Ilya's obsession with Shane's tits → for @avacoleman
bonus:
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
noise dept.
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trying on a metaphor
taylor price
$LAYYYTER

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d e v o n
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KIROKAZE
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will byers stan first human second

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@malleo134
Ilya's obsession with Shane's tits → for @avacoleman
bonus:
ilya hanging out with The GuysTM and they get a little drunk and start talking about girls and sex and they make a game out of who has done the craziest thing in the bedroom and the guys say stuff like in high school i fucked my gf while her dad was home and yeah jessie wanted to tie me up the other day and ilya will say things like one time shane couldn’t sleep so i edged him the whole night and then made him cum so hard he passed out and slept for seven hours and shane bought this book with 100 different sex positions and we tried them all over three days and he made a spreadsheet and the guys just pat him on the back like sure roz, keep telling yourself that, there’s no way hollander wants anything but regular missionary for 8 minutes and no matter what ilya says they never believe him
yes i do think i have such a prophetic vision regarding the cultural context around ilya and shane in universe because I just KNOW that like 5-6 years after retiring @ilyarozanov81 randomly posts a picture of shane holding their toddler both facing away from the camera of course on instagram with 7-8 hearts as the caption and i know male motivation accounts on twitter put the picture on white backgrounds with the text
A lot of people don’t want to admit it but bro captained two teams to multiple cups, married one of the best players of all time, retired with his husband and settled down in a country with free healthcare. Bro won at life.
shane hollander likes to fidget, but he hates wearing any jewellery except for his wedding ring and he doesn’t like carrying around fidget toys. but do you know who doesn’t mind wearing lots and lots of jewellery? his husband!
his husband not only doesn’t mind but also actively find fidget rings and bracelets for shane to play with whenever he wants to, and when shane’s nervous in a crowded setting he just starts playing with his husband’s ring. and no one thinks much of it because they’re already codependentmaxxing what else is new.
Every time I see this image
I can’t help but think of this
sticks my finger in the barrel of your gun so it backfires on you looney toons style but the gun moaned and now none of us know what genre we're in.
never let the fact that you were born a girl stop you from being the gayest man alive
i only like enemies to lovers if it’s gay because i think men who are mean to women don’t deserve to live
me every time someone asks me what I write
date idea: i lay down on ur lap and you pet my head and tell me im not too much
Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, Rien ne va plus
━━━ YOU BELONG UNDER MY HANDS.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ after seeing another man flirt with you, his wife, iori completely unravels and spends the entire night reminding you exactly who you belongs to.
✿ ◞◟) okkotsu iori 𝓍 female!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, porn with plot (?), possessive & jealous husband!iori, pussy eating, dirty talk, softdom!iori, praise kink, fingering, hair pulling, begging, multiple orgasms, squirting, unprotected sex (p in v), rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, body worship, manhandling, emotionally dependent!iori, aftercare.
the thing about okkotsu iori is that he doesn't get angry the way other people do.
there's no shouting, no throwing things, no wild gesticulations or red-faced outbursts; iori has always been the quiet type, the kind of man who simply watches and waits and absorbs everything like a sponge before deciding exactly how to move.
it's one of the very things you love about him — his stillness, the way he can sit in a crowded room and make you feel like you're the only person who exists.
but… you've also learned, over the four years of your marriage, that his stillness has a dark side.
it happens on a tuesday. a stupid, unremarkable tuesday in the middle of september when the air is starting to get that crisp edge to it and the leaves haven't quite decided to turn. you're at a coffee shop near your apartment, the one with the mismatched furniture and the indie music playing too low to identify. you come here sometimes when you need to get out of the house, when the walls of your shared space feel a little too close even though iori isn't even home.
today, though, iori is home.
he's supposed to be working remotely, tapping away at his laptop in his home office while you steal an hour to yourself. you'd softly kissed iori’s cheek on your way out, told him you'd be back soon, and he'd hummed that sweet little sound he makes when he's content.
that was forty-five minutes ago.
now you're sitting at a corner table with a lukewarm latte, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, when a guy slides into the seat just across from you without asking. he's not bad looking — tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of confident that comes from being handsome his whole life. he's smiling at you like he already knows your name, like you've already agreed to something you haven't.
"hey," he says, easy and casual. "didn't mean to intrude, but i saw you sitting here and i just had to come say something."
you blink at him, phone lowering slowly.
"oh. um, hi?"
he laughs, a little too loud for the quiet coffee shop.
"sorry, that was probably weird. i'm danny. i just—" he gestures vaguely at your face, your hair, the way the afternoon light is hitting the curve of your jaw. "you're really beautiful. like, genuinely. and i figured i'd regret it if i didn't at least try."
your first instinct is to smile politely and point to your wedding ring. it's not the first time this has happened — you're not vain about it, but you know you're pretty, and iori's ring on your finger has turned away more men than you can count.
but this guy, danny, is looking at you with such open earnestness that you feel a little bad for him.
"that's really nice of you," you say, holding up your left hand just slightly. "but i'm married."
danny's eyes flick to the ring, then back to your face, and… the guy doesn't look deterred at all.
"yeah, i see that. but it's just a compliment, right? it doesn't have to mean anything. i simply wanted to appreciate something beautiful."
it's smooth, you'll give him that. and harmless, probably. he's not being pushy or creepy, just a guy taking a shot. you relax a little, let yourself smile for real.
"well, thank you. i appreciate that."
he grins, and it's a nice grin, boyish and charming.
"can i at least buy you another latte? as a purely friendly gesture? no strings attached, promise."
you shake your head, still smiling.
"i really should be getting home soon. my husband's waiting for me as we speak."
"husband's a lucky guy," danny says, and he means it — you can tell by the way his eyes soften, a little wistful. "alright alright, i won't push. but if you ever need a coffee buddy, i'm here most tuesdays."
he slides a business card across the table — some kind of sales job, you don't really look at it — and then he's standing up, giving you one last friendly smile before walking back to his own table near the window.
you tuck the card into your pocket without thinking about it. not because you're interested, but because it feels rude to leave it on the table. you'll throw it away when you get home.
but… what you don't notice, and what you couldn't possibly notice, is the familiar figure standing just outside the coffee shop's front window.
iori had meant to surprise you. he'd finished his work early, seen the coffee shop's name on your text from earlier, and decided to walk over and walk you home; a tiny romantic gesture, the kind iori knows makes you smile. he'd been looking forward to the way your face would light up when you saw him through the glass.
but then he'd seen the guy sit down at your table.
he'd seen the guy smile at you, seen the way he leaned in like he had every right to your attention. he'd seen you smile back — not flirtatiously, not in a way that meant anything, but a smile all the same. and he'd watched the guy slide something across the table, watched you take it and put it in your pocket.
iori's hands curl into fists at his sides.
he doesn't storm in. he doesn't confront the guy or cause a scene. he stands there for a long moment, his breathing slow and even, his dark eyes fixed on the back of danny's head with an intensity that could burn holes through glass.
then iori turns around and walks home.
you find him sitting on the couch when you get back, his laptop closed on the coffee table, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. he's wearing the gray sweater you like, the one that makes his shoulders look broad and his jaw look sharp, and his dark hair is falling into his eyes the way it does when he's been running his hands through it.
"darling?" you toe off your shoes by the door, naturally dropping your keys into the bowl. "you finished early? i thought you'd still be working."
he doesn't look up.
"came to get you. you weren't there."
his voice is really flat. not angry, exactly, but… wrong. too even, too controlled, like iori is holding something back with every muscle in his body.
your stomach tightens. you know that voice.
"oh," you say carefully, walking over to the couch. "i'm sorry, i didn't know. you should have texted me."
"i saw you." now he looks up, and his eyes are darker; there's something simmering behind them, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. "with that guy."
you freeze. "iori—"
"he was flirting with you."
it's not a question. iori's jaw is tight, his knuckles white where his hands are still clasped together.
"he gave you something. you put it in your pocket."
your hand moves instinctively to your pocket, where danny's business card still sits. you'd forgotten about it.
"it's nothing," you say quickly. "some random guy, he just—he gave me his card, but i'm not going to—"
"show me."
the two words are quiet, barely a whisper, but they land like an heavy stones in still water, ripples spreading through the space between you.
you hesitate for just a second, and that second is a mistake.
iori stands up.
he's not that tall — not toweringly so — but iori has a presence that fills rooms, a quiet weight that presses against your skin when he's upset. he easily crosses the space between you in only two steps, and iori’s hand closes around your wrist, gentle but unyielding.
"show me," he says again, and this time his voice has dropped lower, rougher, something raw bleeding through the edges.
you reach into your pocket with your free hand and pull out the card. iori takes it from your fingers without looking away from your face, glances down at it for half a second, and then tears it in half, then quarters, then he walks over to the kitchen trash can and drops the pieces inside.
when he turns back to you, his expression has shifted.
it's not anger anymore; it's something hungrier, something that makes your thighs press together instinctively. his eyes drag over your body like he's seeing you for the first time, like he's cataloging every single inch of you and finding it all wanting — wanting, as in he wants it. desperately.
"iori," you try again, softer this time. "nothing happened. i didn't even want to talk to him. i told him i was married."
"i know." he's walking back toward you, and there's something in his stride that makes your heart kick up. "i know you did. i saw you show him your ring."
"then why—"
"because he looked at you."
iori stops in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.
his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with devastating gentleness. his skin is warm, slightly calloused, and the contrast between that soft touch and the storm in his gaze makes your stomach flip.
"he looked at you like he had any right," iori murmurs, and his thumb slides down to trace the curve of your lower lip. "like he could make you smile like that. like he could ever touch you."
"iori."
"and… and you smiled at him." his voice cracks, just slightly, on the last word. "you smiled at him, sweetheart. i saw it. through the window, i saw you smile at him just like you smile at me, and i wanted to—"
he cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
iori’s hand drops from your face, and he takes a step back, running both hands through his hair. his chest is rising and falling faster than it should be, and there's a flush creeping up his neck that you know isn't from embarrassment.
"i wanted to break the glass," he admits, quieter now, almost ashamed. "i wanted to walk in there and put my hands on him. make sure he knew. make sure everyone knew."
your heart aches for him, even as something warm and dark curls low in your belly.
this is who iori, your precious husband, is — not a violent man, not a cruel one, but a man who loves you so completely that the very idea of anyone else even looking at you feels like a threat to his entire world.
"i'm sorry," you say, and you mean it.
not because you did anything wrong, but because iori is hurting, and you hate that.
"i didn't mean to make you feel like that."
iori laughs, but there's no humor in it.
"you didn't do anything. you were just—you were just sitting there, being you. being so fucking beautiful that some stranger couldn't help himself. that's not your fault."
"then what are you so upset about?"
he looks at you then, truly looks at you, and his eyes are so dark they're almost black.
"because i'm selfish."
you blink. "what?"
"i'm selfish," he repeats, stepping closer again. "i don't want anyone to see you. i don't want anyone to know how beautiful you are. i want to keep you in this apartment, in our bed, where only i can look at you. where only i can touch you." his hands settle on your waist, fingers splaying across the fabric of your shirt. "does that make me a bad person?"
you shake your head, reaching up to touch his face. he leans into your palm like a starving thing, eyes fluttering half-closed.
"it makes you human," you tell him softly. "it makes you you. and i love you."
iori's breath hitches, and his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you.
"say it again."
"i love you."
"again."
"i love you, iori. only you. always you."
a sound escapes him — something between a groan and a whimper — and then he's kissing you.
it's not the soft, sweet kisses iori gives you when he's making you breakfast or saying goodbye in the morning. this kiss is completely desperate, hungry, his mouth claiming yours like he's wholly trying to erase the memory of anyone else ever having just a little of your attention.
iori’s tongue slides against your lower lip, and you open for him immediately, letting him in, letting him take whatever the hell he needs from you.
his hands move from your waist to your ass, gripping hardly, and he walks you backward until your shoulders hit the wall. the impact knocks a gasp out of you, and iori swallows it, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head so you don't bump it against the plaster.
"mine," he breathes against your mouth. "you're mine. say it."
"i'm yours."
"whose?"
"yours, iori. only yours."
iori pulls back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face makes your knees weak.
he looks wrecked already, his dark eyes glassy, his lips swollen from your kiss, his chest heaving like he's just run a marathon. there's a flush across his cheekbones, and his pupils are blown so wide there's barely any iris left.
"i'm going to fuck you now," iori says, and his voice is rough, gravelly, completely undone. "and i'm not going to stop until you can't remember anyone else's name. until the only thing you can think about is me. do you understand?"
you nod, and it's not fear that makes your hands tremble when you reach for the hem of his sweater; it's anticipation, it's the knowledge that when iori gets like this — all possessive and desperate and utterly obsessed — there's nothing in the world that feels as good as being the focus of all that intensity.
"words," he insists, catching your wrists before you can pull his sweater off. "i need words, sweetheart."
"yes," you say, and your voice comes out breathy, already so ruined. "yes, i understand. fuck me, iori. please."
iori’s grip on your wrists tightens for just a second — it was hard enough to make you feel it, but not hard enough to hurt you — and then he's releasing you and pulling his sweater over his head in one fluid movement.
you've seen iori shirtless a hundred times. you've traced the lines of his shoulders, kissed the hollow of his throat, pressed your lips to the faint scar on his ribs he got when he was twelve and clumsily fell out of a tree.
but every time feels like the first time, because every time he looks at you like he's seeing you for the first time too.
iori is lean, not bulky, but there's strength in his frame that surprises you sometimes. the kind of strength that comes from carrying heavy things and holding onto things he doesn't want to lose. his chest is smooth, a faint dusting of dark hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans, and when he reaches for the button of those very jeans, you watch his forearm flex and feel your mouth go completely dry.
"you're staring," iori says, and there's the ghost of a smile on his lips now. not a happy smile — something sharper, more possessive. "you like what you see?"
"you know i do."
"then show me." he steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. "take off your clothes. i want to watch."
your fingers are clumsy as you reach for the hem of your shirt.
you can feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement, and it makes your skin prickle with heat. you pull the shirt over your head and let it fall to the floor, and iori's breath catches when he sees your bra; a lacy black thing you'd put on this morning without thinking, not knowing he'd be seeing it like this.
"beautiful," iori murmurs. "keep going."
your hands go to the waistband of your pants.
you slowly hook your thumbs inside and push them down your hips, shimmying a little until they pool around your ankles. you step out of them, and now you're standing in front of your husband in nothing but your bra and underwear, and the way iori is looking at you makes you feel like the most desirable woman in the entire world.
"come here," iori says, and his voice has gone low again, almost dangerous.
you walk toward him, and when you're close enough, iori reaches out and hooks his finger through the front of your bra, pulling you the rest of the way. his other hand comes up to cup your breast through the lace, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch.
"this is mine," he says, squeezing gently. "all of this. every inch of you belongs to me."
"yes."
"say it."
"every inch of me belongs to you, iori."
he makes that sound again — the one between a groan and a whimper — and then he's unhooking your bra with practiced fingers, letting it fall away so your breasts are bare to him.
iori looks down at them, at the way they move with your breathing, and his expression softens for just a moment before hardening again.
"and this," iori says, dropping to his knees in front of you. his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your underwear down as they go. "this is mine too."
you slowly step out of the underwear, and iori looks up at you from between your legs, and the sight of him there — on his knees for you, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his lips parted — is almost enough to make you cum on the spot.
"iori…"
"i know, sweetheart." iori presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, then another again. "i know. i'm going to take care of you. i'm going to make you feel so good you forget your own name."
his mouth finds you then, and the first touch of his tongue against your clit makes you gasp and grab onto his shoulders for support. he's good at this — so good at this, like he's made a study of your body, like he's memorized every sound you make and every way you like to be touched.
iori licks a slow, flat stripe up your center, and your hips jerk forward involuntarily. he hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and his hands grip your thighs to hold you steady.
"you taste so good," iori murmurs against your skin. "could stay here forever. just taste you. make you cum on my tongue over and over."
"please," you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. "iori, please."
he doesn't make you wait.
iori’s mouth closes over your clit, and he sucks — gently at first, then harder when you moan and tug at his hair. his tongue flicks against the sensitive bundle of nerves in a rhythm that has you seeing stars, and when he slides one finger inside you, then two, you cry out and arch your back.
"that's it," he says, lifting his head just enough to speak.
his chin is wet, his lips glistening, and he looks so obscene like this that you almost can't look at him.
"let me hear you. i want to hear every sound you make."
he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes your vision go white, and his mouth is on you again, tongue circling your clit while his fingers pump in and out. it's too much and not enough all at once, and you can feel the pressure building low in your belly, coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue.
"i'm close," you warn him, your voice breaking. "i'm so close."
iori answers by sucking harder, his fingers pressing deeper, and that's all it takes.
your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, stealing your breath and making your knees buckle. iori holds you up, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue working you through the aftershocks until you're whimpering and pushing at his head because it's too sensitive.
he pulls back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he looks up at you, his eyes are nearly black.
"that's one," iori says, and there's something almost cruel in his smile. "we're not done yet."
before you can respond, he's standing up and lifting you like you weigh nothing. you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, and your husband carries you to the bedroom, past the couch and the kitchen and the hallway where your wedding photos hang on the wall.
he lays you down on the bed carefully, almost reverently, and then he's crawling over you, caging you in with his body.
his jeans are still on, and you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh through the denim. you reach for his belt buckle, desperate to feel him, but he catches your wrists again and pins them above your head.
"not yet," iori says. "i told you i wasn't going to stop until you can't remember anyone else's name. we've barely started."
"iori, please. i need you inside me."
"beg."
the word hangs in the air between you, and you can see in his eyes that he means it. that he needs this — iori needs to hear you ask for it, needs to know that you want him just as desperately as he wants you.
"please," you whisper. "please, iori. i need your cock inside me. i need you to fill me up. i need—"
iori kisses you again, swallowing the rest of your words, and this time when he pulls back, he's fumbling with his belt with one hand, the other still holding your wrists above your head. it takes him a little second, but then his jeans are open and he's pushing them down his hips along with his boxers, and his cock springs free.
you've seen it a hundred times, too.
you've touched it, tasted it, taken it inside you more times than you can count. but every time feels like the first time, because every time you're reminded of just how much he's packing. he's thick, long enough that it always takes your breath away when he pushes inside, and right now he's hard as steel, the tip flushed and leaking.
"look at what you do to me," iori says, and his voice is wrecked. "just from tasting you. just from hearing you beg. you make me so fucking crazy, sweetheart."
he releases your wrists and reaches down to position himself at your entrance. you feel the head of his cock pressing against you, hot and insistent, and you have to fight the urge to buck your hips and take him in.
"eyes on me," iori commands, and you obey, meeting his gaze as he starts to push inside.
the first inch is always the hardest.
you're wet — so wet from his mouth and your orgasm — but he's so big that it still stretches you, still makes you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders. iori watches your face as he sinks into you, cataloging every micro-expression, every flutter of your eyelids, every parted-lip exhale.
"f-fuck," he breathes when he's fully seated, his hips flush against yours. "fuck, you feel good. you always feel so good. like you were made only for me."
you can't speak. you can barely think. he's so deep inside you that you can feel him in your throat, you can feel the pressure of him against every wall, you can feel the way your body is struggling to accommodate him.
"move," you finally manage. "please move, iori."
oh, and he does.
the first thrust is slow, deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in. the second is harder. the third is harder still. and then iori is setting a rhythm that has the headboard loudly hitting the wall and the springs of the mattress creaking beneath you.
he's not tender; he's fucking you like he's trying to prove something, like he's trying to brand himself onto your insides so that no one else could ever fit. his hips snap against yours with every thrust, and the sound of it — skin on skin, wet and obscene — fills the room along with your moans.
"you like that?" iori grunts, and his hand comes down to grip your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise. "you like when i fuck you like this? when i remind you who you belong to?"
"yes," you sob. "yes, yes, yes—"
"whose are you?"
"y-yours. i'm yours."
"damn right you are."
iori shifts his angle, and suddenly he's hitting that sweet little spot inside you, the one that makes your back arch and your eyes roll back in your head.
"damn right you're mine. and that guy? the one who thought he could buy you coffee? he'll never touch you. he'll never even look at you again. because i'll fucking kill him before he even gets the chance."
you know he doesn't mean it, not literally, but in this moment, with his cock driving into you and his voice dripping with possessive fury, you almost believe him.
iori leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, and his pace doesn't slow. if anything, it gets faster, harder, more desperate. his breath is hot against your lips, and every time he exhales, he makes these little sounds; these broken, needy noises that you know he doesn't even realize he's making.
"i love you," he says, and his voice cracks. "fuck, i love you so much. i can't—i can't breathe when i think about someone else touching you. i can't think. i can't function. you're everything to me. everything."
"iori—"
"i'd burn the whole world down for you." his hips stutter for just a second, like the words are affecting him as much as the movement. "every city. every building. every person who ever looks at you wrong. i'd burn it all."
you pull his face down to yours and kiss him, trying to pour all the love you feel for him into that single point of contact.
iori moans into your mouth, and his tongue slides against yours, and for a moment the fucking slows down, and becomes something deeper and more intimate.
but only for a moment.
iori pulls back, and his expression has shifted again; there's a fire in his dark eyes now, something really wild and untamed, and when he sits up on his knees — taking you with him, your legs still wrapped tight around his waist — you realize he's not done. hell, he's not even close to done.
he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest, and starts thrusting up into you from below.
it's a different angle, deeper somehow, and you cry out and cling to your husband’s shoulders as he bounces you on his cock like you weigh nothing.
"touch yourself," he says, and his voice is a command. "touch your clit. i want to feel you cum around me."
your hand shakes as you reach down between your bodies, finding your clit with trembling fingers. you're so sensitive from your first orgasm that even the lightest touch makes you jolt, but you rub slow circles the way you know he likes, and iori watches you with hooded eyes.
"that's it," iori groans. "that's so fucking hot, sweetheart. you're so hot. touching yourself while i fuck you. you have no idea what that does to me."
his thrusts get sloppier, more irregular, and you can tell he's close. but iori is holding back, you can see it in the way his jaw is clenched, the way his muscles are coiled tight beneath his skin. he's waiting for you.
"cum for me," iori almost begs. "cum on my cock, sweetheart. let go. i've got you."
your second orgasm hits you harder than the first, tearing a loud scream out of your throat that you don't even recognize as your own. your whole body convulses at the sensation, your inner walls clamping down around him like a vice, and iori's control completely shatters.
iori’s hips snap forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go, and you feel him cum inside you in hot, pulsing jets. he groans your name — not a nickname, not 'sweetheart', but your actual name — and the sound of it, raw and reverent and wrecked, makes your eyes sting with tears.
for a long moment, neither of you moves.
iori is still buried inside you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breathing ragged against your skin. you can feel his heart pounding in his chest, or maybe that's yours. it's hard to tell where you end and he begins.
then he shifts, just slightly, and you feel him twitch inside you.
"iori," you say, your voice hoarse. "what are you—"
"i told you, sweetheart," he murmurs against your neck, and you can hear the smile in his voice; the sharp one, the dangerous one. "i'm not stopping."
he pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the loss of him, at the rush of his cum that follows. but before you can catch your breath, he's flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up, and pushing back inside you in one smooth motion.
you cry out, your fingers fisting in the sheets.
"iori, i can't—it's too much—"
"you can." iori’s voice is soft now, almost gentle, even as he starts moving inside you again. "you can take it, sweetheart. you're so good for me. so perfect. and i'm not done reminding you that you're mine."
he fucks you from behind, one hand on your hip and the other tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make your scalp tingle. the angle is different like this, and you can feel every inch of him, you can feel the way he's splitting you open and putting you back together with every thrust.
"look at you," iori breathes, and his voice is full of wonder. "taking me so well. so fucking perfect. you were made for me. made for my cock. you know that?"
you can't answer. you can only moan and push back against him, meeting his deep thrusts as best you can with your legs already shaking.
iori leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, and his mouth finds your ear;
"that guy," he says, and the word is a venomous poison on his tongue. "he'll never know what this feels like. he'll never know how warm you are inside. how tight. how you squeeze me like you never want me to leave."
"i don't," you gasp. "i never want you to leave."
"i know." he kisses the shell of your ear, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. "and i never will. i'll never leave you. i'll never stop wanting you. i'll never stop needing you."
your husband’s hand slides around your body, finding your clit again, and you sob because you're so sensitive, because you've already cum twice, because you don't know how much more you can take.
but iori knows. he always knows.
"one more," he says, and his fingers move in tight circles. "just one more. and then i'll let you rest. i promise."
"i can't—"
"you can. you can do it for me. can't you?" iori’s voice is coaxing now, sweet, the same tone he uses when he's trying to convince you to try a bite of his food or watch one more episode of a show. "come on, sweetheart. one more. i know you have it in you."
you're crying now, tears streaming down your face, but you're not sad. you're not even overwhelmed, not in a bad way. you're just feeling so damn much — so much pleasure, so much love, so much of iori — that your whole body doesn't know at all what to do with all of it.
"i love you," you choke out. "iori, i love you so much."
his fingers stutter on your clit, and his hips lose their rhythm for just a second.
"say it again."
"i love you."
"again."
"i love you, i love you, i love you—"
your third orgasm is different from the first two. it's not sharp or sudden; it builds slowly, like a wave gathering strength far out at sea, and when it finally breaks over you, it takes everything with it. your vision goes white, your hearing goes muffled, your whole body goes limp, and if iori weren't holding you up, you'd collapse onto the bed.
and then something else happens — something that's only happened a handful of times before. you feel a rush of wetness, a gush of liquid that soaks the sheets beneath you, and you hear iori groan like he's been punched.
"oh, fuck," he says, and his voice is reverent. "fuck, sweetheart. did you just—"
you're too embarrassed to answer, but you don't have to.
iori pulls out of you and flips you onto your back, and then he's looking down at the mess between your legs, at the wet patch spreading across the sheets, and his face is full of wonder.
"you squirted," he says, and he sounds almost proud.
"i'm sorry," you mumble, hiding your face in your hands. "i don't know why—"
"don't apologize." iori pulls your hands away from your face, holding them in his. "don't ever apologize for that. that was the hottest thing i've ever seen."
"iori…"
"i mean it, sweetheart" he kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. "you're so beautiful. everything you do is beautiful. and i'm never letting you go."
he's still hard. you can feel him pressing against your thigh, hot and insistent, and you look down and see that he's still slick with a mixture of your fluids and his own.
"you didn't cum," you say quietly.
"i did. the first time." he shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "but i'm ready again. i'm always ready for you."
you reach down and wrap your hand around him, and iori hisses through his teeth.
"then finish," you say. "however you want."
iori's eyes darken. "however i want?"
"however you want."
he doesn't hesitate. he pushes your legs apart and settles between them, and when he pushes inside you again, you both moan at the sensation. you're so wet now, so open, that there's almost no resistance. he slides in easily, all the way to the hilt, and you feel that familiar stretch, that familiar fullness.
"so good," he groans, and he starts to move.
it was not fast this time, not that desperate. it was more slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, each one designed to make you feel every inch of him.
your husband leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss, and this one is different, too. it was way softer and sweeter, less like a claim and more like a promise.
"i'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips. "for being like this. for being so possessive. i know it's not normal."
"i don't want normal," you tell him. "i want you."
he cries out — actually cries out, a wounded sound that breaks your heart and mends it at the same time. his hips stutter, losing their rhythm, and you feel him twitch inside you.
"i'm close," iori warns. "i'm so close, sweetheart."
"cum inside me," you moans. "fill me up, iori. i want to feel it. i want to feel you."
that's all it takes; iori buries his face in your neck and cums with a broken moan, his body shuddering against yours, his hips pumping shallowly as he empties himself inside you. you feel the heat of it spreading through you, filling you up just like you asked, and you wrap your arms and legs around him and hold him as tight as you can.
for a long time, neither of you moves.
iori's weight is heavy on top of you, but you don't mind. you like the pressure, the warmth, the way his breathing slowly evens out until it's just a gentle rise and fall against your chest.
eventually, he rolls off you — but only to pull you against his side, your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
"i meant what i said," iori says quietly, his long fingers tracing lazy and soft patterns on your arm. "about not stopping. about making you forget."
"well, i haven't forgotten anything," you admit. "i still remember his name."
iori goes still beneath you.
"danny," you say, and you feel your husband’s arm tighten around you. "that was his name. danny."
"why are you telling me this?"
"because i want you to know that it doesn't matter." you tilt your head up to look at him, at his dark eyes and his worried brow and the way his jaw is clenched. "i remember his name, but i don't care about him. i don't even remember what he looks like. all i remember is you. all i ever remember is you."
the tension drains out of iori's body slowly, like water seeping out of a cracked vessel. his arm loosens around you, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
"i love you so much," he says. "i know i say it too much. but i mean it every time."
"you don't say it too much." you snuggle closer, throwing your leg over his. "and i love you too. even when you're crazy."
"especially when i'm crazy?"
you laugh, and the sound vibrates through both of you.
"especially when you're crazy."
iori is quiet for a moment, and then he shifts, reaching down to pull the blanket up over both of you. the sheets are ruined, and you're both sweaty and sticky and tangled together, but neither of you moves to clean up.
"i'm going to marry you again," he says suddenly.
you blink. "what?"
"tomorrow. let's get married again. just us. somewhere private. i want to say my vows again. i want to promise you everything all over again."
"iori, we're already married."
"i know." he turns his head to look at you, and his eyes are soft now, all the darkness replaced by something tender and vulnerable. "but i want to do it again. i want to keep doing it. every year. every month. every day, if you'll let me. i want to keep choosing you, over and over, until the day i die."
your throat tightens, and you have to blink back tears.
"you're so dramatic."
"i know you love it, sweetheart."
"i love you," you correct, and you kiss him softy, a promise of your own.
the apartment is quiet around you, the afternoon light fading into evening, and somewhere outside, the world is still turning. people are going to work and coming home, falling in love and falling out of it, living their ordinary lives.
but here, in this bed, wrapped in each other's arms, you and iori are building something that feels like it could last forever.
iori is hardening once again; you feel it against your thigh, insistent and warm, and when you look up at him, his eyes are dark with want once more.
"iori," you say, half-laughing. "didn't you just—"
"i told you," he says, and he rolls on top of you again, his hips settling between your thighs. "i'm not stopping."
"you said one more."
"well, i lied."
iori kisses you before you can argue, and you feel his smile against your lips, and you realize you don't care. you don't care about the ruined sheets or the soreness between your legs or the fact that you're probably going to be late for dinner.
all you care about is him.
all you've ever cared about is him.
and when iori pushes inside you once again — slowly, gentle, and so reverent — you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on, because you know this is going to be a long night.
and you wouldn't have it any other way.
masterlist.
━━━ DOUBLE THE POSSESSION.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ juggling between two really hot sugar daddies is all fun and games, until they finally discover the truth, and both of them completely ruin you.
✿ ◞◟) nanami kento 𝓍 male!reader 𝓍 higuruma hiromi
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 10.3k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, threesome, age gap, double penetration, pet names, blowjob, handjob, unprotected sex (p in a), crying during sex, creampie, nipple play, heavy praise kink, size kink, manhandling, cum play, dirty talk, begging, obsessive behavior, emotional vulnerability, marking / biting, overstimulation, mild jealousy, hair pulling, fingering, rimming, multiple orgasms, aftercare.
it started innocently enough.
well… maybe not innocently, because nothing about your arrangement with nanami kento had ever been innocent; not the way he looked at you over his reading glasses when you walked into his apartment wearing nothing but one of his oversized dress shirts, not the way his voice dropped an octave when he called you his good boy after you'd done something particularly pleasing, not the way he fucked you slow and deep and so so so perfect on his expensive sheets every tuesday and friday night.
nanami was your first sugar daddy.
you'd met him through a friend of a friend who knew someone who knew someone, and from the moment you'd sat across from him at a quiet café in the business district, you'd been hooked. the man was thirty-seven, broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair that fell across his forehead in a way that made you want to push it back. he wore suits that cost more than your monthly rent, but he took them off with the kind of careful precision that suggested he respected his clothes more than most people respected other human beings.
he was quiet and steady; the kind of man who made you feel safe just by existing in the same room.
and god, he was generous.
not just with his wallet (though that too, definitely that) but with his time, his attention, and his care.
nanami remembered everything about you; your coffee order, the name of your childhood pet, the way you liked your eggs in the morning (over easy, with toast, never bacon because you were picky about meat textures). he'd text you good morning every day without fail, and good night every evening, and if you ever mentioned being stressed or tired or overwhelmed, he'd show up at your door with takeout from your favorite restaurant and a quiet offer to run you a bath.
oh, and the sex was just as good as everything else.
nanami fucked like he lived — deliberate, controlled, and devastatingly effective. he took his time with you, learned every sound you made, every spot that made you gasp, every angle that made you see stars. he was bigger than average in every sense, thick and heavy and curved just slightly to the left, and when he pushed inside you it felt like being filled with warm honey; slow and sweet and so, so much.
he never rushed, never demanded, never made you feel like anything less than the center of his universe.
and the way nanami looked at you after sex, with those tired brown eyes gone soft and fond, running his fingers through your hair while you caught your breath... god, it made you want to keep him forever.
but then there was higuruma hiromi.
you met higuruma three months into your arrangement with nanami, purely by accident. you'd been at a gallery opening — one of those pretentious art things where the wine is free and the conversations are even emptier — when a man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit bumped into you near the bar.
"sorry," he'd said, and his voice was rough, used, like he'd spent too many hours in courtrooms arguing with people who should have known better. "didn't see you there."
you'd looked up and nearly choked on your champagne.
higuruma hiromi was striking; not handsome in the same way nanami was handsome, but striking in a way that made your stomach completely flip — sharp jaw, darker skin, dark hair that curled slightly at the ends, falling into his face in a way that looked effortless but probably wasn't. and his eyes were intelligent and tired and so hungry all at once, and when they landed on you, they stayed.
"it's fine," you'd managed, and then, because you'd had three glasses of champagne and your filter was nonexistent; "you look like you'd rather be anywhere else."
higuruma had blinked at that, then laughed — a real laugh, low and a little surprised, like he really hadn't expected to find anything funny tonight.
"that obvious?"
"only to someone else who'd rather be anywhere else."
he'd bought you another glass of champagne after that, and then another, and then the man had walked you to your car and asked for your number in a way that made it clear he wasn't used to asking for anything.
the very first time you went to higuruma’s apartment — a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the city that made your chest ache — you'd told yourself it was just à simple dinner, just getting to know each other, just two adults enjoying each other's company.
the second time you went to higuruma’s apartment, you'd ended up on your knees on his ridiculously expensive rug while he stood over you with his shirt unbuttoned and his belt undone, looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.
higuruma was different from nanami.
where nanami was controlled, higuruma was intense. where nanami took his time, higuruma wanted you now, wanted you desperate, wanted to watch you fall apart for him over and over until you couldn't remember your own name. he was a prosecutor, which meant he spent his days arguing and his nights exhausted, and somehow, with you, he'd found a way to pour all that intensity into something that wasn't rage.
and higuruma was rougher than nanami.
not in a way that hurt — never in a way that hurt, because higuruma might have been intense but he was also careful, always checking in, always making sure you were okay — but in a way that left you breathless. he liked to hold you down, he liked to pull your hair, he liked to fuck you from behind while he whispered filthy things in your ear about how good you felt, how tight you were, how you were his, weren't you?
and you were. god, you were.
higuruma was also bigger than nanami.
longer, maybe not quite as thick, but long enough that when he pushed inside you it felt like he was reaching somewhere no one else had ever touched. the first time he'd fucked you, you'd come so hard you'd blacked out for a second, and when you came back to yourself he was hovering over you with genuine panic in his eyes.
"hey. hey, baby, stay with me. are you okay? shit, i'm sorry, i should have—"
you'd kissed him quiet and told him you'd never been better.
and it was true.
so, just like that, you'd ended up with two sugar daddies; two older men, both successful, both ridiculously wealthy, both completely and utterly obsessed with you, and neither of them knew about the other.
at first, it was really easy.
nanami had you every tuesdays and fridays, and higuruma had you every mondays and thursdays. you had wednesdays and weekends to yourself, to recover, to sleep, to answer texts from both of them that grew increasingly desperate the longer you went without seeing them.
thinking about you, nanami would randomly text, and somehow those three words in his steady, understated way made your heart race just as much as the things higuruma sent; come over. i need you. now.
you told yourself it was fine; you weren't lying to either of them, exactly — you just weren't telling them the whole truth. and it wasn't like you'd agreed to be exclusive or anything. the arrangements were clearly open-ended, casual in theory if not in practice, and neither of them had ever asked if you were seeing anyone else or not.
maybe they'd assumed, maybe they'd hoped, but neither of them had asked.
so you let yourself have both of them, you let yourself sink into nanami's steady warmth on tuesdays and fridays, let yourself burn in higuruma's intensity on mondays and thursdays, you let yourself be taken care of, financially and emotionally and sexually, in ways you'd never imagined possible.
you didn't work — really, didn't have to. nanami had set up an account for you within the first month, transferring a generous allowance every week without you ever having to ask about or, and higuruma had done the same, though he'd handed you a black card during your third week together and said,
"spend whatever you want. i mean it."
you'd bought a lot of books, and some very nice loungewear, and a new mattress because your old one had been giving you back pain, and when both of them had asked about the charge on their respective statements, you'd told them the truth and they'd both offered to buy you a better one.
( nanami had actually gone with you to test mattresses, lying down next to you on display models in the middle of a showroom while you tried not to laugh at how serious he looked. higuruma had just sent you a link to a five-thousand-dollar mattress and said; "get this one, it's the best."
you'd gotten the one nanami helped you pick, and then you'd used higuruma's card to buy the sheets. )
it was the perfect setup imaginable.
you had everything you wanted — money, attention, the kind of sex that left you walking funny for days — and you didn't have to choose, didn't have to give up one for the other.
except…
except nanami was observant; it was one of the things you loved about him, the way he noticed everything, the way he remembered details that other people would have forgotten. and over time, he'd started to notice things.
the way you'd sometimes wince when you sat down on friday nights, even though you hadn't seen him since tuesday. the way you'd have fresh bruises on your hips that he hadn't put there, smaller finger-shaped marks than his that spoke of someone who held you way harder than nanami ever did. the way you'd sometimes smell faintly of a cologne that wasn't his at all— something woody and expensive, with notes of cedar and something darker, something almost smoky.
nanami hadn't said anything. well, not at first; he'd just filed the information away, let it sit in the back of his mind, turned it over like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
and then, one tuesday night, you'd fallen asleep on his couch after an especially thorough fucking, and your phone had buzzed on the coffee table.
nanami hadn't meant to look at your phone. he really hadn't. but the screen had lit up with a text message, and he'd glanced over automatically, the way literally anyone would, and he'd seen the name at the top of the notification, and the message underneath;
higuruma hiromi ♥︎ you're not answering my texts. are you with someone?
nanami had felt something cold settle in his chest. it was not anger, exactly — he wasn't really sure what it was. something heavier, something that tasted like betrayal and mine and how dare you all at once.
he'd known the name; everyone in the legal world in tokyo knew higuruma hiromi — the defense attorney turned prosecutor with the perfect conviction rate and the reputation for being impossible to read. nanami had never met the man personally, but he'd seen his picture in legal journals, heard colleagues talk about him in hushed, respectful tones.
and now, apparently, higuruma hiromi was texting you.
nanami hadn't confronted you that night, he hadn't mentioned the text when you woke up and stretched and smiled at him like he was the only person in the world; he'd just kissed your forehead and made you breakfast and watched you leave with the same careful, measuring gaze he used in boardrooms when he knew someone was lying.
but he'd started paying closer attention after that.
meanwhile, higuruma had his own suspicions.
he wasn't a detective, but he'd spent enough time in courtrooms to know when someone was hiding something, and you, for all your sweetness, for all your desperate little sounds and the way you curled into him after sex like you never wanted to leave, were definitely hiding something.
it was the little things; the way you'd sometimes check your phone when you thought he wasn't looking, a guilty flush spreading across your cheeks. the way you'd never let him stay over on tuesdays or fridays, always making some excuse about needing to wake up early or having plans with friends. the way you'd sometimes say things that didn't quite add up, details shifting just slightly from one conversation to the next.
and then there were the marks, too.
higuruma always marked you.
not in a possessive way — well, maybe a little in a possessive way — but in a way that felt natural, instinctive. he liked to bite your neck, your shoulders, the inside of your thighs. he liked to leave bruises on your hips where his fingers dug in while he fucked you. he liked to watch you look at them in the mirror the next morning, he liked knowing that you'd carry pieces of him with you throughout your day.
but sometimes, when he saw you closely, there were marks he didn't recognize.
not bruises, exactly. more like... tenderness. a slight redness around your wrists that suggested someone had held them down, but way softer than the way higuruma held you. a faint little mark on your collarbone that looked like it had been made by lips, not by teeth.
and the way you moved sometimes — carefully, like you were sore in places that he hadn't touched recently — made something dark curl in his stomach.
higuruma really wasn't the jealous type. or at least, he hadn't thought he was, but the idea of someone else touching you, someone else making you gasp and moan and fall apart, someone else seeing you the way he saw you...
it made him want to do unreasonable things.
so when he'd sent that text on tuesday night — "you're not answering my texts. are you with someone?" — and you'd only replied the next morning with a string of apologies and excuses that didn't quite hold together, he'd started doing his own little investigating.
and it hadn't taken long.
nanami kento was not a subtle man; he was quiet, yes, and really reserved, but he wasn't subtle at all. his name appeared on your credit card statements when you bought groceries at the store near his apartment. your location — which you'd foolishly left shared with higuruma — showed you spending tuesday and friday nights at an address in a very wealthy neighborhood that wasn't yours.
and when higuruma had driven past that address one friday evening, just to see, he'd recognized the car in the driveway.
it was a very nice, understated and expensive car. the kind of car that belonged to someone who didn't need to show off because they already knew what they were worth.
and it was nanami kento's car.
higuruma had silently sat in his own car for a very, very long time that night, gripping the steering wheel, trying to decide how he felt. angry? yes, a little. hurt? more than a little. but mostly — mostly, he was determined.
because you were his, and he was going to prove it.
the confrontation happened on a saturday.
you'd been careless; you'd spent friday night with nanami, as usual, and then you'd agreed to see higuruma on saturday afternoon, even though you'd told both of them you needed the weekend to yourself.
but higuruma had sounded so needy on the phone, his voice rough in that way it got when he'd been thinking about you too much, and you'd caved.
"come over," he'd said. "please. i need to see you."
and you'd gone, because you could never say no to higuruma when he said please.
you'd been at his apartment for about an hour, curled up on his couch in one of his t-shirts, when the doorbell rang.
higuruma had frowned. the man wasn't expecting anyone, and he'd told his doorman not to let anyone up, which meant whoever was at the door had either been cleared by security or had found another way in.
"stay here," he'd said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before standing up.
you'd nodded, pulling a blanket over your lap, and watched him walk to the door. he'd looked through the peephole first, and you'd seen his entire body go still.
"who is it?" you'd asked, suddenly nervous.
higuruma hadn't answered, he'd just unlocked the door and pulled it open, and there, standing in the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest and an expression on his face that you'd never seen before, was nanami kento.
"we need to talk," nanami had said, his voice flat, not looking at higuruma, but looking at you.
your heart had completely stopped.
"kento—" you'd started, but your voice came out as a squeak, and you'd had to stop and clear your throat before speaking again. "kento, i can explain—"
"can you?" he'd stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. his eyes hadn't left yours. "because i've been waiting for an explanation for quite some time now."
higuruma had moved to stand between you and nanami, his posture defensive. "how did you get up here?"
"your doorman is very professional," nanami had said, still looking at you. "but he's also very easy to persuade when you tell him you're here to see your boyfriend."
"you're not his—"
"neither are you," nanami had cut him off, finally turning to face him. "not exclusively, anyway. which i think is the point we're both here to discuss."
the air in the room had been thick enough to cut with a knife. you'd pulled your knees up to your chest, making yourself as small as possible, trying to disappear into the couch cushions.
"i'm not going to yell," nanami had said, and his voice was still calm, still steady, but there was something underneath it that made you shiver. "i'm not going to make a scene. but we are going to talk about this. all three of us."
higuruma had looked at you then, and his expression had softened slightly, just enough to make your chest ache.
"is this true?" he'd asked. "have you been seeing both of us?"
you'd swallowed hard, and you nodded.
"for how long?"
"...six months."
higuruma had closed his eyes, and nanami had exhaled slowly through his nose.
and then, instead of yelling, instead of leaving, instead of any of the things you'd imagined happening in your worst-case scenarios, they'd both sat down.
nanami on the armchair across from the couch, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. higuruma next to you on the couch, not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"here's what's going to happen," nanami had said, and his voice was calm in a way that made your stomach flip. "we're going to talk. you're going to tell us the truth. and then we're going to figure out what comes next."
"but—"
"no buts," higuruma had interrupted, and his voice was rougher than usual, strained. "you owe us that much."
so you'd talked.
you'd told them everything — how you'd met nanami first, how you'd fallen into the arrangement with him, how you'd met higuruma by accident and hadn't been able to say no. you'd told them about the lies you'd told, the schedules you'd juggled, the guilt you'd felt (sometimes) and the way you'd convinced yourself it was totally fine because neither of them had asked for exclusivity.
you'd cried a little, towards the end.
not because you were scared — though you were, a little — but because saying it all out loud made it real in a way it hadn't been before, made you see yourself through their eyes; selfish, greedy, taking everything both of them had to offer without giving either of them the full truth.
when you'd finished, the silence had stretched out for a long time, and nanami had been the first to speak.
"i'm not going to pretend i'm not hurt," he'd said quietly. "because i am. i thought... i thought what we had was special. i thought you felt the same way i did."
"i do—"
"but i'm also not going to pretend i don't understand," he'd continued, cutting you off gently. "you're young. you wanted to be taken care of. and neither of us ever asked if you were seeing anyone else. that's on us as much as it's on you."
higuruma had made a little sound, something between a laugh and a scoff.
"you're being very reasonable about this."
"would you prefer i wasn't?"
"no," higuruma had admitted. "i'd just... you know, i'd expected more of a fight."
nanami had looked at higuruma then, and something had passed between them, something you couldn't quite read.
"i'm not going to fight you," nanami had said. "that's not productive. but i'm also not going to walk away."
"neither am i," higuruma had said, and his voice had hardened a little. "so what does that leave?"
another silence, this one was longer this time.
and then nanami had said, very quietly;
"it leaves us with a choice. we can both walk away, and let him find someone else. or we can..."
"can what?"
nanami had looked at you; his eyes were unreadable, but there was something in them that made your breath catch.
"or we can share."
the conversation that followed had been... intense.
not angry, exactly. neither nanami nor higuruma seemed interested in yelling, which honestly surprised you; you'd expected more fireworks, accusations, maybe some thrown furniture. instead, they'd talked to each other, and to you, with the kind of measured calm that felt almost more unnerving than anger would have been.
nanami had asked practical questions — how often do you see him? what does your schedule look like? has he been tested recently? — he'd approached it like a business negotiation, which made sense given nanami’s background, but there was something underneath the practicality that you recognized: the man was hurting, trying to maintain control because he didn't know what else to do.
higuruma had been less composed; he'd paced the length of the living room while they talked, running his hands through his hair, stopping every few minutes to look at you like he was trying to memorize your face. he'd asked different questions, too — why didn't you tell me? did you think i wouldn't understand? do you have any idea how i felt when i figured it out? — and his voice had cracked on the last one, just slightly, in a way that made your heart clench.
you'd answered everything honestly. no more lies. no more half-truths. you owed them that much.
and somehow, impossibly, they'd come to an agreement.
"we're not going to make you choose," nanami had said finally, after nearly two hours of talking. "that wouldn't be fair to anyone. but things are going to change."
"what kind of changes?" you'd asked, your voice small.
higuruma had stopped pacing, and he looked at nanami, and then he nodded once, sharply.
"from now on," nanami had said, "you don't lie to us. about anything. if you're seeing one of us, the other knows. if you need something, you simply ask. and if you want to be with both of us at the same time..."
he'd trailed off, and the look he'd exchanged with higuruma had been loaded with something you couldn't quite name.
"we'll figure that out as we go," higuruma had finished. "but right now—"
"right now," nanami had said, standing up from the armchair, "i think we need to establish some things."
he'd walked over to the couch, stood in front of you, looked down at you with those tired brown eyes that had gone dark with something that looked a lot like hunger.
"stand up," he'd said quietly.
you'd stood.
"take off his shirt."
you'd blinked, and looked at higuruma, who was watching you both with an expression that made your stomach flip.
"kento—"
"you heard me," nanami’s voice was still calm, but there was an edge to it now. "you've been lying to us for six months. keeping secrets. letting us think we were the only ones. don't you think you owe us something?"
your mouth had gone dry.
slowly, keeping your eyes on nanami's, you'd pulled the shirt over your head, then dropped it on the floor, and stood there in nothing but your underwear, shivering slightly even though the apartment was warm.
nanami had looked at you for a very long moment.
then he'd slowly reached out and traced a finger down your chest, over your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your underwear.
"you're beautiful," he'd said, and the words had sounded almost reluctant, like he didn't want to admit it. "you know that, don't you? you know why we both put up with this?"
you'd shaken your head, not trusting your voice.
"because you're ours," higuruma had said from behind you, and his voice was rough, ragged. "or you were supposed to be. and we're going to remind you of that."
you'd felt higuruma move closer, felt his chest press against your back, felt his breath hot on your neck. nanami was still in front of you, still tracing patterns on your skin, and you were trapped between them, surrounded by them, drowning in the smell of both their colognes and the heat of their bodies.
"what—" you'd started, but you couldn't finish, because nanami had leaned in and kissed you.
it wasn't like his usual kisses; those were slow, gentle, almost reverent. this one was hungry. his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place, and his tongue pushed into your mouth like he was claiming you, marking you, reminding you who you belonged to.
you'd moaned into his mouth, and behind you, higuruma had made a sound — low and dark and possessive — and then his hands were on your hips, pulling you back against him, and you could feel him hard through his pants.
"kento," you'd gasped when he finally pulled back. "h-hiromi, please—"
"please what?" nanami had asked, and his voice was rough now, not calm at all. "please fuck you? please remind you that you're ours? please make you forget every lie you've ever told?"
"yes," you'd breathed. "yes."
higuruma had turned your head to the side, captured your mouth in a kiss that was nothing like nanami's; this one was all teeth and tongue and need, and when he pulled back you were dizzy, barely able to stand.
"bedroom," higuruma had said, and it wasn't a question.
higuruma’s bedroom was as impressive as the rest of his luxurious apartment — floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city, a king-sized bed with sheets that probably cost more than your first car, soft lighting that made everything feel hazy and unreal.
you barely had time to take it in before you were being pushed onto the bed, falling back against the pillows, looking up at two very hot men who were both staring at you like you were the last meal they'd ever have.
nanami was unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate, careful movements, the way he did everything. his chest was broad, muscular without being bulky, with a smattering of blond hair that you'd spent hours tracing with your fingers. he caught you looking and raised an eyebrow, and something about the expression on his face made your cock twitch.
higuruma was less patient; the man had already pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his skin stretched over lean muscle, a body that looked like it had been carved out of something harder than flesh. his pants came next, then his boxers, and when he was fully naked you had to remind yourself how to breathe.
you'd seen both of them naked before, of course, many times, but seeing them together, standing side by side, both of them hard and watching you with the same dark intensity...
it was a lot.
"like what you see, baby?" higuruma asked, and there was something almost challenging in his voice. "because we've been looking at you for six months. wondering. imagining what it would be like to have you like this."
"i—"
"take off your underwear," nanami interrupted, and his voice was calm again, a little more controlled, but his eyes were anything but. "slowly."
you did as he said, hooking your thumbs into the waistband and pushing them down your legs; your cock sprang free, already hard, leaking precum onto your stomach, and both of them watched with matching expressions of hunger.
"fuck," higuruma breathed. "look at you, baby. so desperate for it already."
"he's always desperate," nanami said, and there was something almost fond in his voice. "that's one of the things i like about him. he never pretends he doesn't want it."
"i don't," you admitted, your voice shaking. "i want it. i want you. both of you—please."
nanami climbed onto the bed first, settling on his knees just beside you. he reached out and ran his hand down your chest, over your stomach, wrapping his fingers around your cock in a grip that made you gasp.
"you're going to take both of us tonight," he said, stroking you slowly, watching your face. "do you understand what that means, sweetheart?"
you nodded frantically.
"i want to hear you say it."
"i'm going to take both of you," you repeated, and your voice cracked on the last word. "i want to. i want—"
"what do you want?" higuruma asked, climbing onto the bed on your other side.
his huge hand joined nanami's on your cock, and the insane sensation of both of them touching you at once made your hips buck off the bed.
"tell us exactly what you want, baby. use your words."
"i… i want you to fuck me," you gasped. "both of you. at the same time. i want—i want you to ruin me, i want to be so full i can't think, i want you to use me until i can't remember my own name—please."
"that's enough," nanami said, and there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "we'll give you what you want. but we're going to take our time."
higuruma leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, while nanami's hand kept moving on your cock. you were already close, embarrassingly close, but they didn't seem to care; they just kept touching you, kissing you, surrounding you until you couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began.
"turn over," nanami said eventually, and his voice was soft but firm. "on your hands and knees."
you moved without thinking, rolling onto your stomach and pushing up onto your hands and knees.
you could easily feel both of them behind you now, you could feel the heat of their bodies, you could hear the sounds of them moving — the rustle of sheets, the soft exhale of breath, the wet click of a lube bottle opening — and you had to close your eyes because it was too much.
"so pretty like this," higuruma murmured, and then you felt his hands on your ass, spreading you open.
his thumbs pulled your cheeks apart, and you knew he could see everything — your hole, still slightly pink from earlier in the week, the way it was already clenching around nothing.
"look at this perfect little hole. do you know how many times i've thought about this? about having you like this while someone else watches?"
"or helps," nanami added, and then you felt his finger — wet with lube, cool against your heated skin — press against your entrance, with higuruma still spreading you open
you moaned, pushing back against him, and he slid inside you easily. one finger, then two, stretching you open, and behind you higuruma was watching, breathing hard, his hands still on your ass, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there.
"he's so tight," nanami said, and his voice was strained now, all the calm control slipping away. "even after everything we've done to him, he's still so fucking tight."
"add another," higuruma said, and it wasn't a request.
nanami did, and you cried out at the stretch, at the fullness, at the way both of them were looking at you like you were something precious and filthy all at once.
nanami's fingers curled inside you, searching, and when he found that sweet little spot — the one that made your vision go completely white — you collapsed forward onto your elbows, your whole body shaking.
"there," higuruma said, and his voice was low, almost reverent. "that's it, isn't it? that's the spot that makes him fall apart."
"it is," nanami agreed, and he pressed against it again, harder this time, watching your reaction. "he's so responsive. look at him. he's already crying."
he was right; there were tears on your cheeks, sliding down to drip onto the sheets below. you hadn't even noticed.
"ready?" nanami asked.
you nodded, not trusting your voice.
but it wasn't nanami who pushed into you first.
it was higuruma.
he lined himself up behind you, and you felt the head of his cock — long and thick and so much, too much, exactly enough — press against your stretched hole. he pushed in slowly, so slowly, giving you time to adjust, and you buried your face in the pillows and screamed.
not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming size of him, the way he seemed to go on forever, filling you inch by inch until you were sure he was going to split you open.
"shh," higuruma said, but his voice was shaking. "shh, baby, i've got you. just breathe."
you tried to breathe, but it was really hard when higuruma was inside you, filling you up, reaching deeper than anyone had ever reached before. when he was finally fully seated, his hips flush against your ass, you were trembling, tears already leaking from your eyes in earnest.
"good boy," nanami said softly, and then you felt him move.
he'd positioned himself in front of you, kneeling between your hands and your head, and you looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes; nanami’s huge cock was right there, hard and heavy and already leaking, the head flushed dark, and you understood what he wanted.
"open," he said, and you opened your mouth.
he pushed inside slowly, not as deep as he could have, giving you time to adjust. you had higuruma in your ass and nanami in your mouth, and you were so full, so impossibly full, and you could feel yourself shaking apart at the seams.
"there you go," nanami murmured, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. "just like that. take it."
higuruma started moving first — slow, deep thrusts that pushed you forward onto nanami's cock. nanami groaned, his hips twitching, and then he started moving too, thrusting into your mouth in rhythm with higuruma's thrusts.
in. out. in. out.
you were nothing but a body between them, a place for them to fuck, and somehow it was exactly what you needed. you wanted to be used. wanted to be filled. wanted to forget everything except the feeling of them inside you.
"he's taking us so well," higuruma said, and his voice was completely wrecked, desperate. "look at him. look at how well he's taking us."
nanami looked down at you, and his eyes were dark, almost black, his pupils blown wide.
"he's perfect," he said, and the words were simple but they hit you like a physical blow. "our perfect boy."
you moaned around nanami's cock, and the vibration made him swear, his hips stuttering.
"f-fuck—do that again," he said, and you did, moaning as higuruma hit that sweet spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes.
"found it," higuruma said, and there was satisfaction in his voice, a dark kind of pleasure. "found that spot, didn't i, baby? that spot that makes you see god?"
you tried to answer, but all that came out was another moan, and nanami's grip on your head tightened.
"keep going," nanami said, and you couldn't tell if he was talking to you or to higuruma. "don't stop."
they didn't stop.
they fucked you like they'd been waiting their whole lives for this moment, like they were trying to make up for six months of not knowing, like they wanted to leave marks on you that would never fade. higuruma's thrusts got harder, faster, and each one pushed you further onto nanami's cock, and you were drooling, crying, making sounds you'd never made before — high-pitched, desperate, almost animal.
"close," you heard yourself say, or maybe you just thought it, because you literally couldn't feel your mouth anymore. "i'm close, i'm gonna—"
"not yet," nanami said, and he pulled out of your mouth, leaving you gasping, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock. "you don't come until we tell you to."
you sobbed at the loss, at the denial, at the way your body was screaming for release; but you didn't cum. you held on, because nanami had told you to, because higuruma was still fucking you, because you would do anything they asked.
"turn him over," nanami said, and higuruma simply pulled out, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, at the sudden absence of being filled.
they flipped you onto your back with gentle but firm hands, and then nanami was above you, pushing your legs up, spreading you open. he lined himself up — you saw him do it, saw the head of his cock press against your slick, stretched hole — and pushed inside in one smooth movement.
you screamed again because nanami was different from higuruma — he was thicker, not as long, but the stretch was almost too much, a different kind of fullness that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed.
"fuck," nanami breathed, and his composure was gone now, completely gone. his forehead was beaded with sweat, his jaw tight, and his eyes half-closed. "fuck, you're tight. you're so fucking tight, sweetheart."
"please," you begged. "please, kento, please—"
"higuruma," nanami said, and his voice was commanding despite the way it shook. "get behind him."
you felt the bed shift, you felt higuruma move behind you, you felt him lift your head and shoulders onto his lap, and you were angled now; your hips raised, your hole completely exposed, and nanami was still inside you, still filling you, still stretching you in the most delicious way.
"ready?" higuruma asked, and you felt his cock — slick with lube, thank god, thank every deity that had ever existed — press against your hole alongside nanami's.
"wait—" you started, but it was too late.
they pushed in together.
you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do a damn thing except feel — feel the impossible stretch, the burning fullness, the way they both fit inside you like they'd been made to be there. you were so full you thought you might break, might shatter into a million pieces and never come back together.
"breathe," nanami said, and his voice was strained, shaking, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "breathe, sweetheart. you can take it."
"he's taking it," higuruma said from behind you, and his voice was wonderstruck, almost reverent. "he's actually taking both of us. look at him."
you couldn't look at yourself. actually, you could barely keep your eyes open at all.
but you could feel the way your body was stretched around them, feel the way they were both so deep inside you that you couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began. you could feel your own heartbeat pulsing around them, feel every inch of them both.
"move," you gasped. "please, please move, i need—"
nanami moved first, pulling out halfway and pushing back in. higuruma followed, and suddenly they were fucking you in tandem, one pulling out while the other pushed in, a rhythm that left you gasping and crying and begging for more.
"so good," nanami groaned, and his forehead was pressed against yours, his eyes locked on your face. "so good for us, sweetheart. our perfect boy."
"ours," higuruma echoed, and his hand came around to grip your hip, holding you in place while he thrust up into you. "you're ours now. no more lies. no more secrets. just us."
"just us," you repeated, and you didn't know if you meant it or if you were just saying words, but it didn't matter.
nothing mattered except the way they were moving inside you, the way they were completely filling you, the way they were taking you apart piece by piece.
you came first — without permission, without warning, your cock spurting onto your stomach as your body clenched around them both. you heard yourself scream, felt them both groan, felt them both thrust deeper as your orgasm ripped through you like a freight train.
"fuck," nanami said, and his voice was wrecked. "fuck, he's clenching around us."
"can't—can't hold on—" higuruma started, but then he was coming too, you could feel it, feel him spilling inside you, hot and thick and so much, filling you even more.
nanami followed a moment later, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into you, adding to the mess inside you, making you feel impossibly, obscenely full.
and then there was silence.
just the sound of three people breathing, trying to remember how to exist outside of this moment.
you thought it was over.
oh, you were so so so wrong.
nanami pulled out first, and you whimpered at the loss, at the feeling of his cum and higuruma's leaking out of you, dripping down onto the sheets. higuruma pulled out a moment later, and you felt emptier than you'd ever felt in your entire life.
"don't," you started, but you didn't know what you were asking for. don't stop? don't leave? don't make me feel this alone?
"we're not done with you," nanami said, and his voice was soft but certain. "not even close."
he rolled you onto your side, and you felt fingers — whose, you couldn't tell anymore — push back into you, pushing their cum deeper, making you moan and arch your back.
"he's still hard," higuruma said, and there was disbelief in his voice. "look. he's still hard."
you looked down and saw that he was right; your cock was already pathetically filling again, twitching against your stomach, desperate for more despite everything you'd already just been through.
"he's young," nanami said, like that explained everything. "and he wants this. don't you, sweetheart? you want more?"
"y-yes, please," you said, and your voice was hoarse from screaming. "please. more. i can take more."
and oh, they did gave you more.
this time, they properly took turn, thoroughly, like they were trying to see who could make you fall apart faster.
higuruma went first.
he pulled you onto your hands and knees again, and nanami positioned himself in front of you, sitting against the headboard with his legs spread, his cock hard and waiting.
"come here, sweetheart," nanami said, and you crawled toward him on shaky limbs, your body trembling with exhaustion and want. "suck me while he fucks you."
you opened your mouth and took nanami's cock as deep as you could, moaning around him as you felt higuruma line up behind you. this time there was no hesitation — he pushed in in one smooth movement, and you were full again, so full, and you could feel every inch of him as he started to move.
"that's it," higuruma said, his hands gripping your hips, his thrusts deep and slow and deliberate. "take it. take all of it."
nanami's hand was in your hair, not forcing you, just resting there, guiding you gently.
"you're doing so well," he murmured. "so good for us. look at you, taking both of us like you were made for it."
you wanted to say something, to tell them how good it felt, how much you really needed this, but your mouth was so full and your brain was completely melting and all that came out was a desperate, muffled sound.
higuruma fucked you like that for what felt like hours — deep, rolling thrusts that hit that spot every single time, that made you see stars behind your closed eyelids. nanami's cock was heavy on your tongue, and you could taste yourself on him, could taste the salt of his skin, could feel the way his thighs tensed every time you swallowed around him.
"fuck—i'm close," higuruma said, his voice tight. "where do you want it, baby?"
"inside," you gasped, pulling off nanami's cock just long enough to say it. "please, inside, want to feel it—"
higuruma came with a groan that sounded like your name, spilling inside you for the second time that night, and the feeling of him pulsing inside you pushed you over the edge again; you came with a cry, your cock twitching against your stomach, and nanami watched it all with dark, hungry eyes.
"my turn," nanami said, and there was something almost competitive in his voice.
nanami pulled you into his lap, your back against his chest, your legs spread wide over his thighs. he was inside you before you could even catch your breath, his thick cock filling you in a way that made your eyes roll back.
"hold him," nanami said to higuruma, and higuruma moved to kneel in front of you, his hands coming up to cup your face, to tilt your head down so you could see.
"watch," higuruma said softly. "watch him fuck you."
you obediently looked down and saw it — saw nanami's cock disappearing into your ruined hole, saw the way your body stretched around him, saw the mess of cum and lube that coated your thighs. it was obscene. it was perfect.
nanami's hands were on your hips, lifting you up and down on his cock, using you like a toy.
"you feel that, sweetheart?" nanamo asked, his mouth against your ear, his breath hot. "you feel how deep i am, hm? you're never going to forget this. never going to forget what it feels like to have both of us."
"n-never," you agreed, because it was true.
you could feel him in your throat, in your fingertips, in the way your heart was pounding.
higuruma leaned forward and kissed you while nanami fucked you, slow and deep and filthy. his tongue slid against yours, and you could taste yourself on him, too — or maybe that was just the air, thick with the smell of sex and sweat and three bodies tangled together.
nanami's thrusts got faster, harder, and you broke the kiss to bury your face in higuruma's shoulder, to sob against his skin as nanami hit your sweet spot over and over and over again.
"come for him," higuruma murmured against your hair. "come for him, baby. you can do it."
you came again — a dry, shaking orgasm that left you gasping, your body convulsing in nanami's arms. nanami followed right after, his hips stuttering as he filled you for the third time, adding to the mess inside you.
"good boy," nanami said, kissing your shoulder, your neck, the spot behind your ear. "such a good boy."
you thought maybe that was it.
yeah, maybe they'd finally had enough of you.
but holy shit, when nanami pulled out and softly laid you down on the bed, higuruma was already moving between your legs, his cock hard again, his eyes dark.
"again," he said, and it wasn't a question.
"again," nanami agreed, and damn, he was hard too, already reaching for the lube.
you should have been scared, you should have been exhausted, and you were exhausted — but your body was still on fire, still hungry, still desperate for more.
"please," you heard yourself say. "please, i need—"
"we know what you need," nanami said, and then they were both inside you again, and you couldn't think, couldn't even breathe, couldn't do anything except feel, once again.
they fucked you together for a third time — and then a fourth.
each time was always different; sometimes they moved in tandem, one pulling out as the other pushed in, a rhythm that left you completely gasping. sometimes they moved together, both thrusting at the same time, stretching you so wide you were sure you'd never be the same. sometimes they stopped moving entirely, just stayed buried deep inside you, letting you feel how full you were, how completely owned.
"look at you," higuruma said during one of those pauses, his hand tracing down your chest, your stomach, stopping just above where they were both buried inside you. "look at how well you're taking us, baby."
you couldn't look, after all, you could barely keep your eyes open, but you could feel — feel the way your body had adjusted to them, the way your hole was stretched and slick and completely ruined.
"he's crying again," nanami observed, and his voice was soft, almost gentle. "are you okay, sweetheart?"
you nodded, even though you weren't sure if it was true. you were more than okay. you were something else entirely — something that didn't have words.
"he's so pretty when he cries," higuruma said, and he leaned down to sweetly kiss the tears off your cheeks. "so so pretty. our pretty boy."
"yours," you dumbly agreed, because you really couldn't say anything else. "yours, yours, yours."
they took turns again after that.
higuruma fucked you while nanami watched, his hand on your cock, stroking you in time with higuruma's thrusts. you came again — you'd lost count by now — and higuruma followed right after, spilling inside you for god knows how much time.
then nanami fucked you while higuruma held you, your back against his chest, his hands pinching your nipples, his mouth whispering filthy things in your ear. you came again, a weak, shaking orgasm that left you sobbing, and nanami came inside you with a groan that sounded like your name.
then they both fucked you again, together, and you lost count of how many times you came. lost track of time. lost track of everything except the feeling of being filled, used, loved.
at some point, the tears stopped being just from pleasure.
they started being from something else entirely — something that felt more like release, like forgiveness, like being seen for the first time in your life.
you'd spent six months lying to these men. six months sneaking around, splitting your time, convincing yourself that you weren't doing anything wrong because they were both giving you what you needed. but they'd been giving you more than that; they'd been giving you pieces of themselves — their time, their attention, their bodies, their hearts.
and you'd been too scared to give them the same.
"i'm sorry," you sobbed, and you didn't even know which one of them you were talking to. "i'm so so so sorry, i should have told you, i should have —"
"shh," nanami said, and he was inside you again — or maybe he'd never left, you couldn't tell anymore — and his voice was so gentle, softer than you'd ever heard it. "shh, baby. it's okay. we're not angry."
"we're not," higuruma agreed, and his hand was on your cheek, wiping away tears. "we were, at first. but not anymore."
"why not?" you asked, because you didn't understand.
you'd lied to them, betrayed their trust, done exactly what they'd been afraid of.
"because you're here, sweetheart," nanami said simply. "because you let us do this. because you could have run, but you didn't. you stayed."
"and because we love you," higuruma added, and the words hung in the air, heavy and real. "both of us. we love you, even though you're an idiot."
you laughed at that — a wet, broken sound that turned into another sob.
"i love you too," you said. "both of you. i didn't—i didn't know how to choose."
"you don't have to choose," nanami said. "that's what we're trying to tell you."
they fucked you one more time after that — slow this time, gentle, like they were trying to prove something to you.
nanami was deep inside you while higuruma was deep in your mouth, and you could feel both of them getting close, could feel your own orgasm building again even though you didn't think you had anything left.
"together," nanami said, and his voice was strained.
you came together, the three of you, and it felt like something breaking and something healing all at once.
to be honest, you don't remember much after that.
there are flashes — nanami carrying you to the bathroom, the warm water of the shower, gentle hands washing you clean. higuruma's voice, low and soothing, telling you that you did so well, that you're so good, that they're so proud of you.
you remember being laid down on fresh sheets — when did they even change the sheets? — and covered with a blanket that smells like both of them. you remember nanami pressing a glass of water to your lips, making you drink, making you eat small bites of something sweet. you remember higuruma brushing your hair back from your forehead, his touch so gentle it made you want to cry all over again.
and then you remember waking up.
you're in the middle of higuruma’s bed, sandwiched between two warm bodies.
nanami is the one on your left; his arm draped across your chest, his face pressed into your shoulder. his breathing is slow and even, and even in sleep he looks like he's thinking about something — his brow is slightly furrowed, his lips pressed together. higuruma is the one on your right; his hand on your hip, his forehead against your temple. he's snoring, just a little, a soft sound that you've never heard before because you've never stayed the night.
they're both asleep.
you lie there for a long time, just breathing, just feeling; your body aches in ways you didn't know it could ache — your hole is sore, your thighs are bruised, your throat is raw, and there's a dull throb in your lower back that you're pretty sure is going to hurt like hell tomorrow.
but underneath the pain, there's something else; something that feels like peace.
nanami stirs first, his eyes fluttering open. he looks at you for a moment, and then he smiles — a real smile, small and soft and so full of love that it makes your chest hurt.
"how are you feeling?" he asks, his voice rough with sleep.
"sore," you admit. "but good. really, really good."
"good," he says, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "you were amazing last night. i've never seen anything like that."
"neither have i," higuruma mumbles from your other side, and you realize he's awake too. his hand squeezes your hip, and he shifts closer, pressing his chest against your back. "you're fucking incredible, you know that?"
you blush, hiding your face in the pillow.
"you guys are just saying that because you came inside me like… five times."
"six," nanami corrects, and there's something like amusement in his voice. "i counted."
"i counted seven," higuruma says. "but i lost track at the end."
you groan, and they both laugh — real laughs, warm and genuine, and the sound of them laughing together makes something loosen in your chest.
"we need to talk," nanami says eventually, and his voice is softly serious again. "about what happens now."
your body slowly tense, but higuruma's hand rubs circles on your hip, soothing you.
"not like that," higuruma says. "we're not going anywhere. we just need to figure out... logistics."
"logistics," you repeat, and you can't help but laugh. "you want to talk about logistics? right now? when i can barely walk?"
"i'll carry you," nanami says simply. "if you need me to. but yes, we need to talk about logistics. because i'm not sharing you if it means i only get to see you twice a week."
"neither am i," higuruma agrees. "so we need to figure out a schedule. or..."
"or?" you ask.
nanami and higuruma look at each other, and something passes between them, some silent communication you're not privy to — a raised eyebrow, a slight nod, an understanding that seems to happen without words.
"or," nanami says slowly. "we could stop pretending this is casual. stop pretending we're just sugar daddies and you're just a sugar baby. and try... something else."
"what kind of something else?"
higuruma takes a deep breath.
"the kind where you move in with us. where we take care of you together. where you don't have to choose because you don't have to choose. you can have both of us, if you want. if we can figure out how to make it work."
you stare at him, then at nanami, then back at higuruma.
"you're serious?" you say.
"i've never been more serious about anything in my life," nanami says, and his voice is quiet but fierce. "i've spent six months falling in love with you. and last night, watching you with him... i realized that loving you doesn't mean i have to keep you to myself. it means i want you to be happy. and if being with both of us makes you happy..."
"it does," you say quickly. "god, it really does. but are you sure? like, both of you? because this is—this is insane. you barely know each other."
"we know each other well enough," higuruma says, and there's something almost sheepish in his voice. "we talked. while you were asleep. for like, three hours."
"you talked about me for three hours?"
"we talked about us," nanami corrects. "about what we want. about what we're willing to try. and we both agree that you're worth it. that this is worth it."
you don't know what to say. your eyes are stinging again, but this time it's not from pleasure or pain or overwhelm; it's from something else, something that feels like relief.
"okay," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "okay. let's try."
nanami kisses you first — soft, sweet, and full of promise. then higuruma kisses you too, deeper, slower, like he's trying to memorize the taste of you. and then they both kiss you, and it's clumsy and awkward and perfect, and you laugh against their mouths because you can't help it.
"one more thing," higuruma says when you break apart. "no more secrets. no more lies. if something's wrong, you tell us. if you need something, you ask. and if you want something—"
"i'll tell you," you finish. "i promise. no more secrets."
"good," nanami says, and he pulls you closer to him, tucking you against his chest. "because i don't think my heart can take any more surprises."
"my heart either," higuruma agrees, pressing against your back. "you're going to be the death of us, you know that?"
"but what a way to go," nanami murmurs, and you can hear the soft smile in his voice.
you close your eyes, surrounded by warmth, by love, by two men who are completely and utterly obsessed with you.
and for the very first time in six months, you don't feel guilty about it at all; you feel home.
bonus — three months later.
the apartment is ridiculous.
it's a penthouse — bigger than both of their previous places combined — with three bedrooms (one for each of you, though you've never slept in yours), a kitchen that looks like it belongs in a magazine, and a view of the city that still makes you catch your breath every time you look out the window.
nanami is in the kitchen, making breakfast; he's wearing an apron over his dress shirt — he has a meeting later, something about investments and portfolios and words that go in one ear and out the other — and he's humming something under his breath, his movements precise and efficient.
higuruma is on the couch, reading a case file, his reading glasses perched on his nose; he looks exhausted — he was in court until late last night — but there's a small smile on his face when he looks up and catches you watching him.
"stop staring," he says, but his voice is fond.
"can't help it," you say, stretching out on the couch with your head in his lap. "you're pretty."
higuruma snorts. "i'm pretty?"
"very pretty. the prettiest."
"what am i?" nanami calls from the kitchen, and there's amusement in his voice. "chopped liver?"
"you're handsome," you correct. "there's a difference."
"is there?"
"definitely. higuruma is pretty, you're handsome, and i'm adorable. we all have our roles."
higuruma laughs, and the sound makes your chest warm.
"adorable," he repeats. "that's one word for it."
"what other words would you use?"
"insatiable," higuruma says. "exhausting. the reason i can't walk straight half the time."
"you love it."
"i do," he admits, and he leans down to kiss your forehead. "i really, really do."
nanami comes over with three plates — eggs and toast and fruit, arranged perfectly, because he's nanami kento and he literally can't help himself.
he hands one to higuruma, one to you, and keeps one for himself, settling into the armchair across from the couch.
"what are your plans today?" he asks, and the question is casual but you know what he's really asking; are you free? can we spend time together? will you be here when i get home?
"nothing," you say. "i thought i'd stay here. maybe do some laundry. maybe take a nap. maybe wait for both of you to come home so we can—"
"don't," higuruma says, but he's smiling. "don't start. i have to go back to court in an hour."
"so?"
"so, i can't show up with a boner."
nanami chokes on his toast, and you and higuruma both laugh, and the sound fills the apartment like sunlight.
this is your life now.
two men, one immense apartment, no secrets, no lies; just love, in all its messy, complicated, beautiful glory.
and honestly, you wouldn't have it any other way.
𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗲 ヾ(•̀ ヮ <)و
