Verni

27 | Femboy | secret blog

[megumiangel]

KEEPING RHYTHM ! ☆ MASTERLIST ⤷ choso kamo x fem!reader

syn. you've had a crush on your big brother's friend and bandmate, choso, since you became best friends with his little brother, yuuji (totally not because his brother's hot. whaaaat who even said that?) in middle school. now, you're all in college, and your feelings have done nothing but grow. you want to confess, but your only barrier is the looming question; does he feel the same way, or is he just being nice because he sees you as a little sister? oh, and even if he does, how would your tremendously protective older brother feel about his baby sister getting with his friend?

cw/tags. rockstar!drummer!stoner!choso x gojo's little sister! reader, college au, 5 yr age gap between cho and reader, 1st+2nd yrs aged up to be college age, mental health/depression, drug usage/addiction (+rehabilitation!!!) gojo is veryyy overprotective of reader, dirty/suggestive humour, kys jokes, implied smut/sex (no written sex scenes). fanart in banner drawn by me!!!

PROLOGUE

01. i'm the best

02. territory

03. what shall not be named

04. thukuna

05. eeeyuck! (5k)

06. that was gross... (1.1k)

07. in the air

08. i miss her

09. oh dearie me!

10. little sister (written)

11. a flash from the past (written)

12. he mad as hell

+ more tba!!

taglist ☆ (OPEN!) @megsbows @lunartzy @nagisbunni @yeschefcarm @sugurusdevotedlvr @jiyoonly @hearts2vivi @chososkamosole @vaelils @siayumya @ilyoobin @daydreams-bookmarks @legoconnoisseur @ffolkloree @y0ullneverget2heaven @mistakenlovers @trapkingzara @ex1acy @l1v1ngzomb1e @tojirin @toesucker59 @meisverycool @ghazalbambi @sailormarsinanotherlife @addictedtofeelinreal @4ngelvx @snowstriper101 @theirlgarfield @emluvsgetou @swoozleee @iluvmegumiiiii @taelattecookie @paulineeo @itachilover1410 @suicidollz @samkickikc @nyxisnotok @aaudreys @sal1mav @0soleilmist @arabella0001 @1cckedheart @trsh-kitty @introvertedfreakk @hannahzg8 @alebrasil0101 @soobin1437 @honeynanamin @microwavwgasoline @raccoonlover-11

+perm taglist!

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere!Brother’s Best Friend

Male Yandere x Fem!Reader ||

Your brothers best friend has been in love with you ever since you were kids. Silently pining for you and convinced you were creating coincidental run ins for years. What will happen when his car runs out of gas driving you back to campus and you two are stuck all alone?

Yandere!Brother’s Best Friend walks in to your home like it was his. It basically was given he’s been coming around since elementary school for sleepovers. He knows every inch and corner of this place like the back of his hand.

Some might call him an expert on everything to go with your family. But he’d argue he’s an expert on the only thing that matters. You. His best friend’s little sister.

Way back then he was what you’d look at as the trouble kid. Meanwhile your brother was the shiny teachers pet. So naturally their teacher pushed the two together. Thinking your brother might be a good influence or something.

Originally he didn’t plan on sticking around for long. He’d humor the teacher and play along with your parents but it didn’t mean anything. A way to waste time. But then he came over and you offered to share some of your fruit with him.

He’s kinda been gone for you ever since.

“What’re you still going here, freak? Waiting to see me?” He asks you cheekily as he passes you by on the couch from his way in. Reaching down he playfully ruffles your hair and laughs as you try to swat at him.

Just like every week you two go through the same motions. Every time he comes over to see your brother you’re always on the couch. Despite spending most of your time in your room he always finds you here when coming over at the same time every week.

Almost as if you’re waiting for him. At least that’s what he tells himself. Nothing else would make sense based off your college schedule that he’s now since memorized. Even with college courses and work you still somehow make time for him. You must feel the same way.

“You wish! I’m just waiting for my ride to take me back to campus, then I’ll be out of your hair,” you tease back ironically. But your response has his heart dropping into his stomach.

He just got here, you can’t go now. It’s been days since he last raw you, his own work schedule keeping him from dropping everything and following you around like a lovesickfool. He had to provide for you and spoil you somehow.

Leaning over the back of the couch he peers at your profile, noting the way you tense up and purposefully avoid meeting his gaze. Like you’re waiting for him to do something about it. Hoping he gives the reaction you might be craving.

“That’s such a waste when I’m already here. Call ‘em and cancel. I’ll drive you back,” he offers casually while on the inside he’s nearly buzzing out of his skin.

You resist the urge to look over and meet his eye, knowing his face would be way too close to yours if you did. Making it harder to resist him. The idea of him taking you home instead is an intriguing offer. One you can’t help but want to accept despite everything in your head telling you otherwise.

Peaking up at him through your lashes he looks as infuriatingly perfect as always. What you’re unable to see is the excitement coursing through his veins or the thrill of success thrumming in his chest. So you try to appear as nonchalant as he seems to be.

“Alright, fine, if you’re gonna be so pushy about it,” you respond like you couldn’t care if he does or doesn’t drive you back.

Not wanting to look too eager you force yourself to wait a few minutes before cancelling your ride. Because you’re not, obviously. You couldn’t care less.

And that decision somehow leads to you being stuck on the side of the roar at night after Yan!BBF ran out of gas halfway through the ride. Now you’re holding a flashlight from your dying phone onto his trunk as he rummages around trying to look for the can of gas he swore he kept in his car.

“We’re gonna have to call a service, I don’t have any gas in here and I don’t think there’s a station around for miles,” he explains, flashing you a sheepish smile from over his shoulder.

“I never would’ve been in this situation if I just went with my original ride,” you complain through a long groan as you turn your back to him. A shiver runs through your body as you fight the chill in the air, rubbing your arms to try and warm yourself.

Seriously, there’s no way you can even look at him right now. Yet from the corner of your eye you see him snap back up to full height and look over at your words.

“Sure, sure… would’ve been a lot less fun though,” he muses, his voice getting closer till it’s right against your ear. His words trying not to sound panicked at the thought of you preferring someone else.

“What the hell is fun about this?” You grumble, a pout playing on your lips. Feeling the warmth of his presence you subtly lean back into him.

In the blink of an eye Yan!BBF has you in the back seat, back arched, and rising his dick like your life depends on it. His girth plows through your slick velvety walls, molding your hole to the shape of him.

The wet slapping of bodies echos throughout the car and your panting breaths fog up the windows, giving you both a weak sense of privacy and an obvious explanation over what’s happening inside.

“How you likin’ THIS ride, babygirl?” He breathes out heavily, nails digging into your thighs, marking up your skin.

Using his hold he starts picking up the pace until you scream out in response. That annoying smirk of his plays on his lips.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The ecstasy is blinding as you guides you up and down his big dick, the force causing the car to rock with his thrusts. Every time he bottoms out inside you, you can feel his angry throbbing tip kiss at your cervix, pushing the barriers of your sex and stretching you out further than you thought possible.

Gasps tears at your chest from one sensation rocking through your frame and the next. You can’t keep up with his hands that are worshipping your body like it’s all he’s been waiting for.

Or his mouth as he sucks dark purple bruises along your throat and chest. Making sure that any college boy can see you’re clearly taken.

“Try and talk now, honey. There ain’t nothin’ to complain about here,” he growls against your throat.

Broken babbles jumble out of your mouth as you try to fight and talk back but nothing sensible comes out. A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth as he actually starts mocking you. Mirroring your hopeless attempts at managing words through your noises of pleasure.

You immediately whine, tears pricking at your eyes. You wish you could hit him where it hurts by sliding right off his lap and denying him going any further. But the idea of stopping right now may break you completely.

So you do all you can and clamp down hard, rhythmically moving in time with when you go up and down his length. His choked moan and the way his smile drops brings you a sense of great satisfaction.

“That’s right, keep milking me nice and good. I can take it,” he grits out even as his balls tighten with the need to cum. He’ll hold off for as long as he has to.

Reaching between your bodies he delivers the most cruel and glorious form of payback as he finds your clit and flicks the sensitive bean over and over in time with his thrusts. Your body lurches forward into his chest.

Dammit. You wanted to torture him a little longer but the brutal slapping of his hips against yours and the way he works your clit sends you crashing over the edge. You scream his name as you clench around him, your body shaking with the force of your release.

He follows right after you, burying himself to the hilt and finally letting go. Marking you full with his cum until it creates a thick white ring around where your bodies are joined.

From that night on it becomes routine for Yan!BFF to drive you the decent distance between school and your family home. Just as it became routine to stop halfway through to… fill up… on gas.

So that no accident like that first night ever happens again. And totally not so that he can pound your pussy into oblivion for hours on end, get his weekly fix of you, and mark you up enough so that everyone knows you’re fully claimed.

[chrollogy]

𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓥𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝓟𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | sunday x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: Penacony is riddled with rumours about infighting within The Family, resulting in Penaconians and tourists to question the stability of the Dreamscape and whether the Five Great Lineages are actually ‘harmonious’. As a solution, the Dreammaster assigns you—Third to the Iris Family Head—to marry Sunday, the revered Head of the Oak Family. A symbolic pair meant to embody harmony within The Family and refute hearsay.

Beneath the spectacle, however, lies unresolved affection, quiet hesitation, and the painful question of whether your ‘perfect’ marriage is merely performance—or something real.

CONTENT WARNING: arranged marriage, halovian!reader, actress!reader, reader is referred to as miss & mrs, loosely follows canon lore, fluff, angst, SLOW BURN, one sided pining but eventually turns to mutual pining, requited unrequited love, childhood friends, forbidden lovers if you squint, petname (my love), OCs mentioned, plot with p*rn, smut (mdni), virgin!sunday, masturbation (m), body worship if you squint, guided fingering, virginity loss (m), p in v, creampie, sunday cums a lot lol, not beta read.

WORD COUNT: 22,994

NOTES: this is prob the most slowburn fic i’ve ever written >< sunday fic for my birthmonth hehe enjoy!! div: diviniyae

Moment of Morning Dew

The chandeliers of Dewlight Pavilion glimmered like suspended constellations, their fractured light spilling across polished marble in soft gold and pale violet. Even in the Dreamscape—where beauty was manufactured to perfection—this place still carried a certain weight; a stillness that pressed gently against one’s lungs. Amidst the grandeur of the Pavilion, you stood a step behind Maeven Ellis’s absence—your adoptive mother—her authority as Iris Family Head lingered in your posture in the way attendants lowered their gaze as you passed.

Third to the Head of the Iris Family, yet today, you felt oddly like a child again; waiting in a suffocating office as you were summoned by the Dreammaster himself, you weren’t aware of the reason why he had called upon your name but judging from your senses, you weren’t going to like it.

Across the room, not far off from where you stood, was Sunday, he was situated beneath a stained glass window, its colours painted him in shifting hues of amber, indigo and rose where it bounced off his gleaming halo, depicting him as some kind of reverend being. When you had entered the Dreammaster’s office, you were greeted by the Oak Family Head—a mere formality, a simple nod of his head. No words, no nothing.

It had been a while since you’ve last stood in his presence like this, most of the time you’d see him around Penacony or during grand Family banquets but that was about it, nothing more than a hollow distance between the two of you.

Minutes of deafening silence passed before the doors to the office opened once again and in came Mr. Gopher Wood, it wasn’t his original form, merely someone else’s body—presumably someone from the Oak Family—he had possessed.

“Come closer.” He had instructed before taking a seat behind the wooden desk, his tone was calm yet it held unparalleled authority—as a child, it would always send chills down your spine; countless Family gatherings where he spoke to your mother in such a tone. The Dreammaster was a kind man yet something about him unsettled you.

Without another word, you stepped forward just short of his desk, heels echoing faintly against the marble floors. Sunday mirrored your actions, standing a few centimetres away from you—it was enough to get a whiff of his scent.

Vanilla and musk, something sweet yet pierced one’s senses. You tried to ignore the way his shoulder almost brushed your own and how his figure towered you.

“I’m sure you’re both well aware of rumours that are circulating around the Dreamscape,” Mr. Gopher Wood began, hands folded neatly atop the desk.

You sucked in a small breath, you’d heard them too. Whispers that drifted through velvet corridors, murmured between the cracks of reality that there was in-fighting between The Family lineages which ultimately questioned the Dreamscape’s stability. For a space designed to eliminate unfavourable factors, it wasn’t hard for negativity such as baseless rumours to start circulating within its walls.

Dangerous words which challenged The Family.

But . . as for summoning you and Sunday, you were clueless. Why did the Dreammaster specifically choose you? You weren’t skeptic about Sunday as he held authority over the Oak Family, in other words, he was Mr. Gopher Wood’s successor but as for you . . it didn’t quite make sense.

Neither of you answered, instead, you both waited for the Dreammaster to speak once more. 

“Rumours are . . fragile things, if they are left unchecked, they fracture trust. And in Penacony, trust is the foundation upon which dreams stand.”

The Dreammaster continued, “Thus, we shall give Penacony something stronger than baseless rumours—a symbol of eternal harmony.” Something inside your stomach tightened, you didn’t like the tone in his sentence, as if it was final and had no room for if’s or but’s; an idea that was already concrete before it came into existence.

“You two will be married.” Mr. Gopher Wood stated as if discussing something as simple as a change in décor.

Silence fell.

If the previous silence felt suffocating, this one was much, much worse. It felt heavier and pressed onto your skin tighter as though it was determined to live inside your bones. For a moment, all you could hear was the faint hum of the warm chandeliers—even its glimmering lights felt hot against your skin, a searing burn.

Was the Dreammaster serious? An arranged marriage between you and Sunday? In your eyes, marriage weighed more than a coin being tossed in a bucket, it symbolised unity between two individuals who loved and cherished one another, not a façade to combat baseless rumours, and especially not a lie.

A million emotions surged through you; the thought of eternal unity with Sunday was something you had always dreamed of ever since you were a child. The first time you laid eyes upon him was when you were both naïve and wide-eyed, and something inside your young heart stirred when he laughed at your jokes or tugged at your hands with his, running away from panicked attendants assigned to look after you.

Back then, your adoptive mother would bring you over to the old Oak Family manor for play dates with Sunday and his younger twin sister—a young trio built on mischief and pure wander. The three of you were inseparable until the day duties and career came into talk, where days filled with innocent laughter turned into monotonous lessons that prepared one for the burden of authority.

Yes, you weren’t going to deny it, you had feelings for Sunday that stemmed a long while back but being married to him under a contract that screamed nothing but business was not what younger you would’ve wanted, no, she had dreamed of a blossoming, genuine love.

There was also unease for the role entrusted upon you; how would being in a false marriage affect your naïve heart? You were well aware Sunday didn’t mirror your feelings at all but having him pretend and play the part of a husband was beyond dangerous. It was ironic to think that this marriage was akin to Penacony’s Dreamscape itself—a dream becoming a reality.

But . . was it your dream to be married off to Sunday in the name of falsehood?

With the Charmony Festival inching closer, it wasn’t a surprise the Dreammaster was becoming desperate for a solution.

You laughed. A humourless sound that conveyed the disbelief in your heart; you were raised to be a respectful, refined woman especially in the presence of esteemed Elders but not when said Elder proposed such a bizarre idea. This was marriage the Dreammaster was talking about, a life long commitment—a life long role that was anything but real.

“Pardon my brazenness, Mr. Gopher Wood but . . are you serious?”

The Dreammaster didn’t so much as blink, “Completely.”

At his affirmative reply, you slowly turned your head to the side towards Sunday; he remained expressionless, the glimmer in his citrine eyes hiding more than just pure emotions. His posture remained straight, one hand tucked behind his back just as he had been taught by the Oak Family Elders. Whether the idea affected him or not, Sunday didn’t let on, not even a twitch of his brow nor a rustle of his ivory wings.

“A union between the Oak and Iris Family presented as one of harmony—of perfection. A model pair for Penaconians to look up to, and once the people see The Family’s harmony upon supporting this marriage, rumours will fade.” Mr. Gopher Wood continued, which turned your attention back to him.

The Dreammaster had a point, with two significant figures in the five lineages getting married, Penaconians would witness The Family working together to ensure it happens flawlessly—the Oak Family would be tasked with organization, the Alfalfa Family with financing, the Bloodhound Family with security, the Iris Family with reception entertainment, and the Nightingale Family with decorations. All in perfect harmony.

“And what it needs to see,” You murmured quietly. “Is a lie?” You knew it was only a matter of time before the Dreammaster exhausted his patience and snapped. He had always been fond of you but knew to draw the line at disrespect.

His gaze remained fixated on you, it wasn’t unkind but it was firm, unwilling to back down from the challenge you had presented; he noticed the way your wings rustled imperceptibly, how it curled inwards as if to display silent retaliation.

“The Dreamscape needs stability.”

That wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

Slowly, you exhaled then fully turned toward Sunday, his golden halo glimmered brighter than ever, “Sun—Mr. Sunday.” He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a split second—just a flicker—you saw it. Something from years ago when he used to grin at you over ice cream and toys.

“Are you okay with this?” The question came out softer than you’d expected, laced with vulnerability. Sunday held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then, parted his lips to speak, 

“As Oak Family Head, it is my duty to ensure that everything within the Dreamscape remains in order.”

“. . That’s not what I asked.”

Were you surprised, though? You’ve always known Sunday was a selfless individual, especially when it came to Robin but you wished—more than anything—that he’d be a bit more selfish; to do something that he truly wanted and not because he was bound by duty and expectations.

“This arrangement fulfills its purpose.” As expected, Sunday spoke like this matter was nothing more than another responsibility to be managed, throwing out the fact that he was to be married off to someone he didn’t love.

You nodded, “Right.” A small, hollow sound. And once more, you were hit with the harsh reality that this Sunday wouldn’t run away the same way he did during the lessons he found boring, no, instead this Sunday would build the cage himself if it meant keeping everything intact and under his control.

Hesitantly, you looked away first, directing your attention back to the Dreammaster—any second longer looking at those citrine eyes was far too dangerous for your heart, “Apologies, Mr. Gopher Wood but I need time. This isn’t . . exactly a small decision.”

But did you even have the luxury to make a choice? Nonetheless, Mr. Gopher Wood inclined his head slightly and indulged you in your request, “You will have what time is necessary but do understand, the longer uncertainty lingers, the more damage rumours may cause.”

A gentle threat wrapped in silk.

You nodded calmly, though your thoughts were nowhere nearly as composed. Marriage. To Sunday. It was as though the stars were playing a nasty elaborate prank on you but as twisted as it was, a part of you—one buried within the depths of your being—was happy.

Could you blame yourself though? You’ve pined for Sunday for eons because maybe, just maybe, he would finally look at you the same way you’ve looked at him: under the light of romance.

“Then, I shall take my leave. Mr. Gopher Wood. Mr. Sunday.” After necessary formalities, you turned to leave, light from the chandeliers above stretching your meek shadow across the marble floor.

“Maeven Ellis’s daughter.”

You paused. It was the Dreammaster’s voice once again, “You are an actress, are you not?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you spoke up, “Yes.”

“Then think of this as your most important role.”

At his words, your lips pressed into a thin line. That was easier said than done. A performance, of course, everything in Penacony was. You didn’t bother responding, instead, you kept walking, heels echoing with each careful step, out of the Dreammaster’s office and away from Sunday.

Moment of Golden Hour

Despite the name of Golden Hour, sunlight didn’t spill like liquid gold in the Moment but the Dreamscape was as beautiful as ever. After the impromptu meeting with the Dreammaster and Sunday, you found yourself sitting on an iron bench at Aideen Park—a quiet corner devoid of commotion to collect your thoughts. In the distance, laughter echoed and soft music the band performed.

On your lap rested an important document for an upcoming film, pages and pages of a bound script to read and remember but for once, you didn’t feel like reading. Not when your mind wandered off to the encounter a few system hours back, you couldn’t help but replay Mr. Gopher Woods words—that you’d be married to Sunday.

Amidst the serenity of the Moment, your ears perked up at the sound of familiar footsteps coming closer—calculated and sharp—but you didn’t bother looking up.

“I thought you might be here.”

The owner of the calm voice was no other than Sunday, you were more than certain of it because only he had the power to make your heart stutter. You didn’t let on—didn’t show an ounce of emotion just as you’ve been doing for the past years you’ve known him. Slowly, you exhaled, gaze still fixed on the inked pages atop your lap.

“The Oak Family Head seeking an audience with me? What a lucky woman I am.” You chuckled humourlessly. Sunday didn’t reply and you almost felt bad for greeting him with such a sour state, so you spoke up again, “. . Are you surprised? You know my hiding spots better than anyone.”

Growing up, Sunday learned that whenever you had something in mind, you always seemed to seek out quiet spots to unwind and one of them happened to be in Aideen Park—a tucked little area away from everyone while still able to bask in the Moment’s luxury.

“You never changed them.” Sunday whispered in a soft tone, if you hadn’t caught it, you’d think he was merely murmuring to himself. There was something in his voice you didn’t quite recognize, one that made you curl your fingers tighter around the pages.

“Is there . . something you need, Oak Family Head?”

As much as he appreciated authority, Sunday never did like it when you addressed him with formality but he’d rather sever his halo than admit it to your face. After all, it was merely a silly thought. He let your question linger in the air for a while, letting the background noise of the park fill the space between the two of you, then, he spoke,

“I came for your answer.” Straight to it. Of course he did.

A quiet, humourless laugh slipped past your lips, you finally turned to look at him. The golden lights of Aideen Park engulfed his pale blue strands, it softened the edges of his otherwise composed expression but it didn’t make him easier to read. You couldn’t lie, Sunday looked absolutely breathtaking and it pained your heart at how effortless it was for him; his citrine gaze shone the same way his halo did, bright and blinding.

“My answer? That’s what this is to you? And here I thought you came to seek me out as a—I don’t know, maybe a friend?”

It was microscopic but you saw the way Sunday’s shoulders sagged and how the wings behind his ears lowered but you weren’t about to be moved by something minute; what the Dreammaster had asked of you—and Sunday—wasn’t something simple, it asked for your soul, to play a never ending role built on lies.

“It’s a matter that requires resolution.” He replied evenly. Your chest tightened, “Do you know what you’re asking of me, Sunday?” The question came out sharper than intended but you didn’t take it back and for the first time, something flickered across his face, maybe it was surprise, maybe it was discomfort, you didn’t bother deciphering.

“I am aware of the implications—” “No.” You cut him, shaking your head as you stood, the script on your lap swiftly falling onto the ground, long forgotten. “No, you’re aware of the politics of it—the outcome.”

Frustration rose within your body, a scowl forming on your face as you stepped forward. Sunday had never seen such a look painted on your face, he had only ever seen pleasant expressions from you, especially directed towards him.

“You’re asking me to stand beside you in front of all of Penacony and smile like it means something. To let them believe—” Your voice caught slightly but pushed through it, “—to let them believe this is real.”

“That’s the role we’ve been assigned.” He said quietly. “Assigned,” You echoed, almost incredulous. “Is that all this is to you? Another duty? Another piece of the Dreamscape you have to keep polished and intact?”

“If you think I have the luxury to treat it as anything else then you are sorely mistaken.”

“Then, let me ask you one thing, Oak Family Head. Did you have a hand at choosing your . . partner?” With Sunday willing to fulfill such a role, you were certain Mr. Gopher Wood had already told him about the proposal prior to the meeting earlier, and you were sure the latter had at least given him freedom to choose.

Sunday nodded, “Yes.”

You let out a shaky breath, your scowl turning into something much softer. Sadness. “But why? Why me, Sunday? Don’t—Don’t you know how cruel that is? To ask for something that big?” You looked away, unable to see the way regret briefly shadowed his face. His chest tightened at your pitiful form, he didn’t mean to put you in a troubled spot but he wasn’t entirely innocent either.

Marriage meant the two of you were bound to each other for eternity with divorce was absolutely out of the table, especially for prominent figures like you and Sunday; it made sense for a planet that worshipped the Aeon of Harmony.

“. . Because I assumed you wouldn’t be scared doing it with me, at least—doing it by my side.”

Oh, your foolish, foolish heart shouldn’t have skipped a beat at his reply but it did and it angered you even more that it did because despite it all, you still loved him. And maybe you were willing to comply but a greater part of you was stubborn.

“Do not try to mold me with flattery, Sunday. What about us, hm? We’re not symbols—not the ‘model pair’ the Dreammaster deems us to be. We’re people with lives of our own! I cannot dictate for you but I know marriage is something I want to be organic. To fall in love with a man who cherishes and loves me back.”

Words hung heavy in the air, fragile and bare. For a split second, you were convinced he was going to take a step closer and say something that wasn’t measured or wrapped in a silken ribbon called duty. And maybe some twisted part of you wished Sunday would have told you that he’d at least try to love you—to reassure and tell you that your heart has a home in his hands but he didn’t. 

Instead, he said: “We are what Penacony needs us to be.”

Silence settled once more, you didn’t answer this time as you were reminded that you and Sunday held very different dreams. You closed your eyes to steady yourself briefly, and when you opened them again, your expression had shifted, something more resigned, “. . Fine.”

Sunday’s ears perked, wings spreading ever so slightly as if to convey shock. You straightened slightly, smoothing the invisible wrinkles from your clothes—a habit you’ve picked up before you stepped in front of rolling cameras.

There was no use arguing with Sunday or pushing your ideals to him, he was stubborn and he’d do anything to ensure the stability of the Dreamscape, even if it meant carrying the weight of falsehood his whole life. Besides, arguing like this in public was sure to garner unwanted attention, it was only a matter of time before someone heard of the conversation.

“If this is the role entrusted to me then I’ll play it. I’ll accept the marriage.” The words felt foreign on your tongue—too final but you didn’t waver. 

Sunday carefully studied you as if to search for something beneath your composure, “Are you certain?”

You laughed humourlessly, “Do you think I have a choice? But if you want me to be honest, no. But I’ll do it anyway.” For you, you wanted to add. You bent down to swiftly pick up your script, dusting it off lightly, and when you returned his gaze, your expression had settled into something practiced.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it believable.” The corners of your lips tugged upwards despite its heaviness.

“I . . never doubted that. You are one of Penacony’s greatest actresses.” Sunday intended to lighten the mood, to flatter your skills and forget about the tension in the air but for some reason, his words hurt more than anything else. You put too much faith in me, Sunday. You thought.

Sure, acting came easily to you but not when you had to play the eternal role of a loving wife for a man you’ve pined for. For years. It was a twisted game that tested the borders between a dream and reality, and you could only hope to build a cage around your naïve heart.

Moment of Morning Dew

Wedding preparations commenced shortly after meeting with the Dreammaster once more to confirm your stance on his idea; everything was a blur, from colleagues and close friends congratulating you on your engagement (even Robin who sent a congratulatory letter despite being aware of everything) to exclusive interview appearances—sometimes accompanied by Sunday—to talk about every detail.

Of course, since the engagement came out of the blue, it was met with a lot of speculation, and rightfully so as not a single soul had seen you and Sunday together outside Family gatherings but even in banquets, neither you nor him would really converse.

But, those speculations were easily dismissed by letting interviewers know that you hid your relationship with him for personal reasons; it wasn’t foreign for celebrities to do such things. Though, the only truth you uttered during those interviews was probably the fact that you loved Sunday.

There was no denying that, and for Penaconians, that alone was believable. Aside from planned appearances on interviews, you hadn’t seen much of your . .  fiancé but maybe it was for the best, the more he remained at a distance behind closed doors, the more your naïve heart wouldn’t mistake the relationship for something real.

Silk draped from the ceiling in soft, cascading layers, mirrors framed in gold caged you in, it reflected you in every angle, each one just slightly more flattering than the last. Assistants moved like whispers—adjusting and smoothing but never loud enough to cause unnecessary chaos.

The Dewlight Pavilion served many purposes for The Family—the main being a place where Heads discussed important matters but you didn’t expect it to host a fitting room specifically curated for wedding preparations; it only made sense with how busy your schedule was, not to mention how you just finished a table-read two system hours ago which meant the script was still swimming in your mind and so was exhaustion.

“Hold still, please.”

A quiet exhale escaped through your nose, resisting the urge to fidget as a pair of hands adjusted the fall of fabric at your waist; you just wanted to go home. “I am still.” You murmured.

“Still-er.” The head assistant replied gently.

Tired, you bit back a comment, there was no point arguing with anyone. It was evening and you wanted this over and done with, the more you cooperated, the faster this whole thing would be finished.

The gown itself was unsurprisingly perfect. White—of course—but not the stark kind, it shimmered faintly like it had been spun from light filtered through clouds. Intricate golden embroidery traced along the bodice, delicate and intentional. 

“There. All done! How does it feel, miss?”

The head assistant’s dainty voice faded into as you looked at the mirror, it was the first time you stared at your reflection since standing inside this fitting room yet strangely enough, an actress stared right back—the ‘you’ all of Penacony knew, the one in front of flashing lights and rolling cameras.

“You’re truly beautiful, miss!” Another one of the assistants gasped, her reddened face tucked between the hearts of her palms.

“. . Thank you. The dress feels . . fine, it’s not too heavy.” The staff dismissed the absentmindedness laced in your voice, mistaking it for pure awe. You didn’t know what to feel seeing yourself in a wedding dress because even with an exquisite ring wrapped around your finger, you still couldn’t believe you were getting married.

“Turn slightly, please.” The head assistant instructed and you did. The skirt fanned out like a blooming flower, its silken fabric faintly glimmering beneath the lights.

“Perfect.” She breathed out.

Perfect. The word followed you everywhere these days—about your relationship with Sunday, about the engagement ring, and now about the dress. You were about to give her a practised reply, the same one you’ve been giving everyone else—a ‘thank you’ and a smile that reached your eyes—until the atmosphere shifted.

The curtains behind you weren't drawn yet but you knew who was beyond them and you were certain the attendants knew as well from the way their backs straightened, immediately stepping away from the raised platform you stood upon.

“Pardon my intrusion, may I step inside?” 

Sunday’s voice filled the silence. As if on cue, heat blanketed your cheeks, heart racing at the thought of him seeing you in a wedding dress. Your gaze landed on the head assistant through the reflection, giving her a slight nod to which she immediately understood and swiftly drew the curtains back.

As Sunday stepped inside, both attendants silently bowed their heads and headed out, closing the curtains behind them to give privacy. Alone in a small space with him with too many mirrors; you swallowed thickly and smoothed down the skirt of the dress, “I wasn’t aware of your visit.” You murmured, tucking a loose strand behind your ear.

“I was told preparations were underway. I wanted to ensure there were no complications.” 

Of course.

“Well?” You started, head tilted slightly. “You came all this way, you should at least give your evaluation.” Your hands found its way atop your clothed hip. It was half a joke, half a challenge yet you awaited for his words.

Sunday didn’t reply immediately, instead, his gaze settled on you—steady and unreadable. You observed how his amber eyes lingered on the bodice of your dress a second or two longer before moving on to the bloomed skirt. Beneath his wandering gaze, something in your chest tightened, cheeks burning deeper, it almost felt like a thousand needles prickling your skin.

“. . It suits you.” He said at last.

You blinked, brows knitting together, “That’s it?”

“You expected more?”

“I expected something. I’m about to be married off to the Oak Family Head and become the half of Penacony’s model pair, surely that warrants something far better than ‘it suits you’.”

“You always did prefer honest reponses.” That caught you off guard. Sunday wasn’t one to reminisce about the past—at least not with you—but he has done it twice now, once back at Aideen Park and once today.

You didn’t reply nor did you acknowledge how his gaze softened slightly, “Well, if you want honesty then . . you look exquisite and the dress harmonizes with your beauty perfectly,” The end of his sentence ended awkwardly, as if he wanted to speak more but ultimately decided to hold back.

You were well aware there was no romance behind his compliment, it was merely an honest, straightforward one but you couldn’t help suck in a breath. You looked away, clearing your throat lightly, once again smoothing a none existent crease on the dress, “That’s the goal, isn’t it? To make me look presentable for the big day.”

Sunday hummed absentmindedly causing you to risk a glance at him once more, his eyes were still on you but this time he wasn’t assessing, he was admiring.

“How is it then? Convincing enough for you, Mr. Sunday?”

His gaze finally drew upwards ‘til it met your own, a strange glint flickered in his honeyed eyes, “. . Too convincing.”

Whatever that meant

Before you could respond, the head assistant spoke just beyond the drawn curtains, effectively breaking the . . moment between you and Sunday. Akin to a deer caught in headlights, you slightly stepped away from the latter; funnily enough, there was already a great distance between the two of you but somehow you just felt like distancing yourself further.

“Miss, we need to finalize the veil fitting.”

You cleared your throat, trying to burn down Sunday’s weighted stare, “Of course.”

“. . I should take my leave then.” His gaze lingered on your face but you didn’t dare meet it. With that, he let out a soft sigh, turning around to part the curtains and leave but before he could even take one step, you called out his name, tone laced with . . desperation?

“S-Sunday . . ?” You weren’t sure why you did it or what possessed you to even utter his name yet somehow, you felt it was necessary to do so; though, you didn’t know what to say because now, Sunday looked over his shoulder—citrine gaze, full of hidden curiosity, just above his ivory wing—waiting for what was to come next.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” What did that even mean? Why did you say that? You were certain Sunday was just as confused about your reply as you were but he didn’t seem to let on, in fact, without so much of a hitch, he tilted his head, gave a little smile—one that had you biting the inside of your cheek—and replied, “Of course.”

Then, without another word, he gave both attendants a nod of acknowledgement before heading for the door.

Moment of Blue Hour

After two strenuous weeks of running around the Dreamscape—whether it be for work or for wedding preparations—the big day finally came, and in all honesty, you weren’t sure what to feel. The morning felt like a huge blur, attendants rushed in and out of the bridal suite to tend to you, and several loved ones visited in between, it served as a gentle reminder that you weren’t entirely alone. At least not today.

The first to check on you was Robin, she had peeked into your suite with a warm smile on her face, though, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You didn’t blame her, she knew of the situation and you assumed she also didn’t know how to feel for you—happiness seemed too cruel but sadness would also dampen the unsteady mood that lingered within the atmosphere.

The least she could leave you with was encouragement and a few good words about her brother: “I know you know my older brother well enough so I won’t say much but . . he will never hurt you. You and I both know he wants the best for everyone, and that includes you.”

The next two who visited were Ms. Maeven Ellis and Siobhan who stayed a little longer with you, especially the latter—out of the three, Lady Siobhan was probably the only one who understood your emotions the most as she, too, was pressured with countless expectations within the Iris Family as the second to the Head.

Being an adoptive older sister, she always looked out for you, most of them during young days where Ms. Maeven Ellis would push you to take acting classes. Though, despite the former’s efforts of letting you choose your own path, you did eventually end up in the artistic industry just like everyone else in the Iris Family.

The Eventide was as romantic as ever, docked in the Sea of Dreams where its tranquil waters lulled guests with awe. Warm lights illuminated the expansive boat, it bathed everything in a gentle gleam of gold; its cathedral-like structure effortlessly blended reverence and spectacle, a quiet yet bold message that The Family did not hold back on this grand event. 

Rows upon rows of guests filled the hall, a sea of fine silk and polished smiles—though, however warm they may be, all you could feel were the weight of their stares, a sense of anticipation that settled over your shoulders, it seemed to be heavier than the gown you wore.

The cameras also didn’t help, the subtle click of the shutter every second or so, they hovered discreetly and blended within the crowd but you knew they were there, capturing every movement and emotion etched into your face.

And as you stood at the altar facing Sunday, your hands resting atop his bigger ones, you trembled slightly—a barely noticeable crack on the surface of the glass. He must have noticed because within the next second, his hands squeezed your own, a gentle action to ground you, to serve as a reminder that only you and him mattered in this moment—not the officiant, not the guests, just you and him. A soft, shaky breath escaped your crimson-stained lips, you mirrored Sunday’s action. A small thank you.

The officiant’s voice carried smoothly through the air, unwavering as he spoke of harmony and unity, of two individuals converging into one for the sake of something greater; you heard his words but they felt far away, almost muffled and dream-like. Your focus drifted over to the feeling of Sunday’s hands in yours, to the warmth of it, to the quiet reminder that despite everything, this moment was real

Well, at least parts of it were but you wanted to believe that softness in Sunday’s gaze as he watched you walk down the aisle earlier was genuine—that it wasn’t a mask he prepared and wore for this ceremony but you’d be lying to yourself. To you, Sunday was the hardest book to decipher, the more you read in between lines and paragraphs, the more you’d doubt your thoughts.

“. . And by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you—”

Your breath caught and the room seemed to still.

“—Husband and wife.” The officiant paused for a split second, letting the words linger in the air and manifest into existence. Then, he continued,

“You may now kiss the bride.”

As his words echoed in your mind, your gaze slowly lifted to Sunday’s and for a moment, you both hesitated. He was the first to move, his head inclined towards you—eyes fluttering shut—slowly leaning in, his hands rested on either side of your waist; the quiet hum of the Dreamscape faded into the background as the space between your faces narrowed with each long second.

This was a part of the performance, you both knew that but it wasn’t something that was rehearsed, and even though you were an actress yourself—where kissing co-actors came naturally—this felt entirely different.

You closed your eyes, heart stuttering, the traitorous beast banging against the cold bars of your chest; for a second, you wondered if Sunday could hear it but upon noticing the unreadable expression on his face, you assumed he was focused on how to approach the kiss everyone anticipated—the subtle pause in his breath was enough to tell you it wasn’t easy for him either.

And just as Sunday was about to seal the kiss, he gracefully lifted a wing to obscure the view, leaving everyone unaware of the small distance between you and him; it was deliberate yet to everyone else, the veil of feathers seemed natural given the way your faces were angled slightly. The perfect illusion of an elegant kiss.

“Forgive me, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable in front of everyone. This . . should suffice, we do not have to go all the way.” Sunday whispered dangerously close, your knees almost buckled at the feel of his hot breath ghosting over your lips.

Your hands, which rested atop his clothed chest, curled slightly, nails digging into the hearts of your palms, “Right . .” You whispered back.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that Sunday only thought of respecting your boundaries—as a matter of fact, you should even be grateful that he didn’t force you and yet something in your chest dipped in disappointment. Albeit small and quiet, it was significant enough to feel it within your ribcage, the low murmur of your heart.

Of course. Sunday would never force something like that and you respected him for it! But . . you couldn’t help think that he simply didn’t want to kiss you. As childish as it sounded, you were convinced.

You bit the insides of your cheeks, lids tightly pressed against your eyes, you didn’t dare take a small peak. Not when his face was barely centimetres away from your own and absolutely not when his intoxicating scent invaded your senses. The wings behind your ears rustled briefly, brushing against Sunday’s.

Slowly, the moment passed; each camera click and quiet gasps from the guests enveloped the enchanting scene at the altar. A few seconds later, his wing lowered—as graceful as ever—once again revealing you both to everyone else, and it was like the entire room breathed out a long sigh.

The guests responded instantly, applause swelled throughout the Eventide, everyone wore a smile on their faces, completely convinced by what they’d witnessed.

You pulled away first, immediately turning to the crowd with the most genuine smile you could muster, trying to mirror everyone else’s joyous expression.

Among the guests, you caught Robin’s gaze who sat on the front row pew—she wore a smile like everyone else but her cerulean eyes gleamed with apology; you assumed she felt partly responsible for her brother’s decision regarding the marriage but you never blamed her, if there was anyone to blame it would be the Dreammaster but you’d never dare utter it into existence. After all, you were just pawns in his Dreamscape.

Funnily enough, as the person who decided you and Sunday to be married, he didn’t attend today, you’ve heard whispers within the Dewlight Pavilion that the Dreammaster wasn’t feeling too well these days, not that you cared about the man. You may have grew up with him around but that doesn't mean you’ve warmed up to him; he still carried the same unsettling aura he had when you were a kid.

After the long awaited ceremony, everyone settled into the reception where an abundance of congratulatory greetings and hugs were given to you and Sunday; most of them came from close co-actors who you’ve worked with on previous films, they also took the time to converse with him and didn’t hold back with such questions.

“Okay, this might be a bit silly to ask but who fell in love first?” Cassian—a co-actor you’ve grown close with—asked with pure curiosity, his hazelnut gaze darted between the two of you, he nursed a half empty glass of SoulGlad, swishing the golden liquid within as he stood before the table you and Sunday sat on.

You briefly looked over to Sunday who already had his eyes on you. “I did,” You started, setting your gaze back to Cassian and pairing it with a small smile.

“This is actually the first time I’m admitting this but . . I’ve had a crush on him ever since we were kids so I’m assuming it was me who fell in love first—I mean, who wouldn’t, right? He was kind and caring, and from then on, my young heart knew who it wanted.”

With every word that rolled from your tongue, heat that blanketed your cheeks intensified. Obviously, everything you stated was the truth but saying it aloud in front of him was rather embarrassing even if he didn’t have a clue how real it was.

A confession veiled as a lie.

You could feel Sunday’s honeyed gaze boring into the side of your face but you kept your eyes on Cassian who animatedly cooed in response, “Well, aren’t you a lucky one, Mr. Sunday!” The brunette inclined his glass towards the two of you as if making a toast.

Sunday chuckled softly in response, uttering a small ‘Indeed, I am.’ You ignored the stutter in your chest.

“Do you guys have a destination for the honeymoon? There are so many worlds to choose from!”

You let out a cough, the heat from your cheeks spreading down the column of your neck and onto your chest where it bloomed, “A-Ah, well! Sunday and I decided that we’ll have to push back our honeymoon for a while. With the Charmony Festival approaching in less than a few months, he’d be busy with preparation and as for my schedule, it’s packed with shoots—you should know.”

Cassian enthusiastically nodded, “That’s right! We’ve an upcoming film together—I can’t believe I forgot! Well, I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time, the two of you should enjoy your first few moments as husband and wife. Haha! I’ll get going then. Oh and I’ll see you on set!” With that, the brunette excused himself and headed for the open bar.

“I wasn’t aware Mr. Cassian is going to play the lead role along with you.” Sunday curiously stated. You shrugged, “I wasn’t aware you were interested in my matters but yes, we will be in a romance film together. Why? Interested in seeing it in the theatres once it comes out, Mr. Sunday?”

He let out a humourless laugh, “I liked your little story earlier. The one you told Mr. Cassian.”

Little story. Well, little did he know how true it all was.

This was supposed to be a happy day but with the amount of times Sunday had unknowingly shattered your naïve heart into more and more pieces today alone, you weren’t certain how long you’d last in this foolish charade, and you couldn’t blame him at all—not that you had anyone else to blame but your feelings.

“What can I say? I’ve been told I’m amazing when it comes to improvising.” You didn’t meet his gaze, instead, your eyes scanned around the room, pretending to skim and scan, feigning interest in the uninteresting.

Well, at least the guests looked like they were having more fun than you—they laughed over clinked glasses and exquisite Penaconian dishes, a genuine expression of joy painted on their alcohol tinted faces.

Sunday left the conversation at that and tended to his own glass, briefly swirling the liquid inside before taking a calculated sip; the golden beverage blanketed his tastebuds, its familiar sweetness putting his mind at ease. He wasn’t certain of the reason but he felt somewhat odd upon hearing your reply, the feeling irked him down to the bone.

Clearly, it was an uncharted territory and Sunday despised places he couldn’t control—the unknown and the unpredictable. He hated the thought of not knowing how to unpack his emotions.

But the real question was: Why did he feel this way? and what was the root of it? Maybe it was stress getting to him, he rarely got decent sleep and his daily schedule was always packed. Yeah, definitely stress.

Old Oak Family Manor (Reality)

A few tiring system hours later, you and Sunday were finally surrounded by pure silence—no prying eyes, no endless questions, just silence. The two of you found yourselves inside the old Oak Family manor, a separate building from the Hotel that stood in Reality but remained just as grand and expansive.

“So . . you’re the only one who lives here now? What about the Dreammaster?”

The manor stood like a quiet declaration of wealth—just as you’ve always remembered it to be—it gleamed like polished marble kissed by dawn, its towering windows framed with intricate carvings and draped with silken curtains.

Everything felt all too familiar and with every turn of your head, an old, tucked memory resurfaced like a bubble floating upwards—the curved staircase you and the twins would sit on to tell ghost stories, the expansive field outside where you’d spend afternoons running around, and . . Sunday’s room where he and Robin would ‘perform’ concerts .

The very room both of you stood in.

You had spent enough time in the old Oak Family manor to know that his room barely changed—sure, his toys were replaced with endless stacks of books and documents, and his bed no longer housed soft plushes but apart from those, everything was the same.

“Ever since I was appointed Head, this manor was entrusted to me. I am not aware of Mr. Gopher Wood’s whereabouts nor do I question it.”

“You don’t have company?” “I have attendants.”

You let out a snort which earned a raised brow from him, “That’s different, Sunday. The attendants work here.” The manor used to be so lively, now it felt completely empty and a little cold; you couldn’t help but wonder if Sunday ever felt lonely, especially with a building so vast—was he haunted by the echoes of his lone footsteps? Did he ever avoid eating in the dining room because he’d be the only one sitting at the long table?

“Nevermind, disregard my last question. Though, I do have another one, are you sure you’re comfortable with me sleeping here? I mean, there are tons of other rooms in this manor.” Naturally, since you were now married to Sunday, it only made sense to reside together in the Oak Family manor, however, you didn’t expect to actually share a room with him.

“You’re my wife, are you not? If anything, it’d only rouse suspicions from attendants about us sleeping in different rooms,”

He had a point.

 “And just because our marriage stands on falsehoods does not mean I won’t uphold my role as your husband. I’m sure you’re aware I’m not that kind of man.” Sunday continued. Again, he was right, he certainly wasn’t the type of person to slack off just because he was out of the spotlight and you didn’t know whether that was a blessing or a curse.

“I suggest you wash up first, it has been a long day, after all, and your clothes are in the closet.” Oh, that’s right, you almost forgot about your belongings, thanks to the help of the Bloodhound Family, all of them were transported to the manor safe and sound; you assumed the attendants must have unpacked it all for you.

You absentmindedly nodded, trying to process the fact that you were now bound not only to Sunday but the manor as well for the rest of your life—that you would come home every single night and sleep beside him.

A foreign feeling washed over your body, the feeling that would grow from the depths of your core in response to a drastic change in your life. It wasn’t unsettling nor uncomfortable per se but it was extremely hard to ignore.

Bathing beneath the warm water took a lot longer than you’d intended, the feel of it against your bare skin soothed you so much that it almost felt like someone had wrapped you in a cozy hug, one that you’ve been deprived of these days.

Now, sitting on your side of the bed—the left side—in your silken nightie, you carefully combed your freshly dried hair, a thousand thoughts coursing through your mind and none of them were coherent.

Sure, what you were wearing was designed entirely for sleeping but Xipe above! You felt absolutely exposed; the way its flimsy straps slid down your shoulders every other minute didn’t help at all.

Even the way Sunday’s honeyed eyes widened when you walked out of the bathroom clearly meant he was taken aback by the brazenness of your attire—or the lack of it. But could you really blame yourself? Prior to tonight, you lived alone and that meant you could wear whatever you wanted to bed with no one to judge.

Setting the comb on the night stand beside you, you quickly tucked yourself beneath the ivory duvet upon hearing the shower turn off; if you hid yourself inside the bed, it would make you feel less exposed to Sunday, you pulled on the duvet ‘til it covered all the way up to the base of your neck.

Yeah, this seemed about right.

He stepped out of the bathroom, clad in a pair of matching pyjamas, hair and wings damp, it took him only about three steps before he stopped in his tracks, gaze fixated on you.

“Is the temperature too cold for your liking . . ?” Sunday stood there dumbfounded at the silly sight before him—you, on the bed with just your head and neck sticking out from under the duvet.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. Why do you ask?” You shook your head, blinking up at him. He replied with a small sigh, “If this is about your . . attire then rest assured I do not mind but if you feel uncomfortable, I can offer you a top to wear over.” He immediately looked away, feigning a cough.

His reply may have been nonchalant but you caught how the tips of his ears flushed a deep pink hue; obviously he, too, was as embarrassed as you were, only he was better at hiding it.

Once again, you shook your head, “I don’t want to bother you with such trivial matters. Besides, I’ll be going to sleep soon.”

Sunday wordlessly nodded before turning off the lights and proceeding to walk towards the shared bed—towards you.

As darkness filled the entire room in an instant, you swallowed thickly, trying to calm your poor, poor heart as his footsteps echoed closer than the last; you closed your eyes as he lifted the duvet—a breeze of cool air momentarily enveloping your bare skin—he slipped inside and the mattress dipped beneath his weight, it made you realise just how small of a space there was between your bodies.

Not enough to have your bare arm brushing against his clothed one but enough to feel warmth that radiated from him.

“Pardon me but would you have trouble sleeping if I turned on a lamp?” Sunday whispered into the darkness.

“I don’t mind but are you not going to sleep? It’s well past midnight.” You opened your eyes and inclined your head, facing him.

“I’ll be writing for a bit as sleep has not yet caught up to me.” The bedside lamp turned on with a soft click which immediately illuminated his half of the bed, casting a warm gentle glow on his softened features. You replied with a wordless nod before turning your back to him and letting the faint sound of pen and paper sully you into endless clouds of dreams.

A couple of pages and half a system hour later, Sunday finally looked up from the inked pages of his book. Curious, he glanced over at your sleeping form which remained with your back towards him, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall with every shallow breath.

Compared to earlier, more of your torso peeked from beneath the duvet, he noticed how the flimsy strap of your nightie had fallen from your shoulder and took the initiative—after whispering an apology for his brazen behaviour—to lean over and fix it.

Sunday let out a sigh, he pulled the shared duvet upwards to cover your shoulder before returning to his side of the bed.

For some reason, he couldn’t help but feel that you held disdain for him—and honestly? Rightfully so because truthfully speaking, he had foolishly roped you into an eternal duty without your consent, without considering how you would feel about the entire idea. It wasn’t like him to involve others in such serious matters, and if given the opportunity to shoulder the problem alone, he would’ve done so in a heartbeat.

Sunday gazed down at his book once more, catching a glimpse of glimmering gold wrapped around a digit of his left hand—his wedding band, it shone quietly beneath the warm glow of the lamp. He brought his hand up to examine the piece of jewellery, honeyed gaze following each curve of the intricate pattern engraved on it. Despite its small size, it sat heavy on his finger and whether it was the weight of burden or something more, he had no idea.

Funnily enough, never in a million years did he think he’d be married before Robin; sure, he was the older twin but relationships and marriage rarely crossed his mind, and as embarrassing as it was, flirting definitely wasn’t for him either.

Moment of Morning Dew

“So what you’re suggesting is a date?”

“Indeed.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were quite the romantic, Oak Family Head.”

“To be frank, it wasn’t my idea. It was merely suggested to me and I think it’d be appropriate to make occasional appearances in public as husband and wife.”

Well, there goes romance out of the window. So it was tied to duty after all, and here you were thinking Sunday acted out of his own will for once but if there was anyone to blame the feeling of slight disappointment, it would be none other than you and your naïve heart.

It had only been a little over a month after the marriage yet you’ve already been met with disappointments and you hated yourself for feeling that way because it wasn’t even Sunday’s fault—he was only upholding his role but you? You had mistaken his actions for reality.

The chaste forehead kisses whenever he visited you on set paired with a humble bouquet of flowers, the endearments he called you in front of your co-actors, holding your hand—all these were initiated by him and every single time, like a fool, you had mistaken it for something sincere.

How ironic that between the two of you, Sunday would be the better actor. You’ve paid him a visit countless times in Dewlight Pavilion when you weren’t needed on set—brought him food, offered him a shoulder massage whenever he seemed visibly stressed, and even tried convincing him to take a breather but you were rigid and hesitant.

Today just happened to be one of those days where you visited him. As usual, you were as stiff as a board and your words barely held any sincerity in them, as if you merely read off a script. 

And maybe that’s why he took the initiative to lead because he had sensed your hesitancy regarding everything.

“Where are we headed?” You raised a brow, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Sunday gathered every document on his table and stacked them neatly in a pile before placing it to the side, “Aideen Park. I heard there was a small event happening there and I thought we could pay a visit.”

Moment of Golden Hour

Aideen Park was livelier than normal, people lined up for several reasons—food trucks, photobooths, and even a mini ferris wheel ride. Naturally, the band which usually performed at the heart of the Park gained quite a crowd as well, they played an upbeat melody to fit the joyous atmosphere. Several booths and signage within the vicinity was enough to deduce that this public event was run by SoulGlad with their iconic logo plastered everywhere.

“Hm? Did SoulGlad release a new flavour?” You fell into a step beside Sunday, eyes fixated on a stall where a staff happily gave away freebies and judging by the unfamiliar packaging of SoulGlad in his hand, it had to be a new flavour.

He nodded, jutting out his right arm which you wordlessly held on to, “Indeed, SoulGlad has released a new flavour called Charmony to honour the Charmony Festival. I figured I’d acquire several bottles for Robin.”

You hummed at his reply. It was nice knowing he still thought about his sister even in her absence, at heart, Sunday was truly just an older brother taking care of his family and it warmed your heart more than anything.

You’ve always wondered how he felt when Robin left Penacony; from what you could remember, it was a crucial turning point in their lives as well as yours—her music career was taking off, Sunday was training to be Bronze Melodia, and you had just secured your first lead role.

“Have you had the chance to try the new flavour?” You asked, shaking the thoughts away.

At your question, he shook his head, “I have heard from several people that it has its own unique twist to it. Now, I know we have personal security around but it’s best to stay close to me with this many people present.”

With his free arm, he adjusted your hand on his clothed bicep, allowing you to hold him better. “It’s not like I’m going to run away.” You murmured, ignoring the blanket of heat settling on your cheeks.

There had already been a few instances where you had held Sunday by his bicep like this or his hand but you’ve never gotten used to the feeling of his body pressed closely against your own.

Even through the fabric of his blazer, merely touching him seared your skin like a thousand flames—it felt like it was forbidden to do so yet at the same time, you couldn’t quite pull away even if you wanted to.

Sunday led the two of you to a food truck lined with customers and on the way there, you were both excitedly greeted by many event goers and passerbys, with some even coming up to you for autographs and photos.

You only managed to get through three autographs and two photos before Sunday came up behind you, a chivalrous hand hovering on the small of your back as he gently ushered you away, a wing curled around the back of your head, “We should get going before people start shoving one another to get signatures and such.”

Nodding, you smiled apologetically before bidding them good bye, “It was nice seeing you all! I hope everyone enjoys this SoulGlad event!”

“Pardon my intrusion but I noticed you were getting quite flustered so I took matters into my own hands.” Sunday apologised, not realising his hand—which rested on your lower back—had protectively snaked around your waist, it pulled you closer to him, effectively turning your legs into jello. If it wasn’t for his hold, you would’ve already kissed the grounds of Aideen Park.

Oh god, you hoped he hadn’t noticed how your torso shook with a small shudder. You feigned a cough, “T-That’s quite okay, Sunday. Thank you. What did you want to ord—”

“Mr and Mrs Sunday! How lovely to see Penacony’s harmonious couple in our humble event!” One of the SoulGlad staff at the food truck rushed over to the back of the line where you and Sunday stood, effectively gaining attention from customers in the queue. They turned around and whispered amongst themselves, not-so-subtly pointing at you both.

Sunday greeted the Pepeshi staff with a smile, “Ah, hello. Thank you for having us.” 

“Are you two seeking to order? I can take it in advance so the two of you won’t have to wait!” He excitedly spoke, the fluff ball atop his head vigorously swinging back and forth.

In unison, you and Sunday both shook your heads, declining his kind offer, “We shan’t. She and I are here as humble customers, we don’t mind waiting a little while. It would be unfair for those who are before us.”

“No such thing! Mr. Sunday and Mrs are our esteemed guests! You know what? I’ll go ahead and get two servings of our best seller—Clockie Pizza!” Before the two of you could humbly decline once more, the Pepeshi had already taken off towards the food truck, excitement budding with every step he took.

Within a few minutes, he came running back with two servings of Clockie Pizza on a paper plate, steam which radiated from the slices indicated it was freshly taken from the oven.

“Here you are! Two slices for our very special customers, enjoy!” Both of you thanked the Pepeshi staff as he handed the plate over to Sunday, he gave the two of you another excited smile before skipping off towards the food truck. You and Sunday could only exchange lopsided smiles, not really knowing what to make out of the situation; as much as you felt bad, you were pretty hungry so you were absolutely more than thankful.

After eating, the two of you found yourselves in one of the photobooths (Embarrassingly, Sunday had noticed you were staring intently at them while you were eating and asked if you wanted to go). Naturally, the booth had limited space inside which meant you two had to squeeze yourselves on the bench—arms and legs flushed against one another.

You tried not to think about how your wing momentarily brushed his own, his ivory feathers tickling yours; Halovians’ wings were a sensitive area and one couldn’t just reach out and have a feel of it, many Halovians treat their wings as the most important part of their body and consider it an intimate gesture if they willingly let someone touch it.

“How does one operate this?” He drew the crimson curtain on his left side to close off the booth before turning to you with a hint of confusion on his face. At his question, you  mirrored his expression, brows drawn together, “Have you not tried one before?—Nevermind. We simply press this button on the screen to get started and once it starts, the camera takes three pictures so we have to think of different poses for each frame.”

“And oh, it’s timed so efficiency is needed.”

“Seems quite pressuring, no?” Sunday humourlessly laughed. This was his first time trying out a photobooth machine and the thought of coming up with three different poses in a span of mere seconds . . He couldn’t even think of one off the top of his head.

“Oh? Is the Oak Family Head intimidated by a photobooth? Well, if you ever feel stuck, you can go ahead and copy my poses. Ready?” You glanced over at him who only nodded in response, honeyed pupils gleaming beneath the harsh lights of the booth.

Without another word, you leaned over and  pressed the button in the middle before quickly getting into a pose—the classic smile with a peace sign.

On the other hand, Sunday blinked as he watched numbers on the screen count down. 3. Ah, what pose should he do? 2. Maybe just a smile? Would that be too formal? 1. He quickly looked over to you to imitate your pose but before he could even get his hand in position, the camera brightly flashed indicating that the first photo had been taken.

“Quick! Finish off the other half of this heart!”

As the screen began counting down once more, Sunday hesitantly mirrored your gesture with his left hand. Four fingers curl like so . . and how does the thumb go? Ah, straight down at an angle. Then, place it against her hand. While he mused over how to complete the hand heart, the camera flashed once again. Another photo taken, another frame where he wasn’t ready. Why are photobooths so hard?

“Why don’t we just do a smile?” 

Finally, something he could get behind. The two of you instinctively squeezed closer, inclining your heads towards one another with smiles on your face, then, the camera flashed. Sunday let out a soft sigh, it’s as if weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

A small laugh escaped your lips as the two of you exited the booth, “Not bad for your first photobooth experience, huh?” You didn’t notice how heated your skin had become ‘til the air outside pressed against you like an icy envelope.

“You are teasing.” Sunday stared at you with a deadpan expression which only pulled another laugh.

The small machine whirred to life, producing two copies of the strip, you took them both and handed one over to him, “This one is yours, Mr. Oak Family Head.”

You took the time to examine each frame and couldn’t help but crack a smile at how clueless he looked in the first two photos; the first one was him blankly glancing over at you while on the second one, he wore a confused expression while glancing down at his half of the hand heart.

As for the third photo, you didn’t want to look at it for too long. Not because it was hideous or any of that sort—quite the opposite—but because both of you looked like an actual happy couple, a pair who loved one another. You swallowed thickly.

“Where shall we head next? Up for a ferris wheel ride?” Tucking the photo strip inside the pocket of your jacket, you looked up at Sunday with a calculated smile on your face. His gaze lingered on you for a second longer as if to search for something but nonetheless, he nodded.

The ferris wheel carriage was quite small, meaning either you and Sunday would have to squeeze together—again—on one side of the carriage or sit on opposite sides; obviously, both of you opted for the latter, which despite facing one another, at least gave you room to breathe.

You avoided fully facing him by slightly angling yourself sideways to gaze beyond the carriage; the ride wasn’t as grand as the one in Clock Studios Theme Park  but it was able to reveal a great area of Golden Hour once at the top.

Below, Penaconians went on about their day as usual—whether it be shopping, working or simply taking a leisurely stroll in the Moment, you watched as they led their own lives, wondering what it felt like to be a normal Penaconian.

But what did normal mean for you, exactly? You wished you had the answer.

Sunday knew it was rude to stare but he simply couldn’t bring himself to stop either. Earlier, when you were examining the photo strip, he had noticed the solemn expression on your face; how the corners of your lips sunk ever so slightly and the faint gleam of sadness in your eyes.

A wave of regret hit him once more, the same way it had done for the past month—hard. And now as he watched you observe the Dreamscape below, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for your sadness. There had been many instances where he had caught you with a somber expression but he never dared address it, though now seemed like a great opportunity.

“Are you quite alright?”

Turning your head to him, you drew your brows together, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sunday pressed his lips in a thin line, “You . . can always talk to me. As a friend.”

You chuckled, adjusting your body so you could face him fully, “Is the Oak Family Head missing his Bronze Melodia days?”

Deflecting—that’s what you were doing, a habit he never once liked from you but as concerned as he was, he didn’t press any further. Doing so would most likely only worsen whatever you housed inside your chest, and he didn’t want to be the cause of that. Maybe some day you’d finally open up to him about all your worries and feelings but for now, he’d wait even if it meant waiting for eons.

Moment of Sol

“Ah, Mr. Sunday! Lovely to see you here once again. As you can see, we’re about to start filming so it’s best to keep quiet. Other than that, feel free to watch.” The director—who he had come to know as Thaddeus—gleefully whispered before heading to his seat. The former wasn’t old, most likely in his early forties but he did don several silvery strands on his head along with a full beard.

Sunday made his way over to a quiet corner behind all the film crew with a decent view of the scene unfolding before him. The set was a large bedroom dimmed to convey a sultry atmosphere, in the middle sat a large bed draped in crimson sheets where you and Cassian were positioned. Judging by this, he could easily deduce that the scene you were filming was rather intimate—it was a romance film after all.

During the previous times he had visited you, the scenes he witnessed were more . . family friendly. Scenes where Celestine—the character you played—merely caught up with her friends in a coffee shop and all of that sort; there was one that Sunday particularly took a liking to, where you and Cassian argued back and forth—an intense quarrel between two lovers.

It reminded him how much of an amazing actress you were, he didn’t want to admit it but that scene moved him enough to make his eyes water, he could only imagine what it would look like on the big screen. But this scene was entirely different, Sunday had never seen you act intimately before and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

“Quiet on set! Pictures up! Roll sound! Roll camera! Marker . . and action!”

Clap!

The slate’s sound echoed throughout the entire set and Sunday watched as you and Cassian instantly got into character. He sucked in a breath as the two of you slowly inched closer to one another, sealing each other’s lips in a heated kiss.

Soft, wet sounds filled the room, the kiss deepened and turned into something less innocent  and for a brief moment, Sunday forgot he was in a set, and that the scene before him was scripted.

He swallowed thickly, shifting his weight from one foot to another as Cassian roamed his hands all over your body, even going as far as raking his palms along your clothed chest and the area behind your wings. A dainty whimper slipped past your kiss-bitten slips in between breaths, followed by a whisper of his name. 

Something strange bubbled within Sunday’s chest, he was well aware everything was scripted but seeing another man brazenly touch you with lust and fervour, and hearing you breathe out someone else’s name did not feel right at all. Was he jealous? No. But he wasn’t entirely fine with this either. 

Nonetheless, Sunday didn’t have the right to have a say on these matters so he kept quiet and continued watching how Cassian eagerly shoved his tongue past your lips like a hungry beast. He didn’t even realise his jaw had tightened and the tips of his fingers had dug into the hearts of his palms ‘til the Thaddeus yelled ‘Cut!’ ultimately breaking immersion. The two of you pulled away from one another, breathless and hair mussed.

“Cassian, remember to angle your arm slightly or else we won’t be able to see her face—” 

As the director gave him instructions, you managed to spot a familiar face within the small crowd of film crew, his golden halo shone lightly beneath the artificial set lighting—Sunday.

Xipe above, you almost forgot he was going to pay you a visit today, not that you didn’t want him to come, it’s just that having him watch an erotic scene with yourself and Cassian felt odd. You were embarrassed, to say the least. As an actress, you took yourself out of comfort zones countless times for different roles and they were no easy feat but who knew you’d be struggling to act in an intimate scene before Sunday?

With a lopsided smile, you shyly waved at him to which he responded with an incline of his head. Whether he had a smile on his face or not, you weren’t sure, you couldn’t see clearly beyond the lighting.

Sunday, in fact, did not have a smile on his face

It was childish and idiotic to sulk over such a minor thing and if he could stop his chest from tightening weirdly, he would have done so already but he couldn’t, and now a subtle frown blanketed his face. He tried to look at the bright side—how talented you were at acting and how proud he was that you’ve come so far but god he was powerless to his own thoughts.

“Alright, from the top! Sound! Cameras! Marker and . . action!”

Clap!

Again, the entire room snapped into place, including you and Cassian. For the second time, Sunday watched in silence as the two of you passionately made out once more, this time the scene escalated to him pushing you down on the mattress below, lips still locked onto your own, and hands pinned against the pillows.

Even with your eyes closed and even with Cassian smothering you like there was no tomorrow, you could feel the heat of Sunday’s gaze from beyond the cameras and lights—the intensity of it. Getting into the zone was second nature to you yet you couldn’t shake off the nagging thought that he was watching you, it felt like you were cheating right in front of his face; Sunday probably didn’t mind at all but still.

This went on for a few more minutes until Thaddeus was satisfied with the outcome and wrapped up the scene, “Actors, we need you in a wardrobe change and can we please rearrange lighting on the set for the next scene?”

With that, you stood up from the bed and walked over to Sunday who greeted you with a small smile, “Hey, I’m glad you’re here.” You mirrored his smile before loosely wrapping your arms around his waist. A simple performance in front of everyone. He did the same and placed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.

“You did well, my love.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Mm, really? I’m glad you think so.”

“Well, I shan’t take up any more of your time. Mr. Thaddeus did mention a wardrobe change for you, right?” Sunday slightly pulled back, a warm smile on his face as he gazed down at you. Ah, you wished he stayed for a little longer even though embarrassment ate you alive in his presence  but alas, he was a busy man, so you simply nodded,

“I’ll see you around?” The corners of your lips curled into a smile.

He hummed, he gave you another chaste kiss, this time on your forehead before completely letting go of you. Oh, god. Was it merely your imagination or was he acting extra . . touchy? You wouldn’t even dream of putting Sunday and touchy in the same sentence—they were like two magnets with the same side that repelled one another but his actions proved otherwise. Or maybe you were highly delusional.

Before he could walk away any further, you called out to him, “Sunday?” He turned around, an expectant look painted on his face.

“I . .” Love you? Was that what you were going to say? There was no harm in that, right? Right? Come to think of it, neither of you had ever uttered those words—were you about to start now? Technically, the two of you were married and expressing love to one another was normal. God, why were you even overthinking—

Whatever.

“I love you.”

Sunday’s wings momentarily rustled, a hint of shock washed over his face, albeit subtle, you caught on. His chest tightened but it wasn’t the same feeling as earlier, it didn’t hurt, instead, it felt like a dainty butterfly fluttering inside his ribcage. He stared at you momentarily, the rush of everyone else around fading into the background, his breaths turned shallow and slightly uneven. Was he sick?

“I . . love you, too.” And without another word, he left.

Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake!

You reminded yourself this marriage was fake and so was his response but your heart believed otherwise because now it pounded against the bars of your ribs, it wanted to leap out and find comfort in the warmth of his palms. Heat spread from your cheeks, along the column of your neck, and all the way down to your chest—it bloomed like a fiery flower, its blazing petals hungry for more. 

The urge to tell Sunday as soon as possible settled in your heart.

The night before the Charmony Festival, Old Oak Family Manor (Reality)

Unfortunately, with both your schedules tightly packed, you rarely saw Sunday within the past week—only some nights during ungodly hours where he carefully slipped next to you in bed but other than that, no words were exchanged, and as much as you wanted to talk to him, exhaustion weighed on your body. And as soon as you were enveloped by the softness of the bed, it immediately lulled you into a deep sweet dream.

Tonight wasn’t any different, you came home to yet another empty house—save for the attendants—without Sunday and frankly, you were worried he wasn’t getting the proper rest he needed. You did leave him a couple of messages earlier between your shoots simply asking how he was but he never replied to them, though that wasn't surprising given how close the festival was.

The shared bed felt a lot colder and bigger as you slipped beneath the covers, you turned to face Sunday’s side, stretching out an arm as if to reach for him only to be met with emptiness. A small sigh slipped past your lips, you silently prayed to Xipe that THEY would answer your wishes to see him soon. 

For now, you closed your eyes and went to sleep.

11 system hours later

Ri█—ng!

█Rin█g!

Ring!

At the sound of your phone, you stirred awake in bed, sleep still weighed heavy on your body. Was that your alarm? You didn’t remember setting one last night . . Nonetheless, you slowly opened your eyes and reached for the device atop the wooden nightstand, bringing it to your face. You blinked a few times, doing your best to adjust the blur of your vision to see better.

Mr. Oti Alfalfa

Huh? Why was the Alfalfa Family Head calling you? As if your entire body was doused in icy water, you quickly shot up, fingers raked through your mussed hair as you answered, “H-Hello?”

“Ah, it seems you’ve finally woken up, Miss.”

“Mr. Oti Alfalfa! My sincere apologies, it had been a long night . . May I ask why you’re calling?” You rubbed your temples, looking at the wall clock to check the time—11 system hours?! You’ve been asleep for 11 system hours? Just how tired were you last night? Though, with the weight of sleep on you, it did feel like you slept for quite a while, almost like a never ending dream.

“The Family has cleared your schedule for today, we require your presence at the Dewlight Pavilion right this moment. There are important matters to be discussed.”

At the mention of The Family’s residence, you looked over to your right. No Sunday, an empty space. Seeing as how they required your presence, that meant they asked for him too, right? He must’ve been at the Pavilion already but why didn’t he wake you up from your sleep?

There were a thousand questions that ran through your mind regarding the whole situation but what could they possibly need to discuss with you? They even cleared your schedule which meant it had to be something very serious, not to mention how you could sense the urgency in old Oti’s tone as he spoke of important matters. 

It made you somewhat uneasy.

“Alright. I will be there in a few minutes.”

With that, you quickly got dressed and headed for the Dreamscape.

Moment of Morning Dew

The Dewlight Pavilion housed more members of The Family than usual, its entrance had at least six Bloodhound Family security officers guarding the doors, and the inside wasn’t any better. What was going on? Today was the Charmony Festival, right? So why was almost everyone present in the Pavilion? You walked down its long halls, each step taken heavier than the last.

There was a slight tension in the air, you felt it and it made your stomach churn; you noticed how some attendants gazed at you as if you were some kind of criminal. 

Was . . something wrong? Nonetheless, you ignored them and kept walking ‘til you reached the Council Chamber.

Inside, gathered four Family Heads, they gathered at the heart of the chamber, sitting around a vast circular table. Robin was also present but where was Sunday? Shouldn’t he be present as well? 

“. . May I ask what this is all about?” Your brows furrowed, a small frown forming on your lips; you looked over at Robin who only gave you a solemn expression, even the look on your adoptive mother’s face was hard to explain.

“Are you aware of what has transpired in Penacony?” Oti Alfalfa spoke up.

Slowly, you made your way over to situate yourself next to Robin. “No . .  I have been asleep and only woke up from your call. Did something terrible happen in the Dreamscape?” You felt asking that question would do more harm than good but there had to be a clear reason as to why they needed you here.

The atmosphere was unbearable. Every Head, including Robin wore an unreadable expression, it’s as if all of them were in on some kind of secret and no one dared to inform you about it. Sunday’s absence in this meeting made you all the more nervous. All of them shared strange looks with one another before Oti Alfalfa spoke up once again,

“. . The Oak Family Head and the Dreammaster had committed the highest act of treason—not only to The Family but to the entirety of Penacony. Sunday usurped the Harmony and revived Ena The Order to use THEIR power to create an eternal dream paradise.”

You didn’t know what to say. Was there even anything appropriate to say? 

It didn’t feel real at all, you were hoping they were merely playing a sick, elaborate prank on you but the look on their faces proved otherwise. Old Oti’s words reached your ears the same way nightmares did—fragmented, disjointed, and absolutely impossible to process all at once.

Sunday. Treason. Eternal dream paradise.

No. That wasn’t the Sunday you knew, he couldn’t have possibly done something like that, not the man who had spent most of his life looking out for others—putting their needs before his. It felt contradictory to everything he was. But did it really? Your mind scrambled for reason and context, for some kind of missing piece that would make everything make sense but there was nothing. 

Among the million of questions, your mind raised another: What exactly had your marriage been for? 

You stood with him before all of Penacony yet all this time he secretly worked with the Dreammaster to dismantle the very concept you and he were assigned to uphold—Harmony. A deep, aching sorrow settled beneath your ribs.

“Rightfully, the former Oak Family Head was imprisoned but it has come to our attention that he had managed to flee from prison, he is now deemed a wanted fugitive. We asked you to join this meeting because we have a few questions regarding your husband.” Flee from prison? How? And who aided him? A part of you was relieved that Sunday managed to flee from The Family’s wrath but you were also scared of what he might face once they found him.

You knew what was coming next.

Maeven Ellis parted her crimson-stained lips, she still held onto that unreadable expression, “Oh, Triple-Faced Soul, please sear her tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that she will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.”

“Everyone in this room is aware regarding the status of your marriage with the former Oak Family Head, orchestrated to refute rumours within the Dreamscape. Were you an accomplice to him and the Dreammaster? Was your marriage merely a disguise to direct Penacony’s attention from their dark schemes?”

You shook your head, “No. I was only aware that our marriage was a solution against those rumours.”

Why were they asking you this? Each Family Head had already agreed to the Dreammaster’s proposal of having you and Sunday marry one another, why was Oti Alfalfa acting as if he wasn’t in favour of the proposal?

“Did you have a hand at helping the former Oak Family Head escape?”

Once again, you shook your head, “No. As I mentioned earlier, I just woke up. I came home from a long shoot last night and went to bed as soon as I could.”

“Did the former Oak Family Head tell you of his schemes?”

You were getting sick of this, twice you’ve already told them you weren’t aware of the Dreammaster and Sunday’s plans, why were they so insistent you had a hand at their schemes? Your mother—out of all people—knew you’d never get involved with something like that. Sure, you had the third highest ranking in the Iris Family but you were merely an actress and stayed out of The Family’s business.

“No.”

Oti Alfalfa nodded, briefly glancing at the golden band around your finger, “That is all but let me tell you this, once The Family finds out you have made contact without any notice or you are actively helping the former Oak Family Head hide, you will be met with punishment for aiding and abetting. This applies to you as well, Miss Robin.”

He didn’t have to verbally say it yet you knew between those words he spoke, he wanted to remind you that The Family was always watching.

After being dismissed by Old Oti, you headed straight to Golden Hour to clear your head—you still couldn’t wrap your head around the whole incident. Did he really manage to revive a dead Aeon? The one that Xipe assimilated? The severity of the entire thing was beyond you and there was no easy way to process all this.

Moment of Golden Hour

“You know, Sunny, won’t it be better to bid farewell to her instead of staring at her poster like a total creep?” 

“That implies we won’t see each other again and I do not intend to keep it that way. Even so, I simply cannot bring myself to face her like this even with a disguise. It’s far too risky, Wonweek. I am a fugitive, after all.”

Amidst the glittering luxuries, billboards, and rush of people in the Moment, Sunday—disguised as an Intellitron—stood before an expansive poster of you at Oti Mall, his honeyed gaze traced over your features once, twice, thrice as if to engrave them in his mind.

He was aware the poster was merely an advertisement for a skin care brand yet you looked extremely happy in it and he could only wish the same for you now. With the amount of Bloodhound Family security patrolling around, he assumed news had already broken out regarding his escape, and that you were also aware of it—of everything he had done.

The Pepeshi—Wonweek—who stood next to him hummed, “Oh, really? Not even when she’s right there crying?"

Sunday immediately turned to his companion, “What?” He followed the Pepeshi’s line of sight, it took a few seconds before finally spotting your familiar figure—you sat on a bench in front of Clock Diner, arms crossed over your chest, seemingly staring into nothing. Even though you wore a hat and sunglasses, Sunday could still tell it was you.

“W-Well, maybe not crying but she certainly doesn’t look okay to me.”

“Stay here . .” Sunday absentmindedly murmured, his eyes remained fixated on you, and as if his feet had a mind of its own, he started walking towards you.

“Hey! What the heck happened to ‘I simply cannot bring myself to face her like this’!” Wonweek called out to him, mocking his voice but didn’t bother interfering, he figured the two of you needed to talk, even if it was indirectly.

This wasn’t Sunday’s plan at all, he wasn’t supposed to approach you yet here he was merely three steps away; he had to remind himself not to get carried away with things and that he had a disguise which meant he was a stranger to you.

“Pardon my intrusion, Miss but are you okay?”

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, you immediately snapped out of your thoughts and shifted your gaze to its owner who stood to your left, just beyond your line of sight—it was an Intellitron clad in a long plum coloured dress. Despite their unmoving facial features, you could sense the hint of concern in their voice.

“O-Oh, um! Yes, of course thank you for asking . . Apologies for my rudeness! Did you want to sit down?” You feigned a cough and adjusted the sunglasses atop your nosebridge before scooting to the edge of the bench to make room. The Intellitron murmured a small thank you as she sat down, smoothing the skirt of her dress.

“My apologies if you were taken aback by my brazenness.”

“Not at all! I’m grateful to have someone look out for me, Miss . . ?”

“Wonweek.” The Intellitron replied.

“Miss Wonweek! What a lovely name . . Thank you, again. It’s just that it’s been a long day and, uh, a . . dear friend of mine has gone somewhere far, far away from me, and I am not certain when I will see him next. Or if I will ever see him again.” You tried your best to stabilize your voice but as each word slipped past your lips, they trembled harder than the last, and the only way to calm yourself down was to caress the golden band wrapped around your ring finger.

“This friend . . he seems quite important to you, no?”

Letting out a shaky sigh, you nodded, “He’s someone I hold very dear to my heart and all I wish for is to talk to him. I’ve been meaning to tell him something.” Sunday swallowed thickly, what could that something possibly be? He’d rather not get his hopes up.

“Your friend may have gone off somewhere far away but I am certain once the time is right, destiny will intertwine your paths once more.”

“Of course. And should the path he chooses not include me in the future, I can only hope it’s a path where he is genuinely happy. I am willing to sacrifice that.” After all, your ties with The Family would make the situation difficult—Oti Alfalfa had already warned you earlier that they had eyes and ears everywhere.

“I may not know your friend well but I am certain he would not want a future without you in it.”

3 months and 3 weeks later, Consternation Starzone, Planarcadia

“Ugh, come on! You already picked the last movie, Stelle! Let me pick one for movie night this time!”

As Sunday walked into the hotel room, he was immediately met with a scene of his bickering companions, however, one of them remained seated in a corner with his arms folded across his chest and eyes closed.

“Great, Sunday’s here! He can back me up on this one! Can you please convince her to watch this movie?” The pink haired woman —who he had come to know as Miss March 7th—eagerly walked over to him and shoved her phone before his face, presenting an opened browser tab for an overview of a movie.

Love and Devotion (1h 49m): Estranged childhood best friends find their way back to one another which results in a trip down memory lane and a blossoming love. Faced with obstacles from their contrasting paths, they navigate through difficulties together, ultimately challenging their relationship.

Cast: Mr. Cassian Noctis, Mrs.—

She swiftly pulled away her phone before he could read any further, an expectant look in her eyes. That was your movie, March 7th wanted to watch your movie—he made a promise to himself he’d make time to watch it once it comes out but ever since he boarded the Express, it had only been missions after missions. Though, he was updated enough to know that it received a lot of love not only in Penacony but across the cosmos as well.

“Do you even know what you’re asking of him? That’s his wife in that movie!” Stelle—the other woman March argued with earlier—scratched the back of her head, whisper-yelling the other half of her sentence. She sat on the edge of the bed, a pillow tucked beneath her arms.

The latter quickly connected the dots, her eyes wide with realisation, “O-Oh! Um! You know what, I think we can go with the movie you picked!”

It wasn’t a secret among the Crew that Sunday was married but they figured the topic was sensitive to him as he barely talked about you, even the mention of Penacony had him wearing a solemn expression.

Though it was the complete opposite for him, Sunday wanted to talk about you—about his homeworld but he was afraid doing so would only get his hopes up for nothing. For the past few months he had been hoping to at least get a glimpse of you during his journey around the cosmos, you were an actress after all, you occasionally went on film press tours.

“I don’t mind at all. I had the opportunity to watch behind the scenes while they were shooting and I was more than intrigued to see the finished piece.” Sunday shook his head, he handed March their room keycard she gave him earlier before sitting next to his dark haired companion on the couch.

“Really? That’s so cool! Ugh, I wish I could get her autograph! You know, I was quite surprised when news broke out that she was engaged! I’ve also seen some of the wedding photos and you two looked absolutely stunning! Anyway, how about you Dan Heng? Do you have any movies you wanna watch?” March turned to the man next to Sunday.

Dan Heng opened his eyes and slowly shook his head, “I’m okay with any movie you guys pick.”

After a few more minutes of going back and forth, all lights were turned off and everyone eventually settled on Love and Devotion. Sunday was the most intrigued—even more than March 7th who initially convinced all to watch the movie; he knew of your acting prowess yet  he was completely speechless.

Every single time you appeared on screen, his heart seemed to skip a beat or two, he chalked it up to not having seen your face for a while which is why excitement enveloped him every now and then. 

However, half way through the movie while a particular scene played—the scene he vividly remembered watching on set—a foreign feeling enveloped his entire body, a hint of heat and something more.

Subtly, Sunday looked around to see his companions’ reactions, March 7th and Stelle who were sitting on the bed were unfazed by the escalating scene of the movie whereas Dan Heng merely scrolled on his dimmed phone, a slight blanket of pink dusting his cheeks.

With the volume turned all the way up, wet kissing sounds filled all four walls of the hotel room, it made Sunday’s stomach churn in a way that had him digging the tips of his fingers on his palms.

You and Cassian were only kissing but the intensity and lewd noises you made sent an icy shudder down his spine.

This wasn’t good.

A quiet, shaky sigh left his lips as his pants tightened with each passing second. Oh god, was he . . aroused? He didn’t remember feeling this way when he was on set—quite the opposite—so why now?

Sure, the room was dark enough to hide his growing erection but it wasn’t exactly ideal to experience one around three people. Besides, it was uncouth and he needed to leave. Now.

Sunday immediately stood up, gaining curious glances from everyone else, he tried to subtly cover pants, “Uh, I-I need to get something in Dan Heng and I’s room. Feel free to keep watching.” He didn’t bother waiting for anyone else to respond and immediately headed for the door.

As he stepped out onto the hallway, he breathed out a sigh of relief, at least there wasn’t anyone else around the corridors this late at night. Carefully, he walked towards the shared room, trying his best to avoid further friction in his pants or else it would be a very embarrassing moment for him—it was  humiliating enough to walk with a weird gait, anything more and he’d bury himself in the ground.

Thankfully, Sunday reached the room which he hastily opened with the keycard tucked inside his pocket, he swiftly slipped inside and sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes closed.

Silence settled in the air, it was accompanied by his heavy, uneven breaths as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He felt extremely filthy—to think of you in such a lustful light without your knowledge, it was beyond unmannerly. 

“F-Forgive me . . for my vulgar thoughts and for what I am about to do.”

In the blink of an eye, Sunday found himself inside the bathroom, door locked and back pressed against it.

Dizziness washed over him and embarrassment ate away at his feverish skin as he reached for the waistband of his pants, he hastily pulled it down with his underwear, a sharp hiss leaving his lips, cock slapping against his lower abdomen. It wore a deep blush of pink and oozed with pearlescent pre-cum, he wondered how his cock would look against your face while you licked and sucked at it.

The soft fabric shamelessly pooled around his ankles which completely exposed his lower half, the cool air against his legs left an icy shudder. Sunday brought the hem of his shirt to his face, biting down at it so it didn’t get in the way.

He wrapped a trembling hand around the base and squeezed, a loud moan immediately spilling from his lips, pre-cum that decorated his sensitive cockhead trickled down.

A pearlescent sheen covered the entirety of Sunday’s cock as he eagerly spread it from tip to base—up and down, up and down, a couple of languid strokes that had him panting heavily.

A vivid imagery of you pumping his cock plagued his mind as he shut his eyes closed, both hands wrapped around the length of his shaft while your tongue gave experimental licks, “Ngh—ah! Mhm!” Sunday whimpered, free hand gripping the cool surface of the bathroom door behind him, he hadn't been doing this for long yet his knees were ready to give up from the immense weight of pleasure.

His chest vigorously rose and fell as each inhale and exhale turned more shallow than the last, he picked up the pace, stroking himself a little faster.

Pure bliss gnawed at his feverish skin, it sank its teeth into him ‘til it reached his very bones, engulfing his entire body in an intoxicating pleasured state.

“Ah—! Haah! Oh, god!”

Despite the sound of blood rushing in his ears, Sunday replayed the sinful moans you made in the movie, how your face contorted in pleasure as Cassian kissed down your neck—lips parted and brows tightly knitted together.

You sang the most exquisite melody he has ever heard and he could only hope to pull the very same ones, maybe something even better, one that would flawlessly intertwine with his own to create an immoral tune.

He bucked his hips into his curled hand at the thought of having sex with you. Embarrassingly, Sunday had never gotten intimate with anyone—his days were packed with duty on top of duty and he wasn’t given the chance to get into a relationship as it was the last thing he had in mind as (former) Oak Family Head. All he knew was to govern the Lineage he grew up in.

But he wondered . . How would you feel around his cock? Were you warm and soft?—maybe even a hint of greediness where you readily swallowed him whole.

It almost pained him that you weren’t in front of him right this moment because now, he had to settle for his inexperienced hand and just the thought of that grew a bud of frustration within his chest. Sunday wanted you—he needed you. 

Badly.

He desired to bury his shaft deep inside and have you come undone around him once, twice, as much as you wanted—‘til your legs trembled around his waist, ‘til your throat ran dry from repeatedly calling his name like a sacred prayer, and even then, he wasn’t sure if his thirst would be satiated.

This wasn’t just lust anymore. No. Sunday wasn’t merely aroused by a heated scene in your movie, he held something much deeper for you in his heart. It had always been there from the start but remained dormant and quiet enough to go unnoticed by him but now that it has bloomed into something greater, he realised that what he held for you was love.

Sunday loved you. Deeply, truly, and agonizingly.

At the sudden realisation, the coil inside him snapped instantaneously, spurts of hot cum spilled from his cock, he came with a loud wanton moan which echoed throughout the bathroom walls. His body trembled and pleasure which engulfed his entire body took him to places he’s never been before.

Sunday grunted as he milked his cock, shamelessly pumping it ‘til it emptied; he slumped against the door, filth settling over him while he tried to catch his breath.

Despite his lust-clouded mind, he only thought of one thing—to tell you how he truly felt.

As morning finally came, Sunday stepped outside the hotel to gather his thoughts after last night’s realisation, he figured getting some fresh air while walking amongst the locals and taking in the beauty of Ahatopia would quench the yearning in his heart.

Duomension City was as busy as ever with students, office workers and early risers trying to get through the morning rush, even at this hour the City remained lively—this world wasn’t entirely different from Penacony, teeming with large and colourful animated posters, it reminded Sunday of Moment of Golden Hour which also brimmed with bright billboards, music, and the surge of Penaconians out and about, it made him miss home even more.

But Planarcadia was different, it was a world that devoured silence and perhaps that’s why Sunday had grown to relax a little because silence left too much room to think. He adjusted the collar of his coat as he stepped through the crowded avenue, weaving between strangers with practised ease.

The cool air smelled faintly of freshly brewed coffee and expensive perfume, it blended seamlessly with the sounds of passing conversations and the quiet hum of cars.

A group of students rushed past him suddenly, laughing too loudly and nearly colliding with his shoulder. Sunday stepped aside instinctively, accidentally knocking into a stranger; the sound of a distinct thud reached his ears, an object falling onto the ground.

He halted his tracks to pick up the fallen object—a bottle of iced coffee—and return it to its owner. Ah, he should really watch his surroundings.

“My apologies for bumping into you, I should’ve been more aware of my—” Sunday stopped mid sentence as he faced the owner of the beverage.

The world didn’t go silent, no, if anything, Planarcadia only grew louder around him—footsteps rushing past, the distant sound of train announcements echoing, laughter from down the street but all of it blurred into meaningless noise because standing only a few inches away was you.

There was no mistaking it with your ivory wings and gleaming halo.

Was he dreaming? It had to be an elaborate prank, no? This was the world of Elation after all, maybe some Fool decided to play a sick joke on him. But the look on your face mirrored his own—shock and confusion.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the sea of people in the vicinity weaved their way around—they split and reformed like water around stone. Strangers brushed against his shoulders unaware that his world had just tilted violently off its axis.

You weren’t doing any better at all, it's as though your heart had forgotten how to beat. Sunday looked different, it wasn’t a drastic change but it was enough for you to notice.

The pristine perfection once attached to him had frayed at the edges, his attire was less . . uniform, and his eyes gleamed with more sincerity but there was undeniable exhaustion on his face, as if the last few months had carved something deeper into him.

And yet it was still him—your Sunday.

“. . You’re here . . ?” He broke the loud silence first.

“So are you.” You breathed out.

He looked down, suddenly remembering the bottle which rested on his palm. Carefully, he stepped closer and held it out, you took it with your left hand, fingers brushing against his gloved hand.

Sunday sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed the familiar band of gold around your ring finger, “You—You still wear your ring?” He asked with a hint of hope evident in his tone.

You almost laughed at the absurdity of his observation but curiosity soon followed, “We are still married, after all. People notice everything, if they don’t see a ring on me, they’d immediately assume divorce. It’s not exactly easy given your absence in Penacony. Why? Do you not wear yours anymore?”

Oh. So you only kept the ring on to avoid speculation and here he thought it meant something more to you but he didn’t have the luxury to sulk about it because every second spent in his presence faced bigger punishment for you—he knew The Family, they weren’t lenient.

He didn’t wear his ring anymore but kept it with him at all times, it was tucked safely inside the inner pocket of his coat, close to his heart. He refused to wear it for the same reason he severed his halo back in Penacony—to feel pain. Albeit not physically, he felt the emotional pain of being undeserving of loving you and being loved by you.

“I think I should go. We—We shouldn’t be talking . .” Sunday shook his head and slowly stepped backwards which earned a baffled expression from you.

That’s it?

After not seeing each other for months, he was just going to chicken out and refuse to talk? You were well aware he only cared for your safety but you believed you needed answers from him and besides, the confession in your heart sat long enough—it was finally time to set it free.

“Really, Sunday?”

The sound of your voice uttering his name had him swallowing thickly. “Because if I remember correctly, you still had the guts to talk to me back in Penacony hours after you became a fugitive.”

He stopped in his tracks, now it was his turn to be confused, “You saw through my disguise?”

“. . I had a hunch it was you. I’ve replayed that conversation a million times for the past few months—over and over ‘til it finally dawned on me. So, please, let’s talk? You told me in that very conversation you wouldn’t want a future without me in it, right?”

Sunday couldn’t refuse.

The two of you found yourselves back at your hotel room—he would’ve offered his room if he wasn’t sharing it with Dan Heng—both of you figured it wasn’t best to talk about such matters in public, especially since merely being seen together with Sunday was already a crime itself.

The hotel you stayed at was more luxurious, a suite which offered a generous view of the bustling city below and its panoramic skyline, and carefully selected artwork adorned its beige painted walls.

“Are you here for a press tour?” He asked, eyeing the expansive room. 

“I’m here on vacation.”

Silence stretched and tension grew thicker with each second, you and Sunday stood a few metres apart from one another, sticking out like sore thumbs. Neither of you dared to speak with the amount of thoughts that raced in your minds—there was simply a lot to talk about that none of you knew where to start at all.

Should you address the elephant in the room? What he did back in Penacony and the fact that he was now a wanted criminal? Or should you tell him the very words in your heart that desired to be known?

Yes, Sunday committed the highest act of treason against his homeland, its people, and The Family but what exactly could you even say to him regarding that matter? Get angry and berate him further like everyone else did in his absence? Doing so still wouldn’t change what he had done. You’ve heard every word The Family higher ups spoke of him—they were rightfully angry, of course, you wouldn’t deny them that feeling but it pained you.

“I need to tell you something.” Both of you spoke up in unison, urgency in your tones equally evident.

“You go ahead first.” Sunday cleared his throat. If he was being honest, he hasn’t been able to sit still ever since he last spoke to you in Penacony—you mentioned how you wanted to tell him something, and judging by the look on your face, he could only assume what you wanted to say was regarding that matter.

Letting out a sigh, you nodded, never in a million years did you think you’d be confessing to him in a luxury hotel room, in a foreign world, stars away from Penacony,

“I know our marriage requires us to . . act in certain ways to make it believable but I have something I’ve buried inside my chest for as long as I can remember and no matter how many times I push it down or simply ignore it, it just won’t go away . . What am I even rambling about? What I’m trying to say is . . I have feelings for you, Sunday—even before this whole marriage act, ever since we were children.”

You looked away and stared at the abstract painting near the bed, you simply couldn’t handle returning Sunday’s stare, especially not when silence grew. Maybe you should have just kept your mouth closed and let him go first because now you were starting to regret it—what if he wanted to get a divorce?

Clearly there was no point in your marriage anymore, he has been absent in public for months and there was no reason to keep up the charade.

Even though your marriage was sealed with a legitimate contract, none of The Family Heads acknowledged its authenticity; your mother and Robin were a different case—it was more so out of respect while the rest did so out of disdain but still, the Dreammaster who orchestrated this unity was already dead which meant it held no significance at all.

Just an empty legal document.

“I . . feel the same way.”

. . What?

“It was foolish of me not to realize sooner. It was easy for me to show affection for you because what I have in my heart is genuine but I merely hid it behind the reason of duty because I wasn’t entirely sure of these feelings at all.” 

Now, it was Sunday’s turn to look away in embarrassment, a hue of deep rose graced his pale cheeks and heat prickled his skin.

Your breath stopped and the city below seemed to disappear, his words weren’t grand but they were honest, probably the most honest it has been since for as long as you could remember, it was a simple truth laid bare beneath a foreign sky.

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak because part of you had wanted this—you dreamed of this for so long now that it felt entirely cruel.

Cruel because you couldn’t be with him, not by your side, not in Penacony, not elsewhere, and now that your hearts were on the table, you simply couldn’t stand the thought of separation.

But for now, you wanted to cherish this moment. To convince yourself that you and Sunday had a future together where he didn’t have to run from The Family and face consequences, that the two of you weren’t bound for interminable separation.

“This is so unfair.” With a shaky breath, you buried your face in the hearts of your palms. You were certain if Aha was aware of the situation you and Sunday were in right now, THEY would be laughing. What a cruel joke from the cosmos.

He closed the distance between the two of you, protectively wrapping his arms around your body as he rested his chin on the crown of your head. It’d be absolutely selfish of him to ask for something more but he couldn’t bear the thought of you being with someone else.

He pulled back and pried your hands away from your face, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheeks as he cupped them, tentative  in a way that almost undid you more than certainty would have.

“. . May I?” He whispered. The warmth of his hand against your skin sent something sharp and aching through your chest.

“You may.”

Sunday slowly leaned in and for a moment, you remembered the ‘kiss’ at Eventide, only this time, it was as real as it got. The kiss wasn’t dramatic nor theatrical—it was merely his lips pressed against your own, soft with a small tremble, as if almost unsure if this was the right thing to do.

One hand found your waist carefully, drawing you closer with a reverence that made your knees feel less reliable all of a sudden. The kiss deepened but not with force but with feeling, slow and tender.

It felt like grief and relief at the same time, as though the two of you mourned the past few months but also treasuring the fact that, somehow, there was still the present and the future.

His lips were warm and softer than you’d imagined in moments you had long since stopped permitting yourself to imagine. Every slight shift was careful, as though he was memorizing the map of your lips. For the first time, this moment was entirely yours and Sunday’s—no ivory wing to shield the kiss, no cameras, and definitely not out of duty.

Your hands found their way to his collar, fingers curling more firmly into him which pulled the faintest sound, something quiet and surprised that sent a shiver down your spine. When you finally parted, it was only enough to breathe; your foreheads rested together, the city below spinning while the morning seemed to hold itself still around you.

“. . So,” You whispered, still breathless, “That was significantly better than the wedding.”

Sunday’s shoulders shifted slightly, he laughed, “I would hope so.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself, and perhaps he saw something equally dangerous in your expression because his gaze softened into something so openly affectionate it nearly stole your breath all over again. You pulled him back down on you, this time the kiss was less hesitant but just as tender than the last, and maybe also a bit rougher—full of desire and hunger.

Sunday’s hand remained at your waist, steady and warm as though he feared everything might vanish if he held on too tightly but this second kiss had already undone that illusion, there was nothing uncertain left in the way you leaned into him, nothing hesitant in the way your fingers dug into the fabric of his coat.

The kiss deepened not with urgency alone but with the quiet ache of something long denied, every touch seemed to carry the weight of love restrained far too long.

“Tell me to stop.” Sunday breathed out between kisses, a shaky whisper. His words weren’t obligation, they were reverence as he would simply not take what was not freely given. 

Your answer came not in words but in the way your hands rose to cradle his face, the way you kissed him again with a certainty that made his breath hitch, and that was enough for him. His restraint broke softly akin to silk slipping loose, not reckless, never reckless but what laid beneath the silken veil was a brewing storm of desire—the feelings of yesterday suddenly coming back to him.

The hand on your waist carefully slid upward, the tips of his fingers tracing your clothed body before he gently ushers you out of your jacket, it fell onto the polished floors with a soft thud—one layer deeper, closer to what you both wanted.

But before you could go any further, Sunday completely pulled away from the kiss, cheeks bitten with pink and lips parted as he breathed heavily.

There was a hint of hesitancy in his face, “I’ve never done this before but I want you . .” He whispered, trailing off as embarrassment engulfed him.

You gave him a small smile and leaned in to kiss his lips, “That’s okay,” Then, the column of his neck, “You can simply,” And the spot beneath his wing, “Follow my lead.”

Oh, you’d be the death of him.

Soon, your hands slid down to unfasten his coat, easing him out of his outer layer ‘til it met yours on the ground.

There was something so heartbreakingly human about this moment—two individuals who had once stood at the altar of Eventide, beneath thousands of watchful eyes, now trembling more in private than both have ever had in public.

No words were spoken as each layer was shed, only the quiet rustle of fabric, shared kisses, and the growing anticipation as you bared your feelings to one another.

Sunday barely noticed you had guided him over to the bed ‘til his back kissed the soft ivory sheets, he was so caught up in the heat of the moment he almost forgot to drink you in—to bask in the sheer beauty of your naked body.

Through tinted cheeks and wet lashes, he looked up at you with pure desire and slowly raked his honeyed gaze all over your body—from your breasts, to the dip of your waist, and all the way down to the apex of your thighs. Sunday let out a shaky breath as he felt his cock hardening even further.

“You’re exquisite.” He breathed out. Paired with your glimmering halo and the wings behind your ears, you were a sight for the heavens.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Sunday.”

A small chuckle escaped your lips, it was clearly a tease to mask the fact that his naked form drove you to the brink of insanity. Beautiful was an understatement—there wasn’t a word in the thesaurus that could describe the angelic sight before you.

The shy look on his face was ironic because his cock stood prouder than ever, begging to be inside you. It flushed pink and leaked a generous amount of pre-cum, and it took all your will power not to lap it up right then and there.

“Wait,” He started. “I want to please you.”

At his request, you switched positions, only this time you sat up on the edge of the bed. Sunday slowly got on his knees before you as he placed a trail of chaste kisses down your neck, collarbones, and just above the valley of your breasts. Sensing slight hesitation from him, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and guided his hand to your chest,

“It feels good when you massage and squeeze it—ah! Just—mhm! Just like that.” You moaned as he gave an experimental squeeze, brain short-circuiting at your immediate reaction to his touch; his palms were expansive and his fingers were long which allowed him to stimulate most of the sensitive area.

Sunday brought both hands to cup each breast, gently massaging them while his eyes darted between your chest and face, he wore an expression full of wonder and curiosity, rosy lips lightly parted as he breathed heavily.

Curious, he eagerly wrapped his lips around a mound, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple, causing your hands to fly to his hair.

“S-Sunday—!”

He responded with a hum which sent vibrations across your skin as you gently tugged at his hair. If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing and his actions were merely fuelled by the sounds and expressions you made.

With one hand still on your other breast, he gently fondled your sensitive nipple between his lithe fingers, you arched your back, pressing your chest further into his face. Your skin was extremely warm and soft beneath his touch it almost felt unreal; he couldn’t believe he was right in front of you, intimate and vulnerable.

Sunday then switched between your breasts, giving the other the same amount of attention and stimulation before he trailed downwards.

Gentle and hot, he placed wet open-mouthed kisses between the valley of your chest and along your stomach, taking the time to lap up the sensitive area just above your bellybutton.

Once he reached your sex, he looked up at you briefly to look for any discomfort in your face, and upon not finding any, he slowly pried your legs open, revealing your sopping entrance.

All for him?

Though, it felt rather daunting not really knowing where to start. With two fingers, Sunday gently rubbed up and down your slit a couple of times, observing your reaction—you bit the bottom of your lip and your brows slightly knitted together.

So far, so good.

“Y-You can—ngh! Wet your index and—ah—ring finger with your mouth and put them inside.” You let out a soft moan, one hand planted firmly on the mattress to support your crumbling torso while the other explored his hair. Sunday may have been inexperienced but god did he pleasure you effortlessly, he hasn’t even touched you properly yet you were already trembling.

At your words, he paused slightly. Put his fingers inside his mouth? What a bizarre thing to do. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as he wrapped his lips around his digits, effectively wetting them as instructed, he could taste a hint of you.

You could only watch in awe as the sight before you unfolded, never in your lifetime did you think you’d see the revered Sunday—former Bronze Melodia and former Oak Family Head—stick his fingers inside his mouth.

“Now, with your palm facing the ceiling, slowly push them in one by one.”

A soft pop echoed in the silence as he removed his digits from his mouth and brought them down to your sopping cunt. Slowly, he pushed his index finger past your folds and immediately sought your reaction—a soft sigh.

Oh, how warm you were, it felt like he was dipping his hand in a pot of warm honey, slick and smooth, and maybe even as sweet. Sunday gave a few shallow experimental pumps before adding the second digit, eliciting a shaky whimper from you.

“Haa—ah! C-Curl your fingers upwards and—yes! Oh, god! Just like that, Sunday—mhm!” You threw your head back as he curled his fingers, face contorted in pure pleasure.

At your pornographic reaction, he swallowed thickly; he tried not to think about how much his cock ached, being untouched for so long, it’d have to wait for a little while, he wanted to please you ‘til you were satisfied.

Deep in a haze of lust, you tried your best to form a coherent sentence, “Can you—oh, that feels good. Can you feel a spongy texture? Gently apply pressure and rub it back a-and forth—hngh!”

Sunday absentmindedly nodded, he could feel the area you mentioned just above the pads of his fingers. As you instructed, he pressed on it lightly, afraid he’d hurt you if he did more. With a grind of your hips, you let out a wanton moan in the shape of his name.

“Is this okay . . ?” He breathed out.

“Y-You’re doing good. Just keep a delicate, steady pace . .” Your hand on his hair snaked down to the apex of your legs to spread open your cunt, “If you want—haah! You can also kiss at this spot here at the top and—oh, fuck! Sunday!”

Before you could finish your sentence, his lips were already flushed against your entrance, closely following every word you uttered. A slight shudder washed over your naked body as his feathered wings brushed against the insides of your thighs.

“Yes! Lightly suck on it like tha—aah! Ngh! Haah, I’m so close. Don’t—mhm! Don’t stop, please”

With the combined stimulation of his fingers inside you and his lips around your clit, a string of colourful moans left your lips as you slowly sank deeper into the depths of bliss. The sounds you made were music to his ears which only fuelled his actions further.

With a forceful grunt, you threw your head back as you came on Sunday’s fingers—toes curling and thighs shaking at the immense wave of pleasure that hit you.

He slowed down his movements and resorted to languid strokes which allowed you to grind your hips and ride out your orgasm. He let out a shaky moan at the sensation of your walls tightening around his fingers, oddly enough, it felt satisfying for him.

Coming down from your high, you slumped down on the bed, face extremely heated and lips parted to catch your breath.

Wide eyed and in slight awe, Sunday slowly pulled out his slick coated fingers which earned a low whine from you, he curiously examined his soaked digits, they were faintly trembling from the repeated motion.

Without a second thought, he wrapped his lips around them with the sweetness of your taste settling on his tongue. Oh, how dangerously addicting you were. Wet sounds slipped from his mouth as he sucked his digits clean from your saccharine slick, earning a curious glance from you as you lifted your head off the mattress.

He was trying to kill you.

The two of you found yourselves situated further up the bed with Sunday slotted between your parted legs, he hovered over you with one palm firmly planted beside your head while the other languidly pumped his hard cock just before your wet cunt.

He let out soft pants above you, flushed face contorting with pleasure, “A-Are you sure?” Even with his mind entirely clouded by lust he prioritised your comfort.

“As long as it's you, I can never be more sure.”

He smiled in response and placed a chaste kiss on your lips before slowly guiding the tip to your folds. Snaking a hand between your bodies, you helped Sunday position his cock correctly—a few centimetres down—then, you loosely circled your arms around his neck, allowing him to go at his own pace. 

The morning glow surrounded him like a serene aura, it bounced off his pale skin which gave him a heavenly glow. With a shaky exhale, he pushed his cockhead inch by inch which immediately earned a sharp gasp from both of you.

The feeling of you around him was foreign yet oddly comforting, your walls were warm—extremely warm—it almost felt like he was soaking inside a hot tub of water and it made his head spin in a good way.

Sunday met your gaze with his starry ones, a light sheen of tears coating his eyes at how amazing you felt around him.

He couldn’t believe he was inside you, buried deep inside the woman he truly loved; he prayed in the back of his lust-fogged mind hoping that this wasn’t a dream.

You bit your lip as he bottomed out, watching the way Sunday’s body reacted to everything—how his wings curled inwards, how his abdomen tightened and untightened, and how his breathing grew uneven with every passing second. He genuinely looked like he was on cloud nine.

Unwrapping an arm from his neck, you slotted your hand against his jaw—just at the spot below his ear and wing—to caress his cheek, “You okay . . ?”

A small nod, then, his eyes fluttered shut, the tips of his lashes brushing against his rosy stained cheeks. Sunday leaned into your touch with a faint whimper, one that had your brain short-circuiting.

For a minute or two, he stilled inside, allowing you both to adjust to the feeling; this wasn’t your first time but the sheer length of his cock reached spots you didn’t know even existed to the point where you had to count to ten just to steer yourself away from spiraling and cumming right then and there.

“S-So tight—ngh. You feel good.” Sunday slowly pulled back about halfway before thrusting back inside, drawing wanton moans from both of you.

He resorted to languid, deep thrusts which allowed you to feel every inch of him—for your sopping cunt to remember the exact shape of his cock—and each time he bottomed out, his cockhead deliciously kissed your sweet spot.

With the slow rhythm set, the bed creaked and groaned in time with the movements of his hips, sounds of light skin slapping and lewd squelching filled all four walls of the entire room.

Everything felt sinful—from the pornographic moans you let out to the slick that covered his cock and your inner thighs but god was it completely addicting. 

Sunday’s face remained a mere breath away from yours, keeping eye contact, his honeyed gaze pulled you into the depths of warm bliss, akin to a gentle hug that enveloped one’s body.

Every intentional push and pull of his hips knocked out oxygen from your lungs which had you incoherently gasping for his name.

A light sheen of sweat coated your bodies as the morning air grew impossibly thick, the ivory sheets beneath your back clung onto you like second skin, and Sunday’s hair stuck to his forehead but neither of you cared about the filthiness of it, not when your bodies pleasured one another like there was no tomorrow.

Not when he firmly pressed his cock with every thrust inside you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively pulling him closer and allowing him to reach you a little deeper than before; your hands spread across his shoulder blades, curling inwards to decorate his back with rubied streaks.

The sharp sting of your nails sent Sunday forward, his head fell onto the pillows beneath your own, shamelessly moaning dangerously close to your ear.

“Haah—ah! Ah! I’m s-so close, Sunday! God! Please don’t sto—ngh! Don’t stop!”

At the sound of your moans, he picked up his pace, his cock hitting your g-spot a little harder. He also neared his climax and with the way your greedy cunt tightened around him and he knew he wasn’t going to last any longer.

Using all the strength he had left, Sunday lifted himself with trembling arms and gave you an open-mouthed kiss, it was messier than he had intended but the mere feeling of your mouths slotting against one another with your saliva mixing only fuelled the drive of his hips further.

He pulled away slightly, a thin string of spit connecting his lips to yours, “Please cum for me! Ngh—ah! Haah! C-Cum with me!”

With a few more sloppy thrusts, Sunday sheathed the entire length of his cock, firmly pressing into your sensitive spot as he came with a loud, shameless moan, ear feathers shaking from pleasure. You followed shortly after, nails digging into his skin which left red crescent shaped marks all across his back.

Ribbons of thick, warm cum generously coated your walls, you’ve never been this full before but you weren’t complaining, the feeling of Sunday filling you to the brim had you whimpering beneath him.

His cock several times twitched inside you as it emptied itself; he came so much to the point where his cum had started spilling out of you and dripped onto the sheets below, effectively soiling them but he couldn’t just simply stop himself even if he wanted to—it kept coming out in waves ‘til there was nothing left.

Embarrassed, Sunday buried his face at the junction of your neck, prickly heat creeping up his cheeks. A breathless chuckle left your lips, hands soothing over the reddened trails you left on his back, who knew he could actually get embarrassed over something as little as cumming too much?

How adorable.

He rolled over with a grunt and plopped onto the empty spot next to you, you curled next to him, the uneven rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheeks somewhat pulling you back into reality.

One of his arms rested loosely around you, absentmindedly tracing slow, soothing patterns against your back as if he reassured himself that you weren’t just a dream, that you were real and remained right next to him.

For a while, neither of you spoke—the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, just your breaths slowly steadying itself with each second.

A saddened expression washed over your face as reality settled on your shoulders akin to cold seeping through glass—slowly yet adamant—and you were immediately reminded of the predicament you both faced. Your fingers tightened slightly where they rested against him and Sunday noticed immediately,

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He whispered, confusion painted on his face; his voice was much softer—achingly gentle.

You shook your head, gaze lifting towards the expansive windows and the horizon beyond it, “I just . . I was just reminded of what you and I have to face and I’m scared, Sunday. What—What if The Family finds out you’re here in Planarcadia and—I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do. I’m scared for us because . . I finally have you and I don’t know if that means we’ll be separated again . .”

Really, there was nothing you could do but you wanted to be with Sunday, you wanted to spend your days with him out in the open, not a single care in the cosmos about The Family being after him—you wanted him back home and beside you.

Beside you, he shifted closer, he carefully tilted your chin upward ‘til you had no choice but to look at him. Funnily enough, for all the uncertainty ahead, his gaze remained steady, “We won’t lose one another.”

“Sunday—” “Listen to me.” He softly interrupted, thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye before tears could fully gather.

“I do not know what the next month will look like—or the next year, and I cannot promise you our union either but I can promise you this: when the time comes, I will face it all and I will do everything in my power to rightfully earn the spot beside you.”

Your lips trembled, not only from sadness but from the fragile, terrifying hope that began to bloom beneath your chest.

“The Family won’t stop.” You whispered.

“I know.”

“They won’t forgive easily.”

“I know.”

“There’s a real chance we could be eternally separated.”

Sunday smiled, not because it was funny but because somehow—despite everything—he felt almost fond of your catastrophizing, “Then we shall simply find our way back to one another the same way we did today, no?”

Your laugh came unexpectedly—it was humourless and full of disbelief but purely light hearted, “You make that sound very simple.”

“It won’t be but difficult has never meant impossible.” He murmured, brushing a strand of stray hair from your face with unbearable tenderness. 

Mirroring his smile, you shifted closer to bury yourself against his bare skin as though you were anchoring your heart to him. Sunday’s arm tightened around you immediately, protective without thought before pressing a quiet kiss to your forehead.

And as though all worries dissipated into the skies of Planarcadia, the once lonely suite had transformed into something far more lived-in—the bed remained half unmade, blankets tangled and abandoned, heated remnants of earlier faded into something more wholesome. Room service trays sat on the wooden coffee table, silver lids pushed aside in favour of half-finished lunch.

Sunday was seated on the floor—pants and top messily thrown over his body—eating a fruit. He looked up from where he sat, brows lifting slightly as you eagerly rummaged through your luggage near the entryway. You returned to him with your arms full, a couple of somewhat familiar-looking objects tucked inside.

“What is that?” He blinked

You grinned with entirely too much satisfaction, “Emergency provisions.” 

His confusion turned to suspicion but nonetheless, you carefully set your haul onto the polished floor one by one like priceless contraband:

Sweet dream cloud candies in iridescent wrappers. Golden lullaby honey crisps. Starfall sugar biscuits dusted in edible shimmer. Moondew fruit chews. SoulGlad. And finally, 

“Chocolate pudding tarts.” Sunday breathed out. He stared at the familiar dessert packaging as though it had appeared through divine intervention. 

“I brought these snacks with me so I wouldn’t get homesick while on vacation. I often do the same during press tours—”

Before you could speak any further, the lighthearted atmosphere shifted subtly but you noticed it—the way an expression of sadness crept up his face.

Sunday was homesick.

You hadn’t thought he’d be—no, that wasn’t true, you had thought about it, you just didn’t expect something so minor to make it visible.

Slowly, you opened the packaging and offered the pudding tart. For a second, he simply stared at it but carefully took it nonetheless. He grabbed a silver spoon from one of the trays and scooped a small amount, as if indulging any further was forbidden.

Its familiar sweetness melted on his tongue and you watched as his expression changed into something more nostalgic.

You knew where he had immediately gone—to childhood, to the happier memories where he only worried about how to sneak in more pudding tarts in between music lessons, and what to write in the letter he’d regularly send to Robin (There was just too much to talk about!)

“It tastes the same as I remember . . I—thank you.”

You shook your head, “You don’t have to thank me. I just thought you’d miss some snacks from home.”

You and Sunday spent the entire morning and afternoon holed up in the suite reminiscing about the colourful past, revealing how one deciphered their feelings for the other; he also took the time to give you a proper apology for involving your name and reputation in his affairs to which you accepted.

Maybe it was fate playing a hand.

Once full of worry and fear for the uncertainty that the future held, you learned to slow down and appreciate the present—the fact that Sunday was right beside you, safe and healthy.

For now, you’d cherish this moment in a foreign world, and whatever the future may bring, you knew nothing could pry you and Sunday apart, that was something you were certain of. And this time without any hesitation, you spoke up,

“I love you, Sunday.”

“I love you, too.”

[tonycries]

Guys My Age

Synopsis. (!) Two assignments overdue: your law professor and your history professor. Objective: After teasing them all semester, Professor Higuruma Hiromi and Professor Nanami Kento…snap.  Time: At the same time.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higuruma Hiromi

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, history professor!Nanami, law professor!Higuruma, college AU, you’re such a TEASE, driving them wiId, they’re overworked, they’re older, tutoring, STERN Nanami, fíngering, rings, p sIapping, p talking, chokíng, rídin’ Higuruma’s nose, oraI (m + ‌f), pússydrunk Higuruma, manhandIing, dragging, running from it, bíting, BOTH, fuII neIsons, bIindfolds, guessing, DP, SAME TIME, spítting, DÚMBlFICATlON, cervíx smoochin’, big stretches, they’re FÉRAL, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.2k

A/N. You babygirls said you wanted more law professor!Higuruma so…I said why not have BOTH?!

He had you next hour.

Professor Nanami Kento - head of the History Department, PhD with Distinction - had you in his next class.

And he wasn’t even half as prepared as he should be: the coffee-maker in the staff room had broken down. 

Goodness knows how many times the blond-haired man has haunted that very station. Slouched over, sighing, sipping on his seventh coffee of the day. 

And although he could blame it all on the higher-ups and their stingy funding, or perhaps the frat boys of Delta Jujutsu Pi that’ve made it a challenge to sneak inside—he blames you. He wouldn’t even have latched onto such a respite had it not been for the way you made his blood pressure rise…in all sorts of ways.

Nanami’s eyes glaze over, and his hand absent-mindedly drifts between his legs. Perhaps if he got his pent-up energy out first…

“Kento.” A knock at his cubicle. And Nanami jolts his hand away as though it burned- 

It was Professor Higuruma Hiromi.

The head of the Law Department. Also PhD with Distinction. The man with dark circles and even darker suits, all prim and poised as he waded through the hallways with his stacks of documents—of course, Nanami was one for suits, as well. 

They really brought out his broad shoulders- at least, that’s what you told him.

Another reason why he needs the coffee.

Fuck. 

Nanami attempts to even out his breathing as he looks up. “Hiromi.”

If Higuruma thought anything of Nanami’s startled reaction, he makes no indication. Instead he holds up a slim file in his hand, “Are you free? Could you help me with looking over this essay?”

“Of course.” 

They were the only two in the staff room right now, besides- anything to take his mind off of you.

Nanami adjusts the gold-rimmed glasses on his face before he takes the file from him. Flipping it open to find a jumble of justice and law jargon that his history-inclined brain balks at—“I never thought you’d want a history professor’s opinion on an essay about…” He squints at the title, “-the scope of judicial power and judicial review. Does this have any names of 14th century shoguns that you need me to check?”

“No- no.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face, though Nanami gets the impression that it wasn’t for him. Rather it was for whatever ravaged at the man inside- making him look up at the ceiling with a hollow sigh—“Man, I need some coffee today.”

“Understandable.” Nanami pushes his glasses up.

“The machine’s broken, right?”

“Right.”

Higuruma only lets out another sigh that Nanami relates to well.

“If it helps, Dean Yaga said it’d be fixed by tomorrow.” Nanami attempts- he never was the type of sociable guy some of the other professors were. But he gets the feeling that Higuruma was the same.

He runs a hand down his face one last time- “That’s too late, I have tutoring this evening with…” And how Nanami Kento related to that, as well. Before he seems to shake himself out of it- somewhat. “It’s alright, could you just check the grammatical and citation stuff for me?”

“Of course.” As Higuruma leans against the partition and waits, the other professor skims through the writing. It wasn’t half bad, to be quite honest, and had it been for his own class then he would’ve given it an A—none too many mistakes except for the odd careless error. At least it was human-made. 

After a while of silence, Nanami’s partway through the conclusion when he asks. “Did you happen to get tired of looking through so many essays?”

“No, it’s just…” The dark-haired man sighs once more- for about the twelfth time since he came in. “-this student, you know?”

Nanami nods—he did know. “Trouble student?”

“Not quite.” He almost gulps.

Nanami narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t attend?”

“No, she attends every class.”

“Then what?” He leans back in his chair, essay forgotten now. “The legacy kid? The credit-chaser? The class clown that isn’t actually funny?”

Higuruma cuts through them all with a fierce shake of his head. “No, no, and no—” Almost gulping. “It’s just that this student is a little…distracting.”

The tips of his ears were red.

Instantly, Higuruma looks like he regrets it.

“F-forget I said anything-”

He does.

But Nanami looks squarely at the other man.

“I have a student like that, too.”

The law professor looks at him in wary interest. “Oh?”

“My star student, actually.” Pushing his glasses up, he opens up one of his cabinets and pulls out a thick, paper-stuffed file. And though Nanami Kento does collect his students’ work for the semester to review, he never does keep them quite so close - none other than yours.

Higuruma looks through them with slightly widened eyes. “All hers?”

Nanami nods, “So diligent that it’s almost distracting.”

Higuruma pulls out an empty chair beside Nanami and sits. Legs spread. Dark eyes thoughtful. “Mine, too.” He starts—“Never have I had a student ask for so many hours of extra tutoring.”

“Mine’s basically set up a tent in my office.” Nanami chuckles- though he can’t deny the slight pang it sends down to his cock. “Always taking on more assignments for extra credit, always answering questions first-”

“Always first in class and last to leave?”

“Exactly.” Nanami agrees. And he leans a hand on his desk as he watches the other man go through those papers - they were some of his most prized possessions, he feared to admit. Words from your heart. Swooping slashes of ink from your hands.

It was a part of you in those papers that Nanami Kento held dear to him- fuck, it was a part of you that sometimes he’d bring up to his greedy nose and sniff. Almost as if he could feel your skin through these very parchments.

It made him so fuckin’ hard.

But Higuruma didn’t need to know that.

Though the careful manner in which he handled those papers - how he leaned in just a little to drown in the ink - made him wonder…

“Always wearing the skimpiest skirt to class?”

And the other man looks up in shock- as though conveying something in his silence. Oh.

He flips the file over to look at the name typed-out on the cover, and it reads—yours. Ultimately, he continues—“A-always sittin’ in the front row with her legs spread just a bit?”

Nanami nods. “Always leaning over the desk when she has to speak in private.”

There’s a slight hardening within Higuruma’s eyes - though not of any unpleasant kind - it’s almost as if something deep and carnal was stirring awake right now. “Always wearing the prettiest black lace underneath?”

“She wears baby pink for me.” Nanami can’t help but smile.

“Fuck.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face again- and if Nanami didn’t know any better then he would’ve sworn that the other professor looked even more weary than when he first came in here. “And her panties-”

“Matching set.” Nanami responds without missing a beat - and he knows he’s some ol’ pervert for this. 

He knows he is. 

But he also knows about the smile that’d spread across your face the moment you’d realized he’d seen. “Bent over too low when picking her pen up one class.”

“Fucking—fuck.” Higuruma sounds agonized.

Nanami leans back in his chair, making it bounce a little bit. With a slightly breathless sigh leaving him, and his cock hardening even more in his pants–he’s forced to manspread under the table a little more. “She’s a needy lil’ thing, isn’t she?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Higuruma’s lips quirk up into a sensual smile - as if he was reminiscing on the memories. “Wanting to fuck her professors? Seriously?”

“Believe she’s thought of both of us at the same time?”

“Don’t even say that-” The law professor looks around, even though there was no one else here. Looking back at the man with somewhat pleading eyes, “I have tutoring with her this evening. If I can’t even fucking grade her essay without getting a hard-on then what d’you think will happen if I’m thinking of that—?”

“Oh…” Nanami hums to himself, hands lacing in front of him. The coffee-machine really was broken. “-maybe that won’t be an issue.”

Higuruma glances at him with furrowed brows, “How so?”

“What time is your tutoring with her?”

“You mean…”

The blond man shrugs coyly- “I’m not implying anything…but which one of us two do you think is her favorite?”

“And people think you’re the gentleman of us two.” Higuruma grumbles but ultimately spits out the time. It seems you’d opted for tuition classes with your law professor in the after-hours—when the offices were snug, and the department was empty. And he feels his cock perk up at the fact- how many times has he raced back home to plunge into a cold bath after your tuition classes? How many times has his shower heard your name whispered? “I’m most definitely the favorite, by the way-”

So lost in his thought, Nanami nearly doesn’t catch the sentence. He looks over at Higuruma. “Does she call you ‘sir’, too?”

“She does.”

“Well, then we’ll find out, won’t we?”

.

.

.

The two hottest professors on campus.

Higuruma Hiromi (38) with his sleek-cut suits, his polished shoes, and those sleepy eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of your soul. The depths of your body - exposed underneath him. He was a stern teacher, not afraid to make you do an assignment over and over and over again…(and you gladly would). Higuruma’s justice classes made you…wet you had to admit, hearing him bark out simulations of court cases. Orders. Commands. 

You could practically hear a sigh echo out across the room every time he acted out his attorney days. 

Every time he banged his gavel down made your knees weak.

It was no wonder that students in the law department tittered n’ scattered any time the ruggedly handsome professor walked past. 

On the other hand was your history professor. 

Nanami Kento (31) with his beefier build, his strong arms, his gentle eyes—twinkling down kindly upon you every time he corrected a mistake. Which - you have to confess - you’ve made a few more times than you really had to, just to feel his molten gaze upon you again and again. He often caused your heart (and something else entirely) to flutter at the deep musicality of his voice, managing to make even the most boring of history passages something interesting. Something that swept the class up easily.

Nanami was reputed around campus for being a complete gentleman - never looking down upon someone, never letting them walk in after him, never letting them pay him a compliment without receiving a sweet one back. 

The dream husband.

The stern and the nice.

Both of them- frat guys hated them.

It hadn’t been intentional to join both their classes- honest! 

But after seeing them on your first day, how could you not commit to maintaining a spotless attendance? You had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the class behaved in the same manner for much the same reason - though none took it quite as far as you.

The skirts. The extra credit. The bending.

Speaking honestly, you were a teacher’s pet. Through and through.

And the tightness in their pants whenever you left a class told you- they were the best professors. To you, that is.

Which is why you’d been a little less than happy when Professor Higuruma had told you that someone might be joining your weekly tutoring. 

Invigilated tutoring? 

What the hell was invigilated tutoring?!

You admit that you’d been forced to hold back a groan of disappointment. Picking such late hours had been a conscious decision—right up there with those tight pencil skirts that you knew your law professor loved but would never admit to.

Professor Nanami was more the type to like free, flirty pleats that barely reached your thigh - and you loved the way his eyes would follow them behind those glasses of his. Even though he pretended they didn’t.

And right now you were wearing a mix of both.

Tight on top, flared at the bottom

Seated opposite his desk - thighs shut, skirt pulled down as low as it would go - more concentrated than you’d ever been during one of these tutoring sessions. It’s been about half an hour since the start of today’s tuition. Higuruma’s office was a cosy space, decked out in the most expensive-looking mahogany banisters, and shelves, and a witness box in the far corner.

It gleamed at the light—down knowingly at you, almost as if waiting for you to make a move.

But how could you? If there was a potential visitor, then you didn’t want to risk Higuruma’s job- as much as you loved teasing your two hot professors, it wouldn’t do to get them fired!

So you kept your hands and your skirts to yourself.

And even Higuruma himself had his eyes raised, possibly wondering why you hadn’t leaned over his desk or lingered a touch at his shoulder for help.

But oh, how you wanted to…

The professor looks down at his watch, “He’s late.”

You’re glancing at the closed door, “Maybe the invigilator isn’t coming?”

“Oh, he will.” Higuruma crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Trust me, he won’t miss this.”

A shiver runs down your spine.

You wondered what made him so sure.

And yet, you edge closer over the desk to him anyways.

It’s about forty-five minutes into your tutoring session when the door you’ve been sneaking glimpses of this entire time- clicks! And a looming figure walks into the room, his figure nearly taking up the whole frame.

Your jaw drops as you realize—

It’s Professor Nanami.

“Ah- Kento.” Higuruma beckons him over warmly- and you’re nearly suffering from whiplash from watching the two interact. These two are close?! Professor Nanami had been completely normal during your last class, if just a little more distracted than usual - and what was this? “We’ve been waiting.”

He looks at you as he says this.

“I had to penalize a student for missing a few assignments.” Nanami says smoothly, before bringing up a chair beside you and taking his seat. His movements were fluid and precise - as if he wasn’t questioning for a single moment why you were here so late, why you were dressed like that for him, and why you were so damn close.

You’d been staring into his handsome face for so long that he clears his throat. “Continue.”

“S-sir?” You’re chirping- and in your peripheral vision, Higuruma shuffles in his chair.

“Continue.” Nanami repeats in a stern tone. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that—“Just as you are. I would like to take notes for teaching my own classes.”

“You heard what he said.” Higuruma nods- and now you’re looking his way to see the most knowing smile on his face. “Continue, angel.”

Your thighs squeeze at the pet name.

Nanami quirks a blond brow and notes something down.

And so you’re ducking back into your work—

“Your blouse button is undone.” 

Slightly gasping, you’re reaching down to fix it-

“No, don’t button it.” He interrupts you with his low tone, gravelly with something you can’t pinpoint. You’re looking up at Nanami to find his gaze unwavering from you already- “I was merely noting it. Nothing to fix.”

“But-”

“You unbutton it for my class, too, don’t you?” He asks, and you’re unsure what to say-

“Answer when your teacher speaks to you.” Higuruma’s humming tone echoes—and from the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying this. He cocks his head down at you, “Or haven’t they taught you that yet?”

“Th-they have.” You’re squirming in your seat, a slight heat simmering in your stomach. You turn to Nanami, “And I do.”

“Hm.” With nothing more said- he writes something else down in his notes.

And you think you’re in the clear.

For now.

It’s barely a few sentences later on your work that Nanami speaks up again-

“Your feet are touching his.”

You pull away-

“You’ve been writing the same sentence over and over.”

Your hand pauses-

“Your thighs are parted more so than before.”

Immediately, you’re smacking them back shut again- you hadn’t even realized. And how the hell had Nanami even seen?

And you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice - so unlike everything you know of him - as he continues. “And your bra is peeking out.”

“Never seen one before?” You mutter underneath your breath, just about to fix your collar (that you’d very purposefully left open)—

Before Nanami’s voice cuts through again. “Never seen one of yours in black before, is what.” Even as you’re looking at him in slight sensual shock- he doesn’t look up from his papers. “What happened to the baby pink you show-off in my class?”

And Higuruma merely leans back and smiles. “Black is my favorite color, remember?”

“How could I forget?” The history professor answers.

“Though I myself am curious about this baby pink of yours…”

And you have nothing else to do but gape- they knew. 

Oh, how they both knew by now.

And by the looks in their eyes, they’d been dying for this very moment.

To confront how you’d been toying n’ teasing them all semester through now- enough so that they’ve apparently begun trading secrets about their unruly star student. You knew that Higuruma tended to have his ears grow hot and red any time he bumped into you in the hallway, and that Nanami would loosen his tie as if undressing whenever you wore a particularly scandalous thing to class - but you hadn’t known they’d been pushed…to this extent.

And you were glad for it.

So you sigh—slouching back in your chair. “So you both know. What now then? Do I get written up or something?”

But Nanami only looks at you through his glasses. “Sit up straight.”

He’s never uttered a command like that in his entire life during your usual lectures. And when you don’t move - merely looking at the blond man with raised brows - Higuruma pipes up. “You best listen to him now, angel.”

“Oh please.” Fluttering your lashes at them both. “And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Higuruma looks at Nanami.

Nanami calmly puts his notes down on the other’s table, and looks at you.

“Why-” He pushes his glasses up his handsome nosebridge. “-teach you a lesson, of course.”

“Both of you?” You could feel the elated giggles bubbling up in your throat- and you could feel the space between your legs start to grow wetter already. Looking between both of them—“Do it then.”

And then it’s a blur - you don’t know where Higuruma’s lips end and yours begin. He’s reached over the surface of his desk to kiss you like a starved man- and he groooans into that very kiss like you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hand on your cheek. 

The tips of his canines start nibblin’ on your lower lip- and you’re kissing him back even deeper. “Shit-” Higuruma’s husky tone scorches across your face, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do this for so fucking long.”

“Mmm, you kiss like husband material.” You’re giggling into the kiss. Both of your hands end up on his shoulders, and you could feel the shifting of his muscles through his slim suit. 

“Shit- and you talk like trouble.” He echoes out in an almost pained tone- like every second that his lips were away from yours ached. 

And those plump, pursed lips press against yours once more—so much sweeter than you would have expected this booming lawyer to kiss. He’s using the hand on your cheek to tilt down your chin- “May I?” Before the short nod you give lets him slither his tongue in wetly, lappin’ at your sweetest taste. “Shit, you’re really like sugar on my tongue.”

And you’re whining into the fervent kiss, letting it go on for a few more minutes before you’re breaking away with the most lecherous plop! And a thoroughly flushed professor chasing after your lips drunkenly-

“And what about you…” You’re kissing down Higuruma’s sharp jawline, looking at the other man who’d been sitting quietly this entire time. “-sir? Haven’t you wanted to kiss me even once this semester?”

Nanami shivers but he hides it well. Uncrossing his legs and revealing the most rock-hard, aching bulge between his legs—“Kiss? Perhaps.”

And you’re gulping at the sight.

Higuruma scoffs out a slight burst of laughter. “Perhaps.”

“But I’m a gentleman, my love.” Nanami continues, leaning back in that luxurious armchair. He takes off his coat to reveal a pale blue button-up, and beneath that was revealed the most chiselled body you’ve ever seen. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and beckons towards you. Manspread. Lap so welcoming. “Which means I’ve thought of far, far worse.”

Higuruma - with a final sloppy kiss plastered across your mouth - lets you walk over to Nanami.

Which you do on wobbly legs- plopping down unceremoniously on his lap. More than enough space there for you. He wastes no time bending you into shape in his strong arms, flipping you around to face the other man, and spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open-

Riiiiiip—!

“Whoops.” Nanami’s thoroughly unapologetic tone gruffs against the shell of your ear. Two of his vein-covered forearms were hooked underneath your elbows, and Nanami looks on boredly at the clean split down your skirt—“I always thought you’d look better without these anyway.”

Before he’s spreading your legs even further across his lap. Tearing it even more.

Exposing you for nothing but your tremblin’ legs and those drenched panties. Pretty black in color. 

So lacy that it was practically nothing.

Higuruma’s eyes widen, “Dirty girl.”

Nanami breathes, “No, that’s called being a slut.” And shock runs through your body at his words- at Nanami ‘Gentleman’ Kento’s words. Before it’s suddenly overtaken by the sudden feeling of him smearin’ aside your panties and stuffin’ his fingers inside.

Those thick crowns dooooown to the golden ring on his middle finger.

They were long and thick. Swirling and swirling the tip of his digit right ‘round your clit- and when you’re shuddering and unable to take it any longer—he pulls away and licks off that excess slick with a slurp!

Humming to himself as though it was the greatest delicacy in the world. “One thing you should know about me, darling, is that just because I’m gentleman-” And you’d been so caught up in his ragged tone, you didn’t even realize that he’d snaked his hand back down between your legs. “-doesn’t mean that I’m not depraved.”

And he’s ending off the sentence not with a full stop- no, but with a sudden shove of his fingertips between your folds. So swollen n’ sweet with slick.

You buck and he lurches his hand out to slap you on top of your pussylips.

“Down, darling.”

“Please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for.

But Nanami’s mouth waters already at the sound of it, and he’s keeping it at bay by pushing n’ pulling on the first ring of muscle at your cunt. “I said down.”

Head throwing back against his collarbone. “Oh.”

Fucking you with just the first inches of his fingers- “It doesn’t mean that m’not desperate.” Continuing as though your eyes weren’t bulging, as though your legs weren’t shaking, as though you weren’t arching off of his muscular chest. “It doesn’t mean that m’not ready to debase this pussy like she deserves.”

“Y-you mean—” You’re hiccuping, eyes starting to water at the sheer raw stretch. It was the type that left your pussy burning in the most delicious way - the feeling of having Nanami Kento’s scourin’ fingertips eager to enter your cunt. “-that whole gentleman thing was just a lie?”

“It’s not.” He responds. Final. His blond strands fall over his forehead as he keeps his eyes locked on your glistening hole, scissoring his fingers at that entrance n’ spreading you even wider. “I’m nice…”

Adding in a third finger before you’re even registering his second.

“-to everyone but this slutty pussy, that is.”

“Sh-shit—” Mewling at the top of your lungs, you’re clawing down Nanami’s strong forearms. They were the perfect thing to hold onto- just about the only thing you could hold onto as he utterly ruined your pussy with short, jerking thrusts.

Bulging the sides of your velvety walls open with his globular tips.

Cold metal ring shocking you.

So thick that he manages to probe into a few of your sensitive spots without even trying. Dragging his flexible fingers across every inch of you.

Scissoring and opening up and scissoring—deep.

Tears track down your cheeks at the sheer stimulation.

“Go easy on her, Kento.” Higuruma can’t help but groan at the sight of your pretty crying face. And soon enough, you’re hearing the metallic clinking of a belt buckle- “Don’t want to break our star student, now, do we?”

Nanami purrs against your temple. “Mmm, I don’t mind.”

“Just remember that she’s tutoring with me.”

The sound of Higuruma’s belt hitting the polished wooden floorboards is enough to make your eyes startle open- and oh, how you’re so glad it did.

Because then you’re greeted with the sight before you: of Higuruma Hiromi in utter ecstasy. All because of you.

He’d taken your seat from prior, chair angled perfectly to face the show taking place in front of him. 

Where Nanami had your legs spread aaaaaall the way as far as they would go - until Nanami could hear your joints threatening to pop - and facing the dark-haired man. His dark eyes glinted as they stared down at your glistening hole, swallowing Nanami’s rams easily.

Slurps n’ squelches emanating like music. 

Cunt dripping everywhere over the history teacher’s tight trousers. And the larger that puddle you were forming seemed to grow, the harder Nanami’s hammerin’ pace seemed to become. 

You could barely keep your eyes open long enough to see Higuruma tug down his black pants- that throbbing erection of his making an appearance. He wraps his hands around his thickened base and starts tugging, soft grunts leaving his mouth at the rapid pull-pull-pull of his cock. “Shit, she’s so fucking wet- be a little nicer with that pussy o’ hers, would you?”

“Hmmm…I don’t think she deserves it.” And with that said, Nanami plants yet another sodden spank on top of your cunt. Ring grazing your front- “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, has she?”

That stinging sensation zaps throughout your entire body and makes you buck. “I-I have—”

Before yet another thwack! of Nanami’s calloused fingertips follow.

Harder, this time.

“I was talking to this pussy, actually.” 

And he doesn’t even wait for the primal sting to pass by before openin’ your cunt up and thrusting his fingers inside again. In and out.

Push after push into your gooey depths.

You’re so sensitive n’ wet by this point that even the slightest movements have you emanating out the loudest sounds. Squelches upon squelches—every time he’s hitting a spot deep inside your hole. “Mhmm…mmmhm.” You could feel Nanami’s head slightly nodding above your own, as if locked deeply in a conversation with your pussy’s sounds. Just one whine of yours and he’s spankin’ on you once more- “Wait your turn, my love. She’s talking t’me.”

And Higuruma- ah, Higuruma has the audacity to snicker at the action. “Now that’s just bullying, Kento.”

“Is it?” He’s slappin’ down on your pussylips once more. Listening for the sound, “She says it isn’t so.”

You’re sending a narrowed glare his way that makes the law professor roll his eyes fondly.

“Oh, alright alright-” And he half-heartedly waves off at his colleague. “Be a little nicer to my dear student, won’t you?”

“Spoiled brat.” Yet another spank. Nanami sinks his canines into the shell of your ear, and he’s tuggin’ and teasing—he’s spreading his legs even further and settling you down. With your back against his rippling chest, he pushes and pushes his greedy fingers inside your pussy. “And why do you think you- hah, deserve that, huh? Haven’t you been fucking torturing us all semester long now?”

Higuruma groans. “Can’t deny that, angel.” His hands fly even faster up and down his cock- ravaged and reddened with need. 

“Mhmmmm.” The blond-haired man agrees, “Haven’t you been wearing those slutty skirts expecting to get fucked in them? Haven’t you- fuck, haven’t you been wearing that damn lingerie hoping we’d take a peak? Aren’t I right?”

He waits for your pussy to answer first- and then you’re answering. “I-I mean-” Attempting to.

“Haven’t you been bendin’ over and shit just because you wanted to show up in our wildest dreams? To consume our thoughts and make our cocks twitch?”

“Well-”

“And we did.” Higuruma pipes up next. He was so needy that he was practically bucking off of his chair, making it creak with movement. Short, jerky thrusts.

“Oh, yes we did.” Nanami continues. He leans down to your ear, as if exposing a secret- “I’d look forward to our classes everyday, my love. I’d have to fuck my fist raw before class- just so I wouldn’t fuck you senseless in front of everyone like how you were begging me to.”

Higuruma moans as he thumbs down the line of his flared tip - that pinkish, slippery line. He twitches as though he’s near to cumming already. “Me- me, too…”

“And you still expect me to be a gentleman?”

You’re restless, opening your mouth to defend yourself and—

Nanami only leans down and spits a glittery wad of spit between your pursed lips. “Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking, darling.” 

And your ears pop with pressure-

He’s hittin’ the plushness of his palm against your pussy with a loud smack! Smearing the curves n’ divots of his fingers dooooooown and up your walls, down and up.

His crown fingertips reach for your deepest innards- and you swear you can feel him stroking your very cervix. Runnin’ his frigid ring across your walls.

Drawing a few lines and marking his placement right back there, before he tunnels his digits at a frenzied pace - fingers almost nothing but a pale blur between your legs. His speed is so feverish that it leaves your sheen tricklin’ all down your thighs.

Trickling and trickling and—

And then you feel Nanami hook his fingers against your g-spot.

The pleasure shoots up your body like a lightning strike, “O-oh my god—right there, Kento.”

“Kento? Who’s Kento?” Nanami doesn’t even falter his fingering to answer, cooing in that tone that you’d almost mistake for something sweet. “I think you meant sir-”

“S—fuck.”

“Say it.” He huffs against the side of your face. Teeth almost out for blood- “Say it. Call me ‘sir’ or you don’t get to cum.”

“I—”

“Say it.” Higuruma, to your surprise, echoes from his seat. Where he had his gaze burning into your spread-open pussy n’ his mouth drooling at the vision of you—“Say it, angel. I need to see that pretty pussy cum.” Hands rubbing faster and faster- 

“She deserves to cum, mhm.” Nanami nods. “But do you, huh?”

“I-I do.” You’re nodding up at your desperate professors. One just barely in your line of vision- but his fingers were working up such a storm. His slightly-tanned arms pinning you down, working your pussy open, hitting that target of your g-spot like a cute button. Again and again—

Blond hair ruffled. Glasses slipping down his sweaty nosebridge.

And then the other one that was just creamin’ his precum down his hands. With his hands on his swollen erection - one of them creating a tunnel for him to fuck his fist, the other flattening over his dribblin’ divot to stop from cumming already. 

Sleepy eyes half-lidded. His pale thighs shivering as they bucked n’ rutted.

And the vision itself is enough to make you cum- but then again it just felt so good on Nanami’s hands, and underneath Higuruma’s gaze. So you can’t help but let your lips wobble open—“P-please let me cum-” Stars bursting behind your vision once Nanami presses down on your clit as well. “-sirs.”

The two older men look at each other.

“Sirs?” Higuruma asks, voice breathless with ecstasy.

“She just begged for both of us.” Nanami grumbles out - though not quite unhappily. It made his cock twitch deep in his pants to have you whimperin’ like this, and he continues. “Alright then, you slutty pussy.”

And it takes only a few more strokes - a few more direct thrashes along your g-spot - for you to hurtle straight into your high.

It’s so strong that you’re seeing white behind your eyelids—and your mouth blabbers out an unintelligible combination of both professors’ names. Toes curling. Sweat beading down your temple.

Nanami holds you down as you’re thrown through wave upon wave of your orgasm, your hips bucking up and down desperately. Riding throughout your bliss- and if that wasn’t already enough, he counts underneath his breath to measure how long it takes between your peaks of euphoria. Before hittin’ away at your g-spot just in time with each one.

The sensations that take you over are just incredible.

And your head falls back limply against Nanami’s shoulder.

Shivering. Almost as if you were in heat- and your pretty pussy gushes out honeyed slick as though to give credit to that statement.

Lavishing Nanami’s open thighs with all your sap—Higuruma eyes the mess and gulps. “Kento, give me a taste of that.”

Nanami scoffs. “In due time.”

“Kento, I need her pussy on my face now.”

Slowly but surely, you’re fluttering your eyes open at the feeling of being shuffled around - only seeing the beautiful, brown eyes of Higuruma Hiromi staring down at you. When did he get so close?

“Hiromi?” You’re blubbering out stupidly, still suffering from the aftershocks of your previous high. Those zapping bursts of electricity made your thighs twitch sensitively- “I mean- sir?”

Higuruma shivers, “You trained her well, Kento.”

“Mhmmm—” Nanami noses down the column of your throat proudly.

“Maybe now it’s time for a reward then, huh?”

You’re perking up. “Yes, please.”

Nanami snickers. “You spoil her.”

And in almost no time, you’re finding yourself handed off to the law professor - Nanami stands up and gets off of the armchair. While Higuruma takes his place- 

At least, that’s what you think is going to happen.

But what ends up happening instead is that Higuruma seats you down on the chair, letting your barely-clothed pussy rub up against the cushion. Something in his eyes gleams at the way you’re squirming, and he speaks to you in a gentle tone. “Can you turn around and hold the headrest f’me, angel? Be a good girl f’me?”

“A-alright?” Confused, you’re just doing what he says. He meant that you had to turn and climb your knees onto the seat, ass turned towards the professors, back slightly arched.

“Mmm, good.” Higuruma admires the view. “Arch that back just a little more f’me now, alright?”

“Like this?” 

And still not sure what he was about to do, you can only follow his commands. It almost feels like a doggy position- and you hold onto the wooden headrest for dear life.

“Mhmmm.”

And Nanami’s the first to mutter to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re…” He takes in the sight of you - with your front resting against the backrest of the chair. You have your spine bent, your ass cheeks displayed for them, your cunt not quite on the seat—“Hiromi, you dirty dog.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Steadily, Higuruma’s kneeling on the floor. 

There’s no warning before he then shoves his face nose-deep into your cunt- straight from behind. 

Higuruma grabs onto either side of your ass cheeks, his prominent nose curvin’ up the slit of your pussy. He’s using his grip on you to draaaag you further down onto his face—“Mhmmm—spread those legs.”

He’s muttering.

He’s spitting- stern lips pursing and letting out a rivulet of saliva.

It strikes vertically down your cunt before Higuruma’s running his fat tongue over it. Smearing around the mess he’s made- but most importantly, smearing around the mess that you’ve made.

You’re whining as Higuruma’s textured tastebuds seem to take over your pussy. All the way from the plumpness of your folds, and then dipping between them to tease your hole- you’re still so sensitive from the massage that Nanami’s fingers had simmered into you. And you’re trembling your thighs further open, “P-please- fuck-”

“I’m a lawyer so I’m really good with my tongue, y’know?” Higuruma pants out, scorching hot against your needy pussy. “But that means my fees are high, too-”

“A-and what are your fees?” You’re sobbing out.

“Mmmm…” He takes the time to think—and by that, you mean that he rovers his mouth over where your clit was throb-throb-throbbing. The law professor takes his sweet time spreadin’ open your pussylips with his tongue, before letting his tongue flop out n’ draaaaaag down your clit-

And his next words are so lecherously muffled. “Ride my nose raw, sugar.”

You gasp.

In the background, you can hear a gruff bout of laughter that notably doesn’t belong to Higuruma.

You grip onto the headrest of the chair harder than ever- because in a split-second, Higuruma’s thumbin’ your folds open and stuffing your hole all full of his tongue. 

So loooong and slick- curving right against the roof of your pussy. It makes you jolt to feel his honed, flexible tip zig-zagging its way down your channel—mazing and mazing inside that it’s as though his wet muscle was never-ending.

Higuruma Hiromi was damn ravenous.

He feels your knees start to slip away from him- and he claws his fingers deep into the globes of your ass cheeks to pull you back. Uncaring if you’re whining for mercy- “A-aren’t you supposed to be the nice one, sir?”

“Spoiled.” Nanami’s voice echoes from the distance.

“Mmm- keep calling me that, yeah?” Groans wrenching from the back of his throat at the mere sound of that title being said in your pretty voice. How nice it was to make you beg. “And no—”

“No?”

“I am being nice by letting you ride my nose, aren’t I?” His head jerks just a little upwards to look at you- and Higuruma can just barely make out the shock on your face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to ride it-”

“Hiromi-”

“Ever since ya fuckin’ met me, huh?” His rough tone vibrates through every vessel of your body- pushed even further by the constant swabbin’ he was doing inside. Swab after swab. “Ever since ya first saw me- don’t think I didn’t see how you stared at me.”

You’re clawing further up the headrest. “B-but how did you know-”

“Oh, angel…” Higuruma almost chuckles. Something dark and depraved- “If I was wrong then you wouldn’t be so fucking wet- I can barely breathe.”

Both of his roughened palms plaster around your thighs. Draaaagging you bodily - as though you were nothing against him - to glue your pussylips to his own lips.

He makes out with your pussy like a man parched.

“And I don’t need to.”

Your vision blurs with pleasure as Higuruma spreads your folds perfectly apart- and starts rammin’ his tongue into you wildly. Thick and thirsty for the taste of your sweet, sweet juices—any time that even a mere droplet of your sap starts to drip down your thighs- you can best believe that Higuruma was whipping his head down to slurp it up. “Harder.”

“I-I am-”

“Faster.”

“Fuck-”

“Raw, I said raw.”

Practically addicted to it. 

He’s pussydrunk in with just a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. And you yourself can feel your pupils start to circle inside the whites of your eyes.

Spreading yourself even further on the chair to meet his utterly ravenous mouth-

“Didn’t forget about me now, did you?”

Nanami Kento sounds the closest he’s been since he had you on his fingers- which could feel like minutes, hours, days ago by now. It takes you significant effort to blink away the clingy film of tears on your eyes, and you’re opening them to find that he was actually…standing right in front of you.

Nanami had rounded the side of the armchair - and if you looked up, there his handsome face was. So now you have your law professor at your behind, and your history professor’s crotch in front of your face. His pants much too tight. 

His cock thick and throbbing underneath there.

Clasping onto the headrest of the chair, if you raised your head juuuuust a little then you’d be able to mouth over the twitching erection he hid underneath there. “K-Kento?”

Nanami looks down at you through his gold-rimmed glasses. Grinning at your teary expression, “Only a few minutes with your nice teacher n’ you’ve already forgotten your manners, my love?” His hand falls to his formal pants, “Guess we have to go back to lesson one.”

“O-oh…”

Nanami had already unbuckled his belt and lets it drop to the floor—clink! Followed right along with the popping of his buttons, it doesn’t take too long before you’re face-to-face with his rock-hard bulge. Achingly hard. Almost painfully hard.

Barely held together by his boxers, he seeps out such volumes of precum that it creates a dark patch on the silken fabric. It glistens just a bit under the dim lighting of the office- something that makes you gulp.

And something that makes Higuruma nudge his tongue even deeper inside of you- shit, you could feel yourself growing more aroused. And he could taste it.

“Did you know she gets sweeter n’ sweeter the wetter she gets?” Higuruma slurs from in-between your legs, latching onto your clit with a loud squelch! “And you won’t believe it…but right now she tastes like the tastiest strawberry candy- heh.”

“Is that so?” Nanami’s nose crinkles as he looks down at you. He’s admiring that drunken expression on your face for a little bit, before reaching his right hand down and clasping at the back of your head. “Filthy girl.” 

You shiver. “C-can’t help it-”

“Ah ah—not another word out of you.” The blond-haired man continues. His grip tightens- “I expect you not to speak when your professor is speaking-”

Cocking his head just a little, Nanami takes a glance at the famished way that Higuruma was kissin’ between your legs. Gasping. Gulping.

He had his mouth gaped wide open and was dragging it across every inch of your pussy that he could reach- sticking that long tongue of his between your pussylips. You’re almost sandwiching his tastebuds for a bit before he manages to flicker his tastebuds inside again—then in and out, in and out, in and out.

Faster than before.

Reeling back out to slap! your pussy with the flat surface of his tongue.

Then probin’ back in again.

Higuruma’s just being so loud-

“-and when this pussy is speaking.” The rest of the history professor’s sentence makes you gasp - brain so muddled that you’d almost forgotten what he was saying. Almost forgotten that he has a firm grip on your sweaty scalp—one that he’d now turned into two hands upon your sweaty scalp.

Tugging your head forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll to smush your face against his boiling hot erection. 

Your jaw falls open and soon enough, you’re salivating all over his clothed cock. 

Tongue lavishing across the cotton of his boxers- feeling every ridge n’ vein along his shaft. 

He groans at the feeling of your heated mouth, and his fingers dig into your scalp even deeper. Tugging. Needing. One set of your fingers reach upwards to fumble its hem, and you take Nanami’s round, reddened tip into his mouth.

Moaning at the large size of him.

Moaning at the salty taste that floods your mouth-

“Hey now…” Higuruma’s choked-up tone echoes from behind. You’re feeling his tender fingers start to pull your hips back onto his face, “-don’t steal my star student away.”

“Have you forgotten that she’s my star student, too?”

“Her pussy’s on my mouth right now- so who’s in charge?”

“Well, let’s ask how she feels about it…” Nanami’s voice trails off—and only too late are you realizing that he isn’t talking about your pussy this time. He’s talking about you- waiting for your answer.

And you’re attempting to muffle out something, letting the globular edge of his cock swirl around your mouth a few times. Around and around. Just the crown of his mushroom tip prods into your every orifice inside- you’re opening your mouth to answer when Nanami jerks his hips forwards.

Fucking his cock deeeeep into your maw.

And with it, whatever words were in your throat, too. 

“I dunno about that-” Nanami hums down at the chokes n’ strangled gasps you’re letting out, just the barest noises of whatever was able to filter past his swollen shaft. “-but it sounded like a ‘you, sir’ to me.”

“Didn’t know you were that depraved.” Higuruma spits out. Dark eyes narrowed as he’s grinding you back to him n’ lapping away at your oversensitive pussylips.

“I’m a gentleman, what can I say?” The other professor responds.

As the slurps n’ sucking continues, Nanami looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He admires the way your mouth leaves a glittering glaze of spit from the tip of his cock and doooown to about halfway down his shaft—so cute how you couldn’t fit it all. “And as Head of your pussy-” Fuck, when did he even assign himself that? Is he pussydrunk already? “-I say you can’t cum until you’re fitting my cock aaaaaall the way…”

The history professor’s left hand lifts off of your scalp. Then dragging down the front of your throat - down, down, down. 

“-here.”

He points to a spot way past the back of your throat.

He fucks your mouth like he’s agonized every second he isn’t reaching for it.

Higuruma growls.

And thereafter it’s almost like a tug-of-war - on one end you’re being hauled forwards by Nanami’s grip on the back of your head. His hands strong and unwavering, no matter much you’re gasping for air- fuck, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami Kento was gone for the feeling of your mouth tightening around his hot cock.

Rutting those toned hips up into your velvety cavern like an animal-

“Just a little more.” That left hand of his wraps around your throat now, his thumb markin’ at the spots where he can feel his rounded tip probing inside. “Just a liiiiittle more now- about four inches? Heh.”

“Mmm—” Your eyes go wide in surprise.

And Nanami responds by pushing his hips even further, nearing the tip of your nose to those curls of blond at his base. “C’mon, c’mon.”

And on the other end, Higuruma had his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. Into the flesh of your ass. His tongue fishing around your insides before he pulls out and starts nibblin’ on your damn clit—

He’s thirsty. Depraved.

“Noooo, angel.” He’s gluing his chin to the front of your pussylips. Head moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as the law professor lashes his tongue across. “Come back to me-”

“Mmm—” You’re being pulled off of Nanami Kento’s reddened, dribblin’ cock with a plop! Just from the sheer pressure of Higuruma manhandling your body from the other side - dragging you all down his handsome face. “Fuh-fuck-!”

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Only for Nanami to barely let you breathe for a split-second before he’s pulling your mouth down his shaft again.

Shovelling a gooooood few inches of his vein-covered cock inside- he marks that spot out on your throat. Even deeper than the last time you had him- “Mmm, not bad. Just a few inches- mmm, more.”

“Ride my nose.” Higuruma begs from the other end. Breath breezing down your gooey core, it makes your thighs shiver- “Ride my nose, I don’t care. Ride my nose, ride my nose—” 

And you’re just so overstimulated from all ends.

From the draaagging of Nanami’s thumb down the front of your neck, from the sensual touch of Higuruma’s nose being sandwiched between your pussylips, from the pleasure of them both playing with your body. It’s as if you’re their favorite toy to taste, to fuck - to worship because of the way they were being driven to absolute madness by those carnal sensations. 

You can only jolt your body back and forth.

Down Nanami’s cock. Up Higuruma’s ready face.

Riding his nose just like you wanted- “S-so—” Somehow barely managing to gurgle out past the pulsating tip of his cock, “So close-”

“Close?” Higuruma perks up. “Fuh-fuck- I have you, angel.”

“Remember- no cumming until you take it here.” Nanami presses his thumb somewhere near where your voicebox was bulging with the intrusion of his inches. “You’re not there yet, darling…”

“But-”

“Please let her cum.” But to your surprise, it’s your law professor who is pleading your face. 

Nanami raises a blond brow, “Oh?”

“Let her-” He slurps away on your swollen nub- sensitive and throbbing. He’s hollowing his cheeks out to get that suctioning sensation, already making your knees feel weak with pleasure. “Need her to- fuck, want her to cum on my tongue. Let her cum already.”

Nanami thrusts even deeper, “Hmm…I dunno.”

“I’m the one asking you.” Higuruma grumbles. “Let her cum-”

“Mmmpf- please.” And your brows furrow as the pit of bliss in your stomach grows stronger.

“Let her-” The law professor continues, “I’m begging you- fuck, she’s becoming so sweet. Let her cum-”

Pale brows furrowing. Sweat lines down his temple- “I don’t…just fit-” And he’s scrapin’ his bulbous tip down the roof of your cunt—all the way along to the back of your throat and targeting even further. “If she takes it until-”

Higuruma’s nose helping your grinds and bounces. “Just let her cum-”

“If she takes it-”

“Fucking let her-”

“G-gonna—” It’s the last thing you’re managing to get out before a sudden slam! of Nanami’s hips shut you up- and before you know it, you’re feeling the carnal scratch of his pubic hair. The feeling of his tawny curls at your skin, the intrusion of his throbbing shaft all the way down your throat.

And his thumb tapping where he’d marked a treasure spot - a spot he was supposed to meet. Nanami doesn’t have to say a single thing for Higuruma to bite his sharp canines down on your clit.

And before you know it, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night. 

Not just your second, but your third, perhaps even your fourth.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your moans are nothing but soft crackles at the back of your throat. Higuruma draaaaags you all throughout those waves of bliss, elongating them with the thorough lavishing of his tongue. 

Probin’ into every sweet spot.

Inside and out.

He digs his fingers into your thighs, now accomplishing his dream of having you ride his nose. Because you’re being made to arch your back n’ bounce your hips lecherously up and across.

Hittin’ those best angles- the peaks of your high absolutely burst through you. 

And Nanami? Your history professor was enjoying the view - cocking his head to the side and smiling as you shatter on Higuruma’s face. He watches about half your orgasm bate, before starting to fuck his swollen cock back in and out of you. Thrusting. 

“Now now—” Nanami murmurs. “You should be thankful my rubric’s so generous this time.”

You can only look up at him with your teary eyes.

That sight is enough for him to bite down on his lower lip n’ stop himself from cumming. No, he had something more important in his mind…

“Thirty seconds to finish up.” He says meanly. “Before I either drag your pussy off of his face or you have to drag yourself off, m’kay?”

“Tch- stingy.” Higuruma keeps lappin’ at you even after your high has passed. 

And once that thirty seconds of more bliss have passed - just like Nanami said - he grips both hands ‘round the back of your scalp and wrenches you off of his cock. Off of Higuruma’s mouth. He’s bending down to spit straight between your lips—

“Now, I’m gonna be nice this one time because you took all of me. Understood?” The history professor states, so firm. “Nod if you understand, my love.”

You nod.

“Good.” He then kisses your lips- tasting you, tasting himself. “Now…do you want it from the back or face-to-face? Because m’fucking you filthy either way.”

“From- from the back.” You pant out.

And Nanami gives a single, stern nod before he lets you go. “Brace yourself.”

You’re collapsing back into the chair—sitting your ass down on it this time. Before the law professor suddenly has you in his arms - he supports you in getting off of the armchair and standing up. Now in the middle of his office, you’re stumbling onto your wobbly feet.

Your arms loop around Higuruma’s neck. “Hiromi…”

“Mmm, I love it when you call me that.” Higuruma kisses you.

“How unruly.” Both of you snap your heads at the sound of buttons popping- only to find that Nanami was taking off his button-up. And you were right- fuck, you were so right. He was so thoroughly chiselled underneath, almost Herculean in nature.

With the most naturally defined ridges n’ curves of his muscles—his firm pectorals, his washboard abs, his meaty thighs that make an appearance.

Nanami sheds of all his clothes before he stares down the two of you- “Addressing your professor by name? Clearly going against objectives to get ready? Making me jealous? What an undisciplined class, no need to be standing around.” He looks at you, “I’ll be fucking you until you can’t stand, anyway.”

A shiver runs down your spine—“Oh.”

“Now, darling.”

Higuruma lets you waddle away to Nanami- who merely swivels you around and bends you over the edge of his colleague’s desk. Papers and ink flying everywhere across the office as he does.

Folding you forwards until your head hits the table. Kneeing your legs apart.

It’s hitting you like a truck - your history professor is about to fuck you against your law professor’s desk.

“Stay still.” He gravels in your ear.

Nanami’s barely letting you take a breath before rubbin’ his bulbous tip down your dripping wet slit from behind. Hand gripping his thick hilt—up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Getting his inches coated in a glaze of your sap, Nanami hums at the feeling of you attempting to contract around him.

“This naughty girl’s reeeeal needy for me, huh?” Scorching breath heating up your skin, he kisses down your arched spine. “She says she can take all of me- can you?”

“Y-yes—” You’re sobbing into the polished mahogany. Bucking your hips up, “I want it, sir.”

You’re jolting as his puckered, pinkish tip smooches at your wet entrance- he’s just so thick that he can plug your hole up easily. Nanami’s tip throbs against your hole, and he reaches a right hand down to feel your pretty stomach - to feel where he’s going to be hittin’ with his hungry cock. 

He breathes out airily—“You want it?”

“Yes-”

“Say please.”

“Please-”

“Hmmm?”

“Please, sir.”

Nanami lurches his hips back, back, backwards- “As you wish then, teacher’s pet.”

And then you’re being stuffed with an inch or two of him.

And by stuffed—you were seriously stuffed. 

Thick and thorough. Almost too big to even fit in - Nanami fills out the orifice of your cunt without even trying. His ruby-red tip just manages to squeeze between your pussylips, before the first ring of muscle at your entrance makes him falter.

And he’s gritting his teeth at the sheer tightness, voice coming out as nothing but a hiss. “Fuck- didn’t you say that you can take it?” He’s pressing his left hand down at the base of your spine, leaning his weight in to keep you still. “Come back, my love- class isn’t over yet.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d been clawing at the desk until now. “S-sir—”

Just that is enough to make Nanami’s ravaged tip twitch inside of you- spurting out a few more dollops of pre. “Yes, darling?”

“I d-don’t—” Fuck- you swear you could feel him grow even harder inside of you at the sight of your teary expression. Staring at your history professor over your shoulder, “I don’t know if it even can fit.”

“Awww, my poor baby.” And you should know better than to let Nanami Kento hush your cries, you should know better than to let him lull you. 

But you can’t help but get pulled into his big, strong arms anyway.

“My poor, poor baby.” And from one corner of the room, you could hear Higuruma’s distant laugh. Although you don’t have the time to wonder what it means, because Nanami’s continuing- “None of those boys ever taught you how to take a real cock, hm?” 

And you can only nod. 

“None of those boys have ever fucked you right, hm?”

Nodding once more.

“Don’t you worry, darling. If you can’t take this one…”

He presses a chaste peck against your hairline. Letting his soft breath waft over the crown of your head, and his chest ripple with his words, soft. 

“-m’gonna make it fit.”

And that’s the last thing you’re hearing before Nanami’s rammin’ his swollen, aching cock into you like an animal- his furious cockhead burrowing in deep. 

He manages to shovel just a few more inches inside, before the snugness of your channel acts up once more. Leaving him barely even able to reel his hips backwards—just that much of a tight fit that’s making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

He shakes.

His groan cracks at the back of his throat. “O-oh.” Both of Nanami’s hands fly to the sides of your hips, and his fingers fucking shake where he holds you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Shit-” You’re flinching at the scalding sensation of his breath. Gusting.

And even that mere shiver- Nanami catches onto it. And it’s only making him clasp your body even tighter, pulling you into him—“You’re really not getting away until we make it fit, my love. Good luck.”

No matter how much his ravenous hips are rutting n’ bucking and trying oh-so-desperately to hammer even more of his inches inside- he can only fuck you in short, needy half-thrusts. The rest of him left to throb wildly behind you, he keeps on stretching and stretching your insides just to fit inside.

Each one of his bucks so desperate. So greedy.

The pointed tip of Nanami’s cockhead prods away at your innards as though he’s trying to claim every single ounce of space inside you- 

“Have you forgotten that this is a joint class, Kento?”

Higuruma’s voice is enough to send pulses of adrenaline flowing through your body - and you’re just managing to look around Nanami’s toned frame. The law professor stands behind the two of you with his arms crossed, clothes mostly on except for his trousers being tugged down.

He held his blushin’ cock in one hand, pumping furiously at the sight of his star student. 

Nanami himself sighs—though he doesn’t stop his sloppy scouring of your innards for a single second. He looks straight at the other man as he asks- “Oh yes…would you like her now or after me, Hiromi?”

“Now.” Higuruma narrows his heady eyes at the two of you. And the blond-haired man slightly growls at his answer, seemingly grappling with the thought of leaving your pretty pussy right about now- “But don’t pull out.”

You feel like you’re experiencing whiplash. “What?”

Nanami only raises a sharp brow.

And Higuruma himself can’t help but crack a sleazy smirk-

Before you know it, he’s rounding the two of you. Coat off. White button-up flapping open.

He tugs on the smooth, black tie that was hanging haphazardly from his neck- and gestures something indiscernible at the other man.

Though, clearly both professors understood.

Because one second you’re slouched on top of Higuruma’s desk, droolin’ stupidly over some important documents as Nanami Kento pounds you into oblivion - and in the next second, he’s lifting you off of it.

Cleanly off the desk.

One hand wrapped around your waist, the other putting you in a headlock.

He pulls you up as though you’re nothing- and you’re ogling the way his biceps bulge around your throat. Feeling the cushy firmness of his strength—“W-what are you-”

“D’you know what a standing full nelson is?” Higuruma asks. And for a second you think he’s asking you - maybe this was some strange sort of quiz - but then Nanami nods.

“Thought that only happens in fiction? Don’t tell me you’re a secret freak, Hiromi?” He scoffs, though he pulls out either way. 

“And look who’s talking…” Then Higuruma looks at you and taps his shoulders. “Hold on, angel, he’s going to lift you.”

“Shit…” 

As expected, you’re holding onto Higuruma’s broad shoulders for leverage- whilst Nanami bends and loops his hands around your legs. His strong forearms where your knees were. 

Scooping you up into his arms.

Holding them up.

Holding you up.

Hoverin’ well over six feet in the air.

Yelping, you’re digging your nails into the law professor’s shoulders - but if it hurt, then he doesn’t’ react to the pain. Honestly, you don’t even think he could feel it right now—because Higuruma was holding out his tie.

Measuring it against your face-

Tying it around your face like a blindfold.

He knots it at the back of your head, and suddenly the room is curtained in nothing but pure black. You could only hear the gruffness of both men’s chuckles, and Higuruma asking. “Everything alright, angel?”

“Of course, it is.” Nanami mutters- almost to himself. Though he does stretch your legs a little wider, presumably to show to the other man—“Look how fucking drenched she is.”

“Good girl.”

“Naughty, you mean.”

“I must beg to differ.”

And you’re arching against Nanami’s toned front, the plushness of his abs digging against your back. It was the most sensual massage you’ve felt in your entire life- “Please- ngh, what’s with the blindfold?”

“Oh, that…” Higuruma starts. “Guess.”

“What?”

“Guess.”

Brains wracking- “You aren’t going to leave me hanging, are you?”

“No.”

“Is this a roleplay?”

“No.”

“A kink thing?”

“Well…”

“A BDSM thing?”

“Guess.”

You’re feeling helplessness wash over you—“B-but, I already did-”

“No, my love.” Nanami’s the one to speak up this time. He leans down so that he’s pressing an innocent kiss to the edge of your hairline, “We’re going to make this slutty pussy guess which one of us she’s being fucked by.”

Your jaw drops.

And your cunt grows even wetter.

An occasion that the two professors are watching with awe-

Higuruma in particular finds himself breathing out—“And your time starts…now.”

And then you’re hearing the shuffling of his trousers- right before a sudden proddin’ intrusion starts up at your entrance. It was hot and throbbing—so needy that your teeth are set on edge by the sheer volume of precum that he was emptying out.

You’re feeling his thick tip start to eeeease in- squeezing in past the tightness of your channel for a bit before pulling back and fucking you ruthlessly in semi-thrusts.

“H-Hiromi?” You guess. Surely, with him being the one that was removing his trousers it must be…

“Wrong.” Nanami grins.

And then you’re feeling his cock give you a few vicious pumps before he’s pulling away - leaving you all empty and yearning for more. Your glistening hole clenches a few times around nothing, before a sudden globular tip starts kissin’ your entrance once more.

You’re bucking back in Nanami’s arms in an attempt to figure out just who it might be- but the history professor holds onto you firmly. Not a single inch.

Not a single inch less.

Whoever was fucking you takes no more time before swabbin’ his swollen erection inside once more- biting back a groooan at the feeling of your tightening walls.

It’s the same short, jerky thrusts from before just to fit in. 

“Sir?” You’re gasping out. But surely, it can’t be twice in a row…“No wait- is it Hiromi this time?”

The cadence of his hips stops abruptly. “Can’t get enough of the law, can you?”

Nanami.

And you don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’re just feeling your brain melt at the sheer stimulation between your legs, you don’t know whether it’s the fact that both handsome men had you sandwiched between their muscular bodies—it was just driving you wild. Making you stupid.

A line of drool slicks down the side of your mouth, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate before leaning in and lickin’ it off. “I should punish you for this.”

“I-I—oh, fuck.” Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue get swallowed up by the feeling of yet another round, ruddied cockhead pushing inwards. Pulsing. Prying apart your walls. And you’re noticing that this one is slightly slimmer than the last, more pointed, more honed, more of its curvaceous tip that tilts to the left.

It makes you shiver at the feeling of his bawling divot dragging across your walls so perfectly. “Is this- sir-”

“Try again, angel.”

It was a struggle to piece your thoughts together, and Higuruma’s voice is the only thing that makes you realize-

“Hiromi.”

“Mhmmm—” Before you know it, the other man has one hand dipping between your jittery legs. His fingers easily locate your clit to tug n’ pry like the cutest gummy - how sweet. And he’s timing it to the constant probes of his looooong, smooth cock. “Good girl. A++ for that.”

“You’re quite the generous grader.” Nanami scoffs. “I would have given that a B.”

“What can I say? I do have a soft spot for her…” Higuruma’s cock was slightly lengthier than Nanami’s, you’re noticing - though not quite as thick. And with less veins that didn’t massage your inner orifices as much, but made it soooo much easier for him to slip even deeper.

Especially with this position, he manages to probe his cockhead further past where Nanami’s thicker one was able to fit.

Reaching almost for your throat with his blushing, frenzied tip- Higuruma gives a final roll over your clit before he’s pulling out. Letting a few ribbons of sap gush down your legs after him-

Ones that are being fucked right back up with a second length.

Thicker. Harder.

Throbbing so much that you swear you can count them all the way at the top of your head- Nanami’s shaft was next. And he’s lavishing your entrance with so much attention—draaaaagging his vein-decorated shaft in and out. In and out. In and out.

“S-so?” He rasps out from behind. Higuruma’s cockhead had mazed open your insides just a bit more, and Nanami struggles not to let his voice tremble. “Which one of us, darling?”

“Y-you—”

That earns you a bite on the shell of your ear. “No.”

Before he’s pulling back out.

And your breath catches- “Wait- I meant sir. It’s you, sir—”

“Too late for that now.”

“Awww, come now.” Higuruma coos as well. “How are we supposed to make an example out of our star student if she just keeps makin’ mistakes?”

“I think she’s gettin’ lazy now, huh?” The other man responds. And now both of their ruddied cockheads were droolin’ all over your entrance- mixing with the sweetened syrup that was already dripping out of you and creating such a mess. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve our cocks at all?”

“Don’t say that—” You could feel your law professor’s eyes turn to you. “You deserve it- hah, don’t you, angel?”

Shivering at the feeling of both cocks sandwiching between your pussylips. Now that they’d both pulled out- it’s as if they were fighting over who can be next. Rubbin’ and teasing. “I do—” Your voice cracks on that last note, “P-please, I do-”

“I’m still not convinced.”

Higuruma continues, “Promise us you’ll be a good girl? That you’ll listen to what your professors have to say?”

“I will I will-”

“Promise us that no more of that teasin’ stuff in class?” His prominent nose slides down the column of your throat, breathing in your essence. “None of that bending over?”

“Yes—” But you could already hear the question in your throat - and it seems that they could, too.

And it makes Nanami gruffs out. “Because - forgive us - but you do realize that it’s not just us seeing your little…display, darling?” He spreads open your legs even wider, and Higuruma’s ministrations grow even more frenzied on your clit. Squeezing. Pinching. Flicking.

And you’re restless- “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean to say that there are others more…undeserving that see those legs of yours, those panties, those tits.” There’s a sharp edge to his words—“Those boys in class can’t take their eyes off of you.”

“We can’t either, of course.” Higuruma responds. Squeezing his cock inside- “But at least that little performance of yours is meant for us, right?”

“Don’t like the way they look at you.” Nanami’s also squeezing his cock inside now - both of them bullying your hole at once. Creating a stretch that makes your vision go white- so much carnal stimulation that your entire body wracks with shakes. “Don’t like the way they turn to look. Don’t like the way they have to mysteriously…disappear into the bathrooms any time you do your little show.”

“Given…we do the same.” The law professor continues—“Because fuck- how fuckin’ pretty you look all dressed up in silk. Makes it hard not to cream my pants everytime I see you- but none of those boys have the balls to back that admiration up.”

Giving you a thorough slam—both of them.

Higuruma’s the one to continue, “But we do.”

“Because I rub my cock raw to you, my love.” Nanami ends off, holding you close to him. “N’ none of those boys could ever fuck you like we do.”

“Yes, p-please—” And you’re pushed between both of their sculptured fronts. Unable to see them- but you could feel the ridges and curves of their muscles, the way they were both leaning in as though they couldn’t get enough of you. “I only want…ngh.”

One of your arms wrap around Higuruma’s neck, and the other reaches behind you to attempt to clasp onto Nanami’s.

“Just want the two of you…”

“Hmmm…” Nanami’s cock twitches at your gooey entrance- “A+”

And then they’re alternating between fucking you—

“Hiromi.” You’re gasping at the intrusion of his smoothened tip, the velvety texture of him reaching for so many spots inside you but most importantly- that g-spot. 

And then he’s pulling back out.

“Sir- fuck, Professor Kento.” Nanami swabs his thickened tip inside and hits that precise spot. Although he decides to take it a few steps further this time and dig his rounded tip into the very back of your pussy, bottoming-out. “Shit shit shit—”

Thrust after thrust.

Pulling out. Shovelling back in.

Making you guess just which one of your two older professors were takin’ over your pussy right now- it made your head dizzy just trying to keep track. Bounced up and down in their arms.

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi—” Before your voice shatters at the feeling of…two thickened lengths attempting to fit inside. Fighting against the resistance for a few sloppy strokes before they’re siiiiiiiiiiiinking in- “And Professor K-Kento, sir…” The feeling of their large, slick-glazed cocks were just incredible - rubbin’ against your walls and one another. Like nothing earlier.

It was a stretch like you’ve never felt before, hittin’ spots that you didn’t even know you had.

And both professors held onto your shaking body tight- they shovelled their lengths in and out of you. Two blushin’ cockheads heading for your g-spot, before their slide-slide-sliiiiiding all the way down to end up at your cervix.

Stretching apart your walls.

Making your channel bulge.

Letting the curves of their mushroomy tips drag apart your walls, n’ press into the sweetest spots of your nerves. Both of their heavy ballsacks smack-smack the front of your cunt right on time with their thrusts. Thrust after thrust.

Again and again.

Nanami grunts at the sensation of Higuruma deep inside you, “F-fuck…”

“You can say that again.” Higuruma himself replies. 

By now, the jostlin’ about had meant that your blindfold was falling off- and you could see the two men upon either side of you. Shovelling their hot cocks deep inside your pussy, positively ravaging you.

The law professor’s fingers weren’t letting up on your clit just yet, either. 

He quirks his digits just a bit to draw a little heart upon it—and soon enough you find yourself throwing your head back with a moan. “G-gonna-”

“Shhhh—” Nanami grins. His ears keenly listen to the noises from between your legs - they were just so much louder now that you had two thickened shafts ramming into you. “This pussy says she’s gonna cum soon, darling.”

“Y-you little-” 

A harsh hammerin’ on your spongy cervix. “Pardon, my love?”

“Nothing—oh.” Even their thrusting styles were different - Nanami Kento with his thorough, solid slashes as though he was trying to reach your womb every single time. And Higuruma Hiromi with slightly slower, smoother glides of his cock - soothing through the nooks n’ crannies that Nanami had activated first.

It was the perfect combination.

Naughty and nice.

Though not exactly in the way you’d initially thought.

And perhaps this manner was what was making you so desperate to cum again- “Please-” Gasping. “Let me cum—”

You’re looking between a grinning Nanami and Higuruma. Dazedly.

“Please may I-” Choking out in-between the moans and droplets of saliva that were gushing out of you- falling onto Higuruma’s puffed-out chest. “-cum, sirs?”

Both of their rock-hard cocks twitch deep inside of you.

And you’re briefly seeing a silent conversation pass between them-

“Go ahead, angel.”

“Cum all over my cock, darling.”

And it might have been minutes, it might have been seconds, it might have been split-seconds later once you’re crashing into your high. The waves of white-hot pleasure taking over you until it felt like your body was burning up. 

Feverish.

You’re crying out as you attempt to bounce your lewd hips back into both their shovelling shafts- but they’ve already got you. They’re holding onto your perspired body - so limp now with pleasure - and lettin’ their pointed cockheads hit each and every nerve bundle inside.

Pinpointing your g-spot with their lengths.

Targeting it especially through peak after peak.

After peak.

Your cunt trickles with honeyed slick- and it slips between your three bodies to drench Higuruma and Nanami’s cocks. Their thighs. Their bodies. 

Making it even louder to thrust into your cunt—you’re forced to raise your voice just a little just so that they can hear. “Sh-shit…” Until eventually you’re feeling so raw on their relentless cocks that you’re unsure whether you want them to elongate those waves of bliss or whether you want to fucking run away—“It feels so- oh, it feels…”

“And what do we say?” Nanami’s deep baritone croons out. He doesn’t slow down for a single second as he speaks- even though he himself was feeling a little sensitive by this point.

He hits his full ballsack against the front of your cunt and hisses- “Can I have it all inside…” You’re looking between them with wide, heart-shaped pupils. “-sirs?”

And you should’ve known what that would do.

You should’ve known how much that would break them.

Because with only a few final thrusts, both Higuruma and Nanami cum inside you with loud slurps! of your greedy cunt. Gobblin’ up all those white ropes of seed that they were emptying out - sheer volumes that they’d been holding onto for hours, days, this entire semester.

Nanami furrows his golden brows and presses his face into the crook of your neck. Groaning as he fucks you through his orgasm, “A-and here I was just expecting a thank you…”

“Our girl always was the sweetest.” Higuruma coos. 

Your history professor rides through his high with his teeth grit, jaw working overtime to keep his noises to a minimum - he wanted to hear your soft gasps and groans even more. Though his body shakes as it keeps on thrummin’ with pleasure. 

Visceral.

Meanwhile, your law professor let out such husky grunts after each splat! of cum that he emptied out against your womb. He couldn’t even handle fucking you properly anymore and his hips kept on stutterin’ through his waves. 

Cheeks flushed. Gaze locked on you. 

He didn’t want to tear it away.

Both of them are cumming so much that you nearly can’t tell who’s who - with their dollops of heated, syrupy sap. Each divot bawling them out messily—you can feel them stick against the end of your pussy, right where your cervix was, before being stirred about by the motions of their cylindrical shafts. 

Their prominent veins massagin’ your sweetest spots. Their globular cockheads pumping every single droplet inside you.

Every single droplet.

Not a single bead of that ivory cum escapes—but they’re both still looking at each other with the same idea.

And you’re seeing yet another silent conversation pass between them that you miss. “Oh?”

In almost no time, Higuruma and Nanami have you splayed out on the polished desk - back against its flat surface, legs held high in the air. This time, however, both their faces were between your pussylips and attempting to beat the other—

They were lappin’ their dual tongues over your leaking cunt like they were starved.

Nanami’s hand pressing down on your stomach to make a few more droplets spray out of your hole- Higuruma’s hand flicking over your clit still.

You lean back on your elbows and watch them.

And what a sight it was: both their handsome faces between your legs.

They nudge their noses against the creamy layers on top of your cunt, and swivel the mess around like mad. You could see through your tears the exact moment - the exact moment - that their pinkish tongues meet in the middle.

Where Higuruma’s tastebuds overlap with Nanami’s as they’re suckling on your clit- and they both flinch at the sensation before moaning—

And that’s before the door clicks.

“Oi, why are the lights still on? Don’t you know that campus has closed a long time ag-”

You pause.

Nanami pauses.

Higuruma pauses.

And so does Professor Shiu Kong - Head of the Mathematics Department, also PhD with Distinction. 

His jaw drops as his eyes drift over from the mess of clothes on the floor, to the mess that’d been made of you. Bite marks all over your throat. The blindfold still around your neck. And even more - you could see the way his hands tighten on his files as his gaze probes deeper, taking in your leaking, lecherous cunt.

No one moves.

Except for Shiu, who steps inside.

Your heart was in your throat.

Getting ready for a berating of some kind- or potentially even worse. Perhaps a suspension, perhaps Nanami and Higuruma would be fired at once-

“So…” Shiu’s husky voice interrupts your thoughts. “-got room for mathematics?”

A/N. Heheheheh ofc we got room for youuuuuuuuu Shiu <33

Plagiarism not authorized.

[tonycries]

Guys My Age

Synopsis. (!) Two assignments overdue: your law professor and your history professor. Objective: After teasing them all semester, Professor Higuruma Hiromi and Professor Nanami Kento…snap.  Time: At the same time.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader x Higuruma Hiromi

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, history professor!Nanami, law professor!Higuruma, college AU, you’re such a TEASE, driving them wiId, they’re overworked, they’re older, tutoring, STERN Nanami, fíngering, rings, p sIapping, p talking, chokíng, rídin’ Higuruma’s nose, oraI (m + ‌f), pússydrunk Higuruma, manhandIing, dragging, running from it, bíting, BOTH, fuII neIsons, bIindfolds, guessing, DP, SAME TIME, spítting, DÚMBlFICATlON, cervíx smoochin’, big stretches, they’re FÉRAL, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, surprise at the end, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 13.2k

A/N. You babygirls said you wanted more law professor!Higuruma so…I said why not have BOTH?!

He had you next hour.

Professor Nanami Kento - head of the History Department, PhD with Distinction - had you in his next class.

And he wasn’t even half as prepared as he should be: the coffee-maker in the staff room had broken down. 

Goodness knows how many times the blond-haired man has haunted that very station. Slouched over, sighing, sipping on his seventh coffee of the day. 

And although he could blame it all on the higher-ups and their stingy funding, or perhaps the frat boys of Delta Jujutsu Pi that’ve made it a challenge to sneak inside—he blames you. He wouldn’t even have latched onto such a respite had it not been for the way you made his blood pressure rise…in all sorts of ways.

Nanami’s eyes glaze over, and his hand absent-mindedly drifts between his legs. Perhaps if he got his pent-up energy out first…

“Kento.” A knock at his cubicle. And Nanami jolts his hand away as though it burned- 

It was Professor Higuruma Hiromi.

The head of the Law Department. Also PhD with Distinction. The man with dark circles and even darker suits, all prim and poised as he waded through the hallways with his stacks of documents—of course, Nanami was one for suits, as well. 

They really brought out his broad shoulders- at least, that’s what you told him.

Another reason why he needs the coffee.

Fuck. 

Nanami attempts to even out his breathing as he looks up. “Hiromi.”

If Higuruma thought anything of Nanami’s startled reaction, he makes no indication. Instead he holds up a slim file in his hand, “Are you free? Could you help me with looking over this essay?”

“Of course.” 

They were the only two in the staff room right now, besides- anything to take his mind off of you.

Nanami adjusts the gold-rimmed glasses on his face before he takes the file from him. Flipping it open to find a jumble of justice and law jargon that his history-inclined brain balks at—“I never thought you’d want a history professor’s opinion on an essay about…” He squints at the title, “-the scope of judicial power and judicial review. Does this have any names of 14th century shoguns that you need me to check?”

“No- no.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face, though Nanami gets the impression that it wasn’t for him. Rather it was for whatever ravaged at the man inside- making him look up at the ceiling with a hollow sigh—“Man, I need some coffee today.”

“Understandable.” Nanami pushes his glasses up.

“The machine’s broken, right?”

“Right.”

Higuruma only lets out another sigh that Nanami relates to well.

“If it helps, Dean Yaga said it’d be fixed by tomorrow.” Nanami attempts- he never was the type of sociable guy some of the other professors were. But he gets the feeling that Higuruma was the same.

He runs a hand down his face one last time- “That’s too late, I have tutoring this evening with…” And how Nanami Kento related to that, as well. Before he seems to shake himself out of it- somewhat. “It’s alright, could you just check the grammatical and citation stuff for me?”

“Of course.” As Higuruma leans against the partition and waits, the other professor skims through the writing. It wasn’t half bad, to be quite honest, and had it been for his own class then he would’ve given it an A—none too many mistakes except for the odd careless error. At least it was human-made. 

After a while of silence, Nanami’s partway through the conclusion when he asks. “Did you happen to get tired of looking through so many essays?”

“No, it’s just…” The dark-haired man sighs once more- for about the twelfth time since he came in. “-this student, you know?”

Nanami nods—he did know. “Trouble student?”

“Not quite.” He almost gulps.

Nanami narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t attend?”

“No, she attends every class.”

“Then what?” He leans back in his chair, essay forgotten now. “The legacy kid? The credit-chaser? The class clown that isn’t actually funny?”

Higuruma cuts through them all with a fierce shake of his head. “No, no, and no—” Almost gulping. “It’s just that this student is a little…distracting.”

The tips of his ears were red.

Instantly, Higuruma looks like he regrets it.

“F-forget I said anything-”

He does.

But Nanami looks squarely at the other man.

“I have a student like that, too.”

The law professor looks at him in wary interest. “Oh?”

“My star student, actually.” Pushing his glasses up, he opens up one of his cabinets and pulls out a thick, paper-stuffed file. And though Nanami Kento does collect his students’ work for the semester to review, he never does keep them quite so close - none other than yours.

Higuruma looks through them with slightly widened eyes. “All hers?”

Nanami nods, “So diligent that it’s almost distracting.”

Higuruma pulls out an empty chair beside Nanami and sits. Legs spread. Dark eyes thoughtful. “Mine, too.” He starts—“Never have I had a student ask for so many hours of extra tutoring.”

“Mine’s basically set up a tent in my office.” Nanami chuckles- though he can’t deny the slight pang it sends down to his cock. “Always taking on more assignments for extra credit, always answering questions first-”

“Always first in class and last to leave?”

“Exactly.” Nanami agrees. And he leans a hand on his desk as he watches the other man go through those papers - they were some of his most prized possessions, he feared to admit. Words from your heart. Swooping slashes of ink from your hands.

It was a part of you in those papers that Nanami Kento held dear to him- fuck, it was a part of you that sometimes he’d bring up to his greedy nose and sniff. Almost as if he could feel your skin through these very parchments.

It made him so fuckin’ hard.

But Higuruma didn’t need to know that.

Though the careful manner in which he handled those papers - how he leaned in just a little to drown in the ink - made him wonder…

“Always wearing the skimpiest skirt to class?”

And the other man looks up in shock- as though conveying something in his silence. Oh.

He flips the file over to look at the name typed-out on the cover, and it reads—yours. Ultimately, he continues—“A-always sittin’ in the front row with her legs spread just a bit?”

Nanami nods. “Always leaning over the desk when she has to speak in private.”

There’s a slight hardening within Higuruma’s eyes - though not of any unpleasant kind - it’s almost as if something deep and carnal was stirring awake right now. “Always wearing the prettiest black lace underneath?”

“She wears baby pink for me.” Nanami can’t help but smile.

“Fuck.” Higuruma runs a hand down his face again- and if Nanami didn’t know any better then he would’ve sworn that the other professor looked even more weary than when he first came in here. “And her panties-”

“Matching set.” Nanami responds without missing a beat - and he knows he’s some ol’ pervert for this. 

He knows he is. 

But he also knows about the smile that’d spread across your face the moment you’d realized he’d seen. “Bent over too low when picking her pen up one class.”

“Fucking—fuck.” Higuruma sounds agonized.

Nanami leans back in his chair, making it bounce a little bit. With a slightly breathless sigh leaving him, and his cock hardening even more in his pants–he’s forced to manspread under the table a little more. “She’s a needy lil’ thing, isn’t she?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Higuruma’s lips quirk up into a sensual smile - as if he was reminiscing on the memories. “Wanting to fuck her professors? Seriously?”

“Believe she’s thought of both of us at the same time?”

“Don’t even say that-” The law professor looks around, even though there was no one else here. Looking back at the man with somewhat pleading eyes, “I have tutoring with her this evening. If I can’t even fucking grade her essay without getting a hard-on then what d’you think will happen if I’m thinking of that—?”

“Oh…” Nanami hums to himself, hands lacing in front of him. The coffee-machine really was broken. “-maybe that won’t be an issue.”

Higuruma glances at him with furrowed brows, “How so?”

“What time is your tutoring with her?”

“You mean…”

The blond man shrugs coyly- “I’m not implying anything…but which one of us two do you think is her favorite?”

“And people think you’re the gentleman of us two.” Higuruma grumbles but ultimately spits out the time. It seems you’d opted for tuition classes with your law professor in the after-hours—when the offices were snug, and the department was empty. And he feels his cock perk up at the fact- how many times has he raced back home to plunge into a cold bath after your tuition classes? How many times has his shower heard your name whispered? “I’m most definitely the favorite, by the way-”

So lost in his thought, Nanami nearly doesn’t catch the sentence. He looks over at Higuruma. “Does she call you ‘sir’, too?”

“She does.”

“Well, then we’ll find out, won’t we?”

.

.

.

The two hottest professors on campus.

Higuruma Hiromi (38) with his sleek-cut suits, his polished shoes, and those sleepy eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of your soul. The depths of your body - exposed underneath him. He was a stern teacher, not afraid to make you do an assignment over and over and over again…(and you gladly would). Higuruma’s justice classes made you…wet you had to admit, hearing him bark out simulations of court cases. Orders. Commands. 

You could practically hear a sigh echo out across the room every time he acted out his attorney days. 

Every time he banged his gavel down made your knees weak.

It was no wonder that students in the law department tittered n’ scattered any time the ruggedly handsome professor walked past. 

On the other hand was your history professor. 

Nanami Kento (31) with his beefier build, his strong arms, his gentle eyes—twinkling down kindly upon you every time he corrected a mistake. Which - you have to confess - you’ve made a few more times than you really had to, just to feel his molten gaze upon you again and again. He often caused your heart (and something else entirely) to flutter at the deep musicality of his voice, managing to make even the most boring of history passages something interesting. Something that swept the class up easily.

Nanami was reputed around campus for being a complete gentleman - never looking down upon someone, never letting them walk in after him, never letting them pay him a compliment without receiving a sweet one back. 

The dream husband.

The stern and the nice.

Both of them- frat guys hated them.

It hadn’t been intentional to join both their classes- honest! 

But after seeing them on your first day, how could you not commit to maintaining a spotless attendance? You had a sneaking suspicion that the rest of the class behaved in the same manner for much the same reason - though none took it quite as far as you.

The skirts. The extra credit. The bending.

Speaking honestly, you were a teacher’s pet. Through and through.

And the tightness in their pants whenever you left a class told you- they were the best professors. To you, that is.

Which is why you’d been a little less than happy when Professor Higuruma had told you that someone might be joining your weekly tutoring. 

Invigilated tutoring? 

What the hell was invigilated tutoring?!

You admit that you’d been forced to hold back a groan of disappointment. Picking such late hours had been a conscious decision—right up there with those tight pencil skirts that you knew your law professor loved but would never admit to.

Professor Nanami was more the type to like free, flirty pleats that barely reached your thigh - and you loved the way his eyes would follow them behind those glasses of his. Even though he pretended they didn’t.

And right now you were wearing a mix of both.

Tight on top, flared at the bottom

Seated opposite his desk - thighs shut, skirt pulled down as low as it would go - more concentrated than you’d ever been during one of these tutoring sessions. It’s been about half an hour since the start of today’s tuition. Higuruma’s office was a cosy space, decked out in the most expensive-looking mahogany banisters, and shelves, and a witness box in the far corner.

It gleamed at the light—down knowingly at you, almost as if waiting for you to make a move.

But how could you? If there was a potential visitor, then you didn’t want to risk Higuruma’s job- as much as you loved teasing your two hot professors, it wouldn’t do to get them fired!

So you kept your hands and your skirts to yourself.

And even Higuruma himself had his eyes raised, possibly wondering why you hadn’t leaned over his desk or lingered a touch at his shoulder for help.

But oh, how you wanted to…

The professor looks down at his watch, “He’s late.”

You’re glancing at the closed door, “Maybe the invigilator isn’t coming?”

“Oh, he will.” Higuruma crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Trust me, he won’t miss this.”

A shiver runs down your spine.

You wondered what made him so sure.

And yet, you edge closer over the desk to him anyways.

It’s about forty-five minutes into your tutoring session when the door you’ve been sneaking glimpses of this entire time- clicks! And a looming figure walks into the room, his figure nearly taking up the whole frame.

Your jaw drops as you realize—

It’s Professor Nanami.

“Ah- Kento.” Higuruma beckons him over warmly- and you’re nearly suffering from whiplash from watching the two interact. These two are close?! Professor Nanami had been completely normal during your last class, if just a little more distracted than usual - and what was this? “We’ve been waiting.”

He looks at you as he says this.

“I had to penalize a student for missing a few assignments.” Nanami says smoothly, before bringing up a chair beside you and taking his seat. His movements were fluid and precise - as if he wasn’t questioning for a single moment why you were here so late, why you were dressed like that for him, and why you were so damn close.

You’d been staring into his handsome face for so long that he clears his throat. “Continue.”

“S-sir?” You’re chirping- and in your peripheral vision, Higuruma shuffles in his chair.

“Continue.” Nanami repeats in a stern tone. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that—“Just as you are. I would like to take notes for teaching my own classes.”

“You heard what he said.” Higuruma nods- and now you’re looking his way to see the most knowing smile on his face. “Continue, angel.”

Your thighs squeeze at the pet name.

Nanami quirks a blond brow and notes something down.

And so you’re ducking back into your work—

“Your blouse button is undone.” 

Slightly gasping, you’re reaching down to fix it-

“No, don’t button it.” He interrupts you with his low tone, gravelly with something you can’t pinpoint. You’re looking up at Nanami to find his gaze unwavering from you already- “I was merely noting it. Nothing to fix.”

“But-”

“You unbutton it for my class, too, don’t you?” He asks, and you’re unsure what to say-

“Answer when your teacher speaks to you.” Higuruma’s humming tone echoes—and from the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying this. He cocks his head down at you, “Or haven’t they taught you that yet?”

“Th-they have.” You’re squirming in your seat, a slight heat simmering in your stomach. You turn to Nanami, “And I do.”

“Hm.” With nothing more said- he writes something else down in his notes.

And you think you’re in the clear.

For now.

It’s barely a few sentences later on your work that Nanami speaks up again-

“Your feet are touching his.”

You pull away-

“You’ve been writing the same sentence over and over.”

Your hand pauses-

“Your thighs are parted more so than before.”

Immediately, you’re smacking them back shut again- you hadn’t even realized. And how the hell had Nanami even seen?

And you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice - so unlike everything you know of him - as he continues. “And your bra is peeking out.”

“Never seen one before?” You mutter underneath your breath, just about to fix your collar (that you’d very purposefully left open)—

Before Nanami’s voice cuts through again. “Never seen one of yours in black before, is what.” Even as you’re looking at him in slight sensual shock- he doesn’t look up from his papers. “What happened to the baby pink you show-off in my class?”

And Higuruma merely leans back and smiles. “Black is my favorite color, remember?”

“How could I forget?” The history professor answers.

“Though I myself am curious about this baby pink of yours…”

And you have nothing else to do but gape- they knew. 

Oh, how they both knew by now.

And by the looks in their eyes, they’d been dying for this very moment.

To confront how you’d been toying n’ teasing them all semester through now- enough so that they’ve apparently begun trading secrets about their unruly star student. You knew that Higuruma tended to have his ears grow hot and red any time he bumped into you in the hallway, and that Nanami would loosen his tie as if undressing whenever you wore a particularly scandalous thing to class - but you hadn’t known they’d been pushed…to this extent.

And you were glad for it.

So you sigh—slouching back in your chair. “So you both know. What now then? Do I get written up or something?”

But Nanami only looks at you through his glasses. “Sit up straight.”

He’s never uttered a command like that in his entire life during your usual lectures. And when you don’t move - merely looking at the blond man with raised brows - Higuruma pipes up. “You best listen to him now, angel.”

“Oh please.” Fluttering your lashes at them both. “And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Higuruma looks at Nanami.

Nanami calmly puts his notes down on the other’s table, and looks at you.

“Why-” He pushes his glasses up his handsome nosebridge. “-teach you a lesson, of course.”

“Both of you?” You could feel the elated giggles bubbling up in your throat- and you could feel the space between your legs start to grow wetter already. Looking between both of them—“Do it then.”

And then it’s a blur - you don’t know where Higuruma’s lips end and yours begin. He’s reached over the surface of his desk to kiss you like a starved man- and he groooans into that very kiss like you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Hand on your cheek. 

The tips of his canines start nibblin’ on your lower lip- and you’re kissing him back even deeper. “Shit-” Higuruma’s husky tone scorches across your face, “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do this for so fucking long.”

“Mmm, you kiss like husband material.” You’re giggling into the kiss. Both of your hands end up on his shoulders, and you could feel the shifting of his muscles through his slim suit. 

“Shit- and you talk like trouble.” He echoes out in an almost pained tone- like every second that his lips were away from yours ached. 

And those plump, pursed lips press against yours once more—so much sweeter than you would have expected this booming lawyer to kiss. He’s using the hand on your cheek to tilt down your chin- “May I?” Before the short nod you give lets him slither his tongue in wetly, lappin’ at your sweetest taste. “Shit, you’re really like sugar on my tongue.”

And you’re whining into the fervent kiss, letting it go on for a few more minutes before you’re breaking away with the most lecherous plop! And a thoroughly flushed professor chasing after your lips drunkenly-

“And what about you…” You’re kissing down Higuruma’s sharp jawline, looking at the other man who’d been sitting quietly this entire time. “-sir? Haven’t you wanted to kiss me even once this semester?”

Nanami shivers but he hides it well. Uncrossing his legs and revealing the most rock-hard, aching bulge between his legs—“Kiss? Perhaps.”

And you’re gulping at the sight.

Higuruma scoffs out a slight burst of laughter. “Perhaps.”

“But I’m a gentleman, my love.” Nanami continues, leaning back in that luxurious armchair. He takes off his coat to reveal a pale blue button-up, and beneath that was revealed the most chiselled body you’ve ever seen. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and beckons towards you. Manspread. Lap so welcoming. “Which means I’ve thought of far, far worse.”

Higuruma - with a final sloppy kiss plastered across your mouth - lets you walk over to Nanami.

Which you do on wobbly legs- plopping down unceremoniously on his lap. More than enough space there for you. He wastes no time bending you into shape in his strong arms, flipping you around to face the other man, and spreading your legs wiiiiiiide open-

Riiiiiip—!

“Whoops.” Nanami’s thoroughly unapologetic tone gruffs against the shell of your ear. Two of his vein-covered forearms were hooked underneath your elbows, and Nanami looks on boredly at the clean split down your skirt—“I always thought you’d look better without these anyway.”

Before he’s spreading your legs even further across his lap. Tearing it even more.

Exposing you for nothing but your tremblin’ legs and those drenched panties. Pretty black in color. 

So lacy that it was practically nothing.

Higuruma’s eyes widen, “Dirty girl.”

Nanami breathes, “No, that’s called being a slut.” And shock runs through your body at his words- at Nanami ‘Gentleman’ Kento’s words. Before it’s suddenly overtaken by the sudden feeling of him smearin’ aside your panties and stuffin’ his fingers inside.

Those thick crowns dooooown to the golden ring on his middle finger.

They were long and thick. Swirling and swirling the tip of his digit right ‘round your clit- and when you’re shuddering and unable to take it any longer—he pulls away and licks off that excess slick with a slurp!

Humming to himself as though it was the greatest delicacy in the world. “One thing you should know about me, darling, is that just because I’m gentleman-” And you’d been so caught up in his ragged tone, you didn’t even realize that he’d snaked his hand back down between your legs. “-doesn’t mean that I’m not depraved.”

And he’s ending off the sentence not with a full stop- no, but with a sudden shove of his fingertips between your folds. So swollen n’ sweet with slick.

You buck and he lurches his hand out to slap you on top of your pussylips.

“Down, darling.”

“Please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for.

But Nanami’s mouth waters already at the sound of it, and he’s keeping it at bay by pushing n’ pulling on the first ring of muscle at your cunt. “I said down.”

Head throwing back against his collarbone. “Oh.”

Fucking you with just the first inches of his fingers- “It doesn’t mean that m’not desperate.” Continuing as though your eyes weren’t bulging, as though your legs weren’t shaking, as though you weren’t arching off of his muscular chest. “It doesn’t mean that m’not ready to debase this pussy like she deserves.”

“Y-you mean—” You’re hiccuping, eyes starting to water at the sheer raw stretch. It was the type that left your pussy burning in the most delicious way - the feeling of having Nanami Kento’s scourin’ fingertips eager to enter your cunt. “-that whole gentleman thing was just a lie?”

“It’s not.” He responds. Final. His blond strands fall over his forehead as he keeps his eyes locked on your glistening hole, scissoring his fingers at that entrance n’ spreading you even wider. “I’m nice…”

Adding in a third finger before you’re even registering his second.

“-to everyone but this slutty pussy, that is.”

“Sh-shit—” Mewling at the top of your lungs, you’re clawing down Nanami’s strong forearms. They were the perfect thing to hold onto- just about the only thing you could hold onto as he utterly ruined your pussy with short, jerking thrusts.

Bulging the sides of your velvety walls open with his globular tips.

Cold metal ring shocking you.

So thick that he manages to probe into a few of your sensitive spots without even trying. Dragging his flexible fingers across every inch of you.

Scissoring and opening up and scissoring—deep.

Tears track down your cheeks at the sheer stimulation.

“Go easy on her, Kento.” Higuruma can’t help but groan at the sight of your pretty crying face. And soon enough, you’re hearing the metallic clinking of a belt buckle- “Don’t want to break our star student, now, do we?”

Nanami purrs against your temple. “Mmm, I don’t mind.”

“Just remember that she’s tutoring with me.”

The sound of Higuruma’s belt hitting the polished wooden floorboards is enough to make your eyes startle open- and oh, how you’re so glad it did.

Because then you’re greeted with the sight before you: of Higuruma Hiromi in utter ecstasy. All because of you.

He’d taken your seat from prior, chair angled perfectly to face the show taking place in front of him. 

Where Nanami had your legs spread aaaaaall the way as far as they would go - until Nanami could hear your joints threatening to pop - and facing the dark-haired man. His dark eyes glinted as they stared down at your glistening hole, swallowing Nanami’s rams easily.

Slurps n’ squelches emanating like music. 

Cunt dripping everywhere over the history teacher’s tight trousers. And the larger that puddle you were forming seemed to grow, the harder Nanami’s hammerin’ pace seemed to become. 

You could barely keep your eyes open long enough to see Higuruma tug down his black pants- that throbbing erection of his making an appearance. He wraps his hands around his thickened base and starts tugging, soft grunts leaving his mouth at the rapid pull-pull-pull of his cock. “Shit, she’s so fucking wet- be a little nicer with that pussy o’ hers, would you?”

“Hmmm…I don’t think she deserves it.” And with that said, Nanami plants yet another sodden spank on top of your cunt. Ring grazing your front- “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, has she?”

That stinging sensation zaps throughout your entire body and makes you buck. “I-I have—”

Before yet another thwack! of Nanami’s calloused fingertips follow.

Harder, this time.

“I was talking to this pussy, actually.” 

And he doesn’t even wait for the primal sting to pass by before openin’ your cunt up and thrusting his fingers inside again. In and out.

Push after push into your gooey depths.

You’re so sensitive n’ wet by this point that even the slightest movements have you emanating out the loudest sounds. Squelches upon squelches—every time he’s hitting a spot deep inside your hole. “Mhmm…mmmhm.” You could feel Nanami’s head slightly nodding above your own, as if locked deeply in a conversation with your pussy’s sounds. Just one whine of yours and he’s spankin’ on you once more- “Wait your turn, my love. She’s talking t’me.”

And Higuruma- ah, Higuruma has the audacity to snicker at the action. “Now that’s just bullying, Kento.”

“Is it?” He’s slappin’ down on your pussylips once more. Listening for the sound, “She says it isn’t so.”

You’re sending a narrowed glare his way that makes the law professor roll his eyes fondly.

“Oh, alright alright-” And he half-heartedly waves off at his colleague. “Be a little nicer to my dear student, won’t you?”

“Spoiled brat.” Yet another spank. Nanami sinks his canines into the shell of your ear, and he’s tuggin’ and teasing—he’s spreading his legs even further and settling you down. With your back against his rippling chest, he pushes and pushes his greedy fingers inside your pussy. “And why do you think you- hah, deserve that, huh? Haven’t you been fucking torturing us all semester long now?”

Higuruma groans. “Can’t deny that, angel.” His hands fly even faster up and down his cock- ravaged and reddened with need. 

“Mhmmmm.” The blond-haired man agrees, “Haven’t you been wearing those slutty skirts expecting to get fucked in them? Haven’t you- fuck, haven’t you been wearing that damn lingerie hoping we’d take a peak? Aren’t I right?”

He waits for your pussy to answer first- and then you’re answering. “I-I mean-” Attempting to.

“Haven’t you been bendin’ over and shit just because you wanted to show up in our wildest dreams? To consume our thoughts and make our cocks twitch?”

“Well-”

“And we did.” Higuruma pipes up next. He was so needy that he was practically bucking off of his chair, making it creak with movement. Short, jerky thrusts.

“Oh, yes we did.” Nanami continues. He leans down to your ear, as if exposing a secret- “I’d look forward to our classes everyday, my love. I’d have to fuck my fist raw before class- just so I wouldn’t fuck you senseless in front of everyone like how you were begging me to.”

Higuruma moans as he thumbs down the line of his flared tip - that pinkish, slippery line. He twitches as though he’s near to cumming already. “Me- me, too…”

“And you still expect me to be a gentleman?”

You’re restless, opening your mouth to defend yourself and—

Nanami only leans down and spits a glittery wad of spit between your pursed lips. “Don’t talk when the teacher’s talking, darling.” 

And your ears pop with pressure-

He’s hittin’ the plushness of his palm against your pussy with a loud smack! Smearing the curves n’ divots of his fingers dooooooown and up your walls, down and up.

His crown fingertips reach for your deepest innards- and you swear you can feel him stroking your very cervix. Runnin’ his frigid ring across your walls.

Drawing a few lines and marking his placement right back there, before he tunnels his digits at a frenzied pace - fingers almost nothing but a pale blur between your legs. His speed is so feverish that it leaves your sheen tricklin’ all down your thighs.

Trickling and trickling and—

And then you feel Nanami hook his fingers against your g-spot.

The pleasure shoots up your body like a lightning strike, “O-oh my god—right there, Kento.”

“Kento? Who’s Kento?” Nanami doesn’t even falter his fingering to answer, cooing in that tone that you’d almost mistake for something sweet. “I think you meant sir-”

“S—fuck.”

“Say it.” He huffs against the side of your face. Teeth almost out for blood- “Say it. Call me ‘sir’ or you don’t get to cum.”

“I—”

“Say it.” Higuruma, to your surprise, echoes from his seat. Where he had his gaze burning into your spread-open pussy n’ his mouth drooling at the vision of you—“Say it, angel. I need to see that pretty pussy cum.” Hands rubbing faster and faster- 

“She deserves to cum, mhm.” Nanami nods. “But do you, huh?”

“I-I do.” You’re nodding up at your desperate professors. One just barely in your line of vision- but his fingers were working up such a storm. His slightly-tanned arms pinning you down, working your pussy open, hitting that target of your g-spot like a cute button. Again and again—

Blond hair ruffled. Glasses slipping down his sweaty nosebridge.

And then the other one that was just creamin’ his precum down his hands. With his hands on his swollen erection - one of them creating a tunnel for him to fuck his fist, the other flattening over his dribblin’ divot to stop from cumming already. 

Sleepy eyes half-lidded. His pale thighs shivering as they bucked n’ rutted.

And the vision itself is enough to make you cum- but then again it just felt so good on Nanami’s hands, and underneath Higuruma’s gaze. So you can’t help but let your lips wobble open—“P-please let me cum-” Stars bursting behind your vision once Nanami presses down on your clit as well. “-sirs.”

The two older men look at each other.

“Sirs?” Higuruma asks, voice breathless with ecstasy.

“She just begged for both of us.” Nanami grumbles out - though not quite unhappily. It made his cock twitch deep in his pants to have you whimperin’ like this, and he continues. “Alright then, you slutty pussy.”

And it takes only a few more strokes - a few more direct thrashes along your g-spot - for you to hurtle straight into your high.

It’s so strong that you’re seeing white behind your eyelids—and your mouth blabbers out an unintelligible combination of both professors’ names. Toes curling. Sweat beading down your temple.

Nanami holds you down as you’re thrown through wave upon wave of your orgasm, your hips bucking up and down desperately. Riding throughout your bliss- and if that wasn’t already enough, he counts underneath his breath to measure how long it takes between your peaks of euphoria. Before hittin’ away at your g-spot just in time with each one.

The sensations that take you over are just incredible.

And your head falls back limply against Nanami’s shoulder.

Shivering. Almost as if you were in heat- and your pretty pussy gushes out honeyed slick as though to give credit to that statement.

Lavishing Nanami’s open thighs with all your sap—Higuruma eyes the mess and gulps. “Kento, give me a taste of that.”

Nanami scoffs. “In due time.”

“Kento, I need her pussy on my face now.”

Slowly but surely, you’re fluttering your eyes open at the feeling of being shuffled around - only seeing the beautiful, brown eyes of Higuruma Hiromi staring down at you. When did he get so close?

“Hiromi?” You’re blubbering out stupidly, still suffering from the aftershocks of your previous high. Those zapping bursts of electricity made your thighs twitch sensitively- “I mean- sir?”

Higuruma shivers, “You trained her well, Kento.”

“Mhmmm—” Nanami noses down the column of your throat proudly.

“Maybe now it’s time for a reward then, huh?”

You’re perking up. “Yes, please.”

Nanami snickers. “You spoil her.”

And in almost no time, you’re finding yourself handed off to the law professor - Nanami stands up and gets off of the armchair. While Higuruma takes his place- 

At least, that’s what you think is going to happen.

But what ends up happening instead is that Higuruma seats you down on the chair, letting your barely-clothed pussy rub up against the cushion. Something in his eyes gleams at the way you’re squirming, and he speaks to you in a gentle tone. “Can you turn around and hold the headrest f’me, angel? Be a good girl f’me?”

“A-alright?” Confused, you’re just doing what he says. He meant that you had to turn and climb your knees onto the seat, ass turned towards the professors, back slightly arched.

“Mmm, good.” Higuruma admires the view. “Arch that back just a little more f’me now, alright?”

“Like this?” 

And still not sure what he was about to do, you can only follow his commands. It almost feels like a doggy position- and you hold onto the wooden headrest for dear life.

“Mhmmm.”

And Nanami’s the first to mutter to himself, “Don’t tell me you’re…” He takes in the sight of you - with your front resting against the backrest of the chair. You have your spine bent, your ass cheeks displayed for them, your cunt not quite on the seat—“Hiromi, you dirty dog.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Steadily, Higuruma’s kneeling on the floor. 

There’s no warning before he then shoves his face nose-deep into your cunt- straight from behind. 

Higuruma grabs onto either side of your ass cheeks, his prominent nose curvin’ up the slit of your pussy. He’s using his grip on you to draaaag you further down onto his face—“Mhmmm—spread those legs.”

He’s muttering.

He’s spitting- stern lips pursing and letting out a rivulet of saliva.

It strikes vertically down your cunt before Higuruma’s running his fat tongue over it. Smearing around the mess he’s made- but most importantly, smearing around the mess that you’ve made.

You’re whining as Higuruma’s textured tastebuds seem to take over your pussy. All the way from the plumpness of your folds, and then dipping between them to tease your hole- you’re still so sensitive from the massage that Nanami’s fingers had simmered into you. And you’re trembling your thighs further open, “P-please- fuck-”

“I’m a lawyer so I’m really good with my tongue, y’know?” Higuruma pants out, scorching hot against your needy pussy. “But that means my fees are high, too-”

“A-and what are your fees?” You’re sobbing out.

“Mmmm…” He takes the time to think—and by that, you mean that he rovers his mouth over where your clit was throb-throb-throbbing. The law professor takes his sweet time spreadin’ open your pussylips with his tongue, before letting his tongue flop out n’ draaaaaag down your clit-

And his next words are so lecherously muffled. “Ride my nose raw, sugar.”

You gasp.

In the background, you can hear a gruff bout of laughter that notably doesn’t belong to Higuruma.

You grip onto the headrest of the chair harder than ever- because in a split-second, Higuruma’s thumbin’ your folds open and stuffing your hole all full of his tongue. 

So loooong and slick- curving right against the roof of your pussy. It makes you jolt to feel his honed, flexible tip zig-zagging its way down your channel—mazing and mazing inside that it’s as though his wet muscle was never-ending.

Higuruma Hiromi was damn ravenous.

He feels your knees start to slip away from him- and he claws his fingers deep into the globes of your ass cheeks to pull you back. Uncaring if you’re whining for mercy- “A-aren’t you supposed to be the nice one, sir?”

“Spoiled.” Nanami’s voice echoes from the distance.

“Mmm- keep calling me that, yeah?” Groans wrenching from the back of his throat at the mere sound of that title being said in your pretty voice. How nice it was to make you beg. “And no—”

“No?”

“I am being nice by letting you ride my nose, aren’t I?” His head jerks just a little upwards to look at you- and Higuruma can just barely make out the shock on your face. “I know how much you’ve wanted to ride it-”

“Hiromi-”

“Ever since ya fuckin’ met me, huh?” His rough tone vibrates through every vessel of your body- pushed even further by the constant swabbin’ he was doing inside. Swab after swab. “Ever since ya first saw me- don’t think I didn’t see how you stared at me.”

You’re clawing further up the headrest. “B-but how did you know-”

“Oh, angel…” Higuruma almost chuckles. Something dark and depraved- “If I was wrong then you wouldn’t be so fucking wet- I can barely breathe.”

Both of his roughened palms plaster around your thighs. Draaaagging you bodily - as though you were nothing against him - to glue your pussylips to his own lips.

He makes out with your pussy like a man parched.

“And I don’t need to.”

Your vision blurs with pleasure as Higuruma spreads your folds perfectly apart- and starts rammin’ his tongue into you wildly. Thick and thirsty for the taste of your sweet, sweet juices—any time that even a mere droplet of your sap starts to drip down your thighs- you can best believe that Higuruma was whipping his head down to slurp it up. “Harder.”

“I-I am-”

“Faster.”

“Fuck-”

“Raw, I said raw.”

Practically addicted to it. 

He’s pussydrunk in with just a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. And you yourself can feel your pupils start to circle inside the whites of your eyes.

Spreading yourself even further on the chair to meet his utterly ravenous mouth-

“Didn’t forget about me now, did you?”

Nanami Kento sounds the closest he’s been since he had you on his fingers- which could feel like minutes, hours, days ago by now. It takes you significant effort to blink away the clingy film of tears on your eyes, and you’re opening them to find that he was actually…standing right in front of you.

Nanami had rounded the side of the armchair - and if you looked up, there his handsome face was. So now you have your law professor at your behind, and your history professor’s crotch in front of your face. His pants much too tight. 

His cock thick and throbbing underneath there.

Clasping onto the headrest of the chair, if you raised your head juuuuust a little then you’d be able to mouth over the twitching erection he hid underneath there. “K-Kento?”

Nanami looks down at you through his gold-rimmed glasses. Grinning at your teary expression, “Only a few minutes with your nice teacher n’ you’ve already forgotten your manners, my love?” His hand falls to his formal pants, “Guess we have to go back to lesson one.”

“O-oh…”

Nanami had already unbuckled his belt and lets it drop to the floor—clink! Followed right along with the popping of his buttons, it doesn’t take too long before you’re face-to-face with his rock-hard bulge. Achingly hard. Almost painfully hard.

Barely held together by his boxers, he seeps out such volumes of precum that it creates a dark patch on the silken fabric. It glistens just a bit under the dim lighting of the office- something that makes you gulp.

And something that makes Higuruma nudge his tongue even deeper inside of you- shit, you could feel yourself growing more aroused. And he could taste it.

“Did you know she gets sweeter n’ sweeter the wetter she gets?” Higuruma slurs from in-between your legs, latching onto your clit with a loud squelch! “And you won’t believe it…but right now she tastes like the tastiest strawberry candy- heh.”

“Is that so?” Nanami’s nose crinkles as he looks down at you. He’s admiring that drunken expression on your face for a little bit, before reaching his right hand down and clasping at the back of your head. “Filthy girl.” 

You shiver. “C-can’t help it-”

“Ah ah—not another word out of you.” The blond-haired man continues. His grip tightens- “I expect you not to speak when your professor is speaking-”

Cocking his head just a little, Nanami takes a glance at the famished way that Higuruma was kissin’ between your legs. Gasping. Gulping.

He had his mouth gaped wide open and was dragging it across every inch of your pussy that he could reach- sticking that long tongue of his between your pussylips. You’re almost sandwiching his tastebuds for a bit before he manages to flicker his tastebuds inside again—then in and out, in and out, in and out.

Faster than before.

Reeling back out to slap! your pussy with the flat surface of his tongue.

Then probin’ back in again.

Higuruma’s just being so loud-

“-and when this pussy is speaking.” The rest of the history professor’s sentence makes you gasp - brain so muddled that you’d almost forgotten what he was saying. Almost forgotten that he has a firm grip on your sweaty scalp—one that he’d now turned into two hands upon your sweaty scalp.

Tugging your head forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll to smush your face against his boiling hot erection. 

Your jaw falls open and soon enough, you’re salivating all over his clothed cock. 

Tongue lavishing across the cotton of his boxers- feeling every ridge n’ vein along his shaft. 

He groans at the feeling of your heated mouth, and his fingers dig into your scalp even deeper. Tugging. Needing. One set of your fingers reach upwards to fumble its hem, and you take Nanami’s round, reddened tip into his mouth.

Moaning at the large size of him.

Moaning at the salty taste that floods your mouth-

“Hey now…” Higuruma’s choked-up tone echoes from behind. You’re feeling his tender fingers start to pull your hips back onto his face, “-don’t steal my star student away.”

“Have you forgotten that she’s my star student, too?”

“Her pussy’s on my mouth right now- so who’s in charge?”

“Well, let’s ask how she feels about it…” Nanami’s voice trails off—and only too late are you realizing that he isn’t talking about your pussy this time. He’s talking about you- waiting for your answer.

And you’re attempting to muffle out something, letting the globular edge of his cock swirl around your mouth a few times. Around and around. Just the crown of his mushroom tip prods into your every orifice inside- you’re opening your mouth to answer when Nanami jerks his hips forwards.

Fucking his cock deeeeep into your maw.

And with it, whatever words were in your throat, too. 

“I dunno about that-” Nanami hums down at the chokes n’ strangled gasps you’re letting out, just the barest noises of whatever was able to filter past his swollen shaft. “-but it sounded like a ‘you, sir’ to me.”

“Didn’t know you were that depraved.” Higuruma spits out. Dark eyes narrowed as he’s grinding you back to him n’ lapping away at your oversensitive pussylips.

“I’m a gentleman, what can I say?” The other professor responds.

As the slurps n’ sucking continues, Nanami looks at you through half-lidded eyes. He admires the way your mouth leaves a glittering glaze of spit from the tip of his cock and doooown to about halfway down his shaft—so cute how you couldn’t fit it all. “And as Head of your pussy-” Fuck, when did he even assign himself that? Is he pussydrunk already? “-I say you can’t cum until you’re fitting my cock aaaaaall the way…”

The history professor’s left hand lifts off of your scalp. Then dragging down the front of your throat - down, down, down. 

“-here.”

He points to a spot way past the back of your throat.

He fucks your mouth like he’s agonized every second he isn’t reaching for it.

Higuruma growls.

And thereafter it’s almost like a tug-of-war - on one end you’re being hauled forwards by Nanami’s grip on the back of your head. His hands strong and unwavering, no matter much you’re gasping for air- fuck, the ever-gentlemanly Nanami Kento was gone for the feeling of your mouth tightening around his hot cock.

Rutting those toned hips up into your velvety cavern like an animal-

“Just a little more.” That left hand of his wraps around your throat now, his thumb markin’ at the spots where he can feel his rounded tip probing inside. “Just a liiiiittle more now- about four inches? Heh.”

“Mmm—” Your eyes go wide in surprise.

And Nanami responds by pushing his hips even further, nearing the tip of your nose to those curls of blond at his base. “C’mon, c’mon.”

And on the other end, Higuruma had his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs. Into the flesh of your ass. His tongue fishing around your insides before he pulls out and starts nibblin’ on your damn clit—

He’s thirsty. Depraved.

“Noooo, angel.” He’s gluing his chin to the front of your pussylips. Head moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as the law professor lashes his tongue across. “Come back to me-”

“Mmm—” You’re being pulled off of Nanami Kento’s reddened, dribblin’ cock with a plop! Just from the sheer pressure of Higuruma manhandling your body from the other side - dragging you all down his handsome face. “Fuh-fuck-!”

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Only for Nanami to barely let you breathe for a split-second before he’s pulling your mouth down his shaft again.

Shovelling a gooooood few inches of his vein-covered cock inside- he marks that spot out on your throat. Even deeper than the last time you had him- “Mmm, not bad. Just a few inches- mmm, more.”

“Ride my nose.” Higuruma begs from the other end. Breath breezing down your gooey core, it makes your thighs shiver- “Ride my nose, I don’t care. Ride my nose, ride my nose—” 

And you’re just so overstimulated from all ends.

From the draaagging of Nanami’s thumb down the front of your neck, from the sensual touch of Higuruma’s nose being sandwiched between your pussylips, from the pleasure of them both playing with your body. It’s as if you’re their favorite toy to taste, to fuck - to worship because of the way they were being driven to absolute madness by those carnal sensations. 

You can only jolt your body back and forth.

Down Nanami’s cock. Up Higuruma’s ready face.

Riding his nose just like you wanted- “S-so—” Somehow barely managing to gurgle out past the pulsating tip of his cock, “So close-”

“Close?” Higuruma perks up. “Fuh-fuck- I have you, angel.”

“Remember- no cumming until you take it here.” Nanami presses his thumb somewhere near where your voicebox was bulging with the intrusion of his inches. “You’re not there yet, darling…”

“But-”

“Please let her cum.” But to your surprise, it’s your law professor who is pleading your face. 

Nanami raises a blond brow, “Oh?”

“Let her-” He slurps away on your swollen nub- sensitive and throbbing. He’s hollowing his cheeks out to get that suctioning sensation, already making your knees feel weak with pleasure. “Need her to- fuck, want her to cum on my tongue. Let her cum already.”

Nanami thrusts even deeper, “Hmm…I dunno.”

“I’m the one asking you.” Higuruma grumbles. “Let her cum-”

“Mmmpf- please.” And your brows furrow as the pit of bliss in your stomach grows stronger.

“Let her-” The law professor continues, “I’m begging you- fuck, she’s becoming so sweet. Let her cum-”

Pale brows furrowing. Sweat lines down his temple- “I don’t…just fit-” And he’s scrapin’ his bulbous tip down the roof of your cunt—all the way along to the back of your throat and targeting even further. “If she takes it until-”

Higuruma’s nose helping your grinds and bounces. “Just let her cum-”

“If she takes it-”

“Fucking let her-”

“G-gonna—” It’s the last thing you’re managing to get out before a sudden slam! of Nanami’s hips shut you up- and before you know it, you’re feeling the carnal scratch of his pubic hair. The feeling of his tawny curls at your skin, the intrusion of his throbbing shaft all the way down your throat.

And his thumb tapping where he’d marked a treasure spot - a spot he was supposed to meet. Nanami doesn’t have to say a single thing for Higuruma to bite his sharp canines down on your clit.

And before you know it, you’re bursting into your nth high of the night. 

Not just your second, but your third, perhaps even your fourth.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your moans are nothing but soft crackles at the back of your throat. Higuruma draaaaags you all throughout those waves of bliss, elongating them with the thorough lavishing of his tongue. 

Probin’ into every sweet spot.

Inside and out.

He digs his fingers into your thighs, now accomplishing his dream of having you ride his nose. Because you’re being made to arch your back n’ bounce your hips lecherously up and across.

Hittin’ those best angles- the peaks of your high absolutely burst through you. 

And Nanami? Your history professor was enjoying the view - cocking his head to the side and smiling as you shatter on Higuruma’s face. He watches about half your orgasm bate, before starting to fuck his swollen cock back in and out of you. Thrusting. 

“Now now—” Nanami murmurs. “You should be thankful my rubric’s so generous this time.”

You can only look up at him with your teary eyes.

That sight is enough for him to bite down on his lower lip n’ stop himself from cumming. No, he had something more important in his mind…

“Thirty seconds to finish up.” He says meanly. “Before I either drag your pussy off of his face or you have to drag yourself off, m’kay?”

“Tch- stingy.” Higuruma keeps lappin’ at you even after your high has passed. 

And once that thirty seconds of more bliss have passed - just like Nanami said - he grips both hands ‘round the back of your scalp and wrenches you off of his cock. Off of Higuruma’s mouth. He’s bending down to spit straight between your lips—

“Now, I’m gonna be nice this one time because you took all of me. Understood?” The history professor states, so firm. “Nod if you understand, my love.”

You nod.

“Good.” He then kisses your lips- tasting you, tasting himself. “Now…do you want it from the back or face-to-face? Because m’fucking you filthy either way.”

“From- from the back.” You pant out.

And Nanami gives a single, stern nod before he lets you go. “Brace yourself.”

You’re collapsing back into the chair—sitting your ass down on it this time. Before the law professor suddenly has you in his arms - he supports you in getting off of the armchair and standing up. Now in the middle of his office, you’re stumbling onto your wobbly feet.

Your arms loop around Higuruma’s neck. “Hiromi…”

“Mmm, I love it when you call me that.” Higuruma kisses you.

“How unruly.” Both of you snap your heads at the sound of buttons popping- only to find that Nanami was taking off his button-up. And you were right- fuck, you were so right. He was so thoroughly chiselled underneath, almost Herculean in nature.

With the most naturally defined ridges n’ curves of his muscles—his firm pectorals, his washboard abs, his meaty thighs that make an appearance.

Nanami sheds of all his clothes before he stares down the two of you- “Addressing your professor by name? Clearly going against objectives to get ready? Making me jealous? What an undisciplined class, no need to be standing around.” He looks at you, “I’ll be fucking you until you can’t stand, anyway.”

A shiver runs down your spine—“Oh.”

“Now, darling.”

Higuruma lets you waddle away to Nanami- who merely swivels you around and bends you over the edge of his colleague’s desk. Papers and ink flying everywhere across the office as he does.

Folding you forwards until your head hits the table. Kneeing your legs apart.

It’s hitting you like a truck - your history professor is about to fuck you against your law professor’s desk.

“Stay still.” He gravels in your ear.

Nanami’s barely letting you take a breath before rubbin’ his bulbous tip down your dripping wet slit from behind. Hand gripping his thick hilt—up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Getting his inches coated in a glaze of your sap, Nanami hums at the feeling of you attempting to contract around him.

“This naughty girl’s reeeeal needy for me, huh?” Scorching breath heating up your skin, he kisses down your arched spine. “She says she can take all of me- can you?”

“Y-yes—” You’re sobbing into the polished mahogany. Bucking your hips up, “I want it, sir.”

You’re jolting as his puckered, pinkish tip smooches at your wet entrance- he’s just so thick that he can plug your hole up easily. Nanami’s tip throbs against your hole, and he reaches a right hand down to feel your pretty stomach - to feel where he’s going to be hittin’ with his hungry cock. 

He breathes out airily—“You want it?”

“Yes-”

“Say please.”

“Please-”

“Hmmm?”

“Please, sir.”

Nanami lurches his hips back, back, backwards- “As you wish then, teacher’s pet.”

And then you’re being stuffed with an inch or two of him.

And by stuffed—you were seriously stuffed. 

Thick and thorough. Almost too big to even fit in - Nanami fills out the orifice of your cunt without even trying. His ruby-red tip just manages to squeeze between your pussylips, before the first ring of muscle at your entrance makes him falter.

And he’s gritting his teeth at the sheer tightness, voice coming out as nothing but a hiss. “Fuck- didn’t you say that you can take it?” He’s pressing his left hand down at the base of your spine, leaning his weight in to keep you still. “Come back, my love- class isn’t over yet.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d been clawing at the desk until now. “S-sir—”

Just that is enough to make Nanami’s ravaged tip twitch inside of you- spurting out a few more dollops of pre. “Yes, darling?”

“I d-don’t—” Fuck- you swear you could feel him grow even harder inside of you at the sight of your teary expression. Staring at your history professor over your shoulder, “I don’t know if it even can fit.”

“Awww, my poor baby.” And you should know better than to let Nanami Kento hush your cries, you should know better than to let him lull you. 

But you can’t help but get pulled into his big, strong arms anyway.

“My poor, poor baby.” And from one corner of the room, you could hear Higuruma’s distant laugh. Although you don’t have the time to wonder what it means, because Nanami’s continuing- “None of those boys ever taught you how to take a real cock, hm?” 

And you can only nod. 

“None of those boys have ever fucked you right, hm?”

Nodding once more.

“Don’t you worry, darling. If you can’t take this one…”

He presses a chaste peck against your hairline. Letting his soft breath waft over the crown of your head, and his chest ripple with his words, soft. 

“-m’gonna make it fit.”

And that’s the last thing you’re hearing before Nanami’s rammin’ his swollen, aching cock into you like an animal- his furious cockhead burrowing in deep. 

He manages to shovel just a few more inches inside, before the snugness of your channel acts up once more. Leaving him barely even able to reel his hips backwards—just that much of a tight fit that’s making his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

He shakes.

His groan cracks at the back of his throat. “O-oh.” Both of Nanami’s hands fly to the sides of your hips, and his fingers fucking shake where he holds you. “Oh, yeah.”

“Shit-” You’re flinching at the scalding sensation of his breath. Gusting.

And even that mere shiver- Nanami catches onto it. And it’s only making him clasp your body even tighter, pulling you into him—“You’re really not getting away until we make it fit, my love. Good luck.”

No matter how much his ravenous hips are rutting n’ bucking and trying oh-so-desperately to hammer even more of his inches inside- he can only fuck you in short, needy half-thrusts. The rest of him left to throb wildly behind you, he keeps on stretching and stretching your insides just to fit inside.

Each one of his bucks so desperate. So greedy.

The pointed tip of Nanami’s cockhead prods away at your innards as though he’s trying to claim every single ounce of space inside you- 

“Have you forgotten that this is a joint class, Kento?”

Higuruma’s voice is enough to send pulses of adrenaline flowing through your body - and you’re just managing to look around Nanami’s toned frame. The law professor stands behind the two of you with his arms crossed, clothes mostly on except for his trousers being tugged down.

He held his blushin’ cock in one hand, pumping furiously at the sight of his star student. 

Nanami himself sighs—though he doesn’t stop his sloppy scouring of your innards for a single second. He looks straight at the other man as he asks- “Oh yes…would you like her now or after me, Hiromi?”

“Now.” Higuruma narrows his heady eyes at the two of you. And the blond-haired man slightly growls at his answer, seemingly grappling with the thought of leaving your pretty pussy right about now- “But don’t pull out.”

You feel like you’re experiencing whiplash. “What?”

Nanami only raises a sharp brow.

And Higuruma himself can’t help but crack a sleazy smirk-

Before you know it, he’s rounding the two of you. Coat off. White button-up flapping open.

He tugs on the smooth, black tie that was hanging haphazardly from his neck- and gestures something indiscernible at the other man.

Though, clearly both professors understood.

Because one second you’re slouched on top of Higuruma’s desk, droolin’ stupidly over some important documents as Nanami Kento pounds you into oblivion - and in the next second, he’s lifting you off of it.

Cleanly off the desk.

One hand wrapped around your waist, the other putting you in a headlock.

He pulls you up as though you’re nothing- and you’re ogling the way his biceps bulge around your throat. Feeling the cushy firmness of his strength—“W-what are you-”

“D’you know what a standing full nelson is?” Higuruma asks. And for a second you think he’s asking you - maybe this was some strange sort of quiz - but then Nanami nods.

“Thought that only happens in fiction? Don’t tell me you’re a secret freak, Hiromi?” He scoffs, though he pulls out either way. 

“And look who’s talking…” Then Higuruma looks at you and taps his shoulders. “Hold on, angel, he’s going to lift you.”

“Shit…” 

As expected, you’re holding onto Higuruma’s broad shoulders for leverage- whilst Nanami bends and loops his hands around your legs. His strong forearms where your knees were. 

Scooping you up into his arms.

Holding them up.

Holding you up.

Hoverin’ well over six feet in the air.

Yelping, you’re digging your nails into the law professor’s shoulders - but if it hurt, then he doesn’t’ react to the pain. Honestly, you don’t even think he could feel it right now—because Higuruma was holding out his tie.

Measuring it against your face-

Tying it around your face like a blindfold.

He knots it at the back of your head, and suddenly the room is curtained in nothing but pure black. You could only hear the gruffness of both men’s chuckles, and Higuruma asking. “Everything alright, angel?”

“Of course, it is.” Nanami mutters- almost to himself. Though he does stretch your legs a little wider, presumably to show to the other man—“Look how fucking drenched she is.”

“Good girl.”

“Naughty, you mean.”

“I must beg to differ.”

And you’re arching against Nanami’s toned front, the plushness of his abs digging against your back. It was the most sensual massage you’ve felt in your entire life- “Please- ngh, what’s with the blindfold?”

“Oh, that…” Higuruma starts. “Guess.”

“What?”

“Guess.”

Brains wracking- “You aren’t going to leave me hanging, are you?”

“No.”

“Is this a roleplay?”

“No.”

“A kink thing?”

“Well…”

“A BDSM thing?”

“Guess.”

You’re feeling helplessness wash over you—“B-but, I already did-”

“No, my love.” Nanami’s the one to speak up this time. He leans down so that he’s pressing an innocent kiss to the edge of your hairline, “We’re going to make this slutty pussy guess which one of us she’s being fucked by.”

Your jaw drops.

And your cunt grows even wetter.

An occasion that the two professors are watching with awe-

Higuruma in particular finds himself breathing out—“And your time starts…now.”

And then you’re hearing the shuffling of his trousers- right before a sudden proddin’ intrusion starts up at your entrance. It was hot and throbbing—so needy that your teeth are set on edge by the sheer volume of precum that he was emptying out.

You’re feeling his thick tip start to eeeease in- squeezing in past the tightness of your channel for a bit before pulling back and fucking you ruthlessly in semi-thrusts.

“H-Hiromi?” You guess. Surely, with him being the one that was removing his trousers it must be…

“Wrong.” Nanami grins.

And then you’re feeling his cock give you a few vicious pumps before he’s pulling away - leaving you all empty and yearning for more. Your glistening hole clenches a few times around nothing, before a sudden globular tip starts kissin’ your entrance once more.

You’re bucking back in Nanami’s arms in an attempt to figure out just who it might be- but the history professor holds onto you firmly. Not a single inch.

Not a single inch less.

Whoever was fucking you takes no more time before swabbin’ his swollen erection inside once more- biting back a groooan at the feeling of your tightening walls.

It’s the same short, jerky thrusts from before just to fit in. 

“Sir?” You’re gasping out. But surely, it can’t be twice in a row…“No wait- is it Hiromi this time?”

The cadence of his hips stops abruptly. “Can’t get enough of the law, can you?”

Nanami.

And you don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’re just feeling your brain melt at the sheer stimulation between your legs, you don’t know whether it’s the fact that both handsome men had you sandwiched between their muscular bodies—it was just driving you wild. Making you stupid.

A line of drool slicks down the side of your mouth, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate before leaning in and lickin’ it off. “I should punish you for this.”

“I-I—oh, fuck.” Whatever words were on the tip of your tongue get swallowed up by the feeling of yet another round, ruddied cockhead pushing inwards. Pulsing. Prying apart your walls. And you’re noticing that this one is slightly slimmer than the last, more pointed, more honed, more of its curvaceous tip that tilts to the left.

It makes you shiver at the feeling of his bawling divot dragging across your walls so perfectly. “Is this- sir-”

“Try again, angel.”

It was a struggle to piece your thoughts together, and Higuruma’s voice is the only thing that makes you realize-

“Hiromi.”

“Mhmmm—” Before you know it, the other man has one hand dipping between your jittery legs. His fingers easily locate your clit to tug n’ pry like the cutest gummy - how sweet. And he’s timing it to the constant probes of his looooong, smooth cock. “Good girl. A++ for that.”

“You’re quite the generous grader.” Nanami scoffs. “I would have given that a B.”

“What can I say? I do have a soft spot for her…” Higuruma’s cock was slightly lengthier than Nanami’s, you’re noticing - though not quite as thick. And with less veins that didn’t massage your inner orifices as much, but made it soooo much easier for him to slip even deeper.

Especially with this position, he manages to probe his cockhead further past where Nanami’s thicker one was able to fit.

Reaching almost for your throat with his blushing, frenzied tip- Higuruma gives a final roll over your clit before he’s pulling out. Letting a few ribbons of sap gush down your legs after him-

Ones that are being fucked right back up with a second length.

Thicker. Harder.

Throbbing so much that you swear you can count them all the way at the top of your head- Nanami’s shaft was next. And he’s lavishing your entrance with so much attention—draaaaagging his vein-decorated shaft in and out. In and out. In and out.

“S-so?” He rasps out from behind. Higuruma’s cockhead had mazed open your insides just a bit more, and Nanami struggles not to let his voice tremble. “Which one of us, darling?”

“Y-you—”

That earns you a bite on the shell of your ear. “No.”

Before he’s pulling back out.

And your breath catches- “Wait- I meant sir. It’s you, sir—”

“Too late for that now.”

“Awww, come now.” Higuruma coos as well. “How are we supposed to make an example out of our star student if she just keeps makin’ mistakes?”

“I think she’s gettin’ lazy now, huh?” The other man responds. And now both of their ruddied cockheads were droolin’ all over your entrance- mixing with the sweetened syrup that was already dripping out of you and creating such a mess. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve our cocks at all?”

“Don’t say that—” You could feel your law professor’s eyes turn to you. “You deserve it- hah, don’t you, angel?”

Shivering at the feeling of both cocks sandwiching between your pussylips. Now that they’d both pulled out- it’s as if they were fighting over who can be next. Rubbin’ and teasing. “I do—” Your voice cracks on that last note, “P-please, I do-”

“I’m still not convinced.”

Higuruma continues, “Promise us you’ll be a good girl? That you’ll listen to what your professors have to say?”

“I will I will-”

“Promise us that no more of that teasin’ stuff in class?” His prominent nose slides down the column of your throat, breathing in your essence. “None of that bending over?”

“Yes—” But you could already hear the question in your throat - and it seems that they could, too.

And it makes Nanami gruffs out. “Because - forgive us - but you do realize that it’s not just us seeing your little…display, darling?” He spreads open your legs even wider, and Higuruma’s ministrations grow even more frenzied on your clit. Squeezing. Pinching. Flicking.

And you’re restless- “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean to say that there are others more…undeserving that see those legs of yours, those panties, those tits.” There’s a sharp edge to his words—“Those boys in class can’t take their eyes off of you.”

“We can’t either, of course.” Higuruma responds. Squeezing his cock inside- “But at least that little performance of yours is meant for us, right?”

“Don’t like the way they look at you.” Nanami’s also squeezing his cock inside now - both of them bullying your hole at once. Creating a stretch that makes your vision go white- so much carnal stimulation that your entire body wracks with shakes. “Don’t like the way they turn to look. Don’t like the way they have to mysteriously…disappear into the bathrooms any time you do your little show.”

“Given…we do the same.” The law professor continues—“Because fuck- how fuckin’ pretty you look all dressed up in silk. Makes it hard not to cream my pants everytime I see you- but none of those boys have the balls to back that admiration up.”

Giving you a thorough slam—both of them.

Higuruma’s the one to continue, “But we do.”

“Because I rub my cock raw to you, my love.” Nanami ends off, holding you close to him. “N’ none of those boys could ever fuck you like we do.”

“Yes, p-please—” And you’re pushed between both of their sculptured fronts. Unable to see them- but you could feel the ridges and curves of their muscles, the way they were both leaning in as though they couldn’t get enough of you. “I only want…ngh.”

One of your arms wrap around Higuruma’s neck, and the other reaches behind you to attempt to clasp onto Nanami’s.

“Just want the two of you…”

“Hmmm…” Nanami’s cock twitches at your gooey entrance- “A+”

And then they’re alternating between fucking you—

“Hiromi.” You’re gasping at the intrusion of his smoothened tip, the velvety texture of him reaching for so many spots inside you but most importantly- that g-spot. 

And then he’s pulling back out.

“Sir- fuck, Professor Kento.” Nanami swabs his thickened tip inside and hits that precise spot. Although he decides to take it a few steps further this time and dig his rounded tip into the very back of your pussy, bottoming-out. “Shit shit shit—”

Thrust after thrust.

Pulling out. Shovelling back in.

Making you guess just which one of your two older professors were takin’ over your pussy right now- it made your head dizzy just trying to keep track. Bounced up and down in their arms.

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Professor Kento.”

“Hiromi—” Before your voice shatters at the feeling of…two thickened lengths attempting to fit inside. Fighting against the resistance for a few sloppy strokes before they’re siiiiiiiiiiiinking in- “And Professor K-Kento, sir…” The feeling of their large, slick-glazed cocks were just incredible - rubbin’ against your walls and one another. Like nothing earlier.

It was a stretch like you’ve never felt before, hittin’ spots that you didn’t even know you had.

And both professors held onto your shaking body tight- they shovelled their lengths in and out of you. Two blushin’ cockheads heading for your g-spot, before their slide-slide-sliiiiiding all the way down to end up at your cervix.

Stretching apart your walls.

Making your channel bulge.

Letting the curves of their mushroomy tips drag apart your walls, n’ press into the sweetest spots of your nerves. Both of their heavy ballsacks smack-smack the front of your cunt right on time with their thrusts. Thrust after thrust.

Again and again.

Nanami grunts at the sensation of Higuruma deep inside you, “F-fuck…”

“You can say that again.” Higuruma himself replies. 

By now, the jostlin’ about had meant that your blindfold was falling off- and you could see the two men upon either side of you. Shovelling their hot cocks deep inside your pussy, positively ravaging you.

The law professor’s fingers weren’t letting up on your clit just yet, either. 

He quirks his digits just a bit to draw a little heart upon it—and soon enough you find yourself throwing your head back with a moan. “G-gonna-”

“Shhhh—” Nanami grins. His ears keenly listen to the noises from between your legs - they were just so much louder now that you had two thickened shafts ramming into you. “This pussy says she’s gonna cum soon, darling.”

“Y-you little-” 

A harsh hammerin’ on your spongy cervix. “Pardon, my love?”

“Nothing—oh.” Even their thrusting styles were different - Nanami Kento with his thorough, solid slashes as though he was trying to reach your womb every single time. And Higuruma Hiromi with slightly slower, smoother glides of his cock - soothing through the nooks n’ crannies that Nanami had activated first.

It was the perfect combination.

Naughty and nice.

Though not exactly in the way you’d initially thought.

And perhaps this manner was what was making you so desperate to cum again- “Please-” Gasping. “Let me cum—”

You’re looking between a grinning Nanami and Higuruma. Dazedly.

“Please may I-” Choking out in-between the moans and droplets of saliva that were gushing out of you- falling onto Higuruma’s puffed-out chest. “-cum, sirs?”

Both of their rock-hard cocks twitch deep inside of you.

And you’re briefly seeing a silent conversation pass between them-

“Go ahead, angel.”

“Cum all over my cock, darling.”

And it might have been minutes, it might have been seconds, it might have been split-seconds later once you’re crashing into your high. The waves of white-hot pleasure taking over you until it felt like your body was burning up. 

Feverish.

You’re crying out as you attempt to bounce your lewd hips back into both their shovelling shafts- but they’ve already got you. They’re holding onto your perspired body - so limp now with pleasure - and lettin’ their pointed cockheads hit each and every nerve bundle inside.

Pinpointing your g-spot with their lengths.

Targeting it especially through peak after peak.

After peak.

Your cunt trickles with honeyed slick- and it slips between your three bodies to drench Higuruma and Nanami’s cocks. Their thighs. Their bodies. 

Making it even louder to thrust into your cunt—you’re forced to raise your voice just a little just so that they can hear. “Sh-shit…” Until eventually you’re feeling so raw on their relentless cocks that you’re unsure whether you want them to elongate those waves of bliss or whether you want to fucking run away—“It feels so- oh, it feels…”

“And what do we say?” Nanami’s deep baritone croons out. He doesn’t slow down for a single second as he speaks- even though he himself was feeling a little sensitive by this point.

He hits his full ballsack against the front of your cunt and hisses- “Can I have it all inside…” You’re looking between them with wide, heart-shaped pupils. “-sirs?”

And you should’ve known what that would do.

You should’ve known how much that would break them.

Because with only a few final thrusts, both Higuruma and Nanami cum inside you with loud slurps! of your greedy cunt. Gobblin’ up all those white ropes of seed that they were emptying out - sheer volumes that they’d been holding onto for hours, days, this entire semester.

Nanami furrows his golden brows and presses his face into the crook of your neck. Groaning as he fucks you through his orgasm, “A-and here I was just expecting a thank you…”

“Our girl always was the sweetest.” Higuruma coos. 

Your history professor rides through his high with his teeth grit, jaw working overtime to keep his noises to a minimum - he wanted to hear your soft gasps and groans even more. Though his body shakes as it keeps on thrummin’ with pleasure. 

Visceral.

Meanwhile, your law professor let out such husky grunts after each splat! of cum that he emptied out against your womb. He couldn’t even handle fucking you properly anymore and his hips kept on stutterin’ through his waves. 

Cheeks flushed. Gaze locked on you. 

He didn’t want to tear it away.

Both of them are cumming so much that you nearly can’t tell who’s who - with their dollops of heated, syrupy sap. Each divot bawling them out messily—you can feel them stick against the end of your pussy, right where your cervix was, before being stirred about by the motions of their cylindrical shafts. 

Their prominent veins massagin’ your sweetest spots. Their globular cockheads pumping every single droplet inside you.

Every single droplet.

Not a single bead of that ivory cum escapes—but they’re both still looking at each other with the same idea.

And you’re seeing yet another silent conversation pass between them that you miss. “Oh?”

In almost no time, Higuruma and Nanami have you splayed out on the polished desk - back against its flat surface, legs held high in the air. This time, however, both their faces were between your pussylips and attempting to beat the other—

They were lappin’ their dual tongues over your leaking cunt like they were starved.

Nanami’s hand pressing down on your stomach to make a few more droplets spray out of your hole- Higuruma’s hand flicking over your clit still.

You lean back on your elbows and watch them.

And what a sight it was: both their handsome faces between your legs.

They nudge their noses against the creamy layers on top of your cunt, and swivel the mess around like mad. You could see through your tears the exact moment - the exact moment - that their pinkish tongues meet in the middle.

Where Higuruma’s tastebuds overlap with Nanami’s as they’re suckling on your clit- and they both flinch at the sensation before moaning—

And that’s before the door clicks.

“Oi, why are the lights still on? Don’t you know that campus has closed a long time ag-”

You pause.

Nanami pauses.

Higuruma pauses.

And so does Professor Shiu Kong - Head of the Mathematics Department, also PhD with Distinction. 

His jaw drops as his eyes drift over from the mess of clothes on the floor, to the mess that’d been made of you. Bite marks all over your throat. The blindfold still around your neck. And even more - you could see the way his hands tighten on his files as his gaze probes deeper, taking in your leaking, lecherous cunt.

No one moves.

Except for Shiu, who steps inside.

Your heart was in your throat.

Getting ready for a berating of some kind- or potentially even worse. Perhaps a suspension, perhaps Nanami and Higuruma would be fired at once-

“So…” Shiu’s husky voice interrupts your thoughts. “-got room for mathematics?”

A/N. Heheheheh ofc we got room for youuuuuuuuu Shiu <33

Plagiarism not authorized.

[bunnis-yanderes]

Computah, gimme yandere being absolutely delighted with his horny captive!darling that’s ovulating and allowing him to make her cum out of pure desperation.

You haven’t felt human touch in months since he’s taken you captive and he’s been pretty patient, so when you’re suddenly opening those pretty legs of yours and showing off your slick cunt and we’re fingers, he’s diving in immediately. You’re needy enough to allow it…

He’s eager to show you how much pleasure he can give you if you just give in and let him love you. His pretty darling, babbling out pleas for more when just yesterday you were coldly telling him to go away… it’s music to his ears.

He’ll never let you live this down.

[tonycries]

Internet Girl - C.K.

Synopsis. On campus? Choso Kamo’s the sweet, shy nerd you share film class with - the one who can barely meet your eyes without blushing. Online? Choso Kamo is really @cursed(your)wombz—the #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends with 820k followers to see his…nine inches. And he might just be looking for a partner.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, streamer!Choso, (sort of) B́J Alex AU, cámboy!Choso, college AU, he’s a nerd, film nerd!Choso, secret identities, masks, píercings (ears, tóngue, D), tattoos, chat, streaming, you’re a fan, identity reveal, exhíbitíonism, oraI (fem rec.), again PlERCINGS, tongue f, spítting, p sIapping, p talking, letting the viewers choose, fíngering with rings, overstím, dúmbifícation, Jacob’s Ladder, rough s, fiIthy s, he’s sIightly mean, tummy buIges, making it fit, pressing down, talking you through it, cIit pinching, pússydrúnk Choso, matíng presses, chokíng, manhandIing, mocking, sIight níppIe stim, creampíes, chat Iove you, cúmpIay, getting together, Phantom of the Opera references, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 14.9k

A/N. Hehehehehe-

Sunday was the night you’d found him; sprawled out on your bed and thumbing through the Internet. Some glitzy pop song you couldn’t name blasted from your speakers, and the room was saturated in the tingly excitement of having speedy Wi-Fi, no assignments, and the night to yourself. LED lights pink.

You’re checking some of your messages - doling out a few hearts, a few reposts - when that bell-shaped button bursts in blue. A new notification.

@cursed(your)wombz liked your repost.

It was on a photograph of the Sun—big and yellow, seemingly melting over a grey horizon.

Which was perfectly ordinary- this was the Internet, after all. And though your list of followers was modest, of course you’d interact with a stranger here and there.

The problem was in the way the notification disappeared as soon as it came.

An…accident maybe? This person had liked and unliked your repost. And without a second thought, you’re typing their username into the search bar.

And clicking on their profile.

@cursed(your)wombz huh?

He had a pitch-black profile picture and a layout with nothing of note, a banner as equally colorless and unnotable, and a simple bio stating: 

I know what you want…

- C.

And beneath that was a link.

It stood out stark against the black background. You don’t click on it, of course- for fear of being something malicious, you’re avoiding it like you’d avoid a minefield. 

You’ve already heard one too many horror stories on here about such things. One click and you’d find your address posted somewhere. Instead, your eyes drop to the number of followers he had…and your eyebrows are immediately shooting up.

0 Following.

581k Followers.

Now that makes you blink.

Okay- alright, maybe it wasn’t the most astounding number you’ve ever seen throughout your expansive time on the Internet - but it was still niche celebrity-status. Especially on this app. Especially to be stalking an account like yours…where all you did was repost the stray picture of a pretty landscape or yell into the aether about your missing assignments for your friends to comment on. 

Now that was a little strange.

And so you’re scrolling down.

And you never quite know what you’re in for whenever you enter the realm of a person’s account—fanfiction with tags you never knew existed, one part of an argument on social media that really shouldn’t exist, mpreg. 

Which was all fine and dandy to be quite honest- you just never expect to be met with the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The first picture you’re seeing- pinned.

Posted just an hour ago. It’s a mirror selfie taken at a low angle; of a man with his body angled towards the lens and his phone covering his face. In nothing but a towel. With nothing but his chiselled body. His beefy arms flexed as he takes the picture, biceps rippled with a few veins—though still lean and almost smooth to the touch. Pierced nipples. Defined abs. Your eyes linger on the sparse dusting of dark hair leading below, below, below his fluffy white towel…

The picture cuts off just a few inches past his navel. You know because you’re enlarging it.

The photo is almost vampiric in nature.

Somehow. 

Dimly-lit. Beautiful—he clearly knew his angles and lighting. It’s slightly blurry and you can’t make out much of the man’s features - nothing more than the slender length of his fingers, silver rings, and the outline of his dark (perhaps brown?) hair. Touching his shoulders. From just above the hem of his towel, the amorphous blur of a tattoo snakes down his left v-line - and no matter how much you’re zooming in, you can’t quite figure out what it is. 

Something twists at the pit of your stomach as you’re latching your eyes onto the very obvious bulge he was sporting through the towel - very.

The flash created a shadow of his lengthy cock—oh. Hanging between thick thighs, heavy and needy. And it also illuminated the slight dampness clinging onto his body; perhaps he’d just gotten out of the shower, or was about to take on after a workout. 

Whichever scenario it was, both made your thighs clench- fuck.

Fingers slightly shaky, you’re exiting out of the picture and scrolling down for more. 

The next post is a video seemingly taken from the very same instance: it was from the point of view of the beautiful man. Facing downwards, as he zoomed the camera in on his bulge and ran one vein-covered, ringed hand down his abs- down his pelvis- down to that throbbing erection and squeezed himself through his towel. 

And then through your speakers echoes out the most pornographic moan. 

Thank goodness your dorm had thick walls. 

And that’s when you decide that you’ve seen enough.

Not enough as in enough enough to block this strange man and move on with your life- of course, not. As quickly as your fingers would possibly let you, you’re exiting out of the video and scrolling up to a bio that seemed to have more to hide than the first time you read through it. 

The link stands mockingly stark - almost winking at you - against the dark background. You think you know what it is.

And you click on it.

Suddenly, your laptop screen’s flooding with a gaudy pink color. A loading circle swivels in the middle of it for a few seconds, before you’re met with a logo in swooping, slanted black script: C4mBoyfriends. Better than that boy in your dms.

Rapidly, you’re opening up a new tab and typing in the name.

“C4mBoyfriends is an adult streaming platform that hosts webcam performers that choose to label themselves as male. Here they can stream live video, post photographs, and interact on forums with a wide array of paying viewers—for a range of content catering to specific niches or sexual roleplays. C4mBoyfriends, since its recent launch, has shot up in the industry as one of the most-visited adult sites and the safest for its performers. All cuts go to the performers themselves and the site runs on separate donations from its audience.”

Ah- you’d guessed right.

Excitement burbles at the pit of your stomach for a few seconds. You’re clicking back onto the tab with the pink logo, and finding that it’d stopped loading.

It was in the layout of a streaming device, with static images of ongoing streams on one side of the platform, and different pages listed out on top. But what took up the majority of your screen was the vision of the very same man from before- from the mirror selfie, from the video.

This time, it was a stream.

@cursed(your)wombz is streaming—#1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends [101 week streak]. [Only solo]. Your internet boyfriend <3

0 Subscribed.

820k Subscribers.

455k Currently watching.

This time, he had his towel lifted up and his hands fisted around his fat cock.

Perfectly angled. 

Your jaw drops. He was about eight- maybe more inches, though you weren’t in the state to count. Way too entranced by the way his veiny, ring-decorated hands were wrapped around his cock. Large. He was just so loooong and standing tall between wide-spread legs, shiverin’ every time he’s gliding his hand up and down. Up and down. 

Again and again.

Getting faster by the second before he arches-

The edge of his thumb’s reaching for his ruby-red crown—then smearing the glistening liquid that just kept on foaming from the top. He lathers it upon his palm and drags it down his hot erection, making every inch gleam underneath the off-camera lighting.

You’re clicking on a button to increase your volume.

And just in time, too, because then he snakes his left hand down and squeezes his heavy balls- letting out a botched groan that leaves your shorts oh-so-wet. 

Deep and guttural; there’s a slight quiver in them as he whispers. “F-fuck.” Just so full and sensitive—the man’s head tips backwards and his hips buck off the cushioned chair. Sluttily. As though he was fucking something invisible. It’s creaking ever-so-slightly as he settles back down, composing himself just a little bit before he starts cumming.

Pearly white droplets of cum. 

Beading from the very top of his shaft - where he was the most pink n’ angry - shaking as he empties out. Globs of it start to glide down his length, and a few more collect where his silver Prince Albert’s piercing was positioned right beneath his mushroomy tip.

You’re just letting your eyes linger upon that little heap of satiny sap, when the man thumbs upwards and smears that, too. Such a mess.

And you think that might be all- but then he’s reaching his non-dominant hand upwards and pressing down on his frothing cockhead. Stopping himself from cumming - and as he leans to the side, you swear you’re glimpsing the twinkle of even more piercings on the upper side of his shaft. Was that…a Jacob’s ladder?

You’re rendered so damn speechless that you almost don’t register him speaking- “Awwww, did my pretty sluts wanna watch me cum?” 

A shiver runs down your spine at the hitched tone of his voice- drunk on lust. He’s slightly slurring. So alluring, you almost catch yourself nodding.

“Well, too bad.” The man meanly snickers, before he’s suddenly reaching out with his non-dominant hand and angling it higher. The screen shifts to display that very same mouth-watering body from the picture—though, this time with the addition of a black-and-white mask that covered his features from forehead to his sharp jawline. 

The only opening in it was a concave cutout for his mouth - almost reminiscent of a Phantom of the Opera mask. In the background was a clearly expensive bedroom of a clearly expensive home - far different from your single dorm - an artwork that you couldn’t name on the wall behind him. Something like a photograph or a portrait. Something about it was so precise- so cinematic. Like watching a movie scene. He continues, “Because you know why? You don’t deserve it.”

There’s a flurry of comments on one side of the screen, so fast that you wonder how he reads it.

“Didn’t I tell you to spam me with your nastiest stories in the chat?” He asks, and from beneath his mask you catch the outline of dark eyes shifting down those hurried words. Those needy comments. “None of you are nasty enough, so none of you get to see me cum…”

You’re tearing your eyes off of him to peruse what they were saying.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: nuuuuuu please, curse! i’ll get on my knees!!

@vampzo333: me too ME TOO

@likezmenpregnant: My story about the body pillow wasn’t nasty enough? TT

@CCpervnextdoor: AWWWW I’m begging~

@Curse’swifey: I’LL PAY YOU EXTRA PLEASEEEEEEE

@Curse’swifey donated 500 cherries.

“Tch- what a desperate bunch. Just fucking look at yourselves…” And though his words weren’t in the least bit nice, you couldn’t deny just how badly he made your cunt twinge. 

Curse…that’s what his name was, huh?

You’re squeezing your thighs together- your sleep shorts were definitely soaked. 

Curse rolls out the kinks in his neck just a little, and stares down at the camera with a crooked grin. “But that’s not gonna be enough. I said to be nasty- so be nasty.” The active chat becomes nothing but a blur once more: pleas, donations, stories half-typed in their urgency. “And in return I’ll moan whatever name you want me to moan when I cum.”

Before you know it, you’re opening up the sign-up page in a new tab.

Keeping Curse’s livestream playing in the background as you zip through your details. You’re picking out a username for yourself: Ietsmakeamovie and hastily going back to the ongoing stream with your newfound handle. Was it too obvious to make it the same username as your other account? The one that he had stalked?

Fuck- you’re too wound up to think of something else at this point. You decide that you’ll change it later…

Luckily, Curse’s stream didn’t have a paying threshold before you could comment. And you’re jittery with excitement as you pull the laptop closer to yourself and start typing out something—hitting send before you could overthink it.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Seeing you is the first time I’ve gotten this wet.

Curse’s eyes drift down the chat, and he seems to latch onto something. Eyes widening just a fraction.

“The first time?”

Fuck.

You’re feeling a jolt at the way he addresses you - never expecting him to pick out that comment amongst tens of thousands of others that were uttering even filthier things. Curse leans in and speaks with his deep tone, “Those other boys didn’t know how to treat a perfect pussy like yours, huh? This is why they call me the Internet boyfriend, baby.”

@Ietsmakeamovie: Yeah.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Fuck, you’re so hot.

@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t even wanna look away to touch myself.

You feel embarrassed typing it all out - but you console yourself with the notion that no one here knows who you are. And you don’t know anyone here, either.

Curse leans back and starts pumping his cock even harder—taking his left hand off the drivelling top. His milky-white precum is frenzied n’ sticks to his hand like glue, and the chat grows more and more excited as Curse’s actions do the same.

“That’s alright, baby, you don’t have to finger yourself.” He chuckles, eyes locked on the comments. “I’d be doing that for you if I was there.”

@Ietsmakeamovie: Wish you were. You’d reach so much deeper.

@Ietsmakeamovie donated 1000 cherries.

“Fuh-fuck—” He hisses, head throwing back in his chair. You take the time to admire the lines of his prominent Adam’s apple - the way it bobs every time he’s taking a shaky swallow. “No need to donate or anything, baby, just keep- ngh, talking t’me like this and that’s enough…”

@0003h0lesforCurse: holy shit. i’ve never seen him like this.

@CCpervnextdoor: Needy Curse I like it~

@bewbsRlife: KEEP GOING OP KEEP GOING!!

You giggle to yourself.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Enough to make you cum, Curse?

“Greedy, greedy girl…” Through the slightest gaps in his mask you’re catching the way his nose crinkles in amusement. A wolfish smile. “S’that what you all want?”

The chat explodes in agreement.

He cocks his head, “Movie?”

Was that your new nickname now? Hastily, you reply-

@Ietsmakeamovie: Mhm.

“Well then…” He grins, toned body arching off the chair. “Get ready for a show—” Darkened gaze narrowing at the comments, “And you better not take your eyes off of me for a single second- hump your damn pillows if you have to. I don’t care.”

Quickly grabbing your own puffy pillow, you’re stuffing it between your legs.

Right as Curse lets his head loll backwards- and his cum drizzles out of his cock. He’s been edging the poor viewers and overstimulatin’ himself for so fucking long now—all it takes is a few pumps to let the cascade of white coat his hands and his rings. Just the slightest bit of silver peaking through.

Hard and fast.

The man’s cockhead flushes even redder as he drags his high out deliciously. Every burst of dopamine. Every heaving pant. Every pretty moan escaping him. 

It seems to be ramming into him in waves- gooey ribbons of seed coat his digits. Getting smeared like a gloss across eeeeevery single inch, ridge, and vein—and since Curse’s pace was something furious, a few globs of cum splatter across the towel and onto his thighs. A mess that he’s seeming to love.

Because in the next few seconds, he’s wrung out just the final bits of pleasure in him- and is raising his cum-coated fingers up to his mouth and sucking. Staring straight into the camera lens as he does so.

You’re watching slack-jawed as those long, lacquered digits disappear between his lips. Finishin’ them off squeaky clean and letting his head tip to the side.

He mouths, “Movie—”

Part of your username.

Though you hadn’t asked for him to moan your name, as he’d promised to do to one of the viewers had they been nasty enough. And this special treatment…

Maybe he did it to every new viewer. Maybe he just liked how much you complimented him- though everyone else did, too. Either way, it’s perhaps what sets off the bursts of electricity between your legs—and soon enough you’re hurtling into a high you hadn’t even realized had been building up and up and up.

Your lashes flutter shut as the orgasm overtakes you. 

Hips ruttin’ away into the plushness of your pillow- you wonder just how much better riding him would be…

And that’s setting off a whole new layer of dopamine at your core, your cunt quiverin’ as white-hot pleasure makes your heartbeat throb in your ears. Chest pounding. Breaths heavy.

By the time you’ve finished pushing through your high, you’re coming to find that Curse had somewhat cleaned himself up with the towel and was bantering back n’ forth with the chat. He rests his head on one hand and sweeps his eyes down the usernames, “What happened to dear Movie, huh?” Curse pretends to pout. “The first stream wasn’t too much for her, right?”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: kekekeke you’re too freaky, curse!!

@CCpervnextdoor: So dirty~

@daddytoeknee: Must thank Movie for the show though…

Urgently, you’re gathering yourself and tapping a few buttons on-screen.

@Ietsmakeamovie subscribed to @cursed(your)wombz. 

@Ietsmakeamovie donated 2500 cherries.

@Ietsmakeamovie: It’d never be too much.

“Ahhh, there you are.” Such a beautiful smile smears across his face, and Curse’s leaning in to take a closer look at the comments. “And thank you for subscribing, same time tomorrow?”

You’re unsure whether that was directed at you or everyone viewing- but you’re chiming in agreement alongside the rest of the comments. And Curse reads through them, lingering for just a little while longer before he grins.

“Heh- bye, sluts.”

And he covers the camera, the stream cuts off. 

Yet your heart still thunders.

Ignoring the time at the bottom of your laptop screen, you’re then clicking on his profile and scrolling through what other videos he had…

.

.

.

It was your fault that you kept dozing off.

Honestly. 

You should have known better- and you know that you should’ve known better…but you couldn’t help yourself. After Curse’s initial stream, you spent some time browsing through the numerous photographs and short clips that he’d posted; there were even some saved streams that were each dirtier than the last—each with his attractive mask and his even more attractive voice, his sensual cock getting pumped over and over for the audiences.

And so you’d left a few comments, a few hearts.

Throughout all of them, you made the peculiar discovery that they were all more high-quality than the last. The standard of being the #1 on the site, you guess. But the lighting and angles were all just so perfect…

You’d watched them for just a little while- at least, what you’d thought was a little while. Because by the time you’re realizing that your laptop battery was dying, and your eyes were tired, you’re turning your head in the direction of the dorm windows and- fuck.

Why was the Sun coming up?

And so you’d rushed to get at least half an hour of sleep before you had to get up for your 8AM lecture. 

Professor Yaga taught Film 101 as though he was trying to scare everyone off it. Rigorous coursework and never-altered deadlines. Though you yourself wouldn’t consider him an unreasonable man, it was impertinent to be punctual and alert in his classes - and right now, you were feeling neither of those. 

By the grace of the universe, you’re somehow managing to stumble into class just two minutes after it starts. It’s not enough to rouse Yaga’s anger - and either way, you had made a name for yourself as one of his most avid students - though it does get you a sternly raised brow as you apologize and take the nearest open seat.

Just-so-happening to be in the very last row. 

At the very forgotten corner.

Right beside who you knew to be Yaga’s actually most avid student—Choso Kamo.

Had it been a race between the two of you - perhaps between the entire department - Choso would have finished five times before anyone’s even stepping past the finish line. You would’ve gotten second. And that wasn’t to diminish your abilities in any way - you’d long since proven yourself to be one of the best students this course had even seen - it’s just…Choso was a film nerd through and through. 

If there was anyone that could live up to such a title, then it was him.

Choso lived, slept, and breathed film and television. He could name any television show around the world with just a single frame, and most he could recite line-for-line. Oh, that? He learned Korean just to immerse himself in that scene in Parasite. That scene? It was from the 1957 Sri Lankan film Amba Yahaluwo, by the way did you know that Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was filmed there, too?

Knitted vest. Hair in two messy space buns. 

Clunky glasses rested atop his nosebridge, and dark bangs covering most of his vision, you’d often see him tottering around campus with a column of books that was damn-near taller than him. And despite his towering demeanour - from your mental counting, Choso was around 6’2 or more - around most of the student body, he was the type that couldn’t meet your eyes no matter how many classes you shared with him.

Even now, as you seated right next to him and smiled- Choso softly yelps and turns away from.

You don’t take it personally, of course, as he was simply the shy type. And by the flush that rises to his high cheekbones, you know he - at the very least - doesn’t dislike you.

Situating yourself, you’re opening your bag and pulling out your laptop. Opening it- fuck.

The briefest flash of one of Curses’s previous streams—where he had his cock in his hands and his face contorted mid-ecstasy flashes across your screen. And you can’t slam your laptop shut fast enough- cracking it just the slightest bit to exit out of the numerous tabs, fingers nothing but a blur. Thank fuck your volume hadn’t been set on high.

Head ducked, you’re looking out from the corner of your eye to check whether Choso had seen anything. 

But if he did, he shows no indication.

Only keeping his back ramrod straight- his gaze ahead- his flush fiery as he listens to whatever Yaga was saying. 

And so you think you’re in the clear…for now…

Opening your laptop up once more, you’re logging onto your lecture platforms and attempting to forget about last night. Which was difficult when that smile upon Curse’s face, just beneath his mask - was the only thing running through your mind.

And before you know it, you’d been staring blankly at your screen for a few seconds—before Choso inches in just a centimeter closer. Unwilling to let himself take up even more space. He keeps his eyes trained ahead and his voice - fuck, you’d never heard his voice before but it was just so deep and measured, something you wouldn’t have expected out of him - low. 

Whispering to you, “H-he’s on Chapter 18 of Stone Butch Blues, we’re about to write a screenplay for the zoo scene.” 

“Ah…” You don’t know whether you’re more surprised at the timbre of his voice or the way he managed a proper sentence out to you. All your previous attempts at conversation throughout the semester had been futile—and you’d long resigned yourself to the idea that he was too nervous to ever talk to you. “Th-thank you.”

He doesn’t answer but nods in shy acknowledgement.

And as you’re opening up your file, you bask in the realization that Choso Kamo was actually hot underneath those glasses. If only you could see his features further…

Maybe you’re being a little delirious. Your eyes feel heavy. 

Heavy.

Heavier. 

Tap-tap-tap.

A shake.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

A warm hand on your shoulder, by the time you’re opening your eyes- you’re looking up into even warmer, molten chocolate-colored ones. They were framed by fawny eyelashes and thick glasses that made his shy gaze seem ever-so-slightly amplified. 

You think you’re stunned for a few seconds before Choso speaks, “U-um…class is over.”

“Oh.” That makes you dart your head up and look around, noticing that most of the students had filtered in or were in the process of already doing so. “Oh, shit-”

You’d seriously slept through all that?

And Yaga had left you alive?!

No, you weren’t going to question this act of mercy—thank goodness for the last row, because he likely hadn’t been able to see you. Shooting upright, you’re grabbing all your things and hoping you hadn’t snored next to the sweet boy - “Thank you so much for waking me.” You’re turning towards him and saying, earnestness seeping into your tone. “Knowing me, I would’ve slept right through till next class. Might actually have been more convenient.”

He startles into a laugh then raises a hand up to his mouth and quietens himself down, “It’s alright.” You’re staring closely at the little bells of laughter, and he turns his eyes downwards. Bashfully admitting, “Happens to me too, whenever I stay up um- studying. Long night?”

You sigh, “You could say that…” Not a long night studying, but…

And as the conversation quietens down and Choso worries down on his bottom lip, you’re hiking your backpack up on your shoulders and saying. “Well, I guess I should be going then. Catch up on the recordings of the lecture and everything-” Turning, “See you ‘round—and thanks again.”

You make all of five steps before Choso finally gathers up the courage to call out-

“Wait—!”

Confused, you’re facing him once more. “Yes?”

And his hand was out, his fingers were slightly trembling. He was mouthing out the words as though still debating whether to speak them into existence - whether he was capable of. “I…we-” Eventually mustering up the courage once you give a reassuring nod, “When will we meet up?”

That makes you pause.

Was he…

“F-for the assignment.” Choso clarifies, a flush rising to his cheeks as he likely realizes he should’ve led with that. “Professor Yaga’s mid-semester project he always does…”

Ah—you’re clapping a palm on your forehead. How could you have forgotten? Yaga had announced at the start of the semester that about halfway through, the class would be paired up or put into groups to work on a collaborative project that contributed to about 50% of your grade. This semester, it was to write a full-length movie screenplay for a book or musical of your choice. And you’d been excited for it, in fact, but after the…activities of last night it’d completely slipped your mind that he’d be delving more into it this lecture.

And the poor boy stumbles through his explanation, “H-he let everyone choose their partners, and I wanted to wake you up but…you just looked so peaceful.” He fidgets with his fingers and flushes, “I th-thought one of your friends would come up here and choose you but-”

Probing him gently, “But?”

“B-but I’m afraid you ended up paired with me.” Choso just looks so genuinely apologetic- “I’m sorry- no one picked me either. I should’ve woken you up, but we can go talk with Professor Yaga about changing partners if you’d like-”

“Hey—wait.” You’re cutting off his spiel, something in your chest aching at the utterly devastated furrow between his brows. You take a step closer to him, “I would love to do the project with you, Choso. No need to talk to Yaga about anything.”

He looks up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “B-but your friends…”

“I don’t really have close friends in this class, anyway.” You smile, “I’d much rather do it with you.”

“Really—?” Breathed. As if he couldn’t believe it.

And it’s after some time - and a deep inhale - that he speaks again. Finally sinking in that someone would choose him of all people—that you would, that he speaks again. “And um- would you like to work on the script at my place?” Before you can answer, his breath hitches and his head shoots up. “N-not that I’m pressuring you into…it’s nothing weird, I promise! We can meet anywhere else you like- the library, your place- wait, no that’s weird, too…”

“Choso- Choso.” You giggle. And if this was anyone else then you would’ve assumed that they were putting the moves on you. “I’m okay with your place.”

.

.

.

The apartment was a fair distance away from the campus dorms. 

Which made sense, you suppose, given the fact that less than half the people there would be able to afford the rent on such a place—especially after tuition. The highrise dove into the clouds, its vermicular body scaled in glistening windows and gold-accented furnishings within. You got the distinct feeling of being swallowed whole as you entered through the widely-gaped entrance, with several doormen and security that eyed you up and down, bowed at Choso.

You thanked them and made your way - slightly speechless - through the hallways.

This was everything you could ever dream of, and you’re sure you spot the odd actor or two down in the lobby. As you’re getting into an elevator the size of your entire dorm room, Choso punches in one of the highest floor numbers and turns to you-

Throughout the bus ride here, you’d been the one chattering away. And so it surprises you once he finally speaks, “I-I’m sorry…my place is a bit of a mess.”

“Can’t be as bad as mine. I won’t judge.” Who cares about a mess when he lives in a place like this? You couldn’t wait to go inside…

He pushes his chunky glasses upwards and gives you a shy smile, “Thank you.” Looking down at his polished shoes, “You’re so sweet.”

“Thank you.” 

And you rise upwards in silence.

Soon enough, you’re finding yourself being led up to his massive apartment. He’s punching in the numbers of the code and setting his backpack down—telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you shuffle inside awkwardly; past the lavish furnishings and the alien-shaped lamps that all rich places seemed to boast. 

He leads you in the direction of the master bedroom - where Choso said that his film collection was vast and likely to reveal techniques that the two of you would be able to incorporate into your own script.

“I even have a copy of Momijigari- it’s one of my most prized possessions.” He shoots you such a charming smile, eyes twinkling behind his glasses, over his shoulder. Heading inside. 

And you can’t help but follow.

A single step inside his not-so-humble abode and you’re feeling a sudden sense of déjà vu wash over you, rendering you unsteady on your feet. Not quite sure why, you’re sweeping your eyes around the space: the high-quality camera equipment in one corner (not unusual to see for a film student), the chic furnishings, and then over to the empty wall space above the king-sized bed, something in you remained dissatisfied as they find nothing there but white plaster.

Choso notices that you’ve stalled behind and looks over at you curiously—he was taking a seat on the carpet, laptop opened up on top of the coffee table. “Something wrong? I’m sorry, I know it’s really messy but-”

“No, you’re good.” You shake your head, “It’s actually not messy enough.”

He smiles.

That night, you went home and wondered why Choso’s smile looked so familiar.

.

.

.

The musical that you’d chosen for your ‘adaptation’ was The Phantom of the Opera, suggested by you, of course.

And if there had been any connection to the masked man you’d been watching the night prior, then you were just glad that Choso had no idea.

It was far easier, given the fact that it’d already been adapted from the initial novel—though that only meant that Yaga would be critiquing yours even harder. 

So you had to strive to be more cinematic, than the others in your class, stronger in ways than the ones before you - and though you doubt you’d ever match up to Schumacher’s visuals, there was little doubt as to whether you’d be the best amongst the students. This was a screenplay made to impress, and in the week since you’d pored over it—and Choso Kamo’s mahogany coffee table typing away at it, you only grew more determined in the fact. And throughout the week, you’ve been flitting in and out of that very apartment of his.

Choso had been a lovely partner for the project - the best you could’ve ever asked for - and you’re coming to find that he was actually far more funny than anyone ever gave him credit for. Far more open. Far more active when it came to something he was passionate about.

And of course, you knew that he’d be sweet.

Despite his initial insistence that he could do the project himself, you’d taken up half the work. And you’d joined him in browsing through his massive catalogue of movies, in searching up screenplays to read, and in annotating them for techniques when starting to write yours.

You’ve come to make friends with one of the doormen by now. 

Just today you’d watched the 2004 Phantom of the Opera adaptation. And after a few hours of occupying his space and getting to know the nerdy boy a little better, you’d go straight back home to…Curse.

Whenever Choso made you feel tingly with his sweetness, Curse would amplify that heat to right between your legs. 

It’s been a week of getting to know Choso Kamo, and a week of having Curse splashed across your laptop screen—cock furiously hard n’ his moans echoing. He’d smile and utter your username whilst wearing his iconic mask and it’d be a high strong enough to follow into the day after. And often Choso would ask you what you’re so happy about.

Today, in particular, Curse had just finished one of his streams - cumming aaaaaall over the desk this time - when he’d settled himself back down and started chatting with the comments. Responding to one or two of yours.

You’re just about to joke about why he was sticking so long after his orgasm when he speaks once more- 

Voice somewhat serious, “Alright, now…settle down, settle down.” Curse waves his hand airily at the camera, throwing a middle finger up when the chat only gets more frenzied. “Tch- what brats you all are, would you wanna roleplay that someday?”

@vampzo333: YES PLEASE.

@likezmenpregnant: How about you be the brat…?

@Ietsmakeamovie: I would like that. 

@sixeyesorsixh0les: ^^

@0003h0lesforCurse: ^

“Fine fine…” Underneath the mask, he rolls his eyes fondly. “But I really do have something to announce-”

@likezmenpregnant: You’re pregnant.

@Ietsmakeamovie: I’m the father-

@Curse’swifey: NO MEEEEEEEEEEE!!

“I’m thinking of getting a partner for these streams.” He finally admits, rubbing his chin as though still in thought. And your heart stops-

@bipplruletheworld: so down.

@Cursenoticeme44: Omg yeeeeeeeeees!!

@daddytoeknee: YESYESYES.

The chat practically explodes, and you’re unsure what to feel about it—after all, you don’t know Curse and it’d be strange to feel a little possessive over his solo streams, however, you did have your preferences. But then again, you can’t help but imagine just how much hotter it would be to have two people- perhaps to see him make expressions he never has before…

Ultimately, you’re quiet as Curse leans in and scans the chat. His brows furrow just a little as he sweeps through the blurring usernames, “I dunno…I’m still thinking about it- I haven’t even asked this person, to be honest. I just wanted to know what you guys thought.” Nodding his head along or huffing out laughter at some of the comments, “Movie?”

You jolt—at being called out.

He wanted your opinion specifically? You suppose you did contribute to about half his comment section most streams.

But you stall as your fingers reach for the keyboard. 

Biting down on your lip and contemplating for a little while. Though he waits as patiently as ever-

@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t mind!!

Something seems to wash over him as he reads your comment, nodding. “I see.” 

He moves onto something else and his expression was indiscernible. 

You’re flickering your eyes to the artwork behind him, the small corner of it peaking into the frame, and it suddenly hits you that it’s the theatrical poster of The Phantom of the Opera (2004).

.

.

.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

There’s something your brain was telling you that you’re absolutely refusing to believe—after all, how many people in the world loved The Phantom of the Opera? Hell, how many people in the world have watched The Phantom of the Opera?

That didn’t mean that everyone you came across had a secret identity as one of the hottest streamers on C4mBoyfriends.

You were being paranoid, you told yourself. You were being utterly silly- and the next time you’re going over to Choso’s apartment was the very next day. Which wasn’t entirely ideal, given how much you’d tossed and turned after Curse’s last stream conjuring up all the possibilities…but Yaga wouldn’t accept a request for an extension even if you were set on fire in front of him. And so you went.

The pit of your stomach twists as Choso swings the lavish wooden door open and gives you a beaming smile. So innocent. So sweet.

He shakily pushes his glasses up as he welcomes you in. “Come in—s-sorry if I took a while to get to the door, I’ve been doing some decorating recently.”

His nervous smile is what makes you find your voice. And you’re dubiously looking around the luxurious apartment, “You need to do some decorating?”

“Believe it or not, yes.” Choso huffs. “Would you like something to drink? Or maybe to eat? I checked out that bakery you recommended last time and you’re right- they have the best Danish pastries.”

“Actually, Choso…” You’re shaking your head, shooting him a grateful smile. “I’m good. I’d think I’d prefer to start right away, if that’s alright? I really wanna get to Act 2 today.”

“O-oh, of course—!”

And he’s sweetly guiding you inside, whilst you attempt not to look like you’re taking two steps at a time. Back to that familiar room. Back to that familiar desk. Back to that (somewhat) familiar bed which most certainly did not have an artwork from The Phantom of the Opera on it—

You open the door and the first thing you’re seeing is the familiar plane of that white mask. The Phantom. 

Choso follows behind you and catches you staring at the poster. Gravelly tone echoing from behind, “I told you I did some decorating.”

And you jump-

Swivelling around to find him bearing you a sheepish smile, “Sorry if I startled you.” He pushes those chunky glasses up, “Tea?”

“S-sure…” You breathe, if anything for a thing to occupy your mouth with. Wait- not like that—!

And as Choso disappears down the hall, you’re taking a seat on the bed you’ve sat on countless, countless times before without a single care in the world. Now you’re sinking into the very - the very - edge as though it’d swallow you whole.

Body just resting on the plush comforter before-

“Hey, so I also have coffee if you would prefer?” Comes Choso’s sudden voice.

And you’re startling once more- “Just tea is fine, thanks.” Barely managing to get that through your lips, you’re watching as he disappears…as the sound of his footsteps echo…

Before darting off the bed and now heading towards the camera equipment you’d noticed in the corner the first time you’d been here. What you’d assumed to be part of another one of his classes or personal projects. Now, you’re leaning in and wondering with just which camera he showed his pretty cock off to millions, at just what height of his tripod he made your cunt so heated. 

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck this was real.

Now, you’re noticing things in the room that you’d never noticed before. Like the ring light kept underneath his bed, and the dresser in the corner with numerous rings- those weren’t costume props or anything. They were pure silver.

Heavy.

Heavy, like the pit in your stomach—excited and swirling. Just trembling at the tips of your fingers - ever-so-slightly - you’re reaching out as though to touch it, as though to feel the alternate version of Choso that you knew longer than you knew Choso-

“Ah, so you’ve realized.”

And then his voice permeates the room.

The room that suddenly seems smaller, the room that suddenly seems to rise ten degrees in temperature - though goosebumps skitter across your skin. And almost as though in a horror movie, you’re turning in slow motion to face the bespectacled man who was now holding up a tray of steaming hot tea. 

He walks over soundlessly and sets it on the coffee table with a slight click! And besides that, Choso walks over to the dressing table and puts his silver rings on.

One by one.

His eyes hold court with yours through the mirror, “How long?” Voice a deep timbre. 

You’re taking a step closer without even realizing, “Um…just last night. Just now- actually.”

He chuckles and you realize he’s asking how long you’ve known about Curse.

“I-I found you by chance. About a week ago, actually…” And then you say what’s been on your mind ever since you had, “Ever since you liked and unliked my repost.”

“Ah, a rookie mistake.” Choso comments. “I should have known better than to stalk using my public account.” And with all rings now put on and glinting in the lighting of his bedroom, Choso shuffles through his jewellery tray to pluck his earrings in and one eyebrow piercing. And then…one lip piercing—a lip ring that twinkles mischievously as he smiles.

He rises and you think you’ve never quite appreciated his built frame. 

His deep eyes as they’re locking in on you. Echoing out, “Though…you really can’t say much- can you, Movie?”

And though you knew that he knew- you can’t stop the zaps of electricity running through your body. 

Sputtering out, “Yeah-” Your fists clench and you’re looking up at the object of both your fantasies and your secret interest these past few days - melded into one. “Yeah, I really can’t. Choso you’re so…”

“Different?” He fixes his glasses, “Though I really am shy, I can’t deny that- especially around you. But it helps to be a little more antisocial when I’m around idiots.”

He leans in closer- so close that his scorchin’ hot breath wafts across your features. You have no idea how you’d diminished such a distance so soon…

“And if my memory serves me right-” Choso taps on the edge of his chin, in mocking thought. “-I seem to remember that Movie agreed to have a partner on my stream.” You shiver. And he looks at you adoringly, “So how about it? Wanna make a movie, baby?”

You step a little closer. 

“Only if I get to match wardrobes.”

He chuckles and picks you up to spin you around-

And then it’s getting to work. And then it’s shuffling through his closet to find a mask that matches his own. 

He stretches on the rubber a bit and brings it to you—“I bought this one when I first started, but it ended up being too tight- I think it’d be just the one for you.”

It was. It fit perfectly.

And then he paces around the room and starts to set up- before Choso’s gaze catches you hovering around the bed, and then he’s clicking his tongue and forgoing the tripods altogether. With just the professional lights and the high-quality camera, Choso places the camera on top of the coffee table. Facing the foot of the bed - everything and anything could be seen.

Just with a few clicks he’s started the stream.

And with just a little nudge he’s urging you to sit next to him. 

“Hello, my little sluts—” Choso- or should you say Curse croons towards the camera. On one of his monitors you can see him being projected there - waving, in his knitted vest that clashed with his mask. You stand off awkwardly out of sight from the camera. He smiles. “As you can see, things are a little different today…”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: uuuuuu change of angle!! change of angle!!

@bewbsRlife: ARE WE GETTING A SURPRISEEEEEEE??

@likezmenpregnant: Pls be pregnant, Curse <3

“No- no, I’m not pregnant.” He laughs, “But I have been thinking about what we talked about last night.”

@bipplruletheworld: omg this can’t be…

“And guess what? I did what you guys told me about- and I talked to her.”

@bipplruletheworld: yessssssss

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE^^

@bewbsRlife: WOOOOOO-

@daddytoeknee: Omg where’s Movie, Ik she’d love this- heh. Imagine this WAS Movie though…

“So, my little sluts…” Choso announces, “I’d like to introduce you all to my new partner—” And he’s reaching out and clasping your wrist, looking up to check for reassurance before continuing. Miming whispering to the camera, “And this is her first time on stream, so be nice…”

You’re sheepishly walking into their view. 

Slightly bowing your intrusion into the stream, “Th-thanks for having me?”

“Isn’t she cuuuuute?” He asks the commenters, and there’s a flurry of agreements. You’re even spotting a few questions about your name n’ interests, even kinks, amongst those - all of which Choso waves off with a laugh. “Now now—we can have the Q&A later. For now, let’s get to the fun part…”

@Curse’swifey: FUCK THAT’S MY FAV PART-

@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Movie you’re missing out on a historic moment uwu

And the fun part consisted of clamoring onto the bed as fast as lightning. Letting the mattress dip n’ creak its protests out as Choso sits on it with his back turned to the camera, then lovingly pats his manspread thighs as a signal for you to climb on. Meaty muscles. Thick enough for you to want to sink your teeth into- how could you never have noticed?

Perhaps because this was the polar opposite of how he acted when he was on campus - always keeping to himself, never taking up too much space. Now he was practically vacuuming it all up so you had nowhere else to sit.

And you were more than happy to climb onto Choso Kamo’s lap.

Sitting your ass down on his readily-awaiting seat. From under your skirt you feel something hot—and throbbing between his legs. Cylindrically shaped and curved to the left.

Just the slightest movement makes his rock-hard erection twitch underneath- and you’re whimpering at the lewd sensation. At the way he drips out a hefty dollop of precum that seeps through his trousers and sticks to the front of your panties, making you gasp—“Ch-Cho-”

“Shhhh.” Choso wraps a hand ‘round your throat and cuts you off. 

And before you know it, he’s bouncing his knees to get you to slide your drippin’ pussy up and down his bulge. Up and down. Turning towards the camera, “Ya hear that?” Up and down. “My girl’s so needy- she’s already begging for it. But I dunno if she deserves it, huh?”

@bewbsRlife: I MEANNNN

@theh0rniestsoldier: i’m feeling mean today…

@daddytoeknee: Give her your mouth!!

“Mouth? I love that idea.” Choso titters.

And then he’s giving a teasing slap on the side of your ass cheeks—smack! 

“Please-”

“Sit on my face now, baby.” He purrs, eyes flickerin’ with pure need underneath his mask. Then leaning in to whisper in a loooow tone for only you to hear. “You know Choso, but let’s see if you can handle Curse.”

Then he leans back on the bed - his head pointing in the direction of the camera. 

And you’re shuffling up Choso’s toned, brick-hard body—straddling your knees upon either side of his head, veerin’ your hips right atop that pretty face. You’re sitting - right in front of the camera. Though nothing was revealed…yet. 

And Choso’s digging his tongue up to you instantly- he isn’t even making it past the fabric of your panties. But that doesn’t stop him from lettin’ his tastebuds take a looooong, luxurious lick of your swollen pussy.

Right down your sopping wet slit. 

Suddenly, the room echoes with one of his pornographic moans- the very same ones you’d listened to night after night through your laptop speakers. Now they’re even louder, and somehow even sexier, sending electricity shooting straight up, up, up from your core.

And even more treacherous was the way you’re feeling something cold…and metallic at the very middle of Choso’s tongue. Rock-hard. It takes whatever’s left of your rationality to realize that it’s a silvery tongue piercing smack-dab where his tastebuds kissed your pussy. Scraping alongside where you were most sensitive. 

Instantly; your head tips back and saliva starts bubbling at the sides of your lips. “Fuh-fuck…” And before you know it—you’re starting to drag your throbbing pussy up n’ down his features.

Short, barely-there jerks of your shy, shy hips.

And Choso chuckles huskily to himself at the cute way you were yearnin’ for his mouth. But what you didn’t expect was for him to reach one ringed hand up and squeeze the left side of your hips.

Your only warning.

Before he’s suddenly tightening his hold on you and reaching one more hand up- snaking it beneath your skirt like some pervert. Choso edges towards your throbbing cunt and places one good slap—

It’s the resounding smack! of skin-on-skin that makes you halt more than anything.

Jaw-dropped. Thighs quivering. The white-hot pleasure runs through your spine and leaves you barely hearing his roughened words, a tone lower than you knew his voice to be- as though drunk on the delicious taste of your pussy already. “Greedy, greedy girl…” Choso tuts, “Don’t tell me you’re trying to enjoy yourself without letting our dear audience in on the fun?”

Oh, shit.

You’re letting your head snap to where the camera was positioned and blinking its one gluttonous eye. Comments flooding the screen of the monitor so fast that you couldn’t read them-

You’d completely forgotten about the stream for a second. 

“I—oh, I um.” 

Yet another harsh smack! “Forgot, huh?” Amusement seeps into Choso’s words, as though he’d already guessed the situation.

You admit, “M-maybe…”

“I’m afraid I can’t blame you, baby.” Smack! “Curse’s mouth is too good, huh?” He yammers on and on, his tongue nudging deeper, his rippling tastebuds skidding into every ridge- as if trying to fuck you through your damn panties. “This pussy’s too good–she’s purring f’me already. Hear her?”

And you’re not sure why- but you’re nodding to whatever he says. “Y-yes—fuck.” 

“Mhm. So why don’t we let our lovely audience hear, too, huh?” You’re barely given the time to register his suggestion, before Choso husks out a command. “Lift your skirt up, baby.”

Your thighs squeeze around his head at the notion-

And your fingertips touch the short hemline of your skirt.

@Cursenoticeme44: Holy shit.

@theh0rniestsoldier: i’ve been waiting for thisssssssssss-

@daddytoeknee: WOW.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: bby’s so needy!!

@R€4leater: munch Curse #canon

The chat explodes as you let them bear witness to Choso’s face stuffed between your pretty legs- he’s redly-flushed and ravenous. They could see the slightest glimpse of his nose n’ the way he’s driving it between your sodden pussylips, diving and diving, they could see the glossy layers coating your cunt—and the way Choso’s pink lips come up to suck on it. 

Those handsome cheeks of his hollow out, as he’s makin’ out with your pussy through your panties.

Like a man starved.

Long canines slightly nippin’ at your folds- almost wolfish in mannerisms.

“Oh p-please…” You’re quivering atop him. You don’t even know what you’re begging for—just that it feels so good to have him veering his tongue hungrily against your cunt like this. And you wanted more.

More, more, and more.

Choso’s holding onto your restless hips with a clammy hand- he’s stuck to you almost like adhesive. And he guides your hips - he fucking slows them down - whilst you continue moanin’ and shaking atop his raw mouth. Glistening wet tongue extending even more than its usual length to slide-slide-sliiiiide your panties to the side-

And you’re gasping at the sudden whiff of cold bedroom air against your naked pussy. “Ch-” A spank. “I mean- fuck, Curse?”

“Mhm, m’here, baby.” He drawls out. Slightly slurring with all the extra globs of your pussy juices - pooling straight into your mouth, n’ Choso reaches up and smooches your soft swollen folds to smear it all around. Like some gloss. “M’here aaaaaand- so are 820k sluts that wanna watch you break.”

“B-break?” You’re gaping, “I thought you were just gonna- ngh, eat me out…?”

“Baby, Curse never ‘just’ does anything.” And you’re shocked to find him sliding his tongue out, tipping his head back to refer to the camera on the coffee table. “Isn’t that right, fuckin’ pervs?”

@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah.

@0003h0lesforCurse: duhhhhhhhhh

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU’RE THE BEST CURSE

@Fishygurodad: Fuck, her pussy’s divine.

“Heh…” Choso smiles into your cunt, “And so whaddaya say? How many slaps before I stick my tongue in her?”

@vampzo333: 3

@bbynohuuuuzz: 14

@Ilikepr1menumbers: 29

“Since m’feeling nice- read your favorite one out, baby.” He murmurs.

To which you’re unable to do anything but- you tilt your upper half just the slightest bit closer to the monitor and pick out the first one you can read through the blur of words and numbers:

@Fishygurodad: Until she cries.

Oh.

Your blood runs cold.

Your cunt grows heated.

And before you can either rectify your recitation or beg for mercy—Choso doesn’t hesitate before fixing the rings on his fingers to be slightly higher than before. Making sure they’re in line of him planting one- two- three good, loud spanks on your sobbin’ cunt. “O-oh my god- fuck, mmm, oh my god.”

Until the skin of his fingertips seems to redden, and your pussylips feel raw - “How about that?” He asks- not from you, but from the viewers.

@daddytoeknee: I don’t see her crying yet…also idkkkkk I’m getting Movie vibes.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: movie would’ve loved this-

And then it’s one after the other. Again and again, Choso’s emblazoning the rude outlines of his rings against yours - until you’ve fucking memorized the ridges n’ patterns of the one ring on his middle finger with the carving of an octopus. 

Tentacles flared out.

“Shit, not that damn ring again.”

And as he’s doing so he can’t help himself- fuck, he can’t heeeeelp himself. His canines dig into the sticky fabric of your underwear like a damn dog - and throughout the duration of what his hands were doing, you’re hearing the sharp riiiiip of fabric tearing—!

Soon enough, your panties are tattered and ruined in Choso’s maw- just from his mouth. He spits it out and continues swerving his thickened tips inwards to give a loving pinch on your clit—and you can’t help but burst into peals of shrill, needy cries. Both pain and pleasure mixing as he doles out a final swat-

Before Choso swipes your pussylips apart and spits- the glutinous glob of his saliva landing directly on your hole. He doesn’t give it the time to seep back out—instead, he’s surging up and shoving his face between your legs.

This time, without the barrier of your panties in the way. 

@CCpervnextdoor: HE FUCKING RIPPED IT OFF WITH HIS MOUTH??

@bewbsRlife: HOLY SHIT CURSE-

@Fishygurodad: Shiiiiit, I’d do the same ngl.

And then Choso’s shoving his tongue inside and slurpin’ all around your wet hole like a damn animal…

In and out.

In and out.

Probin’ into slippery sweet spots.

Chin hitting the back of your slit. Plastic mask rubbing against your clit. 

Choso’s pierced tongue was going absolutely fucking wild inside of you. He wastes no time before gripping either side of your cute hips and slammin’ your pussy down onto his mouth- hard and fast. The perverted nerd is slashing his tongue inwards, smearin’ apart your glue-covered folds. As deep as he could go. He doesn’t care if it hurts, he just needs to make sure that loooong slick muscle of his tastebuds were scrapin’ every inch of your walls.

With the curved tip of it, he flexes it against a sweet bundle of nerves. Making you buck with a pitchy moan of his name—“Ch-Cuuuurse—!” And the sensation was made even more delicious with the way his orb tongue piercing presses in contrast against your hot cunt. “It feels so good, Curse.”

“I already know.” Choso pipes up- cocky in all the ways you never knew he could be. “I already know- but what about those fuckers watching, huh?”

“W-well…” Spit drivels down your chin, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes focused to read the urgent chat. 

@bipplruletheworld: they’re so HOT!!

@NERDSAREMYBABYGIRLZ: OHHHH WHAT A MUNCH

@daddytoeknee: Me next <3

And it was clear that they were seeing the effect he had on you- how could they not?

Your eyes were dazed and teary, your thighs were shaking like leaves in the wind, Choso was making your body twitch—just from the way he’s reeling his entire tongue out. And breathing out steadily and slowly against your twitchin’ pussylips, freezing cold air that leaves you even wetter on top of him.

He’s unfastening his mouth - leaving it wiiiiide open for all the satiny ribbons of your slick to enter his gullet. And once you’re done- that isn’t enough riling you up.

Choso leaves a good slap on your folds and asks, “So…what about it?” Muffled through his mouthfuls.

“They agree- they agree—” You’re keening out. Star-struck, seeing pleasure burst behind your shuttered eyelids at the sudden stinging. “Fuck- you’re the hck! best I’ve ever had, Curse.”

“I agree.” He hums. And as if this entire ordeal wasn’t sinful enough, Choso’s swashing around the silky-smooth sap he’d collected from your leaking pussy. Letting the flavor seep into his tastebuds, before he’s then spitting again on your pussy. A semi-opaque layer of lewdness that coats your inner thighs in a sheen that catches the lighting. 

Perfect on camera.

You’re squeezing your wettened thighs together and creating an audible squelch!

“Awwww, look- this pussy agrees, too.”

The gooey addition startles you- and you rut.

Only straight down onto his awaiting fingers.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: oh, shit is he…

@legsopenforcurses: With the rings on, too!!

@likezmenpregnant: My show is onnnnn

It’s such a fucking mess for him to navigate- even with his own fingers. Soon enough, you’re arching your back as you feel him intrude a single ringed digit between those utterly swollen pussylips of yours—almost difficult to find your snug hole between them. You’re damn lucky that Choso’s fingers were slender as well as incredibly lengthy.

Because he’s circlin’ your tight orifice a few times - only a few times - before inserting the sections of his finger. Quirking just right and hitting the exact bundle of your nerves.

That infamous g-spot that made you yelp once he starts and keeps on hitting.

And his rings- oh, fuck, his rings.

Just so chunky and textured. They were the perfect designs to press up against your walls and massage them stupid- every drag meant that you’re feeling them dig into ridges n’ crevices you hadn’t even known existed. 

Hitting and hitting. Curling his dexterous finger and scraping- “Fuuuuck, oh my god.” The doughy tip of his finger soon becomes damn-near molded to the area where it was, and your eyes flicker to the back of your head as you continue anglin’ your hips so he could hit it perfectly. “Right there, Curse- r-right there.”

“I know.” Choso rolls his eyes - at least what seems like it underneath his mask. “That’s why I’m hitting it. Honestly…is my girl dickmatized?” He utters as he sucks on your clit—ultimately erupting a sobbing slurp! that makes him nod. “Mhm, I think my girl’s dickmatized.”

Tipping his head back before you can refute his claims. He then addresses the audience-

“Whaddaya think, my little pervs? Dickmatized already…maybe I should go easy on her, huh?”

@olderandR4w: nooooooooooo

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: NEVER.

@Fishygurodad: Go even harder.

“Tough crowd.” And with that said, Choso’s stuffin’ in just a few more fingers. Each with their own numerous rings and sopping wet sounds accompanying them—slurp!

One. 

Two.

You’re counting about three of his prolonged digits pushin’ your tight walls to their limits, rubbing your sweet spots raw with his constant bashing rhythm, before lustful fogginess coils around your brain. And it’s around here that Choso catches onto the glazed look in your eyes and chuckles—

“Ohhhh, you really are dickmatized.” He hums to himself, though you’re sure the professional mic picks it up either way. “And so soon, too. Probably hasn’t had a good finger-”

A fourth being added so that he can scissor apart your velvety channel whilst still multi-tasking with his other fingers to ram into your g-spot.

“-or even a good mouth on ‘er…” To emphasize his point, he presses a dramatically loud kiss upon your clit. One that’s making you bounce n’ bounce your hips atop his clammy face, and grind your throbbing nub down on his pointed nose. The addition of his mask just makes that cool touch even more lecherous. “My poor girl.” Choso still mutters out despite the way he’s gluing your cunt to his mouth. He pulls away from your clit with a loud pop! “What do you think, my slutty audience?”

At the slurring question you’re letting your head down to watch him. “Ch…Curse, what’ve you got on your mind-”

“M’just asking what else you deserve, baby.” He coos. And questions them once more, “How about a little quiz? Which parts of Curse are going to make my poor, poor girl feel the best? A). My fingers. B). My mouth. Or…”

And he pretends to listen to your noisy wet pussy once more.

“Or C…”  You could practically feel the grin plastering against your needy pussy. The way his eyes narrow in sinful amusement beneath his mask- you didn’t have to see his full face to know that Choso was enjoying this perhaps way more than he should. “—all of the above.”

And it was futile to think that they would answer anything else.

C floods your vision.

You’re letting your mouth droop, and your gaze meet Choso’s own between your legs- but you’re finding that you don’t have to say a thing for him to already know the answer.

And as expected, he gives a final roll of his tongue atop your clit - before munchin’ on your aching cunt once more. This time, he’s tunneling his fingers deep into your cavern whilst still licking inside with his prolonged tongue—when stretched out, Choso’s tongue could reach almost as deep as his fingers could.

Your cunt was being stretched-out to lengths you never thought about before.

Not only were Choso’s fingers thicker than yours, but his tongue was something ravenous- no matter how much you’re flinching in sensitivity, he isn’t slowing down. “Mmm-” He groans, barely breathing through even his flared nostrils. You’re hit with the distinct feeling that he thinks he doesn’t even have to breathe as long as he had you on him like this - “Mmm, hold still.”

Taking advantage of the fact to lavish your sensitive inches with kiss upon kiss. To grind his nose down purposefully on your clit. To glide his metallic piercing across those hidden spots. To bash your poor g-spot in again and agaaaain with his fingers before his tongue’s coming to the rescue to soothe the slightly raw sting-

So it’s not long before you’re throwing your head back and cumming.

Perhaps the strongest you’ve ever felt when you’re in the throes of your high.

You barter your hips forwards and keep up a steady pace - one that’s making Choso hit the exact spots you wanted him to during the peaks of your high. The utmost peaks. “Shit—shit, just like that.” Breathless. “K-keep going, baby, it feels so good.”

And he doesn’t even answer - too caught up in fucking you through your orgasm.

In the way you shudder above him. In the way you’re only getting even sweeter by the second-

Bodyheat raising a few degrees in temperature; your heart sings and the bed creaks with how much you’re jostling from above. This was even better than touching yourself to videos of him, there were so many thrills of bliss that he’s wringing out of you- like he’d wring out of himself during his solo videos. 

With both his fingers and his tongue, slurpin’ and sliding. Those doe-like eyes of his are edging straight to the back of his skull as he feels your drenched walls cleeeeench around his pierced tongue, as though it’s the best thing he’s ever fucking felt. And you’re acting on impulse - you really are - because the coffee table was positioned right beside the foot of the bed.

And all you had to do was reach your arm out to grab the simple camera there. Turning it into your point of view as Choso’s sweaty brown bangs stick to his forehead, as sweat trickles down his temple, as he lets out soft yet unyielding moans whenever you’re squeezing your thighs around his head.

@cockycockowner: no homo but that’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.

@theh0rniestsoldier: woah he’s PUSSYDRUNK

@Fishygurodad: Show me his POV.

@daddytoeknee: Don’t you know that she’s his girl now smh?^^

@daddytoeknee: Movie-core- wya ml??

Choso cocks his head and keeps making out with your pussy in all the ways that make your toes curl—pleasure elongating from your orgasm and spreading into every part of you. Your vessels, your cells, your atoms.

They’re all buzzing with pleasure and still aching for more once Choso finally pulls away with a loud pop! of his lips releasing. 

When they do, you’re sneaking a look down at him and noticing just how red n’ swollen they were. Even the skin around his jaw was flushed with the constant ramming contact. And the viewers are just gobbling it up - subscribing bells keep dinging here and there, and everywhere. 

Just a single look at his stats on-screen reveal that Choso’s climbed up to 870k just since you’d started this stream.

And it’s after a little while - after he’s had his fill - that the dark-haired man finally taps at the side of your thigh to gesture for you to get up. Though, even then, he’s tightening his grip on your body—going against his own fucking instruction to press a final few open-mouthed kisses before he’s done.

He chases after your pussy with his maw for a little- before he’s finally sitting up.

And it’s only then that he seems to notice the camera in your hand, blinking his glazed eyes a few times to make sure he isn’t dreaming things up. Once it finally registers, the most attractive grin spreads across his face. “You changed POVs?”

“Had to.” You admit, “I wanted them to see how pretty you are…”

“Guess you finally learned about sharing, hm? Greedy girl.” He chuckles darkly to himself. And then he starts looming closer, “But you realize that the show’s not done yet, right?”

You gulp.

@Fishygurodad: Fuck her already, damn!! I’m only here for her.

@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Hate to admit it, but he’s lowk right. I think I’ve discovered I’m bi…

@vampzo333: ^^

@girrrrrrrrrrth: ^^

“So impatient.” He looks at the monitor, reading the chat and tuts. “Honestly- so ungrateful. I should end the stream right here and fuck her on my own terms.”

There’s a frenzied flurry of comments- all of which you were sure were begging for Choso not to stop and bashing that one commenter for attempting to start a revolution. To which you’re only giggling and handing over the camera to him.

Choso - as the expert - then positions it somewhere by the edge of the fluffy pillows: where they’d be able to see the expanse of both your bodies and where you’d soon be connected…

And then you’re shedding your clothes in a hurry- making it to your smart blouse before he’s reaching a hand up and tearing through it. The buttons hit the floor, and at your noise of displeasure Choso merely lets out a half-delirious giggle. 

He leans in and whispers, “I-I have a Phantom of the Opera t-shirt I’d love for you to wear.”

The change in demeanour gives you utter whiplash, and you can’t help but stare at him open-mouthed.

“What?” Choso asks, next moving on to shrugging off his own fabrics. They’re landing on a heap beside the bed, and your lips slightly part at the display of his red-hot erection—it’s just as large and sensual as all those streams had proven him to be. Polished strawberry top. Slender veins along the middle. 

A happy trail of dark brown - nearly black - glistened with the splattered remnant of his precum. Just like the gleaming mess across his chin, mouth, and cheekbones that Choso wore like a medal.

He was slightly longer than even on camera- and even prettier up-close. Way up close- he shuffles his body up yours n’ fucks your tits a few times to dollop out glistening translucent precum across yours tits.

“Lighting’s not the best here.” Choso explains- or at least attempts to pin an explanation onto that. Onto something he’s clearly been wanting to do for so long. “Had to highlight ‘em, baby.”

You scoff, “It’s just…” Throwing a cautious glance at the camera, you lower your voice. “You’re so different from how you are in real life.”

“Oh? And how did you expect me to be, huh?” He positions himself between your legs - wrapping both of them around his waist. Before then thinking better of it and throwing them even more lewdly around his neck instead—his plush priggish tip kisses your entrance. “Did you expect me to be like…”

He trails off.

He doesn’t need to complete the rest of his sentence- and you don’t think you’d have heard him even if he tried.

Because in that very moment, Choso’s jerking his pale hips back a mere few inches—then plopping his globular tip between your pussylips and push-push-puuuuuushing. Fucking past the initial restraint of your first ring of muscle, he’s funneling in some thick inches that make your heels bang against the muscles of his back.

And he doesn’t even seem to notice.

He doesn’t even seem to breathe as he’s letting his cock swerve inside. Get suctioned inside. Get his Prince Albert’s piercing crept down your sensitive innards. Get gobbled up between your greedy legs-

You clench ‘round him and Choso throws his head back with a low, broken moan.

“Oh p-please—” He’s babbling out through unsteady pink lips, a lazy line of dribble starting up from one corner of his mouth. Those long lashes of his flutter as he’s reaching one bulky hand up to grip the headboard, and placing his right one on your hips- keeping you steady.

Fingers trembling. Muscles rippling.

@likezmenpregnant: Woah…make him do that again…

@sixeyesorsixh0les: SUBBY CURSE HELLO??

@whimperwhiteboywhimper: oh I am SO here for this

@Fishygurodad: Whatever…

Your eyes bulge once his throat cracks with what sounds like a whimper—“Please it feels so good.” And though you couldn’t quite make it out, even the chat seemed stunned as Choso punctures out a broken stutter of his hips. Delving a few inches into your goopy insides- though not enough to bottom out completely, as you’re still too wound-up for him to fit completely. And you’re able to pinpoint exactly where he’s using the orbed metal of his first piering. With more to come…“Ngh- oh.” Broken noises emanating into your eardrums and the mic. “It f-feels shooooo good, baby.”

Choso’s head drops into the crook of your neck, and there - and there - you’re feeling his cheeky grin.

And suddenly you’re understanding.

Oh—he was toying with you.

And he was doing it in a way that’d completely fooled you- and perhaps all of his viewers, too.

But before you’re able to open your mouth to bite back something at him, Choso staggers his hips back and gives you a vicious jackhammer with his cock, “O-ohhhhh, my god—” Your toes curl atop his shoulders, slippery with sweat. He hadn’t even rammed all the way inside yet, and yet the slightly left-leaning angle of his shaft was driving you wild.

Big and thick.

Running the slick globe of his tip down your walls, Choso probes a direct hit to that spot you loved so much. And he knew you loved it so much—he’d mapped out your entire pussy earlier, of course.

And yet, he’s still gasping as though the pearls gates of heaven had descended right here and there. He’s letting his sweet caramel eyes widen convincingly as he peers down at you, “I-is that…the spot, baby?”

@Curse’swifey: HE sounds SO NGH.

@daddytoeknee: Daddy likey…

@daddytoeknee: Also Movie would’ve really LOVED this, huh?

You hiss, “Curse, you should already know-”

“But how could I know—?” He exclaims. “This is my first time, after all…” Then Choso’s plastering his clammy tattooed hips - with a snake on the side - to yours, as though the two were connected by the force of the world’s strongest magnets: pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing. Every single battering ram of his mazing cocktip ends up lodged against your sweetly bruised g-spot, marking his circumference out with the sheer pace at which he was hitting it. 

“Shit—” Your nails clench on the sheets, and feeling jealous- Choso guides them to fist his hair instead. “Shit, right there. It f-feels so good-”

“There?” The once-nerdy man breathes out in awe. Disbelief every single time - or at least the mocking imitation of one. Swipin’ a line of precum down your nervy spot once more, “Th-there, baby—?”

Something breathy- octaves higher in his tone. “Yes- yes there-”

“There-” Choked up and ruined. Husky grunts hatching in the back of his throat. There was something there in his words that you couldn’t quite pinpoint—a sort of undertone of primal need, primal amusement as he ruined your pussy with his speedily pap-papping hips, but acted as though he had no idea what he was doing. Every single syllable uttered was met with a thorough whack of his curved cockhead against your particular spot- “There there there there- there-”

“Fuh-fuuuck-”

“So this g-spot’s really m-mine now, baby?” Choso asks. 

You whine, back arching off the mattress. “Yes-”

“Does she really have my mark on it now?”

“Yes…?” Eyes shooting open as you’re half-registering his question in your hazed brain. He bores his dark eyes down at you intensely. And as though to emphasize his point, you’re feeling his perfectly round tip squeezing into your throat by the next few thrusts. Deeper and deeper.

His Jacob’s Ladder starting to ease its frigid way past your entrance and glide across the roof of your cunt. It was a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

Choso probes even more, “I-is she really shaped to the shape of my cock now?” 

“Cho—ngh.” Quickly shutting your cockdrunken self up. Quickly reaching a ringed hand up to squeeze your throat- before he’s languidly snaking his way up to squeezing your pretty cheeks together.

Smushing your face in a way that was almost disrespectful- though, not that you were in any state of mind to call him out on it. And there’s a mean inkling in Choso’s tone as he coos, “Awww, b-baby, why aren’t you answering me?” Another rude slap! of his hips make your own sear in flames- that damn strength of his. Those damn piercings of his. “Is your poor, poor Curse not good enough?” 

Before you can answer, he’s looking at the blinking camera. 

“My babies, my girl doesn’t love my cock anymore…”

“I do—I do-” 

Squeezing his doughy-soft restraints - those contrastingly mean fingers of his - around your cheeks. He’s managing to smush your mouth shut and make you echo out the most pathetically pleading whines—as he fucks you. Determined and targeted.

The glossy rotund edge of his tip presses against your g-spot a few more times before you’re managing to make yourself take a peek at the comments on the monitor. 

Almost too far away- almost too blurry with the tears in your eyes. 

@Curse’snewestharem: Awwwww poor bby </33

@CCpervnextdoor: I would LOVE your cock, Curse!!

@girrrrrrrrrrth: is it just me or is he teasing us?

@Fishygurodad: ^^Yeah, he’s totally a fraud.

@Curseswombmommy: ^^girl shut up

“Th-they really think you’re oh-so-innocent…” You’re whispering up at him. Overstimulated tears in your eyes.

Breath hitching every time he’s surging his tattooed hips forwards and hitting that one spot particularly hard. Though there was never such a thing as too hard…

And Choso’s shooting you a secret smile - one just between the two of you - before morphing his expression into that of picture-perfect innocence. Roleplaying the demeanor of his nerdy self on campus, mixed with the utterly sultry—sexual way he was draaaaagging his lengthy cock in and out of your cunt.

Eventually, Choso’s emptying his inches out n’ bruising the bottom of your pussy. All of his nine - you seriously felt nine throbbing inches - inches shaping out the in-betweens of your legs. All of the beaded barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging inside- the slitherin’ feeling of them making themselves at home. Zig-zagging and slithering. 

He feels the sponginess of your cervix and presses a hand down on your abdomen just to make sure, before changing that excitement into one of almost-genuine bafflement- “I-I really bottomed out?” Choso’s pinkish bottom lip juts out and quivers dramatically.

“Of course, you did.” You’re ready to scoff-

But whatever sarcastic sound was in the back of your throat gets quickly dissolved at the sight of Choso with genuine tears in his eyes. Glistening. “But I never- ngh, never thought I’d be able to.” He puts some more merciless pressure on your stomach that makes you buck—

And the only thing you can do is let your head tip back into the pillows.

The only thing you can do is let out a few mottled moans as he rubs over the small tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushing his palm down so that he could feel it. 

Whispering out, “I-I never thought this pussy would claim my cock as- ngh, hers, hm?” And for the moment there, you’re completely sure that he isn’t talking to you. Rather, your pussy that was sobbing out squelches after every one of his jackhemmerin’ thrusts. “And it’s not too big, right?”

“N-never—”

“Because m’just a nerd with a- hngh, biiiiiig fuckin’ cock.” How pitiful, right? He’s letting his long, dark lashes flutter as Choso avoids meeting your eyes—as though in shyness. He drills his hips even deeper - one unforgettable strike after the other following every word he spoke. “Just a big- fat- fucking- cock-”

“Please—!” Eventually, your arms reach upwards and you’re grabbing ahold of whatever part of him it is you could reach first. Which just-so-happened to be his bulky deltoids.

Choso’s brows genuinely seem to furrow at the lewdness of you digging your nails into his muscles, leaving your marks for everyone and anyone to see even after this stream has ended. And so he continues in his faux-innocent tone, “Oh? Did that feel good, baby?”

Purposefully slidin’ his cock across your g-spot so that you’d have to cry out. “Y-yeeees—”

“I didn’t even know, baby.” His mouth hangs open, and the most lustrous squelches! echo between your two connected bodies. Your cunt n’ his precum were making such messes…“I had no idea…”

His Jacob’s Ladder leaves your channel feeling raw n’ overstimulated- you feel raw and overstimulated. 

And you’re laid-out on the bed dazed and feeling so fucking good as Choso’s picking his pace up even more, you notice for a split-second that his hands have moved. No longer was he holding onto your cheeks n’ watching you squirm—now, the nerdy man hooks both hands around your sweaty thighs and pins them close to his body.

Holding them in place as he leans down, down, dooooooown until the caps of your knees hit your tits. 

You’re keening at the stretch, and a searing burn spreads from between your pussy and along your hamstrings. How did he even hide such strength underneath those soft knitted vest? Such a body?

Before you know it, you’re being pressed into your first-ever mating press.

And Choso gapes as though he was just as bewildered as you, “O-oh…did I do that?” He’s fucking asking you—however, when your stunned expression bears no answer, he turns and asks the same question from the camera. The bursts of replies obviously agree n’ tease him. And he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly, “Did I really bend you in- heh-” A slight chuckle escapes him. “—half, baby?”

And what else can you do but nod and nod and nod—? 

“I think this is called a…breeding press?” He cocks his head ever-so-slightly, before shaking his head. “No wait- a mating press.”

“A m-mating press.” You’re repeating lamely.

“I c-can’t believe I’ve folded you into a mating press, baby.” Choso nearly snarls at himself, his hips accelerating until that rouge-tipped cock of his was almost nothing but a blur. “Can’t believe—s’like my body is moving before my mind, ngh. My fat cock’s not hittin’ you too deep, right, my girl?”

“Not in the l-least…”

And he really was long enough to make each and every probe feel as though it was slam-slam-slamming into your throat- the capped crown of his shaft was entering crevices n’ crannies you hadn’t even known you possessed. All marked out precisely by the silvery orb of his Prince Albert’s. 

Just then, after your answer, Choso reaches his left hand up to wrap ‘round your throat - and then hauls you back down to meet his slapping hips.

A thrust even harder than the ones before it.

Your breath gets snatched out of your lungs, dissipating into the heady air filled with the contact-riddled sounds of sex. Hard and fast. Only getting harder the longer you have your ankles looped ‘round his neck—“Not too hard, is it, baby?” Chosos asks you once more.

And you don’t have anything to spit out besides, “Oh f-fuck off.”

He gasps dramatically-

Well, not exactly dramatically. But in a way you knew was fake, and in a way that sends the chat exploding into comments.

The nerd pouts cutely, “Well, that’s not very nice…”

You’re rolling your eyes—right before Choso’s genuinely sending them rolling with his two fingers clamped around your clit. Using the silvery edges of his rings, he runs a few massages that end up with you sobbing and blabbering out your pleasure. 

@Curse’swifey: FUCKKKKKKKKKK they’re both so hot. THEY’RE BOTH SO RUINED.

@peepeesarebetterfictional: they both look like they’re gonna cum soon hehe

@bewbsRlife: CUM CUM CUM CUM CUM

Biting back. “I would argue th-that that’s not very nice, either.”

“But m’just trying to make my gorgeous girl cum…” And from where he’d been looming his pretty face above yours, Choso then lets his head droop down between your tits. During his ravenous pace, he’s roverin’ his mouth all over to kiss and suck at your tits, your nipples.

His cold lip ring drags across your left areola- and he catches onto the way you’re shivering. Before Choso then grabs your nipple between his lips n’ hollows his cheeks out sucking—“Promise m’just trying to make you feel- hah, good.” He mutters, slightly muffled. “Promise I just wanna fuck my cock raw if it means making my lifelong crush feel good…”

“Cho- Curse, are you…?” Your eyes widen.

And his own flap droopily a few times, “Hmmm?”

And that proved it.

That proved it.

Because Choso Kamo could be pretending to be a stuttering, panting, blushing mess on your heavenly cunt all he wanted- he could pretend to be pussydrunk out of his mind. But at the end of the day, it was impossible to hide when pretend turned into something…more. 

When the cocksure streamer that’d been driving you wild all this time morphs into the contentedly pussy-whipped nerd you expected him to be deep down inside.

His eyes genuinely glazed and blinking longingly.

His hair drenched in sweat.

His skin flushed with need- and only flushing even more fiercely the longer he kept his eyes on you. 

Without much ado, you’re throwing your hands around his neck and tuggin’ him as far as he could crane his neck when his entire body feels like collapsing onto you and into your maddening pussy. 

Choso pistons his hips slightly upwards to hear the slurp of his Jacob’s Ladder sliding across your walls, and he grooooans—

“Curse, baby…” You hum.

“Mhmmmm?” He replies with half-lidded eyes. Barely focused.

This was the big, bad #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends? As though sensing your thoughts, Choso’s fingers grow a little more frenzied on your clit. “I need you to cum inside, okay?”

He jolts at the idea- that sinful, sinful idea. Before chuckling, “Never had any other plan, baby.” And then he turns to the camera, “What do you think, fuckers? Think my girl deserves to cum?”

@Fishygurodad: Yes.

@Curse’swifey: YES.

@likezmenpregnant: Yesssss~

@girrrrrrrrrrth: yesyesyes.

@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah-

He’s holding out a little longer to make sure there wasn’t a single ‘no’ in there - and had there been one, you’re sure that Choso would have stopped and edged your incoming orgasm until it was a wave of complete agreement.

Luckily for you, they liked you.

And all he does now is press down harder on your g-spot from inside, lingering, and massage a pretty heart on your clit once more, lingering—before a final, thorough stroke is all it takes for you to hurtle into your second high of the night.

For you to arch your body into his chest, and shutter your eyes. “Ch-Cho…” 

Barely a whisper. He’s crashing his mouth into yours to make sure that secret between you two isn’t revealed. And you’re moaning deeply into Choso’s mouth as you cum—“Feels so- oh. It feels so…”

“Mhmmmm.”

Unable to even find the words.

The only thing you can do is riiiiiide out the massive wave of your high. It’s torrential; pure bliss floods your system from head-to-toe, and no matter how much you’re squirming your overstimulated hips, Choso only succeeds in batterin’ away his pierced cock into eeeevery single hidden sweet spot inside of you. The ones that prolonged your bliss and left spikes of euphoria leading up to your brain.

Your cunt clenched so tightly around his cock- almost as though you didn’t want him to even pull out. And Choso’s sweaty head drops once more into the crook of your neck as he cums with a shudder.

The knot between his brows deepening, the bedsheet around his knees bunching up as he surges his body upwards. Almost animalistically.

Choso bottoms out his furious, twitching cock and keeps it there- “Oh, fuck…” It didn’t sound like he was acting once his bawling red divot starts splatterin’ out more milky white wads. Deeep in the back of your pussy, right where your womb was, Choso puddles out his ecstasy in long ribbons. “Oh fuck fuck fuck—fuck. Always knew it’d feel this good.”

Wave upon wave.

Toes curling. Eyes scrunching shut.

If you thought his moans were sensual before, then you weren’t prepared for the ones your pussy was able to drag out of him - ragged and hollow utterances of your name. Over and over like a broken record, like a mantra.

He’s fucking into you to milk them out of his hefty balls- then fucking you again just to pump those webbed wads right back in. From the top of his rotund tip and dooooooown to the tufts of hairs at his base. All nine inches of him being used to stuff you till the brim—

You’re sure your insides look like an utter fuckin’ mess by the time he’s slowing his tattooed hips down ever-so-slightly—still shaking from the aftermath of his orgasm. This was far stronger than anything he’s ever experienced before. 

Drunkenly, you’re blinking your eyes up at him. “Always?”

He smiles, “Ever since our first lesson of Film 101.” Admitting, he lovingly wipes off a bit of his cum you were foaming between your pussylips. “You referenced Pride and Prejudice when talking about the best lines of dialogue of all time, and I-I’d been a goner since then.”

“Corny…” You snort. Though you can’t help the flutter of your heart.

“So um- coffee after this?”

“It better be dinner.”

He laughs in agreement. “Also I bought a vibrating piercing the other day and have been dying to try it…”

Your eyes widen.

And once you’re helping him pull out- Choso reaches for the camera and gets a good shot of the cum leaking between your legs. Before you’re both waving at it, “Thank you for joining us, today—this was the most fun I’ve had on stream yet- heh.”

You’re shooting the camera a pretty smile, too.

And Choso kisses the corner of your cheeks, “Until next time. This has been Curse and Movie.”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: holy fuck??

@Curse’swifey: WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT NO WAY-

@bewbsRlife: HOLD ON-

@CCpervnextdoor: SAY SIKE RN?

@bipplruletheworld: oh my god that’s amazing.

@likezmenpregnant: Oh, a love story for the ages~

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU TWO LOOKING FOR A THIRD??

@Fishygurodad: Damn.

@Fishygurodad: Hmu when he messes up.

@daddytoeknee: Stfu he won’t.

@daddytoeknee: Also I totally called it <3

A/N. I did NOT plan to have me inserted and beefing with Toji Fushiguro but here we are-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[sparrowwithaquill]

Mystical, Magical

Part 1: Elvish Creature, Broken Branches

Witch Hat Atelier x Frieren!Reader

Warnings: violence, language, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 7,207

Masterlist

Tag List: @cosmolarium @skylar896 @night-fall-moon @primrosechronicles @qifreysbush @the-ginger-draws @sweatydazeshark-blog @shiinayumi @n1vi @munimunni @catcore101 @purureun @yuzxi18 @jurisnow @alexa-yukiyu @zhentheraven @lh1a @lmaolol123 @annexblogs

For many years you’ve wandered the lands with your one and dearest friend, your sister in name only, Frieren, after the passing of your master, Flamme.

The years have been interesting. Watching as mages and magic has improved from the most complex of spells now being taught as the most basic offensive magic, it has been a wonder. You’ve seen the rise and fall of kingdoms and gathered many spells. So it’s a wonder you’ve never heard of a spell that could alter your state of being into another universe.

You’d accompanied Frieren with the hero party that had defeated the demon king, though you’d never truly been one for combat having preferred learning as many spells as possible and the different forms of magic, you’d still been a force to be reckoned with.

You’d also witnessed the wreckage that was Himmel’s feelings for her. You’d told him time and time again that for as brilliant as Frieren was, she was not at all adept at feelings and likely would never realize if she had feelings for many years. He’d laughed it off and you’d remembered the conversation you had at his funeral once Frieren had cried.

It was the first time you’d ever seen her cry in sadness in the hundreds of years you’d been together.

After that, you had joined her in taking in her apprentice Fern after the passing of Heiter, though Frieren reluctantly took her in, you had enjoyed bringing Fern into your life. She was a sweet girl and reminded you of Frieren in many aspects, though she was much more aware of feelings and emotions than Frieren was. Though, Fern was still quite blunt and doesn't emote very much.

The three of you traveled far before forming a party of your own with Eisen's apprentice, Stark, joining you. A sweet boy, not very sure of himself despite being immensely powerful in his own right. You thought he and Fern were adorable together.

It was deeper into your travels that you'd learned that you wouldn't be able to go further unless you had a first-class mage in your party. Thus, led to the three of you, Frieren, Fern and you, entering the first-class mage trials just in time, sadly leaving Stark to his own devices.

It was interesting, seeing the mages of this time and you truly did understand Frieren's words that she gave Fern regarding the magic needed to fight the mages of the current time period. Though, there were plenty of interesting mages, you weren't all that confident in some of them when it came to the next trial. It was during the second trial and when you'd been stuck at the bottom of the dungeon making plans for Frieren's clone that the Spiegel made that you had been discussing battle plans and strategies.

“Could you stand by that wall over there?”

Frieren stands up from her crouched position, walking over to the wall when Fern casts Zoltraak. In the blink of an eye, a defensive spell is over Frieren.

The group watches stunned, some muttering in disbelief as Fern just calmly asks.

“Did everyone notice?”

You just sigh as Frieren pats off the dust from the attack.

The two younger girls behind you just turn to each other.

“Did you?”

“Nope.”

Denken is the one who speaks next, voice still riddled with shock.

“This is Frieren’s fatal vulnerability. Why didn’t I notice when I fought her?”

You approach Frieren and fix her hair as she smiles at you, letting you fret over her.

“Your hair is so dusty now,” you pout, “all that work to do your hair and now I need to fix it.”

Frieren just tips her head down for you to fix her stray hairs and untangle her hair. It’s always been a habit of yours to fiddle with her hair, it’s so soft and silky!

“It wouldn’t surprise me if it was full of cobwebs by now.”

Denken just watches the both of you, still in disbelief that Frieren’s flaw was something so simple.

“When casting a spell, she stops detecting mana for a brief moment.”

The two girls in the back just raise their eyebrows.

“Isn’t that a common mistake made by apprentice mages?”

You pull Frieren’s hair to the front, hair now untangled as she calmly responds.

“I’ve never been very good about it.”

Fern just furrows her brows, slight annoyance peaking through her voice.

“If you’re aware of it, then why didn’t you say anything?”

Frieren just taps the tips of her fingers together in embarrassment as you snort at her actions.

“It’s mortifying to say the least.”

The two of you go back to sitting on the floor as a plan is made for Frieren and Fern to use this flaw against the clone.

Denken turns to you as Frieren and Fern go over their plan. It had been decided that they would be the ones to face the Frieren clone. You were fine with the decision, if anyone could beat Frieren's clone it was definitely Fern. He stares at you for a moment before finally speaking.

"I'm surprised you aren't going into the room with those two."

You turn to him with raised eyebrows.

“The less people that are in the room the better, Frieren is enough to distract the clone and Fern can handle herself. Although it would be fun to fight her clone.”

You tap your lips as you think on it. It has been a long time since you’d last fought seriously, not counting those demons in the village that Frieren nearly killed on the spot.

“Fun? I’m terrified even imagining fighting Frieren. I’m sensible enough to know that a fight with her would mean my death.”

You just chuckle at his words.

“Any sensible person would be. Though, my clone hasn’t been located yet, so someone needs to be able to fight her if she’s found, if someone hasn’t found her already.”

Denken’s eyes widen as tries to detect your clone and finds that he can’t. Same as Fern’s. He takes a look at you as you just listen to Frieren and Fern talk with a small smile on your face.

“Would you be fighting your clone?”

You look back at the younger man with a raised eyebrow, though there is a small, yet mischievous smile on your face.

“I’m mature enough to admit that I’m not the best at detecting mana when I cast either, Frieren is better than I am.”

You laugh it off just Denken just gives you a side eye.

“Though, it would be best if I was the one that fought my clone,” you look at Denken through your peripheral vision.

“I’m older than Frieren.”

Denken feels a shiver down his spine. He’d almost forgotten. The both of you were Elves that have lived more than triple his lifetime. You’d fought the Demon King. He couldn’t imagine the level of catastrophe that you could bring when provoked.

“We’ll need you to stay out here then.”

You just give him a smile, “that would be for the best.”

After the exam had concluded, the rest of the testers actually had to face Serie in order for her to bestow the title on you. It was always interesting to see Serie, you always did look forward to seeing her every once in a few hundred years, though when you faced off with her you fully expected her to not grant you the title of first-class mage, same as how she did with Frieren.

"So, she didn't grant you the title did she," you gave Frieren a glance who just gave you a small knowing smile as she twirled the ends of her hair with one hand.

"No."

You didn't say anything, just sighing before entering the room with Serie after Fern exits. Right away you noticed that her mana was fluctuating.

"Interesting."

She turned to you after you'd said the word, an eyebrow was lifted as she watched your eyes flit across her form.

"You can see my mana fluctuation."

A statement, not a question. You just nod at her as you step forward to look at the flowers she was crouched by.

"Those are the same flowers Flamme loved."

Serie doesn't say anything as she stands from her crouched position and looks you in the eyes.

"I had every intention of not passing you."

A fact you knew all too well as you gave her a smile and turned to walk out the door but was stopped at her next words.

"You pass. Do not make me regret it."

You turn back to her, only to see her with her back turned to you. You exhale a breath before giving her a smile and saying your goodbyes.

Apparently, Fern had noticed her fluctuation as well, a fact you'd learned after being let go after speaking with Serie.

"So, did you pass?"

Fern turns to you, an unusually hopeful look in her eye as you fiddle with your holy emblem. You turn the relic over in your hand before smiling at Fern.

"I did. I'm surprised Serie passed me. I guess there's something in me that she sees even after all this time."

That night the three of you joined back with Stark and ate a celebration meal at a tavern. While you were going to the ceremony for passing as a first-class mage and getting your spells, you'd learned that Frieren was banned from entering any of the facilities of the Continental Magic Association for the next thousand years.

"Of course she would ban you," you turn to Frieren who just makes a silly expression.

You sigh while Fern frowns as Frieren passes. You pat Fern on the head when she turns to you in surprise.

"She doesn't really care for ceremonies, she only came for you."

Fern turns back to Frieren with a small smile on her face as Stark says he'll stay with her to keep her company. The two of you then leave to go to the ceremony and enter with the others that have passed.

Time passes by slowly. Between the ceremony and waiting for everyone to get their spells you’re near dead on your feet. Once it gets to your turn, Serie gives you a sly smile.

“What spell would you like?”

She rests her head on one hand as she looks down at you. You pause and think before you blink. You know the perfect spell. As you say what you want you watch as Serie’s eye twitches before she grants it to you.

“You and Fern are insulting.”

She bids you away with the same look Frieren gets when she gets bashful, though you can see her irritation before you leave. You join Fern in exiting the building where you see Frieren and Stark waiting for you.

Frieren’s hair is pulled over her shoulders, but you can still see the gash on her shoulder and ripped clothing. You glance off to the side and see the same mage who’d let both you and Frieren pass with your holy emblems.

While Fern frets over Frieren you just summon your holy text to heal her. You also use the new spell you’d learned to fix her clothing.

She thanks you as Fern continues to fret until you get back to the inn you were staying at. Even if she was aloof, she still cared very deeply for her master, the thought brings a smile to your face as you watch her push food onto Frieren’s plate.

After night passes and the sun raises, you leave the city and make your way out when Frieren asks for what spells you asked for. Fern stops walking and stands with her arms out, a small smile on her face while Frieren crouches down to inspect her clothing.

Fern had asked for a clothes cleaning spell. It was brilliant and had you doubting your own spell choice.

"What about you, (Y/n)?"

You smile and point to Frieren’s right shoulder, where her clothes had been torn the night before from the sudden attack by that younger mage.

“That spell I used to fix your clothes, actually. I figured it’d come in handy.”

Frieren and Fern smile and nod while Stark just gives the three of you a side eye.

‘Weirdos.’

You leave the city and begin to walk through the woods, following the trail set as Fern and Stark talk amongst themselves. You turn to Frieren with a twinkle in your eye as she gives you a questioning look.

"What's with that look in your eye?"

"You think there are any dungeons around here?"

Frieren gains a small smile on her face as the lot of you travel further.

"There very well could be," she laughs lightly as your ears twitch at the thought. Grimoires, scrolls, ancient text, anything! There's still plenty of dungeons to be found and you'd be ecstatic to find one on your journey north.

A few days of travel pass when you come across a temple with a king's facade on the front.

You walk closer as Frieren walks around to see for any hidden push panels that would allow for you to enter. You walk around the temple, seeing a door as your ears perk up and you clap your hands together.

"Over here!"

Fern and Frieren jog over as Stark calmly walks, watching as the three of you get excited at the prospect of finding some new spells or new books.

"Let's go inside!"

You enter as Frieren follows behind you, Fern and Stark share a glance before entering after.

You walk the inside of the temple, following the rooms and stairways as you search every nook and cranny for any possible treasure. After some searching you find a chest and stand off to the side as Frieren inspects it.

"Don't do it," Fern warns carefully as you egg on Frieren, Stark watching confused from the side.

"Why don't you want her to open the chest?"

Fern just gives him a flat look as Frieren opens the chest slowly.

"It could be a mimic."

Just as Fern says the words you start to laugh as Frieren is pulled into the chest, torso first and being munched on by the now revealed mimic.

"Ah! Get me out! It's dark and damp in here!"

You hold your sides as your laughing stifles to giggles as you move forward to grab Frieren's waist and try to pull her out.

Stark offers a hand as Fern holds an arm out to stop him.

"Mistress Frieren when will you learn?"

You finally pull Frieren out with her covered in saliva, but proudly holding a grimoire in hand.

"A-hah!"

She flips through it eagerly as you watch over her shoulder and read the text that she flips through.

"Ooh this is a good one!"

She shakes it lightly to get any residual saliva off as she puts it away.

"Let's go further."

You nod as you follow her further in, walking downstairs as you hear stones and crunching through the temple. Fern and Stark follow closely behind, Stark looking at the detailing inside with wide eyes.

"This stuff looks ancient, what century is this from?"

Fern follows quietly as she touches the walls, feeling for any traces of magic or mana.

"There's a large amount of mana in here for something seemingly deserted."

You nod your head at her words as Frieren continues forward with a smile on her face before it falls abruptly.

"Too much mana, what direction did you say it was in?"

You sense an even larger amount of mana as you enter the room.

"Demons."

Just as you say that a large crash echoes through the room as dust flies forward and you watch with narrowed eyes as a male figure enters the room with large horns on his head.

Immediately, the three of your staffs are out and attacking the demon. More demons jump out and you hear a ringing sing out as Stark clashes his large battle axe with a blade that one of the demons holds.

"Shit! It's a horde!"

The battle commences as you take the defensive stance, while Frieren and Fern take the offensive. Demons are taken down one by one as the main leader stands behind, watching with cold calculating eyes. He takes note of Stark off to the side and raises his hand, ominous spell growing in the palm of his hand.

You turn to Stark and watch as a portal slowly grows beneath him, using a simple replacement spell you switch places with him and use a levitation spell to keep you afloat. As soon as Frieren goes to cast Zoltraak, you yelp as air sucks you in.

"Shit. Frieren, get the spell first befo-"

You're sucked into the portal, and it closes before you can finish your sentence as the rest of your party watches the place where the portal had just been.

Before anyone can say anything, Frieren uses a binding spell on the demon, anchoring him to the floor.

She looks down on him, eyes cold, as she points the end of her staff in his face.

"What spell did you just cast?"

The air around you is cold. You blink as you feel yourself falling and keep a firm grip on your staff as you turn your head slightly to see where you were.

You see the ground below you steadily coming closer and closer as you tilt your body so that you’re facing toward the sky and not the ground. Keeping a firm grip on your staff, similar in design to Frieren’s with the swirl, but having a more woodsy design with it looking like a deeply carved piece of wood with various ribbons tied to it.

“This is rather inconvenient,” you mumble as the air swishes past your ears, hair flying around as you steadily fall.

You turn your head so that you look at the ground and see the closest structure surrounded by woodlands. It looks nothing like the structure of the dungeon, so you can rule out that you’re at all close to the dungeon that your group had entered.

As the ground steadily gets closer and closer, you can see some figures on the ground. They look like little ants, but they have a flash of color. What looks to be a greenish blue, turquoise you believe is what the color was called.

Still looking down, you try to judge how much further you need to fall before you can finally cast a spell that will negate the falling.

“Probably a few more hundred feet, maybe a thousand.”

You sigh as you think about your scrolls that were left with Frieren and Fern. You could only hope that they had found something good in the dungeon. Unknown to you, Frieren and Fern were actually extracting information from the demon on the spell that was cast and were now researching how to bring you back.

You look back up at the sky and watch the clouds and birds that fly around. The birds are a little different than the ones you’ve normally seen in the land, but you disregard it as there isn’t any way for you to know every creature in the world.

You turn your head again, looking at the ground and now seeing that those same figures are now frantically running around and bring out another figure from their home and point up to where you’re assuming you are.

“Whoops.”

You look at your clothing before deciding that now you should be able to cast that spell, taking one brief glance down at the ground that you are now rapidly approaching as you hear screaming from what you assume to be some children.

“This isn’t nearly as bad as that bird that attacked us, poor Stark nearly soiled himself,” you laugh to yourself as the end of your staff starts to glow as you cast the negation spell.

You hit the ground a minute after casting it, landing against a tree as you take a minute to compose yourself.

“I’m alive, guess I judged that spell just right,” you dust off your clothing and pat your hair down from its frizzy state. You look up to see a group of girls running towards you in that same greenish blue uniform, one that you now identify as a cloak of some kind.

“Ah, hello, my apologies, I hope I haven’t disrupted you.”

You look at your clothes. Your skirt was ripped and your tights were torn from the scuffle with those demons.

You sigh as you cast the clothes mending spell and the girls watch in shock and awe as your clothes mend themselves together before reverting to what they assume they’re supposed to look like.

They stare at you, eyes wide open and mouths dropped nearly to the floor as you just pat yourself down and look at the ground that you’d landed on. The terrain was in disarray. Dirt and grass pulled up and rocks smashed, the tree you had landed on was tilted back.

“Ah,” you blink as you turn to the tree and take a look before muttering a different spell, staff end once again glowing before the terrain reverts back to the state it was in before you’d crashed.

“That should do it,” you turn to the girls who still haven’t moved, too much in a state of shock to do much of anything.

"How did you do that?!"

"You don't even have a quill or ink?"

"What's with your ears?"

"Where's your hat?"

You hold you staff with both hands at an angle as three of the four girls in front of you bombard you with questions.

"Um," you mumble as they nearly topple you over, the one with the pink hair being the closest to you. She has a grip on your dress and looks at the place where your clothes stitched together.

"There's no ink or anything on it! And it's completely mended!"

"Your ears are so cool! Look at how pointed they are!"

The girl with the green hair is pointing at your ears now.

"Girls-"

The girl with the blue hair is holding your cloak and her small hands are trailing the wood grain of your staff.

"Is this a giant pen? Your dress is all clean even though you hit the ground."

The last girl with a deep purple hair has her arms folded and her purple eyes are raking over your form with a frown on her face. Despite the scowl on her face, she doesn’t hide her curiosity well.

'She reminds me of Fern when she was just a young girl, though with much more of an attitude.'

“Girls!”

They stop their searching of your body at your voice.

“Thank you, do you know where I am?”

The pink haired girl is the one to respond as she points to the building in the distance.

“You’re near our atelier!”

“‘Atelier?’”

She nods enthusiastically, throwing her hands up as she spins around and excitedly chats about how wonderful the atelier is. Coco joins in as she talks about how she loves learning magic and is so happy to be where she is.

You give the girls a smile, always being weak at heart for children. These girls remind you of Fern and how adorable she was as a child.

'I miss the girls and Stark, I hope they got out safely,' a sad smile etches across your face before it falls, no point in worrying. They can take care of themselves, you just need to figure out how to get back to them.

The girls calm down enough to finally get a good look at you. Namely your ears as the dark-haired girl points to them.

"Why do your ears look like that?"

Your hand comes up to your pointed ears, messing with the earring you have in before it falls as you speak.

"Ah, I suppose it's not unheard of for people to not see an elf, we're not a common species anymore."

The girls just give you a bewildered look.

"Elf?"

"What's an elf?"

"Elves aren't real, they're only fairy tales."

Your brows furrow slightly as you listen to them talk amongst themselves, "I can assure you, I am very real."

"They have to be fake, a trick to make them pointed."

You lean and tilt your head down.

"You're more than welcome to feel them.”

The blue-haired girl reaches forward and pulls on them lightly, they don't come off and she can't see any drawings that would magically make them pointed.

"They're real," she breathes out, awe in her voice.

"I didn't get your names, my name is (Y/n)."

You stand back up to your full height, brushing your hair behind your ears.

"I'm Coco!"

The green-haired girl points to herself with a large smile on her face, followed by the pink-haired girl who enthusiastically jumps.

"I'm Tetia! That's Richeh! And Agott!"

She points to the blue-haired girl and dark-haired girl respectively. Richeh quietly lifts a hand in a wave, while Agott scowls.

"I can introduce myself," she grumbles.

You nod your head to them.

"Lovely to meet you girls, sorry for crash landing here. I was in a dungeon and got hit with a spell and started falling here. I just hope Frieren is able to figure out what spell it is."

Coco and Tetia tilt their heads in curiosity.

"A dungeon? What's a dungeon?"

"Who's Frieren?"

At those words your face falls. You aren't surprised the girls don't know who Frieren is, most people only really knew Himmel as the one to kill the Demon King, but to not know a dungeon?

"A dungeon is a place where you can typically find treasure and mimics, maybe demons. A lot of adventurers go in them for riches."

Now Agott's attention is brought to you, a frown on her face.

"Demons? Mimics? What in the world are those?"

Your brows furrow further.

"Demons? Well, I'm not surprised you're not familiar with them, but does the name Demon King happen to mean anything to you?"

Richeh shakes her head as she pulls her hair forward and brushes through it softly.

"I've never heard of a Demon King," Agott mumbles, hands falling to her side as she frowns back at you.

At her words you take a seat on the ground with a sigh. It certainly is a shock that they don't know about demons, you would figure the adults in their life would warn them about the dangers of the creatures.

You set your staff on the ground as you hold your hands up and cast an illusionary spell.

"These are demons, or they were before Frieren and I killed them."

The girls watch in shock and awe as many images flash before them of magic spells being cast wordlessly and figures flying with horns on their heads.

"How are you doing that?"

Coco mumbles, eyes wide and sparkling.

"What? The illusion spell? It's not very difficult I could teach you."

She claps her hands together and sits down in front of you.

"Yes! Please! But wait, you don’t have any ink or a quill or anything on you."

You tilt your head as the spell goes away and you set your hands on the ground next to you.

"You don't need a quill and ink to cast magic? Where did you hear that?"

The girls exclaim in shock and disagreement at your words, even Agott's usual stony expression has morphed into one of shock as her eyebrows fly up.

"Of course you need a quill and magic ink to cast! How else would you practice magic!"

You blink as you let the words sink in. You lean back on your hands as Tetia shakes Richeh back and forth, the former's face being blank as she allows the pink-haired girl to do so.

"By using mana?"

Tetia stops shaking Richeh as the girl fixes her hair.

"What's mana?"

Your eyes are wide now at her words as you repeat the question to yourself.

"Mana is internal, it's an energy found in everyone. Tell me, can you see this?"

You cease your mana suppression and let the full force of your mana take over the area. The force of it is enough to make the plants flutter softly, but the girls just blink at you.

"See what?"

Your mouth falls slightly as you suppress your mana once more, it coming closer to your body and resuming its constant low output.

"You can't see it."

You furrow your brows once more thinking on their words. They can't see mana. If they seemingly are mages, they should be able to at least sense your mana, especially when you stopped suppressing it. You stand dust yourself off, patting your dress and grabbing your staff as the girls follow.

"So, you use this to cast magic?"

Coco, as you learned her name was, questions you, gesturing to your staff. You give her a smile and shake your head.

"It's not necessary to have a staff to cast magic, it acts as a conduit for casting more precise magic, that is all. I can cast just as easily without it."

Her eyes light up as the three other girls listen to you in awe.

"I must ask, what are you children doing out here by yourselves?"

"We're not by ourselves!"

Tetia has her fists balled together as she looks up at you. She points behind her to the building in the distance.

"We live there! In the atelier with Quifrey and Olruggio!"

Agott, snaps at her, pulling her back with a glare on her face.

"Don't tell a stranger where we live! We don't know if she's with the brimhats!"

Tetia has a frown on her face and looks sheepish as Richeh presses the fabric of your dress against her face.

"So soft."

You pat the girls head and look at Tetia who tries to get her footing after being scolded by Agott.

"I mean no harm, I can promise you that. Though, I would appreciate being pointed to the nearest town. I need to research which spell could have sent me here."

Coco claps her hands together and looks at Tetia.

"Maybe Quifrey knows! Or Olruggio!"

Richeh nods as she keeps a hand on your dress. You're starting to be dragged forward by the three girls as Agott reluctantly follows as you're lead to the large building.

Coco and Tetia chatter excitedly at the prospect of introducing you to the two adults they'd mentioned and practically hum with anticipation as you're brought closer and closer.

“Oh, and what’s a brimhat?”

At those words, the girls stop abruptly. You’re just in front of the door and Richeh has her hand on the handle when Agott gives you a weary look.

“A brimhat practices forbidden magic, any witch would know that.”

You glance at her before looking at the girls, they noticeably wear hats that are pointed but sport no brims.

“Forbidden magic?”

The notion of forbidden magic is strange to you. Yes, there were certainly spells wielded that were awful and dangerous, but they were considered black magic, sometimes forbidden magic. Though you and Frieren were of the same belief that curses were magic that you simply didn’t understand. You’d nearly forgotten that in your long life. You try to think if you even know any forbidden spells yourself.

All magic is dangerous, you must be careful when you wield it. That was your belief, any spell could be altered so you must always be vigilant. It was one of the few things you’d taken the care to teach Fern.

“Yes, forbidden magic! If a brimhat is ever seen they must be repo-”

Tetiah is cut off as the door opens to a man with white hair, a pair of spectacles with the right lense noticeably blacked out. He looks at the girls before looking at you.

“Who might this be?”

His gaze, though tender with the girls, falls weary on you. Coco and Tetia have a hand on your dress and a hand on your arm that holds a large staff.

“I fell from the sky, the girls were kind enough to see if I was alright.”

You stare blankly at the man as he doesn’t say anything at first. He then raises his left arm as he speaks to the girls.

“Girls, get behind me.”

“Wait, Quifrey! She’s really nice!”

“Get behind me.”

Coco and Tetia give you a concerned look, but they all do as he says.

You merely stay in place as the girls move behind this “Quifrey” and watch you from behind his back, even Agott with her arms crossed looks at you to see what will happen.

You exhale sharply and stand up a little straighter.

“I mean no harm if that is the concern, to be honest I’d rather find my party to see what they found in the dungeon.”

Quifrey narrows his eyes at you and tries to get a sense of your abilities. You hold a staff, rocking back and forth on your heels with no worry despite the fact that he clearly doesn’t trust you.

“Who are you?”

You stop rocking as you look the man in the eye with a small smile.

“My name is (Y/n), one of the last elves and I just want to go home.”

He eyes you up and down, noticeably glancing at your ears. He’d heard of elves of course, but they were fiction. Tall tales of a greater species, they didn’t exist.

“Of course, girls why don’t you wait inside, while I speak with her.”

There are numerous cries against this from Tetia and Coco, even Richeh pouts a bit, but Quifrey just gives them a small smile and pushes them further inside.

“Now girls, is this how we act in front of a guest?”

They quiet down as they huff out a breath and shake their heads.

“Better, now we’ll just be a moment, practice your line work while I speak with our guest.”

He closes the door as he glances back at you, smile no longer on his face as you simply give him a neutral look back.

“Who or what are you?”

Your eyebrows lift lightly.

“I’m not a brimhat if that is your concern. Agott was kind enough to explain what that is.”

Quifrey doesn’t respond as he gives you a weary look. You simply sigh and place down your staff, lightly pushing it toward him as he glances down at it.

“I’m a mage, if you don’t believe me I can cast a spell, but since you don’t trust me, as you shouldn’t trust any stranger, you can hold onto my staff.”

He leans down and grabs the staff, it’s weathered but clearly well taken care of. The ribbons tied onto it with a gem on the end sparkle in the light as he twists the staff to inspect it. He holds it out to you as you extend a handout to grab it, only for him to lift it just out of reach.

“You said you fell from the sky?”

You nod as you briefly glance up, then back at the staff, hand still extended.

“That is what I said.”

He slowly lowers the staff into your hand, though his shoulders are still tense.

“Well, it would be best to see if you are alright, please come inside.”

You raise a single eyebrow. You’d expected him to put up more of a fight, you know you certainly would have if you were in his shoes. Nonetheless, you nod and keep your staff at your side, choosing not to put it away. If what the girls said was true and they needed to draw with ink to make a spell then it would be wise to not show your ability unless asked.

He turns from you to the door and puts his hand on the handle as he beckons you forward.

“By all means, please come in.”

You follow slowly as you enter the home and the door closes behind you.

It’s a nice home, there’s a pot on the stove that simmers. The girls are at a table in the center working on their lines as they look up and Tetia runs over to greet you, though she acts as if she hasn’t seen you in a millennia.

“(Y/n)!”

She throws her arms around you and grabs the sides of your dress as you smile down at the pink haired girl.

“You just saw me,” you muse as she beams up at you, Coco soon follows after as she inspects your staff, playing with the ribbons and gems tied on.

“Wow! So pretty!”

Her fingertips lightly graze a ruby that’s tied on with a red ribbon, a matching ribbon with Frieren. Tetia pulls you to the table so you can look at her lines.

“Look! My lines are almost perfect!”

Agott just side eyes Tetia, mumbling about how she should show her lines if they are perfect not nearly perfect. You glance at Agotts work and point at it.

“These are beautiful lines, you’ll be a powerful witch, I’m sure of it.”

Agott glances up at you but flits her eyes back down as she furiously works on her next set of lines, “whatever,” she grumbles though you can see that the tips of her ears are flushed.

Richeh holds up her own linework for you to compliment, face neutral but holding an expectant look in her eye.

“Very nice, Richeh! You draw with purpose, it’s wonderful.”

She takes your compliment with a proud look in her eye as your gaze falls onto Quifrey leaning against the counter, who watches how you interact with the girls, his face is neutral but there’s a fondness there pointed at the girls. You muse that they must be like daughters to him, the same way Fern is to you and Frieren.

Ah, Fern. She’s taller than both you and Frieren now, you remember when she came up to your ribs. How they grow so fast.

He steps away from the counter and goes beside you, hand lingering on your arm that holds your staff.

“Girls, how would one of you like to show our guest around our atelier?”

Three of the girls perk up with Coco and Tetia calling out for them to show you around, while Richeh holds both her hands clenched in fists and a sparkle in her eye.

“Alright, alright two of you can show her around,” Quifrey watches as Tetia, Coco, and Richeh choose amongst themselves who will show you around. They’re chattering to themselves until Coco and Richeh stand and go to grab your arms, Richeh pointing ahead and Coco gabbing about how you’ll love it.

They lead you away as Quifrey watches your forms leave and round the corner. He turns to Tetia, who pouts, and Agott, who’s calmed down and ears have gone back to normal.

“Now girls, what do you know of our elf guest?”

Agott blinks at Quifrey, setting down her charcoal pencil and Tetia places her hands on her face.

“Wah, she’s an elf! An actual elf! And she fixed her clothes without needing to draw a spell!”

Quifrey quietly listens as Tetia prattles about how you also fixed the landscape with a wave of your staff and that the tip of it glowed as the landscape reverted itself to how it was before you crashed.

Agott is quiet until Quifrey turns to her, “Agott? Is there anything else that you noticed about her?”

Agott purses her lips before she speaks.

“She said something about mana, how it’s in all living things and she presumably did something with her own. We didn’t see it, but I noticed that the grass and leaves swayed before she asked if we could see it.”

Quifrey furrows his brows as he brings a hand to his face and holds his chin.

“Mana? I’ve never heard of such a thing. You say she can cast spells without drawing them, Tetia?”

Tetia turns to him, blissful expression no longer on her face, though her hands stay on her face as she blinks at him in confusion.

“Yeah, she said she’d never heard of needing a quill and ink to cast magic. She looked very confused.”

Quifrey hums to himself in thought as he thinks about what the girls are telling him. If what they say is true, you pose a dangerous threat to them, no not to just them but to all of humanity. A witch who can cast magic without needing a quill and ink is even more dangerous than a brim hat.

He leans on the table before standing and reaching for his hat, he glanced at the girls before checking to see that his spell is still drawn clearly on the inside. He takes a deep inhale before placing his hat back down as he hears Coco and Richeh approaching with you in tow.

He plasters on an easygoing smile as the three of you enter the room.

“How was the tour girls?”

He side eyes you as you take a seat at the table next to Tetia, she eagerly shows you her line work and you trace the line with a finger. Quifrey’s eyes narrow in suspicion before being wiped from his face as he peaks Coco watching him from the corner of his eye.

“What’s wrong Quifrey?”

Coco tilts her head as she stands by him, he merely hums at her words and pats her head.

“Nothing,” he keeps his eyes on you as you rub your finger and thumb together, “nothing at all.”

You bring your brows together as your finger and thumb come together, ink smearing lightly and crumbling away. You can sense nothing from this ink, though one glance at the bubbling pot on the stove lends you a feeling of something coming from it. You wipe your fingers on your dress as you lift a hand at the pot.

"There's something off about that pot, is there something drawn on it?"

Agott lifts her brows at you, sending a glance to Quifrey who moves to lift the lid and show you the inscribed ink on the pot lid.

"Yes, this sigil keeps the food fresh as the day it was made," he shows you the lid so you can inspect it closer. You trace your fingers on the ink with a tilt of your head.

"Fascinating, I assume you have to redraw the sigil?"

Quifrey hums with a small smile, "correct. I redraw the seal often due to the steam."

You bring your hand to your hair to twirl your hair as you think. You glance at Coco, then Tetia who looks like she wants to braid your hair. Then you look at Agott who avoids your gaze, though you know she was looking at you. Lastly, you look at Richeh who has now gone back to practicing her linework, then Quifrey. At the man, you give him a small, inquisitive smile.

"May I try to make a seal?"

Next!

[sapph22]

Business Proposal

Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.

Pairings : Yandere JJKmen x Reader

Ft. Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami

Tw: MDNI, some 18+ jokes, fanfic

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Last Part

How the fuck were you supposed to know they all knew each other? Like, genuinely, in what universe was that information NOT relevant?

The office scene from earlier still played in your brain like a YouTube video stuck on loop. Your coworker Mei had filmed the whole thing and was probably already editing it for TikTok with some godforsaken caption like "bestie's reverse harem era just dropped."

(You were starting to suspect you WERE the protagonist of a poorly written fanfiction.)

You had managed to usher them out… separately, because putting them in an elevator together seemed like a recipe for either murder or an orgy, and you weren't sure which was worse.

NANAMI KENTO - same day, Evening

Nanami sat at his desk at home, tie loosened, jacket discarded, staring at nothing.

He’d never been in a situation like this. Never competed for a woman’s attention. Never wanted to. But here he was.

And worse… here they were. Three other men who apparently wanted exactly what he wanted.

You.

The gentlemanly thing to do would be to step aside, let you choose from the others without pressure.

But the thought of you choosing Gojo… a womanizer…. made his jaw clench.

Or Sukuna…. dangerous, possibly criminal.

Or Toji…. who clearly didn’t respect you enough to take any of this seriously.

No.

No, he wasn’t stepping aside.

He pulled out his phone and typed a message.

Nanami: I apologize for today’s disruption. I hope you’re well. Would you be available for coffee this weekend? I’d like to speak with you properly.

He hit send before he could overthink it. Then immediately started overthinking it.

FUSHIGURO TOJI - NIGHT

Toji was not a planner.

He didn’t do strategies or schemes or any of that corporate bullshit the other three probably thrived on. But he also wasn’t an idiot.

He’d seen the way you looked at him. You liked him. Maybe despite yourself, but you liked him.

And he liked you. More than he’d liked anyone in a long time. Maybe ever.

Which meant he wasn’t backing down just because three other assholes had decided they wanted you too.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled to your number.

Toji: You still have that cat?

He waited. It was late. You were probably asleep.

Then: three dots appeared.

You: Why are you texting me at midnight

Toji: Answer the question

You: Yes I still have the cat. It’s on my bed. Happy?

He grinned.

Toji: Very. Sweet dreams.

You didn’t respond to that.

RYOMEN SUKUNA - NIGHT

Sukuna leaned back in his chair. He’d never competed for anything in his life…. people either gave him what he wanted or he took it.

But he couldn’t take you. That much was clear.

Which meant he’d have to actually try. Actually compete. The thought should have irritated him.

Instead, it made him smile.

~~~~

You were laying on your couch…. a secondhand monstrosity you'd gotten from a friend of a friend who may or may not have used it to film adult content, but you tried not to think about that.…. staring at your ceiling's water stain that had recently evolved from "mushroom shaped" to "definitely looks like a dick now," while your phone buzzed…..

Buzz buzz buzz

You'd been ignoring it for twenty minutes now, which was impressive considering your phone addiction.

You KNEW who it was.

You knew because because you'd made the mistake of glancing at your lock screen twelve buzzes ago and seen his name.

Gojo Satoru

AKA: one of the four horsemen of your apocalypse

Your phone buzzed again. Then again … and again and again….

"Oh for the love of…” you groaned, rolling over so violently that your cat relocated to your laundry pile where she immediately started kneading it with her claws.

Great. More holes in your clothes. Perfect.

Gojo (do not answer) : Good morning my lil saint 😘

Gojo (do not answer) : Heyyyy

Gojo (do not answer) : there was some excitement at your office

Gojo (do not answer) : You never told me you were into group activities

Gojo (do not answer) : not judging. just curious 👀

Gojo (do not answer) : I know you're reading these

Gojo (do not answer) : Your read receipts are on, sweetheart

Fuck. Fuck. You'd been meaning to turn those off for like three years but kept forgetting, which was very on brand for your life choices.

You: WHAT DO YOU WANT

Gojo (do not answer) : ouch

Gojo (do not answer) : straight to business huh

Gojo (do nt answer) : no "hi satoru" or "wow satoru you're so handsome and thoughtful for checking on me"

You could feel your twitching. You wanted to throw your phone across the room. You really, truly did. But phones are expensive and you’re not about to sacrifice your cracked screen, two generations old iPhone to make a point that Gojo Satoru will probably just find amusing.

Gojo (do not answer) : I have a proposition. meet me tomorrow

Gojo (do not answer) : I can help with your little... situation

He sent an address. Some caféyou'd never heard of, which meant it was either incredibly exclusive or a front for money laundering. With Gojo, both options seemed equally plausible.

You: Why would I meet you anywhere

You: You're literally one of the problems

Gojo: Ouch

Gojo: And here I thought we had something special

Gojo: What happened to seven years of courtship?

You: I'm going back to sleep

You: Goodnight Gojo

Gojo: See you tomorrow, sweetheart ;)

What the hell was that supposed to mean? What "common problem"? What "solution"? And why…. why…. did your stupid treacherous heart did a little skip at the word "sweetheart"

Your cat looked at you with an expression that clearly said, You're going to go, aren't you?

"I'm not," you told her.

She turned around and showed you her butthole. Which felt like appropriate commentary on the current state of your life.

THE PROPOSAL (NOT THAT KIND) - THE NEXT DAY

The cafe was, predictably, obnoxious.

You'd worn the only nice dress you owned that wasn't currently in the dirty laundry pile. Your hair cooperated for once, falling in waves instead of its usual "I stuck my finger in a socket" aesthetic.

You looked... good. The kind of good that made you paranoid about what the universe was planning to balance it out.

"You came," He stood when you walked in. Like a gentleman. Which was concerning, because Gojo Satoru was many things, but a gentleman was not on the list.

You slide into the booth across from him, immediately grabbing the menu like a shield. "Why am I here?"

"I told you I have a proposition"

Right.

The proposition.

The mysterious solution to your mysterious problem that was actually not that mysterious because your problem was very straightforward…. four men who wouldn’t take a hint and a family who thought arranged marriage was a totally normal thing to do in the year of our lord 2026.

You crossed your arms and waited. Because goddammit, you were curious.

“Fine,” you bit out. “Talk.”

Gojo’s smile went from playful to something predatory. The expression of someone who’d just gotten exactly what they wanted.

“So here’s the thing,” he said, settling back into the booth like he was about to deliver a TED talk on How To Ruin Your Life In Three Easy Steps. “You have a problem.

"Several, actually. You're one of them."

"Flattering." He took a sip. "Your problem is that your family is forcing you into an arranged marriage. He paused, eyes raking over you in a way that should’ve been offensive but instead made your stomach do a weird flip thing.

“Are you done?”

“I have a problem too. See, my family’s been on my ass about settling down. Find a nice girl… Produce some heirs…..Stop sleeping with the entire female population of Tokyo….” He didn’t look remotely ashamed. “They’ve been threatening to cut me off from certain business ventures if I don’t show commitment to my future.”

You snorted. “You? Settle down?

A waiter appeared from nowhere…. seriously, did they train these people like ninjas…. and poured champagne into crystal glasses.

He grinned, shameless. “Exactly. A man of my… appetites… being asked to commit? To one woman? Forever?” He shuddered dramatically. “Unthinkable.”

“So what do you want? A recommendation for a therapist? A dating app for commitment phobes?”

“Something better.” His eyes locked onto yours, and suddenly the playful mask dropped “You,”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Your brain was making a little BLEEP sound like something had gone fundamentally wrong and all your programs had crashed simultaneously.

“I’m sorry,” you said slowly, like you were testing each word before speaking it. “Could you repeat that?”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on his interlaced fingers. “Let’s get engaged.”

You chocked

Champagne went down the wrong pipe and you spent a good thirty seconds coughing. "You… " cough "…. WHAT….” cough cough "….. are you FUCKING INSANE….."

"Fake engaged, obviously” he clarified, sliding you a napkin "I know I'm irresistible, but even I don't move that fast."

"That's….” you wiped your mouth, eyes watering, "…..that's the DUMBEST thing I've ever heard."

"Hear me out…”

"NO”

“what's your alternative?" He spread his hands. "Keep pretending? You're not exactly a master of deception.”

Ouch

You felt your cheeks heat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” His smile was devastating in that way that had probably convinced many, many women to make many, many bad decisions.

(You were not going to be one of those women. You WEREN’T.)

“I did my research, you know,” he continued, pulling out his phone “After our first date.” He scrolled through something, smile widening. “Interesting Instagram you’ve got there.”

“You…. you STALKED me?” You glared at him and he had the audacity to wink

“2019 keg stand,” he continued, completely unbothered by your existential crisis. “Very impressive core strength, by the way. That Halloween party where you dressed as a sexy nun….. ironic, given recent events. Oh, and my personal favorite…”

He turned the phone to face you.

It was a photo from your friend’s bachelorette party you’d been to last year. You were wearing a tiara that said “PENIS QUEEN” in rhinestones (you were DRUNK) and holding a drink shaped like… well. Like a dick

You’d never wanted to die more in your entire life.

“Delete that,” you hissed.

“Hear me out first”

( This white haired motherfucker)

“This better be good”

“Think about it” He held up one finger like he was about to teach you basic math. "One: gets your family off your back.Two….” another finger, "… gets my family off my back."

"Three….” a third finger, he was really committed to this bit, "… makes those other three idiots back off because you're publicly TAKEN."

"And what happens after?" you asked. "When your family wants a wedding? Grandchildren? Matching his and hers bathrobes?"

"We break up." He waved a hand. "A year from now, maybe two. Enough time for both of us to get our shit sorted and establish enough independence that our families can't control us anymore."

"So what do you say?" He extended his hand across the table. "Partners in crime?"

This was a bad idea

The kind of idea that future you would look back on and go “what the FUCK were you thinking?”

You took his hand. "Fine. But we need rules and a contract or something because I don’t trust you.”

His eyes lit up. "I love rules. Specifically breaking them."

"No breaking these ones." You held up a finger, mimicking him. "One: No actual romantic feelings. This is a business proposal."

"Obviously."

"Two: We keep up appearances in public, but in private, we're just... roommates. Friends. Strangers. Whatever."

"Can friends cuddle?"

"Satoru."

"Fine, fine. Continue."

"Three:" You hesitated. "If either of us wants out…. No questions asked. No guilt trips."

"Deal," he said softly.

This was possibly the stupidest decision you'd made since that time you got bangs in college and looked like a medieval peasant for six months.

You shook his hand.

It was warm.

Why were his hands always so WARM? It was like shaking hands with a human furnace.

"So," he said, still holding your hand (why was he still holding it?), grin widening, "when should we tell our parents?"

Oh fuck.

Oh FUCK.

What had you just agreed to?

Two Days Later: The Phone Call That Destroyed Your Eardrums

You called your mother

Mistake number one.

“Hi mom, I have news…..”

“YOU’RE PREGNANT.”

“WHAT….. no….”

“Oh thank god because I’m not ready to be a grandmother, your father would have a heart attack…..”

“I’m not PREGNANT……”

“Then what?”

“I’m getting engaged.”

Silence.

You checked your phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Mom?”

“To who.”

“Gojo Satoru?”

The scream that came through the phone sounded like a banshee getting exorcised . You had to hold the phone away from your ear. Your neighbours probably heard it.

“SATORU GOJO? THE GOJO HEIR? THE… OH MY GOD…. OH MY GOD I NEED TO SIT DOWN…”

“Mom are u ok?…..”

“…. I’M SITTING…. I’M SITTING…. YOUR FATHER… HONEY…. HONEY OUR DAUGHTER….”

Muffled sounds of your father in the background going “what? what happened? is she pregnant?”

“SHE’S GETTING ENGAGED TO A GOJO…. “

More muffled sounds of your father going “holy shit.”

Your father never swore.

“Mom I have to….”

“….I NEED TO CALL EVERYONE… YOUR AUNT….YOUR GRANDMOTHER… OH MY GOD YOUR AUNT IS GOING TO SHIT HERSELF…. SHE’S GOING TO ACTUALLY DIE…”

Click.

She hung up.

Probably to call every single person she’d ever met in her entire life to brag about how her disaster daughter had somehow landed a Gojo.

~~~

Gojo showed up at your apartment one evening without warning.

You opened the door in your rattiest sweatpants and a shirt that said “LETS FUCK” that you’d gotten as a gag gift three years ago and never stopped wearing because it was comfortable

“Nice shirt,” he said, walking past you into your apartment like he LIVED there.

“You can’t just….did I invite you?”

“Nope.” He looked around your apartment“Cozy.”

“It’s a mess.”

“Same thing.” He spotted Dumpling…ypur cat… on the couch and immediately went over to her. “And who’s THIS?”

“That’s Dumpling. Don’t touch her, she hates people….”

Dumpling immediately rolled over and started purring as Gojo scratched under her chin.

This bitch

“She’s adorable,” Gojo said, now fully sitting on your couch, dumpling climbing into his lap like they were old friends. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Don't flirt with me."

"Sweetheart, if we're getting engaged, I'm legally required to flirt with you. It's in the contract."

You stared at him. "You're joking."

"I never joke about legally binding documents." He pulled out his phone, scrolling. "Clause one: neither party shall develop genuine romantic feelings for the other…"

You snatched the phone, scanning the document

"Clause seven: both parties agree to attend a minimum of four public events together per month?"

"Gotta make it believable."

"Clause twelve: any physical contact shall be limited to hand holding and brief embraces unless mutually agreed upon in advance?"

"I'm a gentleman."

You handed the phone back. Satoru's hand found yours, fingers intertwining with yours…making your breath catch.

"For practice," he murmured.

"Right. Practice."

He stood, stretching like a cat. "Anyway. I should go.”

He grabbed his jacket from where he'd thrown it. At the door, he paused and turned back.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "For everything”

The sincerity caught you off guard. You weren't used to this version of Gojo… soft, vulnerable

"See you tomorrow, Mrs Gojo."

Clause one: neither party shall develop genuine romantic feelings for the other.

Right.

Sure.

No problem at all.

At the same time

SUKUNA RYOMEN - 4:47 AM

Sukuna hasn't slept properly in days. He sits in his office….the one at his home, surrounded by reports and contracts

But for once, the paperwork wasn't holding his attention.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through the messages he hadn't sent. Draft after draft, deleted before completion.

You're not what you pretend to be.

Too direct.

I know what you're doing.

Too threatening.

Have dinner with me.

Too... desperate.

Sukuna set the phone down. He didn't do desperate. He didn't chase. People came to him, not the other way around.

But there you were…. with flushed cheeks and wild eyes, and he'd felt something crack in his chest. Something he'd thought was long dead.

NANAMI KENTO - 5:30 AM

Nanami was already awake when his alarm went off.

He'd been awake for hours, actually, staring at his ceiling and replaying every interaction he'd had with you.

His colleagues would laugh if they knew. Nanami Kento, the man who could spot a lying witness from across a courtroom, completely undone by a woman pretending to be interested in him.

But you weren't a schemer. You were a mes.

An adorable mess

His phone buzzed. A calendar reminder.

Thursday meeting - Father's firm - 3 PM

Right. He had actual work to focus on. Actual responsibilities.

But as he rose to begin his morning routine, Nanami found himself wondering what you looked like when you first woke up. Whether you were a morning person or if you emerged from sleep like a grumpy cat, all squinted eyes and defensive hissing.

He suspected the latter.

The thought made him smile.

TOJI FUSHIGURO - 6:15 AM

Toji hadn't gone home.

Home was a concept that didn't really apply to him anyway… just a series of apartments and hotels and occasionally the backseat of his car when things got complicated. Last night had been an underground poker game, where he'd won enough to keep his credit card company from sending another passive aggressive letter.

But he hadn't been able to focus on the cards.

That was new.

Toji had excellent focus. It's what made him good at the things he was good at… fighting, gambling, pissing off his family. Distractions were weaknesses, and he didn't do weak.

But there you were, stuck in his head like a song he couldn't shake.

He laughed, alone in the early morning streets, drawing concerned looks from a passing men.

The giant stuffed cat you’d clutched to your chest on the back of his motorcycle, pressing against him like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth?

Toji had dated plenty of women. Beautiful women, smart women, dangerous women. Women who knew exactly what they wanted and how to get it.

You were none of those things.

You were a disaster

And he wanted you anyway.

That probably said something unflattering about his psychology, but fuck it. He'd never claimed to be sane

~~~

The next week was a blur of dress fittings and dinner reservations and pretending to be in love with a man whose primary personality trait was being insufferable.

Actually, that wasn't fair. Gojo was... more than that. You were starting to realize it in small ways. The way he checked in on you when you looked tired. The way he ran interference when his family got too pushy. The way he made you laugh… when the stress felt like it was going to crush you.

"You're thinking too hard," Gojo said one evening. He was lounging on your couch. He had been doing that a lot lately, showing up unannounced with snacks and excuses about "keeping up appearances"

"Your eyebrows are doing that thing." He poked the space between your brows. "Stop that. You'll get wrinkles."

Your phone buzzed. You reached for it automatically, then froze when you saw the name.

It was Sukuna's assistant, requesting a meeting

"What?” he notices immediately when your face drops.

"Nothing."

"That's your 'something bad is happening' face. What is it?"

You hand him the phone wordlessly. He reads, his expression darkening.

"Block him."

"What?"

"Block him." He hands the phone back. "Block all of them. You don't have to deal with this anymore. That's the whole point of the engagement."

He's right. You go to your contacts, thumb hovering over Sukuna's name.

Then Nanami's.

Then…

Toji.

You opened his chat and froze.

There's a photo there that you'd forgotten about. From the arcade. You're holding that ridiculous giant cat plushie and he's standing next to you, and he's smiling. Not that cocky grin he usually wears. A genuine.. soft smile

"What's wrong?" Gojo's voice is closer now. He's moved from the couch to stand behind you, looking over your shoulder.

"Nothing." You close the chat quickly.

"Awe, You're blushing."

"I am NOT."

He reaches past you and taps the screen, pulling up Toji's contact. "You should block him too."

"I will."

"Now?"

"I…." Your thumb hovers. "I will."

Gojo sighs, but there's something careful in the sound. "You don't have to, you know."

"I know."

"If you want to talk to him…”

"I don't."

You block Sukuna. Block Nanami.

And then you close the app before your thumb can make a decision about Toji that your brain hasn't approved.

"Done," you say, and if your voice is a little too bright, Gojo has the grace not to mention it.

“You like him," he says.

"I don't…”

"It's fine." He stands abruptly, moving to the window. His back is to you, shoulders tight under his expensive shirt. "If you want to see him..”

"I don't want to see him." You sit up, frustrated. "I don't want to see any of them. That's the whole point."

"Then why didn't you block him?"

You look at your phone. At the chat with Toji, still open. At the photo.

"I don't know," you admit

Gojo turns. His face blank… but something in his eye…. Something that looked almost like hurt before it vanished behind a smile.

"Well," he says, "when you figure it out, let me know."

He grabs his jacket.

"Wait…. where are you going?"

"Home." He doesnt look at you. "We've rehearsed enough for tonight."

"Satoru…."

The door closes behind him.

That night, alone in your apartment, you let yourself think about what you were doing.

Gojo made sense. On paper, in practice, in every logical way. He was safe because he was temporary. He was easy because neither of you wanted more.

But Toji...

Toji was different. Toji made your pulse race and your palms sweat and your brain short circuit in ways that were decidedly inconvenient.

You couldn't afford inconvenient. Not now. Not when everything was finally falling into place.

So you texted Gojo instead.

You: are we doing the right thing?

Gojo: What's wrong?

You: I don't know. that's why I'm asking.

A pause.

Gojo: I think we're doing the survivable thing. Sometimes that's all you can do.

You stared at the message for a long time.

Gojo: also I ordered us pizza because I know you haven't eaten since that sad croissant this morning. It'll be there in 20.

You: how do you know about the croissant

Gojo: I know everything.

You: you're very annoying

Gojo: Eat the pizza. That's an order from your future fake husband.

You laughed despite yourself. It bubbled up, unexpected and warm, filling the quiet of your apartment.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe, with Gojo by your side, you could actually survive this.

The pizza arrived eighteen minutes later. You ate the whole thing, didn't think about Toji once (okay, maybe twice), and went to bed feeling something dangerously close to hope.

You are getting fake engaged to a man. The three other men are going to kill your fake fiancée, once they find out.Your mother is losing her mind

And somewhere in all of this, you think you might actually have feelings for someone.

You just don't know who.

Fuck.

Rule one, you reminded yourself as you drifted off. No feelings.

To be continued

Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶🏻✨

A/n : This is a bit rushed and not proofread. I'm sorry if it wasn't what y'all were expecting ♥︎

@satoruslovey @livedianalove @retiredpieceofshits @rennox7 @porcelaiinedoll @princesa-starlight @lovermiwmiw @queenbloody @crystielle @lady-ofthe-night @jaehyunsleftnut @toru-saki @takibug @gojoswaterbottle @teenyping @apored123 @succubussdreams @qngelical @valberryboos @nunlessthandesii @dooniii @miyumayonaise @julieno1lover @metal-fl @mangegeek17 @nightwingsgirlfaliure @lialiaaaaaaa @plasticsheepponycollector @savorxe @prome911 @mxchiii @hifluvlevi @darkraikami22-blog @vaguenebulaee @tansyfleurwhisper @peachyperrie @alex2602 @love-d-luxe @lavenderlymilk @izukuswifw7 @1800cum @pockyy27 @tiredasl @serratedmarionetteturtle @herasuma @goojooo @hirominami @thebornqueen @gerardway67

[shiruigami]

ROMANCE KAISEN: BEHIND THE SCENES !!

the show? romance kaisen 🌹 the leading lady? you 🤗 your beau? all the male cast 😛 the otp? *cue crashing noises and endless bickering*

content: language, crude humor, crack fic, modern au, actor au, celebrity au, i made jjk a romance comedy, gojo x y/n and sukuna x y/n centered + slight nanami x reader, everyone is an adult, hints of reverse harem, JUST ABSOLUTE SHENANIGANS

end note: this was partly inspired by whatever weird shit ariana grande and cynthia erivo had going on during the wicked movie marketing. also a big thank you to the delightfully unhinged r/AcheronMainsHSR for being the inspiration of the cursed text tweet. i made this for the love of the game (as per usual) and i have no plans to make part 2 anytime soon bc this took me almost a week to make have mercy on me twin 😭

[tonycries]

Older - N.K.

Synopsis. Your duties as a nanny are simple: pick Itadori Yuji up from elementary school, bathe him, feed him his veggies, and take care of him until his hot blond dad gets home. It doesn’t include something like…spending Valentine’s Day with the overworked, overstressed, absolute DlLF Nanami Kento. Does it? Does it?

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, older!Nanami, age gap, DlLF!Nanami, reader is in early 20’s, Nanami is in 30’s, he’s overworked and STRESSED, down bad!Nanami, desperation, Valentine’s Day, pùssydrùnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), p talking, p sIapping, punishments, dégrading but also soft Nanami, spítting, bíting, fíngering, yearning, teaching you, fírst times (yours), Iessons, talking you through it, he’s stern, he’s BIG, BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG, matíng presses, manhandIing, cervíx smoochin, overstím, vírginíty loss (yours), corruption, he’s feraI, DÚMBIFlCATION, calling you ‘momma’, mentions of kids, implied marathon, HEADLÓCKS, creampíes, cúmpIay, Yuji cameos, Papamin, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 15.7k

A/N. BOO! SURPRISE VALENTINE’S DAY POST?! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY BABYGIRLS <33

Nanami can’t help but sigh—“One more meeting and I’m quitting.”

Even though he knows he wouldn’t.

Those boxed-in, white-collar jobs felt just as lukewarm to quit as they were to work. One learns to numb oneself to the constant drone and sputter of the office, the ceaseless fury of a microwave that wouldn’t heat, and the wail of a printer printing listlessly furlong - too far behind its service date. So was there even a point?

That stupid screech followed him even out of the office: one could ignore the cracks and jolts of joints, but that doesn’t actually stop the noise.

He feels a headache coming on.

But Nanami can’t lie- the pay wasn’t all too bad. Besides, the extra hours helped him pay for the nanny he’d recently hired for Yuji—speaking of, he could hear you shuffling about inside.

His key’s just reaching for the door before it swings wide open.

“Welcome home—!”

And Nanami Kento can’t understand that strange, sweet flutter in his heart.

One of his hands jerks upwards- right to the pounding space above his heart. He knows he must look a bit of a sight right now - a grown man pawing at his chest - and part of him wonders whether this was all the all-nighters taking a toll on him. About time.

But another part of him wonders whether he should consult a cardiologist.

Also about time.

Because it’s been like this ever since he hired you - the vetting process for finding a nanny had been a long and tedious one. And Nanami had rejected (he’s sure) at least fifty different candidates, had been blocked by five different agencies, before he finally landed on you. Either they’d been too strict, or too lenient, or too new, or simply not cut out to handle the benevolent whirlwind that was his adopted son.

The poor man had been on the verge of giving up.

In fact, he was two paragraphs into an email to HR whilst stress-eating a homemade Danish pastry and wondering whether buying his boss flowers would be overkill- when it happened. God, could this day get any worse? First his manager gives him a ton of work just before he clocked off, certainly not in his list of responsibilities, then he’d burned those damn Danish pastries, then one of the nannies he’d interviewed had nearly passed out at the sheer energy Yuji had.

He’d been working more and more these days. And Nanami needed just a few more months - a few more nights putting in overtime before he could-

It was then that the doorbell had rang.

Ba-dump! 

He opened the door tentatively, hoping that it wasn’t yet another ambush by a salesperson - each with their bright plastic garbage, and their even brighter smiles. But what he’d been met with instead wasn’t one of those visitors he dreaded…not in the very least. It was you—

And your explanation that you were here because of Shoko.

“Erm- she told me that you were looking for a nanny?” You flashed your conversation with Nanami’s clinical friend as proof. He flickered his gaze over to the screen but his eyes remained unreading—he remembers turning them back over to you.

Blinking at the vision of you.

And you’d slightly jolted at the intensity in them.

Digging through your pin-covered bag, “I also have my CV in here…somewhere.” He watched as you only grew more and more frustrated as that CV evaded you- “It really should be somewhere- give me one second-”

“That’s alri-”

But instead of your CV, your bag had poured out notes and pens in return. So much of it that Nanami marvelled at just how much fit inside that humble satchel. They dropped to the floor and you dived to pick them up, wincing. “I’m so- sorry-”

“Let me.” Crouching down in front of you, Nanami’s much-larger hands had had no trouble scooping all those papers up. In an instant he had them aligned neatly and handed to you. Prim. Proper.

By the tie still ‘round his neck, you guessed he’d just come home from work - and little did you know he’d also just finished four failed interviews for the position of nanny - yet he didn’t have a single blond hair out of line. They were slicked-back and handsome in a way you’d seen only in old movie stars. You thought you saw a few strands of silver.

Lines at the edges of his eyes. That tired strength about him.

It was hard to not ogle him.

Your fingertips brushed his rougher ones as you took the papers from him. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The older man peered down at you—so intense that you could almost feel yourself sinking into the mediocre polyester carpet lining the apartment hallway. Neither of you made a move to get up. “I want to ask you about your availability.”

You’d jumped slightly. “You…you actually want to hire me after that- I mean!”

“Should I not?” And what was this? Nanami Kento had to stifle a chuckle at that? How curious…it must’ve been the work day getting to him at that point- yes. He was feeling a little delirious.

“I mean- please do…”

He’d looked away with a slight smile once you reached into the depths of your bag once more. This time, you didn’t make it erupt in scribbled notes- instead you were pulling out a printed table that looked to be a time table. “Sorry I just- printing makes it easier for me to remember…sometimes.” You explained, “I don’t have any lectures on Wednesday and Friday- and the ones I have on the rest of the weekdays are rather flexible so—”

A college student!

Nanami’s jaw had dropped then.

He knew you looked young but-

A college student?!

“Wait a minute…” One of his hands twitched, almost as if to beckon that time table to himself and make sure.

But then you nodded, “I first met Shoko-san during a medical conference she gave at the university, and she told me you worked late on weekdays. I should be free in the evenings then, but will you be working late on the weekends as well? Because I do have this one professor that really-”

Nanami didn’t know how on Earth the topic of him would’ve even cropped up in your conversations- but he needed to end this.

Now.

Listen. It wasn’t that you seemed like a bad kid- you seemed great, even! But Nanami himself was well into his thirties with absolutely zero idea on balancing Yuji and his work life. So he really didn’t want to burden someone over a decade younger than him with-

“Papa?”

The sweetest, sleepiest voice echoed from inside.

He doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that Itadori was swaying, all decked-out in his Spiderman pajamas, at the end of the hallway. Likely having gotten out for water or because of the ruckus caused outside. He blinked his sluggish eyes open and ogled the two of you.

Nanami doesn’t know why- but he shoots up to a stand. Almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

You followed.

Which one of you three was the responsible parent here, by the way?

His parched mouth opened to—what? There was nothing to explain. 

It was true that Nanami hadn’t had the time to even stop and think about dating or relationships in the time since he’d adopted Yuji. Not even if he wanted to. And, admittedly, he did have dreams of getting married one day - he watched all those sappy TV shows, alright? He knew how it felt.

He wanted to walk beside someone to that shrine. He wanted to have a few more kids, to give Yuji a bigger family than this. He wanted to quit his dead-end job and move out with his family to a bigger house in the countryside. 

But none of that was as important as his son right now.

However, he knew that Yuji saw all those happy couples during pick-up at the elementary school- and his boy was sweet. The sweetest, actually. Nanami knew that Yuji wouldn’t say a single thing about him being the only exhausted father to arrive all alone. Day after day.

The two of them in their lonesome.

His sweet boy would beam the biggest smile nevertheless. 

But kids were smarter than adults gave them credit for. Doesn’t he feel that loneliness, too? 

Perhaps that was why Yuji ran up to you in an instant.

Right past his haggard father and only towards you - all previous sleepiness now gone - he reached up towards the pretty stranger with the pretty pin-covered bag.

Stubby finger pointing up at a particularly red one—“Do you like Spwiderman, too?”

“Of course.” Leaning down, you smiled warmly at the boy. His hair was a rose-colored mess that stuck up at all odd angles. “And my spidey senses are telling me that a certain someone does, too?”

He gasped, “That’s me!”

Before Nanami knows it, you were held hostage and dragged inside by a particularly overactive pink-haired boy. Shown all around the apartment as part of your tour to be shown-off Yuji’s prized Spiderman-themed bedroom. 

And unbeknownst to him - against that lock-and-key and jaded guard - you’d walked into Nanami Kento’s cozy Tokyo apartment (and the strange cavity in his chest that softened whenever you were around).

He sighed.

A college student!

Still, Nanami can’t deny that it’s been a delight having you around.

Despite your packed schedule and your note-filled bag, you were always there to greet him when he came home. Without fail. Either tapping away at some assignment due before midnight, or humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counters—last minute fluffy pancake emergency, he thinks of those nights.

Even though it’d been about eight months since your initial meeting, it’s almost fearsome how easily he’d gotten used to the routine of it all.

Something that should be so mundane - he flips each moment through his mind over and over again until it felt like they made up the grooves of his brain itself. The gyri and the sulci. Or so he’d heard you muttering to yourself as you studied one night. 

He’s studied, too. He’s memorized how you’d open the door for him, with a smile across your face and a finger to your lips- telling the older man to be quiet as he shook off his shoes. He’s memorized how you’d never fail to tell him about the leftovers in the fridge as you reached for your satchel. He’s memorized how you’d hesitate to meet his gaze- but smile the brightest once you do, and how you’d linger at the doorstep telling him about Yuji’s day.

Nanami has memorized how it made some dust-covered part of his heart stir. Blinking away the exhaustion of the day. 

Nanami Kento has never felt more invigorated than he is during those sparse few minutes that he caught up with you at the end of the night. Voices low, like neither of you wanted to interrupt a sleeping thing—Yuji, yes. But something else, too.

He gets the feeling that it’d feel like this even if you weren’t around as a job. If perhaps the two of you had met- the same age, at the same university.

Maybe in-between the sluggish hours of study sessions where you help him with some particularly hard question. Maybe in the library where he helps you reach some dusty ol’ book from the topmost shelf.

Times like this, he allows himself to dream.

You’d make the best wife.

You were the best nanny he could’ve ever chosen.

But one always has to wake up to one’s alarm. He sets his alarms himself.

“Come in.” Nanami tells you as he shrugs off his coat at the entrance. He watches as you stop in your tracks at the doorway, fiddling with your familiar pin-draped bag. “I’m just about to fire up some brownies for tomorrow.”

You pause.

“I-if it’s not too late and you don’t have any classes early tomorrow or-”

“I’d skip all my classes for some of your brownies.”

He lets out a breath of relief as you start walking back from the doorway. “Please don’t.”

It takes a little less than half an hour for the brownies to bake until they are crisp on the top and perfectly gooey in the middle. Layers of chocolate that are only sweetened by the conversation that you brought into Nanami Kento’s humble kitchen. 

He listens as you talk about your day, about that professor that’d been out to get you, about that exam you were sure you’d fail (he knows you won’t in the end). Only adding brief hums of affirmation and nods as the older man sweeps through his counters, broad back turned to you, muscles flexing against his office shirt as he whipped up a hot fudge as well as a strawberry sauce for you to add to your brownies.

“—and you’d never guess what Yuji told me today.” Tonight you seem a little more breathless than usual. Stuttering out your thank-yous as he brings out the tray from the oven and cuts out the first piece for you.

“Blow on it. It’s hot.” Nanami leans over the other side of the kitchen island. He watches as your pretty lips fall into a soft circle, “What were you saying, my dear?”

“Well-” You dart your gaze around the rest of the empty apartment. “You know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, Nanami-san?”

Nanami runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Smoothing it down. He knows how his son can be, and he has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face. “Mhm?”

“Yuji here seems to think that- well…” Bringing a hand up to your lips, fingertips slightly shaking. The brownie was just amazing. “He seems to think that Valentine’s Day is a bit like Christmas, you see. And so the entire day he wouldn’t stop making a list for Cupid.”

Now that piques his interest particularly- Nanami was never a man to skimp out whenever his loved one wanted something. “Oh, is that so? And what does he ask from this ah- Cupid?”

“That is- I don’t even know if this is appropriate for me to say but…” Looking around one last time. “But it seems Yuji is under the impression that we are together.”

“Oh.”

“Together together.”

“Oh.” He can’t help but inch just a little closer- a strange weight in his stomach. Not entirely unpleasant. “I see.”

You’re mustering up a little more courage, “And it seems that what Yuji wants the most this Valentine’s is…for us to get married. Spiderman-themed wedding, he says.” Watching as Nanami’s eyes slightly widen. “B-but of course, I told him that that might not exactly be in erm- Cupid’s range of power! He kept insisting however-”

He looks at you silently as you rub your temples.

“Because then he said a little brother or sister would be fine, too…” Was it time for the conversation about the birds and the bees already? Instead of storks, Yuji relies on Cupid?!

Nanami follows suit, running a hand through the silver streaks in his hair. “Is that so?” He sighs. “I shall have a little talk with him about asking…immoderate requests of Cupid.”

“He’s a sweet boy. Just a little confused.” You smile sheepishly. “Though I can’t really blame him- my friends think we’re together, too.”

Just an inch closer. “I see.”

And Nanami feels your breathing go heavy- enveloped in the hint of his cologne, the sweetness of the brownies, the musk of something that was entirely him. “I-it’s silly, isn’t it…”

He stares at you intently, reading your every reaction. “Quite.” Pupils flickering down your face. Just another inch closer—you wonder how much more space was left, and what you wanted to do with it. “I’m far too old for you, my dear.”

Your lips part-

The clock strikes eleven.

Both of you startle as if shocked with electricity- “I-I really should-”

“Yes, I understand-”

“The brownies were amazing-”

“Please, take this.” He pushes a bag topped with that delicacy and more of whatever topping you liked into your hands.

“Thank you so much.” You rush out breathlessly, other hand snatching your bag from the counter. “Night, Nanami-san—!”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

“And thank you for the brownies!”

The door shuts—with a lingering creak and ebb of your smile behind it. And soon enough Nanami finds himself lumbering in the direction of Yuji’s bedroom.

It’s not long before he stands before the parade of red and blue and masked superheroes: personnel stationed all to take care of the boy with a tuft of pink hair. His precious treasure. Nestled in the middle of his car-shaped bed. 

A small bedside light traces a glow across his chubby cheeks.

As he does every night, Nanami walks up to the little boy and crouches down beside the bed. Forearms rested upon the soft mattress, face rested upon his forearms- it was always around this time that Yuji would stir and look up at his father.

“Papa…” He sleepily mumbles. Rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes, “Gone?”

“Mhm.” Nanami nods. “Left just now, sunshine.”

“Awww, man—” Yuji seems to deflate- but that only pushes him deeper into the puffy pillows. Making him yawn so wide that it makes the older man chuckle. “I really like her, papa.”

His father pauses before he answers. “I like her, too, Yuji.”

“No, but- I really like her. You know, she’s my best friend along with Kugisaki and Fushiguro and you-”

Nanami starts tickling the boy on his sides until he bursts into peels of laughter. “Really, huh?”

Through giggles, he nods. Before stretching his arms above his head and falling back onto the comfy bed- perhaps he was still dreaming. “Why can’t we keep her, papa?”

“We can’t just keep people, Yuji.” Nanami has to hide his own smile. He knows he should mention the thing about Cupid right now, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe tomorrow…

“Yes, but…”

“I know, I know.” Nanami pushes his face deeper into his strong forearms. Sometimes, he still felt much like a kid himself. “I get it.”

.

.

.

The next morning, Yuji still wasn’t giving up.

“Papa, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Papa was about to burst a blood vessel.

He’d chattered on and on about Valentine’s Day as Nanami shuffled him out of bed, he’d announced what chocolates were the best according to his very distinguished five-year-old palate as Nanami helped him brush his teeth—he’d even turned his nose up at the heart-shaped scones that Nanami had made for breakfast.

“Papa, you’re gonna hafta make better hearts than this if you want to marry-”

“Yuji, sunshine, we’re going to be late.” 

Nanami Kento was barely a match for his son. And it’s with something akin to relief - like the exhausted sigh of a stranded man, finally coming across the silhouette of a rescue boat in the bleak horizon - that he manages to hurry the boy into finishing his breakfast. Tuggin’ on his Spiderman backpack, Nanami held Yuji’s hand as they exited the apartment.

Today wasn’t even a school day.

It wasn’t even a school day! And yet the teacher wanted all students in for a short assembly and some chocolate party in class. Nanami would be damned if he didn’t let his son enjoy these small pleasures. 

The elementary school that Yuji attended was only a short distance away from the apartment- usually they’d just make the trip by foot. During those ten minutes it’d become routine for the little boy to jabber away about whatever came to his mind.

How unfortunate for Nanami Kento today that, today, all Yuji could think about was you—

Not because Nanami wasn’t doing much the same- but because he didn’t like thinking of himself as doing much the same. Even though he knew. Query: if both father and son couldn’t get you off their minds, then which one of the two was going to use it?

The older man shakes his head just a little as Yuji suggests a Spiderman wedding cake again—he disagrees with both the cake and…the wedding. Right?

But the boy catches the movement and pouts-

“Why don’t you want to tell her, papa?”

They’re stopping at a red light. Nanami didn’t want to think about how those miniscule bulbs had been programmed to flicker in the shape of a heart today, instead of the usual pedestrian walking. What an apt metaphor for his life, no? Nanami Kento wanted to find something wrong in the traffic light - in the visibility, the practicality, the color - but he couldn’t. 

In fact, it was rather pretty. 

The crossing threatened to bubble over with salarymen and salarywomen and groups of families each hoping to be the first, the fastest, to jump the road. He tugs both himself and Yuji more towards the back where they were well out of the way of whizzing cars. Is it just him or were there more wedding cars than usual today?

“Tell her what? To marry me?” He absent-mindedly answers, “What did I say about no forced marriages, Yuji?”

“No.” He lightly stomps his feet. Making the blond man look down- “I mean why don’t you tell her that you like her, papa?”

And Nanami can’t help but look around like a caught teenager. “You- you can’t just say those things, sunshine! What if she’s heading to class and nearby…”

“But you told me you did last night?” Yuji answers.

Which, fair. And it leaves Nanami slightly at a loss for words. “I…”

“But why can’t you tell her?” The child nods sagely to himself, “S’like when I broke Fushiguro’s red crayon- and I told him. Don’t you always tell me not to lie, papa?”

“That’s…true.” His father hesitates. “But that’s different from-”

“But anyway- that’s why I asked Cupid.” Yuji hums. Content. “You’re a scwaredy-cat, papa, but I asked Cupid for you. Like Santa. And Santa always gives me what I ask for.”

One day, Nanami will consider telling him that Santa had to work a month overtime to get him that car bed—happily however. But that day’s not today. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. “And I also asked Cupid for a bwother- maybe this year I should ask Santa, too.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think Cupid will make my wishes come true, papa?”

“I’m…afraid I can’t be sure, sunshine.”

The light turns green.

And Nanami’s the first to step out onto the road.

From here, even the crosswalk seemed to twist and turn into the shapes of hearts.

Along the rest of the way to his elementary school, Yuji tugs on Nanami’s coat and asks him for his phone—“Alright, but no games before school, Yuji.”

“Not playing games!”

And he didn’t think much of it.

Not until Nanami was on the subway heading to work, about to shoot a phone call to one of the contractors he’d be working with today- and he finds Shoko’s name in his call log.

Outgoing call → Shoko [8:01AM]

Lasted three minutes.

How strange. Nanami doesn’t remember calling his friend at any point today - it must’ve been Yuji during his walk to school. 

A mistake?

How strange, indeed…

But to be quite honest, Nanami doesn’t get the time to ponder upon this happening too deeply. The very second he’d considered clicking on that name himself and asking Shoko- the train had slid to a halt at his station.

Then came the chaos of the office: it seems that one of the interns had forgotten to fax a file yesterday. And Nanami had five angry clients on the phone before 9:00AM, one presentation to lead before 10:00AM, a few more angry clients just after the meeting, and a few more contracts to type up and edit before 12:00AM. Those utterly gaudy pink decorations hung about the room didn’t do anything to help with his oncoming headache.

Everyone in the office knew not to wish him today.

By the time that the overworked man was free for lunch, it was close to 2:00PM. His joints pop as he stretches his arms above his head, flickering a look at the clock above.

It was almost time for Yuji to be let out. Nanami knew you’d be humming to yourself as you walked to his school - and if his son was there, he’d join in, too.

At risk of sounding like a creep, he admits that he’s often listened to the low drift of your voice as you walked out of his apartment. It would start up once he shut that door. And he often stood there - on the other end - until it disappeared. Along with the sound of your footsteps.

His house always seemed smaller then.

Shaking his head free of such thoughts, Nanami stands and walks out of his department, wondering what he’ll have for lunch today. This usually wasn’t a problem with him, but this morning he’d been rather a bit…frazzled. So to say.

All those questions and ‘requests’ that Yuji had left him with just barely enough rationality to scrounge up something for the boy. As for himself, he was meandering through the busy streets of Tokyo - tarmac carpets flying by at a pace faster than he ever seemed to be able to. How was it possible for something inanimate to soar, to race, to live more than he did? Was it always built this way or was he one of the unlucky few?

He wonders which category you’d fall into.

That cheap ramen shop down the street wasn’t too bad - their broth was so good that Nanami was almost able to ignore the sappy love songs crooned from their battered radio. They had a special deal going: 80% off for all couples on Valentine’s Day! All ribbons and glitter. All special pink desserts and lovers holding hands. All love…love and a happy elderly couple behind the counter - the owners, it seems.

It was quaint- cute. The type of place he thinks you might like.

As he was walking back to the office, it seemed as though the city was fit to brim with similar sentiments. 

Flower shops bursting with bouquets like carnivorous sunsets, bleeding hearts and ruby-red roses. Candy shops with something sweet for every color of the rainbow—and more covert advertisements for more…adult indulgences. Sex shops that Nanami had to speed-walk past because of how full and flush they were. Ripe with Valentine’s Day.

Nanami Kento might try to ignore what today is, but the world sure as hell wouldn’t let him forget.

Once he finally runs back to his cubicle- he ducks his head and focuses his eyes solely on the computer screen. He hopes no one comments on the numerous glitzy bags beside him.

.

.

.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Y’know- most people would say—‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you. Now I should totally stop brushing off your invites for drinks. Thank you for being such a kind and respectful and understanding friend, Ieri Shoko.’” The woman in question stretches languorously on top of the couch, her test tube-patterned socks dangling from the other side. “And you’re welcome, by the way!”

Nanami raises one hand in front of him- almost as if to pause the scene entirely. He closes his eyes—when he opens them, he hopes that this had all been a bad dream and he’ll wake up to his glaring computer screen.

He opens them.

Nope- still real.

“Let me rephrase- what the hell have you done to my apartment?”

Shoko gets off the couch and gestures at the apartment like a magician showing off a trick. “Ta-da!” At all the yellow candles that cast miniature sunrises where they wept, at the music that crept sensually from some mysterious corner of the room, at the humble dining table that now looked like it came out of a Times’ 10 Best Spots To Take Your Lover for Valentine’s Day. 

Nanami’s stern lips part as he takes in the silver-covered dishes on top, on top of some white cloth—was that his goddamn blanket?!

“Oh c’mon-” Shoko rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, I see the bouquet in your hands. You obviously planned something of the sort.”

He forgot about that damn thing. Nearly dropping those flowers in his haste to hide it behind his broad back, though there was really no use - he simply couldn’t stand Shoko’s laughing eyes any longer. “Th-this was for Yuji.”

“I see the smaller bouquet in the bag.” She points out. Almost empathetically, Shoko sighs. “You really aren’t slick, Kento.”

“This isn’t- this is just—” But the longer she smirks at him, the less he seems to have an answer. Soon enough, he’s bringing out that massive bouquet from behind him and letting his friend fawn over the thing.

“Wow, she’s really going to love this-”

“It’s called being nice, by the way!” Nanami answers, belatedly.

The look Shoko gives him is enough to make him click his mouth shut.

“I hope you know that I bought one to give you tomorrow…I’m throwing it out now.” Because no matter how much Nanami denied it, today was about love. Parental. Platonic. Even the love that he could never have. As Shoko rummages through the bag with an excited squeak, he drawls on. “Where even is she, by the way? What have you done to her?”

“Hm? Oh, Yuji called me this morning. Thank you for these, by the way.” Shoko stands with a beautiful yellow rose and purple zinnia bouquet in her arms. She sniffs at the sweet fragrance- “Yuji called me asking whether he should leave out cookies for Cupid just like he does with Santa. It seems he wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding, and guess what? I wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding.” Her face breaks out into a smug smile - the one he’s only seen when she used to cheat through biochemistry exams without anyone ever knowing. “So we called up your darling nanny and let her know that her schedule’s changed for today- then Yuji and I did a little sprucing up in here.”

“Sprucing up…”

She turns around to admire her work, “Honestly, Kento, if I knew that you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body then I’d have dissected you-‘

“Papa!”

Spared from hearing whatever gory plans that Shoko had for him by the excited yelp of his son—Nanami hears his footsteps before he sees him. He feels the impact before he sees him.

Yuji’s running down the hallway and launching himself at his father at full speed- “Papa, you’re home!”

“That I am, sunshine.” Nanami smiles down at the boy. “How was your day? I have something for you.”

“For me?” Tufts of pink curls bobbing as he cocks his head, following his father’s movements as Nanami crouches down and reaches into one of the bags. Before breaking out into the most brilliant smile at the sight of the flowers. “Woah- they’re so pretty—! Thank you.”

Crushing the bouquet of pink carnations and hydrangea to his chest, he wraps his arms around Nanami’s shoulders and hugs him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, papa. I’ve got a gift for you, too-” Breaking away, Yuji’s throwing an arm out towards the room at large. “Auntie Shoko said this was how you bring Cupid! And we also tried to make those heart-shaped cupcakes you make, but it tasted like tar so…”

“That’s perfectly alright, Yuji.” He swipes at a smear of icing still on the boy’s face. “We can learn together on my next day off, right?”

“Right!” Yuji jumps in excitement. “And after your wedding today-‘

“Yuji…”

“And right on time.” Shoko’s voice permeates the room- right alongside the sharp fwip! of the window shutters closing. She turns away from the glass and pushes off from her station. “C’mon Yuji, now the plan is a-go! Go! Go!”

“Aye-aye!” With a chubby hand raised in salute—Yuji wastes no time giving his father a final hug. “Bye bye, papa.”

“Wha-” Nanami looks at the harried duo in confusion. “What are you two-”

“And don’t mess this up, Kento.” Shoko gives him a stern wave. 

Before she clasps Yuji’s hand and helps the boy match her longer stride- the two of them speed-walk in the direction of the door.

“Yeah- don’t mess this up, papa!”

“Uh, where are you taking my son?” Nanami stalks after them. Not letting the front door close behind them, he watches the two figures - bouquets and all - race down the hallway. How strange that they didn’t take the usual route - instead opting for the one that would let them leave through the back entrance. “Hello? Shoko-”

“Don’t mess this up!”

He has half the mind to chase after them - it’s not that he doesn’t trust Shoko with his son, but really, what on Earth could they be getting up to?! Especially so late past Yuji’s bedtime. At the very least, maybe he could run up to them and let Shoko know of his son’s Spiderman ritual before eating and the tendency he has to bite fingers when-

“Nanami-san?”

Your voice.

Was he dreaming?

And yet—Nanami snaps his head towards the source of the noise so fast that it almost causes whiplash. He breathes your name out in a whisper.

So this is what Shoko meant about-

“Am I hallucinating or is that Shoko-san and Yuji running down the fire escape?” You point at something beyond his line of vision, though Nanami doesn’t need to look to know that it is, in fact, Shoko and Yuji running down the fire escape.

“I think I’m hallucinating, to be quite honest.” He mutters. Because surely there was no conceivable world in which he would see you like this - standing outside his door on Valentine’s Day, looking all gorgeous as you always did - and dare to bring out the bouquet that he had bought for you. Also was that…was that a bit of make-up you’d dabbed on? More so than usual?

His eyes linger on the glitter beside your eyes.

The thought that it might’ve been because it’s today - that it might’ve been because you’d been as nervous about seeing him today as he was about seeing you - makes him jolt. He’d been smoothing his hair down the entire subway ride home thinking of you.

Thirty-something years and he’s acting like a teenager in puppy love.

Certainly no conceivable world…

And yet…he does. He reaches behind him to bring out that prideful bouquet: 520 flower-heads that blushed themselves silly over not being even half as beautiful as you.

“For you.” He croaks out. Awkwardly pushing up his glasses. 

“Oh.” Your jaw drops, and the bouquet weighs heavy in your hands. In nothing but a whisper- “It’s beautiful, Nanami-san.”

Red, red roses.

.

.

.

Nanami explained the situation before he invited you in…somewhat.

Certainly nothing about how badly he’d been teased because of this little scheme or the ah- confession of feelings. Heavens, no! Nanami himself wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d go along with their plan…

As far as you knew, Shoko and Yuji thought it’d be a funny little prank to ‘invite Cupid’ into his apartment this Valentine’s Day. Leaving the two of you alone in an apartment draped in candles and roses like the most deviant of mistresses. 

And Nanami knew you knew. You knew that Nanami knew.

The implications were there for all to see.

It was there in the way his face burned red, and Nanami couldn’t meet your eyes- “I’m aware of how it looks. And it seems that my son still holds the idea that erm…either way, ahem, I completely understand if you would much rather go home. Please do know that this will not affect your job in any way whatsoever- in fact, I will cover your fee double tonight-”

“Nanami-san.” You’d interrupted him. Cocking your head with a slight smile, “May I come in?”

From there he’d been the perfect gentleman - not that he wasn’t usually. Even in the months since you’d worked for him, you’d come to find that Nanami was the type of man that opened doors for you, that pushed your chair for you, that covered your taxi fare home, that escorted you as far as he could by foot either way.

But now…oh, right now he was putting any Prince Charming to shame.

He had his hand hoverin’ right above your waist- leading you inside to the romantic dinner table. Here, he’d pushed your chair for you—and before you could even thank him, Nanami had his hands helping you out of your coat. 

He insisted on plating for you.

You couldn’t help but gawk at the way his biceps pushed against his work button-up, flexing slightly as Nanami stood beside the table and neatly cut your bread - one he’d baked just this morning, according to him. Shoko had clearly rummaged through his kitchen well…

Conversation was somewhat breathless at first- the both of you waiting for the other to go first. The both of you anticipating every single word.

Wondering what every single word meant.

But after the first two courses - Shoko certainly hadn’t burned these - the both of you were talking freely. Moving on from the more polite topics, like your day, his day, that were really a front for something more - speaking with Nanami was always so easy, he was the best listener you’ve had in a while—to dessert: strawberry shortcake cupcakes and a confession that slips from your lips. 

“Y’know- this is the first Valentine’s Day I’m spending like this.” You giggle, wiping off the cream that sticks to your lips. Nanami watches with half-lidded eyes as you devour the delicacy he’d baked this morning.

He swirls his half-empty wine glass. Certainly not enough to get the man tipsy - Nanami was quite the heavy drinker when he wanted to be - but enough to make him ask. “Oh? Tell me more, my dear.”

The candlelight catches on the rim of his glasses, encasing his eyes in an intense glow. You think he looks even more handsome like this- “Sorry. It’s probably going to sound stupid to someone more experienced…”

“There is nothing you’d say that would be stupid.” He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose. Fingers crossing before him, he leans in. “Continue, my dear.”

“It’s just- I haven’t had many serious relationships, is what.” You admit. And he looks at you so intently- “With life and university, it’s hard to find the time—if I was looking anyways, that is.” You sputter, before he can ask anything about whether the nanny job was cutting into your time. “The selection in my department isn’t great at all.”

“So…” Nanami runs the tip of his finger ‘round that glass cup. The thin rim. The gaping mouth. “-no lil’ boyfriend, then?”

“No boyfriend.” You echo. And perhaps being drunk on the proximity is what makes you blurt out- “But if I did have one, I think I’d like someone older—”

He quirks a brow in interest, “Older?”

You nod. Crossing your arms in slight embarrassment, “Boys my age will ask you out and then go halfsies just because you don’t want to go home with them.”

“Mhmm.” Nanami’s lip curls in distaste.

“I just want someone to like me for me- y’know? Just to sit across from me like this and really talk to me for once.”

“Has no boy ever wined and dined you like this?” He asks.

“No.” You admit, somewhat sheepishly.

“Has no boy ever bought you flowers?”

“No.” You cast a look at the 520 roses - now housed in a large vase that Nanami had pulled out from one of his cabinets.

“No…” You breathe.

He inches forwards, forwards, forwards—and wipes at a remnant of sweet, sweet cream on your lips. That roughened edge of Nanami’s thumb grazes the edge of your mouth. “Has no boy ever been sweet to you like this?” He catches the look in your eyes. And his own lower. “Has no boy ever treated you like a man would, my dear?”

The older man doesn’t hesitate in reaching his thumb back up to his mouth- and lickin’ off the cream. “Has no boy ever eaten you out like this?”

“No-”

Your lips upon his are even sweeter than the cupcakes he’s baked- and he’s lavishin’ his tongue over your mouth gently. Opening you up so wide—

And even that isn’t enough.

Nanami’s thumb finds permanent purchase at the end of your chin, letting his own sinful tongue slip inside. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Almost as if he was fucking you with it-

You’re not sure how long Nanami’s kissing you like this. 

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

You’ve lost track of time- and the only thing you know is that your head feels dizzy. Your knees were growing weak in your seat. A slick line of spittle glides down the side of your mouth- and Nanami reaches a thumb up to smeeear it.

“My dear…” He murmurs, his deep baritone taking on a husky tone. Hot breath fans across your face, heating you up from the inside out.

You’re raising your face to meet his molten gaze- and it almost shocked you just how handsome Nanami Kento is. Noble features chiselled in the soft candlelight. His mouth slightly kiss-swollen. Blond hair unravelling from his usual neat style n’ cascading across his forehead. 

He reaches closer to you and siiinks his teeth into your lower lip, “Have you ever been kissed like that- here before?”

You squirm. Shaking your head-

But he tugs on your pretty maw. “Tell me in words, honey.”

Gulping as one of his rugged hands snakes down your middle. A carnal jolt echoes through your body once Nanami presses the edge of his palm between your skirt- your legs. “I…” You think of all the disappointing dates you’ve been on before, of all the disappointing hands in places almost forgettable. “Not like that, Nanami-san.”

“Now now—when we fuck, call me Kento.” He mutters, finally making his way ‘round the table. Before you know it, he’s looming over you- and two of his strong hands rest underneath your legs. “Upsy daisy.” 

He’s lifting you uuuuuup, up, up to splay out across the dinner table.

Lifting you like you weighed nothing.

Pushing aside first and foremost those plates and flowers- you’re being rolled with your back against the tabletop, and Nanami’s honed hips pinning you down. A dimly-lit halo of light behind his golden hair. He wastes no time before throwing both legs of yours on top of his shoulders- “M’gonna teach you how a real man eats pussy.”

You nod-

“First lesson. Big girls use their words.” 

And your jaw drops—

“K-Kento—”

You’re not sure whether the primal noise escapes you because of his words, his tone, or because of the utterly desperate way that Nanami Kento falls to his knees. Thud!

Loud enough that it should hurt- but you don’t think it even registers in Nanami’s frenzied brain right now. 

Not when he was pushing up that damn sinful skirt of yours- extra tight tonight. Nanami wasn’t a fool - he knew what you were doing. Not when he was starin’ deeply at your pussy, all wet through your panties and throbbing so hard he could practically see it.

Count it.

One-two-three. 

Not when he was worshipping you as close as a man possibly could—“Not quite the answer I was looking for.” Then the next thing you’re hearing is a sudden thwack! The next thing you’re feeling are the five pointed tips of Nanami’s thick fingers, smacking down on top of your pussy. “But I’ll let it slide since s’your first time being eaten out all properly, mhm?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“What was that?” Those mean fingertips of his raise again.

“Yes, Kento.” You’re hurrying to answer. And just as a little reward, Nanami smears his digits atop your swollen folds. 

“That’s more like it.” The glaze of your sweetened slick lets out the loudest squelch, and you squirm as he’s tuggin’ aside your panties with a single index. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Are you excited, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Good girl.”

Let the feast begin, he’s thinking. And Nanami Kento doesn’t wait. Nanami Kento doesn’t tease n’ toy. Nanami Kento doesn’t even swivel his fingertips around your wet hole more than a few times to check how soaked you are before he’s taking what he wants—he doesn’t have the damn time for anything else. 

He’d been starving for far too long.

And the closer n’ closer he gets to your pussy, the more his mouth waters. 

Nanami’s left drooling at the mere sight of your wet fuckin’ hole—you swear you could hear his stomach start to growl. Fuck.

He gulps.

He takes a single sniff. 

With a sudden lurch - like he couldn’t hold it back any longer - he leans up and shoves his face nose-deep between your legs.

His tongue swiping your hole, jaw hittin’ the end of your slit.

He’s curving that wet, wet muscle against your walls. Just so soft that it feels as if you’re melting around him- “Fuck.” It escapes him- harsh and cracking. A primal groan at the back of his throat - one he doesn’t seem to even realize himself. “Fuck.”

You tremble at the tone.

Because there was something dark in it. Something almost…predatory.

This was nothing like the calm, composed Nanami Kento that you were used to - absolutely nothing. This was…you didn’t even have words for it.

So fiercely needy that it shoots electricity up your spine- Nanami’s tongue was ravenous. He was holding onto both sides of your legs and- and correction…he wasn’t merely holding onto them. Nanami Kento was using all his strength to push them as faaaar apart as they would go before suffocating himself on your sopping wet cunt.

Such strong hands. Furious tongue.

No matter how much you’re bucking your hips- he just keeps fucking his muscle between your wet pussylips like the last thing on his mind was breathing. 

Swooping his head even deeper and munching for more. More. More, more, more. 

Nanami crushes his mouth against your pussylips - so deep that you start to wonder whether his oral area would start to bruise—

And it’s only because of that broken call of his name that Nanami flinches. He freezes. He puffs out a murky breath. As if only now registering where he was, what he was doing, and just what his name was at the moment-

He’s breaking free from your pussy with an echoing slurp!

“K-Kento…” You’re looking on in pure worry at the dazed man - his eyes were still glazed, and there was something almost…feral about his demeanour still. Though he seemed to be much calmer than before, “Kento, are you okay to contin-”

“I am.” His voice comes out strong. Firm. Like he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 

Nanami lets out a few stilted breaths- running a hand through his now-unruly hair. The glisten of a silver streak in it. “I am. I just…it’s been a long time…forever, actually, since I’ve tasted anything so delicious.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I hope you can forgive this old man for getting a little carried away, my dear.”

Was he really that ruined from but a single taste of your cunt?

He stares down so long and deeeep at your quivering pussy. That cute hole peeking out from your panties—“She’s just so…sweet.”

And though he was speaking to you, Nanami looks down lovingly between your legs. 

Now that he didn’t have his lips all plastered to your folds- he was rubbin’ his right thumb vertically down your slit.

Pressing down on the cute button of your clit-

“Awww did I scare you, honey? I sure hope I didn’t.” Honey, because you were just too sweet sizzlin’ on his tastebuds. Guiding one of your hands to grip his scalp, “Forgive me. When it gets like that, don’t be afraid to pull me- to use me, alright?”

“Kento, you don’t have to-”

“Consider it my second lesson.”

You squirm, “B-but don’t they say to…respect your elders, Kento?”

And you’re just too cute—he can’t help but flatten his palm down and spank your pussylips once more. It makes so many beads of slippery slick spray out from your cunt n’ glue against that chin of his. “You certainly can.” He hums, thoughtful. “But just remember- I won’t be respecting this pussy, honey.”

“I see.” You gape.

And while speaking to you - while speaking to you - Nanami lavishes out lil’ kitten licks between your folds. Lick. Lick. “I bet this pretty pussy’s never been eaten out like that before, huh?” He continues. Merely peeking up at you through blond lashes to confirm- and you can only nod—

Yet another spank sputtering down on your wet crevice.

“Words.” Nanami reminds. 

Hiccuping, “Yes, please. All those boys usually just like- graze my clit and that’s all.”

He nods. He continues, voice nothing but deep murmurs that sets your entire body aflame - and it’s as though the more syllables he’s uttering, the harder n’ harder he rubs on your clit. “Awww poor girl. I just can’t help but think of how long this pussy has been wasted on- haaah, boys who didn’t know how to handle her.”

“Too- too long.”

Lovingly—almost drunkenly, he’s pressing a direct peck against your hole. The tip of his tongue just lightly slipping out and teasing your entrance- Nanami’s free hand grips onto your thigh as if holding himself back. “Mmmm, that’s what I thought.” He murmurs. “And how long has she waited to be eaten out by a man who isn’t afraid to get a little…sloppy?” 

“Too long-”

At this, he chuckles. “And as for my last question-” Not even smooching anymore- he’s just smeeeeaering his puffy lips along your slit. More rapid. More hungry. “Actually- take this as my third lesson.”

You’re scrambling up onto your elbows. “Yes?”

“Can you settle down like a good girl?”

Whatever that means…you aren’t given the time to figure out. Because before you know it, Nanami purses his lips and plants a wad of spittle that hits your cunt with a wet splat!

Only making you even wetter for him to gape his jaw open- “Fuck.” For him to swirl his ridged tip around and around your snug entrance until it left your mind all dizzy, it makes your cunt streeeeetch incredibly once he digs the tip of his tongue inside. Thoroughly.

It’s almost as if he was splitting you apart on the thickness of his tongue. 

Expanding and contracting. Expanding and contracting. 

The stretch is so incredible that it leaves your mind searing

“Settle down. Settle doooown-” He’s humming in a low tone. Whenever Nanami feels you squirmin’ or clenching just a tad too hard, he’s making note of that particular spot and bashing it all in again. Thick muscle reaching in and out for your deepest depths until your tight hole can’t take it anymore- until you’re screaming for mercy. 

“Oh fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re arching straight off the table, the fabric clinging onto your skin briefly. Only for a few split-seconds before one of Nanami’s hands fastens onto your hips, pushing you right back down where you came from.

“What did I say?” He wasn’t even using much of his strength- you were just so easy for him to move ‘round. Especially when he has his mouth attached to you in a way that was so ravenous—

Ruined. 

“Settle. Fucking. Down, girl.” 

Pinning you to the flat surface and letting his gaped maw run wiiiiiiild. It’s making you realize that he wasn’t going feral in the beginning- he was merely holding back.

Both in strength and in pure carnal hunger.

No matter how badly you were craving to grind down restlessly on his face for hours- Nanami keeps you on a tight leash. He keeps you restrained on the table n’ getting only what’s given. Pushing down. Maneuvering his greedy mouth. No matter how much you wanted to plant your feet down and take control - Nanami Kento really does know what’s best.

“Failing the third lesson already, huh?”

Tears stream down your cheeks without you even realizing. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”

“Shhhhh shh shh. No need for an apology, honey.” He opens his swollen lips up wider n’ latches them around your clit for a few seconds. “My poor girl’s just overstimulated because she’s getting her pussy eaten out, huh? This pretty pussy’s just excited?”

“Yes-”

“That’s why your Kento’s here.” Nanami hums, his cold glasses frames hit the front of your cunt and you flinch. Making the man push them up his nosebridge with a chuckle—“And m’gonna take care of this pussy, baby.”

The way that Nanami looks dead-set into your widened peripherals as he says this makes your heart race.

Spitting a few more times down your dribbling slit. He was teeeeasing you before reaching his right hand down n’ smearing your pussylips open with two fingers- the rugged tips of his index n’ middle streeetching your damp hole apart. Just so goddamn thick. “Fourth lesson: sometimes…fingers feel even better.”

“O-ohhh—” Your voice breaks out in carnal trills. Trying to bend your spine but then holding yourself back-

He was thrashing inside a few more sloppy strokes - swiping, slurping, scrapin’ every inch of your velvety walls. Anywhere you could think of, his thickened digits were pumping in. 

At one point, he flicks his glistening tongue outside for you to take in his sheer size. “Size does matter when it comes to pleasing this needy pussy, alright? Don’t let any fuckin’ boy convince you otherwise.”

You mewl, “I-I wouldn’t need another boy if I just had you, Kento…”

And there’s something in his tone that sounds ecstatic- “Mmm, good girl.” Showing you a demonstration of his previous statement by mazin’ away straight towards your g-spot. And you could feel yourself shaking- all those times you had to worry about whether a guy could manage to make you cum?

Nanami was eatin’ you out like his one and only purpose in life was to make you cum.

“Always teasing me.” He scoffs out in a scalding breath. Raggedly running his mouth- his tongue. “Always riling me up with those pretty looks and that- damn-” Pushing and pushing onto your g-spot so hard that it makes you sob out of pleasure. “-mouth.”

Your jaw drops. “I l-love it—fuck.” 

Practically on instinct, you’re gliding a hand down your tummy- where you could feel butterflies. They only seemed to grow even harder n’ rougher with his textured tongue…“I think I can feel you right- ngh, here.”

“S’that so? You love it, huh? I can feel this pussy growin’ so wet—She’s so fucking tight, bet she’s never been fingered properly before.” As if anticipating your next moves, he’s digging his fingers deeper against your flesh. Leaving little crescent marks.

Whatever rational part of you is left begins to wonder just why he might have to pin you down even harder.

“And for my fifth lesson, honey.”

You’re waiting with baited breath as he presses a few more heated-open-mouthed kisses. Nanami’s luscious tongue reaching spots inside you that you weren’t even sure you had - ones undiscovered—

And it’s the only warning you get before the puckered, pretty flaps of his mouth opens up your pussylips. Just past where your folds were all swollen n’ tight- it was quite a squeeze even when it was just his tongue. Just his fingers.

So to have both Nanami’s fingers and his tongue inside?

It was sheer madness.

It was driving you stupid with his touch in but a single stroke- the jostling feeling of his wet muscle and his digits pressing against your walls and each other. Your walls. Each other. Your walls. Each other. Your channel was so snug that even the slightest movements made it feel as though you were bulging from the inside.

Pressing in. Fucking in.

In and in, and in—

“A real man is- haaah, always hungry.” Alternating between slipping his tastebuds into your hole, and then fishing himself back out—not to breathe. No, not even close. He was merely roverin’ his mouth over to spank down on your clit. “A real man would never get tired of his lover, my dear.”

“Kento—ngh.” You’re echoing out. 

Your moans bang against the four corners of the room and straight into his ears- the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “See how good you feel? S’only my duty to you, my dear.” 

“But Kento-”

Mouth makin’ out with your cunt as if he’d gone mad, too.

“Kento, don’t you need to breathe-”

“Fifth lesson. Who cares about breathing?”

He gasps out in interruption. Tongue swiping at a constant rhythm - it was difficult to get a single syllable out when all Nanami wanted to do was stick himself to your cunt and lick and lick and lick—

Both of you are realizing at the same time that he’d miscounted.

“For my fifth…” And he sounded maddened, too. Octaves higher. Tone breathy. There was a feral sort of hunger in his eyes that shook you to your core- “Sixth…?” As if he was just so pussydrunk that it was causing his brain to melt, acting on pure carnal instinct. “For my sixth lesson, honey. This old man’s mind is a little foggy, you see…”

You don’t get the chance to answer.

Because with that, Nanami only accelerates. First those fingertips of his were shoved all the way in and making your walls twitch with every hard prod—thud-thud-thudding way. Then he was smoochin’ over that same bruised spot with his slithering tongue, just swipin’ up where you were most sensitive. 

Before draaaaagging all the way out and about to suck on your clit. Throbbing so hard that he managed to time his lil’ bites to each pulse.

It was a dual sensation that left you driven mad. Absolutely mad.

Rubbin’ his fingers absolutely raw on those knotted bundles of nerves- 

You buck.

You get hit with a sudden spank.

“Mmmm—do you think you deserved that, my dear?” He asks. Too cute- the more he eats you out, the more he’s twitching in his pants. 

You sob, but you’re nodding. “Y-yes…”

Another spank.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Kento.”

“Good girl.” And honestly you could feeeel that sultry stretch of his grin—gently dabbing his tongue over your clit. Nanami Kento might’ve been a stern man, but he certainly wasn’t merciless. “But forget one more time and I’ll make you call me ‘sir’.”

You couldn’t deny the way that made your cunt twitch…

“Seventh and final lesson.” Nanami pronounces, his mouth slicked with so many layers of your sap that it gleamed—he wore those dangles of goopy syrup like a medallion. “When I make you cum- hah, you better reward me by cumming aaaaaall inside my mouth, honey. Or my cock.”

Your throat was utterly parched by now. And the only thing you could do was rasp out- “U-understood, Kento…”

Soon enough, he was babbling out hot breaths of something you could barely even understand- though each promise only sounded more ravenous than the last. 

Mouth glued to your cunt. Nails digging into your skin. Rougher than you ever thought was possible before, he’s sucklin’ at your clit and pounding his fingers into you so hard that it looked like nothing but a blur—

Nanami counts one, two, three rapid clenches of your pussy walls-

Before you’re throwing your head back and absolutely shattering into your high because of him.

Your toes curling. Your throat ragged raw.

His textured tastebuds are swipin’ across every bead of slick you were dripping out. Dripping. Every bead of slick. All over your puffy pussylips. All between them till he meets your hole- even all the way up your inner thighs.

He wasn’t letting a single bit go to waste.

Not even as that translucent sap dribbles down the sides of his mouth and ends up splashin’ right up to his handsome cheekbones-

The pleasure washes over you twofold - both with your orgasm and the way that Nanami was eloooongating your orgasm. Both his fingers and his mouth were working overtime to press into each peak of your high. “O-oh—” Thighs trembling on top of his shoulders- you don’t know when, but they end up locked so tight around his head. “It feels s-so good.”

Each tiny curve of his fingers made your body twitch in the aftershocks. “Extra lesson- fuck back into me.”

“Wh-what?”

It takes you a significant amount of effort to even open your eyes - let alone start to swerve your body uuup n’ down. And yet you’re doing it anyway—moaning as you ride all of Nanami’s handsome features in looooong, sloppy drags. “Fuh-fuck, like this?”

And he was just loving it.

“Mhmmm.” He gurgles out. Cracking one eye open, “Exactly. I know this is the best fuckin’ orgasm you’ve ever experienced, my dear.”

He wasn’t even being cocky - and you usually would’ve called him out on it - this was just plain true. “I-it is-”

“I know this pretty pussy wants it again, my dear.”

You can only nod.

“I know I surely want to eat her again, my dear.”

And nod and and nod as he’s fucking you through even the tiniest peaks and spasms—the surplus of bliss making your veins bubble. Burst. Bulldoze your senses as you’re practically vibrating with the sheer amount of pleasure that runs through them.

There seems to be a hazy aura covering your vision as you finally ride through your entire high.

Struggling up onto your elbows once more-

“Stay down—”

“Yes…?” Your eyes widen at Nanami’s strict order. He leaves a final slurping kiss at your clit before he stands onto his feet. Slightly swaying—

There was a glaze over his eyes. There was your slick coating all the way from his lower face, and puddling dooown to form a dark patch on his button-up. There were the short, panted breaths he was emanating - like a predator honed in on his prey - the longer he looked at you splayed out on the messy table.

Nanami Kento almost looked drunk - and not on the dinner, not even on the sparse wine. 

He was completely n’ utterly ruined on nothing other than your pussy.

He lunges towards you-

“Fuck, Kento—” You’re squealing at the rugged hands that tear through your clothes as easily as if they were butter. Shirt and bra easily landing on the carpeted floor- and your skirt was to follow before you even realized.

You’re just about to help Nanami shuffle you out of your panties - hips raising to facilitate it - before he takes another look at you. One long, hard look. And his hands leave your body as though that was enough-

He wanted your panties on.

Nothing but a sopping wet mess twisted ‘round your hips. Evidence of his depravity. 

“I want these off then.” You’re reaching up to tug on one of Nanami’s sleeves. He was still partly in his office clothes: button-up, formal pants, tie. And those sleeves of his had been pushed up to his elbows during your dinner, leaving you struggling not to gawk at the older man’s forearms. Strong. Slightly veined. Slightly tanned. 

He was just so attractive that it made you squirm. 

Nanami looks down at himself and lets out a hoarse—“Oh…right.” Like he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t even realized he was still clothed.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Those neat white buttons end up flinging to the ground- useless against his sheer desperation. Nanami wastes no time before tearing through his layers, ripping them off. Fabric pools onto the carpet below. His belt buckle clangs as it hits the ground.

Gentlemen couldn’t deny such a thing when their lover’s asking so nicely, could they? At least Nanami couldn’t-

And fuck…

Now, you always assumed that Nanami Kento was the kind of guy to be well-built. It was naturally in the way he moved, the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders.

But you’d never in your wildest dreams could have imagined that he’d be this chiselled. This toned.

You have to stop yourself from ogling him—you have to. But you can’t help it.

Not when Nanami’s body was ridged and curved in muscle- almost Herculean in nature. He had pecs that looked lush enough for you to bite - and you could already feel your mouth start to water - with a faint coating of golden and silver hair scattered across his skin. Wide shoulders. Trim waist.

His biceps flexin’ as he moves onto the buttons of his pants.

Lined through the middle with similar golden hair that drove down, down, down…

But you think your favorite part of him wasn’t the muscles or the hardness- no. Though they were certainly a nice addition, what made your pussy throb the most was just how…thick Nanami Kento was.

It was evident that Nanami was the type of person who liked hitting the gym often- but then again, it was evident that Nanami was the type of person who didn’t have the time to be hitting the gym often.

As often as he used to, at least.

And you? You were loving it.

Because all those muscles of his were naturally-formed. But with all the years of responsibilities as a father which meant his body was comforted by a layer of slight chub, big. Strong. Suddenly, you understood why ‘dad-bods’ were all the craze on social media—because you - for one - couldn’t help but linger your eyes at the sight of the softness to his shape. The slight roundness to his belly, abs barely peaking through.

“My dear…”

“Kento.”

He presses a thumb against the hemline of his trousers-

And then he’s letting you see him—all of him. 

From his V-shaped waist to his meaty thighs.

So thick. So strong.

You just wanted to be crushed between them.

And right down to the furious cock that stood upright and erect between them. Such a bulbous red tip, streaming with never-ending ribbons of pre. Such a thickened shaft that made you swallow—he had so many veins zipping down either side of him. You think he was about nine or so inches- perhaps on the lower end.

Before you’d realized it, you’d been reaching your hand between his legs- only for Nanami to stop you in your tracks.

“K-Kento…”

His thick fingers intertwine with yours and press your hand down on the tabletop. “Honey, you don’t have to reciprocate.” The older man stares deeply into your eyes- “You don’t owe me anything. I ate your pretty pussy out because I’ve been starving for her.”

“But I still want to.” You insist.

“Mmmm, how about after then?” He reaches his free hand up n’ thumbs across your bottom lip. “As much as I want to paint these beautiful lips with my cum, there’s another pair who’ve been waiting patiently for their turn…”

You shiver, “Erm- Kento, you should know that…this is my first time.”

He pauses. “Excuse me, my dear?”

“I’ve never done it before.” Looking up at him through your tear-draped lashes. “You’ll be my first.”

The thought takes a second to register in the older man’s sex-hazed mind. That animalistic part of him being overpowered by the rational.

Your first time.

Your first time.

Your first time.

He was about to take the virginity of that cute lil’ nanny he’s had his eye on for so long. “Honey, are you su-”

“Yes.”

Nanami almost moans at the sheer eagerness in your voice - your eyes were shining, and your legs locked tighter around him. “Well…” The man starts, dipping two thumbs down to your glistening pussy and spreading your folds wide open. He takes a good look at your entrance in comparison to the thickness of his cock, “Brace yourself then, my dear. S’gonna be a tight fuckin’ fit.”

In a split-second, he’s jerking his hips closer and smoochin’ your naked cunt with his cock. His rounded tip spreading your pussylips. His shaft sliding between your slit and massaging you with his veins.

Nanami was so goddamn hard that it looked painful.

And what better way to alleviate the pain than by pushing his pretty lil nanny’s legs apart and shoving his cock between them? Aching and needy for you.

Nanami was big enough to fuck you stupid with just his tip.

And he knows it, too. Having such a hard time completely fittin’ in his crowned girth, he just barely fucks the top of his shaft inside before groaning. Taking a peek at the way you were squirming below him, sobbing below him. Absolutely ruined- “Shit, honey.” Cupping his hilt with his left hand- Shit, honey, can you recite the lessons for me?”

You’re wobbling up onto your elbows, “Recite them?”

He can only nod. “Just—oh.” Cut off with the slightest sliiiiide between your sweet, swollen pussylips- he’s only managing to nudge the rounded edge of his length. “Just recite them. You have them memorized f’me like a good girl, yeah?”

“Yes-” Nodding frantically. “Yes, Kento-”

And that cute obedience of yours is enough to make him smile- tap-tap-tappin’ away the curve of his tip down there. For absolutely no other reason than wanting to. “Good.” He reels his hips back. “Then say it f’me, my dear.” And then forwards- “Say it while I fuck you.”

And the only thing you can fucking do is to babble out those words- the very same ones that’d been drilled into you. “The first lesson is that—fuck.” All the while Nanami’s probin’ tip enters your hole in a sudden thrust. “-th-that big girls use their words.”

Nanami grunts, voice shot. “Goooood good good- keep breathing now.” Hand clawing down your front—feeling for himself as he pumps inside. Tiiiight fucking fit, like he said. He almost wonders whether it would go in- “And then?”

“The second…” 

But it’s almost impossible to remember- to even think with those rapidfire haaaard hammers of his cock. 

That curved tip of his shaft kept pushing iiiin with the most lecherous squelches, drawing more n’ more sweetened slick out of you with every single thrust. That stretch was just incredible- it was making you see white. Just the first few inches of his pretty pink cock squeezing inside and pushing in and in and in—

Thwack!

Those rugged fingertips of his come spanking back down on your cunt - this time, however, they fit between your pussylips and latch onto your clit. And they stay there. He’s tuggin’ on that poor nub a few times just to bring you back to your senses- “Awww, you didn’t think you’d go unpunished for that—-did you, my dear?”

“I-I—no.” Because tears stream down your cheeks, and Nanami still isn’t letting go. He’s flopping out his tongue and lapping at that salty flavor-

“Then continue.” Humming at the taste of you. Fitting and fitting and—trying to stretch your elastic hole out to take him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt something like this. “You’re doing so good. Keep going for Kento.”

Thwack!

“Keep talking, honey.”

“Second lesson-” Unable to do anything but arch your back, you’re being met with Nanami’s soft chest. Those pecs. The thundering of his heartbeat. It’s enough to make your mouth already water—“t-to…use you.”

He leans in, “What was that, my dear? Old man, you know…”

“To use you-”

“To not be afraid to use me.” He corrects. 

And it’s the last thing you hear before both Nanami’s hands snake down to grab your ankles- restraining them. Tightening them.

He’s bending you easily in half.

Legs on top of his shoulders. Thighs against thighs.

Pushing you all the way back into a mating press.

A fucking mating press.

Of course the hot DILF that you’re nannying for puts you in a mating press. Of fucking course!

And it’s only causing you to become wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life- your head falls back against the table surface. Thud! An action that makes the older man on top of you reach behind n’ cushion the back of your scalp. “Easy there, my dear. Eeeeeasy.” His left palm lightly massages your sweaty head. 

“K-Kento-” Through your tears.

“Easy there- third lesson, remember?” 

“To s-settle down…”

“That’s my girl.” Nanami hums, head threatening to tip backwards at the sensations of your quivering cunt. It’s impossible to keep his mind when you were gushing out so much slick that it coats his shaft and leaves his ballsack all drenched.

And if he was this gone, then where did that leave you? 

Well, you were just babbling away the pretty syllables of his lessons. “The f-fourth lesson is that fingers feel better.” Hips bucking upwards. “The fifth is that real men are hungry—” Eyes scrunching with tears. That large circumference of his were pushing into tender spots n’ crevices that you didn’t even know you had - it felt as though your poor pussy was being split by him. Push after push.

After probe after probe.

Just animalistically trying to fit inside—

“The sixth- the sixth-”

“Breathe, honey.” Those smoky words of his scorch your face, as if Nanami himself was burning from the inside out. And there truly was a feverish tint to his words—to his actions, fuckin’ away sloppily between your pussylips. Slurp after slurp. “Breeeeeeathe- c’mon do it with me.” 

Conducting you through these relaxation exercises for a few strokes.

Listening to his own advice - that fourth lesson - his right hand lifts off of your thighs to roll over your throbbing clit. Just so neglected by now, it makes you see white to have him massaging that sweet spot all slow and sensual.

“The sixth lesson is…who cares about breathing?”

“Mhmmm.”

A guttural tone that sent vibrations straight from your drippin’ core and up to your brain. Only growing more muddled by the inch- “And oh! The extra.” As all good students do, you’re deciding to show a demonstration. How sinful that this sort of demonstration is you balancing your hips on the table n’ choosing to bounce right up to meet Nanami’s rutting hits. His pounces. “To- ngh, fuck back into you.”

“Oh, good girl- this old man almost forgot that one.” Sleazily, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge.

Staring at the lewd sight below of you griiiiinding your hips up into his. It was just so messy because your lips were jittery with pleasure.

His happy trail rubs carnally on top of your clit- and it sends you into a frenzy—

“F-fuck that was-”

“Shhhh shh shh, easy.”

You waddle your ankles from their perch atop his shoulders. “Yes, I know-” Hissing out—“I’m breathing, Kento. I’m listening to what you’re saying, promise…”

“Good girl. Now inhale.” Of course, you can’t help but take a looooong gasp of the heady air thick in the dining room - the candles were scented like roses. “And-”

“And…?”

And Nanami doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t bother telling you to exhale before his fat, throbbing cock is fucking every volume of air from your lungs. In this mating press, he could hit each angle even deeper than before - and that meant you’re feeling his thick circumference bruise all the way against your womb.

Your cervix.

Bottomed all the way out and Nanami was pummeling his length away as if there was even more, more, more of him left. A hint of something metallic hits his nostrils—and he can’t hold back the victorious chuckle that leaves him. He’s done it. “Continue.”

“I—what-” Struggling to catch your breath. “Oh my fucking-”

“Continue.”

“Who cares about breathing-”

A sixth lesson that he was fully demonstrating.

He really was mean.

He really was merciless.

Because he was fucking you into the dinner table like a damn animal—and the thing is Nanami wasn’t even going at a particularly fast pace in order to leave you speechless. He wasn’t merely half-thrusting away and hoping that you liked it. He wasn’t just tracin’ his cockhead down the sweet spots at the back of your pussy.

Nanami Kento was holding you down tight in his mating press. He has one hand gripping onto the back of your scalp - such a gentle gesture turned so sinful - and another crushin’ the fatness of his palm to your pussy.

Purposefully, the older man pushes the edge of his palm down on your clit. Harder. Harder. Harder.

And he was drilling into you harder by the second, too. Harder didn’t mean faster.

Just draaaagging every inch of his vein-covered shaft down your slick channel - he’s making sure that you can feel every single curve n’ ridge down his cock. He’s making sure that he massages your insides so thoroughly that it feels as though you’re being molded to his cock. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You swear you’re seeing the pearly gates spread wide open before your very eyes. “O-oh my god-” Reaching your hands up, Nanami lowers his strong body further into yours. Pushing you down against the dinner table, the pressure from all sides is too much that you have to claaaw down his perfect back. “Kento, what—fuck. I didn’t know that it could feel like this-”

And deep inside, you can feel his thickened tip flinching. Directly at your g-spot. “Mhm?”

“Yeah-” Voice shattering in your throat as his circumference swells just a few millimeters thicker inside of you. He was growing even bigger, harder, just by the sensations of your slurping cunt. “I-it just feels so good- I’ve never been fucked like this.”

“Honey…” Nanami’s mean yet pointed tone makes you stare up at him. “You’ve never been fucked before me.‘

“Oh.”

“Your virginity is mine.”

“Oh.”

Just that gone on his cock that you’d almost forgotten - even the realization itself seems to take up too much storage inside your already-muddled brain. Now filled with only the thought of him n’ his achingly hot cock—pouring out bucketloads of precum until it sloshed around inside.

Inside and inside.

Stirring ‘round and ‘round with his probin’ cockhead. He pushes deep into spots that you hadn’t even known existed, let alone could be smooched away by his pulsating shaft. He constantly whacks your g-spot until it feels numb.

Enough to render you speechless- 

“—graduated.”

And that makes your eyes blink open. “Wh-what?” 

“Oh, honey…” Nanami plants a loving peck on your lips- until that peck turns into a rugged bite. “What world are you on, hm? S’my cock that good? Awww, my poor girl—here.” Nanami’s perspired forehead sticks against yours. This time, he’s staring deeply into your eyes as he pronounces the words, “You’ve graduated.”

You cock your head in confusion, “From university?”

He chuckles, fine lines popping out from the edges of his eyes. You’re noticing that his glasses have slightly fogged up by now- “No, silly girl. From my lessons.”

“Oh…” Pouting, “But I liked your lessons, Kento.”

“Mmmm, you’ll like this one even more.” Dipping down- Nanami presses his stern lips right to the shell of your left ear. Whispering as if a secret shared by no one but the two of you in this world, “Remember how Yuji mentioned he wanted a little brother…”

A jolt goes through your body- as does the realization.

“If you’d like then-”

“Yes.” You know it might be rash. But looking at him like this - looking at Nanami Kento so deep in the pangs and plunges of his carnal pleasure - how could you deny what you want? “Yes—”

The blond man’s breaths start to grow heavier, eyes slightly widened. For the first time in the longest time, he actually looks like his usually-sensible self. Those molten eyes of his search yours for an answer- “Honey, really think this throu-”

“I did.” You’re insisting. And if that wasn’t enough, he could feel your wobbly ankles surge with the strength to lock ‘round his neck. “Inside, Kento.”

Nanami’s mouth moves noiselessly with an answer, but his cock does all the swelling. So painfully hard that you were sure it was tougher than rocks-

And there’s only one thing left for you to do. “Inside…sir.”

If he was any less of a gentleman - of a man, really - then Nanami would’ve cum inside you then and there. At least in his mind—which was focused solely on digging his heels into the carpet, solely on gritting his teeth and holding his damn cock back from pouring out those wads of cum like he knew he wanted to.

Was on the verge of doing.

He was instead collapsing the entirety of his weight upon your body- feeling your limbs strain, hearing your joints pop. But not even that noise crackling in his eardrums is enough to get the man to slow down.

Now he was just fucking you sloppy—grunts filtering between his grit canines by the minute. By the thrust. “The first to fuck you.” And what a rare occasion: to hear the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento stutter. “I’ll be the first to breed you too, my dear.”

“Oh—fuck, yes.” Your entire body shivers in excitement. You could feel the pit of pleasure starting to grow in your stomach. 

“I’ll be the first to give this pretty cunt a taste of cum.” And you could hardly believe that such a sinful sentence was leaving the confines of his mouth—“She’s probably so thirsty by now, no? I’ll be the first to quench that thirst, my dear, just you wait-” Pinching your clit between the fingers on his right hand once more. “-mama.”

Really, if you were calling him ‘sir’ then it was only fair for him to call you by that pretty nickname. Something primal awakens inside of you-

“I’ll be the first one to stuff this pretty pussy-” Nanami gurgles out, eyes locking in on your stomach. That was where his rounded tip occasionally made an appearance by bulging through your flesh n’ skin as he fucked inside you. “-with so much of my cum that you’ll be bloated.”

You gasp hysterically, “Yes-” So turned on that it almost hurt - you wanted him. Now. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“I’ll be the first to make you feel me in here- for weeks. Months.” Thrust after thrust. Pinch after pinch. It was incredible how much he was stimulating you to tears- “I’ll be the first where—when you walk down the street, everyone will know that I fucked you. Everyone will know that- that this pretty pussy is mine, that I’m the one fuckin’ her and stuffing her and—and giving her my cum every night.”

Rolling a sweet, sweet heart on top of your clit.

“They’ll know that I’m the one fuckin’ the cute, sweet lil’ nanny—all of them. The professors. Those parents at pick-up. Your friends. My friends.” He chuckles darkly. And he doesn’t care who’d be scandalized. “Wanna know why, my honey?”

“Wh-why—” You sob out.

And he leans in to whisper in your ear- “Because I’ll be the one making you a momma.”

Until you’re all round and glowing with his seed.

Until you’re so full of him that you can’t take anymore.

Until you’re so stuffed that you wouldn’t be able to hide it- he hopes you’re walking ‘round with his cum between your legs for weeks.

It’s taking only that and a single puuuush against your g-spot for you to topple off the edge of your high. Bliss pumping through your veins in waves, you couldn’t escape from the constant throb and ebb of it. Dimming the edges of your vision. Making the lights seem brighter.

Again and again and again—

He’s probin’ inside that swollen cockhead to push you through the bouts of your pleasure. In the time he’s had you like this, Nanami’s already mapped out where every single one of your sweetest spots where- and first he’ll thwack! his hand upon your clit. Then he’ll move onto your tender bruised spots at the rim, then his cock delves deeper until he’s hitting your g-spot—then again and again he’s knockin’ on your womb.

Filling it with so much of his cum.

“Breathe.” Your orgasm hits you so hard that you have to manually control your breathing- and Nanami’s right beside you. Walking you through every step, every exhale and inhale. “Breathe iiiiiin.”

You’re sucking in a breath. “Fuck-”

And it’s just then that he’s emptying out a particularly powerful wave of his own euphoria. Balls clenching as his ribbony white cum leaks near your cervix- with your breath sucked in, you’re only feeling the sensations even stronger. “And out.”

Panting out with a whine. “Fuuuuck- f-feels so good.”

Too good, almost.

You never knew it could feel like this to have someone pourin’ out all their lecherous sap inside of you- the thick layers clinging onto either side of your walls. There’s so much of it - so much volume that you wondered just how he managed to keep it all stuffed inside - frothing out and forming a circle of white ‘round Nanami’s hilt. Gleaming with every thrust. Puddling out and sticking your thighs together— 

Head throwing slightly back, though still peeking at you through his lashes. “Honey…”

Nanami’s gruff tone makes you jump. “Yes?” Still slightly twitching from the aftershocks of your incredible high.

He stares into your eyes with a slight smile. Something unreadable. “You forgot the seventh lesson earlier.”

The seventh…?

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

It’s with a sudden cold thrill that you’re registering what he said- and remembering the mistake you’d made during your recitations earlier. “I-it was to cum all over-”

“That’s quite alright, my dear. No need to tell me now.” Nanami smiles the sweetest smile that makes your cunt start to throb - his eyes shuttered closed, his lips pecking yours. His cock shovels a long, hard thrust inside you—“But I will have to rescind your graduation.”

You gape, “What, why-”

“Until you’re completely and fully stuffed by me.” He grumbles out the rest of his statement. His condition. 

Hands rovering all over your body, Nanami makes sure that every slight tingle of your high has passed before he’s pulling out of you with a loud sluuuuurp! Immediately scooping you up into a princess carry n’ walking in the direction of his bedroom.

It isn’t long before you find yourself draped over Nanami Kento’s large mattress - on all fours so that he can slip inside you with ease. Pumping away immediately- “Until you’re fuckin’ pregnant, consider that you’re still taking lessons.”

You’re sobbing into your newly-caught pillow. “Oh—oh fuck.”

To which Nanami leans over and snatches your neck into a fucking headlock- his strong biceps pushing against the sides of your throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear. When this is all done- fuck, m’gonna show you how much I love you.”

“I l-love you—” Feeling his rounded tip immediately pierce across your g-spot and towards your womb. Full. “-too.”

“Mmm, I love you more.” Watching as you shake and quiver. “We’ll get you something sweet after this, honey, don’t you worry.” He hums- before sneaking a look at the both of you through the mirror in his bedroom and chuckling. 

Ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.

“If we make it out of Valentine’s Day alive, that is.” 

Maybe Shoko could babysit Yuji a little longer?

“Papa’s gonna do his best to try for a second child, alright?”

.

.

.

Morning shed its sunlight like the clothes upon Nanami’s apartment floor.

A stream of white-gold Sun, the richness of the day, enters through his windows and splays out perfectly on the bed. It dapples light across his naked chest and leaves him stirring—

Valentine’s Day.

The dinner.

The table.

You. Being taken on the table.

Afterwards on this very bed, afterwards on the damn bedroom floor after he heard a snap coming from somewhere on the bed frame. He’d shovelled himself n’ his gooey white sap inside you until the Sun had risen—

And it’s enough to make him jerk upright in his bed.

Blankets falling around his waist, sleepy eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

From here, he couldn’t see what’d been made of your clothes in the dining room- or your panties in his bedroom. But it was obvious that you weren’t here. If from your physical presence, then from the warmth you brought into his drafty Tokyo home.

Just to make sure, he casts several wide-eyed looks around the room - breath-still in case there was a single noise from the kitchen - and still…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to make sense of.

Of course, what was he thinking? He’d said…those words to you last night- but just because you’d said them back didn’t mean it was real. It was probably in the heat of the moment, you’d probably snuck out before dawn broke so you didn’t have to face him. You’d probably woken up disgusted.

He didn’t blame you - there were no promises between the two of you. And even if there had been, he knows he can’t find it in himself to get angry at you.

If anything - if you chose to quit after this - he supposes he’ll have to start looking for a nanny again. Something in Nanami’s chest twists, and he reaches up to rub the spot where his heart was.

He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it still led him back to you. He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it meant you were there with him - not as a nanny, just yourself being you.

It was a cold morning.

And Nanami Kento was clenching his sheets, just about to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get out—he needed to put away his clothes anyways before Shoko came with Yuji. What was the time anyway? It was his off-day today, and maybe he could take Yuji out to the park to take his mind off of-

And it’s then that several things happen at once.

Nanami’s eyes catch the face of the clock on his bedside cabinet: 12:48PM.

Nanami’s jaw drops at just how late it is.

Nanami snatches his phone off of the cabinet and makes to race outside while calling Shoko-

And he makes it about two frantic steps, too, before getting stopped by a sudden squeal of laughter. Loud and bubbling. Euphoric.

Of course, it was none other than his son. 

Echoing a short burst of laughter throughout the apartment- before abruptly cutting himself off with a pronounced ‘shhhhhh!’ It rings even louder than his laugh, and reaches Nanami’s ears alongside some words. “Sowwy! Yuji promises not to wake papa!”

And Nanami’s brows furrow, wondering whether Shoko had somehow managed to forge a key to his apartment and get in. Before out of nowhere—your voice is the one that answers him.

“S’alright, sunshine.” You’re using that nickname he always did. Sleepiness was still laced into your tone, and he could tell it hadn’t been long since you must’ve waddled away. 

Since you must’ve put away the clothes in the dining room, since you must’ve opened the door for Yuji - Nanami would hate to imagine the smug look on Shoko’s face then, but the surplus of texts from her were already doing the job. “Papa needs to be awake for breakfast-in-bed, doesn’t he?”

The smell of pancakes drifts through the bedroom door - along with Yuji’s answering call. “True…but what if papa won’t wake up?”

“Then we eat the pancakes.”

“Yes—” Yuji echoes, “Thank you, Cupid.”

“Hm?”

“Because Cupid made you n’ papa married, right?” But of course. It leaves you stunned for a few seconds, and Yuji obliviously chattering. “I’ve always wanted to keep you- papa, too. Even though I know he won’t say—can we keep you now, Ms. Nanny?”

Your voice sounds slightly thicker than before. “You can keep me as long as you want, Yuji.”

“Thank you, Cupid!”

Two evil cackles, and the sound of footsteps.

You’re opening the door with a flood of sunlight and a tray of pancakes in your hand. Yuji rushes in after you with a call of ‘good morning’ - and by the smile on your face…yeah.

Yeah, it really is a good morning.

He still doesn’t know how to explain to Yuji that the two of you aren’t married yet, however.

It’s in an hour that you finally break the news- but rush to assure the little boy before he bursts into tears, that he could ‘keep you’ as long as he wanted. And that the two of you were together—yes, together together. Nanami puts off answering Shoko (she ambushes him for gossip the very next day). 

It’s in a month that you start officially calling yourselves lovers - boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever it is. It seems like so much more than that, however. And so Nanami just settles for introducing you as his partner at those tedious work dinners.

It’s in a few more months that those work dinners become the last he’s attending. Because Nanami Kento quits that damn job, using everything he’s saved up to buy a little bakery and a house just a small ways off from the heart of the city - not quite the countryside as he once imagined, but this was good, too. It was still a manageable distance from your university and Yuji’s school, and yet so much bigger than the apartment.

It’s in a year that Nanami’s bakery is at the height of business - a figure that will only keep growing as the years pass by. Word spreads far and wide about those treats- and soon enough, he’s forced to fire extra hands and more part-timers than he ever thought would be needed. The little bakery grows into a big bakery, with time.

You couldn’t have been more happy to see those dark circles underneath his eyes cease for once, to see him pursue his dreams. Yuji couldn’t have been more happy to get all the sweet treats he could’ve ever wished for.

And now, Nanami could buy him all the car beds he could’ve ever wished for.

He also starts looking into wedding rings.

He still isn’t sure about a Spiderman-themed wedding, but he knows he’ll be baking the cake.

A/N. Hehehe that Nanami and the flowers scene was inspired by my father having a tradition to always buy me a bouquet as well today.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[oldestfear]

I THINK ABOUT YOU (DON'T LET GO) ★ VARKA

#ode's-overture |☆| varka x fatui! reader "they say that a man who yearns is a man who earns, and varka is more than ready to cash it out. aka: a persistent push and pull between two foolish ex-lovers becomes mondstadt's most entertaining gossip to date!"

#tags-and-cw |☆| hurt/comfort, yearning, close friends to lovers to exes, miscommunications, varka is emotionally intelligent and mature, reader is an avoidant bum, black cat x golden retriever trope, MUTUAL yearning, reader is a fake idgafer, varka genuinely losing his mind, FRUSTRATING AS HELL, he wants that cookie so bad it hurts, implied suicide attempt (by reader)

the tsaritsa must've lost her damn mind.

...or lost it even further, if that was possible.

to think she'd personally assign you to mondstadt of all places – she knows damn well what went down a couple years ago with dottore. yet here she is, sending you to an early grave.

maybe the blizzard finally made its way to her head than just her cold, cold heart.

mondstadt itself wasn't the problem. it's a lovely place, filled with good alcohol and even better people.

it would've been a peaceful vacation if not for the fact that those same people absolutely hate your guts and everything the fatui stood for.

they'd burn you at the stake if they could.

being a high-ranking cog in the fatui's machine had its pros and cons. the pros being that you get a lot of money and authority; the con was that, once in a while, you get bullshit missions like this.

seriously, who thought it was a good idea to send a fatui captain to mondstadt where she personally helped il dottore of the harbingers conduct his experiments on the townspeople, resulting in casualties, and became the target of ire from the whole nation?

the tsaritsa, apparently.

it's even worse now that mondstadt's grandmaster is back and still kicking.

you honestly never thought you'd see the man again after parting ways all those years ago.

you had prayed to every deity there is that you'd be out of here by the time he came back, but it seems the gods hated you enough to decide that – yes, let's bring back your ex-lover who you were madly in love with but ran away from because of persistent guilt and insecurity. great.

you had genuinely considered leaving mondstadt.

like reaaally thought about it the moment you heard the news.

but that would just put a target on your back, and given that you had three months left before the mission finished and you'd be transferred back to snezhnaya, you didn't think it was worth the hassle.

so you decided to swallow your worries and do your best to fake a facade of nonchalance.

and hell, you were doing a pretty amazing job.

until varka himself walked up to you, with a lopsided grin and your favorite beverage in hand. your gut was telling you to run and hole yourself up in your office at that moment.

"hey! lookin' gorgeous as ever,"

the grandmaster of mondstadt, being buddy-buddy with a high-ranking fatui executive?

preposterous.

but at the same time. . . not really. some already knew of your history with him. they were there when you two laughed with your arms linked together, strolling through the streets with obvious hearts in both of your eyes.

luckily, most have already forgotten about you.

you shiver just remembering those old memories of your shameful youth.

"how've you been?"

he acts as if everything is perfectly normal, as though your parting words hadn’t broken something in him when you walked away.

varka doesn't even glance at the drink he places in front of you, behaving as if this is just another ordinary day from back when you were together – when he'd buy you a drink after knightly duties and ramble on about his day while the two of you shared a warm meal.

you look at the drink in front of you, "fine. mostly."

'he remembered, of course he would.'

you ignore the heat creeping up your chest.

varka lingers beside you, smile twitching, like he wants to say something else, but he decides against it and sits across from you instead.

the wood creaks when he plops down, adjusting himself until he finds some semblance of comfort. varka has always been too big for things; too broad, too tall, limbs hanging awkwardly past the edges like the chair was never meant to hold someone like him.

no matter how uncomfortable, he doesn't give it much thought. varka lifts his mug to his lips, taking a few small gulps, clearly trying to savor his time with you.

usually, he'd just guzzle it down in one go.

you stare at the people and stalls beside you, trying your best not to look at him. initiating eye-contact with him would mean an automatic loss, you knew this from experience.

"not gonna drink?" varka asks, taking another long sip of his own beverage. likely beer or dandelion wine again.

you hum, not even bothering to look at him properly when you answer.

"no, i'm alright."

he laughs, though it comes out stiff and forced. it doesn’t sound like him, and that bothers you more than you’d admit.

is he forcing himself to talk to you out of politeness? maybe. he’s always been that sort of man — the kind who can’t just walk away from people. that’s how rosaria ended up in his orbit. it’s how you did too, whether you wanted to or not.

"you sure? it's your favorite. you really gonna waste a good drink on a nice evening like this?

your reply is icier than dragonspine's mountain peak, "my tastes have changed over the years. it's not something i'd enjoy drinking now."

it's a jab at him. an obvious 'go away, you don't know me anymore. we aren't close like that'— just said in a more roundabout way.

varka is a gentleman, a knight through and through. he wouldn't bother a lady who clearly doesn't want his company.

but this isn't just any lady.

it's his lady.

— or at least, you used to be.

he knows you better than the back of his hand. knows that if he leaves just like that then it's truly over. you'd find some way to leave mondstadt as soon as possible, throw yourself into danger outside the city gates just to never look at his face again.

for as long as he'd known you, you've always had this bad habit of running away from problems. deep emotions never came easy to you, so you never knew how to handle it like how people nornally do.

varka would be a fool to not notice. and, really, he'd always been a fool for you, willing to stay ignorant so long as you'd be there to wrap him around your finger.

but you left him in that cold winter all alone without a jacket, didn't even bother to look back while you continued with live your life.

as if varka was nothing but a passing memory in your life, something you can easily walk away from.

his unfair, traitorous, and peppery beloved.

there he was in nod-krai, tracing your eyes among the stars, sighing like a mournful widow while he downed another cheap imitation of his homeland's liquor — and you never even bothered to write back.

he'd send you letters, anytime he could, talking about the mundane and not-so-mundane. there was probably a few very private information in there that he shouldn't have told to a fatui, lucky (or unlucky) for him, you didn't read any of them.

three long years.

not a single letter back.

three long years, of letters consistently sent to your home address in mondstadt.

three long years, where he hasn't seen or even heard from you.

three long years, without closure or explanation as to why you abruptly ended the relationship.

now that he can finally see you in the flesh, he feels relieved, it's as if the crushing weight on his shoulders had finally dissipated.

you're alive. safe and sound.

he was so worried back then, thinking you got yourself into trouble because you wouldn't write back. logically, he should have known you wouldn't answer because of, well, the break-up but those sort of things were irrelevant.

you two were close friends after all, even before the romance and late-night escapades. if you found him bothersome, you would have sent even a small piece of paper saying: "fuck off, varka." because you have done that before, and he kept that note on him ever since.

through the lonely hours of his expedition, he’d find himself staring at that scrap of paper again and again. it told him to fuck off. nothing more. nothing kinder. but it was written in your hand and somehow, that was enough for him to keep it.

maybe varka really did have a few loose screws. or maybe it's just when you're involved.

rather than write reports about the expedition, varka found himself asking jean if she'd seen you recently, asking how you were doing, and if you said anything about him. he found out late that you've completely left mondstadt, sold your old home, and went somewhere without anyone knowing.

typical you, running away again.

he can tell from the way your lips purse a bit before you smooth out your expression, the way you fake indifference by biting on the inside of your cheek. and he sees how your fingers twitch whenever he even slightly moves in his seat.

you're alert. very alert, and very much ready to run.

varka can't have that, not after so long. you'd dumped him right before his expedition, made him nearly lose his mind right after.

but for the sake of his people, he steeled his resolve and pushed through the heartbreak. he threw himself into the battlefield with a heavy heart and crawled out with it.

under the moonlight, varka dreamed of many things:

his home,

his family,

his fallen comrades,

and most of all – you.

he's dreamed of you so many times that varka never forgot how you looked despite the years. he calls it photographic memory, but it's really just delusions and grief.

coming home to mondstadt felt like a dream back then too. he'd spent hours mulling over his life and decisions, staring at the campfire with a look of melancholy which he'd promptly replace with a carefree grin once his soldiers came to check up on him.

but he'd done it. he came back safely, into the arms of his family and his people.

when he first spotted you in the crowd — that same eternal frown carved into your face, that same couldn’t-care-less attitude wrapped around you like armor — his body started moving before he even realized it.

like something inside him had already decided where he belonged.

he wanted to reach for you. to run his fingers through your hair, to pull you close and kiss you until you were breathless and angry and real again.

his chest had ached sharply, ribs pressing tight around a heart that suddenly beat too fast, too hard.

but you weren’t looking at him.

you were busy talking to someone else, scowling like everyone had personally offended you.

he could already imagine the sound of your voice — sharp, impatient — and the quiet click of your tongue that always followed.

you were just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

time seemed to treat you better than him. in fact, he'd say you aged finer than the best dandelion wine dawn winery could ever produce.

which, coming from him, was a big compliment.

suddenly varka felt a little insecure about his growing stubble and unkempt hair. he'd turned around to hide his face, a little shameful of his rugged appearance but kept his posture straight for the others who surrounded him, congratulating his return.

back then, you used to take care of that for him. tidying him up before he went to work. your gentle hands would brush against his cheek while you carefully slid the razor downward.

swipe.

and the stubble would come off, leaving a foamy residue on the razor.

you'd wipe the foam off his face with a softness reserved for him only, fingers lingering for a few more seconds necessary.

it had become his favorite time of the month – whenever you decided his beard had become too much of an obstacle to your kisses and promptly respond in kind with a pout and a threat to shave it off by noon.

but his veins turned ice-cold when he saw you in that uniform, the familiar fatui symbol on your jacket and the other fatui soldiers beside you.

varka thought you'd left it for good. you promised him that, for as long as you loved him, you'd never go back to the fatui. dottore had taken so much from mondstadt that it made you feel disgusted whenever you talked about your old occupation.

he had to confirm it for himself – that you didn't love him anymore, that what you two had was truly gone forever. maybe then he'd sleep a little easier instead of tossing and turning, thinking about what he did wrong and the things he could've done to salvage it.

"never thought you'd go back to your old job though. kinda weird seein' you in that coat after so long,"

he chuckles, gaze scanning you from head to toe.

"'doesn't suit someone as sweet as you."

your head automatically translates his words: so is it really over? no take backs?

it goes without saying that varka missed you —dearly, if he may add. if you didn't seem so annoyed, he would've already jumped across the table to embrace you in his arms.

"it's. . . " you trail off, unsure of how to answer. you wanted to say 'yeah, so what', but the words died in your throat once you finally took a proper look at the man in front of you.

since when had varka looked so. . . worn down?

it's pretty obvious he tried to clean himself up to the best of his abilities. he's (kind of) cleanly shaven, and his hair no longer resembled the bird's nest it did during his arrival. his coat is freshly cleaned too, leather polished to perfection, and the wolf fur sewn into it was brushed and unmatted.

the icy blue irises that resembled snezhnaya's famed ice lakes — an enchanting gradient that darkened whenever he's focused.

now they've turned into a dull and murky ocean; you could hardly see his pupils.

varka looked as handsome as ever, even when consumed by exhaustion. muscles more toned, new scars lining up beside old ones, wrinkles now a tad more noticeable than all those years ago.

this is why you didn't want to look at him.

you're already losing, feeling your resolve crumble to pieces. although you managed to salvage your expression, it felt like your heart was going to leap from your chest.

you decided that staying was too dangerous.

"sorry, i have to go." you stand up abruptly, almost tipping your chair over in the process.

varka panics, fumbling towards you, he manages to catch your hands by lunging on top of the table like an idiot, "stop running, please."

you flinch at his accusation, "i'm not, i simply have work to do. something a slacker like you would never understand."

varka chuckles, but the way his grip tightens says a lot, "i know, i know. . . 'm sorry for being allergic to paperwork,"

he finally stands properly, dusting his front while still holding onto your wrist, "but jean's given me a week or two to 'acclimate' back into mondstadt. so how 'bout we make use of it to finally have an actual conversation?"

varka knows if you wanted to rip his hand off yours, you definitely could. and he'd let you, of course, he'll try again tomorrow if that's what it takes.

but you dont. you stand rooted on the spot, glancing at varka with a look of shame. people are starting to stare, wondering what's going on with their troublesome grandmaster again but quickly avert their eyes when they realize the scary fatui captain was also there.

"varka, i. . ." your head lowers in embarassment, face burning hot.

the knight of boreas, patient as ever, leans closer while he waits for you to continue. he wants to personally hear it, every small whisper you could muster.

he doesn't need apologies, varka knows he's not entitled to such things. he can already feel himself bristle at the mention of 'varka' on your lips, missing the way you'd call out his name.

"can we do this another time?"

it shatters whatever expectation he had a few seconds ago.

varka sighs, low and trembling. his shoulders sag a little when he lets go.

for a moment you think that’s it.

that he'll step aside like the gentleman he is and let you disappear into the crowd like you always do. he knows how much you hate conforntations, he practically had to wrangle every small 'i love you's' from you back then, and he'd done them easily.

you’re already halfway turned when he speaks again.

"another time," he repeats slowly.

you pause.

". . . yeah."

he scratches the back of his neck, eyes drifting somewhere over your shoulder like he's carefully choosing his words – a rare thing for him to do.

"alright, yeah, got it. . ."

that simple agreement makes your stomach twist.

varka has never been the type to push you into corners. even back then, when you two fought, he would give you space to breathe. space to think. space to come back on your own terms.

because for him, loving things means setting them free. truly a man of his home, to bring mondstadt's teachings even in his love life.

you hated him for it sometimes.

because it meant he trusted you to return and this time. . . you weren't sure you would.

"i'll wait," he says, lightly as if it might harm you if he spoke even an octave higher.

your brow furrows. "for what?"

he flashes you a grin that feels far too familiar, warm and radiant as the morning sun.

"for that 'another time.'"

you stare at him, incredulous. the audacity of this man never fails to leave you shocked, no matter how many times you've seen it for yourself.

". . . are you serious?"

"totally serious, swore it on barbatos just now," he admits easily.

a small gust of wind passes the two of you, as if the wind itself was answering to his oath. it carries along the smell of wine, pastry, and home – mondstadt, whether you liked it or not, has always been home.

varka had been here, in this windy city, after all.

the smile softens, turning into something more intimate, "i'm always willing to wait for you, i think you know that already."

of course he is.

varka has always been annoyingly patient when it comes to you.

you click your tongue and pull your hand away fully, forcing a disgusted expression on your face, hoping it would hurt him enough to back off.

"well, don't wait too long. you might die of old age, grandmaster."

"worth the risk." he laughs, the sound rumbling from his chest and echoing into yours. it makes your stomach twist, heart aching from nostalgia.

you shoot him a glare before turning away again, this time actually leaving.

you don't look back, you didn't have to.

you can feel his eyes on your back the entire way down the street.

the rumors start the same day.

mondstadt is terrible at keeping quiet about anything, especially when it involves their beloved grandmaster.

you've known these people for years, back when you were still naively in-love and looked at the world through rose-tinted glasses. you made an effort before; you wanted to be more sociable like varka but people found it obvious how much you hated being bothered. so in the end, you gave up.

they say you two were an opposites attract sort of couple, and you had to agree. many told you it felt like an overexcited large dog was walking with a stoic black cat whenever the two of you strolled the streets together.

on your way to the market, you notice the stares first, then the whispers.

a pair of knights stop talking when you walk past, trying to sneakily glance at you.

one of the merchants near the plaza practically leans over his stall trying to listen whenever you pass by.

by the third day, someone had finally gained the audacity to ask you directly.

"so is it true?"

you pause mid-step, slowly turning towards a brown-haired bard leaning against the fountain. he had a face that screamed troublesome and nosy, lips that curled like it's ready to spread the next big scandal at some tavern.

a typical gossipmonger.

". . . what is?"

the bard grins even wider.

"that the grandmaster's been sniffin' around you again."

your eye twitches, "he's not a dog."

"debatable," the bard shrugs.

with the way varka acts, it definitely is.

you consider stabbing him, instead you settle for a deadpan stare, "mind your business, can't you see i'm a fatui diplomat?"

"hey, i'm just curious!" he raises his hands defensively. "whole city's talking about it."

of course they are.

mondstadt thrives on gossip like plants thrive on sunlight. also the people here genuinely have nothing better to do.

unlike in liyue where they talk about market values and recent price changes first before gossip or sumerians who'd rather debate and discuss academic papers – mondstadt had been too quiet and peaceful.

which means, even something as trivial like the grandmaster of mondstadt chasing after someone is suddenly important news.

"people say you broke his heart," the bard continues, strumming his lyre.

you freeze, lips twitching down to an even deeper frown. great, your day was ruined by some nobody and now you've become the talk of town.

". . . people assume a lot of things."

"yeah," he hums thoughtfully.

"but they also say the poor grandmaster's been lookin' like a kicked puppy every time you walk away."

you scoff and turn on your heel, "then he should stop following me."

the bard laughs behind you, lazily waving at you.

"oh, he definitely won't."

unfortunately, the bard is was correct. maybe he was also secretly prophet of some sort.

as expected, varka does not stop.

he doesn't corner you again, he doesn't grab your arm, nor does he demand answers. instead, he simply. . . appears.

sometimes he's leaning against a wall when you're fresh out of a meeting, that same scowl prominent on your face.

sometimes he's chatting with the tavern owner when you step inside, and he'd immediately brighten the moment he sees you.

once you nearly ran straight into him outside the city gates and he just blinks down at you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

just like everyone else in mondstadt, of course he'd have nothing better to do too. what were you expecting? for him to leave you alone? yeah right.

it's wishful thinking at best.

people here would latch onto anything interesting, trying to alleviate the boredom of the nation's quiet evenings.

and mondstadt had always been a city that thrives on three things: wind, wine, and gossip.

lately, however, the wine industry has been facing stiff competition.

because nothing – absolutely nothing – has been more entertaining than watching their beloved grandmaster try to court this terrifying fatui captain who was clearly ready to punch him in the face.

the rumors had started small as they always do, from the quiet corners of mondstadt's walls where knights had nothing better to do but talk.

and talk they did.

someone from the tavern swears they saw varka buying two drinks at the bar.

which would be normal, no one would be surprised by his large appetite when it came to alcohol. he is considered mondstadt's biggest alcoholic, next to a certain green bard.

except he doesn't usually sit across from a fatui captain who looks like she'd rather jump off stormterror's lair than share a table with him.

the bartender watches the whole thing unfold, completely absorbed to the point he forgot he had customers he should be serving.

varka's smiling.

you looking like you’re planning his funeral.

he leans over to charles and whispers, "five thousand mora says they used to date."

charles snorts.

"five thousand says they're still dating."

by the next day, the story has evolved.

a fruit vendor insists she saw the grandmaster chase you halfway across the plaza after you tried to leave, it made for quite a dramatic scene. straight out of fontaine's famous plays.

a knight swears varka vaulted over a merchant stall to catch up. he was laughing during it too, all while you tried to stop him from becoming the knight's embarassment.

"that man is pushing forty and still jumping over tables for romance," someone more sensible comments with a shake of their head.

"how inspiring."

"you mean concerning?"

inside the tavern, the knights are very invested. it is their grandmaster after all, why wouldn't they be a little nosy about it? in fact, it was the only thing they've been chatting about as of lately.

a small crowd has gathered around one of the tables.

rosaria sits nearby, pretending not to listen while absolutely listening. she remembers you well, and reckons that others might soon.

jean pinches the bridge of her nose, already looking more exhausted than usual. although she never planned on going out, diluc and the others had insisted.

meanwhile kaeya looks like he's having the time of his life.

"i'm telling you," one knight says, slamming his mug down, "the grandmaster is down catastrophic."

"define catastrophic." one asks, clearly drunk off their knockers.

the man gulps down his ale before sporting a serious expression, "he smiled at her while she insulted him."

another knight gasps, eyes blown wide.

"not the smile."

"the soft one."

"oh my barbatos. . ."

someone whistles.

kaeya leans back in his chair, nursing a cup of wine in his hands, "ah, young love."

jean looks baffled. "they're both over thirty."

"exactly, vice-grandmaster."

it gets worse when people realize something else.

the fatui captain?

she's the same woman who used to walk around mondstadt with varka years ago. back when he was still a young hot-headed knight who chased after battle and glory.

arms linked like you two would never part ways, laughing as if there's no tomorrow, the one who suddenly disappeared without a word.

suddenly, the entire city remembers.

"wait."

a florist nearly drops her bouquet.

"they're exes?!"

instantaneously, scenes of varka's annoying giggling everytime you two were together, and the way you'd smile shyly whenever he kissed you on the cheek or held you close by the waist had all came back in the citizen's memories.

now the gossip becomes unstoppable.

people began to quietly placing bets: how long until they reconcile?

three days.

a week.

someone claims they'll be married by windblume.

someone else says the fatui captain will stab him first.

mondstadt had become a mess, watching over the developing romance with a hawk's eye. some even tried to secretly help by mentioning your location to varka every now and then.

meanwhile, you are completely unaware of this massive development in mondstadt's social network.

your soldiers are too scared to say anything to you in fear of your anger and other people sure as hell won't say it to your face.

rosaria, on the other hand, finds the whole thing too interesting so she keeps quiet about it too, even if you two talk regularly.

so you've been completely left in the dark.

mostly because you're too busy trying to avoid the giant knight who keeps appearing everywhere.

the market.

the plaza.

the tavern, all of them.

once even outside your lodging.

completely coincidental, or so he says.

"'didn't think i'd find you here," varka says cheerfully when you walk out the door and nearly run into him.

you stare at him, "are you stalking me."

"nope."

he gestures vaguely, "i live here."

you narrow your eyes, ". . . this is the fatui's personal lodging."

"yeah well,"

he shrugs, grinning, "i got lost on the way."

'you have lived in mondstadt all your life, you got to be kidding me.' is what you shout in your head, but all that comes out of your mouth is: "oh, okay."

and unfortunately, everyone sees this interaction.

everyone.

a group of merchants nearby lean toward each other immediately, while the knights snicker in amusement.

"that's them."

"oh archons. . .

"look at how awkward they are."

none of these bother varka. if anything, he fuels their gossips with stories of his own. nothing too personal, just short anecdotes of his time with you.

like that time you two fought a dozen ruin guards together,

or that one evening where he caught you asleep on the couch with razor safely tucked in your arms,

ah, there was also a time when you would take rosaria out for shopping, spending his mora like it's dirt.

he's written so many letters about it, reminiscing the past like the lovesick fool that he is.

you hate to admit but you've always kept those pesky things – varka's letters, that is. though you never had the heart to open a single one.

it's mainly due cowardice.

on nights where you felt especially vulnerable, you'd take one out just to feel it on your palm, like it could solve all your problems. like it could alleviate your guilt. like it could bring crepus back.

you hated yourself ever since that incident with il dottore.

guilt had eaten you from inside out, turned you into someone unrecognizable. you avoided diluc religiously during your time in mondstadt, slipping away whenever he saw you. if you didn't, you might’ve just broken down in front of him.

kaeya was much harder to avoid, the cavalry captain was practically everywhere. so you just ignored him everytime he tried talking to you, or answered with quipped sentences.

indirectly, you contributed to crepus' death. killed the father of two wonderful sons. killed a man who was loved by many.

you helped raise those boys. crepus trusted you with them, even after he knew your occupation. acted likr you wouldn't hurt a fly.

a young fatui stationed in mondstadt, awaiting orders from a harbinger. that's who you were.

you joined for the money, the authority, glory, power. to be larger than what you really were.

the ragnivindrs welcomed you into their home, served you food, and gave you a room.

and yet you. . .

in the end, your conscience caught up to you. the blood on your hands were too red, reminiscint of his hair.

the others never blamed you for it, especially varka.

so you did it for them. you had loathed yourself to the point of near-death. not that you ever told varka about that specific incident, it would break him.

the cliff was especially windy that night.

you only backed out because of that weird bard who was taking a stroll at that time. venti, he was just varka's drinking companion to you back then, before you learned of his true identity as the anemo archon.

to think barbatos themselves would stop you, at least he didn't say anything to anyone. the bard respectfully kept his mouth shut, and you can appreciate that.

during his three year expedition, varka had sent a total of seventy-two letters, some with several pages based on how thick the envelope was, others that probably barely had three sentences.

you knew that because you counted every single one, like a fool.

they were kept neatly inside a small wooden box tucked beneath the false bottom of your luggage – a stupid hiding place, really, considering you checked it far too often for it to mean anything.

the envelopes had long since lost their crispness. the edges softened from being handled too much, the ink on some of the older ones slightly faded.

snezhnayan winters were unforgiving to paper.

sometimes you wondered if he wrote them while drunk.

sometimes you wondered if he stopped writing when he realized you weren’t answering but the dates on the envelopes told you otherwise.

two weeks. they always arrived every two weeks, sometimes more when he's in a particularly tough spot.

even when you moved away from mondstadt, even when you changed addresses, even when you made it very clear that whatever you had with him was dead and buried.

varka still wrote, persistenntly like the lack of response didn't bother him.

you never opened a single one.

not the first. not the seventy-second.

stared at it, sure but never more than that.

because opening even one meant acknowledging that he still existed in your life somehow, and that was too risky and dangerous.

dangerous for him.

dangerous for you.

dangerous for the fragile excuse you called moving on.

so the letters would stay sealed.

like nasty wounds you refused to clean because you were convinced you deserved to hurt for it.

the cathedral bell rings somewhere behind you.

you blink and mondstadt rushes back into focus around you — merchants shouting prices, the scent of apples and bread drifting through the air, the steady murmur of civilians who have no idea their city once nearly destroyed you.

your hand is still resting against a crate of fruit.

you don’t remember walking here.

“— hearin' me?"

varka’s voice again, closer this time.

you glance sideways.

he’s standing beside you, arms loosely crossed, watching you with an expression that’s softer than usual. not teasing. not amused.

just observing, taking you in with a reverent look on his face. it's as if he's making up for the times he couldn't see you, and this time he's burning your image in his memory.

you hate that look a lot, makes you remember the past too clearly.

“you zoned out,” he says casually, in that usual raspy tone of his. “been doing that a lot lately.”

you scoff lightly, turning away from the stall, “i always did that.”

“yeah,” he agrees easily.

then, after a moment, “not this bad though.”

you don’t respond.

instead, you pick up an granny smith apple, inspecting it like it’s the most fascinating object in the world.

anything to avoid looking at him.

anything to avoid the weight of that quiet attention.

varka doesn’t push, he never really did.

instead he glances at the apple in your hand, then back at you, "you used to hate green apples."

your eyebrow twitches. ". . . tastes change.”

“hm,” he doesn’t argue, just hums thoughtfully like he’s filing that information somewhere in his head.

the silence stretches between you two again – comfortable for him, agonizing for you.

then —

“you really never read them?”

the question lands gently this time. no accusations or bitterness.

just quiet curiosity, as if he’s asking about something trivial — the weather, perhaps — and not about the years he spent writing to someone who never answered, let alone read those writings.

you feel something tighten in your chest.

". . . no.”

you don’t look at him when you say it and for a moment, varka doesn’t respond.

he just takes it in.

the way a man might take a punch – steady, breathing through it, deciding what to do with the feeling afterward. doesn't mean the sting isn't there though.

“ah,” he says after a second.

no disappointment dripping from his voice, just quiet understanding.

you finally glance at him.

he's leaning against the empty stall with that sheepish smile you remember too well, arms crossed and shoulders light.

“well,” he continues, shrugging lightly, “that explains why none of my jokes landed.” he's laughing lightly, eyes crinkled like crescents.

you stare at him.

". . . you wrote jokes in those letters?”

“course i did,” he replies offhandedly. “can’t send seventy-two letters without at least trying to be entertaining,"

seventy-two.

"wouldn't want you to get bored and drop them halfway through. . . though i suppose that didn't really matter since you never read them."

he says it so casually.

like he didn’t just confirm that he kept count too.

you look away again, focusing back on the apple in your hand.

“. . . i really can't with you."

“yeah,” he agrees without hesitation.

then he grins, a little crooked.

“i was pretty desperate.” he admits, looking directly at you.

you almost drop the apple, a small but traitorous churning in your stomach – something dangerously close to elation.

varka laughs quietly when he notices.

not loud enough to draw attention, but warm enough that it sends a strange ache through your chest.

"don’t look so shocked,” he adds. “i’ve never been subtle.”

that part, unfortunately, is true.

subtlety was never varka’s strength.

back then he was the type to sling an arm over your shoulders in public, laugh too loud at your dry remarks, and proudly tell anyone who would listen that the scariest woman in mondstadt was his.

and somehow. . .

that hasn’t changed.

he leans slightly against the stall now, giving you space instead of crowding you, as if he's scared you'll retreat off somewhere again.

“but hey,” he says after a moment, voice lighter, “good to know they didn’t end up in a fireplace somewhere.”

you hesitate, "i kept them.”

the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

varka pauses, eyes widening for just a fraction.

he smiles. a soft damning smile – relieved in a way that’s almost embarrassing to witness.

“yeah?” he says, chuckling like he can't believe it.

you nod once, stiffly, ". . . don’t read too much into it.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies immediately.

and you know he means that.

varka was always like this, he never forced meaning into your actions, never demanded explanations you weren’t ready to give.

he just. . . accepted what you offered.

even when it was very little.

the wind passes through the market again, rustling the banners overhead

you place the apple back into the crate.

"you’re not curious?” you ask

“about what?”

“why i didn’t read them.”

varka hums, thinking about it.

then he shrugs, “i figured you had your reasons.”

simple as ever.

he pushes himself upright from the stall, stretching his shoulders like a man who just finished a long shift instead of someone reopening old wounds.

“besides,” he adds casually, glancing down at you with a grin that’s just a little too familiar, “you’re here now.”

you blink.

he gestures vaguely between the two of you.

“means we can talk instead."

your stomach twists, because that’s the problem, isn’t it?

talking.

talking meant explaining, explaining means admitting and admitting means facing the thing you’ve spent years running from.

varka watches your expression shift, and whatever he noticed, he doesn’t comment on it.

instead he picks up one of the apples, tossing it lightly in his hand. bright green, similar to the glazed pottery in his office. the one noelle got for him.

“y’know,” he says thoughtfully, “i always wondered which letter would’ve convinced you to punch me first.”

you shoot him a flat look.

"punch you. . . ?”

“yeah,” he says easily, “figured if you were mad enough to hit me, at least i’d know you read one.”

you stare at him, long and silent.

stoic as ever.

then you mutter, " you're an idiot.”

and for some reason, varka looks ridiculously pleased about that.

"you should really read them, i think it'd help in sorting out your thoughts."

you didn’t mean to open it.

that’s what you told yourself, anyway.

the box sat on the small desk of your rented lodge room, exactly where you had thrown it earlier that evening. the wood creaked softly under the weight of the letters — three years’ worth of them.

three years.

thirty-six months.

seventy-two envelopes.

every single one addressed in the same familiar handwriting – messy, large, and impossibly hard to ignore.

they say a person's handwriting shows who they are as a person. you think it's pretty accurate.

you stared at the parchment like they might bite.

the confrontation from earlier replayed in your head for the hundredth time.

"you should really read them."

you clicked your tongue irritably, an expression of storm crossing your face at the memory. you nearly clenched the paper in your hands.

"easy for you to say,” you muttered under your breath.

the room was quiet, comfortable. mondstadt’s night air drifted in through the open window, carrying distant laughter and music from the taverns below.

your fingers drummed against the table.

then stopped.

your gaze drifted back to the box, already feeling like you were gonna do something you'd regret.

one letter wouldn’t hurt.

just one.

totally not because you care, just to prove to yourself that whatever he wrote back then didn’t matter anymore.

that was all. . . nothing more, nothing less.

your hand moved before you could reconsider.

you grabbed the oldest envelope, letting out a low exhale.

the paper was slightly yellowed now, edges softened from time and travel. the wax seal had the knights’ insignia pressed into it, it travelled through the official system, addressed specifically for you.

roasaria had kept them while you were gone then gave them to you when you came back. you had been confused then, wondering why the box was so heavy.

"i think you should read these," she had told you, with that monotone voice of hers.

like father, like daughter. she had grown to resemble him ever more as the years passed.

your stomach twisted.

for three years, that seal had remained untouched.

you stared at it for a long moment. then broke it, the sound of cracking wax felt far louder than it should have.

you slid the folded paper out slowly, biting your lip while tried to calm your beating heart.

the ink hadn’t faded, despite the yellowed margins.

varka’s handwriting was rough and messy — letters slanted and uneven, like he had written it quickly.

you unfolded the page our eyes scanned the first line.

to the love of my life,

hey!

i’m writing this while the horses are dozing and the campfires are still warm. we left mondstadt a few days back. the wind here doesn’t just bite, it feels like it's whipping me through my coat.

the men are in good spirits, all of them big talk and brash laughter. seems like they can’t wait to prove themselves out there in the battlefield. the world’s harsh out here though, you’d tell them that.

you always did enjoy pointing out when i was being dramatic.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! i can imagine it already!

also i know you're gonna complain about how informal this letter is but i'm more used to this with you. remember when you once sent me that "report" with just two sentences? heh, i'm chuckling a bit just remembering it.

i'm not gonna act like strangers with you and do the whole poetic letters thing, i think we're well past that.

anyway, i miss the sound of mondstadt at night. that odd little lull between the last laugh in the tavern and the faint music from the cathedral door. it felt safe. homey. you made it feel lighter.

i’m fine. truly. i miss you, but i’m fine. don’t let that worry you. i just wanted you to know this much, i’m always thinking of you and i love you.

forever yours, varka.

without realizing it, you have slowly started to smile.

you pick up another without realizing, tearing into it with a certain hunger – as if you've held back for far to long.

to [name],

today was hard loud. too loud. a confusing sort of problem you can’t talk your way out of with jokes. or alcohol.

i don’t mention it to worry you, you’re more capable than you give yourself credit for. you’d handle whatever this world threw at you with that indifferent expression and sharp wit of yours.

when it was quiet again, i found myself thinking about the time we hid from a storm under that half‑collapsed stone wall in windvale. you were so annoyed about the mud on your boots, but you laughed anyway. i think that was the first time i heard you laugh back then, i knew from then on that you've doomed me and my heart to be forever yours. did you cringe just now? hahaha...

i’m okay. the other soldiers are okay, some are lightly injured. i tried my best, i really did

i miss you a lot, i think i've started to hallucinate your voice when i was out cold earlier. the injuries aren't that bad i think.

write back when you can, okay? only if you aren't busy.

with love, varka

it must have been something serious for him to be this shaken up. maybe it was the reason he changed course.

not like you can ask the past.

you pick out a more enlarged envelope, it must've contained so many pages.

to the one i hold dear,

not sure why i’m writing this. probably because i can’t stop thinking about you. maybe because i miss mondstadt, maybe because the weather here is actually driving me insane and makes me feel like shouting your name into the wind (don’t worry, i didn’t, the men would call me crazy HAHA).

so, crepus. i know you blame yourself. don’t. don’t even start rolling your eyes at me, i can see it. you didn’t intend any of it. none of it. i know you feel responsible, i can feel it from here, and i’m not even psychic....or maybe i am? for you.

i know you carry more guilt than anyone should, and i’m not here to tell you to shrug it off. i know you didn’t intend what happened, and i know you tried to make it right however you could. but i want you to hear it anyway — you didn’t kill him. you weren’t supposed to be the one to save him, and if anyone deserved blame, it wasn’t you.

but really. you tried. you always try. hell, you’ve probably tried more than anyone else. and yeah i know, it still hurts. it's messy as hell. life’s messy. we all know that.

okay, let's start somewhere lighter.

today, some locals tried to teach me to cook this really amazing chicken stew. let me tell you, it was really bad. i mean, truly BAD. fire everywhere, soup that looked like mud, and me, i had stood there like a fumbling idiot and for a minute,i thought about you. about how you’d probably sigh, mutter something sarcastic, and then hit me lightly with your book for somehow fucking up soup of all things and i laughed. yeah, instead of helping wirh dealing with the fire, i couldn't help but laugh.

don’t tell fred, he was the most pissed about the broken pot.

i miss the stupid, trivial things with you. the way you ignore me half the time but i still feel like i matter. the way you chew your lip when you’re annoyed. the way you… well, you.

i can’t promise you that the expedition will end soon. can’t promise you anything really. except this though: you will always live rent free in my thoughts. i’m worried about you. i’m rooting for you. and if you ever want to... not talk, not answer, not forgive, not anything...i’ll still be here. maybe writing more ridiculous letters. maybe climbing more ridiculous mountains. maybe trying to cook more ridiculous meals and failing.

. . .

you stare at the page, the words repeating in your head. slowly, the tension in your chest eases. your shoulders slump, almost imperceptibly, as if you’d been holding a mountain there for years and it’s finally letting go.

the ache of guilt, that gnawing voice you’d carried through every mission, every night alone in your quarters, every time you saw kaeya or diluc and felt the shadow of what happened – softens and melts. and for the first time in years, you allow yourself to breathe without pain.

“…i miss you,” the letter rambles on, and yes, he’s laughing somewhere between the lines, trying to lighten the weight of his own words. “…i miss you like an idiot who forgot how to breathe properly. and yeah, probably like a fool who thinks you’ll read these letters and understand me better than anyone else ever could. probably correct. you always have been better at understanding than i am. smart girl, aren't 'ya?"

among the pages were badly drawn doodles of landscapes and other knights. a few notes here and there of the fauna and some pressed flowers.

passionate as he was with them, they've always looked more like something children would scrawl on the walls.

the expedition’s been long. longer than i thought it would be. there’s a lot of snow out here and not much else to look at, which leaves a man with too much time to think. unfortunately for me, most of those thoughts end up being about you. before you get mad. . . i’m not saying that to make you feel bad. i just figured i should be honest. you always said i talked too much anyway. i keep that scrap of paper you gave me tucked in my coat pocket. it's the letter you didnt even bother to put in an envelope, just shoved it at me during the small expedition to the port.

the one where you told me to fuck off. real classy message, by the way. the knights laughed pretty hard when they saw it. i told them it was the nicest thing you’d ever written to me. …that part might actually be true. still, it’s in your handwriting. so i kept it.

a ridiculous man, varka was. and yet you couldn't help but fall for him ever further.

i’ve written to you. . . i don’t know. . . fourthy? thirty-six? maybe more. i’ve tried jokes, i’ve tried being serious, i’ve tried being clever, and all i end up with is a mess of ink and tears. not that i cry. not in front of anyone. but,you make me feel like i could.

and he'll continue until the seventieth, would probably reach over a hundred if the expedition went on for longer.

i keep thinking of the old days. walking through mondstadt, you complaining about the the loud noises, me pretending to know what i’m doing whenever i'm with you, and you. . . just you. laughing, making sure i don’t make a complete fool of myself.

i miss that. i miss you. sometimes i dream about grabbing you, threading my fingers through your hair, shaking you gently, and saying, “don’t ever leave me like that again.” sometimes i imagine you laughing, sometimes screaming, sometimes just glaring at me like you always did and i can’t stop thinking about it.

how much have you tortured this man during his expedition? to think he'd be this lovesick.

he seemed completely fine whenever the two of you bickered earlier in the market. and he'd been almost carefree with the way he treated you in the past week.

you never thought he'd be yearning this much for you throughout the years.

by the way, i heard from jean that you've left mondstadt.

without even telling rosaria or razor? do you know how worried they were for you?

listen, if you’re mad at me, fine. if you hate me, also fine. if you never want to see me or our kids again, i’ll survive. maybe. barely. but they won't.

at least let us know. at least don’t leave them in this limbo of imagining you somewhere out there, alive, safe, and completely unreachable. come back home

come back to mondstadt.

you're cruel and yes, i’m whining.

sue me, i guess. so. yeah. if you ever decide to show up again, or write me back, or even yell at me through letters for being an dumbass (this one's likely), i’ll be here.

rosaria thinks you're being an idiot and complicating things in your head again, don't tell her i told you though. razor thought you had died or something, he looked for you in the forest everyday. don’t make me climb dragonspine's peak for you. seriously. the climb is ridiculous. and the wind? don’t even ask. …miss you. don’t open this if it makes you mad. do open it if it makes you smile. do whatever you want, just know that you’re not alone.

sorry for rambling so much. not really though.

still infatuated with you, varka.

"our kids," you huffed, "did just fine without me."

you're not that cruel, you sent birthday presents and letters during special holidays to the two of them. never late. never forgetting.

also what's this about rosaria complaining to varka instead of talking with you? the favoritism is appalling.

she never even mentioned it when you came back!

razor too! why didn't he tell you about this?

they'd sided with varka all along in your kind-of divorce.

you laugh quietly at that. it comes out more as a choked sound than anything else, and you feel some of the years of silence, of self-loathing, slip away.

not fully, it's never that easy. but it doesn't feel as suffocating anymore.

your hand trembles over the letter. your eyes sting with unshed tears. and for the first time in a long, long time, the guilt doesn’t grip you. the blame isn’t yours. it was never yours.

and somewhere in the back of your mind, a thought slips in: varka. . . he never stopped caring. he never stopped watching over you. even across continents, across frost and snow and war, he never stopped.

you curl the letter to your chest, closing your eyes, letting the wind from the open window carry away the heaviness you’ve been carrying for years.

and maybe, just maybe, you allow yourself to hope.

hope that you’re not alone. hope that varka was right. hope that it’s not too late.

the city is quiet tonight, as it should be.

it's nearly midnight, barely anyone walked the streets by then. those who did were either drunks on their wobbly way home or people who had a lot on their mind.

like you.

you’re sitting on the cathedral steps when he finds you. it seems even the grandmaster took midnight strolls every now and then.

it's something you already knew and accounted for. after all, the two of you used to do it all the time. you'd drag him out for some fresh air when things got to stuffy, and he'd feel better right after.

varka doesn’t say anything at first. he just sits beside you, shoulder brushing yours, like he used to.

"did you? y'know – read them?" he says eventually.

you stare at the moon, "i read your letters."

he exhales slowly, "yeah. figured."

then you say the thing you've avoided for three years – ". . . i didn't leave because i stopped loving you or anything stupid like that."

varka’s head turns, eyes focused. he's leaning a bit lower now, wanting to hear everything. the things you've withheld for years.

you keep looking straight ahead, afraid to look at the man beside you.

"i left because i didn't deserve to stay."

another long pause, you feel your shoulders tense at the way he stays quiet.

then varka laughs, softly. like it's being whispered to the wind and not to you.

it's not mocking you, just. . . tired.

"you idiot."

you finally look at him.

he’s smiling, sad and warm all at once.

"you decided that on your own?"

"yeah," you murmured, feeling your face heat up. for all the times you called him immature, you had ended up doing something more stupid.

he leans back against the steps, thinking.

"well."

". . . well?"

he glances at you, blue eyes steady.

"next time you ruin my life, at least talk to me about it first."

you blink, ". . . that's it?"

"what were you expecting?"

"definitely not something like this. i had, at least, expected something more emotional for our official reunion."

you're scowling now, clearly displeased at his lukewarm response.

he nudges your shoulder lightly,

"i already did the dramatic suffering thing for three years, in foreign lands too."

he really did.

aside from usual dreams of past memories, he'd also get small flashes of what-if's and could-be's, one where you had completely moved on with another man. where you built a home without him in it.

he hated those the most, varka would wake up in an irritated mood, take it out on training, and pretend the woman he loved wasn't several hundred miles away and actively ignoring him.

the injuries he sustained didn't feel quite as real compared to the hollowness of his heart when you'd left him. even as the distance between you two got larger, he only grew more impatient to be reunited with you.

and out of every absurd ambitions he had over the years, from slaying a dragon to becoming mondstadt's hero, there was one that he could never hope to throw away – a wedding, with you as his bride.

it's childish. you called it stupid back then, saying that a marriage wasn't necessary as long as the two of you bad each other.

but varka had truly desired it from the moment he'd seen your eyes twinkle at the mention of a wedding. nothing grand. just something for you, him, and family.

you've always thought loving someone as capricious and bland as you would be a chore. that varka would find you tiring to deal with, and leave you alone one day. because of that, distance had become your shield and ruin, building walls so high it could rival starsnatch cliff.

but the knight of boreas wouldn't have gotten this far without being persistent.

a devoted man through and through. for him, loving you was easy. too easy. he was almost concerned how effortless it was. no distance, lack of communication, or dramatic break-up could ever stop him from adoring you.

varka had never loved you because it was just that – easy, effortless, and undemanding. in between the cracks of your heart, he found something worth fighting for, worth taking care of, someone worth all the pesky troubles and headaches.

he'd found you.

his love was simple but enduring. more than casual attraction, akin to pure adoration and endless devotion, just as he'd do anything for his beloved nation. people can call you heartless all they want, but even the sting of your glare could warm up his clumsy, beating heart.

you could carve it out and he'd thank you.

you already did, actually.

mondstadt’s wind was warm now, sunlight peeking through the walls. it carried the smell of dandelions, wine, the faint sweetness of cider drifting out of the tavern when the doors opened. sometimes music too.

"you staying?"

your chest tightens, ". . . maybe."

'yes.'

varka smiles. not big or triumphant.

just relieved.

"good enough for me."

the cathedral bells chime behind you once again, this time signalling a future you've dreamed about for far too long.

#conductor's-afterthoughts ☆ dont @ me, ive been hacking away at this for a week now and ive nearly given up halfway through. . . this actually hurt my head so bad. . . can you tell i completely threw away my original plot at the end and just started to ball it out.

theres something awfully romantic about being so infatuated by a person who cant help but run away from everything when it gets too much, you'd chase after them and think, 'why am i not getting tired of this?' and realize it's something you won't mind doing for the rest of your life.

i think i like those romances the most. i am a flawed person after all, so for someone to accept and cherish these flaws without it affecting them mentally would be a dream.

ANYWAYS. was this good? i was genuinely losing my shit guys. i took 30 minutes to proofread it this time, thats right! i actually read through the whole thing! proud of me? u oughta be. i had like several hundred searches just being "synonym for [word]"

#word-count ☆ 9.1k

[isetfiretomyself]

I love the idea of a Yandere crashing tf out because youre not settling into your "New home".

"Why aren't you happy!? I give you everything! You have everything so why can't you just be grateful!?"

Paired with a Darling with sensory issues,

"I don't like the feeling of bed covers materials, the shackles make a bad noise and you leave the big light on."

Then the Yandere feeling so bad lmao.

[rhenuvee]

Pics or it Didn't Happen: Jealousy Interlude [Phainon x f!reader]

Summary: Midterms are done and it’s finally time to crash on the bed… or so you think. After a devious move from Hyacine, you end up seeing Phainon again. What you didn’t expect was to see his jealous side afterwards. Previous part here.

A/N: To the anons who sent this and this, I loved your asks and wrote it in this part, I hope it's okay. Phainon is silly and dumb.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Midterms were finally finished. You get out of your classroom and let out a deep long exhale, and think about jumping your warm comfy bed, maybe grabbing something sweet as you let your brain recover from its mental frying. You weren't even sure if your exams went well- but you didn't want to think about it anyway. What you did think about was-

"(Y/N)!"

Hyacine?

"Hyacine- oh- hey!" You replied almost startled by her sudden appearance. Then you look at the flood of students that she came from, which you knew was Professor Anaxa’s class.

You lightly laughed together as the tired girl dramatically panted and clung onto you. Hyacine always had flawless skin, but that didn't mean that she couldn't feel somewhat like a zombie after tireless nights studying for an exam. From how exhausted you both were feeling, you figured it was best not to talk about midterms right after doing them. It would definitely kill the mood.

"I was just going to go grab a drink before heading home, do you wanna come with me? No pressure, I totally understand going home and crashing on the bed." You ask, offering. You haven't had the time to catch up with her in a while, now that you think about it.

"Ah, I think I'm gonna head home. I barely got any sleep last night." Hyacine whines, and you don't fault her for it. "But you're joining us for the sleepover this weekend right? So I'll see you then~"

"Yeah, I'll be there." You reply. Cyrene was hosting a sleepover later this week, and she insisted on everyone buying snacks and matching pyjamas for the occasion. The details have yet to be finalized (due to midterms), but you were sure that the girls were all going.

"I'm so sorry for not going with you." Hyacine musters, and your eyes widen in panic, not meaning to make her feel bad for declining you.

"Oh- no it's fine. I mean I was just wondering-"

"Oh! But Phainon can join you."

What.

"...what?" You almost choke on your own saliva. You watch as Hyacine's previously tired eyes become wide and bright, innocently looking at you as she said that dangerous name.

"I said Phainon could join you. He's still in there." Hyacine tilts her head quickly in the direction of the classroom she just came from. Oh yeah. Her and Phainon were in the same class. Wait. You do a double take, narrowing your eyes, not particularly enjoying how peppy she seemed all of a sudden. Wasn't she walking out of the classroom like a zombie just a minute ago?

"Okay...?"

"Great~ I'll see you on the weekend then. Bye (Y/n)!" Hyacine clasps your hands within hers, then turns to skip away. You squint at her retreating form in disbelief, realizing that this was likely a ploy. Did she seriously just decline you to open up an opportunity for Phainon? You hate it, because you could never even say no to someone as sweet as Hyacine... or someone as attractive as Phainon.

As if on cue, Phainon walks out of the classroom. For a moment he abruptly stops, and just blinks. Then his familiar grin starts spreading and his heart starts racing, unsure if he’s genuinely happy or just nervous at your sudden appearance.

"(Y-Y/n)?" He says breathlessly. You whip your head to the direction of his voice, only to find him already standing near you. It was the same as as all the other times you saw him- his smile wide and voice bright, as if you were the best thing to happen after midterms. You barely knew how to react. "You're here..."

"Yeah...?" You reply, a little judgementally. He clears his throat, catching onto your reaction. Is it bad that you found it cute when he got nervous? Wait-

"I mean-" Phainon shifts a little, glancing down at his feet for a split second. "I mean I didn't expect you to be outside my class."

"Yeah, I was talking to Hyacine just a moment ago... and then she ran away." You said in a sardonic way. Phainon chuckles, knowing that you were joking- although his curiosity was piqued from your vague yet strange statement.

"Well, I won't run away... not if you don't want me to." Phainon declares shamelessly. "We can sit outside for a while."

And there it was again. Phainon being so infuriatingly easy and genuine towards you. It's funny, you think. How you and Phainon both had the idea of talking and hanging out casually with someone after the midterm. Even though Hyacine ditched you (whether on purpose or not), you wonder if this was one of the weird ways the world tried to align you and Phainon.

Before you knew it, you were following Phainon and his handsome self to an empty spot on the grass near a shady tree to sit and chill. You both dropped your bags and sat down. You were conscious of how close you were to him. For some reason, you didn't plan on moving, and Phainon pretended not to notice the proximity.

"How was your exam?" You ask softly. You weren't sure if this was the right thing to ask, but you didn't know how else to start a conversation. But perhaps it was appropriate, since you had a study session with him a week before.

"I wish they didn't exist, that's all I'll say." Phainon replies with a dramatic sigh.

"Please, you probably aced it. Mr. Academic Weapon." You reply with a satire nickname while playfully batting his arm. Your cheeks go warm at your sudden audacity.

"You don't know that. For your information, I was sweating for a long while over the last page, Miss Academic Weapon." Phainon nudges your arm back, playing into the cheesy nickname. You look down, biting your lip as you go quiet. You were not expecting him to follow along with your dry jokes. Normally, you'd be rolling your eyes at this- you'd roll your eyes at your own comments too. He even called you an academic weapon, which was probably just playing into the bit, but your heart skips a beat thinking of Phainon seeing that equal amount of good in you. With hearing Phainon seem so earnest in everything... you still couldn't figure out what to do with yourself.

"I'm sure your marks would prove otherwise." You retort. "Speaking of, I never got to ask if Professor Anaxa was able to look you in the eye after the shirtless carwash."

The corners of Phainon's eyes crinkle, even before his smirk reaches his lips. He lets out a quiet laugh, shoulders relaxing as he leans back on his hands, fully aware of your comment made to poke fun at him.

"He looked down the whole time whenever I spoke to him that week. I think he is still traumatized, but hopefully he recovers after this weekend." He jokes. Then he turns his head towards you, slowly and deliberately. "Still thinking about it, hm?"

You sputter, your composure and your hope that he wouldn't take this opportunity to tease you going to shit.

"I-I'm worried about your professor's wellbeing." You state matter-of-factly, forcing a straight face. Phainon clicks his tongue cheekily, shaking his head as if disappointed from your terrible lying ability, though his eyes still gleam with amusement.

"Mhm, I'm sure that part overrides the shirtless part." He tilts his head at you teasingly. With the way he drawled on the word shirtless, it makes your ears burn. You knew he was trying to rile you up even more.

"Should I have not supported your fundraiser?" You ask incredulously, crossing your arms. Phainon chuckles at your attitude, though he is clearly enjoying it.

"No, but I think you should tell the truth if you enjoyed it or not." He grins wide, shameless as ever. "After all, I never got your rating for the service."

"One star. My service attendant was annoying." You reply without sparing a breath. Phainon stills for a moment. He wants to tease you more, coax out that adorable pout you have by reminding you again that it was his car- so technically you couldn't rate him for the washing, but the other part of the service. Instead he savours your words- my service attendant. Yours. The thought of being yours.

"I'll make sure to remember that." He says easily, his blue eyes seeming warm as they lingering on you. You were confused as to why he looked at you like you hung the stars despite insulting him (jokingly). Something tells you he wasn't actually listening to your words which only made him more annoying.

You sit in a comfortable silence with him. You glance at him as he idly runs his fingers through the grass. Somehow beneath the shade, he was still glowing the brightest.

"Aren't you tired?" You ask. Your question was vague, but after sitting for a while, Phainon knew it was about midterms and why he wasn't going straight home like a normal person. "You would probably be better off resting at home."

"I am." He replies. You turn to look at him incredulously, as if to ask what he was doing here if he was tired. "But I think it's worth it."

You wanted to ask him more- to talk to him more. It felt like you knew so much about him, yet also just beginning to know him.

Suddenly, a voice calls out to you.

“(Y/n)?”

You whip your head up from Phainon to see a guy from one of your classes.

“Hey…” You reply awkwardly.

“Did you finish your midterm?”

The guy goes on talking with you, mostly about the recent exam and other classes. Little did you know, Phainon immediately went silent, his jaw immediately locking shut. He looks up, blinking at you and the guy. He was decent looking, spoke smoothly too. But he had an air about him that was almost too friendly.

"So, you heading out after this?" The guy asks casually. He moved more on the opposite side to Phainon, taking your attention completely. Phainon's jaw tightens more. It was abundantly clear what the guy wanted- because all his questions were about you. Before he could stop himself, that greedy feeling was blooming inside. It was dark, warm, and selfish- similar to his insecurities from years ago.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Just thought we could celebrate finishing midterms together."

"We should hang out some time, grab a coffee. I could help you with that project next week."

"I'll see how dead I am by then." You shrug, subtly declining him, and Phainon watches as you nod at the guy's questions. He tells himself that it's harmless, just a casual conversation. But some part in the back of his mind couldn't bear it, because of how natural it looked- how natural it looked seeing someone else look at you with the same lingering interest he had.

Wait.

He had no right to feel this way. He wasn't even your boyfriend. You were allowed to talk to whoever you wanted.

He feels the familiar drop in his stomach, and he wishes he could've stopped his thoughts sooner. His muscles get stiffer, and his posture more tense as remains quiet, trying not to seem like he just let a simple conversation between you and some guy get in his head. And yet, it was apparent that his usual confidence was fading.

"Oh, really?" A slight smirk ghosts over the guy's lips as he finally realizes Phainon's presence. "Well maybe next time then."

He feels small, knowing that it took years for him to buck up the courage to even say hi to you- and moreover, it was still Cyrene who pushed it. Comparing him to this random guy who effortlessly walks up to you and talks and requests a hang out like it’s nothing. He felt stupid for not considering that there were others who would notice you too, which should've been more obvious from how pretty you were.

“…well that was weird.” You remark, eyes blinking as the guy walks off. You're not sure why, but you feel as if the air has changed- most noticeably from how Phainon wasn't even looking at you.

"Yeah..." He softly replies. He became quieter than usual, unbeknownst to you. Your eyebrow quirked, unsure why he was suddenly acting this way. But a part of you felt bad for seeing Phainon act this way. Was it something you said?

"Is everything okay?" You ask, peering at him. You watch as he composes himself.

"Yeah- Sorry- I didn't mean to get all weird..." He stammers, his voice catching in the back of his throat. He opens his mouth, wanting to quickly say something to reassure you to s but nothing really comes out. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, then risks taking a peek at you for half a second. You were perfect as always- but he caught the way you leaned forward slightly, head cocked to the side, likely puzzled by his sudden silence. His stomach twists. This was not how he wanted you to be looking at him.

He wants to say something. To tell you that he was

"Phainon, if something's bothering you, you can tell me. It's... quite unlike you to be this quiet." You move a little closer, and watch as he nervously bites his lip. Truly, you've never seen this side of him.

"It's nothing." He says, his voice warm yet clipped. Yet, he still remains silent, biting his lip nervously. Still, you frown. He wasn't sulking exactly, but something inside him still seemed to be dimmed. Usually he was all cheeky smiles and confidence- now he just looked distant. You almost couldn't believe it. The hottest guy you knew- the one who seemed perfect at everything... was he...?

You hesitate, but decide to try something.

"Cyrene's hosting a sleepover this weekend." You announce to Phainon. His head perks up, and you take it as a good sign. "I'm sure she probably told you already... but it would be nice if you joined- if you want."

For a second, something flickers across his face- a moment of surprise or maybe even hope. But it fades quickly, becoming faint, like he was suppressing it.

"I'll... think about it." His answer stings more than you expected, and even more for himself.. He knows you notice the subtle undertone of fear in his answer, and he wishes he could hide himself. In his head, he's slowly being pulled back into his old habits just when things start getting too ugly, too real. "Thanks though, for inviting me..."

"You'd be missed if you didn't come." You say while standing up. He gets up as well, holding your bag up for you. You look up at him, and his heart aches at what this means to him. And yet, he finds himself unable to look at you. "Cyrene's probably gonna beat you up again- like she always tells me about."

Phainon lets out a small chuckle. Everything feels fine for a little bit. But once he walks you to your dorm and says goodbye, the same thoughts circle his mind- I'm messing it up.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

"Stop." Mydei's strict voice cuts in, making Phainon blink. Before he knew it, Mydei was already lifting the barbell from his hands and putting it back on the rack.

Phainon went to the gym with Mydei after his conversation with you. Normally, he wouldn't think of working out after a midterm- only Mydei would be crazy enough to be so dedicated as if he was going off to war tomorrow. But from how this afternoon went sour from his own ugly feelings- yeah, he supposes he could see how insane he could go.

"Spit it out."

"Huh?"

"You're obviously spacing out. So what's going on?" Mydei says crossing his arms. Phainon wasn't sure whether to gulp or smile. His friend's bluntness both amused and scared him.

"I saw (Y/n) today..." Phainon breathes out. Mydei's subtle eyebrow raise doesn't go unnoticed by Phainon. He sits down, arms still crossed to let Phainon know that he was listening intently. "We talked after the midterm."

"Okay, and?"

"And she invited me to Cyrene's sleepover..."

"Even better. And?"

"And... I said I'd think about it." Phainon admits this part softly. Mydei on the other hand, lets his hand holding his water bottle drop on the bench with a thud. At that point, Phainon wants the ground to swallow him whole from Mydei's dead stare. Mydei knew of his habits, and he knew that "thinking about it" was just an excuse translated to no.

"Are you fucking allergic to happiness." Mydei's tone is harsh, brows furrow deeply as he doesn't even make an effort to mince his words. Phainon winces.

"I panicked, okay?" Phainon says with exasperation, running a hand through his hair. "I messed up earlier. I don't want to show up and make it weird."

"What do you mean messed up?"

"There was this guy who came over to her and they started talking while we were hanging out. They... they seemed close, maybe even a friend. But he just looked so comfortable and smug, and I got jealous and I-"

And he felt like he was sixteen again.

"Wait. You- fuck. You mean to tell me you got jealous of a fucking NPC?" Mydei pinches the middle between his brows- he thinks he might lose five years off his lifespan. Phainon's jaw drops. He wants to comment on Mydei nonchalantly called people NPC's and the amount of times he said "fuck" (which was very true to his character), but he knows it will lead to more arguments.

"I- Well..."

"You fucking idiot." Somehow this was the most emotional Phainon has ever seen Mydei- which only proves to be worse for him now, because he knows he messed up bad. "This is what you declined (Y/n) over?"

"I know- I was stupid." Phainon's cheeks turn pink out of embarrassment, to which his attempts to cover his face with his hand. This was it, he thinks, the day where all his greed was finally coming out- and boy was it ugly.

Mydei grumbles, noticing but then looking to the side. There are about a thousand things Mydei wants to say to Phainon- mostly curse words, and maybe curse words he would make up out of spite. But for once, he doesn't press further. Well- maybe a little more.

"You have been wanting this moment, and whined about being single all this time- only to care too much about some random guy and sabotage your own chances. This might be the biggest headache you've ever given me." Mydei crosses his arms again, his weight shifting to one leg. Though his movements were small, they were rigid and closed off, a sign that somebody was in trouble. Phainon feels like a kicked puppy, his broad shoulders slumping and his gaze dropping down. His frustrated friend sighs deeply.

"Listen- if you want to fix things," Mydei pauses to steady himself. "I suggest you just go to the damn sleepover."

Phainon remains silent, not answering immediately. He stares blankly at the wall, his jaw tight as he replays everything that went wrong in his head as if it was a cringe compilation. But eventually he nods slightly, not fighting Mydei's straightforward advice. He knows he's right.

"And for the sake of my own sanity, I'm not going to say anything else." Mydei turns his head, not bothering to look at him. He speaks quieter for his last phrase. "But Cyrene will probably beat you up for me."

"You're right." Phainon groans, his head sinking down dejectedly. It stings, but he can't deny it. Mydei was right unfortunately, and somehow it also meant he'd have to face Cyrene's wrath soon.

Phainon exhales again, the tension finally started to ease up, even it was small. A faint smile finally pulls at his lips at the newfound hope. "Thank you, Mydei."

"Don't thank me." Mydei says, his tone sharp and clipped. He turns his head away again- deflecting all forms of gratitude as always. "You better walk your ass to the supermarket to buy snacks for the sleepover, or else I will."

"Don't worry," Phainon chuckles, knowing Mydei's concern was just disguised as a threat. This was probably as close to an "I've got your back" from Mydei he was gonna get. "I learned my lesson. I'll go right after this."

Mydei finally exhales too, standing up to resume his work out. Of course, he'll never admit it, but he wants Phainon to go for it. He was just a little dumb sometimes.

"And yet he had no problem walking towards her while she was getting lemonade..." Mydei grumbles quietly to himself. Phainon whips his head over to Mydei's attitude.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." Mydei replies flatly, already preparing to lift another weight. "Think about what snacks you're bringing, Deliverer."

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

It's late at night when Phainon "walks his ass" to Okhemart to buy snacks for the sleepover. He still hasn't confirmed anything with Cyrene or you, but he decides he needs to get his act together sooner or later. Besides, he was invited right? Now was not the time to spiral about it again.

So he keeps walking.

He goes down the aisles until he finds the chips section. He looks up and down, skimming the vast amount of selections, wondering what flavours he should get. Does (Y/n) like spicy chips? Or maybe the honey butter ones? Are the cheesy ones too salty? It's almost comical how much he's overthinking chips. But he decides he'd rather overthink about chips than his own feelings.

Phainon sighs, choosing a variety of flavours- one spicy, one salty, one sweet. Flavours he knew he liked, and that he knew the girls liked. He hoped that you'd enjoy some of them. At the last minute, he grabs one more just in case. He turns to move onto buying drinks, until he stops dead in his tracks-

"(Y/n)- hi..." He breathes out, his eyes lighting up. The words slip out of his mouth, breathless and unguarded.

You were here.

As pretty as ever, even in what he assumed was a casual outfit you threw on just to come here. Your eyes widened curiously as you clutched a box of cookies. Only when noticing the cookies you hold does Phainon realize, that you both were here for the same reason.

It's funny he thinks, how again the universe was giving him a second chance. Still, he gulps out of nervousness. He wishes he got a warning first.

"Phainon." You walk closer, and glance at the three big bags of chips he held. "Are you... also buying food for the sleepover?"

"Yeah, I am..." He replies, nodding. "And you?"

"Mhm." You reply curtly. You pause, feeling a little awkward from how you didn't expect him here still. "So... you're coming, right?"

"Yeah." Phainon replies, but all he wants to do is confess the truth. Before he can stop himself, the apology comes tumbling out, a lot heavier than he expected. "(Y/n)- I'm sorry for weird I acted earlier today. We were having a good time and... and then I killed the mood."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. You knew what he was referencing, but you were confused as to why he was apologizing like he did something worse.

"I'm not mad at you or anything." You say to him. You look at him curiously, but also with a bit of concern because you did notice, but wasn't sure why. "Was it... something I said?"

"What- no!" Phainon waves his hands to dismiss your thought quickly, the chips rustling in his arms. He sucks in a breath, steadying himself before spilling more of his unspoken words. "That guy who came up to you, he- this is gonna sound so dumb... I think he wanted to ask you out."

Your eyes widen as you hear the last part. He can't quite look at you when he says it, his eyes darting between the floor and the shelves.

"I'm sorry," He continues, clearly embarrassed, but still earnest. "You seem close, and I know it's stupid for getting jealous. I don't get to feel that way. But I-"

"Phainon." You interrupt him. His ears are red, but he forces himself to look at you.

"Yes?" He gulps, bracing for the scolding of a lifetime (second to Cyrene though), or for you to run away. Suddenly, he watches in the span of a split-second how your hand balled up into a fist, and the next thing he knows, your fist punches him hard in the arm.

"Ow- FUCK!" He winces, his figure hunched over, chips slightly crushed from how he squeezed them on impact. "I deserved that..."

"You're such an idiot." You stare at him hard, with your arms crossing tighter against the cookie boxes.

"I-I know-"

"I didn't even explain it yet." You remark flatly, which catches his attention. He looks up, paying attention now. "Phainon. That guy- I don't even know what his name was."

Phainon blinks.

"He started talking to me a week before midterms. Him coming up to me in the first place was weird." You explain, shaking your head at him. "Dummy..."

"S-So you knew, that he wasn't really asking about class or notes or anything...?" Phainon feels even more dumb.

"Kind of...?" You shrug. "I didn't know about the part you said though- where he wanted to ask me out... I just thought it was because he was a pest."

Phainon smacks his own face as the realization kicked in. How nonchalantly you announced your innocent observation, how you already knew the guy was weird.

"Oh my god, I'm so stupid..." He rubs his temples even more embarrassed, finally feeling what the headaches he gave Mydei must have felt like.

"I'm still not mad though." You say, trying to reassure him. "Even if you are dumb... I appreciate you looking out for me."

Phainon sighs, but still feels embarrassed.

"I care about you (Y/n)." He admits quietly. These words wouldn't be able to convey even a fraction of what he felt for you these past years. But they'll have to do. And even then, he hopes you won't run away from him, from seeing this ugly side to him.

"I know."

The simplicity of your answer makes his heart stumble. His face perks up, seeing your genuine nod and smile, and it hits him hard. His heart starts to flutter the same way it did since he was a teenager in Cyrene's room cutting out ugly photos again. Perhaps he still had lessons to learn about jealousy, or fear... about not overlooking what has always been an opportunity in front of him- even if it starts as simple acknowledgement from you, because nothing else would mean more to him.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Phainon's grip on the chip bags loosen, his knuckles no longer pale.

"I almost didn't come again... to the sleepover." He admits. He shifts his weight on his feet, still feeling a bit uncomfortable, but not backing out. "I didn't want to make things weird..."

"You didn't." You reply, but Phainon shakes his head.

"I kind of did. I shut down all of a sudden, and it wasn't fair to you." He says sheepishly, but still gentle. "I'm sorry if it made you feel like you did something wrong."

You watch him closer. This man who was seemingly perfect in your eyes in every way from intelligence to looks to kindness and respect- was vulnerable. You can kind of see it now- past the confident and flirty Phainon and realize that he was just trying to be himself. Vulnerable, standing with three bags of chips and too much heart. Somehow, it eases something in your chest.

"...Thank you for saying that." You reply. You finally get to fully see his eyes as he makes eye contact with you, with a bit of surprise from him albeit. He nods, feeling like he was able to breathe again. "For the record, it's never been awkward or ruined with you. So... I'm glad you're coming to the sleepover."

You get nervous for a moment, your eyes flicking away. It feels foreign to you, even though you're not fully putting your heart out on the table. But you've come to know Phainon- including his vulnerable side now, and somehow you knew he would take your words to heart.

"I'm glad I'm coming too." He says, relieved. For a while, you both smile, the air feeling lighter.

"I'll see you on Saturday then." You say to him before returning to your shopping. He nods, watching you go, then smiles to himself.

He knew that this was the real promise he had to make to himself.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Bonus: *text chat after, between Cyrene and Phainon*

Cyrene: Fuck you Phainon: Oh Cyrene: I heard about what happened Phainon: I'm sorry... Phainon: I got scared Cyrene: When you come to mine this weekend- WHICH YOU WILL, I'll give you something to be scared about

Phainon groans to himself, as he reads Cyrene's threatening texts. He feels himself sweating already, thinking about praying for his life before the weekend comes.

Suddenly he gets another string of texts:

Cyrene: I'll have you know that (Y/n) admitted that she invited you herself before I even mentioned it to you Cyrene: Meaning SHE went out of her way to ask YOUR DUMB ASS to my sleepover Phainon: ...she did? Cyrene: YES and you had the nerve to say "I'll think about it" Cyrene: I think I should actually mention you in therapy Phainon: I panicked okay?! Cyrene: Well panicking isn't a first for you, but do you know how rare is it for her inviting a GUY- especially a guy that happens to be my idiot childhood friend??? Cyrene: So congratulations for the fumble of the century Phainon: ... Phainon: I'm sorry... Phainon: I apologized to her earlier. I won't mess it up again. Cyrene: You better not. And you better show up.

Phainon stares blankly at the texts, his heart starting to beat wildly as the words sink in. His fingers tremble as he barely knows how to start typing his response. He doesn't know whether his trembling was from the newfound hope giving him confidence, or his discovery that he was an even bigger idiot in that moment. Fuck it all- he'll embrace both for all he cares. Because-

You asked him. Not because Cyrene asked you to, but because you wanted him there. The realization sits warm in his chest, and he doesn't care to hide the smile on his face. God, he was so stupid. But he would still take that title if it meant Cyrene would tell him the truth.

For once, he finally prepares for his first sleepover.

Cyrene: Oh and buy Cinnamoroll pajamas please! Phainon: 🥲👍

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Notes:

And just as you thought Phainon couldn't gey any stupider...

I hope you all are enjoying your holidays!! SORRY FOR MY LONG HIATUS, UNI HAS BEEN KILLING ME (is anyone still here for this series...)

I will also be posting my 1K milestone event soon, so I would be super happy if you joined! (But no pressure ofc)

Love you all, take care! <3

[sooniebby]

smut idea, bottom male reader. A/B/O. Alpha! Reader who gets roomed with one of the most sought out alpha on campus, Hong Rui. He’s cool with everyone but you it seems. You try to push past the weirdness until you realize your body is changing into an omega… and it’s all Hong Rui’s fault.

The whole alpha or omega thing doesn’t matter to you in comparison to others. You don’t prescribe to the stereotypes of alphas or the ways you must act. You did whatever you wanted. While everyone liked to believe they were open minded—there was still a sense of rigidity in societal expectations.

And you didn’t give a shit.

People would often think you were a beta. Betas were allowed freedom in comparison to everyone else. Betas were rare as well but were great for societal balance. Both of your parents were betas so it’s perhaps why you acted differently compared to most alphas.

So in turn—you were a bit of an outcast. Especially when you were younger. It was only in recent years that people reacted more openly towards you. Perhaps due to omegas gaining more power in the world.

But you still had people (mostly other alphas to be honest) who were weirdly angry with how you acted. It wasn’t like you acted like an omega, you just didn’t adhere to their rigid masculinity.

Hong Rui was no different.

When you found out he was your roommate—you were surprised. One because you thought a rich kid like him wouldn’t want to room in student dorms. And also because you’ve never spoken to him before despite knowing him since middle school.

You were excited. Finally, maybe you two could become friends?

Except when you went into your shared apartment and held out your hand, he looked at you like you were dirt on his shoes and walked away.

Asshole.

So things weren’t okay.

Luckily the apartment allowed you both to have your own room so you didn’t have to deal with seeing him. It was awkward whenever you two accidentally bumped into the other. Didn’t help there was only one shared bathroom.

You believed that he must’ve hated you because you didn’t act like a ‘real’ alpha. Hong Rui was everything an alpha should be. Loved by all of the omegas. Strong, athletic, sexy. Rich most importantly.

It didn’t matter at the end of the day. You just tried to continue on with your life. Being a freshman in college wasn’t easy. Especially as a biology major.

The stress of your exams took over that you didn’t notice you weren’t having your ruts until it happened for a third time. Strange. Very strange.

If you were an omega missing your heat, you’d assume you were pregnant. As an alpha, you assumed you were about to die. So you rushed to the hospital.

“Ah. oh… you’re turning into an omega, haha. Don’t know how, it’s irreversible. Your first heat is next week, bye, get birth control.” The doctor said nonchalantly as if this has happened before.

“Excuse me?!”

“What? It must be planned yes? Your body isn’t rejecting the transformation at all. It’s going quite smoothly actually.”

“Wait how does that even work?!”

“Through stimulation. An alpha just treats another alpha like an omega. Through scent marking, biting of the gland, or knotting.”

“Uh… but—”

“Your alpha must be a dominate one… I’ve never seen a bitching happen without the need of medical intervention. Hm, would you mind if we run a few tests? I have a study on bitched alphas and you would be a great new—”

You left before he could finish his sentence. This didn’t make any sense. Bitched alphas weren’t totally rare but certainly hard to achieve. Alpha x alpha relations were only now being viewed without distain.

Alphas and omegas existed with subclasses in them. Dominant, regressive, and submissive. Regressive meant you were essentially close to a beta. Most people were just a regular alpha or omega. Only 1 out of 1,000 people had a subclass within them.

Hong Rui was one of the best alphas… him being a dominate wouldn’t shock you. But that didn’t explain how you were turning into an omega. Was he scenting you secretly?!

Until you thought for a second…

Hong Rui practically scents you all the time.

You hadn’t noticed before because you really genuinely didn’t care about the whole alpha-omega hierarchy.

Once per day, Hong Rui would somehow find time to just stand near you. He wouldn’t speak to you or even look at you. He’d just stand near by you as his scent filled the room before leaving as if satisfied. You assumed he was just marking his territory at the apartment but now it seemed as if he was making sure his scent clung to you.

Other times, he’d brush against your scent gland. A scent gland was an intimate spot on someone’s neck. Most alphas would react violently to being touched by another alpha.

But you would just giggle because you were ticklish.

“Crap… what am I gonna tell mom and dad…” you muttered to yourself. Most alphas would be freaking out but you were just wondering how to buy birth control.

Did this mean you have a womb or something?

Interesting.

In any case, you needed to tell Hong Rui to leave the apartment next week so you could spend your heat alone.

兔兔 — hey, Hong Rui, can you spend the week at someone else’s house? Thanks

好看的傻子— ? Why?

兔兔 — just find somewhere to go, dang! I leave whenever you have a rut, so you do the same!!

好看的傻子— ????

When you made it to the apartment, Hong Rui and a friend of his were on the couch in the living room. The friend, Wu Ken, if you remembered correctly were talking. It was about you.

“He just asked you to leave?” Wu Ken asked. “He’s probably having his heat then.”

“His heat?” Hong Rui spoke with a weird sense of fear. “Do you think he’ll spend it with someone one?”

“Uh, probably? I doubt he’s a virgin…”

“He’s not?!”

“Uhm. Rui, you can’t be this— huh? It smells sweet.” Wu Ken suddenly turned to your direction, his eyes wide. He stood up from the couch and stepped towards you. “Did you always smell this sweet?”

“Huh?” You raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m wearing pheromone blockers.” You sniffed at your clothes, not sensing the sweetness Wu Ken was smelling. “Are you smelling something—?” You’re pushed against the wall, hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

Wu Ken’s pupils are dilated. He didn’t look as if he was lucid anymore. Like an alpha being controlled by the intoxicating scent of an omega. “You—”

But before he could really do anything, he’s unceremoniously cuffed by the back of his neck, and tossed outside of the apartment. Hong Rui slams the door shut and turns to face you.

“He’s dominant so he’s sense of smell is better than others.” Hong Rui said without any sense of urgency. “I didn’t know you still had heats I thought you were on suppressants.”

“Hah?” You stared at him in confusion. “I’ve never been on suppressants. I’m an alpha! Or I was… now the doctor said I’m turning into an omega.”

“What? But… you smell the same to me.”

“…..”

“…..?”

“Hong Rui, explain yourself. Why have you been scenting me so much?

“Oh. Ah, I scented you so other alphas could leave you alone. And… I like making you smell like me. I’ve been doing it for awhile now.”

“Awhile now…?”

“….since middle school.”

You blinked. “I—? How haven’t I noticed??”

“Well you don’t really pay attention to people’s scents or anything dealing with subgenders really. You act like a beta. But I still don’t understand, you weren’t an omega this entire time?”

“No!!!! The doctor said you’ve been bitching me!!”

Hong Rui smiled sheepishly. “But I would have to be doing that intentionally. I’ve just been scenting you regularly.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I like you. Since middle school.” He confessed easily. “I tried leaving you alone since you rejected me that first time but I wanted to try again after waiting a few years. So I had my mom pay the school to let me room with you, sorry.”

“You confessed to me before???”

“Yeah…. (Name), how unaware of alpha-omega courting are you? I’ve been courting you for two months now.”

You thought your brain was going to short circuit. “Wait but that doesn’t explain why you thought I was an omega this entire time! Do you not smell me?”

“I do. But maybe I’ve been smelling something else, like the omega scent deep within you. I do have a stronger sense of smell as an enigma. So—”

“—excuse me?”

“Hm?”

“Enigma…? You’re not an alpha?”

“…… I told you this before?! How did you forget?”

Things were not right.

1. You were now an omega

2. Hong Rui thought you were always an omega

3. Hong Rui has a crush on you (??????)

4. Hong Rui is an enigma?!

Smut sneak peak:

1.

“Don’t you think this is weird?” You muttered, frowning slightly. You were turning into an omega—or at least sort of? The doctor mentioned people would still smell an alpha musk off you unless they were a dominant alpha or an enigma. But enigmas are rare, really rare, like 1 in 3 million rare.

Just your luck one had a crush on you since middle school.

“No I don’t think so.” Hong Rui said, his eyes focused on your legs. More so what’s between your legs. You were dripping slick, the wet substance dripping onto the bedsheets beneath you.

“Of course you don’t think so, weirdo. You wanted this to happen.” You weren’t mad about being an omega, not at all. Just weirded out at the new functions of your body. “But you’re weird naturally too, being an enigma and stuff.”

Hong Rui hummed and didn’t seem to care that you were insulting him. He was so different when it came to you—especially now after your body officially took his scent claiming. His hand reached out and gently pried open your legs, your body flinching from his touch.

“I’ve always thought you were an omega so it’s nothing new.” His hands slowly slid down and gripped your ass, gently pulling them, allowing your asshole to stretch open. More slick gushed freely. “It probably tastes really good.”

“Gross.” You tried to sound disgusted at his words but your cock twitched. You sighed softly and leaned back on the mountain of pillows Hong Rui collected to cushion you.

His finger slowly traced the rim of your asshole, gently threatening to slip inside the tight wet heat. You groaned, biting your bottom lip as you watched him. To think you were letting him do this without any fight. A guy who you could essentially blame this new biological reality for.

“Don’t tease me so much…”

Hong Rui didn’t respond. His gaze focused solely on the beautiful sight in front of him. It was different from any sort of wet dream he had before. He leaned forward and tentatively licked your puckered hole.

You gasped, glancing down at him in shock. “Hong Rui, don’t lick me, it’s dirty.” His eyes were the only thing you could see. He pulled away just a bit for you to see the small smirk on his lips.

“Nothing about you is dirty.” He licked his lips.

“Besides, I was right. It tastes really good.”

2.

“You don’t get it, you never will.”

You never expected Hong Rui of all people to lose his cool. To publicly claim you in front of all his friends. To boldly declare his enigma status in front of almost the entire school. All because someone expressed interest in you. It was just an alpha. You didn’t understand why.

You weren’t interested in alphas. Even as you were becoming more like an omega—you didn’t feel any attraction to them. Or anyone really but Hong Rui.

“Rui,” you muttered, staring up at him. His hands caged you down in the bed. But you didn’t feel afraid. Quite the opposite. For some reason you were into his weird display of dominance. The way he moved you around like it was nothing despite there not being a big height difference between you two.

“I forced it on you, didn’t I?” He sighed. “I got too excited. You probably weren’t interested in me anyway.” He moved to pull away but you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him back.

“You didn’t. But are you really going to pull away?” You whispered, hands pulling up your shirt. His eyes immediately focused on your waist, the way your pants were hanging low on your hips. “When I’m so close to my heat…? Should I just go back to Wang Pei? Maybe he’s still interested—”

Hands suddenly grabbed your thighs, hands sinking into the soft flesh, making a mark into your skin. He forcibly pushed them before he grabbed your pants—tugging it off with a single pull. Teeth immediately nipped at your thighs.

“Wang Pei? I don’t want you saying another man’s name in my presence ever again, Gu (Name).” Hong Rui’s voice was harsh. “Do you really think any alpha can just touch you without any consequences?”

You shuddered from his touch. “No. Because deep down, you’re more possessive than you look. Stop holding back.”

“Stop holding back? Do you know what you’re asking for?”

“Mhm. I’m asking for my enigma to show me what he’s really feeling inside. I saw it earlier… but I want to see it again.”

“You’re on contraception, right?” He suddenly asked, momentarily confusing you.

“Uh, yeah. Why—?” A gasp left your throat as you felt the tip of a thick cock pressing inside of you. You hadn’t even noticed he pulled down his pants.

“Because this time… I’m going to fuck you how I really want to.”

Heh…. As an apology for suddenly disappearing on y’all… full fic? Yay or nay?

Don’t worry, next fic is gonna be my first A/B/O fic that I did with Gu Xiaowen. Just had to finish up finals before I could come back to yall.

好看的傻子— hǎokàn de shǎzǐ — handsome fool

兔兔 — tùtù — rabbit

Tag list: @chill-guy-but-cooler @nuiliunderscore @star-star56 @blahajsworld @lalalalauren-remix @winter-world @punnylilac @nootnootpinguuu @tboyreze @izaarcc @lu-dao-writes @axetivev @xiaomooyu @ning1e @smellwell @the-ultimate-librarian @kiiyoooo @mello-life25 @tomoeroi @iwishtobeacrow @tehyunnie @remdayz @rhetorical-conscience @love-kha1 @star-3214 @secretivemessenger @yuzuukix @bensontrechic @anchoredphoenix @intergalacticmusicmaster @webwanderer

[simple-dorito]

Robert: stop pussy footing and tell Victor how you feel.

you: shut the fuck up man! what if he thinks i'm weird? a freak?

robert: we all know your a freak when you said you'd smash a predator in a game of smash or pass, this is nothing new so do you or do you not fancy the fucking bat hybrid?

you: of course i fucking do dipshit, who wouldn't, plush his batform is a bonus...a really nice bonus...

robert: didn't need to know that, but by the way Viktor definitetly heard everything we said across the building, just thought you should know.

you: WAIT WHAT?!

Victor: *heard the entire thing thanks to his hearing and fist pumps the air, keeping his twinkie close* i have a chace! a fucking fat one at that! fuck yeah.

[hikawilla]

inspiration

Malleus examines the portrait, while his loyal knights stand nearby, guarding the future king. Malleus: Hmmm, so familiar. Sebek: Young master, were you present when this painting was created? Malleus: No, this painting is older than me. I feel like I've seen a bat somewhere. Silver: Malleus-sama, perhaps you are subconsciously comparing this bat to father? Sebek: Silver, don't talk nonsense! The young master doesn't throw words to the wind! Just as Malleus was about to speak, Lilia suddenly appeared, startling the guys. Lilia: Oh, I remember this painting. That artist begged me and my wife for so long to pose. Of course, I enjoyed lying on my wife one more time, and your mother, Silver, kept complaining about her numb hands. Pff, for the sake of art and satisfying my husband's whim, one can endure a little suffering. Alright, what's next among the exhibits? I think I spotted my lost dagger there.

Sebek: Forget what Silver said.