up, making you sit on it while he stood between your opened legs.
“was this your grandiose plan all along?” you whispered and he was only able to chuckle while he brought his hand back to your cheek.
he leaned in closer to your face and murmured, “maybe it was… maybe it wasn’t…”
“what would you get out of it?” you mumble, eyes lowering down to glance at his lips.
“I told you, it’s something I want. it’s different than wanting an acolyte. I want to differentiate between the two.” he admits and you look back into his eyes.
it finally clicks what was in them, lust.
you should’ve known from the start.
his desire for a lustful attachment was at times stronger than that of having an acolyte. in the back of his mind he wanted the best of both worlds with you. but he’d be content with you being at least one of the two.
which one he wanted you to be more, was very conflicting in his head. he was unsure on that aspect.
“which do you want more?” you breathe out and he lets go of your face.
his eyes never wavered from yours as he gently laid his hand on your thigh. the touch shocked you both, you jumped but his hand stayed there as if he didn’t care for the slight electricity that surged through you both.
was that some kind of sign?
if it was, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad but he clearly didn’t care either way.
“I think the idea of attachment might be what i want more..” he murmurs and you feel a shiver go down your spine.
“how about you? is the temptation getting to you?” he whispers as his hand lightly squeezes your thigh.
you stay still, keeping your hands to yourself, and your mind running absolutely wild. complete utter chaos.
you felt like you were a tap away from giving in to him. it should not have been this easy, yet you can’t ignore the warmth of your face, the mind boggling thoughts, and the manner he’s going about it.
it’s not forceful. it doesn’t seem like he’d hurt you if you said no. it felt serene. genuine.
there was a glint of sincereness in his eyes that you found to be surprising.
you wouldn’t expect for a sith lord to want that kind of attachment considering they could have just about anything imaginable. but this is what he wanted?
it was almost hard to believe and what made it worse is how attractive he was. it did not make this any easier for you. if anything this played in his favor.
you tried to ignore those thoughts at the back of your head when he revealed himself by pure accident because it was a terrible moment to be thinking of that, after all you witnessed him do. and yet everything he did wasn’t enough to put you off him, it still played in his favor.
and based on the look on his face you could tell he knew it too.
“possibly.” you finally responded, making him hum.
“never been tempted like this before.” you whisper, mainly to yourself but he reacted nonetheless.
he thought of it as a slight joke but the tone in your voice said otherwise.
“how is that even possible?” he whispered back and took a second to admire you.
pretty plump lips, a cute nose, bright eyes he could lose himself in for hours.
clearly a great sense of humor with a touch of sarcasm. an amazing fighter and an even better speaker with a soft voice. sweet even.
and overall, loyal.
he found it hard to believe. you were the epitome of perfection in his eyes.
you were everything he was looking for and more. for a potential partner and possibly, his acolyte.
you shrugged and answered, “not everyday you run into a sith.”
he bites his lip to fight back a laugh but his lips curl into a small smile. “let alone this one.”
you snicker then quickly cover your mouth, making a neutral face to not give yourself away. “oh you thought that was funny?” he teases and you shake your head.
you clear your throat and put your hands on your lap, “not at all.”
“you’re not a good liar, Y/n.” he murmurs and moves his hand up, letting his hand lightly graze yours.
you cleared your throat and shrugged, “it seems you think you know me so well. we’ve only had what, two conversations before today?”
he chuckles, tilting his head to the side, and places his hand on top of yours. “we have more in common than you may think.”
with newfound confidence, you straighten up and ask, “oh is that right?”
he only nods, making strands of his hair fall to his face. he was looking into your eyes, noticing how they just changed before him, pupils dilated. an interesting sign.
“you want what i want.” he murmurs softly, his tone sending goosebumps down your body.
“and your body language can’t hide it as well as you’d like it too.” he whispers and lightly rubs his thumb on the top of your hand.
meanwhile you had a new game plan. a quick one to see if he was being genuine or not. depending on that would be the result if you’ll fully fall for temptation.
“is it just a feeling too?” you whisper and his heart nearly stopped.
you tilted your head to the side, admiring the way his breath hitched and how this was somehow the quietest he’s been since you’ve met him.
which said a lot because he was quite chatty for a sith lord.
“do you want me to feel the same as you?” you murmur, lightly batting your lashes at him.
he was stunned for a few seconds and before he could even come up with something witty, you beat him to it, “am i getting into that pretty little head of yours?”
he was speechless.
he didn’t think his own words of seduction would be used against him, and they sounded even better coming from your mouth.
it was bad enough just touching you ignited something in him but now you were giving him more than curiosity. you were giving him hope.
hope that he’s finally found his match. hope that you were different than Mae in more ways than he could count and originally thought of.
you were getting into his head as well and it took him that long to notice. were you toying with him all along? what were you planning?
“your mind is more clouded with desire than anything. your desire for attachment betrays your want for an acolyte. why is that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side and slipping one hand under his hold just to lay it on top of his hand.
he didn’t flinch.
his eyes were filled with admiration.
he didn’t think it was possible for you to get any better yet here you were proving him wrong every step of the way.
the reality was that you changed his plans. you changed what he wanted just from the first time his eyes met with yours. as soon as you walked into the apothecary he knew it was you. without a doubt in his head.
and being this close to you, touching you, just your existence alone is the overall reason why his head is so clouded with desire. being in your prescene is like corruption to his mind, to his previous ideologies.
you were driving him insane. and way beyond off track.
he was meant to have an acolyte for a bigger reason than himself but meeting you completely changed his plans.
and most importantly, what he truly wanted in life.
“because of you.” he whispers, eyes looking down at your lips while he bites his own.
“it’s because of you that my want for an acolyte is slipping away.” he adds, making your heart race once again.
“don’t be surprised. i think we were meant to cross paths…” he whispers and you just nod.
you bite your lip, caving in to your intrusive thoughts and looking down at his. they were plump and a rosy color. how would they feel against yours? would they feel as soft as they look?
would he be patient with you? or would he act on how insatiable he feels?
you wanted to know too badly. you needed to know. to find out for yourself. for that side of you that never got what she wanted, as much as you knew deep down how you truly felt.
so when he started leaning in, you didn’t object. you leaned in as well and closed your eyes when you finally felt his lips on yours.
they were soft.
he kissed you back gently, afraid if he did too much too fast he’d scare you off. he cupped your jaw with his free hand as you slowly kissed back.
the sparks in your stomach and heat radiating off each other's bodies was palpable. it was even better than you imagined.
you brought both hands up and wrapped them around his neck, bringing him as close as possible. his right hand was on your thigh again, gently squeezing. your fingers played with the ends of his hair before lightly tugging and making him moan in your mouth.
without a second thought you slid your tongue into his mouth, slightly catching him off guard. he let you explore his mouth while his hands slowly started to snake down your body. he held onto your waist tightly, almost possessively as he shoved his tongue into your mouth, wanting to take the lead.
you melted into his touch and let your desire guide you through the kiss. it was electric. filled with hunger and passion. something you both clearly needed.
you brought your hands to the front of his body, purposely leaving one on his chest while the other traces along his collarbone. His skin was warm and soft. His touch felt foreign but nice. really nice.
you didn’t want him to let you go. you liked feeling his hands on you and just being able to tell how much he was enjoying this like you were.
this was a dream come true and who knew all you needed to fully unlock that box was to meet your match. to meet him and have him push those boundaries you set on yourself.
yet you just realized, you don’t even know his name.
this man has tempted you in more ways than one and you don’t even know what to call him.
you abruptly stopped which alerted him, making him pull away as well. looking at you curiously, as he calmed his breathing, “what’s your name?” you asked and he chuckled.
he thought you had changed your mind yet it was something so small. so minuscule.
an easy fix.
“Qimir. my name is Qimir.” he answers and you nod.
without waiting for a response, his hand came up to tilt your head to the side and he started kissing down your neck. you gasped and held onto his head, wanting to keep him there.
he kissed your skin gently, until a switch flipped and he started kissing you feverishly, eagerly. he then sucked on your neck making a moan escape your lips. he hummed against your skin, that moan alone being music to his ears.
he’s sure he’d hear it in his dreams. especially with how angelic it sounded. he needed to hear more.
you tugged on his hair some more, an indicator that you liked it so he kissed to the right until he got to your throat. he kissed down then went back up to your chin before going back down and to the left side of your neck.
he left opened mouth kisses on your skin, wanting you to experience everything he can give you. and he’d kiss every inch of you, if you even asked.
he sucked yet another bite into you, in a way, claiming you as his. he kissed it gently before pulling away and looking at you, admiring your beauty.
you were just so beautiful. breathtakingly beautiful.
he smiled at you, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist before he lifts you up. you held onto him as he walked you both to his bed.
if you were about to experience everything for the first time, he could at least have you on his bed.
he carefully walked around the cave, relying on just the force alone to find it because he was staring deeply into your eyes.
he was already feeling himself growing obsessed and he hasn’t even tasted you yet.
finally the bed was in front of him and he carefully climbed on top of the bed, as well as on you. he made sure his full body weight wasn’t on you because he wanted you to be comfortable.
you on the other hand were almost shaking in anticipation. you had friends from your line of work giving you details about their experiences and it’s only added more fuel to your curiosity.
you tugged on his shirt, wanting to see him shirtless again. your eagerness nearly beating his.
nearly.
he lifted himself off you and quickly untied it before throwing it off to the side. he went back down and leaned in to kiss you again which you happily obliged. he kissed you and you kissed him like your life depended on it.
your hands went exploring his body, one on his strong bicep and another to his bare chest. he moaned into your mouth and grinded himself into you, also making you moan. his pants were starting to feel tight against him and he wasn’t even surprised.
you were driving him insane in all aspects.
you tried to close your legs together in a desperate attempt of having him be as close to you as possible which only made him chuckle, “so greedy huh?” he murmured against your mouth, making you whimper.
he pulled away, his lips just inches away from yours, “what did i tell you about patience, angel?” he whispers and you couldn’t help the pout that formed onto your lips.
“poor girl just so needy hm?” he murmured and you only nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.
“i’m gonna take such good care of you.” he purrs and lowers himself down your body.
he toys with the hem of the shirt you were wearing and you quickly took it off but you still had a tank top and bra on.
but he didn’t mind it.
his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head after seeing your perfect tits. the cleavage from you just laying down was breathtaking.
he went down and started kissing them, bringing a hand up to grope your left one while he paid attention to the right with his mouth. “Qimir-“ you moaned and he smiled against your skin.
he only needed to hear you say his name from now on, no one else would have the privilege.
he squeezed your breast over the fabric and sucked another pretty mark, now on your breast. to be perfectly shown if you show cleavage in the foreseeable future.
you moaned and gripped onto his hair, leaving him breathless and quickly switching so his mouth was on your left breast. he left soft kisses on your skin, going up to your neck and up to your ear to nibble on it. you sighed and moved your hands on to his back, tracing his skin softly and slowly. he went back down and nuzzled in the crook of your neck, humming quietly.
his hands grabbed the bottom of your bra and you got up a bit so he could slip it off. he carefully took it off you and threw it behind him.
he was silent for a few seconds. admiring your utter beauty. he was done for.
“you’re so beautiful, Y/n.” he whispers and he immediately went down, squeezing both breasts in his hands and sucking on your left nipple.
you gasped and a whimper quickly followed as he sucked on it then flicked the tip of his tongue on it. it felt so fucking good.
it was unlike anything you’ve ever felt and you had a feeling you’d regret not giving in before today.
one of his hands sneakily trails down to your lower half, right above where you needed him most.
you were already feeling so antsy and he was only getting started.
his eyes rolled to the back of his head as you let out more pretty noises. you were grinding your hips up desperately but he’d just move his hand up to tease you.
finally he let go of your tits and slowly started kissing down your body. he left a trail of kisses down your stomach until he got to the waistband of your pants and he looked up at you.
somehow already having fucked out glossy eyes and your pretty lips in a pout. “may I?” he asks and traces the waistband slowly.
you quickly nod before giving audible confirmation, “yes- please.”
he smiled up at you and grabbed it with both hands while you lifted your ass up a bit so he could easily pull them down.
he took them off quickly, adding it to the collection of clothes on the floor before spreading your thighs together and wrapping his arms around them. he lightly breathed against you, purposely doing more teasing which wasn’t needed just based off the small wet spot on your blue panties.
he cursed under his breath and licked his lips, unable to believe this was his reality.
he blew some air onto your clothed clit making you jump. he hid his grin when you couldn’t move and did it again but went down so it was against your slit.
a pout was back on your lips that quickly changed into a moan when he leaned in to softly kiss your clit.
you couldn’t take it anymore. you have been dying for this for years and he’s just playing around?
“Qimir please-“ you whimpered, trying to grind your hips forward but he didn’t let you.
“what do you want angel? tell me.” he coos, making you whine.
“anything- everything please.” you cry and he nods before placing a kiss on your inner thigh.
“okay.. only because you asked so nicely.” he murmurs and grabs one end of your panties then moves it to the side.
there in all her glory was your poor sopping pussy, just dripping down making him think you were already ready for him but he had to calm down.
you were drenched just for him, and after a few seconds of ogling, he dove in, starting to eat you out like the starved man he was. his fingers gripped onto your thighs as he sucked on your folds.
you were so delicious, so sweet.
right in that moment he decided this was the only pussy he’d ever need. you were all he needed.
he went up and started to suck on your clit gently, looking up at you to watch your reaction. you were sat up a bit to watch him, just biting your lip as you locked eyes with him.
you only let out occasional moans which wasn’t enough for him. he started to flick your clit with the tip of his tongue as he sucked on it, making you gasp then moan.
perfect.
“fuck Qimir!” you moaned and felt your eyes begin to flutter.
he moaned against you which just made you jump. he went back down, lapping at your folds while you brought a hand down to play with his hair. “just like that- fuck-“ you murmured, trying to grind against his face but his grip was still strong.
he loosened a bit only because he wouldn’t mind you grinding your pussy against his mouth now. he was savoring every drop of you.
you finally were able to grind your hips up, doing it as his tongue did it’s dance on you, working expertly. you moaned and it turning into a smile while you watched him.
he looked so fucking good down there. who knew a man being in this position would turn him ten times hotter.
suddenly you feel something warm and you’re confused until you see him teasing your entrance with his finger as he went back to suck on your clit.
you gasped and attempted to squeeze your legs together but he didn’t let you. “just relax.” he murmurs and you nod, relaxing your body so nothing would hurt.
you took a deep breath then let it out and he was now slowly able to slide it inside you. he made sure he was in control of his lustful desire because he didn’t want to accidentally cause you any pain.
he only wanted you to feel pleasure.
so he took his time, slowly sliding his finger all the way in then slowly pulling it back. you were letting out little moans, and grinding your hips up. you couldn’t help it. the pleasure he was giving you was immeasurable.
the fact you’ve never even done this to yourself either should be criminal because maybe then you would know how to react.
you closed your eyes and laid back onto the bed making him squeeze your thigh. he wanted your pretty eyes on him at all costs. he wanted you to see everything he was going to do to you just so he could tell you later on he’d be the only one to do it.
it was psychotic how fast he wanted to make you his. pathetic even.
but he made his mind up since you held his saber to his neck.
now all he had to do was make you see stars so the feeling can be mutual. which so far doesn’t seem so hard.
he pumped his finger a little faster, his patience starting to run thin just because of the sole fact that you were gripping his finger. you were unbelievably drenched.
he just knew he'd be able to slide in so easily. he wanted to be inside you so bad already.
but instead of pulling his finger out and doing just that, he decided instead to just pull it out and slowly add a second finger. you whimpered and looked down at him with a small pained expression. he went even slower. he pulled them both out, letting your arousal drip down before sliding them in again. "f-fuck-" you let out breathlessly.
"is that good?" he murmured, looking up at you and finally catching your gaze.
you nodded and he started to pump them deeper. the slight pain washing away and being replaced with pleasure again. "so good." you mumbled making him smile.
he leaned in and started sucking on your clit while he continued with the same pace. you tugged on his hair prompting him to moan against you, sending a shiver down your body.
the eye contact was lethal, his eyes bored into yours and he felt himself growing more hard with each face you made. biting your lip, eyes all fucked out, soft moans leaving your lips. so perfect.
he started to move his fingers faster, seeing your reactions in case there was any discomfort. “Qimir-“ you whimpered and he could only pull away and smirk.
he left a kiss on your inner thigh and watched how your pussy would take his fingers in. he was mesmerized. not only were your juices gushing out but the sounds of it happening was purely heavenly.
“fuck just like that-“ you cried and felt your legs shake.
you felt a weird sensation in your lower stomach and it was safe to assume it was your first orgasm in hot pursuit. he felt you clench against his fingers and trying to pull back but he didn’t let you.
he went back to sucking on your clit and fucked you harder with his fingers, going as deep as he could go. he moaned against you, feeling your arousal soak them even more as he got you closer to the edge. "I think i'm gonna-"
"come for me angel, let me hear you." he murmured before going back to sucking on your clit.
you let out a mixture of whimpers and moans, that feeling in your stomach becoming stronger and you were subconsciously bucking your hips up, your body chasing that feeling. qimir pumped his fingers faster then started to curl them up so they hit your sweet spot with every thrust.
with one final deep thrust, you whimper out his name, arching your back as it hits you as hard as the waves from outside. your legs were shaking as he slowed down, letting you ride out your high while you tried to calm yourself down because your heartbeat was ringing in your ear.
you cried out his name making him pull away from your clit and his fingers making a full stop. he looked up at your pretty face, sweat and tears falling down your cheeks.
he carefully slipped his fingers out of you and quickly got up and gave you a soft kiss. just a little reassurance for you that he’s there and that he’s going to stick to his word of taking care of you.
he pulled away and let his forehead lean against yours, “you did perfect, such an amazing job, angel. thank you for letting me do that for you.”
your face grew hot and you could only give him a shy smile, nodding then quietly saying, “thank you- that was better than anything I could have ever imagined.”
he grinned and nodded, “if you’d like we can stop there but just know there’s definitely more that I can do for you.”
he pulled away and you gave him a kind smile, “maybe you’re not so bad…”
your response only made him chuckle as your hands sneakily snaked down to his pants, “but I need you to show me everything.”
he didn’t need to hear you say it twice so he quickly slipped his pants off. and not expecting you to do anything for him, he climbed on top of you, bringing a hand behind your back to have you scoot to the top of the bed.
he brought your hand down with his other hand and you instantly felt the softness of the pillow, “wait let me-“
he just shook his head and grinned, “you don’t owe me anything. I just want to make you feel everything and have you in bliss.”
you frowned and he shook his head, “there’ll be plenty of time for that another day but right now I wanna focus just on you. on your pleasure. I don’t matter in this.”
“that’s not true. I say we should both feel good.” you say and he just shakes his head.
“for me right now, that doesn’t matter and I’m not worried for my own pleasure. just yours. you’re all that matters to me.” he admits, making you fight off a dumb smile.
“whatever you say.. I guess this’ll be a win win for us both anyway.” you mumble and he nods, letting out a little laugh.
"are you sure?" he asks and you nod, "I am."
he nods again and you spread your legs out as he got right in between, you could feel him. you didn't even get to take a look so you moved your head to the side trying to get a peak as he stroked himself.
you saw it.
it was thick and long.
you were almost sure he'd kill you.
with his unoccupied hand, he held your chin and made you look at him, "tell me to stop and I will."
you nodded, "I will."
he teased you both, at first just rubbing the tip against you but he only did it to ensure you'd be nice and ready for him. he smacked it on your clit a few times and right as you were going to complain, you felt it inside you.
it felt like a big stretch and you did feel the pain, but he pulled away and went back in – repeating the process just so you could get a feel of it.
"is this okay?" he asked quietly, making you nod, "yeah it is- it's.. a lot."
he smiled, nodding then murmurs, "you're doing so good already-"
"please- I-I- need you." you stutter and he groans, sliding himself back inside you.
he moved an inch and it made you whimper, it was a bigger stretch and there was much more to go. he leaned in and kissed your forehead, then went in kissing your cheek – sliding in some more as he did it.
you calm yourself down, wanting to relax but it was hard to.
this was something you didn't ever want to actually give yourself.
maybe because deep down you still did view yourself as a jedi, as if you never left. old ideology locked into your mindset and all. but with him it was as if you couldn't help but want to give in and go for what your heart has truly always wanted.
he was now about halfway inside and you felt ready so you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in, making him go as deep as possible. you gasped and he looked at you carefully, looking for any signs of discomfort but there wasn't any.
instead he held onto your leg with one hand and your cheek with the other. your hands went to his arms, caressing him until they moved to his back and he flinched for a second before letting himself relax at your soft touch.
your fingers trailed over his long mark, slow and precise so that was when he started to move the same way. his breathing was steady but his heart was racing, you could feel it somehow.
you smiled and let out a tiny moan, "oh fuck-"
he pulled all the way back until it was only his tip in then slammed into you, making your fingers press into his skin while you hissed, "shit-"
he moaned, obsessed with the way you were reacting, and even happier that he was able to convince you. no more happy that he found you because you were all he was looking for.
you moved your legs, only keeping them spread as he started to thrust himself into you.
the pain had now washed away, all you felt was pleasure, and it felt nice.
he was still holding your face and although your eyes were already fluttering he made sure your gaze was on him.
he started off with a slow pace but once he saw you desperately bucking your hips up, silently begging for more, he had to give it to you.
he helped you spread your legs wide as he started pounding himself into you, not waiting around because he knew you and he knew what you wanted, what you needed.
your body was starting to make noises you've never heard before and it was surprising you so much but it was not unwelcomed. the sounds your pussy was making was dirty but the sound of you both in harmony was music to your ears.
you couldn't help it.
it was like the force suddenly came back to you just so you could feel all of it. all of him.
every inch inside you was making you feel things you swore you would never permit yourself to but now that you have, it was the best decision you've ever made.
your hands went up to his neck, playing with the ends of his hair while his thrusts became harder, deeper, and even faster.
"oh fuck-" you moaned, making him groan, "feel so good.."
his eyes were dark but that softness was still there, it never went away.
his hand that was on your leg moved to play with your tits, pinching your nipples and just making you moan even more than before.
"Qimir! please- please don't stop–" you pleaded, only making him grin, "wouldn't dream of it."
"fuck!" you moaned and felt yourself clenching against him.
his hips were touching yours with every thrust and you could feel him deep inside you, it was heavenly. he didn't stop or slow down, if anything he went even harder – giving it his all just to hear every sound you'd make for him.
"such a good girl for me–" he murmured and groaned, "so perfect, just for me."
you nodded, losing your voice as you felt that feeling from earlier come back. you whimpered, hands going to his arms just to grip something.
your hands squeezed his biceps as he lifted a leg higher and to the side, hitting a new angle. you instantly cried, “right there!”
“right there?” he cooed and you nodded your head, eyes rolling back.
"y-yes- fuck Qimir please-" you moaned, your hips trying to match him but he was doing all the work for you.
“you make me feel so good-“ you breathe out and he smiles, “that’s the way it should be.”
you laugh then smile, pulling him in for a kiss. he gladly accepted and kissed you hard, sloppy as he started to hit that spot inside you that had you feel like you were going to explode.
you tried to get his attention but he wasn't pulling away, eating up every moan that left your lips as if they were his to keep. he kissed you in desperation, wanting to feel every sound you make as you came.
once you felt him twitching inside you, you knew you were done. he was moaning against you too which had you losing it, only the verge of crumbling.
"baby I'm gonna-" he moaned against you and you nodded, "please- please cum with me."
he groaned and with a deep thrust he came inside you, making you come undone at the same time. you held onto him tightly, not even able to kiss back so he leaned his forehead against yours. you both came hard and as he made sure to give you every drop, you were a shaking and whining mess on his cock.
you were milking dry, your pussy clenching against him as if he'd disappear if you didn't. he did a few slower thrusts to ride out your highs, ensuring your orgasm finished.
your hands went to his back again, pulling him down to have him as close to you as possible. he smiled and instead carefully flipped you over so you were on top of him and laying on his chest.
you closed your eyes and listened to his heart beat. it was fast and uneasy but after laying there a few minutes now finally calm, his heart was still the same.
he held onto you, gently as he rubbed your back to make you feel safe.
you smiled as you felt his touch, it wasn't as foreign as it was before.
it felt right this time and you were glad it did.
he just proved that he was being serious and you knew you'd be a good match for him. in which way, you weren't so sure yet but he got what he wanted all along, you.
Summary: You decide to treat Qimir and your followers to a special treat.
Warnings: porn w no plot, smut, oral (m receiving), mask kink(?), tagalog, sex on camera, creampie, shoving cum back inside, aftercare, love confession, fluff, MDNI 18+
A/n: thank you @raspberryhours for helping me with the tagalog parts
Part 1
"We're running low on ice cream," you tell Qimir before scooping a spoonful into your mouth and taking a seat across from him at the table.
He hums in response, "I'll get some tomorrow after work." He glances up at you from his laptop with a knowing smirk.
You bite your lip to conceal your smile, though you're not very convincing. "Thank you," you tell him shyly. He knows you so well, even more since the two of you started dating.
He turns his attention back to his computer screen and his jaw drops. "Holy shit!"
Your face drops at his sudden outburst, "What? What is it?!" You immediately shoot out of your seat to appear by his side.
"I was checking our earnings and the amount has doubled since you joined me! I've never made this much money on my own." He tilts his computer towards you so you can see and your eyes widen.
"Oh my god!" You cover your mouth, "That's enough to pay rent!"
Qimir chuckles, "yeah it is. And if we keep bringing in this much, we can have even more for ourselves."
You look down at him with a proud grin, "I guess it's a good idea I decided to join you then huh?"
The look in his eyes changes. His pupils grow darker, filled with desire for you. "Yeah. The viewers really love you. And...."
No, he shouldn't. It's too soon.
"And I think we make an excellent team." He says instead.
"Couple" you correct him.
He chuckles again with a nod, "I suppose we should get to work then."
-
Now in his room, Qimir sets up his camera on the tripod, making sure there's a clear view of where the two of you will be. He walks back over to where you're standing by the bed before slamming his lips on yours.
"Are you ready to get to work?" Qimir mutters in your ear, his grip on your hips firm. His lips were already swollen from yours. And God did he look amazing.
"Always," you smile and wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your face closer to his.
"Oh yeah?" He raises a brow.
You bite your lip, "mhm you always make me so horny Qimir." You whisper against his lips before connecting them again.
"Mmm fuck baby" He groans against you as he melts into your touch. His hands travel down to squeeze your ass, pulling you close so you can feel the effect you have on him.
"I wanna suck you off." You suddenly whisper.
As if he suddenly sobered up, his eyes shoot open and he moves away when you lean in again. "What?"
"I wanna suck you off." You repeat.
"But what about you—"
"You always make me feel so good baby, let me make you feel good." You move your kisses to his cheek and down his neck as he thinks about it, trailing your fingers down his clothed abdomen.
"Yeah, okay let's do it." You grin against his neck and immediately push at his chest, causing him to land on his bed with a grunt. He watches as you walk to the camera with a sway of your hips, mesmerized by you.
"One thing though," you turn back around to face him.
"Anything my love" he responds immediately.
"Are you gonna wear your helmet?"
"Do you want me to?" You slowly nod with a shy smile, a little embarrassed to admit that you find it really hot. He gives you a cocky grin that makes you question whether you want to smack it or kiss it off.
He chuckles and gets up from the bed to retrieve his helmet. He winks at you— causing a puddle to form in your panties— before putting it on. He resumes his position on the bed, manspreading while leaning back on his palms behind him.
You press the record button on the camera and make your way back towards him. You lean down, staring at his covered face while rubbing your hands along his muscular biceps which are covered by a tight black long sleeve. Your fingers trail down his abs and you feel his stomach clench as they descend further down to his thighs and you sink down to your knees.
Even with his helmet on, you hear the sound of his breath hitch and you smirk with pride. You continue to rub his clothed thighs, watching as the tent in his pants grows more.
Your pinky "accidentally" grazes his bulge and his hips jerk up immediately. "Do you want me?" You look up at him through your eyelashes.
"Yes baby, you know I do." You hear his robotic voice say breathlessly.
"Oh yeah? How do you want me?" You start rubbing his bulge, putting just enough pressure to drive him mad.
He groans and throws his head back in annoyance. He loved and hated when you teased him like this. "I want your mouth. I want it milking me dry until my dick is limp. I want to cum with you on your knees looking up at me with those pretty eyes of yours."
You bite your lip and unbutton his pants. He lifts his hips to help you pull them down along with his underwear. His dick springs up, the tip red and leaking precum. You wipe your thumb along the tip, gathering the bead of liquid there, before bringing it up to your mouth. Your eyes lock with his as your lips wrap around your thumb, tasting him.
He groans at the sight and grabs the back of your head, not too tight but just enough to move you closer to his face. You can't see his eyes, only the small slits in the mask, showing you your own reflection. You look so gone for him, and you are.
"Hurry up and wrap those gorgeous lips around my cock before I make you." Your eyes widen at this new side of him.
The past few times you've slept together, he's been kinder, more patient. But now with these switched positions, it seems like his composure is crumbling much faster. And hearing his words through the robotic voice makes it ten times hotter.
You slowly take him in your mouth and his head tips back as a long groan leaves his lips. His grip loosens on your hair, gently massaging your scalp. "Just like that," he sighs.
He looks down at you and could probably cum just from the sigh alone. "You're so pretty like this sinta," he breathes out. You smile up at him the best you could. You suck harder and stroke faster which, causing him to throw his head back once more.
You hear him sigh and you can picture his eyes fluttering shut, his bottom lip between his teeth, his face in complete bliss. "Isagad mo pa." (Go deeper) he mutters. He gently starts rocking his hips into you, wanting control but not to hurt you, forcing you to take more of him.
You momentarily close your eyes, reveling in the sounds he's giving you. One of your hands lets go of his length and slides into your soaked panties. You rub tight circles on your clit, his moans egging you on.
When Qimir looks back down, he makes a grunt of displeasure. "Open your eyes, look at me." You do as he says and you lock eyes with him. "That's more like it." His gaze travels further down and he sees your hand between your legs. He smirks, though you can't see it.
"Are you touching yourself?" You nod and he chuckles. "Go ahead and cum. Cum while you suck my dick. Go on. " Your fingers fasten their pace on your clit as you continue to fist him.
He lets out a groan, "insert a finger. Fuck yourself." You do as he says, moaning against him, sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. "Good girl. Ohhhh good girl that's it- that's it! Shit I'm gonna cum! Fuck!"
You quicken your pace, the fingers using to fuck yourself speeding up as well. "Ang sarap mo! Ang galing mo! Lalabasan ako agad sayo!"(You feel so good! You're doing so good! You're gonna make me come hard!) He rambles, getting closer and closer to falling over the edge.
With one last robotic noise of pleasure, you taste the saltiness on your tongue, swallowing every last drop. You help him ride out his high, stopping when his hips twitch from overstimulation. His body trembles when you finally lift off of him. His heavy robotic breaths fill the room as he tries to regain his composure.
He leans down so he's face to face with you. He lifts your hand, pulling it from your underwear and holding it up so he can see the glistening wetness from your orgasm. He silently brings it closer to your face until it meets your lips. He nods once and you open your mouth, allowing him to make you taste yourself.
He lets out a low, satisfied groan as you suck your release from your fingers. “Good girl.”
He lets go of your arm, letting your fingers fall from your mouth. "Get up here. Now." He grips the back of your neck lightly and pulls you up so that you're straddling his lap, your clothed pussy hovering just above his length.
You expect him to remove the helmet, but all he does is stare at you. He tilts his head when you pout. "Something you need?"
"Babyyyyy take it off!" You beg. "I wanna kiss you."
He lets out a breathless, robotic chuckle before flipping you over so that you're laying on the bed. You watch with anticipation as he reaches for the bottom of the helmet. Your breath catches in your throat when he finally removes it, revealing his sweaty, fucked out expression and messy hair.
"Happy now?" He grins down at you. You don't say anything. Instead, you grip the collar of his shirt before tugging him down to your mouth. You hear the thud of his helmet dropping to the floor, neither of you caring where it landed or if it broke or not.
All that matters right now is his lips on yours, his heat engulfing you, and his cock grazing where you need him the most. Your hands creep up his shirt, feeling his abs. He pulls away to quickly pull his shirt off before reconnecting your lips.
His hand drifts down into your panties and he groans. "You're this wet just from sucking me off?" You nod, letting out quiet mewls when he starts lightly rubbing your clit.
"Yeah?"
"Uh huh" your eyes flutter shut and your jaw falls slack at the pleasure he's giving you. He starts kissing your neck down to your collarbone. He lifts up your shirt to kiss your stomach before pulling it over your head.
After your shorts and panties join the pile of clothes littered across the floor, he lowers his head between your thighs. You feel his warm breath hit your clit and as much as you'd love to feel him eat you out, you needed something else more.
"Qimir." His gaze snaps up at you, eyebrows raised. "I need you to fuck me. Now."
He grins excitedly, leaving a soft kiss on your clit before leaning up to slam his lips on yours. You feel his tip rub along your wet folds and you grip onto him in anticipation. "You ready?" He asks as he prods at your hole. You nod and he slowly pushes in.
Your nails dig into his muscular shoulders as your eyes flutter shut from the delicious sting. He lets out a low, raspy groan as he bottoms out. "Fuck" he breathes out.
He pulls out until just the tip is inside before slamming back in. A loud moan rips from your throat over and over again as he continuously makes this motion. "You feel so fucking good sinta, god!"
He lowers down on his forearms, caging you in between his biceps with his face hovering above yours. He lowers down to leave messy kisses along whatever available skin he can reach from this angle. "I don't know how long I can last." He mutters shakily.
"It's okay baby, I'm almost there." Qimir takes that as his cue to reach between your bodies to where you meet and starts rubbing your clit. You clench down on him and he makes a gruff noise.
"Whose are you?" He asks, staring down at you with an intense glare.
"Yours!" You cry out.
"Ngh– again!"
"Yours Qimir! I'm yours!"
"That's right baby, all mine! Now cum for me like the good girl I know you are!" You don't need to be asked twice as you let go, giving him all of you.
His hips stutter and you know he's close too. "Oh- oh god I'm yours too! Fuck I'm cumming!" His thrusts become messy. His eyes clench shut and his mouth falls open as you feel him fill you up. "Mahal kita" he moans out with one last thrust.
He opens his eyes and leans forward to kiss your cheek, a surprisingly soft and intimate gesture after what he just did to you. He leans his forehead against your shoulder and shakily whispers, "mahal kita” once more before kissing the skin there too.
He pulls out and sits back, groaning at the sight in front of him. He gets up to grab the camera and moves in for a closer shot. "Keep your legs open baby, let the camera see the mess we made."
Qimir bites his lip as he moves in closer and he can't help but shove some of your mixed cum back inside. You let out a whine from the sensitivity and try to shut your legs but he holds them open, chuckling at your agony.
After giving you the most loving aftercare, Qimir lays beside you in his bed. You're wearing one of his shirts while he didn't even bother changing into anything other than his boxers.
He runs his hands up and down your spine and occasionally over your hair while you rub his bare abdomen with your head on his chest. He places a few soft kisses on your forehead, his lips lingering on the last one.
"I love you," he whispers against you, so quietly you almost didn't hear him. Your fingers halt on his skin as you look up at him with curious eyes.
"What'd you just say?"
"I love you," he repeats himself. He didn't sound nervous, didn't sound hesitant. He said it like he was certain, like he had said it to you a hundred times before this. He spoke those words with such truth as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
"I understand if you're not there yet. I just had to say it–"
"I love you Qimir," you cut him off. You feel his body physically relax under you at your confession.
He smiles softly before placing his hand on the back of your head to pull you closer. He cups your cheeks before placing kisses all over your face, causing you to let out small giggles. "God, I love you so fucking much sinta. Mahal kita."
"Is that what it means?" You ask, referring to the same words he said earlier after he came. He nods and you choke out a laugh before lightly shoving his shoulder. "Of course you'd confess it in a different language while you're balls deep inside me."
He lets out an earnest chuckle that shakes his whole body. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it!" You scoff with a meaningless eye roll before laying your head back down on his chest.
You feel his hand not so subtly drift lower before squeezing at your ass. You look up at him with a raised brow. "Something you need?”
He doesn't say anything as he carefully moves you so that you're laying on your back and he's hovering above you. "I want to make love to you properly, no cameras this time."
You smile before bringing him down to your lips. "Then do it." And oh did he show you just how much he loves you, in more ways than one.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Qimir The Stranger taglist: @t03soup @lovelettersfrommai @raspberryhours @thesassypadawan Lmk if you'd like to be added or removed :)
wc: 786 | content: p in v smut, i was again reasonably tipsy while writing this
❛❛good.” he breathes the word into the skin of your shoulder, watching intently as you work.
you wonder if he does it on purpose; if he’s feigning complete obliviousness to how suggestive he sounds. like right now— saying good like that when all you’ve done is properly mix a poison the way he taught you. maybe it’s because you’re a quick study when your reward is him.
when you first met qimir, you thought he was just like every other apothecary owner you utilized when necessary: clumsy, generally oblivious, a drunk who saw nothing wrong with being intoxicated before noon. to your defense, he played the part very well. it was only when you mentioned that you’d be extending your stay for a while and could use some work that you started to see the cracks in his facade.
spending so much time with him gave you a glimpse into his true persona— something darker, yes, but instead of scaring you off, it drew you in. you had a feeling that there was more to him underneath his baggy clothes and perpetually messy hair, but you never thought that all you’d have to do was let him teach you his trade in order to find out what more was.
“good,” he says again now as you insert the stopper into the vial of poison. “that’s perfect.”
you chew on your lip as you think about the last time he said that to you. “anything else you need from me?”
he hums, fiddling with the material of your sleeve at your wrist. “stay while i close up?”
you never understand how he’s able to get you to do what he wants so easily until you’re in bed with him.
his arms are so much more built than you’d imagined, his whole body really, and the first time he used that hidden strength to get you exactly where he wanted you, the words “thank you” genuinely slipped past your lips. you told yourself you were thanking the maker.
you do a lot of thanking the maker these days.
he moves differently in bed than he does in all other aspects of his life. here, he’s fluid, powerful, commanding. and he spares no detail.
“yes, yesyesyes,” he moans out when you sink down on him, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to leave bruises, slowly beginning to guide you back and forth. “just like this. you know how to do it.”
your hands are gripping his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him while he clutches at your back, and your hips seem to move with a will of their own. you don’t care if it exhausts you. if his pleasure is at your own expense.
“there you go, pretty girl,” he says, voice deep with desire, passion, for you. “let me see how good you are.”
you lean forward and press your lips to his, let him pry you open with his tongue, pull depraved sounds from your mouth. his hips cant up into yours as you do everything he taught you, everything that you know makes him feel good.
it makes you feel good too, knowing you’ve earned every gasp and moan and touch he gives you. he’s a different animal when it’s just the two of you, and you love knowing that you’re the only one that can bring it out of him.
“qimir,” you whine into his mouth, right when he hits that spot inside of you that has you seeing white. “good?”
you need to hear him say it. he needs to tell you.
“so good. so warm, so tight, so beautiful, fuck—” his hand is between your legs, thumb brushing you with practiced ease. “always my good girl.”
“only me?” you can’t think properly, not when it feels this good, this right to be so close to him, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, soul to soul with the way he reads your mind.
he nods, pushes your hair back from your face.
“only ever you.” he says it with such a passionate intensity, his dark eyes searching yours.
it sets you aflame, has you crying out mere moments later, collapsing into him as he gives you everything he has to give.
there’s something darker inside of him. a deep, yearning darkness prowling under his skin, simmering in his bones. you can practically feel it as you slide a hand over his chest, his pounding heart. like it’s calling to you.
“you always do so good for me,” he’s whispering into your hair, letting you press yourself against him. “sometimes i think i dreamt you up.”
you smile, kissing his neck just to make him shiver.
— qimir x f!reader
why would you run from him after everything he's shown and given to you. you are supposed to be his perfect acolyte. crafted for him.
contents: p in v, over stimulation, semi yandere qimir | wc: 559+
You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come. How many positions he has put you in. How many times you have begged him for a break, to rest, to catch your breath, to stop the throbbing between your thighs that only gets worse the more he fucks you.
The more the underside of his cock rubs against your swollen clit. His fingers digging into your thighs as he holds your squirming thighs apart. The force taking over when he grows tired of holding you open for him.
“Please.” You whined.
“You sound like you didn’t cause this.” The lack of empathy on his face only makes it worse. Only makes your skin burn and gather sweat, barely filling your lungs. The underside of his cock pushing back and forth through your slit, wet and loud in your eyes. “You did this to yourself.” His words mock you just as much as your arousal does. Evidence of how many times you’ve come, of how your body is spent and can’t stop giving itself over to him. Letting him pull, take, and use you.
The more his mouth sucks at your clit, the more his fingers curl up inside of you and press against your walls, the more you gush around him. His eyes on yours when you declare you can’t come anymore, and he pulls another from you.
He allows your fingers to dig into his hair to try and push him away from your swollen cunt. The corner of his mouth pulled up when the flick of his wrist has your hands unable to move.
Making a show of how powerless you truly are against him in so many ways. So many ways that should fill you with fear. Should anger you. But only heat your cheeks in the opposite effect. The reasons as to why you ran from him long forgotten, long regretted, long praised and thanked by the haze of pleasure, want, the need to rest—to be devoured by him.
An overwhelming feeling of not being whole, not being able to be put back together unless it’s by his hands taking you apart in the first place.
His fingers dig into your wrists, your knees pressed against his chest, pushing your ass up from the bed enough to have his hips driving deeper, harder, against it. The tip of his cock hits that part of your pussy that no longer aches when he’s this deep. When your walls are this swollen and fluttering around the thickness of him.
His mouth leaves bites against your jaw, “are you going to leave me again?” You shake your head, tears sting your eyes, your body spent and overstimulated yet still pulling him in. Still aching for another release and to be awarded his.
He groans against your cheek, “all I’ve shown you, given you, and you run from me. What happened to my good little acolyte?” His dark eyes look down at you, a hand at the crown of your head, thumb rubbing a soothing circle against your skull. “Are you still my girl?”
You’ll feel pathetic later, no matter how fast your head nods. A sick swoop of joy shoots through your stomach when he smiles down at you. His kisses, once rough, hard, and demanding, now filled with a passion fueled gentleness that makes you come again.
omg wait acolyte!reader sleeping with Qimir not knowing he’s her master and everytime they hookup, she starts to see him become more dominant and possessive in bed. until one time where he just goes something like, “be a good girl (enter nickname that only her master calls her)” and she just realizes it mid ya know lol. i love you 🙇🏼♀️
little star | qimir
SUMMARY -> being with qimir elicited fun and peace away from your duties at hand you do for your master. though, your master might be doing the same when his mask slips in the heat of the moment.
qimir x acolyte!fem! reader
masterlist
GENRE -> nsfw/smut
WARNINGS -> unprotected p in v, doggystyle & outdoor sex
WC -> 1.01k
a/n: filth! HAHAHAH LUV THISSS
likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated !! <3
enjoy !!
“qimir…”
it was a spur of the moment as always.
you breathily moan out his name as you grip the bark of the tree whilst he pushes his cock further inside you from behind. the sound of the local insects in the forest are accompanied by the noise of qimir’s groans and your breathy whimpers as he pounds into you with such vigor against a tree. it was amusing to say how you two managed to get riled up in the middle of a serious situation, in a rainforest of all places. you had found him hanging by a tree and it turns out mae had put him in that situation.
“i should-“ you breathily say but pausing as qimir harshly grips your hips making you groan. he was demanding and more dominant this time and it makes your core clench at it. “i should save you more often… if this- ah!- is my reward.”
the snap of his hips to the plump swell of your ass is even more rougher and qimir chuckles behind you. he bites his lips, staring down at how your flesh ripples with each powerful thrust he does.
“i’d take you like this from now on then.” he slaps one soft cheek and you yelp at the sudden sting. you turn your head back to look at him, loving the way he was so different than the first time you two had hooked-up.
it was like any other day that time, he visited the remote planet you and your master resided on, delivering fresh supplies as per your master had requested for him. your master had left for a particular agenda that time as he said to you, leaving you to deal with him. you always had an eye on the dorky accomplice and you knew how he looked at you. the subtle too-friendly touches there and you even managed to flirt with him for fun until both of you seemingly snapped at that very night when the tension was too heavy. to say, you rode him on your bed until he was a blabbering mess underneath you.
but now, he seemed to want the upper hand this very moment and it makes your cunt clench around him tight.
"you like the thought of that, huh?" he chuckles lowly. "you want me to fuck you like this?" he snaps his hips rougher and faster and you couldn't quip back at him but enjoy how his cock is spearing inside you with such intensity.
you only nod your head dumbly as you gripped the tree trunk with all your might to not stumble forward with how hard his thrusts are. qimir bends forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and torso, lifting you up to his chest with his strength and you grip his arms for leverage as he wetly kisses your neck.
"oh, fuckkk-" you mewl out as his cock hits the right spot from this angle. you wonder now, if your master would be displeased with you for having this quick romp when you really need to focus on is finding mae and master kelnacca. you dismiss those thoughts for now, wanting to enjoy your time with qimir. you have to deal with mae after this as she had seemingly betrayed the two of you when the information of her sister osha appeared. the master would be very much displeased.
"right there. don't stop. i'm close!" you begged the man behind you and he shakes his head as he kisses your cheek.
"not yet." he cruelly whispers to your ear as his hand delves down to rub your clit and you whined at him.
"please." you tilt your head back to rest it on his shoulder, you could feel your high coming and the thought of cumming on his cock is getting you near there along with his slow circles he is doing on your clit.
"be a good girl for me." he nips your neck. "be a good girl for me, my little star."
you gasped as his thrusts went faster and your eyes widened at the sudden nickname he had said that your master has always called between the two of you. you couldn't really process it for a moment as you were focused on not letting go but your heart is pounding and your mind is in a disarray on what you should focus on. qimir smirks as he surges to capture your lips in a heated kiss as he mumbles between your lips the sweet words you are waiting for.
"come."
you cry out his name and you thrashed in his arms as your orgasm hits you. he fucks you through it as his thrusts became sloppy, he was nearing his high and you let him use you. you now come to a realization, mae or qimir nor anyone knew of that endearment your master calls you. unless...
"master?" you call out to qimir and he groans loudly as he pushes his hips forward and cums inside you. you feel warm all of the sudden as his cum fills your cunt, you're panicking now as he lets go of you and you stumble forward, catching yourself as you stand straight and turn to qimir.
"took you long enough." he grins and you stay frozen, the dawning realization that you had been fucking with your master. shame trembles in you and you think for a moment that you should flee. qimir smiles at you as he reaches towards your shook figure. you let him touch you and you blink dumbly as his cum drips down your thighs. he stares at that with a hungry glint in his eyes and your core clenches. and you think for a moment if this is a good idea but your master has other plans as his hand goes down to your messy cunt mixed with both of your juices.
"come on, little star. we aren't finished yet." you hold your breath for a moment when he towers over you.
but all your shame is thrown out the window as he kisses you.
Summary: You accidentally come across your roommate's OF. When he catches you watching, he makes you his scene partner.
Pairing: camboy!roommate!Qimir x roommate!reader
Warnings: reader being a perv, getting caught touching yourself, smut, piv, fingering, oral(fem receiving), fingering, dirty talk, a bit of a mask kink(?), qimir is really needy and down bad
A/n: I've had this in my drafts for MONTHS and then the motivation to finish it hit me like a bus. If this flops, I'm gonna cry.
Part 2
"His mouth is so hot and wet, and the sight of his dark hair between my legs and his eyelashes against his cheeks is so utterly erotic, that I gasp in shock."
You bite your lip as you read the words on the page. You clenched your thighs at the detail of what the love interest is about to do to the main character. You feel the arousal beginning to form in your core. Just as you're about to get to the best part, your phone rings.
You huff and place your bookmark in the page before picking up your phone to see who it is. It's your best friend, Abby. "Hello?" You sound slightly annoyed but you didn't care. She just interrupted your reading session.
"Is Qimir home?"
You furrow your eyebrows. "Uh no. Why?"
"DID YOU KNOW HE HAS AN OF?!" You hear her shout and you have to move your phone away from your ear to avoid going deaf. "What? What are you talking about?"
"Your roommate, Qimir, has an OnlyFans!" She sounds way too excited and it concerns you.
"Yeah right!" You laugh it off. "Qimir? The clumsy dork who could never get a girlfriend having an OnlyFans? I don't buy it." For the 2 years you've known him, you can't think of a time where he's ever been on a date let alone had the opportunity to have sex with someone. So the thought of him running an OF account for adult content was just too off brand for him.
"Well buy it babe. I've seen it with my own two eyes and that man is hiding more than his ripped abs."
"I've lived with him for 2 years and he's never had a girl over." It was true. He'd talk about a cute girl he'd see at work but he'd never actually ask her out or anything.
"Y'know you don't need a partner for that right?"
You roll your eyes for what felt like the tenth time since picking up the phone. "How did you even find it anyway?"
"One of my friends told me about this guy she liked to watch and when she showed me, I knew it was him instantly. He had some sort of helmet on in some of them– which made him hotter by the way– but I'm telling you girl, he's packed! I'd jump on that dick as soon as he gets home if I were you." You grimace at her words, not wanting to imagine your roommate like that.
"Are you sure it wasn't just some other Asian guy?"
"Trust me, I've been to your place loads of times. I know his face. I'll send you his account if you wanna see!"
"No thanks, I'll pass!" There was no way you were going to actually watch your roommate do adult activities, if it even is him she's talking about.
"I'm sending it anyway." Soon enough you get a notification from your laptop on discord.
"Well, thanks but I won't be needing it."
"Trust me, you'll want to see it!"
"Alright that's enough. Bye now!" you hang up before she can say anything else. You plop your phone on your mattress and pick up your book. You tried so hard to immerse yourself back into the story but you always found yourself glancing up at your laptop.
As much as you wanted to deny it, a small part of you was curious to see what he was hiding underneath his baggy clothes he always wore. With a sigh, you slam your book shut and walk over to your desk. You open your laptop and click on the link Abby sent.
You notice his username, "TouchedByAStranger," and roll your eyes. Eugh he's so cringe. You click on the first video and much to your surprise, he didn't even care to hide his face. Even if he didn't show his face, the decor on his wall behind him gave it away.
He rubs the evident bulge in his pants."You make me so hard, fuck!" His voice was deeper, raspier. His groans sent shivers down your spine. He slowly began to remove his shirt, revealing his hidden six pack. You never got the chance to see it before since he always wore baggy shirts and layers.
Next came his pants, his dick was stretching the material of his underwear, begging to be released. When he removed them next, you swore your eyeballs would've fallen out. He was huge.
As you continue scrolling, you see a few of him wearing some sort of metal helmet. He was fully clothed in a black long sleeve shirt that failed to hide his large muscles.
He wasn't touching himself. Instead, he spoke sensual words such as "that's my good girl," "You like touching yourself?" "Thats right, cum for me," "fuck yes, just like that. Making me so proud." All with a robotic voice from his mask. You didn't consider yourself to have a mask kink but it might just start growing on you now.
You scroll through the rest of his videos and come across one labeled "jerking off while thinking of my roommate next door." This catches your attention and you immediately click on it. You notice there was something stuffed in his mouth to muffle his moans.
When you got a closer look, it clicked. They were your panties. That fucker stole your favorite pair of panties! You looked all over for them and ultimately decided that they probably got lost in the dryer at the laundromat.
You couldn't stay mad for long before immediately getting hooked again. Though most of the sounds are his muffled moans, you can just barely hear your voice through the wall.
From the words you could make out, you remember that day vividly. He was acting strange that day. You were eating your favorite flavor of ice cream at the kitchen table while he was on the couch. All of a sudden he got up and told you he was gonna take a nap without looking at you as he rushed to his bedroom. You thought it was strange at the time but you suppose you now know the reason.
You don't even remember when your hand reached into your sleep pants as you began rubbing your clit. As he stroked himself, you began fucking yourself with your fingers. You subconsciously matched his pace with every thrust of his hips. You couldn't believe what you were doing. Masturbating while watching your roommate like a perv.
You felt ashamed, yet you couldn't seem to stop. It's like his eyes on the camera had you under a trance. It was almost like he was staring right into your soul. You were so distracted that you didn't even realize that the very man you were watching had come home.
-
"Y/n?" Qimir shouts as he opens the front door. "Y/n I bought some groceries on my way home from work. I saw your favorite ice cream was on sale so I bought you a carton." He walks to the kitchen and sets the bags on the counter.
He furrows his eyebrows when he doesn't hear you. He shrugs and begins putting the groceries away, figuring you were probably sleeping or something.
As he walks back to his bedroom, he hears noises coming from your room. Your door is shut but he can hear faint moaning. His eyes widen and he's about to walk away, not wanting to invade your privacy. That is until he hears a man's groan. At first he feels a pang of jealousy, wondering who the mysterious man is. That is until he hears, "that's a good girl. Make me cum."
His heart drops when he recognizes that voice as his own. Shit
-
Your moans get louder as you're about to reach your climax. Just as his seed paints his hand and abdomen, you fall over the edge as well. You lean back against your chair as you try to catch your breath.
You almost let out a curdling scream when you suddenly feel a hand grab your arm. You look up and gasp when you see Qimir standing there. "Enjoy yourself?"
"I- I um" you didn't even know what to say. You didn't hear him come home let alone enter your room. Your laptop was still open, clearly showcasing the video you previously just watched. And he literally just pulled your hand out of your pants. You were screwed.
With his grip on your arm, he brought your hand that was previously fingering you up to his mouth and he sucks the juices off your fingers. "Mm seems like you did."
"I- I didn't hear you come home." You somehow managed to spit out.
"I called your name and you didn't answer. Who would've known you were such a naughty perv?" He leans closer to your face, smirking when he notices your breath hitch.
You hated the effect he had on you right now. Usually, it was the other way around. You refused to let him get away with this. Although you felt very vulnerable at the moment, you faked your confidence.
"I could say the same about you. Who knew that underneath that whole clumsy dorky facade was a cocky slut? Or were you that desperate for money that you turned to OnlyFans?"
He scoffs at this, "Come on, do you really think my job at the bookstore would be able to pay our bills alone? Remember, this isn't just for me but for you too."
You huff and turn away from him, crossing your arms. "You could've told me, y'know. We said no secrets."
"Oh yeah? And if I didn't catch you, would you have told me you found it?" You stayed silent. "That's what I thought. Why do you care so much anyway? You wanna join me or something?"
You whip your head to look at him in bewilderment. "No!"
He smirks and leans down, towering over you. "We could split the money y'know. I'm willing to share." You shove him back by the shoulders.
"Get out!" You get up and push him out the door. You ignore his protests as you successfully shut him out. "The offer still stands!" You hear his muffled voice shout through the door. You hear his bedroom door shut and you rest your back against yours, letting out a sigh.
You locked yourself in your room for the next few hours. You tried anything to distract yourself from your confrontation with Qimir but nothing could keep your mind off of it long enough. His words kept ringing in your mind.
"You wanna join me or something?"
You grab your pillow and squish your face into it. Your brain wouldn't shut up about the possibility of being fucked by Qimir. What it would be like to hear those moans up close, to feel his dick make you full, to feel his tongue massage your clit. From what you've seen, he's definitely got some skill. You remove the pillow and stare at the ceiling for a few seconds.
You couldn't find the self control to stop yourself as you made your way to his room. You couldn't believe you were actually doing this. You take a deep breath before opening your door. You let out a gasp when you come face to face with Qimir who just so happened to open his door at the same time. He's changed into gray sweatpants and a compression shirt. The two of you stare at each other for a moment.
As if someone pushed you, you move forward and slam your lips onto his. He immediately begins kissing you back and his hands squeeze your ass. He backs you up until you're pinned against the wall next to your door. His body feels so good against yours right now, so warm and fit. You can't wait to feel even closer to him in just a few minutes.
The kiss deepens when he picks you up and carries you into his room. He lays you down on his bed with his lips still attached to yours. "Lucky for you, I was just about to film." He nods his head to the side and you see a camera set up behind him. "Was on my way to ask if you wanted to be my scene partner. Do you?"
You look away from the camera back into his eyes. Those same eyes that can bring you to your knees and make you do whatever he wants. But would this be reckless? What if this is just lust and adrenaline? What happens once you leave this bedroom? How could you ever go back to normal after this?
He could see your hesitation, "if not, that's fine. We don't have to film- or even do anything at all!" As he rambled on, you realized that the dorky side wasn't a complete facade. Maybe that really was just him.
He would never admit this, but you were the reason why he was so nervous most of the time. You had this effect on him where his mind raced a thousand miles a minute while also being completely empty at the same time.
He wanted to be with you every second of the day, but he also knew he had to keep his distance before he did something he'd regret. But having you here now, in his bed, was driving him absolutely crazy.
You cup his cheeks and place a finger on his lips. “I want this.” You feel him smile against your finger and you lower it. His lips touched every bit of skin available to him. He was getting needy already. "Hang on there Stranger," you pull his face up to meet yours, "you need to film this right?"
His eyes blink a few times when it clicks. "Right! Sorry I got carried away." He awkwardly chuckles and turns on the camera. When the light blinks, indicating its recording, he gets back on top of you.
You tilt your head, "Are you gonna wear the mask?"
He shakes his head, "Next time, I wanna see you."
"Next time?" You raise a brow with a teasing smile.
He nods, "If you want, of course."
"Let's see how good you make me feel this time first."
He nods again with a smile and kisses you again. He's determined to make you feel more than good. He wants to make sure you can't leave his bed to go back to yours across the hall. He wants to keep you here forever.
His lips travel down the crook of your neck, occasionally licking the soft skin and leaving a faint trail of saliva along the path. One of his hands slithers under your shirt, his calloused fingers raising goosebumps along your skin. He tugs on the hem of your loose shirt and looks at you with a raised brow.
You bite your lip with a nod and sit up so he can remove your top. He sighs when he sees your covered tits. He places a kiss on each boob before unclasping the hook. "I've been dreaming of seeing these since the moment I met you." He shamelessly admits.
Your eyes widen and you look down at him. "Really?"
"Uh huh." He lowers his mouth onto one of your breasts, most definitely leaving hickies behind. He gently bites on your nipple before soothingly rubbing his tongue along it. "I've wanted you since day one."
Qimir remembers that day so clearly. He had made a post saying how he was looking for a roommate and you were one of the applicants. The moment he opened the door and met your alluring eyes and beautifully sweet smile, he knew he was done for. No one else came close, he chose you on the spot.
Maybe it was a mistake or maybe it was fate. Whatever it was, it led him right to this moment and he couldn't be more grateful.
You feel his hand tease the drawstrings of your shorts, silently asking if he can remove them as well. You lift your hips for him and he doesn't hesitate to tug the waistband down. He smiles against your skin when he feels the wet patch that's formed in your new pair of panties you changed into after your previous orgasm hours prior.
"That worked up already huh?" You try to bite back but you swallow your words when he starts rubbing your clit.
"Fuck," you breathe out. His touch was just barely there but you can feel it. He was teasing you and you weren't sure if you hated it or not. Either way, he was driving you crazy. "P-please more!"
"More?" You nod. You throw your head back when he sinks a finger into you. "Is that good enough?"
"I-"
"Or do you want more?" He sinks another finger into you and you cry out. His fingers start at a slow pace, easing you open for him. "Still need more?" His gaze is intense as he slowly moves toward the edge of the bed so his face lines up with your core.
You frantically nod, jaw slacked and eyes drowning in lust. He kitten licks at your clit, smiling when you whine and squirm above him. When you squeeze his hair is when he finally decides to stop teasing and fully lowers his mouth onto you.
Moans and whines flow non stop out of your open mouth. You can only imagine how good his jaw looks from the camera angle as he greedily eats you out as if you were his last meal on earth. If he were to die today, he'd be happily content with you being the last thing he devoured.
He sucks and licks at your clit while his fingers continue to fuck your soaking hole. "So good f'me" he mutters against you. You swore you felt shockwaves shoot through you.
"Qimir...please! I- I need to cum!" Oh those begs sounded like music to his ears. He's been waiting to hear them. They taunt him in his sleep when he dreams about you and later wakes up with a hard on. He needs to hear more of them.
He releases your clit with a pop and leans his cheek on your inner thigh, his fingers still working. "Keep begging for me and maybe I'll let you." That fucker with his cocky smile. You wish you could say you wanted to smack it off of him but in all honesty, it only made you more needy for him.
"Please! I'll do anything just please let me cum! I need it!" You continue to beg.
"Anything?" You frantically nod. "Be mine then." He says it so sternly, it was clear it wasn't a suggestion. He thrusted his fingers harsher, deeper. So deep he reaches places you couldn't even reach yourself. "Say you'll be mine and I'll let you cum."
"I- I'm yours."
"Again!" His fingers move faster.
"I'm yours!" You cry out, starting to feel that orgasm creeping up.
"Cum for me." He quickly latches his mouth back onto your clit and you do as he says. Your legs tremble and shake around his head when you reach that long awaited climax. His tongue laps you up needily, not wanting to waste a single drop.
He removes his fingers from you and sits up. The bottom half of his face is absolutely soaked. You watch in amazement as he brings his two fingers up to his mouth, sucking those as well.
He wipes his face with his shirt before pulling it off and tossing it somewhere on the floor. He leans back down and slams his lips onto yours. You moan at the taste of yourself still on his tongue.
"You like that?" He massages his tongue against yours and you nod. "We're just getting started." He loops his thumbs into the waistband of his gray sweatpants and pulls them down along with his underwear.
Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock bouncing up. You reach to touch it but a surprisingly gentle hand stops you. "Another time. I won't last long if you do that." You raise a brow at him as you let him lower your back down. He just kisses you in response.
He mindlessly searches for a condom nightstand, not pulling away from the kiss. You place a hand on his to stop him, "I'm on birth control."
"Oh fuck," he kisses you again, deeper this time. You feel him run his tip along your folds, teasing your clit and making you squeal against his lips. You were growing needier by the second.
"Qimir I need you to fuck me...please!"
He tilts his head to the side with a knowing smirk, "now how can I say no to that sweet face?" Your eyes roll to the back of his head as he slowly penetrates you. You squeeze his large biceps as he splits you open. His eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open as groans spill out. You're so tight, tighter than he could have ever imagined, than he could've dreamed of.
“F- oh fuck baby,” His deep groans vertebrate from the back of his throat. He was panting as he sped up his thrusts. Each movement of his hips sent a shockwave through your veins as his tip repeatedly bullied your g spot.
His forehead falls on yours. Each quick breath fans your cheeks, making you feel hotter. He closes his eyes as he places gentle kisses along your face. A soft comparison to what he's doing below.
“I-ngh I'm gonna cum fuck!” His eyes clenched shut as his hips continuously smack against yours faster.
“Cum for me Qimir.” You brush a few strands that have fallen away from his eyes. His eyebrows scrunch at the soft look in your eyes. His breathing becomes rigid, he's getting closer.
His thumb rapidly starts rubbing your clit and your back starts to lift off the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck.” You clench down on him and soon enough you feel him fill you up. Just as you're about to reach the peak once more, he pulls out and gets to his knees to lap at your clit. You squeeze at his hair as your whole body shakes.
-
The next morning you wake up to Qimir's heavy arm wrapped around you in a protective embrace. You smile as the memories of last night wash over you. You kiss his hand and slowly remove yourself from his arms to tiptoe quietly back to your room.
When you spot your phone on your bed, you turn it on to see MANY missed calls and unread texts from Abby.
Abby: You're not answering so I'm assuming you followed my advice 😏
Abby: So how was it? As good as we thought?
Abby: Oh wait you're probably still sleeping. Can't blame you after the night you had 😉
You roll your eyes and dial her number. A single ring goes by before she answers and immediately pesters you with questions. "HOW WAS IT?! WAS IT FUN?! WOULD YOU WANNA DO IT AGAIN? YOU BETTER!" You had to move the phone away from your ear to avoid any hearing loss.
"One question at a time, geez. It was amazing and yes it was fun. And...yes I'd want to do it again but I don't know what's gonna happen after this."
"What do you mean?" You let out a sigh of relief that she's decided to speak at a normal level now.
"Well, we fell asleep not long after so we didn't exactly get a chance to talk about it or...us." Us. Were you an us? You let out a sigh, "We've definitely crossed the lines of roommates and friends and I don't know what we are now."
"Do you like him?" That question shouldn't have thrown you off as much as it did. You two literally fucked and yet the topic of feelings is what makes you shy? Qimir was cute, and hot, and definitely good in bed. But he's also really nice. He cooks for you, especially when he knows you didn't have time to eat anything. He buys you groceries without you having to ask, and even when you do ask. He was a great guy.
"I think so?"
"Then, I don't really see a probl-"
"Y/n?" You hear his voice say through the door.
Your eyes widen. "Oh shit, he's awake. I'll talk to you later." You hang up the phone before she has a chance to say anything else. You jump when you suddenly feel his warm hands slide along your waist to hold you from behind.
"You really need to stop doing that?" You chuckle, turning around in his grasp to wrap your arms around his neck.
He smiles, "Sorry." He kisses your lips. "Who was that? Abby?"
"Yeah, it's nothing important." You brush it off with a shrug. He nods in response and just leans his forehead against yours with his eyes closed. The two of you soak in each other's presence in silence.
As nice as the little bubble you were in felt, the need for clarification of where you two stood began eating at you. You nervously bit your lip as you contemplated asking the question. You ultimately decided to just go for it. "So um, I was thinking..."
"You wanna know where we stand now." You nod against him and pull away to meet his eyes already looking at you. He gently holds your hands and leads you to sit on your bed. "Last night was really fun."
"It was" You smile.
"And I really like you." Your breath gets caught in your throat at his confession. "And if you want...I want to be with you. I meant what I said last night, I want you to be mine. And I want to be yours." His hands never leave yours as he pours his heart out to you.
"I want to be yours too." You squeeze his hand and watch as the most adorable smile graces his face. He places his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you closer to meet your lips.
"Everyone loves you by the way." He says as he pulls away.
You raise a brow at him, "you posted it already?"
He nods, "Y'know you're gonna be my permanent scene partner from now on right?"
"Are we gonna split the earnings?"
"Of course," he scoffs.
"Then that's fine by me." You smile before kissing him again.
premise: he is your beginning, the whole reason you have made peace with the darkness inside your head, and you know someday he may become your end. whether by his saber or by him finally consuming completely. you welcome both.
contents: established master x acolyte dynamics, shared force bond, unprotected p in v, foreplay, light choking, biting, scars and burn marks mentioned, death, teasing, over stimulation | wc: 2.7k+
note: i love that we all saw the water scene and went yeah that's for the smut writers. glad we are collectively going insane over this man.
The moons paint the water in a shimmering light that bathes its surface in sapphire that fades to the deepest of blacks the longer you stare into it. The waves that hit against the ragged stones are like a siren call to your aching body.
Your muscles are still tight and coiled from earlier. Your molars grind together when you lift your arms to pull off your ruined and stained clothes. A burning sensation felt through your body as the fabric covering your torso moved against every burn, cut, and bruise you had acquired tonight.
You didn’t stop by a reflective surface to check how many battle scars you’d earned. Badges of honor. More wounds worn like metals placed on your neck by a pleased master. Wounds, he’ll help you heal, stitch up, seal with the press of his palm to the tattered skin—stolen supplies from planets you can’t remember the name of with faces you can only remember the dead eyes of, used on the ones that don’t close up right.
The moonlight makes them look less serious. The illumination colored the dried blood and tissue into something misty. Almost tantalizing to the eye. Unlike the light of day, where you’re sure it will look less glamorizing. The ugly truth of the way your skin is going to bubble up and mold over to protect itself once the healing process begins is less glaring in this hue.
Your toe dips into the water. It’s always warmer than you think it to be. Always welcoming you in like it’s been waiting for you to return. Waiting to wash away the grim and blood that seemed more permanent on your skin than your own flesh.
You wade at the edge for a bit, pushing around the water with your feet. The water wading at your ankles.
The ringing hasn’t stopped.
It rarely does until you’ve closed your eyes and settled it. Until your body is less taut, muscles released from the on switch of fight. The power inside your veins thrumming like a wasp trying to free itself from the tissue of your bones.
As if it had gotten stuck in there and couldn’t find its way out. Refusing to settle down or leave until you’ve maimed, avenged, and proved yourself—leaving your body and muscles in their current state.
You’re not worried about something being in the water. If there were, you would have been able to feel it. Sense it’s beating heart and the danger of allowing it to keep beating. You’re alone as you walk further into the water, sinking into it’s depths until your body is completely engulfed. Your neck and head the only things going untouched.
The freshly made badges on your skin burn when you scrub your thumb along the edges of them. Specks of dried blood float along the surface of the water before they’re lost to the darkness below.
Amongst the ringing in your head, you can hear the screams of anger that tore from your lungs when the Jedi had gotten the upper hand. The green of his saber leaving red against your skin. Making your moves turn from confident to something rage fueled.
Somewhere among the ringing, you know his scream is in there. Amongst the many cries for help and cracking bones.
They always linger. Always hold on like a power pack to your dark side.
You know your body won’t fully relax until you’ve stopped the ringing, though. You didn’t believe in blessings or curses. Bad fortune or good. Everyone’s life ended the same way. If you did believe in the farce, you would think the ringing that goes from the base of your skull to the drums of your ears was a curse.
A quiet mind is a blessing.
The buzz of the force within you too heady when you're in the throes of battle. War. Darkness. It’s always been like that. Even before him.
It’s only gotten worse with him beside you. Like the bond the two of you had opened too much too deep and you feel everything more clearly. More unfortunately.
He taught you how to silence it. To reign it in after the adrenaline and pace of your heart slowed.
There were still things you had to learn. Things you were kept from knowing by your old master, the one who only saw one way to wield your power. A cowardly excuse for a master whose burial you wish you could have witnessed.
It’s aggravating, almost. Anger inducing for sure.
Someone not believing you are capable of knowing the truth about the power you wield. It’s criminal to not allow someone to be their true self all because of a set of rules that only benefited one group of people. One way of living, when there were so many.
Your aggravation has faded by now. The anger is still there and buzzes through you. But you no longer feel like a part of you has been held back. Stunted and aching like your chest had for years—as if a rock had found itself in the base of your heart and took up rent there—until Qimir showed you the way.
Your true self.
Your full potential and all you were capable of.
All that had been inside of you, held back for so long.
Filling your lungs with air, you sink yourself under the water and hold yourself there. Eyes closing as you center yourself. Slow the wasp in your marrow to something dull. Stop the ringing in your ears until all you can hear is the hum of the water hitting the rock above the surface.
Just you and the force.
Just you and the water.
Until you feel him.
Until he’s there inside your mind.
Until you feel a hand at the base of your skull, fingertips brushing at the nape of your neck to let you know he’s not just in your head. He’s beside you.
Your eyes meet once you’ve filled your lungs with air again, and you wipe the water droplets from your lids.
You watch him splash water against his neck, running the palm of his hand along the dirt and grime that clings to his skin. Cleaning himself of any traces of the deaths the two of you have left in your wake tonight.
His calm demeanor always pulls you back from the edge. Always brings a calmness to your blood. To the beating of your heart. Even when shit has gone haywire, his demeanor never switches up. Never slips into something that could be labeled as sloppy or driven by anything other than who he truly is. What he’s made of.
His calm seeping through your shared bond until you have no choice but to relax.
The handful of times you’ve seen that calmness turn into something animalistic, it’s made you envious, on the same hand, it’s made the space between your thighs burn.
“You did well tonight.”
“The smell of my burning flesh still clinging to my senses says differently.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, “you did well.” He repeats. Ducks his head forward to wet his hair. His fingers running through the strands, droplets falling down his face. Your eyes follow them all the way down the column of his neck to his chiseled collar bones.
It doesn’t take one wielding the force to know what your mind is projecting. Doesn’t matter that the two of you share a part of your brain. The thoughts of past nights spent together, Qimir teaching you the ways desire can be wielded and used to your advantage—or disadvantage, depending on how you look at it.
Your face turns from him. Eyes moving up to the moon.
Trying to hold back your thoughts the way he taught you. Even if it is futile against him.
“How do you feel?”
Has the ringing stopped, Is what he’s really asking. Do you need another lesson? Are you still weakened by that ailment? That curse?
Except he wouldn’t be as dramatic as that. Not with this. Not ever. Especially when it came to your power. Your capabilities. The perfect little acolyte he’s trained you to be.
“Fine.” Your answer clipped, honest. Because you are fine, and your stubbornness will not allow you to let this turn into another lesson about you not being able to be as calm and collected as he is. No shadows of doubt lingering over who he truly is. His purpose. His wants. His desires. His darkness.
He’s always been able to read right through you, though. Even without taking up space in your being. The force has little to do with that fact.
You were never afraid of the darkness that lived inside of you. Never afraid of the power you could wield and the lives you could take.
The only time you’ve felt true fear is being seen.
Accepted.
The potential to let someone of importance down and not withhold your end of a deal you’ve inked your name in blood just to be beside. To prove yourself to someone who’s your equal. Another half of your very being.
His face shows nothing but that calm amusement when he wades behind you. His fingers moving against your skin in an act to rid you of the spots of dirt you’ve missed on your neck and shoulders.
Swallowing hard when his fingers scrape against past scars, he lingers there for a beat. Running the pad of them against the raised skin. A whisper in your head.
You heal beautifully.
It’s a softness you’d never thought him to be capable of when you found out who he truly was. The man behind the mask. Even if the unmasking had been done unintentionally.
It’s not softness you feel from his touch, though. No, his touch eases the strain in your muscles, only to gather itself in your belly. Your body burning with anticipation, knowing how this goes.
How you’re rewarded when you impress him.
When you do as you are told, your master is ever the generous one.
“You’ve proven yourself tonight.” His lips brush against the tip of your spine, “killing without a weapon, not stopping until you were the last one standing. Freeing yourself from the ones who held you back for so long.” Your breath hitches in the back of your throat when his mouth presses down on that same spot at the beginning of your spine.
A hand snaking around your throat, his palm wet and warm against your collarbones as he pulls your neck at just the right angle to have you looking at him.
“Did it feel good?”
“Yes.” You swallow, wrap your fingers around his wrist. “It always does.” You whisper, your eyes flashing down to the upturn of his lips.
His nose runs along your cheek to your temple, his eyes closed, inhaling you. “I can always smell it. When you let yourself become one with the darkness. Right before you take a life.” His thumb runs a circle against the vein, which tells him the pace of your heart has picked up. As if he’d need it to know, as if the two of you don’t share something that links you completely to the other. “It still lingers. It’s distracting.”
It’s not a question, but you nod. Your eyes flutter when he pushes his hips forward, and the hardness of his cock moves against your ass.
He doesn’t ask permission, the two of you knowing you’re past such kindnesses, when his hand cups your mound. He knows what your body needs right now. What it wants, what it’s expecting. He can feel it too. His index and middle fingers spread your pussy, giving him access to that pleasure point on your body that only he knows how to stroke just right to have you pliant and singing for him.
As if you were not already devoted to him. As if he were not your reason for being.
He’s your beginning, and you have no doubt he will be your end if it comes to it.
The pad of his finger circles your clit in that slow way that lets you know he’s going to take his time with you. Going to drain every last bit of strain and tightness from your muscles, pushing that buzz between your legs and making him the only sound in your head—until he thinks you have had enough.
Until your reward is good enough for him to be satisfied with how you took it. Until he knows your mind is back where it needs to be—here, with him.
His mouth meets the hand at your throat, his teeth sinking into the parts his fingers aren’t pressing into. “You’re everything I could have hoped for.” His tongue laps against your pulse.
Perfect.
You may never know if he actually means the words; you can only feel what he allows you to feel through your shared connection. He’s better at blocking than you. But he knows you need to hear these praises. Knows how good and pliable it will make you. His words stoke the fire inside your soul that burns through your darkness. That allows you to become completely consumed by him and the desire to be on this side.
Of being free.
What he does allow you to feel lets you know there is some truth somewhere in there. You can feel it in how hard his cock thrusts against your ass when your body pushes back into him. You can feel it in the way his thoughts stream through your mind.
So obedient.
Your cunt’s so greedy for me.
You’re mine.
The skin on your fingers stings from gripping the rocks in front of you. The pain you should feel from the heel of your palm digging into the jagged stones, lost in the haze of pleasure consuming your body.
Qimir consuming every last part of your being.
Taking over every dark corner of your mind and not letting you feel or hear anything but him.
Your moans become more shaky, your chest heaving as you pant and curse. The weight of the finger on your clit grows heavier, faster, deliriously good the more you near your orgasm.
Your lips are moving in inaudible words. Words he understands, making him grin against your jaw.
“You want my cock tonight?” You know he’s read your mind, or rather, your body. Know he can feel what you desire and crave. What your minds begging him for. “Hmm, do you think you’re deserving of that big of a prize? You spill a little blood, and suddenly you’re greedy.” He hums, “you did well. Do you think you deserve it, though? No?”
Heat burns your cheeks; his chuckle makes you sob into the night air. The stubbornness to please and be as perfect as your counterpart wants you to be is not in favor of the mounting pressure that’s building in your pussy right now.
“I already think you’re perfect; don’t push it.” His foot pushes easily at your ankles. Your thighs spread enough for the head of his cock to press against your entrance and thrust inside.
“Mmm,” you whine at the stretch. Your eyes fluttering closed at your swollen walls being filled. Walls that tighten around him as he sets a fast pace. Matching the rhythm and stroke of his fingers. Sending your body on an overwhelming precipice of a carnal need to come.
The heaviness of his breath as he says your name against your skin—the quick flashes of the pleasure he feels from being inside of you—is what finally sends you over the edge.
Your orgasm rocking through you like a storm. Your body shaking against him, walls fluttering and squeezing around his cock, making him groan. Your throat raw and scratchy from the noise that’s pulled up from your lungs when everything in your body is set completely aflame.
Your hand falling from the rocks, and pressing your nails into his wrist, trying to pull his hand from between your thighs. The over-stimulation of his finger moving against your clit even after your orgasm has passed makes you cry out and ripple the water around the two of you as you squirm.
The tip of his cock hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. That falters your fight against his torment.
“You can do better than one. You deserve it, don’t you?”
NOTES | i'm simply a girl who's fallen to the dark side for qimir!!! qimir's lowkey a softie in this, which might not be canon, but idc!!!
You stumble back with your palm soiled wet.
Thankfully, you grounded the rest of your weight with your makeshift wooden staff. Panting, you drag yourself upward, readying yourself for what’s to come next.
Sweat drips down your forehead as the sun begins to dip into the horizon beyond the abundance of trees and overgrowth, the heat felt by your exposed arms and through your thin sleeveless wrap top.
It's been more than two hours of training, but your master knows your limit. Pushes you until you break–and he knows you’re far from your breaking point.
Perspiration also stains his forehead. Master Qimir wipes it away with the back of his hand, moving his hair aside too.
Moments like these, you pride yourself in knowing his identity after years of him preserving his anonymity behind that intimidating, powerful mask. He’s gained followers over time since you've known him, but you’re his one and only acolyte.
Your mind wanders further. Why does he choose to wear his mask in public when he can make nations fall to their knees just with a flash of his smirk?
Said smirk is plastered on his face as he twirls his two batons between his fingers with ease. Beyond his smirk, there was also the ordeal of seeing his glistening, gorgeous arms every day and–
Your master calls out your name playfully, “I hope you’re focusing on me.”
“You know I am, Master.” You’re not exactly lying. You inch closer, holding your staff firmly with both hands and pointing one end of it in his direction.
He tsks and lets out of a deep chuckle. It always bothers you how his chuckles make your heart skip a beat, among the other things it does to the rest of your body.
“You're focusing on things about me, Acolyte. Not on me directly, nor on my presence,”—he paces in a circle around you, with you tracking his every step—“If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”
“Well, I can’t help it that my master can be so distracting!” you grit out, taking the opportunity to lunge towards him.
Weapons clash. Loud echoes continually reverberate throughout the forest, along with your occasional grunts.
Master Qimir’s style is aggressive and swift, always on the offense, so you’ve become accustomed to defend his moves well. He comes in with one baton towards your side, and the other towards your head. You deflect both smoothly, and without much thought, you decide to attack him.
However, your confidence blinds you.
Too close.
He elbows your arm and slams into your side, causing your staff to drop.
Then, Qimir shoves you far with the Force, distancing you from your weapon, and gets close again to hook his foot around yours. Your back stings as you fall down.
In the blink of an eye, he pins you down with both batons tightly pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You struggle under him, trying your best to smack him away with your diminishing strength.
“Breathe, think, and focus,” he calmly orders, despite the agonizing scene in front of him.
You take a second to compose yourself, inhaling as much as you can for a second.
Suddenly, you feel his knee move up between your legs, spreading them.
And you feel him moving upwards again, but this time brushing against your core.
Your sparring composure absolutely shatters–a gasp and small moan release, and you’re back to struggling once more.
You assume it was a mistake, but you’re relishing in the pleasure nevertheless, even in your current state of distress.
“Focus, my acolyte,” Master Qimir barks, and he presses the batons harder into you. “Focus!”
Your vision begins to blur alongside the increasing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Gathering all your might and wanting to avoid disappointing Qimir, you breathe as much as you can and drown out everything to focus on how to get out of the situation.
With a sliver of consciousness left, you will yourself to use the Force and seize your staff. Your fingers clutch around it and you thwack Qimir hard on the head, disorienting him for a moment. Without hesitation, throughout your excessive gasping, you skillfully maneuver yourself to switch positions.
Now, your staff is pressed against his throat.
“Is this better, Master?” you pant and cough with a grin, basking in your success. “Am I focused now?”
He grants a brief nod, but you notice an unusual look in his eyes.
It reads as a rare time he’s overly impressed, but there’s something else.
Qimir raises his hand and gently curls it around yours, wordlessly asking you to lower your weapon. You ruffle your eyebrows, unsure why he’s letting down his guard against you during training.
“Master Qimir,” you whisper, still holding your staff to the side with a relaxed but guarded grip, “is this another test of yours?”
He shakes his head, his touch now carefully grazing your forehead and cheeks. Your staff rolls away as your eyes flutter, savoring this foreign feeling from him–tenderness, affection, warmth. A hand softly cups your face.
“Training’s over for today.”
The warmth fades into familiar roughness with a sharp pull by the back of your neck downwards.
His mouth drives into yours, each kiss igniting fire within you, sparking every inch of your body. Desire is bursting at the seams. He kneads your neck and body intently, mirroring you as you clutch onto his face and sturdy frame.
You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never fantasized kissing Qimir before, but this is everything you dreamed of and better.
“Master–” you gasp sharply at the sensation of him pressing his knee up against you again. Reflexively, you writhe as your body screams for more.
“You like this a lot…” His tone drips of arrogance. Further pressure is added and he happily inhales your moans between his teasing chuckles.
You manage to muster the following amidst the rising pleasure, “So it was intentional before.”
“Of course.” His words are muffled as he leaves open-mouthed kisses upon the side of your neck. Your fingers dig further into his shoulder and scalp as he cups your breast. “You need to learn to push aside your desires when training.”
“Should we stop then?” The neck kissing sears you, especially when he tugs skin between his teeth to bite and suck. “To teach me a lesson?”
He shakes his head and removes himself from your neck, coming back up to drag your lower lip between his teeth.
“It doesn’t mean I want to push aside my desires.”
You catch a fleeting glimpse of his signature smirk before his lips are on yours again. Kisses become more electric as he dips his tongue into your mouth.
Hands fly erratically and grasp everywhere. His arms. Your ass. Fingers running beneath his top, feeling up his abs. His harsh grips of your thighs.
Unexpectedly, he holds you close and flips you over; you’re back on top of him again and you can surely feel his prominent desire against yours.
In a rush, you bunch up his thin shirt and attempt to pull it off him. He sits up with you in his lap and, with a fluid flick of his wrist, he rids you of your clothes and they are tossed to one side; his follow suit. Qimir promptly draws his nearby robes closer to be placed underneath you both, covering yourselves from the soiled forest.
The look in his eyes is unmistakably lust-filled, completely insatiable. He wastes no time in taking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking and lips puckering, while one hand holds you by your back and the other dips two fingers into your desire, wet and ready for him.
You arch into him, leaning your head back and letting yourself go. Wanting to reciprocate, you reach out to stroke his cock. Relishing in the pleasure, he draws back his head, eyes closed, and leans his forehead against your chest.
The forest may be filled with the rustling of the wind against the trees and the odd bird cawing, but all you can focus on is Qimir’s throaty groans and every obscene squelch when he slides his fingers in and out of you.
He glances up and attempts to open his eyes as much as he can to give you his full attention, despite the heavenly strokes you’re giving him.
Eyes shine back at you with the utmost vulnerability–a sight you never see. A sight that you want to etch into your memory forever, knowing you, his Acolyte, could make your Master weak and let his guard down with just your touch.
“You don’t know how long I’ve held myself back…”
The vulnerability dissipates as he darts his tongue against your untouched nipple.
“...wanting to see you like this for me.”
You two become one for a while as he plays with you like a toy he just received as a gift. He tries you out, sees what you like and what you can handle. How sensitive you are with your breasts. How many fingers you can take. How much noise you make when he thumbs your clit.
At one point, he eventually removes his fingers from you, evidently drenched from your bliss. He holds out his fingers in front of you, and you realize what he’s suggesting.
Obediently, like you always are with him, you open your mouth and let his fingers lay on your tongue. You wrap your mouth around them, and finally let yourself suck on them a bit, tasting yourself and treating his fingers as if it were his cock.
When you finish, to your surprise, he sticks his fingers into his own mouth, sucking off the remnants of you. He then kisses you deeply. Tasting yourself in his mouth excites you, riles you up again and back to wanting the next step with Qimir.
As if reading your mind, he adjusts himself to lay back down vertically, and takes you by your wrist to lead you to sit onto him.
You hold his possession against you between your legs, teasing his tip by not quite sitting onto him fully, indulging in your control over him. However, at this point, Qimir lacks patience, so he grasps you by your waist and forces you to ease onto his length.
The guttural moan you release could easily be heard at all ends of the forest.
He fills you deliciously, stretches you in the sweetest way possible. Using the strength of your thighs and your hands to keep you steady, you bounce at a comfortable pace, not wanting this to end just yet.
When you find a good position to balance your weight, you allow yourself to stroke his perfect body. His chiseled abs. The solid planes of his chest. His strong forearms. The sharp jawline that you dream of kissing almost every night.
“You take my cock so well.”
A more familiar look flashes through his eyes, one that you normally see him flash prior to slaying Jedi or when he's in a bad mood. It’s drenched with darkness and dominance, almost bordering on fury.
You freeze, and then you feel it.
The constriction around your throat, created by the Force. He can easily kill you within seconds. He's done this only once to you, and that was when he was testing your loyalty to him years ago.
But this is different. Different than that time, and most definitely different than before with his batons. This is more controlled; the hold is mostly against the sides of your windpipe and it isn't overtly harsh.
On top of that, your entire body is on fire, becoming wound up by this act.
“Do you enjoy this?” he asks, tone teetering between curiosity and being threatening.
“Yes,” you mentally scream.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” you manage to croak.
He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Nu-uh,” he says. “Say my name, my beautiful acolyte.”
You're too distracted to be caught up in the fact that he called you beautiful. Instinctively, you want to ride this new sensation to lead you to another high. But you know that if you don’t reply, he might not let you get there.
“Yes, Qimir.”
His signature smirk takes up his whole face and your pussy clenches tighter at the sight of it. He may have the upper hand with his strength around your neck, but so do you when you notice the flickering of his eyes.
“And how does my cock feel?” He tightens a little more around your throat, and you're affected further. Qimir's collectedness can only take much longer too.
“Feels good, feels so fucking good…”
Intoxication rises from your abdomen and to all ends of your body. Your eyes begin to roll, and you're so close—
And it's gone. The tightness on your throat stops, and so is your near-high.
You're about to complain, but Qimir quickly hauls you in close to his body. Face to face, forehead to forehead, your breaths fan one another.
“Before I let either of us finish, I want to hear you say my name as you come on my cock.”
That smirk will be the absolute death of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
“Can you do that for me?”
You nod breathlessly.
Your master holds you by your waist and immediately thrusts over and over, deep and fast into you. Desperate to reach his climax, and to ensure you get to yours too.
“QimirQimirQimir–”
And so you unravel, voice rising with every iteration. Saying his name like you’re praying for forgiveness from all ends of the universe.
Qimir then brings his mouth to yours once more, swallowing all your pretty whimpers and allowing himself to chase his own release moments later.
Laying on his bare chest, you glance up at him and wonder how the relationship between you will be from now on.
You couldn’t just go back to what you were before; you would now be a master and acolyte intertwined sexually at least, romantically at most. Would it not be complicated?
But of course, Master Qimir can hear what’s going on in your mind, and he doesn’t even need the Force to do so. Being his enigmatic self, he merely answers your thoughts by speaking the Sith Code:
“‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion…’”
He meets your eyes, strokes your face with a small smile. Affection blooms in your chest.
“‘Through passion, I gain strength.’”
Holds your hand against his beating chest.
“‘Through strength, I gain power.’”
His grip tightens.
“‘Through power, I gain victory. And through victory, my chains are broken.’”
Qimir leans in and kisses you deeply as the darkness of the night sky engulfs you, the sun saying its goodbye for the night.
And with that, you realize that no matter what will happen from here on out, he’ll always care for you.
That despite all the blood, sweat, and tears shed through training, stealing, and all the killing, he’s just as loyal and devoted to you as you are to him.
