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|| 20 || 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬: 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 || 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐥: 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 & 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 || 𝐜.𝐚𝐢 𝐛𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 || 𝐬𝐟𝐰 & 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞)
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Pose for me
Synopsis: You and Oikawa were childhood classmates, though back then you were just the quiet, unremarkable girl while he was already the center of attention. Years later you become a successful model, becoming someone no one from your childhood would recognize. When you run into each other again as adults, Oikawa is stunned by the transformation. Used to getting whatever he wants with ease, he quickly becomes intrigued by you. The only problem is, for the first time in his life, Oikawa can’t seem to get what he wants.
pairings - Oikawa x model! reader
warnings - Lots of sexual tension, reader glow up, Oikawa begging, enemies to lovers -eventual smut, angst in the beginning, warnings will be more specific each chapter - 5.8k
This is a story i wrote on wattpad i'm sort of rewriting and putting here! The original POV was third person so apologize if I wasn't able to fix all of it!
Part 2 —> coming soon
In junior high, you werent labeled as the most beautiful girl, not even close. Being called all sorts of names youde go home and cry about. You also didnt have many friends, because standing next to you came woth consequences.
On the opposite side: Tooru Oikawa was everything junior high seemed to worship. A year older and effortlessly popular. You couldnt help but watch him from across hallways.
Sometimes, both your eyes met.
Each time, your heart leapt, clinging to the idea that it meant something. A glance held too long.
But you soon learned, far too quickly, how cruel admiration could be.
The night before, you were hunched over your desk, the sound of your pencil writing sounded through your bedroom. Then the crinkling of your paper when you erased.
In the dim light of your room, it didn't seem so bad. Awkward, maybe. But it got the job done.
By morning, your hands were shaking when you slipped the note into his desk.
you never even got the chance to walk away.
When Oikawa slid into his chair, pulling a notebook out of the desk , the folded paper slid out and fluttered to the floor. One of his friends bent down before he could react, scooping it up with a grin already spreading across his face.
"What's this?" he called, waving it between his fingers.
Laughter rippled outward as he skimmed the words, loud enough to draw eyes from down the hall. Oikawa turned then, taking the paper from him, his expression unreadable as he read it himself.
His gaze lifted.
It found you instantly as you tried to sneak out of the room.
His friend snatched the letter back, holding it high. "Everyone! Loser y/n gave Oikawa a love letter!"
One by one, heads turned until there was nowhere left to look but at you.
"I—I…" The words tangled in your throat. You had never been looked at like this before. Not all at once.
"What made you think someone like him would ever like someone like you?" the boy said, stepping closer so that you could feel his breath. you stared at the floor, your confidence collapsing under the weight of his voice.
"I don't know," you whispered.
"Oikawa!" he called over his shoulder. "Come look at this."
Oikawa approached slowly, his eyes sweeping over you in the same way everyone else's had. For a second, you were the only thing he was focused on.
"Do I even know you?" he asked.
He raised the letter until it blocked your view of everything else.
Then he tore it in half.
The sound was sharp.
"Don't waste your time writing letters," he said flatly. "Use it to fix your face."
The tears came hot and humiliating as they slid down your cheeks.
you turned and ran.
Not to the bathroom—you couldn't bear the thought of seeing yourself. Instead, you ducked under the nearest stairwell.
The boy you thought was kind, gentle and perfect, he had never been any of those things.
Curled up on the cold floor, you pressed your hands to your face and wondered how a single piece of paper cause this amount of pain.
7 years later —
Yachi’s voice cut across the studio, bright and unmistakable.
You turned just in time to see her weaving through racks of clothing and light stands, her steps quick and familiar. You both worked together often and the early mornings and late wrap-ups had drawn you both close.
“Your haircut looks nice,” you said as Yachi reached your, her fingers immediately lacing together in greeting.
“Thank you!” Yachi beamed, twirling a strand of her freshly cut hair around her finger. “The director doesn’t like it that much, though.”
“That’s because he has no taste,” you replied easily.
You both laughed as you drifted toward the catering table together. It was barely seven in the morning, the studio still humming with quiet setup noises—coffee machines sputtering, assistants murmuring to one another while trays of breakfast were laid out.
“By the way,” Yachi added casually as she reached for a pastry, “someone asked me about you.”
Your hand paused halfway to the table. “Who.”
Yachi didn’t seem to notice the shift as she moved along the spread, loading small plates. “Uh… Tooru Oikawa? He said you two went to school together!”
The name landed like a sudden drop in her stomach. Your mouth tightened slightly as you looked down at the table.
“How did he reach out to you?”
“I was scrolling through my Instagram message requests,” Yachi explained, eyes wide with innocent excitement. “And there was a blue check mark—and it was him!”
“Don’t talk to him,” You said immediately, your tone firm enough to cut through the noise of the room. “And don’t tell him anything about me.”
Yachi blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Is he an ex?”
“Worse,” you said, the word clipped.
“Worse?” Yachi leaned closer, curiosity lighting up her face. “Like academic rivals? Or right-person-wrong-time trope?”
“No—no,” you said with a quiet laugh, nudging her lightly with your shoulder. “You watch too many dramas.”
You both laughed, but the smile lingering on your face didn’t quite reach your eyes. After a moment you exhaled softly, glancing around the room before stepping a little closer to Yachi.
“I don’t even know how you’d describe what we were,” you admitted quietly. “But I’ll tell you—only if you promise not to tell anyone.”
Yachi nodded eagerly, leaning in. “Promise.”
“He rejected me,” you said under your breath. “Pretty badly.”
Yachi pulled back immediately, her eyes widening as her lips formed a small pout. “Rejected you? YOU??”
“I wasn’t always a bad bitch, Yachi,” you replied dryly, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. “Believe it or not.”
“Well, you couldn’t have been far off,” Yachi said sincerely, clearly meaning it as encouragement.
You let out a quiet breath, shaking her head slightly. “It was bad.”
“How bad?” Yachi pressed.
You scanned the room one more time before answering, lowering your voice even further.
“Bad enough that I had to move schools.”
Yachi gasped loudly before she could stop herself.
“Keep it down,” you hissed, quickly grabbing her wrist.
Embarrassed, Yachi clapped a hand over her mouth before stepping forward and pulling you into a tight hug. “You can trust me,” she murmured. “I won’t say a word. I’ll even delete his DM.”
You relaxed slightly in her arms, returning the hug for a brief moment before gently patting her back. “Thank you. Now—back to work.”
You nudged Yachi away, watching as the younger model straightened up with a determined nod.
Yachi had always looked up to you—often jokingly calling you her model mom. Somewhere along the way, you had slipped into the role of a steady, almost motherly presence without even realizing it.
Today’s shoot coated the entire set in shimmer and light, every camera angle carefully designed to make your skin glow. It was an ad for a new lip gloss from a high-profile brand.
“Perfect—hold that—”
The final shot echoed through the studio, and just like that, the tension in your shoulders loosened. You stepped off set, lifting your hair away from the back of your neck, fingers pressing lightly into the warm skin there. The heat from the lights still clung to you, heavy and suffocating, leaving a faint sheen along your collarbone.
You barely had a second to breathe before your manager appeared at your side, grabbing your arm and pulling you along with her. The sudden movement made you yelp softly, stumbling half a step to keep up.
“y/n,” she started, her tone too casual to actually be casual. “You’d tell me about any big life changes, right? Like… family stuff. Or a boyfriend?”
You let out a short laugh, brushing her off with an easy wave of your hand. “Me? Boyfriend? Pft. You know me better than that.”
“Then… do you know anything about a Tooru Oikawa?”
Your eyes rolled instinctively, your fingers catching a loose strand of your hair as you twisted it around them. “I’m hearing that name everywhere lately,” you muttered. “No, I don’t. Why?”
“I got an email from his manager,” she said, already swiping through her tablet. “Honestly, I don’t even know why they’re contacting me about this, but… they requested you. Specifically. For a shoot next week.”
Of course he did.
A familiar knot twisted low in your stomach, tight and unwelcome. Even now, after all this time, he still managed to show up exactly where you didn’t want him to.
“I… can’t do a shoot with him,” you said, quieter this time.
Your manager didn’t even hesitate. Her smile stayed perfectly in place, polished and professional under the bright studio lights. “This could be huge for you. Like—huge. Your career could skyrocket from this.” She tapped her screen once. “I already took the liberty of booking you.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose, dragging a hand through your hair as you looked away. There wasn’t really a choice anymore.
“Okay… fine,” you said after a moment. “But just the shoot. I don’t want lunch, I don’t want conversation. Just the shoot. Can you tell them that?”
She nodded immediately, fingers already flying across the screen. “Consider it done.”
Then, without missing a beat, she glanced back up at you. “Now go fix yourself up. We have a brand dinner tonight—nice place, so look the part.”
“You know me,” you called over your shoulder, your voice steady—even if your stomach was anything but.
It felt like impending doom was pressing down on you. Today was the photoshoot with Tooru Oikawa—the man who had been at the root of some of your worst childhood memories.
You were shooting the new men's and women's sports collection: sports bras, track suits, and—unfortunately for you nerves—shirtless male models. Saying you were nervous was an understatement.
You tried to push the thoughts aside, glancing out the car window as the black vehicle wove through the city streets. Your manager drove steadily.
Once you arrived, your chest felt heavy, every inhale a struggle. You walked toward the set with your posture perfectly straight, attempting to exude confidence even as each step felt like it was breaking you down.
And then you saw him.
Oikawa sat off to the side, makeup artists fussing over the soft waves of his hair, the faintest smudge of powder along his jawline. Even then, you noticed how effortlessly composed he looked.
"y/n!! You're here!" he exclaimed, standing up and gesturing toward you. Some of the makeup artists groaned, shaking their heads at his theatrics.
"It's great to see you. Thanks for coming. Wow..." His eyes flicked to your chest, lingering just a moment too long, and shivers ran down your spine. "...you've really grown into yourself."
"Well, it's been seven years, hasn't it?" you said.
You began moving past him, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist.
"Feeling some tension here," Oikawa said lightly, eyes meeting yours. "Don't worry—I'll try not to be too distracting."
You yanked your wrist free and glared. "Use your brain," you spat, unable to hide the pent-up rage from your younger self.
He froze, blinking. To him, the past confessions and teasing had been insignificant. But now, seeing you, he could sense the weight in your posture.
You changed into a tight green sports bra and matching track pants, the iconic Adidas logo emblazoned across the waistband. Oikawa was fitted into green shorts with the same design.
You were positioned in front of the white backdrop. Cameras clicked and lights flashed. He couldn't stop looking, scanning you carefully—not crude, but curious, impressed by the transformation from the timid girl he remembered to the confident, striking woman before him.
"Oikawa!! Pay attention!" the photographer barked.
"My apologies, sir!" he said, snapping his attention back to the camera, though a trace of amusement lingered in his eyes.
During the entire shoot, Oikawa couldn't take his eyes off you—and he didn't even bother pretending otherwise.
Everyone noticed.
"Pay attention, Oikawa!"
"Eyes forward!"
"Pick your jaw up off the floor!"
The director's voice echoed more than once, and each time Oikawa laughed it off with a bright apology and an exaggerated bow. You found it distasteful. Familiar. Like junior high all over again—him treating attention like a game and her like an object in his line of sight.
When you were finally given a short break, Oikawa leaned against a rack of clothes, arms folded, gaze fixed openly on you.
You stood with another model, laughing softly at something she said. The woman was stunning but Oikawa barely registered her presence. Eyes locked on you.
The green sports bra cut just right, showing a hint of your cleavage, and your track pants hugged your waist perfectly.
"She's gorgeous," he murmured under his breath, not even realizing the words had escaped.
Once the shoot ended, everyone filtered into the dressing rooms. Oikawa changed quickly, smiling and waving at people as he passed. "Thanks, have a nice day!" he called out, his voice cheerful and easy, hiding the calculation behind his eyes.
He lingered near the door to your dressing room, pretending to adjust his bag while scanning for you. Voices echoed inside, so he waited patiently, leaning casually against the wall.
Ten minutes later, a group of female models left, chatting. "Thank you! See you soon!" someone called. That was his signal.
You stepped out, bag slung over your shoulder, and froze when you saw him.
"Oikawa, what—" you started, voice tense.
He smiled, taking a step closer, but not blocking your path entirely. "I want to talk to you," he said, his hand brushing briefly against your arm—not enough to trap you, but enough to make you hesitate.
"And this is the way you went about it?!" you snapped, glaring at him.
"Look," he said, holding up his hands, palms out. "You don't owe me anything. I just... couldn't ignore it anymore."
"Ignore what," you asked coldly.
"You," he said honestly. "And the fact that I was awful to you."
That made you pause.
Oikawa ran a hand through his hair, gaze dropping for once. "Back then, I thought I was untouchable. I laughed at things I should've shut down. I let people say things because it was easier than caring."
He glanced down at you. "That doesn't excuse it. But I want you to know—I've thought about it."
You scoffed. "Convenient timing."
"What can I do to make it up to you? I'll do anything!" His eyes softened, pitiful in a way that tugged at your chest. "I even brought the torn note home and taped it back together."
"You kept the note? Why?" you straightened in your spot.
He said with an awkward laugh, "I don't even know! I don't have a good answer."
"How do I know you're not just saying all this because I'm attractive now?" you crossed her arms, trying to maintain some authority.
He didn't respond immediately. For once, he actually thought before speaking. "Of course not! I'm not that shallow anymore." he said finally. "It's because I was a jerk then—and seeing you now just made it impossible to pretend I wasn't."
You realized how close he had leaned. His breath brushed against your cheek. You couldn't meet his eyes anymore, heart thudding in your chest.
"...I'm not asking for forgiveness," he added quickly. "I'd settle for neutral. Barely acquaintances. Just... not enemies."
Noticing your hesitation, he leaned a little closer. "C'mon, please?" he murmured, voice soft, almost begging, his lips brushing near the edge of your neck.
You stepped back slightly. "Fine," you said, just enough to create distance.
"That's settled then," he said, heat in his voice, breath sending a chill down your spine.
"Under one condition," you said, pressing a finger lightly against his chin, holding his gaze.
His eyes lit up. "I'm listening."
"You do what I say," you said calmly.
He blinked. Then grinned. "Like a dog"
"What- no."
He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I'll be your dog. I play fetch pretty well! You could say I do it for a living," he said, waving his hands innocently, trying to charm you.
"You are so weird. Now I just feel bad for you," you said, folding your arms, smirking at him. He looked so desperate to win you over, and you realized you had all the control now.
"Ok," you said, already walking away. "Have your manager send mine your number."
"Deal," he replied, watching you leave, his eyes tracing you up and down one last time before you left his view.
Control felt electric. For once, you were the one holding the power.
CW. implied DUBCON (IMPLIED drunk sex, nothing explicit though.)
Time passes differently when you’re drunk.
For you, it makes everything go faster. Every moment blends into the next, and by the time you realize it, Atsumu Miya is in your dorm room 7 shots deep around the same level of drunk you are.
You can remember bits and pieces. You remember texting him briefly, though you’re not quite certain what the texts said.
Then, you remember a few stern knocks making you jump in your seat before you ran over to the door and answered to a worried Atsumu.
A bit after that, you cried. About your classes, about studying, about your test. You remember his warm arms around you, though you couldn’t really hear his words of consolation. But whatever he mumbled egged your sobs on.
After that you probably calmed down. Then as others would say, “the rest is history”.
“‘Tsumu,” your voice is weak. You sat lazily against him on your couch, the glow of the TV illuminating your faces.
“Hm?” he responds.
The worst part about being drunk is that it makes you say things you don’t mean to. Or ask, in your case.
“W-What are we doing?” your voice comes out shaky, not that you’re scared, but it’s taking a lot of willpower to push the right words out.
His head turns toward you, “What do you mean, Y/N?”
You shift uncomfortably under his gaze.
“You know… Like, we’re just friends ri-ght?” you hiccup, “Friends do this,”
Atsumu looks away briefly in thought, “I’d say so,”
“Even if they’re exes?”
“I’m not sure,” he replies.
The conversation should stop there. You’ve already created an uncomfortable situation. But you can’t help yourself. Your curiosity is pushing you on.
“Do you like me?” it makes you cringe, the way you sound like a little high school girl, but it’s the only way that feels right to ask.
You can see Atsumu gulp. There’s a silent moment before he responds.
“Yeah,”
The words don’t completely sink in before you’re quick to ask a follow-up question.
“Then why did you treat me—”
“Y/N,” he cuts you off with a soft look in his eyes, “I hope you know that if— if I could go back in time, I would’ve never treated you like that,”
There’s something in his voice that tells you he’s being the most genuine that he has been since you guys started talking again. And it stabs you right in the heart.
You don’t expect him to keep going, but he does.
“I was childish and I didn’t know what I had— what we had,” he’s rambling, and you’re crying.
“Nono, please don’t cry,” a rough thumb wipes gently at the tear that escaped your eye. “Y/N,”
You’re fighting through the tears, trying to will yourself to stop— to stop embarrassing yourself. Because you crying like this means that maybe you never moved on as much as you thought you did. It means you still care for Atsumu. It means you still love Atsumu.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, “I hope you know that- that out of everyone that the MysMatch person could’ve been, I’m so, so happy that it was- you,”
“I’m sorry if I made things awkward,” Atsumu pleads.
You feel bad that you can’t stop the overflow of emotions. That you can’t get a single word or sound out to tell him you hear him.
You don’t feel the cogs turning in your brain. Don’t really feel the way that your body instinctively began to lean towards his.
All that you could register was the familiar feeling of his lips against yours.
You’re hesitant, but when he welcomes you, it’s like you never left all those months ago.
Your heart is beating loudly in your own ears that it drowns everything out. You let him lower you onto your back as he hovers above you.
“Is… Is this okay?”
You’re nodding your head yes before he even finishes his question.
It’s a lot. It’s messy but gentle. Sad but sensual. The feelings and his touch were raw but they were real. You couldn’t even bother to think about the consequences.
All your mind is filled with is him.
MEET ME HALFWAY — THE REST IS HISTORY
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NOTES.
if this is improperly tagged feel free to tell me i just wanted to be safer than sorry! ^^
© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2026. do not repost or change.
︎▶︎ Tyrant, every time I ride it (starring . Dabura)
synopsis . Using his horns like handlebars while you ride him. content . slight/eventual dom f!reader, rough sex, all porn no plot, he gets a lil’ needy, feralness—on both ends, dirty talk, “improper use” of horns (lol), creampies, fucking him stupid, overstim, breeding kink, size kink, man(?)handling, etc. (not proofread)
"So this is what human pussy feels like, hm? How erotic," Dabura hums indifferently as if you weren't currently creaming around his looongly stretching length, gushing all over each widening inch expeditiously. His head merely cocks over some, "And pathetic," He adds, "Can't even take every inch of mine. Is this your best attempt at riding cock? You look as though you're about to cry."
"S-Shut-, ah-, shut up!" You huff out in between moans, lashes fluttering with a delicate sum of wetness already coating each one, "S'not my fault you're so big, asshole."
He laughs right in your face, as if what you'd just said was truly that funny to him. Then there's a faintly gentle smile—a twitch in his lips—that you notice before he says, "I am not big." His vexing eyes begin to trickle down to study the way your cunt is struggling around his veins, sopping each one up deliciously, "You just have a stubborn pussy. But it's cute how hard she tries."
Dabura is entirely unlike anything you ever could have expected and far better than any person you've ever slept with prior, undoubtably so. The only issue here is that it seems impossible to get a different reaction out of him. His eyes rarely ever show any emotion outside of the occasional instant in which his plump cockhead bumps against that particularly juicy spot inside you. It's in the way you gasp and choke over your own breath that makes his otherwise sternly sat expression falter for a second long enough to showcase pleasure.
"Does this help?" He asks after a few more seconds of finding amusement in the way your walls struggle 'n quiver around him, the thick pad of his thumb coming near your clit to swab out the letters of his name, "It's just a couple more inches, pretty thing." Dabura coos all sweetly. The moment he feels your syrupy walls begin to relax a little around him and then sink further, he finally allows you to catch a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "Thereee you go. You asked to ride me so do that—ride. And do it properly."
The alien's large hands are settled on the purchase of your perfectly rocking hips for a while after and although he knows you've been trying (and failing) to get a different reaction out of him for the past few minutes, nothing works until he notices yours hands traveling up all of a sudden. "Oh, w-wait-," He tries to get it out before your fingertips graze the smoothness of his horns. He jerks his head back a bit in an attempt of avoiding the gesture but fails entirely.
The stutter he just let out catches you off guard since that's the first and only time he's ever tripped over his words but, outside of the shock, you're left rather encouraged by the sudden break in his words.
Encouraged enough to wrap your fingers around his horns and get a good grasp on them while drawing your hips high up above his length, that sloppy wet tip of his slipping out of you with something gooey oozing out of the centered slit already.
"Fuck—damn human—I said.. wait," Dabura attempts to warn again. His voice comes out slow ‘n heavy, lacking the previous sense of mockery and amusement he had when this whole thing started. The syllables used to nastily glide off of his tongue but now they’re falling out with an almost pathetic rasp. Hands sliding up to hold your waist firmly, grasping at every stretch of skin available there, he then squeezes as if to warn you or something.
Do you heed said warning?
Fuck no.
Your grip on his horns gets even tighter and he's still trying to tug his head away from you, something suddenly fogging up his gaze as you maintain your hold on him and plop your warmth back down onto his firmly-standing cock. “Let go,” He groans deeply, the sound vibrating against his inked throat. Ignoring the poor alien, you smile and arch forward all sensual-like,
“Mmnh, see? I knew you could make other faces!” You exclaim all excitedly as you drink in the sight of his eyes failing to uphold that hardened look from before.
He couldn't keep up with his glares no matter how hard he tried, not when you've got your palms rubbing up pressed against his horns. No one ever touches them, especially not in a situation like this but, here you are.
He should've known better than to agree with you about doing all this for science or-, whatever bullshit it was you uttered to him before all this. “I demand you release my horns this-, hahh..." His lashes flutter rapidly and his hips begin to unconsciously lift up to meet yours slightly, "—this instant, angh.” Dabura groans.
Now you're the one smiling, “But, mmngh! You feel like you’re enjoying it,” You point out softly just as your hips come flush with his and you start to grind with his cock knocking around your insides, “I wonder what happens if I move my hands… up, like this,” With your little narration, your touch on his horns begins to travel in a way that's far too stimulating.
So much so that Dabura's jaw falls open and something whiny runs out of his throat. “Fuhh-, fuck. Don’t-,” Pausing to swallow thickly, “Don’t stroke them, slut—" He's cut off by the spinning of his own mind. Suddenly, he didn't know where to focus his attention. There was too much pleasure: the sensation of your hands caressing his horns, your pussy greedily gulping in every inch of his all the way down to his deftly sat base, and then the way you squirm in reaction to him being flustered. "Please? I… I meant to say please,” He corrects.
“Awwww," You mock, trying to get back at him for each time he'd done so earlier, "That was a cute attempt at trying to regain control here, really."
Dabura's eyelids lower a bit more, hiding the way his vision is slightly fogging over with something watery, “I could-, mngh.." His jaw tenses tightly enough to flash a vein decorating his sharp jawline, "I could have you under me within seconds. You’re already pushing your luck here, as if it was not you who begged for me like this.” He argues with a sudden thrust upwards.
The motion throws you off your balance for just a second, causing your voice to leave you all shaky-like, “I did n-not beg.”
“You did," He protests further, leaning-, no, slouching back and then letting his sharp fingernails dig into your skin, "You whined for me to let you play around with my cock and now that its toying around inside that sloppy pussy of yours, you’ve the nerve to get—fuck—bold with me.”
“Anh! Dabura-,” You're moaning again while he uses his firm grip on you to fuck himself deeper—impossibly deeper—inside you.
Something whorish splays out across his lips and you think he's drooling for a split second as his shaft ever-so-rudely thump! thump! thumps! against somewhere new, “You should be more appreciative of what I give you," He grunts hotly, maw beginning to dangle open whilst something feral coats his gaze, “Especially when my cock is so snug inside you like this. Can you feel that? The way I kiss the depths of this pussy?”
You hate how swiftly he had you looking like some stupidly-fucked whore on top of him, “Y-Yes, fuck! That feels s’good.”
His brows furrow with true curiosity, “Does it?” He asks, a faint softness caught in his throat. When you start nodding again, he pulls at your body so that you can resume your needy grinding, “Mmh. Prove it to me.” At that, its almost like you snap out of your daze. Your hands don't just grip onto his horns to tease him, no, no. This time around you roll your hips forwards and hold onto his horns just to keep yourself steady. Dabura tries prying his head away from you again, gasping, “Ah-, that’s cheating.”
You ignore him, of course, and with your perfect hold on him, you begin to bouce—frantically so—the sounds of your skin slapping down against his flying throughout the room and leaving everything to sound a slicked mess of sex. “Not my fault you’re sensitive here," You taunt.
“I am not—ohfuck," Dabura tried to fight back this time, he really, really did. But with the way you rut your hips back 'n forth and back 'n forth before switching to that up 'n down, hungry bounce of yours, he just couldn't keep up.
The rest of his taut frame falls into something submissive and he whimpers when you jerk him forward by the horns to match your pace. Husking, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” like a broken little mantra as his pupils blow out and he starts to lean into your touches, “Fuck me good, keep fucking me like this.” He encourages in between the hot flashes of something rigidity and heavy building up inside him, “Yesyesyes-, I’m gonna cum-," The alien gasps with abruptinly bucking hips, "I'm gonna-, mmmgh, fuck!”
You lose your balance again and almost flop forward entirely but his hold on your hips keeps you upright, leaving your hands to gravitate to his face just as a single tear of pleasure rolls out of his left eye. The moment he feels it and you notice it, he starts thrusting up faster in an attempt to distract you from it.
“Ah! Mmgh," You moan, feeling the way he tries exasperatedly to bring you to tears instead, only to fail no matter how many times his cockhead weeps tender thwaks! against your cervix. "Cum inside me?" You choke, "B-But—“
“Wanna stuff you with all of me,” Dabura pours out throatily. It was like talking to a brick wall at this point, he was already smearing something warm 'n creamy into you as he spoke, “You’ll be so pretty with my seed dripping out of you so, please,” Another pitchy gasp cuts through the air, “Take it, let it be yours—for... for science, remember?”
Just then, you almost laugh. You probably would've if you weren't busy agreeing to his babbled words, nodding your head and chuckling, “Uhuhh, cum inside me then. M-Mmnh! For science."
tags (people who showed interest):
@cupidstrace @crude-saint @bluukive @yenayaps
did I just find another jjk character to fixate on?….. YES!!😩😩
oh wow 🫡
pedestal. [akaashi keiji x f!reader]
» Akaashi Keiji is the image of deference. Of worship.«
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TAGS: friends to lovers, fluff, down-bad akaashi, experienced akaashi x inexperienced yn, "teach me" trope, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, akaashi not knowing how to communicate because hes so smart yet so so dumb
a/n: thank you so very much to the person who commissioned this fic!!! i had a crazy amount of fun with this, you literally have no idea <3333
[commission honee here!]
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akeiji95 followed you!
You stare down at your phone, spoon halfway to your mouth and suspended in midair. Your classmate hums curiously, so you turn the screen to show her the notification.
She gives an interested quirk of her eyebrow. "Akaashi Keiji? The hottest guy in the second-year class?"
You click your teeth, shaking your head. "I don't know if I'd call him that. He's just Koutarou's younger friend." You tap the follow back button quickly, showing her your ambivalence. "See? No big deal."
She just leans into your screen again, clicking on his profile. He's only following two people. "Wanna bet who the other one is?"
You don't need to guess. "Maybe it's a new account."
"His entire class is following him."
"Alright," you say decisively, putting your phone down. "Shut up and eat your lunch."
She just snickers and pushes food around her bento. "When'd you meet him, anyway?"
"Haven't."
Her pursed lips and the little shake of her head say more than she does.
—
"Hey, Y/n!"
You glance over your shoulder, squinting through the sunlight to find the source of your name. It's not hard, Bokuto so big that he actually blocks the sun out for you the closer he gets.
"Hi, Kou."
"You're leaving without me?!"
You roll your eyes. "I never know when you have practice after school — even when you don't, you like to make practice."
"Akaashi and I wanted to get food!"
It's only now that you realize Bokuto isn't alone.
Akaashi Keiji isn't as big as Bokuto, but even when Bokuto shifts out of the sun's path, it doesn't come back to blind you. You crane your neck up as he approaches, staring up at him dumbly. He stares back, just as dumb.
"Oh," you say. "Hi."
He blinks, tugging on his sleeve a little nervously. "Hi. I'm Akaashi Keiji. It's nice to meet you."
You get the sense he's only being so forthcoming because you're older.
Bokuto claps him hard on the shoulder. You take a moment to appreciate that he doesn't flinch under the man's heavy hand. "Y/n is my next-door neighbor!"
Akaashi just nods, his left shoulder weighed down by your friend. "I know, Bokuto. You told me four times."
You smile up at him. "You'll hear it again, don't worry."
The grin he cracks is shy and quickly smothered, but you see it. You see how he meets your eyes and glances away, acknowledging the joke quietly while Bokuto complains about bullying.
"Whatever," the bigger man says eventually, tugging on your sleeve. "Come eat with us." When you glance at Akaashi, curious if he's been informed of this plan, the boy just nods, giving you a polite smile when he senses your attention.
"Okay," you say eventually, falling into place with them, Akaashi in the middle. You notice when he decides to fall back, allowing you and Bokuto to lead.
You don't know what to do with this. All you know about Akaashi Keiji is his Instagram name and his — almost excessive — attention to deference. You're used to shameless pride and an infectious energy. You couldn't compare him to Bokuto if you tried, and it's a mystery they're friends at all.
But it becomes clear soon enough, at the little tented food stall that sits just down the road. Bokuto barges through, beelining for a little table in the corner because it's the last one left. Akaashi chooses to wait, holding open the tent flap for you and bowing his head when you thank him. When you get to the table, Bokuto's already ordering at the counter, his coat and bag the only evidence he'd ever been there at all.
Akaashi sits across from you quietly, eyes trailing the little menu card as though there's not only four items offered.
You clear your throat. "So, did Bokuto make you follow me in hopes of us becoming friends?"
He meets your eyes and looks away. Brushes his hair out of his face. Glances to see if Bokuto's almost done. "Uh, no," he says, and then stumbles to clarify. "I mean, yes. He thinks I need more friends. But he doesn't know."
You smirk, toying with the edge of your own menu card and trying to joke, because the tension is killing you. "So, what makes me the lucky winner?"
He meets your eyes and, to your surprise, gives you a downward grin of his own. "Bokuto never shuts up about you. I figured I'd meet the girl on the pedestal and see for myself."
A flush spreads across your cheeks, and he watches it happen, clearly pleased. So you roll your eyes and return to your menu.
"Hope you have a pedestal empty."
A laugh leaves his body in a breathy exhale, and you catch the hand he rubs down his face to cover his mouth.
Bokuto returns, bringing with him a few girls from another table. "I ordered us a bunch of stuff! I'm starved."
Akaashi groans, muttering to himself but perfectly within your earshot. "He ate half of my lunch — how could he be starved?"
You smother your smile and return your attention to Bokuto, who's gesturing to the girls.
"Some girls from your class wanted to say hi, Akaashi!"
They seem shy, but their interest is obvious, and you can see why. Akaashi is tall, good-looking, respectful, and — shockingly — a bit of a smart-ass. He's as perfect as high-school boys get.
But he just sits there, either ignoring their obvious signals or completely oblivious that there are signals at all.
"Hello," he says plainly.
One of the girls pipes up, gripping her friend's sleeve. "We're in the same class."
The other girl now. "We're not in the same class, but my best friend sits behind you."
The last girl. "We have no connection." She doesn't look embarrassed about it.
Akaashi just stares, as though he's wondering if there's a quiz after this. "Okay. Nice to meet you…?"
The first girl pipes up. "We already know each other. You gave me a napkin once."
You're shocked to realize he's turning to you for help. You don't give it, just staring back.
Bokuto pouts, looking between you and then at the girls. "Aw, c'mon, Akaashi." The boy in question just eyes him, confused. "You need more friends!"
You try not to blush when cerulean eyes flick to you before glancing away.
After they leave, a mixture of disappointed and amazed that Akaashi had spoken to them at all, Bokuto nudges him and starts waxing poetic about interpersonal connections and the joys of friendship. You just eat your food and let them talk, deciding that Akaashi Keiji's interpersonal connections are none of your business.
Until he makes it your business.
__
akeiji95 sent you a message!
It comes later that night, long after you'd said bye to him at the train station and long after you and Bokuto had parted ways at your connected gates.
You click the notification, trying to decide if you're surprised or not.
[9:42 PM]
akeiji95: yn. hi.
you: hi akaashi. what brings you here?
akeiji95: bokuto
you: ah yes. have you selected a potential new friend?
akeiji95: depends.
akeiji95: im still getting my pedestal ready if thats alright
akeiji95: it's a little dusty atm
You'd be hard-pressed to admit that you're lying on your bed with your feet swinging in the air, a grin plastered on your face.
you: im patient, dw
akeiji95: oh good
akeiji95: do i need to wait until it's ready or can i start now?
you: hmmmm
you: i supposed im bored enough to allow some interaction with the masses
akeiji95: is that me.
akeiji95: am i the masses.
you: do you see anyone else here???
akeiji95: wow, yn
akeiji95: youre truly so generous with your time
you: and youre a smartass
akeiji95: only when i deem someone worthy
Okay, maybe you're swinging your feet in the air.
you: oh, im just so glad to be worthy
you: akaashi keiji, giving me attitude?
you: ive been yearning for this day
akeiji95: youre kind of a smartass too
you: how dare you speak ill of me.
akeiji95: pedestal's not ready yet.
you: WOWWWW
you: im telling bokuto
akeiji95: pls dont even joke ab that
akeiji95: he will literally never let it go
you: whats wrong, akaashi? afraid to admit hes got good judgment?
akeiji95: have you met his ego?
You have to muffle your laugh in a pillow.
you: it's pressing down on the walls of my house as we speak
akeiji95: is it mean to admit that i laughed
you: yes!!
akeiji95: then i wont admit it
you: oh well then problem solved
akeiji95: funny AND smart? dusting faster now
you: youre an asshole
akeiji95: only a little bit
akeiji95: only when i like someone
You freeze, your heartbeat racing in your throat. He takes the silence as a bad thing.
akeiji95: i didnt mean
akeiji95: it was a general statement
akeiji95: im mean to bokuto too if that helps??
It takes a while for your heart to come down to baseline, but you throw him a lifeline.
you: i never wouldve guessed this was your personality
akeiji95: ??? what does that mean???
you: in person, youre like
you: how do i say this nicely
akeiji95: a doormat?
you: NO
you: not a doormat!!
you: just
you: polite? kind of,,,
akeiji95: boring?
you: youre choosing evil adjectives on purpose
akeiji95: doormat is a noun, yn.
akeiji95: spreading dust on the pedestal now.
you: im hanging up on you.
akeiji95: WE'RE TEXTING.
You roll over, your face warm and your tummy swirling with excitment.
you: why are you so selective, anyway?
you: you could have plenty of friends
you: youre funny and polite
akeiji95: you forgot smart
you: i didnt forget shit.
akeiji95: youre evil.
akeiji95: i dont have a lot of friends bc im bad at making friends
akeiji95: i have the volleyball team, i guess
akeiji95: but classmates are hard for me
you: youre not bad at making friends
you: is this hard for you?
akeiji95: incredibly
akeiji95: didnt you see me fumble earlier?
akeiji95: im trying very hard rn
you: you dont have to try hard with me
akeiji95: see? i knew i made the right choice
you: dont feed my ego
you: itll compete with bokutos
akeiji95: well we cant have that
akeiji95: you know how he gets
you: that i do
you: you know you should probably tell him eventually
akeiji95: tell him what, yn?
akeiji95: are we friends?
you: idk, akaashi, is my pedestal ready?
akeiji95: stick around and find out
you: youre avoiding the point
akeiji95: very astute observation
You wait, watching as he types, stops, starts, stops again, and then — finally — sends.
akeiji95: i'll tell him eventually
akeiji95: i kind of want this for myself for now
akeiji95: if thats okay
You bury your face in your pillow, barely looking at your phone when you respond.
you: yeah
you: thats okay
akeiji95: okay
akeiji95: i'll see you tomorrow, yn
you: bye akaashi
You put your phone down and roll over, dragging the blanket over your head and trying to calm down. You nearly manage to fall asleep, but your phone buzzes again, over an hour later.
akeiji95: i think the pedestal's ready
akeiji95: goodnight
—
As the months pass and near your graduation, Keiji becomes antsy.
He still hasn't told Bokuto that he has another friend. He can't figure out how — he's sure that "I'm friends with Y/n" would be more than enough, but the longer it takes, the harder it is to say. Bokuto would never overreact. He might whine a little about not being informed, but he'd be happier to learn that his two closest friends have formed a connection, too.
But Keiji doesn't want him to know. He doesn't want to let anyone into this little part of his life. He wants to keep this a secret, because every flick of your eyes to his at lunch and every smile that you hide when he uses a deadpan voice with Bokuto is enough for him to crave more. Crave more time with you, time that only the two of you know is there.
You never see each other outside of school, not without prompting from Bokuto, and even then, you barely interact. But every night — every night, he's a little embarrassed to realize — he finds himself texting you. First on Instagram, and then, through a very humiliating request for your number, over text.
He's not an idiot. He knows he likes you, the same way that he knows the attention from the girls in his class isn't innocent. He told you that he has a hard time making friends, and he does, but the truth is that he knows his classmates don't want to be friends. The girls want more, and the guys are upset that the girls only see him. Even the girls in third year are like that, and it's brought him more trouble than not.
But you don't treat him like that. He feels with certainty, based on how you text, that you enjoy his company and presence, but he can't quite discern if it's more than that. In person, you treat him the way you treat Bokuto, which is to say that you give him attitude and not much else.
He can't say he hates that part, actually. If anything, it makes his mouth dry and his hands itch, watching you roll your eyes and send him the occasional sharp quip.
But that thing he quietly craves doesn't feel attainable. You don't feel attainable. And, given the way you seem to not realize when boys' attention is more than friendly, he doesn't want to try. He doesn't want to fuck this up, because he wasn't lying when he said he was trying hard to be your friend.
So he doesn't do more than this. He just avoids his classmates and takes any opportunity to follow Bokuto when the older man mentions bugging you. He sits quietly while the two of you bicker, and he opens doors for you, and he bows his head when you give him attention, and then at night, he seeks you out, because he wants his alone time with you, even if it's virtual.
And on the one day he's so busy studying for exams that he forgets to text you, you text him first, and he feels such an immense wave of excitement and relief that you might consider him a friend, too, that he pulls up his messages with Bokuto.
Keiji: bokuto.
Bokuto: AKAAAASHI WHATS UP
Keiji: im friends with yn now
Keiji: so you can stop worrying
Bokuto: OMG REALLY?? THATS GREAT
Bokuto: SHES GREAT
He knows that. He definitely knows that. And he's relieved Bokuto knows, but he won't be giving more detail than that, because he still wants to keep some things to himself.
When you graduate, he misses you. He misses Bokuto, too, but he thinks of you more.
You text him often, but college is hard for you, and he's busy with senior exams, so things change. He can only really keep up with you on Instagram, and the only reason he knows you still value his friendship is that you comment on his posts and send him videos when you have enough time to relax. He stays in Tokyo for college, but you're in Osaka, where Bokuto is for the Black Jackals, and he has no time to visit, so he loses track of you after a while.
He gets better at making friends. Still not great, but girls in college don't pay as much attention to his looks, so he's able to make and keep a decent number of friends. He dates and has a few short-term girlfriends, but his studies take priority, so he — ever efficient in his ways — decides that commitment isn't right for him at this point in his life. He does what any twenty-something year old man would do.
He sleeps around.
Respectfully, he might add, but it's all he can afford to give, and he doesn't want to lead anyone on. As long as he's straightforward, citing his workload upfront and how he doesn't have the time for more, he successfully avoids hurting the partners he takes to bed. It works for him.
He graduates college, and Bokuto is still in Osaka, but he doesn't know where you are. It's been a while since you've updated your social media, and at this point it's been so long he feels uncomfortable texting you without a reason.
Until he enrolls at the University of Hyogo for graduate school. It's not far from Osaka, so he meets Bokuto for lunch and they spend the whole day catching up. He remembers the moment he asks Bokuto if you're well, not wanting to ask more, and his friend says something that gives him a reason to reach out.
"Oh, she's working at a company in Kobe!"
You're in the same city as him.
—
akeiji95 sent you a message!
Deja vu is a bitch.
You're sitting in the company cafeteria, spoon halfway to your mouth. Your co-worker gives you a curious look.
"Oh, nothing," you say, shaking it off. "Just got a text from an old friend."
She shrugs, because Akaashi is no longer the 'hottest guy in school'. He's just your old friend.
You open Instagram, finding his message.
akeiji95: yn. hi.
Deja vu is such a bitch.
you: akaashi! hi!
akeiji95: how have you been?
you: im doing alright, what about you?
akeiji95: im okay.
akeiji95: bokuto told me youre in kobe.
you: yes, i am! im working at a tech company.
akeiji95: still smart, i see.
you: i suppose so lol
you: are you in osaka? thats not far!
akeiji95: im in kobe.
You choke on your lunch, only recovering with a rough pat on the back and a cup of water shoved into your hand.
you: really?? for what?
akeiji95: grad school. im at hyogo.
you: bright as ever
you: typical akaashi keiji
akeiji95: you said it, not me
you: smartass
akeiji95: typical akaashi keiji?
you: as long as you know
You sigh, your heart aching a little. Talking to him feels the same. You thought you'd gotten over him.
akeiji95: can we meet?
you: of course
you: id love to
akeiji95: me too.
You're completely, positively, certainly not over him.
—
He's gotten more beautiful. Taller with a confidence that matches his height. More self-assured in his body, his chest and shoulders broader than before. He's got that lifelong student energy about him, his hair and glasses disheveled but his coat and cardigan and slim-fit black jeans completely perfect.
He finds you easily in the crowded cafe, glancing over everyone's heads until he spots you in the corner, staring open-mouthed at him. His smile is shy but comfortable, laced with something familiar. Like being with you feels familiar.
"Fancy seeing you here."
His voice is deeper. His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.
"Uh-" You can't find your words, feeling like an idiot. "Akaashi."
His eyebrows lift, but he doesn't mention your limited vocabulary, just removing his backpack and taking the seat across from you. "Have you been here long?"
"No, no," you fumble, breaking eye contact. His eyes are prettier, somehow. It's hard to look at him. "I got here, like, twenty minutes ago."
He smiles, tilting his head. You watch how his hair flops gently to the side, entranced. "I wouldn't consider that not long, Y/n."
His comfort relaxes you in the same way it used to. You smile, gesturing to the window. "I work across the street. My lunch hour started at noon." You watch his eyes flick to clock on the wall behind you and then over his shoulder at your building across the street.
"So you've got time for lunch?" he asks, gesturing to the coffee in your hand. "Or was that the plan?"
You purse your lips, your heels sliding across the linoleum as you kick your feet, a little petulant. "I was gonna scarf something down in the elevator after this."
He scoffs and then stands, holding a hand out for you. You take it, warming, and let him help you up.
"Let's go get real food, please."
He takes you just a street over, to a little place he'd passed on the way. You don't mention how much it looks like the place outside Fukurodani, the place where you'd met.
The conversation comes easy, despite never really having any in-person interactions before. He pays for lunch, just letting you rattle off protests with nothing more than a grin. You update him on your life, talking about college and the pains of being a salaryperson. He tells you about his English program, how he wants to work for a publishing company.
He mentions being overworked, but you'd be able to see it even if he hadn't said anything. There are bags under his eyes, visible only in certain lighting but there nonetheless. And he holds himself well but rolls his shoulders unconsciously while talking, betraying the ways his body has suffered in his academic pursuits.
"Have you explored the city at all?" you finally ask, as you're both standing and heading for the tent flap. He still holds it open, the same way he did before, and he still bows his head when you thank him.
"Haven't had the time," he admits, trailing after you. "But-" He makes a concerned noise and interrupts his own train of thought. "Your feet…"
You turn, finding that he'd been looking down. Following his gaze, you realize that he can see the bandages you've put on the backs of your ankles, blood seeping through anyway. "Oh," you say. "It's okay. It's from running around in heels all day, but I can't really feel it anymore."
The scrunch of his eyebrows tells you he doesn't think it's okay. "They make you run around in those for eight hours a day?"
"More like ten, sometimes twelve," you say, a laugh in your voice. He doesn't reciprocate the sentiment. "It's okay, really. It's just part of the job."
"You work twelve hours a day?"
You glance up at him while he walks you to the main door of your company. "Don't you work just as much?"
"Not in heels."
You choke on a laugh, shaking your head. "I'm okay, Akaashi-"
"Call in sick tomorrow."
You stare up at him, eyes wide. "What? I can't just do that."
"Yes, you can. Call in sick. Let's go do something fun."
You shake your head. "This isn't high school, Akaashi. I can't play hooky."
He tilts his head, a teasing grin on his lips. "I never played hooky in high school, Y/n. That's very irresponsible."
"Okay, bye, Akaashi," you laugh, waving him off and turning away. He catches you by the wrist, turning you back to him.
"Call off tomorrow. Seriously. I'll skip my classes."
"What happened to irresponsible?" you laugh. "What are we even gonna do, anyway?"
"I told you," he starts. "I haven't had any time to relax. Let's try some random hobby."
"Whatever for?"
"To find a way to burn off stress. We're both exhausted, Y/n." His argument is dreadfully convincing. "I don't know anyone else in Kobe. Let's hang out."
You examine him, watching how he watches you. His eyes flick between yours, serious and a little urgent, and his hand is still wrapped around your wrist, his palm almost overbearingly warm.
"And… what hobby did you have in mind?" you ask, your voice weak and betraying how close you are to giving in.
His downward grin is pretty as ever. "I don't know. I didn't think I'd get this far."
You laugh, tugging your wrist from his grip. His fingers brush on your skin, almost like he's reluctant to let go. "If you can find a hobby, a place, and a time, I will consider calling in sick tomorrow. And-" you point at him menacingly. "You better not be risking anything by skipping class."
He places a hand on his chest. "I would never. Unlike you, I'm responsible."
"Good-bye, Akaashi." You turn away, heading back to work.
"I'll text you," he says, like a promise.
You lean on the revolving door, calling back to him as you go.
"You better."
—
[8:19 PM]
Akaashi: painting
Akaashi: 11:30
Akaashi: [location attached]
—
You meet him at the little art studio at exactly 11:30, smiling at how he paces anxiously in front.
He looks relieved to see you. "I wasn't sure you'd show."
"You submitted all the requested materials," you say simply. "I had to respect your efforts."
He bites back a laugh and opens the door for you. Bows his head when you thank him. "Let's see what painting's all about, then."
It turns out you're terrible at it. He's not an artistic genius himself, but his final product actually kind of looks like the instructor's. Yours looks like you attended a different class.
He doesn't tease too much, though he does ask if he can keep yours. You vehemently refuse and part ways with him after lunch at a nearby park and a walk to the train station, where he makes you promise to relax at home the rest of the day.
You fall into a pattern with him, one that neither of you addresses head-on, the same way that looking directly into the sun is bad for you.
On weekends (you have to remind him that you do have a job and he does have classes), you meet at the agreed upon hobby location of the week, half chosen by him and half by you.
He's atrocious at yoga, claiming that it only made him more stressed.
You spend several hours ignoring him after he makes you go for a run, of all things, your winded anger overshadowed by his bright laughter as he jogs ahead of you.
He allows you to put him in a corner at a cooking class, because he'd added cumin instead of cinnamon and then almost singed your eyebrows off.
You're not ashamed to admit that you call him a "four-eyed fuckass" when he tries and fails miserably to contain his laughter at pottery class. In your defense, he'd managed a decent-looking vase, where all you'd managed was an out-of-control pottery wheel and splashed clay all over your face and hair.
All in all, the search for stress relief is a resounding failure, so, on the Saturday after the pottery fiasco, you suggest going to a bar and just hanging out.
He gets whiskey. You sip on a moscow mule, grinning mischievously up at him when he asks how you don't find it too sweet.
"Have some whimsy, Akaashi."
"I have the perfect amount of whimsy," he argues, whiskey on his breath and a glaze in his eyes that wasn't there before. "I let you make me do yoga."
"Yoga's not whimsical. It's about core strength and discipline."
"It's about trying not to crack your head open," he laughs. "That's enough whimsy for me."
You stir your drink, sighing quietly. "What're we gonna do now? We haven't found anything that works for both of us."
Part of you hadn't wanted to bring it up. You'd been worried all week that this meant your weekly outings would stop.
He tosses the rest of his drink back. "Well, I've only ever found one thing works for me in short doses, to be honest, so it was kind of a lost cause to begin with." His voice is hinting at something, like he's expecting you to pick up on his unsaid meaning, but you have no clue what he's saying.
"What's that?" you ask, leaning in.
He just stares down at you, eyes widening like he hadn't expected a direct question. "Uh… Y'know…" When you tilt your head, clearly confused, he clears his throat and lowers his voice. "Sleeping… with people…?"
You straighten, your face warming. "Oh!" You stir your drink more aggressively. "Yeah, that makes sense."
He doesn't look much better than you, fingers combed through his hair and gaze cast in any direction but yours. "I mean, you get it, right?" He looks like he's hoping you'll make him feel better about saying something potentially stupid.
Unfortunately, you can't give that to him. "Uhm… not really."
He freezes. You freeze, too.
"Wait…" he breathes, shaking his head. "You're-I mean-" He clears his throat again, Adam's apple bobbing. You follow it and then look away. "I mean, it's not for everyone. That's okay, too."
You just shrug. You know you should shut up, but the mule and your general inability to filter yourself around him has you speaking up. "I wouldn't know, to be honest."
He just stares. "There's no way."
You blink. "No way that what?"
"You know what."
"I really don't."
"Y/n," he starts, shaking his head. "There's no way."
You roll your eyes. "Are you dragging this on just to make fun of me?"
"No!" He looks genuinely shocked, his face flushed a dark red and his eyes wide with alarm. "Of course not. I just really can't believe it."
"I never had the time," you mutter. "I was always busy, and it just never really occurred to me."
"You didn't date?" When you meet his eyes, he lowers his. "Sorry, that's personal, I guess."
"I think we're past that," you laugh, sipping your drink. "No, I never dated. I just… never really thought about it. I guess I kind of think about it sometimes now that I'm an adult with a job, but…" You gesture down at your bandaged feet, and he seems to understand. "You know. Busy."
You don't tell him that the one or two times you thought about it, you thought about him. Against your will, of course, and only really late at night. But it's humiliating enough as it is.
"Well, I-" he starts, swallowing and then looking away. "If you're interested-" And then he stops, because your gaze is flying up to his, shock written across your face. "Oh, my god," he says sharply. "Holy shit." He stands, laughing under his breath. "I'm so sorry, that was so out of line. I should go."
You watch him put his coat on, but you catch him by the sleeve before he can bolt.
"Wait."
It's all you say.
He just stares down at you, coat disheveled, hair messy, glasses half-fogged from the heat in this crowded bar.
"Just wait," you whisper. He stays frozen in front of you, unblinking and blatantly afraid of how you'll react. You struggle to breathe. "I've never even kissed anyone, Akaashi. Would you even want this?"
He seems to stare right through you, only blinking when your grip on his sleeve tightens.
"Yes."
It's all he says. You get the sense that, if he were anyone else, you would need more. More reassurance. More indication that this isn't a mistake. More of anything, really.
But it's Akaashi. And maybe it's your stupid crush or the rush of emotion that's crashing into you or even just the fact that he's still here, despite your humiliating admission. But you believe him.
You believe that this could work.
"Okay."
—
"I like your place," he says quietly, following you into the dark apartment. You don't comment on how he can barely see anything.
"Thanks," you mumble, kicking your shoes off. You start to turn on the overhead lights but decide against it, heading for the few low-light lamps in the living room.
When you look at him, that picture of deference is back. He's standing in the doorway, coat draped neatly over his elbow and gaze cast politely around your space.
It contrasts so painfully with what you now know he does in his free time.
"Uhm," you break the silence, watching his attention snap to you. "Should we… go to the bedroom?"
He blinks rapidly, expression oscillating between blatant embarrassment and fond amusement. "We're not having sex tonight, Y/n."
You still, wondering how you might have misunderstood. "But… I thought-"
"You just told me you've never kissed anyone," he says, leaving his coat on the sofa arm as he crosses the room to you. He hovers over you, his height exaggerated when he's this close. "I think we can take it a little slow."
You try not to let your eyelashes flutter when he slips his thumb across your cheek and then cups the back of your neck. "But… How is this helping you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said-" It's so damn hard to keep your focus when he's this close. He smells like something spiced, like cinnamon and warmth. "You said this was for stress relief. Isn't this kind of… not that?"
When he laughs, it's low and breathy and laced with whiskey. "You're thinking too hard about it."
"I'm good at that."
"Try to think of it this way," he continues. You're led forward by the elbow, his backwards steps ending in your sofa. He helps you sink into the cushion, his body pressed to yours when he joins you. "Helping you with this…" He leans in, nose brushing across your face and lips brushing against your neck. You shiver and suck in a hard breath. "…helps me, too. More than you know."
You start to ask what that means, but he's lifting his head, his glasses cold on your heated skin when his nose bumps against yours. Whiskey-tinged breath fills your lungs when he asks-
"Can I kiss you?"
You hope you don't look too desperate when you breathe out a flustered-
"Yes. Please."
It's surreal, the feeling of Akaashi Keiji's lips on yours. The realization that it's him.
The kiss is gentle, but the heat of his mouth and his breath and the way he huffs out a shaky sigh when he angles his head and slots his lips against yours better — you never thought kissing would feel like this.
You fall into his rhythm, letting him lead and trying not let your head go fuzzy when he whispers compliments between kisses.
"Good." His mouth is warm, his lips plush and soft and guiding you through the motions gently.
"Tilt your head for me? Perfect." His tongue slides against the seam of your lips, careful but wanting.
"'s okay. Just follow what I do." His teeth nip and catch on your bottom lip, and he spends time running his tongue soothingly over that spot, ever deferent.
By the time he pulls back, your head is swimming and your breathing's heavy and you can barely get your eyes to focus. And, despite his experience, he doesn't look much better.
Face flushed, glasses fogged, lips red and swollen. Breath heavy, forehead pressed to yours, hands shaky on your skin.
"Good," he croaks, swallowing hard. "That was good."
"Yeah?" you laugh, delirious. "'Cause you seem totally fine and unaffected."
He shakes his head, laugh sharp. "Fuck, Y/n."
"What?"
"Just-" He shakes his head again. "Fuck."
When he kisses you again, it's with you on your back and him barely keeping himself propped up over you. His chest is warm and solid against yours, and his knees are prying yours open, your thighs falling limply over his.
"Can I," he tries, swallowing his next breath harshly. "Can I touch you?"
The noise that leaves your mouth is akin to a whine, but you know he can hear the moan under it. You just purse your lips and nod, watching his eyes trail down your body.
"Are you sure?" he asks, one hand hovering over the spot on your waist where your shirt's ridden up.
"You don't have to ask. I'm okay with anything," you admit. You'll be embarrassed about it in the morning, but right now, he looks so amazed by your answer that you can't help but enjoy this. "I trust you, Keiji."
He groans when you say his name, head dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck," he whispers, muffled by your throat. "I'm so fucked."
You don't know what that means, but it feels so familiar to something from before, from so long ago.
You comb your fingers through his hair, heart pounding. "Is my pedestal still empty?"
His body reacts before he does, twitching and slumping over you in defeat. When he finally opens his mouth, his voice is laced with a whine.
Hopeless.
Deferent.
"Never filled it." His hands are shaking on your waist. "Never could."
Your heart leaves your body, and your self-control follows.
You drag him up by the hair, planting your lips on his and trying not to whimper when he shudders and kisses you with renewed force.
Whatever sense you'd had before, it's completely gone. Your head is empty, nothing left but cerulean and whiskey.
When Akaashi slides his hand up your shirt and cups your breast through your bra, your back arches and a low, keening cry leaves you. And in shifting against him, writhing with want and every new sensation, your hips roll against his.
He hisses, moaning into your mouth. You feel him trying to angle his hips away, probably for your sake, but you're not having it. You tense your thighs, still thrown uselessly over his, and cross your ankles at his waist.
His hands fly down to your legs, where he plants them on the backs of your thighs and all but bends you in half just to get some space between you.
"You have to be careful," he breathes. "Please. For me."
You shake your head, tugging him back to you. "Don't wanna."
He only lets you melt his resolve for a few more minutes. A few more minutes of his lips on your skin, of his tongue in your mouth. A few more minutes of his groans, brought out with every roll of your hips and every unintentional roll of his. A few more minutes of your name, pressed urgently past your lips and against your throat and in tandem with his thumbs rolling over your nipples.
You're a mess by the time he relocates his resolve.
"Okay, okay-" he finally says, pulling away from you sharply. "We have to stop." His voice is shaky and breathy and it's clear that he's struggling.
"Why?" you argue, your face flushed from everything but especially now that he's looking down at you, because your shirt and bra are shoved up against your chin and your skirt is bunched up around your waist and you know, even without looking, that he can see the wet spot on your panties.
You know, because he keeps glancing down and then tearing his gaze away like it hurts him.
"We have to," he just repeats, shaking his head. "We can't keep going tonight. It's too much at once."
"Says who?" you bite. You know you sound desperate, but he has a wet patch on his slacks, and you know for a fact it's not from you.
"Says me," he bites back. You don't argue again, just pouting up at him. He shakes his head harder. "We were supposed to take it slow. I don't want to push you."
"Your self-control is annoying."
He laughs, but it doesn't sound like he finds it funny. It sounds like he's trying not to go crazy. "My self-control is a single thread between me and doing terrible things to you."
That doesn't so bad to you.
You start to say as much, but he's already getting off the couch.
"I should go," he says, adjusting his clothes and looking particularly embarrassed when his pants remain tented. "I should definitely go."
You swallow, feeling a little self-conscious. "Akaashi? Was I too much?"
His eyes snap to yours, and that laugh of disbelief follows. "No. Never. But if I stay, then I'm going to be too much."
He helps you sit up, fixing your clothes and your hair for you, and — when your expression is undoubtedly still full of anxiety — he presses a kiss to your mouth, soft and gentle and the complete picture of Akaashi Keiji, deference embodied.
"Uhm," you follow him to the door, unused to this clingy, terrible knot in your gut. "Will I see yo-"
"Next week," he says plainly, stepping close to you once his shoes are on. Another kiss, first against your lips and then against your temple. "Saturday. I promise." He tilts his head, smiling playfully. "Stress relief, remember?"
"More stressed now than before," you grumble, and he grabs you by the shoulders, keeping you close and forcing you to uncross your arms, because your body language is radiating anxiety.
"Hey," he coaxes, a gentle hand tipping your chin up so you can look at him. So he can kiss you again. You wonder if he does this with every girl he takes to bed, or if it's just you. If he kisses every girl three times at the door, or if you're special. "You said you trust me. Right?"
When you nod, he makes it four.
"Then trust me," he whispers against your lips. "'m not going anywhere."
You only manage to breathe normally after he's gone, when he sends you a text not even five minutes after your door closes.
[10:59 PM]
Akaashi: pedestal's still yours
Akaashi: if you still want it.
—
He doesn't text on Sunday. His text from Saturday night is the only thing that keeps you from spiraling.
That's a lie. You're definitely spiraling.
You don't understand what it means, what any of it means. Is this just how Akaashi is, polite and respectful for every girl? Reassuring and kind, warm and self-aware? Had you locked yourself into an impossible situation, asking him for help with this? Would this be as far as you can go with him, nothing beyond?
You want him to know how you feel, but you don't want to tell him. Don't want to ruin this.
But fuck, if this ends up meaning nothing, you don't know that you'll recover.
—
"Oh, you like her."
Keiji groans, running his fingers through his hair and weaving through the swarm of undergrads after class, the sun low in the sky and the lingering winter cold nipping at his fingers.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Why?" Bokuto laughs on the other end of the call. "Because even I can tell?"
Keiji doesn't let him know that that's exactly why.
"So, what happened this weekend, then? Haven't you been meeting her for a few weeks now? What's different?"
Keiji warms. "Uh. Nothing, I guess."
Bokuto's silent on the other end. "Okay."
He knows. He definitely knows. Keiji's ears are practically ringing with heat and humiliation. Bokuto definitely knows.
"Okay, I'm gonna say something even though it's not my place."
"If it weren't your place, I wouldn't have called for advice," he mumbles, finally locating his bike in the crowded bike rack.
"Y/n's a little dumb."
Keiji just laughs, shaking his head.
"I know, it's ironic. But she's going to be the last person to notice you like her. So if something happened-" Bokuto cuts himself short, sighing. "If something happened, don't leave her hanging. Please. She's probably freaking out."
Keiji stands there in the cold. He'd noticed your anxiety last night, but he wouldn't have guessed you'd still be uneasy.
"But she's always been-" What word is he looking for? Calm? Collected? Nonchalant? "And I'm nothing special. I'm just-" Bokuto's younger friend. He'd always known that you'd seen him that way, at least at the beginning.
"Akaashi, if you think this means nothing to her — whatever it is — I'm going to kill you."
Keiji's fingers are going numb. It's not just the cold anymore. "No, you won't. You're a pacifist," he mumbles, weak.
"You're right, I hate violence," Bokuto caves easily. "But I'm definitely going to give you a stern talking to." When Keiji doesn't respond, he clears his throat. "I know you were a player in college-" Keiji's not sure he'd classify himself as a player. "-but I get the feeling that that part of your life was just you denying something else."
Denying something-
"Ah, fuck," he groans, crouching and leaning his elbow on his bike wheel. "Fuck."
"Yeah. Fuck." Bokuto sounds sympathetic, but his voice is firm. "Don't wait until Saturday to see her again. If she calls me freaking out, you're getting the shit talked outta you."
Keiji can only sigh, muttering 'yes, sir' into the receiver before Bokuto hangs up on him.
—
Akaashi doesn't wait until Saturday to see you. He's waiting outside your company on Monday night, which you only realize because your co-worker texts you after she leaves and says there's a 'strangely hot weirdo outside asking for you'.
"What're you doing here?" Your breath is a puff of air in the space between you, your coat wrapped tight around you.
He has a shopping bag in one hand. "Any chance you haven't eaten dinner yet?"
Your stomach growls loudly. "Oh. I forgot."
His laugh is defeated. "Please clock out?"
You smile, unsure what's going on but willing to play along. "Sure. Come inside while I wrap up, you'll freeze out here."
He follows you through the lobby and into the elevator, the ride up the high-rise completely silent. You don't really understand — he'd said Saturday, hadn't he? Not that you're not happy to see him. That knot in your stomach had come back full force yesterday, and it's only now that it's easing up.
He trails after you as you lead him through the office. It's completely dark up here, the only light on the whole floor coming from your cubicle.
"Why is no one else here?"
"I'm usually the last to leave."
He groans. "What do I have to do to get you to quit?"
"Pay my rent?" you joke, but there's a look in his eye like he might be considering it. "I promise I'm alright, Akaashi. The pay is good, and I like my co-workers. It's just the late nights that kinda suck."
He just hovers over you while you file papers away and start closing out tabs on your computer. His fingers toy with the corner of a picture frame, the only one you have — you and Bokuto sitting in your front yard, no more than toddlers.
"He loves you, y'know," he comments quietly, staring down at the photo. "It matters a lot to him that you're okay."
You get the feeling he's not saying something, but you brush it off. "I know. I love him, too. I think you do, too."
Akaashi's smile is muted when he sets the photo down. "How could anyone not love him? He cares so much. About everything."
"That's Kou for you." You sigh, finally logging off. "Okay," you say, spinning in your chair to face him. "I'm ready."
You're expecting him to lead you away, but he just crouches carefully, setting the shopping bag on the floor. From inside he extracts a shoe box and a new pair of socks.
"What-"
"It's 8 o'clock, Y/n." He pulls your foot onto his knee gently, prying your heel off and rubbing at the sole of your foot with his thumb. "I don't want you walking around like this."
You squirm under his touch. "Akaashi, you don't have to do that. It's not clean-"
He bows his head — deference, worship — and presses his lips to your knee. He trails them up your leg while massaging your foot, tongue searing hot on your inner thigh.
"Akaashi!" you squeak, pushing his head away. "I work here-"
He smiles against your thigh and lift his head away. His glasses are fogged up, and his cheeks are flushed red, but his smile is taunting.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think we were going to be doing something here?" His head tilts are starting to piss you off. "That's not very beginner-friendly, Y/n."
You try to kick him, but he holds tight to your ankle, the strength of his grip unfairly attractive. "Can we just go, please?" you whine. "Give my shoe back."
"No," he bites, planting another kiss on your knee before returning to his task. With extreme care, he removes your other shoe and then slips the socks on you. When he opens the shoe box, revealing an expensive pair of sneakers, you gasp.
"Keiji!" His eyes flick to your mouth, clearly enjoying the way you say his name, but you ignore it. "How much were those? And how do you even know my size?"
"I told you," he smiles. "Bokuto really loves you."
You give him a suspicious glare. "You didn't."
"He's coming to visit on his next holiday, by the way." His grin is evil. "He was really upset to learn about your working hours, and I was sent on a very serious mission to get you only the best in modern walking shoes." When you open your mouth, he cuts you short. "Don't worry, I didn't let him pay for them."
You smack him on the shoulder. It only makes his smile wider. "That means you paid for them! You're a broke grad student!"
"I said I was overworked, not underpaid." He uses your flustered anger to his advantage, slipping the shoes on you before you can reject them.
You refuse to say aloud that they're the most comfortable shoes you've ever worn, but he can see it just fine in your face.
"Good," he whispers. "Only the best."
You huff, warming. "Let me at least pay for dinner."
"Not a chance." He stands, helping you up. "Shall we?"
—
By the time you make it home, full and flush with warmth, Akaashi's hands are on your waist, and his mouth can't seem to stay away from your neck and shoulders.
"Did you drink?" you laugh, stumbling into the apartment with him.
"Not even a little bit. See?" He plants his lips on yours, letting you taste him. You gasp, surprised by his attitude.
"You're not usually so-" You struggle to find the words, thoroughly distracted by the way he clings to you, his mouth everywhere all at once. "-forward, I guess?"
"Too much?" he mumbles, face buried in the crook of your neck. His hands are tugging at your blouse, working to untuck it from your skirt.
"No," you breathe. "Not too much. Just-" You whine quietly when he starts to grope you through your clothes. "Just wondering if you're like this with every girl."
He freezes, pulling back. Your eyes widen, and your heart drops to your ass.
Had you said too much?
"No," he starts, face shadowed in the dark of your apartment. "No, not at all. I thought that I-" He leans away a little more, and you find yourself holding onto his wrists so he can't pull away completely. "I thought that I was clear last time, but Bokuto said-"
"Bokuto?" You're the one to step away now, confused. "Does-Did you tell him?"
"Not… exactly?" When you only lift your eyebrows, he pushes his hair out of his face nervously. "He doesn't know. He just knows something happened. And he was worried that I wasn't… clear enough."
You have no idea what that means.
"I have no idea what that means."
He laughs nervously, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. "I thought that the whole… pedestal thing… was clear enough. I mean — about my feelings."
It's your turn to freeze. "Your what?" you whisper, all the air gone from your lungs.
He takes that as a bad sign.
"Oh. Fuck." He laughs humorlessly, starting to back away. "Oh, fuck. I fucked this up."
"No, no, no-" You reach for him, latching on and forcing him to stay where he is. "You can't just say that and then leave!"
"I thought that I was being obvious-" He shakes his head, starting to close off.
"That wasn't obvious at all!" you argue, grabbing him tighter. "That's not how confessions work!"
"Is it not?" he says, genuinely lost. "I just… y'know…"
You stare up at him. "Oh, my god. Are you actually bad at this, Keiji?"
He swallows. "Apparently?"
You can't help it. You laugh.
"That's not how you confess to someone, Keiji. You can't just make some vague reference to the girl being special and hope that she just gets it."
"But you're not the girl," he mumbles. "You're you." When you just stare, he lowers his eyes. For all that he's gotten more experienced than you in the last ten years, he's still that younger, deferent boy from high school. "And I told you. I couldn't fill the pedestal with anyone else. I tried everything."
Your lungs still haven't returned to full capacity. "Tell me you like me, Keiji. I want to hear it."
His face is burning the most beautiful shade of red when he whispers-
"I hate to break it to you, Y/n, but it's definitely more than that."
—
"Just like that. You're doing so good."
You're covered in sweat and your gut is swirling with nerves, and Akaashi's hands on you feel perfect — perfect in the way that you know no one else's ever could. He's got his knees on the floor and your legs hiked up over his shoulders, and his glasses are lodged carelessly on top of your head, tangled in your hair just like your fingers are tangled in his.
He hums against your clit, groaning when your thighs tighten around his head. "Good girl. You can take it."
"Keiji, please-" You choke on your breath, feeling when he slips a second finger past your entrance and starts to gentle work you open. "Please, I'm ready."
His breath of laughter is hot on your skin, and his tongue follows, languid and torturous. "You have to be patient-"
"Don't wanna-"
"And I dont want-" He turns his head, nipping gently at your thigh with his teeth. You yelp, soothed only by the pass of his tongue over that spot. "-to hurt you. So, I win."
"I have problems with that argument-"
He laughs, nipping you again. You're covered in marks, evidence that you've been told more than once to keep your attitude in check.
"I don't care," he says, tone final. "I'm not letting you rush this."
"Can we rush next time?"
You expect teeth on your skin, but he only groans and laps his tongue between your folds again. You squirm, sweat dripping down your spine.
"Next time?" he mumbles. You laugh.
"Did you think this was a one-time thing? After I said I loved you back?"
He groans again. It reverberates through your bones. "I think I'd take anything from you at this point."
It's at some point in the last hour that you'd realized just how serious Akaashi Keiji had been about putting you on a pedestal. Deference and worship, on his knees at your feet first and then again at the foot of your bed. His mouth expressing the feeling he'd taken so long to put into words.
"You okay up there?" he whispers into your skin. You realize you've gone silent.
Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, flushing when you notice that it's all you can see of him.
"Keiji?"
He lifts his head away from you, eyes wide. "Yeah?"
"Come here? Please?" He looks conflicted, but you just tug on his hair. "Please. I promise I'm ready."
A moment passes where he just stares, and then he's lowering your legs to the bed carefully and climbing over you.
When he nudges the tip of his cock past your entrance, it's with his eyes trained diligently on your face and with your breath lodged in your throat.
You can't lie and say it doesn't hurt. It's uncomfortable, but Akaashi's quick to press his lips to yours, fingers swiping comforting circles over your clit. You whine, shocks of pleasure running up and down your spine, and don't even notice that he's still pushing into you until his hips are lined up against yours.
"Good, good—fuck, you're doing so good." He's mumbling nonsense into your mouth, teeth and tongue and admiration all successful in distracting you up until the moment it stops hurting.
"Oh," you breathe, eyelids fluttering when he rolls his hips. You have no clue how long he's been doing this — keeping you comfortable, making you feel safe — but you know it can't be comfortable for him. "Keiji."
He just grunts, his voice tight.
"Keiji. You can move."
His breath is sharp, like he's been holding it until this very moment. "'re you sure?"
You shift your hips and clench slightly, testing the stretch. He moans, collapsing onto his elbows and dropping his head to your shoulder. He's sweaty, like it's taken a great amount of strength for him to keep control, and you feel the distinct urge to pay him back for it.
So you clench again, rolling up until your hips touch his. "Go ahead, Keiji. 'm all yours."
With a sweaty hand pressed under the crook of your knee, he starts to angle himself, thrusting shallowly and biting down hard on his lip when your body opens up for him.
"Fuck."
You're breathless, feeling every inch of him as he pushes into you. It's slow, and you don't know how long he's at it like this, but you're full of adoration that he would care so much.
And then, without you ever realizing it, he's up on his knees again and your legs are hooked over his shoulders, and he's moaning your name while slamming his hips into yours. You've got one hand up, pressed to the headboard to keep you from smacking into it, and the other is gripping tight to the hand he's using to drag you down onto his cock. His other hand is wrapped around your hiked-up leg, and he's biting hard on your thigh, his moans barely muffled.
Something twists hard under your navel, and you're distinctly aware of the way your body starts to shake.
"Keiji-nngh-I'm-"
"'s okay," he breathes, voice tense. "'s okay, baby, let go. I've got you."
When your back arches off the bed, white noise flooding your ears, you can't feel anything but his fingers lacing with yours and holding tight. And then, distantly, you feel empty very suddenly, warmth spilling onto your stomach and pooling into the dips in your hips. And it's at the same time that you hear his voice, choking on a moan and then your name, low and reverent.
It takes you a while to come down, nothing registering in your hearing or vision. Every cell in your body vibrates, shaken up by the pass of a warm washcloth here and a press of Akaashi's lips there. He kisses up your thighs, whispering your name, and then presses his mouth to your clit, kissing that, too. And when you whine, he kisses up your body and throat, all the way up to your face, where he kisses you properly until you come back to him.
"Hi," you whisper finally. "Hope that was good for you."
"Shut up," he says back, shaking his head. Lips on your throat and under your ear and across your cheeks and nose. "That was the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me."
"Careful." You grin sleepily, leaning into him when he slips both of you under the blankets and holds you tight against him. "I might start saying vague shit that implies I have feelings for you."
His laugh is muffled against your skin, uncontrollable and a little delirious.
"I love you, too."
SO GOOD UGGGGHGH
putting this here so i can come back and read it
what do you think atsumu miya’s favorite reward? a special dessert, maybe?
cw. pússy eating. praise. pwp. MDNI. 18+ ONLY.
a/n. noticed how all of my recents are inarizaki... sorry this is a bit half ass ! :D
“to be different, my question is.. what’s your reward after winning a long game? a guilty pleasure meal or dessert?”
a very random and innocent question asked by a reporter as msby members sit for a press conference after a big win.
“ooh, there’s lot i can think of..” meian confessed, picking up the mic.
his eyes scan his other team mates. atsumu grabbed the mic sitting idly in front of him.
“not even a guilty pleasure but i really love my girl’s pu—pudding”
his team mates quickly side eyed him. atsumu chuckled, “she makes this really good custard pudding, real sweet and delicious.”
the reporter chuckled, “you must prefer your girlfriend’s homemade desserts, miya-san?”
“oh, i do.”
now, it will be true if only you actually make pudding.. but you don’t. not even in your life. and truth be told, atsumu is not big on desserts.
but god, that sweet little pussy of yours is his all time favorite.
his head is buried deep between your legs, hands clutching your thighs apart.
atsumu’s tongue runs his tongue on your folds, flat. the tip of his tongue flicking your clit.
“‘tsumu.. mmf—sho good..” you mewled, grabbing his blond hair.
his cheeks hollowed on your clit, sucking the bud like a man starved.
“fuck, ya taste so so good, baby.”
this is what he’s talking about in the press conference. the only dessert he will devour every chance he gets.
your taste in atsumu always gets better and better every time he buries his head between the plush of your thighs.
lewd, obscene, slurping sounds echoes the room. your whines ring in atsumu’s ear like it’s his fuel in eating you out more and more.
atsumu eats like a starved man and your pussy is the last meal that can save him.
your involuntary hips rise to meet his tongue that has been licking you broad and flat then traps your clit around his lips.
“t-tsumu, wait—” you moaned, trying to push his head away.
atsumu only growled. he pushed your wrist away before pulling your thighs so your pussy stayed in his mouth.
you keep squirming, feeling the pressure gets bigger and bigger on your lower stomach.
your feet tried to kick his broad shoulders, back, and hands tapping the crown of his head. “‘m gonna cum if—if you keep doing—’tsumu! ahh”
“that’s the point, ya silly baby” atsumu chuckled before diving back in.
you didn’t have a chance to warn him anymore. a high pitch cry only comes out as your body convulses.
atsumu felt your orgasm come through his tongue. he let out a satisfied groan, tasting you.
“ffuck, that’s it—that’s it, baby. give me everything.. fuuuuck, such a good girl.”
your chest heaves, hand falling on your side as atsumu detaches himself from your cunt after giving it a few more licks—cleaning it.
“five service ace, baby. so i need five more..” atsumu said before burying himself between your thighs again.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ match my freak !!
ᝰ.ᐟ the two of you are private not secret, but when the media starts to speculate that the two of you are no longer together, neither of you are too happy. the best way to get everyone to stop with the breakup rumors? posting something a little bit nasty to the feed to satiate everyone's curiosity. (fem!reader)
featuring tobio kageyama, atsumu miya, tetsurou kuroo, wakatoshi ushijima, tooru oikawa, rintarou suna content contains breeding kink (atsumu, wakatoshi), pregnant reader (wakatoshi), famous!reader (changes depending on scenario), creampie (tetsurou), hatefucking (not really, you + kuroo just like to antagonize each other but the attraction is there), scratches on his back (tobio), hickeys (tooru), wet n messy (rintarou), possessive!character x possessive!reader (the two of you are obsessed with each other ok), social media references lol author's notes i'm definitely doing a blue lock version, i'm just seeing if this is a popular premise lol <3 based off this original concept !! these are just silly little drabbles for me to warm up to the idea of writing again haha
౨ৎ TOBIO KAGEYAMA
your fans are speculating: that you and kageyama have broken up. fans are recording footage from you on your latest tour and claim that you're "clearly disassociating" and "somewhere else mentally" when it comes to singing your iconic love songs. you and kageyama have always kept your relationship private because he's not a very open person to begin with, and you don't want to give the media more material to misconstrue. you know that kageyama hates when some random person will annotate your verses on genius lyrics and try to make the claim that your innocent metaphor is you wanting to jump ship and leave kageyama. and you hate how it's your own fans who are making wild accusations of you no longer being with the man all your love songs are about.
you posted: kageyama, with his back turned to the camera so all that fills your camera is the surprisingly broad expanse of his muscular back and shoulders. he's not even flexing, and it's obvious that he's a world-class athlete. he's facing the closet, trying to find a shirt to put on, and it would be a semi-innocent photo, the pinterest-perfect photo inspo for every private not secret relationship out there, except for the fact that there are clearly faint, red lines — scratches — running down his back. you caption the photo with a "monday morning 🤍" (your insane fans spam the comment section to exclaim how they knew you two were still a thing... and to speculate that this photo is somehow an easter egg for an upcoming song/album. well, they're right: you two will always be a thing, and tobio dicked you down so good last night that you could write him a whole album.)
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"fuck," the word slips through his gritted teeth, and you can tell that your tobio is still upset about how your fans seem divided. half of them claim no one could ever make them hate tobio (you find those fans to be absolutely adorable), and the other half...
well, the other half are making slideshow posts to audios that go "some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world" and the ones that seem to go viral are always the ones that feature you and tobio.
"not hidin' you away." he mutters, never slowing down his thrusts. he admires the expression on your face as he fucks into you, his ego pleased with how receptive you are to his every movement. he has you speared on his cock, your tight little cunt full of him, your eyes getting so adorably teared-up because he's just a little bit too much for you to handle. tobio isn't good with words; he thinks you're the most beautiful girl to exist, but he can't verbalize it. so he just takes in your sweet, fucked-out face, the reaction only he's capable of drawing from you, and it all gets so overwhelming for him.
he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash as he continues to bully his cock into your soaked pussy. "why's it bad if i want to keep you all to myself?" he's practically whining, and you think this would be so cute if only you weren't currently chasing after your release. or rather, tobio's forcing you to cum, whether you want to or not. it's not like you can stop him; tobio devotes himself to always ensuring that you finish before him. he likes the satisfaction of knowing only he can take care of you, and he especially likes the way his cock looks with you creaming all over it.
when he gets like this, all you can do is cling to him, your arms wrapped around his muscular build. when he gets rough with his thrusts, when his body gets just the slightest bit sweaty from the exertion (evidence of just how much work he puts into fucking you), you have to dig your manicured nails (the set he paid for) into the skin of his toned back. otherwise, you'd lose your grip, and your hands would slip off.
tobio relishes the slight stinging pain of your nails scratching down his skin. but the scratches aren't enough. he needs to make you cum. when you get so caught up in your climax, you start clawing at him as you lose control. he loves the scratches you leave on him; it's proof that he's yours just as much as you are his.
౨ৎ ATSUMU MIYA
haters are saying: that you're just using atsumu for content. you're a gold digger. you're not genuine. you're not "wifey material." spectators are claiming that atsumu is playing worse than before because he's too "pussywhipped" for you. well, he likes to cheekily admit to you that he is addicted to your pussy, but they're wrong about everything else. obviously. however, the haters are feeling very vindicated whenever they see atsumu hasn't been posting you as much. (you're traveling for a new vlog series on your page, but no one knows.)
he posted: a mirror selfie. which isn't breaking news. atsumu miya always breaks the internet when he posts a mirror selfie because the only thing worse than a hot guy is a hot guy who knows he's hot. no one is a stranger to the sight of a post-workout, sweaty, shirtless atsumu, who flaunts his tight abs and muscular thighs with a steamy mirror selfie. but this photo? this one is going triple platinum. it's going down in history. this selfie is taken in dim lighting; the curtains in the background are drawn shut, he's got one hand gripping his phone (making the phone look tiny in his big hand), and he's got one arm wrapped around you. it's not an innocent hug, though. he's cupping your ass, and the phone in front of his face does nothing to shield his satisfied smirk. you're clad in nothing but lacy lingerie from a designer who loves to sponsor you, and you're clinging to his side, almost like you can't even stand without his support. it's clear that the two of you definitely were... appreciating the work your favorite designer put in when they created that lacy set.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"what do you think?" you're smiling at him, knowing damn well what he's thinking.
atsumu looks up at you, reflexively licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you wearing a new set of lingerie that you just got delivered. it leaves little room for imagination, and the material looks so delicate, atsumu is already thinking about how he'll have to apologize to the designer for ripping it off of you.
"i think I'm the luckiest man alive right now." atsumu is shameless in the way he's admiring you, the way the setting sun still peeks through the curtains, enveloping your body in a delicious golden glow as you inch closer and closer to him.
in a matter of seconds, he's pulling you on top of him, placing wet, sloppy kisses over any centimeter of your skin he can reach. when you make a move to slip off the panties, he protests.
"leave 'em on f'me, baby. please?"
he fucks you with you still wearing the lingerie set. your breasts are spilling out of the bra, and all he did was move your panties to the side so he could stretch you out with his cock.
"fuckin' idiots, tellin' me you're not good enough to marry. i'll show 'em what a good girl you are, right? gonna put a ring on your finger, and make you my wife." he's fucking his cock into you, making sure that your cute cunt knows who it belongs to. "gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. no one's gonna say shit about our family, huh? 'cause i won't let 'em."
your cunt clenches up so nicely with every comment he makes that atsumu knows he has to make all those pussydrunk promises come true.
౨ৎ TETSUROU KUROO
the tabloids are posting: paparazzi photos of you — the socialite daughter of the man who owns the msby black jackals, and jva's promotion division's golden boy, tetsurou kuroo. it's late at night, and the two of you are clearly leaving a party celebrating the success of another eventful volleyball season. you're wearing the iconic ysl heels with a black mini-dress that honestly should be called a micro-dress. your hair is a mess, you're walking like your knees are struggling not to wobble, and walking three steps behind you despite his longer stride is kuroo; his tie is crooked, his cheeks are flushed, and he has a grin that says something like i just fucked one of the richest bratty heiresses in japan, and i left her wanting more. the amount of blind items that are allegedly alluding to you and kuroo are being spread all over tiktok. one reads, "this sports club heiress was seen exiting a party with this semi-known marketing mastermind who works in the sports industry. apparently, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and no one can recall seeing them together during the party; everyone only caught glimpses of them running away from the festivities together."
you posted: a photo slideshow on instagram of your absolutely iconic outfit from the party, only these photos were clearly taken before the party. your hair is done, your makeup is perfect, and your caption states don't believe everything you read. the last slide is a screenshot of an online headline speculating about your "new man" with a photo of a grinning kuroo from that night. the reason why this makes everyone go insane is because you're no stranger to a scandal — this is, however, the first time you've ever addressed a headline.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"hurry up," you hiss, your eyes darting from left to right as you make sure no one is nowhere near the secluded corridor kuroo somehow managed to find.
"y'know, i thought girls were supposed to like guys who don't blow their loads prematurely." even when he's bullying his cock into your slicked up cunt, savoring the way your sensitive walls are clenching around his dick, tetsurou has a very annoying habit of still sounding entirely in control. for someone who can't keep his hands to himself when it comes to you, he's irritatingly great at playing nonchalant.
but he's just a man, after all. he might tower over you, his large body shielding you from any prying eyes, and he might know your body so well that he can bring you to completion twice (once with his fingers curling against that special spot of yours, and another one so rudely wrung out from you when he slid his cock in your orgasm-recovering, overly sensitive pussy) in just the fifteen minutes he's been toying with you tonight, but you know that he must be feeling something. you saw him shift his pants the moment his eyes met yours from across the room, when his eyes travelled down your body and followed the way your dress emphasized the curvatures of your body.
"if you don't finish right now, i'm not going to let you cum inside." you threaten him, trying to steady your voice as you bite back a moan. it'd be a major issue if the two of you got caught, with the volleyball association's golden boy being buried balls-deep inside a sports team owner's bratty daughter.
with every sharp snap of his hips, kuroo is only forcing more slick to come gushing out of your pussy. he can't even take the time to admire the white ring you left around his cock; he's too focused on chasing after his release because he didn't get to where he's at by not being opportunistic.
"if i cum inside, you have to keep it in your panties the whole night. you wouldn't want that, would you?" he sounds a little breathless now, his pace quickening as his thrusts get sloppier. he's smiling at you, that damn annoying smile that makes you want to roll your eyes or insult him. but your body betrays you. his grin only widens when your pussy tightens up at the idea of having his cum soaking in your panties while you interact with people at this party. a dirty little secret shared only between you two.
he lets out a breathy chuckle at your body's betrayal. "okay, princess. since you want it so badly, i guess i better give it to you."
you could practically cum again the minute you feel the warmth of him finishing inside of you. you're a spoiled brat who gets what she wants, and while you refuse to admit it, you want him. all of him.
and he's going to give it to you.
౨ৎ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA
the media is going crazy over: the fact that ushijima is the type of person who doesn't clarify anything because he just assumes that everyone can read his mind. he's blunt, sure, but he's not really the type who does much explaining. after the first game of the season, an interviewer asks him if he enjoyed spending the off-season with you, his girlfriend and one of the most beloved, fan-favorite WAGs of all time. ushijima stares straight into the camera as he states in his usual deep, flat rumble of a voice, "the off-season was successful, but she isn't my girlfriend anymore. thank you." and then he just walks off, like he didn't just drop the most insane piece of information ever?
he posted: a photo of an ultrasound that was clearly taken out of his wallet since it's thrown on the table in the background. he's holding it in his left hand, and the overhead lighting is reflected from the silver wedding band he's wearing. now that he's off the court, he's able to wear it. in typical ushijima fashion, there is no caption, but a picture is worth a thousand words. you're not his girlfriend. you're his wife, and soon to be mother of his child.
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"mmph — 'toshi!" you squeal out, your calves burning from the stretch as your beloved wakatoshi has your legs bent and spread for him. he's just so big that you'd never be able to handle all of him, and yet, here you are, bent into a mating press every night since the two of you have gotten married. you try to beg him to slow down, but words escape you as he buries himself into your pussy, letting out a deep, guttural groan as the warmth of your cunt coats his cock. there's no better feeling than this.
even if you could request for him to slow down, it wouldn't have mattered or made much of a difference. your husband has a one-track mind. when wakatoshi is set on a goal, it's hard to break his focus until he sees it to the end. and right now, wakatoshi's goal is to fuck a baby into you, to see you round with life because of the seeds he planted.
he's hunched over you, abs tightening and flexing with every sharp inhale of breath he takes. he's gonna fuck himself empty, going to keep filling your cunt with his seed 'til he's shooting blanks. his eyes glance at the ring he put on your finger before returning to admire your blissful expression and the way your body seems to have gone boneless from all the fucking he's had you endure.
"just a little bit longer." he manages to say, before forcing his cock in even deeper. "just have to make sure it takes."
౨ৎ TOORU OIKAWA
everyone is claiming: long distance relationships never last. when oikawa makes the shocking announcement that he is no longer a japanese citizen, everyone immediately wondered what that meant for the future of your relationship. does that mean it's over? officially? if oikawa is leaving behind his hometown, then by default, is he leaving you behind too?
he posted: a photo slideshow, only most of the images were clearly taken by you. the first one is of him driving; the two of you are in his convertible, and he's wearing a white button down with most of the buttons undone. on the stark white of the shirt are kiss marks; the imprint of your lips lined with cherry-red lipstick are all over the material of his shirt and on his freshly-tanned skin. the other photos are of what you two ate for dinner, the sunset from the beach, and a selfie of you two looking more in love than ever. fans are quick to point out the massive hickey on your neck, and tooru tags you in a reply to the top comment that points it out, and he's saying "you missed a spot babe." you reply back, "i ran out of concealer because you gave me too many to cover"
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
"i missed you," your boyfriend mumbles into your soft skin. tooru can get so clingy when he goes long periods without seeing you, and you indulge him because he's tooru. he's got his face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck, and his breath is warm against your skin as he speaks.
"everyone is saying i'm abandoning you, but that's not true." he whines.
"i know, baby. i don't care." you laugh softly, absentmindedly playing with the soft strands of his hair. he settles into you, and it's almost sweet, until he starts nipping at your skin.
"tooru, what are you doing?" you can't find it in yourself to chastise him too harshly, but you do have to restrain yourself from pulling back.
"jus' want to show everyone that you're still my girl." he peers up at you, licking his lips. "you'll let me do that, won't you?"
tooru bites and sucks at your skin, sharp canines grazing your soft flesh. he sucks at your most sensitive areas while he works his fingers in and out of your gushing cunt. when he pulls his fingers out and holds them up, so the sunlight can shine and really highlight how much of your juices is coating his digits, he smiles. his girl gets this wet just from him marking you up?
as he sucks on his fingers, relishing in the way you taste, he can't help but be happy to know that no matter how far away the two of you are from each other (for now), you're still his girl.
౨ৎ RINTAROU SUNA
your fans are telling you: suna doesn't care about you. suna doesn't put forth any effort into your relationship. suna literally streams on twitch during the off-season yet he can't seem to ever post you?? suna doesn't deserve you. suna—
suna is a lot of things, but nothing like the deadbeat, ashamed boyfriend allegations. in fact, all your well-meaning fans are so far off on how he treats you that you and him get a good laugh from the outrageous conclusions they've jumped to.
you posted: a photo of rintarou with his head on your lap, and you've got your fingers playing with his hair. it's a sweet photo, really. except for the fact that you decided to pair it with an audio that's a snippet of a song that goes "he's so pretty when he goes down on me" and a caption that reads this song is so relatable 🤍
ᯓ ᡣ𐭩
anyone who thinks rintarou is a selfish lover, a lazy lover, someone who merely tolerates you or is ashamed to be with you... they clearly don't know either of you very well.
because even when he's exhausted from practice, rintarou comes home craving you. craving your sweetness, your warmth, your love — and your pussy. he's obsessed. rintarou suna loves to eat you out, and he does it with such passion, such enthusiasm, that it's hard to refuse him, even if he's been going at it for the past hour.
your juices are leaving a stain on the bedsheets, and your slick is coating your inner thighs. it doesn't help that rintarou is messy with his technique. he needs your legs spread for him, granting him easy access for him to just dig in. he's still in his practice jersey, and when he feels your grip loosening from the strands of hair you're tugging at, he'll slow down his pace, calming down to just tiny kitten licks while he peers up at you.
your head is thrown back in pleasure, and your hips have a mind of their own as they still jut forward, as if trying to bring your cunt impossibly closer to him. no need for that, really, seeing as how he craves to bury himself in your warmth, to suck on your cute little clit and have you humming all over his tongue.
"rinnie." you whine out, still subconsciously bucking up your hips. he smiles before resuming his original ministrations, gluttonous and greedy with how sloppy and hungry he is with you. if you're still capable of talking, then you're not too fucked out to not allow him to get his fill.
RUT-DOLPH. f. toji
feat. toji fushiguro
summary. woodcutter! toji fushiguro hates christmas with a passion—until a naked, heat-drunk deer hybrid stumbles into his woods, cold and in heat. one rescue later, his quiet cabin becomes the stage for the nastiest, most claiming christmas eve he never knew he needed. merry fucking christmas.
trigger/warning. deer hybrid reader, human/hybrid, interspecies sex, heat cycles in heat, breeding kink, size kink, rough sex, slow burn smut, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, possessive toji, toji hates christmas but your pussy fixes that, christmas smut, winter cabin vibes, rescue turned filthy, feral heat instincts, antler play, ear sensitivity, scent kink, mating press, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, minimal tender aftercare, explicit language, unhinged holiday porn, lazy sarcastic toji while balls deep, hybrid mating instincts, cumplay, snowed-in isolation, alternate universe - no curses.
winter had clamped down on the mountains like an iron trap, like an uninvited guest that refused to leave, blanketing the small rural town in thick layers of snow that crunched underfoot and turned every breath into a visible puff of frost, and as december crept toward its festive peak, everyone around seemed to lose their goddamn minds with decorations—strings of twinkling lights draped over rooftops like glowing veins, plastic reindeer perched on lawns with noses that blinked red in the night.
massive wreaths hung on doors that screamed holiday cheer in a way that made toji’s stomach turn just a little, houses strung with multicolored lights that blinked like overexcited fireflies, porches groaning under the weight of inflatable santas and reindeer, windows painted with fake snow and real desperation, burying the half of the world under endless white, red and green—toji fushiguro felt none of it. and don’t forget about the kind of cold that seeped into bones and made every breath feel sharp against the lungs, and while the distant town below glittered with manic christmas frenzy.
toji didn’t decorate, didn’t hang a single wreath or light, didn’t even own a tree; christmas had always felt like noise dressed up as joy, and joy was something he’d stopped pretending to want a long time ago. alone in his old farmhouse at the edge of the woods, with no family, no visitors, no warm voices to fill the quiet, he simply didn’t care—solitude suited him better than forced cheer ever could, and the holiday season was just another stretch of long, silent nights he could spend chopping wood, drinking black coffee, and letting the fire die down to embers without anyone to complain about the chill.
he stepped out into the late afternoon gray, shirtless as usual because layers only slowed him down and the cold had stopped bothering him years back, his skin weathered and scarred from a life of labor, broad chest dusted with dark hair that caught stray snowflakes as they drifted down. heavy boots crunched through the deep trail he’d worn from the house to the tree line, dirty jeans riding low on his hips, stained with pitch and sawdust and old blood from nicks he never bothered bandaging properly.
in his right hand he carried the axe, its handle worn smooth from countless swings, the blade freshly sharpened that morning because dull tools were an insult to the work. he moved slow, unhurried, shoulders rolling with each step, breath fogging in steady clouds as he followed the narrow path deeper into the pines, the forest swallowing the faint sounds of civilization until there was only wind through branches and the soft thud of his boots.
the forest enveloped him soon enough, tall pines and oaks standing sentinel, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally dumped a cascade of white flakes as he passed. he wasn’t out here for leisure, no, he needed firewood to keep the small fire in his hearth going through the long nights, just enough to chase away the deepest chill without wasting effort on more than necessary, his muscles flexing under his skin with each step, a testament to the life he’d carved out for himself in this remote corner of the world, far from the bustling cities and their endless noise.
the clearing he favored wasn’t far—just far enough to feel separate from everything. he set a thick fallen log upright, tested its balance with a nudge of his boot, then raised the axe in a lazy arc, muscles coiling under scarred skin before he brought it down with a clean, resounding crack that sent wood chips flying into the snow. again and again, rhythmic, almost meditative, sweat starting to bead along his collarbones despite the freeze, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as he worked. the pile of split firewood grew steadily beside him, each piece stacked with absent precision while his mind drifted nowhere in particular, content in the repetition, the burn in his arms, the bite of cold air on bare skin.
his body moving in a rhythm born of habit—lift, swing, split, repeat—his breaths steady and deep, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the monotonous drag of winter days, the axe biting into the bark with each strike, chips flying like confetti he had no use for. he paused only to wipe his brow with the back of his hand, his dark hair matted slightly, green eyes scanning the surroundings out of instinct more than curiosity, the forest silent save for the occasional rustle of wind through the needles above.
it was during one of those pauses—axe resting on his shoulder, chest rising and falling slow—that he caught the sound. faint, almost nothing against the wind: a soft, stuttering exhale, maybe a whimper. he didn’t move at first, just tilted his head, green eyes narrowing as he scanned the treeline. nothing at first, then there it was again, closer this time, a subtle rustle from behind a cluster of snow-laden bushes, like branches shifting under weight that wasn’t wind. and his eyes narrowed, catching a glimpse of movement. then he saw them—antlers, pale and branching, branching out like delicate crowns, catching what little light filtered through the clouds, moving just slightly behind a cluster of snow-heavy firs.
toji lowered the axe, letting the head rest in the snow as he walked forward, boots sinking deep, no rush in his stride even as curiosity tugged at him. he pushed through the low branches, needles scraping across his bare shoulders, and stopped short when he saw you.
you were curled tight on the ground, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could hold the warmth in, completely bare, skin flushed pink from the cold and mottled with cold, lips tinted faint blue and trembling. your deer ears twitched weakly at his approach, flattened against your head, and those antlers rose proud despite your obvious exhaustion, dusted with snow like some forgotten forest ornament. your eyes—large, dark, glassy with cold—lifted to meet his, wide with fear and pain and something desperately human, and toji felt the lazy rhythm of his day stutter, just for a second.
his gaze dropped lower, taking in the details his mind catalogued without permission: the way your body shook in small, uncontrollable waves, goosebumps raised across every inch of exposed skin, nipples drawn tight from the cold, skin flushed from the cold but otherwise smooth and human, no fur to shield you like a true deer might have, just the vulnerable curve of your form huddled in on itself for whatever meager warmth it could muster. the soft curve of your waist disappearing into the snow beneath you. and then he saw the blood—dark streaks frozen against your right thigh, a deep bruise blooming purple and ugly around a gash that looked like it had come from something sharp, maybe a fall against jagged rock or broken branch.
your leg was tucked awkwardly beneath you now as you move from the uncomfortable approach from the unknown man, as if even the slightest shift hurt too much to bear. your deer ears twitched faintly, alert even in your distress, and those antlers—elegant, branching things—framed your face as you lifted your head slightly, your eyes wide and luminous, locking onto his with a mix of wariness and silent plea, the snowflakes dusting your lashes and clinging to your skin, making you look ethereal yet so painfully fragile in the winter's grasp.
toji stopped a few feet away, his posture relaxed, one hand resting on his hip as he took you in, his expression unchanging, that signature scar pulling at the corner of his mouth in what might have been the ghost of a smirk if he bothered to let it form fully. “well, ain’t this a sight,” he drawled, his voice low and lazy, unbothered as if stumbling upon a naked hybrid in the woods was just another quirk of his day, the words rolling out slow like he had all the time in the world. he didn’t rush closer, just stood there, his green eyes tracing the way your body trembled slightly, the goosebumps rising on your skin, and he tilted his head, exhaling a puff of breath that fogged the air between you. “you look like you’re freezin’ your ass off out here. what, get lost chasin’ some holiday spirit or somethin’?”
your ears flicked at the sound of his voice, and you shifted a little, drawing your knees tighter to your chest, but your gaze didn’t waver, those big eyes holding his with an intensity that made something stir in his chest—pity, maybe, or just plain intrigue, he couldn't be sure. the wind picked up then, howling softly through the trees, and a fresh flurry of snow began to fall, dusting your antlers like nature’s own decorations, and toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a calloused hand, his muscles rippling under the motion. “c’mon, don’t just stare at me like i’m the big bad wolf. you gonna tell me what the hell you’re doin’ out here naked as the day you were born, or do i gotta guess?”
you hesitated, your lips parting slightly, chapped from the cold, and when you spoke, your voice was soft, trembling just a bit, “i… i got separated from my herd. the storm came too fast, and i couldn’t find my way back.” your voice was soft, fragile, carrying that faint tremor of someone who’d been alone in the cold too long. your body language screamed vulnerability, the way your shoulders hunched inward, your tail—barely visible in your curled position—flicking nervously against the snow, and toji noticed it all, his eyes sharp despite the lazy drawl in his tone.
he chuckled lowly, not mocking, just a rumble in his chest that carried no real heat, and he crouched down to your level, balancing on his haunches with ease, his jeans straining against his thighs as he rested his elbows on his knees. “separated, huh? figures. winter’s a bitch like that—sneaks up and bites you when you’re not lookin’.” his gaze softened just a fraction, not that he’d admit it, and he glanced around the forest, the trees closing in like silent witnesses, before looking back at you, noting how your antlers caught the light filtering through the branches, almost like they were meant to be adorned with those christmas lights he despised.
“you ain’t got nothin’ on you? no clothes, no nothin’? that’s just askin’ for trouble in this weather.”
you shook your head slowly, your ears drooping a little, and a shiver wracked your frame, drawing his attention to the way your skin pebbled further, your breaths coming in shallow puffs. he nodded once, eyes flicking back to the wound on your leg, then to your face—lips nearly blue now, lashes clumped with ice. “that cut looks nasty. you been out here long?”
you gave the tiniest shake of your head, ears flicking back further, body curling tighter as another shiver wracked you. toji’s jaw worked slowly, like he was chewing on a thought he didn’t much like, then he extended one large hand toward you, palm up, fingers relaxed—not grabbing, just offering, his palm rough and steady. “alright, can’t just leave you here to turn into a popsicle, sweetheart. my place ain’t far—got a fire goin’, maybe some clothes that’d fit ya if i dig around. up to you, though. i ain’t draggin’ nobody.”
the endearment slipped out lazy, almost sarcastic, but his eyes stayed steady on yours, unbothered, patient. you stared at his hand—broad, scarred, warm-looking despite the snowflakes melting on his knuckles—and hesitated, body trembling harder now that hope had crept in. finally, your smaller hand reached out, fingers brushing his, cold as ice, soft against his calloused skin, and you let him pull you up.
as you stood, your body unfolded before him, naked and unashamed in its hybrid beauty, antlers proud atop your head, and toji averted his eyes just enough to give you some semblance of privacy, though he couldn’t ignore the heat that stirred low in his gut, voyeuristic curiosity mingling with something protective. “easy there,” he murmured, shrugging off the invisible weight of the moment as he picked up his axe, slinging it over his shoulder. “trail’s slippery—stick close, yeah?”
the moment weight shifted to your injured leg, pain flared white-hot; a sharp whimper escaped before you could stop it, and your knees buckled completely. toji moved without thinking, catching you against his chest as you sagged, one arm sliding around your bare back, the other under your thighs to lift you fully off the ground. you gasped at the sudden warmth of his body—skin hot from exertion, muscles hard and solid beneath you—and instinctively curled closer, face pressing into the crook of his neck, antlers brushing lightly against his hair.
“easy,” he murmured, voice rumbling against your cheek, low and unhurried even as he adjusted his grip so your injured leg didn’t bump anything. “got you. axe can stay—wood ain’t goin’ anywhere.” he left it leaning against the log without a second glance and started walking, boots carving a deeper path through the snow, your weight nothing in his arms.
the walk back was slow, deliberate, his boots carving a path for you to follow, his bare torso unaffected by the cold that had you shivering beside him. “name’s toji, by the way,” he said after a stretch of silence, his voice casual, like he was commenting on the weather. “and you? or do i just call you deer-girl for the hell of it?” there was a teasing lilt there, sarcastic but gentle, the kind that didn’t sting, just prodded lightly.
“it’s y/n,” you replied, your voice gaining a bit more strength now that you were moving, though your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, and he noticed, his eyes flicking to the way your body curved, the subtle sway of your hips as you navigated the trail. “y/n, huh? suits ya—simple, no frills.” he glanced sideways at you, a faint smirk tugging at his scar. “so, what’s a hybrid like you doin’ wanderin’ these woods anyway? thought your kind stuck to warmer spots, not freezin’ their tails off in bumfuck nowhere.”
you explained in bits and pieces, your words punctuated by shivers—the herd migrating for winter, the sudden blizzard scattering everyone, how you'd ended up alone and disoriented, no clothes because hybrids like you didn’t need them in the wild, but human skin wasn’t built for this cold. toji listened without interrupting, nodding occasionally, his expression unchanging, but his body language spoke volumes—the way he positioned himself to block the wind from hitting you directly.
every step was deliberate, careful, his body shielding yours from the wind as much as possible, the heat radiating off his bare torso seeping slowly into your frozen skin. you could feel his heartbeat steady against your side, smell the faint scent of pine smoke and sweat and something distinctly male clinging to him. your arms looped tentatively around his neck for balance, fingers brushing the short hairs at his nape, and he didn’t comment, just kept that lazy pace back toward the farmhouse, breath fogging above your head.
“you’re shakein’ pretty hard,” he said after a minute, voice soft against the wind, almost conversational. “we’ll get that leg cleaned up first—looks like it’s been bleedin’ a while. then food, maybe. you eat regular stuff, or…?” he trailed off, glancing down at you with a faint, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip.
you managed a tiny nod against his shoulder, voice muffled. “regular… mostly.”
“good. got stew on the stove. figured i’d be eatin’ alone again tonight, but plans change.” there was dry humor in his tone, gentle sarcasm that didn’t bite, just floated there like smoke.
the farmhouse came into view sooner than you expected—low roof heavy with snow, a squat, sturdy building, the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows over the snow. thin trail of smoke curling lazily from the chimney, windows glowing faint orange against the dusk. toji shouldered the door open without setting you down, kicking it shut behind him with his heel, and the sudden wave of warmth hit like a physical thing, drawing a soft, involuntary sigh from your lips. the inside was sparse, lived-in, smelling of woodsmoke and coffee and old leather; no christmas decorations anywhere save for a half-hearted string of lights someone must have left years ago, dangling forgotten over the mantel, but the fire crackled invitingly in the hearth, just a worn couch, a coffee table scarred from years of boots, and the fireplace crackling low.
he carried you straight to the couch, lowering you carefully onto the blankets piled there, making sure your injured leg was elevated on a pillow before straightening up. his hands lingered a second longer on your waist, steadying, then pulled away slow. “go on, warm up. i’ll grab somethin’ for ya to wear—can’t have you prancin’ around like that all night.”
you watched him move—lazy, unhurried strides across the room, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he disappeared down a short hallway. your body still trembled, but the heat was already sinking in, easing the worst of the shivers, and you pulled one of the blankets tighter around yourself, ears twitching toward every sound he made: drawers opening, water running, the soft clink of glass bottles.
when he came back, he had a large flannel shirt draped over one arm and sweatp, and a battered first-aid kit under the other. he dropped onto the couch beside you without ceremony, close enough that his thigh brushed yours, and set the kit on the coffee table. “leg first,” he said, voice low, nodding toward the blanket. “gonna need to see how bad it is.”
you hesitated only a second before easing the blanket aside, exposing the bruised and bloodied thigh. toji’s expression didn’t change—still that lazy half-lidded look—but his hands were careful as he opened the kit, movements practiced and gentle. “this’ll sting,” he warned, voice soft, before pressing a warm, damp cloth to the wound to clean away frozen blood and dirt.
you hissed, body tensing, fingers clutching the blanket, but he murmured, “breathe through it, sweetheart. doin’ good,” his free hand settling lightly on your uninjured thigh, thumb brushing slow circles that somehow grounded you more than the pain sharpened. he worked in silence after that, cleaning, disinfecting, wrapping the gash with steady precision, every touch deliberate but never rushed, his body heat close enough to feel even through the air between you.
when he finished, he sat back slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “not too deep—won’t need stitches if you keep it clean. you’ll keep the leg.” the corner of his mouth lifted, faint sarcasm there, but his gaze lingered on your face, taking in the color slowly returning to your lips, the way your ears had perked forward just a little.
he handed you the flannel next, oversized and soft from countless washes. “throw this on before you turn into a popsicle again. got sweatpants too if you feel like drownin’ in ‘em—your call, but naked’s fine by me either way.”
you slipped the shirt on under the blanket, fabric swallowing you whole, sleeves hanging past your hands, scent of him—woodsmoke and something clean and warm—clinging to the fibers and didn’t bother with the sweatpants. when you emerged, he was watching with that same lazy expression, but his eyes darkened just a fraction as they traced the way the shirt draped over your body, collar slipping off one shoulder, hem brushing mid-thigh.
“looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he drawled, voice low and rough around the edges now, standing to head toward the kitchen. “stew’s still hot. you hungry?”
you nodded, pulling the blanket around your legs again, and he returned minutes later with two bowls, handing you one before settling back beside you—closer this time, thigh pressed fully against yours, like personal space was optional. the silence stretched comfortable, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional clink of spoons, but his presence filled the room, warm and solid and quietly overwhelming.
outside, snow kept falling, soft and endless, erasing the trail he’d left in the woods, sealing the two of you inside this small, undecorated house where christmas didn’t exist—only firelight, stew, and the slow, simmering awareness of bare skin under borrowed flannel, of scarred hands that had carried you home, and green eyes that watched you now with something patient and hungry stirring behind the lazy facade.
the fire crackled low and steady, throwing flickering gold across the worn wooden floorboards that creaked faintly under the shifting weight of the couch, the light dancing over the edges where the two of you sat, thighs still pressed together firmly, like neither of you had found a reason—or wanted—to create even an inch of space after he’d handed you the bowl.
steam curled lazily from the thick stew, rich chunks of potato and carrot and dark venison floating in the gravy—hearty, gamey, the kind of meat he’d likely tracked and dressed himself out in these same woods—carrying that deep, earthy scent through the small room, mingling with the sharp bite of burning pine and the faint, lingering trace of crisp winter cold that still clung to your skin despite the blanket draped over your lap.
you cradled the bowl in both hands, sleeves of his oversized flannel pushed clumsily up to your elbows, the soft worn fabric brushing your forearms as you brought the spoon to your lips in slow, careful bites, letting the heat of the broth slide down your throat and pool warm in your belly, spreading outward like gentle fingers chasing away the last stubborn edges of frost that had burrowed deep during those endless hours alone in the snow.
toji ate the same way he seemed to do everything: unhurried, almost lazy, his broad frame lounged back against the cushions, one thick arm draped along the back of the couch behind your shoulders—not quite touching you, but close enough that the heat radiating from his bare skin warmed the side of your neck and the shell of your ear whenever you turned your head even slightly. his other hand guided the spoon to his mouth in a steady, unconcerned rhythm, jaw working slow and deliberate as he chewed, the faint flex of muscle along his scarred chest visible each time he swallowed, dark hair still a little damp from melted snow at the ends, sticking to the side of his neck.
your gaze stayed fixed on the flames for a long stretch, watching the orange and gold tongues lick up around the logs, the warmth sinking into your cheeks, your chest, the bare skin of your thighs beneath the blanket—and yet another kind of warmth was building low in your belly, slow and insistent, the kind that had nothing to do with the fire or the stew. the cold hadn’t felt so terrible anymore, not with the solid press of his leg against yours, not with the borrowed flannel hanging loose around your body like a claim.
but your heat—it was late, overdue, stirred up by the sudden safety and the overwhelming presence of him—and it crept through you now in quiet, treacherous waves. unconsciously, your thighs brushed together under the blanket, a subtle shift of weight seeking just a whisper of friction against the growing ache, the slickness gathering warm and hidden between your legs. you thought you’d hidden it well, kept your breathing even, face turned toward the fire to mask the flush rising higher on your cheeks.
but toji noticed.
his spoon paused halfway to his mouth for the briefest second, green eyes flicking sideways, catching the small, restless movement of your legs beneath the blanket, the way your hips had tilted just slightly forward before you stilled again. one dark brow lifted slow, lazy, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching in something too subtle to call a full smirk yet, but he said nothing, simply resumed eating as if he hadn’t catalogued every tiny shift of your body in that single glance.
his gaze drifted again—lazy, unapologetic—starting at your profile, lingering on the delicate curve of your antlers catching the firelight, then lower, to the blanket hiding your thighs, and finally to the open front of the flannel you hadn’t bothered to button properly in your exhaustion. the fabric gaped just enough with every breath you took, offering fleeting glimpses of the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples drawn tight and brushing lightly against the worn inside of the shirt with each inhale, the faint friction sending little sparks straight to the heat pooling between your legs.
he took another slow bite, chewed, swallowed, then spoke, voice low and rough around the edges, drawl lazy as ever. “good?” the single word hung there, ambiguous on purpose, his eyes locked on your nipple before on your eyes now, that brow still arched just slightly, the question clearly aimed at more than just the stew.
you blinked, turning your head to meet his gaze, ears twitching forward at the sound of his voice, cheeks warming further under the intensity of those half-lidded green eyes. for a moment you only nodded, small and quick, lashes fluttering as you tried to gather your thoughts through the haze of heat and leftover cold. then words came, soft and a little breathless. “it’s… really good. warm. you cook well.”
toji’s mouth curved then, a slow, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip, eyes crinkling faintly at the corners with quiet amusement. he let out a low hum, almost a chuckle, deep in his chest. “yeah… i can cook,” he murmured, the words rolling out lazy and satisfied, holding your gaze a second longer before he scooped another spoonful, never looking away as he brought it to his mouth, tongue catching a stray drop at the corner of his lips.
the bowls emptied slowly, the only sounds the soft scrape of spoons and the steady pop of burning wood. when yours was finally empty, you held it in your lap, fingers tracing the rim absently, thighs pressing together again beneath the blanket in another subtle search for relief. toji reached over without a word, large hand closing around the bowl along with his own, fingers brushing yours deliberately as he took them both. he rose in one fluid motion, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he walked toward the kitchen, bare feet silent on the floorboards, back broad and shadowed in the firelight.
he wasn’t gone long—just long enough for you to hear the clink of ceramic in the sink, water running briefly, the low thud of cabinet doors. when he returned, he moved with that same unhurried grace, stopping in front of the fireplace and dropping to one knee, the jeans stretching tight over his thighs as he crouched. he picked up two fresh logs from the small stack beside the hearth, muscles flexing in his arms and back as he placed them carefully atop the glowing embers, sparks fluttering upward like tiny orange fireflies. the new wood caught quickly, flames licking higher, throwing brighter gold across the room and over his skin.
he glanced over his shoulder at you then, one arm resting on his raised knee, the other braced against the stone hearth, that crooked smirk tugging at his mouth again—knowing, teasing, but still gentle around the edges. “hope you the heat,” he drawled, voice low and rough, eyes glinting dark in the renewed firelight as they held yours for a deliberate beat.
the words landed heavy, laced with something that made your breath catch, a broken little hum escaping your throat before you could stop it. your ears flicked back, then forward again, body shifting restlessly on the couch, thighs pressing tighter together beneath the blanket as another wave of slick warmth pulsed through you. you couldn’t quite meet his gaze after that, eyes dropping to your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of the flannel. (done)
toji lingered there a moment longer, watching the flush climb your neck, the way your chest rose and fell a little faster beneath his shirt, before he pushed to his feet with a soft exhale. he turned fully toward you, hands settling loose on his hips, the fire roaring brighter behind him now, casting his bare torso in sharp relief—broad shoulders, scarred chest, the defined lines of his abdomen disappearing beneath the low waistband of his jeans—his silhouette framed in flickering light and shadow, towering but relaxed, utterly unbothered.
his green eyes, almost black in the low light, stayed fixed on you—on the way the flannel slipped further off one shoulder as you shifted, on the small, restless movements you couldn’t quite hide, on the delicate points of your antlers catching the glow like they were made for it. he didn’t say anything more, just stood there, patient and quiet, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you.
and for the first time in years, toji realized he wouldn’t be spending another christmas eve alone in this house—certainly not with the quiet, no one to share the fire or the silence or the long winter night. especially not with a deer hybrid curled on his couch, late into her heat, wearing his shirt like it belonged to her, looking at him with those wide, needy eyes while the snow kept falling soft and endless outside.
his eyes lingered on you for a long, unhurried moment, the firelight casting shifting shadows across the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the scar that tugged at his lip whenever his mouth curved just slightly, before his gaze drifted upward, slow and deliberate, to the delicate branches of your antlers rising from your hair—not too big, not overwhelming like some hybrids he’d glimpsed from afar in the woods, but not small either, perfectly proportioned, elegant curves catching the golden flicker of the flames like they were strung with invisible christmas lights just for him.
they suited you, framed your face in a way that made you look both fragile and wild, and he tilted his head a fraction, green eyes narrowing lazily as he studied them, then let his stare drop back down to meet yours—you’d already been watching him, wide-eyed and flushed, ears angled forward in quiet anticipation, and the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar crooked smirk.
“those things heavy?” he asked, voice low and drawling, almost bored, like he was commenting on the weather outside instead of the intimate weight of bone and velvet perched atop your head, his tone laced with that gentle sarcasm that never quite stung. he didn’t move yet, just stood there with hands loose on his hips, bare chest rising and falling slow, the heat from the fire at his back making his skin gleam faintly with sweat.
you shifted again beneath the blanket, thighs pressing together tighter as another pulse of warmth throbbed low in your belly, the slickness there impossible to ignore now, making the fabric of his borrowed flannel cling slightly to your skin where it brushed your inner thighs. your ears twitched back and then forward, a soft little flick of nervousness and need, and you managed a small shake of your head, voice coming out breathy, almost a whisper. “not… not really. they’re light. just… sensitive right now.”
he hummed deep in his chest, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the small space between you, and you caught the subtle movement of his jaw as he bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darkening further while he watched another shiver ripple through you—not from cold this time, but from the heat that was blooming hotter with every passing second, late-season instincts making your body ache in ways you couldn’t hide. then, without rush, he stepped closer, closing the distance in two lazy strides until he was right in front of the couch, towering but relaxed, and he bent forward slowly, one foot dipping into the cushion beside your hip, the other planted on the floor, caging you in without touching yet.
his face lowered to yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheeks, smell the faint trace of stew and pine smoke and something deeper, masculine, that made your pulse flutter wildly in your throat. he studied you up close like he had all the time in the world—eyes tracing the faint scatter of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the way your lashes trembled when you blinked, the soft shape of your lips parted just slightly on shallow breaths, and especially the deer features blended so seamlessly into your human face: the delicate twitch of your ears, the subtle velvet texture near the base of your antlers, the wide, luminous eyes that gave away every flicker of need. you couldn’t hold his stare for long; your gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again, ears pinning back briefly before flicking forward, body leaning instinctively into the heat radiating from his bare skin.
his smirk deepened, slow and knowing, scar pulling tight as his lips curved wider, and he lifted one large hand—calloused fingers, warm from the fire—until the tips brushed the base of one antler, feather-light at first, tracing the smooth curve with deliberate care. the contact sent a jolt straight through you, velvet-sensitive skin singing under his touch, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from your throat, quiet but unmistakable, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the blanket as another rush of slick warmth coated your thighs.
toji’s eyes hooded further, voice dropping to a murmur, rough and lazy, laced with that teasing edge that made your stomach flip. “fuck… so sensitive, huh? little deer gettin’ all worked up from just this?” his thumb stroked higher along the antler, slow circles that made your breath hitch, before his fingers drifted lower, grazing the soft fur at the base, then gently, deliberately, brushing the edge of one twitching ear. the sensation was electric—your ears were always tender during heat, but his touch lit them up like christmas bulbs, and another moan escaped, louder this time, needy, your head tilting into his palm without permission.
he let out a low chuckle, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, nose almost brushing yours. “look at you, moanin’ like a sweet little hybrid in heat… bet those pretty antlers are achin’ for more, aren’t they? all velvet and ready, just beggin’ to be touched while you’re burnin’ up inside.” his words were dirty but spoken soft, lazy praise wrapped in gentleness, like he was simply stating facts about the weather. “never thought i’d have a needy deer on my couch come christmas… but here you are, drippin’ slick under my shirt, ears twitchin’ every time i get close. you want me to keep goin’, sweetheart? want me to pet you properly till you’re shakin’?”
his fingers traced your ear again, tugging lightly at the tip, and you whimpered, thighs clenching hard beneath the blanket, the ache between them throbbing in time with your heartbeat. your hands fisted in the flannel at your lap, knuckles pale, body arching just slightly toward him as if pulled by invisible string, and he watched every tiny reaction with half-lidded eyes, smirk never fading, completely unbothered and in control while the fire crackled louder behind him, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slow, heated space between your bodies on this quiet, forgotten christmas night.
his hand lingered at the base of your antler, thumb stroking the soft inner fur in slow, lazy circles that made your whole body hum with little electric sparks while the fire snapped and hissed behind him, throwing long shadows that danced across the walls like silent christmas ghosts no one else would ever see. he watched you with that half-lidded stare, green eyes dark and patient, the scar on his lip pulling tighter as his smirk deepened just a fraction. “you late in your heat, aren’t you?” he asked again, voice low and lazy, rolling out like smoke, not pushing, just curious in that unbothered way of his, like the answer wouldn’t change a thing either way.
you couldn’t look at him straight on—your gaze dropped to the strong line of his collarbone, then to the flicker of firelight on his chest, cheeks burning hotter than the flames as another wave of slick pulsed between your thighs, warm and shameful and impossible to hide. your ears twitched hard, forward and back in quick, frantic little flutters that brushed his fingers every time, betraying you completely. a soft, helpless sound caught in your throat, half whimper, half breath, and you pressed your thighs together under the blanket again, hips shifting just slightly on the cushion.
toji hummed, long and low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as his hand slid from your antler to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “yeah… real late. can feel you shakin’ from it.” his tone stayed gentle, almost amused, sarcasm light as fresh snow. then he tilted his head, eyes dropping to your lap where the blanket hid the restless press of your legs, and his voice dropped rougher. “ever had a human cock inside you before, sweetheart? or do pretty little deer like you only spread for your own kind when the heat hits?”
the question was filthy, blunt, spoken slow and lazy like he was asking about the weather outside, but it punched straight through you—your cunt clenched hard, another thick rush of slick soaking your folds, dripping slow and hot down toward the couch. you couldn’t answer with words; your mouth opened on a silent gasp, ears pinning flat back against your head, body arching forward without permission as your hands clutched at the flannel over your thighs.
he chuckled softly, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, the hand on your jaw sliding down to splay over your throat, feeling the frantic swallow you couldn’t hide. “fuck, you’re gushin’ just thinkin’ about it, huh? can smell how sweet you’re gettin’.” his other hand moved then, lazy and sure, slipping under the edge of the blanket to palm your bare thigh, fingers spreading wide, thumb stroking high on the soft inner skin, inches from where you ached most. “bet those lips are still cold,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your mouth, “been out in the snow too long. lemme fix that.”
he kissed you slow—no rush, no force—just the warm press of his mouth against yours, lips parted so his tongue could slide in lazy and deep, tasting you like he had all christmas night to savor. you moaned into it immediately, soft and needy, hands coming up to grip his bare shoulders, fingers digging into warm muscle as you opened for him. his tongue curled around yours, sucking gently, drawing out every little sound while his hand on your thigh squeezed slow, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer until the blanket fell away completely and you were half-bare in his lap, flannel hanging open.
he pulled back just enough to speak against your wet lips, voice rough and low. “tell me somethin’, darlin’… how do deer like you take it when you’re burnin’ up? out in the woods, ass up against a tree while your buck mounts you fast? or do you like bein’ held down slow, rutted into till you’re cryin’?” his fingers slid higher, brushing the crease where thigh met hip, thumb tracing the slick that had leaked there, gathering it slow like he was curious how wet you could get. “always wondered if hybrid cunt feels different—tighter, hotter, flutterin’ different when you’re in season.”
you whimpered, rocking into his touch without thinking, and he let you, guiding your hips with one big hand until you were climbing fully into his lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of his thighs, bare cunt pressing down against the hard bulge straining his jeans. the contact drew a broken moan from you both—yours high and desperate, his a low, lazy growl against your neck as he mouthed along your pulse, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
“there you go,” he praised, voice husky, both hands sliding under the flannel to cup your ass, squeezing slow, spreading you open so cool air kissed your soaked folds while you ground down instinctively against him. “straddle me just like that, good girl. look at you—my own little christmas deer, antlers all pretty in the firelight, drippin’ slick all over a human’s lap.” his mouth found yours again, kissing deeper this time, tongue fucking slow into your mouth while his hips rolled up once, lazy, letting you feel every thick inch trapped behind denim.
he kept it slow—hands groping lazy and thorough, one sliding up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple till it ached, the other kneading your ass in time with the gentle rock of your hips. every kiss was wet, filthy, unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours while he murmured between them, “bet you’d milk a human cock real sweet… wonder if you’d lock around me like you do your bucks, or if you’d just keep takin’ it, beggin’ for more till the heat breaks.” his words were pure pervert curiosity wrapped in low praising, lazy and teasing, drawing more slick from you until it soaked through his jeans, the dark patch spreading warm beneath you on this quiet, fire-warm christmas night where nothing existed but the slow, burning friction and the taste of him on your tongue.
your hands couldn’t stay still any longer, fingers uncurling from the loose grip around his neck to wander slow and curious down the broad expanse of his bare chest, palms spreading over warm, scarred skin that flexed subtly under your touch, tracing the ridges of old marks and the coarse scatter of dark hair that dusted across his pecs.
your thumbs brushed lazily over his nipples—flat and dark, hardening just slightly at the grazing contact—and you felt the low rumble of his hum vibrate against your lips as he watched you with those heavy-lidded green eyes, unbothered, patient, like he had all christmas night to let you explore.
your gaze drifted lower, following the faint line of hair that started just below his sternum, thickening into that tempting happy trail that disappeared beneath the low waistband of his jeans, and you murmured softly, almost to yourself, “hair…” as your fingertips dipped into the soft, wiry strands, playing with them absently, tugging just enough to feel the texture.
toji hummed again, deeper this time, the sound lazy and approving as his hands stayed loose on your ass, squeezing slow in encouragement. “yeah… hair,” he drawled, voice rough and amused, scar pulling at his lip as his smirk widened. “haven’t shaved down there either, sweetheart. hope you like it bushy both places—makes me wonder if a pretty little deer like you prefers it wild.” his tone was gentle sarcasm, filthy curiosity wrapped in praise, eyes flicking down to watch your fingers toy with his trail before meeting yours again.
you flushed harder, ears twitching back in shy embarrassment even as your body pressed closer, slick cunt grinding slow against the hard line of his cock still trapped in denim. “i… i like it,” you whispered, voice breathy and small, nails scraping lightly through the hair now, following it lower until your fingertips brushed the button of his jeans.
he let out a low chuckle, head tilting as that lazy, dangerous smirk sharpened just a touch—not mean, never mean, just knowing. “good girl.” his hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the open flannel. “you want me to help you with this heat, darlin’? i can start reallll slow… ease you into it.”
you frowned a little, brows drawing together in genuine confusion, hips still rocking instinctively against him as you searched his face. “slow?” you echoed, voice soft, uncertain—because every heat you’d endured before had been frantic, quick mounts in the woods, over almost before the ache had been scratched, no lingering touches, no real release, just instinct and emptiness after.
toji’s eyes darkened at the confusion flickering across your features—wide eyes, twitching ears, the innocent tilt of your head—and something hot and possessive coiled tighter in his gut at the thought of being the first to show you different. he leaned in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your lips. “yeah… slow like this,” he murmured, voice dropping rough and lazy as one big hand pushed the flannel aside completely, baring your tits to the firelight, nipples already tight and begging like itself calling for toji; suck me, suck me, suck me. he didn’t rush—just lowered his mouth slow, lips parting to close around one peak, tongue flicking lazy and wet before he sucked gentle, drawing it deeper into the heat of his mouth.
you gasped sharp, back arching hard as pleasure shot straight to your cunt, fingers flying to tangle in his dark hair, careful of your antlers as they tilted back with your head. “toji—” his name left you on a broken moan, thighs clenching around his hips while he hummed approval around your nipple, sucking slow and thorough, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
his free hand slid lower at the same lazy pace—over the curve of your hip, along the soft skin of your inner thigh, until his fingers finally brushed your soaked folds, parting them gently, gathering the slick that coated everything. “fuck, listen to you,” he murmured against your breast, pulling off with a wet pop to switch to the other nipple, tongue swirling slow circles before sucking again. “so wet already… little pussy weepin’ for attention.” two thick fingers traced your entrance, not pushing in yet, just teasing the rim, spreading your slick up to circle your swollen clit in lazy, feather-light strokes that made your hips jerk but never quite gave enough pressure.
you whimpered, grinding down harder against his hand, chasing more, but he kept the pace maddeningly slow—sucking at your nipple in long, wet pulls, fingers dipping just barely inside you before retreating, thumb brushing your clit in idle circles like he was petting a needy animal. “that’s it,” he praised low, voice muffled against your skin as he laved your breast with his tongue. “take what you need, sweetheart… rock those pretty hips on my fingers. bet no buck ever took his time with you like this, huh? just wanna savor my sweettt christmas deer… make this heat feel real good before i give you anything more.”
every touch was lazy, deliberate, drawing the ache higher without mercy, your slick coating his fingers thicker with every slow circle, dripping down over his wrist while the fire crackled and the snow whispered outside, the whole world reduced to the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits and the filthy, gentle curiosity in his voice as he kept you teetering on the edge without letting you fall.
and the next second, all you feel is how the carpet was rough against your bare back, coarse fibers biting into your skin with every tiny shift of your hips, a harsh contrast to the slick heat building everywhere else, while the fire crackled steady and low behind you, throwing flickering orange light across the room and over your naked body—exposed again, just like when he’d found you curled in the snow, only now flushed hot and trembling for entirely different reasons.
your legs were spread wide, knees bent and fallen open as he pushed it to your chest, thighs quivering as toji knelt between them, broad shoulders forcing you wider, his dark hair tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while his mouth worked slow and thorough on your dripping cunt. he’d taken his time getting you here—lazy kisses turning deeper, hands stripping the flannel away inch by inch until you were bare beneath him, guiding you down onto the rug with that same unbothered strength, murmuring how the fire would keep you warm while he tasted you proper.
now you were a mess—tears streaking hot down your temples into your hair, antlers scraping lightly against the carpet with every arch of your neck, one hand clamped tight around his fingers in a desperate grip while the other tangled in his hair, pulling without meaning to whenever his tongue flicked just right over your swollen clit. soft, broken whimpers spilled from your lips in a constant stream, hips rolling up to meet his mouth even as your thighs shook from the effort of holding still. he ate you like he had nowhere else to be—long, slow licks from your entrance up to your clit, sucking gentle then firm, tongue circling lazy before dipping inside to taste how deep your slick ran, humming low every time your cunt fluttered against his lips.
when he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his chin and mouth glistened wet in the firelight, eyes lifting to meet yours with that stupid, lazy grin—scarred lip curled, green eyes dark and half-lidded, utterly pleased with himself. “fuckkkk, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice rough and low, tongue coming out to lick a stray drop of you from the corner of his mouth, “didn’t expect hybrid pussy to taste this sweet—like christmas honey, all warm and ripe just for me. better than any cunt i’ve ever had my mouth on.”
the words hit you hard, filthy and blunt, heat flooding your face even as your cunt clenched around nothing, missing his tongue already. you blinked through the tears, chest heaving, voice small and shaky when you managed, “it’s… it’s good?”
toji chuckled, low and dirty, breath ghosting hot over your soaked folds as he hovered close. “good? darlin’, your little deer cunt’s so fuckin’ delicious i could stay down here till the fire dies out—sweetest present i’ve unwrapped all year.” he pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit just to watch you jerk, then reached up with the hand not already laced with yours, gently untangling your fingers from his hair. he guided your trembling hand down, pressing your palm over one breast, curling your fingers so they cupped the soft weight. “ever play with these pretty tits while you’re in heat?” he asked, lazy curiosity thick in his voice, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
you shook your head quick, ears twitching back against the carpet, another tear slipping free as the ache throbbed harder. “no… never,” you whispered, voice cracking on the admission.
he hummed approval, eyes flicking from your face to your hand on your breast. “try it for me, sweetheart. squeeze gentle… yeah, just like that. now roll your nipple between your fingers—slowww, feel how it gets all tight and sensitive.” his mouth lowered again as he spoke, lips sealing soft around your clit, sucking lazy and steady while he watched you obey. your fingers followed his words hesitant at first—pinching lightly, rolling the hard peak, tugging just a little—and the dual sensation punched a loud, broken moan from your throat, back arching off the carpet, thighs clamping around his head.
“there you go,” he praised against your pussy, voice muffled and rough, tongue flicking quick to reward you before he pulled back just enough to speak. “look at you—pinchin’ your own tits while i suck this sweet clit. filthy little deer, learnin’ how good it feels to play with yourself. keep goin’, darlin’… make ‘em ache nice and pretty for me.”
he dove back in fully then, mouth hot and relentless but still slow—long, wet pulls on your clit, tongue lapping broad and lazy through your folds, drinking every fresh gush of slick while your fingers worked your nipple harder under his murmured guidance, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter but never quite snapping, leaving you crying and whimpering and grinding desperately against his face on the rough carpet floor, firelight painting both of you gold on this long, endless christmas night.
the fire had burned lower now, embers glowing deep orange behind you, throwing long, wavering shadows across the rough carpet that scraped your shoulders and back with every helpless arch of your spine, but you barely felt it anymore—every nerve was centered between your thighs where toji’s mouth devoured you like a man breaking a centuries-long fast, like he’d been hibernating in some cold, pussy-starved cave and your slick cunt was the first warm salvation offered to him on this forgotten christmas night.
he groaned deep against your folds, the sound vibrating straight through your clit as his tongue lapped broad and hungry, gathering every drop of your juices mixed with his own spit, swallowing loud enough that you heard it over your own broken whimpers. his big hands pinned your thighs wider, scarred fingers digging gently into the soft flesh to keep you open while he slurped shamelessly, lips sealing around your swollen clit to suck slow and firm, then flick the sensitive bud quick with the tip of his tongue before sucking again, harder, like he couldn’t decide which taste he wanted more.
your body was no longer your own—hips grinding up desperately into his face, chasing the wet heat of his mouth, tears streaking freely down your temples as your moans grew louder, rawer, echoing off the bare wooden walls. “more—please, toji, more,” you gasped out, voice cracking, ears twitching wildly, antlers scraping the carpet as your head thrashed side to side. he obliged instantly, happily, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest as he buried his face deeper, nose nudging your clit while his tongue fucked shallow into your entrance, drinking the fresh flood of slick that poured out at the intrusion, swallowing again and again like your taste was the only thing keeping him alive.
you were close—so close—the coil in your belly wound tighter with every filthy slurp and suck, thighs trembling violently around his head, but he kept you there, never quite pushing you over, just feeding on you until you were sobbing his name.
finally he pulled back with a wet, obscene sound, lips and chin shining slick in the firelight, chest heaving slow as he licked his mouth clean, green eyes dark and feral when they met yours. “fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it, lazy drawl almost gone under the hunger, “could eat this pretty pussy for days and still starve for more.” he rose slowly, deliberately, unfolding his big frame until he towered over you on his feet, one hand dropping to squeeze the thick bulge straining his jeans, palming himself with a low groan as he looked down at your wrecked form—tits heaving, thighs spread wide and glistening, tears on your cheeks, antlers catching the ember glow like some sacred christmas offering.
you pushed up on shaky elbows, unable to look away, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave marks as he reached for his belt. the metal buckle clinked soft and slow—agonizingly slow—each tooth of the leather sliding free sounding louder than the fire in the sudden quiet. he unbuttoned his jeans next, one button, then the zipper dragged down inch by inch, revealing more of that dark, curly bush you’d only glimpsed before, the hair catching the dim light in soft waves, not wild or overgrown, just naturally thick, untamed, framing the base of his cock that was already pressing eagerly against the black fabric of his briefs.
your breath hitched, eyes wide and fixed as he hooked his thumbs into waistband and eased everything lower—just a bit at first, letting the curls spill free, then further, the thick root of his cock coming into view, flushed dark and heavy, veins standing out along the length. he paused there, letting you look, before pulling jeans and briefs down over the hard muscle of his thighs in one slow push. his cock sprang free instantly, slapping up against his abs with a soft thud, long and impossibly thick, the head already flushed deep red and glistening. he wrapped one big hand around it immediately, stroking lazy once, twice, the motion making the dark curls above his dick shift and catch the firelight, not too long, not too short—just dense, natural, perfect.
both of you are bare now, nothing between skin and skin and the crackling heat of the hearth.
toji’s smirk returned, lazy and playful even through the hunger, scar pulling at his lip as he gave himself another slow pump, thumb swiping over the slit to gather the fat bead of precum that welled there. he brought it to his mouth without shame, tongue licking it clean while his eyes stayed locked on yours. “salty,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “wonder if your sweet little deer cunt’ll make me taste sweeter when i finally get inside.”
he tilted his head, stroking himself again, slow and unhurried, letting you see every inch. “so, darlin’… you know if other stupid hybrids pack cocks this big, or you think mine’s small?” the sarcasm was gentle, teasing, eyes glinting with filthy amusement because he knew—he fucking knew—how huge he was, thick enough that your thighs pressed together instinctively even as slick leaked steadily onto the carpet beneath you.
you shook your head quick, ears flicking back then forward, voice barely above a whisper. “n-no… never seen… anything like that.”!
his chuckle was dark, satisfied, hand tightening just a fraction on his shaft. “good answer, sweetheart. keep lookin’ at me like that and this christmas might last all week.” he stepped out of the pooled jeans fully, kicking them aside without care, then dropped back to his knees between your spread thighs, cock heavy and bobbing with the motion, curls brushing his lower abs as he leaned over you again, one hand planted beside your head, the other still lazily stroking himself. “gonna take real good care of this heat,” he promised, voice dropping back to that familiar lazy drawl, “but first… think i need another taste of that honey before i feed you somethin’ thicker.”
he didn’t wait for permission—just lowered his mouth again, slower this time, tongue dragging one long, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with the flat of it, humming deep at the fresh flood of slick that met him. your back arched off the carpet instantly, a strangled cry tearing free as your hands flew—one to his hair again, the other clutching the rug—while he settled in like a man with all the time in the world, lapping, sucking, swallowing, breaking his fast all over again on the sweetest pussy he’d ever had on christmas night.
those eager minutes stretched into what felt like hours, toji’s mouth relentless on your clit, sucking your soul straight through the swollen bundle of nerves with long, filthy pulls that left you sobbing openly, hips bucking wild against his face, slick pouring out in waves that he swallowed greedily, tongue flicking quick then slow, keeping you teetering on the edge without mercy until your thighs shook so hard they nearly clamped around his head.
when he finally pulled away, it was with a wet, obscene sound, strings of your juices and his spit connecting his lips to your cunt for a second before snapping, and he rose up tall on his knees, chest heaving slow, one hand still wrapped lazy around his thick cock, stroking himself with the same unhurried rhythm while a stray drop of mixed saliva glistened on his chin and fell—slow, deliberate—onto the flushed head of his dick, sliding down the shaft as he spread it with his thumb.
you couldn’t blink, wouldn’t, even though your eyes burned from tears and the heat roaring under your skin, gaze locked on the way his fist moved over that heavy length, curls at the base dark and damp now with everything that had dripped from you. your chest rose and fell fast, antlers scraping the carpet again as you tilted your head back just to breathe, then forward again to watch him, afraid to miss even a second of whatever he’d do next.
toji’s eyes met yours, dark and half-lidded, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that lazy, dangerous grin. “ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and rough, almost casual, like he was offering another cup of stew instead of the thick cock in his hand.
you shook your head quick, instinctive, ears flicking back flat against your skull, thighs trembling as another helpless pulse of slick leaked out onto the rug. the word came out small, breathy. “no…”
he chuckled, deep and warm, the sound rolling through his chest as he shifted closer on his knees. “cute,” he murmured, affection and amusement thick in the single word, green eyes glinting in the dying firelight. “real fuckin’ cute, shakin’ your head when your little deer cunt’s cryin’ for it.”
one big hand moved then, sliding under the back of your knee, lifting your leg slow and deliberate until it straightened, then guiding it up and over his broad shoulder, opening you wider, folding you nearly in half beneath him. the stretch burned sweet in your hamstring, cool air kissing your soaked folds as you gasped soft, surprised. “oh…” the sound slipped out like you hadn’t expected the position, hadn’t realized how exposed it would make you feel, cunt spread and fluttering visibly under his gaze.
toji just hummed, unbothered, attention fixed between your legs as he leaned forward slightly, free hand guiding his cock closer. the first slap came sudden—heavy, wet, the thick head smacking directly against your clit with a lewd sound that echoed in the quiet room, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain through you. strings of your slick and his spit stretched between his cock and your pussy, glistening, clinging, before snapping as he drew back for another. your back arched hard off the carpet, a strangled cry tearing free, hips jerking up for more even as tears welled fresh.
“fuck, look how sensitive you are,” he praised, voice rough with want, eyes dark as he watched your cunt clench around nothing. “one little slap and you’re archin’ like that—makes me so goddamn eager to bury myself in this sweet pussy.” he slapped again, slower this time, dragging the weight of his cock through your folds first, coating himself thicker in your juices before tapping your clit sharp enough to make you whimper. “can’t wait to breed you proper, darlin’… fill this ripe little deer cunt till you’re leakin’ me for days. but i promised slow, remember? gotta get you ready first… stretch you out nice before i ruin you for every other buck you ever let near you.”
another slap, then another—lazy rhythm, each one landing wetter, heavier, your slick stringing between his cock and your folds like obscene christmas tinsel, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug. then he changed it—sliding the length of himself through your folds without entering, dragging slow from entrance to clit and back again, bumping the swollen head against your sensitive nub each pass, teasing, edging, torturing you with the promise of being filled while the heat burned hotter in your bones, your lungs, your blood, nesting deep behind your ribs until it felt like the only cure was the thick cock gliding through your wetness but never giving you what you needed.
you whined high and desperate, hips chasing every slide, trying to angle yourself to take him inside, but he held you steady with the leg over his shoulder, grip firm and patient. “toji—please. . .” the plea cracked out of you, raw, tears spilling again as you reached down with trembling fingers, trying to guide him in.
he chuckled low, catching your wrist gentle and pinning it beside your head instead. “not yet, sweetheart. wanna watch you fall apart on just this a little longer… my pretty deer, drippin’ and beggin’ for cock like it’s the only gift you want this year.”
another slow drag through your folds, head nudging your clit hard enough to make you sob, body writhing on the rough carpet while the fire popped and hissed behind you, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slick, teasing slide of his cock and the lazy, hungry promise in his voice that he’d give you everything—slow, then deep, then ruinous—when he finally decided you were ready.
he stayed there on his knees for what felt like forever, cock dragging slow through your folds again and again, coating himself thicker in your slick until every slide made obscene wet sounds that mingled with the low crackle of the dying fire and your own broken whimpers.
your leg was still hooked high over his shoulder, thigh trembling against his chest, the position keeping you split open and helpless while tears dried salty on your cheeks and fresh ones welled every time the fat head of his cock nudged your clit without mercy.
you were burning alive, heat season roaring through every vein, making your cunt clench desperately around nothing, begging to be filled, bred, soothed, but toji just watched you with that lazy, half-lidded stare, scar pulling at his lip as he teased you to the edge of sanity.
“look at you,” he murmured finally, voice low and rough, almost conversational, as he lined himself up at last, the blunt head pressing gentle against your entrance, parting your folds but not pushing in yet. “pretty little deer cunt flutterin’ like it’s tryin’ to suck me in already. you want this cock bad, don’t you? want it to stuff all that heat right out of you.”
you nodded frantically, ears twitching hard, a choked, “please, toji, pleaseeee,” spilling from your lips as your hips tilted up, trying to take him yourself. he hummed, once again, one big hand splayed over your lower belly to hold you still while the other guided his cock, rubbing the head up and down your slit once, twice, gathering more slick before he finally—finally—pressed forward.
the stretch started slow, agonizingly slow, just the thick tip breaching you, spreading your walls inch by inch as he sank in with deliberate restraint. your breath caught sharp, back arching off the rough carpet, fingers clawing at the fibers while your cunt fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him. he was thick, hotter than anything you’d ever felt, and every tiny push forward made you feel impossibly full already, even though he’d barely given you half.
“fuck… that’s it,” he praised, voice dropping rougher, eyes fixed between your legs where his cock disappeared slow into your body. “take me nice and easy, sweetheart. feel how your pretty pussy’s stretchin’ around human cock? never had anything this thick splitting you open before, huh?” he rocked forward another inch, then back, then forward again, shallow little thrusts that fed you more but never rushed, letting you feel every vein, every throb as he worked deeper. “so goddamn tight… like a present i get to unwrap real slow on christmas night.”
you moaned loud, broken, head thrashing side to side, antlers scraping the carpet as your leg over his shoulder tensed, toes curling in the air. the burn was sweet, overwhelming, pleasure and ache blending until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. your free hand reached down blindly, fingers brushing where you were joined, feeling how stretched you were around him, and he groaned low at the sight.
“touch yourself there if you want,” he murmured, lazy encouragement in his tone as he pushed another slow inch inside, bottoming out halfway and holding still to let you breathe. “feel how i’m openin’ you up… gonna ruin this little deer cunt for any buck that ever tries to mount you again.” he pulled back slow, almost all the way out, then slid in again deeper, a smooth, controlled glide that made your walls flutter wildly around him. “but i promised slow, remember? gonna keep that promise till you’re cryin’ for me to breed you harder.”
he set a rhythm then—lazy, deep strokes, never fast, never rough yet, just feeding you his cock inch by thick inch until your cunt was molded to him, slick dripping down your ass with every withdrawal, coating his balls and the dark curls at his base. his hand on your belly pressed gentle, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and he hummed approval every time you clenched, every time your breath hitched, every time a fresh tear slipped free.
“good girl,” he rasped, leaning down to mouth at your neck, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin as he rocked in again, deeper this time, almost all the way. “takin’ me so sweet… my perfect deer, all spread out and stuffed full. you feel that? feel how deep i am already?” another slow thrust, bottoming out at last, his hips flush to yours, curls tickling your clit as he held still, letting you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. your cunt spasmed around him, milking instinctively, and he groaned against your throat. “yeah… just like that. keep squeezin’ me, darlin’. we got all night for me to breed this heat right out of you… nice and slow, till you can’t remember anything but my cock.”
he stayed buried deep for a long, breathless moment, hips flush to yours, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your clenching walls while the fire popped softly behind you, casting flickering gold over both your sweat-slick bodies tangled on the rough carpet. your leg was still draped over his shoulder, thigh pressed to his chest, opening you so completely that every tiny shift of his hips made you feel impossibly fuller, the thick base of him stretching you wide, dark curls tickling your clit with every shallow breath he took. he didn’t move at first—just held there, green eyes locked on yours, scar pulling as his mouth curved lazy, watching the way fresh tears slipped down your temples and your ears twitched helplessly against the rug.
“feel that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low and rough, almost conversational even as his cock pulsed inside you. “human cock all the way in your pretty cunt… stretchin’ you open like you were made for it.” he drew back slow then, agonizingly slow, dragging every thick inch out until only the flushed head remained, your walls fluttering desperately to keep him in, slick dripping down your ass in a steady stream. then he slid forward again—smooth, controlled, bottoming out with a wet sound that made you both groan. “ah—fuck, yeah… just like that. take it nice and easy for me.”
he set the pace deliberate, deep rolling thrusts that never hurried, pulling out almost completely before sinking back in to the hilt, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he fed you his cock again and again. your moans spilled out unbroken now, “toji, ohhh. . . please.” high and needy, back arching off the carpet, fingers clawing at his forearms where they braced beside your head. your free leg wrapped around his hip instinctively, heel digging into the hard muscle of his ass to pull him deeper, antlers scraping the rug as your head tilted back, exposing your throat.
he leaned down, mouth finding your neck, sucking lazy marks into the skin while his hips kept that torturous rhythm. “good girl,” he praised against your pulse, tongue flicking out to taste the salt there. “takin’ me so sweet… my little deer finally gettin’ properly bred. you feel how deep i am? right up against your womb, darlin’. gonna make this heat feel real good.”
the slow drag was exquisite torture—every thrust nudging that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids, building the pressure higher but never quite enough to tip you over. your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking him on every withdrawal, slick coating his balls and the curls at his base until they were soaked. you could hear it—the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies joining, louder than the fire now, louder than your own ragged breathing.
minutes stretched, or maybe hours; time lost meaning under the steady, claiming roll of his hips. but gradually his control frayed—his breaths grew rougher against your neck, hands gripping your thigh and hip tighter, fingers digging into flesh as his thrusts lost their perfect laziness, deepening, lingering a fraction longer at the bottom before pulling back. “fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking just slightly, “you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight… can’t—ah—can’t keep goin’ this slow forever, sweetheart.”
you whimpered in response, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails over scarred skin. “toji, more—please, need—”
he pulled back to look at you, eyes dark and wild now, smirk gone, replaced by raw hunger. “yeah? need more?” he thrust in hard once—sharp, sudden, driving the air from your lungs in a broken cry—“like that?” another hard snap of his hips, grinding deep, curls smashing against your clit. “or harder?”
“yes—ahh—harder—” you sobbed, leg tightening over his shoulder, whole body arching to meet him.
that was all it took.
his restraint snapped like a branch under snow—hips pulling back and slamming forward rougher, faster, the gentle rhythm giving way to deep, punishing strokes that jolted your body up the carpet with every thrust. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, loud and obscene, his balls smacking against your ass as he fucked into you without mercy now. “fuck—there weeee go,” he growled, voice low and ragged, one hand sliding under your lower back to tilt your hips higher, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. “been tryin’ to be gentle with my sweet little deer, but you take it so fuckin’ good—ah—makes me wanna ruin this pretty cunt.”
your moans turned into screams—“toji—toji, oh god—” high and desperate, tears streaming freely as pleasure coiled white-hot in your belly, every brutal thrust driving you closer to the edge you’d been teetering on all night. your walls fluttered wildly around him, slick gushing with every withdrawal, soaking both of you.
he leaned down again, mouth crashing against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongue fucking into you in time with his cock, swallowing every cry. “that’s it,” he rasped between kisses, hips snapping harder, faster, the carpet burning your back as he drove you up it inch by inch. “scream for me, darlin’… let the whole damn forest know a human’s breedin’ his christmas deer proper. gonna fill you so full—ah—fuck—gonna knot this tight little pussy with my cum till you’re drippin’ for days.”
the pace was relentless now—rough, claiming, perfect—his body covering yours completely, sweat dripping from his chest onto your tits as he fucked you like he’d never get enough, like your cunt was the only thing that could soothe the hunger he’d carried too long. and you took it all, legs locked around him, nails scoring his back, antlers scraping wildly, lost in the brutal, beautiful storm of him finally giving you everything you’d burned for on this long, firelit christmas night.
you never knew a human could fuck like this—pounding into you with such raw, unrelenting force that every thrust sent shockwaves rippling through your body, the carpet beneath you scratching rougher against your sweat-slick back as he drove you higher up the rug with each powerful snap of his hips, but still taking his time in a way that stretched the pleasure out like taffy, savoring every clench of your walls around his thick cock, every desperate flutter that begged him to go deeper, harder, unlike the hurried, instinctual ruts you’d endured before, all quick and mechanical like transactions in the wild where the heat was scratched but never truly quenched, leaving you empty and aching afterward.
with toji, it was worlds apart—his cock dragging out slow on the retreat, veins pulsing hot against your sensitive inner walls, only to slam back in with a brutal depth that nudged right up against your cervix, making your belly bulge faintly under the press of his body, and the pleasure swelled so intensely.
so overwhelmingly, that you couldn’t stop the strange, guttural sounds bubbling up from your throat, high-pitched keens that shattered into animalistic whimpers you didn’t recognize as your own. “toji—ahh—fuck, i can’t—nngh. . .” your eyes rolling back deep into your skull until the world blurred into a hazy white void where you swore you could see the sparking edges of your own brain firing off in overload, mixed with exploding stars that danced like christmas lights strung across the night sky, bright and blinding.
it felt good—so fucking good—that even through the tears streaking hot down your cheeks and the burn in your folded limbs, a delirious, lopsided smile tugged at your lips, cheeks flushed and glowing in the dim firelight, your antlers catching the orange flickers as they tilted with every jolt of your head, body surrendering completely to the rhythm he set, thighs quivering around his waist while your tail flicked erratically against the rug.
your hands reached out blindly again, fingers trembling and desperate for more contact, more of his warm, scarred skin to ground you amid the storm of sensation, brushing over his flexing abs, his broad chest, anything to feel the solid heat of him beyond the overwhelming fullness stretching your cunt to its limits.
toji cooed low and teasing above you, the sound vibrating through his chest as it pressed closer to yours, green eyes half-lidded and gleaming with lazy amusement even as his hips never faltered in their rough, claiming pace. “aww, sweetheart, gettin’ all sensitive and sentimental on me now?” he drawled, voice unbothered and rough around the edges, laced with that gentle sarcasm that made your heart stutter even as his cock pistoned deeper, folding you in half more with the weight of his body leaning down.
he pulled his large hand away from where it had been splayed possessively over your stomach, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and instead captured one of your seeking hands in his, lacing your smaller fingers through his thick ones with a firm squeeze, while your other hand, already near his mouth from your frantic reaching, brushed his scarred lips.
he turned his head slightly, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your palm, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he muffled a low groan into it. “fuck, yeah... that’s my good little deer, holdin’ on tight while i stuff this pretty cunt full.” the praise rolled out lazy and filthy, his tongue flicking out to trace the lines of your palm before he sucked gently at the base of your thumb, eyes locked on yours through the haze.
those praises, even drenched in his dirty drawl, twisted something deep inside you—igniting fresh sparks that made your walls clamp down harder around his thrusting cock, slick gushing out in thick waves that coated his balls and the dark curls at his base, turning every rough plunge into a wet, obscene symphony of skin slapping skin, louder than the dying crackle of the fire casting long shadows over your tangled forms.
toji gave your palm more lingering kisses, slow and deliberate, lips dragging soft and wet across the sensitive skin before trailing lower to your wrist, nipping gently at the thin flesh there where your pulse thundered under his mouth, humming approval at the frantic beat as if it were music to him. “so damn responsive,” he murmured against your inner arm, voice muffled but husky, hips snapping forward harder now, the angle making his cock grind deep against that spongy spot inside you that pulled another shattered moan from your lips, “toji—oh. . . deeper, please.” your free hand fisting tighter in his sweat-damp hair, nails scraping his scalp as you tugged, urging him on.
he continued the path without rush, kisses turning to lazy sucks along the curve of your arm, teeth grazing just enough to leave faint red marks blooming on your flushed skin as he reached the bare, sweat-slick slope of your shoulder, nuzzling there briefly before biting down soft and possessive, soothing the sting immediately with his tongue.
“hate christmas, y’know,” he rasped against your collarbone, voice dropping lower as his mouth dipped further, lips brushing the swell of one breast, “all that fake cheer and bullshit lights... but fuck, your sweet deer pussy’s makin’ it enjoyable for once—warm and tight like the best damn present i could unwrap.” the words were pure filth, wrapped in lazy praise that made your toes curl, body arching higher into him as he finally sealed his mouth hot and wet around your nipple, sucking hard with a flick of his tongue that sent lightning straight to your clit.
your eyes squeezed shut tight, lashes clumping with fresh tears of overwhelm, the world narrowing to the brutal snap of his hips driving his cock impossibly deeper, the wet heat of his mouth on your tit, and the solid grip of his hand still laced with yours, grounding you even as pleasure threatened to shatter you completely.
your free hand stayed buried in his hair, fingers tangling and tugging harder every time he thrust in rough, the head of his cock nudging so deep you felt it press against your lower belly from inside, a faint bulge that made your breath hitch. “toji—i feel it—ahh—there, right there.” earning a low, guttural groan from him muffled against your breast as he sucked harder, teeth grazing the peaked nipple before soothing with his tongue.
“yeah? feel me rearrangin’ your guts, darlin’?” he pulled off with a wet pop, eyes flicking up to watch your face contort in bliss, smirk curling lazy even as sweat dripped from his brow. “that's my filthy hybrid—tuggin’ my hair like that baby, milkin’ this cock so good... gonna make me spill every drop in this ripe little cunt, breed you till you’re glowin’ like a damn tree.” his hips pounded faster then, rougher, the praise spilling endless as he chased the edge with you, bodies slick and trembling on the fire-warmed rug, the christmas night stretching infinite in the haze of heat and need.
toji pulled away from your tits with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over the swollen nipple, leaving it glistening wet and aching in the cool air that whispered through the room from the snow-sealed windows, his green eyes lifting lazy to meet yours—pure bliss etched across your flushed face, lips parted in that delirious smile, tears clinging to your lashes like dew on pine needles, antlers tilted back against the rug as your body trembled beneath him, every muscle taut and quivering from the relentless pound of his hips.
he held still for a breath, cock buried deep to the hilt, grinding slow against your fluttering walls just to watch the way your expression shattered further, then smirked that crooked, scarred pull of his mouth, voice dropping low and rough even as he rolled his hips once, hard, nudging that bulge in your belly again. “you glad you got separated from the others, sweetheart?” he drawled, unbothered and lazy, thumb brushing over your knuckles in the hand still laced with his, like he was commenting on the weather while his cock throbbed hot inside you.
“cause i’m sure as hell glad i decided to head into those woods earlier—fuck, if i hadn’t, i’d be missin’ out on this sweet cunt for the rest of my life... feels like i’d lose ten years just thinkin’ about it, leavin’ my deer all alone and unfucked.”
you couldn’t even form words—your mouth opened on a helpless whimper, tongue heavy and mind fogged, the pleasure coiling so tight in your belly that all that came out was blabbering nonsense. “toji—ahh, can’t—nngh—close, so close.” body arching high off the rug, thighs clamping around his waist like a vice, slick walls pulsing wildly around his cock as the edge rushed up fast, heat season burning through every nerve until you were nothing but sensation.
tears spilling fresh down your temples, ears twitching back flat against your skull in desperate surrender. the smile on your lips widened, broken and euphoric, as your free hand tugged harder in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him deeper even though he was already splitting you open so completely, the wet slap of his balls against your ass echoing filthy in the firelit room.
he chuckled low, the sound rumbling against your skin as he leaned closer, folding you even tighter beneath him, your leg over his shoulder pressing your knee to your chest, opening you impossibly wider for the brutal thrusts that followed—harder now, rougher, hips slamming forward with a force that jolted your whole body, cock dragging out to the tip before pounding back in, chasing that clench he felt building in your cunt.
“yeah? can’t talk, huh? too busy cummin’ on my cock like a good little deer?” he teased, voice husky and sarcastic-gentle, eyes locked on your rolling ones as he fucked you through it, the pace turning punishing, every thrust grinding his dark curls against your clit, sending sparks exploding behind your eyelids. “come on, baby—let go for me, soak this cock with your cum... fuck, that’s it—ahh—squeeze me just like that."
the coil snapped then—white-hot and shattering—your back bowing off the carpet in a sharp arch, antlers scraping deep grooves into the fibers as a scream tore from your throat, “toji—fuck, fuck, fuckkkk. . . cumming, ahh god—” cunt clamping down like a trap around his pistoning cock, walls spasming wildly, slick gushing out in hot waves that soaked his balls and dripped down onto the rug beneath you, pleasure crashing through your body in endless, trembling pulses that left you sobbing, smiling, shaking as he fucked you harder through it, not slowing, hips slamming rough and deep to prolong every flutter.
your hand in his hair pulled tight, the other squeezing his fingers white-knuckled, body convulsing beneath him as the orgasm ripped you apart, stars bursting brighter behind your closed lids, the heat finally breaking in a flood of bliss that made your toes curl and your tail flick frantic against his thigh.
toji groaned low and ragged, feeling your cunt milk him mercilessly, his own control fraying at the edges as he chased his climax right on the heels of yours—thrusts turning erratic, harder, pounding into your oversensitive walls without mercy, the wet sounds obscene and echoing as slick squelched between your bodies.
“fuck—gonna breed you now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice breaking rough against your ear as he leaned down fully, crushing you under his weight, mouth brushing your neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses. “hope you’re ready to get knocked up by a human on christmas—gonna fill this ripe deer pussy so full of my cum you’ll be leakin’ for days... ahh—take it, deer, every drop.”
the thought hit you like another wave—pregnant by him, belly swelling with his seed, the image filthy and intoxicating in your heat-addled mind—and your spent cunt clenched tighter around him, gripping his cock like it never wanted to let go, milking him deeper as fresh slick pulsed out. he cursed in bliss, hips stuttering once, twice.
“shit—yeah, you like that? like gettin’ bred by me?” before slamming in one last time, burying deep as he spilled hot and thick inside you, cock throbbing with every heavy spurt, flooding your walls until it leaked out around his base, mixing with your slick in a warm, sticky mess that dripped down your ass. he groaned long and low against your shoulder.
“fuck—yesss—my good little deer, takin’ it all like a christmas miracle,” he groan, hips grinding slow circles to push his cum deeper, riding out the aftershocks while you whimpered beneath him, sensitive and full, body still trembling in the glow of release, the fire crackling softly as the christmas night wrapped around you both in exhausted, sated warmth.
he stayed buried deep inside you for what felt like an eternity after the last thick spurt of his cum flooded your walls, hips grinding slow, lazy circles that pushed his seed deeper, mixing with your slick until it leaked out in warm, sticky rivulets around his base, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug beneath you in a filthy testament to how thoroughly he’d bred you.
his chest heaved against yours, sweat-slick skin sticking and sliding as he caught his breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, dark hair damp and falling over his scarred face while the fire crackled lower now, embers glowing soft orange across the room, casting long, wavering shadows that danced over your tangled limbs and the faint bulge still visible in your lower belly where he filled you so completely.
your body trembled in the aftershocks, cunt fluttering weakly around his softening cock, milking the last drops from him as oversensitivity made every tiny shift send sparks skittering up your spine, thighs quivering uncontrollably around his waist, leg still hooked loosely over his shoulder even as your muscles screamed from being folded so long.
tears dried sticky on your cheeks, but that delirious smile lingered on your lips, soft and sated, ears twitching faint against the rug, antlers tilted at an exhausted angle while your fingers stayed tangled loosely in his hair, the other hand still laced with his, palms slick with sweat.
toji lifted his head slow, green eyes half-lidded and dark with satisfaction, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that familiar lazy smirk, voice coming out rough and low, unbothered even after everything. “fuck, sweetheart... look at you,” he murmured, thumb brushing slow over your knuckles in the hand he held, hips giving one last shallow grind that pulled a weak whimper from your throat, “nngh—toji.” your walls clenching instinctively around him again.
he hummed approval, leaning down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen lips, tongue flicking lazy to taste the salt of your tears and the lingering sweetness of your moans. “all bred and glowin’ like a proper deer... hate the holiday, y’know—too much fake bullshit and glitter—but damn if your hybrid cunt didn’t just make it my favorite one yet. warm, tight, milkin’ me dry like you were waitin’ your whole heat for a me to stuff you full.”
you could only whimper in response, body too spent for words, a soft, broken “ahh...” slipping out as he shifted slightly, cock still half-hard inside you, stirring the mess he'd made. your free hand slid from his hair to trace lazy down his scarred back, fingers brushing the sweat there, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch even in exhaustion.
he chuckled low against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you again, eyes tracing the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow pants, nipples still peaked and glistening from his earlier attention. “can’t even talk, huh? too full of my cum to think straight?” his tone was gentle sarcasm, teasing without bite.
he finally eased out slow—agonizingly slow—the thick drag of his cock pulling free with a wet sound that made you both groan, his seed immediately leaking out in thick globs, coating your folds and dripping down to the rug. he watched it with dark fascination, thumb reaching down to swipe through the mess, spreading it lazy over your swollen clit just to feel you jerk weakly, “toji—sensitive. . .” your hips twitching away even as your body arched for more.
“yeah, i know,” he drawled, unbothered, bringing that thumb to his mouth to lick clean, eyes locked on yours as he tasted the mix of you both. “but look at this pretty mess... my deer all bred and leakin’. gonna keep you like this all night, darlin’—plugged full, warm by the fire. maybe round two when you stop shakin’.”
he shifted then, rolling to his side but pulling you with him, keeping your bodies tangled, your leg draped over his hip as he tucked you against his chest, one big hand splaying possessive over your lower belly where his cum still filled you deep. “best damn present i never asked for,” he muttered against your hair, lips brushing the base of one antler in a soft, unexpected kiss, voice dropping lazy and content. “merry fuckin’ christmas to me.”
RUT-DOLPH. f. toji
feat. toji fushiguro
summary. woodcutter! toji fushiguro hates christmas with a passion—until a naked, heat-drunk deer hybrid stumbles into his woods, cold and in heat. one rescue later, his quiet cabin becomes the stage for the nastiest, most claiming christmas eve he never knew he needed. merry fucking christmas.
trigger/warning. deer hybrid reader, human/hybrid, interspecies sex, heat cycles in heat, breeding kink, size kink, rough sex, slow burn smut, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, possessive toji, toji hates christmas but your pussy fixes that, christmas smut, winter cabin vibes, rescue turned filthy, feral heat instincts, antler play, ear sensitivity, scent kink, mating press, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, minimal tender aftercare, explicit language, unhinged holiday porn, lazy sarcastic toji while balls deep, hybrid mating instincts, cumplay, snowed-in isolation, alternate universe - no curses.
winter had clamped down on the mountains like an iron trap, like an uninvited guest that refused to leave, blanketing the small rural town in thick layers of snow that crunched underfoot and turned every breath into a visible puff of frost, and as december crept toward its festive peak, everyone around seemed to lose their goddamn minds with decorations—strings of twinkling lights draped over rooftops like glowing veins, plastic reindeer perched on lawns with noses that blinked red in the night.
massive wreaths hung on doors that screamed holiday cheer in a way that made toji’s stomach turn just a little, houses strung with multicolored lights that blinked like overexcited fireflies, porches groaning under the weight of inflatable santas and reindeer, windows painted with fake snow and real desperation, burying the half of the world under endless white, red and green—toji fushiguro felt none of it. and don’t forget about the kind of cold that seeped into bones and made every breath feel sharp against the lungs, and while the distant town below glittered with manic christmas frenzy.
toji didn’t decorate, didn’t hang a single wreath or light, didn’t even own a tree; christmas had always felt like noise dressed up as joy, and joy was something he’d stopped pretending to want a long time ago. alone in his old farmhouse at the edge of the woods, with no family, no visitors, no warm voices to fill the quiet, he simply didn’t care—solitude suited him better than forced cheer ever could, and the holiday season was just another stretch of long, silent nights he could spend chopping wood, drinking black coffee, and letting the fire die down to embers without anyone to complain about the chill.
he stepped out into the late afternoon gray, shirtless as usual because layers only slowed him down and the cold had stopped bothering him years back, his skin weathered and scarred from a life of labor, broad chest dusted with dark hair that caught stray snowflakes as they drifted down. heavy boots crunched through the deep trail he’d worn from the house to the tree line, dirty jeans riding low on his hips, stained with pitch and sawdust and old blood from nicks he never bothered bandaging properly.
in his right hand he carried the axe, its handle worn smooth from countless swings, the blade freshly sharpened that morning because dull tools were an insult to the work. he moved slow, unhurried, shoulders rolling with each step, breath fogging in steady clouds as he followed the narrow path deeper into the pines, the forest swallowing the faint sounds of civilization until there was only wind through branches and the soft thud of his boots.
the forest enveloped him soon enough, tall pines and oaks standing sentinel, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally dumped a cascade of white flakes as he passed. he wasn’t out here for leisure, no, he needed firewood to keep the small fire in his hearth going through the long nights, just enough to chase away the deepest chill without wasting effort on more than necessary, his muscles flexing under his skin with each step, a testament to the life he’d carved out for himself in this remote corner of the world, far from the bustling cities and their endless noise.
the clearing he favored wasn’t far—just far enough to feel separate from everything. he set a thick fallen log upright, tested its balance with a nudge of his boot, then raised the axe in a lazy arc, muscles coiling under scarred skin before he brought it down with a clean, resounding crack that sent wood chips flying into the snow. again and again, rhythmic, almost meditative, sweat starting to bead along his collarbones despite the freeze, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as he worked. the pile of split firewood grew steadily beside him, each piece stacked with absent precision while his mind drifted nowhere in particular, content in the repetition, the burn in his arms, the bite of cold air on bare skin.
his body moving in a rhythm born of habit—lift, swing, split, repeat—his breaths steady and deep, the physical exertion a welcome distraction from the monotonous drag of winter days, the axe biting into the bark with each strike, chips flying like confetti he had no use for. he paused only to wipe his brow with the back of his hand, his dark hair matted slightly, green eyes scanning the surroundings out of instinct more than curiosity, the forest silent save for the occasional rustle of wind through the needles above.
it was during one of those pauses—axe resting on his shoulder, chest rising and falling slow—that he caught the sound. faint, almost nothing against the wind: a soft, stuttering exhale, maybe a whimper. he didn’t move at first, just tilted his head, green eyes narrowing as he scanned the treeline. nothing at first, then there it was again, closer this time, a subtle rustle from behind a cluster of snow-laden bushes, like branches shifting under weight that wasn’t wind. and his eyes narrowed, catching a glimpse of movement. then he saw them—antlers, pale and branching, branching out like delicate crowns, catching what little light filtered through the clouds, moving just slightly behind a cluster of snow-heavy firs.
toji lowered the axe, letting the head rest in the snow as he walked forward, boots sinking deep, no rush in his stride even as curiosity tugged at him. he pushed through the low branches, needles scraping across his bare shoulders, and stopped short when he saw you.
you were curled tight on the ground, knees drawn to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could hold the warmth in, completely bare, skin flushed pink from the cold and mottled with cold, lips tinted faint blue and trembling. your deer ears twitched weakly at his approach, flattened against your head, and those antlers rose proud despite your obvious exhaustion, dusted with snow like some forgotten forest ornament. your eyes—large, dark, glassy with cold—lifted to meet his, wide with fear and pain and something desperately human, and toji felt the lazy rhythm of his day stutter, just for a second.
his gaze dropped lower, taking in the details his mind catalogued without permission: the way your body shook in small, uncontrollable waves, goosebumps raised across every inch of exposed skin, nipples drawn tight from the cold, skin flushed from the cold but otherwise smooth and human, no fur to shield you like a true deer might have, just the vulnerable curve of your form huddled in on itself for whatever meager warmth it could muster. the soft curve of your waist disappearing into the snow beneath you. and then he saw the blood—dark streaks frozen against your right thigh, a deep bruise blooming purple and ugly around a gash that looked like it had come from something sharp, maybe a fall against jagged rock or broken branch.
your leg was tucked awkwardly beneath you now as you move from the uncomfortable approach from the unknown man, as if even the slightest shift hurt too much to bear. your deer ears twitched faintly, alert even in your distress, and those antlers—elegant, branching things—framed your face as you lifted your head slightly, your eyes wide and luminous, locking onto his with a mix of wariness and silent plea, the snowflakes dusting your lashes and clinging to your skin, making you look ethereal yet so painfully fragile in the winter's grasp.
toji stopped a few feet away, his posture relaxed, one hand resting on his hip as he took you in, his expression unchanging, that signature scar pulling at the corner of his mouth in what might have been the ghost of a smirk if he bothered to let it form fully. “well, ain’t this a sight,” he drawled, his voice low and lazy, unbothered as if stumbling upon a naked hybrid in the woods was just another quirk of his day, the words rolling out slow like he had all the time in the world. he didn’t rush closer, just stood there, his green eyes tracing the way your body trembled slightly, the goosebumps rising on your skin, and he tilted his head, exhaling a puff of breath that fogged the air between you. “you look like you’re freezin’ your ass off out here. what, get lost chasin’ some holiday spirit or somethin’?”
your ears flicked at the sound of his voice, and you shifted a little, drawing your knees tighter to your chest, but your gaze didn’t waver, those big eyes holding his with an intensity that made something stir in his chest—pity, maybe, or just plain intrigue, he couldn't be sure. the wind picked up then, howling softly through the trees, and a fresh flurry of snow began to fall, dusting your antlers like nature’s own decorations, and toji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a calloused hand, his muscles rippling under the motion. “c’mon, don’t just stare at me like i’m the big bad wolf. you gonna tell me what the hell you’re doin’ out here naked as the day you were born, or do i gotta guess?”
you hesitated, your lips parting slightly, chapped from the cold, and when you spoke, your voice was soft, trembling just a bit, “i… i got separated from my herd. the storm came too fast, and i couldn’t find my way back.” your voice was soft, fragile, carrying that faint tremor of someone who’d been alone in the cold too long. your body language screamed vulnerability, the way your shoulders hunched inward, your tail—barely visible in your curled position—flicking nervously against the snow, and toji noticed it all, his eyes sharp despite the lazy drawl in his tone.
he chuckled lowly, not mocking, just a rumble in his chest that carried no real heat, and he crouched down to your level, balancing on his haunches with ease, his jeans straining against his thighs as he rested his elbows on his knees. “separated, huh? figures. winter’s a bitch like that—sneaks up and bites you when you’re not lookin’.” his gaze softened just a fraction, not that he’d admit it, and he glanced around the forest, the trees closing in like silent witnesses, before looking back at you, noting how your antlers caught the light filtering through the branches, almost like they were meant to be adorned with those christmas lights he despised.
“you ain’t got nothin’ on you? no clothes, no nothin’? that’s just askin’ for trouble in this weather.”
you shook your head slowly, your ears drooping a little, and a shiver wracked your frame, drawing his attention to the way your skin pebbled further, your breaths coming in shallow puffs. he nodded once, eyes flicking back to the wound on your leg, then to your face—lips nearly blue now, lashes clumped with ice. “that cut looks nasty. you been out here long?”
you gave the tiniest shake of your head, ears flicking back further, body curling tighter as another shiver wracked you. toji’s jaw worked slowly, like he was chewing on a thought he didn’t much like, then he extended one large hand toward you, palm up, fingers relaxed—not grabbing, just offering, his palm rough and steady. “alright, can’t just leave you here to turn into a popsicle, sweetheart. my place ain’t far—got a fire goin’, maybe some clothes that’d fit ya if i dig around. up to you, though. i ain’t draggin’ nobody.”
the endearment slipped out lazy, almost sarcastic, but his eyes stayed steady on yours, unbothered, patient. you stared at his hand—broad, scarred, warm-looking despite the snowflakes melting on his knuckles—and hesitated, body trembling harder now that hope had crept in. finally, your smaller hand reached out, fingers brushing his, cold as ice, soft against his calloused skin, and you let him pull you up.
as you stood, your body unfolded before him, naked and unashamed in its hybrid beauty, antlers proud atop your head, and toji averted his eyes just enough to give you some semblance of privacy, though he couldn’t ignore the heat that stirred low in his gut, voyeuristic curiosity mingling with something protective. “easy there,” he murmured, shrugging off the invisible weight of the moment as he picked up his axe, slinging it over his shoulder. “trail’s slippery—stick close, yeah?”
the moment weight shifted to your injured leg, pain flared white-hot; a sharp whimper escaped before you could stop it, and your knees buckled completely. toji moved without thinking, catching you against his chest as you sagged, one arm sliding around your bare back, the other under your thighs to lift you fully off the ground. you gasped at the sudden warmth of his body—skin hot from exertion, muscles hard and solid beneath you—and instinctively curled closer, face pressing into the crook of his neck, antlers brushing lightly against his hair.
“easy,” he murmured, voice rumbling against your cheek, low and unhurried even as he adjusted his grip so your injured leg didn’t bump anything. “got you. axe can stay—wood ain’t goin’ anywhere.” he left it leaning against the log without a second glance and started walking, boots carving a deeper path through the snow, your weight nothing in his arms.
the walk back was slow, deliberate, his boots carving a path for you to follow, his bare torso unaffected by the cold that had you shivering beside him. “name’s toji, by the way,” he said after a stretch of silence, his voice casual, like he was commenting on the weather. “and you? or do i just call you deer-girl for the hell of it?” there was a teasing lilt there, sarcastic but gentle, the kind that didn’t sting, just prodded lightly.
“it’s y/n,” you replied, your voice gaining a bit more strength now that you were moving, though your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, and he noticed, his eyes flicking to the way your body curved, the subtle sway of your hips as you navigated the trail. “y/n, huh? suits ya—simple, no frills.” he glanced sideways at you, a faint smirk tugging at his scar. “so, what’s a hybrid like you doin’ wanderin’ these woods anyway? thought your kind stuck to warmer spots, not freezin’ their tails off in bumfuck nowhere.”
you explained in bits and pieces, your words punctuated by shivers—the herd migrating for winter, the sudden blizzard scattering everyone, how you'd ended up alone and disoriented, no clothes because hybrids like you didn’t need them in the wild, but human skin wasn’t built for this cold. toji listened without interrupting, nodding occasionally, his expression unchanging, but his body language spoke volumes—the way he positioned himself to block the wind from hitting you directly.
every step was deliberate, careful, his body shielding yours from the wind as much as possible, the heat radiating off his bare torso seeping slowly into your frozen skin. you could feel his heartbeat steady against your side, smell the faint scent of pine smoke and sweat and something distinctly male clinging to him. your arms looped tentatively around his neck for balance, fingers brushing the short hairs at his nape, and he didn’t comment, just kept that lazy pace back toward the farmhouse, breath fogging above your head.
“you’re shakein’ pretty hard,” he said after a minute, voice soft against the wind, almost conversational. “we’ll get that leg cleaned up first—looks like it’s been bleedin’ a while. then food, maybe. you eat regular stuff, or…?” he trailed off, glancing down at you with a faint, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip.
you managed a tiny nod against his shoulder, voice muffled. “regular… mostly.”
“good. got stew on the stove. figured i’d be eatin’ alone again tonight, but plans change.” there was dry humor in his tone, gentle sarcasm that didn’t bite, just floated there like smoke.
the farmhouse came into view sooner than you expected—low roof heavy with snow, a squat, sturdy building, the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows over the snow. thin trail of smoke curling lazily from the chimney, windows glowing faint orange against the dusk. toji shouldered the door open without setting you down, kicking it shut behind him with his heel, and the sudden wave of warmth hit like a physical thing, drawing a soft, involuntary sigh from your lips. the inside was sparse, lived-in, smelling of woodsmoke and coffee and old leather; no christmas decorations anywhere save for a half-hearted string of lights someone must have left years ago, dangling forgotten over the mantel, but the fire crackled invitingly in the hearth, just a worn couch, a coffee table scarred from years of boots, and the fireplace crackling low.
he carried you straight to the couch, lowering you carefully onto the blankets piled there, making sure your injured leg was elevated on a pillow before straightening up. his hands lingered a second longer on your waist, steadying, then pulled away slow. “go on, warm up. i’ll grab somethin’ for ya to wear—can’t have you prancin’ around like that all night.”
you watched him move—lazy, unhurried strides across the room, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he disappeared down a short hallway. your body still trembled, but the heat was already sinking in, easing the worst of the shivers, and you pulled one of the blankets tighter around yourself, ears twitching toward every sound he made: drawers opening, water running, the soft clink of glass bottles.
when he came back, he had a large flannel shirt draped over one arm and sweatp, and a battered first-aid kit under the other. he dropped onto the couch beside you without ceremony, close enough that his thigh brushed yours, and set the kit on the coffee table. “leg first,” he said, voice low, nodding toward the blanket. “gonna need to see how bad it is.”
you hesitated only a second before easing the blanket aside, exposing the bruised and bloodied thigh. toji’s expression didn’t change—still that lazy half-lidded look—but his hands were careful as he opened the kit, movements practiced and gentle. “this’ll sting,” he warned, voice soft, before pressing a warm, damp cloth to the wound to clean away frozen blood and dirt.
you hissed, body tensing, fingers clutching the blanket, but he murmured, “breathe through it, sweetheart. doin’ good,” his free hand settling lightly on your uninjured thigh, thumb brushing slow circles that somehow grounded you more than the pain sharpened. he worked in silence after that, cleaning, disinfecting, wrapping the gash with steady precision, every touch deliberate but never rushed, his body heat close enough to feel even through the air between you.
when he finished, he sat back slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “not too deep—won’t need stitches if you keep it clean. you’ll keep the leg.” the corner of his mouth lifted, faint sarcasm there, but his gaze lingered on your face, taking in the color slowly returning to your lips, the way your ears had perked forward just a little.
he handed you the flannel next, oversized and soft from countless washes. “throw this on before you turn into a popsicle again. got sweatpants too if you feel like drownin’ in ‘em—your call, but naked’s fine by me either way.”
you slipped the shirt on under the blanket, fabric swallowing you whole, sleeves hanging past your hands, scent of him—woodsmoke and something clean and warm—clinging to the fibers and didn’t bother with the sweatpants. when you emerged, he was watching with that same lazy expression, but his eyes darkened just a fraction as they traced the way the shirt draped over your body, collar slipping off one shoulder, hem brushing mid-thigh.
“looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he drawled, voice low and rough around the edges now, standing to head toward the kitchen. “stew’s still hot. you hungry?”
you nodded, pulling the blanket around your legs again, and he returned minutes later with two bowls, handing you one before settling back beside you—closer this time, thigh pressed fully against yours, like personal space was optional. the silence stretched comfortable, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional clink of spoons, but his presence filled the room, warm and solid and quietly overwhelming.
outside, snow kept falling, soft and endless, erasing the trail he’d left in the woods, sealing the two of you inside this small, undecorated house where christmas didn’t exist—only firelight, stew, and the slow, simmering awareness of bare skin under borrowed flannel, of scarred hands that had carried you home, and green eyes that watched you now with something patient and hungry stirring behind the lazy facade.
the fire crackled low and steady, throwing flickering gold across the worn wooden floorboards that creaked faintly under the shifting weight of the couch, the light dancing over the edges where the two of you sat, thighs still pressed together firmly, like neither of you had found a reason—or wanted—to create even an inch of space after he’d handed you the bowl.
steam curled lazily from the thick stew, rich chunks of potato and carrot and dark venison floating in the gravy—hearty, gamey, the kind of meat he’d likely tracked and dressed himself out in these same woods—carrying that deep, earthy scent through the small room, mingling with the sharp bite of burning pine and the faint, lingering trace of crisp winter cold that still clung to your skin despite the blanket draped over your lap.
you cradled the bowl in both hands, sleeves of his oversized flannel pushed clumsily up to your elbows, the soft worn fabric brushing your forearms as you brought the spoon to your lips in slow, careful bites, letting the heat of the broth slide down your throat and pool warm in your belly, spreading outward like gentle fingers chasing away the last stubborn edges of frost that had burrowed deep during those endless hours alone in the snow.
toji ate the same way he seemed to do everything: unhurried, almost lazy, his broad frame lounged back against the cushions, one thick arm draped along the back of the couch behind your shoulders—not quite touching you, but close enough that the heat radiating from his bare skin warmed the side of your neck and the shell of your ear whenever you turned your head even slightly. his other hand guided the spoon to his mouth in a steady, unconcerned rhythm, jaw working slow and deliberate as he chewed, the faint flex of muscle along his scarred chest visible each time he swallowed, dark hair still a little damp from melted snow at the ends, sticking to the side of his neck.
your gaze stayed fixed on the flames for a long stretch, watching the orange and gold tongues lick up around the logs, the warmth sinking into your cheeks, your chest, the bare skin of your thighs beneath the blanket—and yet another kind of warmth was building low in your belly, slow and insistent, the kind that had nothing to do with the fire or the stew. the cold hadn’t felt so terrible anymore, not with the solid press of his leg against yours, not with the borrowed flannel hanging loose around your body like a claim.
but your heat—it was late, overdue, stirred up by the sudden safety and the overwhelming presence of him—and it crept through you now in quiet, treacherous waves. unconsciously, your thighs brushed together under the blanket, a subtle shift of weight seeking just a whisper of friction against the growing ache, the slickness gathering warm and hidden between your legs. you thought you’d hidden it well, kept your breathing even, face turned toward the fire to mask the flush rising higher on your cheeks.
but toji noticed.
his spoon paused halfway to his mouth for the briefest second, green eyes flicking sideways, catching the small, restless movement of your legs beneath the blanket, the way your hips had tilted just slightly forward before you stilled again. one dark brow lifted slow, lazy, the corner of his scarred mouth twitching in something too subtle to call a full smirk yet, but he said nothing, simply resumed eating as if he hadn’t catalogued every tiny shift of your body in that single glance.
his gaze drifted again—lazy, unapologetic—starting at your profile, lingering on the delicate curve of your antlers catching the firelight, then lower, to the blanket hiding your thighs, and finally to the open front of the flannel you hadn’t bothered to button properly in your exhaustion. the fabric gaped just enough with every breath you took, offering fleeting glimpses of the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples drawn tight and brushing lightly against the worn inside of the shirt with each inhale, the faint friction sending little sparks straight to the heat pooling between your legs.
he took another slow bite, chewed, swallowed, then spoke, voice low and rough around the edges, drawl lazy as ever. “good?” the single word hung there, ambiguous on purpose, his eyes locked on your nipple before on your eyes now, that brow still arched just slightly, the question clearly aimed at more than just the stew.
you blinked, turning your head to meet his gaze, ears twitching forward at the sound of his voice, cheeks warming further under the intensity of those half-lidded green eyes. for a moment you only nodded, small and quick, lashes fluttering as you tried to gather your thoughts through the haze of heat and leftover cold. then words came, soft and a little breathless. “it’s… really good. warm. you cook well.”
toji’s mouth curved then, a slow, crooked smirk that pulled at the scar on his lip, eyes crinkling faintly at the corners with quiet amusement. he let out a low hum, almost a chuckle, deep in his chest. “yeah… i can cook,” he murmured, the words rolling out lazy and satisfied, holding your gaze a second longer before he scooped another spoonful, never looking away as he brought it to his mouth, tongue catching a stray drop at the corner of his lips.
the bowls emptied slowly, the only sounds the soft scrape of spoons and the steady pop of burning wood. when yours was finally empty, you held it in your lap, fingers tracing the rim absently, thighs pressing together again beneath the blanket in another subtle search for relief. toji reached over without a word, large hand closing around the bowl along with his own, fingers brushing yours deliberately as he took them both. he rose in one fluid motion, muscles shifting under scarred skin as he walked toward the kitchen, bare feet silent on the floorboards, back broad and shadowed in the firelight.
he wasn’t gone long—just long enough for you to hear the clink of ceramic in the sink, water running briefly, the low thud of cabinet doors. when he returned, he moved with that same unhurried grace, stopping in front of the fireplace and dropping to one knee, the jeans stretching tight over his thighs as he crouched. he picked up two fresh logs from the small stack beside the hearth, muscles flexing in his arms and back as he placed them carefully atop the glowing embers, sparks fluttering upward like tiny orange fireflies. the new wood caught quickly, flames licking higher, throwing brighter gold across the room and over his skin.
he glanced over his shoulder at you then, one arm resting on his raised knee, the other braced against the stone hearth, that crooked smirk tugging at his mouth again—knowing, teasing, but still gentle around the edges. “hope you the heat,” he drawled, voice low and rough, eyes glinting dark in the renewed firelight as they held yours for a deliberate beat.
the words landed heavy, laced with something that made your breath catch, a broken little hum escaping your throat before you could stop it. your ears flicked back, then forward again, body shifting restlessly on the couch, thighs pressing tighter together beneath the blanket as another wave of slick warmth pulsed through you. you couldn’t quite meet his gaze after that, eyes dropping to your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of the flannel. (done)
toji lingered there a moment longer, watching the flush climb your neck, the way your chest rose and fell a little faster beneath his shirt, before he pushed to his feet with a soft exhale. he turned fully toward you, hands settling loose on his hips, the fire roaring brighter behind him now, casting his bare torso in sharp relief—broad shoulders, scarred chest, the defined lines of his abdomen disappearing beneath the low waistband of his jeans—his silhouette framed in flickering light and shadow, towering but relaxed, utterly unbothered.
his green eyes, almost black in the low light, stayed fixed on you—on the way the flannel slipped further off one shoulder as you shifted, on the small, restless movements you couldn’t quite hide, on the delicate points of your antlers catching the glow like they were made for it. he didn’t say anything more, just stood there, patient and quiet, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you.
and for the first time in years, toji realized he wouldn’t be spending another christmas eve alone in this house—certainly not with the quiet, no one to share the fire or the silence or the long winter night. especially not with a deer hybrid curled on his couch, late into her heat, wearing his shirt like it belonged to her, looking at him with those wide, needy eyes while the snow kept falling soft and endless outside.
his eyes lingered on you for a long, unhurried moment, the firelight casting shifting shadows across the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the scar that tugged at his lip whenever his mouth curved just slightly, before his gaze drifted upward, slow and deliberate, to the delicate branches of your antlers rising from your hair—not too big, not overwhelming like some hybrids he’d glimpsed from afar in the woods, but not small either, perfectly proportioned, elegant curves catching the golden flicker of the flames like they were strung with invisible christmas lights just for him.
they suited you, framed your face in a way that made you look both fragile and wild, and he tilted his head a fraction, green eyes narrowing lazily as he studied them, then let his stare drop back down to meet yours—you’d already been watching him, wide-eyed and flushed, ears angled forward in quiet anticipation, and the corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar crooked smirk.
“those things heavy?” he asked, voice low and drawling, almost bored, like he was commenting on the weather outside instead of the intimate weight of bone and velvet perched atop your head, his tone laced with that gentle sarcasm that never quite stung. he didn’t move yet, just stood there with hands loose on his hips, bare chest rising and falling slow, the heat from the fire at his back making his skin gleam faintly with sweat.
you shifted again beneath the blanket, thighs pressing together tighter as another pulse of warmth throbbed low in your belly, the slickness there impossible to ignore now, making the fabric of his borrowed flannel cling slightly to your skin where it brushed your inner thighs. your ears twitched back and then forward, a soft little flick of nervousness and need, and you managed a small shake of your head, voice coming out breathy, almost a whisper. “not… not really. they’re light. just… sensitive right now.”
he hummed deep in his chest, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the small space between you, and you caught the subtle movement of his jaw as he bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darkening further while he watched another shiver ripple through you—not from cold this time, but from the heat that was blooming hotter with every passing second, late-season instincts making your body ache in ways you couldn’t hide. then, without rush, he stepped closer, closing the distance in two lazy strides until he was right in front of the couch, towering but relaxed, and he bent forward slowly, one foot dipping into the cushion beside your hip, the other planted on the floor, caging you in without touching yet.
his face lowered to yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheeks, smell the faint trace of stew and pine smoke and something deeper, masculine, that made your pulse flutter wildly in your throat. he studied you up close like he had all the time in the world—eyes tracing the faint scatter of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the way your lashes trembled when you blinked, the soft shape of your lips parted just slightly on shallow breaths, and especially the deer features blended so seamlessly into your human face: the delicate twitch of your ears, the subtle velvet texture near the base of your antlers, the wide, luminous eyes that gave away every flicker of need. you couldn’t hold his stare for long; your gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again, ears pinning back briefly before flicking forward, body leaning instinctively into the heat radiating from his bare skin.
his smirk deepened, slow and knowing, scar pulling tight as his lips curved wider, and he lifted one large hand—calloused fingers, warm from the fire—until the tips brushed the base of one antler, feather-light at first, tracing the smooth curve with deliberate care. the contact sent a jolt straight through you, velvet-sensitive skin singing under his touch, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from your throat, quiet but unmistakable, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the blanket as another rush of slick warmth coated your thighs.
toji’s eyes hooded further, voice dropping to a murmur, rough and lazy, laced with that teasing edge that made your stomach flip. “fuck… so sensitive, huh? little deer gettin’ all worked up from just this?” his thumb stroked higher along the antler, slow circles that made your breath hitch, before his fingers drifted lower, grazing the soft fur at the base, then gently, deliberately, brushing the edge of one twitching ear. the sensation was electric—your ears were always tender during heat, but his touch lit them up like christmas bulbs, and another moan escaped, louder this time, needy, your head tilting into his palm without permission.
he let out a low chuckle, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, nose almost brushing yours. “look at you, moanin’ like a sweet little hybrid in heat… bet those pretty antlers are achin’ for more, aren’t they? all velvet and ready, just beggin’ to be touched while you’re burnin’ up inside.” his words were dirty but spoken soft, lazy praise wrapped in gentleness, like he was simply stating facts about the weather. “never thought i’d have a needy deer on my couch come christmas… but here you are, drippin’ slick under my shirt, ears twitchin’ every time i get close. you want me to keep goin’, sweetheart? want me to pet you properly till you’re shakin’?”
his fingers traced your ear again, tugging lightly at the tip, and you whimpered, thighs clenching hard beneath the blanket, the ache between them throbbing in time with your heartbeat. your hands fisted in the flannel at your lap, knuckles pale, body arching just slightly toward him as if pulled by invisible string, and he watched every tiny reaction with half-lidded eyes, smirk never fading, completely unbothered and in control while the fire crackled louder behind him, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slow, heated space between your bodies on this quiet, forgotten christmas night.
his hand lingered at the base of your antler, thumb stroking the soft inner fur in slow, lazy circles that made your whole body hum with little electric sparks while the fire snapped and hissed behind him, throwing long shadows that danced across the walls like silent christmas ghosts no one else would ever see. he watched you with that half-lidded stare, green eyes dark and patient, the scar on his lip pulling tighter as his smirk deepened just a fraction. “you late in your heat, aren’t you?” he asked again, voice low and lazy, rolling out like smoke, not pushing, just curious in that unbothered way of his, like the answer wouldn’t change a thing either way.
you couldn’t look at him straight on—your gaze dropped to the strong line of his collarbone, then to the flicker of firelight on his chest, cheeks burning hotter than the flames as another wave of slick pulsed between your thighs, warm and shameful and impossible to hide. your ears twitched hard, forward and back in quick, frantic little flutters that brushed his fingers every time, betraying you completely. a soft, helpless sound caught in your throat, half whimper, half breath, and you pressed your thighs together under the blanket again, hips shifting just slightly on the cushion.
toji hummed, long and low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as his hand slid from your antler to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “yeah… real late. can feel you shakin’ from it.” his tone stayed gentle, almost amused, sarcasm light as fresh snow. then he tilted his head, eyes dropping to your lap where the blanket hid the restless press of your legs, and his voice dropped rougher. “ever had a human cock inside you before, sweetheart? or do pretty little deer like you only spread for your own kind when the heat hits?”
the question was filthy, blunt, spoken slow and lazy like he was asking about the weather outside, but it punched straight through you—your cunt clenched hard, another thick rush of slick soaking your folds, dripping slow and hot down toward the couch. you couldn’t answer with words; your mouth opened on a silent gasp, ears pinning flat back against your head, body arching forward without permission as your hands clutched at the flannel over your thighs.
he chuckled softly, breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer, the hand on your jaw sliding down to splay over your throat, feeling the frantic swallow you couldn’t hide. “fuck, you’re gushin’ just thinkin’ about it, huh? can smell how sweet you’re gettin’.” his other hand moved then, lazy and sure, slipping under the edge of the blanket to palm your bare thigh, fingers spreading wide, thumb stroking high on the soft inner skin, inches from where you ached most. “bet those lips are still cold,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your mouth, “been out in the snow too long. lemme fix that.”
he kissed you slow—no rush, no force—just the warm press of his mouth against yours, lips parted so his tongue could slide in lazy and deep, tasting you like he had all christmas night to savor. you moaned into it immediately, soft and needy, hands coming up to grip his bare shoulders, fingers digging into warm muscle as you opened for him. his tongue curled around yours, sucking gently, drawing out every little sound while his hand on your thigh squeezed slow, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer until the blanket fell away completely and you were half-bare in his lap, flannel hanging open.
he pulled back just enough to speak against your wet lips, voice rough and low. “tell me somethin’, darlin’… how do deer like you take it when you’re burnin’ up? out in the woods, ass up against a tree while your buck mounts you fast? or do you like bein’ held down slow, rutted into till you’re cryin’?” his fingers slid higher, brushing the crease where thigh met hip, thumb tracing the slick that had leaked there, gathering it slow like he was curious how wet you could get. “always wondered if hybrid cunt feels different—tighter, hotter, flutterin’ different when you’re in season.”
you whimpered, rocking into his touch without thinking, and he let you, guiding your hips with one big hand until you were climbing fully into his lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of his thighs, bare cunt pressing down against the hard bulge straining his jeans. the contact drew a broken moan from you both—yours high and desperate, his a low, lazy growl against your neck as he mouthed along your pulse, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
“there you go,” he praised, voice husky, both hands sliding under the flannel to cup your ass, squeezing slow, spreading you open so cool air kissed your soaked folds while you ground down instinctively against him. “straddle me just like that, good girl. look at you—my own little christmas deer, antlers all pretty in the firelight, drippin’ slick all over a human’s lap.” his mouth found yours again, kissing deeper this time, tongue fucking slow into your mouth while his hips rolled up once, lazy, letting you feel every thick inch trapped behind denim.
he kept it slow—hands groping lazy and thorough, one sliding up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple till it ached, the other kneading your ass in time with the gentle rock of your hips. every kiss was wet, filthy, unhurried, his tongue sliding against yours while he murmured between them, “bet you’d milk a human cock real sweet… wonder if you’d lock around me like you do your bucks, or if you’d just keep takin’ it, beggin’ for more till the heat breaks.” his words were pure pervert curiosity wrapped in low praising, lazy and teasing, drawing more slick from you until it soaked through his jeans, the dark patch spreading warm beneath you on this quiet, fire-warm christmas night where nothing existed but the slow, burning friction and the taste of him on your tongue.
your hands couldn’t stay still any longer, fingers uncurling from the loose grip around his neck to wander slow and curious down the broad expanse of his bare chest, palms spreading over warm, scarred skin that flexed subtly under your touch, tracing the ridges of old marks and the coarse scatter of dark hair that dusted across his pecs.
your thumbs brushed lazily over his nipples—flat and dark, hardening just slightly at the grazing contact—and you felt the low rumble of his hum vibrate against your lips as he watched you with those heavy-lidded green eyes, unbothered, patient, like he had all christmas night to let you explore.
your gaze drifted lower, following the faint line of hair that started just below his sternum, thickening into that tempting happy trail that disappeared beneath the low waistband of his jeans, and you murmured softly, almost to yourself, “hair…” as your fingertips dipped into the soft, wiry strands, playing with them absently, tugging just enough to feel the texture.
toji hummed again, deeper this time, the sound lazy and approving as his hands stayed loose on your ass, squeezing slow in encouragement. “yeah… hair,” he drawled, voice rough and amused, scar pulling at his lip as his smirk widened. “haven’t shaved down there either, sweetheart. hope you like it bushy both places—makes me wonder if a pretty little deer like you prefers it wild.” his tone was gentle sarcasm, filthy curiosity wrapped in praise, eyes flicking down to watch your fingers toy with his trail before meeting yours again.
you flushed harder, ears twitching back in shy embarrassment even as your body pressed closer, slick cunt grinding slow against the hard line of his cock still trapped in denim. “i… i like it,” you whispered, voice breathy and small, nails scraping lightly through the hair now, following it lower until your fingertips brushed the button of his jeans.
he let out a low chuckle, head tilting as that lazy, dangerous smirk sharpened just a touch—not mean, never mean, just knowing. “good girl.” his hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the open flannel. “you want me to help you with this heat, darlin’? i can start reallll slow… ease you into it.”
you frowned a little, brows drawing together in genuine confusion, hips still rocking instinctively against him as you searched his face. “slow?” you echoed, voice soft, uncertain—because every heat you’d endured before had been frantic, quick mounts in the woods, over almost before the ache had been scratched, no lingering touches, no real release, just instinct and emptiness after.
toji’s eyes darkened at the confusion flickering across your features—wide eyes, twitching ears, the innocent tilt of your head—and something hot and possessive coiled tighter in his gut at the thought of being the first to show you different. he leaned in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your lips. “yeah… slow like this,” he murmured, voice dropping rough and lazy as one big hand pushed the flannel aside completely, baring your tits to the firelight, nipples already tight and begging like itself calling for toji; suck me, suck me, suck me. he didn’t rush—just lowered his mouth slow, lips parting to close around one peak, tongue flicking lazy and wet before he sucked gentle, drawing it deeper into the heat of his mouth.
you gasped sharp, back arching hard as pleasure shot straight to your cunt, fingers flying to tangle in his dark hair, careful of your antlers as they tilted back with your head. “toji—” his name left you on a broken moan, thighs clenching around his hips while he hummed approval around your nipple, sucking slow and thorough, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
his free hand slid lower at the same lazy pace—over the curve of your hip, along the soft skin of your inner thigh, until his fingers finally brushed your soaked folds, parting them gently, gathering the slick that coated everything. “fuck, listen to you,” he murmured against your breast, pulling off with a wet pop to switch to the other nipple, tongue swirling slow circles before sucking again. “so wet already… little pussy weepin’ for attention.” two thick fingers traced your entrance, not pushing in yet, just teasing the rim, spreading your slick up to circle your swollen clit in lazy, feather-light strokes that made your hips jerk but never quite gave enough pressure.
you whimpered, grinding down harder against his hand, chasing more, but he kept the pace maddeningly slow—sucking at your nipple in long, wet pulls, fingers dipping just barely inside you before retreating, thumb brushing your clit in idle circles like he was petting a needy animal. “that’s it,” he praised low, voice muffled against your skin as he laved your breast with his tongue. “take what you need, sweetheart… rock those pretty hips on my fingers. bet no buck ever took his time with you like this, huh? just wanna savor my sweettt christmas deer… make this heat feel real good before i give you anything more.”
every touch was lazy, deliberate, drawing the ache higher without mercy, your slick coating his fingers thicker with every slow circle, dripping down over his wrist while the fire crackled and the snow whispered outside, the whole world reduced to the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits and the filthy, gentle curiosity in his voice as he kept you teetering on the edge without letting you fall.
and the next second, all you feel is how the carpet was rough against your bare back, coarse fibers biting into your skin with every tiny shift of your hips, a harsh contrast to the slick heat building everywhere else, while the fire crackled steady and low behind you, throwing flickering orange light across the room and over your naked body—exposed again, just like when he’d found you curled in the snow, only now flushed hot and trembling for entirely different reasons.
your legs were spread wide, knees bent and fallen open as he pushed it to your chest, thighs quivering as toji knelt between them, broad shoulders forcing you wider, his dark hair tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thighs while his mouth worked slow and thorough on your dripping cunt. he’d taken his time getting you here—lazy kisses turning deeper, hands stripping the flannel away inch by inch until you were bare beneath him, guiding you down onto the rug with that same unbothered strength, murmuring how the fire would keep you warm while he tasted you proper.
now you were a mess—tears streaking hot down your temples into your hair, antlers scraping lightly against the carpet with every arch of your neck, one hand clamped tight around his fingers in a desperate grip while the other tangled in his hair, pulling without meaning to whenever his tongue flicked just right over your swollen clit. soft, broken whimpers spilled from your lips in a constant stream, hips rolling up to meet his mouth even as your thighs shook from the effort of holding still. he ate you like he had nowhere else to be—long, slow licks from your entrance up to your clit, sucking gentle then firm, tongue circling lazy before dipping inside to taste how deep your slick ran, humming low every time your cunt fluttered against his lips.
when he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his chin and mouth glistened wet in the firelight, eyes lifting to meet yours with that stupid, lazy grin—scarred lip curled, green eyes dark and half-lidded, utterly pleased with himself. “fuckkkk, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice rough and low, tongue coming out to lick a stray drop of you from the corner of his mouth, “didn’t expect hybrid pussy to taste this sweet—like christmas honey, all warm and ripe just for me. better than any cunt i’ve ever had my mouth on.”
the words hit you hard, filthy and blunt, heat flooding your face even as your cunt clenched around nothing, missing his tongue already. you blinked through the tears, chest heaving, voice small and shaky when you managed, “it’s… it’s good?”
toji chuckled, low and dirty, breath ghosting hot over your soaked folds as he hovered close. “good? darlin’, your little deer cunt’s so fuckin’ delicious i could stay down here till the fire dies out—sweetest present i’ve unwrapped all year.” he pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit just to watch you jerk, then reached up with the hand not already laced with yours, gently untangling your fingers from his hair. he guided your trembling hand down, pressing your palm over one breast, curling your fingers so they cupped the soft weight. “ever play with these pretty tits while you’re in heat?” he asked, lazy curiosity thick in his voice, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
you shook your head quick, ears twitching back against the carpet, another tear slipping free as the ache throbbed harder. “no… never,” you whispered, voice cracking on the admission.
he hummed approval, eyes flicking from your face to your hand on your breast. “try it for me, sweetheart. squeeze gentle… yeah, just like that. now roll your nipple between your fingers—slowww, feel how it gets all tight and sensitive.” his mouth lowered again as he spoke, lips sealing soft around your clit, sucking lazy and steady while he watched you obey. your fingers followed his words hesitant at first—pinching lightly, rolling the hard peak, tugging just a little—and the dual sensation punched a loud, broken moan from your throat, back arching off the carpet, thighs clamping around his head.
“there you go,” he praised against your pussy, voice muffled and rough, tongue flicking quick to reward you before he pulled back just enough to speak. “look at you—pinchin’ your own tits while i suck this sweet clit. filthy little deer, learnin’ how good it feels to play with yourself. keep goin’, darlin’… make ‘em ache nice and pretty for me.”
he dove back in fully then, mouth hot and relentless but still slow—long, wet pulls on your clit, tongue lapping broad and lazy through your folds, drinking every fresh gush of slick while your fingers worked your nipple harder under his murmured guidance, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter but never quite snapping, leaving you crying and whimpering and grinding desperately against his face on the rough carpet floor, firelight painting both of you gold on this long, endless christmas night.
the fire had burned lower now, embers glowing deep orange behind you, throwing long, wavering shadows across the rough carpet that scraped your shoulders and back with every helpless arch of your spine, but you barely felt it anymore—every nerve was centered between your thighs where toji’s mouth devoured you like a man breaking a centuries-long fast, like he’d been hibernating in some cold, pussy-starved cave and your slick cunt was the first warm salvation offered to him on this forgotten christmas night.
he groaned deep against your folds, the sound vibrating straight through your clit as his tongue lapped broad and hungry, gathering every drop of your juices mixed with his own spit, swallowing loud enough that you heard it over your own broken whimpers. his big hands pinned your thighs wider, scarred fingers digging gently into the soft flesh to keep you open while he slurped shamelessly, lips sealing around your swollen clit to suck slow and firm, then flick the sensitive bud quick with the tip of his tongue before sucking again, harder, like he couldn’t decide which taste he wanted more.
your body was no longer your own—hips grinding up desperately into his face, chasing the wet heat of his mouth, tears streaking freely down your temples as your moans grew louder, rawer, echoing off the bare wooden walls. “more—please, toji, more,” you gasped out, voice cracking, ears twitching wildly, antlers scraping the carpet as your head thrashed side to side. he obliged instantly, happily, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest as he buried his face deeper, nose nudging your clit while his tongue fucked shallow into your entrance, drinking the fresh flood of slick that poured out at the intrusion, swallowing again and again like your taste was the only thing keeping him alive.
you were close—so close—the coil in your belly wound tighter with every filthy slurp and suck, thighs trembling violently around his head, but he kept you there, never quite pushing you over, just feeding on you until you were sobbing his name.
finally he pulled back with a wet, obscene sound, lips and chin shining slick in the firelight, chest heaving slow as he licked his mouth clean, green eyes dark and feral when they met yours. “fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it, lazy drawl almost gone under the hunger, “could eat this pretty pussy for days and still starve for more.” he rose slowly, deliberately, unfolding his big frame until he towered over you on his feet, one hand dropping to squeeze the thick bulge straining his jeans, palming himself with a low groan as he looked down at your wrecked form—tits heaving, thighs spread wide and glistening, tears on your cheeks, antlers catching the ember glow like some sacred christmas offering.
you pushed up on shaky elbows, unable to look away, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave marks as he reached for his belt. the metal buckle clinked soft and slow—agonizingly slow—each tooth of the leather sliding free sounding louder than the fire in the sudden quiet. he unbuttoned his jeans next, one button, then the zipper dragged down inch by inch, revealing more of that dark, curly bush you’d only glimpsed before, the hair catching the dim light in soft waves, not wild or overgrown, just naturally thick, untamed, framing the base of his cock that was already pressing eagerly against the black fabric of his briefs.
your breath hitched, eyes wide and fixed as he hooked his thumbs into waistband and eased everything lower—just a bit at first, letting the curls spill free, then further, the thick root of his cock coming into view, flushed dark and heavy, veins standing out along the length. he paused there, letting you look, before pulling jeans and briefs down over the hard muscle of his thighs in one slow push. his cock sprang free instantly, slapping up against his abs with a soft thud, long and impossibly thick, the head already flushed deep red and glistening. he wrapped one big hand around it immediately, stroking lazy once, twice, the motion making the dark curls above his dick shift and catch the firelight, not too long, not too short—just dense, natural, perfect.
both of you are bare now, nothing between skin and skin and the crackling heat of the hearth.
toji’s smirk returned, lazy and playful even through the hunger, scar pulling at his lip as he gave himself another slow pump, thumb swiping over the slit to gather the fat bead of precum that welled there. he brought it to his mouth without shame, tongue licking it clean while his eyes stayed locked on yours. “salty,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “wonder if your sweet little deer cunt’ll make me taste sweeter when i finally get inside.”
he tilted his head, stroking himself again, slow and unhurried, letting you see every inch. “so, darlin’… you know if other stupid hybrids pack cocks this big, or you think mine’s small?” the sarcasm was gentle, teasing, eyes glinting with filthy amusement because he knew—he fucking knew—how huge he was, thick enough that your thighs pressed together instinctively even as slick leaked steadily onto the carpet beneath you.
you shook your head quick, ears flicking back then forward, voice barely above a whisper. “n-no… never seen… anything like that.”!
his chuckle was dark, satisfied, hand tightening just a fraction on his shaft. “good answer, sweetheart. keep lookin’ at me like that and this christmas might last all week.” he stepped out of the pooled jeans fully, kicking them aside without care, then dropped back to his knees between your spread thighs, cock heavy and bobbing with the motion, curls brushing his lower abs as he leaned over you again, one hand planted beside your head, the other still lazily stroking himself. “gonna take real good care of this heat,” he promised, voice dropping back to that familiar lazy drawl, “but first… think i need another taste of that honey before i feed you somethin’ thicker.”
he didn’t wait for permission—just lowered his mouth again, slower this time, tongue dragging one long, deliberate stripe up your soaked folds before circling your clit with the flat of it, humming deep at the fresh flood of slick that met him. your back arched off the carpet instantly, a strangled cry tearing free as your hands flew—one to his hair again, the other clutching the rug—while he settled in like a man with all the time in the world, lapping, sucking, swallowing, breaking his fast all over again on the sweetest pussy he’d ever had on christmas night.
those eager minutes stretched into what felt like hours, toji’s mouth relentless on your clit, sucking your soul straight through the swollen bundle of nerves with long, filthy pulls that left you sobbing openly, hips bucking wild against his face, slick pouring out in waves that he swallowed greedily, tongue flicking quick then slow, keeping you teetering on the edge without mercy until your thighs shook so hard they nearly clamped around his head.
when he finally pulled away, it was with a wet, obscene sound, strings of your juices and his spit connecting his lips to your cunt for a second before snapping, and he rose up tall on his knees, chest heaving slow, one hand still wrapped lazy around his thick cock, stroking himself with the same unhurried rhythm while a stray drop of mixed saliva glistened on his chin and fell—slow, deliberate—onto the flushed head of his dick, sliding down the shaft as he spread it with his thumb.
you couldn’t blink, wouldn’t, even though your eyes burned from tears and the heat roaring under your skin, gaze locked on the way his fist moved over that heavy length, curls at the base dark and damp now with everything that had dripped from you. your chest rose and fell fast, antlers scraping the carpet again as you tilted your head back just to breathe, then forward again to watch him, afraid to miss even a second of whatever he’d do next.
toji’s eyes met yours, dark and half-lidded, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that lazy, dangerous grin. “ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and rough, almost casual, like he was offering another cup of stew instead of the thick cock in his hand.
you shook your head quick, instinctive, ears flicking back flat against your skull, thighs trembling as another helpless pulse of slick leaked out onto the rug. the word came out small, breathy. “no…”
he chuckled, deep and warm, the sound rolling through his chest as he shifted closer on his knees. “cute,” he murmured, affection and amusement thick in the single word, green eyes glinting in the dying firelight. “real fuckin’ cute, shakin’ your head when your little deer cunt’s cryin’ for it.”
one big hand moved then, sliding under the back of your knee, lifting your leg slow and deliberate until it straightened, then guiding it up and over his broad shoulder, opening you wider, folding you nearly in half beneath him. the stretch burned sweet in your hamstring, cool air kissing your soaked folds as you gasped soft, surprised. “oh…” the sound slipped out like you hadn’t expected the position, hadn’t realized how exposed it would make you feel, cunt spread and fluttering visibly under his gaze.
toji just hummed, unbothered, attention fixed between your legs as he leaned forward slightly, free hand guiding his cock closer. the first slap came sudden—heavy, wet, the thick head smacking directly against your clit with a lewd sound that echoed in the quiet room, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain through you. strings of your slick and his spit stretched between his cock and your pussy, glistening, clinging, before snapping as he drew back for another. your back arched hard off the carpet, a strangled cry tearing free, hips jerking up for more even as tears welled fresh.
“fuck, look how sensitive you are,” he praised, voice rough with want, eyes dark as he watched your cunt clench around nothing. “one little slap and you’re archin’ like that—makes me so goddamn eager to bury myself in this sweet pussy.” he slapped again, slower this time, dragging the weight of his cock through your folds first, coating himself thicker in your juices before tapping your clit sharp enough to make you whimper. “can’t wait to breed you proper, darlin’… fill this ripe little deer cunt till you’re leakin’ me for days. but i promised slow, remember? gotta get you ready first… stretch you out nice before i ruin you for every other buck you ever let near you.”
another slap, then another—lazy rhythm, each one landing wetter, heavier, your slick stringing between his cock and your folds like obscene christmas tinsel, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug. then he changed it—sliding the length of himself through your folds without entering, dragging slow from entrance to clit and back again, bumping the swollen head against your sensitive nub each pass, teasing, edging, torturing you with the promise of being filled while the heat burned hotter in your bones, your lungs, your blood, nesting deep behind your ribs until it felt like the only cure was the thick cock gliding through your wetness but never giving you what you needed.
you whined high and desperate, hips chasing every slide, trying to angle yourself to take him inside, but he held you steady with the leg over his shoulder, grip firm and patient. “toji—please. . .” the plea cracked out of you, raw, tears spilling again as you reached down with trembling fingers, trying to guide him in.
he chuckled low, catching your wrist gentle and pinning it beside your head instead. “not yet, sweetheart. wanna watch you fall apart on just this a little longer… my pretty deer, drippin’ and beggin’ for cock like it’s the only gift you want this year.”
another slow drag through your folds, head nudging your clit hard enough to make you sob, body writhing on the rough carpet while the fire popped and hissed behind you, snow whispering against the windows, the whole world narrowed to the slick, teasing slide of his cock and the lazy, hungry promise in his voice that he’d give you everything—slow, then deep, then ruinous—when he finally decided you were ready.
he stayed there on his knees for what felt like forever, cock dragging slow through your folds again and again, coating himself thicker in your slick until every slide made obscene wet sounds that mingled with the low crackle of the dying fire and your own broken whimpers.
your leg was still hooked high over his shoulder, thigh trembling against his chest, the position keeping you split open and helpless while tears dried salty on your cheeks and fresh ones welled every time the fat head of his cock nudged your clit without mercy.
you were burning alive, heat season roaring through every vein, making your cunt clench desperately around nothing, begging to be filled, bred, soothed, but toji just watched you with that lazy, half-lidded stare, scar pulling at his lip as he teased you to the edge of sanity.
“look at you,” he murmured finally, voice low and rough, almost conversational, as he lined himself up at last, the blunt head pressing gentle against your entrance, parting your folds but not pushing in yet. “pretty little deer cunt flutterin’ like it’s tryin’ to suck me in already. you want this cock bad, don’t you? want it to stuff all that heat right out of you.”
you nodded frantically, ears twitching hard, a choked, “please, toji, pleaseeee,” spilling from your lips as your hips tilted up, trying to take him yourself. he hummed, once again, one big hand splayed over your lower belly to hold you still while the other guided his cock, rubbing the head up and down your slit once, twice, gathering more slick before he finally—finally—pressed forward.
the stretch started slow, agonizingly slow, just the thick tip breaching you, spreading your walls inch by inch as he sank in with deliberate restraint. your breath caught sharp, back arching off the rough carpet, fingers clawing at the fibers while your cunt fluttered and clenched around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him. he was thick, hotter than anything you’d ever felt, and every tiny push forward made you feel impossibly full already, even though he’d barely given you half.
“fuck… that’s it,” he praised, voice dropping rougher, eyes fixed between your legs where his cock disappeared slow into your body. “take me nice and easy, sweetheart. feel how your pretty pussy’s stretchin’ around human cock? never had anything this thick splitting you open before, huh?” he rocked forward another inch, then back, then forward again, shallow little thrusts that fed you more but never rushed, letting you feel every vein, every throb as he worked deeper. “so goddamn tight… like a present i get to unwrap real slow on christmas night.”
you moaned loud, broken, head thrashing side to side, antlers scraping the carpet as your leg over his shoulder tensed, toes curling in the air. the burn was sweet, overwhelming, pleasure and ache blending until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. your free hand reached down blindly, fingers brushing where you were joined, feeling how stretched you were around him, and he groaned low at the sight.
“touch yourself there if you want,” he murmured, lazy encouragement in his tone as he pushed another slow inch inside, bottoming out halfway and holding still to let you breathe. “feel how i’m openin’ you up… gonna ruin this little deer cunt for any buck that ever tries to mount you again.” he pulled back slow, almost all the way out, then slid in again deeper, a smooth, controlled glide that made your walls flutter wildly around him. “but i promised slow, remember? gonna keep that promise till you’re cryin’ for me to breed you harder.”
he set a rhythm then—lazy, deep strokes, never fast, never rough yet, just feeding you his cock inch by thick inch until your cunt was molded to him, slick dripping down your ass with every withdrawal, coating his balls and the dark curls at his base. his hand on your belly pressed gentle, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and he hummed approval every time you clenched, every time your breath hitched, every time a fresh tear slipped free.
“good girl,” he rasped, leaning down to mouth at your neck, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin as he rocked in again, deeper this time, almost all the way. “takin’ me so sweet… my perfect deer, all spread out and stuffed full. you feel that? feel how deep i am already?” another slow thrust, bottoming out at last, his hips flush to yours, curls tickling your clit as he held still, letting you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. your cunt spasmed around him, milking instinctively, and he groaned against your throat. “yeah… just like that. keep squeezin’ me, darlin’. we got all night for me to breed this heat right out of you… nice and slow, till you can’t remember anything but my cock.”
he stayed buried deep for a long, breathless moment, hips flush to yours, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your clenching walls while the fire popped softly behind you, casting flickering gold over both your sweat-slick bodies tangled on the rough carpet. your leg was still draped over his shoulder, thigh pressed to his chest, opening you so completely that every tiny shift of his hips made you feel impossibly fuller, the thick base of him stretching you wide, dark curls tickling your clit with every shallow breath he took. he didn’t move at first—just held there, green eyes locked on yours, scar pulling as his mouth curved lazy, watching the way fresh tears slipped down your temples and your ears twitched helplessly against the rug.
“feel that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low and rough, almost conversational even as his cock pulsed inside you. “human cock all the way in your pretty cunt… stretchin’ you open like you were made for it.” he drew back slow then, agonizingly slow, dragging every thick inch out until only the flushed head remained, your walls fluttering desperately to keep him in, slick dripping down your ass in a steady stream. then he slid forward again—smooth, controlled, bottoming out with a wet sound that made you both groan. “ah—fuck, yeah… just like that. take it nice and easy for me.”
he set the pace deliberate, deep rolling thrusts that never hurried, pulling out almost completely before sinking back in to the hilt, letting you feel every ridge and vein as he fed you his cock again and again. your moans spilled out unbroken now, “toji, ohhh. . . please.” high and needy, back arching off the carpet, fingers clawing at his forearms where they braced beside your head. your free leg wrapped around his hip instinctively, heel digging into the hard muscle of his ass to pull him deeper, antlers scraping the rug as your head tilted back, exposing your throat.
he leaned down, mouth finding your neck, sucking lazy marks into the skin while his hips kept that torturous rhythm. “good girl,” he praised against your pulse, tongue flicking out to taste the salt there. “takin’ me so sweet… my little deer finally gettin’ properly bred. you feel how deep i am? right up against your womb, darlin’. gonna make this heat feel real good.”
the slow drag was exquisite torture—every thrust nudging that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids, building the pressure higher but never quite enough to tip you over. your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking him on every withdrawal, slick coating his balls and the curls at his base until they were soaked. you could hear it—the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies joining, louder than the fire now, louder than your own ragged breathing.
minutes stretched, or maybe hours; time lost meaning under the steady, claiming roll of his hips. but gradually his control frayed—his breaths grew rougher against your neck, hands gripping your thigh and hip tighter, fingers digging into flesh as his thrusts lost their perfect laziness, deepening, lingering a fraction longer at the bottom before pulling back. “fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking just slightly, “you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight… can’t—ah—can’t keep goin’ this slow forever, sweetheart.”
you whimpered in response, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails over scarred skin. “toji, more—please, need—”
he pulled back to look at you, eyes dark and wild now, smirk gone, replaced by raw hunger. “yeah? need more?” he thrust in hard once—sharp, sudden, driving the air from your lungs in a broken cry—“like that?” another hard snap of his hips, grinding deep, curls smashing against your clit. “or harder?”
“yes—ahh—harder—” you sobbed, leg tightening over his shoulder, whole body arching to meet him.
that was all it took.
his restraint snapped like a branch under snow—hips pulling back and slamming forward rougher, faster, the gentle rhythm giving way to deep, punishing strokes that jolted your body up the carpet with every thrust. the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, loud and obscene, his balls smacking against your ass as he fucked into you without mercy now. “fuck—there weeee go,” he growled, voice low and ragged, one hand sliding under your lower back to tilt your hips higher, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. “been tryin’ to be gentle with my sweet little deer, but you take it so fuckin’ good—ah—makes me wanna ruin this pretty cunt.”
your moans turned into screams—“toji—toji, oh god—” high and desperate, tears streaming freely as pleasure coiled white-hot in your belly, every brutal thrust driving you closer to the edge you’d been teetering on all night. your walls fluttered wildly around him, slick gushing with every withdrawal, soaking both of you.
he leaned down again, mouth crashing against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongue fucking into you in time with his cock, swallowing every cry. “that’s it,” he rasped between kisses, hips snapping harder, faster, the carpet burning your back as he drove you up it inch by inch. “scream for me, darlin’… let the whole damn forest know a human’s breedin’ his christmas deer proper. gonna fill you so full—ah—fuck—gonna knot this tight little pussy with my cum till you’re drippin’ for days.”
the pace was relentless now—rough, claiming, perfect—his body covering yours completely, sweat dripping from his chest onto your tits as he fucked you like he’d never get enough, like your cunt was the only thing that could soothe the hunger he’d carried too long. and you took it all, legs locked around him, nails scoring his back, antlers scraping wildly, lost in the brutal, beautiful storm of him finally giving you everything you’d burned for on this long, firelit christmas night.
you never knew a human could fuck like this—pounding into you with such raw, unrelenting force that every thrust sent shockwaves rippling through your body, the carpet beneath you scratching rougher against your sweat-slick back as he drove you higher up the rug with each powerful snap of his hips, but still taking his time in a way that stretched the pleasure out like taffy, savoring every clench of your walls around his thick cock, every desperate flutter that begged him to go deeper, harder, unlike the hurried, instinctual ruts you’d endured before, all quick and mechanical like transactions in the wild where the heat was scratched but never truly quenched, leaving you empty and aching afterward.
with toji, it was worlds apart—his cock dragging out slow on the retreat, veins pulsing hot against your sensitive inner walls, only to slam back in with a brutal depth that nudged right up against your cervix, making your belly bulge faintly under the press of his body, and the pleasure swelled so intensely.
so overwhelmingly, that you couldn’t stop the strange, guttural sounds bubbling up from your throat, high-pitched keens that shattered into animalistic whimpers you didn’t recognize as your own. “toji—ahh—fuck, i can’t—nngh. . .” your eyes rolling back deep into your skull until the world blurred into a hazy white void where you swore you could see the sparking edges of your own brain firing off in overload, mixed with exploding stars that danced like christmas lights strung across the night sky, bright and blinding.
it felt good—so fucking good—that even through the tears streaking hot down your cheeks and the burn in your folded limbs, a delirious, lopsided smile tugged at your lips, cheeks flushed and glowing in the dim firelight, your antlers catching the orange flickers as they tilted with every jolt of your head, body surrendering completely to the rhythm he set, thighs quivering around his waist while your tail flicked erratically against the rug.
your hands reached out blindly again, fingers trembling and desperate for more contact, more of his warm, scarred skin to ground you amid the storm of sensation, brushing over his flexing abs, his broad chest, anything to feel the solid heat of him beyond the overwhelming fullness stretching your cunt to its limits.
toji cooed low and teasing above you, the sound vibrating through his chest as it pressed closer to yours, green eyes half-lidded and gleaming with lazy amusement even as his hips never faltered in their rough, claiming pace. “aww, sweetheart, gettin’ all sensitive and sentimental on me now?” he drawled, voice unbothered and rough around the edges, laced with that gentle sarcasm that made your heart stutter even as his cock pistoned deeper, folding you in half more with the weight of his body leaning down.
he pulled his large hand away from where it had been splayed possessively over your stomach, feeling the bulge of himself inside you, and instead captured one of your seeking hands in his, lacing your smaller fingers through his thick ones with a firm squeeze, while your other hand, already near his mouth from your frantic reaching, brushed his scarred lips.
he turned his head slightly, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your palm, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he muffled a low groan into it. “fuck, yeah... that’s my good little deer, holdin’ on tight while i stuff this pretty cunt full.” the praise rolled out lazy and filthy, his tongue flicking out to trace the lines of your palm before he sucked gently at the base of your thumb, eyes locked on yours through the haze.
those praises, even drenched in his dirty drawl, twisted something deep inside you—igniting fresh sparks that made your walls clamp down harder around his thrusting cock, slick gushing out in thick waves that coated his balls and the dark curls at his base, turning every rough plunge into a wet, obscene symphony of skin slapping skin, louder than the dying crackle of the fire casting long shadows over your tangled forms.
toji gave your palm more lingering kisses, slow and deliberate, lips dragging soft and wet across the sensitive skin before trailing lower to your wrist, nipping gently at the thin flesh there where your pulse thundered under his mouth, humming approval at the frantic beat as if it were music to him. “so damn responsive,” he murmured against your inner arm, voice muffled but husky, hips snapping forward harder now, the angle making his cock grind deep against that spongy spot inside you that pulled another shattered moan from your lips, “toji—oh. . . deeper, please.” your free hand fisting tighter in his sweat-damp hair, nails scraping his scalp as you tugged, urging him on.
he continued the path without rush, kisses turning to lazy sucks along the curve of your arm, teeth grazing just enough to leave faint red marks blooming on your flushed skin as he reached the bare, sweat-slick slope of your shoulder, nuzzling there briefly before biting down soft and possessive, soothing the sting immediately with his tongue.
“hate christmas, y’know,” he rasped against your collarbone, voice dropping lower as his mouth dipped further, lips brushing the swell of one breast, “all that fake cheer and bullshit lights... but fuck, your sweet deer pussy’s makin’ it enjoyable for once—warm and tight like the best damn present i could unwrap.” the words were pure filth, wrapped in lazy praise that made your toes curl, body arching higher into him as he finally sealed his mouth hot and wet around your nipple, sucking hard with a flick of his tongue that sent lightning straight to your clit.
your eyes squeezed shut tight, lashes clumping with fresh tears of overwhelm, the world narrowing to the brutal snap of his hips driving his cock impossibly deeper, the wet heat of his mouth on your tit, and the solid grip of his hand still laced with yours, grounding you even as pleasure threatened to shatter you completely.
your free hand stayed buried in his hair, fingers tangling and tugging harder every time he thrust in rough, the head of his cock nudging so deep you felt it press against your lower belly from inside, a faint bulge that made your breath hitch. “toji—i feel it—ahh—there, right there.” earning a low, guttural groan from him muffled against your breast as he sucked harder, teeth grazing the peaked nipple before soothing with his tongue.
“yeah? feel me rearrangin’ your guts, darlin’?” he pulled off with a wet pop, eyes flicking up to watch your face contort in bliss, smirk curling lazy even as sweat dripped from his brow. “that's my filthy hybrid—tuggin’ my hair like that baby, milkin’ this cock so good... gonna make me spill every drop in this ripe little cunt, breed you till you’re glowin’ like a damn tree.” his hips pounded faster then, rougher, the praise spilling endless as he chased the edge with you, bodies slick and trembling on the fire-warmed rug, the christmas night stretching infinite in the haze of heat and need.
toji pulled away from your tits with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over the swollen nipple, leaving it glistening wet and aching in the cool air that whispered through the room from the snow-sealed windows, his green eyes lifting lazy to meet yours—pure bliss etched across your flushed face, lips parted in that delirious smile, tears clinging to your lashes like dew on pine needles, antlers tilted back against the rug as your body trembled beneath him, every muscle taut and quivering from the relentless pound of his hips.
he held still for a breath, cock buried deep to the hilt, grinding slow against your fluttering walls just to watch the way your expression shattered further, then smirked that crooked, scarred pull of his mouth, voice dropping low and rough even as he rolled his hips once, hard, nudging that bulge in your belly again. “you glad you got separated from the others, sweetheart?” he drawled, unbothered and lazy, thumb brushing over your knuckles in the hand still laced with his, like he was commenting on the weather while his cock throbbed hot inside you.
“cause i’m sure as hell glad i decided to head into those woods earlier—fuck, if i hadn’t, i’d be missin’ out on this sweet cunt for the rest of my life... feels like i’d lose ten years just thinkin’ about it, leavin’ my deer all alone and unfucked.”
you couldn’t even form words—your mouth opened on a helpless whimper, tongue heavy and mind fogged, the pleasure coiling so tight in your belly that all that came out was blabbering nonsense. “toji—ahh, can’t—nngh—close, so close.” body arching high off the rug, thighs clamping around his waist like a vice, slick walls pulsing wildly around his cock as the edge rushed up fast, heat season burning through every nerve until you were nothing but sensation.
tears spilling fresh down your temples, ears twitching back flat against your skull in desperate surrender. the smile on your lips widened, broken and euphoric, as your free hand tugged harder in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him deeper even though he was already splitting you open so completely, the wet slap of his balls against your ass echoing filthy in the firelit room.
he chuckled low, the sound rumbling against your skin as he leaned closer, folding you even tighter beneath him, your leg over his shoulder pressing your knee to your chest, opening you impossibly wider for the brutal thrusts that followed—harder now, rougher, hips slamming forward with a force that jolted your whole body, cock dragging out to the tip before pounding back in, chasing that clench he felt building in your cunt.
“yeah? can’t talk, huh? too busy cummin’ on my cock like a good little deer?” he teased, voice husky and sarcastic-gentle, eyes locked on your rolling ones as he fucked you through it, the pace turning punishing, every thrust grinding his dark curls against your clit, sending sparks exploding behind your eyelids. “come on, baby—let go for me, soak this cock with your cum... fuck, that’s it—ahh—squeeze me just like that."
the coil snapped then—white-hot and shattering—your back bowing off the carpet in a sharp arch, antlers scraping deep grooves into the fibers as a scream tore from your throat, “toji—fuck, fuck, fuckkkk. . . cumming, ahh god—” cunt clamping down like a trap around his pistoning cock, walls spasming wildly, slick gushing out in hot waves that soaked his balls and dripped down onto the rug beneath you, pleasure crashing through your body in endless, trembling pulses that left you sobbing, smiling, shaking as he fucked you harder through it, not slowing, hips slamming rough and deep to prolong every flutter.
your hand in his hair pulled tight, the other squeezing his fingers white-knuckled, body convulsing beneath him as the orgasm ripped you apart, stars bursting brighter behind your closed lids, the heat finally breaking in a flood of bliss that made your toes curl and your tail flick frantic against his thigh.
toji groaned low and ragged, feeling your cunt milk him mercilessly, his own control fraying at the edges as he chased his climax right on the heels of yours—thrusts turning erratic, harder, pounding into your oversensitive walls without mercy, the wet sounds obscene and echoing as slick squelched between your bodies.
“fuck—gonna breed you now, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice breaking rough against your ear as he leaned down fully, crushing you under his weight, mouth brushing your neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses. “hope you’re ready to get knocked up by a human on christmas—gonna fill this ripe deer pussy so full of my cum you’ll be leakin’ for days... ahh—take it, deer, every drop.”
the thought hit you like another wave—pregnant by him, belly swelling with his seed, the image filthy and intoxicating in your heat-addled mind—and your spent cunt clenched tighter around him, gripping his cock like it never wanted to let go, milking him deeper as fresh slick pulsed out. he cursed in bliss, hips stuttering once, twice.
“shit—yeah, you like that? like gettin’ bred by me?” before slamming in one last time, burying deep as he spilled hot and thick inside you, cock throbbing with every heavy spurt, flooding your walls until it leaked out around his base, mixing with your slick in a warm, sticky mess that dripped down your ass. he groaned long and low against your shoulder.
“fuck—yesss—my good little deer, takin’ it all like a christmas miracle,” he groan, hips grinding slow circles to push his cum deeper, riding out the aftershocks while you whimpered beneath him, sensitive and full, body still trembling in the glow of release, the fire crackling softly as the christmas night wrapped around you both in exhausted, sated warmth.
he stayed buried deep inside you for what felt like an eternity after the last thick spurt of his cum flooded your walls, hips grinding slow, lazy circles that pushed his seed deeper, mixing with your slick until it leaked out in warm, sticky rivulets around his base, dripping down your ass to pool on the rug beneath you in a filthy testament to how thoroughly he’d bred you.
his chest heaved against yours, sweat-slick skin sticking and sliding as he caught his breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, dark hair damp and falling over his scarred face while the fire crackled lower now, embers glowing soft orange across the room, casting long, wavering shadows that danced over your tangled limbs and the faint bulge still visible in your lower belly where he filled you so completely.
your body trembled in the aftershocks, cunt fluttering weakly around his softening cock, milking the last drops from him as oversensitivity made every tiny shift send sparks skittering up your spine, thighs quivering uncontrollably around his waist, leg still hooked loosely over his shoulder even as your muscles screamed from being folded so long.
tears dried sticky on your cheeks, but that delirious smile lingered on your lips, soft and sated, ears twitching faint against the rug, antlers tilted at an exhausted angle while your fingers stayed tangled loosely in his hair, the other hand still laced with his, palms slick with sweat.
toji lifted his head slow, green eyes half-lidded and dark with satisfaction, scar pulling as his mouth curved into that familiar lazy smirk, voice coming out rough and low, unbothered even after everything. “fuck, sweetheart... look at you,” he murmured, thumb brushing slow over your knuckles in the hand he held, hips giving one last shallow grind that pulled a weak whimper from your throat, “nngh—toji.” your walls clenching instinctively around him again.
he hummed approval, leaning down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen lips, tongue flicking lazy to taste the salt of your tears and the lingering sweetness of your moans. “all bred and glowin’ like a proper deer... hate the holiday, y’know—too much fake bullshit and glitter—but damn if your hybrid cunt didn’t just make it my favorite one yet. warm, tight, milkin’ me dry like you were waitin’ your whole heat for a me to stuff you full.”
you could only whimper in response, body too spent for words, a soft, broken “ahh...” slipping out as he shifted slightly, cock still half-hard inside you, stirring the mess he'd made. your free hand slid from his hair to trace lazy down his scarred back, fingers brushing the sweat there, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch even in exhaustion.
he chuckled low against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you again, eyes tracing the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow pants, nipples still peaked and glistening from his earlier attention. “can’t even talk, huh? too full of my cum to think straight?” his tone was gentle sarcasm, teasing without bite.
he finally eased out slow—agonizingly slow—the thick drag of his cock pulling free with a wet sound that made you both groan, his seed immediately leaking out in thick globs, coating your folds and dripping down to the rug. he watched it with dark fascination, thumb reaching down to swipe through the mess, spreading it lazy over your swollen clit just to feel you jerk weakly, “toji—sensitive. . .” your hips twitching away even as your body arched for more.
“yeah, i know,” he drawled, unbothered, bringing that thumb to his mouth to lick clean, eyes locked on yours as he tasted the mix of you both. “but look at this pretty mess... my deer all bred and leakin’. gonna keep you like this all night, darlin’—plugged full, warm by the fire. maybe round two when you stop shakin’.”
he shifted then, rolling to his side but pulling you with him, keeping your bodies tangled, your leg draped over his hip as he tucked you against his chest, one big hand splaying possessive over your lower belly where his cum still filled you deep. “best damn present i never asked for,” he muttered against your hair, lips brushing the base of one antler in a soft, unexpected kiss, voice dropping lazy and content. “merry fuckin’ christmas to me.”
THEY ACCIDENTALLY PROPOSE DURING AN ARGUMENT PART ONE | PART TWO here
Includes: Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, Bokuto Koutaro, Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi
TW: slight angst, no biggie
★ OIKAWA TOORU
It had started small, the way it always did. A sharp comment over dinner, your voice too flat when you asked if he was even listening. He’d just come back from practice, sore and distracted from a long day, his phone buzzing with messages from his teammates and coaches.The tension simmered over the silence until one wrong look, one poorly timed sigh, lit the whole room ablaze.
Now, the storm was in full swing.
“You never take me seriously. You come home, you barely speak to me about anything other than volleyball—and when I talk? You don’t even entertain what I have to say!” you snapped, arms crossed tight, nails digging into your own skin. The apartment around you felt claustrophobic—lamps casting long shadows, the faint hum of the fridge too loud in the silence between your words. “All you care about is volleyball. The cameras, the edits, the social media attention that you get from everyone other than me. I don’t even know if you see me anymore.”
Oikawa froze mid-pace, then spun back toward you, brown eyes sparking with indignation. “That is absolutely not true! Don’t you dare say that—don’t! You think this life is easy for me? You think I don’t come home aching, exhausted, with every bone in my body screaming—”
“You chose this! This is your career—you knew exactly what you signed up for!” Your voice rose, cutting sharp through his. “You chose volleyball. You chose to chase your dreams—you chose to chase something so big, something so much larger than life and now there’s no room left for me. And you act like I should just be grateful to stand in your shadow and wait my turn to be seen. All I want it so be seen by you!”
His breath hitched, fury flashing across his face. His hands went to his hair, yanking it back until it stood messily, his chest rising and falling too fast. “You think I want you in my shadow? I never wanted that, I couldn’t imagine making you feel that way. Damn it, I want you beside me—”
“Beside you?” You laughed, hollow and trembling. “No one stands beside you. Everyone in your life follows behind you or they get left behind! You take every opportunity you can to stand out, to make everything about yourself! That’s what being with you feels like.”
The silence after was brutal, heavy as lead. You could see the blow land; his jaw clenched so hard you half-expected it to crack. He turned his back for a moment, shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping his voice even.
“Do you really mean that?” he said finally, his tone razor-sharp, “You don’t know me at all if that’s what you’re saying.”
Your throat tightened, but the anger pushed you forward. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I don’t want to know you anymore.”
And that—those words, small and cruel as a knife’s edge—shattered something in him. He spun back to you, eyes blazing, tears barely restrained at the edges of his anger.
“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, stepping closer. His voice shook now, less fury, more desperation. “Don’t you dare say you’re wasting your time with me. Do you have any idea what you are to me?”
“I never said that I was wasting my time—“
“That’s what it feels like, y/n!”
You opened your mouth, but before you could, he cracked wide open.
“Fine! You want to know how serious I am about you? You want proof that I see you? Then marry me. I’ll marry you right now if that’s what it takes for you to understand! And I have the ring—had it for months. It’s in the cabinet in the kitchen that you can’t reach without my help.”
The words reverberated in the room, louder than either of you intended. His hands shook, clenched tight at his sides, his chest heaving like he’d just finished a match. The bravado slipped almost instantly, leaving him looking stricken by his own admission.
“I…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I wasn’t supposed to say it like that.” He swallowed, throat bobbing as he took a step closer, softer now, the raw truth spilling out. “But I mean it. I’ve always meant it. You’re not in my shadow—you’re the only thing I can see when the lights go out. You’re the only person I want to come home to.”
For once, Oikawa Tooru looked small—no sarcastic grin, no dramatic mask, just a boy trembling in the center of your living room, confessing in the ugliest, truest way possible.
And outside, the rain tapped steady against the windowpane, the city holding its breath for whatever you would say next.
⸻
★ IWAIZUMI HAJIME
You found him in the kitchen, shoulders hunched over the counter, hands braced on either side of his phone. The glow of the screen lit his face in harsh blue, jaw tight, lips pressed into a line. He didn’t even flinch when you stepped in.
“Hajime?” you asked softly. “What’s going on?”
He locked the phone, flipped it face down like a guilty reflex. “Nah, it’s nothing. Just work shit.”
“Hmm. Just work shit,” you echoed, crossing your arms. “You’ve been saying that all week. You barely look me in the eye anymore, you stay late at practice, you’ve been coming home more tense than usual and pretend you’re fine. Don’t lie to me. Talk to me, what’s going on?”
His nostrils flared, and for a moment, he looked cornered. “I’m not lying to you. I’m just…dealing with a lot right now. I’m handling it.”
The words lit a fuse in your chest. “Handling what? Baby, you come home and don’t talk to me about anything. You don’t even come to bed. Like, am I not worth the conversation? Or do you just not trust me enough with what’s going on.”
The kitchen felt suddenly smaller, air thick with your voice bouncing off the cabinets, the fridge humming like static. He straightened, arms crossing over his chest, a wall you knew too well.
“This isn’t about trust. I just—don’t want to dump this on you, okay? You’ve got enough going on without my shit, alright?”
Your laugh came out sharp, bitter. “So you get to decide that for me?You get to carry this weight—all of it alone while I sit here wondering why the hell the man I live with feels like a stranger?”
“Baby—I’m trying to protect you!” His voice finally cracked, louder than he meant. He scrubbed a hand over his face, hair spiking from the motion. “Do you think it’s easy for me? Coming home and seeing you exhausted, stressed out, and then what—I pile my own shit on top of you? No. I won’t do that to you. It’s my job to protect you from unnecessary stress—“
You stepped forward, heart pounding, heat rising to your throat. “Protect me? I’m not some fragile thing that needs protecting, Hajime! I’m your partner. You’re supposed to come to me, you’re supposed to confide in me, you’re supposed to be honest with me. Instead, you shut me out and bottle everything up until it explodes—like this!”
His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “Babe, you don’t get it.”
“No,” you shot back, tears stinging your eyes, “you don’t get it. Every time you hide something from me, it feels like you’re saying I’m not enough. Not strong enough, not trustworthy enough, not important enough for you to let me in. Do you know what that does to me?”
That one hit. His face faltered, eyes widening like you’d just torn through the armor he’d been holding together with bare hands. He took a breath, sharp and shaky, chest rising too fast.
“I—” He started, then stopped, words choking out of him like they’d been locked up too long. His voice dropped, rough and raw. “You are enough, you always have been. You’re the only one I want to lean on, the only one I want to talk to—and I have. This is just different, baby.”
Your silence was heavy, trembling, waiting as you stared at him.
“Something else is going on. Im not saying anything, but you aren’t being honest with me about something.” Your voice was stern, bordering an anger that festered in your chest.
“Fine, you really wanna know what’s been on my mind? Why I can’t fucking sleep?”
“Yes, I do.” Your arms folded over your chest, foot tapping, heart racing.
He swallowed hard, nostrils flared. “I just bought you an engagement ring.” He was visibly irritated, voice raised. “I haven’t been able to sleep all week because I’ve been thinking about proposing to you and what I’d do if you said no.”
The words shot through the tension, reckless, bare. His hands balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white, as if bracing himself against the weight of his own confession. “If you, for one second, think that I don’t trust you, you’re wrong. You’re the only person I’ve ever trusted with my entire heart. You are my better half. I just don’t know how to do this without screwing it up. But I know I want you—for the rest of my life. So if you marry me, I’ll prove it every day.”
The fight still lingered in the air, jagged and raw, but in his voice there was nothing but desperation — a vow cracked open too soon, in the middle of the mess, like it had been clawing its way out for months.
For once, Iwaizumi Hajime looked unsteady, standing in your kitchen with his heart in his hands, waiting for you to either take it or leave him undone.
⸻
★ BOKUTO KOUTARU
The slam of the front door rattled the apartment, and Bokuto’s voice followed it, already too loud for the small apartment.
“I don’t get what I did wrong!” His bag was thrown to the floor, shoes kicked off carelessly. His hair was still damp from the shower at the gym, sticking to his forehead, chest heaving from the leftover adrenaline of practice.
You stood by the couch, arms crossed, refusing to let your voice shake. “You forgot, Koutaro. Again. You promised me that you’d be there tonight.”
His face twisted, hands flying out in exasperation. “I had a last minute team dinner, there was no way out of it. We were meeting with the marketing team for our next tour!”
“This isn’t just about dinner, Koutarou. You knew that this night was important to me—you promised me you’d get out of anything related to work. This was my best presentation yet—this was my night! And you weren’t there. You didn’t even text me.”
That landed like a spike straight into his chest. He opened his mouth, closed it, then started pacing, socks squeaking against the floorboards. “I’m sorry, okay? I messed up. But do you have to make it sound like I don’t care about you? You’re everything to me!”
“Then why don’t I ever feel like it?” The words shot out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take them back. The apartment went quiet, save for his uneven breathing and the faint hum of the streetlights outside.
Bokuto froze, shoulders sagging like you’d physically struck him. His lower lip trembled, his voice catching somewhere between anger and despair. “That’s not fair.”
“You think it’s fair for me to sit alone in a room full of people, waiting for you to show up, pretending that I’m not hurt?” Your voice cracked, eyes burning. “Sometimes you make me feel invisible, Koutarou. Like my ambition, my career, my dreams don’t matter to you. I don’t feel supported in my endeavors.”
He flinched, stumbling back like the word itself had knocked the air out of him. His hands tangled in his hair, tugging, his voice breaking apart. “You aren’t invisible to me, baby. You think I don’t see you? I see your hard work, the passion behind your work! You think I don’t—” He stopped, choking on the words, and then his whole chest heaved as they tore out of him:
“You know what? Fuck it—just marry me. ”
It came out raw, desperate, too loud. His eyes were wide and wet, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted down the court. “Marry me so you’ll never think that you don’t matter to me again. Marry me so you’ll know—every single day—that you’re the only thing I see, even when I’m a screw-up, even when I fall through, even when I’m the worst version of myself.”
The silence that followed was brutal. His hands dropped uselessly to his sides, trembling. His voice softened, cracked.
“I was gonna make it special. I bought a ring. It’s been in my gym bag for weeks because I know it’s the only place you wouldn’t find it. I wanted to wait for the right moment.” His laugh was broken, hollow. “Guess I’m not good at waiting.”
And there he was: Bokuto Koutarou, the loudest man in the room, suddenly looking small, undone, his whole heart laid bare between the broken pieces of an argument.
⸻
★ MIYA ATSUMU my baby
Your voice cracked as you shoved the door open, storming into the humid night. The slam of the door echoed down the quiet street, the sound of your footsteps slapping the pavement.
“Don’t walk away from me!” Atsumu’s voice thundered after you, raw and furious, door slamming open, chasing you down the front steps of his apartment building. His bare feet hit the concrete as he sprinted after you, hair wild, shirt twisted on his frame like he hadn’t even managed to pull it on right, his expression carved with frustration and something sharper underneath.
You spun on him under the harsh glow of the streetlight, voice breaking as you shouted, “What else am I supposed to do, Atsumu? You don’t come home, you don’t answer when I call, you act like a stranger—and now you can’t even look me in the eye when I ask where you’ve been. What am I supposed to think?”
His hands flew out, helpless, exasperated. “Not that! Damn it, baby, not that!”
“What then?!” Tears blurred your vision, hot and relentless. “Tell me, Atsumu! Because right now, it feels like you’re lying to me. It feels like you’re hiding something—or someone.”
That word hit him like a fist. His whole body snapped forward, eyes blazing, chest rising too fast. “Don’t fuckin’ say that,” he growled, low and dangerous.
“What else am I supposed to think?!”
He cracked.
The words split him open. His face twisted, anger and pain colliding, and he barked out, “I WASN’T CHEATIN’ ON YA!” his voice splitting the night wide open.
Lights flickered on in two different windows above you. Someone hissed, “Can you shut up!” from a balcony. Neither of you cared.
Atsumu’s voice shook as he pointed a finger at his chest, his whole body trembling with the force of holding himself together. “I wasn’t cheatin’ on ya babygirl, I would never do that to you! I was—I was—fuck—” He dug into his pocket, yanking something out with shaking hands. The little velvet box was so worn it looked like he’d been carrying it everywhere, squeezing it to death.
Your breath caught.
He snapped it open, ring glittering in the harsh streetlight. His knees buckled, and before you could process it, he was kneeling on the cold, wet pavement, tears streaking down his furious face.
“I was buyin’ you this!” he shouted, voice breaking ragged. “I’ve been sneakin’ off, lyin’, stressin’ myself sick ‘cause I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted the words to come out right. I wanted the moment to be beautiful—not this.” He slammed the box against his chest, laugh splintering into a sob.
The night went dead silent, except for the thrum of your pulse in your ears. You blinked, the fight stalling in your throat.
Your lips parted, words caught somewhere between disbelief and heartbreak. “You bought me a ring?”
He nodded once, quick and jerky, then dropped to one knee right there on the cracked sidewalk, under the yellow glow of the streetlamp. His hands were shaking as he pried open the box, revealing the simple, gleaming band inside. His voice cracked when he looked up at you.
“Marry me. Please. I don’t care that it’s ugly like this, in the middle of a fight, with the neighbors watchin’.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, desperate. “I can’t stand ya thinkin’ I don’t want ya, that I’d ever choose anyone else other than you. You’re it for me, y/n. Always have been. I can’t do life without ya—I won’t.”
The whole street felt like it had gone still — the air, the lights, even the rain-slick pavement underfoot. Atsumu Miya, brash and arrogant and impossible, knelt trembling before you, his messy truth finally spilling out into the night.
⸻
★ SAKUSA KIYOOMI
The silence had stretched between you for days, and now it was breaking, sharp and brittle like cracked glass. You stood in the narrow hallway of his apartment, arms crossed, jaw tight, the evening light falling across your face in harsh lines.
“You’re impossible,” you spat finally, voice shaking despite your attempt to stay calm. “I can’t—how am I supposed to be with someone who… who doesn’t even let me in?”
Sakusa leaned against the wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets, expression unreadable. His hair fell just enough to shadow his eyes, and you could feel the distance in him pressing against your chest. “I let you in,” he said quietly, too quietly. “You just… don’t notice.”
“Don’t notice?” You laughed bitterly. “Don’t notice? I’ve been here. I’ve tried, every day. And you… you close off. You shut me out. I don’t know what you’re thinking half the time. I feel like I’m just—waiting around for… for something.”
He said nothing at first, letting your words hit like stones. Then his voice came low, careful, controlled. “I don’t shut you out. I… I just don’t—” He paused, jaw tight. “I don’t want to make mistakes. I don’t want to—hurt you.”
Your chest ached at the quiet confession, the words crawling under your skin. “Then stop hiding. Stop treating me like I can’t handle it.”
A long silence followed. He finally pushed off the wall, stepping closer, each footfall deliberate, deliberate in the way only Sakusa’s movements could be. Your heart thumped so hard it drowned out the city sounds beyond the window.
“I wasn’t hiding from you,” he said, voice softer now, almost breaking. “I… I just—” He pulled something small from his pocket, a box, weight heavy in his hand. “I was planning something. I wanted it to be right. I wanted it to be perfect.”
You blinked, confusion cutting through the hurt. “What… what is that?”
He swallowed, eyes flicking away, then back, calm and steady. “I—” He dropped to one knee, box open, the ring catching the dim light like a secret flame. “I can’t stand holding this in anymore. I love you. I need you to know I’ve always needed you. Will you… marry me?”
The words hit harder than any argument, heavier than any silence. The hurt, the anger, the fear—they all collided with the raw honesty in his eyes. His hands shook slightly, just enough to betray the storm he kept inside.
You stared, breath caught, heart thundering, and the walls you’d both built for months cracked. “Sakusa…” you whispered.
“Say yes,” he urged quietly, voice low, almost a plea. “I can’t promise perfection. I can’t promise I’ll always know the right thing to say. But I can promise you this—I’ll never shut you out again. Not like this. Not ever.”
The city outside faded, the argument forgotten, leaving only the two of you and the weight of everything unsaid finally coming to light.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I haven’t written angst in so long lol. Also, happy to be back, my cat is doing so much better. Hopefully things stay that way. Anyway—tell me what you think and if we want a part two?
sugardaddy!toji gets off when you spend his money ! ( ≧ᗜ≦)
toji’s office is cold and uninviting, a stark contrast to the heat trapped between your bodies as you recklessly bounce up, down, up, down on his cock.
“there’s my — hahh — good girl,” he grunts, one hand swirling whiskey in an expensive-looking glass while the other palms the fat of your ass. “always s’fuckin’ eager to ride me.”
you nod your head with drool staining his taut button down. his weeping tip affectionately kisses your cervix over and over in a lewd shlck! shlck! shlck! echoing throughout the bleak workspace.
suddenly, your attention is brought to something else: your brand new phone on the armrest, screen lit up with a following bzz! and much to toji’s dismay, the roll of your hips naturally slow down, curiously picking it up.
“oh my god!” you’re immediately squealing, arms wrapping back around his neck with your cunt still stuffed full, beaming with sudden excitement compared to how dumb you were going on his thick length just moments ago. “the package you bought me is being shipped today!”
the older man downed a swig of his whiskey and leaned closer to your earlobe. his hot breath fans over your skin and has you shuddering, tone becoming lower and dark.
“yeah?” he grunts, thrusting into you with twice as much force as before. “which one?”
just the idea of you spending every dime he had left, milking both his cock and his wallet, drove him insane. having you being so financially dependent on him, giving him all the control over everything you owned, had toji’s stamina increasing more than it would’ve with the likes of boner medication.
“t-the— fuck! — uhh,” you stutter, brain collecting fog with every snap of his frantic hips bucking into your gummy walls at such a meaner pace. your words were reduced to incoherent babbles as you grew closer to your high already.
“shh, y’don’t need to think, doll.” toji’s voice is dripping with a mixture of mockery and desire, grabbing and squeezing every inch of your smaller frame like you were an addictive drug. “jus’ go dumb on daddy’s dick like you’re s’posed to, mm?”
and you did, thick white ropes of cum spurting in a ring around his girthy cock without much of a warning. there’s nothing toji loved more than spoiling his little girl!
a/n thank u mimi @an9els for this idea i wanna bang u . . . i proofread for the first time who is proud of me ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა
🎼 @tojislver @tojipie @an9els @sytorusdoll @creamkissed @laburantesdoll @pupsizedgf @naammiii @uhnosav
❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞ ⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader
>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡
>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga. >>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k
𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.
You aren’t Enjin’s type.
That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.
Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?
Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?
But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over.
All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring.
Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.
Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.
You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.
Keh, interesting.
With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…
Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.
Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him.
Fuck, you have a mean right hand.
Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there.
“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out.
Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city.
The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.
Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.
Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.
When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.
“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips.
You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!
“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”
Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.
“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.”
Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.
Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.
However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.
Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance.
Yeah, not your fault. Enjin thinks and cuts you a break.
For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.
Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them.
At least—not yet.
But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem:
You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.
Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.
Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.
Not after he saved you.
Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.
And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.
“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”
“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.
Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.
The fuck?!
Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.
But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat.
While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.
Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.
It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.
Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.
He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.
A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?
Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.
Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.
Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected.
However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.
But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.
You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.
It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.
And yet?
Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you.
Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him.
Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.
Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.”
He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.
“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!”
You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.
“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.”
“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”
You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.
It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him.
There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.
Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.
Doesn’t mean anything.
Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.
It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.
All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”
So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.
You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.
Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.
“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.
Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.
You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.
You think you actually recognize it.
Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.
You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness.
“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.
“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”
You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.
“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”
“HAH?!”
Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.
He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.
When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.
“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”
You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.
You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs.
“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.
Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.
“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”
From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.
Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.
You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.
His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.
“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.”
Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.
“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”
Ouch.
Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.
However…
You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.
…that doesn’t make it worthless.
Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is.
Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.
Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.
Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.
“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”
Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.
“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”
Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.
“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”
Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.
Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.
“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.
Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.
“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”
Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.
“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.
Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon.
“Ugh! Fine!”
You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.
“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”
Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.
“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”
Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”
While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.
Heh, time to pull out the big guns.
“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”
You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.
“You’re not serious.”
But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later. You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.
Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:
“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”
Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.
“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”
Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.
“Open.”
Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.
“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”
You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.
Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.
The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.
“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”
The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell.
Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.
“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”
You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.
“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”
Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle.
Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.
Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.
“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”
You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for.
Whoops.
Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state.
It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.
Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.
The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue.
You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one.
But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.
And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.
Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.
Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.
Is it hotter in here, or—?
Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.
Not that he’s jealous or nothing.
Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.
However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.
Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.
Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—
“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”
Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.
“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”
For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.
You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp.
“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”
Huh? What does he mean that isn’t—
You freeze.
Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.
“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”
Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.
Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak.
You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.
“Heh.”
The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.
There’s no way that’s his dick!
Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’
“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”
Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.
“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”
Your eyes meet his dead-on.
“I do.”
“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”
Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.
The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.
“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.
You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it.
Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.
“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”
Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.
But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly.
“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”
You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.
There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock!
He had to be the one fucking with you here.
Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.
But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else.
Yeah. Science.
Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real.
“C’mon now…”
Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.
“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”
Shit. You knew it was intentional?
“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”
The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.
“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”
Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.
Christ.
With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath.
Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small?
Or is your pussy print just that fat?
Enjin gulps, mouth dry.
His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.
After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs.
All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.
“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”
“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.”
Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.
“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”
Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway.
However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.
For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.
Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.
Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.
Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.
You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life.
Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.
“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.
“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”
Bullshit!
Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.
“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”
Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.
“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”
Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth.
Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.
Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger.
There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.
Truly, though—you are in awe.
Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.
Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.
But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now.
It was never you.
The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric.
Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him.
Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.
“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”
You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs.
“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses.
His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.
“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”
Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.
How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?
Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.
Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.
“Heh… fuck… you really tryna kill me, huh, Princess? Fuckin’ tease…”
You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat.
“May I?”
Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut.
“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy. And best of all?
Meant just for him.
Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.
“Keh. Do you, boo.”
Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy.
Good God, he’s a big boy!
Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.
Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like.
You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.
Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material.
You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip. Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.
“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”
Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.
You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.
“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”
Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw.
“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”
Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away. But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.
If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.
Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined.
And he’d imagined it plenty.
Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you.
You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak?
Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.
“Hate it?”
Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick.
“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”
If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.
You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.
“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”
Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.
“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”
If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions.
Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy.
On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.
Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.
“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”
Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it.
Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch.
Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.
Oh fuck, even his fingers are big!
A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.
Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time.
To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late.
He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.
“HAHH—FUHH!”
Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you. Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.
Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop.
“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”
Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.
“Oh fuck me… you’re a nasty lil’ Trash Princess, aren’t you?”
You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.
“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.
All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.
You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.
You need him to get hard again—immediately!
Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute. His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.
But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.
You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top. Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.
Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up.
Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.
“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”
You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.
Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying.
“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”
You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.
“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”
The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.
Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?
But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.
“Too s-slow!” You groan.
Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.
Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now.
Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles.
“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”
Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.
You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.
But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.
Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.
Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair!
Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.
The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.
Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.
“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”
The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.
Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.
“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”
Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.
The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him.
“Run that back.”
Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.
The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck.
You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs.
“I…I did it.”
Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.
Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.
Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.
Because honestly?
Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect.
For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you.
How could he even look at another woman after this?
One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.
Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.
Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him.
Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.
“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up.
But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully.
“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?”
Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.
“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”
Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.
Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.
Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.
“Shiiiiit!”
Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.
“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.”
SMACK!
Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.
“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”
SMACK!
“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him.
Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.
Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward.
“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.
The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.
“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.
The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.
“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”
Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you.
“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”
Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.
“Bet.”
Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.
Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get.
Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.
All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram.
The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.
“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!”
Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.
Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you.
If you never—
Enjin cuts the thought off cold.
Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back.
Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.
Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’.
“Enjin?”
Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.
“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”
Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.
But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment.
Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.
His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—
If you never fell.
But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:
If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself.
Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?
If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you. He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.
But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.
“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.
“....right, here.”
Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.
“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.
Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.
You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication.
“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”
As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.
Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude
“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…”
You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head.
“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”
It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral.
“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”
Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck.
“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”
Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.
“FUHHHH—take it!”
Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.
In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms.
Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit.
“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”
Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.
“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”
Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.
“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”
Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.
“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”
Cumbringer!?
Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners.
Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.
Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.
“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”
When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.
“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”
You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.
⛓
Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.
Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.
Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.
Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?
Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.
Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.
A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.
“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.
Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.
“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked.
The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.
Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.
“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket.
Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.
“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”
Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.
“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly.
Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.
“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”
Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now.
“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.”
Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.
She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”
Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life.
Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.
“One more thing.”
Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.
“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”
Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.”
Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.
“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”
Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.
Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.
“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”
Call? Oh, heh.
“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily.
It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.
“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”
Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.
“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh! She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”
Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.
Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats.
The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.
“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”
𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡
also, in case anyone is wondering—yes, reader's jinki is a labubu and yes, enjin just guilt tripped reader into growing him his own personal stash djhscjhdfj. banner: mash up of official manga + rororogi mogera 'last mall' doujin panels.
i’m soooo into invincible rn….i need viltrum mark so bad 😛😛😛!
━ HC aftercare beats it all (18+)
( main!mark grayson x girl!human!reader )
HEADCANON: rough!mark grayson + his aftercare AUTHOR'S NOTE: hello this was based off this lovely request so kisses to whoever submitted that! my inbox is always open if any of you have ideas for main!mark hehe. all that i say warning-wise is that while it isn't non-con, the reader does get so uncomfortable that she has to use the safeword. aside from that, enjoy xoxo MDNI PUHLEASEEE
( the scene )
Lemme get something straight first and say that you using the safeword HAS NEVERRRR HAPPENED. Mark is excellent when it comes to using his superpowers for an advantage in bed, never for abuse.
He loves how he can manhandle you so easily or keep you in place exactly where he needs you to be. And he ALWAYS makes sure he's being careful with you- making sure he's not crushing you, making sure your expression in your face shows everything of pleasure and nothing of pain.
But...there was this one particular night that he'd fucked up.
It was after a shitty, rough mission. What should have been a simple in-and-out job turned into something torturous: hundreds of aliens plaguing the city with their psychic abilities- using mind control and hallucinations to turn one person on another. And the Guardians of the Globe weren't shy from these powers either. One of the aliens had sent Mark into an endless mind loop, showing images of the death of his loved ones and...you. By the time Mark had snapped out of it, he'd killed the alien in a blind-rage.
So, when he finally came home- your bedroom, he was all raw, shaken and barely holding it together. He was so desperate to ground himself in you, eager to let go of the headspace he was now put in.
Mark opened your window with trembling fingers, and when you eyed him up and down, his body told you everything that it was a rough fight.
Split lip, messy hair, blood on his jaw and that wild look in his eyes...
"Oh, Mark," You whisper, sympathy furrowing your brows as you grabbed his hand with tenderness and softness- a simple reminder that you were here and safe, "Why don't I run you a bath? And then we can eat ice-cream?" He was motionless. You frowned, "Or we can just cuddle?"
But, your words served no purpose in this moment because he was already releasing your hand off him and, with efficiency, he unshed his suit. With every inch of bruised and cut skin exposed to your orbs, he lowered and lowered more until...
Oh.
"Oh."
He was hard.
It's not the first time Mark's needed to fuck you after a fight or mission. In fact, it's probably the best sex you get- with all the pent-up frustration and adrenaline still pumping through his veins, he's gotta release it somewhere…
You could say it's the perks that come with having a superhero boyfriend
So, with no further questions, you let him take you as he pleases.
But this time it's...it doesn't feel right. Sure, he kissed you passionately as he backed you until you were sitting on the edge of your bed, and his hands were roaming every inch of your precious, delicate skin like he needed to make sure all parts of you were intact.
But, it just...it felt rushed and rough- there was not an ounce of praise slipping off his lips as it so easily does and if there were any words, it was-
"-Need you- fuck," He grumbled against your neck- your skin already trailed with deep, maroon-kissed hickeys. He had already pulled your pyjamas off, and you couldn't help but whine when you heard the tear of your favourite undies as he so effortlessly ripped them in half. Of course, they weren't anything expensive, but comfort beats labels- does it not? "Need you now, baby."
You'd hope that rubbing your arms up and down his biceps that pulsated with raging muscles and veins would have encouraged Mark to slow him down, "Mark, can you just- Mark!" You were cut off with a gasp at the harsh bite of his teeth on your skin- your soft, smooth, delicate fucking skin.
He. Fucking. Bit. You.
Mark never bit you. And sure, it didn't hurt enough for you to stop him, but God, were you gonna have a word with him.
So you had let it go, only to then choke again when Mark suddenly flipped you over so your stomach was resting on your bed. His calloused, large hands that usually reminded you of a flower's petals, or the bridge of a baby's nose now felt rough, harsh...unfamiliar.
You tried to push the feeling of discomfort that was arising away to the back of your brain, and better yet, bringing forward the phantom breathy moans of Mark's voice telling you how pretty you are and how you're doing so, so well for him amongst your racing mind.
But it wasn't until Mark brought your ass closer to him and he pushed your head down into the bed roughly and you actually couldn't move against his force did your heart begin to race, though not out of the usual excitement and arousal.
No, this was...this was panic- discomfort.
His cock was just grazing the entrance to your hole when you realised that he wasn't even going to stretch you, to prepare your walls for him, to...to even fucking please you.
So with a sharp inhale, you said it.
"Red!"
Once the word left your lips, Mark had stopped everything.
Let's just say that you using the safeword was the slap back to reality he didn’t know he needed.
He froze.
"Wait- what?" And when he flickered his eyes down to your face, screaming of seriousness and panic, he immediately took his hands off of you, "Baby- fuck," And he watched as you silently - definitely from the shock, not to ignore him - manoeuvred yourself so you could stand up and away from the bed.
And as he observed your figure with worried eyes while you walked around the room and picked up your pyjamas, he couldn't help but feel like his stomach just got punched worse than any villain ever could.
His voice changed immediately- from that deep, breathless edge to a broken concern, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
( the aftermath )
The aftermath was hard at first because aftercare was Mark's favourite part of sex, but clearly you weren't in a good headspace for that.
While he wanted nothing more than to curl his body around you, cuddling you until you fell asleep as he whispered his sorries, it's more important that you collected your feelings first.
So, the first thing he did was let you have your space.
You made him have a shower so you could sit in your bedroom by yourself- the one room that was your safe space now felt...ugh, it felt dull. And you hated that because all you wanted to do was shake whatever negative thoughts you had out of your brain, but you couldn't do that when your eyes wouldn't stop staring at your teared underwear on the floor.
You're not mad, nor upset at him- just frazzled at how uncomfortable and weird it was for you. It didn't feel like your boyfriend, your Mark.
Mark had the quickest shower he's ever had. Ignoring the aches his cuts winced against the hot water and soap, and his muscles whining with how efficiently he cleaned his dirty body- Mark was in and fucking out, not wasting any more of a second being away from you.
But, even after Mark got out of the shower and he frantically stumbled into your room with only a towel wrapped around his hips, you didn't look up at him- didn't want to.
And fuck, did it break his heart.
His baby, his sweet girl was like this because of him.
But, after you walked past him and began showering yourself, you did come eventually around. And thankfully, Mark was right there for you.
( the aftercare )
Cue Mark's aftercare!!
You just finished having your shower. And as you walked back into your room with wet hair and new pyjamas, you immediately noticed the difference in atmosphere in your bedroom; it didn't feel so sickeningly odd anymore, instead, it was oozing back into that familiar sense of safety and comfortability.
Your bedsheets were neatly fixed, and your bedroom lights had been flicked off, only the individual-lit candles circulating your room with warmth were the only lights provided for your eyes. There's a couple of sweets and snacks on your bedside table, along with a freshly filled water bottle (yes, it's got lots of ice too).
And Mark, now in sweats and a shirt he usually left at your place for emergencies like this, was just standing there...nervously.
"Is…is this okay?" He asked, immediately scratching the back of his neck, and if you really looked close enough you probably would've noticed the rosy-kissed blush spreading just below his jawline.
You tilted your head a little, examining the room just one last time before you attached your gaze back onto his. And, with a little smile, you nodded, "This is a start."
Mark sighed in relief.
Good. That's all that he needed so far.
Mark knew your weakness. He knew one of the many things that made you melt, made you feel at peace...
Warm blankets that were just fresh out of the dryer.
So as Mark wrapped said blanket around your body, he then sat on your bed with his chest against the headboard- and pulled you into his lap gently. It's so reverent, so incredibly warm as you rested your cheek against his covered chest, while one of his hands cradled your head and the other stroked your back.
With your ear pressed up against his chest, your heart was able to beat to the same rhythm as Mark's, only helping to relax you more to the natural white noise provided just for you.
Then, the questions came.
Mark's the type of guy to do that- don't tell me otherwise.
He just was so nervous- and with anxiety comes the constant need to be reassured.
So, he asked them one at a time with a frequency so gentle yet so eagerly that you could feel the faint vibrations of his voice pulsating through his body.
"Do you need anything else right now?"
"What size are you in underwear?"
"Do you want to talk about it?"
...
"Should I leave? Do you want me to leave?"
You sighed heavily, "Just stay with me," You ushered in a delicate whisper. And with that, Mark let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He clutched you tighter- though still careful.
You spent the new few hours like this, with your favourite show playing low on your laptop in the background and the occasional shift to your positions.
But, one thing never faltered during it all- Mark never let you go.
He's reassuring- maybe too reassuring. "I'm not gonna stop checking in now, okay? I don't care if we've done it a million times- I'm still gonna ask. I'd rather annoy you than hurt you again."
DID I MENTION HE'S SO WARM AND BIG AND UGH.
And he won't slide it under the rug either. He explained thoroughly to you what those aliens did, but even when your head started to feel heavy with sympathy as you listened to him, Mark hushed you. "No, what happened to me from those aliens should never have been your body's responsibility to snap me out of it. I should've had more self-control to just...get over it, rather than putting it all on you."
And even days later, he still was on about it.
Mark would keep reminding you how much he valued your trust, even when you forgave him and softly reminded him that: "Hey, that's what safewords are for, right?"
Mark kept his promise about constantly checking in on you, because now when you have sex, he is fucking relentless with how much he asks if you're okay.
He's also slower, more communicative, and soooo so gentle the first few times you're intimate again.
Everytime you encouraged him to be a little more rougher, Mark would double...triple check to make sure you were okay about it.
"Are you sure you want me to be rougher?"
"Yes, baby,"
"No but- are you...sure sure?"
You sighed, your knees and arms wearing thin with exhaustion in your current doggy position because Mark was not shutting up- even with his cock buried inside you. So, you turned your head, and directed his right hand that was on your waist down a little lower so it rested on your ass cheek. "Mark. Please slap my ass."
"Shit- fuck, okay-"
ily mark
Dearie, I am obsessed with your writing! Can I request some gn superhero reader x sinister mark? Reader became a hero because what else are their powers good for (you can imagine whatever their powers are)? They were taught by society by obviously what’s right and wrong, about how they SHOULD act, but there’s always been something cruel and dangerous, glinting beneath the surface. Something that shivered with excitement at destruction, that made their hands quiver and ache to grip something (or someone) until it was destroyed. They know how to act the image of a just hero. Maybe they tried fooling themselves into this hero business, that if they could fool themselves long enough, that they’d believe this lie of a heroic persona they’ve made up. Mark sees what festers beneath the surface. It’s gorgeous and deranged, and he wants to be the one that frees reader of this delusion they’ve foolishly attempted to tell themselves.
Where Saints Are Buried
Note: Honey… you basically wrote the story for me lmao. Let me see if I can elaborate a little further.
Warnings: None aside from mentions of violence.
Synopsis: To be loved as a lie, or wanted as a weapon— choose. This is not a love story, it’s a recognition. You were born righteous and powerful, but there’s always been a tremble in your hands, an ache to ruin. He sees it— Mark sees all of it. And he’s not afraid. He’s enthralled.
Sinister Mark x GN!Reader
Word Count: 1,848
No one ever asked what it cost you to stay kind. You were supposed to be the good one. That’s what they told you, over and over again, until the words wrapped around your spine like chains. You were the miracle, the blessed one, the glowing future on two legs. A child of light.
It wasn’t born in a lab. It wasn’t given. It was carved. Forged into you by something older than the stars—older than reason itself. When it woke inside you, it wasn’t loud. It was still. A stillness that made the world hold its breath. The kind of silence that hums with pressure. Like the moment right before lightning splits the sky. The kind that people cannot name. So they dressed you in gold and white and hoped it would make you smaller
It didn’t manifest in colors or capes. It came in gravity shifts and fractures in space that shouldn’t be possible. In the way time seemed to bend around your anger. In the way your hands could pull apart things reality claimed were solid.
Your power wasn’t designed for saving people. It was made to undo. Undo structures. Undo flesh. Undo fate. Some days, when you used it, you swore you could feel something watching— Not a god. Not a person. Something deeper. Something waiting. And it liked when you let go.
The first time your powers manifested, you were twelve. There was a fire. A scream. A snap of instinct and suddenly— You were burning, but untouched. Everything else? Gone.
They told you, you’d saved lives. That you were destined for more.
And maybe that’s where it started. The lie.
And for a while, you believed it.
Because it was easier than asking why your hands shook after battle—not from fear, but from the electric hunger that hummed in your bones when the dust settled. Why your lungs expanded too eagerly in smoke and ruin. Why you sometimes looked into the eyes of a man begging for mercy and felt… Nothing. You let them paint you as the symbol. The protector. The golden child with powers that could rewrite physics and ripple through dimensions. You stood on podiums. You learned how to smile for cameras. You memorized what to say. You wore righteousness like armor, but it always fit too tight—cutting, pinching, reminding you that you were built for war, not worship. They called it justice. You always called it endurance. And now, its a lie that’s left rotting beneath your skin. Because, if this is what truth feels like—bare, bloodied, burning—then maybe you were never meant to wear white in the first place. Perhaps you were never pure. The fibs that etched themselves into your memory pondered the grandeur of breaking the world into pieces rather than rebuilding what was meant to starve.
But still, you tried. You told yourself it was nothing, perhaps a glitch in your humanity. A leftover survival instinct. You buried it beneath mission reports, beneath clean costumes, beneath the applause. You trained. You smiled. You learned the cadence of interviews, how to hold your head up just enough to look hopeful, humble. You knew how to win a fight and still look clean afterward.
You gave them what they wanted: a god who looked like salvation.
But beneath the surface?
There was always something else.
It wasn’t rage. Not really. Rage is loud. Blunt. This thing inside you—it was quiet. Slow. Patient. It coiled around your heart like smoke, whispering, “Let it break. Let it all fall.”
You buried it under good deeds. You buried it under smiling teeth and controlled punches and speeches about “hope.” When the line between stopping and breaking blurred, and you didn’t stop yourself. You were a hero. That’s what they called you. So you kept smiling. Kept posing for the cameras. Kept lying.
And no one ever saw it.
Until him. Sinister Mark didn’t need to see it. He already knew.
From the very first time your eyes met, he looked at you not like a threat—not like a rival— but like something he recognized. Like he’d been waiting for you. He didn’t monologue. He didn’t sneer. He didn’t make a show of being your opposite. He just… smiled. A smile that held a blanketed warmth unforeseen before. That calm, infuriating, terrifying smile that told you— “I know what you are. You can’t lie to me.”
And when you struck him? When you gave in, even for a moment, to that creeping thing inside you? He laughed. A real laugh. Like you were art. Like you were finally becoming something worth watching. Observing that sliver of chaos you spent years trying to hide. That crack in your moral armor. That hunger you dared not name. You told yourself you hated him.
Told yourself he was evil. A monster. That his interest in you was twisted, predatory, vile. That he doesn't beg you to stop. He begs you to admit that you like it like an addict. But when you lay awake at night, soaked in sweat and silence, it wasn’t his cruelty that haunted you— It was the way he looked at you like you weren’t a lie. Like he didn’t need you to be good to find you beautiful. Like the part of you, you’ve hated most was the one he admired. Finally having someone who didn’t require you to lie about the instincts crawling beneath your flesh. You crafted yourself from applause and duty, but the mirror only shows blood and breath and eyes that don’t blink when they should. What do you do when the thing you’ve always feared becoming looks more honest than anything you’ve been? Somewhere within, the hero is still trying to stand up. you just aren’t sure if you want them to anymore. Tonight, something in you breaks.
You’re not on a rooftop for some dramatic aesthetic. You’re here because you can’t face a mirror. There was another mission. Another “victory.” Another moment where your powers overwhelmed the intention behind them. They said you saved people. You stopped the threat. You did your job.
But you know what you felt when you held that last man by the throat, when he clawed at your wrist— Relief. Satisfaction. And worse… Joy. What would happen if you let go? If you stopped playing the part the world wrote for you, and stepped into the role that fit like a second skin. Not a villain. Not a monster. Just you. Unfiltered and unleashed. Who would… retaliate?
He found you before you found him. Your hands are still shaking when you hear the soft impact of boots on concrete behind you. You don’t look, you already know it is. His presence moves like gravity. A slow, dark pull that you pretend doesn’t drag at your ribs. He doesn’t speak, not at first anyway. Just stands beside you, the space between you buzzing like a live wire.
“I hurt them,” you say, your voice cracking, but quiet. “Too much. They said I did the right thing.”
Mark tilts his head, like he’s studying the shape of your guilt. “You did. You stopped them.”
“They weren’t supposed to die.”
He hums. “But part of you liked that they did.”
Your breath shudders, your flesh stings as your chest suddenly drags with the weight of the earth. Your body lurches forward, “Then why do I feel like I can’t breathe?”
He stepped closer. Just near enough that you felt the heat off his skin. “Because you’re suffocating in the skin they gave you.” And then, softer—almost reverent: “I see what you are. And it’s beautiful.” And still—you don’t deny it. Because he doesn’t need you to. Because you’re so, so tired of pretending and he’s finally offering you an out.
He takes a step closer. “You’ve been trying to wear a mask so long you forgot what your own face looks like.” His voice is low, almost gentle. Not mocking. Not this time. He leans in, barely touching, his breath brushing your ear like a secret. “Let it crack.” The tension felt like romantic horror—close, coiled, always on the verge of consuming each other. His voice reaches places that your conscience won’t. His words cause a greedily warmth to dust your skin, craving to be seen.
Because for the first time, someone wasn’t praising your perfection. He was worshipping your ruin. He did not crave your kindness—he craved the monster you hide. The one made of fire and fault lines and a smile sharp enough to split a man. And gods help you— You liked it. He was like a shadow clawing at your back, whispering truths you didn’t want to hear. You kept fighting him. That’s what heroes do.
You turn to him. Your eyes—wild and vulnerable. “Why do you care?” It’s not accusation. It’s confusion, desperation even. It’s you, standing at the edge of yourself. And he answers like it’s obvious, like it’s something you should know.
“Because I’ve seen gods destroy worlds for less than what lives inside you.” He steps forward, one hand lifting to your cheek—not touching, but close. “And I want to be here when you finally stop lying to yourself.”
You could break now. You could fall apart. But for once, maybe that’s not the worst thing. Maybe being seen—truly seen—isn’t damnation. Maybe it’s the first real breath you’ve ever taken. And for the first time in your life… You let it show. And he smiles like he’s witnessing a gorgeous storm splitting the dam that is your restraint. Like you’re the most beautiful disaster he’s ever known.
He had seen galaxies collapse and stars choke on their own fire, but none of it compares to the moment you stopped pretending to be good. This is what gods must look like, just before they fall. Just before they experience the precipice of a world rightfully theirs.
He truly saw potential. What lied in wake for him to inspire. You were not born of mercy but of aftermath; a cathedral built from the bones of your restraint. The gods must’ve carved you from the ash of their regrets and whispered, ‘Go. Finish what we couldn’t.’ ... yes, that’s what he believed. He would be the one to set you free. The elegant bird trapped in a cage of their own suffering. You were not redemption or wrath, you were his and if wanting you damned him then let Hell open its gates and take notes.
So he stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like he was approaching a creature more divine than dangerous. And when his mouth met yours, it wasn’t gentle—it was a reckoning. A desperate, trembling kind of hunger, like he was kissing the end of the world and begging it to stay just a second longer. He kissed as if knowing you'd cause ruin, like he'd forgiven your naivety in rejecting who you truly are, and pleased to watch you do so through shaking hands and wet eyes.
Because to be ugly is to be loved. And to be seen is to stand naked before him and still be held.
A/N: Chat, did we cook? (This was so scrumptious to write.) we love creative anons, UGH!
MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚
COOKED
ANYWHERE TO SEE YOU — sinister! mark grayson x reader
INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST
INSPIRED BY @halo-chao ‘s COMMENT
WARNINGS: implied sex, mention of abortion, pregnancy, miscarriage, alcoholism, blood, dark themes
PART ONE
You woke up before him.
For a few blissful seconds, you forgot where you were—forgot the weight of his arm draped over your waist, forgot the way your body ached from the night before. But then it all came crashing back.
You were still here. Still trapped in his world, his bed, tangled in sheets that smelled like him.
Carefully, you slid out from under his arm, barely breathing as you moved. Mark was a light sleeper, and the last thing you wanted was to wake him. You needed space, even if only for a moment.
Your feet hit the cold floor, and you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—one of his shirts, loose enough to cover you. You didn’t care that it smelled like him. You just needed to move. You stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. And then you stared at yourself in the mirror.
Your reflection looked like a stranger’s. Your skin was flushed in places he had touched, lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes hollow, haunted.
This wasn’t you. This wasn’t the woman your husband—your real husband—had loved. The woman who had once laughed, once lived.
Mark had taken her, too. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the sink, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear your own skin off, scrub away every mark he had left on you. But it wouldn’t change anything. You were still here. And he wasn’t letting you go.
A soft knock came at the door, followed by his voice, still heavy with sleep. “You sneaking off in the middle of the night?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a slow breath before forcing your voice to be steady. “I just needed a minute.” Silence. Then the sound of him shifting, leaning against the door.
“Hope you’re not regretting last night too much,” he mused. “That would be tragic.” You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. You couldn’t do this. Not now.
“…I’ll be out in a second,” you said quietly.
Another pause. Then, to your relief, the sound of him walking away. You looked back at your reflection, your fingers curling into fists. You could keep playing this game, letting him strip away what little was left of you.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the bathroom, staring at your reflection like the answer to everything might suddenly appear in the hollowness of your eyes. But eventually, you stepped away.
Mark was waiting in the bedroom, lounging lazily on the bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head as he watched you with that insufferable smirk. “Took your time,” he mused. “Thought you might’ve drowned yourself in there.”
You didn’t respond. You just walked past him, heading for the closet where he had let you keep some clothes—not because he cared, but because he wanted to maintain this illusion of domesticity. Like you were actually his wife.
Like you were actually his. You felt his eyes on you as you pulled out something to wear, your fingers shaking slightly as you got dressed. He enjoyed watching you squirm, enjoyed the little moments where he could remind you just how powerless you were here.
“Come eat,” he said suddenly. “You’re not skipping another meal.” You didn’t argue. There was no point.
The kitchen was too normal. That was the worst part. He had set the table, plates already filled. You hesitated for a second before sitting down across from him, picking at the food while he ate without a care in the world.
“So,” he said casually between bites, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You kept your eyes on your plate. “Nothing.” Mark hummed, amused. “Liar.”
You forced yourself to take a bite, the food tasting like ash in your mouth. He was watching you too closely, like he always did, like he knew you were planning something. And maybe he did. But it didn’t matter.
The drinking started as an escape. A glass of wine here, a few sips of whiskey there—just enough to dull the sharp edges of reality. But as the days bled into weeks, it became something else.
A necessity. Mark never stopped you. If anything, he seemed amused by it, watching with a knowing smirk every time you reached for the bottle. He never told you to stop, never warned you that you were drinking too much.
Because he wanted this. He wanted you to rely on something—and if it wasn’t him, then this was the next best thing. You weren’t sure when you stopped drinking just to forget and started drinking just to function.
One night, you stumbled into the living room, the bottle of whiskey in your hand nearly empty, your vision blurred at the edges. Mark was sitting on the couch, legs spread comfortably, watching you with amusement as you swayed slightly.
“You’re pathetic,” he murmured. You scoffed, taking another sip. “I wonder why.” His smirk widened. “Oh, don’t blame me. This is all you, sweetheart.”
You clenched your jaw, your grip on the bottle tightening. He was right, in a way. You were the one drinking. You were the one spiraling.
But he had pushed you here. Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s the end goal here, huh?” he asked. “You think if you drink enough, you’ll forget where you are? Forget who you’re with?” He tilted his head, eyes dark with amusement. “Or maybe you’re just hoping you won’t wake up at all.”
You didn’t answer. Because that thought had crossed your mind. His smirk faltered for just a second, like he saw something in your expression that he wasn’t expecting. Then he sighed, standing up and walking over to you. You flinched slightly when he took the bottle from your hand, but he didn’t scold you. Didn’t stop you.
Instead, he just pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead and murmured, “You should pace yourself. I’d hate for you to go and ruin all my fun.” And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there—empty, broken, and still craving something that would never be enough.
You tried to stop. Not for yourself, not because you wanted to be better, but because you refused to let him be right.
You hated the way he looked at you when you drank—the smug satisfaction, the amusement in his eyes, like he knew you would cave. Like he was waiting for it. So you slowed down. You avoided the bottles. You fought the cravings, the need to numb yourself. And for a while, it worked.
But then came the nights where the silence was too loud, where the memories of your real life, your real husband, clawed at your mind until you felt like you were suffocating. And Mark was always there.
He saw your struggle, saw the way your fingers twitched when you walked past the liquor cabinet. And he enjoyed it. Because he knew—just like before, just like always—you would break eventually. And you did.
The cycle repeated itself, like a cruel joke the universe refused to let you escape. You drank. He watched. He waited. And then you gave in. He never had to force you. That was the worst part.
Because by the time his hands were on you, by the time he whispered those filthy, possessive things against your skin, you weren’t fighting anymore. You let him have you. Again. And again. And again.
And when it was over—when you were lying beneath him, sore and spent, your body betraying you in ways your heart never could—you realized just how pathetic you had become. Because you had nothing left to hold onto. Not your dignity. Not your pride. Not even yourself.
The first time you threw up, you blamed the alcohol.
It made sense. You had been drinking more than usual—too much, if you were being honest with yourself. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up nauseous, your head pounding, your body sluggish. So when you barely made it to the toilet one morning, emptying the contents of your stomach into the bowl, you didn’t think twice about it.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, groaning as you slumped against the cool tile. I need to cut back.
You told yourself that. You even tried for a few days, forcing yourself to drink water instead of drowning your misery in liquor. But the sickness didn’t stop. Every morning, like clockwork, it returned.
Some days were worse than others—violent retching that left you trembling, your stomach twisting into knots. Other days, it was a mild wave of nausea that would pass after a few minutes. You figured it was stress, your body finally reacting to the hell you had been trapped in. It wasn’t just the nausea, though.
The exhaustion weighed on you constantly, a bone-deep fatigue that made it hard to get out of bed. You had always felt tired since coming here—being Mark’s prisoner had a way of draining you—but this was something different. It clung to you, heavier than before, leaving you sluggish and disoriented.
Then came the cravings. At first, you didn’t even notice.
Your appetite had been inconsistent since arriving in this twisted version of your life. Some days you barely ate at all. Other days, you stuffed yourself with anything you could find, desperate for comfort, for something that didn’t make you feel so hollow. But then you started craving things you never had before. Weird things.
One night, you stood by the open fridge, your fingers curled around a cold cup of chocolate pudding. You didn’t even remember grabbing it, but the moment you saw it, your stomach demanded it.
You dug in, shoveling spoonfuls into your mouth without thinking, sighing at the way the sweetness coated your tongue. It felt good.
For the first time in what felt like forever, something actually tasted right. You barely noticed Mark’s presence until he spoke. “What are you doing?”
You froze mid-bite, blinking up at him as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, watching you with mild amusement. You rolled your eyes, licking the spoon before speaking. “Eating pudding.”
“At—” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Two AM?” You shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve been craving it.”
Then you paused. Something in the back of your mind itched, an old memory stirring, but you couldn’t quite place it. Then it hit you. Your fingers slackened around the cup, and it slipped from your grasp, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
“No… no, no, no…” You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. Mark frowned. “What’s the problem now?”
You barely heard him. Your mind was spinning, racing back to a time when you had sat in your kitchen—your real kitchen—licking chocolate pudding from your fingers, laughing as Mark teased you about your late-night cravings. Back when you had been pregnant.
Your breath caught in your throat. “I’ve done this before…” Mark tilted his head. “Done what before?”
You swallowed hard. “The cravings. The sickness. The mood swings.” Your voice shook as realization set in, creeping through your body like ice. “I thought the nausea was from drinking. I thought my period was late because of stress but… it would explain everything.”
A terrible silence filled the room. Mark’s expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. His amusement was gone. His smirk, the teasing glint in his eye—gone. He stood still, unnaturally still, his dark eyes locked onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, finally, he spoke. “What?”
Mark scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not pregnant.”
You swallowed hard. “I think I am.”
“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. His body tensed, his jaw tightening as he took a step forward. “You’re not.”
His reaction shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still made your stomach drop.
You forced yourself to breathe, to stay calm, even as panic clawed its way up your throat. “Mark, think about it.” You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “We—we haven’t been careful.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “It makes sense.”
Mark stilled.
His brows furrowed, and for a brief moment, something flickered behind his eyes.
A realization.
A cold, harsh truth that neither of you had considered before.
For weeks—maybe even longer—you had been trapped in a cycle with him. The nights blurred together, filled with rough hands and heated breaths. He had taken you again and again, never once stopping to think about the consequences.
Neither had you. The thought had never even crossed your mind. But now, faced with the possibility, everything came crashing down. His expression darkened. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.
“No.” The word came out quieter this time, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. You watched his face, your chest tightening. “Mark…” His hand shot out suddenly, grabbing your chin in a bruising grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“I won’t lose you again,” he growled, his voice trembling with something you almost mistook for desperation. “I won’t watch you wither away. I won’t let that thing kill you.” Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It’s not a thing,” you whispered.
His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he abruptly let go, stepping back like he couldn’t stand to be near you. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You’re getting rid of it.” The finality in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t asking. Your breath hitched. “Mark—”
“I said you’re getting rid of it,” he snapped, his voice laced with something sharp and unforgiving. “I don’t give a damn what you think, what you want—this isn’t up for discussion.”
A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, but it came out strangled. “You killed our daughter before she had a chance to live. And now you want me to—” Mark’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, his lips pulling into a snarl. “I saved her.” Your chest heaved, your nails digging into your palms. “You don’t get to decide that,” you choked out.
His gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw it—fear. Buried beneath the anger, beneath the cruelty, was fear. Not for the child. For you. He clenched his fists. “I do,” he said, his voice low and unyielding. And just like that, you knew—this wasn’t a fight you were going to win.
You shook your head, stepping back from him like he was something vile, something you couldn’t bear to be near.
“No!” Your voice broke, but you didn’t care. Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you clutched your stomach. “This is my chance—our chance! At having my family back! I won’t let you take that from me!”
Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “Y/N.” He was trying to be patient—his version of it, at least—but you could hear the strain in his voice, the way he was barely holding himself together. “You know what happened to the other you. She died because she got pregnant. I won’t let that happen to you.” Your breath hitched. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.
You could hear it in his voice, see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his entire body coiled like he was preparing for battle. This wasn’t a man having a conversation. This was a man at war. And you were the enemy. “You’re not him,” you whispered, voice trembling. Mark’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“You’re not my Mark,” you repeated, your fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. “My Mark—he would’ve been scared, but he still would’ve stood by me. He still would’ve fought for me, for our baby.” Mark’s jaw ticked. His lips pressed into a thin line. But you weren’t done.
“You don’t want to protect me,” you spat, anger bubbling up like a volcano. “You want to control me.”
That got a reaction. Mark moved—in the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, so close that you could feel his breath against your face. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist hard enough to make you wince. His face was unreadable, but his voice was deadly calm.
“You think I don’t know the difference between control and protection?” His grip tightened. “I buried you once.” His voice was low, guttural, dripping with something dark. “Do you think I want to do it again?” You inhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.
His fingers loosened, just slightly. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was no mockery, no cruelty. Just raw, unfiltered emotion.
“I can’t lose you again.” Something in your chest clenched. For a split second, you saw your husband in him. The one you had loved. The one you had lost. But then the moment passed, and he was himself again. Mark. But not yours. And that was far more terrifying.
You didn’t speak to him for days. You couldn’t.
Every time you looked at him, all you saw was the monster who had stolen everything from you—who had stolen her, the other you, the one who had died at his hands. The thought of him making that decision again, of him thinking he had the right to decide what happened to your baby, made you sick.
So you shut him out. You ignored him when he spoke. You turned away when he entered the room. You barely ate in his presence, forcing down just enough food to keep yourself going.
Mark was used to your defiance—he thrived on breaking you down—but this time, something was different. He didn’t lash out. He didn’t mock you or force you to bend to his will.
He just watched. Every time you passed him, his gaze was on you, unwavering and unreadable. Like he was waiting. You hated that it made you uneasy. You hated that you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
You spent most of your time in the bedroom, curled up in bed with your hand resting over your stomach. The idea of something growing inside you, something small and fragile, something that was yours… it was overwhelming.
It was terrifying. But it was hope. Hope that maybe this was your second chance. Hope that maybe—just maybe—you could take back some control. You weren’t the other you. You were stronger. You knew your body, you knew you could do this. And Mark—this Mark—wasn’t going to take that away from you.
Even if he thought he could. Days passed in a blur of silence. And then, one night, you woke to find him sitting in the chair across from the bed. Watching you. Like he had been there for hours.
Your breath hitched, your body tensing under the sheets. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the city lights outside, casting shadows across Mark’s face. He sat perfectly still, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
Watching.
Waiting.
Your throat felt dry. “How long have you been sitting there?”
Mark tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and calculated. “A while.”
A shiver ran down your spine. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, as if it could somehow protect you from the weight of his gaze. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His expression was unreadable, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes traced over you, stopping at the place where your hand rested against your stomach.
“You think you can ignore me forever?” His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it—something simmering. You swallowed hard, but you didn’t back down. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Too bad.” He stood abruptly, and before you could react, he was in front of you. His hands gripped the blanket, ripping it away in one smooth motion, leaving you exposed to the cold air. You flinched, instinctively curling away from him. “Mark—”
“I don’t like being ignored,” he interrupted, his voice low, almost a growl. “Especially not by you.”
You glared at him, ignoring the way your pulse quickened. “What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?” Your fingers dug into the mattress. “That I understand? That I’ll just—just go along with what you want?” His eyes darkened. “I want you to listen.”
“To what?” you snapped. “To you telling me that my baby—our baby—doesn’t deserve a chance? That you get to decide whether it lives or dies?” Mark exhaled sharply, shaking his head like you were being difficult. “You don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand!” You sat up, gripping the sheets beneath you. “I’m not her, Mark! I’m not the woman you killed, and I’m not going to let you kill this baby, either!” His jaw clenched. “I won’t let you die.”
“I won’t die!” you shot back. His hands balled into fists at his sides. He was losing patience. “You think you know that?” he said, voice eerily calm. “You think you’re different?”
“I am different.” Your voice wavered, but you held your ground. “And I’m keeping this baby whether you like it or not.”
Mark’s expression twisted, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. For a moment, you thought he might lash out. That he might end it right then and there.
But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You really think you have a choice?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent chills down your spine. You shuddered. “Yes.”
Mark inhaled deeply, then—just as quickly as he had approached—he pulled back. His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. “We’ll see.”
And with that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Leaving you alone. Leaving you breathless. Leaving you afraid.
The fights never stopped. Every interaction was a battle, every word laced with venom. The house, once eerily silent, now echoed with their arguments—shouted threats, desperate pleas, and the ever-growing tension that coiled around them like a vice.
Mark was growing impatient. And your stomach was growing right along with it.
Each time he saw it—each time his eyes lingered on the curve of your belly—his expression flickered. Just for a second. A hesitation, an ache he would never admit to. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. And the anger remained.
“You think this is cute?” he sneered one evening, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel. “Playing house? Pretending this is something good?”
You glared at him from across the room, one hand instinctively cradling your stomach. “It is good,” you shot back. “But you wouldn’t understand, would you? Because you’re incapable of seeing anything beyond yourself!”
Mark’s jaw clenched, his fists at his sides. “You’re going to die if you keep this up.”
“You don’t know that,” you hissed.
“I do,” he snapped, stepping closer, towering over you. “I watched it happen!”
You flinched but stood your ground. “Then watch me survive.”
He exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained frustration. He wanted to shake sense into you. He wanted to tear this idea—this delusion—out of your head. But he couldn’t. And worse, he couldn’t ignore the way his chest tightened every time he looked at you.
Every time he saw the growing swell of your stomach, proof of something real. Something his. Something he swore he would never have again. The next time he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous. “I should rip it out of you,” he murmured, almost to himself. Your blood ran cold. But instead of fear, something else took over—rage.
“Then do it,” you challenged, stepping even closer. “Do it, Mark. Kill me. Because that’s what you’d have to do, isn’t it?” Your eyes were wild with fury, with desperation. “I will not give up this baby.”
Mark didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. You weren’t supposed to say that. You weren’t supposed to call his bluff. Because that’s what it was. A bluff. And you both knew it.
With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the walls. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.
Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your belly, feeling the faintest of movements beneath your fingertips. A reminder that you weren’t just fighting for yourself. You were fighting for them. And you weren’t going to lose.
You sat curled up on the couch, knees hugged tightly to your chest, your body wracked with silent sobs. Another fight. Another screaming match that left you hollow and exhausted.
Mark had stormed off, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the house.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, staring blankly ahead, your tears drying on your cheeks.
Then, your eyes landed on it. A bottle of wine, sitting on the counter. Mark never touched it. It was likely from his mother’s collection, forgotten and collecting dust. Your fingers twitched.
One glass won’t hurt.
You rose to your feet, moving on autopilot as you made your way over, uncorking the bottle with shaky hands. The first sip burned, but you welcomed it. It was warm, numbing. Comforting. Then another. And another. By the time Mark found you, the bottle was empty.
“Are you serious?” His voice was sharp, filled with exasperation.
You just giggled, leaning against the counter for support. “What’s the big deal?” You slurred, blinking up at him through hazy eyes. Mark sighed, running a hand down his face. “You’re drunk.”
“Very drunk,” you corrected, stumbling toward him. He caught you with ease, his grip firm but not rough. Your fingers trailed up his chest, your lips pressing against his jaw. “Mmm… missed you.”
For the first time in days, you were touching him willingly, clinging to him. The tension between you had been unbearable, each fight driving a deeper wedge between you. And now, you were finally his again.
A small smirk tugged at his lips—until he felt something warm drip down his leg. His brow furrowed. He looked down. And his stomach dropped. Blood. Your blood.
It stained the floor, pooling at your feet, soaking into your clothes. Mark’s grip on you tightened. “Y/N, stop—listen to me—”
But you weren’t listening. Your lips were still trailing along his jaw, your hands tangled in his hair. All you wanted was him. A distraction from the pain, from the helplessness.
He cursed under his breath. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. Without hesitation, he scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stepping in with you, his clothes quickly getting drenched.
You hummed against his skin, not noticing the way his jaw was clenched, the way his eyes were glued to the blood mixing with the water. He peeled your soaked clothes away, his own following soon after.
It wasn’t until you finally looked down, hoping to see the effect you had on him, that you saw it. The red spiraling down the drain. Your smile vanished.
“Wait… blood?” Your voice came out small, weak. Your dazed mind struggled to process it, but deep down, you already knew. Mark tensed, his hands tightening around your arms, holding you steady.
“I’m bleeding?” You choked out, your eyes widening in horror. Panic settled deep in your chest, your breathing quickening, the dizziness intensifying. Mark didn’t let you go. He wouldn’t let you go.
“Y/N,” he said, voice firm. “I need you to stay with me.” But you were already trembling, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline.
“No—no, no, this can’t be happening,” you whispered, panic rising. “It was just one glass, I—I didn’t—” Your hands shot to your stomach, desperate, pleading—but the pain was already there, sharp and unforgiving. Mark’s breathing was ragged. His heart pounded in his chest.
“You will be okay,” he swore. But as your legs gave out beneath you, the last thing you saw before everything went dark was his face— And the sheer, unfiltered panic in his eyes.
The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nose when you finally came to. The dull beeping of a heart monitor echoed in the quiet room. The world was too bright, too sharp, and for a moment, you had no idea where you were. Then it hit you. The fight. The wine. The shower. The blood.
Your hand shot to your stomach, fingers pressing against the hospital gown covering your skin. Empty. No. Your breathing grew shallow. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
“Good. You’re awake.”
Your head snapped to the side. Mark was sitting in the chair beside you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked tired. More than that—he looked relieved.
You opened your mouth, but your throat was dry. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.
“The baby?” Mark met your gaze, expression unreadable. Gone. You shook your head. “No—no, I was fine. I—I only had one glass, I—”
Mark’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know!” Your voice cracked, hysteria creeping in. “I didn’t—”
“Stop!”
His voice was sharp, cutting through your panic like a blade. Your breath hitched, eyes locked onto his. Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted.
“You almost died,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Again.” Tears welled in your eyes. This was your fault. You did this. If you hadn’t been so reckless, if you hadn’t let your emotions drive you to drink, maybe—maybe—A sob tore through your chest, your hands clutching at the blanket draped over you. “I—” You hiccuped, shaking your head. “I killed them.”
Your hands trembled, your entire body shaking. “I—I was so stupid, I should’ve been more careful, I—” Mark exhaled through his nose, standing up abruptly. “It’s done.”
You flinched at his tone. He wasn’t angry. Not like before.
But he wasn’t grieving either. You expected him to scream, to throw something, to punish you—because that’s what Mark did when he didn’t get his way.
But he didn’t. Instead, he was calm. Too calm. His eyes flickered to your stomach before meeting your gaze again.
“This is for the best,” he said simply. Your breath caught. “You—”
“I told you,” he cut you off. “I told you what happened to the other you. I warned you.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “And look where that got us.” Tears streamed down your face. “You’re relieved.”
He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even hesitate. And that hurt more than anything. You had lost your child. And Mark was relieved. Because in the end, it meant you were still his.
Hot sex with viltrimite mark after an argument, please 😝💓
NOTHING MORE | viltrumite mark x reader
INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: smut, swearing
“You took me, Mark.”
Your voice echoed off the walls of the cold, sterile room—the room he claimed was your “new home.” His figure loomed near the door, arms folded over his broad chest, his jaw tight, but his eyes—his eyes—watched you like you were some fragile, unpredictable thing.
“You didn’t ask. You didn’t even explain. You just… took me like I was some prize you earned. Like I’m just here to breed your children and be quiet about it.”
His expression didn’t change, but you saw something flicker across his face—just for a second. Guilt? Frustration? Or was it just annoyance that you were speaking out again?
“I’ve been here for months,” you whispered, stepping closer, the fury in your chest burning hotter than your words. “And you sleep beside me, touch me like you own me—but you’re not with me, Mark. You don’t hold me like you love me. You don’t talk to me unless it’s about my ‘purpose.’ I feel so—so alone.”
You placed your hand on your chest, breath shaky. “It doesn’t even matter if my so-called husband is beside me at night. You’re always cold. Emotionally gone. I could scream and you’d just stand there like this.”
He took a step toward you, slow and heavy. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” you challenged, eyes glinting. “I’m just some human pet you knocked up in your head. A thing to mold into a good little Viltrumite breeder.”
His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring. “You think I don’t want you?” he growled. “You think I don’t feel anything when I look at you?”
You didn’t back down. “Wanting me doesn’t mean anything if all you ever do is fuck me like a duty and never see me.”
That got to him. His hand slammed against the wall beside your head, not to hurt you—but to cage you there, to make you listen. His eyes were darker now, like a storm had been building behind them and finally snapped.
“You think I don’t touch you because I have to?” he breathed, dangerously close now. His voice dropped, rough and low. “You think I hold back because I don’t want to lose myself? You have no idea what you do to me.”
Your breath caught, chest rising as your back pressed against the cold metal. His presence was overwhelming now, heat rolling off him in waves.
“Then show me,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Show me that I’m not just some fucking womb to you.”
His mouth was on yours before the last word left your lips—violent, bruising, desperate. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was rage and loneliness and longing crashing together in a single kiss. He gripped your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish, like you’d disappear if he didn’t anchor himself to you.
You moaned into his mouth, finally feeling something from him, something real, something human. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp.
He pulled back, breathing heavy, lips inches from yours. “You’re mine,” he growled, possessive and raw. “Not for breeding. Not for war. Just—mine.”
You stared at him, heart racing, lips swollen, body trembling not from fear—but from finally being seen.
You didn’t wait.
Your hands shot up, fingers tangling in his thick black hair as you yanked him down to you again, not gentle—not anymore. You wanted him to feel everything you had been holding back. The loneliness, the frustration, the hollow ache of sleeping next to a man who made your skin burn but your heart feel cold.
You tugged hard, and he groaned into your mouth, his control fracturing with every pull. His grip tightened around your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around him on instinct, your back hitting the wall as his mouth moved down your neck—biting, sucking, marking.
“I’m not fragile,” you hissed into his ear. “If you’re going to take me, then take me. But stop pretending this is just about control.”
His breath hitched, and then his lips were on yours again—this time deeper, messier, like he couldn’t get close enough. He moved with rough, desperate precision, hands roaming under your clothes, his Viltrumite strength making your head spin.
“You think I don’t want you?” he growled between kisses. “You think I don’t lose my fucking mind every time you look at me like that? You think I sleep at night?”
You clawed at his shirt, nails dragging down his back as your voice trembled, “Then why do you act like I’m nothing but a body to fill?”
He slammed his hand beside your head again, eyes blazing. “Because if I let myself feel how much I need you, I’d tear this planet apart just to keep you.”
You shuddered—part fear, part desire—and you pulled his hair again, dragging a guttural sound from his throat. His body pressed tighter against yours, hips grinding against you through the thin fabric between you.
“I want all of it,” you said through clenched teeth. “Not half of you. Not this cold version of the man I loved. Give me the real you, Mark.”
His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “I’m scared you’ll hate me if you see who I really am.”
You cupped his jaw with both hands, forcing him to look at you. “I already hate what you’re becoming. But I still love what’s buried underneath.”
And that broke something in him. He didn’t hold back this time.
His mouth was back on yours, hands exploring like he couldn’t decide whether to worship or ruin you. The tension that had been festering between you both snapped like a live wire—raw, hungry, and dangerous.
This wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t romantic.
It was two broken souls colliding in a storm they both created.
He didn’t just take you— You let him. Because for the first time in months, it felt real.
And even if it ended in flames— You’d finally burn together.
Clothes were torn more than they were removed. His hands gripped and groped like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go for even a second. The cool metal of the wall pressed into your back, grounding you while everything else burned hot.
His lips dragged down your collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to sting. You hissed, nails digging into his shoulders, and tugged his hair again—harder this time. He growled low in his throat, rutting against you like an animal barely holding itself back.
“You like that?” you breathed, voice breaking into a moan as his hand slid between your legs.
“I like everything about you,” he muttered into your skin, mouth trailing down your chest. “Even when you’re screaming at me. Even when you say you hate me.”
His fingers slid inside you without warning, and your head slammed back against the wall, breath stolen from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was claiming. A punishment for all the days he kept his distance. A confession for all the nights he held you and refused to let himself feel.
“Mark—”
“You don’t get it,” he rasped, his other hand cupping your cheek, rough thumb brushing your lower lip. “I’m stronger than entire civilizations. I could destroy worlds. But you?” He kissed you hard, voice cracking. “You make me weak. You make me need.”
You clenched around his fingers at those words, whimpering into his mouth, and he swallowed every sound like it gave him life.
Then he was inside you, hot and thick and there—and you both groaned into each other’s mouths like the world had finally aligned. There was no pretense now. No cold walls. No breeding talk. Just desperation. Just him. Just you.
He moved like he meant it. Like he was making up for every cold night. Every ignored plea. Every moment you felt like a ghost beside him.
Each thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, your cries echoing in the walls of his fortress—no longer silenced. No longer ignored. His cock reached the deepest parts inside you and made you see stars.
You clung to him, fingers pulling his hair so hard he winced and growled like a feral thing. His hands bruised your hips, dragging you closer, closer, closer.
“Say it,” he demanded, forehead against yours, sweat dripping between you. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I hate you,” you gasped, tears burning behind your eyes. “But I’ve always been yours.”
That was it. That was all it took.
He cursed into your neck, thrusts growing erratic, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough. You came with his name ripped from your throat, shaking, raw, wrecked. And when he followed—biting your shoulder, moaning your name like it was the last thing he’d ever say—it felt less like release and more like surrender.
He didn’t stop after the first time.
You were still trembling in his arms, legs wrapped tight around his waist, when he pulled you from the wall and carried you—still buried deep inside—to the bed like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.
He laid you down like you were something sacred, but the moment his eyes locked with yours again, all that worship turned feral.
“Not done,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Not even close.”
“Mark—” you tried to speak, but his hips snapped forward before you could finish, and you choked on a cry.
You were still sensitive, still fluttering around him, but he didn’t care. Or maybe he did. Maybe that was exactly what he wanted—to watch you unravel again. To see your body remember him, even if your heart was still unsure.
His pace was relentless, hips grinding into yours with punishing force, every thrust a wordless apology. You arched beneath him, nails scraping down his back, dragging red lines in your wake.
“You wanted the real me?” he hissed, dragging his lips down your throat, biting the soft skin there. “You have me.”
Your hands found his hair again, yanking it back to force him to look at you. The way he groaned at that—it was filthy. He liked it. Liked when you took control even while he was wrecking you.
“Then don’t hold back,” you dared, breathless. “Break me if you have to—but don’t you fucking hide from me again.”
His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue, devouring every gasp you gave him as he pounded into you harder, faster, deeper. The sound of skin slapping, the creak of the bedframe, your breathless cries—it filled the room like a storm.
Your second orgasm built fast, hot, and overwhelming. You clenched around him, eyes fluttering, and he cursed against your lips, fucking you through it like a man possessed.
And then he kept going.
Even after you were shaking. Even after your voice was gone, reduced to broken whimpers and clawing hands.
“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes wild. “Falling apart under me… still so fucking beautiful.”
You bit his shoulder hard, trying to muffle the scream as he hit that spot again, and again, dragging you into a third release that left your body limp beneath him.
He grunted low in your ear, chasing his own high now, grinding into your soaked heat with maddening control. “You’re not leaving me,” he whispered like a vow, “I’ll make sure you never can.”
His hips snapped one final time, spilling deep inside you with a groan so primal it made your blood run hot.
But even then, he didn’t move.
He hovered over you, panting, his forehead against yours, your bodies still connected—his chest heaving like he’d just survived war.
And maybe he had. Maybe you both had.
Because as ruined and used as you felt, wrapped in his arms, your fingers still tangled in his hair—you didn’t feel alone anymore.
You felt wanted. You felt his.
When it was over, silence settled. Your breathing was uneven, both your bodies still tangled, chest to chest. He didn’t let go.
For once, he didn’t pull away.
“…I’m sorry,” he whispered after a long moment. His voice was hoarse. Honest.
You looked up at him, still catching your breath. “Are you?”
“I don’t know how to be what you need,” he admitted, eyes soft for the first time in forever. “But I’m trying. Even if I don’t know how to say it, even if I fuck it up—I feel everything when I’m with you.”
You reached up and brushed a thumb under his eye. “Then stop pretending you don’t.”
He nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he held you close—bare, bruised, but not alone.
Not anymore.
