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Summary: Eddie’s got a problem, and the problem is you.
Word Count: 600-ish
Warnings: just raw, unpasteurized yearning
A/N: You ever been so horny you write a character study on Eddie’s greed and it starts to sound like scripture? I call it the gospel according to ovulation. This might make little sense as I am in fact dog-tired.
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How does one begin to want?
How does one become entrenched in covetous fictions that play like silver-screen pictures in the idle mind? How does possession sink its talons so deep, the victim bleeds green with envy?
It’s a simple answer, really. They look. They watch. They observe those around them, those closest to them. Those just passing by, those so far, yet so near.
And Eddie’s been watching. He’s been studying you for a while. Learning your schedule, the way your words slur when you giggle, the gait of your walk.
Now, he’s never been a particularly disciplined man. Greed has long since taken his body as its pawn.
It started young, when he saw the other children grow bright with joy, brand new toys in each hand. It continued through his early teens, when he watched the boys around him gain the favor of the girls who refused to look his way.
It crescendoed when he met you.
You, who not only looked his way, but spoke to him. You, who laughed at his stupid jokes like it wasn’t an invaluable charity just to exist near him.
And you, who easily offered up friendly affection and soft caresses like you were rich with a kind of love he couldn’t possibly afford; a bountiful well hidden deep in your chest, dormant until him. Until the birth of something new and inexplicably resilient.
From the creation of us and we, gluttony arose.
And the devil was delivered unto him, in the shape of a supple sweetness.
You.
And the devil would dance around him, singing truths so honeyed they became sticky lies in the glint of the sun.
"I love you, Eds."
"You’re my favorite person ever."
"I wish I could find a guy like you."
Like him.
There is not a soul on this earth like him.
Not a creature to be found with the kind of rotted ache he harbors for you. A boundless cache so cluttered with memory, he could feed on it for ages. Untouchable to deprivation when he can recall your scent like it hums just beneath his skin.
So he should survive. Biology says so. You’ve broken him down, a venomous titan bringing him to his knees, nearly killing him with a single saccharine look. A chaste kiss to a burning cheek. A seconds-too-long hug to a moribund man.
And yet, he’s still here.
And yet, you look away.
Every time.
He is yours. And you are certainly his. But he’s not the only one.
How could he be, when you’re just as beguiling to the others? The ones he thinks about when his nails dig into his palm, the ones that force him to ponder if violence is innate.
And is it a wonder what he’s become? Is it truly a mystery, when his curves have been sharpened to jagged edges by the chisel you still hold in your hand? Pieces of him lobbed off and useless, leaving a finely tuned construction, all for his beholder to gaze upon. For you to observe.
And he would allow it, over and over again. He’d yield to you just as easy as a feather yields to the wind. A blade of grass to a shoe. Because he has never had control. Not when it comes to you.
So he’ll be reborn in your eyes, every time you look his way. He’ll be loyal and obedient to your every whim. His heart will live as your pet, only pumping to race under your touch. Only supplying blood to provide you with warmth.
You are not the genesis of his greed, much like oxygen is not the genesis of a funeral pyre. But you fan the flames.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ summary: “Liar.” You say it gently, almost lovingly, which is worse than if you'd been cruel. “You hide from everything. From yourself most of all.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ pairing: billy hargrove x f!reader
⊹ ࣪ ˖ wc: 10.8k+
⊹ ࣪ ˖ warnings: this chapter is dark: physical abuse, child abandonment/neglect, D and F slurs are used; Neil is his own warning in this chapter, basically. some crudeness. this story is now officially rated mature.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: ngl there was something very personal about writing this. as promised, this chapter is entirely in billy's pov and it's fat as well. these interludes will appear sporadically throughout the story whenever I want to explore billy's mind. they might be used to explore other povs in the future too. also, massive thank you as always to those who take the time to comment/like/share this story <3
read on ao3. ⊹ series masterlist.
INTERLUDE I.
October is different in Indiana compared to California.
Cali never loses its life, its lights, or its brightness, no matter what time of the year it is. Indiana, on the other hand, is already dulling at the edges, dying all around him. Still too hot in the afternoon, thick and humid; too cold when the sun drops below the horizon, his breath ghosting in the air when Billy takes the trash out to avoid a backhand. It’s some in-between shit he doesn’t understand, so he resents it. Because it feels like this shithole town can’t commit to anything.
But this—weights, sweat, the merciless burn in his limbs—this Billy understands. This is familiar and safe. Barbell doesn’t question him, doesn’t want anything from him. He’s under it, staring up at the flaking point on the garage ceiling, and things make sense for a little while. He curls his fingers around the bar. It’s cold and rough in his hands. The bar drops its weight into his joints: shoulders, elbows, wrists, all creaking to maintain balance.
“One. Two. Three.”
He counts, more grunts than words, rough sounds rumbling from deep inside with such contempt it almost feels good. His chest muscles stretch, beginning to burn, but he keeps pushing, over and over.
Billy hears the house distantly. The clicking of the pipes, the washing machine humming through a spin cycle. A door opening, rapid and light footsteps—Max, his mind registers through the strain—and then another door closing, slow and heavy. Neil. The reason he’s here instead of training in his room.
Sweat trickles down Billy’s temple, but he doesn’t pause to wipe it. He wants the sting, the pain. One he can control, one he can inflict on himself by choice.
By eight count, his triceps shake, by the tenth, there’s a minute tremor all down his arms that feels like the edge of something like collapse. He holds the bar up anyway, elbows locked, vision going spotty.
Neil’s voice slithers in his head, then: You stop where it hurts? That’s when the other guy keeps going. That’s when you lose because you’re too much of a pussy to push through a little discomfort. You wanna be a man, you go past what it feels like you can do.
Billy racks the bar with a harsh, metallic clank. The bench rocks with the force of it, the noise too loud in the garage, but it’s still better than the voice in his head. He lies there for a second, chest heaving, his shirt plastered to his skin. His heart feels like it’s trying to punch out through his ribs.
He lets his eyes close.
Big mistake.
You’re right there behind his eyelids like a fucking splinter.
Not soft—never soft. Not in a dress, not in underwear, not in anything a normal teenage boy could jerk off to. Just you in your shitty, dirty coveralls, standing outside your Forest Hill lot, engine lit by one swinging work lamp. Your tank top is smudged with oil and dirt, your elbows stuck deep into the engine, forearms streaked black. Max on a cinderblock with her board across her knees, talking a mile a minute, and you occasionally replying with a certain wryness.
He’d driven by yesterday. Too slow, to protect his car from these shit roads, to beat the traffic. That’s what he told himself.
The Camaro had rolled past your driveway. He’s seen Max’s head snap up, shoulders going tight at the sight of him. You’d said something without lifting your head—he couldn’t hear what words you used, but he saw the effect they had. Max’s spine uncoiled a notch, her shoulders slumping like you’ve wiped her unease with a single sentence.
You didn’t look at the Camaro. That shouldn’t piss him off as much as it does. Especially when he told you—threatened you, really—to stay the fuck away from him, and his family. Though clearly, that last point was still getting stuck somewhere. He’s seen you with Max most evenings this last week, happy in your little bubble.
Billy sits up fast enough to make his head spin, swinging his legs off the bench. The concrete is freezing under his bare feet. There’s a jump rope hanging from a hook. He grabs it without thinking and steps into the open strip of floor, glaring at nothing.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Rope flicks over his head, kissing the ground in a steady rhythm. His calves burn with each repetition, and his shoulders start to ache the longer he continues. He stares at the bottom of the garage door, at the slice of pale morning under it. He tries to think about basketball. Plays. Friday. Telling Harrington to go fuck himself by humiliating him on court. The party after, the booze and all the girls who will let him shove them against any available surface.
His brain slips anyway.
To you leaning over his Camaro the first week, sizing him up like he’s a busted exhaust you’re not impressed by, sweat streaking your collarbone. No flutter, no smile. Just that flat, unimpressed stare.
Munson perched on the picnic table behind the school, boots on the bench, guitar in his lap, loud as fuck, laughing at his own jokes. Freak. Untouchable because he doesn’t even want to pretend. You, on that same table last week, pretending to study while Munson told some ridiculous story, laughing hard enough you had to slap your hand on the wood, leaning into his side. The way the freak lit up at the sound, eyes crinkling when he glanced down at you, like making himself into an idiot was worth it for that laugh alone.
The rope snags Billy’s toes.
It coils around his ankle like a vicious viper and jerks his feet out from under him. He clips his knuckles on the bench, catching himself.
“Fuck!”
The rope writhes on the concrete when he kicks it away viciously. The shitty radio on the workbench hisses and flips from static into some ridiculous pop station in the lowest quality known to man.
A door slams somewhere. Neil crosses the hallway, floorboards creaking under his weight. Billy knows that sound in his bones, knows the desperate hope those footsteps don’t pause outside his bedroom. How the heaviness and cadence can reveal precisely how much pain might come his way.
Billy grabs his shirt, wipes his face, and yanks it over his head hurriedly. His skin complains at the rough drag, but he ignores it.
He can’t stay here, waiting, anticipating, hoping for something that’ll never happen. Out there, his hands are the dangerous ones, out there, he’s the one who strikes fear into others.
He snatches his jacket and keys and walks out into the morning chill.
“Hey, Billy! You good man?”
Same shit, Billy wants to spit, but doesn’t, only dips his head in vague greeting. School is a circus with rules, ones he could list backwards and manipulate in his sleep. He pushes through the front door, and the hallway shifts around him. It always does these days. Conversations dip in volume as he walks by, bodies sidestepping him, like a tide going out.
Billy lets his shoulders roll loose. He knows what he looks like—the hair, the jacket, the walk. People expect a show from him, and he never disappoints.
Harrington stands by his locker halfway down. Head bent, hair a little flatter than last time Billy saw him, like somebody let the air out of him. Wheeler hovers nearby, that judgy little face pinched tight, looking like she’s chewing on her own tongue.
Steve stiffens when Billy’s shadow glides past, but he doesn’t look up, perhaps because he knows better. Billy gives him a slow, deliberate once-over anyway, pure aggression in the gesture. So that he feels it. Then discards him with a sneer. King Steve is last season’s news.
Further down, near the side doors, there’s the picture that’s been fucking with his head.
You, in worn flannel and jeans, scuffed boots, backpack over one shoulder. Munson stands glued to your side. You say something low. Munson snorts, chin jutted, pretending he’s not basking in the attention.
He thinks of you and Max again—or more so, this whole goddamn mess. Billy knows how people see it. How you likely see it. A psycho terrorising an innocent little girl. You swooping in like some junkyard guardian angel, fixing her board, teaching her about bearings and other technical shit, letting her run her mouth in your driveway when she should be at home doing homework.
There’s truth to it, Billy knows as much.
He’s grabbed that kid hard in the past and slammed a hand on her shoulder when she mouthed off. Dragged her out of the arcade by her backpack strap when she thought she could just vanish inside and ignore him.
But he’s also pulled her out of the path of a pickup truck, thrown her behind him when some drunk asshole in a park started shouting and taken a belt meant for her more times than she knows.
He doesn’t know if that evens anything out. It never feels like it.
But Billy knows facts: either Max is in line, the perfect lie of a happy family stays intact, or it's him swallowing blood for a brat he didn’t even ask to be stuck with.
You feel him before you see him.
He catches it—the way your shoulders pause mid-roll, stilling as if you can sense a predator, the tiny hitch in your expression. Then you incline your head, and your eyes lock onto his over the crowd.
Billy hasn’t forgotten the shade of them, or how your jaw felt gripped in his hand, how your breaths mingled, how he got caught up between the urge to shut you up so you stop stripping him bare, and the desire to bend you over that piece of shit truck you drive and—
He forces himself into motion; one shoulder against the locker, mouth curling. He gives you all that lazy, mean California shit: the half smirk, the raised chin, the hot weight planted just so.
Your gaze flicks over him. Down. Back up. Your face doesn’t do much, not even now. Part of him despises it. No scowl, no smile, nothing. Just the faintest crease at the corner of your mouth, there and gone. Assessing.
You touch two fingers to Munson’s shoulder, oblivious to how the freak leans towards you like a sunflower seeking sunlight, and say something. Munson glances over, scowls at him like Billy won’t knock his teeth loose, then melts away into the flow towards his class.
You peel off in the opposite direction. No acknowledgement.
Billy feels his teeth clench so hard his jaw vibrates.
A hand lands on his arm at the exact moment a breathy, high voice says, “Hi, Billy.”
He forces his gaze away from your retreating figure.
Cheerleader. Ponytail high, a ribbon fluttering, lip gloss too shiny and vaguely smelling of chemical strawberries, uniform top rolled up a fraction because she likes the way boys look when she sneezes, and everything bounces. He knows her face, vaguely. He has no idea what her name is or cares enough to ask.
“You coming tomorrow?” she asks, nails skating over his forearm, lashes fluttering. “Tina said if you don’t show, she’s cancelling. No point, otherwise.”
This sort of thing used to be so clean and straightforward. Words that used to go straight to his dick, to his ego. Look how important you are. Look how easy everything is. And it still hits something, but it’s muted now, fuzzy around the edges. Like there’s a different itch in him now, and this preppy bullshit no longer cuts. Small gains, muted heat. He wants fire, friction, for something to drive him so insane he can forget the shit in his life. He wants the line between fighting and fucking to blur into nothing.
“Maybe,” he says, reminding himself he actually needs to speak. “You telling me the whole party hinges on me?”
She giggles, slapping his arm lightly like he’s so fucking funny, and Billy bites back the urge to tell her to fuck off and get her hands off him. “Duh. Half the school wants to fuck you or be you. Obviously, you have to be there, baby.”
Night, asshole.
“I’ll see if it’s worth my time,” he hears himself say, a play he’s made a thousand times, “I could use some fun.”
The cheerleader’s eyes flare, her teeth nipping her bottom lip in a seductive, coy way.
Billy plays the part because it’s muscle memory. But when the girl walks away, hips going too hard, he’s still watching the door you disappeared through instead.
The gym is a maelstrom of noise and loud boys.
Sneakers squeak, whistle shrieks in measured increments, someone slips, and their whole body clatters to the floor like thunder. The bleachers are half full because the school band is practising for the game too.
The players are running drills for the first game in October. Coach is shouting himself hoarse, more insistent because, thanks to Billy, the Tigers have a shot at the state title again. The ball thunks against wood, against blackboard, slapping into hands as it travels.
Billy is in his element here. The ball is a steady presence in his hand; he’s familiar with its shape, speed, and weight. He pushes up the court, legs eating up distance, the world narrowing to arcs and angles. He jumps; the ball leaves his fingers and kisses the net, swirling teasingly before going in. Some girls in the band make sounds halfway between gasps and giggles.
As he jogs back, he lifts his head.
Yeah. Right there. Like some fucked up radar.
You’re halfway up the bleachers, heels hooked on the bar below, legs wide because you forgot how girls are “supposed” to sit. Yet all he can think about is how good those legs would feel wrapped around his waist. Unlike others, you’re not watching the practice. Textbook open, pen scratching away rapidly, a crease between your brows. No jacket, just a faded band t-shirt that looks too big on you, and makes Billy think of Munson’s wardrobe instead—something hot and furious twists in his stomach at the thought.
Munson chooses then to turn up even though he’s the one technically in the band, sliding through the side doors like smoke. Denim vest, hair frazzled, boots clomping across the breachers loud enough to hear from court. He zeroes in on you immediately, of course. Freaks find freaks.
He flops beside you, shoulder bumping yours, legs sprawled across the row as if he owns it. You push his knee away with your forearm without looking up from your notes. He grins widely at whatever you say, the pinch of your mouth unamused, promptly stealing your pen and starting to scribble something in the margins of your notebook.
You let him.
There’s a tiny, stupid kick in his chest at the sight he strangles at once. Followed by an emotion he’s more comfortable with: rage.
The next pass comes at him half-second later than he expects. It skims his fingertips and sails on out of bounds.
“Hargrove!” Coach’s whistle nearly bursts his eardrums. “Eyes on the damn ball!”
Snickers sound from the bench. Billy smiles, slow and nasty, at the kid nearest to him, and the laughter dies quickly.
He spends the rest of the scrimmage chewing up the floor. Harder steals, sharper cuts, more contact than Coach asked for. He drives his shoulder into a guy’s chest on a screen hard enough to bounce him, making a grin twist his mouth. When Billy dunks, he hangs on the rim a fraction too long, letting his body sway, the gym full of that high, raw noise of boys seeing someone getting away with something they wish they could do.
When Coach calls it, he’s slick with sweat, lungs burning again. His muscles burn, alive. His head doesn’t follow. He should be full. That’s what this is supposed to be: burn off the static, the thoughts, the itch.
Instead, he feels like something is swelling inside him, dark and dangerous, creeping higher up his throat.
You gonna throw a tantrum? Cry? You weak little shit. Just like your whore mother. No wonder she fucking left you.
He hits the locker room, his hands more claws than flesh, a snarl halfway caught in his throat. Shower hits him too hot, too fast, towel slung around his neck. Everything inside him throbs, boiling on low heat, and he can’t even pinpoint why.
Why the fuck does it matter what some trailer rat does? Who fucking cares who she hangs out with?
Billy slams his locker shut and shoulders his bag. The hall outside is half-empty now, the typical late-afternoon sag.
Tommy and Carol attach to him like leeches as soon as he appears, like they’ve been waiting for someone to tell them what to do and think.
“Jesus, man, you were a machine out there,” Tommy says by way of greeting, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he made any of those plays himself. “D’you see Harrington sulking? Think he might cry like a little bitch.”
Carol wraps a hand around Tommy’s bicep as they start walking. Her nails bite through fabric, bunching it up. Billy almost snarks if Tommy always allows his woman to claw at him like she’s a cat in heat, but anger twists his tongue, keeping the words behind his teeth, giving the world around him a slight haze instead.
“He knows who’s king now,” she purrs in Billy’s direction, popping her gum. “Right, Billy?”
You’re killing yourself trying to impress people who are gonna forget your face the second their own lives get busy.
Shut up.
Billy gives her a look that says of course without having to say anything. Because otherwise, he might tell them both to fuck off and leave him alone.
They collect more bodies as they move through the school. Another basketball team kid. One of the meathead linebackers. A girl from cheer with red, curly hair. The kind of kids who always look for marks because they’re so miserable in their own skin. He should know.
The conversation rolls towards filth as it always does when there are enough of them and not enough authority to shut it down.
“Wheeler’s ass in that skirt, though,” the benchwarmer pipes up with a low whistle, trying on words that clearly don’t belong in his mouth. “Holy shit.”
“Please,” Carol scoffs, a transparent grudge there. “She’s a prude. You’d get her back to yours, and she’d start talking about college applications.”
Tommy cackles, nodding along, adding, “Yeah, Harrington’s been whipped so long he probably has to ask permission to jerk off.”
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t still hit it,” the linebacker—Derek—says, elbowing Tommy like his girlfriend isn’t right there.
Carol cuts a glare in Tommy’s direction, but doesn’t say anything to thwart the conversation. It’s an unspoken actuality that if she causes a scene, she’ll be shunned from the circle; she’ll be known as the nagging girlfriend who can’t take a joke. Not like they’re disrespecting her right now.
The guys talk girls like they’re stats from a game. Who’s been where, who did what and with whom. Half of it is bullshit, half of it is wishful thinking, and all of it washes over Billy like he’s barely awake. Usually, he would join in; he’s done, said, and thought far worse things. Toss a name in, get a reaction, move on. He’s the one with actual numbers. He doesn’t have to prove anything to these idiots who haven’t seen anything beyond their boring little shithole town.
But today his skin is too tight, his thoughts looping through the sharp cut of your eyes, your words, tossed at him like broken glass.
Something inside him is coming undone, and Billy wants to strangle you for it.
The conversation turns abruptly.
“Forget Wheeler,” Anderson says, snorting as he pushes in front so everyone’s attention is on him. “You know who’s got that real crazy look about her? That garage girl. Always dirty, walks around all pissed off. You seen the ass on her when she’s bending over a car? Fuck.”
His stomach coils like someone’s poured hot lava inside him. Billy doesn’t drop his pace, face blank for anyone looking.
“What, that Forest Hills weirdo?” Derek asks, but something sleazy lights up across his face. “Yeah, man. You can always tell. Trailer girls just move differently. Like they’ve already had to fight someone off, you know? Means they’ve got practice.”
“Means they put out,” Anderson sings songs, thrusting his hips at empty air. “They know what side their bread’s buttered on. Old man gives her a job, and she makes it worth his while.”
Carol laughs, but something like disgust curdles her expression. “Gross. Hopkins is like sixty or something.”
“I didn’t say him,” Anderson shoots back, wiggling his eyebrows, “I said someone. Probably the freaks she hangs with. Munson and his little weirdo club. Bet she jerks them all off behind the shop for free weed.”
Billy’s jaw pops, the red haze thickening. He keeps walking.
“Trailer trash, man,” Derek drawls, shrugging. “You can tell she would be wild. You’d have to shower after, but it’d be worth it. Those are the ones you don’t bring home to Ma, but you definitely rail over a fender at least once.”
The words slide into his ear like oil, carrying the same rotten pitch as Neil when he’s on a tear.
They’re all the same, son. You fuck first, or somebody else does. They’re all whores. You think they ain’t talking about you the same way in their little bitch circles? Don’t be stupid.
“The only way she looks at you is if you got a car that needs work anyway,” Tommy chirps, joining in with a crude smirk. “She stares at that Camaro like she wants to marry it. Pretty sure she wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire. Right, Billy?”
All eyes go to him.
He knows what they’re doing. Poking the bear, seeing how far they can push him. It’s practically a sport, and one he’s had a lot more practice in than these morons.
Billy smiles. Tommy’s smirk shrinks at the edges at whatever he sees on Billy’s face, followed by unease sliding behind the veneer.
“Most of you have never even made a girl wet,” he drawls lazily. “Maybe don’t talk about railing anyone until you stop making them fake it after thirty seconds.”
Carol chokes on her gum, half laughing, eyes wide.
“Fuck you, Hargrove,” Anderson spits out, colour flooding his face. “Like you’re some pussy expert.”
Billy shrugs dismissively. “Numbers don’t lie, man.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly picky,” Derek says, glaring like it’s supposed to be intimidating. “You’ll stick it in any hole that opens. That garage girl? She wouldn’t make my list. Once a girl’s got Munson’s dick in her, she’s damaged goods, if not fucking diseased.”
Laughter all around, loud and vicious.
It’s not even the content, not even. It’s the tone, the sheer entitlement. The stupid certainty that you’re somehow theirs to grade. As if you won’t eat these losers for breakfast, chew them up and spit them out with that mean mouth of yours.
You’re scared of people seeing you. Of someone looking too close and figuring out you’re just as trapped here as the rest of us.
Your eyes, burning with cold fire, your boots planted firm when you stood with him, face to fucking face, and tore him apart. Munson’s arm around your shoulders, comfortable and allowed. Max’s board gripped securely in your hands—those soft edges for others, but only ever war with him.
He sees you over his car, wiping sweat with the back of your hand, calling him on his bullshit without bothering to look impressed.
And he hears his father, overlapping, all bite and cruelty:
You don’t fight for pussy. You fuck it and forget it. You start catching feelings, that’s how they own you. Don’t bleed for something that bleeds once a month.
“Dude, she's practically a dyke, anyway,” Derek interrupts, snorting. “Probably wouldn't know what to do with a dick if you handed her an instruction manual. Probably gets herself off with a wrench or some shit.”
Those words spike something filthy and hot inside Billy’s chest, the red filling his vision like someone poured a bucket of blood over his vision.
“Nah, man, that's the appeal. You know those uptight bitches are freaks when you get them alone. All that pent-up—bet she'd fucking scream if you—”
Anderson doesn't finish the sentence.
It’s not even one of his showy hits. No theatrics, no wind-up, no humiliating him verbally first. Just a straight, fast punch from the shoulder, his full weight behind it. His knuckles impact teeth with a meatier crack than he expected. Anderson’s head bounces off the locker; he slides down, hand flying to his face with a pathetic little whine.
“The fuck—” Billy's voice is barely human, a snarl ripped from somewhere deep and feral. “The fuck did you just say? Didn’t quite catch that.” There’s a buzz in his ears, a low whine driving him insane. “Speak up.”
Derek lunges in, a hand grabbing for Billy’s jacket, trying and failing to yank him back. “What the fuck, man?”
Billy pivots, grabs Derek’s wrist and wrenches it off. In the same motion, he slams Derek’s back into the opposite row of lockers. The whole line rattles as if struck by an earthquake. A magnet and a Polaroid fall off, skidding across the floor.
“Jesus—Billy—I was just—”
“Just what?” Billy leans in closer, and he can see the fear now, real fear, the moment they all realise they’re not dealing with their supposed friend anymore but something dangerous. “Just running your fucking mouth? Talking about shit you don't understand with your limp-dick friends?”
“Man, I didn't mean—”
Billy slams him against the tiles again. Derek’s head cracks against the ceramic, and he makes a sound like a wounded animal.
“You like to talk shit,” Billy says, and his voice has gone quiet now, controlled, which is so much worse. “You and your buddies. Sitting around talking about girls like you have any fucking idea what to do with one. Like any of them would let you touch them if they had a choice.”
“Billy—” Tommy’s voice, somewhere behind him. Careful. Scared. Good. “Come on, man. They didn't mean anything by it—”
“Shut your fucking mouth.” Billy doesn't even look at him. His eyes stay pinned on Derek’s, and how he’s starting to turn red, air wheezing through his constricted throat. “Before I shut it for you.”
“Can't—breathe—”
“Good.” Billy watches him struggle for another few seconds, watches the panic bloom in his eyes.
“You’re fucking crazy,” Derek wheezes, clawing at his wrist. His pulse hammers under Billy’s fingers, but he doesn’t feel any pain, just the throbbing thump of anger, the delicious spark of fear reflected at him. “All this over some junkyard whore—”
The word whore is a fuse.
Because his mother’s face flashes up; sunglasses on to hide the bruises, cigarette between her lips, a brittle smile as she brushes aside Billy’s curls, the way she’d flinch when Neil used that word.
He doesn’t even feel himself move.
He just knows that suddenly Derek’s no longer against the lockers, he’s on the floor, trying to crawl away, and Billy’s standing there with his fists clenched so tight his nails cut his palms. Tommy makes a mistake of reaching for him, fingers on his upper arm like he’s going to pull him back. Billy spins and slams him into the lockers.
“Do not touch me,” he snarls the words out, so quietly it’s barely audible.
Tommy’s eyes are big and bright and scared, and Billy drinks it up, lets it fill him up, because right now it feels good, even when he knows later it will not. There’s a smear of someone else’s blood on his cheekbone. “Okay, okay, Jesus, chill—”
“You wanna use words like ‘whore’ and ‘trash’ like you’re not describing your own mother after three margaritas?” Billy presses, low, teeth on display. “Think about who hears you. Think about that next time you’re two beers in and trying to shove your hand up some girl’s skirt behind Tina’s pool house.”
Tommy swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs against Billy’s knuckles.
“Better yet, next time you want to run your mouth about anyone,” Billy continues, voice still deadly calm, “make sure I'm not around to hear it. Because next time? I won't stop.”
“Mr. Hargrove!”
Teacher voice. High, outraged. Billy thinks he should move back, play this off as a joke between friends, just boys being boys, but his hands won’t loosen their grip. A cardigan appears in his peripheral vision. Clipboard. Ms Powell, standing there in her ugly skirt and even uglier heels.
“Let him go right now!” she snaps, voice pitching high.
What few students are still in the hallway are all staring at him, some pressed away even at a distance. Billy steps back like someone cut a string, laughing under his breath as he wets his lips.
Tommy slumps, hand flying to his chest, his shoulders jerking with his gasping breaths. Derek hauls himself up, still snarling, blood at the corner of his mouth. Anderson is still sitting on the floor, spitting pink onto the tiles. And Billy… Billy feels whole in a way. Because everything in his life is fucking hollow, just blood and fear and helplessness, but this is something he controls. This is power. Because Billy knows even as they call him crazy, even as they spit the blood he’s made them shed, they’ll be back to kissing his ass in an hour. They’ll worship him, fear him, maybe even hate him, but they’ll think twice before they run their goddamn mouths, and this is how you get that. By punching first, by being the worst thing in this town so they respect him.
Ms. Powell plants herself between them, as if that’ll help.
“What is wrong with you boys?” she sputters, her cheeks blotchy with outrage. “Office. Now.”
She clamps a hand around Billy’s shoulder. He could shrug her off. It would be easy. He’s used to Neil’s grip, one painful enough to leave him blue and green; this is nothing.
He doesn’t.
He lets her drag him down the hall, his jaw buzzing, his hands singing with pain, his heart going too fast. He keeps his eyes straight ahead. No regrets.
Higgins’ office is the same cheap authority as every principal’s office Billy’s ever been in. Fake wood. Diplomas on the wall. An American flag drooping behind the desk in some pathetic show of patriotism. Billy toys with the notion of asking the good principle if he enlisted for Vietnam or if it’s all fake bullshit like his authority here, in this tiny hole of a town where he can pretend he’s someone important.
Billy sits in the chair that’s too low on purpose. His split knuckles shine with the antiseptic the nurse slapped on minutes ago. His cheek still burns from this morning’s discipline, pulsing in time with his heartbeat and his throbbing knuckles. His hands are shaking, but his blood is singing. And underneath the rage, underneath the violence, there's something else—something that feels like shame but sharper, hotter.
Because he knows.
Knows that this wasn’t about defending your honour or standing up for what's right. This was about ownership. About some primal, fucked-up part of him that heard them talking about you like you were theirs to discuss and saw red.
Like you’re his.
Which you’re not.
Which you'll never be, because you look at him like he's a problem to solve or a threat to neutralise, never like he’s—
Like you’re what? What the fuck do you want from her?
“I’m very disappointed, Mr Hargrove,” Higgins begins after a lull he’s no doubt intended to come across as intimidating, but only makes Billy vaguely bored. The man’s moustache twitches with every word. “Very disappointed.”
Billy stares at the painting of a cornfield behind the principal. The horizon’s crooked. It bugs him. He’s not stupid enough to say anything, so he keeps his mouth shut.
“You’re on thin ice.” Higgins steeples his fingers, watching him over his furrowed brows. “Your behaviour today was unacceptable. Fighting in the hallways, bloodying other students. This isn’t California, son. We don’t tolerate that kind of…gangster tactic here.”
He almost laughs. He can’t help it. One side of his mouth ticks up before he can control himself.
“This isn’t funny,” Higgins snaps, a vein in his neck bulging. “Do you understand the severity of this? You’re already on probation after the incident in September—”
One shove in the wrong place, a kid cried, parents called, “incident.”
“Coach Williams is livid,” Higgins continues. “You’re lucky he agreed to a compromise. You’ll be benched for the first half of tomorrow’s game. Three after-school detentions. And you will apologise to the boys you assaulted.”
Assaulted. That’s a big word for a couple of morons who’ve never been hit properly in their lives. He bites back his sarcastic comment about public service, instead signing the slip with his left hand so the right doesn’t smudge blood on the paper.
“And I will be calling your father,” Higgins adds. “Again.”
There’s a twinge low in Billy’s gut. Anticipation and dread fused into one ugly weight. A call home means only one thing.
His mouth slants downwards. “Figured.”
He pushes out of the chair without another word. The air outside the school hits his bruised cheek like a block of ice.
The lot’s half empty now. Kids have peeled off to jobs, to their houses, to shitty parties in shitty basements. Billy looks once, sharp and fast, in the direction where you usually park your truck, then looks away when he finds it empty. What the fuck was he hoping for? That you’ll magically be out there? Hold his hand and kiss it better? Fucking Christ. You’re a fucking disease, is what you are.
He peels the doors of the Camaro open with enough force to wrench his shoulder back, sending a twinge through it. He has no time for your bullshit.
He has his own war to get to.
And worse still, he doesn't know what he wants.
He just knows he can’t stop wanting it.
He can smell it before he opens the house door. Burnt garlic. Tomato from a jar. Beer.
Neil is sitting at the head of the table when Billy comes in. Shirt sleeves rolled up, tie off, first bottle already empty, second halfway empty. An old, animal instinct tells Billy to go, maybe crash somewhere else for the night, but the older him standing in the doorway is well aware running won’t change anything, only make it worse.
Susan fusses over the stove, doing her best to pretend the atmosphere inside the house isn’t suffocating. Max is at the table, chin in her hand, stabbing at salad leaves with a blank expression.
“Sit,” Neil says.
No hello, no how are you, son, not even a raised voice.
Billy sits.
Susan does her little dance. “I tried that new recipe from the—”
“Shut up,” Neil cuts in without looking up. His attention slides to Billy, pins him there. “We gotta talk.”
Billy is eight again, sitting in a house silent as a grave while his mother leaves through the front door—
“How was school?” Susan asks weakly, wringing her hands as she sits down.
“Just peachy, stepmom, thanks for asking,” Billy replies, trying to keep his voice steady, indifferent.
Neil’s smile is small, quick, and cruel. “Huh. Funny.”
He spears his spaghetti, the sauce more like blood on his plate, chews, swallowing slowly. “I had a very interesting conversation with Principal Higgins today. You wanna take a wild guess what about?”
For a minute, there’s only silence. Billy twists his fork, watching sauce slip off pasta.
“A couple of idiots needed reminding to shut up,” he replies. “No big deal.”
Neil barks a short laugh. “No big deal. You think getting hauled into the principal’s office twice in a month is ‘no big deal’? You think getting benched is ‘no big deal’?”
“He told you that part?” Billy asks, eyes still on his plate. “Benched for half. Doesn’t mean I won’t win the game for him after.”
“That your takeaway?” Neil leans back, chair creaking, and Billy loathes how his heart kicks up. “Not: ‘hey, Dad, sorry for embarrassing you in our new town’? Not: ‘hey, maybe I should act like I wasn’t raised by wolves’? You go straight to ‘they still need me.’”
“They do,” Billy mutters, and hates how petulant and small it sounds.
“You keep telling yourself that,” Neil scoffs, grabbing his beer. “See how long it works when college scouts hear you’re a goddamn hothead.”
He takes a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What was it this time, huh?” he asks. “Somebody say something about your hair? Your whore mother? Call you a fag? Use your words, boy.”
Max winces at the slur. Susan flinches. No one says anything against it. This, Billy thinks, is nothing compared to years of Neil in his life, in his ear, in his head. Every choice and thought filtered through Neil’s careful cruelty over the years.
Billy’s fork bites the plate with a high-pitched ping. “They were running their mouths. It got old.”
“They’re boys,” Neil snaps, his bottle slamming against the table. “It’s what they do. You can’t go swinging every time some punk says a dirty word in a hallway. That’s prison rules. You aiming for the county already?”
Something acidic crawls up Billy’s throat, choking him because, really, a part of him can’t help but wonder. If maybe it would be better than whatever this is.
“They weren’t just talking,” he insists. “They were talking about—”
His mouth snaps shut. He’s not dragging you into this man’s orbit. Not letting your name share air with the shit that comes out of his father’s mouth. Max’s eyes snap up to Billy’s face suddenly, no longer on her plate, bright and wide like something in his tone, in his demeanour, has tipped her off.
“About what?” Neil pounces, oblivious to their little moment. “About who?”
Billy presses his mouth into a tight line. “Doesn’t matter.”
Neil’s jaw goes hard, followed by his fist on the table. “The hell it doesn’t. You break someone’s nose on my time, that’s my business.”
“They deserved it,” Billy insists. “End of story.”
Neil’s smile is all teeth, a mirror to him only hours ago, and Billy feels vaguely sick for some reason.
“You don’t get to decide what men deserve yet, son.”
He says men like Billy doesn’t qualify.
“Stand up,” he orders.
Billy’s chair scrapes backwards. He’s not here, really. If he goes away again, if he listens for the ocean, then maybe—
Susan’s hand twitches toward Neil, half-standing. “Neil, please, let’s—”
“Sit down, Susan,” he snaps, pointing back to her seat. “You do the dishes, I’ll do the discipline.”
She subsides. Every time, shrinking away from Neil’s fists and his temper.
Billy stands, staring ahead without blinking. It took years for his knees to stop shaking, to learn when it’s better to stay silent because begging would only make the beatings worse, because crying is weakness, begging is weakness, and he’s supposed only to take, take, take.
Neil comes around the table like a storm cloud. Close enough that Billy can see the burst blood vessels in his eyes, the little nick on his jaw from a rushed shave.
“You wanna tell me no again?” he asks quietly. “Like last time?”
Billy can still feel the imprint of his father’s hand from this morning. The echo of it hums under the skin.
“I’m not apologising to them.”
The words are small, but they’re firm. They’re all he’s got. This is the most he’s had in a long time. Neil’s expression goes blank in a way that always means bad.
“Wrong answer.”
The slap isn’t half-assed. It’s full palm, full shoulder, full power, fast like a viper. Billy’s head snaps sideways with such force his neck shrieks in protest. The world tilts. For a second, he’s not in Indiana; he’s back on the beach getting shoved under a wave. Same disorienting, full-body jolt. Same numbing panic at his helplessness, the hot humiliation of it.
Max gasps like someone hit her instead. Susan’s hand flies to her mouth, smothering whatever sorry sound she makes.
“Look at me,” Neil orders.
Billy straightens up, squares his shoulders. His cheek burns, his eyes watering. He makes himself meet his father’s gaze, makes himself not blink, or let out a sound.
“You ever tell me ‘no’ in my house again,” Neil says, voice low and calm, “you’d better back it up with something besides your pretty words. You wanna be a man? You stand by it. You take the hit that comes with it. You ready for that? Huh?”
His fists want to come up. They twitch at his sides, itching. He imagines it so well, as he has a thousand times before. Right hook. Clean. All the way through. Neil stumbling back, maybe going down. The shock. The single moment in which he would be free, but his life would be over.
Because then everything else would follow. Broken jaw. Police. Neil making good on every threat he’s ever thrown at him.
Billy’s arms fall still and heavy at his sides, an occasional tremor twitching in his fingertips.
“No,” he grinds out, his lungs, his body, his whole self burning.
Neil grabs the front of his shirt and hauls him in so close their foreheads almost knock.
“You hit those boys ‘cause they hurt your feelings?” he says, breath hot and putrid with the stench of beer. “Or ‘cause they said something about some little slut you’ve got your dick tangled up over?”
Billy flinches. The word slut hits like a belt, somehow worse than a backhand. His mom calling a loving Billy in his mind echoes, then the back of her disappearing from his life forever, a vision of you, watching him through the crowd, night, asshole—
“Don’t talk about her,” he spits out, his chest heaving.
He didn’t mean to say it like that. Possessive. Too sharp, tangled up in something too obvious for his father to pick on, even when Billy knows that he can’t stand you half the time, he still wants you to look at him like—
Neil’s eyes flash. A shark scenting blood. “Ah. So there is a her.”
Fuck.
“Who? Some perky little cheerleader?” Neil goes on, voice oily. “Or maybe trailer park special from across the street? You think any of them are thinking about you right now, boy? Grow up. None of them care about some pretty little punk.”
He yanks Billy closer. The collar bites into his throat, chafes at his skin until Billy feels nauseous.
“You fuck ‘em,” Neil reminds, very quiet, “or somebody else does. That’s the whole story. You don’t fight for them. You don’t bleed for them. You sure as hell don’t put my job and reputation on the line because some pussy felt disrespected. You hear me?”
“She's not—” Billy bites down on the words, but it's too late.
Neil smiles. “She's not what, son? Not a whore? You fucking her?”
Across the table, Susan and Max have gone utterly silent. Riding out the wave, knowing better than to intervene.
“No,” Billy says through clenched teeth.
“No?” Neil’s face tightens, releasing his hold on him abruptly. “Then what is she? Your girlfriend? You in love with her?”
“I don't—it's not like that.”
“Then what's it like?” Neil's right behind him now. Billy can feel his presence, heavy and suffocating. “Explain it to me. Make me understand why my son is acting like a little bitch over some girl he's not even fucking.”
Billy's hands are fists by his side. His nails dig crescents into his palms.
“That's what I thought.” Neil's hand comes down on Billy's shoulder—not hard, not yet, but the threat is there. “You're weak, Billy. Just like your mother. Can't control yourself. Can't think past your dick. You think that girl gives a shit about you?”
“You don't know anything about her.”
“I don't need to know anything about her.” Neil's fingers tighten, digging in. “I know about girls like that. Small-town trash playing hard to get because it's the only power they have. She's probably fucking half the school and laughing about you behind your back.”
The words wash over scars that are already there. Half of them land because they’re what Billy grew up on. The other half scrape raw because they’re pointed at you.
“She's not—”
The blow comes from nowhere.
Neil's fist catches Billy across the mouth and snaps his head to the side. Pain explodes across his jaw, bright and sharp, and Billy tastes blood.
“Don't.” Neil's voice is quiet now. Very controlled. “Interrupt me.”
Billy turns his head back slowly. Blood drips from his split lip onto his plate.
He pictures you leaning over Max’s board, narrowing your eyes at a crack in the deck. He hears Munson laughing with you. He hears Derek calling you trash. He hears Neil calling you whore.
His stomach twists.
“You will apologise,” Neil says, enunciating each syllable like it’s a nail in his coffin should he disagree. “You will go to the coach tomorrow and say, ‘I lost my temper, sir, it won’t happen again.’ You will send the right message. That this family is not raising animals. Or you can pack a bag and fuck off back to your whore mother, if you can even find which bar she’s passed out in, and see how far your temper gets you there.”
There it is. The old faithful. Mom as loaded gun, as a mockery. Billy grits his teeth so hard his jaw screams, his bruised cheek pulling, making white spots dance in his vision.
Billy's vision swims—his jaw throbs, rolling, hot waves.
“Are we clear?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Billy swallows blood. “Yes, sir.”
The words taste like a lifetime of rust and blood and humiliation.
Neil squeezes his jaw until Billy's teeth grind, fingers digging purposely into the bruised flesh. “Louder.”
“Yes, sir.”
He lets go. Shoves him back so hard Billy clips the edge of the table.
“Good.” Neil sits back down, picks up his fork, as if nothing happened. “Now eat your dinner. And in the future, try to remember that you're a Hargrove. We don't lose control over pussy. We take it and move on. You understand?”
Billy doesn't answer. Just stares at his plate, forcing his legs to move. Billy sits. His legs don’t feel like his own. Nothing in his body feels like it belongs to him. Like his father’s hands are on everything in his life, inside and out.
“I said, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then eat.”
Billy picks up his fork. Puts food in his mouth. Chews. Swallows.
He doesn't taste anything except his own blood.
Max is very deliberately not looking at him, her fingers white around her fork. There’s a slight tremor in her wrist that only someone who’s had it would spot. He catches her eye anyway, just for a second. There’s a mess there. Fear, yeah. Anger, always. Something like you’re so fucking stupid, and something else—something far more complicated and foreign on her small, freckled face. It makes him more nauseous than the slaps did.
He looks away first.
Susan hands him the bowl of spaghetti. “Here, honey,” she says, voice too bright. “Have some more. You need to eat.”
The food could be cardboard. Billy wouldn’t know.
The whole time, Neil’s words loop.
You fuck ‘em. You don’t fight for ‘em.
His mother’s voice tries to push through. You don’t have to take it, baby. You don’t always have to be what he says.
It’s quieter. It always is because she’s wrong. Because she left. This is his life. This is what he is. This is the only way to keep his head afloat.
The only way not to be destroyed in this world is to destroy first.
He swallows everything down with a glass of water and tastes nothing but copper, hot and metallic.
The ocean is back, churning and endless.
He’s not surprised anymore when the sand crunches under his bare feet and the air hits his lungs with salt. California sun, flat and bright, high in the sky. When he was young, Billy would pretend he could reach out and touch the sun, hold it in his hand, maybe give it to his mother as a present.
Waves pound the shore in that endless rhythm, a haven his mind has held onto over the years, unchanging apart from small details.
But this beach is wrong.
Too empty. No towels, no umbrellas, no kids screaming. He blinks, and the sun is gone too. Just grey sky over grey water, the horizon smeared. Billy looks down, expecting to see his eight-year-old legs. Skinny. Sunburnt.
They’re not.
He’s himself now. Seventeen, nearly eighteen and changed. Taller. Broader. The scars marring his skin are a familiar roadmap. The bruise on his cheek and cut on his lip sit fresh and livid even here, offering only partial escape.
The tide creeps in, washing over his toes. The water is numbing, chilling his skin all the way down to the bone. Out in the surf, a shape stands where the waves break.
At first, his brain plugs his mother in there. It always does. Default ghost. Dress to her knees, hair blowing in the breeze, back turned to him like the day she left. Then the following wave lifts—the figure shifts.
It’s you.
You’re waist-deep in the water, clothes plastered tight, hair slicked back, face turned toward the horizon. The ocean keeps hitting you and you just…take it. Rocking with it, like you know how to lean.
Billy’s throat goes dry. He wades in without deciding to, without any thought at all, pure instinct. Water claws up his calves, his thighs, his jeans dragging heavy. The Pacific wraps around him, colder than Indiana. Each step is a fight. Sand gives, slips, reforms under his feet.
He gets close enough to see the set of your shoulders, the line of your neck. You haven’t looked back yet.
He could stop. He should stop. Walk away while he still can. Let you be there—a weird, wrong detail in an old, comforting dream—and never mention it to anyone, including himself.
He keeps going.
There’s no sound except the water, but somehow he still hears you. In the space between waves, your voice is just there, not moving your mouth.
You’re late.
The fuck is that supposed to mean?
“What the hell are you doing here?” he snaps instead, but his voice comes out muffled, distant, like he’s underwater already.
You cock your head as if he’s said something amusing.
Another breaker rises behind you. It should swamp you. You don’t move. It crashes over. For a moment, you vanish in white. He lunges forward, heart hammering, hand outstretched without thinking. His fingers close around thin air, foam curling around his wrist, slick and insubstantial.
You’re still there when it clears. Closer now. Standing where the water hits his ribs. You shouldn’t be able to stand; the sand’s gone out from under his feet, he’s having to tread just to keep his head level.
Yet you just…are.
Billy swallows.
You’re not soaked as you should be. Your clothes are wet, yeah, clinging, but there’s no dripping from your hair, no shiver in your shoulders. You look carved out of the same grey as the sky. The only colour on you is your mouth, and the bright, piercing burn of your eyes. Older, somehow, almost feral with shadows.
It makes his chest twist in a way that pisses him off.
He doesn’t know what he expected from you in a dream. Maybe more of the same—mouthy, sharp, rolling your eyes. But you’re quieter here. Heavier. You look at him like he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
Another wave surges. Billy braces, but this one rolls around him like he’s not worth the effort. It hits you full on. You tilt. Not much. Just enough that for a second he sees your profile—the line of your nose, the curve of your throat—outlined in white.
He wants to touch that line.
It’s a stupid, precise want. Not your tits. Not your ass. Just that bit of jaw. Thumb pressed there, holding, followed by his mouth and tongue and—
He reaches. Your expression shifts with the gesture. Not surprise. Something like disappointment and something like pity, tangled together.
You say, again without your mouth moving, This isn’t for you.
His gut twists viciously.
“What isn’t?” he snaps. He sounds young, petty. The rejection stings worse than it should. Billy drops his hand. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” This time your mouth moves when you speak, as if you’ve snapped into reality properly now, no longer just a figment in his mind. “This isn't for you. Not this version of me.”
“What are—”
“Not yet.” And there’s something in your voice now. Something tired. Sad. Like you’re speaking from very far away. “You're not ready.”
“Ready for what?” His voice is rising, anger bleeding through because anger is easier than whatever the fuck he’s actually feeling. “You're in my head. You don't get to—”
“Don't I?”
And then, finally, you turn fully.
And you’re different.
You’re still you, still the girl from Frank's shop with grease under her nails and cold fire in her eyes, a scowl fixed firmly in place. But there's something else, too. Something older and wearier. Like you've lived years he hasn't seen yet, and now carry a weight he can't imagine. Like someone plucked you from somewhere else, further ahead, and fixed you here, on his beach.
Your eyes meet his, and they're not cold, exactly. They're just… knowing. Like you’ve known him your whole life, like everything in his life has led to this, to here, you and him.
“Hello, William,” you say.
The name strikes him like a bolt of lightning.
William.
Not Billy. Not Hargrove. William.
The name his mother used to call him when he was small, before she learned that softness got you nowhere, before she left. The name Neil uses when he’s about to hit him, when disappointment curdles into violence. The name that tastes like fear and loss and the particular kind of love that always abandons you.
And hearing it from your mouth—
Something cracks. Deep in his chest, crumbling from within.
“Don't—” His voice breaks in a way it hasn’t since he was a little boy. “Don't call me that.”
“Why not?” You take a step toward him, and the water between you seems to grow instead of shrink. “It's your name. The real one. The one you hide from.”
“I don't hide from anything.”
“Liar.” You say it gently, almost lovingly, which is worse than if you'd been cruel. “You hide from everything. From yourself most of all.”
“Fuck you.” The words are automatic, defensive and swift. “You don't know anything about me.”
“Don't I?” You're closer now, but still untouchable, still just out of reach. “You keep saying that. But I know you're alone, William. Abandoned. And you think if you’re dangerous enough, cruel enough, that's the same as being powerful. But it's not. It's just hollow.”
“Shut up—”
“You saw me with Max. With Eddie.” Your eyes don't leave his, your chin angled knowingly. “And you were jealous. Of what they get from me. What you think you want.”
Billy feels his throat go tight. “I don't—”
“You saw me fixing things.” You tilt your head slightly. “And you thought maybe I could do that for you, too. But that's not what this is.”
“I don't need to be fixed—”
“Look at me when I'm talking to you.”
The command in your voice—sharp, final—makes him freeze. He is looking at you. Has been this whole time. But it’s only then that he realises you mean something else.
Really look. See you not as a conquest or a problem, or as the girl who won't fold when he pushes.
See you as a person.
“You want me soft,” you say quietly. “Want me to look at you like you matter. Like you're worth choosing. But you haven't earned that, William. You've earned exactly what you give everyone else. Walls. Distance. Anger. The back of my head while I walk away."
“That's bullshit—”
“Is it?” Your eyes are so steady it hurts. He knows your anger, not whatever this is. “You're alone because you make yourself alone. You're hollow because you choose to be. You’re cruel because it’s easier. And until you're not?" The waves are at your waist now, rising rapidly. “This isn't for you.”
“You don't get to decide that—”
“I already did.”
Another wave rears up behind you. This one’s bigger. Darker. It looks wrong—too smooth, surface glassy, angle all off. It feels like a thing with intent.
“Move,” he barks. “Get back.”
You don’t move. Billy swears and pushes harder, chest burning. His fingers brush your sleeve. For a second, he gets it—the texture of wet fabric, the heat under it, the reality of you. Then the wave comes down. The water surges all around him.
And you're already dissolving.
Coming apart like foam, like spray, like you were never solid to begin with.
“Wait—”
“Not yet, William.” Your voice scatters across the water, fading into the roar. “Not like this.”
“No—”
But you're gone.
Just water and darkness and the echo of your voice saying his name.
William.
The world goes white, a roar drowning everything else out. Cold punches the breath out of him so fast he doesn’t react fast enough. Billy goes under, salt up his nose, lungs convulsing. He’s tumbling, no up, no down, just a body going where the water throws it.
He kicks. Fights. Claws.
You're hollow.
You haven't earned soft.
Not yet.
He breaks the surface hacking, eyes streaming, hair plastered to his face.
“You idiot, I told you—” he starts, spinning around, searching.
You’re gone. The spot where you were is just water—churned white on the surface, sucking itself back into grey underneath: no head, no shoulders, no line of mouth.
He sees something in the foam, for half a heartbeat.
Your face. Not like you’re drowning. Like you’re already dead. Calm. Eyes open. Bubbles slipping out of the corners of your mouth. Then that image dissolves too, breaking into useless froth.
He staggers backwards, feet finally finding sand again. He half-crawls, half-wades until the water’s down around his knees, then collapses onto the wet shore, palms digging into gritty, cold sand. His chest hurts. Not from the water. He stares at the waves. They go on doing what they always do. Eat the shore. Spit it back. Over and over. They don’t give a shit who stands in them.
Something tight and stupid builds in his throat because Billy realises, with a jolt that feels like swallowing glass, what he wanted out there.
You’re right. Billy wanted something soft. Not you dragging him under. Not you yelling at him. Not your usual look, like he’s a disappointment, a headache.
He wanted you to reach back.
Just once. A hand meeting his, pulling him in parallel instead of walking away. He wanted a version of you that doesn’t exist. One that looks at him like he’s worth the effort. The one that calls him William, not Hargrove.
The thought makes him so angry that he starts shaking.
He scoops up a double handful of wet sand and throws it at the water like it’ll do anything. It splashes. Disappears.
The ocean doesn’t care.
He wakes with his hand still clenched, fingernails biting into his palm.
His room snaps back around him. Orange glow from the streetlight leaking through the blinds. The faint hum of the fridge. Neil’s snore from down the hall like distant thunder. His heart hammers inside his chest. His T-shirt sticks to his back. His cheek and lip throb as he turns, a dull, aching pulse.
And he’s hard.
Painfully, furiously, achingly hard.
Billy swears, shoving the heel of his hand against his eyes.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
It’s not a clean hard-on. Not the usual morning wood, he can take care of quickly with a dirty thought and be done with it. This one’s tangled up with the ocean and cold and the way you wouldn’t look at him until it was too late.
"Fuck," he gasps again, and his voice breaks on the word.
He can still hear you. Still hear the way you said his name—William—like it meant something. Like you knew what it would do to him, as if it belonged in your mouth.
His hand moves before he can stop it. Slides under the waistband of his boxers, grips, and he hates himself for it. Hates you for being in his head even here, even now. Hates that his body is betraying him, responding to a version of you that destroyed him with nothing but words.
You're hollow.
His breath comes in short, sharp gasps. His hand moves faster, rougher, punishing.
You haven't earned soft.
He thinks about your eyes. Steady and knowing and so fucking sad.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Like there's a version of him that could earn it, could be worth it. Like he's not already too broken, too much like Neil, too far gone.
“I'm not—” The words rip out of him, desperate, but they die in his throat because his own mind won't lie.
You're right.
He is hollow.
It takes less than a minute. Thirty seconds of hating himself, hating you, hating the wanting that won't cease. And then he's biting down on his other hand to keep quiet, shaking through it, burning up with need and shame and fury. Because he’s still aching, trembling with need for something he hates himself for wanting this fucking badly. No edges dulled, only gasoline poured into a flame.
Afterwards, he lies there, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling.
His hand is sticky. His sheets are damp with sweat. His face is still throbbing from his father’s hand. He tells himself it’s just stress. Too much bullshit. Too many fights. Of course, his brain is spitting out weird shit. It doesn’t mean anything.
Except he knows his own patterns. He knows what it means when someone starts showing up uninvited in what’s supposed to be his last safe spot. He knows what it means when he hits guys harder because of what they said about a girl whose face he pretends not to care about.
Billy knows what it means when his first dream of you isn’t you on your knees, but you turned away, and it wrecks him more than anything porn ever did.
He swallows. The taste of salt is still in his mouth.
He thinks about you standing in the waves. Thinks about the way you looked at him—not with fear, not with want, but with something worse.
Pity.
“Fuck you,” he whispers to the dark. To you. To himself. To the version of him that you saw and found wanting. “Fuck you for—”
But he can't finish. Can't articulate what you did to him. Because you didn't just reject him, you saw him. Really saw him. Saw through all the bullshit and posturing and violence to the broken, rotten mess underneath.
And you still walked away.
Not yet.
Billy closes his eyes.
And hates that the “not yet” gives him hope. Hates himself for being so fucking weak.
His father's voice echoes: You're just like your mother. Can't control yourself.
Sleep doesn’t come back. Not really. The few times he drops under, he feels your eyes on him from some distance he can’t cross, the ocean gnawing at the land in between.
And knows, with absolute certainty, each time he jolts awake, that he'll dream of you again.
And again.
And again.
Because you're under his skin now. Too deep to dig out. And the worst part?
He doesn't want to anymore.
That night is the first time Billy dreams of you.
But it won't be the last.
an: well, i'm off to watch vol 2. despite the darkness of this part, it's my favourite chapter so far, so let me know how you found it! and happy holidays to you all <3
drunk reader x smitten jason todd, reader is a smartass who gets freaky when drunk, NSFW language, no smut, lots of fluff <3
You were sat on a closed toilet seat in a cramped bathroom stall inside a dingy bar your friends had dragged you to for a girl’s night out. You were practically pushed into the car because apparently according to your friends you had been ghosting them ever since you moved in with your boyfriend.
Not your fault that you were beginning to enjoy the quiet evenings you and your boyfriend shared more than going out to a cheap, loud bar and drinking too much tequila to the point you couldn’t see straight.
No you preferred to be at home, curled up on the couch with your Jason, a book in his hand that you read together with the lights dim and lavender scented candles all around you.
You enjoyed your boyfriend rolling his eyes at you grumbling something about fire hazards as you lit yet another candle. You enjoyed him huffing and puffing when you flipped the page a bit too fast because of course he read with all the punctuations, of course he took a three second pause at every comma. You enjoyed watching him make you two dinner while you sat on the counter, swinging your legs.
Now you were hidden away inside the bathroom, ringing him for the third time, praying he would pick up.
“Jay?” you mumbled as soon as he picked up.
“Hey doll,” he replied, lazily.
“Where were you?” you slurred.
“Just finishing up something at the batcave. What’s up?”
“Can you pick me up? I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said with a pout, voice barely audible.
“Baby what’s wrong? You’re not enjoying yourself?”
“No a guy keeps hitting on me even though I told him I have a big scary boyfriend,” you huffed.
“Not that you’re scary, you’re very cute. A cutie patootie, my baby, my heart you’re the smallest person ever,” you rambled on, making him let out a chuckle.
“Where are your friends?” he asked.
“They’re not good people Jay!” You exclaimed.
“Really? Why’s that?” he drawled in an amused tone.
“They told me it doesn’t matter if I have you, when I’m drunk I get a pass to,” you halted mid sentence and cupped your hand over your mouth as if to whisper a secret, “make out with other people,” you finished in a hushed tone.
“What?” he scoffed.
“Yes! As if being drunk means you can kiss anyone! I don’t want to kiss anyone but you Jay,” you breathed out making him chuckle again.
“My girl’s loyal even when she’s hammered,” he replied, still laughing softly.
“I am NOT hammered,” you defended yourself but the slur in your voice betrayed you.
“Sure angel. Share your location with me I’m coming to get you,”
“Okay but I’m hiding in the bathroom because that man is outside and he’s so short! He doesn’t know I like tall boys, tall boys who read and… and ride motorcycles and have huge biceps and a kissable mouth and… and are named Jason Todd,” you finished and this time he let out a full blown cackle.
“God I love you,” he replied, still laughing. “Come outside when I call, no sooner okay? I don’t mind waiting,”
“Yes yes, I’ll see you,” you smiled, hanging up the phone and walking out of the bathroom to your friends.
Fifteen minutes later, you walked out of the bar after Jason called to let you know he was here. You spotted your car right away with him leaning on the door, arms folded over his chest looking every bit like the ‘scary boyfriend’ you had mentioned earlier. You smiled and stumbled towards him immediately putting your arms around his neck.
“I missed you,” you mumbled into his chest as you felt his hand brushing your hair out of your face and put it in a ponytail, securing a black hair tie around it that he always wore on his wrist.
“Missed you too gorgeous,” he replied, cupping your face to examine your eyes. “You’re drunk out of your mind aren’t you? How many drinks did you have?”
“Umm, I lost count after drink number eight,” you replied, still leaning on him.
“Oh angel,” he sighed and opened the passenger side of the door for you, helping you in the seat as he fastened the seatbelt around you.
He quickly got to the driver’s seat and started the car, giving you occasional glances as he drove. A hint of an amused smile prominent on his lips.
“What?” You asked when he looked at you for the fiftieth time.
“Nothing baby, nothing at all,” he said, looking back on the road, biting the inside of his cheek to hide a smile.
Within ten minutes, Jason was pulling up in the building’s parking lot, parking at your designated spot. He walked around to your side of the car and helped you out, grabbing your purse and tugging down your skirt that had ridden up way too high.
“Don’t pick me up!” you said the second you felt his hands on your thighs. “I’m not drunk I can walk.”
He pulled his hands back and raised them to show you that they were nowhere near your thighs. He put one arm around your waist and held you way too tight, the other holding your purse as he led you to the elevator.
Once he managed to get you inside, he immediately lifted you up, dragging you to the bedroom despite your protests.
He carefully sat you down on the seat next to the window and walked towards the dresser to grab your sleep shirt (which was really one of his shirts that had mysteriously gone missing one day until he found you sleeping in it and never asked for it back) and shorts.
He kneeled in front of you, undoing the knots of your thigh high heels and rolled his eyes at your huffs.
“You already look like a wet dream then you go ahead and wear stuff like this and wonder why every guy wants you,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Do you not like it Jay?” You asked in a low voice, trailing your feet –that was now free, up his chest to his jaw and poking his cheek with it.
He grabbed your feet and put it back down, smacking your thigh lightly. “Behave,” he ordered.
“Are you telling me what to do Jason Todd?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do I need to remind you that you’re on your knees in front of me right now?”
He rested his forehead on your knees and put his hands on your thighs, rubbing his palms up and down the bare skin.
“I wasn’t complaining angel, I want you to walk all over me in your high heels,” he replied, unbuttoning your skirt.
“Jay…” you breathed out, grabbing ahold of his hair and pulling his head up. “I want you-”
“Not while you’re drunk, now get up,” he interrupted and stood up straight, taking you with him.
“I’m not drunk!” you protested as you felt him tug your skirt down. “You’re already taking off my pants, take off yours too so you can take me right here,” you offered.
He cursed under his breath and gestured for you to raise your hands so he could take off your top.
“Don’t say things like that,” he muttered, bending down to help you in your sleep shorts.
“Just so you know a lot of guys would beg to fuck me right now,” you rolled your eyes, admitting defeat as he put a shirt over your head.
“And I’d be right behind you, breaking their necks,” he replied, cupping your face to plant a kiss on your lips.
“Jayyyyy,” you whined, fiddling with the clasp of your bra under your shirt as you tried to take it off but your hands shook in a drunken haze, throwing you off balance.
“Whiny girl,” he clicked his tongue and unbuckled your bra with practiced ease, helping you take it off from underneath your shirt.
“I’ll suck you off you don’t need to do anything to me,” you offered again, grabbing the front of his shirt.
He sucked in a harsh breath and leaned down to pick you up again, walking you both towards the bathroom.
“You’re trouble,” he said, setting you down on the counter.
“You can teach me a lesson,” you giggled when he glared at you while rummaging through the drawers under the sink.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed and pulled you forward until you felt him touch a makeup wipe to your face, wiping away your makeup.
“You’re so nice to me,” you mumbled, wrapping your thighs around his waist.
“Someone has to,” he whispered, eyes narrowed in concentration as he focused on wiping away the highlighter from your nose. “What is all this stuff?” he muttered, grabbing a fresh makeup wipe to wipe your eyeliner.
Once he was done wiping your face, he pulled you out of the bathroom and in the living room couch, grabbing a bottle of water with some pills from the kitchen and set them down on the coffee table.
“Take this,” he said, pressing the pill in your palm.
“I don’t want to,” you whined.
“Sweetheart it’s just water,” he sighed.
“I’ll take it if you fuck me,” you negotiated.
“Shut up and take it.”
“Just like that,” you breathed out, smirking.
He sighed and grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, causing your lips to part so he could drop the pill on your tongue, handing you the water bottle. You rolled your eyes and took a sip, gulping the pill down.
“I’m tired,” you told him, resting your head on the back of the couch and closing your eyes.
“Hey! Don’t fall asleep just yet,” Jason said, booping your nose.
“Why not?” you whined again, throwing your body on top of his on the couch, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes again.
“Baby,” he sighed. “Come on pretty, you’ll wake up with the worst hangover if you sleep right now and then you’ll yell at me.”
“Well everything thats wrong in my life is your fault,” you replied, snaking your hand under his shirt to rest it on his hard abs.
“Come again?” he scoffed in disbelief.
“You won’t fuck me, you won’t let me suck you off and you won’t let me sleep. What do I do?”
“You sit there like a normal person until you sober up a bit so I can put you to bed,” he replied, taking the hair tie out of your hair.
“How about I sleep on you right now,” you said, voice suddenly turning slow, alarming him.
“Babe!” he exclaimed. “Don’t sleep.”
“How do you plan on keeping me up?” you giggled, resting your cheek against his.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” he murmured in your neck.
“You love me still.”
“More than I probably should actually,” he nodded his head. “Tell me how tonight went.”
Your head shot up from his shoulder as you grabbed his face to plant a kiss on his lips before your eyes widened.
“There were so many guys! They all kept asking me if I wanted to go back to their place and I told them all that I already have a place with my boyfriend but they laughed at me and said I was lying because you weren’t with me,” you huffed out.
“Like! Sorry dumbass my boyfriend is the fucking Red Hood who protects idiots like you?” You added, rolling your eyes. “He told me I didn’t have to tell you a thing and that he and I could have a good time like! You show me the best time Jay! His dick is probably half as big as yours, he wouldn’t know what to do with all this if it hit him in the face,” you murmured the last part, grabbing Jason’s hands and putting them on your ass.
“Not that it would, it’s only meant to hit you in the face,” you reassured him with a wet kiss on his cheek.
“You’re such a weirdo,” Jason laughed, rubbing his hands on your hips and pulled you close to his chest. “My weirdo.”
“And you’re my heart.” You replied, putting your palm over his chest. “My whole entire heart, I would tattoo you on it if I could. I should probably tattoo your name on my forehead.” you said, excitedly.
“Do that,” Jason agreed, hands travelling up your back to slowly rock you.
You two stayed quiet for about fifteen minutes as you sat, straddled on Jason’s lap while he rubbed his hands up and down your back.
Suddenly, you pushed yourself off of his thighs, getting on your knees in front of him and looked around the living room for something. Jason raised his eyebrows in confusion as he watched you grab an old keychain from under the coffee table, holding it up.
“Jason Peter Todd, please do me the honour of being my wife,” you beamed up at him as he watched you with pursed lips and amused eyes. “Husband. Shit I messed it up,” you sighed dropping your hands.
“You know what? Let’s get you to bed after all,” Jason replied, picking you up as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“But will you please marry me?” You asked again, kissing his cheek.
“Sure sweetheart,” he replied, setting you down on the bed as he got in beside you and pulled the covers up to your face.
“When will we get married?” You pressed, draping your leg over his hips.
“One day,” he hummed. “Real soon,”
“Why?” you suddenly frowned.
“Why will I marry you?” he asked, making you nod in response.
“I thought you didn’t wanna get married? What changed,” your voice turned extremely low with your eyes holding so much sincerity in them that Jason’s heart ached.
“Well a year ago a little freak walked into my life and turned me upside down,” he whispered, tightening his arm around your waist.
You giggled and kissed the corner of his mouth, resting your head on his pillow. “Can we get married tomorrow?”
“Whenever you want doll,” he smiled.
“Tomorrow then,” you sighed, closing your eyes.
“If your head hurts in the morning, it’s not my fault okay?” he checked, pulling you close to him.
“Okay,” you reassured, you and him both knowing it was a lie and that he would end up staying in bed with you for hours next morning, hearing you grumble and complain about your head hurting.
“Good night trouble,” he murmured against your hair.
“Good night my heart.”
i still don’t know how to name and end fics so yeah a cringy ass name dhdgdhs hope you enjoy! i get extremely cringe when Im drunk so this was a bit self indulgent lol
♡ A.N: I wrote this in like two hours bc I drank 2 bottles of wine and got horny about being Dick’s mom.
AO3 ♡ WRITING TAG ♡ REQUEST ME
Someone slips into bed with you quietly, and at first, you think it's your husband, but then, you feel the weight of them drape against your back. Bruce is too large to feel so slight, and Jason is too slender to be that tall, so it must be Dick. He tucks his chin on your shoulder, breathing deeply into the crook of your neck. You shiver when he presses a kiss there.
"Something wrong, sweetheart?" You mumble, eyes still closed, not quite willing to wake up if the situation can be handled after you've gotten a few hours of sleep.
"Can't it be that I just missed you?" He murmurs against your pulse, mouthing there as he presses his bulge against you. You're surprised he's even wearing anything. He sleeps in the nude, and he came here with a motive, one you easily deduce.
"It could be, but I know you, Dick," you reply, grabbing the hand he had snaked around your waist and bringing it to your mouth, kissing his scraped knuckles one by one. He melts into your touch, gluing himself to your back. "However, I will say that I missed you, too, sweetie. It's been too long since you've been home."
"Well at least someone missed me," your son says petulantly. You feel his lips shape into a pout. You'd turn over to kiss it away if he'd let you, but then, you'd be fully awake.
Ah, you think as his words register in your mind, of course, Bruce is being an ass.
"You know how terrible your father is with words, Dick. Believe me when I say that he did miss you while you were away. Besides, you know Alfred and Jason missed you, too."
Dick's other hand curls under you to play with your hip, stroking it softly, his fingers playing with the band of your panties every so often. Heat spreads from your belly down to your cunt. You're not slick yet, but if he keeps teasing you, you will be.
"Well, Alfred actually tells me these things, and Jason doesn't count. He always misses me," Dick responds, as if he doesn't encourage his brother's infatuation with him. He bites over the near-faded marks Bruce gave you the other night, replacing them with his own, like the possessive boy-now-man you know and love. The hand at your waist travels up towards your chest, roughly groping your breast, his thumb and forefinger playing with your nipple.
You squirm at the sensation, letting out quick puffs of breath, and his other hand goes for the remaining breast.
You sigh softly when he lets up on the intensity of his attention, his touch becoming tender once more.
"Mm, I won't apologize for him since he's a big boy, but I suppose I can comfort you. That's what you're looking for, right, sweetheart? A little love from Mama?"
You turn your head back to look at him, and he nods, whining when you grab him by his curls to kiss him. It's sloppy and wet, but it's perfect. Dick is always so eager to kiss you, something Jason picked up from him.
Resigning yourself to not catching any more sleep, you flip over and straddle your baby's hips, and his cock twitches from their confines. You rectify that immediately by pulling them down to free his hard, leaking cock. It's far prettier than your husband's, something you both acknowledge, but not nearly as thick. You place one hand on his firm chest to steady yourself, and his hands instinctively grip your hips. His cock drags against your clothed cunt, an obstacle you forget about, but Dick, the problem-solver he is, merely lets go of you and rips the lace panties apart like a piece of paper. So much for high-end durability, but then again, your boy is quite strong.
You tsk. "Those were for the ones you got me for my birthday this year. I really liked them."
"I'll replace them. I always do." Dick grins, the handsome, infuriating one that sends butterflies fluttering throughout your stomach. How lucky you are that no matter how many times he leaves, he always comes back to you. He latches his hands back on your hips.
You love him dearly. You say so, the declaration comes out easily, and Dick returns it just as quickly and just as fondly. How Bruce is unable to speak three measly words when he feels the emotion behind them so deeply will never cease to amaze you.
You cup your son's cheek, and he rushes up to meet you, expectedly, kissing you enthusiastically. At the same time, you begin to rock your hips against Dick's cock. He moans obscenely into your mouth, and you're no better, doing the same as the tip of his cock slides against your clit.
It continues like this for what feels like an eternity, mouth against mouth and hips to hips as you both relish in the warmth and pleasure the other brings.
When Dick's hips begin to stutter, you know your son won't last much longer. He knows it too because he suddenly whines, "Mama, I'm so close. Please, can I—ah—Mom, please!"
"Just a little bit longer, baby," you reply hoarsely, back arching as the familiar feeling of an impending orgasm rushes through you.
You lean back to ride him in earnest. Your pace quickens into something clumsy, then, and Dick cries beneath you, his nails digging into your hips, and it hurts, but it's the good kind. The pain is enough to send you over the edge with a cry of his name on your lips. He keeps you upright as you ride the waves of pleasure that crash into you, and you're trembling a little when you come back to reality, to Dick sloppily rutting up into your wet folds.
"Oh, baby, you're doing so good for Mama. You're such a good boy—my good boy," you coo, and Dick keens at the praise, and you can recognize how close he is to unraveling
"Mom—Mama, I can't—I'm gonna—"
Before he can disobey you, you order, "Cum for me, baby."
Dick tenses beneath you, cock throbbing against your cunt, and suddenly, hot, thick ropes of cum splatter on your cunt and lower abdomen until eventually they peter out into droplets dripping down his length. He makes a mess, one you'll leave for the morning. Sleep is still within reach, after all, especially after such a great orgasm.
You rub against him, spreading his cum further on both of you, as you press kisses all over his face until he's back with you. It's only when he responds to a kiss you press to his lips that you open your eyes again.
Your boy smiles lazily, eyes drooping as he stares up at you lovingly, and he murmurs, "What a nice welcome home. Thanks, Mom."
"Anytime, sweetheart," you reply quietly, rolling off him to lie beside him. He doesn't move, and you realize that he'll be sleeping with you for the night. Not that you'd ever kick him out, but lately, Dick has been keeping Jason company when he's over, and before that, he thought himself too old for such things. Tonight, Bruce can take over that duty because you're not letting go of Dick tonight. His breaths become deeper as you rearrange him so that his head rests on your chest. It's as you do so that you see your husband leaning against the bathroom doorframe. He's dark-eyed and visibly hard. An aroused shiver goes through you at the sight of him.
"Creeper," you accuse, playing with Dick's hair mindlessly as he pretends to sleep. "You been there long?"
"Long enough," Bruce replies.
"Well, I hope you have some words for your son in the morning," you say pointedly, gently kissing the crown of your son's head. He smells like your shampoo. "Our actions can only do so much in the absence of words."
He begins, "I know, but he—"
"Ah-ah-ah, I don't want to hear about your nighttime life, Bruce. Talk about it with Dick in the morning. I have no quarrel with our son, just as you don't either. You can't just be Batman with him, like I've told you time and time before."
Bruce nods, and you know that a reconciliation will occur in the morning. Unfortunately, it won't be long before your two oldest boys butt heads again. Oh well. At least, Jason doesn't cause problems. He's such a sweet boy, which only means he's going to do something even more drastic than leaving home to form his own team of superheroes when he starts to act out.
"Goodnight, Bruce. Go keep Jason company," you mumble, closing your eyes and snuggling further into Dick.
"I love you," your husband says as he leaves.
"Love you, too. Tell Jason, too."
"I will."
The bedroom door closes, and as you expected, Dick whispers, "Love you, Mom."
CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUTTY, aot boys as #the other woman af, cheating, infidelity on a made up boyfriend of yours, no cheating on the boys tho or on you, unprotected sex, creampies, oral f!receiving, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mutual masturbation, phone sex, consensual photo taking during sex, inappropriate use of fruits (?), slight angst to smut in one of the scenarios, semi public sex, brief mirror sex, and slight jealous sex
TRIGGER WARNINGS : as stated above, this does involve a prominent theme of cheating and while its on a made up person, if it isn't your cup of tea and/or could be potentially triggering please do not read or engage. aditionally, reiner's scenario is lowkey angsty but has a good ending! the reader's bf is also a piece of shit in every scenario, no abuse is depicted other than neglect/insinuations of manipulation, besides that nothing else comes to mind, but pls lmk if i missed smth ! (also floch is mentioned as reader's bf in one of the scenarios but it's just to drive the plot im so sorry)
includes : eren, armin, jean, and reiner
word count : 6k
what's playing 🎧 : you right by doja cat
a/n : hiii okay so i know i didn’t include all the boys like i usually do but i accidentally went a liiiittle crazy with these scenarios and was worried that it got too long, so i just decided to make a part two for connie, levi and erwin! i hope you guys don’t mind and still enjoy this one >_<!!
eren
eren is the walking embodiment of “can he fight tho?” when you tell him you’ve got a boyfriend
girl he dgaf!
he especially didn’t gaf when you told him about your sorry excuse of a boyfriend
eren attends the same university as you, much to your bf’s misfortune
but eren firmly believes that if your pussy of a boyfriend knew what was going on between you two, he wouldn’t even deserve the right to complain or be bothered because he isn’t treating you right!
he thinks every beautiful girl deserves two boyfriends anyway
however, if you were his, like…completely his? he wouldn’t share at all
but that's neither here nor there
he remembers fondly, how pretty you looked when he had gone up to you on the first day of class, asking if he could sit beside you
with that sweet smile of yours, you politely informed him you were saving it for your boyfriend
“i don’t see him anywhere.” eren pointed out, glancing around
“h-he’ll be here soon!” you were reassuring yourself more than you were eren
he eventually wore you down, compromising with a, “well can i keep you company ‘til he comes in?”
you supposed it was harmless enough, besides, it was the first day of a new course, and you needed all the friends you could get
but eren didn’t want to be your friend, he wanted to know how your pussy felt wrapped around him while he fucked you from the back – raw
but it’s fine, he needed to learn patience anyway
time rolled by and inevitably, your professor commenced the class all while your boyfriend was nowhere to be found
eren smirked at you, shrugging as he boldly squeezed your knee, fleetingly of course
his touch lingered just long enough to where you felt how big and warm his hand was but not too long to where it was inappropriate
“guess he’s ditchin’ the first day then, huh?”
you sighed, feeling dejected as you nodded solemnly
eren felt bad for you, he really did
a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be left unattended to, not when there’s guys like eren who will circle you like a vulture, ready to claim you as his own
for awhile, you actually forgot about your boyfriend’s lack of presence (eren would soon make this a recurring theme for you)
because of the fact that you had eren there, and he was more of help to you than your boyfriend would’ve been
eren was surprisingly fast at taking down notes, and good at making them more comprehensive to understand.
he’d scoot closer to you until your thighs touched, sliding his notebook besides yours so you could copy off of him
and when class ended, he walked out to the quad with you, sitting beside you near the campus cafe while you waited for your boyfriend
shocker, he never showed.
he just sent you a half assed text with some bullshit about how he wasn’t feeling well and how he’ll maybe see you later
you accepted it dejectedly, sending a sweet, understanding text back while eren nearly puked in his mouth while peeking over your shoulder to read it
“kind of a dick move though don’t you think?” he asked, nodding towards your phone
and of course, there you were, defending that asshole like you always used to do
eren just shrugged and stood up, motioning for you to follow
“whatever. but hey, if you ever get tired of being ignored, you can always call me.” he winked, opening the door for you to the cafe
you rolled your eyes dismissively, laughing it off while walking into the cafe
still, you did feel a little flushed from the attention given by such a handsome guy, not having felt desired like that in a long time
so maybe you entertained him more than you should’ve, but who could blame you? your boyfriend was such a boring flake, what were you to do?
eren bought you a muffin and a coffee, ignoring your pleas of paying him back
“you could give me your number. that’d be paying me back and then some.” he offered, smiling a handsome smile while handing you his phone
you squinted at him, a small grin on your lips betraying the feigned look in your eyes as you accepted
“for studying purposes only.” you stated the caveat of having your number after you gave him back his phone
he smirked, nodding as he slid it back into his pocket. “for studying purposes only.” he repeated back
yeah, studying purposes his ass
before you knew it you found yourself calling up eren whenever your boyfriend would bail on you, always seemingly in a state of forgetfulness when it came to you
and soon enough eren was no longer just a distracting shoulder to cry on, he was a shoulder you could sink your teeth into or claw at while he fucked the sadness out of you from being neglected
he gave you more attention than you knew what to do with, always planting warm and firm kisses everywhere,
especially in places your boyfriend never even thought to kiss
but to eren? everywhere that was you was free reign to kiss
he fucks you harder than your boring boyfriend ever did, and you actually let eren go raw, whereas you used to make your bf wear condoms
initially you made eren do the same, swearing it was just a one time thing
but the second time he had you?
you peeled the condom off of him yourself, breathless and too horny for logic, just desperate to be skin to skin
eren always makes you cum, and you’re lucky if he lets you off with only two orgasms instead of the 3 or 4 he draws out of you
he loves your pussy, he tells you every time you’ve got the prettiest one he’s ever seen
he praises your body, always taking the time to kiss his way between your thighs, loving how without fail you squirm and raise your hips to his mouth – always so impatient
he loves fucking you in mating press, gripping your throat and forcing you to look at him while his cock hits your cervix, watching you struggle to respond when he asks who owns your cunt
“y-you ‘ren, s’yours, always yours,” you’d cry out, and he’d make you babble about how he owns your pussy while he fucks his cum into you
it’s gotten to the point where you don’t even let your boyfriend have sex with you anymore, finally noticing that he seems to understand what attention is whenever he wants to fuck
but you don’t want his dick anymore, not when you’ve got a bigger and better one giving it to you the way you’ve always deserved
“should let him try and go down on you tonight. let him see the fuckin’ mess i made down here.” eren snickered the most recent time you guys had hooked up, gently covering your leaking pussy with the gusset of your panties, watching the way his cum pooled over the delicate material
and for a moment, you actually considered it, but instead of answering verbally, you just brought him back up to kiss you, knowing it would probably just lead to another orgasm
(it did)
armin
armin is unironically the boy best friend you tell your bf not to worry about
and at first, you genuinely meant it
armin’s been your friend since you two were just babies
and that’s also how long he’s loved you :(
armin’s seen so many of your boyfriends come and go that after awhile he stopped getting so devastated whenever a new one surfaced
because at some point he realized that he was the common denominator still standing whereas they were a short lasting dime a dozen
that’s not to say it didn’t still hurt like a bitch to see you on some other dude’s arm
“you have got to start playin’ some offense man.” connie would tell him, but he’d just wave off the notion of liking you altogether, despite the fact that all your friends except for you saw right through him
however, armin won’t lie, he’s getting sick and tired of you coming to him abt your bf
he loves u, he loves being here for u, but oh my god girl, get up!!
“i just don’t really feel a spark anymore — i don’t think i ever did…” you murmured while laying in armin’s bed, your head to his chest while he had his arms around you, y’know, like friends do.
“then why don’t you leave him?” he asked the obvious, a low huff in his voice
“because i think i love him?” you sighed and armin rolled his eyes, groaning in pain silently behind you
he pulled apart from you at that, and you were surprised with yourself at how much you really disliked that
he shifted around, resting on his knees as he held your forearms, and you glanced down, swallowing hard
‘were armin’s hands always this… big and… pretty?’
“does he make you happy?”
“yes?”
he said your name with a gentle exasperation “are you asking me or telling me?”
you just sighed tiredly, looking away from his intense gaze
“do you even like being around him? spending time with him? does he add any kind of quality to your life? besides a negative one?”
“no…” your voice cracked and you peered into armin’s beautiful blue eyes…did they always make you this nervous?
“then why do you stay?” he asked, seemingly frustrated. not even really with you, just with the fact that you felt so close yet so far from him
“i…i don’t know, ‘min.”
“sometimes.. i…i think that what i feel for you is what i’m supposed to be feeling for him…” you admitted softly and he snapped his gaze up at you, whiplashed from how fast he looked up at you and from your statement… mostly from your statement
you don’t even remember who initiated the kiss first, all you remember is your faces drawing in together like two magnets
armin made you cum so hard that night
first on his fingers, forcing you to kiss him while you came, too addicted to your lips to let you try and pull away — especially when he’d been waiting so long to press his lips to yours
then he ate your pussy until you couldn’t handle the stimulation, but even then, he pleaded with you from between your thighs
his sweet puppy eyes and glistening lips convincing you to simply endure the mind numbing pain filled pleasure from having another orgasm forcefully pulled from you
and when he finally fucked you?
geekiness be damned, that nerd can fuck !
he had his face buried in your neck, whispering how much he loves you – loves your pussy, while he fucked you, rolling his hips in steadily and deep, wanting nothing more but for you to feel as good as he felt
your legs had him trapped inside you, firmly tightened around his hips while your fingers tugged on the back of his blonde hair
he’d wince, but still kiss away your worries of hurting him
“m’not made of glass,” he’d breathe out, airy and humorous, his reassurance melting into a shaky moan when you’d clench around him
“you can do whatever you want to me,” he’d murmur, his voice struggling to stay even amidst the low moan rumbling from his throat
“waited so long f’this, you’re so perfect, so so perfect,” he’d ramble in your shoulder, nipping at your skin, losing himself in a dizzying pleasure while still in disbelief that he finally got to have you like this
safe to say that wasn’t the only round you guys had that night
soon you were the one who blew off your boyfriend, giving him halfhearted excuses of how you had a study date with armin
you even started to decline his calls or facetimes because you were already on one with armin, angling your phone down to allow him the view of you rubbing your clit while you whimpered his name
and he’d prop his phone at just the right angle for you, letting you watch him stroke his cock while your name fell from his lips, and about how he wished so desperately that you were with him
slowly but surely your bf began to grow weary about how much time you spent with armin, but you didn’t really care, he could leave at any time he wanted, you were too immersed in armin to put effort into him anyway
“where are you, i thought we were going out tonight?” he had called you, standing outside your door with visible frustration
“busy, babe. studying at armin’s right now,” you answered shakily, covering your mouth behind your hand while armin slowly slid in, filling you to the hilt inch by inch with his fat cock, watching smugly at how your thighs trembled on either side of him
“again? are you fucking kidding me? how many goddamn exams do you have to take, this is like the 5th time this week! i swear to god if you’re cheating on me with that fucking –”
armin bottomed out completely, burying his cock as far as it could go inside you, chuckling silently when your body jerked violently, your hips arching shakily as you struggled to remain silent
“armin’s just my best friend babe, you don’t have to worry about him. promise.” you reassured all while armin began to fuck his cock into you, watching your cunt swallow his thick length
then later that night, after armin had cum in you (multiple times) he held your naked sleeping body, and snapped a picture, sending it to your boyfriend.
well, soon to be ex
he sent the pic of your bare back with a few suspicious white stains on your spine and small of your back, all with his arm slung around you
paired with the text : she was never yours. before promptly blocking him for you
what a good bestie armin is !
jean
jean has always been about bros before hoes!
before you of course
but when you came along, he decided that maybe he was being too hasty
and well…maybe some hoes could be before bros…
not that you’re a hoe or anything! jean very well thinks he could be in love with you
and while he always thinks he’s in love with a girl whenever she’s pretty and nice to him
he swears up and down that this is the real thing
even though you are his friend’s girlfriend
he figured that love just likes to play funny games like that from time to time
he likes floch and all but seriously… what the hell are you doing with a guy like that?
floch has always been a try hard idiot, even back in high school
actually, especially in highschool
they were in jrotc together and jean was only there to fluff up his college applications
whereas floch was dick riding eren the entire time as if they were really about to go off into war with eren as the commander
it was so pathetic
jean really wishes you could’ve seen it for yourself all those years ago, maybe you would’ve chosen him instead of floch
he feels pretty fucked up for feeling all of this and for even growing resentment and animosity towards his friend because of his feelings for you
despite this, he does still like floch at the end of the day
it’s hard for him to not like the guy, considering most of his formative years included floch along with the rest of their friend group
but goddamnit, what did he have that jean didn’t!
he had met you in his photography class, and you two clicked immediately
your laugh was as beautiful as you are
and you did this cute thing where when you’d giggle too hard you’d grab onto jean’s wrist for stability
made him weak right in the knees
you two exchanged socials and when he asked if you were free the next day to maybe hangout you declined regretfully, stating you were seeing your boyfriend that day
boyfriend?!
“you’d love him! look here he comes now!”
and there came floch’s bitch ass
“jean? what the hell hey man!” that asshole had the audacity to pull jean in for a hug
“this is my girlfriend, i’ve been meaning to bring her around the guys to properly introduce her, but i guess you get the pleasure of meeting her first!”
no it would’ve been more of a pleasure if he met you before floch did
“oh no way you guys know each other? that’s so funny!” you beamed innocently
jean wanted to die right then and there
however as time passed you grew pretty close to jean, forming a tight knit bond that was more special than any of the other friendships you formed with the rest of their friends
you loved all of the friend group, but you were just closer to jean for reasons you couldn’t exactly pinpoint
maybe one of them was the fact that he made you feel safe in a way that not even your boyfriend could
all floch did was talk and expect you to be all ears but then wouldn’t bother to give you the same decency when you wanted to speak
he talked about his jrotc days as if he actually served in the military
after awhile you found your mind drifting off to jean whenever floch would get in these tirades about how he could’ve actually enlisted if he didn’t tear his acl while playing basketball with eren
you’re not sure how much of that you believe…
either way you honestly didn’t even care, you just wished you could spend more time with his friend rather than him
jean always came in clutch though, he’d sneak off with you at kick backs or bonfires, and just talk with you, not at you
you two bonded over photography, and you soon became his muse, his favorite thing to see behind his lens
you even gifted him a new lanyard for his camera, going as far as to embroider a heart into it
how could he not fall in love with you?
progressively you started to raincheck floch more and more to hangout with jean
you two would occasionally visit places like color me mine and paint each other mugs or bowls
(you actually have matching mugs)
you two were also each other’s go to partners for projects in your class, b-lining to each other the second your instructor announced that you had to work in pairs
your most recent project was the beginning of the end to the facade of platonic interest you both were wearing
your project was a conceptual assignment, you had to build a story via a photo essay with minimal text
of course jean had a minor freudian slip and suggested you guys build a story off of the concept of temptation
however you agreed, unsure as to why the idea resonated so much with you
he started off with taking photos of you in his garden back at home, kneeling before you and pointing his camera up while you gazed at him behind the flowers his mom had planted
and then you both were in his attic, he had laid some sheer cream colored fabric down near the window, gently prompting you to lay down atop of them
he aided you in covering your body with the nectar of smashed pomegranates, strawberries, blueberries and plums, staining your skin along with the silk nightgown he helped you thrift
“do i look okay?” you asked softly, watching him look above you with his camera in hand
“you look,” he swallowed hard, clenching his jaw
“you look beautiful.” he said quietly but his words rung in your ears as if he screamed it
“thank you.” you murmured almost silently, like you were too shy to accept his words
after taking a few photos, he crouched down on his knees before you, letting his camera hang down his chest, his hands hovering above the hem of your nightgown
“is it okay if i adjust this?” he asked, trying to ignore the heat climbing from his neck and up his cheeks
you nodded, feeling a heat of your own fan across your face
he carefully lifted the nightgown just slightly up your legs before slowly untying the ribbon at the top of the gown, his breath becoming labored at his own actions
he dipped his thumb into the bowl of fruit and gently drew across your bottom lip, letting the juice trickle down your chin
before you knew what you were doing, you took his thumb between your lips and sucked
he gaped at you, unsure if what was happening was reality or if he had died and gone to heaven
he said your name brokenly, like he was clinging onto his one last shred of decency
but when you just took his thumb further down your mouth he said fuck it, and pulled it out, replacing it with his lips instead
he kissed you hard and sucked the juice clean off your lips, staining his own with the taste of the fruit and of you
you pulled him down along with you onto the fabric, your sticky sugary hands cupping his cheeks and holding him greedily as you kissed him
he moaned into your mouth, his pomegranate stained hands clutching at your soft thighs, traveling up and under your nightgown to spread you open and hike your legs around his hips before ridding himself of his camera
he licked the fruit juice off your chest, groaning as he indulged in your sweet skin
“wanted you for so long,” he breathed out against you, kissing every available inch of skin
“me too,” you whimpered back, grinding up against him
jean fell victim to his impatience and his hunger, impulsively moving to tug your panties off
he devoured your cunt — completely ravenous while grinding against the floor of his attic while he flicked his tongue over your clit
he swiped some of the fruit juice off of your thighs and smeared it over your clit, ducking back down to lick you clean
and when you begged him for his cock? he knew he was a goner
despite how utterly soaked you were, it was a hassle getting him inside you from how fucking huge he is
but he just hovered above you, kissing you lovingly while he rubbed your clit, easing you into taking him
he fucked you with a sense of urgency, like if he moved too slow he’d lose you right before his eyes
you sobbed his name, like a beautiful angel beneath him, glowing from the light peeking in through the cracks of the window, your stained nightgown pooled around you like fallen wings
he clambered for his camera, hoisting one of your legs around his waist while he slowed his thrusts, slowly pounding into you hard as he took photos, making sure to keep your fused lower halves out of the frame
he ripped the neckline of your gown and trickled more juice along your chest and collarbones, snapping a few more photos before discarding the camera once more to eat you alive
you were left laying panting beside him, your body leaking with his cum and fruit juice
and when you could stand without nearly tumbling down, he guided you into the shower and washed you clean, kissing your shoulder gently while delicately gliding the loofah over your body
from then on that was far from the last time you guys had a sex induced photoshoot
and jean couldn’t help but to think back on it the most recent time he had hung out with floch and all their friends at a bar
“it’s getting on my fucking nerves, she never wants to have sex anymore and even when we used to, she was always so… boring, y’know?”
“and she never wanted to do anything freaky. but i bet you and that girl you refuse to introduce us to do some crazy shit though huh?” floch had nudged jeans arm, using his free one to bring the rim of his beer bottle up to his lips
jean thought about the polaroid sitting in his wallet of you spreading your cunt open and letting his cum pour out of your used hole
he shrugged, smiling casually while taking a swig of his beer “nah. not really.”
reiner
you and reiner were… friends… sorta
you used to see each other and go on dates and such
and maybe occasionally hook up
it didn't start off as anything serious at first, it was just casual fun
but then it slowly progressed into something with deeper, more intense feelings
however before it could blossom into its full potential, your shitty ex that you just couldn’t get over came back into the picture, and all that you were beginning to build with reiner drifted away
you liked reiner, you really did, but your ex had such a hold on you that you couldn’t shake off
but reiner really liked you, in fact he never stopped
so when you said you didn’t want to lose him as a friend, he clung to that, figuring that having you in his life any way that he could was worth it
even if he had to watch you get back into a relationship with someone who was no good for you
it was torture, watching you hang off a guy who did not care about you, especially not as much as reiner
but luckily, you continued to hang out with him, even after a dry spell of not seeing each other for a while, presumably because of your stupid boyfriend
he really fucking hates that guy
and reiner hated the fact that you still invited him over to watch movies, always looping your arm with his and resting your head against his shoulder, completely unaware that he’s watching you instead of the movie
and the way you looked at him…
like maybe you still wanted him too
it filled him with false hope that perhaps you did still have feelings for him, and that maybe you’d be able to break free from whatever shackles your shitty bf has on you and be with him instead
what reiner wasn’t aware of, was the fact that you wouldn’t necessarily associate his yearning with false hope…
after getting back with your ex you slowly began to realize the obvious; he ain’t shit!
but isn’t he what you wanted?
why aren’t you satisfied?
maybe because the only time you felt content was with reiner
and as you watched him talk with historia one night at some random club, you found yourself feeling wounded
but you didn’t deserve to be, you had your crappy ex that you wanted sooo bad back in your life, why should you care about what reiner does?
but fuck it! you did care
enough to where you pulled him away from her, giving a half assed excuse that eren was about to drunk–fight jean again and you needed reiner’s help to pull them apart
“alright, where are those two idiots?” reiner had grumbled, searching above your head to find them
you huffed, folding your arms as the alcohol in your system had you feeling both sensitive from watching him talk to an old flame and emboldened to give him a piece of your mind about it
“the only idiot here is you, reiner.” you snapped, and his face screwed up with pure shock, glancing down at you
“I’m sorry – did i miss something?”
“yes! no! i don’t know!” you groaned, face planting into your hands
he said your name softly but confusedly, reaching down to hold your wrists
you pulled away, looking up to glare at him
“you were talking to historia!” you finally exclaimed, and he folded those big…big strong arms of his over his chest, raising a brow
“uh huh. and?”
“you used to be like – in love with her right?” you asked, looking up at him irritatedly
“look, i don’t really see why this is relevant, or why you care so much.” he began to grow irritated with you as well, utterly bewildered with the situation
“because! didn’t you say she broke your heart or whatever? you’ll just get sucked back in with her and get hurt all over again!” you yelled over the music, as if your reasoning was the most obvious thing in the world
he stared at you blankly, shocked at the pure hypocrisy and irony in your words
“alright, i’ll bite,” he exhaled, grabbing your upper arm and pulling you into a quieter area of the club, dragging you like you weighed nothing
“first of all, she didn’t break my heart, it was a small crush back in high school and i was bummed for maybe a week – but you know why it wasn’t a big deal?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you
“because she’s a lesbian! we were talking about her girlfriend, ymir just now before you got all jealous and pulled me away —”
“whoa, okay, i… i am not jealous reiner,” you laughed nervously, shaking your head
he chuckled sardonically, at his wits end with you
“really?” he stepped closer, trapping you against the back of a booth and with his broad frame
and when you didn’t answer, he just laughed, shaking his head
“i don’t believe you.” he said simply, smiling jeeringly
“and you know what else i don’t believe,” he leaned down, invading your personal space
“i don’t believe that you buy into your own bullshit. because if you really stood by that logic, your boyfriend would be the last guy you’d ever reach out to. but here you are.” his eyes flickered over you with anger and it made your heart ache but embarrassingly enough, it made your cunt ache too
“that’s… that’s different i–”
“no! it’s not! you’re just addicted to the adrenaline that comes with wondering if he’ll fucking remember you exist or not today, you let yourself get walked all over while knowing that…that someone else out there could treat you so much better.”
“oh what, someone like you?” you scoffed, glaring up at him
“yeah.” he answered seriously, staring down at you, caging you in with his presence alone
your mouth went dry and you stayed silent for a moment, not expecting him to have responded so confidently
“prove it.” you said, your voice drowned out by the music, and even though he heard you, he wanted you to say it again
“say that for me one more time.” he bent down lowering his ear to you
you held his broad shoulder, going up on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear
“prove it, reiner.”
oh and he absolutely did
he dragged you to the bathrooms and locked the door behind him, damning everyone in the club to only rely on one bathroom for the night
he hauled you up and on top of one of the sinks and pressed you against the mirror, cupping your face in his large hands and pulling you in for a heated kiss
he moaned in your mouth, nearly bruising a kiss into you, wanting for you to feel him whenever your boyfriend tried to kiss you
“you’re so unfair,” he groaned, trailing burning kisses down the side of your throat
“one second you want him, the next you maybe want me,” he murmured between planting his lips hotly and firmly along your throat and collarbones
“i need you to tell me what you want. now.” he uttered lowly, looking up at you from beneath your chest, his warm palms curled over your hips pleadingly
you cupped his face, leaning down towards him
“i want you reiner.”
and he gave you all of him, with his hips flush to your ass, fucking you from the back while he forced you to watch yourself get impaled over and over on his cock in the mirror
his hand splayed tightly over your womb, pressing down while the other gripped the sink, his chin in your shoulder while he kissed desperately into your neck
he fucked you as if it were the first and last time, wanting to fuck the shape of his cock into you, knowing your stupid bf would never fit the mold his fat cock left in you
“i love you,” he moaned shakily into your skin, traveling between your grinding bodies to rub your clit while he fucked you, pushing your legs further apart to give himself better access
your panties grew slightly taut around your calves from the way you had to part your legs, breathless from the perfect, fluid motions of his hips and from his declaration, your heart soaring with adoration
“i love you,” you cried out, and he nearly came in you the second he heard you say it back
all night patrons from the club banged on the door and both of your phones were blowing up, but neither of you cared in that moment
all you cared about was being with reiner and how fucking good it felt to have sex with someone again who actually valued you and your pleasure
from then on you paid as little attention to your bf as he did you, always too engrossed with reiner to give a shit as to what he was off doing
reiner had been making up for all the lost time you two had from your lack of sex due to you getting back together with your ex
and he made you cum more times than that loser ever did
he’d eat your pussy upstairs at house parties while your boyfriend searched for you downstairs, completely unaware you were sobbing another man’s name while his was completely devoid in your mind
you could never seem to get out of reiner’s bed
not when he’d cradle you from behind and rove his warm hands over your body languidly while his hips moved into yours, filling your cunt like no one else ever has, pushing into your g-spot while his fingers worked your clit
he’d whisper how beautiful you look laying beside him like this, how fucking good you feel while he takes you
and sometimes he’d shed his gentleness after having to be in the same vicinity as your asshole bf for too long
he’d be fucking you just like that, where he was your big spoon and was cradling you lovingly, but then he’d shift around and push you onto your stomach, his hands squeezing and groping your ass, spreading you open to watch himself pound into you
“tell me you’re mine — lemme hear it,” he’d grunt, slamming his hips into your ass
you’d sob, clawing at his sheets while you laid there, feeling his cock slide into you relentlessly, almost angrily
“i-i’m yours reiner, yours!” you’d hiccup through a series of wobbly moans, the forcefulness of his cock fucking into you rendering your speech to come out a little garbled
“yeah? is that what you tell him?” he’d hiss, pulling out all the way only to slam back in
“n-no j-just you, m’all yours, only yours!”
reiner came in you hard, surprising himself with how much cum he pumped inside you
when he pulled out, he held you close to his chest, feeling how your heart raced with his
when both of your breathing had steadied, he finally broached the topic of you leaving your boyfriend
he expressed how he was worried you hadn’t left him yet because you were still in love with him, and not with reiner
you promised that it wasn’t the case at all, and that you only loved him, reiner . your sweet doting reiner
it’s just that you sincerely pushed your bf so far back into your mind you forgot you had to sever things officially and not just ghost each other
the conversation ultimately concluded with you agreeing to break up with him the next day
after it was all said and done you came back to his place, at last freed from the shackles of your stupid boyfriend
that night you two had sex with a condom, and you were confused as to why he wanted to, considering you guys always did it raw
“i just won’t have time to get you plan b tomorrow angel, i’m sorry, i promise i’ll make it up to you.”
in reality he just wanted to save the condom so he could throw it into the box filled with the stuff you planned to give back to your ex
your ex was confused when he saw reiner be the one to hand him the box full of his stuff, and was especially confused as to why reiner was smiling so hard the whole time
“left a little somethin’ extra in there for you man. from me and her.”
“i got a man but i want you, it’s just nerves, it’s just dick, makin’ me think about someone new.”
ex boyfriend! dick grayson who always thinks about you. he always thinks about the break-up, about why you broke up with him, how he could've made it better— maybe it was your fault, but he knew he held the burden of the breakup. he always held it. as dick and as nightwing, it continued to pick at his brain.
ex boyfriend! dick grayson who buys you gifts when he's out as nightwing and delivering them to your home without a name on the package... but you can tell. you're not stupid. you know it's him, especially the fact that most of the stuff he buys is stuff you wanted when he was dating you. he remembered what you loved and what you wanted... but you don't fight it. you continue to let it happen, because damn… it’s working in winning you back.
ex boyfriend! dick grayson who tries to take his mind off you by having sex with other girls... but they never match up to you. they could never. you ruined any other girl for him. how could he eat another girl out when he's so used to your taste and your small quivers, how could he fuck another girl when it's not your nails on him and not your cunt squeezing around him?
ex boyfriend! dick grayson who jerks off to photos he still has of you. he hides them so well that he only reaches for them when he needs to cum and the porn he's watching ain't doing the trick. even the slightly sexual photos he kept of you (which is like two or three, not too many— he deleted most of them out of bitterness), the regular selfies you take in the mirror you post, the screenshots of your instagram stories, he cums so easily that he has no shame whatsoever when he looks down and he sees his semen spread all over your picture on his screen.
ex boyfriend! dick grayson who fucks you so rough when you call him one night, needing him so badly. you don't know why you called him, he was a blocked number for so long... but your pussy needed a relief, and your hand just wasn't cutting it well. he fucks you against the mattress so roughly, balls slapping against your clit as he buried so deep inside of you. he has to control himself not to cum so easily when he's inside of you all over again.
ex boyfriend! dick grayson who stalks you— okay, he doesn't call it stalking; he just checks up on you. when you get off work and walking to your car, he's on a balcony high above checking your surroundings. when you're walking home, he's making sure nothing bad happens. when you forget to lock your door at night, he sneaks on in through the window and locks it for you. he's not stalking per say, just checking up on you!
ex boyfriend! dick grayson who always has his phone on for you late at night. he knows you'll eventually call him at night, beg him for his cock, and who is he to deny his pretty girl? he comes over and he fucks you so good until you're too cock-drunk to even speak anything besides his name.
ex boyfriend! dick grayson who always fight for your love. he continues to push for a second chance, for another chance to give you all the love he can deliver. he knows he can try again, he knows he can be better, and he hopes he can win you over again.
and when you eventually let ex boyfriend! dick grayson back in your life? he ain't ever leaving that spot again! in your mind or your bed!
main masterlist!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: god. i haven't posted on this account in a little, sorry bout that! college is a bitch + burnout doesn't help... but guess who never left my mind? this motherfucker! something little to start; i've been working on requests, trust! ex boyfriend dick grayson, come in my life please. ruin it then ruin me!
In the restaurant, your wolf hybrid date swears he didn't know he was going into rut. He tries to blame it on you, telling you that maybe you shouldn't have sent him all those sexy pictures, but one reproving look from you is enough to shut him up. He lowers his gaze, panting as the urge to roll over and show his belly overwhelms him. He's struggling to keep his pathetic whines to himself, squirming in his seat. Finally, he breaks, begging you to take a bathroom break with him.
"I'll be really quick, I promise! Your food won't even get cold."
With a sigh and roll of your eyes, you agree, because you can be a nice person now and then. The bathrooms are fancy, and the stalls are big enough for both of you to fit. He drags you into one and tries to pin you against the wall. You have to push him away several times just so you can reach over and lock the damn door.
He drops to his knees and shoves his nose between your legs, unzipping his pants so he can jerk off all while smelling your delicious pussy, a treat that he wants so badly but that is just out of reach. True to his word, he gets you back to your table before the food gets cold, so you decide to reward him by taking him home for the night.
Synopsis. Bark like he wants to knot you? The 5-DAY APEX ASSIMILATION PROGRAM specializes in training (and taming!) even the most volatile of hybrids against provocation, pheromones, and ruts. Make the world a better place for all hybrid types - even cute lil’ bunny hybrids like you should know better than to get close to the big, bad wolf in rut.
Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!bunny hybrid!reader, wolf hybrid!Toji, HYBRIDS AU, pheromones, RUTS, slight enemies-to-Iovers, muzzIes, slight humiIation, making him BEG, PÚSSYDRÚNK Toji, oraI (fem rec.), p talking, face-ríding, fíngering, spítting, chokíng, manhandIing, mean Toji, desperate Toji, pulling you by the ears, first times (his), he’s slightly inexperienced, big D’s, big stretches, dúmbifícatíon, doggy, BRÉEDING, talks of kids, rough s, creampíes, cúmpIay, KNOTS, implied marathon, reactions, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.7k
A/N. Tonycries is listening…based on this tiktok from the wonderful mind of @/v4mpyrf4e (such a sweetheart y’all omg-). And y’alls comments made me CACKLE-
“Welcome to Day 1 of the APEX ASSIMILATION PROGRAM, thank you all for joining us here today.” You’re the one in charge of setting off the introductions, letting Utahime announce her name and status as a human, before you’re following suit. “-and as you can see, I’m a rabbit hybrid. Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus.”
Gesturing at the sleek, slender ears that stood proudly upon your head—they were the exact shade as your hair, glistening under the natural sunlight of the training field. They twitched ever-so-slightly at the attention of your class, hybrids of all ages and sizes and types.
And you had to admit that you took quite good care of them!
Those appendages were the prized possession of any rabbit around, and they never failed to draw awed gasps and coos from your batches of students.
Smiling, you were about to cut through with an ice-breaker before…
…someone whistles.
Sensitive ears whipping in the direction of the noise instantly, eyes snapping to his nametag.
Toji Fushiguro: Wolf.
Oh.
Oh?
A shiver runs down your spine.
You’ve never come into contact with a wolf hybrid in this program- at least, not in any of the classes that you’ve led. Coyotes. Vultures. Grizzlies. Hell, even the odd big cat or two (though they were mostly from other classes you’d assisted, and you didn’t end up having direct contact with them). They were all the same to you: students.
But a wolf?
You didn’t know why you were reeling so much at the realization - wolves needed this program too. It was mostly predator-types that attended (absolutely nothing wrong with that), as their heightened senses and strength left them more susceptible to high-pressure moments such as letting ruts take over, or asserting dominance. Self-control is something everyone should have!
So a large wolf hybrid attending this program should be absolutely nothing out-of-the-ordinary, absolutely nothing that leaves you rattled, absolutely nothing that differentiates him from your other students.
Absolutely…
You clench your fists, steeling yourself - all that training you’d undergone to come into this position as an instructor for the program wasn’t for nothing!
“Excuse me-” You’re narrowing your eyes down at the man, standing right at the front of your group. Sliding your peripherals up, up, up from his nametag—
Half-lidded eyes. An easy smile.
A face might have been ripped right out of the big screens, so handsome that it makes that lil’ bunny tail behind you twitch.
And it’s only then that you’re realizing just how…large he is.
A broad frame. Muscular arms. Tall.
Fuck.
Even for a wolf hybrid. In fact, you could see the irritated expressions on the smaller hybrids scrambling to see from around him- what audacity, to be front and center like this. And judging by the smug expression twisting those scarred lips of his, Toji didn’t give a shit whether they saw or not.
As long as he could.
As long as he could pin you down with his heavy gaze, staring from underneath his shaggy black bangs. Toji blinked slowly, as if he was savoring each glimpse- and each glimpse just seemed to raaaaake across your body.
The longer you’re staring at him, the more elated his pupils seem to twinkle. Something unreadable in them.
“-did you have something to say?” You’re finally finishing off, after what felt like an age of the charged staredown had passed.
Toji only crosses his arms in front of him- and you swear your ears pick up on the minutest rip! of his biceps stretchin’ his thin t-shirt. The black fabric giving way to the flex of those incredible arms. “Oh. The whistle?” The wolf hybrid’s gruff voice answers, a deep baritone that you find strangely…pleasant on your eardrums. “Nah. Must be close to the full moon, heh- keep talking, lil’ bunny.”
“That’s madam rabbit to you-”
“Bunnygirl?”
Involuntarily, your nose twitches in annoyance - something that seems to make the man raise a brow at and smirk. Something chuckled underneath his breath—“Cute.”
You would’ve almost thrown your clipboard at Toji Fushiguro had your colleague not cleared her throat.
“Oh-” Mouth parting in surprise, you’re turning to Utahime who’d been there to witness the entire exchange - right along with the rest of your class, for that matter. Throw in your supervisors, too, and you were decidedly not getting the holiday bonus this year.
Clearing your throat (and pointedly looking away from his eyes), you’re turning to face the program attendees as a whole now. “And if anyone else has any highly intelligent questions, please feel free to ask away.” Silence, except for Toji’s agreeing hum. “Now that that’s cleared up- I had initially wanted to start our first class off with some ice-breakers to get to know each other a bit more, but what’s a better exercise in team spirit than being thrown into the thick of things?”
They look at you in slight surprise, Toji amongst them.
Without warning, you pick up the whistle that’d been strung ‘round your neck and give it two sharp blows. “Five laps around the field- now! Go go go go!”
Bodies moving before minds, the entire group jolts into moving. Some taking a few unprepared steps before they even register what’s happening, some speeding ahead already to get on your good side. Some flew. Some waddled. And some you could even see gape at the facility’s training field, about as large as a football field, with a carpet of grass enveloping the entire expanse of it. They threw their heads back and groaned, before straightening - military-style - when your whistle rang out once more-
But it wasn’t for them.
“You there-” Sticking your hand out—some, it seems, were none other than Toji Fushiguro. He was still rooted where he was when class started, challenging you down with his imposing frame. His amused expression- “-ten laps for not going with your group, Mr. Fushiguro.”
“That’s an abuse of power, bunny.” Toji growls, lips lifting into something that almost looks like a smile. Maybe a snarl.
You’re raising a brow, whistle still raised to your lips. “Fifteen.”
“What’re you gonna give me if I do those, huh?”
“Twenty.”
He wets his lips, jet-black ears twitching. “You won’t dare-”
“Twenty-five.”
“Fuckin’ hell.” But to your confusion, Toji Fushiguro didn’t look neither angry nor dismayed as he received his sentence. In fact, you could’ve sworn that the man looked utterly euphoric with every sniping word that fell from your lips. Upping the challenge. Talking back to him.
He takes a step closer and the air seems to grow thicker around you two - so thick that it seems to lodge at your throat. And Toji himself can’t seem to rip his eyes away from those pretty lil’ lips that were just so mean to him- “I never knew bunnies could be so feisty.”
He still isn’t moving towards the run, and your vision is blocked by his well-sculptured body. Toji’s eyes were murky, posture strong- and without warning, his nostrils seemed to flare. Taking in a deep, deep gulp of something. And you wondered…why did something smell so sweet? “Thir-”
“Alright alriiiight.” After a roll of his eyes and a scoff, Toji takes off sprinting. The smell is gone before you can grasp it.
Dust clouds erupt from the grassy ground at the sheer force of his strides, and in no time Toji’s catching up to the group in much less than the time it took them to get there. Long legs made for running. Body angular and poised.
Even from here, you had to admit that his form was immaculate - expected, you guessed, of a borne hunter. But even coming from a wolf hybrid, it took you somewhat aback.
Wasn’t there a cheetah hybrid in the group, too? He was just behind her now, steadily catching up as her stamina started to falter.
Not only did he seem to be larger, but he was faster, too? Now you knew what made him so cocky, you suppose.
You’re blowing your whistle once more, “Mr. Fushiguro, thirty-two for cutting me off there.”
Toji looks over his shoulder with knitted brows, and a smile that you couldn’t describe as anything other than purely…feral. “Just for you- heh, I’ll make it fourty-two, bunny.”
“Don’t make me make it fifty.” Grumbling, more to yourself than him by this point. From the corner of your eye, you could see Utahime with a hand raised to her lips- firmly shut as if she was trying to stop herself from laughing.
You’re turning to her with a half-joking scowl, “What, Uta?”
“Oh, nothing.” She’s waving you off, standing beside you to look over your sprinting students. And with a thoughtful hum, the human continues. “It’s just, you hybrids have such interesting mating rituals-”
You nearly choke on your whistle—“What rituals?”
A few heads turn to look at you, and you’re gesturing at them to continue - this was your punishment, it seems. The punishment being, well, whatever unfortunate misunderstanding that your co-worker had developed because of her interpretation of hybrid behaviour.
She looks at you in concern, “Are you alright? Does one get loopy after such mating rituals-”
You’re grabbing both of her shoulders, trying to shake some sense into her. “Repeat that. Tell me you didn’t say what I just so clearly heard you say. Repeat th- actually, wait, don’t repeat that-”
“Mating rituals?” It’s enough to make you grimace, ears flattening behind your head. Watching your reaction, Utahime’s beautiful face grows pale- and she’s clapping both hands over her mouth. “Oh- wait, sorry! Is that a taboo thing to say before you two have officially mated? Like a will-they-won’t-they thing? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-”
“It’s…not…” You wince, “No- no it’s okay. It’s not that it’s taboo or anything, it’s just…”
“Oh.” Utahime breathes out in relief, punching your shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that then, girl. What then? What’s the issue?”
And you dreaded to know the answer to this particular question of yours, one that you so clearly knew if her misconception had been anything to go by. Nonetheless…“You thought that him- the wolf and I were…flirting?”
“Oh, that?” She hums in thought, “No, not exactly.”
Oh?
Then maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe you’d just been overthinking things, maybe she’d just misconstrued some interaction you had with another one of your students earlier, maybe this entire thing wasn’t even about Toji or how he seemed so close to-
“I thought the wolf and you were seconds away from mating.”
Goddammit!
“Or bonding-” Utahime airily waves a hand, as if the extra explanation helped - though, to be fair, you knew you were the one that’d posed the question. “Whichever one that you hybrids like to choose, bonding is the one with the bites, right? And good luck because he looks like a biter, woof—”
You’re putting your face in your hands and groaning.
At least this damn program was only five days long.
.
.
.
Day 2 of the APEX ASSIMILATION PROGRAM.
Did you say this training program was five days long? Apologies, you actually meant to say that it was five centuries- because you’ve just gotten through the first few units of your second day, and it already feels like you’ve aged years.
And you can’t pinpoint an exact reason as to why - well, other than Toji Fushiguro’s presence, of course.
Toji Fushiguro and the way you’d gotten to work earlier today in preparation for the lessons, only to open your office door and find the very man lounging back on your chair. Feet on the desk. Humming idly to himself. Silky black tail swishing happily. Rubbing his scent off on every nook and cranny-
“What the fuck are you doing here-”
“Good morning to you too, lil’ bunny.”
It was just then that Utahime had passed, saving Toji from your plans of throttling him right then and there. It turns out that the wolf hybrid had ‘gotten the time wrong’ and had ‘absolutely nowhere to go- nevermind the café right down the street’ and so he’d been let inside the building. Regardless of the fact that he had an entire office space to himself, he’d chosen to coop himself up in your office.
“And since you two are future mates, I thought it would be okay. Maybe you can show me some of those mating rituals!” Utahime had happily announced, smacking you on the back- just a tinge too loud for a certain wolf’s ears to not discern.
A smirk was on Toji’s handsome face immediately, “Something you need to tell me, bunnygal?”
“Get out of my office both of you-”
And today would have been somewhat bearable if it had ended at just that. But the universe is never quite so kind to you, is it?
Because Toji was in your class, eyeing you down in class, always hot with a quip directed towards you in class. It wasn’t just the physical training part of things (a way to increase their endurance, which he certainly didn’t seem to need any increasing), but even during the light reading sessions—Toji would have his book opened just a crack, attractive fingers flicking loooong luxurious glides on the pages.
And then he’d dart just the crowned tips of them up to lick- while he looked right into your eyes.
Because of course, he did.
And you hated to admit that those actions just made you…gulp. If he didn’t end up bubbling over a reaction out of you (perhaps commands for extra laps, perhaps telling him off which he seemed to love), then he didn’t stop until he did.
But that wasn’t even the moment that stood out in your mind the most.
No, what you went back home to thinking about - what you slipped underneath your silken bed covers thinking about - was the incident that had happened during one of the trust exercises.
In it, the entire class had been blindfolded and told to use their senses to navigate and interact with one another - the two instructors, you and Utahime, included. It was a bonding activity as well as a way to allow one to channel their natural instincts into something that they wanted it to do. Nature and navigate, that sort of thing.
Nothing too outstanding, you’d done it many times with many different batches. Slightly awkwardly waddling through the classroom, hands out and alert for another person. Only, this time…
“Oh? Someone’s in front of me-” A gruff voice echoed out from right behind you - right behind you. And you could already feel the heat of Toji Fushiguro’s proximity, before you even registered it was him. There was the airy whoosh of the atmosphere bending to one’s hand reaching out—“Angel-” To one’s hand just lightly tracing your upright ears, “-or a pretty bunny?”
Your ears.
Your ears.
Toji Fushiguro’s greedy fingers were latching onto the sensitive bits of your ears, and you’re forced to bite back a moan. “S-sensitive…”
And scent patches were protocol, really, just to make things easier on both parties.
But even through the bandage-like coverings on either side of your neck, a puff of your pheromones seeps through and into the air. The atmosphere. The senses of the wolf hybrid behind you that lets out an out-of-control growl—
Primal.
You gasp, hurriedly taking off your blindfold.
SLAM!
Only to be met with the barren air, and the door slamming behind you. It seems that Toji had left the classroom - the only evidence that he was ever even here to begin with was the reverberating impact of the door.
And the sultry smell of something sweet lingering in the air.
Animalistically, you’re raising your nostrils to the air- but by then it’d already dissipated into nothingness. And a part of you craves for more more more—
Clutching the blindfold, in a classroom full of oblivious students, you clench your thighs together.
You were so fucking wet.
And outside, though you aren’t aware at that point, a certain other hybrid was having a particularly tough time, too.
What else did you expect?
Toji Fushiguro was striding. Toji Fushiguro was escaping- he had to. He had to. He had to. He had to. If he didn’t then he fucking knew that he’d tear you into pieces and shove his aching hot erection with no care for who else was watching in that damned classroom.
Down the narrow corridor, he was going as fast as his slightly-weakened knees would take him. Pace echoing out against the formal tiles, like the thunder of his heartbeat.
Toji felt like he was burning up. Faster. Toji felt like he was out-of-breath. Faster. Toji felt like—
The next thing he’s feeling is the ceaseless expanse of the wall, frigid against his body that just seemed to be set alight right now. Without properly consulting his own mind, he’s leaning against it. Head falling back. Body slouching onto the floor. A thick ‘fuck’ leaving him as he sits himself down right then and there-
“Oh fuck—” Toji’s pressing one hand to his face, the other against the solid pain that’d taken up between his legs. He looks down, “Oh fuck, m’in rut.”
.
.
.
Day 3 of the APEX ASSIMILATION PROGRAM.
Toji Fushiguro was just on time to your program today, and though you couldn’t say that you weren’t relieved his incredible earliness lasted only a day- you couldn’t quite say that you weren’t disappointed, either. Rabbits, always hopping around.
“So…” Utahime’s teasing voice calls out in the distance, and you’re shocked to find that she’s actually right beside you. Had you been spacing out?
With a jolt, you realize you’d done it just as Toji was completing his nth lap of the morning. He flaunts past the finish line with each, shooting a sleazy wink your way—you hadn’t been staring at him, dammit!
“Something in your eye?” You call out.
“Just a pretty bunnygirl, heh.”
Shaking your head free of him (and doing your very best to not look as though you were shaking your head free of him), you’re turning back to your friend. “So…what, Uta?”
She nudges your shoulder with hers, “So what are the updates on your mating ritual-”
“Enough-”
Refusal ringing out across the field, your voice catches the attention of Shoko, who’d been placing an ice pack over the ankle of a mouse hybrid. She looks over with a raised brow, before confirming with her patient and helping him walk back to his group.
Once she was done, she picks up two clean towels and makes a beeline towards where the two of you were standing.
“Still in denial.” Utahime says, as a way of greeting. She catches the towel that Shoko throws at her and sighs, “Enemies-to-lovers go from enemies to lovers faster in my books…”
And somehow, Shoko seems to know exactly what she’s talking about.
The racoon hybrid brings a thoughtful hand up to her chin, appraising you with those sleep-darkened eyes if you were yet another one of her patients. “Well, I didn’t see anything wrong in the mating and reproduction department last time we had a check-up. Would you like me to take a look again?”
Indignantly, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me-”
“Perhaps her pheromones are being blocked?” Utahime nods at her friend, before snatching your towel out of your hand and rubbing it over your scent glands-
“Woah-” You gasp, the rough texture of the fabric making your ears twitch. Somehow, it almost reminds you of the day before where…“What the- Uta I will kill you-”
“Adequate pheromone secretion, considering the scent patches.” Shoko leans in to look at it and hum. “I don’t think there’s a problem there- and the clients have to take a mandatory medical test, there was no anomaly in Toji’s, either.”
“And the scent? What about the scent- I can’t smell it as a human, but you’ve got to have some sort of sense for it even as a friend, right?” Utahime insists.
You squeal, “Don’t you dare, Shoko- this has got to be some sort of HIPAA violation I swear-”
“You’re right.” The doctor says, sagely. And all your squirming, struggling, screaming seems to stop- for just the briefest second…before Shoko looks you up and down and states once more. “Rub a little harder, I would like to take a scent swatch for my own personal experimentation as well.”
“I will experiment on you-”
“U-um, madam bunny?”
You whirl—“What?”
And the poor, unsuspecting mouse hybrid staggers backwards at the force of your exclamation. Damn near falling to the ground- which is where that swollen ankle of his seemed to have originated from in the first place.
“Oh.” The three of you staff look at each other, and you’re shoving your friends off in an instant to crouch down to his stooped figure. You feel simply awful as he quivers before you- you should look into getting the poor man a discount. “I’m so sorry, Ijichi, I’ve been out of my mind. Are you alright?”
“Y-y-yes- but no.” He’s stammering, not holding your eye still. “It’s just- my ankle’s acting up again and I was wondering whether I could be excuse to the medic room for today?”
“Yes- yes of course!” You’re looking to Shoko, and the two of you place Ijichi’s arms ‘round either of your shoulders to help him get up and walk to her clinic. You’re patting at him soothingly, “It’ll be alright, Ijichi, Shoko’s gonna fix you up properly in no time.” Ignorant to the low trundle of a growl that’s thrown your way.
To the way that Toji’s staring at your little group, unwavering, your arms around another man.
To the crackle of something bitter seeping into the air.
Though, Ijichi isn’t quite so ignorant to the daggers glared his way (it burned, that glare, and he faints in your arms before you manage to reach the clinic).
By the time you’re dropping your poor student off on the comfy white beds, making your way back out onto the field, Utahime was leading the group through the final cooling down exercises. Letting her take the lead, you sit yourself down on one of the benches near her and sigh.
Goodness, it was a big facility and that trip had unexpectedly taken quite a bit out of you.
Your limbs were heavy, long rabbit ears damped with perspiration and pushed back. Without thinking much of it, your hands reach out to where you think you remember Utahime throwing down your towel earlier (at least, she had before you’d left)- only for your fist to close around…nothing.
“Huh?” Straightening up, you look around the vast wooden bench. It had your active bags, your change of clothes, your props for activities done during the physical sessions. Everything and anything but that damned towel- “I could have sworn…”
“Hey, everything alright?” Utahime asks, it seems that she’d just finished up her cool down. The class was dispersing as they wished, chattering, ribbing, taking their time to get ready for the next unit of the day.
Utahime squirts a stream of water into her mouth and walks up to you, to which you’re nodding your head. “No, I mean- yes? Everything’s alright, it’s just- have you seen my towel anywhere?”
She giggles, “The one with your scent swatch on it?”
“The one with my scent swatch on it.” You deadpan, “I just can’t seem to find it anywhere.”
And it’s only then that the knits her brows, expression turning into one of slight concern. “Huh? I could’ve sworn that I put it there when you left with Shoko and Ijichi, maybe it blew away in the wind somehow?”
You’re looking up at the windless morning, drier than the Sahara. “Maybe…”
“Or maybe one of the students accidentally took it?” She suggests, yet it was futile to have the two of you looking around from here. Class was dismissed for the time being, and there was no way of tracking down every single person and their towels. With a slightly lighter tone, “Or maybe Shoko actually took it- y’know, to experiment on.” She nods in the direction of the building, “C’mon, lets go bug her for more towels - the nice ones with the flowers on them.”
“In a few days there’ll be some clones of me running around.” You get up.
You never did find out where that towel went, and you never did think about it much after that day, either.
Toji Fushiguro, however?
Oh, that damn towel was all that helped him make it through the night. Fuck—with his nose pressed against the fabric that was soaked with all your sweetened, lavendar smell- and his hand pressed underneath his boxers and furiously pumping his cock.
Toji’s elongated canines dig into the towel and he keens your name like a prayer.
.
.
.
Day 4 of the APEX ASSIMILATION PROGRAM.
Toji Fushiguro was late.
When he hadn’t showed up to the facility hours before class was supposed to start, you didn’t worry too much. When he hadn’t showed up precisely at 8:00AM on the dot, well, you were getting somewhat intrigued but you still didn’t worry too much.
But when it was 1:47PM and Toji Fushiguro still wasn’t here?
Alright…now you were getting a bit irritated. Because at the very least, students would call the reception to let them know that they weren’t coming in for the day - but this bastard hadn’t bothered to even do that! Not even the slightest heads-up!
Of course, it was the principal of the matter and not because you were disappointed or anything.
No, not at all. Not at all.
You just liked your classes to be at full attendance, that’s what.
But having no Toji Fushiguro didn’t break your classes. In fact, one could argue that they’d gone even smoother today than usual.
You’d gone through the morning drills without him, you’d showered up and made it through a few readings and testimonies without him, you’d just turned off the endings credits of a documentary and was about to start an entirely new lesson without him.
“And today’s lesson will be on Muzzles 101, for this I have actually acquired a real-life muzzle.” Lifting the strappy, clinking metal thing from your desk for the entire class to see—to be quite honest, this was one of your favorite parts of the syllabus. “As you might be able to tell, this muzzle in particular is intended to fit the canine type of hybrid. But of course, there are many different types of-”
BANG!
“Missed me, bunny?”
But of course, only when Toji Fushiguro was missing did you realize how much it felt like something was missing without him.
And there he stood now, with his towering body filling out the doorframe- lungs heaving, vibrating with adrenaline, sweater haphazard as if he’d simply sprinted the entire way here.
You’re looking up at him and you swear you can see slight dark circles underneath his eyes - he didn’t seem to have had a restful sleep last night, hm? Wonder what kept him up like that?
“You’re late.” Oh-so-welcomingly, you state.
He smirks, “Fashionably so.”
Not responding to his hook, you’re turning back to the class that was watching the interaction with bated breath. “And as our latecomer, how about we have Mr. Fushiguro here give us a real-life demonstration as to wearing a muzzle?”
“I’d like to see you fucking try- fuck!”
The class erupts in agreement, and before Toji Fushiguro - who’s never been talked down to, who’s never been tugged down by the collar of his sweater and had a fucking muzzle clipped on him in all the thirty odd years of his life - even knows what’s happening, he’s worshipping you at your feet.
Literally.
Hooking your fingertips into the mesh-like covering of his dog muzzle, you’re hauling Toji right down to his knees. Right down to the floor. Right down at your feet.
And he doesn’t resist.
Why the fuck would he ever resist?
You place one of your palms on top of his silky black hair, scratching behind his wolf’s ears as if he was nothing but a docile dog. A pet. “And here—” Announcing to the class, the leans in at the edges of their seats to take a better look. “-we have a wolf hybrid in a muzzle- hah! Put a muzzle on and some big, bad wolf he is.”
Through the bars of his muzzle, Toji darkly growls—
“Down, boy.” Through a grin, you’re narrowing your eyes down at Toji. “You’re supposed to be good when the muzzle’s on, don’t you know?”
“Oh yeah? Let me out n’ I’ll show you what’s good-”
Pulling lightly on his soft hair, “What’s that?”
He doesn’t answer - but he doesn’t snap back anything mouthy, either. If you’d known that Toji Fushiguro could be so good for you like this, then you might’ve put the muzzle on even sooner if you were being quite honest.
“And now-” Fuck, what’s next? Toji can only look up as you continue to speak- continue to make a fool of him- continue to raise your dominant hand up past your collarbones. Right up to that sweet next of yours, covered in scent patches that you were starting to peel off—“-for the ultimate temptation. Remember what this program is really about.”
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Fuck, it can’t be.
You’re taking off that protective layer on the side of your throat, and just then…oh, just then Toji Fushiguro thinks he ascends to fucking heaven.
The most sultry, soft lavender scent bursts out into the room- even stronger than the pheromones that’d been stuck to your towel. It seems to haze over the dull classroom with an almost sparkly mist, and it seems to haze over Toji’s eyes with a film of lust.
Burning up.
Feverish.
He’d never been so gone over anyone else’s pheromones before. Never.
His nails dig into the tough tile and leave claw marks-
But you’re looking at the students, some of whom were safely blocking their nostrils. “Pheromones are the ultimate temptation to any hybrid, it drives them wild, it makes them crave, it brings out carnal urges in us that are more animal than not.”
Finally, you look down at Toji.
Who sits with his head bowed, his chest panting.
Panting and panting.
Like a dog in heat- he was drooling from one side of his mouth and praying to anything holy that you couldn’t fucking see-
“As you can see, class, Mr. Fushiguro here is holding up rather exceptionally.” You’re saying- exceptionally? He wanted to laugh. To laugh and laugh. But more than that he wanted to fuck you silly right here and now- but ah, in the end he actually gets neither. Toji Fushiguro doesn’t laugh, and you’re plastering on your scent patches once more. “Now, in the real world we don’t always have the luxury of scent patches. In times such as these we hybrids…”
Toji seems to crouch even deeper on his knees, hunching in on himself almost. He’s sure that those other bastards in the classroom are probably gawking at his submissiveness right now- let them think what he wants.
His tail swishes the floor, ears listening for the whispers. He doesn’t give a fuck.
He wasn’t caving in because he was fucking submissive or some other shit- no. Toji was down on his knees and practically humping your feet in front of an entire group, all because he’s never been harder in his entire life.
“-can try it out for yourselves should you so wish to later on.” And you were oblivious to the entire thing—oh, pretty bunny, how he wanted to rip you apart. Inch by inch.
Just from the briefest second of your scent.
You’re getting into the proper lesson by now, throwing out the history of muzzles in relationship with hybrids whilst absent-mindedly patting Toji’s head. He leans into your touch and you falter mid-speech, ears twitching in every direction, you swear you could’ve smelt a faint sweetness in the air.
.
.
.
Day 5 of the APEX ASSIMILATION PROGRAM.
On the last day of the program, Toji Fushiguro didn’t attend at all.
Perhaps the demonstration yesterday had taken it too far? But you’d asked him about it, and Toji had insisted that it was something he enjoyed doing—
“Next time, though, that’s gonna be you, bunny-”
“You wish.”
After all, it had been part of the syllabus, too, and the rest of the class had been eager to jump onto wearing the muzzle and tempting each other with their pheromones. So you didn’t think that it was exactly that.
Or perhaps he didn’t find the program useful at all and didn’t want to waste his time on it any longer?
This program in particular was showered with praise and rave reviews, but you understood that it might not resonate with everyone. In that case, there were refunds and extension packages for particularly difficult students - and Toji didn’t exactly strike you as the type to leave something half-finished.
Or perhaps…perhaps you didn’t know.
He didn’t let the reception know he was about to be absent. He didn’t give you any notice that he’d be quitting.
It might just have been something in his personal life that you weren’t exactly privvy to - you were just his program teacher, after all. And after today (and the graduation ceremony, which was really more of a formality than anything) tomorrow, you weren’t going to be even that.
Someone to lecture him on the etiquette of his displays of dominance, someone to tease and rile up.
Some bunny.
And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder.
Which might just have been (though you didn’t entirely admit it to yourself) why you found yourself working late into the night on the fifth day of the program - the first day of Toji’s disappearance. Along in your office. In the dead of night.
If he wasn’t going to attend anymore, then you might as well drown that pang of disappointment in work.
You’re tap-tap-tapping away at your computer, eyes glazed over after so many hours staring into it. All the words were starting to slur together into an unreadable language now, and that was likely not a good sign.
You needed sleep.
You’re leaning back on your chair with a sigh, massaging your eyes with the mountainous front of your palms. Whispering, “Fuck…” You look outside your window for the briefest second- and only then do you realize that the world outside was being kissed with a slight drizzle of rain. “God, how long have I even been here?”
You look back down at your computer screen, as bright as day: 12:07AM.
Yaga was going to kill you - he always did preach on about ‘healthy work-life balances’, and this was anything but balanced. You guessed you’d just mark your student register for the day and get the hell out of here- but ah, the rain…
“It’s fine.” Clicking away at the ticks that denoted someone had been present - and they all had been today, except for one. “It’s not raining too bad so I’ll just run to my car or…”
Toji Fushiguro’s name wasn’t the first on the register, now even the last.
And yet, you had no explanation as to why you palm kept scrolling you back to his name each time. That stupid, stupid name—‘Fushiguro, Toji’—even that seemed to be smirking at you.
Perhaps out of frustration, perhaps out of hidden desire, perhaps out of utterly nothing else to do- you click on it. That name. That medical page compiled by Shoko that you were taken to whenever you clicked on a student’s name, with all the information that you’d ever need on them.
You’d skimmed Toji’s profile once before, right before the program had started as you were trying to familiarize yourself with the students.
But now, something about it felt…different.
More personal.
More intimate.
Name: Fushiguro, Toji
Age: 30’s
Sex: Male
Height: 6’2+
Hybrid type: Canis lupus
Status: Unmated.
Other notes: It is important that the subject is of impressive size and weight, even for the Canis lupus (potential subspecies mix of Canis lupus occidentalis). And it is even more important to note that the subject is aware and, one might even argue, cocky about this fact.
You snort at that last line.
Black, silky coat that is well taken care of. Long legs. Considerable muscular mass. Irritable temperament puts him on the radar for potential disruption and displays of dominance. Keen senses. Exceptional speed. STRONG ruts.
And that line? You’re reading over those last two words at least eight times to make sure you got it right - it would’ve been one thing to know that Toji Fushiguro had strong ruts, it’s another thing to have Shoko capitalize, embolden, and underline those two words.
And this was a woman who’d written the many, many profiles that you’d seen in your time working for the facility.
But you’d never seen her emphasize something quite like this?
You keep reading onwards-
Subject has a strong leakage of pheromones in the duration of his rut, which are stated to last for at least over a week, according to the subject. During this time he claims to be ‘crazed’ and ‘like a madman’, and due to the sheer severity of these ruts has never been known to take a mate.
Never?
Last known time of rut was five months ago.
Note to self: REMIND SUBJECT OF RUT!
A crash of wood somewhere in the distance.
VERY EASILY TRIGGERED!
Footsteps.
AND POTENTIALLY COMING INTO RUT VERY SOON!
Through the silver flicker of lightning from outside, you can make out the shape of someone towering at your office door. Opened wide. His hands rested against the frame as if he was about to collapse any moment now- he cast a shadow over where you were seated, gripping the wooden panel so tight that you could hear the low crack!
And you already know who it is.
“T-Toji?” Your rabbit ears raise into the air, trying to catch any answer from him. When there’s none, you’re getting up from your chair and taking a cautious step forward. “Toji, what happened- why are you here at this time?”
Toji twitches as if the very sound of your voice jolted him to his very core, “All the better to meet you with, bunny.”
Rough.
Hoarse.
There was a primal rumble in his tone that made your legs press together - whether out of need or fear…It honestly didn’t even sound like your Toji- and you’re almost second-guessing your initial impression. Perhaps because of that, you’re taking yet another step forward. “Why are you standing there like that?”
“All the better to see you with, bunny.”
But did you honestly even need to ask?
Because one step - one step - is all it takes for Toji’s thick pheromones to immediately hit you. For your mind to whirl with the heady combination of sandalwood and crisp ice and need. Pure need.
It’s so strong that your body takes an immediate lurch backwards, shivering at the scent of a predator-type at his strongest - at his closest. “And why do you smell so…” The backs of your knees hit the stippled cushion of your chair, and you’re just about to topple onto the seat-
When the rabid wolf hybrid crosses the room in less than two strides, pulling you into his arms instead.
You’re hissing at the sheer heightened temperature of his body, as if he was overcome with a fever. Multiple fevers. All at once. His hands grip at your waist as though you were his sole lifeline, elongated claws tearing through your skirt with ease. His maw—
Oh, and his greedy, slobbering maw was wide open and mouthing at the swollen scent gland on the right side of your neck.
Toji’s needy canines finding your soft flesh and digging in—”All the better to eat you with, bunny.”
.
.
.
“P-pussy…” Toji’s feral jaw hangs open, globule upon globule of saliva leaking from his lips and through the metal muzzle he was wearing. It drips down the front of his t-shirt until that useless fabric was drenched, and you could make out each curve of his prominent pecs.
Heaving as if he’d just ran a marathon as you lean back on your office desk and spread your legs all wide open, like a feast, wafting out the sweetest pheromones from between, like a dessert. His favorite.
He’s watching as your puffy folds open up like the cutest lil’ blossom, two glistening petals that he wanted to lick clean of that syrupy slick.
Hell- the mere scent of it was enough that he’s panting like a dog in heat.
As if hypnotized, as if a zombie, Toji’s dazedly leaning forwards—before you rest the tip of your high heel against his forehead. Pushing him right back where he came from, “Down, boy. Didn’t your momma ever teach you table manners?”
“Pussy-” He’s gripping onto either of your thighs with his roughened palms, “But- pussy.” Trying his very best to tug you forwards. “Need to taste that pretty pussy, bunnygirl- fuckin’ put her on my face, please.”
“Nuh uh, Toji.” Crossing your arms with a huff, “Honestly I should give you nothing n’ kick you out right now for crashing into my office like this-”
“Kick me out after—oh.” Toji’s damn lost for words as a glittery bead of slick gently drips out of you, it ends up on a pool in the desk- and he’s groaning at the fact that he can’t just surge over and lick it up right now.
Raising a brow, “And why should I?”
“B-because…” And Toji Fushiguro might be a wolf hybrid, but he’s peering up at you with such puppy eyes. Half-lidded eyes. Begging. Desperate. “Aw- n’ here I thought bunnies were the nice ones- won’t you hngh, give a poor, thirsty dog something sweet? Just one lil’ taste?”
“I dunno…” Grinning, “How thirsty?”
“So thirsty- so thirsty-” And with you loosening your heel on his head, he’s able to gluttonously plunge his sweaty face between your legs- just plunging and plunging. Craving and yearning. Gnawing down on the metal of his muzzle, and pressing its frigid texture against the front of your cunt. “This pussy- this pussy, oh, this pussy.”
The only thing on his fucking mind right now- he’s nudgin’ the metal restraints on his mouth against your folds. “Just one taste of her- I beg of you.” A primal sound rips from the back of Toji’s throat, and it’s enough to make every hair on your body stand on end. “Just one taste. Just- just one-” Just desperately lolling his lengthy tongue out and flicking it near the bars of his muzzle, where he’s but getting a single droplet of yours. “Fuck this damn thing- I’ll break through it if I have to- I’ll- I’ll—”
“Yes—?”
Shaking his black bangs out of his eyes, “I’ll kneel, I’ll beg-” He guessed he’d already accomplished the first two, Toji’s muzzle shoves against your puffy pussylips once more. “I’ll kill for it. I’ll die for it. I’ll eat this pussy out if it’s the only thing I can eat fer the rest of my life. I’ll keep this damn muzzle on and eat you out through this if I could-”
You throw head backwards with an arch, he was just aching—
“Then do it.”
And it’s all that Toji needs.
He doesn’t care if he’s wearing the canine muzzle anymore, he’s worked himself up into such a frenzy that all he needs is to throw your legs over his broad shoulders and kiss his puffy tongue against the bars.
Shoving his tastebuds through one of the gaps in the bars. Crushing his muzzle between your legs- “C’mon.” Toji’s spitting into your open cunt, grunting as he just barely manages to flick your wet slit with his tastebuds. Bangs ruffling as he delves even deeper—“C’mon- c’mon- c’mon-”
After each determined pant of his, the wolf hybrid was bullying his muzzled face even deeper between your legs. An entirely new sensation with the way the cold metal was massaging your cunt, “O-oh, you really meant it, huh?”
And he doesn’t even answer.
You don’t think he even hears.
Nothing in his gone, rut-filled mind right about now but the problem of how he was finally going to taste you- and that’s when a sudden thought occurs to him.
Flattening his tastebuds against the muzzle, Toji’s somehow able to lick down the slit of your pussy. Moving his head in a loooooong up n’ down drag, he lets your juices fall all over his tongue and moans- “Pussy.”
Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the quivering tone of his voice, something oh-so-unsteady in it that makes your natural instincts scream at you.
Oh, but your body?
Your body was bouncing up into Toji’s avid movements as if you were hypnotized by his tongue—“O-oh my god? How are you even managing to- fuck, it feels so good.” Shrilling out, your hamstring start to ache with how badly you were trying to get his tongue to go even deeper. Harder.
And you don’t even have to voice your concerns- because Toji’s slightly unlatching his mouth from your pussy and sniffing at the air.
He could smell your need in your pheromones, he could smell it on your pussy. In no time, he was dragging you in by the waist until you’re being teetered on the very edge of the table. Slithering that long, slimy tongue alllll across your front- “Pussy.” He pants his mantra out, the buttony knob of his thumb coming up to press down on your clit then. “M’t-tasting your…”
“Pussy- that’s right.” You’re babbling out, once more being jerked forwards by the needy man. “And that isn’t enough to soothe your thirst, Toji?” Not that you ever wanted him to stop.
“Fuck- you call that a taste?” He sounds almost offended, and you could tell- oh, you could tell that the real Toji Fushiguro wouldn’t be doing those cute lil’ kittenish licks at your folds. He wouldn’t just be teasing your sensitive core with these laps.
He was a wolf hybrid with a large bite. He wanted more.
Much, much more.
And by the way that those crescent fingernails of his were starting to dig at your sides, you could tell that Toji’s restraint was starting to wane. Slowly straining. Ebbing away.
Eating you out through that doggy muzzle, the more he’s crashing its metal fringes against your cunt- the more desperate he’s becoming to actually taste you. To plaster those pretty lips of yours against his entire face like he wanted to, “You call that ‘nough to satiate a thirst? You call- fuck, m’stil fucking dehydrated, bunny.” Pryin’ aside your folds to stare at your glistening hole, “And yer leaking all over.”
Your heeled feet twitch, “Are you saying you don’t want to-”
“No.”
Toji Fushiguro has never sounded more serious in his entire life.
He’s urgently soothing his sizzlin’ tastebuds against the front of your core, “No no no no no-” Furiously motioning his head as if to make up for even the mere notion that he wouldn’t have this anymore. “I would never say that- never, fuck, a pussy like this and you think m’just gonna give her up so easily?”
Then the bars of his muzzle rub against your sensitive clit and make you gasp, “Then what-”
“M’just saying that m’thirsty, mama.” Toji growls, hooking his thick thumb on the inside of your entrance. He’s using his mean tip to stretch-stretch-streeeetch you widely open - so close and yet so far. “Predator-type hybrids have a laaaaarge appetite, y’know that, bunny?” He’s probin’ his stare up at you, watching your every lewd expression. “Heh, I could eat a cute lil’ bunny like you right up- so look at her.”
Spitting. You’re whining at the sudden impact, and Toji damn near does, too, as he looks down upon the mess he made n’ won’t be able to lick right up.
“And look at me.” The mesh of his muzzle scratches a carnal itch that you didn’t even know you had, “Fucking look at me.” There’s a certain way that he says it - as if his voice had suddenly veered octaves higher without control. As if he was shaking. As if he’d just gone crazed. “Can’t you see that m’acting like a damn dog here?”
Making you dizzy with both his filthy words and his filthy movements, “Oh, fuck- you really are-”
Dragging his handsome face on the sheeny insides of your thighs, he was just so close but so far. Begging. “My bunnygirl- my pretty bunny- pretty girl-” Canines peeking out, “What do you want me to do? What can I do to get ya to hop on my face n’ let me taste it?”
Your heart races at the way you had the Toji Fushiguro babbling for your pussy like this - if anyone else could see him right about now then they’d faint. “Then—” He’s excitedly bucking against your leg, humping his throbbing erection on your calf. “-bark like you want it.”
Toji Fushiguro’s mouth drops.
Toji Fushiguro’s hulking body twitches. Processing what you’d just told him.
And then he opens his scarred mouth and—lets out a low, growling bark.
Oh, you’ve never been wetter.
Still reeling with the sound in your ears - oh, you almost wish you’d recorded it - you’re mindlessly reaching a hand out and unhooking Toji’s muzzle. The most juvenile of locks that’d kept him barred. The easiest fix, now falling to the floor.
At least, you think it falls to the floor.
You honestly don’t see anything past unhooking the muzzle lock- before Toji’s on your cunt with his mouth, his lips, his fingers.
Two thrusts with his watering tastebuds, another thrust with his pointed index.
“Hold still.” It’s all you hear before your body arches at the sheer thickness of his tongue shoving past your swollen pussylips and fucking your hole raw. Ravenous. His slicked tip swabs against your insides, and you could feel each nubbed tastebud dragging against your every orifice.
And how could you not move? You’re being thrust forwards with the pressure - just the slightest few inches - but even that seemed to be too much for the wolf hybrid. He’s pinning his free hand down on your thigh…“Hold still.”
In and out. In and out
Toji isn’t even warming up- hell, he isn’t even taking the time to breathe before he shoves himself nose-deep between your jittery legs.
Like he wouldn’t even mind suffocating, he’s eating you out like a man that’d been starved for eons.
“P-pussy—” Toji echoes out his very same mantra, and you honestly don’t know which one of you was more gone by this point.
Gulping in each sweet, sweet ounce of your slobber- “So this is what you taste like.” His tone cracks on that little sentence, “This is what wh-what your pussy feels like against my lips.” The breathy exhale that leaves him is almost reverent, it buzzes against your tender folds and you’re shrilling out at the shockwaves of pleasure. “What the fuck she tastes so- sweet.”
Your eyes snap open, and you’re staring down at the flushed man. “Sweet?”
“I can see your cute bunny ears twitching- heh, you like that.”
You’re whining as he drags you closer, until you’re almost resting fully on his face, only for him to take deeper whiffs of your cunt.
“And s’not just the rut, she just smells so damn good, too.” Toji blabbers out, not letting a single slick wad escape his ravenous mouth. With the crowned tops of his fingers, he’s smearing apart your hole. “And she sounds so- uh huh- whatever you say, kitty.” As if in the middle of a conversation, he’s nodding and spitting down another sticky web on your core.
With his upper lip glued to the top of your entrance, he’s alternating between letting his fingers and his tongue shovel inside—
“Kitty’s sayin’ she’s never met another like me, either.”
“Now you’re just b-boasting.” Sobbing out. Nose pressing against your clit, he’s using this lecherous position to breathe in the cute bunny pheromones wafting from you.
“So fuckin’ sweet.” More to himself than anything, “It should be illegal to have such a pretty pussy- is this, fuck, some sorta test?”
“If this was a test, then you’d have failed a long time ago.” You’re letting your chin hit your chest, gazing down at Toji’s ministrations. He was thrusting his tongue so rapidly into your entrance that it looked like nothing but a needy, pinkish blur between your legs. Almost experimenting, you ask him. “Bark again, Toji?” And he does- oh, he does. Grinding against your legs as he shoved himself even deeper. “I th-thought you wanted only one taste?”
But the man beneath you only seems to smile, “Oh, I did just have one taste.” And he’s waiting for you to get just a lil’ stupider on his velvety tongue, “This is one taste.” He presses a wiiiidely opened kiss against your cunt, hot and wet. “And this is one more.” With the audacity to press another. “And one more-” And another. “Oooone more-” Another.
“Should’ve kept that muzzle on you…” You’re wailing, not meaning it a single bit. You both know that that muzzle wouldn’t have stopped him for a single second.
Thrash after vicious thrash, before you’re aching to have him reach your g-spot- and Toji, it seems, senses this.
Because just then, he’s pulling back his prolonged tongue with such a weeeeeeeeeet slurp.
“And you’re leaking all over- do bunnies like water?”
Just to make sure, Toji bubbles out yet another wad of saliva that gently splats down on your cunt. Rubbin’ along the wetness of it, he’s using it as lubrication to try and fit three entire fingers inside of you.
Inch by solid inch.
The rotund areas of his joints driving you positively wild, they’re opening up every hidden orifice inside of you. Whether inside or outside, not matter how much you try to clench or buck or whine—your cunt gobbles Toji’s fingers up with a wet sluuuuuurp. “If not, better plug her up then.” His wide tongue flops out to catch the speckles of slick that kept splashin’ out, “More f’me- oh, this pussy.”
“Shit- stretching me out so much.” You’re seeing white as his ridged digits scour their way inside, stretching your elastic channel out wiiiiide. “You’re seriously- three?”
“Four.”
Of course, a fourth finger was mazin’ its way inside now - tugging aside your bloated folds so that he could slickly slide along your walls with the rest of them. Everywhere that Toji had mapped out with his tongue earlier, he was now fully committing to memory with his fingers.
“Hafta.” He gurgles out, dry humping your leg whilst he eats you out. “If she’s gonna take my knot then I need- hah, at least four.”
Your eyes damn near bulge out of your scalp, “Your knot is…seriously that big? How can one even th-think of fitting it-”
“Well, yer gonna be the first.”
“Oh—” Head throwing back, you’re bawling out at the constant rhythmic thump-thump-thump of him reaching every hidden spot and cranny. And like a damn dog in heat, he’s lapping and lapping away his sticky tongue on top of your clit. “M’not gonna last-”
Those pinkish tastebuds covered with a glazy layer of saliva and slick, with ribbons that always connect you to him. “Mmmm—”
He’s flexing his tongue down to juuuust press on your knobbly clit, and the pleasure is so much that Toji has to hold you down with his second hand on your thighs. Slithering all the way to the back of your ass so that he can grope you, “Sit down, bunny.” Such a mean command- whilst the inches of Toji’s fingers were scouring inside your walls to find…your g-spot. Easily.
He wastes no time directly pinpointing that particular spot and stroking it with his fingers.
Well—bashing it, more likely.
Because Toji was meeeeeean with his movements, he was impatient. He could feel you growing wetter and wetter- and took it upon himself to hit your g-spot feverishly. Pushing, poking, probing. “Heh, what a magical spot…fuck.” Jaw unhinging even wider open, he just couldn’t stop kissing your wet pussy. “Magical magical pussy- oh, I love you, kitty.”
“T-Toji—” With a twitch, you’re clawing at his sweaty scalp. “Don’t think m’gonna last very soon- actually, I think m’gonna-”
“Awww, how cute-” He eyes the way you’re shivering all over on his tongue, “-the bunny hops.”
“F-fuck off—fuck!”
Jaw dropping.
Head turning dizzy.
Your voice shatters into a million tones as you’re finally reaching your high, white-hot pleasure bursting behind your eyelids. Pulse thundering, it felt as though your entire body was burning up- almost as hot as Toji’s was.
His sizzling tongue, his scorching fingers that pushed n’ pushed n’ pushed away at your g-spot to drag you through your incredible high.
“C’mon, kitty kitty~” The wolf hybrid whispers between your folds, plump lips wrapping around your clit and streeeeeetching out that sensitive nub. “Be nice to ‘er, mmm, give her a good one.” With each movement between your legs, Toji’s only growing greedier to take over your orgasm - make sure that it’s giving you the utmost pleasure
“It already feels so- oh.” And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Toji’s second hand is lifting off of your bottom to pinch your clit meanly.
Making you genuinely shake through your wave of bliss-
“C’mon c’mon c’mon-” His fingers plummet in thoroughly, hooking up to leave a few cute bruises on the roof of your cunt. “-gotta get ‘er loosened reeeeal nicely, have her stretched out to- to take my knot.”
Just the mere mention of that is making you sputter, and you’re finally managing to blink your teary eyes open as the strongest of your high peters out. The aftermath of it still shook you to your core, but at least you can manage to speak- “The knot that is…f-four fingers big, Toji?”
“Well…” As he was eating you out, Toji was still humping your calf. “-s’still gonna be a bit of a biiiig stretch with four fingers. But you can take it, can’t you, mama?”
Oh…
And when he’s sure that your orgasm has completely passed, when he’s sure he can no longer feel your cunt quivering with the peaks of your high, when he’s sure he’s overstimulated you by thrusting into you for just a bit longer—Toji’s pulling his fingers out of you and unlatching his mouth with a sopping mwah!
You’re trembling at the sudden loss of him filling you up.
Toji takes one look at his thick, slick-glazed fingers- and he’s plunging them between his scarred lips and slurping off the excess remnants. “Mmmm, can’t let a single drop go to waste.” That said, Toji’s finally - finally - rising from his kneeling position on the floor.
All tall and strong and needy.
A predator that’d finally cornered his prey.
He’s yanking his t-shirt off. He’s whipping his belt off.
He’s so damn tight in his boxers that he actually has to stick a thumb over the hemline of his baggy pants and put some force- pulling it down. Boxers and all.
And oh.
Oh.
You can’t help but let your eyes widen, jaw dropping.
You weren’t getting out of this alive, were you?
The very moment that he’s freed from his boxers, Toji’s aching hot length springs out and hits his chiselled abs with a smack! Smearing a long, long line of pre that you almost wanted to reach out and smear- his red-hot tip was sensitive enough that just your stare makes him twitch.
He just kept on droolin’ away the milky lines of his sap.
All the way from his flared mushroom tip throbbing rapidly, down the zig-zagging veins that puffed out proudly, down to the tuft of curly hairs that ended at his base, his ballsack. And already, you could see an extra extra thickness formulating at Toji’s hilt, where his knot was bound to grow.
And was that—
You gasp, “Toji, your boxers are drenched in white-”
“I know.” He grunts out, as if it pained him. Though the slight smirk on his face told an entirely different story, his rugged thumb wafts over the few pearls of white dappling his length. “I know- that kitty made me cum just by eating her out. How’s that for a needy dog?”
Oh, fuck.
All nine inches of him (hell, likely even ten if you measured properly) was achingly hot and pulsating to be inside of you. This very second.
Looking up at him - naked, needy - after staring down for so long made quite the difference. You’re remembering just how intimidating this wolf hybrid is. And something revealed in the pheromones you’d given off makes him crack a sultry smirk. “C’mere bunny.”
Instinctually, your body’s lurching backwards for escape-
Only for Toji to grasp your rabbit ears using one of his hands, dragging you off the table with them.
“M-my ears!” You’re yelping, though not quite in pain, rather…something else entirely. Clawing up at Toji’s strong forearms as he’s twisting you ‘round by the ears, making your front face the table, his erection pushed up against your ass.
Thick and throbbing.
You could feel the way he was throbbing furiously as your heated pussylips splashed slick all over him. “Such finicky creatures, always wanna run. Don’t you know that you won’t be able to outrun me?”
“Toji, mm, don’t you know that my ears a s-sensitive?” Even now, the slightest rub against them made you lose your mind, and Toji - that bastard - was running his calloused thumb all down the soft insides of your ears. Driving you positively wild—
“Ears schmears.” Rolling his eyes with a gruff grunt, he guides a second hand to cup his thickened hilt. Smearing apart your swollen folds with it, he’s sandwiching himself in with your cunt. “Don’t think I don’t know how horny ya get when I pull on ‘em a little, bunny.”
“Horny?” You gape.
“Mhmm—think I can’t smell it on ya?” As if to prove his point, his nostrils flare to heave in your saturated sunny lavender scent - and it’s like the more volume he’s intaking, the rougher he becomes, the more he’s rutting against that wet pussy of yours. “I can—fuck, I can. That day in class-”
Pushing his veiny shaft right up against your geysering orifice, just the slightest change in angle and he’d be stuffing you full with no mercy. “Oh, fuck-”
“I could smell it on ya, so fucking strong- you got so damn soaked that you were practically announcing it to the class that cute Miss Bunny liked to be thrown around.” Dragging and draaaaagging his hot, sloppy cock against your front. “She liked to be manhandled a little. Liked it rough- and that kitty of hers likes it even more.”
Bawling, “P-please, Toji.”
“And guess what?”
“What?”
“I would’ve killed any other bastard that found out about it.”
Your ears twitch in his grasp, and he’s leaning down to press a slight kiss on top of them. Something that makes you utter out, “No one knows- hck! no one but you.”
“Good.” You could practically hear the grin in his voice, the way his plump cockhead only seemed to throb even bigger. “Because I have a secret of my own, bunnygirl.”
“What’s that?”
“That day was exactly what threw me into rut.”
Oh.
And before you know it, you’re being spearheaded by Toji’s massive cock- swirlin’ his tip around the outer rim of your hole a few times. Around and aroooooound until your pupils are whirling in much the same way in the whites of your eyes.
Sliding his sultry way between those puffy lips of yours and inside—
“Oh.” Toji’s scarred mouth gapes open, Toji’s muscular body wracks with such powerful shivers. In a split-second - so fast that you don’t think he’s even thinking about it - he has one had white-knuckling those damn sensitive ears of yours. “O-ohhhhh, wait a minute. Hold on, bunnygirl.”
And then he’s snapping his toned hips to yours with such force that it sends you springing further up on your desk, sending important documents fluttering and falling all around you.
Scrambling to hold onto something for dear life, “Oh my god-”
“I said fuckin’ hold on.”
“But I didn’t-”
But when Toji Fushiguro tells you to hold you, you better know that he means it - otherwise you’re finding yourself simply drooling on the size of his monstrous cock, being limply manhandled downwards with one hand of his on your waist, and the other on your ears.
Grabbing those silky appendages and using it to yank you down- “Where’s the rush, little bunny?” And you could’ve sworn that Toji’s words were slurring, they were stumbling over one another. Scalding hot breath wafting your neck, right where your tender scent glands throbbed. “Got somewhere to be? Don’t run from the big, bad wolf, little bunny.”
“Oh my- ngh.” With another inch shovelled deep into your orifice - Toji doesn’t care whether you’re struggling to take him right about now, doesn’t care whether your sultry cunt was bulging with the size of him already.
He had one hand on your ears tuggin’ you back and forth like a ragdoll, meeting your hips with rude—hard hammer. Push after push.
Barely even proper thrusts, to be honest, you had Toji’s mind scrambled with just the slightest clench of your raw pussy. And he was fucking shaking as he held onto your body - for dear life, just as you were, not that he’d damn admit it - rutting against you like a damn dog. And he panting, too, as if he’s run a mile and suddenly his slick drool was pouring out in bucketloads against the side of your throat. “Come and play- hah, I’ve heard that bunnies like it quick and hard but come n’ play with the big, bad wolf a little…”
“And how m’I supposed to play when you do it like-” You’re whining at the sudden tug at your ears once more, not fully under his lecherous use to keep you bouncing back on his cock. “-this, ngh?”
“Why…don’t you know that wolves like it a little rough?”
And just as roughly as he swabbin’ away at your insides with his length, that velvety tip of his was just curved perfectly to push into even your tiniest orifice. To stretch you wide open. To bury himself even deeper even though you were sure his sheer size couldn’t.
And the more inches that were finding its way stuffed deeeeeep inside your pussy, the more and more that Toji was losing his composure.
“Little bunny- oh, my bunny—” As if it was his own personal mantra, or he was a broken record player on repeat.
Toji was so damn pussydrunk with only a few vicious thrusts, that he didn’t even like the way your body would bounce away with the recoils of his thrusts. And he’s pinning you down with everything he can- hell, he’s hiking up one of his meaty thighs to rest on the top platform of your desk and probing.
Muttering, almost to himself with how breathy and quiet it was. “Come back t’me- don’t run away- oh, don’t run away.” A few more inches find themselves mazing between your gummy walls, and your eyes roll back from the stretch. Still not properly bottomed-out yet. “The resistance- fuck, I’ve gotta get rid of this resistance.”
Because your entrance juuuust big enough for him to do a valiant job in trying to fit inside. And he needed it to be bigger. Needed you to fit more…
“C’mon- this pussy.” Toji’s struck with the idea to snake his left hand between your trembling legs, swiping away at your pulsating clit. “K-kiiiiitty, her cute clit didn’t feel neglected by me, did she?” Scissoring you wider open, he giggles at the way they almost look like bunny ears. “Oh, my apologies, mama, now m’here and you just-” Each word punctuated with the more precise thwack! of his hips, “-have- to- take it, alright?”
“Take it take it take it-” Babbling away, you’re just fucked so utterly stupid on his cock by now.
“So you’re gonna take it all?” And it was a serious question. It was a question that could honestly break Toji Fushiguro right now- fuck, when did he get so weak? “Take it so that you can t-take my knot, too?”
“Oh—” So that’s what he’d been carnally hankering for this entire time, “It’s j-just so much—” You’re blabbering out, throat feeling as if it was cracking underneath all the pressure. In your hazy vision, you’re seeing stars as the wolf hybrid starts plunging his reddened tip against that favorite spot. The rotund end of his shaft tapping at your insides, sliding his velvety inches all inside and inside and inside. “Oh my god, there’s so much- what if I can’t fit your-”
“So much?” Toji breathes out a chuckle, “So much? Bunny, if this is so much- then I don’t wanna know how full you’ll feel when I finally fuck you pregnant.”
You gawp, “You’re gonna fuck me pregnant-”
“Patience, bunny, no need to beg. Of course, I am.” The audacity of him- to twist your words and then have a snicker about it. Before a staggering probe of his length leaves you utterly speechless, “But before that we’ve still got a loooong way to go, don’t you know?”
Clawing at your desk, though the effort was futile. You could feel yourself slipping down his fat cock even deeper, with such lecherous squelches. “But y-you’re a wolf, and I’m a rabbit. I don’t know how it’ll even fit-”
“Oh, it’ll fit.”
He sounded oh-so-sure of himself, and you weren’t sure how - especially for a wolf hybrid that was currently rabid on your cunt. Ravenous for it.
Blushing, perspiring, swearing any time you clenched too hard.
But soon enough you’re getting your answer either way, because Toji’s giving a good swat at your clit- planting a final half-thrust between your legs before he’s finally bottoming out.
Finally.
“See…see?” He hisses through his teeth, canines bared and drooling right above your scent glands. “Who did you fuckin’ think I am- see? Told you I’ll make it fit.” Toji didn’t fucking care if you were still getting used to the feeling of him poking at your lungs, because he was already moving.
Already pounding you dizzy.
Already snapping his eyes down at your cunt and smiling at the way your folds were puckering whenever he pulled out and in. Taking him sloppily. Every inch of him. All the way from his slicked-up mushroom tip, and doooooown to his veiny hilt. His knot hadn’t started to formulate just yet, but he guessed that it would be soon. “Said you won’t be able to take me but you did—tha’s my girl.”
“Your girl- your girl, mmm.” All you can do at this point is surrender to the way that his pointed jackhammers felt, the force so hard that it was lifting your feet off the floor.
“See how- fuck- well you’re taking me? See how yer made to be fucked full- by me? Stuffed with all my kids, fuck?” Toji grunts out, emptying his gluey wads of pre at your cervix. “Don’t hop away from me, cute lil’ bunny- fuck back into your Toji—yes.” Just so rough that your hips were quivering after each movement, even the slightest gyration back.
You could genuinely feel the vibrations of him bottoming-out with a hollow thud! at the very bottom of your pussy, “Do you feel me at your throat?” Burrowing his bruising tip in hard—“At your brain? Shuffling that pretty lil’ head of y-yours around, am I?”
“Oh my- ngh.” Shaking, you’re feeling so limp by now.
“Yeahhh, proved my point.”
He still had that one hand down on your clit, getting drenched in the arousal that kept on spraying out of you. “S’okay, mama, you don’t have to think about anything but- ngh, baby names right now- ya hear me?”
Absent-mindedly babbling, “Baby…names…”
And that’s when he’s dragging you so far back by your bunny tears that your spine is arching into him- head against Toji’s prominent collarbone, your spittle coming out like a waterfall, your cunt being impaled by his thick length and ending up…right at your g-spot.
“Oh fuh-fuck—!” You’re keening, body flailing almost out of control had you not been pinned down by Toji’s hefty weight.
“Oh, fuh-fuck?” He’s saying, and it takes you a few more vulgar thrusts to realize that he’d just repeated what you said. Toji’s lower lip juts out in a mocking pout, “I don’t think s’a a good name for a baby, bunnygirl- too inappropriate, ngh, no?”
You’re gritting your teeth, cursing his mean words out in your mind - at least, whatever rational part of it was left. Using that, you’re still able to get your hips to fuck back into his- the flared line of his slit just perfectly rubbin’ against your sweetest spots. “Oh- r-right there, Toji.”
Again and again.
It’s a pleasure that’s so overwhelming that you almost don’t hear his distant scoff- “Toji?” And you’re almost about to ask what was wrong before- “Mmm, but that’s my name, bunny, and you really wanna give it to our kid?”
“I’m going to fucking kill y-”
“Or maybe Toji Junior?” Toji crinkles his nose in thought, as if he wasn’t properly ravaging and ravaging your goopy insides until they felt all red and raw. “Hmmm…not a fan- what else have ya got up in that- ngh, pretty mind of yours, mama?” With absolutely no warning, the hand that’d been drawing circles at your clit suddenly piiiiinches that nub.
Drags it all out until you’re just shrilly whining, “Fuck, I think it’s coming-” And then comes out a garbled mess of moans and tears as you’re flashing through to your second high of the night.
This one comes to you suddenly, without any of the blissful crackles that usually preceded your orgasms - but you had to admit that this one was the strongest. The hardest. The sloppiest one you’ve ever encountered in your entire life.
You were so wet that even the slightest clench draws out a dampened sluuuurp from your pussy, piping out in dewdrops of cum that cling onto Toji’s shaft. His blushin’ hot tip reaches into your every corner, somehow bashing your g-spot exactly in time with your peaks.
“Mmm, bless you, bunny.” He’s replying, somewhat belatedly to your mess of noises. And even over the smacking of skin, you hear the exact moment that Toji’s coming to the realization. “Bless- blessing, oh—I think I have the perfect baby name, mm, bunnygirl.”
Blinking your teary eyes behind you, “And- and that is?”
“Megumi.”
You can’t deny that the thought of an actual baby name sends shivers down your spine, and you don’t need to think much of it before you’re looking over your shoulder and begging- “I-inside, Toji.” Sliding one of your hands down your front in emphasis, “Cum inside me if you want that- ngh, then…”
“Fucking hell-”
It’s just then with a few vicious plunges that Toji’s cumming, too.
Stripe after stripe of his aching hot seed, it empties out in multiple layers against the back of your pussy. And you’re not sure whether you’re seeing white because of the sheer ecstacy or the sheer volume of him.
It’s so hot.
So wet.
Such sappy ribbons that lacquer a second gluey skin ‘round your channel, you can feel it splosh around you even with the tiniest movements. Thump-thump-thumped into your orifices inside by his cock.
He’s pumping out so many wads that they end up overspilling your cunt with almost no effort, a few dewy droplets that Toji has to scoop inside using his thickened thumb. “Fucking hell, you’re just begging to be fucked pregnant, aren’t you?” Snarling, he drives his hips even faster. “From the very beginning- begging to let me fill this kitty? Begging to be all r-roooooound and glowing with my child-”
You grab at the mahogany wood in front of you and he’s dragging you back-
“Begging to not leave this damn office until you’re carrying my child, hm?”
“Yes-” You gasp, “Yes yes yes yes—”
“Then get pregnant.” Toji grunts out, holding onto you- he moves on from your ears to grab at your fluffy tail and draaaaag you back, “Get pregnant get pregnant- get- fuck, you’re not thinking about tapping out yet, are you?”
Lolling your head against the table, in a puddle of your own drool. “N-no?”
“Good. Because I need you to say one thing, bun-”
“And what is-”
“Knot.”
“Kn-ngh…” You can’t even finish that damned syllable—not when Toji’s then squeezing in the plump growth at his base like that. That firmness you’d been feeling pressed up against your cunt this entire time? That was none other than his knot.
Pushing and pushing.
Probing.
“C’mon- say it.” Toji reaches up a hand from your clit, lugging open your mouth. “Breathe in. breathe out. And saaaaaay it- knot.” Smushing your cheeks open, “Open yer mouth up real wide like this- yeah, now open those legs up real wide, too.”
“It’s actually fitting in-”
“Easy there- eeeeeasy there, don’t run.”
Sobbing out at the carnal stretch, “Knot- fuck—” Your eyes roll to the back of your head- you thought that Toji was big earlier, but you’d never felt anything like this. His rotund swelling, throbbing as he squeezes it inside of you with a wet plop! “You just made me take your-”
“Bet’cha never had something like this, hm? Now we know s’taking, bun.” He hums, tapping at the completely stuffed orifice of your cunt, filled to the brim, stuffed to every inch. “All safe n’ sound- but…”
“But?” Still trying to catch your breath.
“But if it doesn’t take right now…heh, well-”
And before you know it, Toji’s reached over to gnaw his long canines down your scent glands. He’s pricking his sharp edges against the soft tissue, tearing into them, biting into them. Your scent is his and his scent is yours, completely infused: mates, as it went.
All before he’d even finished his program, Toji’s saturated air puffs out of his own scent glands- body still frenzied, almost as if he was looking to go into overdrive—“-I read somewhere that you bunnies can go at it two-hundred times a day.”
You really weren’t making it out of this alive.
.
.
.
Graduation Day of the APEX ASSIMILATION PROGRAM.
“It’s odd that madam bunny is late-”
“And on arguably the most important day of the program, too-”
“I hope she’s alright.” Ijichi looks nervously around the training field, as if willing you to manifest from behind a bush or so any second now. It was almost unnerving being here when you weren’t, always the first in class, always there to greet them.
Utahime herself was wringing her hands as she let her class mill about for the first portion of the day, peering at the building and the entrance from time to time. “Maybe…maybe we should just get on with it.” She says, much to the shock and disappointment of the class. A pondering silence falls over the beautiful day, “Perhaps she’s running late and shall get here before the graduation ceremony is over-”
“Maybe we should have someone call her residence and find out whether something’s wrong?” Surprisingly, it’s Ijichi that pipes up.
“Yeah, do that-”
“Oh maybe we should at the reception-”
“Oh, alright.” Utahime hums, “I’ll go call her, Ijichi you’re in charge of the class until I-”
“I’m here—!”
Ah, there. Ijichi smiles to himself in satisfaction, so there was really no need to call you anymore.
Now you could carry on with the graduation as you were meant to, you could hand over the certificates, you could shake their hands with that pretty smile of yours, you could- you could speed-walk up to them with a certain wolf-hybrid on a leash.
Ijichi’s eyes damn near bulge out of his skin—a certain wolf hybrid on a leash?
Yes, the next time you’re walking back to your program, it’s with Toji Fushiguro on a leash.
The whispers burst out instantly-
“Oh my god- is that…someone certainly graduated alright.”
“So they have that kind of relationship? Look at the bite marks on her neck-”
“Wait, why is seeing the big, bad wolf all tame like this kinda…”
“Sorry I’m late.” You’re announcing, slightly out-of-breath with the added weight of your new companion. You’re twisting your hands in the tough material of the leash, one end of it held by you, and the other attached to the brand-new red collar wrapped around Toji’s neck.
His lightly grunting underneath his breath when you tug, snarling through his oh-so-favorite muzzle. And even the restraint wasn’t enough to stop some of the attendees from taking a step or two back, “A little someone was a bit…distracted and didn’t want to come to graduation- I convinced him, though. But I had to bring him in like this, ah- y’know.” They look at your slightly-trembling legs, they look at your glowing beauty, they look at the garish bonding mark on the side of your throat…and they can already guess what type of distraction that had been.
Oblivious to the roar of whispers (almost) you’re looking from your stunned class to your stunned colleague, her lips parted. “So it was a mating ritual—oh my god Shoko owes me two thousand yen.” Utahime reaches for her phone to call up Shoko this time, babbling something about coming down to the field right now.
“That’s not what you should be asking.” Toji pipes up for the first time, making nearly everyone freeze in place at his rough baritone.
In amusement, his tail swishes- his hand reaches up to your marked throat, your swollen scent glands (no longer covered), “Easy boy.”
“M’just saying.” Before finally coming at rest in front of you, in front of just where he’d filled that pretty womb of yours last night. “There are better questions to be asking now, heh.”
“L-like what?” Ijichi, bravely, is the only one to ask.
Oh, poor Ijichi…
“Like ‘boy or girl?’”
A/N. Two Toji fics in a (not quite) row?! GAAAAAASP- also I wrote this between an 18-hour powercut erm.
thinking about the way hotch and spencer look at each other when they realize they’ve been seeing the same girl. you didn’t mean to get between spence and his boss, you’ve just been dating around, nothing exclusive. but it does create some awkwardness within the team, they never let hotch n reid live it down 🤚
can you imagine the twin shit eating grins on the faces of derek morgan and penelope garcia when they find out you've bedded not one, but TWO of the bau boys? Derek's actually kind of jealous at first but he's happy to razz you with penny. they're asking you who was better, who was sweeter, who was bigger. it's definitely awkward at first but if you can all slip into confident jokes about it they'll tease you for eternity.
can.. can we think about the age gap between them here. hotch is slightly cocky bc he realizes he's 'still got it', getting with a girl that spencer got with too. spencer gets the pride of not only scoring a bau woman, but one that hotch scored too. if you're closer to hotch's age at the time, or you're just into older men at spencer's age, he gets to be the guy in his 20s who scored way outside of his league.
i love the realistic approach here but my mind went to something a little worse - can you imagine the way they'd talk about you. hotch calls spencer to his office and tbh the kid thinks he's going to be executed. he forgets in his panic that hotch is a good man and he thinks he's about to be fired for canoodling within the team and that hotch will just cover up his own affair with you on a power trip, knocking spencer out of the picture. instead he gets poured a glass of whiskey and sat down across from hotch at the chief's desk. spencer gets to have a man-to-man talk that people usually don't engage him with, and hotch gets to find out exactly what had happened between you and the bau's pretty boy. once spencer's drunk he squeals like a pig and the next time hotch gets you alone he's quizzing you on what you called spencer, what you did with your hands, what you screamed when you came, etc.
hotch isn't sadistic though. when spencer's coherent enough to remember everything he's told hotch will give him pointers, stuff he did that worked really well on you. touch here, pull hair, kiss there. and he'll tell spencer to tease you the way he does even if he knows spencer will probably choose not to. still, dr. reid's wry humor can come out at the most inconvenient of times, and all of a sudden you're flat on your back feeling very empty because spencer won't stick it in until you tell him why you liked calling hotch 'daddy'
That's right, guys... I finally reorganized after 2 years of writing. Enjoy<3
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I'll write pretty much anything, so don't be afraid to ask!! I absolutely love it when you guys submit requests and it keeps me busy. Ask anonymously if you want, I don't really mind. Alsooo just specificy like if you want the more headcannon-ish style thing (like what I have for Subby! Jason Todd or OlderBF! Bruce Wayne) or if you want like an actual one shot. Im super excited to see what you guys will come up with!
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( summary ) when harry potter said he wanted a reason to skip potions, he didn’t expect to wind up developing a kinship with a portrait of a young witch by the kitchens, but how can he complain when her smile is just as welcoming as her stories?
( pairing ) sebastian sallow x female!reader (mc), platonic!harry potter x female!reader, small mention of ominis gaunt x anne sallow
( notes/warnings ) set during the philosophers stone and the end of the deathly hallows! part of the ‘the house of the rising sun’ universe! this was supposed to be a mostly seb/minorly harry fic but it kind of inverted because i love harry potter and want to wrap him in a warm blanket and keep him safe forever. also!!! this is the first proper fic i’ve written in over a year so pls be kind 🤍. angst but mostly fluff! reader assuming a motherly role with harry! low-key sebastian assuming a fatherly role with harry too! canon-compliant violence mentions! minimal usage of y/n! not proofread!
Harry Potter had known torment like no other. Stood little over 5 foot tall, he had felt blistering rage poured from callous hands and the bitter loneliness nipping at his guts. But none of it, not the broom cupboard, not the scar, would be worse that enduring another double potions class.
And so, the boy who lived took a left turn down a spiral staircase instead of carrying on to the dungeons and followed the candlelit corridors until he found himself facing a dead-end. It was, he thought, maybe the most peaceful part of the castle he’d seen in his two months of admittance. There was no cobwebbed ceiling corners, no scathing suits of armour, no ghastly ghosts taunting his every breath. The walls were barren except for a lone portrait frame displayed on the far wall. Harry walked closer.
It was an empty frame, holding only a background of red curtains and a plush sofa. He wondered who that frame was meant to home and worried his footsteps had frightened them off. He turned to walk away, to find a shadowy area by one of the far courtyards where he could waste the rest of his two hours. But just as he did so, back already to the wall, he heard a gentle voice.
“Are you lost, sweetheart?”
Harry’s head whipped to the frame once more with such speed he wouldn’t be shocked to feel a sharp pain in the morning. Sat on the sofa was now a witch who looked to be older than him, if only by a few years. She wore a white collared shirt with a red tie and a long grey skirt beneath dark brown overcoat. There was a scar on her left cheek that Harry believed he’d find intimidating on anyone else, but something in the way she smiled at him, the softness of her eyes, told him he’d struggle to find an off-putting thing about her.
He hadn’t even realised he’d been staring, lips parted, question ignored, until she let out a small laugh. Harry Potter had been laughed at before, he’d been laughed at before he’d even been born, he knew what it meant for two people to share a look and a giggle when you speak — or, more aptly, don’t speak. But the insult he was accustomed to never came. He felt no wave of shame, no cheeks reddened with embarrassment. In a strange act of fate, he found himself laughing with her.
“I’m Y/n Sallow. Pleased to make your acquaintance…” She paused and nodded for him to introduce himself.
“Harry. Harry Potter.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “I’ve heard many things about you. It’s good to put a face to the name. So, Harry, my question still remains; are you lost?”
“I have double potions.”
She laughed again and so did he. “I see. You know, I remember your professor when he was about your age. Terribly frightened boy, but wildly genius.”
“He hates me for something that isn’t my fault.”
“People tend to channel anger when their other feelings are too confusing. It’s easier for them. But I know how you feel, love. Believe me.”
“Nobody knows how I feel.” Harry didn’t like how self-effacing he sounded, but to him it was mere truth. Nobody else had lost in the same ways he had and been forced to live with its guilt, nobody else was thrust into the war of a world they didn’t understand.
“You only say that because you haven’t taken History of Magic yet.”
Harry looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Get comfortable.” The boy took off his robe and folded in the floor, sitting atop it and crossing his legs, elbows resting on his knees.
For the next three hours, Harry paid no need to the fact he had missed a charms lesson, as he found himself immersed in the stories she told. Of long-dormant repositories of ancient magic, of goblins, and poachers, and graphorns, and plight, the scale of what he faced seemed not dwarfed, but levelled by that of her own.
She told him of the fears she felt as she entered the Great Hall, how lonely she was on her first day, and Harry felt his heart swell at the fortune of meeting Ron as early as he did. When he said this, she smiled and said Ron reminded her of an old friend, a former Hufflepuff and renowned magiczoologist.
“She said she didn’t have many friends before I arrived, which caught me by such surprise, because I believed her to be one of the kindest witches I had ever met. One of the bravest too. In fact, she led me on one of the most remarkable adventures of my life…” She said, a melancholic smile on her face as she talked of Golden Snidgets and centaurs.
As their second hour drew to a close, she brought her storytelling to a sudden halt. “Enough of me. Darling, how has Hogwarts been for you?”
Harry paused, having barely reflected on the question himself. “It’s been good.” A moment of silence. “I think.”
“You think?”
“It’s just…” His breath caught in his throat, as millions of thoughts came to mind but to words followed suit. “I just feel so out of place. I found out about magic two months ago, and suddenly everyone has these big expectations of me because of what happened when I was a baby.” She nodded in understanding and felt her heart break in her chest.
When you looked at him, you saw him not as a prodigal son or a budding star, but as the child he was. His glasses slightly crooked, almost hanging off his nose, his cheeks red and rosy, his eyes downcast. He looked a mirror of you, and you hated it with a ferocity you hadn’t felt in years.
It was supposed to end with you, the torment of children, the horror of destiny. You still remembered the terror you felt when you first touched that portkey, when Fig told you more of those iron-clad knights would follow, when the fate of a world you knew naught about was thrust upon your fifteen-year-old shoulders.
When Ranrok was defeated and you were told you’d be safe, you were lied to. The poachers still came in droves, angrier, smarter, fit to kill with the taste of your blood in their mouths. More loyalists subscribed to Ranrok’s ideals and strived off the image of your head mounted on a wall. There was always new monsters to fight, new people in need, new reasons to run away and forge a new life.
But you never did, you never took the bait. You knew that if you left, if you abandoned your responsibilities that eventually they would fall onto another you. Another child born with your gift, and they too would know true loneliness and fear and you could not let that happen.
You graduated and became a freelance cursebreaker. If people felt unsafe, you were the first port of call. You risked your life with the sole mission of preventing another child from filling your shoes. You did all this, and it meant nothing. It meant nothing because now, over a century later, a young boy is being punished for actions he didn’t commit, tormented for events out of his control.
Harry Potter was cut from the same cloth as you, and so, you listened.
The bell tower tolled and sent a shock down Harry’s spine. Was it lunchtime already? He stood up and dusted off his cloak. “Do you ever get lonely?” He asked. “All the other portraits have others around them.”
“I rarely dwell in this frame, to be honest. I have a few others around, there’s one by the Magical Theory classroom on the fourth floor of the Astronomy wing. That’s where I spend most of my time, but I’ve got two in Hogsmeade, another in a run-down hamlet southwest of here, even have one in America.” You gave him a sweet smile. “The portrait of the old potions professor, Aesop Sharp, sends word for me whenever he sees someone come down this hall. Say hello to him when you pass, will you?”
He nodded his head, halfway down the corridor before he turned around and hoped you hadn’t gone yet. “Thank you for this. Is it—” he paused again and took a deep breath, “is it alright if I come here again? If I can talk to you again?”
His heart pounded in his throat, caught with a fear of you saying no. Of laughing at him for finding such comfort in a mere conversation. Harry Potter had long since accepted that he’d never truly know the feeling of being cared for, being heard. He had made his peace with such a thing. He was a child now, but he’d grow. He’d grow in his own and he’d grow to be a kind man who cared for others with kindness never afforded for him. He was okay with this, but now that he’d met you, he knew he couldn’t live that way anymore.
He’d never had enough material things to be selfish over, but he’d be selfish now if he needed to. He needed this again, this feeling of being truly seen and understood.
Ever since he came to the wizarding world, Harry had been told he had his mother’s eyes, her kindness and warmth. Looking at you now, he figured you were the closest to her he’d find. In the softness of your gaze, he shed the weight of his worries.
You smiled again and nodded. “Tell dear Aesop to send word whenever you need me, darling.”
His feet felt lighter as they travelled up the steps, eagerly searching for a portrait he hadn’t noticed before until he was outside the potions classroom and read the golden plaque. Aesop Sharp.
The man had a gruff face with rugged stubble and scars on his chin. His lips quirked up with a thin veil of remembrance. “I take it she arrived on time?”
“She said to say ‘hi’. And thank you.”
“She thanked me?”
“I’m thanking you.” Aesop only hummed and nodded.
“There’s nothing to thank me for, boy. Other than the fact that your potions professor will be kept uninformed of your detour.” Harry’s cheeks flushed a deep red and Aesop let out what could almost be considered a laugh. “It’s best you run along now. The rest—the first—of your classes will drag on an empty stomach.”
“I was wondering when you’d return.” Sebastian teased from the frame. “Almost four whole hours on my own with only Weasley for company.”
As you joined Sebastian in the portrait, settling comfortably on the sofa he’d been sprawled across, his arm found a comfortable place around your shoulders, holding you close.
Garreth, whose portrait was on the corner wall to the left of yours by his request, let out a hearty laugh at that. “You say that as though you weren’t the one recount all the old days, Sallow. No need to try impress the lady, you fooled her years ago.”
“Don’t be rude, Garreth. It’s sweet he cares so much after all these years.” Poppy chided from her frame beside his, appearing just as Natty did across from her.
“Where’s Ominis?” You asked, expecting a quip from your dear friend.
“He went to visit Feldcroft. Said he missed the place and wanted to see how ol’ Victoria is holding up.” You smiled as Sebastian mentioned Ominis and Anne’s great-great granddaughter.
“It’s is sweet that they stay in such close touch.” You smiled. “We must visit again soon. Adam is still in London, I think. His daughter is starting Hogwarts next year. Same with Sarah’s son.” Your heart swelled at the thought of the family of your own.
“It’ll be nice not to be the only one here with family visits in the castle.” Garreth said.
“My boy will be nothing like your Percy.” Sebastian defended.
“If he’s anything like you, he’ll be exactly like the twins, though.”
“I heard Imelda gave them an earful last week after they almost blew up her frame by the Trophy Room.” Natty laughed. “They’re definitely Weasley’s.”
“There’ll be more of them than there is Ravenclaw’s with the way things are going.” Poppy commented. “A young boy this year, and a girl next?”
“What can I say, we’re family people! I heard Ron’s befriended the Potter boy.” At this, your ears perked up.
“Harry?”
“Uh-oh.” Sebastian taunted, toying with a stand of your hair. “Something tells me you’ve taken someone under your wing again.”
You pinched his side as the others chuckled joked between themselves. “You say that as though it’s a bad thing. I thought you liked when I cared for people.”
“I do.” He smiled, putting his hand on the back of your head and pulling you close to press a kiss to your temple. “Just find it a bit funny is all.”
“I want all of you to keep an eye on him. I was talking him today and I could feel this— this— this loneliness hanging around him. He was talking to me and it felt like I was talking to myself at fifteen.”
A silence washed over the portraits. They’d seen you through it all. They saw you when Lodgok passed, when Fig passed, when everything worked against you and there was nothing they could do to help. Sebastian’s grip on you tightened, guilt stirring in the pits of his stomach.
It had been almost two centuries since everything with Anne’s curse had come to pass. He’d apologised countless times, kneeling before you with his head hung his shame and your hands held tightly in his, tears staining your skirts. You’d forgiven him just as many. You cradled his face and kissed his cheeks and told him that what happened then mattered no more than what you had for dinner the night prior. He was still your love, and you were the lone focus of his devotion, that was what mattered.
But time does not heal all wounds, and there would always be a part of you that remembered how he had to mean Crucio and how he didn’t write to you at all that summer, just as there would always be a part of him that yearned to go back and beat sense into the younger version of him who saw you as only a means of rescuing Anne.
They all knew how important the safety of the boy would grow to be to you, and made a silent pact to follow through with whatever you asked.
“I still remember when James and Lily were in first year.” Lamented Poppy. “She knew how to put a boy in his place. Could’ve learned a lot from her in our years.”
“She was so lovely, too. I always knew she’d become Head Girl. She reminded me of Amit. Always so smart but just as kind.” Natty sighed. “How’s Amit doing anyways, Y/n? You were the last to visit the library.”
“He’s well. Apparently a seventh year recognised him from his books the other day, he’s just as bashful as ever. Got red even recounting the story.” You grinned fondly.
“I remember how jealous Sebastian was on your first Astronomy lesson when Professor Shah volunteered Amit to share a telescope with you instead of him.” Garreth laughed, a deep laugh that came from the back of his throat.
“I was not jealous!”
“You were.” It seemed Ominis had a penchant for arriving just when Sebastian needed to be put in his place. “I couldn’t see it but I could sense it. You weren’t exactly subtle.”
“I couldn’t tell, if that makes you feel better.” You attempted to console.
“He professed his love to you for a year and you couldn’t tell. That’s no consolation.” It seemed he had a penchant for catching you out as well.
“Easy, Gaunt.” Sebastian warned. “Let’s not forget five years of pining for Anne. Makes our thing look like a breeze.”
Your friend halted and shook his head, a breathy laugh escaping him. “You have me there, Sebastian.”
“How’s Vic?”
“She’s good. Really good. Asking after the lot of you, Poppy especially.” The former magiczoologist furrowed her brows. “Said your research papers on mooncalves have been an invaluable asset to her work on rescuing and rehoming them.”
“I always knew she’d do brilliant things.” Poppy beamed. “It was a guarantee given who her family is.”
You settled further into Sebastian’s embrace as the conversation rolled on, head on his shoulder and relishing in his warmth. This was the kind of peace you so desperately longed for in your girlhood, this was the home you fought so hard to protect, safe in the arms of your love and the company of your family.
You could only pray Harry found the same someday.
It became routine for the boy to visit your portrait over the months that passed, so much so that Aesop no longer needed to send for you when Harry passed because you’d be there already, waiting.
You felt a kinship with him that you could only compare to the bond you had felt with your own children all those years ago. You loved your great-grandchildren dearly, but they had inherited your wanderlust and seemed nearly impossible to get a hold of, a feat made even more difficult given your inability to do… anything, really. But Harry was here, in need of guidance, a service you were more than willing to give.
When you heard he won quidditch matches, you’d leap from your sofa and nearly wept with pride, just as you did with every assignment result he relayed to you. Harry seemed to preen to your praise.
You quickly became his confidant. He told you of his years with the Dursleys, his troll encounter at Halloween (where you had laughed at another similarity between the pair of you), his fears of Voldemort, and, eventually, his plans to find the Philosopher’s Stone.
“You must promise me you’ll be careful, Harry.” You warned. “It’s no small feat you’re about to undertake, do not underestimate it by any means. Without a doubt, you’ll be trialled before you find the stone, you have to keep a clear head. Do not let yourself get distracted, if only for a moment.”
There was a taught crease between your brows and your shoulders were tensed with worry. The boy seemed almost apologetic as he nodded. “I swear it. Ron and Hermione will help me too. I won’t be alone.”
You remembered how happy he was when he spoke of his friends, so similar to how you did. He seemed to glow with the joy of being accepted not despite being know, but because of it instead. “You keep an eye out for them as well. I don’t want to hear any stories of a first year sent to the Hospital Wing.”
An authoritative edge laced your voice that set Harry’s spine straight, heart clenching at the protectiveness you showed over him and those he held close.
“Harry,” your words were gentler now, softer, “you’re a brilliant wizard, destined to do great things, but you do not have to do them now. Not if you’re not ready.”
“I am ready. I have to do this. If I don’t, who else will?”
In a humbling moment, you realised there was nothing you could say to the boy that wouldn’t be wholly hypocritical. “Just—” you sighed, “promise me that you’ll come visit when you’re done, let me know you’re safe, tell me of your adventure.”
“I promise.” He smiled.
Later that evening, when curfew had long been set, you found yourself visiting the Trophy Room for the first time in many months. You smiled at Imelda as you passed through the portrait across from her.
“Hello, old friend.” You grinned warmly, stepping into the portrait of Eleazer Fig, tucked away behind the Goblet of Fire.
The man seemed to melt in your presence, a bright smile taking over his face as he pulled you into a tight embrace.
“It’s been far too long, sweet girl.” He said in your ear, still holding you close.
“I fear an apology is in order.” You said almost feebly.
“What ever for?”
“I believe I now know the torment you felt in our year together.” A laugh escaped you. “I’ve developed a friendship with the young Potter boy.”
Fig nodded his head in understanding. “You worry for the child?”
“With every dawn. To know he’s in such danger and I am unable to help— it’s a cruel torture.”
“I know.” His hands found your own. “No child should have to face what he will — what you did. But if you stand by him whenever he calls, know that is the help he needs. The support of someone who has seen what he has and come out to lead a better life will give him the hope he needs to persevere.”
You hadn’t realised there were even tears in your eyes until they dropped onto your cheeks. It was one of Fig’s many talents to draw the rawest, most powerful emotions from within you.
Over the years, you’d gone to him when the slightest problems left you upset. You’d run to his portrait whenever you didn’t want to sit through History of Magic and sit on the floor and tell him everything there was to tell, from your breakfast that day to the deepest fears in year heart.
“Believe me, child. If he is in any way like you, he will shock you with abilities. I know you shocked me.” He moved to cradle your face softly, resting his forehead against your own.
“I feel so helpless. None of what he stands before is fair. He’s only a boy.” He knew the truth of your words, for they’d been said to him before Harry Potter had even been born. I am so helpless. None of this is fair. I’m only a girl.
“All you can do for him is let him know that you will always be there, never to judge, only to support. The boy needs comfort and normalcy, so that is what you must remain.”
“You’ve always known just what to say.” You smiled at him, face wrought with melancholia.
“It has always been easy to speak with you, friend. You were the closest I’d ever gotten to a child of my own.” His own eyes shone now. “Miriam truly would’ve adored you. The pair of you would’ve driven me mad.”
You let out a watery laugh and pulled him into another tight embrace, your chin tucked over his shoulder, anchoring you to him as you stayed that way for an indiscernible about of time before making your way down to your lone portrait to anxiously wait for Harry’s arrival.
The end of the school year drew close faster than any of the others had, you were sure of it, and soon Harry was sat before you, still shaking with the excitement of winning Gryffindor the House Cup, telling you of how happy the last year had made him.
“I’ll miss you, though.” He frowned. “Don’t suppose you have any portraits near Surrey?”
“I’m afraid not, sweet one. But I’ll be here when you return, eagerly awaiting your stories of summer. Maybe I’ll have some new ones myself too.”
A comfortable silence passed through you both, Harry pulling at him fingers and you looking down at him warmly. “I’m so proud of you, Harry.” He looked up at you quickly, a flicker of shock on his face.
“You’re so brave, so strong, so kind. You’ve dealt with more danger this past year than most wizards do in their lifetime, and you’re still here to tell the tale, still smiling while you do it. It’s a remarkable thing. I hope you know that.”
A tear caught the light trickling in from the corridor’s high windows as it dropped from his eyes, irises swimming with gratitude and remnants of pain he was not yet willing to divulge. He thanked you once more with an earnest sincerity that was so rare to see, and then left to pack his things, swearing to visit you again on September 1st.
As Harry sat staring out his window in The Leaky Cauldron at the dull night sky, knees pulled to his chest and hands clasped tightly together, he wondered how it was possible for him to feel more alone than ever, exiled from the house he grew up in, waiting anxiously for his thirteenth birthday to come.
He wanted to be back in Hogwarts. People cared for him in Hogwarts. You cared for him in Hogwarts. Here the bed creaked and the pipes clanged and the wind whistled as it came through the windows and his loneliness made him feel sick. So Harry did what he always did when he needed a distraction, he went for a walk.
The floorboards groaned beneath his weight, a small sound seeming so mammoth when laid before a silent hallway. If he listened hard enough, Harry could hear the quiet drone of conversation and drunken laughter from lingering patrons downstairs, but he carried on his path away until it was just him and his steady breaths.
“Are you lost?” A portrait asked making the boy jump from his skin. A masculine voice, deep and authoritative but complete with a soothing edge Harry likened vaguely to Arthur Weasley or Dumbledore.
Harry turned to face his frame. It was a simple model, nothing fancy enough to seem out of place in its dwelling, but polished enough to know it was revered. The man was beautiful, Harry thought. With freckled cheeks, big brown eyes, and a slightly flattened nose. He smiled at Harry’s hesitation, a small, kind thing, as though he were welcoming an old friend or coaxing a fawn from hiding.
Sebastian Sallow. Auror. 1875-1938. The golden plaque beneath him read. The last name made Harry’s breath hitch. Sallow.
You’d told him stories of your lover many times, of how you found each other just as you needed it most, how you stayed by him when no others would and how he returned the debt in kind. Harry had almost been able to fall in love with the man through your words alone.
“You’re Y/n’s husband.” He blurted without thinking, and Sebastian’s small smile grew to split his face, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest.
“It is one of my grander accomplishments.” A confident content that could almost be confused for smugness settled on his face. “And you’re Harry Potter. I’ve heard many things about you. Seems you’ve managed to quite entrance my wife.”
A dark red flooded Harry’s cheeks. “She’s very kind.”
“She is indeed. Though, she’d kill me if I didn’t ask what brings you here.”
Harry paused. “I couldn’t stay home any longer.”
Sebastian clicked his tongue, humming in acknowledgment. “I understand. Are you alright?”
It was a simple question, one he normally would’ve brushed off without second thought, but Sebastian seemed to share your ability of coaxing out Harry’s deepest truth. “I don’t know.”
A tense beat passed between them, neither knowing exactly what to say, both knowing you would if you were there, until Sebastian eventually broke the silence. “I remember when I felt like that.” Harry looked at him inquisitively.
“Christmas in our fifth year, I had… a falling out with my uncle and sister. The thought of going back home made me feel ill, so I didn’t. For the first time, I spent the holiday in the castle, just as she did.”
December 22nd, 1890.
A grey cloud seemed eternally settled above Sebastian’s head and the sight of your friend’s unspoken torment made your skin crawl. Ominis had just departed for Gaunt Manor, making hushed comment on the fact he’d likely be back within a week. You wished he hadn’t left at all.
Your worry for Sebastian had been gnawing away at you ever since the events surrounding Salazar’s Sciptorium. You feared for the path he threatened to follow, the darkness settling into the far corners of his mind. His nose was always stuck in the damned book you found in that room, reading, searching, and scouring for anything that would help Anne.
A small part of you knew he would give his own life to absolve her of that pain, a larger part feared he would give yours too.
“Have you eaten?” You asked him, taking a gentle approach with deliberate steps towards his hunched-over frame, careful not to startle him.
“Hm?” He hummed in half-acknowledgment.
“I said, ‘Have you eaten?’” There was a smile evident in your voice as you pulled out the chair beside him.
“Oh— Uhm, not yet.” He brushed off your concern. You thought Sebastian was clever, but if he truly was, he would’ve known you wouldn’t let up that easily.
You sighed, standing up again and patting his shoulders. “Up.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Up. You’ve been sat here every day this past week from dawn till dusk and I will not let it carry on any longer.” He hung his lead low and shook it slightly and you could tell he was fighting a smile. “If you won’t move for the sake of yourself, do it for the sake of chivalry. I intend to go to Hogsmeade and don’t wish to go alone. For safety.”
“You and I both know you’d best any opponents that cross us before I could even ready my wand.” He laughed, but he was slowly gathering his things and tucking them beneath his arm.
“Not if my opponent is loneliness. Come on, Sebastian. Entertain me.” You didn’t even attempt to hide your smugness as he stood by your side, holding his arm out for you to take. “How charming.” You commented, your hand resting on his elbow as he guided you from Hogwarts.
After spending almost every day of the past three months in your company, Sebastian had come to think nothing of mindless affection.
He noticed it first in your interactions with Natsai. How you pulled her into a tight embrace after she won a round of Crossed Wands, only letting go when it was your turn to duel.
Then it was with Poppy. How the pair of you always seemed to sit or stand close enough to each other to touch in some way. How she’d place her head on your shoulder and you’d rest yours on top of hers.
Even with Anne, who you had only just met, you placed your hands on her shoulders ever-so-softly as she told you of her strife. It seemed to natural for you to touch those you cared for.
He realised you were more hesitant to show affection to your male classmates. You’d hold Garreth’s arm as you laughed at a joke, but always retracted after a few seconds. But the Scriptorium changed everything.
In the moment, he supposed it was mere adrenaline, that the way you tightly squeezed Ominis after his parseltounge display was a mere product of high tensions. But when he cast Crucio, he saw Ominis react in a way he never had before. Ominis grabbed you and held you close as you cried and thrashed in his arms, hands shaking as he fought every urge in him to leave you alone and fend off him own haunting memories.
After that, you and Ominis became more freely affectionate than ever, sparking more than a few courtship rumours that made Sebastian’s heart race more than they should have. The blond boy would let you lead him through crowded areas where his wand might have failed him. You’d let him lean against you in History of Magic.
Your closeness with Sebastian was forged from a moment of weakness on his end.
A week prior to the Christmas break, the day Sebastian decided not to return to Feldcroft, you’d caught him sat on a bench by the greenhouses, watching the wildflowers billow in the moonlight. His hands were clasped before him, his knee kept bouncing, and his brows were furrowed into a deep line.
You approached him just as you had in the library, with a soft tenderness, inviting him to the Room of Requirement for some space to clear his mind.
He took his anger out of conjured training dummies and yelled so loud you had to move your diricawls to a different vivarium so they wouldn’t get scared until, eventually, he collapsed onto one of the sofas you had set up in the middle of the room. The last thing he remembered of that night was your fingers combing through his hair. And then he woke up, his head resting in your lap, your hands still in his tresses. He sat up quickly, instantly aware of how compromising such a position could be.
You were fast asleep, head tilted back on the sofa in a way that must’ve been most uncomfortable. His cheeks warmed at the thought of you sitting through that for his sake. He took off his robe and draped it over your frame, smiling as you subconsciously curled around it.
From that night on, it felt like a barrier had been broken between the two of you. Sebastian’s hand would seek yours beneath tables, his touch would linger on the small of your back in Hogsmeade.
“She always made me feel welcomed.” He said to Harry, eyes glazed over as he stayed half-distracted is his reminiscence. “She did that for everyone.” A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “I remember all of our daughter’s friends wanted to come stay at our home just to see her. No matter how busy she was with work, she’d make them food and sweets and entertain whatever stories they had to tell her.”
Harry found himself laughing too, a sense of longing rooting him in his spot. He watched Sebastian, who he’d read about as a formidable curse-breaker unafraid of anything, turn to nothing more than a smitten schoolchild at the recollection of your younger memories and wondered what it would’ve been like to hear such stories from his own father.
“When she passed, it seemed as though the world itself stopped to grieve. Our Annie didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know how to help her. I mean, how can you tell a child her mother is dead?” Sebastian was vaguely aware that he was preaching to the wrong choir, but he so rarely got to wallow in the pain he felt all those years ago and found himself swept into its storm all over again.
The word ‘child’ caught Harry’s ears and made him look at Sebastian in confusion. “How could Anne be a child when Y/n passed? She said you had her at thirty.”
Sebastian’s mind cleared, shock melting to realisation on his face as the fact you’d kept your death from Harry dawned on him. “She was thirty-eight when it happened.”
“How?” Harry found himself asking without care for how insensitive it may have come across.
“It was supposed to be her final mission before retirement. She’d been worked to the bone for over twenty years, and if I carried on in my post, we’d have had more than enough money to carry on comfortably while she minded Anne. She was promised an easy case to finish it off, something about a loose canon in the south of France. She insisted to bring me along for ‘aid’ but I knew it was because the year prior I’d made comment about wanting to visit.”
“The case itself was fine, an old witch had written a barely legible spell book centuries before our time and passed it down from generation to generation as nothing more than mantle decoration, but it fell into the hands of a reckless wizard. Between the two of us, he was contained easily, but he had a wife who didn’t know the full story. She saw none of his wrongdoings and only us defeating and detaining him. She cast a killing curse on me whilst my back was turned and—” His breath caught in his throat.
“Her valiance had always been both my most and least favourite trait of hers. She pushed me out of the way before anyone could blink.”
A heavy silence settled over them both. A pit weighed in Harry’s stomach, stoking a fire of anger at the injustice of the Wizarding World.
His mother was a kind woman. His father was a kind man. You were kind. And what kindness was afforded to you in return? A cold death by an uncaring wand? Is that what truly came from devotion? Is that what would come to him?
“I’m sorry.” Was all he managed to say to Sebastian.
“There’s no need. I’m with her now.” The man smiled back. “It’s funny, when we were younger, I would be so annoyed every time an artist requested to commission a painting of her because it took away from the time I could spend with her. But once she passed, I couldn’t have been more grateful for them, because it gave me infinite chances to speak with her again.”
It wasn’t long before Harry felt the gentle temptations of sleep crawl to the forefronts of his mind and he bid Sebastian adieu after making the portrait promise to say hello on his behalf.
Decades had passed now since that first fateful day in the potions corridor. Harry had grown from a feeble and uncertain boy to a man weathered by grief but uplifted by the love he gave and received in turn.
He recalled you saying once how you wished for him the same family you made with Sebastian and he liked to believe that he now did. His eldest son radiated a nervous energy as he hovered by the front door of his girlfriend’s parents house, his other children stood behind him, giggling at their brother’s anxiety, Ginny stood by his side and smiled up at him with a knowing look.
It was the first time they were meeting the girl’s family, having met her once or twice in passing when they dropped James Sirius off at 9 3/4, and Harry couldn’t have been more excited if he tried. The way his son seemed to glow at the mention of the girl put him in mind of how he did with Ginny, how Rob did with Hermione, how Sebastian had that night in the Leaky Cauldron.
He wondered how the two of you fared in the years since he last spoke with you. It seemed as he travelled for auror work, he found less and less time to spend in the Three Broomsticks speaking with a painting over a few too many firewhiskeys. He hoped you were well and that you’d be proud of what he managed to accomplish, that he carried on the ‘chosen one’ lineage with a happy ending just as you had before.
Before he could wallow any longer, the door swung open to reveal a woman with a warm smile and brown eyes. “Hello!” She beamed.
“Amelia?!” Ginny exclaimed with a bright before introductions could be made. The woman’s jaw dropped in shock.
“Ginny Weasley?!” The redhead ushered her children inside to give the other woman a tight hug. “Merlin, you’ve changed since Hogwarts.” She let out a breathy laugh, holding Ginny by the shoulders.
“We were in the same year.” Ginny explained to her husband while Amelia told the children her daughter was just ahead in the front room.
“Lovely to meet you officially, Harry.” Amelia smiled and shook his hand. “My husband’s just popped down to the shop to get some wine and I’m finishing up the dinner, so make yourselves comfortable. Food should be ready in about ten minutes.”
Ginny went inside to greet the girl her son was so besotted by while Harry stayed back to hang her coat. As he walked toward the front room, he took his time in admiring the artwork lining their walls. They were all nice pieces, although nothing seemed to grab his attention until he saw the plaque on the last one before the door.
He could hear the fire crackling and his family laughing, but there was only one thing he could focus on. Y/n and Sebastian Sallow.
He dared not look up for fear he’d somehow misremembered the name of the woman who saved his school time sanity and raised his hopes for naught. He kept his eyes firmly in the plaque until he heard that same soft voice once again.
contents ⋆ MDNI. unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, use of good girl + sweetheart, reader is bratty, jason is a little mean, minor overstimulation, alcohol use + dacryphilia, creampie. — WC : 2.6k
Jason Todd refuses to fuck you.
Despite the intensity of patrol rolling off his tense shoulders in waves, a searing heat rippling through his taut muscles, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins until it drowns out every sane thought from his head, he won’t fuck you.
But he always finds ways around it.
“Shit,” Jason grunts, his heavy cock throbs with need, aching. He slowly drags his tip along your dripping slit, only passing over it, never pushing in. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“Jason, please.” The breathy plea slips past your plush lips like a prayer that chips at his core.
It’s dangerous, you’re dangerous, more so than any of the criminals you took down tonight.
“Shut up.” He growls without a hint of venom.
Sweat beads at his hairline, bangs sticking to his slick skin with the amount of effort it’s taking to hold back. It's no help that your nails claw at his exposed back, leaving tendrils of fiery passion in its wake.
Jason shifts, pressing your body further against the wall as he continues to grind his length along your glistening folds.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to slide his cock in your heat, sink himself deep within your warmth and let your walls milk him for everything he’s worth — he just doesn’t think he deserves it or you. Mainly you.
You with your wide doe-eyes trained on his face, giving him that pitiful pout that violently tugs at his heartstrings. Waves of desire crash over him with every tiny sound that slips past your salaciously sweet lips.
He aches and throbs between your thighs, the tip of his leaking cock continuously catching along your soaked entrance.
It’s enough to drive you both insane.
“Just the tip.” You always try to compromise in that lustful lilt of yours.
“No.” His once steady tone wavers, distracted by the way you clench around nothing but hope, rubbing your pulsing little nub harder against his length for a sliver of more friction. “We can’t-“
“Why not?”
“Because you’re being a desperate little brat.” Jason hisses out, irritated by his own lack of reason.
If only you knew how much worse he had it for you, that everyone second he’s not buried deep within your heat and fucking you against the wall takes a toll, pathetically wearing him down.
“Are you a virgin?” You ask breathlessly from how much he’s been unintentionally edging you tonight.
“Huh?” It catches him off guard. He stops moving altogether as if it’d make him hear you clearer. “The fuck?”
“Saving yourself for marriage?” The lilt in your voice kills him slowly, deceptively sweet as it teasingly curls around his ear.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Maybe you’re a classic romance guy, old fashioned.” You ponder aloud, grinding your hips against him to keep a shred of momentum going like the needy little thing you are. “You do like to read pride and prejudice a lot.”
“The fuck does that have to do with anything?” Jason roughly grips your hips, stopping your antics. You protest with a whine that makes him twitch with need.
The vigilante knows you’re trying to get under his skin and fuck, if it isn’t working. He clenches his jaw shut, fuming at the power you have over him.
“I’m just saying, it’s sweet.” The way the word drips off your tongue rips his restraint at the seams, barely a thread to hold onto.
“I’m not fucking sweet.” He bites your earlobe, teeth lightly dragging down your neck.
“Then prove it. Fuck me.”
“God, you’re annoying.” He rests his forehead against your shoulder, wondering how the hell he got caught up in this with you. He has half a mind to pull away, jerking himself off until he comes all over your pouting face and leave you nothing more than a whining mess. “Just the tip, alright?”
“Mhm.” You happily hum.
You always had a nasty habit of getting your way.
“Brat.” He mutters, grabbing the thick base of his cock and lining himself up. With a steady breath, he slowly eases his tip in, groaning at how easily you accommodate the girth.
“Shit—” you whimper, clenching around the head of his cock, greedily attempting to suck him in further. “More, more Jason, god, please.”
To hear you beg so sweetly could be his undoing, such an angelic sound that he had no right to hear, to feed into. He grits his teeth, fingers digging into your sides until they’re sure to bloom with hues of purple by tomorrow.
“You take what I give you and say thank you.” Jason grunts out, voice raspy with restraint. He pulls back, slowly fucking you with just the tip.
But it would be so easy to slip in a little more, give you what you both crave until you’re lost in the pleasure of each other's sweat slicked bodies.
Every whine and whimper that escapes your trembling lips burns his core hotter until it brands your mark in his lower spine, screaming for reprieve to push in just a little deeper.
His balls tighten and he shouldn’t be so close from something as simple as this, but his gaze catches your half lidded eyes and he knows he’s a goner. It’s only a matter of time until he snaps.
“I need it, need you.” Your voice sounds as wrecked as he feels, meek and fragile, something that ignites the primal instinct to protect, to provide, to please.
“You really want to take all of me?” He keeps giving you short thrusts, nothing more than the mushroomed tip that catches on your entrance each time he pulls out. “What about our rule?”
The absolutely no fucking rule he made in a failed attempt to starve his craving for you.
“Don’t you think-“ you gasp as his thumb rolls over your clit once, twice, thrice, before he’s running circles over the sensitive nub until your body twitches and jolts under his touch.
“Hmm?” He asks innocently, smirking at the way you give yourself to him so freely.
An act so sinful shouldn’t feel as right as it does, the sweetness of your essence flooding past his coated tip and dripping along your inner thighs.
A heaven he vowed to never taint no matter how enticing it may seem.
“Don’t you think we’re a little past that?” You whine, looking down to where your bodies are connected. Jason follows your gaze, tensing when he realizes he’s been fucking you with just a little more than just the tip — a few inches already sunk into your tight pussy.
It would be too easy to shove the rest in.
And his patience is wearing thin.
“Fuck.” His calloused palm splays across the smoothness of your back for support, his other continuing to dig into the plushness of your hip. “You really want it, sweetheart? Think you’re woman enough to take it all?”
“Yes!” You nod eagerly, tears pricking at your eyes. It's sick how much he enjoys it, droplets of devotion dripping down your face all for the sake of having his thick cock buried deep within you. “Please.”
“Such a good girl.” He coos, leaning in closer to kiss the tears away, licking at them until the salty essence coats his tongue. “Fine, I'll give you what you want, alright? Just don’t waste those pretty little tears on me.”
Before you can say anything else, he thrusts the rest of his length into you, groaning into your shoulder as your walls violently flutter around him, gripping onto him with a tightness he’s never known.
“Holy shit-“ he gasps out, his eyes all but rolling back into his head as his cock stretches you out, finding its home deep within you. “Did you just come?”
“Was already close.” Your words slur together bashfully with hazy pleasure that swells his already throbbing length. You were just too fucking cute.
“Wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome,” Jason grips your chin, keeping your focus on him. Despite your sensitivity, you obiediently take him like you promised as he begins to fuck you earnestly. “Eyes on me. Need to see you come apart on my cock again.”
Every snap of his hips brings you a new wave of pleasure, the cusp of another orgasm rolling throughout your trembling body. There's no chance to recover, no hope to escape, forever at the mercy of a man who warned you to never get too close in the first place.
“Jay-“ the nickname slips past your lips as he drives into you, grabbing at your waist and hips like it’s going to save him from the eternal hell that undoubtedly waits for him.
“Yeah?” His breath is hot against your neck, panting into the sensitive skin with a strained rasp. He languidly rolls his hips, pushing deeper into you. “This what you wanted?”
“Yes!” You whimper, body curling around him as he fucks you mercilessly, the photos on the wall rattling with every thrust. He grips your thighs, spreading them wider to shove himself deeper. “Wanted it so badly.”
“Told you we shouldn’t.” Jason grunts, yet he makes no effort to stop. He pulls himself from your neck until his forehead kisses yours. “But you never fucking listen, do you?”
Each word is accentuated with the vicious snap of his hips, driving into you harder until your body tenses up with every forceful stroke.
Lost to pleasure, he knows he won’t last. But he needs to see it again, needs to watch your expression as you fall apart under his touch, whining out his name in a way that will haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
“‘m sorry.” You mewl out, not sounding the slightest remorseful for your actions that led you to this.
“Yeah, right.” He lets out an amused huff, thumbing at your clit again with one hand while the other grabs your face by your cheeks. “Eyes. On. Me.”
Jason knows your close, can feel it in the way your inner muscles constrict, thighs trembling from where they are wrapped around his waist. Even the sex-filled air turns a little sweeter as you cry out his name for him.
“Gonna come-!” you warn him, arching your back but he’s ready. He doesn’t let you escape, keeping you firmly in his grasp as your lips part open in a silent scream.
“Don’t shut those eyes.” He growls, chasing his own high as you find yours, gaze still set on him even though you’re blinded by the stars that burst behind them. “That’s it, good girl, fucking gorgeous.”
Your eyes barely flutter before you focus back on him. The way you cling onto him, look at him like no one else ever has, causes a shift in his chest. A strange sensation that flutters around his beating heart.
It’s too much, too close.
“Jay-“ you whine out his name again, your warm walls still massaging his length, coaxing him to find his release. He can't seem to break away, to turn you around and take you from behind, shoving your cheek against the wall while he runs from what scares him the most. “Fill me up.”
“Fuck.” He chokes out, “You can’t say shit like that.”
“Please?”
You and your damn begging.
It’s borderline manipulative the way you seemingly weaponize it against him. Or maybe he’s just always been weak for you.
Unable to ever refuse you, he begins again with renewed strength. For once, he lets go of the demons that roam his mind and gives in to the one he longs for.
Your overstimulated cunt starts drooling around him now, squelching with every mindless thrust. He doesn’t want this to end, staving his release further as his body knows this is the only time he’ll ever have you.
But it’s impossible — your sweet babbles of his name cooing in his ear, hums of pleasure thrumming through his broad body, and the indisputably painful throb of not letting himself finish. It’s almost torturous.
But your words echo in his head; ‘fill me up.’
And fuck, he can’t hold back anymore.
Jason grunts your name out loudly, burying himself inside of you before he comes harder than he ever had in his life. He gives you exactly what you want — rope after rope of it until his hips stutter while you greedily milk him for more.
He’s never held onto someone so fiercely, both of your bodies shaking at the force of your orgasms. Jason starts to come down, panting against your neck while you rub his back.
Slowly, he pulls out, studying the way your mixed essence runs down your thigh and drips from his half-hard cock. It twitches in interest when you whimper at the loss.
He watches you lean back against the wall, still catching your breath. Jason rips his gaze away from your heaving chest and slides his tactical pants back up.
Bending down, he picks up his discarded shirt and throws it over your head until it swallows up your figure.
“Come on.” Jason orders, grabbing your hand.
“Where?” You ask, slightly dazed as he pulls you down the hallway.
“Kitchen.” He catches a glimpse at the time — almost 3am. After patrol, you normally eat and go to bed but the high stakes of the mission left you both full of adrenaline, a crazed energy that led you to fuck against the wall like rabbits.
Jason can feel his ears burn and prays you’re too fucked out to notice them reddening.
He sets you on the counter before opening the fridge, the light glossing over his features. Grabbing a water bottle, he hands it over to you and then pours himself a glass of whiskey.
“So.” He knocks some back without hesitation, watching you drink the water. Your disheveled appearance shouldn’t have been so attractive but he finds himself twitching in his boxers for more. “You happy now?”
“Yeah.” You smile at him sweetly and it aches in his chest like a cavity that’s spread to his heart. “Maybe we should end all patrols like that.”
“Over my dead body.” He pours himself more whiskey, ignoring your pout. “You know the rules, no fucking. This was just a one time thing. Just a release.”
How many lies could he throw at you before one sticks and gets rid of the feeling that’s taken residence between his ribcage? His jaw clenches, swirling around the alcohol before knocking some more back — anything to drown out the warmth that blooms within.
“We might need it again.” You’re entirely unfazed by him and it should infuriate him but it doesn’t. It makes his heart race with hope. A hope he refuses to feel, to even bother holding onto.
His grip around the whiskey glass tightens.
He has to get a hold of himself.
“Maybe.” His voice is rougher with honestly, the weight of his steely gaze sets on you. “But it doesn’t change anything. We're patrol partners. That's it.”
“Right, that’s it.” You echo his words like a promise yet the way it lands makes it sound like a death sentence.
Jason lets out a shaky breath, feeling anything but relief at your agreement.
“Go hit the showers and get some rest.” He gives you his final order for the evening, hoping you’d listen for once.
“Yes sir.” You hop off the counter, lazily saluting him with a giggle as you walk out the kitchen, hips swaying enough to keep his attention.
Reluctantly, Jason rips his gaze away, staring at the amber liquor in the bottom of his glass as if it could give him all the answers.
But it doesn’t. It only tells him what he already knows.
You have two nerdy boyfriends who just so happen to be freaks - Satoru Gojo and Choso Kamo - and they love to be buried inside you every single day. Lately, you've been so thrown into your studies for the finals that you've been ignoring them :( That just won't work, so they have to make sure they get your mind back on them, right where it belongs - and keep you so full of cum you don't forget to give them their attention!
pairings - Gojo x reader x Choso
warnings - college au, mmf threesome, dp, dual creampies, edging, overstim, lots of praise - good girl, pretty girl, smart girl, oral (m and f receiving) p in v and anal, cum swapping, Choso and Gojo kissing hehe (you taste so good they have to share you!) basically them being cute, needy lil nerd bfs.
art by @ruji on x and @/dewbiscuits (tumblr and x)
This was a commission for nerdy reader/ nerdtoru and nerdchoso hehehe <3 4k wc!
Gojo and Choso are always there to help you study.
Gojo? The sciences. Choso? The arts.
Gojo – physics. Choso – history.
Two boyfriends who just so happened to be perfect straight A students definitely didn't hurt. Yet, even with them, you tended to get just a little bit stressed out when finals came.
It is your senior year of college, so much rides on it. Where your boyfriends are from top families, you weren't, so there was a lot riding on you. Although always reassuring– you love that by the way – a part of you is so scared to fail. So you really throw yourself in it, exhausted and thriving off red bull and not much else.
Well, Choso and Satoru are needy, and you constantly ignoring them just won't do! They're here for you after all, both pouting with their arms crossed, waiting in your dorm for you to get back.
“Not one head pat,” Choso says with a sigh. Pushing up his glasses and toying with his hair, shoved up in a messy half bun. “Not one, Satoru.”
“Tch, not one chance to even eat her,” Choso frowns in agreement. “How long are we supposed to just let this happen, hmm!?”
Gojo sighs again, louder this time, running a hand through his silvery locks of hair. “We need to distract her, get her mind off it.”
Choso grins. “Yes, we do. But how? She’s such… such a…”
“Shh!” Choso puts a hand to his mouth. “Don’t say that, she’s an angel!”
“Mmm, she doesn’t take dick like an angel,” Choso turns bright red, Satoru and him are sort of lounging in your room when you walk in.
Eyes, exhausted – dark circles behind those glasses you take off, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Baby!”
“Angel!”
“I’m sorry you two,” you walk over and kiss Gojo softly, then brush Choso’s hair back, kissing his lips. “I’m a bad girlfriend, I have no time for a date.”
“What!?” They both are pouting all cute, and your heart hurts.
“I know,” you slip your hands across their faces. “I can suck you both off but then I have to study.”
“What now, you think we will let that happen?” Choso asks, you giggle just a bit at his narrowed eyes. “What sort of boyfriends do you take us for? Think we would ever let you not cum?”
“But I know you all haven’t cum in a few days from me.”
“You think we don’t jerk off to you!?” Satoru demands, icy blue eyes narrowing at you, his big hand gripping a thigh. “You insult us, and ignore us? For what? I can just do the work for you.”
“So can I!”
“No, no, you all can’t,” your boyfriends are not very happy.
You have to ace this final and if that means no dick for the night you can do it, right? Even as they try to tempt you, Satoru’s rubbing your shoulders, Choso is kissing on your neck. You keep feeling just the tiniest bit terrible that you have to focus so hard when tonight you all were supposed to go to the movies.
Satoru and Choso leave for a little bit and come back with food for you, they always make sure you have something to eat. Choso is feeding you fries while Satoru sips your milkshake, hands on your thighs, making you far too comfy.
“You two are the best,” you murmur, kissing Gojo's sweet lips, then Choso's cheek. “Don't think this means I'm done studying.”
“You need a break,” Choso's handing you your drink, letting you sip it as he holds it.
“In an hour maybe.”
“It's late, what sleep will you get? This one is –”
“Don't answer for me!” You stop him before he answers the physics question like he always does. “I have to do it myself!”
“You do not, you're so pretty you shouldn't have to work so hard.” You laugh softly.
“You two will have to go if you can't behave.”
They act right for a little longer, you're yawning and feel your eyes just a little heavy and lidded. Humming a bit and dozing as the words start to jumble in your text books. Satoru's kissing the back of your neck, making you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rushing across you.
“Mmm that feels good,” Satoru smirks behind your neck, his glasses brushing against your skin, hands slipping down your waist underneath your sweater.
“Does it sweetheart?” He gestures to Choso, who quickly drops something under your desk.
“Oh, just need to get this,” he leans down, lips brushing your inner knee, making you gasp out. “Hi pretty.”
“Are you talking to my pussy?” He just grins, spreading them wide, eyeing your panties and moaning, his cock already throbbing.
“She misses me,” you giggle a bit, leaning back against Gojo, Choso’s fingers slipping up your thighs. Satoru pulls your skirt up high, bunching it around your hips.
“You deserve some relaxation pretty girl, you did so good today.” Satoru knows his praise always ruins you, his innocent smile doesn't fool you one bit either.
He acted real innocent the first time you all fucked, he was a virgin after all, but it became clear quickly how depraved he was. Spitting in your mouth, overstimulating you to the point of pain, going round after round until you were dripping his cum all over. He was your boyfriend before Choso joined you both – and he has made Choso nearly as filthy as him, you swear.
But Choso even mid thrust and whole choking you still pulled off this innocent little air, Satoru was a little too depraved at times. When he licks Choso’s cum from your hole and spits it back in Choso's mouth? You both know he's insane.
“Relaxing, you? How?” Satoru pouts, Choso chuckles, his breath higher, earning your cunt sticking to your panties.
“Mean little girl, tsk,” Satoru tugs at your hair at the nape of your neck, making your head fall back, his glasses fogging with your breaths so hot. “I can be easy, haven't I been?”
“Never,” he smirks, you feel a wet, hot tongue lapping your panties, a tongue ring clicking on the fabric, making you gasp, looking down at your other boyfriend, buried between your thighs. “Cho!”
“Mnh, sorry angel I can't help it, you taste s’good,” Your head falls back, thighs trembling on either side of his head, moaning when he laps at the sticky mess again. “You're soaked.”
“I need to study more,” Satoru slips two big hands underneath your shirt, gripping your tits and earning your soft cry.
“Let's study still, every right answer and we'll make your pretty pussy cum,” he chuckles in your ear, that deep sound reverberating in your ears. “Energy, like your succubus energy–”
“Toru!”
“Can it be destroyed?” He toys with your nipples, plucking them between long fingers, eliciting a soft little moan. “Asked you a question, sweetheart.”
“Mnh, n-no it can't,” Choso's tongue licks right between puffy lips, pressing the thin material up into it. “Ah!”
“Good girl,” Satoru murmurs, bending over to lift your thigh, propping your foot high on the desk. “Can it be created?”
“Just um… conserved,” your lashes flutter shut, his lips kissing up your neck, Choso spits right on your clothed cunt, torturing you not moving it to the side. “Please…”
“Thought you didn't want us to fuck you yet?” Satoru is evil really, tongue flicking the shell of your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe, moans making you tremble along with Choso's mean flicks.
“I wish you wanted us too, got me leaking so much pre baby,” Choso makes you gasp at that, god when he talks like that you're always done for. “I have so much I could pump inside of you.”
“Evil men disguised as nerds,” your hips buck towards his face, hands tugging at his pigtails. “Cho please.”
“Please what?” Amethyst eyes are dilated – just a thin ring of color surrounding those pupils. Your breasts rise and fall, Satoru slips your shirt over your head, letting them spill free, slipping the collar right behind your neck so your shoulders are pressed back.
Choso almost cums just touching his cock, finally pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pretty cunt to his face. He moans softly, dying to watch your cunt stretch, seeing the strings of slick hanging and dissolving as he shoves them firmly aside, fingertips brushing against your slit.
“You want to study, remember? Need to focus, Choso don't lick her just yet.”
“Toru!”
“True, she needs to,” Choso licks your inner thigh, drinking the slick there and moaning, ignoring your needy little tugs. “What a shame, she looks like she wants to be licked.”
“You two, I swear,” You're throbbing around nothing, dying for more of those glossy lips on you. “Changed my mind.”
“Not yet, a little more studying right?” Satoru draws out his words, despite the fact that he's leaking against his boxers, pulsing spurts looking at your pretty face, your brows drawing together, teeth catching your lower lip.
“Toru… mnh…” he nips your neck, sharp teeth breaking delicate skin, humming softly, fingers trailing down the sides of your tits, leaving goosebumps all over your skin.
“Need you to answer another question, to pass that test yeah?” You would glare at your bratty boyfriend, but his teeth are sinking into your neck as Choso's are in your thigh.
You nod quickly, swallowing, Choso flicks his tongue low, where the drips are pooling on your ass, licking from that hole to your other, drinking it all up. Your cunt clenches, clit just twitching, jumping for Choso's view, he smirks up at you, lips coated in your slick, exposing your clit to the air without giving her what she wants.
“Question, j-just ask it fuck,” you're looking all needy, all pretty spread for the two of them.
“What’s the formula for gravitational potential energy?”
Your mind goes blank. Formula? You can barely remember your own name right now. You shake your head, tears of frustration and pleasure welling in your eyes, Choso’s licking all around your cunt but not where you need.
“Come on, baby. You can do it,” Satoru urges, his hand stroking your hair. “It’s simple. Mass times… what?”
Choso takes pity on you, or maybe he’s just impatient to taste you fully, smiling just a bit before he leans down and sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking it quickly with his tongue, before pulling back with his lips quirked up. You gasp in pleasure, when Satoru pinches your nipple hard.
“Mass times gravity times h-height, f-fuck…”
Satoru smiled against your neck. “Perfect, you got an A plus, baby.”
That’s how you end up in a full nelson, with Satoru fucking his thick cock into you, feet propped right up in his well muscled thighs, he’s leaned on your bed while Choso is lavishing your clit. You’re whining out when Satoru pins you down, his cock just pulsing inside, pressed all the way to that puffy cervix, bruised from just a few mean strokes.
Choso leans up from your clit, mouth full of you, Satoru eagerly drinks the juices right off Choso’s lips, moaning when he spits it in his eager mouth. You’re left trembling, eagerly kissing Choso after Satoru pulls back, his hands on the back of your thighs, lifting you high while Choso’s fingers toy your clit.
“Perfect, fuck you’re so perfect angel,” Choso murmurs. “Taking his cock so good, aren’t you?”
“Mhm!” You’re nodding eagerly, so close it hurts, watching Choso strip in front of you and unable to touch him with how Satoru’s got you pinned against his chest. “Close, close!”
“Patience sweetheart,” Satoru kisses you messy, the lingering taste of cherry chapstick mixing with your own juices, saliva just dripping from your lips, when suddenly you’re just lifted up. “Hey!”
“My turn,” Choso pulls you off Satoru’s cock, putting you on your back and spreading your thighs. Satoru stands, your head is falling off the bed, perfect position to suck him, just how they like – to watch your throat and your tummy bulge with both of them. “God, look at how pretty you are.”
You flush from his sweet words, feeling Satoru caress your hair as he stands right behind you, Choso on his knees, fingers slipping against your hips. Satoru’s lining up his cock – already covered in you – right with your lips, gently pulling your head further back, hair hanging off the side of the mattress. He’s long and thick, flushed a deep pink at the tip – weeping pearly drops.
“Open up, princess,” he commands softly, tapping the head against your lips, smearing his pre-cum on them like a gloss. “That’s it, wider.”
You obey without hesitation, parting your lips eagerly, letting him guide his cock into your mouth, the weight of him on your tongue hot and warm. You moan, feeling your walls spasming from Choso’s fingers, shoved deep for just a moment, wrapping your lips around him, sucking gently, and he whimpers in a way that just ruins you.
At the same moment, you feel Choso line himself up at your entrance. He rubs the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your clit over and over, you would plead for him to just put it in, but your eyes are shut, throat getting fucked by your other boyfriend. You’re arching your hips, earning both of them chuckling – they may be sweet, but they also love to edge you.
“Look at that,” Choso says, seeing your throat bulging, before pressing against your tight hole. “God you’re still so tight, how?”
“Ngh!” Satoru pulls back just a bit, leaning down to spit in your open mouth, before shoving his cock back inside, right in time with Choso.
Choso pushes inside slowly, inch by thick inch, not like Satoru when he’d bottomed out in one go, no he teases you, the stretch from his girth so fucking good. It burns in the best way, a deep, satisfying ache as he fills you more and more, ever so slowly, Satoru going even deeper in that throat, until they’re bottomed out completely.
You moan around Satoru’s cock when Choso slams into your bruised cervix, the vibrations making him hiss. “Oh my… that, just like that, taking me like that.”
They fuck into you like that, slow and steady, until they deviously smile at each other, both pulling out, you go to whine at them, but Choso’s got you on all fours instead, pinning your hands behind your back. He kisses Satoru’s cock right off your lips, precum swapping, his cock gliding back in even deeper like this.
“I wanna see your pretty face,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back. “Go ahead, suck him, pretty. Lemme see.”
“Y-yes,” you kiss him once more, he presses your ass up, cock slipping back inside your greedy hole, Satoru’s lips are parted when you look at him like that, mouth open.
“Don’t even have to tell you, god you’re perfect,” his words are soft and reverent, even as his cock slaps your tongue, tip gliding against the roof of your mouth, Choso bottoming out again.
“Mnph!” You can’t make a coherent moan, not when your glasses are slipping off your nose, which is brushing soft white pubic hair, cock stretching your throat. Choso stills once he’s fully seated, his hips pressed against your ass.
“That’s it, angel, cunt is so perfect,” you’re lost between them, when Choso starts to really move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. The force of his thrusts start to push you further onto Satoru’s cock, back and forth taking them, feeling four hands all over your body.
Choso, gripping and smacking your ass, your hands clenching the soft blankets, while Satoru’s cupping your face, holding it in place to fuck faster, testing how much you can take. Satoru’s hand comes down to tangle in your hair, tugging at it so hard tears prick your eyes.
“Look at me,” he orders, voice husky – you lift your eyes, meeting his intense blue gaze, seeing his little smile, eyes getting lidded. “You’re taking us both so good. Such a good girl for us.”
“You are,” Choso shifts his angle as he talks softly, and his cock dragging against that spongy spot on your walls. Sounds of skin smacking and wet squelching start to echo in your dorm, mixed with their soft breathy moans, whispering your name.
Your back arching, you take more of Satoru’s cock, relaxing that throat even as your body clamps down on Choso’s girthy cock, earning his groan, his rhythm faltering for a moment. Both of them are gripping you, gasping out, Satoru’s already pulsing so much pre, slipping against your uvula with every thrust.
Choso spits right on the little puckered hole of your ass then, slipping a thick finger deep. You’re spasming, his balls smacking your little clit over and over until you shatter.
“Our smart girl, cummin’ for us?” Satoru whispers, pulling back and lifting your chin. “Want both of us inside you, baby?”
“Please,” you’re flipped again so easily you’re dizzy, Choso laying on his back, Satoru from behind, toying with your ass more while you ride Choso, hands on his chest, feeling his heart racing.
“Pretty, so pretty,” Choso murmurs, gripping your tits, Satoru wraps an arm around your waist, fingers plunging in. “Did you study enough?”
“Too much,” you mumble, they laugh softly, the stretch in your ass making you suck in a breath, already so full of Choso. “Toru!”
“Not yet,” he murmurs, spitting on his fingers and slipping two inside, rocking them up and down, while Choso just lets you sit on it, rocking his hips up to pummel your cervix with shallow little thrusts. “That eager, baby?”
“Mhm,” Satoru kisses you, his fingers pulling out, cock pressing and stretching her out, you’re so full you’re overwhelmed, gasping out and clamping down on them both.
“Fuck…” That’s both of them, Satoru’s easing in inch by inch, that burn so fucking good and intense your eyes roll back, Choso eyes the bulge in your tummy, hand pressing on it, moaning.
“Cho, Toru… ngh!” Sweat slicks your skin as they both fuck into you, Choso mean, deep thrusts, Satoru keeps it half in, gently moving between Choso’s spread thighs, the two of them alternating speed, having you cum all over them.
“Aw, you squirted for us,” Satoru chuckles, watching your gushing mess pool on Choso’s abdomen, he swipes it off, slipping two coated fingers between your lips, watching you suck. “Good job, pretty.”
You love your boyfriends, it’s all you can think as they work their cocks in and out of both your holes, their huge hands on your waist and hips, using you. Satoru’s toying with your clit, pinching it between two fingers and sliding his cock in deep. “Ah!”
“You can take us, can’t you?” Choso asks, turning your attention to him, cupping your face and slipping his thumb in your mouth, watching your fuck swollen folds stretch around him, groaning. “You like us using you, hmm? Like our pretty little toy?”
“Y-yes,” you’re rocking on them both, back and forth, tits jiggling, they each grab onto one, both starting to go faster. “Close, close!”
“Gonna cum again for us?” Satoru’s husky words are heard through ringing ears, losing all your last fucking braincells of coherent thought, all you can do is feel. “Answer me, be good baby.”
“Mhm, g-gonna cum – ah!” You’re shattering when they both shove fully inside, the thin little wall between their cocks and them rubbing against each other, your walls spasming. “Please lemme cum, please.”
“Of course, you were so good, took us like this? You can cum as much as you want,” Choso whispers, you’re done for, their tips hitting some spots that have you seeing white, gushing all over Choso’s cock, clamping down on Satoru’s. “Oh god…”
“F-fuck, s’tight, you’re tryna milk us,” Satoru’s breath is hot against your neck, picking you up and slamming you down on both cocks now, his hips snapping on the plush of your ass, so deep it hurts, but you can’t stop. “She wants all our cum, Choso.”
“I know, she’s such a good little toy, the prettiest,” he murmurs reverently, leaning up on his elbows, kissing your slack lips, letting Satoru move while he holds both your tits with just one hand, squishing them and eliciting another orgasm when his cock thickens. “Do you want our cum? Want us both to breed your holes?”
“Mhm, mhm,” you’re nodding in a jerky little motion, the two of them keep turning you to kiss them, until the three of you are just kissing, cumming together, Satoru’s load hot in your ass, Choso’s pulsing and warm in your cunt.
So much cum.
They’re whimpering, kissing so messy, fucking all those hot ropes of cum so deep, you’re a trembling mess when they come down, kissing all over you. Satoru your shoulders, your neck, Choso your nipples, your collarbones, your aftershocks spasming and milking them for even more.
“Laws of gravity,” Satoru murmurs, you giggle breathless, leaning your head back against his chest as his fingers stroke your cheek. “Can we defy them, smart girl?”
“What do you m-mean? I’m done studying,” you tease, Satoru pulls out then, moaning.
“Nope, it’s just fallin’ out of that little hole,” he murmurs. “What about her pussy, Choso?”
“Hmm let’s see,” he lifts you up, watching the milky cum fall in ropes down his length, swirling around and pooling in a sticky web against his black happy trail. He chuckles softly, toying with it. “Nope, it’s falling out of here too.”
“Well where do you want it to go, hmm?” You manage to ask, thighs wobbling, holes empty and sore. They flip you on your back, you gasp out, watching the two of them grinning as they lean over you, smirking and spreading your shaky legs. “Oh no, what are you up to?”
“You need to keep this cum in, sweetheart, tsk,” he shoves two fingers deep in your cunt, right in Choso’s cum, and Choso’s thumb circles your rim, slipping his thumb and pushing Satoru’s cum deep back in. “Look you’re so messy, our girl took so much for us.”
“She did, she’s so perfect for us,” Choso eases his thumb out, Satoru does the same, before he’s down there and lapping Choso’s milky seed right from your hole, Choso moans at the sight, his hand entangling in Satoru’s white locks, pressing his face even closer. Satoru moans, cock pressing against the mattress, drinking the salty and sweet mix of you both.
“I c-can’t do more,” you whine out then, but Satoru’s tongue is shoving Choso’s cum right back in, Choso’s leaning over you, kissing your lips, you cling tightly to his black locks, arching desperately.
“You can take more, pretty girl, you’re so good, isn’t she Toru?” Satoru leans up, white and gossamer coating his lips, smiling up at you.
“You’re so good, we just love your cute little cunt like this,” he leans up, swapping cum on your tongue, you eagerly kiss him back, you feel Choso licking your other hole, where Satoru’s white is dripping out, you gasp out at the sensation. “We will put so much in you, so much you’ll drip it during that test.”
“Then you’ll pay us more attention,” Choso looks up at you, as Satoru pulls back, a string of saliva between you both. “Won’t you?”
this one was so cuuute help I need them!
Patreon for more exclusive fics - Kofi link (commissions here)
Reader and Tim look quite close from what we've seen so maybe they're talking and Jason sees and reads into it too much and gets jealous and then later on when they're together hes acting all gruff and won't tell her why and she flys off in a huff
You don't have to of course! Love your stuff BTW <3
⤷ ゛JEALOUS BOY ˎˊ˗
As you flew to your destination, you skimmed low over the rooftops of Gotham, boots barely brushing stone as you cut across the skyline.
You slowed near one of the districts, plopping down on the edge of a church roof to see what the hype was about crouching dramatically on gargoyles.
Yeah, you understand it fully now.
"You're going to crack one of those with the way you're standing on it."
You flinched, spinning faster than necessary, "Rao! Ti– Red Robin!"
He stood a few feet away, staff balanced easily against his shoulder and cape fluttering behind him.
"Hey-o," He grinned as you stepped forward.
You crossed your arms, stepping onto the church roof next to him, "Aren't you supposed to be on Miagani tonight?"
"And isn't tonight when you're meant to be in Metropolis?" He shot back without missing a beat.
You huffed, "I'm doing overtime on the mission you're making me do! You should be less snooty."
Tim snorted softly, stepping closer to the ledge and peering down at the street below before glancing back at you, "Maybe you just wanna see Red Hood."
You didn't answer immediately, which was answer enough for him.
"I guess," You admitted, "I'm meeting him in like..." You glance up at the skyline, "Five minutes ago."
Tim just sighed at your tardiness, "He's been active on Founders tonight. Same loop around the island on the new little bike he got."
You tilted your head, "Bike?"
"Mhm, he's got a motorbike now."
There was a comfort beat of silence between you, filled only by the low hum of the city.You shifted your weight, suddenly aware of just how close the two of you were standing. It feels weird to go near him now that he's with Kon, especially with the way people in the media react.
"Be careful tonight, people are more active than usual for some reason."
"I always am," You grin back.
Across the street, only three rooftops away, Red Hood was stopped dead in his tracks.
He'd been tailing you—not in a creepy way or anything, but just to make sure you were safe since you were late. He was just making sure you didn't get blindsided.
That was all it was until you landed and that dumb little Red Robin appeared.
He watched from the dark as you laughed and leaned just slightly towards eachother as the two of you spoke. It all made something sharp twist in Jason's chest.
He'd seen the articles. Blurry photos paired with headlines filled with 'metropolis princess' and 'gotham prince' and 'starcrossed lovers'. He'd dismissed them as shitty journalism because number one : they most certainly were not Romeo and Juliet. And two : Gotham media didn't know shit.
But seeing it? You and him actually together?
His jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
Why wouldn't you choose someone like him? He was smart, put together, loved by everyone. And Jason had been dead for seven years and now he's just the mysterious Red Hood to you—he has no right to feel as though he has a form of claim on you. Though it doesn't really change the fact it still hurts.
He didn't bother to wait long enough to see you leave, didn't hear you complain about tabloids imagining the two of you as a couple or the new job your cousin had gotten you as an intern.
He turned sharply, fired his grapple, and vanished into the night before either of you could sense him.
In the end, the pair of you finally ran out of things to talk about, "Make sure to stay near a security camera."
"I knowwww. I've been doing this a couple of months now," You whine at his constant insistence to lecture you.
"Just making sure."
You lifted into the air, cape snapping behind you, "Tell Kon I said hi."
Tim smirked, "He's gonna complain you didn't say it yourself."
"Good," You grinned, rising higher, "Keeps him humble."
You shot off after that, on a mission to find your little night buddy.
And several blocks away, Red Hood landed hard on a roof top, ripping his helmet off just long enough to drag a hand through his hair and breathe through the burn in his chest.
"Don't be stupid," He muttered to himself, face hidden in his spare hand.
You caught sight of him as he stood at the edge of a mid-rise apartment building, back facing you with stiff shoulders and a tight posture.
There was no casual lean, no idle tapping of his fingers against his thigh. Just stillness and a bare head.
That was new.
You descended quietly, angling yourself so you landed just behind him with a small thud. You'd learnt early on that if you surprised him you have a fifty-fifty chance of getting shot, so you made sure it was obvious when it was you approaching.
The moment you dropped he scrambled to put his helmet back on. You knew he was secretive about his identity but he didn't need to be so scared, it was just you.
"Okay..." You said slowly, "No need to be so frantic."
He didn't turn around, "You're late."
You stared at the back of his now-covered head (you always knew he'd have black hair), "Wow. No hello, no snide comment. Who's impersonating you?"
"Don't be annoying."
You frowned, irritation prickling up your neck immediately, "What's wrong?"
Silence was your only response. He remained facing the city, hands flexing once at his sides as though he was raining himself in.
You stepped closer, "Are you okay? Did I do something?"
"No."
"Are you sure? That felt too quick of an answer."
He exhaled sharply, finally turning to face you, "Why are you here? It's Wednesday."
You shrugged, "I didn't feel like Metropolis tonight, it feels boring to work without you now."
"You should have just stayed with your cousins."
That hurt just a smidge. You stared at him, genuinely stunned by the way he's acting.
"What's up with you tonight?"
He turned away again, sharp and abrupt, "Go back to Red Robin."
"Huh?" Your brows furrowed.
He hesitated—a pause so small you would've missed it if you weren't so use to his every move.
"I saw you with him," He said, quieter now but less sharp, "Earlier."
Oh.
Are you kidding? That's literally it?
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh, "Are you serious?"
"I don't care," He added immediately, "I'm just saying. You didn't have to come here, you looked like you were having fun."
Something hot flared in your chest, equal parts annoyance and disbelief, "Red Robin is my friend. And even if he wasn't, that is absolutely none of your business."
His shoulders stiffened further as you got angrier, as if every sharp syllable was it's own punch to the gut.
You stepped closer, "Okay, no. You don't get to be weirdly hostile and ignorant while pretending you're not. If somethings wrong just say it. If I did something, please just tell me."
He didn't answer, didn't look at you, didn't do anything expect stand there. All rigid and closed off like he'd rebuilt the wall you had broken down over the months.
Your irritation curled into something deeper in the end, "Wow. Okay."
He straightened, the small ounce of professionalism he has snapping back into place, "We're done for tonight."
Your eyes widened, "Excuse me?"
"Go home."
You laughed, sharp and humorous to hide the fact his words hurt your feelings, "You're the one acting like I personally offended you by existing, and now you think you get to order me around?"
No response was offered—just that infuriating, inflexible silence.
Your jaw clenched, "Fine. Whatever. Fine."
You took a step back, anger buzzing under your skin as you hesitated for a moment before you lifted off the roof in one sharp motion, cape snapping behind you.
"I don't do sulking vigilantes," You added as you rose higher, "Especially rude ones."
You shot into the night before he could say anything—that's if he would say anything.
"Idiot," He muttered to himself once you were long gone, punching his helmet a few times.
a/n : this is SO bumcheeks omg but i dont wanna rewrite bc i've got one more ask before the jason reveal and i want that out neow. also if any of u r jjk fans i've been writing a little sukuna x sacrifice/wife reader in my notes that i really like so if any of u would want to see that just say !! like always just ask to be tagged (also make sure to comment on the most recent fic bc otherwise i will forget to add you i fear) also if i haven't added you and you have asked please ask again i love tagging people !!
18+ ⋮ fwb nerdjo as your stress reliever the night before your exam
bzzt!
your left eye twitches as your phone buzzes for what seems like the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes, another impromptu text from your best friend, gojo satoru, illuminating the screen stacked with notifications.
you know what he’s asking for, but you refuse to cave.
you’ve got an exam in the morning that you’re cramming for, and your roommate is spending the night at her girlfriends’, which means you’ve got the room to yourself to stay up in chugging your stale coffee and blasting your screamo music during your brain breaks to stay awake for the all-nighter ahead.
but it seems like gojo isn’t willing to give it up.
bzzt!
bzzt!
bzzt!
dragging your hands down your face, you pick it up, opening the lengthy message thread from 'the blur four eyed freak.'
9:43 PM: hey
9:43 PM: you busy?
9:47 PM i know you have your final calc exam tmr but
9:48 PM: i can help if you need a stress reliever ;)
9:51 PM: or you can have my notes from last year. that works, too. no presh.
you stifle a dazed chuckle at the lag in his response, scrolling further.
9:55 PM: yoohoo
9:55 PM: sweetheart
9:57 PM: don’t tell me all of the caffeinated drinks you guzzle down finally shocked your heart into cardiac failure
10:01 PM: i’m getting worried here
10:01 PM: suguru is saying i should leave you alone
10:01 PM: but i don’t think that’s a good idea
10:01 PM: what if you’re croaking on the ground while these texts are going through
10:02 PM: and you die bc
10:02 PM: idk
10:02 PM: i, your handsome big-dicked best friend, didn’t come to your rescue o(╥﹏╥)o …?
10:05 PM: at least tell me you’re alive and breathing and ignoring me if that’s the case
10:06 PM: otherwise, i’ll show up
10:06 PM: and i know how you feel about my showing up unwarranted
10:06 PM: even though you’ve known and tolerated me forever
10:06 PM: fyi i don’t appreciate the bruise on my bicep from the last time i popped up at your dorm
10:07 PM: kiss it better? :(
you rub the exhaustion from your eyes, your thumb dragging down the screen as you continue reading in mild amusement.
10:10 PM: ok gigs up
10:10 PM: haha you got your laughs in
10:10 PM: everyone point and laugh at the poor guy worried about his best friend who has been nose deep in a textbook for the past two weeks, neglecting him like some sad blob fish
10:13 PM: fine.
10:13 PM: i’ll be there innnnn
10:13 PM: five minutes
you check the time. 10:18 PM.
knock knock.
you huff a laugh, wondering how the hell he got past the resident assistant for the girls dormitory. maybe flashing those frosted irises, or that shit-eating grin every girl falls for.
well, every girl including you.
that boyish charm has somehow managed to woo you into him being your fuck buddy.
you drag your feet to the door, tugging it open, only to see a very deflated gojo fill with delight.
“you’re alive!” he grins, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and spinning you in a bone-crushing hug. you splutter, eyes bulging while he kicks the door shut and plops you down on the bed unceremoniously.
“obviously, i’m alive,” you mumble, tugging your blue light frames off and fixing your skewed strands of hair.
gojo hums in discontent before picking your glasses up and putting them back on you. “keep ‘em on. they make you look like me. anyway, i stopped at the corner shop and—”
“that’s exactly why i took them off—.”
“—got you some daifuku,” he finishes off, kneeling in front of you with a plastic shopping bag, a giant smiley face staring back at you. “sugars always been able to reset my brain and,” he glances over at your desk with a black coffee stains tainting the wood finish. “something tells me you’ve been chugging tasteless misery in a cup.”
you snatch the bag from him, tearing open the packaging and stuffing your face. “i’m not a glut like you.”
he smiles lopsidedly, cornstarch sticking to your lips. “so you say…”
after a few moments of gojo watching you recalibrate, holding a water bottle up for you to take a sip from every couple of bites, you kick his shin and attempt to maneuver past him back towards your calculus notes.
however, the guy grabs your forearm, standing up to tower over you. “not so fast, little lady. i haven’t finished my duty quite yet.”
you smother down a curse, gritting your teeth and gazing longingly at your laptop. “toruuuuu,” you whine, all soft and breathy, hoping it gets him off of your case.
but it seems to do quite the opposite.
his hands find your shoulders, before he’s pushing you down onto the bed and splaying you out softly.
you hate that your gut tumbles over itself immediately.
“a girl very darling to me once said,” he starts, voice all low and teasing. “there are no stresses that an orgasm can’t fix.”
fuck.
you know how this story goes, but you play into it anyway, heat already settling somewhere low in your gut.
“…really?”
he hums, kneeling at your bedside where your legs hang off of. “you know what she did for me?”
he pauses, leaning forward to place a kiss on your bare inner thigh, right below where your cotton shorts cut off, your breath effectively catching in your throat.
"she gave me head until i could see colors.”
—
long have your clothes been tossed aside, the scent of the room thick with your arousal and sweat.
gojo’s head has been buried between your thighs for the past two hours, your eyes rolling back into your skull. right when you think he’s finished, his tongue darts out to circle his lips before he’s diving back in. for seconds, thirds, fourths—you’ve lost count long ago how many times he’s pushed you over the edge.
that pink, wet muscle of his flicks up your overstimulated bundle of nerves, before he hollows his cheeks and sucks on your sensitive clit, your hands futiley clawing at your sheets desperately like they may save you from the overwhelming pleasure.
his rough hands knead your tits, tweaking the peppled nipples and drawing circles around the areolas, the stiffened peaks aching. you squirm, ankles digging painfully into his shoulders, but he keeps you in place from running away.
“use me,” he mutters into your silky folds, the vibrations of his pussydrunk and deep timbre causing your sap to leak from your needy hole. “grip my, fuck, hair— ride my face, do what you need, pretty,” he groans, and you know he’s getting off on the taste of you like he does every other time, nearly staining his grey sweats in cum.
obeying him, your weeping cunt drags against the bridge of his nose, then his plump lips, all the way down to his chin. he grins smugly through it all, lost in the feel and saccharine sweetness of your sex.
your limbs are aching, brain fuzzy from the overexertion, head spinning from how he makes your world narrow to just him. lithe fingers, husky tone, pleasant mouth. you need him so bad, it’s killing you. and he is just as intoxicating as his flirts, you think you might short-circuit with this next orgasm.
“t-toru,” you sob, tear stained cheeks warm and flushed, your stomach caving as a familiar heat fists for the nth time tonight. your hand flies out, gripping those ivory locks and bucking your hips onto that perfect complexion. “need t-this. need, fuck, need you, satoru.”
at this point, you’re blinking stars away, your ears ringing dully. his wet tongue pushes out to tease your entrance before stretching it and dragging against your gummy walls. he drinks up your juices like nectar, groaning and humming into your heat. the two hands at your chests find the backs of your thighs, and then he’s prying your cunt apart, folding you in half for better access.
“s-shit, baby,” he mutters, kissing your clit all soft and peering at you with those cerulean eyes blown wide. “i really get you this wet? you’re leaking all over the place,” he laughs lowly, all sadistic and intrigued.
you shudder, not quite sure how to handle the duality of your best friend. one day, he’s praising you and dodging your insults, and the next he’s damn near cruel and fucking you dumb with his tongue.
the man is torn between reality and a dream, and then his lips crash into your heat, at a pace that has you strangled and frozen.
toes curling, back arching, pussy squirting—you cum, and hard.
everything goes black for a moment, senses dulled and muscles tensed, before you collapse. the momentary bliss that washed over you subsides and you’re jelly on your sheets.
you’re absolutely fucked out that you have to kick gojo away by the shoulders. he’s got a thin gossamer sheen covering his face—your cum or your squirt, you’re not sure. but either way, the man looks ecstatic, hungry. like he might die if he doesn’t guzzle down any more of your essence.
but right now, you’re contemplating killing him.
“i lost two full hours i could’ve used for studying.”
he tilts his head thoughtfully, the corner of his lip playing upwards. “true. but, you tallied up two hours to my oral practice.”
you grab a pillow and aim to chuck it at him, the grown man squealing. “i’ll give you my calculus notes!”
you still, eyes narrowing. “that was a given.”
his sheepish smile is what you have to endure the rest of the evening until your exam, where you force him to regurgitate everything he knows as your own personal tutor.
lizzie’s yapping 𐙚 : so... still new at suggestive/smut content, tried my best, sorry if this is crap <3
You had been dating for a couple of months, months in which you didn't go beyond wet, needy kisses, climbing to the top only to fall back down to the surface. But Jason was fine with that. He genuinely didn’t mind about the sex situation. After all, he understood how much it meant to you, that it was the most intimate and sincere way to give yourself to someone. He craved you, wanted you, but he would never dare to cross a line.
The moment felt different. Jason was still in his Red Hood suit, without the jacket, while you were wearing nothing but your underwear and one of his shirts. Even though his mouth moved lazily against yours, he was no less eager. You were straddling his lap, looking ridiculously pretty and small compared to his size, his calloused hands tracing soft caresses along your bare thighs while yours cupped his face, thumbs drawing tender circles over his skin.
A few minutes ago he was supposed to have left, but he hadn’t been able to say "no" when you looked up at him with those pleading eyes.
Gotham could wait a little longer. You couldn’t.
“Jason,” you gasped against his lips as his hands slipped under the shirt to stroke the warm, bare skin of your back, pulling you closer to his chest. The movement caused an accidental brush between your core and the bulge in his pants, making you shiver. His touches didn’t help either—the way he handled your body like he knew it was something sacred.
You felt the damp discomfort between your legs, desperate for just a little friction to ease the tingling need low in your belly, but you didn’t want to be unfair to him or start something that might make him uncomfortable. You knew Jason would stop the second you asked, no matter how much it hurt him to stay worked up—he would always stop.
You certainly weren't ready to take that big step, but you wanted to feel him, even if it was through clothes.
Gently, almost experimentally, you began to move your hips against the bulge in his pants. A delicious electricity spread down your spine to the back of your neck, causing you to let out a small gasp that reached your boyfriend's ears. Jason let out a growl against your mouth and moved his hands down to your hips, stopping you.
“Princess…” he whispered, pulling back just enough to search your eyes, wanting to see the dilated pupils and the raw desire in them. “We should stop.” He didn’t say it for himself—he just needed to make sure this was truly mutual, that you weren’t doing it only to please him.
You shook your head, brows furrowing slightly in frustration. “I just want…” The words caught in your throat under the intensity of his gaze. “Just like this, please,” you begged. Your needy plea made him release your hips, letting you continue. You started rubbing your center against the thick fabric of his pants again, slow and exploratory, testing the waters so the new sensations wouldn’t overwhelm you. Instinctively, Jason’s hands gripped your hips once more—this time to help you build a stronger rhythm.
“Feel good, ma?” he asked, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. He wasn’t even that experienced at knowing what would work for you; he was going purely on instinct, everything driven by the need to make you feel good.
“Yes…” you breathed, closing your eyes and letting yourself go.
Once you gained more confidence, you picked up the pace, rolling your hips in slow circles, feeling your wetness soak through your panties and probably stain his suit too. Right then, you didn’t care. Your hands braced against his chest for better leverage. Jason’s hips lifted subtly to meet you, matching your rhythm without demanding more—he wanted you to lead this.
Your heartbeat raced, cheeks flushed from the effort. It felt good—so good. Every roll of your hips brought the friction you desperately needed, pushing you closer to the orgasm you craved. The only sounds in the apartment were your moans and Jason’s heavy breaths, making everything feel even more intense and intimate.
Your boyfriend's hands slid up to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your faces were inches apart. You pressed a messy kiss to his lips before your hips grew more urgent, almost clumsy. “That’s it, pretty girl…” he praised. “Use me however you want,” he whispered against your mouth, lips brushing, hot breaths mingling.
His words made you moan louder, you felt the knot unraveling in your belly, that tingling sensation that wasn't so familiar but you knew what it meant. Instead of closing your eyes because of the intensity of the sensations, you decided to keep them open to look at him. Jason realized you were on the edge, so he lifted his hips just a little to make the contact more intense.
Then waves of pleasure crashed straight through your clit. You pressed down hard against his bulge, your body trembling in his lap as the orgasm hit, his name spilling from your lips over and over again. Jason kissed your cheek, your jaw, then your mouth. “There you go,” he murmured, stroking your back soothingly. “So damn pretty.”
You held him tightly, the spasms of your orgasm making you whimper, but his caresses—far too gentle for hands that had spilled so much blood—helped you relax.
A few seconds later, you pulled back to look at him. He loved the sight of you: cheeks flushed, catching your breath after rubbing so desperately against him. But the moment he saw that bright, guilty look in your eyes, he knew exactly what you were thinking.
Although you had gotten what you wanted, he was still hard, but it wasn't about him at that moment; he didn't need you to return any favors.
“You okay?” he asked, giving your hips a playful squeeze. You nodded. “Stop lookin' at me like a kicked puppy.”
You smiled and curled into him again.
Gotham would definitely have to wait a little longer.
@ batletters ࣪ ִֶָ☾. don't take my work as your own.
