Before he was committed, Yandere!AsylumPatient was a walking urban legend. He wasn't a calculated mastermind; he was completely, terrifyingly chaotic, the kind of monster who would end up on the news for destroying a public space or going after completely random people for reasons only his warped mind understood. The entire city breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally locked away in the high-security wing of the asylum. He is notoriously violent, and even the beefiest, most hardened guards refuse to enter his cell without a full riot squad and tranquilizers on standby.
You, on the other hand, are the absolute polar opposite. You are a deeply anxious, fragile, and heavily medicated patient who was completely eaten alive by the brutal reality of the asylum. The constant echoing screams down the hallways, the loud slamming of heavy iron doors, and the cold, clinical apathy of the staff keep your nervous system in a state of permanent panic. You spend most of your days huddled in the corners of the recreation yard, trembling, staring at the floor, and trying to make yourself as invisible as possible.
Yandere!AsylumPatient noticed you on your very first day in the yard. While the other patients kept their distance from him out of pure survival instinct, you were too dazed by your sedative cocktail to realize who he was. When a group of aggressive, larger patients tried to corner you to steal your ration card, he didn't just step in, he turned the entire recreation yard into a bloodbath. He dismantled them within seconds, his face twisted into a maniacal, joyful grin as he broke bones just to hear them snap. But the moment he turned around to look at you, the wild, crazed light in his eyes instantly softened.
From that exact moment, he appointed himself as your absolute, immovable shield. He treats the entire asylum like his personal playground, and you are his most prized, delicate treasure. When he is around you, his terrifying, bloodthirsty persona completely melts away into an affectionate, playful tease. He loves leaning his head on your shoulder, poking your cheeks, and whispering ridiculous jokes in your ear just to see if he can get you to crack a small smile through your anxiety. "Hey, little bird... look what I got for you. Don't tell the doctors, or I'll have to bite them again."
Yandere!AsylumPatient is a master at stealing things from the staff and other wards just to spoil you. Despite being heavily monitored, he always manages to slip into your hands things that are strictly forbidden or impossible for a patient to get: a soft, smuggled contraband blanket that doesn't scratch your skin, a handful of sweet candies he swiped from a nurse's desk, or a colorful drawing he made using stolen crayons. He will literally sit at your feet in the dayroom, shielding your body from the view of the guards, hand-feeding you treats like you're a pampered royal rather than a prisoner.
The asylum administration is absolutely terrified of the codependency developing between you two, so they try to separate you constantly. But every single attempt results in absolute catastrophe. The second a guard puts a hand on your arm to lead you to a different wing, he flips the switch back to his "batshit insane" self. He will scream, spit, and fight with the strength of ten men, throwing his body against the concrete walls and threatening to rip the throats out of every doctor on the board. He makes it completely impossible for the facility to function.
During his worst, most violent episodes when he is strapped to a gurney in a straitjacket, foaming at the mouth and laughing hysterically while doctors try to pump him full of sedatives, the only thing that can calm him down is you. The staff eventually learned that the fastest way to stop a full-scale riot is to just wheel his gurney right back into your room. The second he sees your face, his frantic breathing slows down. Heâll look up at you through his restraints, his bloody teeth bared in a soft, goofy grin, and whine like a puppy. "See? I told them I'd behave if they brought me back to my favorite person. Come untie me, sweetie."
Yandere!AsylumPatient has effectively turned your shared corner of the asylum into an untouchable sanctuary. The other patients are too terrified to even look in your direction, and the doctors have completely given up on separating you out of fear for their own lives. You are still trapped in a cold, terrifying asylum, but as long as his heavy, protective arm is draped around your shoulders, pulling your anxious frame tight against his chest, the rest of the world can't hurt you anymore. He will keep you safe in his madness forever.
Yandere!AsylumPatient has a literal, physical dependency on touching you. The doctors call it a "pathological hyper-fixation," but to him, itâs just breathing. Whether you two are sitting in the cold dayroom, walking the bleak corridors, or eating in the cafeteria, he must have some part of his body connected to yours. Heâll walk right behind you with a large, heavy hand resting firmly on the small of your back, or heâll constantly play with your fingers, tracing the lines of your palm. Even if heâs in the middle of a manic, high-energy rant to himself, his other hand will be gently, rhythmically patting your head, treating you like the only grounding wire in his chaotic mind.
This constant touch is actually the only thing that keeps his violent impulses at bay. The guards have noticed a terrifying pattern: if he is touching you, his heart rate is stable, and he just acts like a teasing, overly affectionate boyfriend. But the exact millimeter his skin loses contact with yours, like if a nurse forces you to step away for a blood pressure check, his entire body goes completely rigid. His jaw tics up, his eyes go dead, and he begins to growl. He will literally glare at the staff like a rabid dog on a short leash until your hand is safely back in his.
Yandere!AsylumPatient treats your high levels of anxiety as an invitation to smother you. Whenever the alarms go off, or another patient has a loud, screaming episode that makes you cover your ears and shake, he gets this dark, intensely satisfied look in his eyes. He will instantly pull your fragile frame into his lap, wrapping his long arms around you like a human straitjacket, burying his face in your neck. Heâll rock you back and forth, whispering playful, sweet nonsense against your skin while shielding your view of the room. "Let them scream, little bird. Just listen to me. I'm right here. Breathe me in."
The nighttime routine is the absolute bane of the asylumâs security staff. Because they are kept in separate wards at night, he is supposed to be locked behind a reinforced steel door. He isn't. Nobody actually knows how he does it whether he steals a hairpin, blackmails a night-shift guard, or literally forces the hinges out of the frame but every single night, without fail, he breaks out of his cell. He sneaks through the dark, sterile hallways like a ghost, completely ignoring the security cameras, with only one destination in mind: your room.
Youâll be lying in your cot, staring at the ceiling in a state of deeply anxious insomnia, when you suddenly hear the soft, familiar click of your door unlocking. Heâll slip into your room with a huge, boyish grin, completely untroubled by the fact that heâs breaking maximum-security protocols. Before you can even whisper his name, heâs already sliding under your thin, scratchy white blanket. He will pull you flush against his chest, tucking your head securely under his chin, and let out a deep, contented sigh, finally falling asleep the second he can feel your heartbeat against his ribs.
The middle of the night always ends in a chaotic, exhausting circus. Around 3:00 AM, the night-guard patrol will inevitably shine a flashlight through your window, spot the massive, notorious killer sleeping peacefully in the fragile patient's bed, and sound the red alarm. A squad of six to eight heavily armored guards will burst into the room with batons and shields. He doesn't even wake up angry; he just groans, holding onto you even tighter, wrapping his legs around yours like a stubborn child throwing a tantrum.
As the guards literally grab his arms and try to pry him out of your bed, heâll start screaming and cursing, tossing his head back and snapping his teeth at them. Heâll rip the sheets, kick the bedframe, and fight with terrifying, supernatural strength just to keep one hand wrapped around your wrist. "Let go of me, you corporate pigs! I'm sleeping! They were having a nightmare. I'm helping them! I'll skin you alive if you pull me away from them!" He will drag the entire weight of the guard squad across the floorboards just to maintain a grip on your fingertips for three more seconds.
The second his grip finally slips and they successfully drag him backward out into the hallway, he flips completely into his chaotic, batshit-insane persona laughing maniacally, threatening the night supervisor's family, and kicking the walls until they lock him in solitary. But itâs completely pointless. The staff knows that within three hours, the sun will come up, the recreation yard will open, and he will walk right back out of his cell, completely fine, covered in new bruises, and immediately seek you out to place a warm, possessive hand right back on your shoulder as if nothing ever happened.
The asylum staff tried switching you to a completely different medication schedule, heavier sedatives meant to keep you asleep through his 3:00 AM break-ins. It backfired spectacularly. The first night, he snuck into your room and found you completely unresponsive, staring blankly at the ceiling, too drugged to even squeeze his hand back. Yandere!AsylumPatient nearly leveled the ward. He hauled the night nurse over the counter by her collar, demanding to know what they "put in his little bird." Now, he strictly monitors your pill intake. He will sit next to you during morning meds, take the little paper cup from the nurse, sniff it suspiciously, and force the staff to explain every single tablet before he lets you swallow it. If he thinks a pill makes you too drowsy, heâll flick it across the room into a drain. "No way, doc. This one makes them look like a ghost. Give them the pink ones, those make them smile."
Yandere!AsylumPatient has developed a terrifying "radar" for your panic spikes, even when you aren't in the same room. If you are down the hall in a private evaluation session and the therapist starts pressing too hard on your traumas, causing your breathing to hitch, he will somehow sense it from the common area. The facility has logs of him abruptly stopping a conversation, tilting his head like a predator catching a scent, and then sprinting down the corridor. Yandere!AsylumPatient will literally throw his entire weight against the evaluation roomâs heavy observation glass, cracking it, just so you can see his face pressing against the window. Heâll mouth the words "Iâm right here, baby," while pointing a threatening, blood-stained finger at your terrified therapist.
The administrative board tried to implement a "rewards system" to manipulate him, offering him better food, courtyard privileges, or access to books if he stayed away from you for a week. Yandere!AsylumPatient laughed in the wardenâs face, spat on the mahogany desk, and flipped the table over. You are his only currency. Yandere!AsylumPatient cannot be bought, reasoned with, or bribed because nothing in the mortal world holds any value to him compared to the feeling of your chin resting on his chest. In fact, he uses his good behavior as a weapon. Yandere!AsylumPatient will completely cooperate with a brutal evaluation or sit quietly through a forced injection only if the head doctor explicitly signs a pass allowing him to sit in your cell for the entire afternoon.
Yandere!Asylum Patient's teasing personality completely ruins the solemn, sterile atmosphere of the asylum's cafeteria. While the other inmates sit in dead silence, terrified of making a wrong move, he turns your lunch table into his personal comedy club. Yandere!AsylumPatient will balance plastic spoons on his nose, make ridiculous caricatures of the guards using mashed potatoes, and steal the best dessert options from three tables over just to pile them onto your tray. If you hide your face in your hands out of sheer embarrassment from the attention, heâll softly pull your wrists away, grinning deeply. "Don't hide that pretty face, little bird. Look at me, I'm being a good boy today. Eat your pudding."
The guards tried replacing your roomâs standard lock with a state-of-the-art digital keypad to stop his nightly visits. It took him exactly two nights to bypass it. Yandere!AsylumPatient didn't hack it; he simply waited in the shadows until the night guard typed the code, memorized the specific beep tones of the buttons, and then broke that same guard's fingers later that week so he could take his master keycard anyway. When he slipped into your room that night, he tossed the broken pieces of the keypad onto your floor like a cat presenting a dead mouse. "Look, sweetie! No more annoying beeping sounds. Now we can sleep."
Yandere!AsylumPatient has a massive, unhinged hatred for the facility's alarm system because the loud, screeching klaxons make you cover your ears and cry. During a massive facility-wide lockdown, while the sirens were blaring, he didn't try to escape through the broken gates. Instead, he systematically ripped three separate alarm speakers completely out of the concrete walls with his bare, bloody hands, throwing them down the stairs. The second the hallway went quiet, he dropped to his knees in front of you, entirely covered in drywall dust, and gently pulled your hands away from your ears. "Better? I turned off the bad noise for you. Now you only have to listen to me."
The absolute breaking point for the asylum occurred when they tried to transfer you to an entirely different state facility. They tried to do it secretly at 4:00 AM while Yandere!AsylumPatient was locked in solitary confinement. The moment he heard the transport vanâs engine idling outside your window, his brain completely fractured. He literally shattered his own shoulder to slip out of a heavy-duty straitjacket, bit a chunk out of a guard's arm, and smashed through the reinforced glass of the solitary ward. He sprinted onto the tarmac completely barefoot, throwing his body onto the hood of the moving transport van, tearing at the windshield wipers, and screaming through the glass at you.
The transfer was immediately canceled because Yandere!AsylumPatient threatened to track down and slaughter the family of every single board member if the van drove an inch further. Now, the administration has completely accepted its defeat. You are never leaving this asylum, and neither is he. They have officially modified your file to list him as your permanent "crisis companion." You are still a prisoner in a cold, clinical hell. Still, as he lies beside you in the dark, his heavy arms wrapped around your waist and his chest vibrating with a dark, satisfied chuckle, you realize the asylum isn't keeping him locked in; he's keeping the rest of the world locked out.
Yandere!AsylumPatient has developed a weirdly sweet, yet entirely territorial habit of "decorating" your uniform. Since the asylum forces everyone to wear the same drab, scratchy grey scrubs, he felt it made his little bird look too much like the other patients. To fix this, he uses the colorful threads he meticulously unravels from the contraband blankets he steals for you. Yandere!AsylumPatient will sit on the floor of the dayroom, leaning his chin on your knee, and use a smuggled plastic needle to crudely embroider little messy stars, hearts, or his own initials along the collar and cuffs of your shirt. If a nurse tries to give you a fresh, clean pair of scrubs during laundry day, Yandere!AsylumPatient will snatch them out of her hands and rip them down the seam. "They wear what I make for them, got it? Go find a different rag."
The institutional apathy of the medical board completely enrages him, so Yandere!AsylumPatient has effectively taken over the role of your head nurse. Yandere!AsylumPatient keeps a meticulous mental log of their physical health. If you are having a particularly high-anxiety day and refuse to eat your cafeteria food, he doesn't just tease you; he goes on a full-scale covert mission. Yandere!AsylumPatient will break into the staff kitchen, intimidate the line cooks into frying up exactly what you're craving, and bring it back to your cell on a real porcelain plate he stole from the doctors' lounge. Heâll sit on the edge of your cot, carefully blowing on a hot spoonful of soup, his eyes wide and completely serious. "Open up, little bird. Youâre getting too small. I can feel your ribs when we cuddle, and itâs making me cranky."
Yandere!AsylumPatient's presence has completely altered the social hierarchy among the other patients. The dayroom used to be a predatory, stressful environment for you, filled with volatile inmates who would scream or pick fights. Now, the second you step into the room, a dead, suffocating silence falls over the entire ward. The other patients will literally press themselves against the walls or look away, completely terrified of making eye contact with you. They know that if they even step into your peripheral vision and cause your shoulders to tense up, he will interpret it as a personal threat and physically throw them across the room. He has turned a maximum-security madhouse into your private, quiet courtyard.
Yandere!AsylumPatient has a deeply unhinged reaction to your tears. On the rare occasions where your anxiety completely boils over and you break down crying from the sheer hopelessness of being trapped in an asylum, his playful, teasing demeanor completely evaporates. Yandere!AsylumPatient will freeze, his face going entirely pale and his slitted eyes darting around the room as if looking for an invisible enemy to kill. When he realizes itâs just your own mind hurting you, he will grow completely desperate. Heâll cup your face in his large, calloused hands, wiping your tears away so aggressively his thumbs almost bruise your cheeks. "Don't do that. Don't do that, sweetie, it makes my chest hurt. Tell me who I need to kill to make you stop. Do you want me to burn the building down? I'll do it right now, just stop crying."
The nightly routine has escalated because heâs gotten bored with fighting the guards. Now, Yandere!AsylumPatient treats the 3:00 AM alarm like a highly competitive sport. When the sirens start blaring and the heavy boots of the riot squad echo down the hall, he will actually laugh, pulling your blanket over both of your heads like a makeshift fort. As the guards burst into the room with their shields, heâll pop his head out, baring his teeth in a wild grin, and start throwing whatever objects he successfully smuggled into your room that day, heavy medical books, stolen soap dispensers, or metal trays. He treats the entire violent struggle like a hilarious game of tug-of-war, keeping his legs tightly tangled with yours so that every time the guards pull his upper body, they inadvertently drag you closer to him, too.
Yandere!AsylumPatient has begun taking "inventory" of the staff, memorizing which nurses are gentle when they take your vitals and which ones are rough or impatient. If a technician handles your arm too roughly during a blood draw, leaving a small purple mark on your fragile skin, that technician will mysteriously find themselves cornered in the dark hallway during the night shift. Yandere!AsylumPatient won't kill them because he knows that would get him transferred to a permanent black-site facility away from you, but he will leave them with a terrifying, unforgettable warning. The next morning, that same technician will walk into your room, trembling, tearfully apologizing to you while keeping their eyes glued to the floor, while your boyfriend sits in the corner, happily playing with your hair and giving them a slow, sickening wink.
Ultimately, Yandere!AsylumPatient has completely broken your desire to ever be released from the asylum. Yandere!AsylumPatient has successfully conditioned your fragile nervous system to associate him with total safety. You know that if you were ever cured and let out into the real world, you would be completely alone in a loud, terrifying society. But inside these cold, whitewashed walls, under the heavy, suffocating weight of his constant touch and his terrifying devotion, you are completely untouchable. He has turned your prison into a permanent, dark fairy-tale kingdom, and he is perfectly content reigning over the ashes of your sanity forever.
OMG I love your latest oneshot! It's so hard to come across amab content and your blog is a goldmine!
I was wondering if you'd do a part two of 'an unhealthy obsession' with smut? Reader feels isolated and lonely, which gives Bruce a perfect opportunity to swoop in. Maybe some size difference, manhandling, and overstimulation? Bruce is taller/bulkier, plus he has a massive amount of stamina and strength cause he's literally Batman. Maybe during aftercare Bruce lowkey just drops the bomb that reader is going to marry him and move into the manor. Oh, and Bruce's army of children are also obsessed with reader.
đđđđđđđđ ! ââ 5.3k words. itâs been a while since bruce gave you an apartment, since you realized something about him is.. wrong. now lonely, he finds his mission, to make you love him, even easier.
Then you realize youâve been measuring time not by holidays or paychecksâbut by how often Bruce stays the night and how often you cancel plans you never rescheduled.
Itâs almost a year.
You donât remember the exact moment your world shrank. It wasnât dramatic. It was quiet. Messages you never answered. Invitations you said you were âbusyâ for. Coworkers who stopped trying.
Now your phone barely lights up unless itâs him.
The apartment feels bigger these days. Quieter. Emptier. And Bruce fills it effortlessly. He doesnât have to force his way in anymore. The door still unlocks without him knocking, but now you donât flinch the way you used to. You just look up from wherever youâre sittingâusually the couch, sometimes the floorâand wait for him to speak first.
âYouâve been alone all day,â he observes one evening, setting his coat down. It isnât a question. He already knows.
You shrug. âI didnât feel like going out.â
âYou never feel like going out,â Bruce says gently. Thereâs no accusation in it. Just confirmation.
He crosses the room slowly, eyes scanning you the way he used to scan the apartmentâcataloging posture, mood, exhaustion. âYou look tired,â he says.
âIâm fine.â
Bruce crouches in front of you, close enough that you canât avoid eye contact unless you deliberately turn away. You donât.
âThatâs the problem,â he says quietly. âYouâve convinced yourself that this is fine.â
âYou used to think people wanted you around,â Bruce continues, brushing his fingers lightly along your jaw. Not affectionate. Possessive. âYou used to exhaust yourself trying to be enough for them.â
His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, slow. âAnd what did that get you?â
You donât answer. He does.
âNothing.â
Bruce shifts closer, knees almost touching yours. His voice lowers, intimate and certain. âIâm the only one whoâs stayed,â he says. âThe only one who didnât get frustrated with your anxiety. Your indecision. The way you spiral when you feel unwanted.â
Your throat burns. âThatâs notââ
âIt is,â he interrupts softly. âAnd I see past it.â
He tilts your chin up again. Just enough to keep you still. âI see past your flaws. Past the parts that push other people away.â
The apartment feels unbearably quiet
.âNo one else has the patience,â Bruce continues. âNo one else would have invested this much.â
Invested. The word makes your stomach twist.
âI built stability around you,â he says. âI protected you from your worst instincts. I gave you space to exist without judgment.â
You think of the cameras. The texts. The rules.
Bruce leans closer, voice almost tender. âAnd youâre still here.â
Your heart stutters.
âDo you know why?â he asks.
You shake your head slightly. âBecause some part of you understands,â Bruce says. âNo one but me can give you what you need.â He brushes his lips briefly against your templeânot a demand this time, but a reinforcement. A seal. âNo one but me can show you what love actually looks like.â
The word love echoes strangely in the room. You feel hollow. Lonely in a way that aches. And he knows it. Bruce shifts so heâs sitting beside you now, arm sliding around your shoulders. Itâs firm, grounding, almost warm.
âYou feel isolated because you stopped chasing people who were never going to stay,â he murmurs. âThatâs not loneliness. Thatâs growth.â
His hand tightens slightly against you. âYou donât need them,â he says. âYou have me.â
Your mind flickers with old memoriesâlaughter at work, late-night messages, the version of you that had options. It feels distant. Unreal. Like it belonged to someone else.
Bruceâs fingers tilt your face toward his again. âYou think anyone else would tolerate you the way I do?â he asks, voice calm, almost curious. âAnyone else would handle your moods? Your doubts? Your neediness?â
âI donât mind it,â he says. âI like that you need me.â
The words are soft. Sincere.
Terrifying.
âYou donât have to pretend anymore,â Bruce continues. âYou donât have to perform for people who canât see your value.â
His thumb brushes your lip, lingering there. âI already do.â
The apartment doesnât feel empty when heâs this close. Thatâs the problem. The silence fades. The loneliness dulls. And Bruce knows exactly how to time itâhow to appear when the quiet starts hurting the most. âYouâre not alone,â he whispers. His grip tightens just slightly, possessive, anchoring. âYouâre mine.â
             ༶â˘ââŕ¨ŕ§âââ˘ŕźś
Bruce isnât shy about his feelings. He never was. But now? He has even less shame.
The next day feels heavy from the moment you wake up. You wake up before your alarm, staring at the ceiling. You try not to think about him at all.
That doesnât last long.
The lock turns mid-afternoon.
You close your eyes for a second before looking over. Bruce steps inside with the same calm certainty he always does, gaze landing on you immediately.
Youâre on the couch, half-curled into the cushions, TV playing something youâre not watching.
âYou look bored,â he says.
âIâm fine.â
âYou say that a lot.â He removes his jacket slowly, draping it over the armchair like he intends to stay awhile. He doesnât ask how you are. Doesnât ask what youâre doing. He simply crosses the room and stands in front of you. Too close.
âYou didnât answer me last night,â he says quietly.
You frown slightly. âAbout what?â
âWhen I said you were mine.â
Your stomach tightens. âI didnât know I had to answer.â
Bruceâs jaw shifts subtly at that. âYou donât,â he says. âBut silence usually means doubt or hesitation.â
He sits beside you on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. The space shrinks instantly. His thigh presses against yoursânot accidental. Deliberate. You stiffen.
âYou still react like Iâm going to hurt you,â Bruce murmurs.
âArenât you?â
The question slips out before you can stop it.
Bruce turns toward you fully, one hand coming up to rest on the back of the couch behind your shoulders. It isnât touching you yetâbut itâs there. Surrounding.
âIâm the only person who hasnât,â he says evenly.
Before you can respond, he moves. His hand slides from the couch into your hair, fingers threading through it, grippingânot painfully, but firmly enough that you feel the lack of choice. He tilts your head toward him.
âBruceââ He kisses you. Hard.
Thereâs no testing pause, no gentle introduction. His mouth presses against yours with clear intention, claiming space, claiming compliance. You gasp, hands coming up instinctively to his chest. He takes that as something else.
His other hand closes around your wrist, guiding it downânot violently, but with strength that reminds you how easily he could overpower you if he wanted. âRelax,â he murmurs against your lips.
You try to pull your face back. His grip in your hair tightens just enough to stop you. Your pulse is frantic. Panic crawls up your throat.
âI said relax,â he repeats, quieter now. Dangerous in its steadiness.
He kisses you againâlonger, deeper, unhurried. Like he has nowhere else to be. Like this is owed to him.
Your resistance faltersânot because you want this, but because fighting feels pointless. His body crowds you into the couch cushions. âThere,â he murmurs when you stop trying to turn away.
âSee? You make it worse when you tense.â
Your breathing is uneven. Your hands hover again, unsure. Bruce releases your wrist but keeps his hand in your hair, thumb brushing slowly along your jaw.
âYouâre lonely,â he says softly. âI can feel it.â
His lips press to yours againâshorter this time, almost punctuating the statement. âIâm the only one who comes back,â he continues. âThe only one who chooses you every day.â Another kiss. Slower.
âYou think thatâs an accident?â Your chest feels tight. âYou need this,â Bruce murmurs. âYou just donât like admitting it.â
He leans in once more, mouth capturing yours in a way that feels less impulsive and more⌠instructional. Like heâs teaching you how to respond. His grip softens slightly when you stop resisting altogether.
âThatâs it,â he whispers. âDonât fight me.â
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but composed. âIâm not ashamed of wanting you,â he says. âAnd you shouldnât be ashamed of needing me.â His thumb brushes your swollen lower lip. âYou donât have anyone else,â he adds quietly. âAnd you wonât.â
You sink into the couch when he finally leans away, heart racing, mind spinning. Bruce adjusts his sleeve like nothing significant just happened. âYouâll thank me eventually,â he says calmly. And the worst part?
A small, exhausted part of you wonders if he might be right.
             ༶â˘ââŕ¨ŕ§âââ˘ŕźś
The room is quiet except for your breathing.
The sheets are tangled low around your waist, the air still warm, thick with the aftermath of something youâre not sure you were ready for but didnât stop. Your body feels heavy. Used. Not in a painful wayâjust⌠claimed. Not that it wasnât the first time this had happened.
Bruce lies beside you on his back, one arm draped loosely across your stomach like it belongs there. His breathing is steadying faster than yours.
You stare at the ceiling. Itâs strange how quickly he shifts back into composure. Even nowâskin bare, hair slightly mussedâthereâs something controlled about him. Like even this was earned. You donât know what to say.
Bruce breaks the silence first. âYouâd like my children,â he says casually.
For a second, you think you misheard him. ââŚYour what?â
âMy kids,â Bruce repeats, as if mentioning business partners. âI have four.â
You turn your head slowly to look at him. âYou have kids?â
He glances at you, mildly surprised by your reaction. âYes.â
âYou never told me.â
âYou never asked.â
Bruce shifts slightly onto his side, propping his head up with one hand so he can look down at you. His other hand remains where it isâresting over your stomach, possessive even in stillness. âTheyâre grown,â he continues.
Names come next, like an afterthought. âDick. Jason. Tim. Damian.â He says them evenly without hesitation. You blink at him.
Almost a year.
Nearly a year of this and he never thought to mention he had four children. Your chest tightens. âWhy didnât you tell me?â you ask quietly.
Bruceâs thumb traces a slow line against your skin. âIt wasnât relevant.â
Not relevant?
Your mind flashes through the last yearâhis obsession, the cameras, the threats disguised as structure, the way he cornered you on the couch, on the bed, in every room of an apartment he calls his.
Do they know? you wonder.
Do Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian know how he looks at you? The way he talks about ownership? Or are they just another set of people who learned not to question him?
âYou look troubled,â Bruce observes.
âI just⌠didnât expect that,â you admit.
âWhy?â he asks calmly. âDid you think I only had room in my life for you?â Thereâs no teasing in it. No softness. Just assessment.
You hesitate. Bruceâs gaze sharpens. âYou donât like the idea of sharing me,â he says, almost thoughtfully.
âThatâs notââ
âItâs fine if you donât,â he interrupts smoothly. âYou donât have to.â His hand presses slightly firmer against your stomach, anchoring you. âThey donât see this side of me,â he adds.
Something in your chest twists. This side. As if itâs compartmentalized. As if youâre the only one allowed to see itâor the only one subjected to it.
âYouâre different,â Bruce continues. âThey needed guidance. Discipline. Structure.â His fingers slide up slowly, resting flat against your sternum, right over your heartbeat. âYou need something else.â
Your pulse jumps under his hand. âAnd whatâs that?â you ask, barely above a whisper. Bruce leans down, brushing his lips lightly against your shoulder. âCorrection,â he murmurs. âStability. Someone who wonât abandon you because youâre difficult.â
The word sinks in deep. You stare at the ceiling again, mind racing. Do his kids know how much of a creep he can be?
Do they know he installs cameras?
That he isolates people?
That he calls coercion protection and calls control love?
Or are you the only one who sees it this clearly because youâre the one under it?
Bruce studies your silence carefully. âYouâre thinking too much,â he says softly. His hand slides back down, settling possessively at your waist. âThey donât matter here,â he continues. âThis is separate.â
You realize, with a cold clarity, that he truly believes that. That in his mind, thisâwhat he does to you, what he builds around youâis justified. Earned. Even generous.
âYouâre still here,â Bruce reminds you gently. âAfter everything.â
It isnât comfort. Itâs proof.
He presses a slow kiss to your temple, then settles back into the pillow like the conversation is over. You lie there beside him, bare and breathless for entirely different reasons now, staring into the dark and wonderingâif four other people grew up under this man⌠what did they have to survive to get out?
             ༶â˘ââŕ¨ŕ§âââ˘ŕźś
You didnât expect it to happen so soon.
When Bruce mentioned his children, you assumed it was one of those distant factsâfiled away, theoretical, something that wouldnât touch you unless he decided it should months down the line. You thought youâd have time to process it. Time to decide whether you even wanted to exist in the same orbit as them.
You were wrong.
The next week, Bruce tells you plainly. âClear your evening,â he says over the phone. Not asking. âFor what?â you reply, already knowing the answer wonât be optional.
âYouâre coming to the manor.â
Your stomach drops.
âYouâre meeting them.â Thereâs no buildup. No softening. Just a decision already made.
He makes you wait at work until heâs finished with his own meetings. You linger outside your building long after your shift ends, watching coworkers leave in pairs and groups, laughing, making plans youâre no longer invited to.
Your phone buzzes once.
âStay where you are. Iâm five minutes out.â
You donât respond. You just wait.
The car pulls up exactly when he says it will. Black. Polished. Tinted windows that reflect your own nervous expression back at you.
Bruce steps out himself instead of sending a driver. That detail shouldnât matter. It does.
He looks composed as always, like this is just another business arrangement. âYou look tense,â he says, opening the passenger door for you.
âI didnât think it would be this soon,â you admit. Bruce studies you for a moment before responding. âThereâs no reason to delay whatâs inevitable.â
The word sits heavy in your chest as you get into the car. The drive is quiet. Too quiet. Bruceâs hand rests casually on your thigh at a red lightâpossessive, grounding, reminding. You donât move it away. âYou donât need to impress them,â he says as the gates come into view. âThey already know about you.â
Your heart skips. âWhat do they know?â
âThat youâre important.â
The gates open without hesitation. The manor is larger than you imagined. Not just bigâimposing. Old money and legacy carved into stone. You suddenly feel painfully small.
Bruce parks and steps out first, coming around to open your door again. His hand brushes your lower back as you stand, guiding you forward. âYouâre overthinking,â he murmurs.
âI just donât know what they expect.â
âThey expect me,â he says calmly. âAnd I expect you.â
Thatâs somehow worse.
The doors open before you can knock. Someone inside must have been watching. Bruce doesnât hesitate as he leads you in, his hand firm at your back. The interior is warm, lit softly, but thereâs an awareness in the airâlike youâve walked into a room where everyone already knows your name.
Footsteps echo from deeper inside. Four figures emerge one by one.
Dick is firstâeasy posture, sharp eyes that assess you far more carefully than his faint smile suggests. Jason follows, leaning against the banister with a look thatâs less welcoming and more⌠intrigued. Tim stands slightly back, studying you in silence like youâre a puzzle piece heâs been waiting to examine. Damian is the last to step forward, gaze unwavering, calculating in a way that feels eerily familiar.
None of them look surprised.
You realize, slowly, that Bruce didnât just mention you. He prepared them.
Bruceâs hand tightens subtly at your back as he steps fully into the foyer with you. âBoys,â he says evenly. âThis is him.â
Not your name. Just him.
The four of them look at you in a way that makes your skin prickleânot hostile. Not dismissive. Intentional.
Dick steps forward first, offering his hand. His grip is firm, lingering half a second too long. âWeâve heard a lot,â he says lightly. Jasonâs gaze drags over you next, something almost protective flickering thereâexcept it doesnât feel like itâs for your benefit. âYeah,â Jason adds. âDad talks about you.â
The word feels strange attached to Bruce.
Tim tilts his head slightly, eyes sharp. âYouâre smaller than I expected,â he says thoughtfully.
Damian doesnât smile at all. âYou look nervous,â he states.
Bruceâs hand slides up from your back to your shoulder, possessive and unmistakable. Bruceâs fingers tighten subtly.
âTheyâre just protective,â he says calmly. âThey get that from me.â
It doesnât sound like reassurance. You suddenly understand something horrifying; theyâre not surprised by you. Theyâre intrigued. Like Bruce brought home something rare. Something to be examined.
Dick moves closer, just a step too near for comfort. âYou really nervous?â
You nod before you can stop yourself.
Jasonâs lips twitch faintly. âYou should be.â
âJason,â Bruce says mildly. But thereâs no real reprimand in it.
Timâs eyes flick briefly to Bruceâs hand at your shoulder. Then back to you. âYou live alone?â
âYes.â
âFor now,â Damian mutters under his breath. Bruce doesnât correct him.
The room feels smaller. Tighter. Like invisible lines are being drawn around you.
Dick reaches out suddenlyâa light poke at your chest, testing. âRelax. We donât bite.â
Jasonâs gaze darkens slightly. âDepends.â
Bruceâs hand moves again. From your shoulder to your hip. Firm. âThey understand boundaries,â Bruce says evenly. âAnd they understand whatâs mine.â
The words hang there. Not corrected.
Something shifts in the room. Dickâs smile sharpens just slightly. Timâs eyes narrow in interest. Obsessed isnât the right word. Focused is. And the worst part? None of them look shocked by Bruceâs tone. None of them question it. They just look at you like something newly introduced into their ecosystemâsomething their father values.
And if Bruce values youâ
They will too. In their own way.
Bruce leans slightly closer to you, voice low enough that only you hear it. âSee?â he murmurs quietly. âYouâre not alone.â
You look at the four sons watching you with unsettling focus. And for the first time, youâre not sure if thatâs reassuranceâor a warning.
             ༶â˘ââŕ¨ŕ§âââ˘ŕźś
It doesnât take Bruce long to notice.
He sees it in the way Dick lingers too close when you speak. In how Jason watches the room instead of youâlike heâs guarding the exits. In the way Tim memorizes your routines after one visit. In how Damian stands at your side without being asked, chin lifted slightly, daring anyone to look at you wrong.
Itâs territorial.
And Bruce recognizes it immediatelyâbecause it mirrors something in himself. He doesnât correct them.
If anything, he encourages it.
âYou made an impression,â Bruce tells you a few days after that first dinner at the manor. His tone is almost pleased.
You frown. âThey barely know me.â
âThey know enough.â Thatâs all he says.
Not long after, he invites you back. âDinner,â he says simply, already expecting you to clear your schedule.
The second visit feels different. Less like an introduction. More like⌠initiation. The moment you step inside, Dick is already there to take your coat. Jason claps a hand on your shoulder like youâve been coming here for years. Tim asks about your week with unsettling precision. Damian sits closer to you at the table than before, correcting your posture quietly as if itâs his responsibility.
You laugh awkwardly once or twice. They donât.
They watch you eat.
They listen when you speak.
When you excuse yourself to the restroom, you swear the hallway feels shorter than beforeâas if the house is learning you.
Bruce sits at the head of the table the entire time, silent, observing. Satisfied.
After dinner, Dick suggests a movie. Jason offers to show you the gym. Tim asks if youâve ever seen the cave beneath the estateâsaid too casually. Damian simply says, âYou should stay the night.â It isnât a question.
Bruce stands. âThatâs enough,â he says evenly.
Four pairs of eyes shift to him immediately.
âHeâs coming with me.â
Thereâs no argument. Just a quiet, collective understanding.
Bruceâs hand settles at the small of your back as he guides you upstairs. You feel their stares even after the turn in the hallway hides them from view.
âThey like you,â you murmur, unsure if thatâs good. Bruce hums softly.
âTheyâre protective.â
âOf me?â
âOf whatâs mine.â
The bedroom door shuts behind you with a soft click. His room is massiveâdark wood, heavy curtains, the kind of space that feels insulated from the world. From consequences.
You hover near the center of it, unsure where youâre supposed to stand. Bruce removes his jacket slowly, watching you the entire time. âTheyâll get attached,â he says calmly. âItâs how they are.â
âThatâs⌠not normal.â
He steps closer. âNormal is overrated.â
Your pulse picks up as he closes the remaining distance, tilting your chin upward with two fingers. âThey see what I see,â he continues. âSomeone who needs structure. Stability. Protection.â His thumb brushes your jaw thoughtfully.
âAnd theyâre right.â
You swallow. âI didnât ask for all that.â
âNo,â Bruce agrees quietly. âYou didnât.â
His hand slides to your waist, firm, grounding. âBut you didnât refuse it either.â
There it is againâthat subtle twisting of choice into inevitability.
Downstairs, faintly, you can hear movement. Doors. Footsteps. The house settling around you. Or watching.
Bruce leans down, his voice low against your ear. âYou donât have to worry here,â he says. âYou have all of us.â
All of us.
It should feel comforting. Instead, it feels like roots wrapping around your anklesâslow, deliberate, impossible to untangle. And Bruce holds you a little closer, as if he already knows youâre realizing that.
His fingers slide from your waist to your jaw again, tilting your face up. He studies you like heâs assessing a reaction, not seeking one .âYou donât have to be afraid of being wanted,â he says.
âThatâs not what this is,â you breathe.
His brow lifts slightly. âNo?â
You donât answer. Because you donât actually know what this is anymore.
Bruceâs thumb drags slowly across your lower lip, not quite rough, not quite gentle. Testing. âYou get overwhelmed,â he says quietly. âYou spiral. You doubt.â
His other hand moves to your hip, steadying you when you instinctively lean back. âI make decisions so you donât have to.â
The words should alarm you.
They do.
But they also sink in.
His mouth brushes yoursânot fully a kiss yet. âYouâre tense,â he whispers against your lips. âRelax.â
âIââ
His hand tightens at your hip. âI take care of you,â he continues. âI give you a home. Stability. Protection.â
His mouth presses properly to yours this time. Slow.
âAnd you let me.â
Your hands hover uncertainly at his chest. Not pushing. Not pulling him closer either. Thatâs enough for him.
Bruce deepens the kiss, controlled and deliberate, like heâs proving something rather than losing himself in it. His palm slides up your side, under the fabric of your shirt, warm and possessive.
âYouâre safe,â he murmurs against your mouth. âAs long as you donât fight me.â Your heart pounds harder at that. His hand flattens against your stomach, thumb brushing just beneath your ribs. Not rushed. Not frantic. Measured.
âYou think too much,â he says softly. âYou always do.â His lips trail briefly to your jaw, then lower to your neck, not bitingâjust pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses that feel more like marks of ownership than affection.
âYouâre here because you want to be,â he continues quietly.
âYou came back.â
The implication hangs heavy. His fingers hook lightly into the hem of your shirt. âYou couldâve said no.â
But you didnât.
He pulls the fabric up slowly, giving you time to stop him.
You donât.
The shirt drops somewhere onto the floor. Bruce steps back just enough to look at you properly, eyes darkânot frantic, not uncontrolled. Certain.
âSee?â he says almost gently. âYou let me.â
Your chest rises and falls unevenly. His hands move to his own shirt next, unbuttoning it without breaking eye contact. It feels less like seduction and more like demonstration. Like heâs showing you how inevitable this is.
âYou donât have to pretend you donât need me,â he murmurs. He closes the distance again, guiding you backward a few slow steps until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.
You freeze.
Bruce doesnât shove you down. He doesnât force you. He simply presses forward until you sit. His hands settle on either side of your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. âI take care of whatâs mine,â he says quietly. âAnd you take care of me.
Another kissâdeeper this time. Slower. His control never slips. Your fingers curl into the sheets instead of into him. He notices that too. And instead of stopping, he leans into itâinto your hesitation, your uncertaintyâlike itâs part of the dynamic he wants. âYouâll learn,â he whispers against your mouth. âYouâll learn to want this the way I do.â
             ༶â˘ââŕ¨ŕ§âââ˘ŕźś
Your back forms an arch as you gasp, Bruceâs thick fingers curling deep inside you. âThatâs it..â he whispers as he works you open, relentless scissoring motions and sudden thrusts.
âBruce!â
He pulls his fingers out with a pop! and gets straight to business. He scoops his hands under your thighs and pulls you close, causing you to squeak like a startled mouse.
âThink youâre ready?â He asks.
âNo, n- need more time..â
His hands move anyways. One goes to your hip and the other lines up his thick cock to your hole, pressing enough for you to feel just how big he was.
He almost immediately sinks in with a deliberate thrust. âM- Mmh!â You moan involuntarily.
He picks up the pace without letting you adjust, his rhythm already becoming more relentless. The bed creaks beneath you both, the only sound besides your shaky breathing and his groans.
âFeels so good..." He whispers, his hips snapping against you.
He pulls back slightly before slamming into you harder, his thrusts becoming more aggressive. His free hand comes up to wrap around your throat, not choking, just holding.
âA- Ah.. Bruce, itââ You whine, clenching around his throbbing dick. He ignores you for now.
He pants, âYou're so tight... so fucking tight..â His other hand suddenly wraps around your erection. Whether it was a voluntary reaction or not didnât mean anything to him. His thumb finds your sensitive head and circles it slowly.
âF- fuuck..!â You cried out and dug your nails into his shoulder blades, bucking your hips in the process. âSlow.. d- down! Pleaseâ Ah!â
He feels you getting tighter around him, your body responding to his dual assault of cock and hand. And before you could cum..
He pulls out with a wet sound, cock glistening with pre, leaving you shaking but undeniably empty. You didnât even want to do this but you were so, so close to feeling pleasure..
He was intentionally trying to make you reliant on him for that feeling.
Why was it working so easily?
âD- Donât leave me like this..â You whined softly.
âAlready?" He chuckles darkly, his hand still wrapped around your cock, applying just enough pressure to keep you on edge without bringing you over. "You're being more needy than usual."
He leans down, his mouth hovering near your ear as his free hand slides up to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
"You're gonna hold that load for me, understand? You're gonna be a good boy and wait until I tell you to."
Bruce lets go of your cock and flips you over in one swift motion, positioning you on your hands and knees. He forces your legs wider apart and holds you by the waist.
Before you can even process what's happening, he's already plunging back into you with brutal force.
âH- Haa âŚohh goddd!â You moan loudly, back forming a deep arch and legs twitching.
Bruceâs grip on your waist tightens as he adjusts his angle, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. Youâre practically seeing stars, his cock dragging along your inner walls with each brutal thrust. The wet, obscene sounds of him fucking you fill the room, mixing with your desperate noises and his grunts of exertion.
âNgh- yesyesyes!â
âCome on.. give me that cum," he demands.
âM- Mmhnn!â You sob as cum spurts from your cock.
Your knuckles are white, hands clenching the sheets underneath and your legs absolutely shaking. Even after you cum, Bruce doesnât stop.
The room is still filled with squelching sounds, mixing with the repetitive fwop! of his hips against your ass. Your body jolts forward with each thrust, mattress muffling your cock-drunk noises.
Although itâs a few hours until his stamina finally runs out, when he cums, he collapses onto your back, his body trembling as the last waves of his orgasm wash through him. You can feel his cock pulsing inside you.
He stays there for a moment, his heavy breathing hot against your neck, his muscular body pressed flush against yours. Neither of you move, both simply catching your breath.
âFuck..â He groans. He slowly rolls off you, his softening cock sliding out with a wet sound. A thick strand of your combined fluids connects you briefly before it snaps.
             ༶â˘ââŕ¨ŕ§âââ˘ŕźś
Steam curls softly toward the ceiling, blurring the edges of the room. Bruce insisted on the bath. You hadnât arguedânot when his hands are steady and guiding and not when the water is already running at the perfect temperature.
Now youâre sunk into the warmth, back resting against his chest. His arms are wrapped around you loosely, one draped over your stomach, the other lazily tracing slow circles against your thigh beneath the water. Itâs quiet. Calm. Your muscles ache in that dull, heavy way that follows intimacy. Your mind feels floaty, disconnected. The tension that had coiled in your chest earlier is goneâor at least muffled by heat and exhaustion.
Bruce presses a slow kiss to your shoulder. âYou did well,â he murmurs. The praise settles strangely in your chest. You donât even question it. You just nod faintly, eyes half-lidded.
His fingers glide through your hair, careful, almost tender. He tilts his head slightly, watching your expression soften as the bathwater keeps you warm and pliant. âYouâre relaxed now,â he notes quietly.
You are.
Your thoughts feel slower. The earlier hesitationâthe small, stubborn voice that had whispered you didnât want this tonightâhas been dulled by comfort. By the way he holds you steady. By the way he makes it feel inevitable, natural. Safe.
He shifts slightly, adjusting you so youâre more fully leaning against him. âI take care of you,â he says, not as a question. As a fact. Your fingers drift lazily through the water. âYeah,â you murmur. His chin rests briefly against the top of your head.
His grip tightensânot painfully, just enough to remind you where you are. âWith me,â he continues softly, âyou donât have to think. You donât have to decide.â Your eyes flutter closed. It sounds⌠nice. For a moment.
Bruceâs lips brush your temple. âYouâre going to marry me.â
Your eyes open slowly. ââŚWhat?â
He doesnât repeat himself immediately. His fingers continue tracing slow patterns against your skin, like nothing significant has just been said.
âYouâre going to marry me,â he says again, calm, steady. Certain. Your heart stutters, the haze beginning to thin.
âBruceâŚâ
âYouâre already mine,â he continues smoothly. âThis just makes it official.â
The warmth of the bath suddenly feels too heavy. Too close. You shift slightly, but his arm tightens around your waist, keeping you in place. âAnd youâre going to move into the manor,â he adds, voice just as even. âThereâs no reason for you to stay in that apartment anymore.â
Your stomach drops. âT- Thatâs notâŚâ
Your thoughts scramble, sluggish from everything that came before. âWe didnât talk about that.â
âWe are now.â His tone isnât harsh. Itâs worse than that.
Itâs decided.
âYou belong here,â he says. âWith me. With the boys.â
Your breathing grows uneven.âI didnât agree to that.â
Bruceâs fingers tilt your chin slightly, forcing you to look at him. âYou donât need to worry about agreeing,â he says gently. âIâve already handled the details.â
The details? Your pulse pounds in your ears.
âIâve spoken to the necessary people. The apartment lease will be terminated. Your things will be moved by the end of the month.â You stare at him. âYou canât justââ
âI can,â he interrupts softly. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, slow and possessive. âAnd you know I can.â
The bathwater laps quietly around you both. âYouâll be happier at the manor,â he continues. âYou wonât be alone. You wonât struggle. You wonât have to wonder what happens next.â
You swallow hard. âI didnât say yes.â
Bruce studies you for a long moment.
âYou didnât say no.â
Your chest tightens.
He leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your mouth. âYouâll learn to want it,â he murmurs against your lips. âYou already forget you didnât.â
Thatâs what makes it worse.
Because part of you had. Until now.
His hand settles firmly at your waist again, anchoring you against him as the steam thickens around you.
âDonât look so frightened,â he says quietly. âIâm giving you everything.â
Your reflection wavers faintly in the bathwater.
âAnd youâre not going anywhere.â
Š đŹđđ˘đ§đđ§đ¨đđđ˘đŹ â do not copy my work.
â PUNCH MY V-CARD?! ââ boxer! toji x male reader
ę Summary: Every champion has its perks and gratuity, whether it'd be money, medals, trophies, fame, luxuries and other opulence you could ever name, but it's different for him. For him you are everything, you're his. Just imagine what would he feel seeing you getting touch by some insolent fan of his, that filthy and grubby fingers entangled in your hair, caressing the crown of your head, and you only let them do it? Are you aware of the consequences? You should.
â Warnings: porn with plot, description of boxing, blood and violence mentioned, possessive toji, marathon sex, bathtub sex, size kink, belly bulge, mating press, manhandling, degradation, fingering, creampie, overstimulation, breeding, cumflation, choking, dirty talk, dacryphilia, dumbification, missionary, body worship, slapping, spanking, fucking over a phone call, uses the term: cunt, pussy, somnophilia, not proofread.
Murmurs, gossips, rumors and half-baked claims. That's all you hear and all you see, whenever you go out for groceries, draped with long coats, a pair of masks and a black sunglasses, when you scroll throughout the media, hell you barely go out because of your relationship but still, it's all the same thing.
Your eyes scanned the screen of your phone, softened yet saddened, reading articles and headlines of your lover's success and immediate bad remarks,Toji Fushiguro.
In the care of his home as it was yours as well, spacious condominium and multiple rest houses, the comfortable humming of the air-conditioning set a cozy atmosphere within the room, there hanged and displayed his awards, medals, trophies and championship belts, but there was your picture with him sat beside of all his hard-earned opulences, glimmering brighter than any of it.
You met Toji even before he started to pursue boxing, you were his first. His beloved, The one that softened his brute and hardened heart. You remembered, no, you reminisced the times.
There you sat in the golden hour, sunset bleeds, seeping through the window as the curtain danced in the breeze, the crisp of the pages when anyone flips it, the incoherent murmurs of the students sets you to mood, though you pondered as you gently glided your pen on the paper. He stared at your form for hours, you felt it, the burning holes on your back. Toji Fushiguro.. he was a complex character in your book though harmless most especially to you, unconsciously you guys became friends, mutuals, the way his gaze dripped into your form like he's carving the every crevice of you into his memory, immortalizing you. even when the teachers are calling for him he wouldn't budge, he bugged you, the large pad of his palm pats your head tenderly, will tease you, he shares his lunch with you even when he's not that blessed financially, Toji noticed that you don't eat so he reminds you so, You were top of the class afterall, you kept studying until the sun is down, Someone that was definitely not on his level, You were classmates, high-school sweethearts if you may.
Toji's definitely not the one to start a fight.. well not until you came into his life. Not only that you were top of the class, you also get people to cling on you, and he didn't like it, not one bit.
Though he does understand why people would cling on you, you were smart, pretty, and handsome, that's literally it, what's there to not like? Though one thing that he didn't like about you is that you're too kind.
You let people touch the places that he caressed, you let people touch the every fiber of you ever so carelessly. Toji felt his stomach churned as his jaw locked, teeth gritting at the sight.
His patience finally ran out, he felt something inside of him ignited when he saw you, cornered at the corridor with some lousy student who reeked cigarettes and failed hook-ups, you look extremely uncomfortable and scared, pressing your textbooks in your chest, avoiding eye contact, pushing the man away as the he forced his way to kiss you as he slithered his hands on the small of your back.
Then it collided.
A clean punch, straight to the face.
The man flew to the ground with a thud, he was knocked-out.
OH MY GOD, HE KILLED HIâ
You screamed internally as your mouth agape in shock, dropping your textbooks on the ground with a thud, eyes widening when you saw Toji clasps your wrist gently, telling you to follow him.
â Calm down, pretty. He's not dead. â
You heard his voice, deep and gravelly, you listened. You then noticed the texture of his hand gripping your wrist, it was large, the pad of his palm were rough, you also felt the line of his scars, yet they were warm and clean.
Toji led you to a place, part of the campus that you've never been to, It was quite hidden after all. It was full of wild flowers and grasses, trees standing tall, shielding the grassy pasture from the sunlight, the atmosphere were calming, as the cold wind greeted you.
â How did you know of this place..? â
You asked in wonder, as you saw Toji already sat down, leaning his back beneath a tree, patting to the ground beside him for you to sit.
â Let's just say that I like to explore. â
â And go skip classes? How adventurous. â
â Wow. I just saved your ass and this is what you're going to pay me back? â
You giggled at the dry sentiment, eyes crinkled into a crescent like shape, blinking only see Toji's gaze upon you, you breath hitched as you stayed silent.
Toji liked you, whether you believe it or not, he was smitten even. But the question is how? Yes your overwhelming good qualities is there but there's just something about you that he couldn't get enough. He never found it on anyone else he ever encountered.
Toji remembered the day he met you. He was utterly miserable and battered with gashes and bruises, his hair was a storm from the brutal training he experienced, he sat down on a swing at some random playground and there was you, who offered him some water and a towel with your name initials sewed, wafting the fabric conditioner and a light conversation, treated him like a human in need, the way your eyes held such gentle gaze, your fingers treading to his entangled inky black strands, Toji never felt so safe from someone who's your size.
He bit his lip, as he tasted the metallic taste of blood from his freshly opened scar on his lip. His family was quite famous when it comes to sports and enterprises, The reign of prodigies, The Zenin family, but he rebelled against them, changed his last name, he gained freedom, though under one condition, he'd pursue boxing and win championships.
You noticed the forming scar on his lips, it bled out, abruptly standing up to buy some medicine or antiseptic cream some of sorts only to feel a warm yet rough palm grasping your frigid arm from the temperature, looking down to see Toji's gunmetal irises, almost in a pleading way, pleading you to not leave him alone.
â Stay. â
The arena roared like thunder, while the broadcasters gossiped, and joked through the mic, echoing throughout the stadium, sharing their insights about the possible outcome of the fight.
The fans shouted his name, chanting it like some prayer, they cheered for him like he already won, he saw signs and a tons flirtatious messages and innuendos.
It is not a surprise that Toji has down bad fans and a few stalkers in the span of his boxing career, he's big, broad shoulders that can easily tower over someone, slender waist, rippling mounds of muscles across his arms and thighs down to his strong legs.
To be honest, Toji never really cared about some obsessive fans and stalkers bothering him, because in reality, they wouldn't even try to get close, because they can't, Toji is already capable of handling himself to some minor inconveniences and danger of the disrespectful fans, Yes they could post some of his thirst traps online for clout or something, they don't matter to him, they could dwell on his past for all he care, make insane headlines about him but one thing that the publicity could never touch is his lover, you.
Toji's refined and smooth skin glistened beneath the gleaming lights, his sweat dripping down his chin down to his chest, his dark strands sticking in to his forehead, sharp eyes, his pinkish, plump lips forming a thin line as his scar parted, smirking from the sight of his opponent, as he pounded his gloved fist togetherâ bouncing off his feet, to warm up.
Whenever he was in a match, he would think of you, waiting for him at the backstage, sitting prettily as you watch him through the big screen, wearing his olympic jacket draping over your small figure, so when he wins, he would hang his gold medal adorning your neck as it shines.
He snapped out of his trance when heard his coach yell at him, signaling him and giving him instructions, Toji merely hummed as his adjusted his black mouth guard and head guard in place, answering his coach, muffled.
â Do you hear me, Fushiguro? â
â Loud nâ clear, boss. â
You shuffled at Toji's temporary quarters, fixing and tidying up his mess as you guys will go home together, stuffing his clothes and other necessities in his duffel bag, you hummed, hearing your lover's PR team scramble on their feet as the fight finally starts, leaving you alone, you were contemplating if you're going to the manager's office, there hanged the enormous screen to watch.
After you finished tidying up, you went to your own bag, prada. It was gifted by Toji on Valentine's Day, reaching inside to get your so called essentials, mask, sunglasses and a cap, to cover your image, unlike Toji, you would actually like to entertain fans though he never lets you, he never did, though you understand why.
You went your way to the manager's office room, the air conditioning hits your face gently, sitting down at some chair.
The match finally started as you sat down.
You watched Toji swung his fist with accuracy and impact, as it collided to his opponent's cheek, tilting his head guard to the side, you winced.
â Yikesâ! That will sent me to coma, immediately. . .â
After a few rounds, the tension is getting too high, hot even. Everything's on the flow until the bastard opponent purposely spat on Toji's foot, just to anger him, spoiling his mood, only for Toji to land a final blow on him that took a tooth from him in the process, knocking him out, he must've seen stars.
You barely contained yourself from laughing, remember.. you need to stay behaved, you watched through the screen as the referee finally took Toji's bulging arms up, declaring his victory, you squealed from your seat in glee.
You stood up from your seat, turning off the television, making your way out only to bump into someone.
â Are you Toji Fushiguro's manager, can I please get his autograph? Is he here?! â
Your eyes widened at the sight, you scanned his appearance, he was tall, his body was quite toned as well, greyish hair, tanned, lime eyes, he was wearing a backstage pass, though he might've got it wrong, it was a fan, you never met a fan before. Wait, why is he here..?
â Oh.. I think you've mistaken me for someone else, though Toji isn't here yet, this is the manager room as you can see, kindly get out please. â
You politely dismissed the fan, only for him to clasp your hand together, you gasp.
â Uhm, Sir.. I think this is not a great ideâ â
â Would you please accompany me to the backstage? â
This. . .This man is really stubborn and quite irritating.
âBut this is the back stage, you just got the specific venue wrong. Dumbass.â
You internally thought, as you retreat one of you arm from his grip, you gave him the look.
â Fine, follow me. â
â Woah, you're really kind...â
â Quiet. â
You led him to backstage room, only to found the PR team already tidying up the place, some of the staff greeted you.
â This is the backstage, you may sit right over there.. â
You pointed at the chair beside the coffee table, only to feel a hand patting your head rather harshly, messing your hair in the process, with one hand pinching your cheek even with the mask on.
â You're really kind y'know that, though what's your name and why are you wearing a mask, are you sick? You're quite cute too. â
Once again your eyes widened as you mouth agape, as the staff froze on what they're doing and tried to warn the man as if he was asking for his early death (he is).
You tried to tell him to stop but your words only go into his ear and comes out to the other side, you also tried smack his hands away, the staff also tried to help, but it was too late, you felt it from a mile away.
He's here.
And he saw it, the way that the man is holding you.
Oh you fucked up.
Your legs felt like jelly, they're shaking as you take it, your chest heaved, whimpering as you drooled into his broad chest,
â What'd I tell ya about meeting my fans, hmm. . .? You dumb boy. â
His words slurred into your head as you felt his long and think fingers, pump in and out of you covered in slick, his other hand smacked the globe of your ass, watching it jiggled in friction as you let out a wonton moan.
â Fuuckâ look at you, clenching your cute little cunt on my fingers. â
You merely buried your face into his neck, arms scratching his back, the cold surface of the gold medal pressed up against his broad chest, it was hanging on your neck, muffled whimpers was heard, feeling his long fingers curling inside your gummy walls.
â Nghhâ m'sorry. . . won't do it again! â
You lift your head to apologize, tears filling your eyes, only to choke on your own saliva, you felt his fingers protruding and bullying your prostate dead on, rubbing against your walls, as you writhed and shake uncontrollably.
â NGHHâ â
Toji pushed his thick fingers in and out of your creamy hole, slick dripping and coating the globe your ass, making obscene sounds, slippery and wet delicious noises, your thighs throbbed.
â Such a greedy slut, aren't you, doll? â
You bucked your hips, grinding down into his fingers, straddling his strong arm, locked, you felt Toji's hands gripping your legs together, lifting it up to your head, pulling his fingers out of your tight fucking hole, dipping his head down to suck your creamy hole, his slick tongue licking the stripe of your ass, slipping his long tongue in your warm walls, frothy spit dribbling down his chin down to his neck, glistening, your felt his plump lips ghosting just righton top of your tight ring, his scar, feeling heat in your tummy.
Toji pushed apart your legs, going for your lips, kissing you sloppily, you tasted the slick, feeling his large hand slithering in your neck choking you in the process, you whimpered.
â I'm gonna fuck you so hard the only thing that your mouth will babble is my fat fucking cock. â
His gravelly voice ranged through the heavy tension, the smell of sex reeked on the air, his pearly whites peaking, a quirk of his lips, smirking as he looked down at your form, his glimmering gunmetal irises stared sharply, helplessly.
You can't stop twitching and moaning uncontrollably, you bit your lips, almost bleeding out, pretty little tears rolling down your cheeks, as your eyebrows knitted together.
â P-please you're tooâ deeeep. . .â
Toji held your wrist together, upwards, his other arm held down your hips, your weight dipping down into the mattress, he merely dismissed your complaints, angling his hips, hitting the bundle of nerves, his thick, veiny cock abusing your prostate, the creamy and bubbly loads of his cum made an obscene white ring on your rim, dripping down the globe of your ass.
â Shut up and take itâ you dumb boy. â
You drool into your pillow, like some cheap whore, you yearnâ no, chase for it, the coiling heat inside of your tummy, your consciousness almost blearing out from the sheer impact of Toji's thrust.
His thrust was brutal and passionate, he fucks it deeper inside, Toji watched his cock go in and out of your tight cunt, the creamy and frothy cum coating his shaft, deliciously.
Toji groaned, almost whimpering when he felt you clenched around his dick.
â Are you trying to snap my dick in half, Doll? â
Toji then gathered your legs together, your thighs collided, lifting your legs over your head, gripping it tightly, he sloooowlyâ pulled out his cock, the thick and veiny shaft, almost pulsing.
He then slip it back in a heartbeat almost knocking out the air out of you, you felt so full, so filled, you let out a silent scream.
â Sooo bigâ too muchhh nghh. . .â
You babbled, trembling, knees weak, you felt him in your tummy, Toji noticed, as he pressed down the forming bulge below your bellybutton, rubbing it, you moaned and whimpered loudly, you tried to remove his palm, your tongue lolling out like a slut.
â Look honey, Daddy's soooâ deep inside of your boy pussy. . .â
Toji's brutal thrust was consistent, the bed kept creaking, hitting the headboard on rhythm, he trained for endurance, plenty of stamina, he wasn't close to done, even after multiple orgasms, he could go for daysâ weeks, even.
Plap, Plap, Plap!
But you can't, you weren't built for it, but he was willing to shape your body, he will train you to take his dick, to take his heavy loads, he wanted to breed you until you're so full of his creamy cum, his seed, he wanted to see his hole full of hot cum, dripping down your ass, plugging it back in with his fingers.
Your stomach was covered in cum and slick, your cock ached from so much cumming, your chest heaved, your body was covered in sweat, the bed was also covered in slick, sweat and cum that dripped out of you.
Toji then glided his fingers, combing his hair into a slick back, few of his inky dark strands sticked onto his forehead, huffing gently, he then slipped his strong arms on your back, lifting you, as your head lulled down into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him for support, straddling his waist with your legs.
Toji immediately got the memo, securing your form against his warm body, he leaned in to kiss the crown of your head softly.
â Doing so good for me, aren't you my angel? â
You melted, burying your head deeply into his neck, your arms slithering around his neck, lifting your head to kiss his jaw, tenderly, in return.
Toji's eyes widened, as it softened, grinning softly, kissing the tip of your nose down to your swollen lips.
â Two can play that game. . . â
His rough voice ranged throughout your ears, you felt his steady heartbeat with yours, your smooth and soft tummy against his toned stomach.
He then walked his way into the bathroom, there sat a pristine bathtub, the shower was surrounded with glass, the light, almost dimmed, illuminated with serenity, Toji sat you down on the stool, as he prepared the bathtub, turning on the warm water combined with cold.
Your legs were still wobbly, the aching feeling in your back was still lingering, you almost winced.
Toji lifted you once again, dipping his foot first to test the water's temperature, now dipping his whole body in with you in his arms, the water sloshing and engulfing your tired body, his strong thick thighs down to his legs surrounding your sides, you leaned onto his chest.
Toji grabbed the bottle of shampoo, pouring it into his palm, lavender.
He glided the liquid into your scalp, meticulous fingers entangling the knots of your hair, he also got your favorite body wash, gliding it over your supple skin, the foamy and bubbly soap, glistening all over your body, you massaged your neck, shoulders, arms, down to your back, and stomach, grabbing the shower head and rinsing you.
After a while, you decided.
â Baby, can I wash you as well. . ? â
You timidly asked your lover, playing with the water beneath you.
Toji's eyes widened, as he grinned, his hand slithering up to your jaw, tilting it to face him, he kissed your jaw to your lips, his tender gaze drowning you, sweetly.
â Aren't you a sweetheart? â
Your eyes softened at his gesture, you made your way, facing him, you knelt down, it was wobbly, you tried to grip onto the sides of the tub for balance, you almost slipped, yelping until you felt warm hands kneading and pressing up to your hips.
â Careful now, wouldn't want you to drown and hit your head, angel. â
â Shut it. . .â
His rough and gravelly voice was heard, you blushed profusely, you took the bottle of shampoo, gliding it to his scalp, pulling his dark hair into a slick back, you stole a sweet kiss on his forehead, you also used your favorite body wash, gliding it over his refined arms, and his toned body, his scars, you felt his gunmetal irises stared at you, he's gorgeous.
Toji merely stared at your form, taking good care of him, the tender touches, the way you kissed his forehead, tracing his scars that he once hated, you loved them, and he learned to love it as well, he felt the coiling heat on his stomach, he didn't flinch, when he felt your fingertips ghosted above his tip, he felt blood rushed to his cock, fuck.
Once you were done, you leaned onto his broad chest, until you felt it.
He was still hard.
â You think we're done yet? Nuh uh. . . â
Your eyes widened, looking beneath the water, only to see the crown of his bulbous tip poking between your thighs.
Toji then slipped his hands to caress your stomach down to your neglected cock, his other hand fingering your creamy and warm cunt, you mewled into your palm.
He lined himself up, guiding his cock to your entrance. Thick, hard, veinedâ he thrusted upwards, hitting your sweet spot, you drooled, pushing it deeper.
He knelt down in the tub, standing up, lifting you up, with your knees up to your head, folding you in half, as he lined up his shaft to your slick hole, thrusting inside, hitting your prostate, you moaned and whimpered profusely, your toes curled.
He fucked you in long, steady strokes, pushing deep with each thrust, making sure you felt every inch, every vein of his dick. The girth of him inside you was torment, your cock spurt out thin sheen of cum. head tipped back, neck full of fresh bruises, mouth drooling, his shaft was coated in creamy cum from the previous loads of cum he fucked into you earlier, it dripped out, making wet squelching noises when he thrusted in and out, he filled you to the brim just like a creampie.
â Fuuuckâ you're so fucking tight. â
Toji cursed, buried himself deep, and came inside youâhot, thick spurts of his creamy load that made your thighs spasmed.
â No matter how many times I fucked this pussy, it's still so fucking tight. â
He pulled out only to thrust back in with a deep, filthy squelch, and you moanedâa raw, high-pitched moan that echoed in the room, he gripped your thighs tighter, he pushed you down to his shaft pushing the cum deeper, fast, you saw the tip of his cock bulging in your tummy.
â NGHHâ s-slow down. . ! â
You whine. He grabs your hips and slams in again, fucking you with the weight of his cock, his heat, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.
âFuuuckâ fuckâ take itâ â
He snarls, his rough and gravelly voice gets you intoxicated, you're too cock-drunk to even comprehend, slamming in and staying there as his cock throbs. And pulses, his every vein dragging along your velvety walls, he painted it white.
Tojiâs voice is low, his breath hot against your ear, and his cock is buried deep inside you, pulsing with each heavy and fast grind of his hips, clinging to him as he starts to thrust, brutal and deep, it hits your prostate, making your cock spurt out loads of smooth cum dripping down your shaft, you moaned loudly, the remaining energy in your body leaving.
You passed out after you came, consciousness leaving your system, you felt your ears ringing, and Toji's inaudible voice.
You woke up, in your room, it was dimmed, dark curtains surrounded the glass windows, the coldness of the room hits your body, your hair and body was warm and dry, except your hole.
Your bleary sight is finally vivid, your eyes widened, you saw Toji still thrusting inside of you, you whimpered when your mind finally functions.
â Well look who's finally awake. . . â
He kissed your lips, with your mouth open, almost in instinct, slipping his warm pink tongue inside, he grips your thighs, pushing them up, folding you until youâre fully exposed under him. His cock hits that spot that makes you gurgle in the process, choking in your saliva, your hole feels so raw.
â Did you sleep well, angel? You passed out. â
â Nghâ how long was I asleep. . ? â
You barely nodded as you asked, your voice was hoarse and gravelly, with your swollen lips and eyes.
â Almost for five hours. . .â
Your mouth agape, your eyes widened in fraction, you gripped onto his biceps.
â Baby, what about your training. . ! Mr. Shiu w-would be so livid! â
Toji merely dismissed you, thrusting his cock in and out of you, the cum is overflowing from the amount of loads that he dumped inside of your boycunt, he pressed down the bulge in your tummy, his canines peaking once again.
â Training can wait, angel, I'm not done breeding you yet. . . â
He starts thrusting harder, faster. His heavy balls still filled with his seed, he's so pent up from the days that he didn't get to fuck you because of those stupid trainings, from the times that he'd get so horny, wet dreams about you bouncing up and down his dick with his cum dripping down his shaft from your sopping wet cunt, his balls slap your ass with every thrust, creamy squelches, looong deliberate thrust dragged along your hole, like some cheap fleshlight, his personal cum dump.
Plap, Plap, Plap!
You can only moan and whimper as you take it all, you felt something vibrate on the bed, it was Toji's phone with an unfamiliar number displayed on the screen, Toji noticed as he smirked,he accepted the call and put it on speaker, you stared curiously at him, he stared at you with his phone on his ear, you heard a quite familiar voice, annoying even.
â Hello, Mr. Fushiguro? Again I apologize for what happened yesterday, It wasn't my intention to discover your lover, and harass him at that, your management told me to apologize to you and your lover, I signed the contract that I wouldn't reveal these events on the public eye, may I please apologize to him, If I may. . ? â
â Why of course? here he is. . . â
Your eyes widened as you finally get what he was planning, you frowned at him, Toji merely smiled at you, mocking you, you flushed when he put the phone beside your ear, your hands weren't exactly available right now as it was restrained by his vice grip.
â Ah, hello, I would like to apologize to you as well, as I said, it wasn't my intention to harass you, I was just so excited to see Mr. Fushiguro, and I didn't know that he has a lover, you were quite a beauty, I can see why he's so protective of you. . . â
Toji gritted his teeth and jaw, he felt something inside of him, possessiveness and jealousy, his eyebrows knitted in irritation, that made him thrust upward inside of you, deep and hard, you tried to muffle your noises as you bit your lips, he gripped your hips down with his other hand onto the mattress, but you still tried to answer.
â Y-yes. . . It's a-all good nowâ mhnghhâ â
âYou like this. You like being used and stuffed full to the brim while that bastard hears us, donât you? What a whore. . . â
Toji leaned in to your other ear, he whispered with his hot breath fanning in the surface of your ear, every time his hips slam into yours, you feel the slap of his skin, the obscene slick of his cock grinding inside you, you really tried to muffle your moans but the heavy and squelching noises says it anyways.
â O-oh, Is that so? I'm glad then. . . Though are you alright? you seem to be distracted. â
â No worries, I-i just pulled a muscleâ! â
He pressed his hips flush to yours, his cock still twitching inside your soaked hole, he then grabbed the phone back to him.
â Alright, that's enough. bye, sayonara or whatever. â
â Ahâ Goodbyeâ â
Turning off the phone and tossed it on the side, he stared down at you, watching his thick shaft still piercing you for almost a day now.
â Haaaah. . .nghâTojiiiiiââ
He thrust in, hard, You jolted, a delicious moan spilling from your lips as he grinds his hips deeper, refusing to pull out, youâre shifted on your back, legs trembling while you're folded in half, gripping the sheets, while his cock pulses deep inside youâraw, hot, wet and creamy.
â Such a good boy you are. â
He breathes, and panted, his voice rough and almost hoarse, while he caressed your hips tenderly.
â Took me so well and letting me fuck you dumb and fill you up just like you deserve. . .â
You merely nodded profusely, accepting your fate, because you're so sure that he wasn't done yet.
ę Inspired by: @dabisbratz, check out their works! they're actually the holy grail for male readers omggg ( ËśËáËËľ ) !!
I love your work so much.. could u do m!reader who has a loud, athletic, and popular twin brother with a superiority complex, while m!reader is on the quieter side and not as popular.. m?readers twin acts all tough in public, only to be really submissive for his twin, always begging to be inside him?? Genuinely understand if you donât want to write this!
so kind. 'superior' twin, bttm male readerr... minors ageless blogs dni
brother who treats his twin brother as a nuisance... erm, yes please ! twin brother who often calls out to you in public despite you repeatedly telling him to leave you alone becuz you dont wanna be associated w him and his freak group of friends. how is it that he manages to find you? you have totally different classes, you were never around his hall... fucking stalker.
your twin brother, is a nuisance. a fucking show-off. not that you minded he was, as you're the complete opposite... except maybe you did mind. you'd rather much blend in with the rest of the crowds, not stand out. rarely you get mistaken for him, but when you doă Ąyou take it out on him. you hate being confronted, asked meaningless questions, being compared to himă Ąyou are your own person.
it's like he's haunting you. you can hear his voice, even when he's on a different side of campus... starting random fights, ending up bruised for you to nurse which is exactly what he wants; always winning. if he cant win, he's nothing. .m.,,,
popular bro calling out your name, waving you over to his table. merely passing by.,,, he wants to show off. show off his cool brother who he mentions time to time; bragging about you when you're the most average dude ever. you don't want attention...
"mmh." not sparing the king a glance. he's not all that, and he's not gonna get you to join the bandwagon - you probably have a target on your back now, huh,,,, but thats fine. hes ur brother, aint no harm gonna come to you. you just wanna live in peace with your equally quiet friends and not bother with your weirdo twin brother who has to be the center of attention. a total exhibitionist...
oh... what's with that? wh-why did you...? twin brother whos like a little puppy dog... gotta show him the right amount of affection just when he needs it. and you missed your chance - purposefully giving him that nasty glareă Ąwhat did he do?
;; "yeah, well. whatever, fuck him." he shrugs it off, trying to appease his friends - laughing the pain off, knowing he's just gonna run after you when their heads are turned... twin brother who can't stand when you're mad at him... "i'll fuckin teach him for ignoring me. i'm his brother!" he rants to his friends exaggeratedly. a fight? interest is piqued, but he quickly brushes it off and changes subject. just brotherly love.
calling out your name and you have the audacity to ignore him? thats whatever, he'll just chase you down. has no qualms bout it... except he totally does. you know you cant outrun him, but it sure is fun running away from his isn't it...
ă Ą"please? p-please, just one kiss. i need you, i need to feel you love me..." trapping you in a closet, caging you in with the most adorable teary eyes and pouty lips ,,, but you don't give in. not immediately,,, you like teasing him. you like making fun of him for being a pervert who can't live through the day without a lil brotherly loving... trailing your arms up his thick arms, groping his biceps with a soft sigh escaping your lipsă Ą
;;"can't to feel my love through my fingertips?" you scrunch ur nose, giving him the stinkeye... and he nods obediently. "i-i can... it feels so good, b-but can i just..." he breathes, inching closer with his lips parted. you hold ur hand up, stopping him,,, tracing his lips,,, you give him a little peck. that should hold him over for the day, needy fucking weirdo.
perhaps not exactly closeted brocon... i mean. you knew, he knew. that probably counts as closeted... obsessed with everything, anything you do... your body. voice. talk to me, he begs... get off your loser shooter game and cuddle...
and when you do just that, he cant keep his hands off you. laying in your bed, rolling around in your smell before nestling in your side with his hulking self. big spoon twin, you as the little spoon... curled up against you, one hand holding your head, the other dipping below the waistband of ur boxers.
ă Ą"quit playing with my pubes, weirdo." but he doesn't want to. whining softly into the crook of your neck, nooo, twirling the curls around his digits - gently grabbing hold of your member, "please, just let me..." a whole lotta begging from the man who's usually demanding and taking without asking... who's only sweet on you...
ă Ą;; "shut the fuck up..." you rasped, hand clasped over his open mouth. he can be so fucking loud, and you can't tell if its on purpose or he feels that fucking good. probably both, dramatic little fuck.
on twin brother's lap, riding him gently whilst his hands roam along your thighs, groping your ass, scratching your backă Ą"y-you're making my ears bleed." you insult, a small smile playing on your lips. he's drooling against your palm, nearly makes you flinch back in disgust, but you power through just because he feels so good humping you. "s-sorry..." he mewls, latching onto your neck. eager to placate your anger, to be a good brother...!
đ˛đť đđľđśđ°đľ â° juggling between two really hot sugar daddies is all fun and games, until they finally discover the truth, and both of them completely ruin you.
đŹđźđťđđ˛đťđ 10.3k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, threesome, age gap, double penetration, pet names, blowjob, handjob, unprotected sex (p in a), crying during sex, creampie, nipple play, heavy praise kink, size kink, manhandling, cum play, dirty talk, begging, obsessive behavior, emotional vulnerability, marking / biting, overstimulation, mild jealousy, hair pulling, fingering, rimming, multiple orgasms, aftercare.
it started innocently enough.
well⌠maybe not innocently, because nothing about your arrangement with nanami kento had ever been innocent; not the way he looked at you over his reading glasses when you walked into his apartment wearing nothing but one of his oversized dress shirts, not the way his voice dropped an octave when he called you his good boy after you'd done something particularly pleasing, not the way he fucked you slow and deep and so so so perfect on his expensive sheets every tuesday and friday night.
nanami was your first sugar daddy.
you'd met him through a friend of a friend who knew someone who knew someone, and from the moment you'd sat across from him at a quiet cafĂŠ in the business district, you'd been hooked. the man was thirty-seven, broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair that fell across his forehead in a way that made you want to push it back. he wore suits that cost more than your monthly rent, but he took them off with the kind of careful precision that suggested he respected his clothes more than most people respected other human beings.
he was quiet and steady; the kind of man who made you feel safe just by existing in the same room.
and god, he was generous.
not just with his wallet (though that too, definitely that) but with his time, his attention, and his care.
nanami remembered everything about you; your coffee order, the name of your childhood pet, the way you liked your eggs in the morning (over easy, with toast, never bacon because you were picky about meat textures). he'd text you good morning every day without fail, and good night every evening, and if you ever mentioned being stressed or tired or overwhelmed, he'd show up at your door with takeout from your favorite restaurant and a quiet offer to run you a bath.
oh, and the sex was just as good as everything else.
nanami fucked like he lived â deliberate, controlled, and devastatingly effective. he took his time with you, learned every sound you made, every spot that made you gasp, every angle that made you see stars. he was bigger than average in every sense, thick and heavy and curved just slightly to the left, and when he pushed inside you it felt like being filled with warm honey; slow and sweet and so, so much.
he never rushed, never demanded, never made you feel like anything less than the center of his universe.
and the way nanami looked at you after sex, with those tired brown eyes gone soft and fond, running his fingers through your hair while you caught your breath... god, it made you want to keep him forever.
but then there was higuruma hiromi.
you met higuruma three months into your arrangement with nanami, purely by accident. you'd been at a gallery opening â one of those pretentious art things where the wine is free and the conversations are even emptier â when a man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit bumped into you near the bar.
"sorry," he'd said, and his voice was rough, used, like he'd spent too many hours in courtrooms arguing with people who should have known better. "didn't see you there."
you'd looked up and nearly choked on your champagne.
higuruma hiromi was striking; not handsome in the same way nanami was handsome, but striking in a way that made your stomach completely flip â sharp jaw, darker skin, dark hair that curled slightly at the ends, falling into his face in a way that looked effortless but probably wasn't. and his eyes were intelligent and tired and so hungry all at once, and when they landed on you, they stayed.
"it's fine," you'd managed, and then, because you'd had three glasses of champagne and your filter was nonexistent; "you look like you'd rather be anywhere else."
higuruma had blinked at that, then laughed â a real laugh, low and a little surprised, like he really hadn't expected to find anything funny tonight.
"that obvious?"
"only to someone else who'd rather be anywhere else."
he'd bought you another glass of champagne after that, and then another, and then the man had walked you to your car and asked for your number in a way that made it clear he wasn't used to asking for anything.
the very first time you went to higurumaâs apartment â a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the city that made your chest ache â you'd told yourself it was just Ă simple dinner, just getting to know each other, just two adults enjoying each other's company.
the second time you went to higurumaâs apartment, you'd ended up on your knees on his ridiculously expensive rug while he stood over you with his shirt unbuttoned and his belt undone, looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.
higuruma was different from nanami.
where nanami was controlled, higuruma was intense. where nanami took his time, higuruma wanted you now, wanted you desperate, wanted to watch you fall apart for him over and over until you couldn't remember your own name. he was a prosecutor, which meant he spent his days arguing and his nights exhausted, and somehow, with you, he'd found a way to pour all that intensity into something that wasn't rage.
and higuruma was rougher than nanami.
not in a way that hurt â never in a way that hurt, because higuruma might have been intense but he was also careful, always checking in, always making sure you were okay â but in a way that left you breathless. he liked to hold you down, he liked to pull your hair, he liked to fuck you from behind while he whispered filthy things in your ear about how good you felt, how tight you were, how you were his, weren't you?
and you were. god, you were.
higuruma was also bigger than nanami.
longer, maybe not quite as thick, but long enough that when he pushed inside you it felt like he was reaching somewhere no one else had ever touched. the first time he'd fucked you, you'd come so hard you'd blacked out for a second, and when you came back to yourself he was hovering over you with genuine panic in his eyes.
"hey. hey, baby, stay with me. are you okay? shit, i'm sorry, i should haveâ"
you'd kissed him quiet and told him you'd never been better.
and it was true.
so, just like that, you'd ended up with two sugar daddies; two older men, both successful, both ridiculously wealthy, both completely and utterly obsessed with you, and neither of them knew about the other.
at first, it was really easy.
nanami had you every tuesdays and fridays, and higuruma had you every mondays and thursdays. you had wednesdays and weekends to yourself, to recover, to sleep, to answer texts from both of them that grew increasingly desperate the longer you went without seeing them.
thinking about you, nanami would randomly text, and somehow those three words in his steady, understated way made your heart race just as much as the things higuruma sent; come over. i need you. now.
you told yourself it was fine; you weren't lying to either of them, exactly â you just weren't telling them the whole truth. and it wasn't like you'd agreed to be exclusive or anything. the arrangements were clearly open-ended, casual in theory if not in practice, and neither of them had ever asked if you were seeing anyone else or not.
maybe they'd assumed, maybe they'd hoped, but neither of them had asked.
so you let yourself have both of them, you let yourself sink into nanami's steady warmth on tuesdays and fridays, let yourself burn in higuruma's intensity on mondays and thursdays, you let yourself be taken care of, financially and emotionally and sexually, in ways you'd never imagined possible.
you didn't work â really, didn't have to. nanami had set up an account for you within the first month, transferring a generous allowance every week without you ever having to ask about or, and higuruma had done the same, though he'd handed you a black card during your third week together and said,
"spend whatever you want. i mean it."
you'd bought a lot of books, and some very nice loungewear, and a new mattress because your old one had been giving you back pain, and when both of them had asked about the charge on their respective statements, you'd told them the truth and they'd both offered to buy you a better one.
( nanami had actually gone with you to test mattresses, lying down next to you on display models in the middle of a showroom while you tried not to laugh at how serious he looked. higuruma had just sent you a link to a five-thousand-dollar mattress and said; "get this one, it's the best."
you'd gotten the one nanami helped you pick, and then you'd used higuruma's card to buy the sheets. )
it was the perfect setup imaginable.
you had everything you wanted â money, attention, the kind of sex that left you walking funny for days â and you didn't have to choose, didn't have to give up one for the other.
exceptâŚ
except nanami was observant; it was one of the things you loved about him, the way he noticed everything, the way he remembered details that other people would have forgotten. and over time, he'd started to notice things.
the way you'd sometimes wince when you sat down on friday nights, even though you hadn't seen him since tuesday. the way you'd have fresh bruises on your hips that he hadn't put there, smaller finger-shaped marks than his that spoke of someone who held you way harder than nanami ever did. the way you'd sometimes smell faintly of a cologne that wasn't his at allâ something woody and expensive, with notes of cedar and something darker, something almost smoky.
nanami hadn't said anything. well, not at first; he'd just filed the information away, let it sit in the back of his mind, turned it over like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
and then, one tuesday night, you'd fallen asleep on his couch after an especially thorough fucking, and your phone had buzzed on the coffee table.
nanami hadn't meant to look at your phone. he really hadn't. but the screen had lit up with a text message, and he'd glanced over automatically, the way literally anyone would, and he'd seen the name at the top of the notification, and the message underneath;
higuruma hiromi âĽď¸
you're not answering my texts. are you with someone?
nanami had felt something cold settle in his chest. it was not anger, exactly â he wasn't really sure what it was. something heavier, something that tasted like betrayal and mine and how dare you all at once.
he'd known the name; everyone in the legal world in tokyo knew higuruma hiromi â the defense attorney turned prosecutor with the perfect conviction rate and the reputation for being impossible to read. nanami had never met the man personally, but he'd seen his picture in legal journals, heard colleagues talk about him in hushed, respectful tones.
and now, apparently, higuruma hiromi was texting you.
nanami hadn't confronted you that night, he hadn't mentioned the text when you woke up and stretched and smiled at him like he was the only person in the world; he'd just kissed your forehead and made you breakfast and watched you leave with the same careful, measuring gaze he used in boardrooms when he knew someone was lying.
but he'd started paying closer attention after that.
meanwhile, higuruma had his own suspicions.
he wasn't a detective, but he'd spent enough time in courtrooms to know when someone was hiding something, and you, for all your sweetness, for all your desperate little sounds and the way you curled into him after sex like you never wanted to leave, were definitely hiding something.
it was the little things; the way you'd sometimes check your phone when you thought he wasn't looking, a guilty flush spreading across your cheeks. the way you'd never let him stay over on tuesdays or fridays, always making some excuse about needing to wake up early or having plans with friends. the way you'd sometimes say things that didn't quite add up, details shifting just slightly from one conversation to the next.
and then there were the marks, too.
higuruma always marked you.
not in a possessive way â well, maybe a little in a possessive way â but in a way that felt natural, instinctive. he liked to bite your neck, your shoulders, the inside of your thighs. he liked to leave bruises on your hips where his fingers dug in while he fucked you. he liked to watch you look at them in the mirror the next morning, he liked knowing that you'd carry pieces of him with you throughout your day.
but sometimes, when he saw you closely, there were marks he didn't recognize.
not bruises, exactly. more like... tenderness. a slight redness around your wrists that suggested someone had held them down, but way softer than the way higuruma held you. a faint little mark on your collarbone that looked like it had been made by lips, not by teeth.
and the way you moved sometimes â carefully, like you were sore in places that he hadn't touched recently â made something dark curl in his stomach.
higuruma really wasn't the jealous type. or at least, he hadn't thought he was, but the idea of someone else touching you, someone else making you gasp and moan and fall apart, someone else seeing you the way he saw you...
it made him want to do unreasonable things.
so when he'd sent that text on tuesday night â "you're not answering my texts. are you with someone?" â and you'd only replied the next morning with a string of apologies and excuses that didn't quite hold together, he'd started doing his own little investigating.
and it hadn't taken long.
nanami kento was not a subtle man; he was quiet, yes, and really reserved, but he wasn't subtle at all. his name appeared on your credit card statements when you bought groceries at the store near his apartment. your location â which you'd foolishly left shared with higuruma â showed you spending tuesday and friday nights at an address in a very wealthy neighborhood that wasn't yours.
and when higuruma had driven past that address one friday evening, just to see, he'd recognized the car in the driveway.
it was a very nice, understated and expensive car. the kind of car that belonged to someone who didn't need to show off because they already knew what they were worth.
and it was nanami kento's car.
higuruma had silently sat in his own car for a very, very long time that night, gripping the steering wheel, trying to decide how he felt. angry? yes, a little. hurt? more than a little. but mostly â mostly, he was determined.
because you were his, and he was going to prove it.
the confrontation happened on a saturday.
you'd been careless; you'd spent friday night with nanami, as usual, and then you'd agreed to see higuruma on saturday afternoon, even though you'd told both of them you needed the weekend to yourself.
but higuruma had sounded so needy on the phone, his voice rough in that way it got when he'd been thinking about you too much, and you'd caved.
"come over," he'd said. "please. i need to see you."
and you'd gone, because you could never say no to higuruma when he said please.
you'd been at his apartment for about an hour, curled up on his couch in one of his t-shirts, when the doorbell rang.
higuruma had frowned. the man wasn't expecting anyone, and he'd told his doorman not to let anyone up, which meant whoever was at the door had either been cleared by security or had found another way in.
"stay here," he'd said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before standing up.
you'd nodded, pulling a blanket over your lap, and watched him walk to the door. he'd looked through the peephole first, and you'd seen his entire body go still.
"who is it?" you'd asked, suddenly nervous.
higuruma hadn't answered, he'd just unlocked the door and pulled it open, and there, standing in the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest and an expression on his face that you'd never seen before, was nanami kento.
"we need to talk," nanami had said, his voice flat, not looking at higuruma, but looking at you.
your heart had completely stopped.
"kentoâ" you'd started, but your voice came out as a squeak, and you'd had to stop and clear your throat before speaking again. "kento, i can explainâ"
"can you?" he'd stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. his eyes hadn't left yours. "because i've been waiting for an explanation for quite some time now."
higuruma had moved to stand between you and nanami, his posture defensive. "how did you get up here?"
"your doorman is very professional," nanami had said, still looking at you. "but he's also very easy to persuade when you tell him you're here to see your boyfriend."
"you're not hisâ"
"neither are you," nanami had cut him off, finally turning to face him. "not exclusively, anyway. which i think is the point we're both here to discuss."
the air in the room had been thick enough to cut with a knife. you'd pulled your knees up to your chest, making yourself as small as possible, trying to disappear into the couch cushions.
"i'm not going to yell," nanami had said, and his voice was still calm, still steady, but there was something underneath it that made you shiver. "i'm not going to make a scene. but we are going to talk about this. all three of us."
higuruma had looked at you then, and his expression had softened slightly, just enough to make your chest ache.
"is this true?" he'd asked. "have you been seeing both of us?"
you'd swallowed hard, and you nodded.
"for how long?"
"...six months."
higuruma had closed his eyes, and nanami had exhaled slowly through his nose.
and then, instead of yelling, instead of leaving, instead of any of the things you'd imagined happening in your worst-case scenarios, they'd both sat down.
nanami on the armchair across from the couch, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. higuruma next to you on the couch, not touching you, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"here's what's going to happen," nanami had said, and his voice was calm in a way that made your stomach flip. "we're going to talk. you're going to tell us the truth. and then we're going to figure out what comes next."
"butâ"
"no buts," higuruma had interrupted, and his voice was rougher than usual, strained. "you owe us that much."
so you'd talked.
you'd told them everything â how you'd met nanami first, how you'd fallen into the arrangement with him, how you'd met higuruma by accident and hadn't been able to say no. you'd told them about the lies you'd told, the schedules you'd juggled, the guilt you'd felt (sometimes) and the way you'd convinced yourself it was totally fine because neither of them had asked for exclusivity.
you'd cried a little, towards the end.
not because you were scared â though you were, a little â but because saying it all out loud made it real in a way it hadn't been before, made you see yourself through their eyes; selfish, greedy, taking everything both of them had to offer without giving either of them the full truth.
when you'd finished, the silence had stretched out for a long time, and nanami had been the first to speak.
"i'm not going to pretend i'm not hurt," he'd said quietly. "because i am. i thought... i thought what we had was special. i thought you felt the same way i did."
"i doâ"
"but i'm also not going to pretend i don't understand," he'd continued, cutting you off gently. "you're young. you wanted to be taken care of. and neither of us ever asked if you were seeing anyone else. that's on us as much as it's on you."
higuruma had made a little sound, something between a laugh and a scoff.
"you're being very reasonable about this."
"would you prefer i wasn't?"
"no," higuruma had admitted. "i'd just... you know, i'd expected more of a fight."
nanami had looked at higuruma then, and something had passed between them, something you couldn't quite read.
"i'm not going to fight you," nanami had said. "that's not productive. but i'm also not going to walk away."
"neither am i," higuruma had said, and his voice had hardened a little. "so what does that leave?"
another silence, this one was longer this time.
and then nanami had said, very quietly;
"it leaves us with a choice. we can both walk away, and let him find someone else. or we can..."
"can what?"
nanami had looked at you; his eyes were unreadable, but there was something in them that made your breath catch.
"or we can share."
the conversation that followed had been... intense.
not angry, exactly. neither nanami nor higuruma seemed interested in yelling, which honestly surprised you; you'd expected more fireworks, accusations, maybe some thrown furniture. instead, they'd talked to each other, and to you, with the kind of measured calm that felt almost more unnerving than anger would have been.
nanami had asked practical questions â how often do you see him? what does your schedule look like? has he been tested recently? â he'd approached it like a business negotiation, which made sense given nanamiâs background, but there was something underneath the practicality that you recognized: the man was hurting, trying to maintain control because he didn't know what else to do.
higuruma had been less composed; he'd paced the length of the living room while they talked, running his hands through his hair, stopping every few minutes to look at you like he was trying to memorize your face. he'd asked different questions, too â why didn't you tell me? did you think i wouldn't understand? do you have any idea how i felt when i figured it out? â and his voice had cracked on the last one, just slightly, in a way that made your heart clench.
you'd answered everything honestly. no more lies. no more half-truths. you owed them that much.
and somehow, impossibly, they'd come to an agreement.
"we're not going to make you choose," nanami had said finally, after nearly two hours of talking. "that wouldn't be fair to anyone. but things are going to change."
"what kind of changes?" you'd asked, your voice small.
higuruma had stopped pacing, and he looked at nanami, and then he nodded once, sharply.
"from now on," nanami had said, "you don't lie to us. about anything. if you're seeing one of us, the other knows. if you need something, you simply ask. and if you want to be with both of us at the same time..."
he'd trailed off, and the look he'd exchanged with higuruma had been loaded with something you couldn't quite name.
"we'll figure that out as we go," higuruma had finished. "but right nowâ"
"right now," nanami had said, standing up from the armchair, "i think we need to establish some things."
he'd walked over to the couch, stood in front of you, looked down at you with those tired brown eyes that had gone dark with something that looked a lot like hunger.
"stand up," he'd said quietly.
you'd stood.
"take off his shirt."
you'd blinked, and looked at higuruma, who was watching you both with an expression that made your stomach flip.
"kentoâ"
"you heard me," nanamiâs voice was still calm, but there was an edge to it now. "you've been lying to us for six months. keeping secrets. letting us think we were the only ones. don't you think you owe us something?"
your mouth had gone dry.
slowly, keeping your eyes on nanami's, you'd pulled the shirt over your head, then dropped it on the floor, and stood there in nothing but your underwear, shivering slightly even though the apartment was warm.
nanami had looked at you for a very long moment.
then he'd slowly reached out and traced a finger down your chest, over your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your underwear.
"you're beautiful," he'd said, and the words had sounded almost reluctant, like he didn't want to admit it. "you know that, don't you? you know why we both put up with this?"
you'd shaken your head, not trusting your voice.
"because you're ours," higuruma had said from behind you, and his voice was rough, ragged. "or you were supposed to be. and we're going to remind you of that."
you'd felt higuruma move closer, felt his chest press against your back, felt his breath hot on your neck. nanami was still in front of you, still tracing patterns on your skin, and you were trapped between them, surrounded by them, drowning in the smell of both their colognes and the heat of their bodies.
"whatâ" you'd started, but you couldn't finish, because nanami had leaned in and kissed you.
it wasn't like his usual kisses; those were slow, gentle, almost reverent. this one was hungry. his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place, and his tongue pushed into your mouth like he was claiming you, marking you, reminding you who you belonged to.
you'd moaned into his mouth, and behind you, higuruma had made a sound â low and dark and possessive â and then his hands were on your hips, pulling you back against him, and you could feel him hard through his pants.
"kento," you'd gasped when he finally pulled back. "h-hiromi, pleaseâ"
"please what?" nanami had asked, and his voice was rough now, not calm at all. "please fuck you? please remind you that you're ours? please make you forget every lie you've ever told?"
"yes," you'd breathed. "yes."
higuruma had turned your head to the side, captured your mouth in a kiss that was nothing like nanami's; this one was all teeth and tongue and need, and when he pulled back you were dizzy, barely able to stand.
"bedroom," higuruma had said, and it wasn't a question.
higurumaâs bedroom was as impressive as the rest of his luxurious apartment â floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city, a king-sized bed with sheets that probably cost more than your first car, soft lighting that made everything feel hazy and unreal.
you barely had time to take it in before you were being pushed onto the bed, falling back against the pillows, looking up at two very hot men who were both staring at you like you were the last meal they'd ever have.
nanami was unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate, careful movements, the way he did everything. his chest was broad, muscular without being bulky, with a smattering of blond hair that you'd spent hours tracing with your fingers. he caught you looking and raised an eyebrow, and something about the expression on his face made your cock twitch.
higuruma was less patient; the man had already pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his skin stretched over lean muscle, a body that looked like it had been carved out of something harder than flesh. his pants came next, then his boxers, and when he was fully naked you had to remind yourself how to breathe.
you'd seen both of them naked before, of course, many times, but seeing them together, standing side by side, both of them hard and watching you with the same dark intensity...
it was a lot.
"like what you see, baby?" higuruma asked, and there was something almost challenging in his voice. "because we've been looking at you for six months. wondering. imagining what it would be like to have you like this."
"iâ"
"take off your underwear," nanami interrupted, and his voice was calm again, a little more controlled, but his eyes were anything but. "slowly."
you did as he said, hooking your thumbs into the waistband and pushing them down your legs; your cock sprang free, already hard, leaking precum onto your stomach, and both of them watched with matching expressions of hunger.
"fuck," higuruma breathed. "look at you, baby. so desperate for it already."
"he's always desperate," nanami said, and there was something almost fond in his voice. "that's one of the things i like about him. he never pretends he doesn't want it."
"i don't," you admitted, your voice shaking. "i want it. i want you. both of youâplease."
nanami climbed onto the bed first, settling on his knees just beside you. he reached out and ran his hand down your chest, over your stomach, wrapping his fingers around your cock in a grip that made you gasp.
"you're going to take both of us tonight," he said, stroking you slowly, watching your face. "do you understand what that means, sweetheart?"
you nodded frantically.
"i want to hear you say it."
"i'm going to take both of you," you repeated, and your voice cracked on the last word. "i want to. i wantâ"
"what do you want?" higuruma asked, climbing onto the bed on your other side.
his huge hand joined nanami's on your cock, and the insane sensation of both of them touching you at once made your hips buck off the bed.
"tell us exactly what you want, baby. use your words."
"i⌠i want you to fuck me," you gasped. "both of you. at the same time. i wantâi want you to ruin me, i want to be so full i can't think, i want you to use me until i can't remember my own nameâplease."
"that's enough," nanami said, and there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "we'll give you what you want. but we're going to take our time."
higuruma leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, while nanami's hand kept moving on your cock. you were already close, embarrassingly close, but they didn't seem to care; they just kept touching you, kissing you, surrounding you until you couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began.
"turn over," nanami said eventually, and his voice was soft but firm. "on your hands and knees."
you moved without thinking, rolling onto your stomach and pushing up onto your hands and knees.
you could easily feel both of them behind you now, you could feel the heat of their bodies, you could hear the sounds of them moving â the rustle of sheets, the soft exhale of breath, the wet click of a lube bottle opening â and you had to close your eyes because it was too much.
"so pretty like this," higuruma murmured, and then you felt his hands on your ass, spreading you open.
his thumbs pulled your cheeks apart, and you knew he could see everything â your hole, still slightly pink from earlier in the week, the way it was already clenching around nothing.
"look at this perfect little hole. do you know how many times i've thought about this? about having you like this while someone else watches?"
"or helps," nanami added, and then you felt his finger â wet with lube, cool against your heated skin â press against your entrance, with higuruma still spreading you open
you moaned, pushing back against him, and he slid inside you easily. one finger, then two, stretching you open, and behind you higuruma was watching, breathing hard, his hands still on your ass, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there.
"he's so tight," nanami said, and his voice was strained now, all the calm control slipping away. "even after everything we've done to him, he's still so fucking tight."
"add another," higuruma said, and it wasn't a request.
nanami did, and you cried out at the stretch, at the fullness, at the way both of them were looking at you like you were something precious and filthy all at once.
nanami's fingers curled inside you, searching, and when he found that sweet little spot â the one that made your vision go completely white â you collapsed forward onto your elbows, your whole body shaking.
"there," higuruma said, and his voice was low, almost reverent. "that's it, isn't it? that's the spot that makes him fall apart."
"it is," nanami agreed, and he pressed against it again, harder this time, watching your reaction. "he's so responsive. look at him. he's already crying."
he was right; there were tears on your cheeks, sliding down to drip onto the sheets below. you hadn't even noticed.
"ready?" nanami asked.
you nodded, not trusting your voice.
but it wasn't nanami who pushed into you first.
it was higuruma.
he lined himself up behind you, and you felt the head of his cock â long and thick and so much, too much, exactly enough â press against your stretched hole. he pushed in slowly, so slowly, giving you time to adjust, and you buried your face in the pillows and screamed.
not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming size of him, the way he seemed to go on forever, filling you inch by inch until you were sure he was going to split you open.
"shh," higuruma said, but his voice was shaking. "shh, baby, i've got you. just breathe."
you tried to breathe, but it was really hard when higuruma was inside you, filling you up, reaching deeper than anyone had ever reached before. when he was finally fully seated, his hips flush against your ass, you were trembling, tears already leaking from your eyes in earnest.
"good boy," nanami said softly, and then you felt him move.
he'd positioned himself in front of you, kneeling between your hands and your head, and you looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes; nanamiâs huge cock was right there, hard and heavy and already leaking, the head flushed dark, and you understood what he wanted.
"open," he said, and you opened your mouth.
he pushed inside slowly, not as deep as he could have, giving you time to adjust. you had higuruma in your ass and nanami in your mouth, and you were so full, so impossibly full, and you could feel yourself shaking apart at the seams.
"there you go," nanami murmured, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. "just like that. take it."
higuruma started moving first â slow, deep thrusts that pushed you forward onto nanami's cock. nanami groaned, his hips twitching, and then he started moving too, thrusting into your mouth in rhythm with higuruma's thrusts.
in. out. in. out.
you were nothing but a body between them, a place for them to fuck, and somehow it was exactly what you needed. you wanted to be used. wanted to be filled. wanted to forget everything except the feeling of them inside you.
"he's taking us so well," higuruma said, and his voice was completely wrecked, desperate. "look at him. look at how well he's taking us."
nanami looked down at you, and his eyes were dark, almost black, his pupils blown wide.
"he's perfect," he said, and the words were simple but they hit you like a physical blow. "our perfect boy."
you moaned around nanami's cock, and the vibration made him swear, his hips stuttering.
"f-fuckâdo that again," he said, and you did, moaning as higuruma hit that sweet spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes.
"found it," higuruma said, and there was satisfaction in his voice, a dark kind of pleasure. "found that spot, didn't i, baby? that spot that makes you see god?"
you tried to answer, but all that came out was another moan, and nanami's grip on your head tightened.
"keep going," nanami said, and you couldn't tell if he was talking to you or to higuruma. "don't stop."
they didn't stop.
they fucked you like they'd been waiting their whole lives for this moment, like they were trying to make up for six months of not knowing, like they wanted to leave marks on you that would never fade. higuruma's thrusts got harder, faster, and each one pushed you further onto nanami's cock, and you were drooling, crying, making sounds you'd never made before â high-pitched, desperate, almost animal.
"close," you heard yourself say, or maybe you just thought it, because you literally couldn't feel your mouth anymore. "i'm close, i'm gonnaâ"
"not yet," nanami said, and he pulled out of your mouth, leaving you gasping, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock. "you don't come until we tell you to."
you sobbed at the loss, at the denial, at the way your body was screaming for release; but you didn't cum. you held on, because nanami had told you to, because higuruma was still fucking you, because you would do anything they asked.
"turn him over," nanami said, and higuruma simply pulled out, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, at the sudden absence of being filled.
they flipped you onto your back with gentle but firm hands, and then nanami was above you, pushing your legs up, spreading you open. he lined himself up â you saw him do it, saw the head of his cock press against your slick, stretched hole â and pushed inside in one smooth movement.
you screamed again because nanami was different from higuruma â he was thicker, not as long, but the stretch was almost too much, a different kind of fullness that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed.
"fuck," nanami breathed, and his composure was gone now, completely gone. his forehead was beaded with sweat, his jaw tight, and his eyes half-closed. "fuck, you're tight. you're so fucking tight, sweetheart."
"please," you begged. "please, kento, pleaseâ"
"higuruma," nanami said, and his voice was commanding despite the way it shook. "get behind him."
you felt the bed shift, you felt higuruma move behind you, you felt him lift your head and shoulders onto his lap, and you were angled now; your hips raised, your hole completely exposed, and nanami was still inside you, still filling you, still stretching you in the most delicious way.
"ready?" higuruma asked, and you felt his cock â slick with lube, thank god, thank every deity that had ever existed â press against your hole alongside nanami's.
"waitâ" you started, but it was too late.
they pushed in together.
you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do a damn thing except feel â feel the impossible stretch, the burning fullness, the way they both fit inside you like they'd been made to be there. you were so full you thought you might break, might shatter into a million pieces and never come back together.
"breathe," nanami said, and his voice was strained, shaking, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "breathe, sweetheart. you can take it."
"he's taking it," higuruma said from behind you, and his voice was wonderstruck, almost reverent. "he's actually taking both of us. look at him."
you couldn't look at yourself. actually, you could barely keep your eyes open at all.
but you could feel the way your body was stretched around them, feel the way they were both so deep inside you that you couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began. you could feel your own heartbeat pulsing around them, feel every inch of them both.
"move," you gasped. "please, please move, i needâ"
nanami moved first, pulling out halfway and pushing back in. higuruma followed, and suddenly they were fucking you in tandem, one pulling out while the other pushed in, a rhythm that left you gasping and crying and begging for more.
"so good," nanami groaned, and his forehead was pressed against yours, his eyes locked on your face. "so good for us, sweetheart. our perfect boy."
"ours," higuruma echoed, and his hand came around to grip your hip, holding you in place while he thrust up into you. "you're ours now. no more lies. no more secrets. just us."
"just us," you repeated, and you didn't know if you meant it or if you were just saying words, but it didn't matter.
nothing mattered except the way they were moving inside you, the way they were completely filling you, the way they were taking you apart piece by piece.
you came first â without permission, without warning, your cock spurting onto your stomach as your body clenched around them both. you heard yourself scream, felt them both groan, felt them both thrust deeper as your orgasm ripped through you like a freight train.
"fuck," nanami said, and his voice was wrecked. "fuck, he's clenching around us."
"can'tâcan't hold onâ" higuruma started, but then he was coming too, you could feel it, feel him spilling inside you, hot and thick and so much, filling you even more.
nanami followed a moment later, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into you, adding to the mess inside you, making you feel impossibly, obscenely full.
and then there was silence.
just the sound of three people breathing, trying to remember how to exist outside of this moment.
you thought it was over.
oh, you were so so so wrong.
nanami pulled out first, and you whimpered at the loss, at the feeling of his cum and higuruma's leaking out of you, dripping down onto the sheets. higuruma pulled out a moment later, and you felt emptier than you'd ever felt in your entire life.
"don't," you started, but you didn't know what you were asking for. don't stop? don't leave? don't make me feel this alone?
"we're not done with you," nanami said, and his voice was soft but certain. "not even close."
he rolled you onto your side, and you felt fingers â whose, you couldn't tell anymore â push back into you, pushing their cum deeper, making you moan and arch your back.
"he's still hard," higuruma said, and there was disbelief in his voice. "look. he's still hard."
you looked down and saw that he was right; your cock was already pathetically filling again, twitching against your stomach, desperate for more despite everything you'd already just been through.
"he's young," nanami said, like that explained everything. "and he wants this. don't you, sweetheart? you want more?"
"y-yes, please," you said, and your voice was hoarse from screaming. "please. more. i can take more."
and oh, they did gave you more.
this time, they properly took turn, thoroughly, like they were trying to see who could make you fall apart faster.
higuruma went first.
he pulled you onto your hands and knees again, and nanami positioned himself in front of you, sitting against the headboard with his legs spread, his cock hard and waiting.
"come here, sweetheart," nanami said, and you crawled toward him on shaky limbs, your body trembling with exhaustion and want. "suck me while he fucks you."
you opened your mouth and took nanami's cock as deep as you could, moaning around him as you felt higuruma line up behind you. this time there was no hesitation â he pushed in in one smooth movement, and you were full again, so full, and you could feel every inch of him as he started to move.
"that's it," higuruma said, his hands gripping your hips, his thrusts deep and slow and deliberate. "take it. take all of it."
nanami's hand was in your hair, not forcing you, just resting there, guiding you gently.
"you're doing so well," he murmured. "so good for us. look at you, taking both of us like you were made for it."
you wanted to say something, to tell them how good it felt, how much you really needed this, but your mouth was so full and your brain was completely melting and all that came out was a desperate, muffled sound.
higuruma fucked you like that for what felt like hours â deep, rolling thrusts that hit that spot every single time, that made you see stars behind your closed eyelids. nanami's cock was heavy on your tongue, and you could taste yourself on him, could taste the salt of his skin, could feel the way his thighs tensed every time you swallowed around him.
"fuckâi'm close," higuruma said, his voice tight. "where do you want it, baby?"
"inside," you gasped, pulling off nanami's cock just long enough to say it. "please, inside, want to feel itâ"
higuruma came with a groan that sounded like your name, spilling inside you for the second time that night, and the feeling of him pulsing inside you pushed you over the edge again; you came with a cry, your cock twitching against your stomach, and nanami watched it all with dark, hungry eyes.
"my turn," nanami said, and there was something almost competitive in his voice.
nanami pulled you into his lap, your back against his chest, your legs spread wide over his thighs. he was inside you before you could even catch your breath, his thick cock filling you in a way that made your eyes roll back.
"hold him," nanami said to higuruma, and higuruma moved to kneel in front of you, his hands coming up to cup your face, to tilt your head down so you could see.
"watch," higuruma said softly. "watch him fuck you."
you obediently looked down and saw it â saw nanami's cock disappearing into your ruined hole, saw the way your body stretched around him, saw the mess of cum and lube that coated your thighs. it was obscene. it was perfect.
nanami's hands were on your hips, lifting you up and down on his cock, using you like a toy.
"you feel that, sweetheart?" nanamo asked, his mouth against your ear, his breath hot. "you feel how deep i am, hm? you're never going to forget this. never going to forget what it feels like to have both of us."
"n-never," you agreed, because it was true.
you could feel him in your throat, in your fingertips, in the way your heart was pounding.
higuruma leaned forward and kissed you while nanami fucked you, slow and deep and filthy. his tongue slid against yours, and you could taste yourself on him, too â or maybe that was just the air, thick with the smell of sex and sweat and three bodies tangled together.
nanami's thrusts got faster, harder, and you broke the kiss to bury your face in higuruma's shoulder, to sob against his skin as nanami hit your sweet spot over and over and over again.
"come for him," higuruma murmured against your hair. "come for him, baby. you can do it."
you came again â a dry, shaking orgasm that left you gasping, your body convulsing in nanami's arms. nanami followed right after, his hips stuttering as he filled you for the third time, adding to the mess inside you.
"good boy," nanami said, kissing your shoulder, your neck, the spot behind your ear. "such a good boy."
you thought maybe that was it.
yeah, maybe they'd finally had enough of you.
but holy shit, when nanami pulled out and softly laid you down on the bed, higuruma was already moving between your legs, his cock hard again, his eyes dark.
"again," he said, and it wasn't a question.
"again," nanami agreed, and damn, he was hard too, already reaching for the lube.
you should have been scared, you should have been exhausted, and you were exhausted â but your body was still on fire, still hungry, still desperate for more.
"please," you heard yourself say. "please, i needâ"
"we know what you need," nanami said, and then they were both inside you again, and you couldn't think, couldn't even breathe, couldn't do anything except feel, once again.
they fucked you together for a third time â and then a fourth.
each time was always different; sometimes they moved in tandem, one pulling out as the other pushed in, a rhythm that left you completely gasping. sometimes they moved together, both thrusting at the same time, stretching you so wide you were sure you'd never be the same. sometimes they stopped moving entirely, just stayed buried deep inside you, letting you feel how full you were, how completely owned.
"look at you," higuruma said during one of those pauses, his hand tracing down your chest, your stomach, stopping just above where they were both buried inside you. "look at how well you're taking us, baby."
you couldn't look, after all, you could barely keep your eyes open, but you could feel â feel the way your body had adjusted to them, the way your hole was stretched and slick and completely ruined.
"he's crying again," nanami observed, and his voice was soft, almost gentle. "are you okay, sweetheart?"
you nodded, even though you weren't sure if it was true. you were more than okay. you were something else entirely â something that didn't have words.
"he's so pretty when he cries," higuruma said, and he leaned down to sweetly kiss the tears off your cheeks. "so so pretty. our pretty boy."
"yours," you dumbly agreed, because you really couldn't say anything else. "yours, yours, yours."
they took turns again after that.
higuruma fucked you while nanami watched, his hand on your cock, stroking you in time with higuruma's thrusts. you came again â you'd lost count by now â and higuruma followed right after, spilling inside you for god knows how much time.
then nanami fucked you while higuruma held you, your back against his chest, his hands pinching your nipples, his mouth whispering filthy things in your ear. you came again, a weak, shaking orgasm that left you sobbing, and nanami came inside you with a groan that sounded like your name.
then they both fucked you again, together, and you lost count of how many times you came. lost track of time. lost track of everything except the feeling of being filled, used, loved.
at some point, the tears stopped being just from pleasure.
they started being from something else entirely â something that felt more like release, like forgiveness, like being seen for the first time in your life.
you'd spent six months lying to these men. six months sneaking around, splitting your time, convincing yourself that you weren't doing anything wrong because they were both giving you what you needed. but they'd been giving you more than that; they'd been giving you pieces of themselves â their time, their attention, their bodies, their hearts.
and you'd been too scared to give them the same.
"i'm sorry," you sobbed, and you didn't even know which one of them you were talking to. "i'm so so so sorry, i should have told you, i should have â"
"shh," nanami said, and he was inside you again â or maybe he'd never left, you couldn't tell anymore â and his voice was so gentle, softer than you'd ever heard it. "shh, baby. it's okay. we're not angry."
"we're not," higuruma agreed, and his hand was on your cheek, wiping away tears. "we were, at first. but not anymore."
"why not?" you asked, because you didn't understand.
you'd lied to them, betrayed their trust, done exactly what they'd been afraid of.
"because you're here, sweetheart," nanami said simply. "because you let us do this. because you could have run, but you didn't. you stayed."
"and because we love you," higuruma added, and the words hung in the air, heavy and real. "both of us. we love you, even though you're an idiot."
you laughed at that â a wet, broken sound that turned into another sob.
"i love you too," you said. "both of you. i didn'tâi didn't know how to choose."
"you don't have to choose," nanami said. "that's what we're trying to tell you."
they fucked you one more time after that â slow this time, gentle, like they were trying to prove something to you.
nanami was deep inside you while higuruma was deep in your mouth, and you could feel both of them getting close, could feel your own orgasm building again even though you didn't think you had anything left.
"together," nanami said, and his voice was strained.
you came together, the three of you, and it felt like something breaking and something healing all at once.
to be honest, you don't remember much after that.
there are flashes â nanami carrying you to the bathroom, the warm water of the shower, gentle hands washing you clean. higuruma's voice, low and soothing, telling you that you did so well, that you're so good, that they're so proud of you.
you remember being laid down on fresh sheets â when did they even change the sheets? â and covered with a blanket that smells like both of them. you remember nanami pressing a glass of water to your lips, making you drink, making you eat small bites of something sweet. you remember higuruma brushing your hair back from your forehead, his touch so gentle it made you want to cry all over again.
and then you remember waking up.
you're in the middle of higurumaâs bed, sandwiched between two warm bodies.
nanami is the one on your left; his arm draped across your chest, his face pressed into your shoulder. his breathing is slow and even, and even in sleep he looks like he's thinking about something â his brow is slightly furrowed, his lips pressed together. higuruma is the one on your right; his hand on your hip, his forehead against your temple. he's snoring, just a little, a soft sound that you've never heard before because you've never stayed the night.
they're both asleep.
you lie there for a long time, just breathing, just feeling; your body aches in ways you didn't know it could ache â your hole is sore, your thighs are bruised, your throat is raw, and there's a dull throb in your lower back that you're pretty sure is going to hurt like hell tomorrow.
but underneath the pain, there's something else; something that feels like peace.
nanami stirs first, his eyes fluttering open. he looks at you for a moment, and then he smiles â a real smile, small and soft and so full of love that it makes your chest hurt.
"how are you feeling?" he asks, his voice rough with sleep.
"sore," you admit. "but good. really, really good."
"good," he says, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "you were amazing last night. i've never seen anything like that."
"neither have i," higuruma mumbles from your other side, and you realize he's awake too. his hand squeezes your hip, and he shifts closer, pressing his chest against your back. "you're fucking incredible, you know that?"
you blush, hiding your face in the pillow.
"you guys are just saying that because you came inside me like⌠five times."
"six," nanami corrects, and there's something like amusement in his voice. "i counted."
"i counted seven," higuruma says. "but i lost track at the end."
you groan, and they both laugh â real laughs, warm and genuine, and the sound of them laughing together makes something loosen in your chest.
"we need to talk," nanami says eventually, and his voice is softly serious again. "about what happens now."
your body slowly tense, but higuruma's hand rubs circles on your hip, soothing you.
"not like that," higuruma says. "we're not going anywhere. we just need to figure out... logistics."
"logistics," you repeat, and you can't help but laugh. "you want to talk about logistics? right now? when i can barely walk?"
"i'll carry you," nanami says simply. "if you need me to. but yes, we need to talk about logistics. because i'm not sharing you if it means i only get to see you twice a week."
"neither am i," higuruma agrees. "so we need to figure out a schedule. or..."
"or?" you ask.
nanami and higuruma look at each other, and something passes between them, some silent communication you're not privy to â a raised eyebrow, a slight nod, an understanding that seems to happen without words.
"or," nanami says slowly. "we could stop pretending this is casual. stop pretending we're just sugar daddies and you're just a sugar baby. and try... something else."
"what kind of something else?"
higuruma takes a deep breath.
"the kind where you move in with us. where we take care of you together. where you don't have to choose because you don't have to choose. you can have both of us, if you want. if we can figure out how to make it work."
you stare at him, then at nanami, then back at higuruma.
"you're serious?" you say.
"i've never been more serious about anything in my life," nanami says, and his voice is quiet but fierce. "i've spent six months falling in love with you. and last night, watching you with him... i realized that loving you doesn't mean i have to keep you to myself. it means i want you to be happy. and if being with both of us makes you happy..."
"it does," you say quickly. "god, it really does. but are you sure? like, both of you? because this isâthis is insane. you barely know each other."
"we know each other well enough," higuruma says, and there's something almost sheepish in his voice. "we talked. while you were asleep. for like, three hours."
"you talked about me for three hours?"
"we talked about us," nanami corrects. "about what we want. about what we're willing to try. and we both agree that you're worth it. that this is worth it."
you don't know what to say. your eyes are stinging again, but this time it's not from pleasure or pain or overwhelm; it's from something else, something that feels like relief.
"okay," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "okay. let's try."
nanami kisses you first â soft, sweet, and full of promise. then higuruma kisses you too, deeper, slower, like he's trying to memorize the taste of you. and then they both kiss you, and it's clumsy and awkward and perfect, and you laugh against their mouths because you can't help it.
"one more thing," higuruma says when you break apart. "no more secrets. no more lies. if something's wrong, you tell us. if you need something, you ask. and if you want somethingâ"
"i'll tell you," you finish. "i promise. no more secrets."
"good," nanami says, and he pulls you closer to him, tucking you against his chest. "because i don't think my heart can take any more surprises."
"my heart either," higuruma agrees, pressing against your back. "you're going to be the death of us, you know that?"
"but what a way to go," nanami murmurs, and you can hear the soft smile in his voice.
you close your eyes, surrounded by warmth, by love, by two men who are completely and utterly obsessed with you.
and for the very first time in six months, you don't feel guilty about it at all; you feel home.
bonus â three months later.
the apartment is ridiculous.
it's a penthouse â bigger than both of their previous places combined â with three bedrooms (one for each of you, though you've never slept in yours), a kitchen that looks like it belongs in a magazine, and a view of the city that still makes you catch your breath every time you look out the window.
nanami is in the kitchen, making breakfast; he's wearing an apron over his dress shirt â he has a meeting later, something about investments and portfolios and words that go in one ear and out the other â and he's humming something under his breath, his movements precise and efficient.
higuruma is on the couch, reading a case file, his reading glasses perched on his nose; he looks exhausted â he was in court until late last night â but there's a small smile on his face when he looks up and catches you watching him.
"stop staring," he says, but his voice is fond.
"can't help it," you say, stretching out on the couch with your head in his lap. "you're pretty."
higuruma snorts. "i'm pretty?"
"very pretty. the prettiest."
"what am i?" nanami calls from the kitchen, and there's amusement in his voice. "chopped liver?"
"you're handsome," you correct. "there's a difference."
"is there?"
"definitely. higuruma is pretty, you're handsome, and i'm adorable. we all have our roles."
higuruma laughs, and the sound makes your chest warm.
"adorable," he repeats. "that's one word for it."
"what other words would you use?"
"insatiable," higuruma says. "exhausting. the reason i can't walk straight half the time."
"you love it."
"i do," he admits, and he leans down to kiss your forehead. "i really, really do."
nanami comes over with three plates â eggs and toast and fruit, arranged perfectly, because he's nanami kento and he literally can't help himself.
he hands one to higuruma, one to you, and keeps one for himself, settling into the armchair across from the couch.
"what are your plans today?" he asks, and the question is casual but you know what he's really asking; are you free? can we spend time together? will you be here when i get home?
"nothing," you say. "i thought i'd stay here. maybe do some laundry. maybe take a nap. maybe wait for both of you to come home so we canâ"
"don't," higuruma says, but he's smiling. "don't start. i have to go back to court in an hour."
"so?"
"so, i can't show up with a boner."
nanami chokes on his toast, and you and higuruma both laugh, and the sound fills the apartment like sunlight.
this is your life now.
two men, one immense apartment, no secrets, no lies; just love, in all its messy, complicated, beautiful glory.
Keep Your Eyes On The Prize (Gojo Satoru x Male Reader)
âšââĄâPart 1ââšââĄ
Summary Ë áĄŁâš ŕŁŞ ๨ŕ§Ëâ
A sequel to my 'Tomorrow' fic, as requested here. To the sweetheart to requested it, I hope it's everything you wanted it to be đ. (FYI, I know nothing about American football, so forgive me if I've committed cardinal sins against the game. I should have just written 'football things' and left it, but I tried to research đ)
The roar of the crowd presses in on all sides like a living thing, a surge of stomping feet and overlapping voices that vibrates up through the bleachers and straight into your skull.Â
Every shout, every rhythmic chant of his name, lands against your temples, a headache already blooming behind your eyes. You should have brought earplugs, or at least taken the painkillers you keep in your bag for late-night study sessions, but you didnât, because this isnât supposed to be about you.Â
You promised him youâd be here. Youâd carved out a couple hours from your packed schedule of deadlines and problem sets, told yourself it mattered that he knew someone was watching who wasnât screaming for the jersey or the legend or the next highlight reel.Â
So you stay planted, hoodie pulled low, headphones looped around your neck like a comfort blanket, the stack of textbooks beside you a silent barrier between you and the sea of painted faces and waving signs.
Down on the field, the play unfolds in a sudden, violent burst. One second the line is locked, the ball snaps free and Gojo is already moving, long strides eating up turf. The name 'GOJO' stretches across his back in bold white letters, a declaration that feels almost personal when his body cuts through the chaos like it was scripted just for this.Â
You watch the arc of the pass, the way the leather spins clean against the sky, and then heâs leaping, snatching it out of the air without breaking stride. Defenders converge, arms outstretched, bodies hurtling, one clips his shoulder and spins away, another lunges low and is shouldered aside by a teammate who appears from nowhere.Â
Gojo slips them all. Thereâs no wasted motion, no hesitation, only that bright, feral joy flickering across his face as the goal line rushes up to meet him.
He crosses it with room to spare, plants one foot on the painted line, and throws the crowd that signature cocky salute, two fingers to his brow, a flash of white teeth, before the stands detonate. Thousands of voices fuse into a single deafening roar, bodies surging upright, fists pumping, the screen above replaying the catch in slow motion so everyone can worship it twice.Â
Your own mouth curves, small and private, the kind of smile you canât quite suppress even when you try. Because the man down there receiving all this adoration, the one theyâre chanting for, the one they want to claim, is the same one whoâll be crawling into your bed later tonight, sweaty and laughing and reaching for you like youâre the only thing that keeps the noise at bay. The thought sends heat curling low in your gut, a quiet counterpoint to the frenzy around you.
The buzzer cracks overhead, announcing halftime into the night. You donât move right away. Instead you let your gaze linger on him as he peels the helmet free completely, shaking out that impossible silver hair so it sticks up in damp spikes.
Sweat gleams across his forehead, catches the lights in tiny prismatic shards, and when he drags the hem of his jersey up to wipe his face the motion pulls the fabric high enough to expose a taut strip of abdomen, delightfully flushed, carved from hours of drills and hits.Â
Your breath hitches, your cock gives a helpless twitch against the seam of your jeans. You swallow once, already calculating how long you have to wait before you can slip away and find him.
Thatâs when she appears.
A cheerleader materialises at his side like she was summoned by the spotlight itself, petite, uniform crisp despite the heat, pom-poms still clutched in one hand while the other offers a glistening water bottle.Â
Her smile is practiced, bright, the kind thatâs been rehearsed in dorm mirrors. She lays her palm against his bicep, casual, familiar, fingers sliding over his sweat-slicked skin without hesitation.Â
Gojo glances down at her, nods once, flashes one of those quick, polite half-smiles that never quite reach his eyes. His attention is already drifting, cerulean gaze sweeping the stands in restless arcs until it snags on you.
The change is instant. His whole face lights up, the kind of smile he saves for when no one else is watching. Your pulse stutters.Â
You drop your eyes fast, heat flooding your cheeks, terrified that if you hold his stare too long the entire stadium will see the raw desire carved into your expression. When you risk another glance heâs already shifting his weight, body angling toward the stairs like he means to climb them right now, consequences be damned.Â
But she stops him, a small hand pressed flat against his chest plate, pressing the bottle firmly into his grip. He pauses to listen. And then he laughs, head tipping back, eyes squeezing into delighted little crescents as he angles himself towards her, the sound carrying even over the crowds noise.
Something sour coils behind your ribs. Your fingers curl, nails biting into your palms until the sting soothes you. You crack one knuckle, then another, trying to force the ugly bloom of jealousy back down where it belongs.
Secret, you remind yourself. This has to stay secret. You knew this, you accepted this.
Youâre still staring when Geto slides onto the bleacher beside you.
He moves with that same lazy, feline like confidence youâve seen on the field, dark hair spilling over one shoulder as he leans in just enough that the scent of turf, sweat, and faintly sweet Gatorade fills the narrow space between your bodies. His purple eyes meet yours, calm and amused, the corners of his mouth lifting.
âHeyâ he says, voice pitched low to cut through the din without shouting. âDonât think weâve officially met.â
You flick your gaze down to the field, Gojo still hasnât noticed yet, head tilted back as he drains the water bottle, throat working while the cheerleader chatters on. You force your attention back to Geto, drag up a smile that feels too tight. âNoâŚâ you manage after a beat, the word coming out slower than you mean it to. âWe havenât.â
âGojo talks about you a lot.â Getoâs tone is warm, almost conspiratorial, like heâs sharing something salacious. Your heart does a stupid, eager flip, a smile forming on your lips. âSays youâre the reason his grades finally stopped tanking.â You wonder if your face fell as fast as your heart did.Â
âOh.â You crack another knuckle, the sound sharp to your own ears. âThatâs⌠good.â
âYeah.â Geto exhales the word like smoke, leaning a fraction closer. âYou know, I think heâs seeing someone.â
Everything in you locks. You hold very still, voice scraping out careful and thin. âReally?â
âMhm.â He grins now, slow and feline. âHeâs been showboating all night. Throwing prettier spirals than usual. Gotta be for someone special.â
You force a small laugh that doesnât land. âWell⌠everyone likes him, soâŚâ
The sentence trails into nothing. You drop your eyes to the stack of books at your hip, tracing the curled corner of the top one with your thumbnail as if it was suddenly the most fascinating thing. Geto lets out a soft huff of amusement.
You canât help it, your gaze drags back to the field, helplessly drawn to him.
Gojo isnât laughing anymore.
His eyes are locked on you now, the crushed water bottle forgotten in his fist. Water spills over his knuckles in glittering streams that catch the lights and drip onto the turf. The cheerleader has stepped back half a pace, her smile faltering.
A vicious little thread of triumph twists in your chest before you can strangle it. Serves him right, you think, the words bitter and satisfied at once. Itâs only the touch of a cool fingertip against your temple that breaks your fixation. You flinch back slightly, shoulders curling, but Geto doesnât retreat.Â
âIs it too hot out here for you?â He asks gently, pushing a lock of hair from your forehead, the strands clinging to the thin layer of perspiration on your skin. You shake your head a little, shoulders lifting a fraction, he arches a perfect brow. âYou sure, pretty boy?â
You turn to him, expression shuttered. âHey.â The word comes out flat, that veneer of civility worn to nothing. âIâm not sure if youâre meaning to flirt with me, or if Iâm just reading it wrong, but either way, Iâm not interested.â
For one second his face freezes, then, just as fast, heâs laughing, tipping his head so a lock of black hair slides across his cheek. âColdâ he drawls, no real sting in it. âShot down before I even got started.â
âSorryâ you say again, already distracted as you turn away again, scanning the field for that signature silver hair.
Heâs gone.
The space where he stood is empty now. You strain upward, searching the sidelines, the tunnel mouth, the clusters of playersâŚnothing.
Geto leans in one last time, lips brushing the shell of your ear, warm breath sending an involuntary shiver racing down your spine. âSee you aroundâ he murmurs, the words barely audible, intimate in a way that makes your skin crawl. His hand ghosts over your shoulder, before he stands and slips away into the crowd.
You scrub at your ear with the heel of your palm, trying to erase the lingering heat of his mouth, the faint damp press of his lips. Down on the field the halftime show is winding down, lights shifting, music swelling again, but all you can feel is the sudden, hollow ache of his absence, and this gnawing feeling that somethings about to break.
âŚÂ
The final whistle echoes in your ears, a thin, metallic ring that burrows under your skin like a splinter. The scoreboard screams victory in electric blue and gold, the announcerâs voice booms over the crowd, and somewhere in the center of it allâŚis Gojo.Â
Heâs swept up, lifted, carried on the shoulders of teammates who shout his name like a prayer. You should feel something bright, something proud. And you do, in fragments. But your happiness frays at the edges the moment the celebration swallows him whole.
You stand frozen on the bleacher step where you rose without thinking, books clutched against your chest, the strap of your bag cutting into your shoulder. Around you the crowd surges forward, bodies pressing, voices overlapping, someoneâs elbow jabbing your ribs, but none of it touches the cold hollow opening in your sternum.Â
You need him to look. Just once more. A single glance, quick and secret, the kind heâs given you in crowded hallways or across lecture halls when no one else was paying attention. Something small, something only the two of you would understand. Proof that this win isnât only his, that some quiet part of it belongs to the nights he spent sprawled across your bed with textbooks forgotten, mouth on your skin, whispering your name.
And he does look.
For one brilliant second his head turns, those eyes that hold the sky find you. The air leaves your lungs in a soft, helpless rush. He sees you. He has to see you. His gaze is cold, devoid of itâs usual warmth when itâs turned on you.
And then itâs gone.
His gaze slides past you, already drawn back to the chaos around him. A teammate slings an arm around his neck, another ruffles his hair hard enough to make him laugh, the sound carrying despite the noise. They close ranks. Shoulders and helmets and jerseys block him from view until thereâs nothing left but fleeting flashes of white.Â
You feel it, the slow, sick slide of doubt uncoiling in your gut like an ugly serpent. Itâs not new, youâve carried it for months, tucked neatly behind your ribs where it canât be seen. Every time you caught your reflection next to his in a window or a mirror, your tired eyes, the way you never fill a room the way he does, it unfurls, roars its ugly words into your ear.Â
You told yourself it didnât matter. That he chose you anyway. That the secrecy was temporary, a shield until the timing was right. But now the thoughts rush in unchecked, louder than the noise around you, sharper than the cold seeping through your hoodie.
Is he tired of it? Of sneaking through back stairwells, of texts deleted before anyone can see, of pretending youâre just a tutor? Was it ever more than convenience, a way to blow off steam between practices and parties? An experiment heâs ready to end now that the semesters over and the spotlight burns just for him?
Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, you bite down until you taste blood. Your body locks, knees rigid, fingers white-knuckled around the edges of your books, because youâre afraid that if you move too suddenly, the tears waiting behind your eyes will finally spill and everyone will see. You canât let them see. Not here, not now.
Before the doubt can harden into something brittle, you turn. You donât run, not exactly. You move with a singular purpose, head down, shoulders hunched, weaving through the crush of bodies like you belong to the current.
A voice calls out Gojoâs name right beside your ear, so close you flinch. The tears come anyway, hot, blurring, turning the sea of jerseys and faces into smears of blue and grey and white until the whole stadium feels like itâs dissolving around you.
You donât look back. You canât. If you look back and heâs still gone, lost in that bright, hungry orbit, youâre not sure what piece of you will crack open and refuse to close again.
The thoughts drowns you. Maybe he was never yours to hold onto in the first place. Maybe you were only ever borrowing his light, and now itâs over. Heâs finally ready to take it back.
You step out into the parking lot, the chill biting through your hoodie, and the tears fall freely now while somewhere behind you, the celebration rages on without you, without even noticing youâre gone.
âŚÂ
You do the only thing you know how to do when things become too much to take. You ignore it. Bury your head in the sand and drown yourself in work.Â
The hours bleed together in the dim cone light of your desk lamp, the only sound the soft scratch of your pen against paper and the sound of your own heart.Â
You flip another page, then another, eyes swimming over annotations youâd memorised months ago, tracing the same lines again anyway. You read ahead, past the syllabus and into the optional chapters no professor ever expects you to touch, paragraphs blurring into dense blocks of text that refuse to make sense.Â
Anything to keep the quiet from pressing too hard, to keep your mind from straying to him again, to what he might be doing, and who he might be doing it with.Â
But your room has never felt so empty.
He used to fill it without trying, youâd gotten so used to him. Sprawled across your narrow bed with his long legs hanging off the end, pretending to scroll through his phone while watching you over the top of the screen with that lazy, half-lidded intensity that made your skin prickle.Â
Youâd pretend not to notice, nose buried in notes, but every time he shifted, every time he huffed a quiet laugh at something on his feed, the air changed. Somehow warmer, and lighter.
It doesnât work. You want him, you want him here, with his warm smell, his warm hands, his bright eyes, and even brighter laughter.Â
You want him here.
And not the public version, the perfect, untouchable athlete with the easy smiles. No, you want the private Gojo. The one who smells faintly of turf and sweat after practice, whose eyes go soft when he thinks no one else can see. The one whose laughter starts low in his chest and ends up bright, reckless, filling every corner of this cramped space.
You stare down at the words on the paper in-front of you, your pen strokes so hard theyâve almost gone through the paper. You fling the pen across the desk. It clatters off the table and and falls silent on the floor. Your fists come up fast, pressing into your eye sockets until white sparks bloom behind your lids, until the pressure almost drowns out the hollow throb in your chest.Â
A sudden, violent bang shatters the quiet, the wood door shuddering on its hinges under the impact. Then another, each more frantic than the last, like someone is trying to kick the door open.Â
You rush to the door and wrench it open with enough force to make the chain rattle, ready to hiss at whoever it is to stop before the neighbours call security, or worse.
The words die the instant you see him.
Gojo stands on your threshold like heâs been carved from the night itself, glowing like the moon itself, a flush high on his cheeks, the colour spreading across the bridge of his nose in a deep, bitten-rose that makes your stomach twist. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, shimmering wet in the weak glow of the porch light, lashes clumped with what could be tears.Â
His silver hair stands on end in chaotic tufts, matted at the temples with sweat, or product, or the hands of too many people who wanted a piece of him tonight. His jersey hangs crooked, one shoulder low enough to bare the delicious dip of his collarbone.
âWhere were you?â He sniffs, one hand braced on the doorframe. He uses the other to swipe at his nose, the motion quick and embarrassed, like heâs ashamed to be caught crying. âYou just⌠disappeared.â
You drop your gaze to the scuffed floorboards between your feet, knowing that the next thing out of your mouth will be childish and petulant but not having the means to stop it. âYou didnât seem to need me there.â
âWhatâ You wereââ He coughs, spluttering a little, dragging that same hand through his hair again, fingers twisting in the strands hard enough to pull.âYou were with Geto. Talking. Smiling. He touched your hair, for fuckâs sake.â
The accusations makes something in your chest flare, hot and indignant. âIf you must knowâ you say, each word strained, clipped, cold, âwe actually spoke about you. And the second he got too close I shut it down. Hard.â You lift your chin, forcing yourself to meet those glassy blue eyes. âI canât say the same for you and your littleâŚhalftime fan.â
His mouth opens and closes like a guppy fish, you seize on his silence, needling him with your words.Â
âWas she more your type?â The question tastes like acid. âI heard all the stories, Satoru. Before me. You didnât exactly play hard to get back then. She was cute. Really cute. You shouldâve got her number. Especially now that youâre apparentlyââ
His fist meets the wood of your door, cutting your vitriolic monologue off.
Your brain screams at you to apologise, take it back, to not let what you have fracture any further. But the pathetic, aching part of you stays silent. Waiting. Wanting him to deny it. Wanting him to prove you still take up space in his chest the way he takes up every corner of yours. Wanting him to crack open, raw and bleeding, so you can finally see how much of him is still yours.
He doesnât move. Doesnât speak.
The seconds stretch, suffocating you slowly, and the longer it goes on, the more of your heart you feel splinter away.Â
You mirror him without thinking, dragging your own hand through your hair, shoving it roughly back from your forehead, the motion exhausted, defeated.
âGo home, Gojoâ you sigh, an unbreakable weariness crashing over you in a slow, drowning wave. âIâm⌠tireââ
His mouth crashes into yours before the word finishes.
Hard. Deep. Wet.Â
His hands frame your face, wide palms engulfing your cheeks, thumbs sweeping tenderly over the crests of your cheekbones even as he presses forward, forcing you back across the threshold. You suck in a gasp just as his lips seal over yours, tasting the tang of beer on his tongue, the salt of his tears, one fat drop slipping free from the corner of his eye to track down his cheek and fall between your joined lips.Â
A soft, broken whimper escapes your throat. He drinks it down, pushing you back another step, one hand sliding from your face to splay wide at the small of your back, fingers digging in, as though letting even an inch of space open between you might allow you to slip away for good.
He kicks the door shut with the heel of his foot, the slam reverberating through the thin walls of your apartment. He doesnât care, doesnât even flinch. His body is already crowding yours, driving you backward until your spine meets the nearest stretch of wall with a dull thud that knocks the breath from you.Â
One thick thigh wedges between yours, pressing up hard against you so that you feel every hard inch of him, the heat of his arousal unmistakable even through layers of fabric. His heart hammers against your chest in frantic counterpoint to your own, a wild, unsteady rhythm that says heâs as terrified as he is desperate.
His hands turn greedy, fingers curling like claws into the soft flesh of your hips, your sides, the backs of your thighs, anywhere he can reach. His mouth is relentless, teeth catching your lower lip on the next kiss, tugging hard enough to sting before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue.Â
You break away just long enough to drag in air, head falling back against the wall with a soft thunk, exposing the line of your throat. He doesnât hesitate. His lips descend in a hot, open-mouthed path down the column of your neck, biting, not gentle nips, but real bites that bloom into vivid red marks almost instantly, each one a brand he sinks in deeper when you gasp.Â
âDonât you ever say that againâ he growls against your skin, voice rough, breath scorching where it fans over your skin. He pauses there, panting, chest heaving against yours. âYouâre the only one I want. The only one I think about. Every fucking second.â
Heat floods your veins, thick and dizzying, feeling nothing but the press of his body, the scrape of his teeth, the way his fingers dig in harder as though afraid youâll dissolve if he eases up even a fraction. But beneath the haze of want, the hurt youâve been carrying all night claws its way back up, raw, insistent, refusing to be drowned out.
You lift both hands to his face, cradling his jaw, thumbs brushing over the sharp line of his cheekbones until he stills. Forcing him to look at you. His eyes are wild, and glassy with unshed tears, something that makes your heart twist painfully. You search them anyway, needing the truth he can never quite hide, even when every part of him wants to.
âThen why hide us?â The question comes out soft, almost a whisper, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. Your gaze flicks between his left eye and his right, watching for the flicker, the crack. âWhy keep pretending Iâm nothing to you in front of everyone?â
His brows draw together, a deep furrow carving between them. For one agonising second his eyes screw shut, like the question physically hurts. When they open again the blue is fractured, and raw.
âBecauseâŚâ The word rushes out on a shaky exhale, barely audible. His hands slide to your waist, kneading restlessly, thumbs circling over your ribs in a rhythm thatâs meant to ground him as much as it distracts you. âI was scared youâd get hurt.â
You wait, breath caught, letting the silence stretch until he has no choice but to keep going.
âLike you saidâ he continues, voice cracking on the edges, âbefore you I had⌠a reputation. I didnât want you hearing the stories. Didnât want people whispering shit about youâŚabout us. Calling you the flavour of the month, or worse. I thought if they got to you, if they made you doubtâŚâ He swallows hard, Adamâs apple bobbing. âI thought youâd run. That Iâd lose you before I even really had you. So I hid it. Hid us. For as long as I could.â
His word are devastating. All the ugly fears youâve been nursing dissolve in a single, breathless rush. Guilt follows fast on their heels, sharp and familiar; your own words echoed back at you, cruel in hindsight.
âToruâ you choke out, your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the silver strands hard enough to make him wince softly. His eyes search yours, wide and vulnerable in a way he rarely allows. âIâd never run from you.â
He sucks in a shuddering breath, those impossible blue eyes flaring brighter.
âI love youâ he says, voice breaking on the confession. âI love you, Y/N. I really fucking do.â
The words burn through you, searing the last of the doubt away. Your throat tightens, eyes stinging hot. âI love you too, Toru. So much.â
His mouth finds yours again, a clutch of lips and teeth and tongue that steals what little air you have left. He pulls back just enough, chest brushing yours in ragged rises and falls, eyes fluttering shut as though heâs letting your words sink in. When opens them again, his pupils have almost swallowed the blue, raw with unfiltered desire.
âI wonât stopâ he growls low, hands sliding from your waist to the hem of your shirt, fingers teasing the edge, knuckles grazing bare skin. âOnce I start I wonât be able toâIâllââ
âToru.â Your voice drops into something darker, sultrier, fingers pressing gently but firmly over his lips to quiet him. âI wonât ever tell you to stop.â
His tongue flicks out immediately, sliding between your fingers to lick a slow, lascivious stripe along the pads. His gaze never leaves yours. You shiver hard, teeth sinking into your own lip as heat coils tighter in your belly.
He pushes your hand aside and dives back to your throat, sucking a fresh mark into the skin just below your jaw while his fingers shove your shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric catches briefly on your arms, he doesnât wait, yanking it free and tossing it somewhere behind him.
Your pyjama pants give no real struggle before they surrender, pooling at your ankles when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and drags them past your hips.
His palm cups you through your boxers, pressing just hard enough to feel the way your cock twitches under the touch. A soft, desperate sound tears from your throat. Your gasps turn ragged, eyes screwing shut as the fever takes hold completely.Â
Itâs not healthy, this need, this bone-deep certainty that youâd rather stop breathing than stop feeling him, but the thought barely registers before itâs swept away.
âFuckâ he growls against your shoulder, lips trailing fire across your skin. He rests his cheek against you for a heartbeat, breathing you in, eyes lifting to search your face like heâs asking for something he already knows the answer to. âI want you so bad.â
Your lashes flutter open. His sapphire gaze glitters back at you.
âIâm yoursâ you whisper.
His eyes widen, mouth parting on a silent inhale. Then his arms wrap around you again, crushing you to his chest.Â
In one fluid motion he lifts you, hands braced firm under your ass, your legs instinctively locking around his waist, and carries you the last few steps toward the bed.
He lowers you toward the mattress, his mouth brushing your ear in a hot, trembling whisper. âIâm gonna make sure you never doubt us againâ.
Youâre already sinking back against the pillows, thighs parting in silent invitation as you feel the mattress dip under his weight. You expected him to settle between your legs, to press the hard line of his body flush against yours and chase the friction you both craved, but he didnât.
Instead he slid lower.
His mouth mapped a slow, deliberate path down the center of your torso, open-mouthed kisses pressed to the fragile skin over your ribs, the dip of your navel, the sharp jut of your hipbone, each one hotter than the last, leaving faint, glistening trails that cooled too quickly in the cool air of your room.Â
When he reached the waistband of your boxers his hands found the backs of your thighs, warm palms sliding up until he could hook one leg gently over his shoulder.Â
Those cerulean eyes lifted to meet yours, he held you captive while his lips brushed the wet spot darkening the fabric of your boxer. Your cock jerked hard beneath the thin barrier, a helpless twitch that made heat flood your face. He smiled against you, the kind of smile that said he could feel every frantic pulse, and then his teeth caught the elastic.
He peeled your boxers down inch by torturous inch, never breaking eye contact, daring you with every slow drag to reach down and stop him. You didnât. You couldnât.Â
The waistband dragged over the head of your cock and then lower, freeing you completely, the sudden rush of cool air made you gasp, one hand flying to your mouth to muffle the sound as your length bobbed against your stomach, already leaking at the tip. He helped you pull them off the rest of the way, sending them arcing over his shoulder.Â
He licked his lips once, then leaned in and pressed the softest, wettest kiss right to the flushed head of your cock.
Your hips snapped upward before you could think, chasing the heat of his mouth. You forced them back down with a strangled noise, twisting your head to stare at the dull paint on the far wall, because looking at him, at the way his lashes fanned against flushed cheeks, at the way his tongue darted out to taste you, was too much. One slide of those perfect lips around you and youâd be gone, spilling down his throat without warning.
A light tap against your sternum pulled your gaze back down despite yourself.
He was watching you still, eyes half-lidded and wicked, tongue flat and slow as it circled the ruddy crown of your cock, collecting the bead of precum that welled up and swallowing it with a quiet, satisfied hum. The sight punched the air from your lungs.
âFuckâstopâ you yelped, voice cracking, fingers scrabbling at his forehead in a weak attempt to push him away. You couldnât breathe, not with his breath ghosting hot over sensitive skin, not with the wet heat of his tongue so close it felt like a burn.
He didnât stop.
Instead he parted his lips and let a thick, deliberate string of spit fall from the tip of his tongue. It landed on the tip of your cock, drawing startled gasp from you, then slid down the underside of your shaft in a slow, glistening trail, over the swell of your balls, then lower still, until it kissed the tight furl of your hole.Â
Your spine arched off the mattress like a bowstring pulled tight, every nerve lit up at once.
Then his mouth closed around the head.
Molten heat enveloped you. A wet, velvet suction that dragged a choked gasp from your throat. Your eyes snapped wide, fingers knotting into silver strands hard enough to make him groan around your length. He took you deeper in one smooth glide, tongue flattening along the underside, swirling lazy patterns over the sensitive ridge while his gaze never wavered.
His free hand slid lower, fingertips circling your rim in teasing strokes that made your thighs tremble. Then one finger pressed inside, breaching the resistance with steady pressure until your body yielded and swallowed him to the knuckle.
âAhâfuckâ you hissed, head slamming back against the pillows, hips canting up into the dual assault of his mouth and hand. He worked the finger in and out in shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that spot inside you that sent sparks racing up your spine, while his tongue smoothed relentless circles around the head still cradled between his lips.
âHow are youââ Your voice fractured on a moan. âHow are you so fucking good at this?â
He pulled off with a wet, obscene pop, lips shiny and swollen, hand wrapping around your base to stroke you in long, lazy pulls that kept the slick sounds echoing through the room. âIâm good at everythingâ he murmured, voice wrecked and smug at once, the words vibrating against your skin.
The rhythm of his hand, the filthy wet glide of spit and precum, the low groans you couldnât hold back, it all wove together into something overwhelming, dragging you under. Without warning he worked a second finger inside, twisting them together, stretching you open with a thoroughness that bordered on clinical if it werenât so devastatingly intimate.
âStopâIâm gonnaââ Your legs kicked uselessly, heels digging into the sheets, hands shoving weakly at his head again. âToru, Iâm gonna cumââ
He relented, barely, pulling his fingers free with torturous drag that left you clenching around nothing. He pressed one last filthy kiss to the weeping tip of your cock, tongue flicking out to lap at the slit like he was savouring every drop, before he began the crawl back up your body.
His mouth left marks in its wake, sharp bites that bloomed red across your collarbone, your pecs, the sensitive skin just below your nipple, teeth sinking in deep enough to dimple flesh and hold for a heartbeat before releasing.
When he finally settled over you again, hips slotting between your spread thighs, he braced one forearm beside your head, the other hand sliding down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise.
âYouâre shakingâ he whispered, his forehead dropping to rest against yours, silver strands falling to curtain your faces from the dim lamplight. âTell me you still want this. Tell me youâre not gonna disappear on me.â
The question hung there, his cock pressing hot and heavy against your entrance, not pushing in, just resting there like a promise. His eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your chest ache, like he was waiting for the moment youâd pull away and prove every fear heâd confessed right.
âNeverâ you whispered.
One word. Barely more than breath. But it carried everything, the ache youâd carried home, the doubt that had taunted you. You said it like a vow, like the only truth left that mattered.
And it was enough.
His mouth parted on a soft, shattered exhale. Then he pressed forward, slow at first, careful not to hurt you, the stretch blooming sharp and exquisite as your body yielded around him.Â
You should have been used to it by now, to the way he filled you inch by careful inch, but every time felt like the first. The burn, the fullness, the way your walls fluttered helplessly around the thick heat of him. His own breath hitched, his lips fell open, eyes going half-lidded and hazy as his gaze dropped to where you were joined, watching himself disappear inside you like he needed visual proof that this was real, that you were letting him in.
Your hands scrambled across the broad expanse of his shoulders, nails digging into sweat-slick muscle, pulling him down until his mouth crashed into yours.Â
Only when he was buried to the hilt, hips flush against yours, cock throbbing deep enough that you swore you could feel it in your throat, did he finally kiss you properly. Messy, devouring, stealing the air from your lungs while he held perfectly still inside you, letting you feel every pulse, every twitch.
You writhed beneath him, legs hooking around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to drag him impossibly closer. The motion ground him against that spot inside you that made white sparks explode behind your eyelids, electricity racing up your spine.Â
He groaned into your mouth, low and broken, then pulled back just enough for a thin string of spit to bridge your lips before his hips snapped back.
No warning.
He drove forward hard, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the small room like a crack of thunder. Your body jolted up the mattress an inch, a startled gasp tore from your throat. He dropped to his elbows, chest smothering yours, weight pinning you in place as he set a ruthless rhythm, deep, punishing strokes that rocked the headboard against the wall in time with your stuttering breaths.
Your eyes slipped shut. Hands slid from his shoulders, down the lean taper of his waist, until your fingers hooked into the firm muscle of his ass. You dug in hard, urging him deeper, faster, chasing the brutal drag of him against every sensitive inch inside you. Your cock was trapped between your bodies, slick tip sliding against the ridges of his abdomen with every thrust, the friction maddening.
âFuckâyesâ you moaned, voice fracturing. âDonât stopâdonâtââ
He growled something incoherent under his breath, then pushed up onto his hands. One palm wrapped around your throat, not tight, just firm enough to make your pulse thunder against his fingers, to make every gasp sharper, every breath a conscious effort.Â
You loved this version of him, the one who lost the leash on his control, who let raw want drive him until his jaw clenched so hard you half-expected his teeth to crack.
âLook at meâ he rasped, each word punctuated by a particularly vicious snap of his hips. The wet clap of skin meeting skin dragged a high, needy whine from your throat. Your eyes flew open, locking onto his, glittering with something feral and tender all at once.
âBeautifulâ he growled, the word scraping raw from his chest.
In one fluid motion he gripped your waist, pulled out with a slick glide that left you clenching around nothing, and flipped you onto your stomach.Â
You went bonelessly, pliant from the waves of pleasure already crashing through you, letting him arrange you however he wanted, chest pressed to the sheets, hips yanked high, knees spread wide. A firm slap landed on your ass, pulling a shocked yelp from your lips, before he lined up and sank back inside in one long, smooth thrust.
Deeper.
From this angle he reached places that made your vision blur, cock dragging against your walls with devastating precision, so far in you felt him in your stomach. Your fingers clawed at the sheets, your face pressed into the mattress in a futile attempt to muffle the broken sounds spilling from your mouth.
âHold on, babyâ he chuckled, dark and breathless, before he fucked into you like he was trying to carve himself permanently inside your body.
It was filthy. Debauched. Like you existed in this moment solely for him to take, to use, to wring pleasure from until there was nothing left. And god, you loved it.
âYesâgod, yesââ The words tore free, muffled against cotton, fireworks bursting behind your closed lids, toes curling so hard they cramped. He dipped low, lips finding the nape of your neck, licking, biting, marking, while one hand snaked beneath you to splay wide over your lower stomach.
The pressure hit like a shockwave.
His palm pressed down, feeling the bulge of his own cock moving inside you through the thin wall of your abdomen. The sensation was overwhelming, too much, too intimate, too raw. Your eyes rolled back, a strangled scream caught in your throat as pleasure tipped into exquisite pain.
You turned your head just enough to catch him in the corner of your vision, silver hair falling into his eyes, jaw slack, expression shattered. Any trace of control was gone, he was pure instinct now, hips snapping erratically, chasing his own release while refusing to let you slip away from him.
His other hand wrapped around your cock in messy, off-rhythm strokes that were more desperation than skill, thumb swiping over the leaking tip with every upstroke.
It was enough.
The orgasm ripped through you like thunder, sudden and violent, a full-body convulsion that arched your back and shook your thighs. You cried out, voice cracking, hips bucking wildly enough that you nearly dislodged him.Â
Cum spilled hot and thick over his fist, over the sheets, your whole body spasming as wave after wave crashed through you, leaving you trembling and gasping.
And still he didnât stop. His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering, breath coming in harsh pants against your neckâbut he kept driving into you, chasing the last fraying edges of his control.Â
With one last shuddering snap of his hips he buried himself to the hilt, balls drawn tight against your skin as a low, guttural groan tore from his throat, the kind of sound that vibrated straight up your spine and settled in your chest.Â
You felt him pulse inside you, thick and insistent, hot spurts of cum flooding your walls until the sensation tipped from fullness to overwhelming, making your body clench reflexively around him, milking every last drop while broken whimpers spilled from your lips.
He collapsed forward, weight sagging heavy against your back, chest heaving in ragged bursts that fanned damp heat across the nape of your neck..
You shifted, just a small roll of your hips, testing, and drew a sharp, pained groan from him. That was when you registered it, he was still hard, still buried deep, cock twitching with oversensitive aftershocks inside you. A slow, deliberate grind upward made his cum leak out around the base, warm and slick, trickling down your thighs in a lazy trickle.
âStopâ he hissed through clenched teeth, hands clamping down on your hips like iron, trying to still you. But you managed another small, teasing shift anyway, feeling the way he stretched you open again, the drag exquisite even through the sting. He sucked air sharply between his teeth. âFuckâstop a second, Iâm sensitive.â
A wicked little chuckle escaped you before you could swallow it. You did it again, moaning low in your throat as the fullness shifted inside, pressing against every oversensitive inch of your walls.
âNoâ you whined, pitching your voice deliberately slutty, desperate, peering back over your shoulder to catch the fractured blue of his eyes. âI need you.â
Something in his expression snapped, a visible, visceral reaction, a quick tic at the corner of his eye like a fuse burning through. His hands wrapped around your waist in a bruising grip and yanked you upright, pulling you back onto his lap in one fluid motion.
âYou asked for thisâ he growled against the shell of your ear.
Then his arms hooked under your thighs, folding your legs back against your ribs until your knees nearly kissed your shoulders.Â
His hands laced behind your neck, forcing your head down so you had no choice but to watch as the thick length of him disappeared into your body again and again, obscene and hypnotic, your own cock slapping wetly against your stomach with every punishing upward snap of his hips.
A strangled yelp tore from your throat. The angle was brutal, deeper than before, every thrust grinding against that spot inside you until sparks danced behind your eyes. You tried to squirm, to ease the intensity, but his hold was absolute.
âWaitâToruââ The words fractured into a whine.
His fingers unlocked from behind your neck, allowing your head to slump back against his shoulder. You turned instinctively, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along the line of his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, anywhere you could reach.
âI saw you with himâ he gasped, voice cracking, eyes glassy and distant even as his hips kept driving up into you. âI thought⌠I thought you were gonna leave me.â
âNghââ The sound punched out of you, thunder building in your blood, ready to crack. âPlease⌠ToruâŚâ
âI canât lose you.â The confession came out ragged, almost a sob, his thrusts turning harder, faster, one hand sliding to your hip to drag you down onto him with every stroke. Your thoughts scattered like ash, your body went limp in his grip, one hand anchored desperately to his waist, feeling the muscles bunch and release beneath your palm.
âYouâyou wonâtâ you whimpered, staring up at the ceiling in a daze, pleasure coiling so tight it hurt. âIâm going nowhere⌠Iâll never leave you⌠I-Iââ The world split open. A white haze swallowed everything as your release crashed through you, back arching violently off his chest, thighs shaking, a broken cry ripping free. âI love you!â
âShitââ He hissed the word like a prayer, flipping you prone again in one rough motion, pressing you flat into the sheets. He moulded himself to your back, thigh to thigh, chest to spine, lips at your ear, tongue flicking out to wet the skin there in a slow, possessive drag. âFuck, Y/N⌠I love you too.â
The words tipped him over. He drove deep one last time and spilled again, hot and pulsing. His hips didnât stop, he kept rocking into you through the aftershocks, a stream of filthy, broken groans spilling against your neck until, finally, he stilled.Â
With a shuddering exhale he pulled free, cum slipping warm and thick from your body as he slumped beside you, half-draped over your back like he couldnât bear even that small distance.
And suddenly, everything felt right.
His weight anchoring you to the mattress. Warm breath ghosting over your shoulder. Silver strands tickling the nape of your neck. His hands, gentle now, tracing slow, soothing circles into the dip of your lower back.
You turned your head against the sheets, cheek pressed to cotton that now smelled faintly of him. His eyes were closed, lips parted on uneven breaths, cheeks flushed a deeper red than youâd ever seen, the colour bleeding down his throat. You lifted a trembling hand, fingers brushing his cheek, pushing damp strands of hair from his forehead.
His lashes fluttered. Those impossible blue eyes opened, finding you instantly, softening in a way that made your heart clench so hard it stole your breath. The realisation hit you all at once, sharp and sweet and overwhelming. You were madly in love with him. And he, with all his light, and all his fears, and his football field-sized bravado, was madly in love with you.
A hysterical little giggle bubbled up from your chest before you could stop it.
He blinked, happy and bemused at once. âWhat?â
âI just⌠love you so much.â
His eyes lit up, like youâd handed him the entire sky. A beautiful, lopsided smile split his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
âStopâ he whined, suddenly burying his face in the sheets, but not before you caught the fresh pink flush climbing his ears, spreading down his neck in a wave he couldnât hide.
You chuckled softly, leaning closer until your lips brushed the shell of his ear. âI love you.â
He flinched, a small, helpless sound escaping him.
âI love you.â
âStopââ The word cracked into laughter, but he couldnât quite manage it. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest in a tangle of limbs, but you didnât stop.
âI love youâ you whispered again and again, between every kiss pressed to his jaw, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, until the words blurred into a mantra and his laughter shook the bed beneath you both.
âShitâ he huffed finally, breathless, head dropping back against the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling with a soft, contented smile curving his lips. âI love you too. Now stop, before I turn into complete mush.â
âOkay.â You lifted your head just enough to rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him through your lashes. âLove you though.â
He let out a pained groan, all dramatic and theatrical, but the smile never left his face. âLove you tooâ
You settled your cheek against the steady thump of his heart, arms wrapping around his waist so tightly you werenât sure youâd ever let him go.
And that's it folks! I hope you enjoyed! Sorry it was so long, got carried away đ¤¤.
Btw, don't steal or feed into AI, I don't want that clanker copying my shit!
thick thighs saves lives kuroo x bottom m reader â random thoughts
Kuroo has thick thighs. You can see them ripple everytime he jumps, squats to recieve a ball, or dives. He knows its your guilty pleasure. Kuroo never really understood why or how you found his legs so attractive but in all honesty he didn't mind.
So naturally, occasionally during sex he'll incorporate a little thigh action.
When you're settled in between his legs, your knees digging into the wooden floors of his bedroom, he'll lock your head between his thighs, crossing one over the other to firmly lock you in. It gets him off with the way your hands grip at his legs, holding them for stability as you choke around his cock. And when Kuroo gets close, he'll involuntarily tighten his legs around your head, burying your face close enough that your nose tickled against his dark pubes.
He always makes sure that after he comes, he gently massages your head, easing any tension he mightve accidentally put on you.
Kuroo loves your body in general but sometimes he finds himself fixating on your thighs. Now he understands why you're so obsessed with his.
When you're laying on your stomach, face smushed into the pillow with your knees up against the mattress and your back makes a nice arch, Kuroo loves just holding you by your thighs, sliding his palms to curl underneath them. He can tilt you up by gently lifting your thighs so he can angle himself better to hit right where you see stars.
" Hm? Feels good right? " He questions even though he knows damn well you can reply to him from your face being planted into the pillow. Kuroo loves how his fingertips leave dents in your flesh, the more he grips. " Attaboy, taking me so well, " he groans moving his hands from your thighs to your hips, slamming himself into you repeatedly.
Oh and don't even get him started on when you get overstimulated, your plush thighs shutting close whenever it feels too much for you. He has to pry them open by slipping his hand in between them and pulling them apart. He'll even nip at the skin, causing you to flinch and spread open for him.
Kuroo's not above corny writing on your thighs either. He grabs a dark marker, flipping you over and writing on the back of each of your thighs. " Kuroo's property " is what he writes with an arrow pointing upwards. You do it too, except you just doodle random shapes and animals on his legs. The muscle makes a stable canvas for you to draw on! (They also make great pillows)
Hi,.. I always wanted to send a request but I'm too shy so I've been watching u from the shadows... Heh can you do dead big bro haunting lil bro reader? When they were younger, big bro died by saving lil bro from getting crushed by a big truck or whatever... Now reader is in college and finally got rid of the guilt of big bro dying because of him. But then things get weird...! Reader starts waking up with bruises on some specific parts of his body. This continues until one night he wakes up... Then sees his ghost big bro is touching, caressing his body, confessing how much he is in love and is meant to be together forever w him... While lil bro reader is confused scared & horny at the same time?!! (â áâ áŠâ áâ )
Want 2 b đ¨ anon,..
cute. luvvv this so much,,,, i love you... ""dubcon, somno,, ... ghost brother!! bttm male reader. minors ageless blogs dni...
ă Ąits so awesome because i had this idea about a ghost brother being a total pervert and harrassing his sibling... great mjnds literally think alike!!! ghost brother âĄ
,,, big brother haunting his little brother against his ghostly will... yeah, cuz ever since the accident, he's been bound to you. not that hes complaining!!! except for the fact big bro can't comfort you. to watch his little brother cry is such a painful thing,,,, desperately wishing he could hold you and tell you everything is gonna be just fine because hes right there... and worst of it all, you think it's your fault.,,,,
feelin like a total creeper, loitering around you,,, watching you fall into despair ... always sobbing into that stuffed bear he won you at a fair... practically hanging off a thread. big bro cant do anything except run his transparent hand over ur head and coo praise that you cant hear. it seems to do the trick, makes you shiver at the sudden frigid temperatures and hug ur teddy bear tighter.
;; how amazing is it to watch you grow up and explore yourself??? he always knew you were gonna be better than him. he couldn't even get through his 3rd year of college... but look at you now.!! he cant believe it. he can... afterall, he witnessed everything. EVERYTHING!!! you're so smart,,, youre so cool and you have so many friends! forever wearing that necklace with his ashes inside... forever a part of you. its like a brand. warding off people he doesnt think are good enough for you,,,
ă Ą every wet dream you have of a little fleeting crush... it's him, touching you in your sleep. messing around while ur unconscious... seeing what he can do, if he can fully feel your warmth instead of that static-y numbness, i-if he's grown stronger as some kind of poltergiest or... whatever the fuck!! hes just testing the waters.
cuz best part is, he's discovering himself too. no one can tell him how weird he is or how disgusting he is because he's dead anyway and theres no one around. always trying to get your attention, making you uncomfortable and paranoid everytime he touches you w his ghostly fingers... it's gotten so lonely, talking to you and receiving no reply;; but he's always happy, because it's you he's with. it's you he watches. it's you he jerks his ghostly cock to. guilt hangjng heavy over his head because youre his brother who he watched grow into the man you are today,,,, but whats a ghost to do?/!/!<!
it doesnt help that you're being a little weirdo... whining how much you miss him at night,,, squirming in your bed while holding that teddy bear between your legs. you love him, my gods you love him. and he,,,, he just wants to touch you. to replace your hands with his own, curling up at your side and watching with rapt attention as you fist your cock, biting on your shirt so so cutely,,,
// just. imagine! masturbating in the dark comfort of your dorm,,,, and your brother who you saw die right before ur eyes,,,, is tugging his at the same pace as you in the corner and you dont even know it. haunting !!!
it's about time anyway. big brother has been on your mind for a good while, and you've been praying to see him, to feel his warmth in your dreams... and he manages to come to. as ur paralysis 'demon'
ă Ąhis little brother all grown up and completely filled out !! so cute, looking up at him with those big ol eyes; so scared.,,,, but for Why? he is just brother... your brother who is dead.. who is now visiting you and trying to get weird. why do you have to make a big deal out of everything? :(
... oh... false alarm. you seem to be getting off on it. instead of crying hysterically from the potentially traumatizing acts of your dead brother dryhumping and kissing you all on ur face - youre horny? good lord. he thought he knew everything about you, keeping a close eye on you... but he may or may not have missed those open fauxcest porn tabs on ur laptop...
unable to move... the apparition of your poor big brother who merely looms over you with a particularly huge bulge in the pants you remember him wearing when it all happened...! youre awake, you can move - but you dont know that this isnt a dream. you can be so adorable,,, and dumb,, drowsy, horny...
ă Ą"b-big... big brother..." mumbling his name under your breath, awestruck despite the gravity of the situation?? being groped by your brother who only croons at the sight of your glassy eyes; his cute little brother. "i missed you..." you gasped - he takes that chance to slip his tongue in your mouth. making the most of it. big brother looks so lively, ,,, whining his name, arching into his chest - it feels so weird, so reală Ąa lucid dream you arent in control of...
ă Ą"i missed you too baby, aint ever left you..." rambling whisper rants in the crook of your neck whilst his hands wander under ur sleep shirt, groping your chest,,, "i'm always here. always lurking. you feel a cold breeze in the warm sunshine, that's me baby." how paranoia inducing... but you dont seem to mind. mewling quietly, and grasping his sweater in ur fist... "love you... love you so much, pretty boy. youre so handsome," he breathed, sniffing you.
sliding his tongue against urs, saliva getting fucking everywhere. he doesnt relent, "meant to be, meant to be like this..." big brother mumbled, pecking you inbetween pants; "im never leaving you, dont you worry. i love you so much, more than i should-!" he continued to ramble his affections, grinding his palm against ur clothed sex while rutting against you,,, mumbling how big brother is so icky for liking you this way... how hes so horrible, but he loves you!!!
man, this was a pretty fucked up dream... and, to your ghost brother; this was heaven. however it worked... you being guilt-freeă Ąhe can fuckin touch you now, he can grope you now, he can fufill out all his dirty disgusting fantasies that formed as he watched over you,,,
;; he loves you, dont you understand this?! this - this is him, telling you its gonna be okay. you dont know its entirely real at first. more big brother harrassing you public to tease you to cum âĄ
Iâm thinking of a yandere partner who actually loves sharing you, though for the strangest reasons.
Heâs terribly possessive and jealous otherwise. Hates it when someone merely dares to smile your way, the rage subtly bubbling within his soul as he pictures clawing their face off.
Yet, heâll sometimes bring someone else into the bedroom - with your blessing, of course. His ears perk up at every little sound, and he observes the guest with a concealed grin. Oh, he can already tell this peasant has fallen in love with you. Of course they would, youâre perfect, youâre flawless, youâre simply addicting.
Indeed, theyâll be going home thinking of your lovely expressions, your whines, the curves of your body. Theyâll wish they had you instead. Theyâll secretly hope for another chance to taste you. But, see, the tragedy! No one does it quite like he does. After the deed you cling to him even harder. He makes sure you remember why thereâs no comparison, why youâve chosen him out of everyone else.
In truth, heâs doing it out of a peculiar, mean streak. He canât help it - he loves flaunting his luxury before the eyes of other beggars, letting them savor a moment of bliss before tearing their hopes apart. Lovely, isnât it, heâll conclude in delight, nonchalantly shutting the door.
Thank you for your business, but (Y/N) is really for his pleasure only. Now and always.
Kinktober Day 14: Incest
Yandere brother x male reader
CW: Incest, noncon, memory alteration, mind manipulation, possessive yandere, protective yandere, general yandere behavior, versatile reader, anal sex, drugging, sedatives, aphrodisiacs, collaring, murder, Stockholm syndrome, major character death, reader's own cum as lube, masturbation, discrimination against those without powers, dead dove: DO NOT EAT
Word Count: 3.8k
(This is dark. Sorry for any errors, I did not have it betaread. I hope there are some who will enjoy this.)
The meteor that crashed to the ground generations ago came with it a particularly invasive pathogen. A virus that infected all of humanity, changing the DNA of everyone on Earth, though a large portion of people remained asymptomatic with recessive changes.
Those with symptoms displayed mutations. They varied wildly from animal traits, elemental powers, enhanced strength, super speed, extra limbs, and many others.
Over many years, the DNA that the virus altered became increasingly prominent as mutations were inherited and compounded. Asymptomatics were rarer and rarer. Currently, they made up only 15 percent of the population.
A small portion of people used their extra human abilities for evil, and others became government sanctioned heroes to fight them.
The people who had mutations become highly sought after and fetishized. More laws came into effect to protect them from villains and criminals who would traffic them.
You were a mutationless nobody living in this society.
A brand new law had established a curfew for all people without strong enough mutations. They couldn't go out unless someone with a strong ability was with them.
Another law was that those with no abilities couldn't live alone.
Because of this, you became wholly dependent on your older brother, Drew.
Your older sibling was entirely fine with this arrangement. He had a love for you that wasn't entirely brotherly, though you didn't suspect anything. It seemed to you that his overprotective behavior was the product of being an older brother to someone without a mutation in a world that conditioned people to think of those like you as defenseless. You thought yourself fairly lucky. You weren't forced into an abusive or restrictive marriage or roommate situation because you had Drew. He was always happy to chaperone and escort you.
When he wasn't too busy with his work as a hero. Drew had moved the two of you to a small town due to a lower crime rate and desire to keep you safe and spend as much time with you as possible. It was also to isolate you from any potential suitors. But... you didn't really need to know about that... You had gotten too chummy with people online through various social media and dating websites who lived a bit too close for comfort in the large city you had lived in previously. It was getting burdensome finding them, intimidating them, burying more than one body when they wouldn't get the hint that you were spoken for. That had been rare, though.
If he really needed to, he could use a power no one knew he possessed. He could remove and replace memories. It was a tedious task, requiring a lot of time and energy, and not all minds were susceptible. Even if they were, it couldn't normally be used multiple times on the same person. Which is why he couldn't just make you forget or hate them. Luckily, most people were easily intimidated by Drew. He was tall and muscular, which was enough in some cases, but he also could move things with his mind and produce a psychic barrier around his skin to make him indestructible.
The quieter smaller town was kinda nice, but you were rather bored. Especially when Drew had to do his patrols. He made sure he worked more in the early morning and afternoon since you always liked to be up at night playing video games and going for walks at night with him. Sometimes, he'd take you out to eat at a 24/7 diner that the town had.
He thought of those outings as dates and considered himself to be courting his defenseless brother.
Your brother always ordered ice cream for you to share. Drew loved to watch you eat it, sometimes biting his lip as you so lewdly licked the cold confection from your spoon. It made his cock twitch in his pants. How he wished you were licking his manhood like that. Eager to get every drop of his cum.
The last time you were at the diner you had caught him staring at you with an odd expression.
"What's with that weird face?"
"Oh, uh... I just had a brain freeze."
You had chuckled at him and went back to eating. How he longed for the day when he could tell you how he really loved you. Hopefully it would be soon, but he just didn't know how to broach the topic.
He had let you walk in on him wanking a few times. But all it achieved was you turning red and scrambling out of the room with an immediate apology followed by you pretending that nothing had occurred. Nothing like the pornos.
The other day, you had been comfortable enough to fall asleep on the couch as the two of you watched a movie. He had been admiring your peacefully sleeping form when you slouched over and leaned on his shoulder. He could hear your breathing and felt your drool as it ran down his arm.
It gave him an instant hard-on that he had to address. You had been a busy bee and cleaned the whole house earlier before cooking dinner. You were totally wiped out. Though even on an easy day, you were known for sleeping deeply. Drew carefully shifted the shorts he had been wearing so his large cock was sticking out through the leg and cautiously jerked himself off while imaging you cuddling and clinging to him after a long day.
He had cum so hard that a bit had landed on your lips. He was worried you would wake up, but you remained out like a light as he gently massaged it into your lip like lip gloss.
After that, he had "accidentally" fallen asleep right beside you. He couldn't very well wake a sleeping angel by moving.
That had been well over a month ago, and his desire for you had only grown. He had taken to stealing your underwear and keeping a pair under his pillows so he could sniff them before bed and dream about you.
He knew one day soon he'd have you in every way.
But there was a setback.
His schedule had shifted temporarily while he was on an assignment to help take down a super villain coalition. For two weeks, he was barely home at all, and a vermin had slipped in.
He came home one day to find you on the porch chatting with some piece of absolute filth who kept brushing his hand against yours.
When he left and you came back inside, Drew was holding back serious rage. You had a look on your face that told him all you needed to know. He didn't even have to question you about who it was. You just kept gushing about him.
"That was Len! He's such a sweetie! He saw me on the porch a few days ago when he was walking by and noticed I was glum."
The way you swooned and gushed made Drew's stomach lurch.
"He's so cool! I'm sure you'll like him. He isn't a hero, but his mutation is awesome. He can spontaneously make fire."
Drew noticed you twiddling your fingers in the way you only did when you were brimming with joy. Would that piece of trash know details like that about you!?
Your brother immediately began planning for Len's demise. This was beyond intimidation, threats, and memory alteration. He lived far too close and touched your perfect weak hands with his disgusting grubby ones. Drew knew exactly how he'd do it. He'd infiltrate Len's home and use his telekinetic abilities to cause him to have a stroke. Then he'd burn the house down. It wasn't unheard of for people's mutations to run out of control.
On the night that Drew planned to end Len, you had been texting Len. Even though it was late, he had invited you over because he was playing a new game that he thought you might enjoy together. If you wanted, he'd leave the door unlocked so you could come in. He knew knocking and waiting made you anxious.
He was such a good listener. He would have come over and walked with you, but it was such a short walk, and you didn't want to wake up Drew. Besides, his house was just a few down from yours. If you ran, you could be there in under a minute. And, honestly, no one took these curfew laws seriously in small towns.
You rushed over as fast as you could and nervously opened the door and stepped inside.
"Dr-Drew? What are you-?"
The question was left unfinished as your gaze lowered to Len laying motionless at your brother's feet. Drew's eyes went wide, and his mouth agape when he noticed you. He obviously had not expected you to walk in on his activities. This was just like when you had just turned 20 and you had caught him killing your parents because they had wanted to convince you to go to an isolated island for the mutationless because they wanted you to feel normal.
He had wiped the events from your brain, made you think they had abandoned you both long ago, and finished by making you think he was the older brother so you'd accept him taking care of you a bit more easily when in reality he was a year younger.
But unlike last time, he couldn't erase Len or what you had witnessed. After doing it once, and so extensively, you were inoculated from it.
Your mind was reeling, struggling to piece together an explanation for what you were seeing. You took a few steps back, planning to just run away and hope you woke up from whatever awful nightmare this night was shaping into. But the door slammed shut before you could finish turning around.
"Y-you have to understand! He was going to steal you away... He didn't deserve you. No one does! Except me."
Drew used his abilities to make you slowly float towards him. The look on his face could only be described as deranged.
"I'm so sorry you had to see this. It was supposed to look like an accident..."
You squirmed in his psychic hold as you began sobbing. Your brain finally registered that your brother killed the man you had started to fall in love with. Nothing made sense.
Once his power brought you to him, he wrapped one arm around you tightly and used his free hand to pull a tiny spray capsule up to your face from his utility belt.
He spritzed you just once, and within a few seconds, you were fast asleep.
With you taken care of for the moment, Drew could safely get back to the business at hand.
Your subconscious mind must have still been in denial because you found yourself in a dream pounding Len's muscular ass. He was riding you, and you found yourself bucking into his tight hot hole. In reality, your brother had been watching you sleep and decided to rub your crotch. He figured you needed the stress relief, and if you woke up, maybe the pleasure would prove he was just trying to make you happy.
It made sense in his warped mind.
He was originally just going to jerk you off, but when you got fully hard under his touch... he couldn't resist the urge to ride on it. Drew lubed it up and sank himself down on it. This was perfect, he thought. Your first official act as lovers. It would definitely make you forget about that sack of garbage he just took out.
The look on your face as you drooled in your sleep and let out little lewd gasps went straight to his dick and had him cumming in no time. He briefly lifted off of your cock long enough to smear his semen on it before lowering himself again.
You were fucking his cum into him and it would be mixed with your own once you climaxed. The thought made his stomach flutter as blush crept across his face.
Drew knew you were close, your moans had gotten louder and you had started bucking your hips into him. He was amazed you hadn't woken up yet. Though you had always been a deep sleeper and the stuff he sprayed you with was pretty heavy duty. Your eyes fluttered open as you shot your load inside him and moaned out the name Len.
L e n.
It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Your brother, who had never raised a hand to you, slapped you hard across the face.
"That loser is DEAD!! Len is a fucking corpse smoldering in the ashes of his house!"
You were shaking as you stared up at him, still confused about what was going on. Your brain was full of fog and struggled to piece together the events that transpired last night and the fact that your brother was on your dick and angrily yelling in your face.
When he realized the fear in your eyes, he got off of you and pulled you close.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it's not your fault. You're so innocent, and he wormed his way into your mind like the greedy parasite he was."
He kissed your cheek gently where he had struck you.
"Just... try not to say his name, okay? You gotta forget about him. It isn't healthy to linger on toxic people like that."
He got up and made his way to the bathroom connected to his room.
"I bet a bath will make us both feel a little more relaxed."
You were pretty sure that you would never be relaxed again for the rest of your life. Your brother was a villain and you had no idea what he was capable of doing to you. The sibling you had depended on killed Len, forced himself on you while you were sleeping, and slapped you.
Since he was busy making a bath, you thought you'd take the chance to leave. You pulled up your pants and crept past the bedroom door and down the stairs. When you reached the bottom, you stared in dismay at the blockade he had put in front of the door. There was no other choice but to turn around. But as you did so you slammed right into the chest of your sibling, who was staring down at you darkly.
"I just came downstairs for a sn-snack."
You were trembling and hoped he bought it. You knew he had when his face softened.
"Oh, well after our bath I'll make us a late night snack."
He grabbed you by the hand and led you back upstairs.
"This will be our first bath together! I'm really excited."
The last thing you wanted to do was to bathe with this monster. But there was no escaping it.
"Haha I guess I'm excited in more than one way!"
You glanced over and saw what he meant. His cock was fully erect.
"I-I'm too shy to bathe together!"
"Don't be silly! We're lovers now and we both really need this."
He picked you up like you weighed nothing and took you into the tub with him. He sat down and positioned you on his lap facing towards him. His erection jabbed at you from below. It made you cringe and curl in on yourself.
Despite the bubbles and warm water, you had never felt so filthy.
"You're still so tense, but big bro will make everything better~"
He groped and massaged your ass before starting to rub your hole. You flinched.
"You have to relax to make this easier."
Eventually, he pressed a finger into you.
"Please sto-"
You were cut off by involuntarily moaning as he hit a special spot inside you.
"Oh, you liked that, didn't you? Made you sound so needy~"
As he kept attending to that place inside you, working his way up to three fingers, your mind got more clouded and distracted, and your body went limp and relaxed.
"Sto-ahhh AAAHHHH!!"
Your hole clenched tightly as you spilled your load on his chest.
Before you could catch your breath he slowly replaced his fingers with his cock. Careful not to hurt you as he slowly eased you down on his entire length.
You were already hard again despite being so sensitive. His hard cock entered you with a bit of pain despite the previous stretching.
For Drew, it was bliss. Heaven. His cock was wrapped in the warm paradise that was his beloved brother. Finally, he was with you in the way his heart yearned to be. He should have just done this the second the two of you had moved out here.
The slight bit of pain you had initially felt faded at the feeling of him battering your insides. His tip perfectly kissed that spot inside you, your resolve being fucked away with each thrust.
Drew moaned your name as he came in you all too soon.
"My cum is in you. My cum is in you. My cum is in you. Mycumisinyou."
He never lost his hard on and kept right on making love to you, his precious brother, without stopping for a second. As his movements intensified, the lavender scented water splashed against the two of you.
"I-I knew I could make it all better!"
You prattled on incoherently as drool pooled from the corner of your mouth.
"You're right. We should let our actions do the talking"
Drews lips dominated yours as he kissed you deeply, nibbling on your lower lip and licking up your drool as he made out with you. As both of you came once more, he slid his tongue into your mouth and rubbed it against yours.
He pulled away and kissed your forehead. Your brain was foggy, and your body was exhausted after all you had been made to endure.
"I guess I should clean us up before the water goes completely cold. Don't worry, we can do that some more after we've rested up, okay?"
You muttered something, but you didn't know what you were saying or even what you were responding to.
That didn't stop Drew from hearing whatever he wanted to though.
"Yeah, we can still make out in bed before we fall asleep!"
Drew cleaned you off then sat you down on his bed after dressing you. Then he ran downstairs and came back up with some cookies.
"You wanted a snack right?"
You nodded sheepishly and nibbled a few to maintain the lie you told earlier. When you finished you went to brush your teeth before bed.
You couldn't look at yourself in the mirror. You were ashamed you had let your brother violate you in such a manner. You were ashamed you were brushing your teeth like it was a normal night. Maybe you could escape or call for help when he was working. It was already early in the morning. His schedule had returned to normal, and he would be back to work in a few hours. You just had to play along and get into bed with him...
The trembling of your body didn't betray your fear, Drew just assumed you were cold and held you protectively under the blankets. He stroked your side gently. It would have been comforting before you knew he was a murderer. Now, it only made you tense. Though you did manage to grab a few moments of uneasy rest.
Upon waking, you realized you were oddly calm. Tranquil. When you had finally fallen asleep, he had sprayed you with another substance from his utility belt.
This time, it was just something heroes used to calm people down. Villains and sometimes people in shock. It was pretty harmless, so if he had to keep you mildly sedated with it, he could. Though he hoped he could adjust you to your new circumstances with it and then eventually wean you off. It made you a little calmer, happier, and more accepting of your situation.
You also found yourself collared. The inside was a soft fabric and the outside a rough material. It was locked to a long chain that was mounted to the wall. You could reach the restroom and the minifridge he had by his bed. A minifridge stocked with all your favorite snacks and cold meals, a mounted chain, a custom collar in your favorite color... How long had he planned for this possibility?
There was definitely anger and grief, but they felt much more muted than they should have been.
The first year or so as your brother's boyfriend was a bit messy. Despite the calming drug, you still had emotional outbursts and anxiety. But your brother understood. He wasn't going to abandon you just because you were a bit moody or said hurtful things sometimes.
He endured and the two of you got through. It didn't hurt that he had stockpiled illegal aphrodisiacs confiscated from human traffickers. They made a target especially horny for the first person who's DNA they were exposed to. Whenever he used it, you were hard and needy to the point of crying, and only his dick could make it any better.
It was a great breakthrough when your body finally got hard from his touch without the help of any drugs at all.
And then you started kissing him and leaning on your big strong brother whenever you got lonely from your isolation. He was the only person you were allowed to have any contact with, and the craving for touch became too unbearable.
Your broken mind slowly justified it and changed your perspective on how you saw Drew. The only other option was going insane.
He was just looking out for you and keeping you safe from evil people. It was all for your own good. He took care of all of your needs. Cuddled you, kept you safe, provided you with games and food, and he was always happy to give you his cock or hole whenever you needed it, even when he was tired from work. If you had trouble sleeping, he'd even gently slip his dick into you and rock you to sleep with the thrusts.
It had, at long last, gotten to the point where he could take you outside on dates again with no fear at all that you'd try to escape him. In fact, you'd cling to his arm for dear life no matter where you went.
Drew was so happy. Now everyone could see that you two were the perfect couple.
Iâm thinking of a yandere partner who actually loves sharing you, though for the strangest reasons.
Heâs terribly possessive and jealous otherwise. Hates it when someone merely dares to smile your way, the rage subtly bubbling within his soul as he pictures clawing their face off.
Yet, heâll sometimes bring someone else into the bedroom - with your blessing, of course. His ears perk up at every little sound, and he observes the guest with a concealed grin. Oh, he can already tell this peasant has fallen in love with you. Of course they would, youâre perfect, youâre flawless, youâre simply addicting.
Indeed, theyâll be going home thinking of your lovely expressions, your whines, the curves of your body. Theyâll wish they had you instead. Theyâll secretly hope for another chance to taste you. But, see, the tragedy! No one does it quite like he does. After the deed you cling to him even harder. He makes sure you remember why thereâs no comparison, why youâve chosen him out of everyone else.
In truth, heâs doing it out of a peculiar, mean streak. He canât help it - he loves flaunting his luxury before the eyes of other beggars, letting them savor a moment of bliss before tearing their hopes apart. Lovely, isnât it, heâll conclude in delight, nonchalantly shutting the door.
Thank you for your business, but (Y/N) is really for his pleasure only. Now and always.
Content warning: mature content [minors dni], sub bottom reader, significant age gap [early 20s x mid 40s], power imbalance, brat taming, hand job, breath play, slight degradation, reader comes twice, kind of clothed sex, brief hair pulling, a single mention of manhandling and of spanking, implied transactional sex, implied risky sex, sex without feelings, written in third person
Authorâs note: First work here. Iâm an amateur author who writes considerably poorly and produces third-class smut only. Did not proof read. Despite all of this, I hope some people can at least enjoy this a little. Donât be afraid to give it a try!
I doubt anyone who does read this will notice it either, but I wanted to point out that the title is a reference to an homonym song by 5FDP. Lyrics somewhat related to the story :)
Word count: >5800
The manâs office was different from the rest of the VFMP headquarters: darker and clinical, as if it belonged to an era when men still bled for their tenets and carried remorse in their hearts. Etched into the frosted glass of the front door, the inscription âCaptain Silas Palmerâ was still discernible despite the few scratches.
The official sat behind his desk, the worn wood creaking under his weight as he leaned back in the chair. The room was a reflection of its owner, cluttered and tired, with stacks of papers and empty, disposable coffee mugs littering every surface. The only thing that stood out was a framed photo of a much younger Silas in uniform, filled with mirch and pride while standing next to the then-mayor. That had been a lifetime ago, before the city had chewed him up and spat him out.
The captain was just about to pour himself another finger of whiskey, a nightly ritual to numb the ache in his bones, when he heard the hesitant knock at his office door. He set the glass down with an exhausted sigh, voice coming out in a grunt, "Come in, it's open."
The door creaked open slowly, revealing a man in his early twenties. He was dressed in a way that was somewhere between fashionable and disheveled, with a leather jacket that had seen better days and a pair of jeans that clung to his frame in all the right places.
"Evening, Captain," the young man said, his voice a contrast to Silas' own, smooth and untainted by age. He stepped into the office, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
The older man leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he appraised the newcomer. "[Name]," he acknowledged with a nod, taking in the way the boy's jacket hugged his shoulders, the way his jeans rode low on his hips. He was a pretty, Silas could admit that to himself, too pretty for his own good. But there was a sharpness to him, a glint in those eyes that was both pretentious and calculating. âYouâre late.â
The informant rolled his shoulders once, fingers finding the edge of his sleeve and worrying the fabric. The office felt smaller than usual, the air, thicker. "Not late," he said, voice steady and calm, meeting Palmerâs gaze directly. "Just on time. You said evening, and it's...", he glanced briefly at the old clock on the wall, "...nine o'clock on the dot. Got a lead," [Name] continued, unbothered with pleasantries. "Something bigger than the usual shit. Thought you might want to know."
The ladâs posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a constantly unreleased energy. He didn't sit down, not until Silas told him to. "Gang activity's picking up in the 9th. The Hounds and the Drowned are at each other's throats again." [Name] shrugged. "Same old song. But there are new ones in town, calling themselves the Wraiths. Word is that they ainât fucking around. Already took out two Drowned safe houses and the Hounds are scrambling to keep up with their narcotics. There's going to be a war for territory soon around the docks if someone doesn't step in."
"Haven't heard of them until now," Silas commented, leaning back in his chair. Smoke curled from the recently lit cigar between his fingers, drifting up to catch in the stale air of the office. "New players don't last long in this city."
"These ones might," [Name] countered. "They're not stupid, nor careless. They're not leaving tracks." He paused before adding, "Yet."
The captain tapped the cigar against the ashtray, watching the informant carefully. "You think you can find them before they notice you?"
[Name] shrugged, a slight lift of his shoulders. "Never said I couldnât." He stepped closer to the desk, until he stood right in front of it, looking down at the older man. There was no hesitation in his eyes, only a quiet confidence that bordered on arrogance. âIf I can find them," the informant said with an unraveling voice, "I can take them down before they become a real problem." He stopped, "For a price."
Silasâ eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression didn't change, gaze puncturing the lad all the same. He studied [Name] for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. âYou're getting greedy," the captain blurted.
[Name] didn't falter. Didn't look away. He just met Palmerâs gaze head-on. "Greedy?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I prefer the term 'ambitious'. Besides, I thought we had an arrangement. I brought you what you need, now you should keep me safe and well-paid." He tilted his head slightly while a faint smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "Or have you forgotten our little deal?"
Silas took a long drag of his cigar, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. The acrid scent filled the air between them, but [Name] didn't so much as cough. He just stood there, staring down at the captain, waiting. âNo one's forgotten anything," Palmer admitted finally. "But these aren't your usual bottom-feeders. If these Wraiths are as smart as you say, they're not going to be easy to flush out."
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, hands clasped. His eyes bored into the informant, searching, assessing. "And you want more money for it. More than our usual deal. Tell me, boy," Silas stated imperiously, "what makes you think you're worth it? What makes you think you can do something my own, official men can't? Because from where I'm sitting, you're just a kid playing in a man's game. A brat who's in over his head."Â The captainâs voice dropped to a near whisper, but it was no less threatening. "And Iâm having a hard time believing a little punk like you is the key to shutting down a gang that's flying under the radar of the entire VFMP after you were nearly caught last time."
âBut I wasnât.â [Name] interjected, mischief in his eyes as he fixated on the older manâs hard stare. "And Iâm not a kid when you're balls-deep inside me, Cap. I think that proves I'm not just some random little punk."
Palmerâs eyes flashed, a flicker of surprise and something darker, more primal. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his cheeks tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. The air between them grew heavier, charged with a sudden tension that had nothing to do with the threat of the Wraiths.Â
[Name] stood his ground. "I'm not here to blow smoke," he proceeded still calm but with an undercurrent of something defiant. "I'm here to make a problem disappear before it becomes your problem, and Iâm damn good at what I do.âÂ
The informant rested his palms on the the edge of the desk, slender fingers sprawling. âI've been doing this since before you promoted half your men to sergeant. I've got a nose for this shit, and youâre well aware that I know how to use it. I'm not afraid of some new gang wannabes with big goals and small brains.â  He leaned forward slightly, face inches from his superiorâs. "I'm not a punk, and certainly not a toddler. I'm your best fucking asset in this city and you better remind yourself of that. So what's it going to be, Cap? Will you keep underestimating me, or will you let me do what I do best and watch these Wraiths burn in exchange of a few more bucks?"
Palmerâs face stayed hard, but his expression had a small change, something indicating a feeling that wavered between anger and respect. âCocky bastard," Silas muttered, but there was no real heat behind the words. His eyes took in the set of [Name]âs jaw, the challenge in his eyes. He couldn't deny the kid â no, not a kid, the man âhad balls. He'd give him that much. âYou've still got that smart mouth on you⌠and a head full of shit if you think I don't know what you are." Silas inclined his torso forward causing his nose to nearly touch the informantâs own. "But you're right about one thing, you are good at what you do."
[Name] crossed his arms over his chest, his posture casual. âI'm not here to fuck up, Cap. I'm here to get the job done. And I always do. I've never given you a reason to doubt me before, so donât start now."Â
Palmer had to admit that all that arrogance was nothing more than hard-won confidence, something [Name] earned it. He'd watched the informant claw his way up from nothing, watched him take on jobs that would have broken a lesser man. And he'd delivered, every single time. Closed cases, brought in intel, kept the gangs in check and  kept Veridian Falls from descending into complete chaos.
And through it all, he'd kept coming back to Silasâ office, to Silasâ bed, with a hunger that never seemed to be sated. At first, the captain had told himself it was just a stress relief, a way to blow off steam after a long day of dealing with the city's endless problems. But he couldn't deny the attraction that had been evoked right in beginning, the way [Name]âs wit and sharp tongue had set his blood on fire in a way no one else ever had in the moment they met.
[Name] smirked smugly, resting his elbows on the desk. "You know, Palmer," he purred lowly, "you've got that look on your face again. The one that says you're trying to figure out if you want to maul me or fuck me senseless."
Silas had always known the brat was a smart-ass, but he'd never been one to mince words, especially not when they were alone like this. And god help him, but the older man found that infuriating bravado of his the hottest fucking thing in the world. He took another long drag of his cigar, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. "Careful, kid," the captain snarled, âKeep talking like that, and you might just get what you're asking for."
Palmer, despite his words, knew that he was giving in. Knew that as much as he tried to deny it, as much as he told himself he was just a man with needs and desires like anyone else, he couldn't ignore the fact that [Name] brought something out in him. A hunger, a desperation, a feeling of being seen and wanted in a way no one else ever had. Silas had fucked the informant more times than he could count, had buried himself inside that tight ass and lost himself in the sounds of pleasure he could coax from that clever mouth of his. And every time, he'd told himself it was just detached sex. But he couldn't deny the way thr young lad looked at him, with that mix of respect and awe, like he saw something in Palmer that no one else ever had. His savior. And nothing in the world could get the captain as hard as that look of admiration in [Name]âs eyes.Â
The informant smirked wider. "Is that a promise or a threat, Cap?" he asked polished. "Because I gotta say, I'm not scared of either one." [Name] reached out, bold as brass, and plucked the cigar from between Palmerâs fingers. He took a long, slow drag, his eyes never leaving Silasâ as he did. The smoke curled from his lips as he exhaled, a haze of gray that seemed to blur the room.
"You know, you're not as tough as you used to be. Or maybe..." [Name] leaned in, his breath hot against Silasâ ear. "Maybe I'm just not as afraid of you as I once were." His hand came to rest on his superiorâs thigh, fingers splaying over the fabric of his pants, stomach laying across the desk. The young man could feel the heat of the captain, the solid muscle beneath the cloth. He could feel the way Palmerâs breath hitched, just slightly, at his touch. Tentatively, [Name] threw the cig to the ground and pressed his thumb down on that sensitive spot on the inside of Silasâ thigh, applying just enough pressure to make the older man twitch.
At that, the chief groaned. Palmer knew the little shit was enjoying this, relishing in the way he could make the big bad captain of the Veridian Falls Metropolitan Police lose his composure with just a touch and a few well-chosen words.Â
Just then, Silasâ hand shot out, grabbing [Name]âs wrist in a grip tight enough to make him wince, then yanking him forward until the younger man stumbled, stomach slamming against the surface of the desk. The informant let out a grunt at the impact, but Palmer didn't give him a chance to recover, his other hand already fisting in the hair at the nape of the ladâs neck. He used his grip to pull [Name]âs head towards his lips before leaning in and devouring his mouth in a brutal kiss.
The captainâs tongue pushed past the boyâs lips, claiming every inch of that playful mouth that had been taunting him moments before. He kissed him like he wanted to consume the man before him, to make him forget his own name let alone any foolish boldness. [Name] moaned breathily into the kiss, the sound vibrating against Palmerâs lips, spurring the older man on. Silas used the grip on [Name]âs hair to pull him further over the desk, until the young man was bent in half, ass tilted up perfectly for anyone who dared intrude on the captainâs office.Â
The brusque move had [Name]âs cock stiffening rapidly in the confines of his jeans. The rough fabric rubbed against his sensitive flesh as he squirmed beneath the captain's iron grip on his nape, the friction sending jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine. He could feel every ridge and groove of the wooden desk pressing into his gut as the hard surface contrasted with the molten heat building in his kernel.
[Name]âs hips began to move on their own, grinding his clothed erection against the desk as he kissed Palmer back with a desperate fervor. He couldn't help it. The captain's touch, the taste of nicotine in his oral cavity, the sheer dominance of him, it all combined to set the informantâs blood on fire, to make him ache with need and his hole to clench around air. He just knew he needed more of Silasâ touch, more of the way he made [Name] feel alive in a way no one else ever had, with utmost pleasure.
Soon enough, Palmer felt the rocky movement of the informantâs body against his desk, the rhythmic grinding of his clothed penis against the wood. He pulled back from the kiss, his grip on [Name]âs neck tightening as he took in the sight of the boy wantonly rutting against his desk, desperate for friction.Â
The captain grimaced. âGreedy little brat. Is that all you can think about? Getting your dicklet wet?" He punctuated his words with a sharp tug on [Name]âs hair, forcing the younger man's head to tilt to the side, baring the slender column of his throat. "You think you can just take what you want, when you want it? Hump against my desk like a bitch in heat?"
[Name] didn't let the admonishment deter him, not when his cock was throbbing so hard it ached, not when the desk below him seemed to be the only thing holding him back from losing control and throwing himself over Silas like a frenzied five-dollars harlot. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch Palmerâs earlobe between his teeth. He bit down hard enough to break skin as he, simultaneously, rolled his hips again, scrapping his penis against the desk with an obscene moan.
"Well, if the captain would rather I grind on his own cock instead⌠I'd be more than happy to oblige." He emphasized his words with another roll of his pelvis, a smirk tugging at his kiss-swollen lips as he saw Palmer falter. "Though I suppose this is a nice preview of what's to come. Isn't that right, sir?"
"And to think I've been trying to teach you some discipline." Silas snarled before licking a stripe up the informantâs throat, teeth grazing his skin before he bit down, hard enough to drawl blood. Without warning, he released [Name]âs hair and stepped back. "Don't move," he commanded, leaving no room for disobedient remarks. He waited just long enough to ensure the brat would comply before he rose from his chair with a creak of leather and wood.
[Name] couldn't suppress a shiver of anticipation as he watched the Palmer stride around the desk with purposeful steps, wicked thoughts filling his mind and making his dick throb painfully.
Silas came to stand behind [Name]âs bent form, his broad frame looming over the informant, casting him in shadow. Without ceremony, the captain grabbed the waistband of the youngerâs trousers and underwear, grip unyielding. With a sharp, jerky motion, he yanked them down over the curve of [Name]âs ass, the fabric catching for a moment before settling on his upper thighs, leaving the globes exposed.Â
The informantâs breath hitched as he felt the first brush of Palmerâs calloused palm against the soft skin of his exposed ass. The captain's hand seemed to linger reverently, as he caressed the curve of the right cheek, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh. But before [Name] could lose himself in the sensation, a sharp crack split the air as a strong hand suddenly pulled back and smacked hard against the flesh. The informant gasped at the sudden sting body jerking forward at the impact before settling back onto the desk.
[Name]âs eyes fluttered shut as he felt the captain's hand wrap around his aching length, Silasâ thumb rubbed firm circles over the sensitive head of his cock, teasing the slit, the ridge, the weeping tip until the younger man was squirming with need. At the same time, the chiefâs clothed cock pressed against the cleft of [Name]âs ass, and it didnât take long for the captain to rock his hips forward, rubbing his virile member against the cheeks with a deliberate grind that made the informant's toes curl in his shoes.
With a feral growl, Palmer pressed two fingers against that tight and puckered hole that clenched around air, rubbing firm circles around the entrance until [Name] was pushing back against him, silently begging for more. Without warning, he thrusted his fingers inside, sinking knuckle-deep into the clutching heat of the ladâs ass. The informant let out a choked cry, back arching as he was suddenly filled, stretched around the intrusion. But he wasnât given time to adjust, Silasâ fingers pumping in and out of his anus in a relentless rhythm that had him seeing stars.
At the same time, the chief never let up the punishing pace of his hand on the little prickâs cock. Silas could feel it throbbing, pulsing in his grip, the head a slick mess. He rubbed his thumb over the slit, smearing the pre-cum around the swollen head, using it as lubrication as he jerked his subordinate off with ruthless efficiency.
It only took a matter of moments before [Name] let out a guttural moan, body seizing up as his orgasm crashed over him like a tide. His dick jerked and spasmed in Palmerâs grip, thick ropes of cum splattering across the captain's palm. Silas felt the hot, sticky essence of the bratâs release coating his fingers, some of it dripping down to pool on the surface of the desk. With his lips curling, he pulled his fingers from [Name]âs member, bringing his hand up to the informant's face.
"Look at this mess you've made," Palmer mocked amusedly. "You should wear a red clown nose, considering how often you make a spectacle of yourself." He rubbed his slick, cum-stained fingers under his subordinateâs chin, smearing the seed across the younger man's skin. Then with a casual, almost dismissive motion, he wiped his fingers clean on the informant's shirt, smearing the sticky essence across the flimsy material until it was nothing more than a damp patch on [Name]âs chest.
The sensation of his shirt suddenly clinging to his skin seemed to partially pull [Name] off his high. "My, my, Captain," he let out in a breathless rasp, "if you wanted to get me out of my shirt too, all you had to do was ask.â A soft tsk sound left his lips as his hands came to rub at the semen left on his lower face, âOf course, I suppose I should be grateful you didn't just shove that magnificent fist of yours into my mouth to clean up the mess properly.â
Before [Name] could so much as think about straightening up, Palmerâs hand was back on the nape of his neck, gripping tight and manhandling him into place, keeping him bent over the desk. "Save it,â the captain growled, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the informantâs very bones. "Donât even think about moving. This isn't over yet."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the shell of [Name]âs ear as he spoke, his words dripping with promise, making the informant's spent cock give a valiant twitch of interest. "You do your best work when you've been thoroughly fucked, when your ass is still loose and sloppy, your hole gaping. When the memory of my cock rearranging your guts is still fresh in your mind. Do you understand what that means, boy?â, Silas said with a sharp roll of his hips, erected penis being felt by the tender flesh of [Name]âs cheeks. âIt means that, with the possible shitstorm that might brew itself with those Wraiths due to your actions, itâs better that you are properly treated like the little slut you are before you risk yourself in a suicidal ventureâ.
âWhy have you been taking so long to get your cock out, then, captain?â, [Name] questioned slyly. "If you want me at my best, why wait until now to give me what I need? Unless..." A wicked smirk curved his reddened lips. "Unless you're getting old, and it takes you longer to get it up nicely these days. So you just remain half hard, no matter what, which also means your fingers and maybe your tongue are the few useful parts of you left. I've heard that happens to men in their... what are you again? Forty-six?"
Silasâ forehead was instantly adorned with a wrinkle, irritation visible on his eyes at the informantâs ceaseless attempts of pressing his buttons. Without warning, he wrapped a strong hand around [Name]âs throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing a challenge and have the young man hissing. At the same time, he used his other hand to undo his belt, the clink of the buckle opening sharp in the charged air between them. The informantâs eyes widened as he felt the heavy ridge of Palmerâs erected dick pressing insistently against his tender hole, the captain's pants still mostly done up, but his rigid shaft springing free from his boxers and slapping against the split of his cheeks.
The captain grunted at the contact, compressing [Name]âs windpipe a bit tighter in response. âTry to breathâ, he commanded leaving no room for indiscipline. At the same time, his other hand gripped the ladâs hips hard enough to bruise, and with one sharp thrust, he buried himself balls-deep in the exposed ass, the informant's tight heat enveloping him like a vise.
[Name]âs eyes rolled back, the breath he had left in his lungs rushed out of him in a gurgle, his throat constricted by Palmerâs punishing grip. His thighs quivered and trembled, the muscles jumping and fluttering wildly as they struggled to keep him upright, pinned as he was by the captain's relentless thrusts. Each drive of Silasâ hips pressed mercilessly against that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside [Name], his prostate screaming in overstimulated bliss as it was battered again and again, feeling every ridge and vein of the thick cock filling him up.Â
Each whimper coming out from the body under him, each choked gasp and broken moan, only served to stoke the flames of Palmerâs own arousal. An approving groan rumbled in the captainâs chest as he felt [Name]âs clench around his pistoning cock. The obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the office, mingling with the young manâa whorish sounds and the captain's own grunts of pleasure.
The hand around [Name]âs throat tightened, squeezing, constricting, until Silas could see the tendons standing out in stark relief, could feel the informantâs racing pulse fluttering wildly against his palm. Just as he felt the ladâs struggles begin to weaken, just as he sensed that sweet line between pleasure and pain blurring, he loosened his grip. Barely enough to allow a shuddering breath to fill [Name]âs lungs. Enough to keep him teetering on the knife's edge of consciousness.
The young man let out breathy mewls, his mind shorting out from the overwhelming pleasure radiating from where they were so brutally joined. His tongue lolled out, drool dripping down his chin as he was fucked into incoherence, reduced to a needy hole for Silas to use. "P-please, cap..." [Name] slurred, though he wasn't even sure what he was begging for anymore. More? Less? Faster? Harder? It all blurred together into a litany of broken pleas spilling from his lips.
Palmerâs thumb traced the column of the informantâs neck, feeling his pulse and the bob of his Adamâs apple. His informant, his subordinate, his plaything of countless nights, always so prickly, so sharp-witted, so ready and eager for his touch, his cock. The thought of it, the reality of it, made his hips surge forward with doubled vigor, pounding into [Name] with enough force to rock the wooden desk beneath them, for certain making enough noise that even Detective Rhodes could hear from the evidence room right under them.Â
Both men could feel their release building, pleasure cresting. Silas held it at bay, determined to wring every last drop of ecstasy from [Name]âs pliant body before he allowed himself that shattering moment of bliss.Â
Finally, the informantâs body convulsed as his orgasm crashed over him, vision whiting out as pleasure exploded behind his eyes. A strangled moan tore from his throat, back arching sharply as he came for a second time, untouched, his cock spurting weakly against the desk. His hole clenched and rippled around Palmerâs dick, gripping him as [Name] rode out the intense ecstasy.
Feeling that ass spasming and milking his cock thoroughly, Silas left out a loud exhale followed by a moan of his own. His shaft throbbed and pulsed as he hilted inside the informant, hot semen erupting from the tip to paint [Name]âs inner walls. Thick spurts of cum pumped into him as the chief emptied himself, marking the informant as his, filling him up until the young man could feel the heat of it sloshing inside him. Palmerâs grip on the boyâs throat loosened as the last waves of his release ebbed, chest heaving with exertion as he caught his breath.
Palmer tucked himself back into his pants, the sound of his belt buckle clinking as he fastened them with efficient motions. The captain reached down and fisted a hand in [Name]âs hair, gripping the strands tightly as he hauled the informant's head up by the roots. He leaned in close, his face mere inches from the ladâs, and studied the debauched visage before him. [Name]âs eyes were glazed and unfocused, his lips shiny with drool, cheeks flushed a ruddy red. Yet, even in such a state, a smirk tugged at the corners of the little prickâs mouth, his tongue lolling out to wet his lips in a provocative gesture.
"It wasn't that hard, was it?" [Name] teased, words caming out slightly garbled but still infused with a hint of his signature impertinence. "I mean, all you had to do was squeeze my throat and fuck me like you meant it. Not exactly rocket science, Captain."
Silas couldn't help but huff, a sound caught between amusement and exasperation, as he listened to the cheeky remark. Even now, even after being so perfectly used and filled, the brat still had the nerve to run his mouth. He shook his head, releasing the sweaty hair to allow the informant's head to flop back down to the desk with a dull thud.
"And now, I suppose you're going to tell me that all you need is a little walking around money before you toddle off to play hero with those Wraiths?"Â
[Name] let out a breathless chuckle in agreement, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the pleasant ache that had settled into his bones. "You know me too well, Silas," he agreed in a sated rasp. He pushed himself up slowly and uncoordinated, his muscles protesting the movement, and began to button his jeans with fingers that still trembled slightly. The informant made no move to clean the semen that had dripped down his thighs or that was leaking from his hole, leaving the evidence of their coupling to dry on his skin.
Palmer raised a brow, both amused and somewhat incredulous at the other manâs brazen lack of shame. "Not bothering to tidy up, I see," he remarked, his tone laced with a mix of exasperation and grudging admiration. "Leave it to you to wear another man's cum like a badge of honor."
[Name] flashed his superior a youthful grin, "Don't you worry, Captain. You know there ainât no momma of mine around to be scandalized by the state of her baby boy's boxers. 'Sides," he added with a shrug, tugging his leather jacket closed over the shirt that had been used to wipe the remnants of his own seed from Silasâ hand, "even if she was, I reckon she'd be proud of me for puttin' the assets I inherited to good use." [Name] punctuated his statement with a wink, looking like the very picture of unrepentant sin.
Silas just shook his head, entertained. Without a word, he reached into his wallet by the drawer and pressed a wad of cash into the informantâs hand, the bills crisp. "Here," he said gruffly, "this should be enough to keep you in bullets and Band-Aids for a while." The captain paused, his gaze turning more serious as he fixed the younger man with a hard stare. â[Name]. I know you've got a habit of diving headfirst into the shit without lookin' first, but with these Wraiths⌠if you are being truthful about their potential danger... don't be a fool. For fuck's sake, don't go lookin' for trouble." There was an undercurrent of genuine concern in Silasâ voice, an unguarded moment slipping through his usual cold detachment. The brief mirch in the room had vanished completely in less than a minute.
[Name] blinked, momentarily taken aback by the captain's words. His expression changed swiftly and composed itself just as quick: a flicker of something akin to surprise, or perhaps even vulnerability, flashed across his face before he quickly shuttered it behind a acrid smirk. "Well,â he drawled, half-bitterly, "I guess that means you actually, finally, give a shit about me, then," he mused, only to dismiss the notion just as swiftly with a soft shake of his head. "Nah.â He tucked the money into his jacket pocket and turned to leave, throwing a casual "Later, Captain" over his shoulder and stepping out of the dark office before his contractor could respond.
An unfamiliar tightness settled in Silasâ chest as he watched [Name] stride out of his office, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that left an unsettling emptiness in its wake, not bothering to hold the lad back. It was a sensation he couldn't quite name, this strange tugging in his gut, and one he had no intention of examining too closely. Palmer was not a man given to introspection. His relationship with the young man was simple, or so he told himself. Merely an exchange of favors, a mutually beneficial arrangement that preserved the little order left in a city that had long since lost its moral compass.Â
But somewhere throughout the years, the lines had blurred. When had it happened? He couldn't say. Perhaps it had been gradual, until one day Palmer found himself standing on the precipice of a realization he had no desire to acknowledge. He pushed the thought away, his jaw clenching as he reached for his cigars, the pack now nearly empty. Just an arrangement, he told himself, taking a bitter drag, nothing more.
But even as he tried to convince himself of that lie, he knew it rang hollow. There was a reason he kept [Name] close, why he went to lengths to protect the informant even as he used him. It wasn't just about the intel, the inside knowledge from gangs that kept his precinct afloat in a sea of corruption. No, there was something else.
Silas leaned back against the desk, admiring the obsidian-black sky outside his window, the crescent moon high. The cityâs street lamps were a dying ember, the light fading from the historical district, while the captain was left to hold the pieces together. With [Name]. Him and his informant, two broken things that fit in the rot, trading heat and secrets in equal measure.
He sighed. This was too much, too close to something that resembled sentiment, and he had no use for that. Not in Veridian Falls, specially not as captain of the VFMP. Sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when he had a job to do, not when the city needed him to hold the line with his steadiness instead of weakness.
Silas Palmer was one of the only constants in Veridian Falls, one of the couple unyielding pillars in a rotting city. And he would be damned if he let some dirty street-runt break him. Not now. Not ever.
hiaa..,,.,,.,. first time requesting can you do sweet stepdad or fatherly figure bttm reader x obsessed twins teehee, reader is totally oblivious so he just keeps on spoiling them not knowing they have this absolute devious plan to⌠you knowâŚhehe
thankuuuu ill be m&m anon since im eating them rite neow
hrmm... dubcon, somno mentions, drugging,, perverse little bastard twins, bttm stepdad reader minors ageless blogs dni
;; ă Ą"how are my two favorite boys?" you know just what to say despite being so fucking oblivious of their true feelings for you. fate?
praising them, ceram and ephron - your stepsons;; twins, is everyway to go!! call these identical little creeps good boys! tell them how proud you are of them, tell them you wanna feel their fat cocks in ur tummy and how you wanna feel their cum oozing out of your orifices. which you do happily say,,,. EXCEPT the last thing!!! ur just a man who loves ur stepsons the normal amount.
so,,, you dont know what you've unleashed, coddling them like nothing.
like they werent two grown adults... AND - !! having no kids of your own at ur age... you were ecstatic to bond with ur lovers' boys in any way you could. to form relationships with them,....,,,, and look where that got you!! cuddling on the couch, participating in their games, being invited into mere conversation about some video game because they love you... after all, you had all that time to really bring it home...
such a sweetheart. always wanting to make them comfortable, offering to take them on trips, giving them gifts. spoiling them in cuddles and hugs... after shyly offering one to one sibling, just to be attacked in hugs by the both of them. you're a great dad.
;; "i know you said you didnt want anything, but here. i got you a few small things..." they should be mad!! spoiling them... they should really take advantage of the fact... and uh. they do. grinding against you, takin a sniff whenever they get the chance.
how could they fucking deny ur puppy dog eyes and syrupy coos ??? not to mention the fact you really take the time to sit down and get to know them on a deeper level... it didnt take much to melt their hearts. these twins; practically communicating with their minds. youre gonna be sticking around, even if things between you and their parent go downhill,, they'll make sure of it.
how can you tell them apart? different styled hair most prominent to distinguish the two.....,,,,. and, ceram has piercings. ephron; the mature, frigid of the two; a split tongue, bare faced. so cute... they're so adorable. youre so happy to be in the family. and you??? have no fucking idea how gross and weird they truly are right in front of ur face,,,
;; rooting through your dirty clothes, standing over your sleeping figure and jerking off because one, youre a deep sleeper, and two! ceram thinks its would be really hot to be caught masturbating by you,,,, like you've really unleashed their inner ickiness. just from offering your love and affection... really makes you wonder what theyve been lacking to have this fucked up of a reaction to some fatherly love.
the two little freaks whispering to themselves at one of the tables... conspiring, theorizing about what ur into while ur just a few feet away in a different room; open doors. not to mention you could probably hear them anyway with how fucking unintentionally loud ceram isă Ą
;; "you think he's into pup play? he seems so soft. soft ones are always the ickiest perverts..." the older of the two whined in want. palming his growing bulge,,, nibbling on his fingers. whilst ephron, after calling his brother a dumb whore, theorizes more from what he already knows about you... you definitely likes praise. you love it when they call you dad... hmm...
how amazing it would be to dominate you,,, topping a sweet old man, such as yourself. such a fuckin nerd... would you be shy? how loud would you be... how loud would you cum... you seem like a moaner. whiner? crier? damn, theyd have to be careful with you...
ă Ąacting soo shy when they finally get their hands on you,,, no this is wrong, you're my sons, i love youă Ąbarely fighting them off; drugged.
athletic, giggling boys manhandling you. one more gentle than the other... finding it so funny that ur trying to when they jus wanna stuff you full of their cum, see it dribbling down ur thighs and making a mess... it was perfect. divine. dad on a business trip... they have you all to themselves. helping make dinner,,, slipping aphrodisiac in ur drink,,, snickering to themselves while they eat with you,,,,so weak all of a sudden?,,,
both of them giving you head, mere doting sons who wanna make sure you get ur fill,,,...,,, "so you can get it up..." ceram, the fucking brat mumbles. vibrations shaking you to ur core ... you tremble and squirm, bucking into their mouth and throwing ur head back as you grip the sheets instead of fighting them off whilst whining nooo,,, "don't talk to him like that!" ephron hissed, elbowing his sibling before occupying himself with a mouth full of cock. hrmm
and if you had a son? they'd stake their claim on you as their dad... Even Though, this boy is your blood... he sure as hell doesnt act like it. acting like hes too good for your gifts and love. what's his problem, dishing out on his sweet old man for finding new love?? tch, despicable. unearthing something posessive,,, this little freak isnt about to make their father upset. the twins? right by your side, looking to distract you from your son...
ă Ą they'll be your new sons, forget about that other guy. he doesnt appreciate you - he doesn't make the time of day for you. about time you learned that, don't you think?
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