TwinBrother!Megumi has always been attached to your hip, never straying too far from your side. It was only natural, after all! Youâre twins, how could you not be close? You two shared the same womb for nine months, hands tightly clenched against each other even then.
TwinBrother!Megumi slept in your bed since he was little, cuddling close to you and never letting you leave the bed. Even when you needed to go pee at night, heâd follow closely behind you and follow you inside the bathroom, even when you tried to shoo him away.
TwinBrother!Megumi started protecting you from bullies at school, only to end up getting bullied himself :( but itâs okay, because his sweet sis would always be there for him, crying and kissing his bruises better. He started more fights after that.
TwinBrother!Megumi never let you hang out with other guys, always glaring at them and even beating them up for getting too close to you. And when you complained abt it, heâd always kiss you quiet, grumbling shyly abt how lonely heâd be without you if you ever left him :(
When TwinBrother!Megumi and you entered puberty, things changed drastically. Megumi started growing rapidly, now towering over you when you used to be the same height. He started smelling different too, the raw smell of his body odor sent tingles down your spine whenever heâd cuddle with you after school.Â
Not only that, but TwinBrother!Megumi started using you to ease the ache in his pants, rutting desperately against your pajama shorts every night, hands groping your growing tits until he came with a grunt. He always left his boxers sticky with cum, and you wet n sticky with cum and slick
TwinBrother!Megumi started kissing you more often, now shoving his tongue inside your mouth and making you gag on the slimy appendage. He was so messy and mean with his kisses, moaning and grunting into your mouth, even touching your boobs until you were both humping mindlessly against each other <3
TwinBrother!Megumi wasnât the only one to change though. Your body started to grow too, your body more mature and now shaped into a young woman. Little things made you cry and now you were so so dependant on ur brother to take care of you, even down there whenever ur cunt would get achy
Sharing a bed was so much more fun now, especially when you and TwinBrother!Megumi would jerk off together, legs spread wide for each other to see and touch. Megumi always came first, but its not his fault! Your pussy is just so wet and pretty, and your tits are so sexy too he just cant help but cum :(
TwinBrother!Megumi helps you cum after, spreading his cum against your pussy while he fingers you to completion, kissing you so messily again until your legs shake and you accidentally squirt all over him <3
ăťâĽăťsmut mdni, experienced!reader x virgin/switch!rin, poor rinnie just wants to be the man you want but first you have to show him the ropes.
the walk back from the restaurant is the kind that makes your skin feel thin.
rin has his hand on the small of your back the whole way, a little too firm, a little too deliberate, like he's decided on the gesture and committed to it. the night air is cool but you aren't cold. haven't been cold since he leans across the table mid-conversation and says, very quietly, "stop looking at me like that," and you smile into your wine glass and say, "like what?"
he doesn't answer. just watches you with those pale teal eyes until you feel it in your stomach.
by the time you reach your door he has you pressed against it before you even get the key in the lock, one hand braced against the wood above your head, mouth on yours. not gentle. he kisses like he's trying to establish something, jaw set, hand coming up to grip your face, tilting you back. you kiss him back and feel him exhale through his nose, a little unsteady, but dedicated nonetheless.
you get the door open. barely. you're both giggling between kisses as you slip into your apartment.
inside, in the low warm light of your living room, rin walks you backward toward the bedroom with his hands on your hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. he's being deliberate, forced even, that whole i have decided to be in control of this thing. you can feel it in the slight stiffness of his grip, the way he's kissing you like he's following instructions he's given himself.
you let him lead you back into the room. let him reach for the zipper at your back, finding it on the second try.
"sit down," he says against your mouth.
he stands in front of you and reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. he's beautiful, lean muscle and smooth skin, the kind of body that comes from years of disciplined, obsessive training. he looks down at you with an expression he's clearly trying to keep flat and unreadable.
he's nervous, you think and something warm and fond curls in your chest.
you'd known before tonight that you'd be rins first. he hasn't said it directly, he'd never say it directly, but you've picked it up in the way he watches you sometimes when you mention past things, past people, the slight tightening around his eyes. after countless playbacks of your experiences in his mind, he decided the only way across it is to come in swinging.
he reaches for you, hand sliding into your hair, gripping.
"lie back."
you do. you watch him from under your lashes, watch the way he exhales slowly before he moves, watch his jaw work.
there's a pause.
a little half-second where his hands hover over you and you can see him thinking, calculating, reassembling the performance. his touch when it comes is firm but slightly mechanical, like he's executing a plan he drew up in advance. his mouth finds your collarbone, your throat. good. he's good. but underneath the confidence is something clenched and effortful and you can feel it the same way you can feel a song played slightly out of tune.
you put your hand on his chest and press, gently but clearly. "hey."
he lifts his head. looking at you.
"you don't have to do that," you say.
his expression doesn't crack, but something behind his eyes shifts. "do what."
"perform." you keep your voice easy, no judgment in it. "you're tense. i can feel it."
something moves across his face. a flash of something, defensive instinct, the impulse to say i'm not tense, i don't know what you're talking about, and you watch him swallow it.
he doesn't say anything. he sits up slightly, weight on one arm, watching you with that careful unreadable look, but the set of his shoulders has changed. less rigid. more uncertain.
"i'm fine," he says.
"i know you are." you sit up too, tuck your hair back. "but let me."
he just stares, confused.
"let me take care of you this time," you say. calm. simple. no performance in it. "you can be in charge after. i promise."
a muscle jumps in his jaw. he looks like he's deciding whether to argue, and you can see the specific kind of pride in him that makes everything a competition, makes every vulnerability feel like a loss, and you just hold his gaze and wait him out.
he exhales. sits back. lets you push him gently until he's sitting against the headboard, long legs stretched out, watching you with those pale eyes.
you move to kneel between his thighs and his breath catches, barely audible.
"you okay?" you ask.
"yeah." a little rough at the edges.
you work his belt open slowly, no rushing it, and feel his stomach tighten under your hands. when you get his pants open and reach into his boxers and wrap your hand around him he makes a low sound that he cuts off quickly, and you glance up at him and smile.
"you can make noise," you say. "i like it."
he looks down at you like you've said something in a language he's still learning.
you pull him free. he's huge. half-hard and getting harder by the second, thick and warm in your hand. you stroke him slowly, watching his face, watching the deliberate blankness he's trying to hold onto. you lean down and press your lips to the tip and feel the sharp breath he pulls in through his nose.
"hey," you say softly, almost to yourself. you lick along the underside, slow, just to feel him twitch in your hand. "there you go."
"âŚdon't talk to me like i'm--" he starts, and it's half-hearted even as he says it.
"like what?" you look up at him from under your lashes, the same way you had at dinner, and watch his jaw clench.
not wanting to tease him any longer, you take him in your mouth.
he's too late to cut himself off this time, a low bitten-off groan escapes that he turns his face away from, and you feel the hand that had been resting near him reach out and settle in your hair. not grabbing. just resting. like he needs something to hold onto.
you work him slowly, taking your time with it, using your hand where your mouth isn't, and above you rin is doing something you suspect he does very rarely, which is falling apart in increments. his careful composure is coming undone stitch by stitch. his breathing changes, gets shallower, less controlled. his hips shift, a small involuntary movement, chasing.
"god," he says, barely sound, more breath.
you hum around him and he makes a sound that's almost pained, fingers curling in your hair, not pulling, just holding tighter. you take him deeper, let him feel the back of your throat, and his whole body goes rigid for a half-second before the tension breaks into something looser.
you work up a rhythm, steady and unhurried, hollowing your cheeks. his thighs go taut on either side of you. you glance up again. his head has dropped back against the headboard, dark hair falling across his face, one arm thrown over his eyes. the line of his throat is exposed and his chest is rising and falling too fast. he looks nothing like the composed, deliberate person who walked you backward into this room.
he looks wrecked.
you pull off him slowly and he makes a soft involuntary sound at the loss of it, uncovering his eyes to look down at you. the expression on his face is completely unguarded in a way you doubt many people have ever seen.
"good?" you ask.
"âŚyeah." rough. honest. he couldn't lie even if he wnted to.
you press a kiss to his inner thigh, feeling him shiver. "you're doing so well," you say softly. you watch the words move through him, watch him process them, watch the slight disbelief and then the way something in him eases, like a held breath finally letting go.
he reaches down and touches your jaw, tilts your face up. studying you. that sharp, assessing quality he has, the one that evaluates everything and everyone, but softer now, turned somewhere more personal.
"come up here," he says.
you move up the bed and he pulls you in, rolling you underneath him, and the balance has shifted yet again. something more genuine in it this time, less performance and more presence. he pushes your hair back from your face with one hand and looks at you, holding your gaze.
"i knew you were going to be annoying," he says.
"i don't see you complaining, pretty boy," you tease.
he kisses you again, slower this time, less to prove something and more because he wants to. his hand slides down your side and you feel the question in it.
"go on, i'm all yours" you say against his mouth, before he can even ask.
finished this old draft as filler sorry pls i promise ill have the req done soon
sae wasnât by any means an extremely vocal person. whenever you had sex, it was always those same familiar soft groans and that low sensual sound he made when he came, never anything else. and for someone like you who was an absolute sucker for whimpers, youâd made it your mission to get at least one whine out of him.
âjust like that, baby.â sae groaned as he was laid back, letting the sight of you ride him sink in, unaware of your alternate agenda. both of his hands was steady on your hips, lazily guiding your movements, occasionally giving your ass a squeeze.
your cum was stuck to your inner thighs as you determinedly chased saeâs orgasm, and you could tell he was close. his dick was twitching in your heat and the lewd sight of your tits bouncing above him, wet cunt clutching each time you slammed down, his face painted with pleasure â he was grabbing your hips harshly with that well known low groan, cock pouring out ropes of cum and stuffing you full.
his chest rose and fell with rough breaths, hands caressing slow over your skin. the atmosphere went still and all that could be heard was the mixed sound of your heavy breathing slowing in sync. he was giving you a slight âarenât you gonna get off look?â but didnât say anything, letting you do as you please.
you, on the other hand, were debating whether to mercifully give him a minute, or to begin your little scheme right away. leaning in, you captured his lips in a hot kiss, teeth nipping before you were slipping your tongue past. you kissed him like you were starved, till you were both dizzy and pulling away only for air. a not so gentle indicator that you wanted another round.
starting your plan before he began to soften, you stirred with teasing slow grinds at first, just testing the waters and his reaction was perfect, steadying breath hitching as your hips grinded against him, âagain, right now?â
you only hummed slyly in response, planting your hands down on his thighs to secure yourself.
âw-wait.â his hands attempted and failed to stop you, quivering as you were already bouncing, cunt squeezing his already sensitive dick so sweetly he felt like he was going to die from both pain and pleasure.
thighs stinging with an ache, your legs were obviously tired after topping for so long, but it didnât stop you at all. if anything, it only made you more persistent. you were speeding up, feeling his trembling hands grabbing at your waist.
you were now the one admiring the sight in front of you â the look on his face that said it was all too much and too good at the same time, his cheeks flushed as he bit into his bottom lip trying to muffle the submissive sounds slipping past his lips. this was perfect opportunity to taunt him for it.
âcanât handle it?â you laughed out through a moan, âyou overstimulate me allll the time but you canât manage a bit yourself?â
âiâ, youââ his weak attempt at speaking was overridden by a whiny âf-fuckâŚâ and it was like music to your ears. your hips were meeting his gruellingly as his cum had began leaking out of you, sticking and squelching with the slam of your ass against his skin.
you felt him shudder as his whimpers got more prominent, motivating you to keep pressing on. they were getting louder and louder until he decided to finally stop holding back, melodic whines blurting past his lips and straight to your core. âa-ah shit, iâm c-close again.â he sounded on the brink of tears, brows ridged with bliss.
you could feel the tense knot in your stomach forming, saeâs eyes rolling as you clenched around him. his cock was throbbing similarly, ready to release another load. âyou gonna cum? we can together.â you groaned seeing his overwhelmed expression.
unwaiting for an answer, your slick walls hugged him tightly as your knot snapped, thighs quaking as you felt him follow, dick letting out a weak splash of cum. your knees were sore as you stilled, immediately trying to get off at last, but he was stopping you for real now. âd-donât, oh god, donât move yet.â
his eyes were drawn shut but you could see the light tears at their corners. his lips were blushed, bruised and bitten raw from your kisses and the prettiest shade of pink was visible on his cheeks. âyouâre fucking insane.â he heaved, fluttering his eyes open to look at you.
you stroked his chest, âtoo much?â
he went quiet, helping you off him, a near silent hiss leaving him because of the sensitivity.
âyou liked it, didnât you?â you were giggling before he was cuddling you close, trying to change the subject.
âiâll go run a bath soon, need anything?â
âyeah, admit it, you liked it. you like being overstimulated.â you pinched his rib playfully.
(Yandere Jason Todd word-vomit,,, I'm so normal about him I swear ･â ââ âżâ ââ ･ also low-key based off my platonic hubby, love u kitty! I'm going to turn your corpse into five star cuisine and make it my final meal)
Yandere Jason in an apocalypse au where you zombify and he gets super regeneration + immunity from a freak lab incident/attempt to make a cure with the rest of the Batfam. So he's like a pseudo zombie now too, but he's human in the way that you're not.
He can't bear to lose you so he lets you feed on him to keep you full and docile until a cure is made. Tries not to think of his flesh probably floating in your stomach acid while his arm grows back in place, good as new, your body dependent on his. You needed to eat, to stall the rot from completely consuming you until you're unable to hold yourself up because of the connective tissue/tendons/joints supporting your bones giving out.
For a while, he's resigned to desperately keeping you 'alive'. Like a bloodbag to a vampire. A week in, he's cutting flesh off of himself to handfeed you. After months, he starts to let you take bites out of him directly like an infinite food glitch.
When you're cured and turned back into a human, he's mortified to realize that the thought of you never eating him again makes him both relieved and disappointed, the thought of being consumed by you while you're fully conscious of it now makes him painfully hard in his pants.
Wants to feel your teeth rip into him again and make him one with you in the most carnal and animalistic method possible, to know that parts of him had been thoroughly inside of your bodyâbroken down, melted, absorbedâsustaining you. Before the cure, you couldn't live without him.
You little brother just doesn't know any better. Or does he?
cw: pseudo!incest, didi caleb/jiejie mc, fingering, orgasm denial, caleb babbling about how good he'd fuck his jie, xavier appears oh no, caleb fucks up, FUTURE NON!CON (you've been warned)
It takes some time, and a lot of resisting Caleb's constant whining and begging to touch you, until he finally finds a girl he deems good enough to fuck. You had even started to suspect heâs tricking you again until to your surprise, and pain, he did find someone. He shows you her pictures when he visits, sitting you on his lap as he goes through them.Â
âShe's pretty isnât she?â He asks, lips brushing against your neck as he presses open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin.
âYes.â You admit, and try to ignore the uneasy feeling brewing inside you at him finally finding a girl he thinks is attractive⌠and how familiar she looks.Â
Youâre still staring at her pictures when you feel his hands slide up under your shirt.Â
âLet's practice then.â He groans, his hands grabbing at your bare breasts under the shirt you borrowed from him. The sight of you in it had left him worked up, you know. You can feel it against your ass. But in your defense you hadnât expected him to visit you today. Itâs a weekday. Heâs not supposed to be here. He sprang this visit on you so he can show you his precious find. âI'm a bit rusty. Donât wanna disappoint her.â
He kneads your breasts, pushing them together and brushing his thumbs back and forth over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. âCan we play boyfriend and girlfriend again? It'll help me focus.âÂ
âCalebâŚâ You whine, knowing you shouldnât give into him but heâs doing what you want, isnât he? And though youâre ashamed to admit it, even to yourself, youâre horny too. Itâs not like youâve been out hooking up with other guys either. Your only sexual experience so far has been with your little brother, and despite how wrong it was, having someone else touch youâespecially someone with such big, thick fingers, a hard body and even harder dickâfelt good, much better than your own fingers did.Â
âCome on, jie. Please.â One of his hands continues playing with your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger while his other hand moves down your body, a hiss leaving his lips as his fingers slip under your panties. âYouâre already so wet for me.â
You feel his hard cock twitch, straining in his pants and pressing against your ass. His fingers on your breast grow bolder, tugging and twisting your nipple while his hand between your legs rubs circles that make heat pool in your belly.Â
âDo you like it when I touch you like this?â He whispers hotly as his fingers spread your growing wetness around. âDo you like my fingers between your legs, jie?â
At your silence, he twists your nipple a bit roughly, making you yelp and involuntarily arch your back. âCome on, jie, itâs not nice to ignore your boyfriend. Havenât I been a good boy?â
âYes.â You hiss, giving in. âI like it, baby.â
âYeah? Fuck, jiejie⌠you turn me on so bad.â He groans, grinding his hips up against your ass so you can feel every thick inch of him. His fingers slide down to your entrance, dipping the tips in as his other hand squeezes your breasts roughly, letting you feel just how needy heâs feeling. âWanna be inside you, jiejie. I belong in here. Iâve waited my whole life for it. Can I have it please? Need my first time to be with youâŚâ
His thumb rubs your clit in circles as he shallowly fucks your hole. You lean into his touch, so embarrassingly wet you can clearly hear the slick noises of his fingers on your pussy. âNo, didi, be good.âÂ
âBut jiejie, Iâmâfuck, jie, it hurts so bad.â He groans, grinding harder against your ass, his cock twitching desperately. âPlease. Donât wanna cum in my pants. Wanna cum inside you.â
âStop it, Caleb.â You deny him harshly, the venom in your voice directed at your own self for wanting it just a little bit too. You just need to get fucked, thatâs it. Youâll find a guy to dick you down once you get Caleb laid and off your back. You donât want to even think about how heâll react if you do it now. Youâve got him on such a short but flimsy leash, and you donât want to set him off when youâre so close to succeeding. âYou canât fuck me.âÂ
He whines like a kicked puppy, and it may have been slightly endearing if he didnât open his mouth. âWhat about your ass? Can I fuck that?â He asks and you gasp. âCaleb!â
âIt wonât count.â He pleads, âYour ass doesnât count, right? Please.â
You hate how the pleasure is dulling your outrage at his daring requests. The little shit shouldnât even think about something so dirty, let alone ask it of you. But every pinch of his fingers on your nipple sends a fresh spark of pleasure straight down to where his fingers are working you open, and you can only squirm against him, feeling his throbbing cock against your ass.Â
âDonât even fucking think about it.â You hiss at him and he whimpers against your ear. His fingers never stop stroking your pussy, his two thick digits pumping shallowly in and out while his thumb circles your clit. âCanât help it. Need to be inside you any way I can. Donât feel whole without you. Been empty my whole life, knowing only you can fill me up.â
The unexpected confession strikes a cord in your heart, and you feel a void inside you reverberate in answer, an emptiness youâve felt ever since the day you were born and never knew how to fill. Does he have that terrible emptiness too? Is that why heâs so hellbent on chasing after you, because he thinks you can fill it?Â
âI keep thinking about itâŚâ He babbles, âYour tight little hole⌠how warm and soft it would feel around my cock. I bet it would squeeze me so good, jiejie. Keep me inside and make me whole again.â
âShut up.â You hiss but he doesnât. You can never really get him to shut up when heâs on one of his horny rambles.Â
âWould feel so perfect⌠made just for me, I know it.â His hand on your breast squeezes harder as he grinds up against you in desperate rolls. âIâd go so slow for you, I swear. Just let me stretch you open⌠let me fill you up where no one else has ever been, and no one else will ever be. Youâd let me, right? Because Iâm your didi and youâre my sweet jiejie.â
And no one else will ever be.Â
His words send chills down your spine. You try not to put much stock into his horny rambles but you worry that with every passing day, heâs slipping further and further into his dangerous delusions and you won't be able to cure him.Â
âI said no.âÂ
But despite your insistence, your body writhes in his embrace, lost to the pleasure even as your mind screams at you. How is he meant to take you seriously when you indulge him like this? Of course he thinks he can demand more of you. âYouâre my good didi, arenât you? So be good.âÂ
And how can you reject him when every time you do, he acts like youâve ripped his heart out and slammed it against the wall? A spoiled Caleb is demanding but a scorned Caleb isâŚÂ unsettling.Â
âNo, no. Iâm so close, jie. Please, please, donât wanna cum in my pants when your pretty hole is right thereâ He grunts, grinding his cock against your ass even as he says that, and you can feel a wet spot start to form as he leaks through his pants. Â
âThen donât cum.â You gasp out, feeling yourself getting close too. âBe a good boy. Hold it for me.â
âIâm trying⌠fuck, Iâm trying so hard.â He whimpers, âWill you let me fuck you if I hold it? I just wanna push my cock between your cheeks andââ His hips stutter, his words breaking off into a moan as he fights the urge to let go.
âKeep going. Keep going. Donât stop.â You brush off his question. Youâre right on the edge now and you donât want to ruin it.Â
âJiejie, pleaseâI need it. I need to slide my cock into your tight little hole⌠stretch you out⌠fill you up until you finally accept me.â His fingers pump faster, thumb pressing frantic circles on your clit while he keeps babbling desperately against your neck. âIâd be so deep, jiejie. Youâd feel every inch of me. Iâd cum so much inside youâŚyou won't ever get rid of meâŚâ
The filthy, forbidden words, combined with the relentless motion of his fingers and the heavy grind of his cock against your ass, finally push you over. You cum with a loud moan, thighs clamping around his hand as your pussy gushes around his fingers.Â
Caleb lets out a choked sound, hips jerking erratically against you as he fights not to follow you over the edge. His cock twitches against your ass, leaking steadily, but he somehow manages to hold back⌠barely.
âGood boy.â You whisper shakily, still coming down from your orgasm, and reach back to pat his sweaty hair. âSuch a good boy for meâŚâ
âPlease, pleaseâcan I have it now?â He pants, his hips jerking ever so slightly against you.
âNo, baby.â You sigh, patting his hot cheek now. âIn fact, I think it would be good if you donât cum at all tonight.â
You feel him stiffen against you. âW-what?âÂ
âYou said youâre not attracted to any of the girls from before. What if you struggle with this one too?â You explain your cruel reasoning to him, âYou need to stay all hot and horny so you wonât have any issues tomorrow.â
You know he wonât be happy about your decision so you try to stand up quickly, wanting to put distance between you before his foggy brain catches you. But you barely separate before he yanks you down, laying you on your back on the bed and crawling between your legs.Â
âYouâre not going to leave me like this!â He fumes, bucking his hips against you in a harsh thrust as if to make his point.
âI know itâs not pleasant, baby.â You coax, brushing your fingers through his hair in a way that would normally soothe him. But heâs so pent up it hardly makes a dent. âBut this is necessary. And I think learning to edge yourself will be good for your endurance too. You worry so much about finishing too fast, right? This will help.â
âNo, No.â He mutters, and grinds against you faster, now desperate for any form of release. âI donât need to be edged. I just need you to make me cum.â Â
âYou can cum tomorrow, baby. You're a big boy now, right? You can wait.â You say a little condescendingly, hoping he'd feel embarrassed enough to try to prove himself to you. But Caleb has never been shy about showing his need and even sometimes downright pitifulness to you.
âI can't!â He cries out as if he'll die if you don't let him cum. âJiejie⌠please. I did everything you wanted. I was so good for you. Just let me cum. Iâll take even this. You wonât have to do anything. Please. It hurts so badâŚâ
You squirm in his hold, trying to get out from under him as he ruts against you like a dog. âLet me go, Caleb.âÂ
He whines louder, âIâll be quick, I swear. Just give me a couple of minutes and I'll make a mess in my pants for you. You like that, right? Like making me beg for it. I like it too, jie. I like anything you do to me.â
You don't. You don't like the way he talks about it. You like it. You do this to me. You. You. It's not you who caused this mess, right? Right?!
But no matter how much he whines, begs, or tries to bargain, you refuse.
âCaleb, donât ruin everything weâve worked for.â You tell him and he scoffs. âI don't care. I need you. You should take care of me. You're my big sister. You need to take care of me.â
You sigh. You won't get through to him in this state. You have to shift gears.Â
âIf youâre good for me and get off of me⌠I'll give you a reward after.â You promise even though you know you shouldnât.Â
That gets his attention and he pauses his incessant grinding but doesn't get off you yet. âWill I get your ass?âÂ
You glare at him. âNo.â
âYour pussy?â
âHell no.â
âThen whatâs the reward?â He huffs.
âThe reward is I still let you touch me.â You mutter, the ungrateful brat taking all youâre giving him for granted. If you were any other sister, he wouldnât have even dared to hold you down like this let alone make such brazen demands. If you were any other sister, none of this would have happened.
You wonder what he would have done if you stayed firm in your denial that very first time? Would it have really made all the difference or would he have found another way in? Would it have been worse?
You shudder.Â
âJiejie, come onâŚâ He protests but his tone is hesitant and you know he worries you'd take it all away again if he pushes you too far.Â
You also worry about pushing him too far so you try to compromise. âYou can have my mouth.âÂ
âBut I've had your mouth.â He huffs insolently and you bark out a laugh. The nerve of him! Acting as if getting a few blowjobs entitles him to free use of your mouth.Â
âAnd you may never have it again if you keep up this attitude.â You grit and he shrivels under the threat.Â
âOkay, okay.â He winces as he literally peels himself away from you, your flesh sticking together with need and sweat.Â
âYou're a bad jiejie.â He huffs out and your heart sinks.Â
You know he's just saying it because he didn't get what he wanted, but you hate hearing it anyway. He used to say it sometimes back when he was younger and you didn't let him have his way but after you told him how much it hurt you, he never said it again. Yet here he is saying it straight to your face with no remorse.Â
He really can be so cruel sometimes.Â
Heâs with her right now. Heâs going to do it. You feel sick.Â
________________________
Your stomach has been in knots since the morning. You canât concentrate on anything. Work has been a blur. You heard nothing during important briefings. Xavier had to be the one to clue you in later, and that's saying a lot coming from the man who zones out of almost every conversation. Your fights with wanderers were on autopilot, and youâre lucky that your partner is the best hunter in Linkon or you would have been dead ten times over. Or perhaps youâre not lucky at all.Â
You messed up again and again, and it was all up to Xavier to clean it up. You should send him a gift card to his favorite hotpot restaurant as a thanks. Later though. You have too much on your mind now.Â
You even try going out with your friends after work, hoping the noise and chatter would distract you, but nothing can save or even blunt your sour mood, and it is apparent to everyone there. They keep asking you what is wrong, worried that you got injured by a wanderer or maybe fell ill or something. Try as you might, you canât put on a convincing enough act to ease their concern.
âIâm fine, really.â You say for the third time, forcing a tired smile. âJust a long day. The wanderers were extra aggressive today.â
Tara isn't buying it, that much is clear. She leans in closer, lowering her voice so only you could hear. âIâm not going to keep pressing you on this if youâre really uncomfortable talking about it⌠but I have to tell you that Xavier has been staring at you since we got here. Heâs worried sick.â She giggles, and you look up instinctively, meeting his gaze across the room.
He doesnât look away. His light blue eyes stay fixed on you, and you feel heat crawl up your neck.
Tara words were teasing, you know that⌠but they weren't just that. She has been âshippingâ the two of you from the very first time you introduced him to her. She comments all the time about how he is so attentive to you, how he only seems to listen when you are talking, how he perks up whenever you walk into the room.Â
Her wild imagination had sent you into a fit of laughterâXavier attentive to you? You can barely get his damn attention even when you try. He only listens to you because you've proven yourself to him in battle over and over again. If he didnât, you'd kick his fucking ass because that would jeopardize your missions and put your lives on the line. And he certainly doesn't perk up when you walk into a room. The only thing youâve witnessed that is capable of perking up the perpetually sleepy hunter is a high ranking wanderer or a bowl of hotpot.Â
Sure, he is an attractive guy and the idea of him fancying you is flattering. But you hadnât been lying to her when you said your relationship with him is purely work-related. You moved together seamlessly in battle, predicted each otherâs moves, and always had each otherâs backs. But outside of that he is still a mysterious guy who rarely opens up, even after all the life-and-death situations youâve faced side by side. And you⌠didnât have the time or energy to look at any man.Â
Maybe if Caleb didn't occupy every free moment of your life and demanded every ounce of your love and attention, that small spark of attraction could have even bloomed into a crush.
But Caleb would flip his shit if he lost his jiejie time just so you can date. You remember how insufferable he was during the brief period you and Zayne got close before he suddenly moved away. Caleb had acted like you had committed some ultimate act of betrayal against him for inviting Zayne to walk home with the two of you since he lived on the same street. He had scowled when you called Zayne handsome and ran around collecting all the notes and letters he had gotten from schoolmates and teachers calling him handsome.Â
âSee, jiejie? I'm much more handsome than he is. You don't need him. You've got me!âÂ
You had laughed and patted his head and pinched his cheeks and called him your one and only handsome prince. At the time you thought nothing more of his behavior than that of a little brother not used to sharing his sister's attention.
Fuck. You really should have known that wasnât how a normal little brother reacted to his sisterâs crush.
And it certainly wasnât normal to have spent your entire life loveless simply because you didnât want to upset your little brother. It wasnât normal to be sitting here drinking yourself into a stupor just because Caleb was out there fucking another girl tonight.
You really need to get your shit together, and soon. So you chug down the last of your drink in one go before you stand up and head towards Xavier, ignoring Tara's excited whoops in the background.
âCare to join me for a dance?â You ask, cringing inwardly at how timid you sound even with all the alcohol pumping through you.
He looks surprised at your request, but to your relief he accepts.You lead him onto the dance floor as a slow song begins to play. You wrap one arm around his neck, and he hesitates for a moment before placing his hands lightly on your waist, still keeping a respectful distance between your bodies.
You roll your eyes at him. âIt's not a middle school dance, Xav. Come closer.âÂ
âXav?â He cocks his head to the side and you blush. âXavier. Slip of the tongue.â
âIt's fine. You can call me Xav.â He tells you and it may have sounded flirty if it came from any other guy but Xavier doesnât even smile as he says it. His voice remains monotone as if he doesn't care either way.Â
Is this the guy who is supposed to have a crush on you according to Tara?Â
Whatever. You've been loveless all your life and Tara has been in multiple relationships. What do you really know? You can't interpret romantic or lustful intentions for shit or else you wouldn't have gotten your brother off many times before he had to come out and tell you he's obsessed with you.Â
You shake your head, trying to dislodge the intrusive thoughts from it. Here you were dancing with the best hunter in Linkon city and the most handsome one to boot. Stop thinking about your fucking brother. Or fucking your brother.
âAre you okay?â Xavier asks, looking at you with suspicion.Â
âOf course.â You blurt out, then let out a nervous giggle, trying to cover up. âNow that youâre here.â
He frowns and you cringe at your own cliche line. But come on, he should cut you some slack. You never flirted with any guy before this. Caleb would bite the head off anyone who tried to approach you even if it were to ask about homework. Â
Gah, stop thinking about Caleb!Â
âI think you're still too far away.â You say, and press yourself closer, letting the alcohol fuel your boldness. You lean your head against his shoulder and let him hold you in his embrace like the other couples around you.Â
For a long moment, Xavier stays stiff, his body tense against yours. Regret starts to creep in⌠maybe this was too much. Itâs all a terrible, horrible idea, and youâve way overstepped the line. But you don't dare pull back and face him. After this song is done you'll say you need another drink and hide from him for the rest of the night and hope he forgets it all in the morningâor at least have the mercy to act like he did.Â
But then, slowly, he begins to loosen up. His arms wrap around you more firmly, pulling you in until youâre properly held against his chest. He doesnât say anything, but the warmth of his body surrounds you.
He's warmer than you, but not overtly so. Not like Caleb and his furnace of a body.Â
He's shorter than your brother too, but still tall. His frame is slimmer, not as oppressive against yours. His features are delicate and ethereal, but his voice is a deeper tone. He is calm and reserved, not touched by the urgency and high energy always infecting your brother. And it really feels like you're betraying Caleb by choosing someone who is the complete antithesis of him. But maybe that's exactly what you need.Â
Xavier remains quiet, perhaps sensing the turmoil inside you. He lets you latch onto him and sways you from side to side. You canât even really call what you're doing dancing, more like cradling a nervous child.Â
Where did the big responsible older sister go?Â
âWhat's so funny?â Xavier asks when you let out a giggle. You shake your head but end up nuzzling deeper into his chest. He smells nice but wrong. He feels good but wrong.Â
But maybe you've got it all mixed up in your head. Maybe this is what right feels like and you've been doing it wrong this whole time.Â
âI just thought you'd be a better dancer.â You lie, trying to deflect, and he makes a noise of protest. âI'll have you know I am a very good dancer. In fact, I've mastered many different kinds of dances.â
As the song changes to something much more upbeat and unmistakably sexual, you pull back to look at him with a teasing smile. âOh really? Prove it then.â
You start moving, though not particularly well. You have zero experience, but the alcohol buzzing through your veins burns off most of your embarrassment. Xavierâs ears are red as he tries to keep up, his movements a little clumsy as he attempts to match your rhythm.
âYes. Yes. Truly a master.â You laugh, finding the banter coming out easier than you would have thought.Â
âI said many. Not all.â Xavier replies with a bashful but challenging smile.
âLetâs do what theyâre doing then.â You point toward a couple a little ways off who were moving with impressive skill.
You and Xavier try to follow their steps, laughing together as you both fumble through the dance. But the more you do it, mirroring the other coupleâs increasingly intimate movements, the more your laughter fades and you feel the energy between you shift.
Xavier looks at you strangely and you canât quite put your finger on his expression. It looks familiar in a way, like a foreign song from your childhood that you know the tune of but never really learnt what the lyrics meant. And then heâs shutting you out again, his expression fading into a blank slate.Â
It gives you whiplash. You try to latch onto the fading moment, clutching at the cooling corpse as you throw yourself into the dance, copying the girl's movement more closely in the hopes of bringing it back to life. When the beat changes, the girl turns around smoothly, pressing her back flush against her partnerâs front, their bodies moving as one. You follow her lead without thinking, pressing yourself back against Xavier, but your eyes stay locked on the couple in front of you, watching the way they canât seem to get enough of each other.Â
The sight that may have looked debauched and shameless to others makes you yearn more than any romantic story youâve ever read. You want that. You want to desire and be desired. You want to love and be loved. And most of all you want to do it in front of the whole world and not feel ashamed.Â
Will you ever have that?
Xavierâs hands dig into your waist tightly and your breath catches. For a moment you think he might pull you closer against him. Maybe you have a chance at getting what you want after all. Â
But then he uses his grip on you to push you away, creating space between your bodies.
âWe should stop here.â He says, voice measured. And itâs like youâd been doused in ice cold water. You jerk away from him, muttering out, âOf course. I'm sorry.âÂ
Youâre such an idiot. He is just worried about you as his mission partner and is trying to be nice and that's why he accepted this dance. But you, the pathetic idiot you are, threw yourself at him. You think just because you somehow raised your brother to lust after you that someone like Xavier would actually want you? Caleb probably wouldn't look your way either if you hadn't messed him up so badly.Â
âYou donât needââ Xavier starts again.
âMaybe I am sick after allâ You cut him off, suddenly feeling so exhausted. âI mustâve caught that bug going around the office. Iâm just gonna go home.â
âBut you were fine a minute ago,â he points out, not letting you off that easily, but you don't back down. âAnd now I feel like I could throw up on your shoes. You wanna risk it?â
He winces. âLet me walk you home then.âÂ
Xavier patiently meets your undeservedly indignant gaze. âI thought you were sick enough to vomit on my shoes.â
You huff like a little kid. âMaybe it's your shoes that are making me sick.âÂ
He lets out a soft laugh. âYou donât like them? Thatâs okay. I stole them from Isaiah. I always knew his taste was garbage. Iâll make sure to pass on your critique.â
You crack a small, reluctant smile, imagining the offended look on Xavierâs strange, pompous friendâs face. Xavier seems to take the slight change in your demeanor as permission to push further.
âCome on.â He says gently. âLetâs go home. Iâm tired too.â
___________________Â
During the car ride back home, Xavier keeps trying to talk to you. It's unusual for him. He doesnât usually make this much effort to fill the silence and you know he must feel sorry for you for deluding yourself into thinking he actually likes you.Â
Damn Tara. You'll get her for this.Â
Still, the taxi driverâs presence keeps him from saying anything about what happened on the dance floor, and you cling to the hope that heâll just pretend none of it ever happened. That the two of you can go back to being mostly formal, sometimes friendly coworkers.
When the taxi finally pulls up to your building, you donât wait. You thank the driver quickly and head straight for the stairs, trying to put the entire night behind you with all that has happened in the bar and whatever the fuck is happening in skyhaven.Â
But the night refuses to let you go.
Xavierâs footsteps follow quickly behind you the whole way up. You ignore him, keeping your eyes fixed forward until you reach your door. You fumble with your keys, slip inside, and mutter a quick, âGoodnight, Xavier,â before trying to shut the door in his face.
His hand shoots out at the last second, stopping the door. âHey, about what happenedââ
âForget about it.â You cut him off tensely, hoping your voice conveys just how much you regret it. âI was just drunk. Iâm sorry. Goodnight.â
You push the door again, harder this time, but he doesnât relent. His palm stays firmly planted against the wood. âButââ
âPlease, Xav. Just forget it.â You plead and his strength falters at your pitiful tone. You seize the small window of opportunity to slam the door shut in his face, muttering one last âGoodnightâ as the lock clicks into place.
You lean back against the door, eyes closed, feeling even sicker than you did when you left the bar, and wait for him to walk away. It takes a while, maybe minutes, maybe forever, before you hear his footsteps pick up then fade down the corridor. You let out a sigh, though you do not feel any relief. Youâve possibly just ruined your perfectly professional, working relationship with your hunting partner, and for what? You're so pathetic, practically throwing yourself at the guy because you're⌠what? Jealous that your little brother is getting laid? You're a joke.Â
Yet even the terrifying prospect of your career ruin isn't enough to get your mind off Caleb. Now that you're at home and all alone, all you can think of is him and who he's with and what he's doing.Â
Is he kissing her right now?
Is he touching her the way he touches you?
Does he beg for her?
Is he as desperate with her as he is with you, or is he more in control? More sure of himself? Is he finally becoming the man heâs supposed to be?
The thoughts loop endlessly in your rotten mind, crashing into each other, fighting to be heard, morphing into even uglier, more loathsome versions of themselves.
Will he have sex with her tonight? Will he finally realise that you hold nothing special between your legs? That other women can give him what he craves, and that youâre sick for not steering him away from you sooner?Â
You decide more drinks are the answer to all these unpleasant questions. People drink to numb their pain, right? They throw their lives away chasing that merciful oblivion.
So you have one. Then another. Then another.Â
The alcohol burns going down, making the nausea in your stomach even worse for a moment. But then it begins to do its job. It spreads a creeping numbness through your body that starts in your legs, turning them leaden, dragging with every shift of your body on the couch. Then it crawls upward into your chest, slowing the erratic pounding of your heart until the beats feel dull and far away. Finally, it reaches your head, turning your mouth dry and cottony, making your vision blurred and spotty, before it delivers its final mercyâletting your busy mind collapse into a black hole.Â
You slump down on the couch, your body heavy, your mind even heavier, and close your eyes.Â
_______________________
You hadnât even realized youâd blacked out until the shrill ringing of your phone jolts you awake.
The moment you squint at the screen and see the name flashing across it, your heart stutters so violently it feels like it struggles to push blood to your body. Your hands shake as you fumble for the phone and answer it, panicked.
âCaleb?â
âJiejie.â He cries, his voice anguished, and you instantly sit up, the world tilting around you as your brain protests from the lack of oxygen.Â
âAre you okay?!âÂ
âNo⌠Iâm not okay.â He whines, sounding pained. âIt hurts so bad.â
Your heart leaps into your throat, and your questions come out quick and frantic. âWhat does? What happened? Where are you right now?â
âI'm still at her place.â He tells you, âI couldnât cum for her.â
Your brain struggles to make sense of what heâs saying. Still at whose place? Couldnât cum? What is he talking about? Heâs not lying broken in a ditch somewhere? He didnât cross paths with the wrong people and now heâs left bleeding in a dark alleyway? You're not losing him horribly and suddenly?
Then why does it feel like your heart is about to stop? And why does he sound like his is about to as well?
But then you hear itâthe whimpers that come not just from pain, the slick, wet sounds in the backgroundâand you remember where he is supposed to be and what heâs supposed to be doing.Â
âCaleb⌠where exactly are you right now?â You ask cautiously, dread choking you. Heâs not with her, is he? He wouldnât be so insane, or so cruel, would he?Â
âIâm in her bathroom.â He explains, whimpering. âYou lied, jiejie. She couldnât make me cum. And it hurts so much.â
âOh, babyââ You breathe out a sigh of relief. Heâs not hurt. He doesnât hate you. HeâheâŚ
âPlease⌠I need you.â
You gulp, trying to push past the knot in your throat. âWhat⌠what do you need?â
âTalk to me.â He begs, the slick sounds growing a little faster. âNeed to hear your voice. Please.â
âAre you touching yourself, baby?â You ask even though you already know the answer.Â
âYes.â He breathes out shakily, âThinking about you.â
You close your eyes and try not to imagine it in your headâyour little brother locked in another girlâs bathroom, desperately fisting his own cock to the sound of your voice after failing to finish with her. But you canât banish the desperate image of him from your mind, his hand working feverishly over his big, swollen cock, his eyes brimming with tears, his face flushed with that deep red it does when heâs horny.Â
He wants you. He wants you so bad. And it feels so good to be wantedâŚ. Maybe you really did do this to him.
You swallow hard. âWhy⌠why donât you go back to her, baby? Give it another shot.â
âNo, no.â He protests immediately, his voice rising. âI already tried. I did what you wanted. She canât get me off. Only you can. No one else.â
âKeep your voice down, didi.â You hiss, worried sheâll hear. âDonât be bad. Remember, if you do well tonight, Iâll reward you tomorrow.â
âI did well.â He insists, voice a little quieter now. âI got her off so many times with my fingers and my mouth, just like you taught me.âÂ
Something sharp prickles at your chest, piercing your heart. You donât want to hear this, but he keeps going anyway. âShe loved it so much. She was screaming my name. She told me no man has ever made her cum that hard before. I wanted so bad to tell her that I learned it all from you, jiejie.â
He lets out a shuddering breath, the slick sounds of his hand working over himself like background music to his debauched performance.
âShe was pawing at my pants, begging for my cock⌠but I didnât let her. Iâm saving myself for you.â He promises, and your heart stutters despite yourself. But then he adds, a little darkly, âWell⌠I let her put it in her mouth. I fucked her face like that fleshlight you gave me. She was crying and gagging on me but she kept going.â
You have half a mind to end the call right then, your finger hovering over the red button.Â
âWhy donât you beg for my cock like that, jiejie?â He dares to ask.Â
âIf you like it so much, you can keep going out with her.â You mutter, the words tasting more bitter than the alcohol on your tongue.
âBut she couldnât even make me cum.â He groans, âShe tried so hard, brought herself to tears, almost threw up taking my cock so deep down her throat⌠but none of it worked. Thatâs why Iâm in her bathroom right now, jerking off to your voice.â
Your stomach twists violently. Every part of this makes you sick.Â
âGod, I need to see you.â He moans desperately, âCan I come over now, jie? Iâll be so good. Iâve been so good tonight. I touched her and let her touch me, just like you wanted. PleaseâŚâ
You donât want this. You donât want any part of this. You want to be normal.Â
âNot today, didi.â You tell him. You canât stand to face him right now. You canât smell another woman on his skin or taste her on his tongue. You'd tear his tongue out and flay his skin to get to the parts of him she couldnât touch and that belonged only to you. âStay the night at her place. Donât be an asshole.â
âBut jiejie, it hurts! I canât get off without you.â He protests, âIâve been such a good boyâŚâ
You suppose he has. He did what you asked him to doâeven if not what you wanted. Itâs not his fault he couldnât finish. Youâll just have to find him another girl. Youâll sew the corners of your mouth into a smile and bleach the darkness out of your eyes so he wonât see how bad this hurts.Â
Youâll fix it. You'll fix both of you.Â
âThen cum to my voice, baby.â You let your tone grow soft, âYou can do that, canât you? You love jiejieâs voice. Youâll take anything I give you, my sweet boy.â
âYes, jiejie⌠Iâll cum for you.â Caleb moans, and your heart clenches at the relief in his voice, happy to get anything out of you. Heâs done well. He gave himself away even when he didnât want to, and he deserves to be welcomed back into his sisterâs safe embrace to gather himself before you force him out to seek love in strangers again. âIâll be your good boy⌠your obedient didi. Only yours.âÂ
You can hear the wet, frantic rhythm of his hand speeding up on the other end of the line, and his voice gets louder the closer he gets to his release. âCanât wait to fuck you, jiejie. Been thinking about it the whole time I was with her⌠itâs the only thing that kept me goingâŚâ
A shiver runs through you. You donât like how this is going. This is supposed to help him move on, not make him yearn more. And yet you canât deny him outright, his desperation getting to you more than youâre willing to admit. Itâs unfair to him. You know this. Youâve somehow messed him up so badly that he now desires you like this, and here you are, using that same twisted desire to soothe your wounded pride.
âQuiet down.â You remind him, âSheâll hear you.â
A shaky, delirious laugh escapes him, and you cringe at how loud it sounds in your ears. âYeah, she'll hear me call out to my jiejie. The one who owns my cock.âÂ
Your stomach clenches hard, heat flooding your body at his filthy words. It's sick.Â
Sick. Sick. Sick.
âCaleb, do you want to be punished?â You warn, âBecause I wonât touch you at all tomorrow if you keep this up.â
You will. You wonât be able to tell him no, not after everything that has happened tonight. You deserve a break too.Â
âNo, jiejieâŚâ He pleads urgently, voice much quieter now, suddenly sounding small and pitiful again. âIâll be good. Iâll be so good for you. Always your good boy⌠just how you raised me.â
Just how you raised me.
Just how you raised me.
His hand wraps around your neck and squeezes.
You did this to me.
He bruises your skin, crushes your windpipe.
You did this to yourself.
âIâm close.â He whimpers on the other end of the line. âDo you want me to cum for you, jie?â
Your eyes burn and you swallow down the sob that tries to escape.
âYes, didi.â You whisper brokenly.
âWill I get a reward tomorrow?â He asks excitedly, and you shudder. âYes.â
âHmm⌠I want your mouth.â He moans, pleasure thickening his voice, oblivious to your sudden change in mood. âBut I want you to beg for my cock first. Want you on your knees with your tongue out andâ ahh⌠ngh, jie, jie!â
He cries out your name as he finally cums, chanting it over and over again as if it alone can carry him through his high. You open your mouth to chastise him again, but the words die in your throat when you hear a sudden knock on the door.Â
Your head whips up and you stare at your own front door in panic, heart slamming against your ribs. But then a voice comes from down the line⌠and itâs not your brotherâs.Â
âListen, I donât know what the fuck youâre doing.â The girlâs voice is muffled but you can hear the disgust plain in her voice as if she was standing right in front of you. âBut please leave my house now.â
______________________
A/N: oh no he's really done it now mc is gonna spontaneously combust. Mayhaps next chapter caleb finds out and xavi...
Not trying to be negative or anything, just something I noticed and wondered if anyone else agrees. But, does anyone else feel like the fanfic community has kinda of faded throughout the years?
I remember when everyone was super active in it and pushing out ficâs like it was their job. But now that personalized AI has come around I feel like people havenât really been as reliant on fan fiction to get that kind of self insert experience.
Which makes me kinda sad because it completely strips away the community aspect of sharing fan fiction. Also because using AI for this purpose is such an isolating experience and a huge difference between fan fiction and AI roleplay is that fanfics have an END.
Using generative AI for this and being able to go on as long as you want seems like why so many people are becoming addicted to it.
Anyways those are just some of my thoughts, sorry if it was written/formatted poorly I just wanted to go on a bit of a rant. But anyone from either side of this issue let me know your thoughts please!
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who is a year younger then you, mitsuki who is your moms bestfriend since childhood. So it was only natural you and suki were too?
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who would always wait for you outside of the middle school entrance tapping his foot aggressively and a large comical âannoyedâ sign across his head. But everyday heâd wait for you everyday
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who would feel his routine be thrown out the window when you told him you werenât coming into school due to being sick. And if that was bad for katsuki the year when he joined his last middle school year and you joined your first year in ua was a struggle. It took him months to readjust and even then as soon as he got accepted into ua he felt a wave of relief knowing you could go back to normal.
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who was the total opposite of you. You were girly,pink,bright and colourful while he was more in tune with black,greys and loud things.
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who is genuinely scared of you, you never get angry, but there has been a few times heâs caught you at the wrong time. The scowl across your face, the look in your eye reads all he needs to know and he shuts the hell up and looks away.
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who never tells any of his friends about you, more scared of the fact that theyâll try and hit on you, but surprisingly he tells you all about them. When you and your mom come round on weekends at his house heâll sit and tell you about his new found friends (and how annoying they are). You always tell him how proud you are at how far heâs came since last year, in return he grumbles and rolls his eyes but you notice the little pink tint on his cheeks.
BESTFRIENDkatsuki whose has the biggest crush on you for the longest time, his mother always teases him saying how cute he is. Ever since he was in middle school he admired how beautiful and put together you were but he never thought he had a chance. I mean youâre just friends right?
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who you go on trips/holidays with all the time, whenever mitski wants to go somewhere usually your family trails along to.
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who you went skiing with a few weeks ago and you tagged him in a picture of both you in the mirror - his face grumbled and annoyed but there a was a softness to it, while yours was smiley and pink dusted due to the cold. You hand smushed his cheeks togerher as the other one held your pretty pink phone. Your coat matched the phone, a baby pink as the rest of your ski kit was white which was the opposite of sukis. His coat was orange and his ski kit was black.
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who doesnât post on instagram or any social media app much apart from maybe once in a blue moon, but when you tagged him in that photo he reposted it obviously? But that was one of sukis big mistakes. Within an hour Denki was spamming his inbox of questions, sero dropped a like and a âwhoâs this??â Paired with a suspicious faced emoji. Kirishima obviously knew of you. I mean katsuki hadnât mean to tell him but one night you had phoned him while him and kiri studying so from that kirishima sorta had to know. And as a loyal friend he kept his red haired mouth shut!
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who has a deal with mina,sero and denkis stupid questions for the next three weeks, he shouted, refused and out right just walked away most the time.
BESTFRIENDkatsuki who sees you in the hallways quite a lot, your mouth always curves up when you spot him eyes sparkly as you give him one of your big smiles, it always makes his stupid cheeks feel hot and his heart mushy.
BOYFRIENDkatsuki who had enough onenight and decided that when your family came over this weekend for the day he was going to confess. And that he did, with his heart in his hand you quickly swiped it up and hugged it until he felt like he was going to burst.
BOYFRIENDkatsuki who finally told his friends after they kept asking everyday, their faces all confused and excited. To katsuki they were all annoying and weird.
BOYFRIENDkatsuki who will never hide your relationship, he tells people your his bestfriend and his girlfriend.
BOYFRIENDkatsuki who buys you random gifts whenever he sees something that reminds him of you or whenever you say your down.
BOYFRIENDkatsuki who always invites you round for dinner and vide Versa.
BOYFRIENDkatsuki who fiddles with your hair at night while your head sits on his thigh, sleepy breaths leaving your lips as your mind drifts off.
BOYFRIENDkatsuki who is an amazing boyfriend but an even better bestfriend.
Cast: Choso, Gojo, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Naoya
Content: They call reader MISTRESS, Sniffing, panty stealing, scenting, p eating/licking, d jerking, growling, light slapping, short smut for a few of them, not proofread
Puppy adoption program!
You never really wanted a pet, an animal to share your space. But your close friend Shoko offered you to join a hybrid adoption program⌠for free? Just had to sign a shit ton of paperwork? Who wouldn't say no to a hot roommateâŚ. with dog ears and a tail?!!!
Your pups!
Choso, Bloodhound
Height: 190cm
Age: Early 20s (no information given on the documents)
Very closed off, introverted and seemingly nonchalant the first month of taking him in. He silently listened to your commands, if he wants to go out for a walk together he'll silently take his leash and stand near you with it in his hands until you notice.
But the more comfortable he gets around youâŚ.. he's like a damn leech, nuzzling your hair, neck while you stand and cook, cuddle up next to you on the couch, a floppy ear and his black hair buried against your collarbone. A sweet, big boy that just liked being in your presence, asking for affection.
His sense of smell is a bit scary. He could basically smell when you were in a bad mood, he knew when your period was about to start, knew how long you had slept for. Who had touched you at work-
But his favourite smell is at night, when you masturbate with your fingers or toys.
His room was only a wall between yours. So the scent and faint sounds of you trying not to moan filled his ears and nose as if he was right next to you.
Sometimes when you fall asleep after the pleasure session, you're waken up by someone padding into the room, the sound of a tail swishing back and forth. And a tall, innocent looking Choso standing at the edge of your bed.
"Hi, Chos⌠did you have a nightmare again? It's okay, we can cuddle."
You easily make room for him. He often lied and said he couldn't sleep because of a bad dream. Such a bad boy. All he really wanted was to be close to you so he could smell your musk and previous arousal. You let him come hold on to you while you tried to dose off to sleep⌠Unaware of why he kept coming to you at such a convenient time right after cumming in your panties.
But then he was nosing your neck, your jaw, starting to move down to scent at your chest.
It seemed cute, your hands gently running trough his messy, dark hair. But then he whined. And dark, chocolate eyes were staring up at you from your chest, looking like he was about to plead.
And he did.
"Mistress⌠can i lick you?"
"Lick me? Sure." you laughed, assuming he just wanted to lick your skin, eyes shutting again.
But then he whimpered again when you misunderstood him, one of his large hands finding its way between your thighs, tugging on your sleep shorts, tail thumping against the mattress, his nose scrunching a bit.
"Lick⌠here, can I taste, please?" God, drool was already dripping down his chin, his hips grinding against your leg, you could feel his poor cock trying to find some friction.
You cooed down at him, shifting to lay back onto your pillows, giving him scratches behind his ear. You couldn't say no to him.
"Such a naughty boy, alright, just this once."
He moved so fast- suddenly between your thighs, legs tossed over his shoulders, panting against your clothed cunt. You could feel his large tongue lapping at your sweet scent through the shorts. He was so cute. So needy.
Choso's hands were already tugging down your shorts ( with permission from his Mistress, of course) for more.
Satoru, Siberian Husky
Height: 193cm
Age:28
Immediately was all over you the moment he saw you coming to pick him up from the hybrid care centre, his tail wagging almost like some propellor. His curious blue eyes and small howls and barks suddenly surrounded your daily life.
He was fairly active, sometimes you'd find him working out in the living room, grunting while doing some push ups, shirtless. Of course.
You had noticed that he had a lovely, white happy trail running down from his lower abdomen and disappearing in his sweatpants. I mean all of his body hair was white, maybe a bit grey? You tried not to ogle him too much.
But Satoru liked that, walking around shirtless or just in his boxers sometimes. He loved your attention on him, his ears always pointed to the direction of you.
He was shameless, always dragging you with him if he tried to run around at the park, demanded sweets and pets if he thought he had been a good boy.
He was far from it, but you forgave him.
His favourite activity? Scenting you. And dry humping your thigh. Or maybe your ass? Both.
You tried to lay down to read a book, he was on you, grinning down at you as he straddled your thigh, a hard print through his sweatpants as he ground down.
If you tried to ignore him, he'd whine, pull at your shirt to make you watch him, try to bite your book or pull at your hair for you to notice him.
"Mistressssss! Look at me! Watch me! Don't you love me?" He whined in a mock needy tone, a sly grin on his face.
You just sighed, focusing your eyes on him.
Sometimes you just help him, pressing your thigh up against his throbbing cock. Sometimes you just roll your eyes and wait for him to cum in his sweatpants. And then scold him about dirtying fresh laundry.
But he never learns, does he?
Nanami, Saint Bernard
Height: 184cm
Age: 27 (thought he looks and acts like he's older)
A gentle giant. A respectful man. You almost forgot he was a hybrid, if it wasn't for his tail and dirty blonde furred ears that get hidden by his hair sometimes.
He knew how to cook, clean, never bothered you.
You took him on walks, he didn't even need a leash since he was so well behaved.
You often gave him head pats and rubbed his back after a long day, his body a comfortable weight on top of yours. Such a good boy.
But⌠where had all of your favourite pairs of panties gone? And a few tank tops? A shoe? Just one?
Obviously you ask him where they are, he gives you a gentle smile, shaking his head and saying he hadn't seen them.
HmmmmmmâŚ. But his tail nervously flicked around.
"Kento, let me in your room."
He looked a bit surprised you didn't believe him. But being a good boy, he let you into his bedroom. A nervous sweat building on his temple.
You rummaged through his closet⌠nothing, under the bed, nothing.
Under his pillows? Bingo.
All of the aforementioned items looked like he used them daily, panties stuck together.
"Nanami, explain yourself." you picked up the cluster, waving it around in his face.
"MistressâŚ" His handsome face seemed to grow bashful, watching you sway the cum covered underwater around, but he couldn't find the words to explain himself.
"Bad boy. I think you deserve punishment. For lying and hiding my damn undies."
The blonde hybrid tried not to pout, which was a comical look on such a usually mature looking guy.
"MistressâŚ" he murmured again, tail slowly swaying. "You have to understand, i just⌠sleep better with your scent near me." His deep voice started to sound a lot more puppy like.
"Nanami, this is covered in⌠your cum."
You rubbed your forehead with your free hand while he cowered.
Punishment was due.
Nanami did as you said, laid down on his bed, you sitting on top of his middle.
The dirty, lacy fabric shoved in his mouth, his ears flat, but his tail wagged underneath him, the taste of himself and you filling his senses.
"Don't make a sound, or I'll think of something worse."
A light smack to his cheek.
He grunted.
You climbed off of him, a hand pushing his pants down, jerking his throbbing cock with no warning.
His hands twitched at his sides, hips lifting to try and fuck into your palm, a soft groan leaving his mouth, though muffled.
You gave him a look, hand pausing.
"Nanami, don't move. Be a good boy and take it."
An hour⌠or maybe two? it was hard to say. You edged him, pausing and waiting for him to calm down before continuing.
Nanami was a patient hybrid, but his nerves were yelling at him.
"Miissthuures.." he tried to call, doing his best to keep the panties in his mouth.
But you just sighed, reaching a hand up and shoving a few fingers between his lips to shut him up.
Toji, Doberman
Height: 188cm
Age: 32
An older hybrid, you weren't really sure why he even was in the program, but something about him not having a proper owner for most of his life melted your heart and you couldn't help but take in this⌠hunk of a man.
Toji was lazy, lounging on every comfortable surface, he liked to go for runs or work out in the backyard by himself. He didn't rely on you too much. He might give you a grin or sarcastic remark. But he didn't interact much with you too.
"Do i really have to wear this shit? It's pink." He complained as you put a collar around him.
"Toji, you don't get to make demands." You sighed, reaching up to try and pet his hair. But he pulled away and bared his teeth, growling, ears standing up straight.
You lowered your hand, glad he at least had allowed as much as putting on the collar.
"C'mon, it's not that bad."
"Whatever."
He was like this for a good while, not letting you touch him unless it was necessary.
But one day, you had gone on a date with some other person, leaving Toji at home. You didn't think nothing much of it, not like he seemed to like you much anyways.
But the moment you came home and took your jacket off, the big man was all over you, pulling you against his chest, grumbling while using his scent gland on the side of his neck to cover you, strong arms and rough hands gripping your dress.
"Who?"
"What do you mean 'who', Toji, i told you I'd go out today to see someone."
His hand founds its way under the skirt of your dress. "I can smell that you fucked someone."
"What- Toji, get off." You scoffed. trying to push at his arms. He listened and loosened his grip, hands falling to his sides, but he looked pissed.
"Why do you care so much, you don't even speak to me most of the time." You pointed out while fixing your outfit.
"You're my mate, nobody else can touch you."
"What?"
Why was he speaking in riddles. Has he really hid his possessiveness and claim over you and the space you lived in all this time?
"Mate."
"TojiâŚ"
His tail lashed around, stepping forward and hugging you again. But you didn't shove him away, your own arms hugging him back, sensing that he needed comfort, something you had never expected from him.
"âŚ.not fair, I want to breed you tooâŚ"
"WHAT?"
Naoya, chihuahua
Height:181cm
Age:27
Naoya cursed his mother, his father, the universe. His breed of hybrid was a damn toy dog. Nobody took him seriously. But his ego didn't care. For a confident and annoying man, the little tail and small ears parting his hair didn't help his image.
Maybe that's why he was in the program.
He hated you the moment he met you. He wanted some important, high status man as his owner.
He didn't like what you cooked, hated what you wore. A total brat about everything.
You let him get used to your apartment and his new life for about a month before finally having enough and being stern with him.
He was standing, glaring at some squirrel outside of the window, growling. "Stupid creature⌠how dare you come close to my living quarters."
"Naoya! Come here." Your voice called him from the kitchen.
He was in trouble. But he just scoffed and waltzed into the room, flipping his bangs back almost dramatically.
"What is it, woman?"
"Did you chew this?" A sad looking plush dangled in your fingers. It was yours. From your bedroom.
"Tch, yes I did. My teeth need to be stimulated." He grinned, showing off his canines.
"Bad boy." You frowned, setting the plushie down.
He looked confused, you hadn't scolded him before.
"As if I care."
"That's it. Come here, on your knees." You pointed to the tile floor between your shoes.
"I'm not about to grovel-"
"Naoya. Sit."
His tail wagged in annoyance, ears flickering but he walked over, making a show of folding down and sitting on his knees, looking up at you.
"âŚ. i didn't do anything wrong anyways. This is ridiculousâŚ" He muttered, looking away.
You grabbed his hair, tugging his head back to face you.
He let out a whimper, looking pitiful like this.
"What the hell!"
"You want to use your mouth to destroy shit? I have an idea for what you can do with it." You glared down at him, fingers tangling more securely in his blonde locks.
He wanted to protest, but the look in your eyes made him hesitate. His instincts making him want to cower.
His short tail flicked behind him a few times.
You tugged his face between your thighs, his eyes going wide⌠but he didn't look like he minded all of a sudden. His hands sliding up the backs of your thighs. His eyes tried to glare at you, but he nuzzled up into your lovely smelling crotch.
"Mmm⌠is this supposed to be punishment?" he looked like he was about to grin.
Your other hand lightly smacked his cheek and then pushed your jeans down, stepping forward and tugging his head up by his hair, making his nose rub against your clit through your panties.
"Shut up and get to work, or I'm dying your hair pink and blue."
He looked panicked and immediately got to work, tongue lapping at the already dampening fabric, eyes still glaring but he didn't want to risk it.
You spread your thighs wider, using the hand that wasn't pulling on his hair to slide the fabric to the side. Giving him better access. He looked like a proper pup now, between his owners legs, lapping at the delicious juices⌠but he didn't dare stop, trying to get his tongue up and inside, past the first ring of muscle.
He whined like some small dog, hands grabbing into your ass to smush you harder onto his mouth.
He's actually really pretty like this, shutting up for once.
Sukuna, wolfdog
Height: 200cm
Age: this section on the information sheets is crossed out and rewritten so many times its a blank ink blob
An aggressive hybrid mix of a gray wolf and some other domestic breed. An illegal hybrid, a rare one too. They weren't on the market as pets since they often were more wolf than dog. They were stronger, faster, violent if irked.
You're not sure why Shoko even offered him to you. But after seeing some pictures of him... you just had to have him.
At first he had to wear a muzzle that had a lock with a key in the back, you holding the key. But after gaining his trust, you only put it on him when you went for walks.
He glared at you, his pink hair messy, tail always stiff and alert.
If someone walked past your front door or even close to the territory of your house, he was growling, trying to find any intruders.
But he hadn't done much damage to your home yet, besides scratch up the back of his bedrooms door with claws, chew trough a few pillows and couch cushions, maybe pissed in your bathrooms sink. But you didn't have to know that one.
One day he was asleep, on your bed. Who knows why. You had just finished with laundry and wanted to go do something in your bedroom. And there he was, spread out on your fresh covers.
You walked up to him, finally getting a good look at his face and the parts of his body that weren't covered by a shirt or boxing shorts. He had scars all over... not to mention dark tattoos swirling across his arms and face.
You were pretty stupid and lightly touched the crown like one on his forehead, just wanting to brush his hair away to look.
Sukuna's eyes shot open, immediately grabbing your hand, teeth baring, a growl escaping his throat. But once he realized it was just his foolish owner he let go and grunted, rolling over on his side.
"Get the fuck away from me, i'll bite ya face off next time... idiot."
Another day, it was sunny and the middle of summer. You had went swimming with him at the local lake. Everything was fine, but this mutt had decided that rolling around in some bushes and dirty after you had already left the lake was a genius idea.
Now here you were, a grumpy wolfdog Sukuna, barely fitting in your bathtub, surrounded by bubbles as you washed him off.
It would have been cute if it wasn't... him.
You allowed yourself to finally give him some affection, scratching behind his ears while shampooing his pink hair.
And his wet tail started to wag. It made you so giddy, instantly rubbing at his ears.
But it seemed like he had had enough.
SPLASH!
You were pulled into the cramped tub, water spilling over. Your clothes were wet as you were laying on top of a naked, blushy, angry looking Sukuna.
"Do that again and i'll-" he was about to bark at you, hands gripping onto your hips. But then he realized what position you were in.
A sly grin spread on his face, shoving you closer to his chest.
"You should take a bath with me, for touching my ears like that."
You squeaked, trying to climb back out, but his hands were already tearing your shirt off.
Yoon's notes: UGHH I LOVE WRITING HYBIDSSUUHH
Reupload from my old account @/yoonsucksalot ! but redone a bit hihih
HUGE MEGA DRIPPING WET THANKS TO @liliklei @yorikae !!!
hello brotato chip.....it would be fantastically awesome if you wrote a Nagito NSFW alphabet....đđđđđ
âËâĄ.ŕłŕżâ aaa my second favorite character...yessss
âł REQUESTS OPEN
WARNINGS: bottom!reader, dom!reader, cum eating, semi-public sex
gender neutral reader
A = Aftercare (what theyâre like after sex)
Nagito is incredibly attentive and almost reverent afterward, treating the moment like a sacred ritual tied to the "hope" you've just shared. He'll gently clean you up with a warm cloth (or insist on a bath together), murmuring endless praise about how lucky he is that someone as hopeful as you allowed trash like him to touch you. He holds you close, running his fingers through your hair while whispering affirmations, sometimes tearing up because the intimacy overwhelms him. He won't sleep until he's sure you're comfortable, hydrated, and wrapped safely in his armsâhe needs to feel like he's protecting the hope you represent.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partnerâs)
Nagito claims to have everything about himself, calling his own body "filthy trash" that doesn't deserve to touch you, but deep down, he's quietly proud of his mouth and tongueâhe knows he can use them to bring you overwhelming pleasure, and that feels like a small redemption.
On you, he's obsessed with your hands: the way they touch him, guide him, hold him down, or simply rest on his skin. He'll kiss your palms obsessively, muttering about how they represent hope reaching out to someone unworthy like him, and he loves feeling them grip his hair or scratch his back during sex.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Nagito is messy and worshipful about itâhe views it as proof of the "hope" you've drawn out of him. He prefers finishing inside you because it feels like marking you with something hopeful from his worthless body, but he'll beg your permission first. If you have him pull out, he loves seeing it on your skin, tracing patterns with trembling fingers while whispering how beautiful the contrast looks. He's surprisingly into tasting it off you afterward, licking it up like it's a privilege, and he'll get hard again just from the sight and taste of you covered in him.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Nagito secretly fantasized about you completely dominating himâtying him up, using him however you want, even humiliating him by making him beg for scraps of your attention while calling himself trash. He's ashamed of how much the idea turns him on because he thinks it's too greedy for someone like him to want that, but the thought of you claiming him so thoroughly makes him leak pre-cum instantly. He's never admitted it outright, but certain tiny pleas during sex hint at it.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what theyâre doing?)
Nagito has very little real experienceâmaybe one or two awkward meaningless encounters in his past that left him feeling even more worthlessâbut he's surprisingly skilled thanks to obsessive research and his hyper-focus on pleasing you. He studies your reactions like they're clues to ultimate hope, learning exactly what makes you gasp or tremble. He might fumble at first from nerves, but once he's in the moment, his intuition and dedication make him an attentive, adaptive lover who prioritizes your pleasure above his own.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Nagito loves missionary more than anything because it lets him stare into your eyes, watching every expression of bliss cross your face, and whisper desperate praises the whole time. He'll cradle your face or intertwine your fingers, treating it like a profound connection rather than just sex. Runner-up is you riding himâhe's mesmerized by the sight of you taking control, using his body for your hope, and he'll grip your hips while babbling about how perfect and lucky he feels beneath you.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He's rarely goofyâsex is too intense and meaningful for him. He can slip into awkward, rambling tangents about hope mid-thrust, which might come off as unintentionally funny, but his tone stays earnest and reverent. If you crack a joke, he'll laugh breathlessly and call it "adorably hopeful", but he's too overwhelmed by emotion to be truly playful. The closest he gets to humor is his dramatic, self-deprecating dirty talk.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Nagito keeps things neat out of habitâheâs fastidious about hygiene despite his chaotic personality, so he trims regularly but doesnât go bare. His pubic hair is the same wild, light pinkish-white as his head hair, slightly curly and soft. Itâs not overly thick, and heâs always clean and smells faintly of whatever scented soap heâs fixated on that week (he likes subtle, clean scents that make him feel "less filthy").
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Insanely intimateâNagito treats sex like a holy act of hope. He's all soft gazes, forehead kisses, and constant affirmations of love and luck. He'll hold your face, murmur your name like a prayer, and tear up if the emotion hits too hard. Even when things get rougher, there's an undercurrent of worship; he needs the emotional connection as much as the physical one.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He masturbates frequently but guiltily, usually when heâs overwhelmed thinking about you. Itâs desperate and needyâheâll edge himself while whispering your name, imagining your touch, and often cries when he finishes because he feels unworthy of the pleasure. He rarely uses porn; itâs all mental fantasies of you praising or degrading him. If you catch him, heâll blush furiously and beg you to "punish" him for being so greedy.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Praise and degradation (both waysâhe loves praising you endlessly and being called worthless trash in return), light bondage (being restrained so he canât "taint" you too much), dacryphilia (heâll cry during sex and gets harder if you do too), and a massive service kinkâhe derives pleasure from getting you off repeatedly. Heâs also into overstimulation, both giving and receiving, because pushing limits feels like chasing ultimate hope.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Private, quiet places where he can focus entirely on youâbedrooms, empty classrooms late at night, or secluded outdoor spots under the stars (he finds something poetic about it). Heâs too paranoid about tainting your hope to risk very public places, but the thrill of semi-hidden spots (like behind a curtain or in a locked bathroom) can excite him if you initiate.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Seeing you display hope, confidence, or kindnessâespecially toward himâignites him instantly. A gentle touch, a loving word, or you standing up for something you believe in can make him hard in seconds. Dirty talk where you call him yours or tell him heâs doing well also wrecks him. His biggest trigger is you initiating; knowing you want him despite everything makes him desperate.
N = No (something they wouldnât do, turn offs)
Anything involving real pain beyond light scratching/spanking (he canât stomach truly hurting you), cheating scenarios (even roleplayâheâd break down), or anything that feels hopeless/cruel without redemption. He also refuses anything that isolates you from him emotionallyâhe needs the connection.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He vastly prefers givingâheâll spend ages between your legs, worshipping you with his tongue like itâs his purpose in life. Heâs skilled, attentive, and enthusiastic, humming praises against your skin. Receiving makes him whine and tremble; heâll tell you it feels too good for someone like him, but he secretly loves it when you continue anyway.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Mostly slow and sensualâhe wants to savor every second, drawing it out while gazing into your eyes. But when his emotions spike (desperation, possessiveness, or "hope overload"), he can snap into fast, rough thrusts, gripping you tightly while apologizing and praising in the same breath.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Heâs not a huge fanâquickies feel rushed and disrespectful to the intimacyâbut if youâre desperate or teasing him in a risky spot, heâll give in with shaky enthusiasm. He prefers long sessions where he can worship you properly, but heâll never say no if you want him.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Heâs surprisingly open to experimenting if you suggest itâhe sees it as a way to bring more hope into your relationship. Heâll try almost anything once (within his limits), but he gets anxious about anything too dangerous or public. The riskier it feels emotionally (like vulnerability), the more he craves it.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Nagitoâs stamina is highâhe can go multiple rounds because his obsession keeps him going even when exhausted. He lasts a decent time (longer if heâs edging himself mentally), but heâll hold back to focus on you first. After he cums, give him a few minutes of cuddly praise and heâs ready again.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He doesnât own many initially (too embarrassed), but if you introduce them, heâs eager. He loves using vibrators or plugs on you while praising how hope looks when youâre trembling. On himself, heâll use a cock ring or be tied with a vibe if you command itâhe finds the helplessness thrilling.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He teases a lot, but itâs soft and worshipfulâslow touches, ghosting kisses, edging you while murmuring how beautiful your desperation is. Heâll deny you release until youâre begging, then praise you for being so hopeful. He loves when you tease him back; it makes him fall apart.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Very loudâhe canât hold back. Expect whiny moans, gasps, choked sobs, and endless rambling praise or self-degradation. Heâll cry out your name repeatedly, sometimes screaming when he cums. He tries to muffle himself at first but gives up quickly.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
The first time you have sex, Nagito is a nervous, trembling messâhe keeps pausing to ask if youâre okay, if heâs hurting you, or if you regret it, tears in his eyes from overwhelming emotion. Once you reassure him, he becomes fiercely devoted, treating your body like a treasure heâs been granted by fate.
X = X-ray (letâs see whatâs going on under those clothes)
Nagito is lean and pale, scarred from past events, with a surprisingly pretty cockâaverage to slightly above average length, pale pink, with a gentle upward curve that hits nice spots. Itâs sensitive, twitching at the slightest touch, and flushes darker when heâs aroused. His overall build is slender.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
High but repressedâheâs constantly thinking about you, so his drive is intense, but guilt keeps him from acting on it often. Once youâre together, heâs insatiable if you encourage it; he can go from zero to desperate in seconds if you give him the slightest sign.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He doesnât fall asleep quicklyâheâll stay awake watching you sleep, tracing your features with feather-light touches while whispering how much hope you give him. He might not sleep at all some nights, too overwhelmed by adoration, but if he does drift off, itâs with you held tightly like heâs afraid youâll disappear.
Isn't it just so pretty to think- all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?
Dick Grayson-
Sometimes, in the hollow night, he feels it. The loss of it. He's waited, oh, how he's waited. Maybe he's being impatient. After all, Bruce refuses to talk about his. Maybe he's overreacting.
Still, the fact remains. Ever since he was a little kid, it's an absolute to him. People with soulmates- they had some kind of magic to them. Some warmth in their chest, something the rest of everybody just simply didn't. He sees it in his parent's eyes. That sparkle, like a small star was trapped between them both. But Dick remembers when their eyes went empty, too.
He busies himself the best he can. Bruce is good company, even if he's silent company. Robin, the Titans, then Nightwing. His life is divided in chapters, each having their own lesson in grief. Still, the hollowness in his chest follows him everywhere. He runs to Bludhaven, and he finds it there, too- waiting for him.
The worst part is, he doesn't even know what his sign is. No way to dream, no way to hope. He stares up at the sky, and it's starless too.
It catches him off guard. Most meetings are like that, he knows- but experiencing it is something else. It's a tear in his glove. Nothing less, nothing more. It's certainly happened before. Just a simple hand, a quiet, 'are you ok?' as he helps you up. The warmth is so immediate and overwhelming, he almost flinches away. But he holds on tighter. And the sky lights up.
Jason Todd-
Pen and paper. For the longest time, it was the most important thing to him. No matter what happened, Jason had to have a scrap of paper in his pocket, and a barely running pen in his hand. As long as he had that, he had you.
He remembers when the letters started. He didn't know what his sign was, and he was up the wall about it. He tries everything. He doesn't tick any of the usual boxes when it comes to sign manifestation. Then he thinks of something Bruce told him once, about his own mark. And Jason sits down. Writes down a simple message and prays. And then- the words appear. 'Hello'.
His world starts at that- that 'hello'. Soon, it becomes a ritual for him. Every night, before bed, he'd write you long-worded letters, and every morning, by your bedside, he'd get one from you. It's like magic- and there's a lot of magic in Jason's life nowadays.
You remember when the letters stop. You remember waking up, eager as ever, and finding nothing on your bedside. Maybe he's busy. Maybe he got tired. Maybe something came up. Days pass. Then, months. The chasm in your chest widens. It happens; doctors tell you sympathetically. Sometimes... you never get to meet the love of your life. And yet still, cruelly, life goes on.
And then, one day- like a miracle, it happens. The handwriting is unfamiliar, like it was written with shaking hands. But it could be no one else.
Tim Drake-
Tim has dreamed his entire life. Every night, the second he lulls off to sleep, he floats through your life- through your eyes.
It's rare. He's been told so. Not many people connect with their soulmates through dreams. And even a smaller amount of them do it through their soulmate's eyes. At first, he thinks it's a blessing. He knows your voice, your hobbies, your aspirations, all before he gets to meet you. And then, frustratingly, he realizes he can't find you.
Dick empathizes. These things are always tricky, he says. They never seem to let you get what you want too easily. Every face, every address, every small hint about your whereabouts vanishes in his memory. Blurred. Everything except- your eyes.
They stay in startling clarity. He could draw them, possibly, if he had Damian's expertise in the field. But what good is it if he can't find you? He's a detective, for god's sake. It feels like a joke. The one case he can't solve- and it's the one that matters to him the most.
Until, one day. The rain is pouring down so hard, it's a wonder he could see three feet in front of him. But even if he were suddenly blind, he'd still know. He'd still know those eyes anywhere. It's like the breath is knocked out of him. It feels like he suddenly has every answer. And it's you.
Aged up!Damian Wayne-
He doesn't see color. From the moment Damian opened his eyes, everything was black and white. His mother had told him, somewhat clinically, that it was his soulmate sign. His mark before absolution. He, in turn asked her if she'd met hers. She had no answer to that.
But that was many years ago. While everything still remains colorless, Gotham is a better sight then most. Slanting grey rain, ebony skyscrapers, chalky streetlights. He's been told his eyes are a different color than his brothers, but he wouldn't know any better if it wasn't for the slight difference of tint. He doesn't let himself linger.
Damian has, quite crudely, bigger fish to fry. His training, his family, his city- it's a never-ending greige. When he paints, it's with charcoal. There's no other option for Damian.
Until-you. He had driven the concept of soulmates from his mind, purged the thought. All it takes is a look. A meeting of glances, across subway tracks. The train blares by at crushing speed, and the world explodes in color.
The aftermath, under any other circumstances, would embarrass him. But no. He spends his time now, staring wide-eyed at everything. He never picks up the gray paint ever again. His eyes, he learns, are green. Time passes. He grows used to it. But still, after all this time, his favorite thing to look at is you.
Notes-
Hiiiiii
I hath risen from the dead, and I have returned to my roots. This idea was rattling around my head for a while, and surprisingly, I managed to write it all down in one sitting. That being said, forgive me for any clerical errors you may encounter as I have written it with such fervor and gusto. (Why am I talking like this? I have no idea). Anyway, let's get to it!
1. Ok, in case it was unclear, Dick's soulmate sign is physical touch, wherein he knows it's his soulmate through- you guessed it!- physical touch. In my mind, he finds them on patrol, but while I was re-reading it, I realized it could also be as a civilian. I guess it's open to interpretation.
2. Jason's soulmate sign is through letters. Basically, you write a letter addressed to your soulmate, and they receive it, and they can write back. I thought it would suit him, you know, classical lit nerd and all. I also chose it specifically because it would be the one way their soulmate would realize something's happened to him. All those years with Joker, I don't think he really had the time to write.
3. I know I left Jason's without much of an ending, but in my head, he writes to them after he regains consciousness in the League, just to let them know that he's alive and well. Eventually, they both meet.
4. Also, yes! Bruce has the same soulmate sign as Jason.
5. Also, the line âthereâs a lot of magic in his life nowadaysâ is a reference to Jasonâs famous line âbeing Robin gives me magic.â
6. I don't have much to add on for Tim. In case you didn't get it (or I explained it badly) Tim dreams about his soulmate's everyday life. Except, he doesn't see any hints that might help him find them- like someone's face, name, a specific place, etc. The only information that Tim has is his soulmate's eyes. He recognizes them instantly and they all live happily ever after. Huzzah!
7. Damian being an artist, I thought it would be really cool if he didn't see color. Pretty self-explanatory.
8. Ok, so- no one come at me. I am not going to entertain any argument or discourse. I ship Bruce and Talia. When I was writing this, I pictured them both as soulmates. This is completely up to interpretation, and if you ship either of them with someone else- then great! It doesn't matter to me, or anyone else. Let's keep things civil.
8. Also, the lyric at the beginning of the drabble is from the song 'invisible string' by Taylor Swift
That's all! As always, I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think.
With Love,
Ophelia
âśď¸ď¸ď¸ď¸ AITA for fucking both of the Gojo twins?
synopsis . In which you get fed up with Sato (fratjo) for playing around with you and unintentionally get involved with his identical twin brother Toru (nerdjo), not knowing theyâre simply two sides of the same coin.
content . afab!reader, porn with decent plot, messy relationship(s), fratjoâs an asshole in the beginning, bluntness, pervy!nerdjo, eventual threesome, degrading, oral sex, first time squirting & then doing it multiple times, getting caught, surprising dynamics, praise, pussy slapping, getting put in a headlock, confessions, filthy dirty talk, jealousy, marathon sex (gulp), spit, slightly bimbo!reader, choking, nerdjo is feral, full nelson, edging, getting passed around, frajoâs a voyeur, filth, slight angst, cum eating/swallowing, some cuckholding(?), masturbation, a silly ending, etc.
word count . 11.4k | author's note: this ended up being wayyyy longer than i initially thought it would be and itâs overly freaked the fuck out. hope you enjoy!! banner art by Rororogi Mogera. (not proofreadâsorry in advance, truly)
In your defense, you didn't think he would care.
Sato Gojoâesteemed member of Sigma Chi, infamously known for his commitment issues, and noted to be the campus playboyâwas the last person you thought would care about you sleeping with his twin brother.
Hell, he's also the last person who expected that same brother to be able to get this far with you. Toru is the shyest, dorkiest, and nerdiest part of the Gojo family, what could he possibly have done to catch your eye?
Sato had done his best to keep you away from and unaware of his six-second-younger brother's existence too. Yet somehow, here he is walking in on the two of you fucking in his bed.
Less upset at the sight and more confused, the only thing he wants to know is... what the fuck led up to this pairing?
ââ
For months and months prior to that, it'd been the same thing between you and Sato.
âShe doesnât mean anything to me, baby. You know youâre my favorite,â Heâd say, cooing you with that manipulatively charming voice of his after youâd asked him about yet another woman he was talking to.
You weren't sure why you kept going back to him. He never told you how he felt about you unless he was inside youâand even then youâre certain those feelings were all sex-based and moderately untrue.
Yet something about him kept drawing you back in.
And if you had to guess what exactly it was...
âFuuck, yâlike that donât you?â Heâd groan, having one big hand clasped around your throat as he plowed you into the mattress. Sato rarely ever took his time during sex, too eager to make sure you cum & keep up his reputation of being a good fuck. âLike the way my cock kisses that sweet spot, huh?â
The rhythmic sound of his pelvis smack smack smacking! against your ass echoes throughout the room at a pitch almost louder than your sapped moans. âMhmm,â You'd hummed in response, fingernails dug into the bedsheets below.
You couldn't bring yourself to think about all the other women that's been in this same exact position before you when his cock was far too busy gliding in and out of your soaking pussy. The same sheets your fingers are clawing at is also clasped in between your teeth tightly, drool wetting up the fabric pathetically due to how good you felt.
Only to be rudely interrupted by his hand gripping at your neck tighter and then tugging the upper half of your body allll the way upâhis chest pressing into your back while his dick massages the gushiest spot inside you. âDonât do that,â Sato huffs with that shit-eating grin on his face, âSpeak up, pretty girl. I couldn't hear you.â
âUhuhh, yes,â You pant, tongue beginning to dangle out of your mouth all whorishly, âI love it, Sato.â
Cocky like always, he'd let off that amused scoff and then nip at your ear playfully, âYeahh, I know you do. Jusâ canât get enough of me.â
Thinking back again, he had the biggest ego youâd ever seen.
Sato was tenderly humping the rest of his thick cock into you while you were nice and close, just to realize after the first few thrusts that you were trying to inch yourself away from himâyour moans getting airier by the second.
His smile widened, âHah, whereâre you goinâ?â He'd only made you cum three times since the two of you got here. Surely that wasn't enough to have you acting like this already. âLook at you, trying to run from me now," Sato scoffed with faux bitterness.
You barely got a moment to process what he was doing before you choked.
Warm lips pressing against your ear, âCâmon, I jusâ want one more outtaâ you,â He purred, his arm slow to wrap around your neck while his bulking muscles pressed into the center of your throat. Whatever oxygen was on its way to your head all but died out as the man put you into a bullying chokehold and then flexed.
Your cunt squeaked juicily around him and his cockhead nudged in deeper because of the hold he had on you, otherwise rendering your body unable to escape.
That was one of many reasons why you always ran back to him. If Sato Gojo didn't know how to do anything else right, he damn sure knew how to fuck.
âMhmm, thatâs it, baby." His voice was huskier against your eardrums now and you felt your body shuddering with a sense of numbness as something slicker oozed around his shaft. "Take that fuckinâ cockâjuuust like that.â
His thrust became slower while he held you in place and you'd never felt so full in your life. It wasn't until he suddenly snapped up into you that all air left your lungs and your eyes crossed.
Whatever sound you let out was beyond pathetic and only followed by a desperate, âSâtoo much,â that he could barely hear.
Rolling his eyes, he repeated the motion a few more times at a steady pace, letting you adjust to being arched and folded up how he wants you. âMy dramatic girl, acting like you haven't been taking it just fine," He reminded you.
You almost believed him for a moment there until his free hand came snaking around your torso to press against your lower abdomenâright over the bulge his fat cock had created against your skinâand applying an egregious amount of pressure.
âMâgonna cum, Sato,â You cried out as his fingers slithered down to nudge against your clit. Never a firm rub or anything like that since he felt like his cock alone was enough to work what he wanted out of you.
Heâd smile all victoriously and whisper, âThat's it? Don't tell me you're still too scared to squirt on me?â
Truth be told, that was the one thing he couldnât do for some reason.
He never said anything but he thinks maybe youâre just one of those women who need a little more effort put into in order to make you squirt. More effort of which he damn sure doesnât feel like putting in.
Four orgasms in a row? Thatâs fine, he can do that no problem. Making you squirt? As badly as he wants to deep down inside, he just canât.
You ended up leaving a creamy mess around his cock but it's not the spurting stream of wetness he was hoping for. After letting you tremble out of your high, he's slow with the way he unwraps his arms from around you.
You fall forward onto the bed and let out a heavy breath before smiling wearily in relief. No other guy on campus ever managed to make you cum even once so of course you didn't think much of the fact that Sato couldn't make you squirt.
Hell, you were unknowingly on the same page with himâthinking you might've needed extra effort put in for that kinda release. Which was fine, you didn't need that much from him. The fact that he could make you cum back to back was more than enough in your book.
Not his though.
Sato hated it. He hated how he couldn't make you squirtâthe fact burned at his ego and wounded his pride greatly. He's made other women do it so he doesn't understand what the problem is. There were some nights where he wondered if maybe he was doing something wrong with you. Or maybe you'd found someone else who couldâ
He unknowingly scoffs at his thoughts, shuffling out of the bed and swiping up the nearest clean sweats to slip into. Who was he kidding? There isn't one other person on campus you'd go to over him.
And if he couldn't make you squirt, he knows there's no one else that could.
Amid his deep thoughts, you happen to look over and catch the way those white brows of his are neatly knitting together. He didn't even realize how his true feelings on the matter were written all over his face.
Your eyes had ran over him a couple times, pondering on all the scratch marks in various places. Places that your hands haven't touched.
And that's how the routine was with the two of you; high tension all throughout the day, let him fuck you 'til all your senses went numb, and then fade into quietness with little to talk about since Sato doesn't deem it necessary to get close with you in that way.
When you catch the way he's dragging his feet around the room, trying to clean the mess of clothes you two made prior to getting in the bed, your brows lifts with curiosity. Asking gently, "Hey, are you alright?"
Sato hums without turning around to you, running his a hand through his hair as if stressed out. "Yeah, m'fine." He grunts, glancing over at you after and adding a slightly comforting, "Are you?"
You nod in response to him and he stares for a moment longer than necessary, still deep in his thoughts about something he surely wasn't sharing with you anytime soon.
Why would he? You didnât need to know that he was beating himself up over something so stupid. Heâs well aware that heâs the best guy to ever sleep with you so, opening up to you about something so trivial wasnât in his character.
Thereâd been jokes and banter between the two of you beforeâobviouslyâbut it never went any further than that. The moment things threatened to dip into something real, something more tender or honest, Sato would shut it down with quick precision.
Which is exactly why you didn't try pressing for more of this dry conversation. Instead, you silently watched him tug a shirt over his head and then head over to the nightstand for his phone.
He's busy texting someone for a bit before he releases a huff and turns his head to see the way you've been quietly watching him, "Did you want me to run you a bath orâ"
"No, no, I told you, I'm fine," You unintentionally cut off.
You weren't sure where the awkwardness had come from but it wasn't completely unwelcome since there was clearly something he wasn't telling you. You saw it in the way he pouted all grumpily just before looking at you.
Whatever was on his mind had to be eating him up on the inside.
Not that the frown pushed you to ask him anything else though. You ended up turning over and rolling off is bed a few minutes later to gather your things and leave, to which he'd peacefully helped you with.
Then Sato escorted you all the way out of his maze-like home and was "kind" enough to give you a kiss on the forehead before sending you off.
Little things like that always caught you off guard. Your heart would do that weird thing in your chest as you wondered if there was a possibility of experiencing more than just hook-ups with the man.
Though, reality is quick to slap you back to your senses when you see him with his arm around some other woman the next day while on your way to class.
You knew better than to get emotionally attached to Sato Gojo. Everyone did.
ââ
Some days later is when shit decides to hit the fan between you two.
It happens so randomly that you almost feel as though you dreamt the whole thing up. The day starting with him texting you to come over that night and somehow ending with you in thwarted tears.
In all the time you spent with Sato, there'd never been a moment where he was blatantly selfish. Something of which surprised you in the beginning of your relationship since he was known to be a fuckboy.
Yet, ending up in his bedroom for the nth time, as his thumb rubbed at your clit with unsteady, jerky motions, appearing otherwise annoyed about somethingâSato had been selfish for the first time with you.
Foreplay was skipped entirely and you should've known something was up from that alone.
The most you got out of him prior to being stripped of your clothing was a messy kiss and a barely audible, "Need somethin' from you, baby," grunted into your mouth.
Then you were being carried all the way up to his bedroom, handled frustratedly down into the mattress, and soon fucked at a rate you weren't used to.
His thrusts were sloppy and needy, voice quiet since he didn't bother talking you through it or saying anything at all, and the only thing with a sense of normalcy to it was the way his thumb nudged over your clit as his cock dove in and out of you.
Midway through, you assumed he just had a bad day or something. Figured he wanted to take some of that stress out on you.
And that wasn't out of the ordinary for him, it's happened more often than not.
But as his thumb drew desperate circles around your twitching bud, Sato's cock twitched and he pulled out the moment you were about to cum. You were too dazed by his abrupt action that you nearly missed the way he stroked himself into finishing on your stomach and then scoffed. Bitterly.
Your eyes were glossed over since the taste of your own orgasm had been right there on the tip of your nerves, stripped away from you faster than you could blink.
Whatever had been bothering him about having sex with you was felt before it was understood.
He was already turning away by the time you pushed yourself to sit up, the sheets gliding down your arms as you watched him with wide, teary eyes. The room felt ten times quieter than it normally did. You saw how he crossed the room as if nothing had happenedâas if this was just another unremarkable moment to be shrugged off.
"Sato," You say, his name tripping in your throat on the way out.
Only then did he pause, fingers curled around his drawer handle. Not sparing you a glance back, "What." he breathed out.
It was hardly even a response, more of a wall you'd audibly stumbled into. You'd never heard his voice so dull and flat with you.
Swallowing down whatever confusing emotions were building up in your throat, "Did I, um... did I do something wrong?"
Somehow that gets his attention. He glances back over his shoulder then, expression insipid and eyes casting over you all bored-like. "Don't start that," He said, irritation weaving into his voice, "You're overthinking shit already."
Your mouth opens to say something but it's like you'd been slapped in the face, leading your lips to seal shut for a second. His words were too heavy for you, coming off with weighted dismissiveness.
After a few beats, your words trail out slowly, "Sorry I'm a little confused, Sato. You asked me to come over for that..?"
He exhaled sharply, like the question itself had tired him, "What else do I ever call you over for?"
Something shrewd twisted in your chest, "Certainly not whatever the fuck that was just now."
Sato finally turned more fully and leaned back against his dresser, crossing his arms and letting his eyes meet yours firmly. "You sound upset."
"I feel used," You'd snapped back immediately.
His brow twitched, "'Cause I didn't make you cum?"
Again, the words came off blunt and careless.
Leading you to flinch internally, "I meanâyeah," You said as a humorless breath tiptoed out, "You normally do."
"Well, I didn't feel like it today. M'spent." He scoffed out.
It was almost as if that was supposed to be an explanation for everything.
You stared at him and felt the way your disbelief began to fade into something of anger, "You could've told me that."
"Would that have made you feel any better?" Every response came out of him like he'd rehearsed the entire conversation beforehand.
"We could've done something different," Your hands began to curl into the sheets a little, trying to steady yourself. "I could've-"
"I didn't want anything different." Sato cut off crisply.
You'd never been so utterly confused in your life. Everything was fine before thisâfor the most partâso what had come over him all of a sudden? Why was he acting like this?
The finality in his statement only made your stomach drop, your head shaking slowly in disbelief, "...So you wanted to use m-"
"No, sweetheart," The pet name sounds empty on his tongue, lacking its usual affection. "I wanted you to see how it feels to get into something thinking things are going to go like they always do, just to feel disappointed by the end."
The next sound that spreads throughout the room is your laughter as it exits you in incredulous fashion, "Sato, what the fuck are you talking about?"
He dragged a hand through the white tuffs of his hair, pacing only once before coming to a stop. "You..." Letting his words trail off, he released a long and stressed-out sigh, "Every woman I've been with has never had the problem you do."
That hits you square in the chest.
Head cocking back as you frown with immediate offense flaring over, "Excuse me? Are you... are you talking about squirting, Sato? You can't be serious."
"I am," He said without hesitation. "If it's just something you can't do, I'd rather you tell me than making me look like an idiot when we fuck."
"What?" Your eyes narrowed as your anger bled into something strictly hurt. "I... I'm sure I can. Maybe we're just doing something wro-"
"We?" Sato cuts you off instantly. Then his tone seemed firmer and you knew he didn't think things through when he said, "No, no, you've got shit backwards here. I can assure you I'm not doing anything wrong, that's all you."
Something inside you finally boiled over.
"All me?" You scoffed, pushing yourself out of the bed. The cold air wrapping itself around you felt like even more of a wake-up call than what he'd just said. "Oh, sorry for not being like all the other twenty girls you sleep with."
Grabbing your clothes with uncoordinated and janky movements after wiping away any lingering trace of what had happened, you subconsciously wished you could've erased the moment entirely from start to finish. Your hands trembled as you got dressed, seemingly more from the heated emotions waving through you than the embarrassment.
Sato stiffened upon hearing your words. For the first timeâprobably in his lifeâhis confidence had cracked. "Shitâwait," He rushed out, trying to step towards you and stop you from leaving.
It was almost like he himself wasn't aware of how severely fucked up his actions and words were.
His hand reached out for your arm, "I-I didn't mean it like that, c'mon. I justâ"
"Save it, asshole." You spat back at him, shoving his hand out the way and storming out his room before giving him a chance to say anything else.
He'd said more than enough to have your vision blurry and heart pounding in your chest as if pained.
The hallway was dim, your footsteps quickened to carry you as far away from him as possible, and your emotions buzzed all too loudly in your ears for you to think straight. You think you hear something clash against the wall back in Sato's room but you ignore it.
You're so wrapped up in your feelings that you're not even paying attention to where you're going. You only made it a few steps down the hall before you collided with something solid.
Someone solid.
Gasping as you stumble back, a pair of hands come up to steady you. "Ah, sorry," a voice hums out to you. The sound is soft as it reverberates throughout the hallway but your chest feels as though it's caving inwards since the guy in front of you sounded exactly like Sato.
There was a pitch of unfamiliarity in it, though. One that made you look up.
For a moment, you thought maybe you'd fallen off the bed earlier and that everything thus far had been some type of hallucination because surely Sato wasn't standing right in front of you right now.
...Except, with glasses? And a dorkier look in his eyes?
With the same snowy white hair, the same perfectly sharp jawlineâthat's somehow a tad softerâand the same dazzling blue eyes, he stared at you all longingly as if an angel had fallen right into his arms or something. The only difference between him and his brother being the black glasses sitting center on the bridge of his nose.
Despite the hallway's lack of lighting, you swear you see his cheeks flush with red as the moment of exchanged staring passes.
Prior to this, you'd only ever heard rumors of Sato having a twin brother but you never once imagined those would turn out to be true. The man's eyes widen slightly as he really looks at you, confusion flickering across his face whilst he takes in your flushed skin, the way your clothes are hanging off of you as though you'd rushed to put them all, and how your eyes are somberly glossed over.
"I-," You try to blink that wetness out of your gaze and then clear your throat. "Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going."
"It's fine," He replies as he thoughtlessly continues to hold onto your arms. Then, uncertainly, "You're... Sato's, uhâ"
"Sato's what?" You cut off harsher than you meant to.
There was no way he was about to refer to you as that asshole's girlfriend or anything like that, right?
His mouth visibly goes taut, realizing he was about to step into something fragile. Instead of responding, he just stands there awkwardly enough to piss you off even more.
Groaning, you push past him and continue storming down the hall. You didn't have time for whatever that was about to turn into.
Unbeknownst to you, he'd stood there and watched as you walked awayâcursing himself out for letting his opportunity to talk to you pass him by like that. He'd known who you were for months prior to this. Out of all the women Sato brought over, you were the only one Toru took a genuine interest in.
It's unfortunate for him that Sato's a stingy asshole who doesn't care to introduce the two of you. Because of that, Toru had to go out of his way just to get glimpses of your personality.
He was always home when Sato brought you over, always in his room that's just one wall over while the two of you fuckedâlistening and secretly getting off to those gorgeous moans you let off. Toru knew it was perverted of him to do so, but he truly couldn't help himself.
Now here he is with sagging shoulders at the fact that he totally fucked up his first interaction with you.
He heard the whole argument between you and his brother and came out into the hallway hoping to come to your rescue or at least cheer you up, even if only for a second. Yet, all he managed to do was piss you off with his awkwardness and lack of confident social skills.
After a few minutes, Toru straightens up and settles his jaw in a way that says he'd made some type of silent decision. That wasn't going to be the last time he interacted with youâno matter how badly his brother fucked upâhe knew you'd be back eventually.
As he turns back to his room, he promises to himself that next time he sees you, he won't hesitate or fumble things with you.
ââ
A few weeks pass before anything else noteworthy occurs.
In that time, things between you and Sato remain rocky, to say the utmost least. Conversations between the two of you were more careful, apologies came far slower than they should've, and some semblance of trust had been rebuilt in uneven steps.
Sometimes he was sweet and more attentive than he had been before that big argument, kinda like he was afraid it'd happen again. Other times he'd slip up and those old habits would seep through, any excuse he gave you dressed up charmingly enough for you to ultimately end up forgiving him again.
The fact that you both were trying had to be enough to count for something, otherwise the two of you were better off calling it quits months ago.
Somewhere in the middle of that relationship, Toru became familiar to you. You went out of your way to see him whenever you visited the Gojo estate, even if you were only there for Sato.
He was almost always cooped up in his room, drowning himself in his studiesâtextbooks stacked neatly on his desk, handwritten notes color-coded and meticulously organized.
It wasn't long before you realized he and his brother were complete opposites. Where Sato excelled in partying and socializing, Toru peaked in academics and hobbies that were far more niche.
You remember poking your head into his room one time to say hi and catching him lost in Digimon reruns with strategy guides pulled up on his nearby laptop. He was so engrossed in it that he hadn't even heard you saying something to him.
Situations like that are what got the two of you to be something close to friends.
Though, you still didn't know him any more than you knew Sato. You were still kept at an arm's length from either of their personalities beyond what was noticeable. Sato made sure of that where both he and his twin were concerned.
While he did soften up with you, he still wasn't interested in keeping you that closeânot close enough to know him. And he damn sure wouldn't let you go off and try to find that in Toru.
Anytime you and the nerdier Gojo sibling were alone, Sato was intruding minutes later. Always interrupting.
Even when you ran into Toru on campus.
One time when you found him outside the library, standing near a vending machine and ran up to talk to him, Sato seemed to spawn out of thin air with his arm around you is if to silently tell his brother to fuck off.
You weren't sure what had gotten into him as far as that was concerned. He didn't care when you talked to anyone else.
This was but another unfortunate thing for you since you were quite fond of Toru. He remembered little things about you; your major, your favorite cafe, and even your preferred place to sit in lecture halls.
If you asked Sato questions about any of those things, he'd probably shrug and ask you why any of it matters in the first place.
But you bet that dick for brains could tell you which position makes you cum the fastest...
It's regrettably because of that as to why you're currently standing at the large front doors to his home, having rung the bell only a few seconds ago due to an earlier text requesting you come over.
In said text, Sato promised that he only wanted to talk to you and you chose to believe him.
Just for Toru to swing the door open with a surprised look on his face.
"Oh, hey." He began, pushing his glasses further up on his face so that he could get a proper look at you. "If you're looking for Sato, he's not here. I actually think he's been gone for the past three hours or so."
Disappointment settles into you and you roll your eyes, already annoyed. "Of course he has," You sigh.
Toru offers you a half-comforting grin before stepping back a bit and opening the door wider for you, "He'll probably be back soon though, if you wanna come in?"
You debated leaving but the prospect of being able to spend some alone time with Toru is what swayed you into staying.
Which is how you ended up in their living room.
The rest of the house was quieter than Sato ever allowed it to be. There was no music blaring, none of his restless pacing or constant yammering about fuck knows what. The only thing heard was the low hum of the TV ahead of you and Toru.
He'd put on a movie a few minutes ago and although you'd agreed to watch it with him, you kept glancing towards the front door hoping to see Sato walk in any moment now.
It never happens.
Sitting on the opposite ends of the couch, you and Toru are steady to find comfort in one another's presence. You eventually let yourself focus on what he'd put on, snorting whenever he laughed at the unfunniest bits of it and finding yourself mused by the easiness of it all.
You noticed how Toru also tried to sneak his eyes onto you here and there, lacking that smoothness his slightly older brother had and always catching your attention when he did it.
The two of you even shared those warm moments where you'd catch him staring and then whisper, "What, is something on my face?"
To which he'd swallow thickly and shake his head, "No, not at all. Sorry..."
His shyness is probably what drew you in the most about him. You loved how often he avoided eye contact with you, how gentle his voice always came out, and the way he'd begin to adjust himself against the couch due to the smallest of things.
The night was going well enough for you to forget all aboutâ
Your phone rang and Sato's name was lighting up your screen.
At the sight, your shoulders went tense and you were unsure if you should answer it or not. Toru looked over at you but he didn't say anything.
The movie continued to play ahead as you picked up the phone and quietly spoke to Sato, "What?"
Whatever was said to you on the other end made your jaw clenchâsomething of which Toru noted instantly. He didn't mean to be nosy but it was hard not to when minutes passed and you were clearly getting frustrated about your conversation.
"You sound drunk," You're heard muttering, making Toru's ears perk up and then strain to hear more.
Sato is just barely heard grumbling in response, "M'not drunk, baby."
Your shoulders slump, "Did you even mean to text me?"
There's a long pause. Toru tenses up and Sato's heard burping.
"I texted you?" The man on the phone asks, making your entire mood sink. "Hahhh, fuck. I don' remember doing that.. What uh, what'd I say?"
"You said you needed to talk." You reply rigidly.
He nods even though you can't see him, "Ah... I mean, I do need to talk to you but," Pausing to grumble, "Don't see why I didn't jus' call.. Anyway, s-so yesterday I was with this girl 'n she said m'not doin' anything wrong."
His early attempt at trying to convince you he wasn't drunk fell flat in that instant. You stare into space for a moment, "What?"
"Remember how we got into it about your squirting problem?" Sato blurts out in response.
You could feel yourself getting irritated with him all over again. You hated the way he said that like it was truly an issue on your end alone, even though the two of you have talked about it after the argument.
"My squirting problem? You mean the fact that you can't get me there?" You snapped back, matching his energy for just a second and unintentionally gaining the dull attention of his nosy brother.
At this point, you don't think you cared whether or not he overheard.
"No, no, I cannnn..." Sato drags out drunkenly. Then you hear this giggle in the background before he adds, "This girl told me it really is you 'n not me. Because like-"
You hang up the phone before he can continue.
The last thing you wanted to do was entertain whatever the fuck he was about to tell you for any longer than you had to. Your phone falls down into your lap and you feel it buzzing a few seconds later but you only swipe it back up to silence it entirely.
After which, the room falls into a thick quietness that swallows up both you and Toru. Even the movie playing ahead had switched to a soundless scene that only added to the shift in moods.
A few minutes of this stillness pass before you feel the weight on the other side of the couch shifting. Your eyes flick over and you see him readjusting himself in his seat.
You don't question it nor say anything but his sudden movements do manage to pull you out of your funk for a second. Ignoring it, you pick your phone back up to see that Sato had texted you a bunch of gibberishâthe only sensible message you can make out being one of him begging you to text or call back.
As soon as you start typing, his twin decides to clear his throat again.
âI mean, it canât be that hard.â Toru says all timidly, his words catching enough to snag your attention away from your phone.
Your thumb goes idle against the screen and you look up at him to see his cheeks colored over with bright red. He was looking off to his left and you could tell by the rapid rise and fall of his chest that his breathing had gone off-track.
Clearly, he hadnât meant to say that out loud.
You chuckle as if intrigued by his words, humming, âYour brother said the same thing."
Toru scoffs and then speaks without thinking again, âHe doesnât care enough.â
Cocking a brow, âDoesnât care enough to make me squirt?â You ask.
The sound of the manâs breath hitching was clearer than the dense tension between you both. âObviously not,â Toru continues, lifting two slim fingers up to the center of his glasses to adjust them against his nose. âIf he did, he wouldâve made sure you⌠uh, did that.â
Never would you have expected to have this kind of conversation with the same man who can barely look you in the eye. But it was clear something had changed. Even in his body language, you saw how he'd sat up a bit straighter against the couch and let his legs sprawl out widerâalmost invitingly so.
He was still avoiding your gaze but the sturdiness in his voice is what intrigued you the most.
âDid what, Toru? Say it,â You pressed, putting your phone down and turning on the couch to face him fully.
You watched as his Adamâs apple bobbed in his throat with the way he gulped thickly. âHe wouldâve uhm..." Toru pauses to take a deep breathâmentally reminding himself that he swore not to embarrass himself in front of you againâand then clears his throat one more time, "He would've made sure you squirted.â
Too shy to look at you just yet, he misses how the look in your eyes changes entirely. It was like seeing him in a new light.
Not that you hadn't thought about it before. He does look exactly like Sato and there's been a few times where you've wondered what it'd be like to be the cause of his glasses going crooked 'n foggy.
Biting back a smile, âWell, he makes me cum a lot.â You explain to him casually. Certainly Toru wouldn't have started talking to you about this if he didn't at least have some advice for you, âLike, back to back.â
He nods, nimble fingers fidgeting over one another in his lap, âThen, he just doesnât know what heâs doing.â
You bat your lashes at him all cluelessly, âButââ
âAs I said the first time,â Toru looks at you all of a sudden, his eyes mildly terrified behind his frames despite the attempt of confidence spreading over his face. There was a devilishly sexy blend of sureness and hesitancy plastered all over his features, âIt canât be that hard.â
The direct eye contact and few inches of space between where you two were sitting made everything feel hot all of a sudden. Blush melts itself into his skin again and it was clear that this initiated flirting of his was a first time thing.
You knew Toru found you intimidating and that subconsciously accepted fact only made you want to see more. More of your affect on him.
Sliding closer to him on the couch, your voice slyly dips into something more taunting, âYou sound like you wanna try.â
Watching the way his jaw flexes, teeth tightly gritted within his mouth, and throat struggling to conceal the high-pitched sound that threatened to jump out of himâyour affect on the man was as clear as day.
Somehow, Toru manages to maintain his confident facade, âWould you let me if I did?â
âDo you?â You ask quicker than he expects you to.
His head felt like it was spinning already. Is this what it's like to do drugs? Does his brother get to experience this all the time?
Toru gulps again, âDo I.. what?â
Now he was playing dumb on purpose, as if he wasn't the one who commenced this whole thing with his earlier statement.
Which makes you giggle, âYouâre the smartest guy I know, Toru." Your compliment makes his heart skip a few beats. Then your head tilts and your tone softens, "Donât start acting dumb just to appeal to me.â
He bats those pretty white lashes at you with his eyes all doe-like on you for a moment before he looks down, âI just⌠I wanted to hear you say it.â
You stand up from the couch all of a sudden and he freezes up. Then you walk over and stand right in between his legs, moving a hand to his chin and forcing his head up. âDo you wanna try making me squirt?â
Toru shakes his head and your brows furrow. His face nuzzles into your hand, forcing it to spread open as his cheek presses into your palm, âItâs not something to be tried, itâs just something I can do for you.â He explains.
Your thumb brushes against his cheek and his glasses slip down his nose a bit. Smiling, âSomeone's confident.â
He merely whispers, ââCanât be that hard.â
ââ
Ten minutes later and you're wondering why he wasn't the first Gojo twin you met.
Loong fingers stretching your pussy out crudely, hot tongue attacking your clit like he wanted to lick you into numbness, and eyes still doe-like as they remain glued up on your faceâToru was nothing like his slightly older brother.
No, no, he aimed not only to please but to learn how you like to be pleased.
Whereas Sato would just sleep with you the same way he did with anyone elseâbeyond confident in his own abilities to bring a woman pleasureâToru was the kinda man who took his time to work you up specifically.
âTaste sâgood,â He praised in a tone deeper than you knew to be capable from him. You were laying across the couch now and he was stuffed neatly in between your legs. Whining, âMore,â as he tugged at your thighs, his jaw going slack, and his mouth smearing against your cunt. âGimmeâ moreâmmpfh. Please?"
You weren't sure what more he could be referring to when his fingertips were already twirling something sinful against your g-spot. You had a hand buried into his hair, your other behind you as you held onto the couch to steady yourself with the way he feasted on you as if your pussy was the best thing to wet up his tongue.
âAh, T-Toru, fuck!â You cried out, unconsciously pulling away from him when his fingers focused in deep against that soppy spotâaddicted to the way your slick gushed out around his hand and left a sweet mess against the couch.
His fingers leave your insides for only a second and a half before he's shoving them into his mouth to suck the taste off. Toru's eyes rolled back for a moment before he let both of his hands redirect to your inner thighs and then spread you out wider just so nothing was obstructing your view of the way he sloppily kissed your cunt.
Small strings of aroused filth would hang in between his mouth and your puffy pussylips, all of which would get licked off by his eager tongue before he dove back in for more.
Before you'd let him make his way down there, you recall the way he oh-so-awkwardly kissed you. He hardly had a clue what to do with his tongue when it was against yours but now that he was in between your legs, he became an entirely different person.
Suckling the dewy tastes into his mouth and guzzling it down his throat just to let it linger, Toru was nothing short of desperate to make you feel good. So much so that his brain practically turns off as he moves his hands to grip your hips and then lifts the lower half of your body up against his face.
His mouth nuzzled harder against you and you felt the wiggling tip of his tongue slap against your clenching walls. He softly humped the couch as he ate you out, letting the sounds of your moans coax him into giving you everything he could.
Toru only pulled away from your cunt when his glasses fogged up too much for him to see your face. And before you could offer to wipe them off or anything, you met his gaze with the way his head angled for you to do so.
His voice deep and aching, âSit on my face,â He requested before whining again. âPleasepleaseplease,â the man panted almost puppy-like and then seared his next words right into your clit with the edge of his tongue, âNeed it sâbad.â
You don't think you had it anywhere in you to deny him when he was asking so nicely like that.
But by the time the two of you had flipped over and you were left hovering over his pleasantly flushed faceâhis shaky hands tight against your hipsâyou were a little too nervous to sit down.
Toru had caught his breath by now but nothing about his starved appetite had changed. Those previously soft blue eyes of his seemed to pierce straight through you in a way that Sato's sometimes would. You know they're twins and all but fuck, it was nerve-wracking to experience that hungry look from the alleged "shy" twin.
âRide it," Toru husked out all of a sudden, giving your body the faintest pull.
Your eyes went all wide, ââŚYour mouth?â
Instead of clarifying things or being patient with you, he snatches your frame down with a strength you didn't know he possessed. Moaning before your core even reaches his lips again, âWant you to feed your pussy to me.â
Then he was practically suctioned to you again, eyes rolling back far enough for the whites to be visible beneath the foggy frames of his glasses.
âOhfuck,â You cry out, the upper half of your body slumping forward a bit as your thighs squeeze around his head.
You felt the way Toru smiled at the feeling, almost like he was exactly where he'd wanted to be. His tongue skated up into you with a vigor you'd never felt before.
The man ate pussy like he wanted the results of your release plastered all over those pretty glasses of his, leaving him with sogged vision and a numbed tongue. It was yet another thing that made him so much different than his brother because although that man had stamina like no other and knew how to use his cock, he never once ate you out.
Meanwhile Toru couldnât seem to get enough.
He even left a needy smack to your ass, encouraging you to do as he initially asked of you and ride his face. It wasnât until his tongue was constantly plunging past your glissading folds that you unconsciously rolled your hips forward and earned a whimper from him in response.
Then the hands on your hips began to tug at you again, not even begging you for more but demanding it now.
You could no longer focus on the way he looked with splashes of your slick spread out on his glasses in nasty droplets since the tip of his nose had bumped up against your clit, and his jaw went slack just to adhere to your drooling nerves.
The sensation made your entire body flinch, but he wouldnât let you pull up. For the nth time, you were stunned by Toruâs strength.
His tongue was thick and gathering against your pussy, not letting a singular drop of your taste escape his mouth until something light ghosted out of you.
âS-Something feels-, nngh,â Your struggles were just the cutest thing. âDifferent.â You tried to warn him.
His head tilted slightly and you felt his lips curve against you again as he smiled knowingly. Plucking his mouth away from you for the first time in forever with a wet pop!, Toru let his warm breath pat your quivering hole as he whispered, âItâs supposed to feel different, sweet girl. Thatâs what happens when you come to the right twin.â
Cocky. You never knew Toru had that in himâmust be a trait that runs into family.
Except, itâs not like he was wrong. Once he lathered his tongue back in and sucked on your cunt like it was the only thing keeping him sane, you felt that coiling burn building up inside you. You knew you were gonna squirt despite never experiencing it before.
But it felt like too much, made you feel dirty as you neared that shattering edge. So much so that you tried so hard to snatch yourself away from Toru, whining excessively only for each sound to fall on completely deaf ears.
Your legs had clamped around his head so tight that he was getting lightheaded from his lack of oxygenânot that he cared. He had one singular goal and nothing was gonna stop him from reaching it.
It wasnât long before it happened as his complimenting moans turned into graveling groans. The sounds vibrated against your pussy and you were tongue-fucked right into something blissful. Bleary white streaks coated your vision and you think you wouldâve fallen over if not for the mean grasp he had on you.
Toru had done it, he managed to make you squirt.
By the time your brain feels like itâs functioning enough to hold a conversation, you let your vision come back to you and look down to see his soaked face.
His eyes are dazed whilst they peer up at you, appreciation swirling through his pupils. Those same glasses youâve managed to squirt over are now crooked and you wonder if thatâs from the way you unconsciously started rutting your hips forward just a few minutes ago.
Toru didnât do anything but pant heavilyâhis breath stuttering here and there due to how long he went without breathing properly. When he finds the energy to send you another boyish grin, you feel a wave of embarrassment flutter over.
âShit,â You huff, slowly moving from over his face and then grabbing his glasses.
With his face revealed, you saw how unfairly pretty he was with content written into his skin.
Then he chuckles softly, âYou donât have tâclean those.â Toru tells you, tone mumbled.
You were trying to wipe his glasses off with your shirt but heâd moved his hand to your wrist to stop you.
âI like the mess,â he added.
After which youâre stuck staring at him while he takes the wet glasses out of your hand and puts them back on his face. Surely thereâs some hygienic concerns to take into consideration here but heâs not at all worrying about that right now.
Not with the painfully hard cock heâs got twitching in between his legs.
He wasnât gonna tell you out of fear youâd assume he was some kinda loser (he is) but, not only did he cum half-way through eating you out, he also got hard again when that messy stream came pouring out of you.
Toruâs never made a woman squirt before but he did study enough videos toâclearlyâfigure out how itâs done. He didnât think it would work so easily with you since all he had to use was his tongue but considering the way you just-
âCan you do that again?â Your voice hits his ears all of a sudden and his eyes widen.
âW-What?â Toru chokes, âYou uh, you want me to make you squirt again?â
You nod and then move to sit back a little, not exactly in his lap but still close enough for your body heat to mingle. Your finger trails down the center of his torso slowly as you speak, âIt felt really good. I wanna do it again,â You requested almost innocently. âBut, on your cock this time.â
He doesnât know how he managed not to cum at the sound of that.
Toru knew you were bold, he knew you could be a bit of a ditz at time, but fuckâdid you have any idea of the things you were asking for sometimes?
Mustering up that faux confidence from before, he leans up and hums. âAlright, yeah⌠I can do that.â He thinks. Not that heâll admit his lack of assuredness to you though. His hands simply move against your body and you hardly realize whatâs going on until heâs swooped you up in his arms. âBut not here.â
You blink dumbfoundedly, âWhy not?â
âI have a better idea.â
ââ
When he said that, you didnât think the better idea in question would be having sex in his brotherâs room.
You recognized the path there as Toru carried you, felt the familiarity when he laid you down on the bed, and smelled the same scent of Sato lingering around even as Toru tried to distract you with kisses.
It seemed to be surprise after surprise with this man.
âI think after all the times Iâve had to hear the two of you fuck,â Toruâs hands were running down your bodyâhis touch smoother than his brotherâs ever were. âItâs only fair that I make you squirt in the same place he never could, right?â
Too many thoughts of sin swirled in your head for you to answer that properly so all you did was nod your head again. Which was yet another thing he found cute.
Itâs no wonder Sato kept you to himself all this time.
That realization becomes even clearer by the time Toruâs got his cock freed from his clothing, his pinkish tip dribbling precum down onto your cunt while he gapes at the sight.
With his clothes all gone, you realized that heâd been hiding a ripped body under all those baggy, nerdy-branded tees he wore. His muscles would flex without him even trying and he didnât even notice how badly you were drooling over him until he stopped looking at your weeping hole and remembered to redirect his gaze up.
Seeing how youâre staring at his abs like you wanted to take a bite out of him, he leaned all the way up and allowed himself to be on full display for you. His cock bobbed with its hardness due to the way you admired him.
He was only reminded again that his brother got this time and time again and was too selfish to share.
What an asshole.
Toru scoffed and let his head cock to the left, peaking down at his length still hanging over your lower abdomen. âHm,â His hand moved and he began to measure himself in comparison to how deep inside you heâd be within the next few minutesâhand stopping only a few inches short of your belly button. âDoes he reach this far?â
You flinched out of your gawking thoughts and moved your attention to where his hand was, gasping at the debauched sight in between your legs.
Truth be told, the fact that they were twins clearly applied to every inch of their bodies. But if you looked hard enough, you could notice that Satoâs is a bit longer while Toruâs has that veining thickness.
To avoid making the man jealous, you shrug and make eye contact with him again, âPut it in and find out.â
Toru laughs dryly and you throb. Something had changed from before. His shyness seemed like it hid itself away considering there was nothing shy about how he wrapped his hand around his cock and then let it slap slap slap! against your swollen folds.
Your body twitched at each slap but what caught his attention most is how your cunt salivated with each one.
âHuh. I think I figured it out,â Toru breathed, his glasses slipping a bit.
Then he guides his dick up to swab around your clit for a couple seconds just to see the way your hips instantly squirm up for more. The smile that drags out across his face is chillingly close to the one Sato wears while he fucks you.
âThere it is,â Toru whispers, hauling his cock down and letting his plump tip poke against your hole to feel you clench, and then slide back. âThatâs what you like. You like being teased.â
You were so needy that you felt your slick wetly sliding down your skin to pool beneath you, âN-No, I justââ
âShhh, focus on how this feels, pretty girl.â He instructs. All the shakiness you normally heard in his speech was gone and replaced with something sinfully commandingâyearning only to teach you true pleasure. âSee how my cock keeps slipping out? Mmgh,â He repeated his action from before and your hips bucked for more this time, making him huff. âDonât you want it inside you sooo badly?â
Your hand reached down for him, trying your damndest to angle him into you, âI do. Toru please,â You pleaded delightfully.
His naturally submissive nature leads him to slip an inch in but the dewy warmth of your pussy makes him let out a stuttered gasp. Then he lets his cock slop right out of you with another ringing sound of filth spurring out into the air. His deft cockhead thwacks at your quivering hole again and your eyes roll back.
"Say that again." Toru grunts, slapping your parted folds with his cock again to emphasize his words, "Beg me for it."
Your back arches up off the bed this time and youâve got the prettiest look of desperation on your face, "Mnh, please?"
Fuck. He was not strong enough to drag this out any longer.
Nor was he ready for how welcoming your cunt is for him. Swallowing him in inch by stretching inch, Toruâs left with a slacked jaw as he finally slides into you. Choking on his own breath, âO-Ohh⌠Oh fuck.â he pants, âYouâre so wet. F-Fuck, were you always this wet? Shit..â
You let off a pleasant string of moans that make his cock twitch wildly inside you before he even makes it halfway in.
Managing a short breath, you smile up at him, âDidnât know you could curse sâmuch, Toru.â
He knew right then and there he was fucked.
âG-Gonna cum,â He whimpers as he drops his face down into your neck. The singular utterance of his name is what did it for him.
You thought he was just being dramatic but when you feel velvety ropes of creamy cum flooding into you followed by his throaty grunts against the crook of your neck, you realize he was being everything but.
The man could barely move his hips and all he had to offer you was thick loads in sporadic spurts and whiny groans.
By the time you feel his cum escaping where the two of you are still connected, youâre slow to snort, ââŚToru?â
âShit,â He gasps immediately, âShitshitshit, Iâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. I-I didnât mean to cum,â His head flies up, white hairs sticking to his forehead from sweat and eyes all wide and apologetic on yours, âI just-, you felt so good. I couldnât-, fuck. Iâmââ
âItâs okay,â You giggle, moving your hands to cup his face, âJust keep goinâ.â
âBut-,â His eyes travel back and forth between your own as he continues to stare. It takes Toru a long moment to realize heâs⌠still hard.
With a breathless oh tumbling out of his kiss-bitten lips, he rolls his hips forward and pushes his cum deeper into you as a creamy squelch rings out. âO-Ohh, fuck. That sounds sânasty...â He murmurs, arousal decorating his expression from the sound.
âMhm,â You whir, tugging him down to kiss you.
If Sato had good stamina then, as twins, Toru should too, right?
A very intimate mess of his hips rocking down into you carries on with your lips sliding over one another. Unlike his older sibling who typically fucked like his every thrust guaranteed pleasure (it did), Toru moved inside you in the same way his mouth moved over yoursâawkward but careful.
The streeeetch from his cock definitely made up for his lack of hurried strokes since his steady pace forced you to feel every prodding inch.
He may not have lasted long inside you without cumming but he was able to bring you to an orgasm of your own, whispering things into your mouth about how perfect you wereâhow his brother never deserved any of this.
It made your heart feel heavy and your cunt sloppily sang around his cock up until the sound of something dropping made you both gasp.
âWhat the fuck.â Satoâs voice was heard seething, having dropped the bag he had hanging off of his shoulder.
When Toru pulls away from you and glances back, you manage to move your head enough to catch a glimpse of how Sato stuck was staring at the way his twin was steadily fucking you to gentle tears.
âS-Sato,â You sputtered out, suddenly feeling Toruâs hand move to press down your lower abdomenâtightening the pressure around his cock and making him feel impossibly bigger inside you. âOhmygod-,â Both men heard the way you choked, âMâgonna cum.â
Only to be interrupted by Toru scoffing, "Not yet. Someone has to teach this guy how to make you squirt, right?"
âNo one has to teach me shit,â Sato argued as he fully entered his bedroom.
What a sightâhis own brother fucking his favorite girl. Sato never thought heâd see the day, honestly.
Hell, he didnât even know what to say. The sight of you two wasnât the worst thing in the world. Toru had his face so it was like seeing himself fuck you. But, yâknow, with glassesâŚ
âClearly someone does,â Toruâs delayed response came after heâd tugged his cock out of you, watching his cum sap out and soil his brotherâs bedsheets. âEspecially if I was able to do it.â
Rolling his eyes, âBullshit.â Sato spat without letting his brotherâs words register properly. When they finally do, an appalled expression colors over him, âWait, what? No way, show me.â
Toru moves a hand to scratch the back of his neck, looking off to the side dorkishly, âUh, we didnât record it or anythingââ
âNo, I mean do it again, four eyes.â His older brother clarifies rudely.
You sit up at that. Glancing back and forth between the two for a moment and then settling your eyes onto Sato, âWhat?â
âI donât believe him,â Sato huffs as comes to sit on the edge of his bed. Throwing his eyes onto you, âSo, if he really made you squirt then surely he has no issue doing it again.â
You blink. âYou want him to do that in front of you?â
âI want to see you squirt, period,â He admits, âI donât care who gets it outtaâ you at this point.â
You and Toru then exchange glances before looking at him.
âWell?â Sato scoffs. âIf youâre gonna go out of your way to fuck in my bed, donât stop now that Iâm here. Put on a fuckinâ show for me.â
Ever so demanding he wasâŚ
ââ
Not that you or Toru seemed to care.
The next position you end up in is rather⌠precarious, to say the least.
You thought you were left stretched before but that feeling was utterly pale in comparison to what you felt now. Toru had you bouncing up and down his heavy cock, letting it talk you through every pummeling thrust by leaving sweltering smooches against the deepest crevices of your cunt.
Your maw was left to dangle open and you looked like a true slut in the eyes of the Gojo twins. As one fucked you beyond dumb, the other was sat in front of you with his hands wrapped around his shaft, his palm running up and down that wildly long cock of his as sticky precum glistened out from his tip.
Drool and spit trickled all down your jaw and fell onto the floor below and you couldnât move in any way to escape Toruâs desperate thrusts.
The sound of sweaty skin slacking and clashing against one another echoed through Satoâs large bedroom whilst he watched and got off to the sight.
Your arms and legs were locked firmly in Toruâs grip and he was just using your pussy to satisfy that swollen ache heâd been dealing with for fuck knows how long now.
The remnants of his cum sobbed downwards and left a messy ring around his base, the pearly color nearly mocking the white happy trail of hair he had.
"Tighter-, hahh.. squeeze around me tighter, please." Toru muttered into your ear, having found himself pussydrunk and slopped. The walls of your pussy narrowed around him and his hips snapped up a little faster, "Good girl, just like that. F-Fuuck... you're gonna make me c-cum." Toru whimpered.
A singular gasp of, "Inside.â from your horribly sore throat makes both him and his brother groan.
"Again? Shiit," Toru sent a bragging smile ahead before bucking his hips up into you faster as if to prove a point. Still talking into your ear, "Y'want me to breed you in front of Sato? Damn, you're sluttier than I thought you'd be."
You feel his weighty balls pounding up against your skin as his cock bullied in deeper, your pussy stretched into the prettiest shape and molded perfectly around him.
Sato couldnât take his eyes off the errotic sight and his hand moved faster, his own hips thrusting up as he reminisced on that feeling of positioning into you. The man swears he could feel you wrapped around him just from watching his brother handle you.
It was so different to see things from this perspective but fuck was it sexy. Your tits bounced as Toru dragged you up up upp and then let his hips meet you halfway with a needy thrust as he let your body come back down.
"Mmngh, Toru!" You moaned softly.
To which his teeth nipped at your ear, "It's so cute when you say my name like that," He huffs, "Do you like me that much? Hm? Like the way Toru treats this pussy?"
You weakly moved your head in agreement, tears running down your cheeks, "Uhuhh⌠f-fuuuck, Toru. Mâcummin.â
His movements grew faster then, ruder. The plump crown of his cock mashed into that sweet spot of yours over and over and over as if to make the spot his new homeâimprint himself there permanently.
Breathing all heavy against you, âSâokay, let it out, sweetheart. Show him what he should be making you do, yeah?â
Sato cums a split second before it actually happens, based on the fact that it was about to happen. Thank god you were too drunk to see it because heâs watching with teary eyes as you squirt all over Toruâhis dick slipping out of you because of it and the mess spraying ahead filthily.
Your pussy quivers from the release and youâre whining all through it, the cooing sound of Toru whispering you through your high prominence in your ear. You could barely think, barely breathe because of the intensity of it all.
When you calm down from it, Toruâs still got you in his arms and all youâre left to focus on is Satoâs pouty face as he continues to stroke himself.
âWell, fuck. Look at you,â He spoke hoarsely the moment he noticed your attention on him, his head resting back against his headboard, âJust a whore for some Gojo cock, huh?â
Your head barely bobs in responseâfar too dazed to answer that with a properly functioning brain.
Satoâs hand squeezes around his tip and his brows furrow, âYeahhh? Yâliked watching me jerk off like some pathetic loser while I let my brother fuck you?â He hardly waited for another answer out of you before nodding his chin, âBet you do. Look at that pussy, so fuckinâ wet from this.â
Toruâs easing you down on the bed in between the both of them, puffing, âUnfair of you to keep her all to yourself, Sato.â
Keeping things simple, âIâm willing to share now.â
âŚ
Things should have ended there. Seriously.
But, allas, the hold these two have over you appeared to be much stronger than you thought.
âWrap those lips around me, baby.â Sato had requested, watching your shaky limbs move in between his legs.
Toru was somewhere behind you, diving his face back into your cunt to⌠clean the mess he left in there, apparently.
Out of both of them, Toru was definitely the more perverted oneâcurrently eating his own cum out of your cunt after giving you some bullshit excuse about wanting to keep you clean.
All he wanted was to stick his tongue inside you again. You werenât that dumb.
While you gathered Satoâs cock into your palm and let your lips press into his tip, he hissed as his face twisted up due to sensitivity. Easing a hand onto your head, âAtta girl. Choke on this dick while he cleans you up. Wanna see every inch down that throat.â
His words never failed to leave your cunt soused, a physical reaction of which met Toruâs compliant tongue.
Satoâs bed was a mess of all sorts of fluidsâoverly due for a washing after all that had taken place thus far. His cock was somewhere in the back of your throat and he felt your moans tremble against him whenever Toru slurped against you just right.
The three of you were lazy with everything by now and the only thing that made the Gojo siblings perk up was when you ended up gifting Toruâs mouth with another raining mess.
Oh, Sato was in awe at the sight all over again. So much so that itâs what caused his next orgasm. He was so dazed by your squirting that he didnât even bother to ask you to swallow what heâd just unconsciously thrusted into your throat.
Normally thatâs his favorite part; watching or asking you to swallow his seed. Yet, heâd missed all of that because seeing his brotherâs face smothered in your wetness left him shocked.
âOhhh, shit. That was more than the first time.â Toru said as he finally pulled himself from in between your legs.
Satoâs ears twitch and he cocks a brow. Daze broke completely, âFirst time?â he asked. It was clear he still didnât believe that his geeky, clumsy, and overall awkward sibling made that happen before he walked in.
Toru looks at his brother, âYeah⌠More than the first time she squirted.â
Sato stares. âYou⌠You made her squirt before I got here?â Disbelief was evident in his tone.
He chuckles, âYou asked me that like itâs hard or something, of course I did.â
You pull yourself up from Satoâs softening cock just in time and give the two slow blinks while transferring your gaze back and forth. Sleepiness wasnât slow to overcome you.
Sato met your eyes with his pointed ones and puffed all brat-like, âSoooo⌠youâre gonna do that for only me next time, right?â
Thereâs not a singular thought inside your head as you blatantly ignore him. Then, you turn over and plop onto the bed to lay downâback facing the two of them.
âHello?â Sato taps your shoulder and then jokingly adds a comedic, âChat, am I mutedâŚ?â
Toru snorts with a shake of his head, getting out the bed to start cleaning up the mess you three collectively made within the past few hours.
Then, youâre wondering if the roles had reversed for a second when he grumbles, âFuckinâ loserâŚâ
18+  premature ejaculation with inexperienced!jason todd ᥣđŠÂ
He's hovered over you, his deep green eyes fluttering closed as the head of his cock tentatively brushes along your slick folds. The slow drag is torturous, this drawn-out tension that's got you on edge, but he freezes up, too wrapped in his own doubts. Panic twists in his gut. This already feels too fucking good, way too intense for someone like him who's barely dipped a toe into this.
"Come on... âs okay baby. You can put it in," you gently urge, your voice a raw whisper of desperation, but his thoughts are a whirlwind, second-guessing every move. He jerks his head side to side, refusing.
âCanât yetâŚâ his face buries into the curve of your neck, a soft whimper escaping as he nudges the tip against your opening. It teases right at the edge, slipping in just a fraction and your walls instantly squeeze and gush around it, but he pulls back every time.
A frustrated whimper escapes you. "Jay, why are you holding back so hard?" Your fingers slide up the smooth expanse of his bare back, nails slightly scratching the scarred skin. He quakes at the touch, leaning into it like a lifeline.
"I can't... fuck, ohmygod..." he stammers as your hands soothe him, making his throbbing cock twitch against you. Hot tears start splashing onto your skin, right at the collarbone. "Don't wanna screw this up and hurt you. I'm not... I don't even know if I can do it right."
"What'd really hurt is you stopping yourself from feeling good âcause youâre scared," you soothe, tugging him down until his weight settles against you, arms looping around his neck in a firm hold. "You know I love you, Jay."
Your soft encouragement shatters his fragile control, sending him tumbling over the brink. His cock twitches wildly, barely notched at your opening, as thick, erratic spurts of cum erupt from himâcoating your cunt in sticky warmth, some dribbling inside just a fraction. He gasps, body jerking in clumsy spasms, face burning with shame as the pathetic reality hits: he's spilled everywhere without even getting started, like some fumbling kid who couldn't hold it together. Humiliation floods him, cheeks flaming red, a choked sob bubbling up because he feels so small, so utterly inadequate in this vulnerable strip-down of himself.
"Oh shitâsorry, fuckâ"
You silence him with a gentle press of lips to his, palms framing his flushed face, thumbs sweeping away the tear tracks streaking his cheeks. "No, donât be sorry. âCan always try again, hm?â
â. summary ᪠You ordered a custom dildo that perfectly matches your big-brother-figure Calebâs dick. Caleb ordered a pocket pussy that perfectly matches your's. Neither of you knows the toys are synced to the real thing. Now every time one of you fucks your toy, the other feels itâlike ghost sex on steroids. Youâve both spent months thinking youâre being haunted by the supernatural while secretly fucking each other senseless through the wall. The feedback loop goes haywire. No one is surviving this vacation with their sanity intact.
â. content warnings ᪠pseudocest, og cn gege/meimei trope, heavy dubcon, masturbations, unsolved sexual tension, zero communications, guilt, denial, forbidden desires, sexual frustration, mutual yearning, usage of sex toys, magical sex toys that secretly link to other person's body(portal panties), mutual fucking, semi-public/public, double penetration, extreme tightness + involuntary orgasms, excessive cumming/squirting, porn with little no plot . . .18 + â MINORS DNI !
â. wc ᪠6k+
â. cherryâs note ᪠this is probably the weirdest scenario I've written so far... took me some real good TIME to finish...
âAnd thatâs the last box,â you huff, letting the cardboard thud against the scuffed hardwood near the doorway. You straighten up straight, rolling your shoulders, wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist. The tiny apartment looks like a warzone of luggage and flat-pack furniture Caleb swore you âabsolutely neededââhis credit card, his orders, his quiet, stubborn way of still taking care of you even when heâs hundreds of miles away.
Linkon City air tastes different. Sharper. Lonelier.
Youâve been here three weeks and it still doesnât feel like home. Maybe it never will without him barging through the door, scolding you for leaving dishes in the sink or for forgetting to eat again.
A sigh slips out as you kick off your sneakers. Shower first, chaos later.
Clothes hit the floor in a careless pile. The bathroom is barely big enough for one person, but the water pressure is perfectâhot, punishing, exactly what your sore muscles crave. Steam fills the cramped space, fogging the mirror, swallowing every reflection that isnât you.
You tip your head back, letting the spray pound against your throat, your collarbones, sliding down between your breasts. The heat loosens something inside your chest.
Calebâs face flashes behind your closed eyes uninvited. Always uninvited, yet always there.
Sharp jaw. Tired eyes that soften only for you. The way his pilot uniform hugs his shoulders now that heâs filling out, taller and broader every time he comes home on break. The way he still calls you âlittle pipsqueakâ even though youâre not little anymore.
You shouldnât.
You really, really shouldnât.
But your hand is already moving, gliding over slick skin, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your navel, lower.
âYou mustâve felt this heavy too, gegeâŚâ you whisper to the steam, voice trembling with guilt and something darker. âAll alone in Skyhaven⌠in that big empty house with no one toââ
Your fingers slip between your thighs, parting swollen folds, finding yourself already soaked and it has nothing to do with the shower.
A broken little sound escapes as you circle your clit, slow, teasing, the same way youâve imagined he would if he everâGodâif he ever let himself unravel like this.
âMmh⌠gege, are you worried about me?â The words come out filthy, breathless, wrong in the best way. âDo you⌠think about me when youâre alone too?â
You press two fingers inside yourself, curling, pumping, thighs shaking. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit and your hips jerk forward like youâre fucking your own hand, like youâre chasing a ghost that wears his face.
Youâve never touched each other. Not once. Not beyond lingering hugs that lasted too long, not beyond his thumb brushing your cheek when you cried after graduation, not beyond falling asleep on his shoulder during long flights home and pretending both of you didnât notice how neither moved away.
But you know.
You both know.
âC-Calebââ His name cracks in your throat as you come undone, clenching hard around your fingers, knees nearly buckling. Water pounds over you like itâs trying to wash the sin off your skin, but it canât reach the stain inside your chest.
You stay there until the water starts to cool, forehead pressed to the tile, panting, ashamed, and still aching for him.
Because even an entire city apart, even with new lives and new rules and the Hunter Academy waiting to swallow you whole tomorrowâCaleb is still the only home you want to go back to.
And youâre terrified he wants to come back to you too.
You step out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but steam and guilt, skin still tingling, cheeks flaming hotter than the shower ever got. Droplets race down your neck, your spine, between your ass cheeks; every trickle feels like a reprimand. You donât even bother with clothes. You just belly-flop onto the bed, wet hair fanning across the pillow, and immediately start flailing like a dying shrimp.
âStupid, stupid, stupid!â you hiss, kicking the sheets, punching the mattress, rolling side to side until the towel finally gives up and falls open. You lie there spread-eagle, panting at the ceiling like it personally offended you.
You miss your stupid, overprotective, stupidly hot gege this much.
Itâs pathetic. Youâre pathetic.
You need to do something about it before you lose the last shred of your sanity.
With a groan you drag the laptop Caleb bought youâmatte black, way too expensive, has a little fighter-jet sticker he slapped on the lid as a jokeâ onto your stomach and flip it open. Fingers hover over the keys for half a second before shame loses the fight.
You type: âbest sex toys for beginnersâ.
The screen explodes with color and silicone and words like âthrustingâ and âsuctionâ and â10 vibration patternsâ. Your eyes go wide.
âOh WOWâŚâ
You scroll, jaw literally on the floor, until you hit the prices and wheeze. Eight hundred dollars for a rabbit vibrator? Who has that kind of money? Certainly not a broke freshman hunter living off instant noodles and Calebâs guilt-money transfers.
You slam the laptop shut, fling yourself backward again, and whine at the ceiling.
âToo broke for that⌠damn, I canât even get a proper dildo shoved up into my pussy, life is unfairââ
Ding ding.
Your phone lights up on the nightstand. Unknown number. A link.
Normally youâd ignore it. Today youâre desperate and dumb, so you squint, see â70% OFF FLASH SALE!!â in screaming red letters, and click before your brain catches up.
The site that loads is⌠questionable. Neon pink, flickering banners, probably one virus away from stealing your soul. But front and center is a product that makes your heart stop.
âUpload a photo, choose vein pattern, pick warmth settings; experience the exact cock youâve always dreamed of.â
Your mouth goes dry.
Thereâs a little heart icon that says âMost Wishlisted Item of the Yearâ.
You shouldnât.
You really, really shouldnât.
But your finger is already over the âCustomize Nowâ button and your thighs are already squeezing together remembering how your own fingers felt pretending they were his.
Ten minutes later youâve uploaded the clearest photo you have of Calebâhim leaning against the cockpit of his fighter, flight suit half-zipped, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. You pick the length youâve definitely never measured in your head while hugging him goodbye, the exact girth your dirty imagination has circled back to for years, the upward curve youâve caught a glimpse of once through his sweatpants and never recovered from.
Veins: raised, prominent, just like the ones on his forearms when he carries your luggage without breaking a sweat. Warmth setting: âalways hot, like he just worked outâ. Internal texture: âtight but yielding, the way you bet heâd feel if he ever snapped and pinned you down.
The total, with the sketchy discount, is suspiciously low. Delivery: 3â5 days, discreet packaging.
Your finger hovers over âPlace Orderâ. Morals scream. Pussy throbs harder. You hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it.
Order confirmed. You drop the phone like itâs on fire, roll facedown into the pillow, and muffle a scream thatâs half horror, half unbearable anticipation.
In three to five days, youâre going to fuck a perfect replica of the cock belonging to the one person youâre never, ever supposed to want.
And you already know youâre going to call it gege while you do.
Five days of checking the mailbox like a lunatic. Five days of that stupid website 404-ing every time you tried to track the order. Five days of punching training dummies with your entire soul while screaming internally about getting scammed out of your last paycheck for a ghost dick.
âFUCK, IT WAS A SCAM!â you snarl, slamming an uppercut into the dummyâs throat so hard the stuffing starts leaking, âWHAT WAS I THINKING!â. Your squadmates give you a wide berth, whispering. Whatever. Let them think youâre unhinged. You are unhinged.
Then your phone buzzes against your hip. Package delivered.
You donât even wait for the instructor to dismiss you. You just bolt, boots pounding pavement the whole way back, lungs burning, sweat cooling on your neck in the evening air. The second the apartment door slams behind you, you spot the box.
Plain brown. No labels except your name in printed font. You drop to your knees like a woman possessed, nails clawing at tape, ripping cardboard like it owes you money. The lid flies off. And you stop breathing.
Nestled in black satin is the most obscene, perfect, terrifying cock youâve ever seen.
Itâs huge. Stupidly, ridiculously huge. Thick veins snake up the shaft, only these are flushed dark, pulsing faintly with the built-in warming tech. The head is that deep brownish-pink, flared and glistening from whatever hyper-realistic coating they used. Heavy balls hang low, weighted, shifting slightly when you nudge the box.
You donât remember setting the length slider this high.
You donât care. Your mouth actually waters.
âOh wowâŚâ It comes out strangled. You fall back onto your ass, legs splayed, staring at the thing like it might stand up and walk over to you itself. âOh my god.â
Your pussy clenches so hard you feel it in your throat.
You havenât even taken your sweaty training gear off and youâre already dripping down your thighs.
You pick it up with both handsâjesus, itâs warm, heavier than expected and the second your fingers close around the shaft it pulses again, like it knows who it belongs to.
Like itâs been waiting for you just as long as youâve been waiting for him.
You press the thick head against your cheek without thinking, dragging it down to your lips, breathing in the clean, new-silicone scent mixed with whatever insane tech makes it smell faintly like his cologne.
âFuck, gegeâŚâ you whisper against the tip, voice cracking.
The toy throbs in your grip like it heard you.
You have never sprinted to lock your bedroom door faster in your life.You donât make it to the bed.
The second the lock clicks youâre already peeling off your sweat-soaked clothes, sports bra flung somewhere, shorts kicked aside, panties dragged down your thighs and left dangling off one ankle. The toy is still in your grip, hot against your palm, veins pulsing faintly with the internal heater like it has a heartbeat.
You drop to your knees on the rug, legs spreading wide without shame, back hitting the edge of the mattress. The thick head nudges your lips and you open instantly, greedy, tongue flattening against the underside as you take the first few inches into your mouth. Itâs too big; your jaw aches immediately, drool already spilling down your chin, but you force yourself deeper, gagging softly, eyes watering.
You pull off with a wet pop and a broken moan.
âNeed you inside me, gege⌠pleaseââ
You flip onto all fours, ass in the air, face buried in the sheets that still smell like the detergent he used to buy for both of you back home. One hand reaches back, guiding the fat tip through your soaked folds, coating it, teasing your clit until your thighs shake.
Then you push.
The stretch is obscene. Your pussy flutters, resists, then gives all at once. A strangled cry rips out of you as the first half sinks in, thick veins dragging against your walls, that perfect upward curve kissing spots youâve never reached with your fingers. You claw at the sheets, hips jerking back on instinct, taking more, more, until your ass meets the heavy silicone balls and youâre stuffed so full you canât breathe.
âF-fuckâCalebââ
You pull forward until only the head remains, then slam back. The impact makes you scream into the mattress. Again. Harder. Faster. Your tits bounce with every brutal thrust, nipples dragging against the rug, thighs slapping against silicone like theyâre slapping against his hips.
You lose count of how many times you fuck yourself on it. You lose language. All that exists is the wet, filthy sound of your cunt swallowing him, the burn in your thighs, the way your clit throbs every time the base grinds against it.
You flip over, legs thrown wide, knees hooked over your elbows so you can watch. Watch the way your pussy lips stretched thin around his cock, watch it disappear inside you again and again, slick coating everything, dripping down your ass, pooling on the floor.
âLook what you do to me, gege,â you sob, voice wrecked. âLook how wet you make meâhow empty I am without youâfuck, Iâm such a slut for youââ
Your free hand flies to your clit, rubbing frantic circles, and the orgasm barrels into you like a freight train. You squirt, actually squirt, a gush that soaks the toy and your thighs and the rug beneath you. Your walls clamp down so hard the dildo almost slips out, but you shove it deeper, riding the aftershocks, grinding, crying his name like a prayer.
You donât stop.
You canât.
You pull it out only long enough to flip the toy around and shove the slick head against your ass, teasing, not quite brave enough yet, but the thought alone makes you come again, smaller this time, a full-body shudder that leaves you gasping.
When you finally collapse, the dildo is still buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around it in lazy pulses. Youâre trembling, sweaty, ruined. Tears and drool and cum smeared across your face and chest.
You reach down blindly, fingers brushing the base, and give it one last slow thrust just to hear yourself whimper.
ââŚcome home soon, gege,â you whisper to the empty room, voice hoarse. âI donât think this is gonna be enough anymore.â
The toy stays inside you the rest of the night. You fall asleep clenching around it, dreaming of the real thing finally splitting you open.
â
â
Skyhaven, DAA parade grounds, 18:47 local.
Caleb is standing at parade rest, flight jacket crisp, medals gleaming, trying to look like the perfect poster boy for the Deepspace Aviation Academy while the brass drones on about honor and vigilance. The formation is dead silent except for the wind whipping the flags.
Then it starts.
A faint tingle at the base of his spine. He shifts his weight, ignores it. Probably just nerves.
Gideon elbows him from the left. âDude, you good? Youâre sweating bullets.â
Caleb forces a laugh, teeth clenched. âYeah, just hot in this jacket.â
The tingle turns into heat. A slow, syrupy, pooling right behind his balls. His cock twitches once, then again, harder, like someone just wrapped a fist around it and squeezed.
He locks his knees to keep from swaying.
The sensation climbs. Something slick and impossibly tight slides down his shaft, inch by inch, swallowing him whole. His breath stutters. The wet spot blooming at the front of his dress pants is impossible to hide now; he angles his body behind the guy in front of him, praying nobody notices.
Another squeeze. A rhythmic drag. Something soft and spongy kissing the tip over and over and over.
His vision whites out for half a second. He breaks formation without permission, muttering a choked âbathroomâ to Gideonâs startled face, and bolts.
He barely makes it to the nearest restroom, slamming the lock, back hitting the door as his trembling fingers rip his belt open. The second his cock springs free itâs flushed angry red, leaking like a faucet, veins bulging exactly the way you spent hours customizing.
He doesnât even touch himself.
He doesnât have to.
The feeling slams into him again: tight, wet heat clenching around him, riding him hard, fast, merciless. Invisible hips slam down, grind, pull up, slam down again. His balls draw up so tight it hurts.
âF-fuckâ!â The moan tears out of him; he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back, hips jerking into empty air like heâs fucking someone bent over the sink in front of him.
Every thrust feels real. Too real. He can feel slick walls fluttering, a cervix nudging the head on every brutal stroke, the phantom slap of skin on skin heâs never actually heard but somehow knows by heart.
His knees buckle. He grips the porcelain with white knuckles, forehead pressed to the cool mirror, panting like heâs running a marathon.
âAhâshitâstopâpleaseââ he doesnât even know who heâs begging.
The pace only gets rougher.
He comes without warning, a broken cry muffled against his own arm, thick ropes painting the sink, the mirror, his dress shirt. His cock jerks and jerks like itâs being milked by a throat, a pussy, something greedy and possessive and familiar.
The orgasm doesnât stop. It rolls straight into another, smaller but sharper, and his legs finally give out. He slides down the door until heâs sitting on the cold tile, cock still half-hard, twitching with aftershocks, cum dripping down his fist even though he never stroked himself once.
Chest heaving, he stares at the mess in dazed horror. âWhat the fuck was thatâŚ?â
Three hundred miles away, youâre still sprawled on your bedroom floor, impaled on the toy, whispering his name like a prayer while it throbs inside you.
Neither of you has any idea the link goes both ways. Yet.
Every night for the past ten days itâs the same ritual.
You stumble through the door still in your sweat-drenched hunter uniform, kick off your boots, and donât even bother with the lights. The second the bedroom door shuts behind you, clothes hit the floor in a frantic trail. Youâre already soaked before you even touch the toy, thighs slick, pussy throbbing like itâs been counting the hours until you get home to it.
You keep the dildo in the top drawer now, wrapped in one of Calebâs old flight academy T-shirts like a dirty little secret. The moment your fingers close around the warm shaft it pulses, eager, like it missed you just as badly.
And three hundred miles away, Caleb starts sweating through whatever heâs doing.
Day 4
You ride it reverse on the desk chair, feet planted wide, rolling your hips slow and deep just to feel every vein drag inside you.
In Skyhaven, Caleb drops an entire tray of coffee in the cadet mess, doubles over the table with a choked gasp, thighs clamping together while his cock leaks helplessly into his boxers. Gideon has to drag him out by the elbow while Caleb stammers something about food poisoning.
Day 6
Youâre on your knees in the shower, toy suction-cupped to the tile, slamming back onto it until your ass is red and the water runs cold.
Calebâs in the middle of a night-flight simulator run. Mid-loop his whole body locks up; he yanks the stick too hard, fails the exercise, and spends ten minutes curled in the cockpit seat coming untouched while the instructor screams over the headset.
Day 8
You canât wait anymore the second you get home. You donât even make it to the bedroom. You drop onto the hallway floor, legs over your head, fucking yourself with both holes nowâthe replica so slick from your pussy it slides into your ass easy. You scream his name until your voice cracks.
Calebâs in the barracks laundry room folding clothes. One second heâs fine, the next heâs on the floor, biting his own forearm to stay quiet while his cock jerks and feels violated by invisible forces. He comes so hard his vision blacks out. When he can move again he finds the crotch of his pants soaked front and back and has no explanation.
Day 10
Youâre greedy. You strap the toy to a pillow, mount it like youâre riding him for real, hands braced on the headboard, hips snapping down so hard the bedframe slams the wall in rhythm.
âGegeâfuckâharderâplease, I needââ
You sob it into the dark, tears streaking your cheeks, pussy gushing all over the silicone balls.
In Skyhaven, Caleb is supposed to be asleep. Instead he jerks awake in his bunk with a wounded sound, sheets twisted around his hips, cock so hard it hurts. The sensation hits like a punch: tight, wet heat swallowing him to the root, grinding, milking. Something inside him âhis assâclenches around nothing and everything at once. He shoves his face into his pillow and comes instantly, whole body convulsing, biting down so hard he tastes blood.
When it finally fades heâs shaking, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like he just ran ten miles.
He drags a trembling hand down his stomach and finds his cock still-hard cock slick with his own release and something elseâslicker, warmer, smelling faintly smelling like you.
For the first time, real fear cuts through the haze. Because whatever is doing this to him isnât random. And itâs getting stronger every night.
Caleb hasnât slept properly in twelve days. Every night the âghostâ comes back. Every night it rides him harder, tighter, wetter, like itâs learning exactly how to unravel him.
Heâs stopped trying to fight it. He just locks his door, shoves his face into his pillow, and lets the phantom cunt milk him dry while his cock leaks and his ass clenches around nothing and his brain short-circuits with the same voice thatâs haunted him since puberty.
Your voice.
Heâs started jerking off to the memory of it in the showers, biting his own fist so his bunkmates donât hear him whimpering âpipsqueakâ like a prayer.
Heâs losing his fucking mind.
So when heâs alone in the dorm common room at 0300, half delirious, cock still half-hard from another unsolicited orgasm, he does the stupidest thing heâs ever done in his life.
He googles the symptoms.
Ends up on the same neon-pink, virus-looking website you found weeks ago.
The banner screams: FEEL LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE â NOW WITH REVERSE SYNC!
He doesnât read the fine print. Heâs too tired, too desperate, too turned on.
He uploads the clearest photo he has of youâlast summer, you in that sundress, laughing at something he said, hair sticking to your sweaty neck.
He customizes everything with shaking hands,outer lips soft and plump, exactly the way heâs imagined a thousand times when you walked around the house in tiny sleep shorts. Inner walls textured like crushed velvet, tight at the entrance, then fluttering deeper. Clit hood pronounced, sensitive node swollen âbecause heâs spent years pretending he doesnât notice how you squirm when he hugs you too long enough. Warmth setting: âalways soaked, like sheâs been thinking about you all day.â Scent module: the exact peach-and-vanilla body wash youâve used since you were fifteen.
He pays triple for overnight shipping. The box arrives two days later while the entire barracks is out on a weekend training hike. Caleb locks himself in his room, heart hammering like a jet engine.
He tears the packaging open with his teeth. Inside, nestled in black satin, is the prettiest pocket pussy heâs ever seen.
Soft, dusky outer lips, flushed pink inside, already glistening with the self-lubricating gel. Itâs warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like itâs breathing.
He exhales a broken âfuck⌠so prettyâŚâ and runs two fingers down the seam, parting the lips gently. The toy quivers. A bead of lube rolls out like itâs already wet for him.
He doesnât make it to the bed.
He drops into his desk chair, sweatpants shoved down to his hips, cock springing out thick and flushed and already dripping. He drags the head through the slick folds once, twice, coating himself, groaning at how realistic it feels.
Then he pushes in.
The sound that rips out of him is inhuman.
Tight, hot, velvet walls clamp down instantly, sucking him deeper like theyâve been waiting years. The inner texture ripples around his shaft exactly the way heâs fantasized your pussy wouldâfluttering, squeezing, dragging over every vein.
He bottoms out in one brutal thrust and his vision whites out.
âFuckâpipsqueakââ he chokes, hips jerking helplessly. âIs this how youâre supposed to feel? So goodâso fucking realââ
He starts slow, savoring it, pulling out until just the tip kisses the entrance, then sliding back in with a wet squelch that makes his balls draw up tight. The toy makes obscene soundsâsoft, wet, exactly like a real cunt taking cockâand every noise goes straight to his spine.
He loses control fast.
Hands gripping the desk, he starts pounding into it like he hates it, like he loves it, hips snapping hard enough to rattle the chair. The pocket pussy sucks him back in on every stroke, walls fluttering wildly, clit hood bumping his pelvis on the downstroke.
âTake itâjust like thatâfuck, youâre so tight for meââ
He doesnât notice the way the toy seems to clench harder when he says your nickname. Doesnât notice the way it gushes fresh slick every time he groans âgood girlâ under his breath.
Three hundred miles away, youâre in the middle of a lecture at the Hunter Academy when your body suddenly locks up. A phantom cockâthick, burning hot, veinyâslides into you from nowhere. Your pen clatters to the desk. You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a scream as invisible hips slam forward and bury something huge to the hilt inside you.
Your pussy spasms around empty air. Your clit throbs like someoneâs grinding against it. Your chair creaks as your thighs snap together, trying to trap the sensation that isnât there and is there all at once.
The âghostâ fucks you right there in the lecture hall, in front of thirty other cadets, relentless and deep and merciless.
You cum biting your own wrist so hard you leave teeth marks, tears streaming down your face, soaking through your panties and the seat beneath you while the professor drones on about wanderer migration patterns.
Back in Skyhaven, Calebâs losing his mind in a different way.
Heâs hunched over the desk now, one hand braced, the other brutally fucking the toy up and down his cock, chasing the edge.
âGonnaâfuckâgonna fill you up, pipsqueakâtake every dropââ
He comes with a guttural shout, hips stuttering, cock pulsing so hard the toy overflows. Thick ropes of cum spill out around his shaft, dripping down the silicone lips, painting his fist, the desk, his thighs.
The pocket pussy keeps milking him through it, walls fluttering like itâs trying to drain him completely.
He slumps forward, forehead pressed to the cool wood, panting like heâs run a marathon.
The toy gives one last gentle squeeze⌠almost affectionate.
And somewhere far away, youâre curled in the academy bathroom stall, legs shaking, pussy still twitching with aftershocks, a flood of cum you didnât make leaking out of you in thick, warm pulses.
You both whisper the same thing at the exact same second, voices hoarse and wrecked and terrified,âWhat the fuck is happening to me?â
â
â
The entire summer break is a slow-motion torture.
You arrive at Bloomshore first, two hours early because the Academy let out sooner than DAA. Grandma hugs you so hard your ribs creak, pinches your cheeks, stuffs you full of peach cobbler and gossip. The childhood house smells exactly the same: sun-warmed wood, sea-salt breeze, the faint lavender sachets she still keeps in every drawer. Your old bedroom is untouched, posters curling at the corners, the same twin bed you used to share with Caleb when thunderstorms scared you.
You dump your suitcase, unzip it, and there it is: the dildo, wrapped in one of his old flight-school hoodies like contraband. Itâs been two days since you last used it and your body is already twitching, thighs pressing together every time you remember how it feels.
You shove it under the mattress and try to be normal. Then the front door opens downstairs and you hear his voice.
âGran squeals, âCaleb, my handsome boy!â
You freeze halfway down the stairs.
Heâs⌠bigger. Shoulders filling the doorway, hair longer and tousled from the wind, sunglasses hooked in the collar of a white T-shirt that clings to his chest. Heâs grinning at Gran, but the same crooked smile thatâs been haunting your wet dreams for months.
Then his eyes flick up and find you. âHey, pipsqueak⌠and Gran.â
Your stomach flips so violently you almost trip on the last step. You launch yourself at him anyway, because thatâs what youâve always done. He catches you mid-jump like you weigh nothing, arms banding around your waist, laughing low in his chest as you collide.
âYup, gegeâs here. Howâs my meimei doing in Linkon, hm?â
The second his palm settles on the back of your head, petting like when you were kids, every filthy memory slams into you at onceâthe toy stretching you open, the way you sobbed his name into your pillow, the phantom cum that leaked out of you for days afterward.
Your face ignites. You feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the flex of his biceps as he holds you, the faint cedar-and-jet-fuel scent that is just him. You jerk away like youâve been electrocuted.
Your voice cracks on every syllable. You practically sprint past him, suitcase banging against your leg, and disappear into your room so fast you almost take out the coat rack.
Caleb stands there frozen, arms still half-raised, cheeks flushed crimson for reasons he refuses to examine.
Gran raises an eyebrow. âYou two are acting mighty strange.â
He clears his throat, grabs his own duffel, and mutters something about needing a shower.
That night neither of you comes down for dinner.
You lie in your childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on the ceiling together when you were ten, thighs clenched so tight they ache. You can hear him moving around in the room next door, the creak of his old mattress, the low thud of his bag hitting the floor.
You wonder if he brought it too. You wonder if heâs touching it right now. Across the wall, Caleb is wondering the exact same thing about you.
Both toys are hidden under respective mattresses, pulsing faintly like they know theyâre finally under the same roof as their match.
The air-conditioner rattles. Crickets hum outside. The house is asleep.
Neither of you sleeps a wink. And somewhere in the dark, two identical warming circuits kick on at the exact same moment, waiting for someone to break first.
The first night back home, the dam breaks at 2:17 AM.
Youâve been tossing in your childhood bed for hours, sheets tangled around your ankles, thighs slick and aching from the constant low thrum of need that started the second you heard his laugh downstairs. The house is silent except for the distant crash of waves on Bloomshoreâs cliffs and the faint creak of floorboards in the next room.
Heâs right there.
Walls so thin you can hear him breathing if you press your ear to the plaster.
And under your mattress, the toy waits, warm and heavy and calling to you like a siren.
You give in with a muffled curse, fishing it out, fingers trembling as you drag it between your legs. No prep. No teasing. Youâre already dripping, have been since that hug, so you just line up the fat head and sink down in one brutal slide.
The stretch is immediate and vicious, your pussy clenching around silicone veins like itâs starving. You bite your pillow to stifle the moan, hips rocking slow at first, savoring the drag, the way it kisses your cervix on every grind.
In the next room, Caleb jolts awake with a strangled gasp.
His cockâalready half-hard from dreams of youâsuddenly feels like itâs being strangled in velvet. Tighter than ever. Hotter. Wetter. The phantom walls clamp down so hard his vision spots, every ridge and flutter magnified tenfold, like whateverâs fucking him is twice as desperate tonight.
He scrambles for his duffel under the bed, yanking out the pocket pussy with shaking hands. No way heâs enduring this alone. He shoves his boxers down, spits into the toyâs slick entrance, and thrusts in without mercy.
The second he bottoms out, you scream into your sheets.
Itâs like a second cock slams into you alongside the firstâthicker, hotter, splitting you open from the inside. Your walls flutter wildly, stretched beyond reason, the dual sensations overlapping in a filthy symphony: the toyâs familiar curve grinding one spot while the phantom one drags against another, both pounding in perfect sync.
âF-fuckâgegeâwhatââ you whimper, confused and wrecked, hips jerking up to meet nothing and everything. Your clit throbs like itâs being sucked, your ass clenches around air that feels full. You shove the dildo deeper, faster, chasing the burn, tears leaking down your cheeks as your body tries to process being double-fucked by ghosts.
Calebâs teeth sink into his own bicep to keep from roaring loud enough to wake Grandma.
The toy is a vice. His cock feels like itâs being crushed in the best wayâwalls so tight they might snap him in half, rippling and milking with every brutal thrust. Itâs wetter than before, slick gushing out around his shaft like the thing is coming alive, and every time he pulls back it sucks him in harder, deeper, the inner texture fluttering like a heartbeat.
âPipsqueakâshitâtoo tightâgonna break meââ he growls through clenched teeth, one hand braced on the headboard, the other fucking the toy up and down his length so fast his arm burns. His balls slap against silicone with every snap, heavy and aching, the pressure building so intense heâs terrified heâll black out.
You both lose track of time, separated by one flimsy wall, fucking your toys in frantic rhythm without knowing youâre fucking each other.
For you, itâs endlessâthe dildo splitting your pussy while the invisible cock mirrors every move, stretching you to your limits, making you gush so hard the sheets are soaked beneath your ass. You come once with a muffled sob, clenching around both, but it doesnât stopâthe sensations only amp up, phantom veins dragging inside you, a second head nudging spots that make your toes curl.
âMoreâgege, pleaseâfill me upââ you beg the dark, fingers flying to your clit, rubbing frantic circles while you slam the toy home again and again.
Caleb hears somethingâa faint, wrecked whine through the wallâand it snaps his last thread.
He flips onto his back, legs spread wide, and fucks into the pocket pussy like a man possessed. The tightness is agonizing now, walls constricting so hard around his cock he swears itâs going to cut off circulationâhot, pulsing, fluttering like itâs alive and greedy and his. Every thrust sends sparks up his spine; his free hand claws at the sheets, hips bucking off the mattress.
âTake itâfuck, just like thatâmy good girlââ he rasps, voice hoarse, imagining your face, your body, the way youâd look split open on him for real.
The orgasm hits you both at the same instant.
You arch off the bed with a silent scream, pussy spasming around double fullness, squirting in thick arcs that drench your thighs and the toy. The phantom cum floods youâhot, thick, endlessâleaking out around the dildo, pooling between your legs, making everything slicker, messier.
Caleb comes with a guttural âfuckâpipsqueakââ bitten off against his fist, cock jerking so hard the toy overflows instantly. Cum spills everywhereâhis stomach, the sheets, the silicone lips stretched thin around himâbut the walls keep milking, squeezing tighter than humanly possible, wringing every drop until his balls ache and his vision tunnels.
You both collapse in sweaty, trembling heaps, toys still buried deep, aftershocks rippling through you like shared electricity.
The wall between your rooms might as well not exist.
But neither of you moves. Neither knocks. Neither dares whisper the truth.
Instead, you pull the covers over your ruined body, the dildo still twitching faintly inside you, and pretend your heart isnât pounding loud enough for him to hear.
Next door, Caleb does the exact same, cock softening in the vice-grip of the toy, a single thought looping in his wrecked mind,
Tomorrow night, heâs doing it again.
And so are you.
Š CHERRYSCRIPT 2025 â don't copy, translate, feed my work to ai
ŕ§× × synopsis ⎠You get kidnapped and branded by the joker on christmas. The bat-family sees Jason unravel.
word cnt. 14.6k
cw âşâşâşâş torture, branding, suicidal language, violence, blood, gore
Something is wrong.
Jason feels it like a pressure changeâsubtle, almost politeâbut it crawls under his helmet and settles behind his eyes. It hasnât clicked, not cleanly. Not yet. He hasnât asked. Hasnât said a word through the harbor sweep, through the cold iron stink of saltwater and oil and Christmas rot. A small job. The kind that should feel easy. The kind that still manages to choke the air out of his lungs anyway.
Everyoneâs moving like the night might shatter if they stop.
Tim keeps choosing his words too carefully, syllables slowed and smoothed like heâs sanding down sharp edges. Dickâs doing that thing where he smiles first and speaks secondâbut the timingâs off, the warmth a fraction too late, like a recording lagging behind the video. Damian watches Jason more than the perimeter, eyes sharp, calculating, guarded. Stephanie hasnât joked once. Not even a cheap jab to him, not even under her breath. That alone feels wrong enough to tilt the world sideways.
Bruce didnât come.
That absence is loud. A hollow where a presence should be, echoing through comms and instinct alike. The Cave, heâd said. As if that explained anything. As if Bruce ever sits things out without a reason that claws.
Cassandra says nothingâbut sheâs closer. Close enough that Jason can feel her awareness like static along his spine. When the group splits, she falls into step beside him without discussion, without a glance. Just there. Solid. Protective in a way that feels less like trust and more like vigilance. As if sheâs guarding him.
Thatâs when unease really sinks its teeth in.
Bruce didnât need all of them.
Didnât need six sets of boots scraping concrete, six heartbeats crowding the same dark. Dick alone couldâve dismantled this whole thing with half the effort. Hell, Jason himself couldâve wrapped it up fast and bloody and been home already. Instead, theyâre stacked together, overlapping, slowing each other down like theyâre afraid to let him out of their sight.
He agreed because no one argued about his presence. Because no one questioned whether he was needed. Because the silence around that decision felt intentional.
That shouldâve been his first real warning.
Between two groups of thugs, he had ducked behind a row of shipping containers, Gothamâs lights bleeding gold across the black water. He had pulled out his phone and called you, already rehearsing the apology in his head. Late for presents. Again. Youâd tease him, pretend to scold, maybe force him to wrap some gifts for your co-workers.Â
You didn't answer.
Probably a bath, he told himself. Youâd mentioned one. Candles. The fancy bath salts you bought. Something soft to push the cold out of your bones. The thought settles him, briefly. He sends a text insteadâshort, careful. An apology. An I love you so much that he doesnât overthink, because with you, he never has to.
You always know what he means.
The phone stays quiet in his pocket.
No buzz. No vibration brushing against his thigh like it usually does, grounding him, tethering him back to something warm and real. He told himself itâs nothing. That youâre relaxed, distracted, asleep. That the night is just heavy, that Gotham is doing what Gotham always doesâmaking ghosts out of shadows and dread out of coincidence.
Still.
When he looks back at the others, he notices the way Dick avoids his eyes now. The way Timâs gaze flicks to Jasonâs pocket and away again. The way Damianâs jaw tightens when Jason shifts his weight, like heâs bracing for impact. Cassandra meets his eyes onceâjust onceâand thereâs something there that twists low and sharp in his chest. Not fear. Not exactly.
Knowing. Jason doesnât ask. He doesnât press.
But the harbor feels too quiet, the night stretched thin and listening, and for the first time since he sent that text, a cold, irrational thought curls in his gutâ
That whatever is wrong didnât start here.
And that somewhere far from the water, far from the mission, something precious has already slipped out of reach.
âThat was the last of them,â Jason says, voice rough through the helmet, as Tim finishes cinching zip-ties around the final goon and anchors him to a rust-flaked shipping container. The plastic bites down with a sharp click that echoes too loudly across the concrete. The man mumbled insanities through spit.
The harbor exhales around themâcold wind off the water, carrying brine and diesel and something rotten thatâs been sitting too long. Sodium lights flicker overhead, casting everything in jaundiced gold and long, distorted shadows that stretch and tangle at their feet. The concrete is damp beneath Jasonâs boots, slick with mist and old oil, the kind of surface that never really dries no matter how many âsunnyâ days Gotham pretends to have.
âWe should do another check around the harbor,â Dick says.
Heâs already kneeling, already breaking the man's phone in half with practiced efficiency, grinding it into the concrete with his heel until the screen spider webs and dies. He doesnât look up when he says it. Doesnât grin. Doesnât even sound casual about it.
Jason lifts an eyebrow, slow, deliberate. His gaze slides to Damian automaticallyâbecause Damian is usually the first to shoot an idea like that down, sharp and impatient and blunt as a blade.
Instead, Damian just mutters, âTim could be wrong.â
Mumbles it. Like heâs afraid the words might carry.
That alone sends a small, unpleasant chill up Jasonâs spine.
Tim doesnât argue. Doesnât bristle. He straightens from the goon and dusts his gloves together, eyes flickingânot to Jasonâbut to Stephanie. The movement is quick, practiced, like muscle memory.
âDo you want to take the gates with me?â Tim says, too smooth. Too rehearsed. âJason and Dick could go along theââ
âWhat?â Jason cuts in before he can finish, blinking once. âYou two were perched on the gates the entire op. Whatâre you talking about?â
The wind gusts harder, rattling loose chains and setting a tarp snapping somewhere down the dock. Water slaps against concrete pylons in a slow, hollow rhythm.Â
Jason suddenly feels like the sound is counting something down.
âIt wouldnât hurt to double-check,â Tim says, rising to his feet.
He still wonât meet Jasonâs eyes.
Jasonâs jaw tightens. He shifts his weight, the concrete cold and unforgiving through the thinning soles of his boots, and for a split second his mind driftsâunbiddenâto you. To the warmth of your kitchen lights. To the way youâd probably be halfway through setting out plates by now, humming something low and off-key, waiting for him in that way that makes him want to claw his soul out and hand it over to you.Â
The thought lands soft, intimate, groundingâand then slips through his fingers when he remembers his phone, silent and heavy in his pocket.
ââŚYou guys donât need me for that,â Jason says, firmer now. Thereâs an edge to it, something protective and stubborn. He already has plans. A timeline. A promise he intends to keep. âSeriously. If you want to sweep again, even one person couldââ
Dick finally looks up.
Itâs just a glance, quick and loaded, the kind Jasonâs learned to read over a lifetime of almosts and unsaids. Cassandra shifts closer at the same moment, her shoulder nearly brushing his, her presence steady and deliberate. Jason doesn't think she's ever willingly touched him in his life. Stephanie opens her mouth like sheâs about to say somethingâanythingâthen closes it again.
The harbor feels tighter suddenly. Smaller. Like the stacks of containers have leaned in, hemming them closer, their corrugated sides looming like silent witnesses. The wind cuts sharper off the water, needling through the seams of Jasonâs jacket, and somewhere deep in his chest, that pressure builds again.
Jason turns fully to Damian.
âKid, I swear to God, tell me whatââ
Damian snaps at the exact same moment Cassandra moves. Her hand closes around Jasonâs shoulder, firm and sudden, fingers digging in through armor like sheâs trying to anchor him to the concrete before he does something irreversible. The contact is intimate in a way that feels wrong, alarmed.
âHow the hell should I know? They didn't tell meââ Damian bites back, voice sharp, flaring too fast, too hot.
âDamian!â Dick hisses, the sound cutting through the night like a blade dragged too quickly from its sheath. Heâs already moving, stepping between them without quite committing to either side, hands up in a placating gesture that lands closer to panic than calm. He turns to Jason almost immediately, words tumbling over each other. âCome on, dude, letâs just go check the security towers andââ
âThatâs going to take another hour,â Jason cuts in.
The words come out flat, but thereâs steel underneath. He shrugs Cassandraâs hand offânot rough, but finalâand reaches into his pocket. The harbor lights blur for a second as his fingers close around his phone, the familiar shape of something that connects him to you grounding him. Itâs 10:20. He knows that without looking but checks anyway. Heâs been counting the minutes since the mission dragged past its supposed end.
âI had plans,â he says, quieter now, but more dangerous for it. âLet me at leastââ
The batarang whistles through the air.
Jason barely has time to register the movementâDamianâs arm snapping forward, wrist precise, expression tight and furiousâbefore metal slams into his hand. The impact jars up his arm, sharp and biting, and the phone slips free, spinning once before it hits the concrete.
Crack.
The screen fractures instantly, a spiderweb of dead glass blooming beneath the sodium lights before the device skids to a stop near Jasonâs boot. The harbor seems to hold its breath. Even the wind falters, the waterâs slap against the pylons momentarily muted, as if the night itself is listening.
Jason stares down at it.
At the dark screen. On the way his reflection breaks apart in the shattered glass.
Jasonâs gaze lifts slowly from the ruin at his feet.
It settles on Dick.
âCall Bruce.â
The words arenât loud. They donât need to be. They cut anywayâclean, controlled, edged with something thatâs starting to slip. Dick falters under it, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, eyes flicking anywhere but Jasonâs face. The harbor lights stutter overhead, one of them buzzing like itâs about to give out, bathing Dick in a sickly gold that makes him look younger.Â
Guilty.
âWhat, you gonna tattle?â Dick says, trying for levity and missing it by miles. His laugh lands wrong, brittle against the cold. âCâmon, Damian's just in a mood. I was going to surprise you with burgers but I thought the kid would spill. Iâll buy you a new phone, okay? Justââ
âCall Bruce,â Jason repeats.
This time itâs a hiss, dragged out through clenched teeth, something feral and fraying around the edges. The wind picks up again, slicing between the containers, rattling loose metal and carrying the sharp tang of rain that never quite falls in Gotham. Jason turns his head, slow and deliberate, until his eyes find Cassandra.
She hasnât moved. Sheâs watching him like sheâs afraid he might break.
ââŚHeâs busy,â Cass says.
Her voice is barely there. Smaller than usual. Soft enough that Tim, standing a good ten feet away, doesnât hear it at all. The words dissolve into the night almost as soon as they leave her mouth, swallowed by wind and water and distanceâbut Jason hears them. Every syllable.
Busy.
Something inside him tightens, winding down to a thin, dangerous thread.
His hand comes up to his comm without conscious thought. He adjusts it once, fingers steady despite the way his pulse thuds too hard, too fast. The harbor seems to lean in againâthe stacked containers looming like watchful giants, the river below churning black and endless.Â
Gotham breathes around him, damp and unforgiving.
âB,â Jason says.
Sharp. Precise. A single syllable fired into the dark like a flare.
Static answers him. Wind whistling through steel corridors. The distant cry of something alive and miserable echoing off the water. No voice. No correction. No irritation crackling back through the line.
Just silence. It stretches. Pulls thin. Grows teeth.
Jason exhales through his nose, a humorless breath that fogs faintly in the cold air. He thinks of you againâtoo vividly now. The way your voice softens when you say his name. The way you always pick up, even when he thinks you shouldnât. The way silence has never belonged between the two of you.
His jaw locks. Fuck this shit, I should be at home with her.
Jason moves before anyone can stop himâbefore anyone even realizes heâs decided something.
Heâs across the concrete in three long strides, boots splashing through shallow puddles that mirror Gothamâs jaundiced lights in broken pieces. Damian doesnât flinch when Jason grabs his comm. Doesnât pull back. Doesnât protest. That, more than anything, makes Jasonâs teeth grind.
He clicks the emergency signal to the Batcomputerâonce, twice, a break, two clicks hard enough that it hurts his thumbâthen rips the comm free. His helmet follows, clattering against the concrete with a hollow, echoing crack that ricochets between the shipping containers. The sound feels too loud, too exposed. Jason presses the comm to his bare ear, cold metal biting into skin.
No one stops him.
Not Dick. Not Tim. Not Stephanie. Cassandra watches with that same quiet intensity, hands flexing like sheâs bracing for impact. They stand there and let it happen, like this is how it was always meant to goâlike theyâve already accepted that Jason finding out is inevitable, but telling him would be worse. Like this is some twisted test, or penance, or family tradition he never agreed to.
The harbor hums low and restless. Wind slides through steel corridors, rattling chains, carrying the stink of oil and brine and rain-soaked concrete. Gotham feels awake in that way it only does when something bad is already in motion.
âRobin?â Bruceâs voice cuts through the static, sharp and immediate. Too immediate. Thereâs an edge to it Jason hasnât heard in yearsâtight, almost nervous, parental. âRobin, whatâs wrong?â
Jason almost laughs.
Instead, his mouth twists.
âIâm going home, old man,â he hisses, already turning away from Damian. âWhat was this? Ya trying to tire me out, or did you get mind-controlled again? âCause everyone here apparently likes you enough to not tell me the truth.â
âJasonââ
âRed Hood,â Jason snaps, the correction coming fast and mean. He bends, scoops his helmet up by the chin guard, and starts walking toward the exit between the containers where the harbor opens up to the road. âWhat happened to keeping hero names on comms? Or are you the only one allowed to break rules tonight?â
âRed Hood, just give meââ
âItâs a lousy gang!â Jason shouts, voice tearing loose now, bouncing off steel and concrete and dark water. âThey donât even crack the top twenty. Damian couldâve done this shit by himself.â
He doesnât look back, but he knows theyâre following him. He can feel itâthe weight of their footsteps, the way they trail just close enough to intervene if he breaks. Later, itâll hit him why Tim made sure every single goon was double zip-tied, wrists biting white beneath plastic. Insurance.Â
Tim knew Jason would find out.Â
Knew none of them would be coming back to clean this up.
âRed Hoodââ
âMerry Christmas, B,â Jason cuts in, bitter and sharp as broken glass. âPlease donât call.â
âJASONââ
Bruceâs voice snaps through the comm like a gunshot, dragging Jason straight back into another life, another night, another version of himself that answered to that tone. âSheâs in danger. And if you want any chance of seeing her again, get to the Batcaveââ
The line goes dead.
Not static. Not interference.
Bruce cut it himself.
Jason stops, because there's only one person he could be talking about to send all five of them with him.
The harbor seems to lurch, the world tilting just enough to make his balance feel theoretical. The wind howls between the containers, louder now, like Gotham exhaling something foul and satisfied. Water slaps hard against concrete pylons below, relentless, counting seconds Jason no longer owns.
Slowlyâtoo slowlyâhe turns.
He looks at them. At Dickâs pale face. At Timâs clenched jaw. At Damianâs rigid stillness. At Stephanie, eyes bright with unshed panic. At Cassandra, whose gaze is already on him, steady and mournful, like sheâs watching something crack.
They look at him like heâs glass.
Like heâs a bomb theyâre waiting to defuseâor clean up after.
Jason doesnât give them the chance.
âFuck all of you,â he spits, the words coming out broken and small despite his best efforts.
Then he runs.
Out of the harbor. Out of the sodium lights and rust and the weight of too many eyes. Jason runs like Gotham itself is on his heels, boots striking concrete in a brutal rhythm that drowns out thoughtâor tries to. The city stretches around him in jagged silhouettes and wet stone, skyscrapers looming like blackened ribs against a low, churning sky. Clouds hang heavy and swollen, bruised purple and gray, threatening rain they never quite release. Gotham loves the anticipation of pain more than the act itself.
His blood is loud in his ears. Too loud. Every heartbeat punches through his ribs, frantic and unforgiving, as if his body already knows something his mind refuses to accept.
Toward the manor. Toward answers.
Toward the awful, creeping certainty settling into his bones that whatever Gotham has taken this time, it didnât take lightlyâand it didnât take something he can afford to replace.
He takes the shorter way.
Fire escapes. Rooftops slick with mist. Narrow alleys that smell like old rain and older sins. He vaults gaps without slowing, coat snapping behind him like a torn banner, the city blurring into streaks of shadow and light. This route cuts close to your place. Too close. He doesnât consciously choose it; his body does, muscle memory dragging him along a path his heart has memorized better than any map.
And thenâ
Mid-leap, suspended between one rooftop and the next, he sees it.
Your building sits quiet against the skyline, dark in a way it never is. Your lights are off. All of them. The windowsâyour windowsâare shattered, glass glittering weakly under the cityâs glow like fallen stars. The balcony rail is smeared with something darker than shadow.
Blood.
The word doesnât form. Not fully. His brain skids around it, refuses to give it weight. At most, he tells himself, youâre hurt. Something small. A cut. A scrape. A stupid accident that looks worse than it is. Youâll laugh it off when he gets there, scold him for worrying, tell him heâs being dramatic again.
Because youâre untouchable.
Thatâs the rule his mind has always clung to. Gotham can drown him in filth and violence and rot, but youâyouâare clean. Untarnished. Something soft the city hasnât learned how to bruise yet. You exist outside its reach, outside its hunger. Gotham takes things like Jason. It breaks people like him. It doesnât get to put its hands on you.
It canât have you.
Because if youâre hurtâif youâre really hurtâthen everything Jason has built inside himself caves in at once. Every fragile structure, every careful compromise, every promise heâs made to stay standing for you. Thereâs no version of the world where youâre broken and he survives it intact.
He lands hard, barely absorbing the impact before heâs running again, lungs burning, throat raw. The manor rises ahead of him through the trees like a dark monument, windows glowing warm and oblivious against the night. Too slow. The gates are too slow. The doors are too slow.
Jason doesnât bother.
He barrels straight for a ground-floor window and drives his elbow through it without hesitation. Glass explodes inward, sharp and screaming, biting into skin. He doesnât feel itânot reallyâuntil heâs inside, boots skidding onto the polished floor, breath tearing out of him in harsh, uneven pulls.
Blood runs freely down his forearm, drips onto the pale carpet in dark, blooming stains.
It looks wrong there. Violent. Out of place, just like the blood on your balcony.
Jason stares at it for half a second too long, chest heaving, and something in him splinters quietlyâbecause now he knows. The city has already touched you and it has never, not once, let go without breaking something in return.
Jason doesnât slow down in the Cave.
The platform is still lowering when heâs already moving, boots striking metal too hard, too fast, the sound ricocheting off stone and steel. The Batcave yawns around themâvast and echoing, all cold water and colder rock, computer screens throwing pale blue light across jagged walls. The waterfall roars like itâs trying to drown the night itself, a constant, punishing noise that usually steadies him.
Tonight it only sharpens the edges.
Bruce turns at the last possible second. His eyes flick first to Jasonâs face, then to the blood smeared down his arm, dripping steadily onto the pristine metal floor. Bruceâs mouth tightens. Not in anger. In calculation. In fear he refuses to name.
Jason shoves him.
Hard.
Bruceâs back slams into the Batcomputer console, screens rattling, data stuttering for half a heartbeat. A lesser man wouldâve been airborne. Bruce Wayne could have thrown Jason across the Cave without effortâcould have ended this in a clean, controlled second.
He doesnât.
Jason knows he wonât.
âWhere is she,â Jason spits, the words tearing out of him raw and shaking. His hands fist in Bruceâs cape, knuckles white, trembling despite the strength coiled beneath them. The fabric bunches beneath his grip like it might rip if he pulls any harder. âWhere is she?â
Bruce lifts his hands slowly, carefullyânot in surrender, but in containment. Like approaching a live wire. His voice, when he speaks, is measured to the point of pain.
ââŚJason.â
The name alone is an attempt. An anchor. Bruce is already running scenarios, already gauging angles and exits and how much damage Jason could do if this slips another inch. He knows Jasonâs tells. Knows the way his breathing has gone uneven, the way his eyes are too bright, too fixed. Knows this isnât rage yet.
This is terror.
âDonât,â Bruce says quietly. Not commanding. Pleading, buried deep beneath control. âJustâlisten to me.â
Jason laughs once, short and broken, the sound scraping his throat raw. âNo. You donât get to slow this down. You donât get to prepare me.â
Bruce swallows. ââŚJokerââ he begins.
And the world fractures.
The word lands heavy and obscene between them, fouling the air of the cave like poison gas. Joker. The name crawls under Jasonâs armor, past muscle and bone, straight into the place where you live inside him.
Suddenly, youâre not untouchable.
Youâre not the one clean thing Gotham never got its hands on. Not the soft place Jason runs to when the city claws at him too hard. Not the warmth in his bed, the light in his kitchen, the voice that says his name like it belongs to something human.
Youâre not safe.
Youâre not distant.
Youâre not protected by the simple, impossible belief that the worst things in the world know better than to touch you.
Youâre real.
Youâre fragile.
Youâre reachable.
Jasonâs grip tightens without him meaning to, breath hitching violently in his chest. His mind fills with images he refuses to finish formingâbroken glass, blood on pale surfaces, your windows shattered open to the night the same way his chest feels split open now. He thinks of your hands. Your laugh. The way you look at him like heâs something worth keeping.
And nowâ
Now youâre the blood heâs already wearing.
The blood heâs going to feel soaking into his gloves tonight.
Bruce sees it happen. Sees the moment Jason slips past anger and into something far more dangerous. His own heart lurches, sharp and traitorous. Thisâthis is what heâs been afraid of since the second he knew Joker was involved. Not Jason lashing out blindly.
Jason focused.
Emotional.
Unanchored.
âJason,â Bruce says again, softer now, steady as bedrock despite the fear tightening his chest. âI need you to stay with me. I need you here. Because if you go out there like thisââ
Jasonâs eyes snap back to him, glassy and feral and devastatingly alive.
âIf I donât go,â Jason says hoarsely, âshe dies.â
âIf you go,â Bruce says, low and sharp, the words cutting through the roar of the Cave, âyou dieâand you could lose her at the same time.â
The Batcave hums around them, fluorescent light washing the rock walls in cold blue, computer screens flickering with restless data. The waterfall crashes endlessly behind Bruce, mist clinging to the air, dampening everything it touches. It feels like the Cave is breathingâslow, heavy, watchful.
Bruce moves closer and grips Jasonâs jacket with both hands, fingers clutching the leather like itâs the last solid thing in the world. He holds on the way a man holds a ledge heâs already slipping from, hoping friction alone might be enough to keep someone from falling.
It isnât.
âWhere is she,â Jason says.
His voice is flat. Too controlled. His eyes have already left Bruce, already slid to the Batcomputer, to the glowing map littered with red and yellow pings like open wounds across Gothamâs body. Each marker pulses faintly, alive and accusing.
He doesnât notice his siblings closing inâDickâs careful steps, Timâs rigid stillness, Damian hovering sharp and coiled like a drawn blade.
âSheâs alive,â Bruce says quickly, desperately. âShe wasnât the only oneâat least four other children and three womenââ
Jason turns his head.
The look he gives Bruce is devastating in its emptiness. Eyes glassed over, jaw set too tight, brows drawn together like the world has narrowed to a single, unbearable point.
âDo you honestly think I give a damn about them right now?â
The words arenât shouted. They donât need to be. They land heavy, obscene in their honesty, and Bruceâs grip tightens reflexively, knuckles whitening against Jasonâs jacket.
âI know you donât,â Bruce snaps back, frustration bleeding through control. âWhich is why I didnât tell you she was taken. Because we need a plan that keeps everyone who was captured safeââ
âAt the risk she dies in the process?â Jason cuts in.
Thenâhe stills.
Something shifts. His hands loosen, falling away from Bruceâs cape as if the fabric has suddenly burned him. His gaze slides, sharp and intentional, and locks onto Tim.
âHow long,â Jason says.
The question is steady. Solid. Frighteningly calm.
Tim swallows and flicks a glance at Bruceâa silent check, a plea, a habit Jason has seen a thousand times. Jason shoves Bruceâs hand aside and crosses the distance in two strides, grabbing Tim by the shoulders, fingers digging in through armor.
âDonât,â Jason hisses, thumbs pressing hard, grounding, painful. âDonât look at him.â
The words arenât just for Tim. Theyâre for Jason too.
He vaguely registers Dick saying his name, Stephanieâs voice tight with panic somewhere behind him, but it all dissolves into a dull ringing as he stares down at Tim. Tim doesnât flinch. Doesnât pull away. He meets Jasonâs gaze head-on.
âHow long,â Jason repeats. âWhere.â
Tim exhales, slow and controlled, the way he does when delivering bad news. âTwo hours,â he says quietly. âWarehouse two blocks from Crime Alley. Behind that busted playground.â
Crime Alley.
The name echoes through the Cave like a curse, sinking into Jasonâs chest and blooming outward, cold and malignant. Of course itâs there. Of course Joker chose that placeâlayers of history piled atop rot, a shrine built from other peopleâs pain.
Jason releases Tim slowly, hands trembling now, control finally beginning to crack.
Two hours.
Two hours of you alone with the man who taught Gotham how to laugh while it kills.
The Batcomputer hums on, indifferent. Gothamâs skyline glows faintly on the monitorsâjagged towers under a bruised sky, rain finally starting to smear the camera feeds, streaking the city in gray. Somewhere out there, windows are broken. Somewhere out there, that cashmere scarf he wrapped and placed under your tree stays un-wrapped.
Jason understands thenâwith a clarity so sharp it almost feels mercifulâthat plans are a luxury meant for people who still believe time is something they own.
Time has never belonged to him.
Because youâyouâarenât alone. Youâre trapped with seven other people. Four of them children, Bruce had said, like that word didnât rearrange Jasonâs insides completely. His mind does something traitorous then, something he hates himself for even acknowledging: it calculates. It knows how these things go. It knows Jokerâs sense of theater, his appetite for cruelty, his fondness for leaving one survivor behind as punctuation.
And the last one standing is never the strongest.
Itâs the smallest.Â
You would be dying before those kids.
Jasonâs breath stutters, just once.
âJason,â Bruce says from the Batcomputer, voice tight, forced into calm the way it always is when heâs terrified. The blue glow paints him hollow, all sharp angles and restraint. âDonât make me stop you. The cops are on their way. Joker just wants cash.â
For the first time since the harbor, the noise in Jasonâs head goes quiet.
Not peacefulâfocused.
Everything narrows down to Bruce. To the way his shoulders are squared like a barricade. To the way his hands hover, uncertain, like heâs trying to decide whether to reach out or brace for impact. Jasonâs heart hammers so hard it hurts, louder than the waterfall, louder than any threat Batman could ever make.
âIf you even try, Bruce,â Jason says.
He doesnât look at him when he says it. He canât. The name comes out wrong in his mouthâtoo raw, too intimate, scraped down to bone. Instead, he keeps his eyes on Tim, standing rigid in front of him, small in a way Jason suddenly canât stop seeing. He hopesâdistantly, uselesslyâthat he isnât glaring at his little brother. Hopes Tim understands this isnât anger.
Just pure desperation. His last attempt, his last shot.
âIll fucking shoot myself. Iâll make sure you know itâs your fault,â Jason continues, voice low and shaking despite his effort to keep it steady. âIâll use my gun. And if you tie me up today, Iâll wait until next week. If you lock me down for a week, Iâll wait a month. Iâll do it.â
He swallows.
Because thatâs the only thing thatâs ever worked. The only language Bruce Wayne never ignores.
Dick moves fastâtoo fastâgrabbing Jasonâs arm where itâs still braced near Tim, fingers digging in hard. âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â he shouts, panic cracking straight through his anger.
Jason turns on him then, eyes blazing, voice breaking loose at last.
âWould you be this still?â Jason yells back. âIf that was me with Joker again? If it was me instead of herâwould you have left me there for the police to find? Again?â
The word hangs between them, heavy and damning.
Again.
Jason knows Dick well enough to see it land. To watch his brotherâs grip falter, fingers loosening like theyâve forgotten what they were holding onto in the first place. Dickâs face goes pale, mouth parting uselessly, and Jason twists the knifeânot because he wants to hurt him, but because he needs them to understand.
âThis,â Jason snaps. âThis is why none of you fucking knew about her.â
He looks at all of them nowâreally looks. At Bruce, frozen behind the console like a man staring down a live bomb. At Dick, wrecked with guilt.
âIf you canât even see me beyond a mistake you made,â Jason says, voice hoarse, âthere was no way you wouldnât have seen her as that too. And I love her too much for that.â
The words leave him hollowed out.
Then heâs gone.
The Cave swallows the echo of his footsteps, leaving only the roar of the waterfall and the hum of machines that suddenly feel pointless. No one moves to stop him. No one even tries.
It takes Tim a full minute to cross the platform and reach the Batcomputer, fingers hovering uselessly over keys he knows by heart.
It takes Cassandra four times as long to find a part of Bruce that still movesâsome small, human place in his arm or shoulder that isnât locked rigid like a man bracing for an explosion he knows is already ticking down.
Dick follows Jasonâs trail almost immediately. And Damian follows Dick.
You donât remember the last five hours.
Theyâre goneâhollowed outâlike someone reached into your head and scooped the time away with a careless hand. The last thing you have is small and warm and ordinary: the coffee table between the couch and the window, set for two. Plates aligned just so. The new glasses you bought with Jason on that stupidly perfect thrift-store date, thin and elegant and impractical. Youâd laughed about them, about how easy theyâd be to break. Jason had pretended to scold you, fingers warm around yours as he tugged you toward the bookshelves, already stacking paperbacks in his arms like treasure.
Youâd bought homeware. A vintage mirror with a gold edge, slightly warped, the kind that makes everything look softer than it is.
Jason always said you needed better locks. You realize it numbly.
He always said it gently, like a suggestion instead of a warning. Like he was talking about replacing a lightbulb or buying better coffee. You brushed him off every time, smiling, pressing a kiss into his shoulder, telling him Gotham wasnât that bad. That you were fine. That you were safe.
And you were right. You always are.
Because an extra lock wouldnât have stopped the man with the red smile.
It wouldnât have stopped hands tangling in your hair, fingers tight and merciless as he dragged you across your rug, skin burning where it scraped against the fibers. It wouldnât have stopped the way your mirror shattered when he slammed you against it, glass singing as it broke, your own reflection splintering into a hundred terrified pieces that stared back at you with wide, unbelieving eyes.
It wouldnât have stopped the way he looked at you.
He crouched in front of you like this was intimate. Like this was a secret. His smile stretched too far, paint cracked and smeared, eyes bright with something wrong and delighted and ancient.Â
Joker tilted his head, studying you the way a child studies an insect pinned to cork.
âHereâs the other lovebird,â he murmured, voice lilting, almost fond. âOhhh⌠how cute you are.â
You remember thinkingâabsurdly, desperatelyâthat Jason would hate that word. That heâd bristle at it, roll his eyes, pull you closer just to prove a point. You remember the ache of missing him hitting harder than the pain at first, your mind reaching for him the way it always does when the world goes wrong.
Jason would know what to do.
Jason would make this stop.
The thought is a comfort even now, curled tight in your chest, fragile but stubborn. You cling to it as the man stands, as one of the shadows behind him passes up an old, rusted crowbar. The metal is pitted and dark, flaking with age and something older still. It smells like iron and damp and rot.
It doesnât take a lock to stop that.
It doesnât take a security system to stop the sound your bones make when he brings it down.
The pain comes in blinding flashesâwhite-hot, nauseating, wrong. Your legs scream before you do, nerves lighting up in protest, your body trying to fold in on itself, trying to protect something already broken. You taste blood, copper and thick, your teeth chattering even as your throat burns raw from crying out.
Through it all, you think of Jason.
Of his handsâgentle despite their strength. Of the way he says your name like itâs something precious, something heâs afraid to drop. You think of his laugh, low and surprised, the way he softens when itâs just the two of you and Gotham canât see him. You think of the books still stacked on the table, waiting to be read, of the glasses that shattered just like the mirror did.
Of how he warned you.
Of how he would be here already if he knew.
The room feels wrongâtilted, smeared with shadow, the air thick and sour. Blood pools where it shouldnât, dark against your floor, soaking into the rug you picked out together. The city hums outside your broken windows, indifferent and vast, neon bleeding into the night like nothing is wrong at all.
You breathe when you can. You hold onto Jasonâs name like a prayer youâre afraid to say out loud.
Because if he comesâwhen he comesâyou need to believe there will still be something left of you for him to find.
Your consciousness returns in fragments, drifting in and out the same way you remember nights with him. Not clean breaks. Not mercy. Just gaps.
A void of sleep.
Jason easing your window open like the city might hear him, hands raised in mock surrender, voice low and careful. I didnât mean to wake you⌠shh⌠go back to bed. The mattress dips, familiar weight settling beside you, warmth bleeding into your back.
A void of sleep.
Jason in your bathroom, the light too bright, the mirror fogged. Gothamâs blood and grime rinsed down the drain while he rubs his hair dry with one of your soft, ridiculous pink towels. He smiles at you through the doorway, sheepish and fond, promises heâll be there in a second. He always is.
A void of sleep.
Jason shifting beside you, breath warm against the delicate skin beneath your ear. His arm tightens in his sleep, possessive without knowing it, like even unconscious heâs afraid the world might take you if he lets go. He murmurs your nameâbroken, reverent.
A void of sleep.
White hands. Cracked paint. Fingers threading through your hair, slick and tangled with blood. The touch is intimate in the worst way, scalp burning as he humsâno, singsâa childish tune about robins, voice lilting and wrong, laughter bubbling beneath it like rot under sugar.
A void of sleep.
Concrete tearing at your skin as youâre dragged, knees bouncing, spine jolting with every crack in the ground. A van door yawns open, metal teeth waiting. A child sobs near your ear, small and hiccuping. A woman screams at the child to shut upâpanic sharp and desperateâuntil a gunshot rings out like punctuation. The woman goes silent. The child doesnât. The word mommy repeats, thin and broken, drilling into your skull.
A void of sleep.
You wake choking on pain.
Your body is bound to a chair, wrists cinched tight, ankles screaming. Barbed wire coils around you like something alive, biting deep with every involuntary twitch. The metal is rusted, flaking, cruelâtearing skin open in ragged kisses that burn and throb and never quite stop bleeding. Your legs are numb in places, screaming in others. You can feel blood soaking into fabric, sticky and cooling as it trails downward.
Heâs in front of you.
Smiling.
Head cocked, eyes bright with interest, like youâre a puzzle heâs just started enjoying. He steps closer, crouches until heâs eye-level with you, hands clasped together as if in prayer.
âYou do love your sleep, donât you?â he says, voice almost gentle.
Your vision swims. The room smells like iron and oil and damp concrete. Somewhere nearby, something drips steadilyâwater, or blood, or both. The walls feel too close, the shadows stretching and curling like theyâre listening.
âThe other birdy,â he continues, grinning wider, âwouldnât even sleep if I cracked his skull. Such a shame.â He sighs theatrically, tapping the barbed wire with one gloved finger, delighted by the way you flinch. âI suppose Iâll have to find a way to keep you awake.â
Through the haze, through the pain, one thought stays stubbornly intact.
Jason is coming.
And you cling to that like a lifeline, even as the horror closes in, even as the night tries to peel you apartâbecause if you let go of that belief, if you let the void take everythingâThere will be nothing left for him to save.
You canât see farther than four feet in front of you.
Anything beyond that dissolves into smears of color and motion, the edges of the room bleeding into one another. When you try to focus, your vision tilts violently, the world pitching sideways as warm blood slips down from your temple, sticky and insistent. It drips into your eye, blurring everything further, each blink making it worse. The ceiling swims. The walls breathe.
He notices.
Of course he does.
He steps into what little clarity you have left, face snapping into focus like a nightmare finally deciding to be seen. His hand comes up fast, fingers prying your jaw open with impatient familiarity. Something chalky presses against your tongue.
You gag immediately.
Your throat spasms around his fingers, saliva thick and useless as panic claws up your chest. Your head jerks instinctively, barbed wire biting deeper in protest, fresh pain flaring white-hot along your wrists and ankles. He doesnât pull away. He shoves the pill back, past your tongue, past your resistance, until your body betrays you and swallows.
You choke.
Tears spill from your eyes, hot and humiliating, streaking through the grime on your cheeks. Your lungs burn as you suck in air in sharp, broken pulls.
Jason, you think, distantly, desperately. The name is a reflex now. A prayer you donât dare say out loud.
His hand withdraws at last.
Thenâ
Smack.
Your head snaps to the side, vision exploding into sparks. Before you can reactâ
Smack.
The second strike lands harder, ringing through your skull, teeth clacking together as pain blooms anew. The world steadies just enough to be cruel about it.
âThatâll keep you awake, birdy,â he croons, pleased.
Your heart slams against your ribs, frantic and trapped. Already you can feel itâthe way the haze pulls back just a little too much, the way your thoughts sharpen against your will. Your eyelids burn, heavy but refusing to close, nerves screaming as the drug seeps in and denies you even the mercy of darkness.
âNow.â
He leans back into his own chair like this is a rehearsal, like heâs bored of waiting for his cue. The legs scrape loudly against the concrete, the sound sharp enough to hurt. He reaches forward and adjusts the camera in front of you with careful precision. A small red light blinks every few secondsâsteady, patient. Watching.
âWeâre going to make a deal, okay?â
You donât answer.
Your eyes refuse to cooperate, swimming uselessly as you blink through blood and tears. Every attempt to focus sends a wave of nausea through you, the room tilting, your pulse roaring in your ears louder than his voice. Your jaw trembles. Your tongue feels thick, wrong in your mouth.
âOkay?â
Nothing comes out.
The barbed wire strung cruelly across your throat digs in deeper with every breath you take, a quiet reminder that sound would cost you skin. Air hisses past your teeth in shallow pulls. You can feel your heartbeat there, fluttering and frantic against metal.
His smile thins.
He stands.
The rusty crowbar tightens in his grip as he rises from a stupid, bright orange folding chairâout of place, obscene against the filth of the warehouse. He steps into frame, then closer, until the camera, until you, are all that exist. He hooks two fingers under your chin and lifts your face, forcing your eyes up.
âAnswer.â
You try.
Your mouth opens. Nothing happens.
All you can see is himâcracked white makeup creasing around his eyes, green hair greasy and limp, age showing in the lines around his mouth where smiles have lived too long. He smells like oil and metal and something sour beneath it all. The warehouse stinks of rust, damp concrete, old fuel. It crawls into your lungs.
And thenâ
You hear it.
A sound that doesnât belong to him.
Crying.
Your head turns slowly, painfully, vertebrae protesting as the wire shifts against your throat. The movement costs you another sharp breath. Your vision blurs againâbut this time, shapes resolve.
A cluster of bodies huddled together against a dented equipment container. Two teenage girls with their knees pulled tight to their chests, faces streaked with dirt and tears. Four little boys wedged between them, shaking, hands bound too tight, mouths open in silent sobs like theyâve already learned screaming doesnât help.
Something in your chest caves in.
You donât even see the crowbar move.
The impact comes out of nowhereâwhite-hot, brutal. The hooked end of the bar slams into your shoulder with a wet, tearing sound, metal biting deep as it pierces flesh. Pain detonates through you, ripping the air from your lungs. He yells as he does it, manic and delighted, like the violence startled even him.
Your body jerks against the restraints.
Barbed wire bites deeper. Blood spills warm and fast down your arm, soaking into your sleeve, dripping to the floor in thick, uneven drops. Your vision fractures, stars bursting behind your eyes.
You clamp your teeth down hard on your lip to keep from screaming.
You taste iron immediatelyâsharp and overwhelmingâas skin breaks beneath your bite. Tears spill freely now, blurring everything, mixing with the blood already clinging to your lashes. It burns. It hurts. Your whole body shakes with the effort of staying quiet.
Behind you, the crying gets worseâfractured, panicked.
âOkay,â you choke out.
The word scrapes your throat raw on the way out, barely more than a breath. It tastes like blood and rust and surrender.
Immediately, the pressure is gone.
The crowbar pulls free with a wet sound that makes your vision white out, pain screaming down your arm as the hooked metal tears away from muscle and skin. You shudder hard, a broken gasp ripping out of you despite your best effort to swallow it down.
He steps back like a magician deciding on the next trick.
Then he leans in againâcareful, deliberateâand pats at the wound where the bar pierced you. Not gentle. Never gentle. His palm presses just enough to make you flinch, fingers smearing warm blood across your torn clothes.
âSee?â he says brightly, turning slightly so the camera gets a better angle. âThat wasnât so hard, was it?â
Your breath comes shallow and fast, chest stuttering against the wire. Every inhale sends a fresh bloom of pain through your shoulder, the edges of it pulsing in time with your heart.
His hands come up next.
Dry. Cracked. Too warm.
He grabs your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, thumbs pressing at your jaw as he tilts your head from side to side. The movement drags the skin of your neck against the barbed wire, a searing, intimate pain that makes your eyes flood instantly.
âWhat a dumb dumb birdy you are,â he croons, affectionate in the way predators are. âItâs okay. Joker can teach you.â
Your body trembles uncontrollably now. Your fingers spasm uselessly against the wooden arms of the chair, nails scraping shallow grooves into the surface. You can feel blood slicking your palm and you don't even want to think about how you got hurt there too.
He releases your face.
Pats your head once.
The gesture is almost worse than the violence.
âNow,â he says softly, pleasantly, âsay thank you.â
Your vision swims. The room feels too loud, too close. Somewhere behind you, one of the children sobs so hard it turns into hiccupping gasps. You swallow around the wire, throat burning.
You look up at him with shaking eyes, lashes heavy with tears and blood. Your mouth opens. Your lips quiver.
âThankââ Your voice breaks completely. You force it back together, dragging the word out of yourself like itâs being pulled through glass. âThank you.â
His smile spreads slow and satisfied, stretching the cracks in his makeup wider.
âGood birdy,â he coos, pleased. âSo much more compliant than your love bird already!â
âNowââ Joker announces, voice lifting into a theatrical lilt, like heâs stepped beneath a spotlight instead of flickering warehouse fluorescents. He turns toward the camera, gives it a jaunty little nod, then looks back at you, grin splitting wider. âI was gonna let you go for some cash. Thought your little boy bird might get scared shitlessâjust a fun little bonus, reallyâbutttââ
He drifts away from you, footsteps light, almost playful. You canât turn your head far enough to see what heâs doing. The wire bites when you try. Your vision pulses, dark at the edges.
Thenâ
A scream.
Sharp. High. A girlâs voice.
It cuts off halfway through, collapsing into a thin, broken cry that echoes far too long in the hollow space of the warehouse.
Something in you fractures.
Joker reappears at your side, breath brushing your ear, laughter bubbling out of him like itâs a private joke the two of you share. âGot lucky with a rich bitch on the road,â he cackles, delighted. âGotham really does keep on givinâ.â
Your stomach twists violently. You taste bile. The crying behind you swells again, panicked and animal, and you can feel your own body trying to fold in on itself despite the restraints, like if you curl inward hard enough you might disappear.Â
His hands slide to your throat and at the same time your eyes land onto his hands. Diamond earrings.
He ripped her earrings out of her ears.Â
Before you can flinch at the sight of pieces of skin in his open hand, he yanks.
The chain snaps free with a sharp tug, metal biting into your skin as the necklace tears away. You gasp, the wire at your neck punishing you for it, and the sudden cold where the chain used to rest feels obsceneâtoo exposed. You feel lucky that you took off your earrings when you were doing your hair.
He dangles it in front of the camera, letting it glint under the harsh light, gemstones smeared faintly red from your blood. âThis could go for a couple hundred too!â he sings. âOhhh, how delightful!â
He leans closer, eyes alight, savoring every tremor that runs through you. âAt least one of the birdies knows how to decorate their nest. Found a few rings at your place as well.â
Joker pockets the necklace with a satisfied hum.
âWell, now that I donât need the money,â he croons, voice lilting, playful, like heâs deciding which joke to tell next, âwhat should I do with you?â
His fingers drag along your cheek again, slower this time, the pad of his thumb pressing just hard enough to bruise. His touch leaves heat behind, a crawling sensation that makes your stomach revolt. You feel contaminated where heâs touched you, like your skin is remembering something it shouldnât.
ââŚIâll give you more,â you whisper. Your voice fractures around the word, splintering into something pitiful and thin. âHowever much you wantâjustââ
âOh, I donât need money.â
The change is instant. His tone drops, sharp and venomous, and when he leans in his eyes are blown wide and empty, pupils swallowing the green like oil slicks. A hawk spotting movement. A blade finding flesh.
âI was looking for some fun, love bird,â he hisses. âYou canât give me that?â
You whimper around the grip on your jaw as his fingers tighten, nails biting into your skin. The wire at your throat digs deeper when you gasp, its teeth kissing something vital. Pain blooms hot and bright, stars bursting behind your eyes.
âJasonâ Jason willââ
He doesnât even flinch at the name.
Maybe thatâs mercy.
His fingers move higher, rough and invasive, smearing through the makeup youâd put on hours ago with careful hands. The eyeshadow burns as itâs ground into your skin, sweat and blood turning it into a dark, ugly paste. His thumb drags through the faint blush on your cheeks, erasing it like it was a mistake.
âHow pretty you are,â he murmurs, almost tender. âI do makeup on myself too, you know.â
Then his hands leave you entirely.
He grabs his own face, fingers digging into the cracked greasepaint, stretching the red grin wider, tearing at the corners until the white creases and flakes. For a second you think you see real skin underneathâwhite, lined, angry. Horrid.
âDo you like mine?â he asks brightly. âDo you think Iâm pretty?â
Your mind blanks.
Your eyes flick helplessly to the camera insteadâthe blinking red light pulsing steadily, patiently. Recording. Waiting. You try to speak, to say yes or no or anything that might stop whatâs coming, but your throat locks around the wire and all that comes out is a wet, useless sound.
Thenâ
âVery pretty!â
The voice is behind you.
Too young.
A teenage girl, no older than seventeen. Her voice trembles, thin and frantic, the words tumbling over each other. âSoâso prettyââ
You feel something inside you tear open.
Sheâs trying to survive. You can feel that hope radiate off of her. The hope of throwing words into the dark and praying it lands somewhere safe.
Jokerâs head snaps toward her.
His eyes narrow, sharp and wrong, smile freezing into something predatory. âYou think so?â
Thereâs a frantic nod you can hear more than seeâthe quick intake of breath, the shuddering little sob that follows.
Joker bends down.
The crowbar scrapes loudly as he lifts it, metal screaming against concrete. You catch a glimpse of it as he moves past youârusted, pitted, darkened in places where itâs already been used tonight.
Then heâs gone from your line of sight.
The scream that follows is immediate and unbearable.
Itâs not just painâitâs shock, terror, the sound of someone realizing too late that they were wrong. The metal wall amplifies it, throws it back at itself until it feels like the warehouse is screaming with her.
Thereâs a wet, sickening crack.
A sound like meat hitting concrete.
âWhy donât we match?â Joker coos from behind you, voice light and delighted. âI did one side, now the other!â
The crowbar hits again.
You hear bone give this timeâfeel it in your teeth, in your chest. Her scream fractures into something animal, then into choking sobs, then into a raw, bubbling sound that makes bile rush up your throat.
Your own crying breaks free, ugly and uncontrollable. Your body jerks against the restraints, fingers cramping, nails tearing uselessly into the wood of the chair. Hot tears spill down your face, mixing with blood, dripping off your chin in thick, dark drops.
The cameraâs red light blinks again.
Once.
Twice.
It taunts you by matching every sound that breaks out of you.
Every gasped sob, every wet, hitching breath. The cameraâs red light blinks in time with your chest, like itâs learned your rhythm, like itâs decided to breathe with you instead of for you.
And then the Joker comes back.
You smell him before you see himâiron-thick blood, old rust, sweat gone sour. His hands are slick, red to the wrist, fingers shining under the warehouse lights. The crowbar hangs loose in his grip, darker now, clotted, strands of hair caught cruelly in its curve.
He crouches in front of you, bringing himself eye-level, like heâs talking to a child.
âWell,â he hums thoughtfully. âI canât give you her look, can I?â
Your vision swims. You canât stop shaking. Tears slide down your face in hot, unstoppable streams, carving clean paths through blood and grime. Your mouth opens, but nothing coherent comes outâjust a broken, animal sound that folds back in on itself.
His smile twitches.
âWhat should I do with you?â he asks softly. âHm?â
You donât answer. You canât. You just cry harder, chest stuttering against the wire, throat raw and burning.
That seems to irritate him.
He clicks his tongue, disappointed, and lifts the crowbar. The cold metal taps against your cheek onceâtapâjust enough to make you flinch violently. He pauses, head tilting.
âOhââ
His eyes light up.
âOh yes, thatâs wonderful! Ohââ He erupts into laughter, sudden and explosive, clutching his stomach as if the joke is too much to bear. Spit flies from his mouth, warm and disgusting as it lands in your hair, streaking through blood-matted strands. âOh, isnât my brain just splendid?â
He straightens, still laughing, wiping his eyes like heâs genuinely amused. âYou bats are all poetry, I sayâpure poetry!â
Then he turns.
Walks away.
His footsteps fade, echoing hollowly through the warehouse, until thereâs only the hum of the lights, the distant crying behind youâand the camera.
Youâre alone.
One last sob claws its way out of your throat, wet and choking. Blood follows it, dribbling down your chin, splashing darkly against your chest. You force your eyes open, drag them upward, lock them onto the camera.
You donât know whoâs watching. You donât know if anyone is.
Your voice comes out steadier than it has any right to be.
âHowââ
âShut up!â someone whisper-yells behind you, frantic and terrified. âThereâs other men!â
Your mouth snaps shut.
And the red light keeps blinking.
The metal door slams open with a shriek of abused hinges, the impact shuddering through the warehouse floor and straight up your spine. Dust rains down from the rafters in a thin, dirty veil, catching in your hair and sticking to the blood already drying there.
Heâs laughing before you even see him.
Not distant laughterâclose. Moving. Each step accompanied by a wet, dragging sound, like something heavy being pulled across concrete. His cackle ricochets off the shipping containers, off the steel beams, off the low ceiling that traps the sound and forces it back into your skull.
A little boy cries out behind you as Joker passes him. A sharp, panicked sound that fractures into a sob and then cuts off abruptly, like someone clamped a hand over his mouth.
The air grows hotter.
Through the warped reflection in the camera lens, you see it clearly now: a long metal bar burning red-hot, so bright it hurts to look at directly. Heat ripples distort the image around it, the glow painting the walls in feverish streaks of crimson. The smell hits you nextâburning iron, scorched metal, something faintly organic beneath it that makes bile crawl up your throat.
Joker taps the brand against the concrete behind you.
It doesnât clang.
It hisses.
The sound is sharp and alive, like meat on a skillet. Tiny sparks spit outward where it kisses the floor, leaving blackened scars in the cement. The red glow doesnât dull. Doesnât cool. It stays furious and bright, as if fed by something endless.
Whatever fragile hope you were clutching evaporates in that moment, leaving you hollowed out, lungs burning as you exhale something that feels like your last prayer.
Heâs behind you in the next second.
Jokerâs hand comes out of nowhere, clamping over your mouth, palm slick and hot. The copper taste floods you as his fingers press into your cheeks, nails digging in just enough to hurtâjust enough to remind you that restraint is a choice heâs making. Your head is forced back, neck screaming as the wire saws deeper, the barbs biting into tender skin.
âWould you like to match your birdy?â he murmurs.
His voice is serene. Gentle. Almost affectionate.
He angles the brand around the arm of the chair so you can see it clearly. The letter is unmistakable now, its edges glowing white-hot, heat radiating off it in suffocating waves.
A âđšâ.
Your body reacts before your mind canâyour stomach convulses, gagging against his hand, breath stuttering uselessly through your nose. Your skin feels too tight, like itâs already shrinking away from whatâs coming.
âWeâre going to make the deal now,â he coos.
In the cameraâs reflection, you can see his eyeâwide, bright, utterly focused on the blinking red dot. Performing. Enjoying the audience if there even is one.
âYou either get a matching lookâŚâ The brand drifts closer, close enough that the heat kisses your cheek, nerves screaming in anticipation, sweat instantly breaking out along your spine. ââŚor you tell me who you hate.â
His hand peels away from your mouth.
Air rushes in too fast. You choke on it, coughing hard enough that the wire grinds into your throat, pain blooming hot and blinding. Your voice comes out shredded. âWho⌠who I hate?â
âWho put you here?â he hums thoughtfully, as if the answer delights him. âIt wasnât me.â
The brand pauses, hovering inches from your skin. You can feel the heat burrowing inward, like itâs already memorizing you.
âWhy do you think I found you?â he continues lightly. âDo you know how sloppy he is?â
Silence stretches, thick and oppressive.
You stare at the glowing red letter, your mind drifting somewhere distant and numb to survive. Absurdly, irrationally, you think of Jasonâs helmetâthe same violent red, the same defiant color. You wonder if heâs thinking of you right now. If he can feel this, somehow.
âTell me who you hate.â
The words donât just reach youâthey enter you, heavy and cold, sinking past bone and settling somewhere deep and irreversible. They press the air flat, make the warehouse feel smaller, closer, like the walls are leaning in to listen.
He stands before you in all his wrongness, and up close there is nothing theatrical left. The Jokerâs makeup has melted into something corpse-like, white cracked and flaking into the grooves of his face as though his skin is trying to shed it. The red smile is no longer a grin so much as a wound, smeared unevenly, darker where blood has mixed in, the corners dragged downward by age and use. His hair hangs limp, green dulled to the color of mold, clinging to his scalp in greasy strands. His eyes are too brightâglass-bright, feverishânever still, never soft, reflecting the warehouse lights like knives.
The space around you hums with misery. The concrete beneath your feet is slick with blood and oil, cold seeping up through the chair and into your bones. Shipping containers loom like coffins, their metal sides scarred and rusted, shadows pooled so thick between them it feels like something could step out at any moment. The air reeksâburnt iron, old sweat, copper, rotâand every breath feels like inhaling something alive and hostile.
You look at the camera.
That red eye blinks steadily, rhythmically, a heart that isnât yours. It sees the way your chest shudders, the way your fingers twitch uselessly against the bindings, the way your body is already bracing for pain it knows is coming. Your thoughts drift, slow and exhausted, slipping through your hands like water you canât quite hold.
You think of Jason.
Not the helmet. Not the blood. But his handsâwarm, callused, careful when they touch you. The way he looks at you like the world might soften if you stay. The way he says your name like itâs something solid.
You could say his name now.
You could offer it up like a sacrifice and pray that this monster believes in deals, that you might walk out of here broken but breathing. You could lie and hope he lets you go.
Or you could say Jasonâs name and watch Jokerâs smile vanish as he switches off the camera and kills you quietly, preserving this horror to show your sweet boy later.
Or you could stay silent and take the brandâfeel your skin burn, your body marked, watch the ecstasy bloom in Jokerâs eyes as he claims you like an object heâs improved.
None of them feel survivable.
Something inside you twistsânot courage, not bravery, but love sharpened into something desperate and ugly and defiant. You gather what spit you can in your blood-wet mouth and turn your head as far as the wire allows.
You spit in his face.
It lands wet and unmistakable, dragging a slow line through the cracked white paint, cutting through the red smile like an insult carved in flesh.
For a heartbeat, everything freezes.
The Joker goes utterly still, his expression emptying out in a way that is far more frightening than his laughter. Then his eyes widen, pupils dilating, fury flaring bright and feralâpleased.
You lean forward, neck screaming as the wire bites deeper, and you whisper because your voice will not survive being louder.
âYou know,â you murmur, breath shaking despite everything you do to steady it, âheâs never mentioned you before.â
His breath stutters.
âYou must not have left quite an impression.â
Itâs a lie. A reckless, transparent lie.
You have lived in Gotham long enough to know exactly what he isâhis name written in blood across the cityâs historyâbut lies can still cut, and you see it land. You see the way his smile stretches wider, hungry and thrilled.
Youâve given him a reason.
A reason to prove himself.
A reason to keep you alive.
A reason to make you hurt longer.
His hand tangles in your hair and yanks your head back violently. Your neck slams into the barbed wire, spikes tearing in with a wet, intimate sound that makes you sob despite yourself. Warm blood spills down your throat, choking you, slicking your chest.
Then the brand descends.
The heat is indescribableâancient, total, a pain so vast it consumes thought itself. Your flesh screams as it burns, the smell of seared skin rising thick and sweet, smoke curling upward as the letter is carved into you slowly, deliberately. Your body arches uselessly against the restraints, every nerve on fire, and the sound that leaves you is not a scream so much as something torn out of your soul.
You hate that he hears it. And when that drug denies you the void of sleep you so desperately need, you allow yourself to think numbly as the man pulls it away that at least Jason can't dwindle his appearance anymore.
Your tears stripe down your cheeks, burning as they touch your skin.
We match. You think numbly, Atleast we match.
He strokes over the brand with more delicacy than he has ever had in this whole nightmare, mumbling, âThis is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me.â
When you wake again, itâs to the weight of tears landing on your faceâwarm, uneven drops that pull you out of the dark in slow, reluctant pieces. For a moment you donât know where you are. The world rocks gently, like it canât decide whether to keep moving or stop altogether. Thereâs the low hum of an engine beneath you, vibration traveling through bone and bruised muscle, and the smell of old leather surrounds youâworn, familiar, grounding in a way that makes your chest ache.
Leather is good.
Leather is not acid.
Leather does not burn your lungs on the way in.
âHurts,â you mumble, the word barely surviving the journey out of your throat. You offer it up like an apology, like a peace offering, half-expecting pain to answer you back.
Instead, the crying breaks harder.
It comes undone above you, raw and ugly, and through the haze you realize you arenât lying flat on concrete, waiting for the Joker to press a cinder block to your stomach. Your body is stretched across someone, your legs draped over another set of knees, your weight distributed carefully, reverently, like something fragile that might shatter if shifted wrong.Â
An arm is braced beneath your neck, steady and strong, keeping your head from lolling, and your cheek presses into a leather jacket that smells unmistakably like gun oil, sweat, rainâ
Jason.
The knowledge hits softer than it should, cushioned by exhaustion and shock, and when your eyes finally manage to open, everything swims. Light smears at the edges, colors bleeding into one another, but his face is there anyway, hovering close, carved with terror and relief and something so naked it almost scares you more than the warehouse did.
âAm I in heaven?â you mumble.
He lets out a sound that isnât quite a sob and isnât quite a laugh, choking on it as his chin trembles. âYou donât even believe in heaven.â
âWell,â you murmur, tryingâand failingâto pull your mouth into something that resembles a smile, âwhat else could you be?â
Your jaw burns when you speak. Everything burns. It feels like your body has been filled with broken glass and lit from the inside, and youâre dimly aware of warm liquid slipping from your mouth, darkening the leather beneath your cheek every time you breathe wrong. You hate that youâre staining him. You hate that you canât stop.
âIâll kill him,â Jason whispers, like a prayer heâs been holding onto with both hands. His fingers shake as they brush your hair back, careful to avoid places he knows are hurt. âIâll kill him. I promise.â
âCan I have hot chocolate first?â you mumble. The words feel distant, like they belong to someone else. âI bought that expensive kind⌠from Finland. Asshole knocked it all over my carpetâŚâ
Jasonâs breath fractures completely at that. He nods too hard, tears spilling freely now, dropping onto your cheeks, your neck, your collarbone. âYeah. Yeah, Iâll buy you hot chocolate. Iâll buy you all of it.â
Somewhere near your feet, another voice cuts in, low and strained with concern. âHey, Jayâbreatheââ
Jason doesnât hear them. Or maybe he does and simply canât afford to listen. His chest is rising too fast beneath you, breaths sawing in and out like heâs drowning on dry land, his eyes glassy and unfocused, the green in them shifting with every frantic blink.
Or maybe thatâs just your vision still failing you. That would make sense. The powder. The smoke. The way light hurts now.
âStop crying,â you murmur weakly. âI canât die with you looking like that.â
That breaks him.
His face crumples completely, grief spilling over into something fierce and desperate as he bends closer, forehead almost touching yours. âGood,â he chokes. âFuck you. Iâll cry even more, soâso stay with me, yeah?â
âNo,â you whisper, your voice scraping raw against your throat. âWanna sleep.â
âYou slept an awful lot,â he snaps, but thereâs no anger in itâonly terror wearing sharp edges, only love clawing its way out however it can.
âWell,â you murmur, your voice thin but soft, like youâre afraid of startling him, âYou show up in my dreams an awful lot.â
That does it.
Whatever fragile control Jason had left fractures clean through. He folds over you instinctively, shoulders caving as he triesâfailsâto hide the sound of it. His breath comes apart against your hair, his forehead dipping close to your temple like if he presses himself near enough, he can keep you here by force alone. You feel the tremor of him through your whole body, every hitch of his chest echoing in your ribs.
You smell blood on him then. Copper and iron, sharp beneath the leather and sweat and rain. For a distant, numb second you think itâs yours againâuntil the scent is too heavy, too layered.
Oh.
Was thisâ
âDid I interrupt family bonding?â you whisper.
Your lips barely move. The words slip out half-asleep, half-dreaming, and they earn you a startled huff from somewhere behind you. Jason doesnât answer. He canât. His arms tighten instead, one hand splayed carefully at your back like heâs afraid even breathing too hard might hurt you more.
A voice comes from the seat behind, dry and unimpressed, because Jason is currently incapable of speech and whoever has your legs resting in their lap is rubbing slow, grounding circles into his back.
âIf this is what you think family bonding is, youâll fit right in.â
âDamian, be quiet,â another voice snaps.
âSheâs the one shamelessly flirting with him in front of all of us, Timâ Damian continues anyway, undeterred. âAnd Father isnât even saying anything, soââ
âWell sheâs the one dying!â Tim blurts, voice cracking sharp with fear.
Jason chokes on the words that come from Timâs mouth, breath stuttering hard, and a deeper voice cuts in from the front seatâcontrolled, measured, holding itself together by sheer will.
âSheâs not going to die, Tim.â
âI want hoya bellas on my grave,â you interrupt softly.
Jason lets out a broken sound that might have been a laugh in another universe. He shakes his head over you, forehead brushing your hair, and through your blurry vision you think you catch a gloved hand popping up behind him in a solemn thumbs-up.
âGot it.â
Another voice joins in from the front, exasperated and strained. âCassandra, sheâs not being serious.â
âIâm sorry,â Jason whispers, over and over, like a mantra, like something heâs trying to carve into reality. âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry.â His thumb strokes your hair away from your forehead again, impossibly gentle, avoiding the places he knows hurt, the places he doesnât want to know at all.
âIâm gonna sleep now,â you murmur. It takes effort to shape the words. The dark is getting heavier again, tugging at you, warm and deep. âCan one of you give Jason water?â
âHeyââ Jason breathes, panic flaring sharp as his voice cracks. âHey, noâno, no, no, stay with me, come onââ
But youâre already slipping.
Your eyes flutter closed despite him, despite the warmth of his arms, despite the way his heart is racing beneath your ear like itâs trying to outrun fate itself. His glove comes off hurriedly and you feel his bare fingers press to your pulse, grounding himself in the steady beat there, in the fact that itâs still happening.
After a few minutes, Dick leans forward and taps Jasonâs shoulder gently, offering a water bottle. His uniform is torn and scorched like the rest of them, a thin cut bright against his cheek, but his voice is soft when he speaks.
âDrink.â
Jason doesnât look up. He doesnât let go. He just nods once, tight and shaky, eyes fixed on you like if he looks away for even a second, the world might take you again.
He forces himself to take a full gulp of water, the plastic bottle crinkling loudly in the too-quiet car, his throat working like it has to remember how swallowing goes. His hands are still shaking when he passes it off to Tim.
âHey, I donât need anyââ
Jason looks at him.
Not sharp. Not angry. Just steady in a way that leaves no room for argument, the kind of look that says do this or I will fall apart next.
Tim takes a long swig immediately. Somewhere in the background, Damian lets out a low, satisfied cackle.
The digital clock on the Batmobile reads 4:00 a.m.
The numbers glow cold blue against the dark interior, reflected faintly in the windshield like a second set of eyes staring back at them. Gotham outside is hollow and half-dead at this hourâstreetlights flickering, rain-slick asphalt stretching endlessly, buildings slumped together like theyâre exhausted too.
Bruceâs voice is calm as he calls Alfred, clipped and precise, already listing supplies like this is something he can control if he names enough of it out loud.
Jason doesnât listen.
He keeps his focus on you.
On the shallow rise and fall of your chest. The warmth is still clinging stubbornly to your skin. On the way your weight settles into him like it belongs there, like it always has. One hand stays firm at your neck, holding you upright because you need itâbecause you need him steady, and that knowledge anchors him harder than anything Bruce could ever say.
You need him here. You need him present. You need him not to break.
He knows that, because onceâonceâthat was all he ever wanted too.
And thatâs the cruel part of it.
Because the weight of you in his arms has only ever meant safety. Home. Sleep curling warm and heavy in his bones. His body doesnât know the difference between holding you safe and finally being allowed to rest.
Jason Todd passes out with his forehead dipping gently toward yours, his grip loosening only by a fraction, like even unconscious heâs afraid to let you go.
The last thing he hears before everything goes dark is Timâs voice, sharp with panic and disbelief.
âDudeâwhat the fuckââ
âHold his head upâdonât let him fall on her!â Bruce barks from the front, voice cracking sharp through the Batmobile like a snapped cable.
All at once, everyone moves.
Damian fists the back of Jasonâs Tâshirt, knuckles white as he yanks him upright with a strength born of panic heâd never admit to. Dick stretches impossibly from the passenger seat, arm braced awkwardly as he cups the back of Jasonâs head, careful, reverent, like heâs afraid one wrong angle will shatter him. Tim presses a steadying hand to Jasonâs chest, feeling the uneven rise and fall beneath his palm, grounding him the way heâs learned to do with bombs and brothers alike.
Jason is dead weight. Heavy. Still clinging to you even in unconsciousness, his arm slack but stubborn around your shoulders, like muscle memory alone refuses to let you go.
The Batmobile hums on, tires slicing through wet streets, Gotham blurring past in streaks of sodium light and rain-slick concrete. The city feels distant now, muffled, like itâs holding its breath with them.
ââŚDid someone check if the Joker wasâuhâbreathing?â Stephanie asks from the back, her voice small in a way it rarely ever is.
She hadnât stayed for the end. Her job had been triageâgetting the kids out, shouting orders, dragging civilians through blood and broken glass while the rest of them stayed behind in the warehouse with the laughter and the screaming. Sheâd smelled the aftermath on them when they regrouped. She didnât need details then but...
Bruce doesnât look back. His hands tighten on the wheel.
âJason didnât hit any vital points,â he says quietly, like heâs reciting a report heâs already memorized. âJust⌠ahââ
âCarved his face like a jackâoââlantern,â Damian supplies, entirely too calm. âHeated up a crowbar to do it too. Very effective.â
Thereâs a beat of silence.
The city lights flash over Bruceâs faceâold stone and deep eyes that are hollowed by relief he doesnât let himself feel yet.
ââŚYeah,â Bruce exhales, short and rough. âThat.â
The Batmobile keeps moving.
Jason breathes.
You breathe.
And for now, thatâs enough to keep the night from swallowing them whole.
You wake up in bed.
Not the thin, borrowed kind your body has learned to tolerate at your apartment, but something deep and indulgentâclean sheets tucked tight, the mattress yielding just enough to cradle you instead of swallowing you whole. The pillow beneath your cheek feels stupidly expensive, cool and smooth, smelling faintly of detergent and something old and comforting, like cedar and money and quiet hallways that echo.
For a moment, you think youâre dreaming again.
Then you feel him.
Jason is asleep beside you, solid and unmistakable. You donât need to moveâyou canât really anywaysâto know itâs him. The arm wrapped around your waist is heavy with familiar strength, protective even in unconsciousness. His hair brushes against your arm every time he breathes, soft, tickling your skin in a way that makes your chest ache.
Heâs breathing.
That fact alone nearly undoes you.
God. You really need to raise your standards, you think hazily. Youâre reduced to thisâlistening to him breathe, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, and already you want to curl into him and coo like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong.
Then you see Bruce.
Heâs standing near the bed, still as a statue, watching you with the careful intensity of someone afraid to spook a wild animal. It takes effort to focus on his face, your vision dragging itself into clarity inch by inch.
When you try to lift your headâmanners resurfacing before senseâyour body protests sharply.
Bruce moves instantly.
âHey, heyâno,â he murmurs, hands gentle but firm as he presses you back into the mattress. âRelax. Itâs okay. Youâre safe.â
Your head sinks back into the pillow, and the moment stretches. You swallow thickly before managing a small, hoarse sound of politeness.
âNice to meet you, Mr. Wayne. Jasonââ
âHasnât told you much about me,â Bruce finishes for you, a faint, tired chuckle slipping out. âThatâs alright. I just need you to sleep right now.â
You glance downward as best you can, feeling something sharp dig into your side.
ââŚI canât sleep if your sonâs elbow is in my ribs.â
Bruce blinks.
Actually blinksâsurprised enough that it breaks through the carefully assembled calm. âAhââ he starts, then reaches for Jason, trying to rearrange him with the same precision he uses on everything else.
It doesnât work.
Jason huffs in his sleep, a low, irritated sound, and somehow manages to make it worseâhis arm tightening, his leg hooking over yours possessively, like youâre something heâs afraid the world might steal back if he lets go.
Bruce freezes.
You mumble, exhausted but soft, âItâs alright. Iâm sure he hasnât slept⌠Iâve gotten quite a lot, soâŚâ
Bruce looks like he wants to argue. His jaw tightens, then loosens, the fight draining out of him. He exhales and sits back in the chair by the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together.
âItâs the 26th,â he says quietly.
Oh.
You missed Christmas.
What a shame.
After a moment, Bruce speaks again, and his voice is heavier nowâcareful, deliberate, like every word costs him something.
âI⌠want to apologize to you.â His fingers interlace, knuckles whitening. âI knew youâd been taken. And I didnât tell him. Possibly⌠he could have been there sooner. But I needed to make sure the others would be saved as well.â
âWell,â you murmur, the word barely more than breath, âI donât exactly blame you for that.â
It isnât forgiveness exactlyânothing so grandâbut itâs honest, and it lands heavier than anger ever could.
Bruce doesnât relax. If anything, his shoulders pull tighter, like heâs bracing for a blow that never quite comes. Heâs spent his whole life learning how to deâescalate men with guns, gods with vendettas, cities with teethâbut you unsettle him in a quieter, more dangerous way. Youâre calm. Youâre lucid. Youâre something Jason had threatened to shoot himself for.
He clears his throat, trying to give you something solid, something measurable. Facts are safer.
âJason⌠got him,â Bruce says carefully. âBadly. I thinkââ He hesitates, eyes flicking once toward Jason like heâs checking for movement. âI think the Joker may be blind now. Or at least permanently impaired.â
âYou let him?â you ask.
Still no accusation. Just a soft, stunned curiosity, as if youâre piecing together a story you were never meant to survive.
Bruce nods. Once. The motion costs him. âI did,â he admits. âBut Iââ
âThen thatâs enough,â you whisper, interrupting him gently, like youâre afraid the words themselves might hurt. âJason will realize that too.â Your lashes flutter; exhaustion tugs at you like a tide. âI mean⌠he probably wonât. Heâll still try to kill him.â A faint, crooked exhale. âBut you did everything you could yesterday.â
Your gaze driftsânot to Bruce, but to Jason. To the way his arm is still locked around you, even in sleep. To the stubborn set of his jaw, the crease between his brows that never fully smooths out anymore.
âThank you,â you add quietly. âFor finding me.â
Thatâs when Bruce goes still.
Not rigid. Not defensive.
Still.
Because heâs been looking at you, yesâbut now you realize he hasn't been looking you in the eye while he speaks. His eyes have been caught in one place, drawn there again and again like a bruise you canât help but press.
Your cheek.
The skin there is angry beneath the bandageâs edgeâraw, faintly swollen, discolored in a way he winced at while he bandaged it. Bruce didn't let anyone else tend to it, not even Alfred.Â
Because this was a wound he inflicted, one that he needed to tend to.
âItâs still fresh,â he says, softer now, stripped of the Bat and the rules and the fear. Just a man speaking carefully around something fragile. âIâll get you better medicine. The pigment should fade.â A pause. His voice lowers. âI canât promise about the texture.â
You donât look away. You donât flinch.
âThatâs okay,â you say.
And Bruce doesnât know if you mean the scar, or the pain, or the fact that youâll carry this foreverâbut Jason shifts in his sleep then, brow tightening, arm drawing you closer like he sensed the weight of the moment and refused to let it settle on you alone.
Bruce watches that. Watches how Jason anchors himself to you without waking, how his breathing steadies when yours does, how it pauses even in sleep when yours hitches.
âHe loves you a lot.â Bruce mumbles.
â...And you too Mr.Wayne.â
jason peter todd tag-list (check pinned post for info on how to be added .á ) :@justamarsbar, @peridotnature854, @nayy-a, @that-willowtree,
Head filled with bnha x angel's friends crossover au. So many ideas yet I can't write for shit..
Angel Bakugou! who's focused and driven to keep his terrestrial on the straight and narrow, so he sets out to win every challenge against Devil Reader!
Angel Bakugou! who would have never broken the VETO if it wasn't for his adversary, that pesky trickster Devil Reader!
Angel Bakugou! who would suppress the forbidden feelings he harbors for his adversary and pretend for the sake of universal balance
Or on the other end you have,
Yearner Devil Bakugou! who has a knack for tempting his terrestrial and leading them down the wrong path solely to spite Angel Reader! and get them to challenge him, so he can spend more time with them alone
Yearner Devil Bakugou! who is itching to find a way to get closer to Angel Reader! without the risk of them breaking the VETO a second time, despite how much he wants to. Of course it's not the rules that hold him back, but the pain the first contact caused them
Yearner Devil Bakugou! who finds out from Devil Mina! that the VETO doesn't apply in your terrestrial forms, but refrains from making use of that information because he knows Angel Reader! wants to maintain a distance and uphold the natural balance
I also give you,
Angel Bakugou! who despite his better judgement falls in love with his Terrestrial Reader! knowing fully well they can never be together
Then there's also,
Devil Bakugou! who falls for his Terrestrial Reader! and pursues them in his terrestrial form until he can no longer hide his true nature from them. The low spheres find out and deal with him accordingly
Henlo Hearts! Iâd love to see that âwhatâs the freakiest thing theyâd doâ with the first or third years đ¤¤
Place Your Bets!
It's time to play the game!
FINE........ ugh. here's the rest of them ig...
Starring... 870 words!
Ace -
Ace... Ace Fumbler Trappola... WAY too open about having a threesome/cucking. (Go read my Ace cuck post. Shoo, shoo.) Like if you're not into it he's BEGGING you to at least consider. Probably ends up dragging in one of his fellow first years. Usually it just ends up in one of them fucking you in front of the other.
Deuce -
Public sex! But somewhere pretty hidden. It was more a spur of the moment than something intentional, (Since honestly Deuce could never be intentionally seductive like that </3 sorry) but he really likes pounding you in the open air! Kinda reminds him of marking his territory like some delinquent.
Cater -
Recording. Public sex. RIDING A TRAINNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!! He's filthy, doing this in the middle of Heartslabyul's gardens, but does he care? NO!!! If he did, he wouldn't be pointing that camera in your face as you're forced to rub against his pubic hair! You've tasted the same cock a dozen times now but they just keep coming! (Literally.)
Trey -
Restraining and mild public sex... (Usually just the kitchen) No, not foodplay. He'll feed you during the whole ordeal but it's never the main attraction.
Eek. I know you all might not see it but I feel like Trey's really into restraining. Like yes please use that spread bar on me......... đ¤¤đ¤¤đ¤¤ Nastiest, most filthy sex against the kitchen counter as he does so. I can almost imagine him using those big strong hands of his to hold you up as he keeps pounding into you... PLEASEEEEEE I NEED THAT SO BAD... TREY MY DICKS ACHING FOR YOU </3
Leona -
Probably fuck you in front of his dorm, at best.
Look, LOOK LOOK LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK! As said before, I don't see Savanaclaw as really freaky, so I can't imagine him doing much else other than some mild breeding kink. (Which he immediately dismissed. The thought of actually knocking you up gives him the ick.) Everyone knows not to mess with Leona as he casually has you ride him in the public air, like??
Jack -
Again, while not like extremely kinky, I'd say... Cum inflation...
OKAY OKAY WAIT HEAR ME OUT HOLD UP WAIT PLEASE!!! IT'S NOT LIKE MAJORLY, but like... idk. He keeps his knot inside you even if he CAN pull out and just admires the way your stomach is bulging, whether from his cock or cum. (Both?) It's more about his little (Big) breeding kink that he REFUSES to talk about. Properly bred by the big bad wolf ouuuuugh............ đ¤¤
Vil -
Roleplay. Has whole scenes played out and everything and it's sooooooo hot. You can easily flow into them too as he guides you around like a doll... Dollification? Maybe. Maybe.
Rook -
Literally hunts you down. Prey and predator type beat. Eek. The thrill of the chase is so good though, as he fucks the rest of his adrenaline into you when he inevitably catches you...
Epel -
In terms of freakiness I thought of two things. Either the most nastiest sex on the farm or be REALLY into leather and lace.
The farm, like, I can just imagine that since its Epel's "natural habitat" and shit he's WAYYYYY into fucking each other stupid rather than trying to restrain himself in his dorm. As for the leather and lace? He just like, realizes he thinks it's hot one day as the two of you try to secretly get it on in the bathroom or something. His leather boot digging into your thigh, the subtle lace he's eyeing on your underwear... eek. It might even make him more open to embracing that even if he sees it as too feminine.
Idia -
Leaves you on a fuck machine for hourssssssssssssssssss... He likes the control you're giving him by letting him fuck a dildo (Or more) into you by some simple machinery, gives him a major ego boost. Ik this makes me sound like a mega gooner but creamyspot is suuuuch a good adult creator I be wishing that was me getting fucked like that... eek. Wearing whatever cosplay he put you in. Idia using those dildos that fake cum in you, to the point that they literally overflow out of you. Might be into blindfolding you too? Idk.
Malleus -
Probably gives you the most insane breeding session ngl. Like doesn't even matter if you have the right parts he's BREEDING you. You're gonna be stuck with him for the next few days too since he goes on for days with this shit...
Late addition, but also somnophilia.
Lilia -
Honestly?? Can't even say. Unc is TOO freaky. Like I'm not even tagging this as Lilia x reader since there's no limit I can imagine him with. He's INSANE. Lilia Vanrouge touched me in the dead of night and I barely lived to say this rn </3
Either of you could be playing the sort of servant/master thing with whips and punishments, he's fine with that!! Or, or, imagine a scene where he's acting out a knight seeing you, a royal, and having a night of forbidden love as he tenderly fucks you... eek. Totes romantic. oh sebek I'm dripping /ref
