tojis daughter protecting her mama from him (papa toji x mama reader) ♡
a/n: AYYYY PIPPAS BACK TO WRITING!!. sorry babies ive been picking up a ton of extra shifts since im gonna be gone the whole of july and i need that bag....hope u guys like this ♡
the bedroom is quiet. youre propped against the pillows with your little girl tucked against your chest, one tiny hand curled into your shirt while a pacifier bobs lazily between her lips. her eyes are heavy, blinking slower every minute, little body completely melted against you as you run your fingers through her hair.
shes content and half asleep.
until toji decides to drag his big old ass in.
the mattress dips heavily beneath a familiar weight, and immediately her eyes crack open. toji climbs into bed with absolutely zero regard for the peaceful atmosphere either of you had going, all broad shoulders and rough hands as he sprawls across the mattress beside you. he takes one look at his wife cuddled up with his daughter and he decides hes being neglected.
"move over." he says, which makes you laugh quietly.
toji leans across the bed anyway, one hand planting beside your hip while he reaches for you, clearly aiming to steal a kiss. a rough one, at that. he barely makes it halfway there before a tiny hand shoots up and smacks him directly on the cheek.
he freezes.
your daughter glares at him around her pacifier before another little hand lands against his face with even more conviction than the first. toji stares at her and she stares right back, and then her tiny arm stretches across your chest like shes physically shielding you from him, pacifier bobbing once in what feels suspiciously like a warning.
toji lets out a sharp laugh.
"aint no damn way." he huffs, voice gruff. did his daughter seriously just do that?
rhe baby doesnt budge. If anything, she presses closer into you, possessive and protective. you finally start laughing into her hair while toji sits there looking betrayed.
"baby," you manage, even though tojis already grinning despite himself.
your daughter keeps glaring at him from the safety of your arms, little brows furrowed while she stubbornly keeps that tiny arm stretched across you.
toji points at her, his eyes narrowing in mock warning.
"thats my wife." he says, voice low, and your baby huffs around her pacifier. toji laughs at that, not being able to take her seriously.
"she got an attitude already." he grunts
Then he reaches for you again and immediately gets smacked a second time. this one somehow manages to feel even more offended than the first. toji falls back against the mattress laughing while your daughter settles proudly against your chest again, completely satisfied that the threat has been neutralized.
for a moment he just watches the two of you. his wife is curled around his daughter, his daughter is curled around his wife. the tiny bodyguard is already starting to drift back off, one chubby hand still resting possessively on your chest bevause shes making absolutely sure he remembers shes protecting mama. then a slow grin pulls at the corner of tojis mouth.
If mamas off limits, thats fine because he can always find a different target.
his hand reaches over and gently pokes one of her cheeks. the babys eyes crack open immediately, and she glares. toji pokes her again, and the glare deepens.
"aint so tough now, huh?" he drawls out, and the baby huffs around her pacifier.
toji reaches over and squishes both cheeks together, and she looks genuinely outraged. the tiny hand that had been protecting you immediately abandons you so she can shove at his wrist instead.
toji bursts out laughing, the sjght of his baby trying to seriously hit him making him laugh even harder.
"there she is." he says.
your daughter lets out the most offended little noise imaginable and tries pushing him away again, but he only gets worse, poking her cheek, stealing her pacifier for half a second before giving it back, squishing her face again, bothering her just enough to keep getting reactions.
by now shes fully awake and deeply unimpressed with her daddy while youre laughing your godamn ass off.
toji finally relents when she starts trying to hide her face against your chest, her lower lip wobbling.
"aw, come on." he huffs.
he reaches over one last time, smoothing a hand over her hair before pressing a loud kiss into her chubby cheek. the baby immediately frowns, which makes toji grin.
then he settles beside both of his girls, one arm wrapping around your waist. his the other reaches over to gently tap his daughters little foot sticking out from beneath the blanket, and she immediately kicks him.
Synopsis: DOL NPCS acquiring a magical pocket pussy synced to you.
Contains: afab!gn!reader, discipline, multi penetration, noncon, overstimulation, somnopihlia, toys
Words: 588
A/N: I only differentiated yandere!sirris from his normal conterpart as he is the only character I can imagine having drastically different behavior for this particular prompt. You can’t convince me Gwylan isn’t cooking up magic (probably illicit substances as well) in their shop. Something about them feels underlined with nefarious intent. I’d like to flesh out this concept with some of the characters at some point; there’s so much nuance and potential.
Abuses the hell out of it
With access to your cunt at all times, your pussy will be consistently puffy and raw from abuse. He’s stuffing you with cock whenever the urge strikes, torturing you with toys when his dick can’t keep up with his libido. He purposely teases you at inconvenient times. Watching you struggle to maintain composure in public is his favorite pastime. Most nights you wake up to the feeling of an invisible cock dragging along your gummy walls. If for whatever reason he can’t torment you at night, the pocket pussy is being stuffed with a vibrator so you wake up drenched in the morning. He’ll insert random objects throughout the day of various sizes and shapes, all to watch you squirm. Sometimes he’ll cram the largest dildo he can find inside to see you waddle around town in discomfort. He’s likely to fill the silicone hole with a dildo or vibrator of some sort—possibly both or even multiple of each—and then fuck you for real with the toys still inside. Really though, seeing your reactions is his favorite part of all. While your real pussy will always reign supreme, there’s a charm to watching you break apart without even actually touching you. The fleshlight is just so convenient.
He doesn’t usually care for toys (why bother when he has you), but this one is an exception. It’s hardly a replacement for the real thing, but he can at least admit the convenience is alluring. It’s not all too often it gets used, but there are times when he misses you and can’t resist. It’s just so easy to punish you for being away for too long or simply to remind you of them. He could always just shove a vibrator inside and forget about it if he feels like it. Watching you fall apart without touching you proves enjoyable, as well. There’s a possibility he could even order a custom dildo, a replica of his length, to stuff the silicone cunt with, so you seek them out sooner. No chance you can forget about him when you can’t even sit. This opens the possibility of double stuffing you using only their dick. The longer you avoid them, the less patience and willpower they’ll have, therefore being less likely to wait.
He’s rather unlikely to use any toy, let alone a magical onahole. Just owning the thing feels like a breach of trust, but they can’t risk having it fall into anyone else’s hands. It sits in a drawer, hidden away until he eventually forgets about it. It’s not until he’s humping a pillow in the pitch dark of his room that he remembers it exists. He’ll scold himself, suddenly too ashamed to feel horny. Days will go by, constantly plagued by curiosity. When he finally concedes, apologies will spill from his lips as he rocks his hips into the silicone. It feels so good, and he wonders if you’re feeling the same. More than that, he wonders if the real thing—the real you—feels this good. His orgasm is the most intense he’s ever felt, electricity taking over him and his essence flooding the silicone imitation of you. The post-nut clarity is potent, mortifying. He’ll avoid you for some time after that, unable to even look you in the eye for even longer. Shame creeps along his spine like a parasite, vowing never to lose control like that again. Below the guilt, desire grows and bites at his willpower. Who knows how long it’ll be before he gives in again?
“softenin' it,” your husband replied, his voice completely deadpan. he didn’t look up, his face carved into an expression of such absolute, scholarly focus you might have thought he was doing open-heart surgery rather than kneading your ass.
you’d been trying to get some rare peace and quiet, lying face down on the bed half-asleep, when the attack started. toji had the massive, beefy build of a pro athlete, a guy made wholly of dense muscle who had absolutely zero concept of "personal space"
yet, for the last ten minutes, those huge, scarred hands—hands that literally killed people for a living?—had been thoroughly squashing and massaging your ass with the obsessive devotion of a baker molding a piece of sourdough.
“softening it?” you repeated, the mere insanity of it wiping away the last of your drowsiness. “toji, it’s an ass, not a cheap steak. you’ve been doing this for ten minutes. let go.”
he was lying on his stomach right next to your thighs, his nose hovering close over your asscheeks. feeling suddenly frustrated, you planted your forearms on the sheets, trying to crawl away from... whatever he was doing.
and you couldn't even make it an inch.
a heavy, coarse palm slapped down on the small of your back, securing you to the mattress like a literal ton of bricks. when you twisted your neck to glare at him, his stunning profile was pulled into a focused, childish pout. his emerald eyes stayed glued to his work while his other hand went right back to its aggressive squeezing, paying no attention to your feeble protests.
“keep still,” he grumbled, voice getting petulant like a boy refused candy “you’re messin' up the texture.”
“the texture?” a sudden rush of heat hit your cheeks—the result of your annoyance and being vividly aware of how his face was glued to your backside. “i am trying to sleep, you psycho. your hands feel like sandpaper.”
“then don't move and it won't scratch,” he reasoned in a plain tone as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
and yet, there was something weirdly mesmerizing about how engaged he was. he looked almost peaceful sitting there, if you ignored the thick fingers poking at your crack.
finally comprehending it was useless to fight a fatty bitch with two hundred pounds on his body, you collapsed face-first into the pillow, letting out a defeated groan.
“...if i see any bruises, you're gonna pay for it.”
that lazy, almost boyish grin finally shattered his straight face. toji didn't bother lifting his chest or moving back. he just rested his heavy jaw in his free hand, watching your clothed butt devotedly.
“can’t charge a guy who's broke,” he reminded, his deft fingers continuing their task. “now shut it. 'm not done tenderizing.”
Toji scolding you with your head locked between his thick thighs, warm skin rippling over flexed, rippling muscles. Your nose is pressed up against his balls and it's a little icky but you can smell him and it makes your head swim.
You've been pushing at his buttons all day. Running your hands down that slutty little compression shirt with a pout and asking just how much he benches. If he can pick you up. Hugging him close when he wraps a single arm around you, hand splayed across your ass and gripping to lift you up.
It's not your fault he's fine. Gruff rough-and-tumble voice, the low set of his brows. You like that he's a little blunt. He's buff and on a bulk right now and it makes you want to tie him up and take a picture of the scowl you know he'll give. Better yet if he tied you up. And played with you. Fingered you rough with two of those calloused digits inside, knuckle-deep, stretching you open and scissoring until your slick ran down his wrist.
You're snapped out of your reverie when he pulls at your hair, lifting your gaze from his dick to his sneer. "Hey. You listening, brat?"
He sees your hips shift at the moniker. Then his lips curl back, and he shoots you the biggest, fattest, most shit-eating grin known to man. The bastard.
toji fushiguro has your body naked in front of the mirror and his warm hands groping your hips. he lets his pinky slide up your puffy, wet slit—just a graze, just over your clit—and he doesn’t let your eyes leave the mirror as he draws back his pinky dripping with your slick.
“go on, princess,” he rasps into your neck. “m’listening.”
but he’s not just listening. your boyfriend is still in his boxers—unfair, really, because you’re clad in nothing & the room is too warm & your thighs are trembling from both the heat and the pressure. he wraps himself around you and slides his hands up to your tits. he gropes your breast once and lets his hands fall away.
your mouth dries. “i can’t.”
but your hips are bucking into him. rolling against his clothed cockhead as your pussy drools from the anticipation. toji laughs, chest warm against your back as he pinches your clit, forcing your hips to stutter & a whine to leave your lips. “y’got a pretty mouth, dollface. wanna hear you use it.”
in the mirror your thighs are still aching, chest heaving, and toji fushiguro has slipped his cock out of his shorts. you’re not sure you heard his waistband snap but his cock is there, flushed and swollen and dripping with precum.
"you see that ?" he murmurs, breath hot against your neck as he pumps himself in his fist all heavy & slow. "see what you do to me, sweetheart? standing there all pretty and wet?”
he lets the soaked head tap against your ass—once, twice—before dragging it lower between your thighs, letting it slip through your slick folds without pushing inside. your pussy flutters at the teasing, & toji watches your chest heave in the mirror through bleary eyes.
"you want this?" he murmurs, cockhead nudging your throbbing folds from behind. "want my cock in this pussy, baby?” he lets his precum smear over the folds. “start talking.”
you swallow, eyes glazed with lust and hips stuttering as you force the courage to speak. “i…i have nice tits.”
“breasts,” toji growls into your neck. “breasts, dollface. say it properly.”
your thighs squeeze. your eyes are teary when you look in the mirror, face flushed, tits heaving. "i have nice breasts."
"mmh," toji slides a palm up your side. he lets his thumb brush against your aching nipple, before twisting and stretching the pebbled peak between his fingers. you arch into him on instinct. "so nice, dollface. and what else? look at this pussy in the mirror, baby. tell me all about it."
his thumb presses into your clit. but then he slides it away.
you moan, loud, slick dripping down your thighs. toji’s cock twitches against your ass, but clearly he’s got the self control of a god.
your lashes are tear rimmed. “i have—i have a pretty pussy!”
“so pretty,” he murmurs, tugging your clit before pressing his thumb against it, rubbing slow circles over the bud. “prettiest pussy i’ve ever fucking seen. so wet and noisy for me. tell me more, sweetheart.”
“my pussy is so tight,” you rasp, breathless and hips twitching as toji rubs his thumb against the sensitive bud. “hnngh—so tight and wet for you, toji.”
"yeah?" he murmurs against your ear. his cock nudges your slick folds, pulsing and throbbing at the entrance. "love this fucking pussy, you know that?"
you can only whimper in response.
"love how puffy it is," he continues, dragging his swollen cockhead up your slit, only to drag it down again. "love how it tries to swallow me. see that, baby? see how it slobbers all over my cock?” he pushes his swollen head in as your cunt flutters around him. “fucking perfect.”
“toji—“ you gasp, “please—“
“please what?” he growls, pushing his hips into you. his thick cock swells between your folds, pulsing and stretching your puffy cunt. “want me to play with this pussy, baby? fuck you so hard your tits bounce in the mirror?”
“mhm—“
“words, sweetheart.”
“want you to fuck me,” you gasp out, hips bucking back to chase his cockhead and push him deeper into your folds. “want you to play with my pussy and fuck me till i’m dripping—“
“fuck,” toji groans, slamming into you, hard. “thaaaat’s my fucking girl. see how easy it is to please me?”
sfw. bf! toji who wants to be fiance! toji and ultimately husband! toji
“what are you doing?” toji asked, a bit sceptical at what has you so glued to your computer screen. he was putting away the last of the now clean dishes as you sat at the kitchen table, the light from the screen illuminating your face. it was late, and he was tired—all he wanted was to drag you to bed with him so that you could fall asleep together. only, you barely seem to be paying attention, even when he clearly asked you something.
“online shopping,” you muttered, raising an eyebrow—something obviously caught your interest. he was tempted to sneak behind you and get a look at the screen for himself, but he didn’t have the energy for it.
“oh yeah,” he hummed, trying to get more information out of you while stacking plates in their rightful place. “for what?”
“wedding dresses.”
his heart thumped against his chest before almost stopping entirely.
did he hear you right? he hadn’t even proposed yet—did you find the ring he had been hiding?
he was sure that he did an amazing job hiding it, too, putting it at the very top shelf in your closet—the one that you could never reach and therefore had no reason to try to examine.
“what,” he deadpanned, face turning as white as a sheet, his brain short circuiting and unable to form any other words.
all he could do was picture your face upon discovering that diamond—did you like it, at least? did he get the wrong cut? was this you trying to say you wanted to marry him too?
“cookie presses,” you said, repeating yourself while tilting your head curiously to the side. as. you were clueless as to what was causing his confusion—did he not hear you right or something? “i told you i wanted to get into baking.”
he felt as if he was shot back to life, internally sighing with relief. he was hearing things—thank god.
“i think i’m gonna order them,” you explained, reaching into your pocket to fish out your credit card.
he came to your side, trying to act smooth—-as if he wasn’t in crisis mode only a few seconds earlier. he looked down onto the screen to in fact, see the baking supplies you’d been talking about. he let out another breath, his heart finally reaching a normal pace.
“sounds good, babe,” he scratched the back of his neck, “go for it.”
toji just hoped you weren’t onto him, but what he didn’t see was your other tabs.
wedding venues near me
blue bridesmaid dresses
white dress inspo engagement
pinterest wedding table decor
what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and the fact that you had just deep cleaned the entire apartment was just another secret you would have to keep to yourself.
late-night call between dad!toji and baby megumi 𑣲 .✦ ݁˖ ۶ৎ
husband!toji x reader, some hurt to comfort, fluff | wc 1.7k
“…hey.” you murmur, your voice quiet as you flash a small smile at your husband on your phone screen.
he’s roughed up — you can tell that much from what you can see of him. the angle which he holds his phone at is inconvenient, but part of his head is in frame, seemingly propped up against the pillow of some dingy hotel bed, one of his arms resting behind his head.
your heart aches a little at how worn down he looks. it’s an unfamiliar feeling, to see your typically-strong husband looking so weathered under the lamplight, hair messy and under-eyes dark. it’s so unusual, to see his confident demeanour eroded into something much more fragile. nonetheless, there’s something sincere in his eyes, something so familiar, so distinguishably toji.
your eyes rest on his pixelated face. “how have you been?”
he sighs. “yeah…been okay. how are you? has the kid been behaving?” you snort weakly at that. for your son to ever act up was practically unheard of to both of you. he was always uncharacteristically quiet, his actions and behaviour much milder than that of any three year old child you’d ever seen.
“come on toji, i think we both know the answer to that.”
“yeah yeah. silly question i guess. but…just wanted to check.”
your heart twists a little at that, a dull ache hitting you at his words. they’re more vulnerable than you’re used to hearing from toji, and you don’t fail to miss the way his mouth twitches, as though he’s not quite sure whether to elaborate. he doesn’t have to, though. you already understand, and you can hear the regret tainting his tone.
it isn’t like it’s his fault that he hasn’t been so present in megumi’s life. what with working to provide for your little family, it makes sense that he sees the boy much less than he’d have liked. nonetheless, you can sense your husband’s insecurity easily, and it makes your chest ache.
this level of rawness between you both — unfiltered, total openness — is definitely new, but you’re undeniably glad that he’s somewhat more readable for once. seeing toji’s true feelings is a kind of luxury that you don’t normally get when speaking to him thanks to high walls he seems to have built around himself, after all.
you watch his eyes lower from the camera, his brows furrowed a little as he tries to settle with the uncomfortable feeling lingering between you both.
you hesitate. “hey…i can put megumi on the phone if you want…?”
“yeah, that’d be nice. thanks.”
you head to the living room, where megumi is currently doodling. his puffy cheeks are pushed out in careful concentration and his lip is jutted out. his hair is freshly damp from his pre-bedtime bath, and you can’t help it think that he looks eerily similar to his father. his usually thick spikes are pushes down into a mess of straight inky strands, save for the the odd few spikes that still seem to stubbornly stick out.
you crouch and rest your hands against the coffee table, speaking softly in the hopes of drawing his attention towards your words.
“hey gumi, wanna say hi to papa?” you speak tentatively, gently poking his chubby arm with your finger, but he doesn’t look up. he’s too focused on colouring in the poorly-drawn frogs on the page, sticking his tongue out and furrowing his brows further as he tries and fails to stay within the lines.
you sigh, throwing toji a quick, apologetic look over the phone before trying again.
“megs? look!” he finally looks up, blinking slowly at you, clearly unsure what you could possibly want from him. you decide to gently ease the phone into his hand, letting him take hold of it.
he peers down through long lashes at the screen, expressionless as he watches the cluster of pixels that seems to be his father shift slightly. toji sits up a little, dark green eyes a touch brighter at the sight of his son.
“hey little man. what’re you up to?”
your son doesn’t reply, uninterested in speaking as always, and simply stares at the screen in silence, lip poking out further. at the angle that megumi’s grasping the phone, you’re sure toji can see all three of the toddler’s chins as well as the mess of crayon colours staining his oversized pjs.
the bright light of the phone bounces off the boy’s face in uneven blue flickers, rays of light catching on his dark strands of hair. after a few minutes of waiting for further action from toji, your son seems to deem the (lack of a) conversation pointless, placing the phone back onto the table beside him and picking his crayon back up.
oh.
toji’s expression falls immediately, but he tries to play it off, turning his face to the side and scratching his neck awkwardly at the dismissal.
“…the kid doesn’t like me much, huh?” he jokes, but it’s evident even over the poor call quality how the joke falls completely flat, a humourless laugh escaping his lips as though to make up for it. he attempts his usual teasing grin, but it just looks…weak. somehow, he looks even more tired than he had just a few minutes ago, despite being all roughed up from all the busy days of being away from home.
you sigh and lift the phone from the table before heading to the kitchen doorway, choosing to leave megumi to colour in peace. you speak softly into your phone, trying to adopt a gentle tone: the way you speak is careful, tender, as though you’re speaking to your three year old rather than your 6’2” husband — and toji hates it. you can tell as much by the way he winces the second you speak.
“toji…it’s nothing, that’s just how he is, you know.”
“nah, don’t be like that. it’s fine.” the short laugh he forces out sounds robotic, void of any real sincerity, and you know that’s your cue to drop the topic.
nonetheless, the look of dejection simmering beneath your husband’s usually confident, lazy features breaks your heart. you’re about to speak again, hoping to salvage the situation a little, when you feel a small tug on your sleeve.
“oh! megs, what’s up?” you frown, a little alarmed at the suddenness with which he’d appeared at your side. to see megumi ask for anything is rare, and you can’t help but fear the worst — maybe he’s unwell? or has he hurt himself?
before you can spiral any further, however, the three year old reaches out a hand, expression unreadable. he’s practically on his tiptoes now, one hand holding onto your leg for support as he tries to signal for the phone silently.
“my phone?” he nods, tugging at your sweats more urgently, brows furrowed and expression determined.
puzzled, you pass the phone to him. he takes it, glancing quickly down at the screen, as though to check whether toji’s still on call. upon confirming that he is still on the line, megumi nods assuredly to himself before shuffling his way back to the living room, taking toji with him.
you follow behind, watching the chubby toddler lower himself back onto the floor and place the phone down on the coffee table, leaving toji by his side as he scribbles more frogs and a couple of bunnies onto the sheet. every few seconds he peers over the phone screen, checking to make sure toji hasn’t left. and each time, upon seeing his dad’s face peering back at him, his surprisingly stoic features soften a fraction in relief, only for the child to then return to wearing serious look as he goes back to colouring.
you notice the pattern on the third repeat, with megumi struggling to peer over the phone properly from where he’s sat down. watching him struggle to properly angle himself to see toji’s face once more, you decide to help him, carefully moving to his side and propping the phone up against a plant pot. he seems pleased at that.
by now, it’s obvious to you that toji has clearly cheered up, his usual grin back, but there’s an undeniable softness in his eyes as he watches megumi doodle quietly.
a kind of comfortable silence settles of the room, only occasionally interrupted by toji prompting megumi to show him the latest development in his drawing: first a few dogs, then an elephant and then a pair of wobbly stick men. the shorter one has noticeably spikier hair, sticking up at angles on the stick figure’s head, and you can’t help but grin at the accuracy.
at some point megumi begins to yawn. he seems to have deemed his drawing done, and so he lifts himself off the floor before sleepily laying down on the couch with the phone still propped under his arm. under his other arm are his two dog plushies, retrieved from where they had lay amongst the pile of cushions at the far end of the couch. you begin to gather the toys at the far end of the living room, having noted the toddler’s exhaustion and the clear signs that it’s his bedtime already.
toji scoffs under his breath at the captivating view of megumi’s sleeve, which is now perfectly in the way of the camera. he can’t see a thing, though he recognises the tell-tale sound of the boy’s breathing easing into gentle snores. it’s oddly soothing to him, really: the feeling of being needed by his son despite being miles away.
you finally finish tidying the toys, planning on picking your son up to take him to bed, but not without hearing toji speak softly into the phone. there’s a slight lilt to his voice, as though he’s fighting back a smile, and his usually-gruff tone has been softened into something almost borderline boyish. it’s so gentle, so uncharacteristically tender, that you almost miss it:
“night, megumi. sweet dreams.”
author’s notes: i love dad!toji and baby megumi sm they’re so precious to me
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★ 1.7k | Synopsis: When you bought a Ouija board, the last thing you expected was for the hot ghost haunting your apartment to be such a flirt. After a bit of research, you find out that you could finally see your handsome ghost-with-benefits by sprinkling him in a little powdered sugar.
C/W: fucking a ghost, invisible Toji, ouija boards/paranormal activity, foodplay, inappropriate use of powdered sugar, weird interdimensional contact physics, oral m!, p in v, ignore the logistics lmao, limited dialogue (cause he can only talk with the ouija board lmao)
What are the moral implications of sexting the ghost haunting your apartment using a ouija board?
According to your friends, it’s ’spooky, but in a sexy way, like Ghostface' or something.
According to the internet, it ‘raises complex ethical questions.'
But honestly, you stopped entertaining ‘complex ethical questions’ upon discovering that your handsome ghost could become visible after sprinkling him in a little powdered sugar.
This discovery is exactly what brings you to your plush cotton duvet, all dolled up in your cutest lingerie set, pressing your breasts together as you drag the planchette across the board.
“Toji? You there?”
Like clockwork, the wooden tool slides over to the ‘yes’ on the board—your mattress dipping under an invisible weight before you. And despite how many times you’ve seen it happen, it never gets old.
“Hey Ji! Uhm, I wanted to show you something I found online.”
You place your phone on the fluff of your bed, an article reading ‘how to make ghosts visible’ glowing on the screen.
“I was thinking, we could try it out? I really wanna see you. I mean, properly”
You’re not crazy. It's not like you blindly trusted this random ghost haunting your apartment. You had heard stories of the mean, rough assassin Toji Fushiguro—reigning fear and chaos upon every tenant of your unit.
But when your landlord gave you a Polaroid of the man so you could 'watch out for him"—your deposit was on her desk and your vibrator was fully charged.
The article scrolls under Toji’s transparent digits, pausing to read line by line, analyzing every step. “What do you think? Is it gonna work?”
And just as he spells out a simple ‘try’, you’re already dipping your manicured fingers into the pouch of sweet powder.
When you finally make contact, it feels like an entirely new, foreign sensation.
The barrier between life and death sat right on his surface—causing your skin to buzz pleasantly in a shaky mess of interdimensional contact.
The confectioners' sugar floated on what you imagined were his pecs—the shape of your shaky fingerprints moving with the rise and fall of his chest. “Woah, you feel all—fuzzy. It’s weird.” You continue feeling the plush of his muscles. “It’s, nice.”
Your fingers travel across his surface, occasionally dipping your prints in more sugar before caressing his skin.
His arms were huge—meaty biceps twitching under the warm touch of your live hands painting his muscles. And how the powder coated the veins running up his forearms—it had your thighs pressing together already.
How could anyone say he was ‘evil’ and ‘violent’ when he was being so patient with you? Sitting there quietly as you touched him all over, unveiling his every feature with the soft caress of your hands.
After finally mapping out his chest and arms, you began tracing the outline of his fingers. “You’re so big Ji.” You flirted, his powdery chest rumbling with a deep, unheard chuckle.
The moment you finished coating his hands, they were on you.
Sliding up the skin of your waist, toying with the lace of your bralette—who knew ghosts were such perverts?
“Toji, be patient.” And despite the fact that he was an immortal, deathly being bordering two planes of reality—he listened, compromising with a hand on your thigh.
“M’gonna do your head now, okay?”
Your thumbs caress the indent of his collar, tracing the skin pulled taut over invisible bone. You wander up his throat, coating his thick, dense traps forming a pronounced trail up to his jaw.
His Adam's apple bobs under your hovering digits, as if your touch were just as foreign, fuzzy and euphoric as his. But before you can get to his face, he leans over—laying you down onto your plush pillows and caging you in with his muscular arms.
"T-Toji, what’re you–”
He grabs your wrist, his icy-hot grip guiding your hand back into the bag of sugar—bringing your fingers over to his face before impatiently dragging your digits over his cheekbones.
He was mesmerizing.
Every curve and edge of his face looked sculpted from the gods themselves.
His plump, scarred lips.
His narrowed, sharp eyes.
He messily drags your hand up into the shag of his hair, the strands magically appearing under their powdery coating. Sugar falls in white clouds, ghosting over your sheets and landing sweet on your tongue.
“You’re so–”
You caress his cheek—hand travelling to his nape and pulling him closer.
“handsome.”
His lips meet yours in a heated buzz. The slow drag of his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth, slow sucks and bites tugging on your lips.
Calculated, confident, hungry.
Your buds spark from the sweetness of his maw—the mixture of your wet saliva dissolving the powder into a sugary paste.
As addictive as it was, the hot, resistant collision of your beings burned a euphoric heat against your lips, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded.
"Mph—T-Toji, slow down—"
Your hands push against his chest, sugar sprinkling down on you from his moving locks. The room turns white when he reaches over, grabbing a handful of powder and dusting it over himself—little clouds filling the air.
You finally get a better look at him in his entirety.
Sugar sprinkled down to his abs, revealing his dense muscles coated in a layer of plush. His gaze is low and heavy above curled lips, smirking as he watches you—sat back on his heels.
"Are you..naked?"
God, you're so cute, he thought
All spread out for him, traces of his white prints dancing atop your skin, lingerie riding up just enough for him to catch the wet patch forming on your cunt.
And when he nods, it's devilish.
He grabs you again, sprinkling more powder over your hand before guiding it to his pelvis.
He's such a tease, dragging your hand against the skin of his happy trail, fluffing up the hair as sugar falls lightly over his cock. And when his grip loosens, you palm him fully—revealing the details of his pulsing length.
His expression twists in pleasure as he hisses at the contact—the warmth of your touch making him impossibly more sensitive.
He's big.
A thick mushroom tip peaks out atop his heavy shaft, the sugar revealing every line and vein, as well as his slit leaking pearly pre. "Fuck, Toji."
He bucks up into your fist when you pull away, replacing your hand with the wet embrace of your gooey mouth. He's so impossibly sweet like this, his cock invading every surface of your leaky maw—a sticky mess of sugary saliva leaking down your chin.
Head bobbing rhythmically, you slurp up any evidence of the white powder from his length, sucking and swirling your tongue greedily around him.
And with a final suck! you pull back and swallow—the sugar water running smoothly down your throat. He twitches at the sight, his cock seemingly getting even harder—gazing down at you all messy and sweet, leaning back against the pillows.
"T-Toji, I want you inside."
And who was he to deny you—the first person to not look at him in horror and disdain? His rough hands hook under your knees, pressing them to your chest before eagerly pulling your panties aside. When you feel his wet tip peek into your entrance—it buzzes against you, the impossible friction so blissful—so perfect.
Looking down between you, his pelvis is messy and splotchy—traces and marks of your wet lips cleansing his surface. Just below, his cock is almost entirely transparent—the cloudy, milky white of saliva and sugar coating him.
Your cunt flutters around the stretch—leaking and twitching as he sinks into you, his large hands caressing you through every inch.
His pace quickens, the plap! of his powdered thighs echoing lewd squelches through the room. A fiery buzz of ecstasy surges through you with each heavy thrust—eyes rolling, hips jerking.
It's overwhelming, the scent of sugar and sweat heavy in the air, the dissonant buzz of his surface against yours.
And when he sucks the powder off his thumb, reaching down and rubbing lazy circles on your clit—that eager coil in your tummy curls tighter and tighter.
"Jiii–s'too m-much! haah—f-feels so good—"
Your sweet praise just sends him further over the edge, pinning your knees to your chest in an impossibly deep, intimate position.
"F-huck!" You choke on another pathetic moan, tears welling in your eyes from sensitivity—the distortion of your contact blurring as your orgasm begins.
The feeling is euphoric, the drag of his cockhead petting your insides in rough, passionate thrusts.
And when your back bows off the sticky sheets, you soak his thick cock in your release—gushing when his leaky tip hits your sweet spot over and over and over.
Your legs shake, your hands tremble, and you can barely even form a sentence when he finally cums, fucking his load back into you—grinding against your cervix.
He pulls out, a string of cum and sugar and ectoplasm bridging your wet heats. And in a haze of pleasure and desperation, you reach out—looping your arms around his neck and cradling the back of his head.
The things you’d do to see his skin—flushed pink and peach, His hair—like silk slipping between your fingers.
And when you kiss him—his scar buzzing and sugary sweet on your tongue—you can almost hear his groan echo between dimensions.
He holds you close, reveling in the affection—swimming in the warmth of your plush arms, inhaling the sweetness of your perfume. He buries his face in your hair, nostalgic for his human form when he feels your blood rushing against his palms.
After a warm shower—watching him disappear under rushing water—you find solace in still feeling his heavy hands against you, holding and kneading at your soft skin.
Ever since that night, your apartment feels ironically safer.
Maybe you’re foolish, blissfully unaware of how dangerous it is to harbor a vicious entity in your apartment—but he isn’t a vicious entity, he’s your Toji.
While some people dealing with ghosts and ghouls might fear the spirit's tricks—all he’ll ever do is grab your ass while you're cooking or open the window so you can enjoy the rain’s pitter-patter.
And despite how lucky you are to have a ghost with benefits, you're already wracking your brain on how to tell your friends that the best dick you've ever had came from a man you can’t even see.
A/N: HI HOPE U ENJOYED !!!!! I loved writing this omg it was so fun!! LIFE UPDATE I started a new job and I work with a bunch of men (ew) so I’m lowkey scared but fuck it we ball. ALSO… I’m going to art school in September 🥳 I’m so excited omg RAH. Would artist!Toji be hot? OMG like reader is a preppy fine arts major and Toji’s a gang member graffiti artist? Ok I’m getting horny again. LOVE U BYE !! ❤️ (also sorry for any errors lmao)
Those two words just taste too sweet in his mouth and roll perfectly on his tongue.
He uses that term on those cozy mornings, when his body still aches, the sunlight is barely welcomed into the room, and your naked bodies are touching. The word “wife” comes out of his mouth like a sigh, like a secret poorly kept, right above your lips. Because it is not a secret that Bruce is devoted to you entirely; everyone knows, but there are people who simply choose to ignore it.
That’s Bruce’s favorite moment to call you his—whenever someone seems to not understand the term “his wife”.
It usually happens in galas. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne, forever the best dressed, will always talk to everyone in the room. Bruce will be the one greeting new people while you will be starting simple conversations with the ones you had already met in previous galas.
Most people know their place—Mrs. Wayne is clearly off the market—but there is always at least one man who tries to shoot his shot. And Bruce Wayne always notices.
He notices when the man steps closer and invades your personal space. Not close enough for you to feel his breath, but at an uncomfortable distance that is considered inappropriate.
You’re never a damsel in distress; you know how to deal with people and you’re quick to remind them of their place. But, for your husband, this is the best part of the night, so you let him mark his territory.
He walks towards you and the man, positioning himself to your left, and his right hand lands in your lower back. Bruce’s smile is somehow arrogant, full of pride and satisfaction. And it is in that moment when he finally gets to say his favourite words.
“I’ve seen you’ve finally met my wife.”
Bruce’s voice is polite and professional, but the word “wife” in particular is territorial, and your husband uses it like a trophy.
Yes, he is the lucky one to have you and be married to you. And you could fall to your knees right in that moment, but you stay there, with a satisfied smile, enjoying your husband's touch and watching how the man apologizes and moves on to another person.
You love being Bruce Wayne’s wife and he loves it even more.
A/N: Tomorrow I have my very last exam and I need to pass, so wish me luck. Follow for more :3
Bruce Wayne taglist: @princesstrunkz @currentblasphemy @planetevermore @astraeasworld @andraax2 @dlthl
desc: the world's greatest detectives find themselves stumped by a suspicious pink rock, much to batman's dismay. …it's rose quartz, boys…
tucked away in the backseat of jason todd's car is a cloudy pink...rock...? he squints, leaning in closer as his face scrunches in confusion.
"what the fuck?" he mumbles.
he reaches for it, planning on tossing it in the trash, but he stops himself halfway. he probably should not grab some anomaly barehanded... over the course of his vigilante career, he's encountered too many objects that looked completely normal right up until it tried to kill someone. the thing looks harmless, probably just a weird pink rock, but it's abrupt appearance in his car is unsettling. he can't completely dismiss the possibility that it could be some alien technology or a cursed artifact or something altered by poison ivy disguised as a rock.
"yeah, not touching that."
procuring a screwdriver from the trunk, jason cautiously pokes it like he's poking a bear. nothing happens. no explosions, no glowing runes, no interdimensional portals opening up and swallowing his car whole. a faint frown tugs at his lips. the lack of reaction is not enough to completely dispel his mild suspicion. with a heavy sigh and a pair of nitrile gloves, he carefully extracts the thing and seals it shut inside a transparent evidence bag. looks like this is a problem for the batcomputer.
~
the doors of the batcave slide open with a hiss, alerting the others of jason's arrival. the team is scattered in different stages of getting ready for patrol, though none of them are fully suited up just yet.
"what's that you got there?" duke thomas asks, his eyes immediately drawn to the bag. he's half-dressed in his black and yellow signal attire.
"rock candy?" dick grayson suggests, carelessly lounging in a chair with his feet propped up on the table.
jason rolls his eyes.
"yeah, i brought one big chunk of strawberry rock candy to snack on before patrol."
dick hums thoughtfully.
"could be raspberry."
"you should consume it and find out," damian wayne scoffs, not caring to look up at jason and what he's brought in. "best case scenario, you choke on it."
jason flips him off. he approaches the batcomputer and pulls out the scanner tray. he pries the bag open, flips it over, and the rock tumbles onto the metallic surface with a clink. the sound echoes through the cavernous space.
"pink kryptonite?" dick offers, sauntering closer to peer over jason's shoulder.
duke's head snaps up.
"there's a pink variant?"
"several," dick shrugs, like he's talking about ice cream and not the substance capable of bringing superman to his knees.
the signal abandons gearing up for now and crosses over to dick and jason at the computer, his interest piqued.
it doesn't take long before damian joins them. not because he's curious—he's not—but because he simply wishes to assess the situation firsthand. the moment he catches a glimpse of it, however, his expression hardens and his arms fold across his chest.
"this is nothing more than a mineral," the youngest vigilante snaps.
the batcomputer whirs to life, its blue glow washing over their faces. jason navigates to the identification program and selects item scan. the tray slides smoothly into the containment chamber and the machine accepts it with a sharp beep. a glass panel lowers into place, locking the stone inside. loading icons flash across the screen before giving way to an empty progress bar.
all four pairs of eyes are glued to the bar filling at an agonizingly slow pace. dick subconsciously taps his foot as they wait which usually drives jason up a wall, but he's too razor-focused on the numbers creeping closer and closer to 100. the collective anticipation exponentially builds the higher the numbers go.
at 57%, "imagine it is kryptonite," duke mutters.
at 69%, "then bruce will lock it away for 'contingency reasons,'" jason retorts.
at 71%, "it is not kryptonite." damian's had enough.
at 84%, dick is practically vibrating.
at 93%, "hey, what's all the fuss about?"
tim drake glances between the loading bar, the cluster of vigilantes gathered around it, and the object of interest on the tray. his head tilts slightly.
"...why are you crowding around a rock?"
"these fools believe this mineral could be pink kryptonite," damian bristles. "ridiculous."
tim makes his way through, shoving dick aside and elbowing jason in the process. he squints at it through the glass and consequently turns to them with a look of quiet judgement.
"guys, you're overcomplicating this. pretty sure that's rose quartz."
the batcomputer chimes and they snap their heads towards it to see...
identification complete: rose quartz.
tim snickers. jason blinks. duke whistles. dick's jaw is on the floor. damian throws his arms up in exasperation.
disappointed is an understatement. they feel personally wronged and overwhelmingly defeated. they all stare at the screen as if it's mocking them.
"how the hell did this get in my car?"
jason plucks the pink rock—err, crystal—from the containment chamber, his fingers brushing along the grooves. he's unable to fully comprehend that the weird pink rock proved to be nothing more than a harmless crystal.
tim plops down in front of the computer, opening an internet browser to search for a generic infographic. when he finds a concise chart with the relevant facts, he displays it in full screen.
"'used to attract love,'" duke reads aloud slowly, raising a brow. "what's that supposed to mean?"
tim pushes his chair away to face jason.
"were you driving with someone earlier?"
"yeah?"
"well they must really like you."
"what makes you say that?"
"they put rose quartz in your car, jason," tim deadpans. "that means they're trying to attract your love into their life."
the concepts click into place in jason's brain, and his face burns a shade of pink darker than the crystal in his palm. he's already wrapped around your finger—has been for a while now, if he's being honest. you don't need some rock to get him to love you.
damian rolls his eyes. "pathetic."
dick grins. "endearing."
duke sighs. "perplexing."
~
from a platform overlooking his cave, bruce wayne's gaze sweeps across the room. cowls and armor pieces are littered all over the floor, seemingly forgotten by the five young vigilantes currently engaged in a passionate discussion. there are several tabs open on the batcomputer ranging from reputable geology websites to metaphysical blog posts to reddit threads debating the energetic effect of crystals.
"what on earth are you doing?"
nobody is in uniform.
nobody is preparing for patrol.
nobody appears to be doing anything remotely productive.
"researching," dick answers easily. "go long, B."
without missing a step, bruce catches the object in midair. he turns it over in his hand and holds it up to the fluorescent lights to inspect it.
rough surface. irregular shape. pale pink coloration with vitreous luster. conchoidal fracture. trigonal structure. approximately a seven on the mohs scale. estimated diameter between 1.5 to 2 inches. estimated weight between 150 to 250 grams.
common.
inexpensive.
entirely unremarkable.
their attention has been completely monopolized by this?
"bruce," tim says, exhausted, "it's a rock."
"a love rock," duke adds, very much amused.
bruce looks up.
"no, this is raw rose quartz."
the world's greatest detectives stare at him, absolutely stunned.
"how did you—?"
jason's question trails off as bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.
"patrol. ten minutes."
a/n: i'm in love with the idea of jason x spiritual/witchy reader, probably will do more with that concept!!
♡ a/n: inspired by this tiktok, yk I had to double itttt
Satoru typed on his laptop—big, bulky, probably one of those nerdy gaming ones. You tried not to stare, but your side glances betrayed you anyway.
His fingers moved fast, long and capable, skilled, that's for sure. You needed to stop.
Half the class period had already passed, and you were supposed to be paying attention to Professor Yaga. Instead, you were shoving down thoughts of last week, trying not to replay it on a loop.
That night, he had been all over you— flirting, touching, the way he whispered in your ear. And now? He was sitting a few seats ahead, focused, completely…normal.
What the hell is with the switch-up?
—
The lab was quiet. Another experiment gone wrong— his sixth attempt— and Satoru Gojo did not fail six times. Period. The word alone was foreign to him. Chemicals he shouldn't have gotten ahold of. A lab he had full access to. He was like a kid in a candy shop, and if anyone could pull this off, it was him.
Failed. Again.
Sleep pulled at him harder than it should have. Just an hour. His body could handle three days without sleep—one hour would be fine. When he woke, drool had smeared weeks of data into illegibility. He groaned, dabbing at the page. And then he froze. Beakers that had been meticulously cleaned now had fingerprints. Ones he didn't place.
Someone else had been here.
Listening, Satoru whipped his head around the room, eyes trying to catch anything in sight. Slightly panicked, no one else was meant to be here; if there was, he would be royally fucked. Facing the intruder, seeing a mirror reflection of himself, wherever his shirt had gone, along with his pants, and everything else.
Stopping in his tracks, he patted his body, making sure he was indeed wearing clothes and not raw dogging it in a lab.
Staring like a deer in headlights, Satoru watched as he(?) clenched his finger, moving his appendages like they were new and getting accustomed to them. Except it wasn't Satoru moving, but someone else who looked exactly like him.
Identical.
"Yo, what the fuck?!" the voice called out, the same to his, but had a little bit of an edge to it, not noticeable to the average listener. "Who are you?"
"I should be saying the same to you..." His eyes narrowed approaching the figure cautiously, like a stray cat on the streets that was particularly aggressive.
It was almost impossible for him to have a doppelganger who looked this similar to him, and it's not like he had a secret twin hiding somewhere; he hoped not, at least.
Satoru tried coming up with some sort of explanation, anything to explain the man before him. "A clone...perhaps?" he mumbled.
"So that's your what, hypothesis?" Satoru, the clone, asked, catching onto Satoru's drift. "What the hell is with this red and blue goo anyway?" he scoffed, wiping the remaining off of his skin.
"How did you get in that?"
"I woke up with it," he said as though the answer was obvious. "You seriously think I would roll around in mystery shit for fun?" he rolled his eyes.
Satoru finally came to the realization that perhaps it was not something out of this world coincidence, but rather his own calculated mistake in his own.
A wicked grin spread across his face. Either he has finally lost his mind from inhaling copious amounts of chemicals, or he has done something even more wonderful!
Life, not only a new life but an existing life of himself!
He couldn't possibly let this scientific breakthrough slip through his fingers. Life with his replica was uneventful, to say the least. It was hell trying to get his new experiment back home with him. Satoru told himself it would be worth it in the end, so he persevered.
For science!
He let Satoru 2.0 do what he wanted, being like himself in most aspects. Habits, diet, and build were similar. Intelligence surely differed in more ways than one. Satoru 2.0 seemed to lack the knowledge he had. He wasn't disappointed, not in the slightest; this only aided his research.
A few days in, and he had 8 pages of notes on the clone. He didn't know if or when this experiment would end. Satoru was going to make the most of this.
Personality was different; the man before him was crude and lacked the reserve Satoru had. It was like he came from a different universe. Satoru groaned in his seat, getting a headache from all the hypotheses filling his head. He'd resorted to calling him Satoru 2.0—referring to someone who wasn't technically someone else by his own name only confused his thoughts.
All Satoru 2.0 did was complain.
Satoru suspects he only does it to provoke him. It was working. He heard his own voice in his head enough, hearing it externally while his thoughts were running amok, too fast for him to grasp; his eye twitched.
"Is this what you do all day?" Satoru says, head dangling off the bed. Satoru had spent most of the day studying and documenting whatever Satoru 2.0 did. It was obvious he was itching to get outside.
Satoru didn't want to risk being out the same time and people catching on that there were more than two Satorus. They were completely different; he would be appalled if others thought they were the same person.
"Pretty much... I mean, sometimes I play D&D or a quick battle of Digimon." Satoru shrugged.
"Dude, you're seriously lame as hell," the other grimaced. "I thought your closet was the only depressing thing in here," he acts as though he isn't wearing his clothes. Sure, it was styled differently, lacking one of Satoru's flannel shirts, which he threatened to burn if it came close enough to touch his skin. "I am starting to doubt we are the same person."
"Based on our DNA results and the corroborating information, I can assure you that we are the same person." He said matter-of-factly, his clone groaned loudly, stopping whatever scientific rambling that Satoru was about to proudly go on.
"C'mon, bro, let's go out, what's the Greek life out here?" he sat up, a mischievous grin on his face."Ya' know-"
"Don't need it." Satoru quickly responded. He has never been much of a partier, much less into fraternities. There was no substantial appeal to him. Dirty, crowded houses of inebriated peers did not seem attractive in the slightest.
Alcohol dulled the senses anyway; he preferred to stay aware. The taste alone was revolting.
"Fine, stay here cooped up in here like some city rat. I don't care, but I am losing my fucking mind in here." Satoru 2.0 whined, staring outside the window.
He knew there was a party today, reading one of the texts on Satoru's phone, prompting his continuous whining. Satoru was skeptical about what his clone would do; they shared the same appearance, and he would prefer keeping his clean slate reputation on top of his stellar grades. "Imagine what kind of research you could get out of this."
"Research? What kind?" Intrigued, Satoru whirled his chair around, giving his full attention.
"You're the genius here, think about it." He wasn't wrong; there was substantial research to be found when his replica interacted with others besides himself. A change of environment was an essential scientific process.
"It's a win-win. I get to get the fuck out of here, and you get to analyze or whatever you do," he bargained, hand pushing his hair out of the way, a habit Satoru quickly wrote down. Perhaps Satoru 2.0 wasn't completely asinine.
"Fine, but you must report back everything. Interactions, behaviors, everything."
"Whatever, whatever." Satoru 2.0 lost no time readying himself, taking Satoru's spare phone. He seemed to work the technology just fine.
—
When he arrived, he didn't expect his nerd ass counterpart to know more than 4 people, himself included. To his surprise, a man with brown hair met him at the door, thoroughly shocked to see his face.
"S-Satoru?! No way— I didn't think you'd show up!" Haibara said, a name Satoru soon learned as he led him into the house. A smell Satoru had savored after he's been stuck in that lame apartment. It was just as good hearing his own name rather than 'Satoru 2.0'.
"You look so different, man, what's with the switch up?" he asked, pouring him a concoction from a jug into a red solo cup. "Almost didn't recognise you," he laughed.
Satoru shrugged, taking the cup and throwing back half of it in one go. The burn was welcome. "Needed a change of pace. Been cooped up too long."
Haibara's eyes went wide. "Dude, you never drink. Last time someone tried to get you to take a shot, you gave them a twenty-minute lecture on ethyl alcohol's effect on synaptic transmission."
"People change," he smirked.
The party was everything Satoru had been craving. Bodies pressed together, bass vibrating through the floorboards, the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol.
This was living. This was what that lab rat was missing out on while he categorized his fucking beakers by size and color. He genuinely did not see the allure; while he nerded out over aspects of life, he would be living it out in this strange place.
He'd been working the room for about an hour, charming his way through clusters of people who apparently knew "Satoru" but couldn't quite place this version of him. The glasses were gone, for one.
Rolling the sleeves of the plain black t-shirt he'd found in the original's disappointing wardrobe. The shirt was too big on him—well, on them technically—but he'd made it work, the fabric draping in a way that suggested he'd just thrown it on without caring, which he had.
"Yo, 'Toru!" A voice cut through the noise, and he turned to find a guy with black frosted tips waving him over to a corner where a group had gathered around someone sitting on a couch. "Get over here, man. We're doing shots."
Now that caught his attention.
He sauntered over, pushing through the crowd with the easy confidence that apparently didn't come standard with his model. The weirdo probably would've stammered something about germ theory and backed away slowly. Fucking nerd.
And then he saw you.
You were sprawled across the couch, tiny skirt riding up just enough, legs stretched out with a red solo cup balanced on your thigh. Your eyes met his, and something sparked recognition, sure, but something else too. Interest.
"You're in my spot," he said, grinning down at you. Your long nails tapped the cup nervously, eyes glancing around as if you didn't know he was talking to you.
Your eyebrow furrowed. "Pretty sure I was here first."
"Yeah, but I'm prettier."
The laugh you gave him was worth the corny line. "You wish, Gojo."
So you knew his name, that's even more Interesting. Dweeb hadn't mentioned anyone worth mentioning, or anyone at all other than a scientist, but here you were, looking at him.
He was pretty sure you were not one of the figures Satoru spent hunched over his desk reading about. He dropped onto the couch beside you, closer than necessary, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours. "You gonna save me a shot, or what?"
You held up the cup between your legs. "Come get it."
—
Satoru left his seat, kneeling, spreading your legs as he placed the shot in between your thighs, your skirt hiking up to reveal more of your thighs. You almost didn't recognise him in his new get-up or attitude.
"Don't be shy, baby." He smirked. You didn't even know the dorky little shit could ever be like this. So charming, sexy.
His hands covered the tops of your thighs, head dipping lower to the plastic red solo cup rested in-between the the flesh.
He buried his head in your thighs, slurping the liquid from inside the cup. It was too much. He was really putting on a show. He was hot, and he knew it, just as much as he knew the answers to all the professor's questions.
Taking up all the class time he could, taking up as much space in between your ever-so shaky legs. It made you wonder if this was even the same guy, thought interrupted by his finger groping your thighs.
Your mind started to glitch, wondering what he would look like if there weren't as many people here, if your panties and skirt were off, and him licking up the wetness in your panties and not the cheap alcohol.
Fuck, you didn't even care if the others watched. You wouldn't usually get down in front of so many people, so suddenly, even. Did it really count as a record if you already knew him, spending most of the semester staring at his hair?
He was good eye candy, especially in a class you barely understood. Satoru wasn't your typical pick, well, not previously. The nerd thing was cute and all, but seeing him like this was making your pussy flutter.
His cerulean eyes look up at you, not behind a pair of thick glasses, watching you watch him. As if he were seeing your reaction.
The tips of his ears were tinged pink, even brighter in contrast with his bright white hair. You wanted to touch him so bad, take him away so that you could get the real thing.
Holding back, you lean your head back, holding your hand over your mouth to stop from saying something stupid or worse. The display was bordering on pornographic, which didn't bother you; you've done worse in worse places.
Satoru picked up the rim of the cup, tongue going up the sides, placing it flat to the rim.
Fuck...
The rest of the party blurred after that. He stayed glued to your side, hand finding your waist, then your thigh, then your waist again, like he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch but knew he needed to be touching you somewhere.
You learned things about him—about this side of him—that didn't match the guy from class at all. He reminded you of the frat guys you used to mess with, a lot smoother and a hell of a lot cuter.
You never met one who wasn't a dick for brains, at least.
But when you asked about class, about Professor Yaga's lecture on cellular biology, he went quiet for a beat too long before deflecting. "Don't wanna talk about school at a party, babe. That's against the rules."
That was suspicious to say the least, you would've thought, given the chance to 'nerd off', he'd take it happily. You brushed it off even as the thought lingered in your head.
You should've noticed then. Should've caught the discrepancy. But his hand had slipped lower, thumb tracing circles on the inside of your thigh, and rational thought had packed its bags and left the building.
He grinned, sharp and wolfish. "Made me wanna find out if you taste better than cheap vodka." You fell back onto the seat, pulling him with you.
When you mentioned you wanted a change of scenery, eyelashes falling low as you played with the thin chain around his neck. A move you have performed more times than you can count. Realisation dawned on his face as he led you to a car outside.
"Only one way to find out."
He didn't need more encouragement than that.
His mouth found your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin there while his hands worked your top. Impatient. Desperate. Like he couldn't get you naked fast enough. You felt the same way, fingers fumbling with his belt, his jeans, needing to feel him, all of him, right now. Your patience was shorter than the skirt you were wearing.
"Fuck, you're so soft," he groaned against your collarbone, pushing your top aside to reveal the lace underneath. His thumb traced the edge of your bra, teasing, watching your face for every reaction. "Been thinking about these tits since I saw you on that couch. Wanna put my mouth all over 'em."
"Then do it."
He did.
His mouth was hot and wet and perfect, sucking marks into the swell of your breasts before finally, finally pulling down the lace and taking your nipple between his lips. You gasped, back arching off the bed, and he hummed in appreciation, the vibration making you squirm.
"That's it," he murmured against your skin. "Love how responsive you are. Gonna make you feel so good, baby."
His hand slid down your stomach, past the waistband of your skirt, fingers dipping between your thighs. You were already wet. "Fuck. You're soaked."
"Do something about it, Toru," you managed, breath hitching as his fingers found your clit through your panties.
He laughed, low and dirty. "I like the way you think."
He pulled back then, settling himself between your legs with a purpose that made your stomach flip.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your thong, dragging them down your legs slowly, agonizingly slowly, watching the reveal like it was the best thing he'd seen all night.
"Pretty," he observed, running a thumb through your folds, spreading your wetness. "So fuckin' pretty."
He ate pussy like he was getting a grade for it. His tongue worked you with a rhythm that bordered on cruel, soft and teasing one moment, firm and demanding the next.
His fingers joined in, two of them sliding inside you with an ease that made you moan, made your hips buck against his face.
"You like that?" he asked, words muffled against your cunt. "Yeah, I can feel how much you like it. Squeezing my fingers so tight, baby." You couldn't form words, could only moan and grip his white hair—so soft, you'd wondered about that.
It was methodical in its intensity, thorough in a way that reminded you, absurdly, of how he answered questions in class. It made you wonder where he learned this from.
But there was nothing academic about the way he moaned against you, the way his tongue delved deeper, the way he looked up at you with those impossible blue eyes while he worked you toward the edge; you couldn't help but gush around him.
You never would have thought Satoru to be a messy eater; you didn't think him to be an eater at all, to be honest.
"Close," you gasped. "Fuck, 'toru, l'm close-"
He doubled down, fingers curling to hit that spot inside you while his mouth sucked your clit, and you shattered, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.
He didn't stop, didn't let up, worked you through every wave of it until you were shaking, oversensitive, pushing at his head. Both of you were interrupted by the ringing of his phone, tempted to ignore it till he saw the name displayed at the top. Picking up the phone, much to your dismay, he started typing viciously, irritation visibly growing on his face.
"Hate to say this, babe, but we gotta cut this short, 'kay." He grumbled, shutting the phone off and stuffing it in his back pocket. He licked up the rest of your release and pulled up your panties and skirt skillfully. You exited his car satisfied but thoroughly confused as he drove off with a wink and a wave.
What the hell?!
—
When he got back to the apartment, Satoru was waiting up like an excited puppy, notebook in hand. "Well?" he asked, practically vibrating. He wouldn't be surprised if he got off on research results."What did you observe? Any notable behavioral differences in the subjects? Did anyone suspect—"
"You really pick the worst time to call. I was in the middle of something super scientific." He pouted, "I got laid," Satoru announced, just to watch his counterpart's face crumple.
"You WHAT? The experiment was for observational purposes only, not for—"
"Relax, nerd. I didn't actually sleep with anyone." He tossed himself onto the sofa, grinning at the ceiling. It was not a total lie; he didn't sleep with anyone, as close as he was to doing so, until Satoru called. "But I did meet someone." he technically met a lot of people.
Satoru's pen stopped moving. "Who?"
The replica started describing you, leaving out some details like the body shot and eating you out; the dork didn't need to know everything. "I talked to her tonight. Got her number."
"She's in my Bioethics class…you're kidding?"
"Relax, I'm not gonna steal your girl. She seemed pretty into us, bro." he leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
Satoru blinked behind his glasses, as if that thought never crossed his mind. "She did?"
"Oh yeah, super into you, can't believe you didn't hit that yet." he paused, "You know if you like her, I got you a hell of a start. If not, this may help your experiment."
"I never said that." Satoru shook his head, thinking for a moment. "I guess it wouldn't hurt..."
"I am great, I know." He pulled out the phone, scrolling to your contact. "Here. Text her tomorrow. Ask her to study or some shit. Don't know how far your nerd-ass will make it though."
"My nerd-ass has worked perfectly fine for twenty-two years."
"Yeah, and look where it's gotten you." Satoru gestured vaguely at the apartment, the stacks of books, the half-finished experiments, the single bed in the corner. "Alone with your Digimon cards."
"They're not cards, they're- you know what, never mind." Satoru took the phone, staring at your name. "And you're sure she... she seemed interested? Unwilling participants are never fun."
"Bro." He laughed, just slightly. "Take my word, she's interested as hell."
ー
It took a week for Satoru to say anything to you. Guys like him, you assumed he would be texting by the time you were pulling your panties back up.
Hey, it's Satoru. From class. I know this is random, but I was wondering if you wanted to study together sometime? There's a coffee shop near campus that's pretty quiet.
You stared at the message for a solid thirty seconds. After the party last week, you'd half convinced yourself it was a dream. But here he was. Texting you.
Sure, it pissed you off that he was now texting you, but you typed back, fingers moving with speed. He never bothered saying anything to you all semester; you were suspicious, to say the least.
If this was his way of getting into your pants, you'd give it a chance. Less blatant than many other attempts to get with you. It's better than a dick pic, you were curious about what was under those khakis though…
When were you thinking?
His response was immediate. Tomorrow? Around 2? I'll send you the address.
Tomorrow. He wanted to see you tomorrow.
Although you were planning on going shopping, checking out the new clothing store that opened at the mall. You'd been waiting for them to open, but you could postpone your shopping trip.
You spent the next twenty-four hours in a state of barely contained anticipation. It's not like this was your first dick appointment, but you knew what to expect. Satoru was different than your usual types.
A café wasn't your typical spot, but you could work with it. Changing your outfit four times before settling on something casual but cute and easy to take off.
The coffee shop was exactly the kind of place you'd expect him to like: quiet, filled with the smell of old books and fresh espresso, cozy corners with overstuffed chairs. You spotted him immediately, tucked away at a table near the window, laptop open, glasses perched on his nose, looking so fucking adorable.
"Hey," you breathed, sliding into the chair across from him.
He looked up, and for a moment, his expression was polite. "Hey. You came."
"Of course I came. I said I would."
"Right. Yeah. Of course." He pushed his glasses up, a nervous habit you were starting to find endearing. "I, uh- I got you a drink. I didn't know what you liked, so I got you a vanilla latte. That's what most people seem to— but if you don't like vanilla I can get you something else, I just didn't want you to have to wait in line and-"
"Satoru." You couldn't help but smile. "Vanilla latte is perfect. Thank you."
"Oh. Good. Good." He nodded a smile, stretching his lips slightly. "So, um. Bioethics. Chapter six?"
You studied together for two hours, and somewhere between discussing utilitarian approaches to medical resource allocation and him explaining the difference between deontological and consequentialist ethics with hand gestures that somehow helped you understand the concept further.
Your leg bounced under the table. His change from the other day was confusing. It was like whiplash trying to deal with the thoughts racing through your mind. The most repetitive one being, what the hell?
He looked so cute in his flannel and glasses, much different from the other day, but still hot. You wanted to pounce on him till you forgot his name.
You didn't do that, obviously. But you thought about it.
"Same time next week?" he asked as you packed up.
"Yeah," you said, a little confused. No offer to head to the back or to his place. "Same time next week." You couldn't believe you spent two hours getting ready to study.
The texts started slowly at first. Him sending you articles he thought you'd find interesting. He sends memes that make you laugh. Gradually, they became more frequent.
Good morning texts. Goodnight texts that made your heart clench. No unsolicited nudes or any flirtatious messages, it was puzzling.
When the coffee shop that both of you frequented was closed, and he offered that you come over instead, you took the opportunity immediately.
His apartment was huge, much more than an average college student would be able to pay for. You didn't question it, slipping your heels off. He led you inside to the couch, where he had an area set up for both of you to study.
Today, he had ditched the flannel and wore a crewneck sweater. You scooted a little closer to him on the couch. He looked through the textbook trying to find a particular page. Humming when he finally found it.
Throughout the study session, you took the first step and gradually touched him. You thought it was the alcohol that made him so bold; you can work with shy guys.
At first, his hands, your nails tracing over his veins, and then his hair, playing with the short hair of his undercut. He didn't seem to mind in the slightest, letting your hands wander where they wanted.
You did as little as graze his collar, and he was nose deep in your panties, now his little playboy exterior missing, and he was acting like you weren't even there.
"And this…" He paused, laughing slightly. "You're not even listening."
"I am." You lied, making eye contact with him. You haven't been listening for about an hour now, responding with hums. You liked the sound of his voice as he explained topics. You'll have him go over them later anyway, not like you'll be listening then either.
"Then what did I say?" He asked, putting a page through the textbook before closing it shut. He waited for a moment for your response, "See, I knew you weren't listening, starting to think you didn't come over just to study," he stated simply.
Duh, you don't usually put this much effort in, not like you ever had to anyway, men are easy.
"If I didn't?" you leaned in closer, tilting your head just slightly. Your eyes glancing down towards his plump lips, you didn't even get to kiss him last time. Lifting from your knees, you kissed him on the side of his mouth.
He froze, mind visibly thinking about what to do next. It was simply a test, but he pulled you closer onto him, practically on top of his lap. His lips were soft, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth.
You moaned into his touch, hips grinding against him. You broke away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. You traveled down your neck, leaving hickies in your wake.
It's immediate, the way his hips buck up into you, his bulge pressing right against your core through both your clothes, and he groans in the air, the fresh mark you're sucking into his throat.
One hand squeezing your ass while the other is splaying across your lower back, pressing you harder against him. His touch was awkward, like he didn't know where to touch.
You roll your hips experimentally, whimpering when the friction hits just right, and his whole body tenses beneath you. His head falls back against the couch cushion, exposing the long column of his throat, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly.
Those bright blue eyes behind his glasses crack open just to stare up at you, pupils blown so wide the blue is barely visible.
"That's it," he breathes, and his hands are pushing up the hem of your shirt, leading his hands as you shove the thin fabric off over your head.
Bringing his hands to your breast— just barely shaking against your lace-covered tits. You don't even bother with the clasp— yanking your bra down, spilling your tits out into the open air, and his mouth is on them before you can process the loss of fabric.
Wet and hot and desperate, tongue dragging over your nipple while his fingers work the other, pinching and rolling. He lacked the same technique you seen before, instead slobbering over your tits.
His sweater is in the way. Too much fabric, too soft, too there when you need to feel his skin, see what has been hiding under his baggy clothes. You tug at it, and he pulls back just long enough to rip it over his head, white hair staticky and wild, and god—he's huge. Broad shoulders, thick chest, arms that make you feel tiny even straddling his lap like this.
You run your hands down his pecs, over the faint trail of hair disappearing below his waistband, and he shudders.
That phone call better have been worth it for him to take this from you.
"Yeah, touch me," he huffs, grabbing your wrists and pressing your palms flat against his stomach.
You grind down again, and his hips stutter up, his thick length pressing against your clothed cunt in a way that makes stars pop behind your eyes.
The friction is everything—denim rubbing against denim, the seam of his jeans catching right on your clit as you rock against him. His hands fly to your hips, guiding, controlling, forcing you down harder and faster until you're both panting.
"Shit-" He chokes, head dropping forward to watch the place where your bodies meet. You follow his gaze and see the way his cock strains against his jeans, the dark spot of pre-cum already soaking through, your hips move in frantic little circles trying to get more pressure exactly where you need it.
"'Toru-"
"I know, I know." He leans up to catch your mouth again, all spit and tongue and messy, open-mouthed kisses that leave both of you gasping. His hands slip down, grabbing your ass and spreading you open over his lap, and the new angle makes you see white.
You're grinding right against his length, the ridge of it catching your clit with every roll of your hips, and you can feel the coil tightening low in your belly.
He must feel it too—how close you are—because his grip turns bruising, forcing you to keep the pace even when you're shaking. "Don't stop," he stutters against your lips.
You nod frantically, unable to form words, too focused on the pressure building and building and building.
His teeth sink into your bottom lip, and that's it—the coil snaps and you're coming undone on top of him, grinding through it while he groans against your mouth and his hips jerk up helplessly beneath you.
Your vision goes spotty, coming down from your high gradually. Slumped against his chest and trembling, you feel him shake beneath you. Look down and see his jaw clenched, veins prominent in his neck, eyes squeezed shut.
"Your turn," you whisper, and you meant to sound sexy, but it comes out wrecked. Neither of you had heard the door open, and the figure standing there watching the scene unfold.
"Damn you actually did it…" Satoru stood by the door with a shocked grin on his face. You froze, your cloudy haze clearing up at the sight of two Satorus. "Y'know, I was about to complain about how dumb your classes are, but…" he whistled.
Were you losing your mind?! Sure, your orgasm was pretty damn good, but nowhere near hallucinating.
Panicked, you climbed off of Satoru, whose hands you had to swipe off of you. Satoru's nonchalance wasn't helping, as you tried covering yourself from the man at the door.
"You have the worst timing…" Satoru groaned beside you.
"You're one to talk. I was in the middle of working my magic when you decided to call over some bullshit, payback bitch."
While the two of them went at it, you were left completely dumbfounded. "Satoru?" Both of them answered, "What the hell is going on? You have a twin?" Two Gojos, standing in the same room, looking at you with expressions that ranged from inconvenienced to proud.
You stared in shock at the two men. Well, not one but two Satorus, according to both of them. That would explain why the weird behavior and why he looked so different when you saw him outside of classes and studying. "So... you're the same person?" you examined, looking between them.
"Pretty much, Alstein over here mixed the wrong shit up," he affirmed. "I wouldn't say 'same', I am nothing like him," Satoru replied, denying any accusation that he was anything like his replica.
You nodded cautiously. You may not be the smartest person in the world, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this was insane.
"And you're just…... okay with this?" you asked, gesturing between them. "With him running around pretending to be you?"
Satoru shrugged. "It's been useful for research, when he's not trying to burn my flannels, at least. I wouldn't say he was pretending to be me, when he technically is me." He looked back at the other man, "on a biological level at least." He added scornfully. The other didn't fail flipping him off, picking up on his more than arrogant tone.
"They're an abomination against fashion." Satoru 2.0 shuddered dramatically. "Seriously, wear something else, your taste is ass."
"I like flannels."
"Again, zero fucking taste."
You couldn't help the exasperated laugh that escaped. It was absurd, standing here with two identical men arguing about fashion choices like one of them hadn't created an entire clone of himself. If he wasn't lying at least.
"So all those times at the parties, and the car," you said slowly, looking at the clone. "That was you."
"Guilty." He didn't look regretful at all, pretty proud himself. "There's no way this virgin has these skills, babe," he gestured, poking his tongue out playfully.
"The car?" Satoru looked between you, "What happened in the car?"
"The first time I got out, ate her out in the car, before you woefully interrupted." Satoru sighed, reminiscing on the moment as his eyes looked toward your breast, his gaze was anything but polite.
"You couldn't have said something two weeks ago; now I have to go back and add that to the data log." Satoru glared, rubbing his temples.
"Don't get distracted, assholes. I would have preferred not getting involved in this 'experiment'." You used your fingers to add quotations around experiment. "And all the study sessions?" You turned to the real Satoru.
"Correct." That would explain why he wasn't as eager to get in your pants compared to his counterpart.
"And the texts?"
They exchanged a look. "Uh," Satoru mumbled. "That was... both of us. Sometimes."
"Bro- babe," the other started, "think about it, you're like a research assistant, y'know." He tried to make the situation seem better than it was. You couldn't deny it; it was pretty fucking cool that he made a clone of himself, but that didn't negate the fact that you were just an unknowing subject in their schemes.
"Is that what this is? Research?" Both of them nodded cautiously. You should storm out, block them, and pretend this never happened. Go to the mall as you would have, instead of messing with these two. But then the cruel thought of missing out on two Satoru's crossed your mind.
You had worked hard fake studying to get in Satoru's pants, and his little clone wasn't half bad at giving head. Groaning, you prayed you would not regret this. "Fuck it, you better credit me in your paper."
You've already made it this far.
"You'll be in the acknowledgements, I promise," Satoru—the real one—grins, surprised by your response, and it's that same infuriatingly charming smile that made you get onto his couch and car in the first place. "But uh, we might need to collect a little more data first."
His clone's already moving before you can process the words, sliding onto the couch behind you while the original stays in front. You're trapped between two identical bodies, two sets of impossible blue eyes watching you with matching intensity.
"Wait—" The protest dies in your throat when four hands find your skin simultaneously.
The one behind you—Satoru, you need to start calling them something—drags his nose up the curve of your spine, breathes hot against your vertebrae. "Smell so good," he murmurs against your shoulder blade.
The real Satoru cups your face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. His thumb traces your swollen bottom lip, and you hate how your body responds, how your nipples peak under the clone's wandering hands. "I—" You gasp when his mouth closes over the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. "Fuck."
"That's not a no." The real one's eyes crinkle with amusement. He leans in, kisses you slow and deep while his twin—clone—whatever—works his way down your back. Teeth scrape against your shoulder blade, your spine, the dip just above the swell of your ass.
You break the kiss with Toru— you decided to call him that. He didn't seem to mind— his hands spread your cheeks apart, when you feel his breath against your sensitive rim.
"Look at that," one murmurs, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "She's already dripping. You think she wants my mouth here, too?"
"Only one way to find out." Satoru's watching over your shoulder, eyes darkening as his replica drags his tongue through your folds from behind, a long, slow stripe that makes your knees buckle. You missed his tongue.
"Fuck-" The word punches out of you as Toru's tongue circles your clit, then dips lower, presses against your entrance, then lower still—"Oh god, what are you—"
He answers by licking into you from behind, tongue flat and hot against that tight ring of muscle, and your brain short-circuits completely.
"That's it." Satoru's got his forehead pressed to yours, watching your eyes go wide and glassy. "Lay back." You don't have a choice—Satoru's hands guide you down until you're flat on the couch, and then they're positioning you however they want, rolling you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up until you're on your knees with your face pressed into the cushions.
"Perfect," someone breathes. Could be either of them. "Look at this view."
Something slick and cool drips down your crack—lube, you realize, lots of it—and then fingers are spreading you open, exposing you completely.
"Who wants first?" Satoru's voice, from somewhere to your left.
"She squirted on my face already. You owe me." Toru's right behind you, and you feel the thick head of his cock nudging against your wet folds.
"That was your choice. You could've fucked her anytime."
"And miss watching her come apart on my tongue? Never." He pushes in just an inch, just the tip, and you whimper into the pillow, your hole clenched around nothing, anticipating him. "But now I want to feel that tight little pussy squeezing me while I fill her up."
"Greedy," he scoffs. "Fine. But I get her mouth." Satoru's on his back now, cock standing wet and ready. Your mouth waters, tongue flicking at the slit before taking him into your mouth. He moaned, your tongue swirling around his cock expertly.
Toru, behind you, groans against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight up your spine and making you moan around the real Satoru's cock. Your thighs tremble on either side of that beautiful face, and you feel his tongue curl inside you.
"Shit—" Satoru's head falls back, hips twitching, and you feel him hit the back of your throat. "Y-you're amazing." You hum around him, sending vibrations to his cock, only making him gasp louder.
Toru pulls his mouth away just long enough to gasp, "Don't make him cum too fast, babe." Then he's diving back in, tongue stiff and pointed, fucking into your dripping hole while his nose bumps against your hole with every movement.
You're caught between them, suspended in pleasure. Every time you try to focus on sucking Satoru's cock, the clone does something devastating with his tongue that makes your throat clench and your vision blur.
Every time you try to rock back against that perfect mouth, the other pushes your head further down, cock hitting the back of your throat.
"Look at me." Satoru tugs your hair, just enough to drag your eyes up to his. They're almost completely black, pupils blown wide behind his thick glasses, cheeks flushed. "That's it. That's so fucking good."
Behind you, his replica's hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He pulls you down onto his face like you're nothing but a toy for his mouth, tongue plunging deep, then retreating to lap at your clit in quick, cruel circles.
You come with a broken scream around Satoru's length, your entire body convulsing, and you feel Toru behind you groan against your pulsing cunt, feel him drink everything you give him like it's the finest thing he's ever tasted.
Close, Satoru tried to pull your head off of him, you stay planted, he cums down your throat in warm spurts.
His thighs twitching under your grip, it didn't taste bad, slightly sweet even. "Jesus Christ." He falls back against the couch cushions, chest heaving. "That was-"
"Not done." Satoru's voice was determined. He's sitting up now, pulling you into his lap, and you feel his cock—still hard, still leaking— press against your soaked folds. " I'ma show you how it's done, virgin."
Satoru's eyes light up despite his recent orgasm. "How many times- I'm not a virgin." He leans forward, cups your face, kisses you slow and deep— the taste of his cum still lingering.
You nod frantically. "Fuck me, Toru." Hands finding his condom-covered cock, making slow strokes. At least he knew better.
"God- love your voice, baby." Toru's hands guide your hips, and you sink down onto him in one long, wet slide. "Ohhhh fuck- yes so tight, so fucking tight-"
You can't help the sounds you make, can't help the way your head falls back and your mouth drops open. The stretch was dizzying but so delicious. You hadn't been fucked good in weeks, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. He's so thick, so deep, and the angle lets him hit somewhere inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.
"Look at that." Satoru's voice is awed. He's stroking himself again, already hardening at the sight of his twin fucking you slow and deep. "How perfect she looks stretched around our cock."
Our cock. The word shouldn't make you wetter, shouldn't make you gush on his length until he groans and grips your hips hard enough to bruise. But it does.
God, it does.
"Don't cum in two pumps, virgin."
"N-not a virgin, dickhead." Satoru groaned. "Ride her." Watching with hungry eyes. "Want to see you fuck her properly, or I'll do it myself."
The other obeys instantly—because of course he does, they're the same person, they share the same brain, the same desires. Even if they deny it, they are two sides of the same shiny coin. "You wish," He lifts you easily, almost casually, and starts bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing. "Like this?" Each word punches out of him with every thrust. "Like- fuck watching her tits bounce?"
"Yeah." Satoru's hand moves faster on his cock. "Just like that. Harder."
"We'll give him something actually useful to report, baby."
You're nothing but a toy between them, a perfect little hole for them to share, and the realization should horrify you, but instead it sends electricity crackling through every nerve. Toru fucks up into you brutally, no gentleness now, just pure need, and you can feel every inch of him dragging against your walls.
"Oh god—oh god, I'm gonna-"
"Not yet." Toru's hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just present. You hear Satoru move. Feel the couch shift. Then his mouth is on your shoulder, teeth sinking in, and his hand joins his twin's on your hip, fingers intertwining.
"Please-" It comes out broken, desperate. "Please, I need-"
"I know what you need." Toru's thrusts are losing rhythm, getting sloppier. "Feel that? Feel how close I am? Want to come?"
"Yes—yes, please-"
"Come with me, babe." He releases your throat, hand sliding down to press against your clit, circling roughly. "Come on my cock."
The command snaps something loose inside you. You come, clenching down so hard, Toru roars, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep and endless. In front of you, Satoru comes, his release splashes across your stomach, warm and wet and marking you.
"So you can ejaculate…interesting," Satoru commented, noting it in his head to write down later.
You can't speak. Can't move. Can't do anything but slump between them, trembling, completely and utterly ruined. But they're not done with you yet. "Bedroom." Satoru's voice has an edge to it now, dark and hungry, that makes your pussy stir despite itself. "We're not done. Not even close."
The other lifts you easily, still half-hard inside you, and carries you toward the hallway. "Agreed. Need to try some things. Not the only one with hypotheses, dork."
"For science, of course," they say in perfect unison.
And despite everything—despite the ache in your knees and your juices dripping down your thighs and the absolute madness of this situation—you laugh. Then moan as the movement shifts his cock inside you. "For 'science', right…" you agree weakly.
They laid you out on Satoru's bed. The sheets are cool beneath your overheated skin, a brief respite before they're on you again—one on each side, bracketing your body with their heat.
Toru's already mouthing at your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while his hand trails down your stomach. "Want to try something," he murmurs against your pulse. "Want to see if we can make you squirt together."
Your breath catches. "Together?"
Satoru grins, that familiar, charming smile, made infinitely more dangerous by the context. "He fucks you from behind. I'll be in front."
"It's basic physics," Toru adds, nipping at your collarbone. "Double the stimulation, double the pleasure. Or whatever."
"Quadruple, technically." Satoru's hands on your stomach, fingers intertwining. "Since there are two of us."
"Sure-" You swallow, try again. "Just get inside of me."
They move with the kind of synchronization that only comes from being literally the same person. The clone one positions himself at your back, cock brushing against your ass, while the real one lifts your hips and settles in front of you, his length sliding through your soaked folds teasingly.
"Ready?" Satoru says behind you, his voice is strained, barely holding onto control.
You answer by taking him deep into your pussy, moaning around him, and that's all the invitation the other needs. He pushes in in one smooth motion, seating himself completely against the other, and the world narrows to the feeling of being utterly, impossibly full.
His cock stretches you perfectly, reaches places you forgot existed, and every thrust presses him against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.
Above you, Toru groans and thrusts deeper into your cunt. "Oh fuck-"
"Can feel her clenching around me." his thrusts are measured at first, controlled, like he's savoring every inch. "Every time you move, her pussy squeezes me l-like a fist."
They find a rhythm eventually— two bodies moving as one, using you between them. "Look at that." Satoru's voice is reverent. He's pulled back just enough to watch, to see both cock disappearing into you over and over. "Look at how well she takes us. Like she was made for this."
Toru's thrusts are getting harder, faster, and less controlled. "Fuck—she's getting tighter—she's close."
"And I'm the 'virgin', sure." But Satoru's eyes are half-lidded, his hips stuttering. "Want to feel her come on both of us at the same time."
The words alone might be enough to push you over. But then Satoru reaches down, fingers finding your clit and circling brutally, and Toru tangles his hand in your hair and holds you deep. You cum gasping.
You feel Toru moan above you, feel him pulse hot and deep inside your clenching walls. Satoru follows a second later, glasses crooked on his face, hips jerking as he paints your walls, and you realize neither wore a condom. Had it been any other moment, you would've cussed both of them out and broken their dicks off, clone or not.
When you finally come down, you're shaking. Actually shaking, muscles trembling uncontrollably as they ease you onto your back and arrange themselves on either side of you.
The day blurs into night in a haze of pleasure. They take turns— sometimes literally, swapping positions so seamlessly you can't tell who's inside you anymore.
Sometimes they're both inside you, one in your cunt and one in your mouth, or one fucking you while the other watches and whispers filthy things in your ear.
—
You're in the shower— finally, blessedly cleaning up— when the curtain slides open and two identical bodies crowd in behind you. The water's hot, the steam thick, and their hands are everywhere at once.
"Thought we'd help." His voice is innocent, but his cock pressing against your ass is anything but.
"Make sure you get really clean." One in front of you, hands soaping up your breasts, your stomach, sliding lower between your legs.
You lean back against the other's chest, let the water cascade over you while the clone's hands grip your hips, steadying you as you lift one leg over the real one's shoulder, then the other. He supports your weight easily, holding you suspended while the others cock aligns with your entrance.
"Look at that," the one holding you breathes. "She's gaping a little from earlier."
"Let me see." Behind you, peers over your shoulder. "Oh. Oh, fuck. She really is."
The one holding you—you think it's the real one, but honestly, they keep switching, and you're too fucked out to tell—tilts his head. "I bet we could both fit."
"What?" Your voice comes out strangled.
The other behind you hums thoughtfully, his thumb tracing down your spine, over your tailbone, pressing gently at your tightest ring of muscle. "He's right. You're so warm and stretched already from 'Toru fucking you."
"Oh, I'm not 2.0 anymore? You got real influence, baby." Toru is holding you nuzzles against your inner thigh, tongue darting out to taste where the others' cum is still dripping from you despite the shower washing it away. "You can take more. You're a greedy girl, aren't you? Wanting both of us?"
Toru's cock slides between your cheeks, not entering, just... resting there, hot and heavy against your tightest hole while Satoru's tip nudges at your weeping cunt.
"Whatcha think, sweetheart?" They ask in unison, and the effect is devastating.
"Please put them inside me. Both of you."
"See? Told you she'd say yes."
Toru, behind you, laughs, and the sound vibrates through his chest pressed against your back. "You owe me twenty bucks."
"You bet on whether I'd beg for you at the same time?" You're indignant for approximately half a second before his cock notches against your ass, and Satoru lines up with your cunt, and all higher brain function evaporates. They don't push in together. That would be too easy, too merciful. Instead, they take turns.
Satoru slides in first—just the tip, just enough to make your eyes roll back as your abused cunt clenches around him greedily. Then he stops, holds perfectly still while the other behind you presses forward, stretching your pussy inch by agonizing inch.
You cry out. The water swallows the sound, but they feel it, feel every vibration of your body as you're stretched wider than you've ever been.
"Shh, shh, you're okay." The one in front kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips, all tender and sweet, while his twin works his cock deeper into your ass. "You're doing so well, sweet girl. Taking us both. So fucking p-perfect."
Toru's hips meet your ass with a wet slap. "I'm in. Fuck, she's tight. She's so fucking tight around me."
"I know." he starts to move, shallow thrusts that have his cock sliding against the other's cock. One thrusts while the other holds still, then they switch, then they figure out how to move together, opposite directions, so one is pushing in while the other pulls out. "I'll be sure to write that down."
You're nothing but a moaning, drooling mess between them, held upright by two sets of strong arms, fucked from both ends by identical cocks in identical bodies with identical grunts falling from identical lips.
"Want to move to the bed," you manage to gasp out. "Want to see it. Want to watch."
They exchange a look over your head that communication thing that's so unsettling when you're not being split open on their dicks, and then you're being lifted, carried, still connected, still filled, water dripping everywhere as they maneuver you out of the shower and down the hall to the bedroom.
Satoru lies back on the bed, pulling you with him so you're straddling his hips, his cock still buried deep. The clone kneels behind you, positions himself, and pushes back in with a groan.
"Look down," Satoru whispers. "Watch us fuck you."
You look.
Between your legs, two identical cocks disappear into your body, your own flesh stretched thin around them. When they move—and they do, immediately, finding that rhythm again—you can see the bulge in your lower stomach, can see the way their cocks press against each other through you.
"That's me," Toru breathes, reaching around to press on that bulge. "That's my cock right there, fucking into your pussy. Can you feel it?"
You nod frantically, tears streaming down your face, drool dripping onto his chest. "I can feel both of you. I can feel—oh god, I can feel every-"
"Good." Satoru's hands grip your hips, start bouncing you on his cock while the other fucks into you from behind. "Want you to feel us for days. Want you to sit on his cock tomorrow and still feel me stretching you open."
The other laughs, breathless and wrecked. "Possessive much?"
"Shut up and fuck her."
He does. They both do. They take turns being gentle and rough, one whispering sweet praises while the other fucks into you like he's trying to split you in half.
They switch positions—you on your stomach, you on your side, you on top of one while the other takes you from behind—and through it all, they never stop talking.
"You're taking us so well, sweet girl."
"Look at that pretty pussy gripping my cock."
"Can you feel him twitch inside you? He's close, I can tell."
"Shut up, you're closer dickhead."
"Y-you're both-"
You come first, finally, spectacularly, squirting around their cocks while they fuck you through it, both of them groaning at the added wetness, at the way you clench and flutter around them. Satoru follows seconds later, filling your cunt with hot ropes of cum that leak out around his cock immediately.
Toru pistons into your pussy twice, three times, before he stills and you feel him emptying himself deep inside you.
Between their bodies, with their cum leaking out of both your holes onto the ruined sheets, you think maybe sharing isn't the worst idea in the world.
"Round whatever in an hour?" you ask hopefully. Both groan, but they're grinning. You settle back against the pillows, feeling thoroughly used and utterly satisfied. "I'm serious about that credit in your paper." At first, you didn't care that much; it wouldn't hurt having your name down in the history books.
Satoru slides his glasses on after cleaning the lenses. "You'll be the co-author, baby."
"I'm here too, ya know."
"Why would I credit you?" You close your eyes, letting their bickering wash over you like white noise. But looking at the two of them, still arguing while their hands never stop touching, you, one drawing circles on your hip, the other playing with your hair.
part 2 of suguru and satoru accidentally finding your sex tapes ˖᯽ ݁˖ part 1 here
mdni ❀ smut
wc 1004
a/n: yeah this is just smut lol. enjoy!
You should’ve known that when Suguru and Satoru didn’t bring up the tapes again, it was because they were plotting something.
You just didn’t think that something would be getting spitroasted by both of them on camera.
In hindsight, it really should have been more obvious to you.
When you had gone back to the garage after dinner that evening a few nights ago, you had only found two tapes, and you remembered Suguru telling you there were quite a few. You realize now that Satoru probably stole a couple. You’d have to get those back.
And then there was last night, after Suguru had fucked you into the mattress, when he’d murmured something along the lines of “wish I could see this every night.”
Even when Satoru initially posed the idea the first time at dinner, Suguru didn’t explicitly turn the idea down.
No, and thinking back on it, you didn’t catch the look they shared the first time. It was hard to forget now that you were seeing it in real time.
“This ‘s so much better than the tapes,” Satoru said between pants, drilling into you from behind. “Can’t believe you kept this to yourself.”
Suguru, who was fucking the back of your throat, scoffed at him. “She’s my fiancee.”
God, even when they were both balls deep inside you, they just had to start bickering.
“Sharing is caring,” replied Satoru, who was going to leave bruises with how hard he was gripping onto your hips. And thank goodness for that, because your legs were so shaky at this point that you fully believed they were going to give out at any second.
“Mmph,” you whined around Suguru’s cock, your way of telling them to shut the fuck up.
“Fuck,” Suguru hissed, fingers digging in your hair as he took in the feeling of the vibrations from your voice.
You had one hand fisting in the sheets of the bed and another gripping on to Suguru’s thigh for balance. With how hard they were both fucking you, you definitely needed it.
Kind of clumsily, one of Satoru’s strong hands left your hip in favor of sliding down to your stomach, pressing against where he felt his bulge inside you.
“Fuck, I’m so deep,” he groaned. “Can you see that?”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to figure out who he was asking, and then you realized he was talking to the camera. Fuck, you forgot about it.
Your eyes drifted over to where it was set up on the dresser, but you must have accidentally turned part of your head as well, because you felt Suguru’s hand grab your jaw and move you back where he wanted.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he said, his voice lower than usual as you forced your eyes back up on him.
You matched his thrusts with bobs of your head, drool pooling down your chin.
You started to feel yourself reaching your…third? Fourth orgasm, and you realize you weren’t the only one as Satoru’s thrusts start getting sloppy.
Your legs quivered with every thrust, eyes shutting despite Suguru's quiet protest as you felt tears beginning to pool. All three of you were moaning and grunting now, just loud enough to get picked up by the camera, but not loud enough to cover up the obscene noises of their cocks thrusting into you.
“Fuck, she’s..” Satoru whined, cutting himself off with a moan when he felt you clenching around him. He brought the hand on your stomach down to your clit, pressing and rubbing the sensitive bud to help you get there.
“Come for us, baby,” Suguru told you, his thrusts getting just as sloppy and fast as Satoru’s.
With the overwhelming feeling of getting fucked from both ends, plus the added pressure on your clit, you don’t think you could have held out any longer if you wanted to.
You moaned around Suguru once again, this time much louder as you felt your orgasm rack through you in waves, white hot and burning. You felt like you were exploding, nerves on fire as both men kept fucking you through it.
They didn’t stop, not until you felt them both stutter and fill you up with their release. You felt it impossibly deep in your pussy, looking up at Suguru as you swallowed easily, your throat bobbing with the motion.
You hear your name hissed out from behind you, not breaking eye contact with Suguru as they both emptied themselves completely with a few last thrusts. Suguru finally pulled out, chest heaving as he let you catch your breath.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” he praised, and Satoru soon pulled out, too.
Suguru wiped your chin with the back of his hand. Satoru finally let go of you, and you almost collapsed without the hands holding your hips up.
“Shit, sorry,” he apologized breathlessly and watched Suguru lift you under your arms to prop you against the pillows facing the camera.
“‘S okay,” you responded, your voice scratchy.
Your fiance spread your legs so the camera could pick up just how much cum was dripping out of your hole and onto the sheets beneath you.
“You’re making a mess,” he scolded quietly with a small smile, and you were too tired to do anything but look up at him. “But that’s not really your fault, is it?”
Your gaze drifted over to Satoru who had collapsed on his back, still trying to catch his breath.
“Satoru,” Suguru calls, maneuvering behind you, having you sit between his legs as his arms held you against his chest by wrapping around your upper torso. Satoru tiredly lifted his head up. “Yeah?”
Suguru nodded towards the mess in between your legs. “Clean up your mess.”
Not needing to be told twice, Satoru pushed himself up and crawled over to kneel in between your legs. He lifted your thighs up over his shoulders and leaned down.
Suguru pressed a kiss to your jaw and leaned down to murmur,
