isn’t it cool that my misery that my only purpose is to hype and support other people in their work and passions while not being capable of doing anything of my own backfired and now i can’t even successfully do that and i declined even further when it’s the only thing people have ever wanted out of me and the only way to actually be friends with people…like fuck man ok i guess
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, superhero!JJK men, Venom, slight tentacIes, sIight bréeding, aphrodísiacs, rough s, spítting, chokíng, p sIapping, p talking, manhandIing, HEADLOCKS, matíng presses, enemies-to-Iovers (Geto), handcuffs, pIot, REACTIONS, paparazzi, x-ray vision, super strength, heightened senses, true form!Sukuna, four arms, POWERS, ínappropriate use of powers, making superheroes BREAK, creampíes, cúmpIay, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Mwahahaha…
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Venom.
“So…let me get this straight-” Temples throbbing—you’re unsure whether that was from just how many times your boyfriend’s had to explain his particular…conundrum to you, or from the conundrum itself.
And Toji sits in front of you with his hands clutched on top of the table- almost in a pleading motion. He looks around warily at the other people in this bustling café - why on Earth he decided to choose such a public place for such a confession was inconceivable to you.
It was a wonder in and of itself when you don’t burst into hysterics, “You were in your lab working on some experiments you should definitely not have been working on-” Shooting him a look that receives you a sheepish grin. “-and ended up getting infected by some…parasite?”
“Symbiote.”
“Right. Symbiote.” You correct tightly, “And this symbiote can talk, think, and even make itself known through you?”
“Ah- pretty much.” Toji shrugs.
“And this symbiote wants to see me why-”
“You’re ovulating.”
The café seems to come to a standstill around you.
Servers, customers, even the new intern that’d been blatantly dozing off at the counter jerks his head up and throws a glance at your table—or more accurately to figure out the utterly inhuman voice that’d erupted from your table.
It was deep. It was gravelly.
It sounded like - in its alien desperation to assimilate to this society - it’d meshed together as many human voices as it could possibly make, and in the end had come up with something that sounded like everything but.
And, of course, that voice had come from your boyfriend of three years.
Toji Fushiguro.
Though he was either ignorant or uncaring - knowing Toji, it was likely both - to the stares that were being thrown his way. He was far too busy fussing around this…symbiote and its separate thoughts and voices, batting around his head as though shooing away a particularly annoying fly. But you’d seen it—fuck, for the briefest second, you’d seen it…the way that this black, murky substance not quite of Earth-like matter had flickered over Toji’s handsome face for a second.
Slime-like skin.
Haunting white eyes.
A long, loooooooong tongue.
You shudder just imagining it.
“Sorry ‘bout that, doll.” Toji grits out- “His name’s Venom and he’s a real pain in the ass.”
You’re barely thinking twice before you utter, “And…how can we fix this?”
Voice nothing more than a whisper. Though perhaps owing to those suddenly-honed senses of his, Toji can hear you perfectly. “According to my hypothesis, there should be one way in which once the symbiote is completely satiated of its more…base needs, then it parts peacefully with the host. But this is still unfounded- besides, I’d never fuckin’ ask you to-”
“I’ll do it.”
Toji pauses.
“Eh?”
And you’re meeting his shocked expression with one of pure steel, “I’ll do it.”
.
.
.
In almost no time, you’re back in Toji’s laboratory and bent over his desk—what had meant to be a trail run- what had meant to be a simple discussion with the symbiote to test Toji’s hypothesis had ended up with the most looooong, lecherous thrusts being pumped into the back of your cunt.
Your thighs clench together, moans echoing out and hitting the four corners of the walls.
Just the simplest plaps! of Toji’s ravenous hips comin’ down onto yours was enough to send your heels skittering- forced to stand up a little straighter. He’s cleanly lifting you off a few inches just with the probin’ thrusts of his cock—and as Toji bottoms out once more, he’s rushing you straight into your nth high of the night.
Peak after peak.
Thrust after thrust.
The seventh round that you were feeling his thick, throbbing cock piston you through—though according to Toji, they were called trials.
Trials during which those waves of bliss shred through your core n’ straight up to your muddled head- one that’s immediately getting bombarded by that same gravely tone from before.
“Mmm, you smell sweeter when you cum.”
You startle, “Wh-what was that?”
“Fucked so stupid you can’t hear? Humans are so interesting…” As you’re tentatively turning your head over your shoulder, you’re seeing that Toji’s figure was suddenly taller…towering…covered in that black, goo-like substance from earlier—his face splits from cheek to cheek with a sharp-toothed smile, and suddenly he’s letting escape the most bone-chilling laugh. “I wonder how much sweeter you shall smell when I plant you with my seed-”
“Okay, that’s enough-” Toji’s struggling to gain dominance of the symbiote- though you still weren’t sure how exactly the system worked. You’d determined that it was a dual rule, of sorts, in which one could ‘fight’ the other for control of the body.
And right now, your boyfriend was the clear winner.
Groaning as he’s winning back control—and with the regaining of his body, he’s bombarded with the sudden sensations of your hot cunt enclosing around his shaft. Sucking. Slurping. Just so thick and throbbing to be even deeper inside you- you’re unsure whether this was just your overstimulated brain talking, but you could’ve sworn that Toji felt even bigger than usual-
“You’re welcome for that, heh.”
You jump, “Wh-what was that?”
“You’re fuckin’ welcome.” The symbiote in Toji’s body utters, and you’re shivering at the sensation of Venom’s looooong lavish tongue dripping down the side of your throat. Licking. “Venom can change shape however we like, we can make ourselves bigger…”
And you can’t fucking give a response to that—you can’t. Because just then that mazin’ tip of Toji’s cock is expanding far beyond what you’re used to.
He’s shovelling in even more inches than you knew he possibly had- he’s thrashing against your cervix and digging in as though he’d probe even deeper if he could- he’s swelling up so much inside your tight walls that it honestly feels as though you’re about to be split down the middle—
“Mmmm, became even sweeter. Heh, you liked that.” Those honed teeth of his graze over your neck, easy enough for him to tear through. “How about curved?”
Immediately bendin’ in such a delicious curve- one that strikes the end of his shaft directly against your g-spot. He doesn’t even have to try.
Your thighs quake as you feel his flared mushroom tip swabbing n’ stirring and messing up your insides with such an extreme shape. Plunging. Prodding around. The degrees of his curvature bent juuuuuust the right amount that it’d hit most of your tender spots-
“Or what about tentacles-”
“Wait-”
“That fuckin’ jerk.” Soon enough, Toji’s interrupting whatever lecherous plan the alien had for you, and instead using his original cock to pinpoint your insides.
Though Venom might have had the ability to change his shape- absolutely nothing could match Toji. Nothing could match the way he’d already memorized the locations of your sweetest bundles of nerves n’ how exactly you liked them stimulated—whether it was the quick, rapid strokes of just his very flared tip, or the achingly long strokes that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Your back arches, and your moans crescendo louder than ever as your boyfriend reaches down to twiddle with your sensitive nub. “Right?”
Attempting to look back at him through your sobs, “Wh-what was that, baby?”
“I said—” Toji seethes out between haaaard strokes of his rugged cock- absolutely vicious. He wasn’t taking his time with you today, he was poundin’ your poor cervix raw with his tunneling tip. “Wasn’t he a fuckin’ jerk? Thinking that he’d be able to fuck my girl…”
“Y-yeah…” You’re acutely aware of the fact that Venom was hearing every single word being said. Likely simmering beneath. Likely attempting to regain control and make you spill the truth-
“Uh-huh?” But Toji was on a roll now. As the words spat between his scarred mouth grow faster, so do the ministrations on your pulsing clit. “Wasn’t he just delusional? Thinking that you’d like that alien cock- heh.”
Pathetically nodding along—unsure whether that was for the question or for just how good it felt. “Yeah, mmmm- fuck.”
“Right? And wasn’t he wrong?”
“Yeah-”
“Wasn’t he useless?”
“Y-yeah…”
“Wasn’t this pussy missin’ me?”
“Fuck, yes.”
And what you’re faced with next wasn’t a question, an insult to Venom, or anything else that you might have expected- it was a sudden spank!
Right on top of your clit.
Right before Toji’s already-elongated cock swivels a few inches deeper than you remember him being able to before. Thicker. Meaner. The top of his shaft was swelling into a fatter circumference, and you swear you can hear the squelches of orifices you’ve never known being opened up—
His sharp canines gnaw down on the shell of your ear, and shivers run down your spine at the guttural tone of his voice. “Then why are you so fuckin’ wet, my little liar?”
“O-oh.”
Shit, he’d known.
He’d been able to hear you, too.
And now you were paying the price: you were feeling Toji’s relentless cadence but with Venom’s ability to bend and prolong his shaft as much as he wanted to. His tendrils of symbiote substance glissade down his cock and stretch out your walls just a bit more—wrapped just around where Toji’s already-massive length was.
And if you thought that that wasn’t enough- you’re damn near losing your mind at the feeling of those fingers twiddlin’ at your clit starting to tingle. Starting to transform.
Before you know it, they feel strangely…tentacle-like. They reminded you of Venom’s own tendrils, though with a sultry suctioning sensation to it that made your body wrack with pleasure- “Oh my god—fuck, Toji, how are you even-”
“You forget that Venom is a part of me now.” He murmurs through a grin, hips only accelerating. Cock only lengthening- fingers only suckling. “And you’re not getting out of this any time soon, doll. At least, not until we have our hypothesis.”
“Shit…”
“Hypothesis schmipothesis. I get to breed her after.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Superman.
“My love…” Just the way that Nanami uttered your sweet, sweet pet name…it was anything but. As though he was a man that’d worshipped every name, statue, and deity in the world—and the only one to answer his wretched prayers was you.
He whispers your name.
Lightning strikes.
Nanami was silhouetted against the tall floor-to-ceiling window of your apartment; his red-clad feet hovering just a few inches off the ground, chest emblazoning the famous ‘S’ of which you could only see the ghost-like outline. Like a faint memory. That long cape of his drapes behind his broad shoulders, flowing in a breezeless wind. His head was bowed. His face utterly expressionless.
Moonlight falls upon him like a knighthood, but something more untoward.
The night was dark and so had been the day of fighting crime—or so you’d assumed. Usually, when your boyfriend arrived home it was with kisses to your cheek and bouquets of flowers.
You had no idea what happened today, but…he doesn’t respond to a single one of your calls. Not a single one of your pleas.
The only thing you can do is take a step forward-
And he jerks as though he’d just been shot by several of the lightning flares outside. A thousand bolts of electricity and even more, more, and more. Even though he had his gaze turned downwards, Nanami doesn’t need to see to sense you-
He already knew.
“My love.” He repeats, as though a broken CD. There was a wisp of something so carnal in his tone, something dark and drenched in…a desire that you couldn’t put your finger on. It was something that made shivers cascade across your body, however. “My love, don’t-”
“Don’t what, Kento?” You’re insisting, even though you fight yourself not to take another step forward as per his wishes. “I need to know what happened, baby.”
“You need to know.” He repeats once more—was he even capable of anything else? You’re starting to grow even more concerned and reconsider your internal pledge when- “I was injured.”
Concern pours over you like a bucket of cold water, “Injured? Where-”
“Not physically.” Nanami spits out through clenched teeth, every syllable difficult for him to enunciate as though coated in glue n’ sticking to the roof of his tongue. In the pale moonlight you could see that his skin was covered in a sort of perspiration - something almost feverish and flushed. “It’s- fuck, I need you to know-”
“Kento, I’m scared for-”
“I need to fuck you.”
And as he finally rushes out the confession, large exhales seep out of him like every bit of his remaining sanity—a weight had been lifted off. But little did he seem to realize that that weight was a keystone for a dam.
And now he felt like he was about to fucking burst-
“Lex Luthor- latest invention—fuck.” Interrupting his own explanation with a rugged groan - not one that was quite pained, but not…not either. “None taken, no casualties.” Something crossed between rage and ecstasy. How very like Nanami to utter of other before himself- “But I was injected with- fuck—”
You take a step forward, “Kento-”
“-aphrodisiac.”
“Oh.” Heart stopping. Without even thinking, you’re taking a quick scan of his figure to make sure that he wasn’t bluffing about no physical wounds, and when all seems clear on his upper half, your eyes can’t help but drop to the area between Nanami’s chiselled legs - and your sweet boyfriend’s Superman outfit had always been particularly flattering on his body, but this—he looked about nine inches straight through his tight latex and throbbing. Aching.
You can speak no longer, and him barely enough- “Stay away.”
Another step. “Kento.”
“Darling, I’m going to ruin you.”
And another. “I don’t mind.”
There isn’t the burst and then the frenzy of lips on lips, skin on skin, as you might’ve expected at first. No, not at all. Your words linger in the bedroom for a few more seconds - tight and tempting, just when you think that the tension in the air is going to stretch so taut that it might never snap—Nanami moves.
Just the slightest action: he stops hovering. Setting his feet down on the windowsill for the first time - and it hits you just then why he hadn’t been touching any bit of your apartment for so long.
Because the moment that Nanami came in contact with any - any - part of you, he was going to go fucking insane. That is, if he didn’t have your pretty pussy to take it out on—in almost no time, you’re finding yourself pressed flat against your king-sized mattress and having your boyfriend’s thickened tip swirlin’ your insides.
He was just so hot and needy.
Perhaps even greater in girth than you remember him - there was a vein down the middle of his length that stood out n’ massaged every inch of your insides. Throb-throb-throbbing away inside of you as the crowned edge of his shaft bottomed out- fuck, he doesn’t even spend the long, sensual hours of foreplay as he usually would.
Nanami merely throws your legs over his half-uniformed shoulder, merely clasps onto one side of your hips, merely tunnels his angry cock in and out—
In and out. In and out. You’re feeling him glide his handsome nosebridge down the column of your throat- stopping just where you were most sensitive, he’s twitchin’ in-between your puffy folds as he takes in your pheromones. Groaning, you swear you feel him grow even bigger inside of you—“My love—”
It’s that absolutely broken tone of his that makes you jerk your head in response. Blinking up tearily at the blond man, “K-Kento?”
His shaggy, golden bangs were curtained over his eyes n’ covering most of his gaze now - and you’re unsure whether you should be thankful or concerned that you couldn’t measure the sheer primal desire in them anymore. It was obscured from you—and all you’re getting revealed of him are the constant grunts whenever his ruddied cockhead hits the back of your pussy, his shivering hips, his mantra of your name. “I need to know…my love, I need to- fuck, are you okay?”
“I am—” Strangely enough, it made your cunt grow even wetter to know that he’s caring so much about you even when he was in the depths of the effects of the aphrodisiac-
His mind was wiped clean of anything but his base needs- and yet, there was always a part of him that knew you were what’s most important. And the superhero reaches one roughened hand down to sweetly cup your face, dragging the tip of his thumb down to wipe away any beads of sweat- “Are you s-sure? I need you to be sure-”
“I am sure, Kento.” Insisting. And though you feel just a little awful for interrupting his well-meaning pleas—you also needed to feel his thick, textured cock hitting eeeeevery single inch of you. And though you’re at his complete and utter mercy, you can’t help but squirm your hips around to swivel more of his solid inches inside. “Please- fuck, I need more of you. Don’t hold back-”
“Fuh-fuuuuuuck—” A zig-zagging vein pops out on his forehead, freckled with sweat. “Don’t say that-”
“But I am saying that.” Wrangling your legs off of his sculptured shoulders- or at least, you’re attempting to. But Nanami only needs to drift a single hand up to keep you pliably in place—he’s locking both ankles behind his neck with one hand, long fingers holding them gently yet sternly. It’s all he needs to halt your restless hips as he hits a sensitive spot and ploughs iiiiiiin.
Thrust after thrust.
Again and again.
Every single one of them locates that cute target of your nerves- instantly, it was almost like magic. That deliciously curved end of his shaft manages to maze his way inside, spreadin’ apart your gluey walls and heading straight for that area—all he has to do is follow the channel of your cunt until he’s led straight to that spot he bashes nicely.
Sloppily.
“Darling, you’re close.”
“I-I am?” Eyes shooting wide open- fuck, he’s right. It takes only one more thrust of his vein-covered cock for you to register the thrills of adrenaline shooting up your spine. You’re arching straight into his chiselled chest, “Oh, shit…I am.”
“My love didn’t know?” Nanami nearly titters. “S’okay…your Kento’s going to fuh-fuck you through it. Your Kento’s going to make you feel so good—ngh.”
And as he utters this, his cadence only grows sloppier.
“May I…” Just so cautious of the way you’re being jostled to n’ fro - of the way you’re nearly hitting the headboard, and the roundness of his balls smack! against your cunt. Nanami has enough clarity to feel almost…sheepish about the way that you’re clearly dumbed down on his cock. His greedy, greedy cock. “May I make you cum- oh, may I go…just a little harder?”
“Kento—” You’re pouting, “I want you to go harder-”
“I-”
“I want you to go the hardest.” And as he’s still half-uniformed, you’re able to reach up and twist your fist in the smooth fabric. Tugging him down, you snarl- “If you want me to cum, Kento, then you better not hold back.”
And Nanami doesn’t answer. He doesn’t utter a single syllable.
He’s merely slowing his hips down and reeling his hips back, back, backwards—he lets the rounded tip of his cock circle your hole for a few seconds. Just the slightest few seconds, before that pulsing length of his shoves deep inside- not even stopping at your g-spot, he’s heading straight for your womb.
That soft, sopping womb of yours- “My love…” Just the last thing you’re hearing before you’re cumming, “My love, it’s going to take now.”
Blabbering, “Wh-what—”
“It’s going to take.”
And a thick, ropey warmth floods you deeeep from your core- spreadin’ into every nook, cranny, and crevice until you’re feeling a little lightheaded. “Did you really mean…” As your voice murmurs out in pure disbelief, those clingy wads of his cum get pinpointed into even the tiniest sweet spots inside of you—places that you weren’t even sure you had. He’s pressing his thickened tip against the sides of your walls and watching as your sweet, sweet juices get sprayed out. “You- you really didn’t mean…”
Nanami utters nothing but a few raspy groans, eyes locked on the forefront of your core as he shovels inside. Inside and inside. “I did.”
There was an intensity in his eyes that you swear you’re feeling against your skin- and you did. It burned. “Did it seriously—”
“It did.” And his round, reddened tip ends up sticking straight against your womb - fucking you through your own high, fucking you through his drivelling wads of seed. A final swat. “It did, my loves.”
And you’re noting the change of your pet name.
Because you already knew what he meant- it had taken. Nanami Kento was using his superhuman sight to peer through you, watching as his cum trickles into the deepest depths of your womb—and his mouth quirks up into a handsome grin as he notes that it’ll be…
A daughter.
.
.
.
“Congratulations”
You gape at the screen.
And a quick glance at Nanami reveals that he was doing the very same- though perhaps in not such an outward manner. As soon as possible, you’re staring right back at the screen that showed a little bean of something your doctor was pointing towards and explaining—something that flows in one ear and out the other.
You were still registering that there was a little bean of something.
You don’t know when - it might be second, it might be minutes, it might be days later - but Nanami speaks. Something silent and barely-there, a breathless whisper as though he was afraid that it’d shatter the mirage shown on screen, “A-and…the…?”
He can’t complete his sentence. Though Dr. Shoko Ieri is a professional, and she picks up on what your husband means quite quickly.
He clasps your hand - newly-minuted gold wedding ring cold against your skin - and waits as she peers at the screen once more. Because he knows this—he knows this. He’s seen this with his superhuman vision.
He’d told you a few months ago just then…
And yet, Nanami’s heart flips.
She smiles warmly at the two of you, “It’s a girl.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Batman.
“It’s you.” Geto chuckles, “Why did I know that it would be you?”
The sound of his low, throaty laugh is enough to send shivers down your spine—-and…perhaps even lower. Though that’s not something you wanted to unpack right about now.
You had to remember where you were: the mansion of Geto Suguru, billionaire, playboy, mysterious down to the core. The mansion had been as expectedly gaudy and gilded as most rich people loved their homes, but what had drawn you to it the most had been the safe room, of course.
And so here you were standing with a couple gold bricks in your bag and a few more to be packed up- that shouldn’t take long, you assume. And with a careless sigh, you’re ignoring the man himself and getting back to loading them back in—“So? Happy to see me?”
“Oh, less than.” Geto replies.
“Don’t lie~” Purring, the skin-tight latex of your suit twinkles underneath the rich yellow lighting as you’re turning back to him. You shoot a flirtatious wink his way, “I know this is going to be the source of your wet dreams for years after.”
“Nightmares, more like.” He hobbles a step closer. It puts you on edge.
“Then how about we keep some distance from our nightmares, hm?” You’re gathering up your large loot—much heavier than an average person would be able to carry, though you’re holding it daintily between your fingers with ease. “I come to rob you, you catch me robbing you, you let me go—it’s a win-win for everybody. I really wouldn’t want to use force…”
“And I wouldn’t want to use force either.” Geto smiles so pleasantly, “I don’t really care about the gold- but there’s a pearl necklace in there that used to belong to my mother. How about you leave that and be on your merry way, hm?”
You pout, “But I liked the pearl necklace.”
And his gaze grows just a little sharper, “I’m afraid that can’t happen, kitty.”
“Oh, I loooove it when you call me that~” Fluttering your lashes at him.
He takes a step closer, “I know your games, Catwoman.”
“And yet you fall for them every time, Batman.”
Did you forget to mention that Geto Suguru - billionaire, playboy, mysterious and also perhaps the most attractive man you’ve ever set your eyes on - was also Batman? Despite that, you still had the most infamous crime-fighting vigilante wrapped around your finger as though he was nothing but a low-grade thief.
And he was trapped in your web now (what was the cat version of that, anyway?)
Leagues below you. He’s biting down on his plush, pretty lip to hold back a whimper as you’re reeling your hips aaaaaall the way back to squeeze his blushin’ tip—holding it there for a few seconds before you give the superhero a good bounce.
Making him throw his head back with a groan- Geto lets out a slew of swears once you’re starting up the sloppiest cadence. Back and forth. “D-don’t get ahead of yourself, kitty…”
“What was that—?” Pretending to gasp, you’re teasingly leaning your body forwards in a mocking attempt to hear him better. “What was that, Bat? I didn’t hear you- was that a stutter I heard?”
“Fuck off-” Spitting between clenched teeth. Geto’s clasping onto either side of your naked hips, using that strength of his you loooooved being manhandled by to roll your hips in figure-eight motions - just drag-drag-dragging the outline of his cock along your sweet insides. You could feel every ridge n’ crevice of his veins decorating your walls, massaging them into something even softer he loved to fuck up into.
The two of you were sitting - barely - on the luxurious armchair he had in his safe room. Creaking and ricketing with age every time that Geto arched his hips backwards and gave you a thorough probe—inside. And though you couldn’t say that you planned to end up here, you didn’t quite deny that you had plans to end up in his master bedroom - why else would you have gotten caught?
The both of you knew that if you’d actually wanted to steal something, then you would’ve been out of this damn mansion hours ago.
Gritting his pearly white canines, Geto crushes your hips further down into his and ruts up into you—“Sh-shit….”
“What was that about stuttering, gorgeous?”
“Fuck off—”
“I’m fucking you, actually.” He spits between clenched teeth, gyrating your hips around so that the cute nub of your clit rubs up against his fuzzy base. It’s such a carnal feeling to have those curls of jet-black massaging where you were most sensitive, getting more n’ more drenched by the second. By the motions of your dripping wet pussy. He’s snarling, “That’s fuckin’ right- wipe that smug look off of your face. I already know what you’re thinking.”
“Oh?” And you’re just barely managing to scrounge up whatever’s left of your sanity together to respond. “And what is that, Monsieur Bat?”
“C’est l’homme chauve-souris.” Geto rolls his amethyst eyes, “And it’s that you think you have me- fuck, underneath your kitty toes.”
“Kinky~”
However, he’s learned not to entertain you with yet another outburst—instead, Geto’s pulling all his energy into inching his hips backwards and planting another thorough thrust deep into the depths of your cunt. So hard that you think he might just have left a mark.
So accomplished in his grin that you think he might’ve been aiming for it
You wouldn’t have been surprised to know that billionaire playboy Geto Suguru liked to let everyone know that he was fucking you- especially you. The hottest cat burglar in all of Gotham.
The same one he’s been infatuated with since the first time he saw you.
But he was fucking you like he hated you.
The sweetest thing he’s doing yet is cascading a hand down your front- left fingertip teasingly pressing your pussylips apart. It doesn’t take him long - not long at all - to find your pretty clit and draw a few circular motions on top of it—watching as you buck and whine straight into his hands.
And the meanest thing he’s done yet is reach his other hand behind you.
Because suddenly you’re feeling something cold and metallic click! into place.
You gasp.
You should’ve known that crime-fighting vigilantes often worked from the shadows; from a darkness of which even your feline eyes cannot piece through. You didn’t have eyes in the back of your head, did you? Although perhaps Batman had a gadget for that, too…
And although you already know that you’re fucked- it’s not until the jingle of handcuffs emanates from behind you that you’re really letting the situation sink in. It’s not that you’re afraid of Geto or anything he could do to you, but…it’s just that you’re afraid of what you might do given this forced proximity.
Something stupid like- like admit your feelings to the ever-elusive hero or something. Disgusting.
On top of that, you’re unable to motion your hips as you were doing so previously. Stuck pathetically grinding back into thrusts that he was already planting onto your cunt, the fatness of his girth sending you to the edge-
You’re whimpering are you can’t do anything you’d usually do like clasp onto his pretty throat or shove your fingers down his mouth. “Sugu…aw, c’mon—”
“Now I’m Sugu?” Geto snickers, “What happened to Bat? Or loser? Or fuck off? Or I never-want-to-see-you-again?”
Fluttering your lashes innocently, “You know I jest.” To no avail, you’re attempting to slip out of those handcuffs as you’d have done with any other normal ones - but you knew better than to underestimate Batman. As you expected, no matter how much you’re squeezing and molding your hands against that metal, it keeps on adjusting to your shape and restraining you. Keeping you hostage. Only one look at him and you already know that Geto’d spent a fortune creating these…perhaps just for you. “C’mon, baby, let me out of these~”
“No can do, kitty.” He chuckles. And the audacity of this man- he’s straying his right hand down your spine and groping your ass—“Next time we’re keeping the suit on because I wanna pull your tail.”
You scoff.
And he raises one dark brow. Thumb pressing down even harder on your clit, “What was that?”
“N-nothing…” You whimper, entire body wracking with shivers. It’s a few more sloppy thrusts before you can thrust yourself to speak without your voice cracking again—you didn’t want to give more ammunition for his entertainment. “Oh, Geto Suguru, when I get out of these handcuffs I’m going to fucking-”
“Kill me?” He smirks, “We can see you try.”
“You think I can’t?”
Geto shakes his head. “No, I expect it. Just make sure you kiss me first.”
And you can’t deny - neither to yourself or him - that that’s leaving you even wetter than you’d anticipated. The sheen of your arousal dripping through his dark happy trail, leading down to that perfectly chiselled six-pack of his.
He merely cracks a grin and plants his right hand on one side of your waist—drilling into you even harder than before.
“You know I love you, Bat.” You’re grumbling out almost reluctantly past the clogged mess of whines and moans and tears in your throat.
“Mmm, love you, too, kitty.”
.
.
.
“Mister Geto, I have collected those crime reports that you requested me to-” Miguel’s deep tone halts immediately at the sight before him. He’s standing by the edge of Geto Suguru’s sprawling master bedroom - the subject of countless features in architectural magazines, and the dreams of high-society alike - eyes widening at the dual figures of you and his employer, bundled up and clearly unclothed beneath the covers.
Clinging onto one another.
The crime-fighting vigilante and his criminal lover.
Though it wasn’t necessarily a secret around these parts that no matter how many women and men Geto Suguru meets, there will always be a certain cat-eared crime-lover he goes back to…Geto himself wouldn’t appreciate it if such word spread now, would he? This wasn’t the first time he’d crawled right back to you and this won’t be the last- hold on.
Were his sunglasses deceiving him or was his cold, uptight employer actually smiling in his sleep? Heavens above, this might just be the last time.
This might just.
Miguel settles for the thought that he’d tease the billionaire about it over dinner—very, very late dinner by the looks of it.
He leaves the report on the nearest desk - of which there were many, because this is Geto Suguru that we’re speaking about - and heads towards the door.
Taking one last peak.
Yeah, this might just be the last time. He trusts his intuition, that he’ll be walking into this scene more often than not in the coming years.
Yeah, this might just be for good.
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Nightwing.
“Who knew that the Nightwing…” You’re purring—smiling like the cat that’s got the cream - or more like the hero that’s just caught her rival. “-sex symbol of Gotham, hottest man of the year, wanted by men and women and everyone in-between…”
And Choso merely bucks weakly beneath you - his hips stutterin’ with every single fucking milimeter that he’s shovelling inside of you.
Choso was red and furiously hot between your legs—thick. Throbbing even harder as he feels his ruddied, red tip scrape the bottom of your pussy; his fat cock twitches there a few times as he registers the soft, spongy platform he was feeling—this was…Those beautiful, brown eyes of his widen as it sinks in. Gasping. Shaking.
And it takes merely two - two - seconds of being stuffed inside you for the famed hero to throw his head back and cum.
And you’re finally finishing your sentence, “-a virgin.”
How had this all happened? How did you end up here?
You could blame it all on the spiked punch, you could blame it all on the lavish ceremony - the highs and lows of the red carpet, ah, they always did tend to make you feel a little more reckless than usual—what’s that saying about all publicity is good publicity? Or perhaps it was the fault of the Hero Awards altogether.
Gathered here with the most elite of the elite, the best heroes from around the world; where they patted one another on their backs and paraded in designer. Reporters starved for the attention of the saviours as much as any competent villain.
Though you couldn’t say too much about them - you yourself were here, too.
But you told yourself that you were here solely for one award—and one award only. All those about best costume, best comeback during a fight, best fancam, best fistfight didn’t matter (though that wasn’t to say that you weren’t grateful, it’d been sweeping wins for all of which you’d teared up).
You were here for Best Hero of the Year.
The best.
The strongest.
The most battle-savvy.
The most competent.
The best of the best.
Once that nomination letter had arrived, you’d held it to your chest - in pure disbelief - for a long hour afterwards. It was an honor to be nominated—the greatest honor.
To win this award a panel of seasoned heroes would tally up all of your fights for this year, then grade them based on a variety of aspects such as difficulty, saves, assists, honor; the total would contribute towards a count that determined the winner. And though you’d been cautious about not winning - there were many other wonderful, more experienced heroes nominated - you just didn’t expect for the announcer to open up the golden cue card and read…
Fucking Nightwing.
Which is why you’d cornered him at the after-party - for a congratulations between you two that’d turned into passive aggressiveness, and passive-aggressiveness that’d turned into a proper argument you’re sure the reporters caught wind of, and an argument that ended up with you and Choso tangled up in your hotel room.
Pressing him down with your hips- you’re trembling at the feeling of his warm sap gushing out of you. It’s creating an ivory sheen down the inner sides of your thighs, smearin’ down Choso’s chiselled hips in a way that was just so lewd—and you’re more than happy to make an even bigger mess.
To throw your head back and grind your hips down onto his.
Choso hiccups, his upper half attempting to surge upwards- only for you to press one pretty finger down on his shoulder. And just the softest push has him tumbling back into the plush pillows, “Shit- y-you can’t just…do that to me.”
“Do what, baby?” You smirk down at him.
And right as he opens those cute, trembling lips of his to answer—you’re tightenin’ your thighs around his waist and jerking your hips even harder against his. His prominent v-lines massage where you were situated, and Choso groans as his blushin’ cocktip manages to push and pinpoint even the tiniest orifices inside you.
He’s still drooling out beads of cum, pooling at the base of his cock. So much of it- shit, was he still cumming?
Or was he cumming…again?
Unsure of what you were feeling, you’re veering your gaze down and attempting to get a better look. And sure as day- not only was it your translucent slick n’ his precum that was flooding you from the inside, but Choso’s ivory cum sprays out and and mixes into something so lewd-
“Fuck- fuck…” Your mouth waters at the feeling of being stuffed to the brim - so much of it that you’re wondering just how overworked his hefty balls must be. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, “You’re cumming again, Cho—”
“Th-this is exactly what I mean.” Choso sobs out, eyes glittering with tears, “You can’t just do that to me- you can’t make me feel so…stupid when you fuck me.”
Amused, “Stupid, huh? I don’t know if I have to try-”
“See, m’so gone that I’d agree—” That soft whine of his makes you so much wetter. Peering up at you with his half-lidded gaze - boring his dilated pupils into yours, hanging his jaw maddeningly. He presses a simple jerk of his ruddied cockhead into the deepest depths of your cunt - dead fucking serious. “I’d agree that m’stupid. I’d agree that m’pathetic.”
“Awwww…” Arching your back, he’s attempting this cute attempt at ruttin’ into you that you’re indulging in. You let him thrash his needy cockhead again and again and again-
“I-I’m nothing but a fuckin’ ngh, virgin that doesn’t deserve to fuck a pussy like this.” His lips wobble out- and you might have said something about him being too hard on himself…you might.
But the dirtier that Choso was speaking - the harder he was on himself - the harder he was getting.
Longer. Girthier—and his thorough thrusts were spearheading even faster by his tip. Taking out the tension in everything he was saying by ramming straight into your cervix - hard and fast. It twitches right at the very back of your spongy womb…and you’re swearing that a grin grows across Choso’s face as he registers that displeased expression on your face- who did he think he was to try and gain control over you?
“Now now—” You’re pressing both palms on top of his sweaty chest, and you can’t deny that they felt so toned and muscular underneath your touch. “Trying to be a big boy, Nightwing?”
“Only for you.” He croons.
“Cute.” You wrinkle your nose, “But that’d be a lot more smooth if you weren’t cumming- again.”
“Fuh-fuck.”
When was this? The third time? The fourth? Either way, all Choso knows is that he can’t stop those furious zaps of pleasure from coursing through his entire body—every inch and vessel and atom. It’s collecting at the mushroomy tip of his cock, red and swollen, then dribbling out as cum.
Not even.
Choso barely manages a few pearly white droplets before he’s shooting fucking blanks-
Head throwing back. Gasps echoing out of him. Chest heaving and heaving as you’re riding his overstimulated cock craaaaaazy-
“What was that about Year’s Best Hero?” You’re tittering out, staring into Choso’s utterly pretty face as he’s cumming through tears. Spark upon spark. Strong enough to make his toes curl, and you’re ruthless in the way you’re wrapping your warm pussy around him and milking him dry-
His pinkish lips wobble, “Wh-what was that…”
“How’re you gonna fight crime if you can’t even- ngh, handle a pussy?”
“W-well, I didn’t expect to be facing such a…formidable foe.” Blabbing out - utter nonsense at this point. He was pussydrunk—if only those at the Hero Award could see him like this. “You could take on a second job as a villain…j-just with that pussy…and also just f’me…”
“I take that as a…compliment?”
“You’re welcome—ngh.” Choso whimpers out- before there’s a sudden twitch at the crown of his swollen shaft. And those brown brows of his furrow, “B-but don’t be nice to me, however, it’s gonna make me cum- again. Mmm.”
“Oh, Choso…”
.
.
.
The glitz. The glamour. The fans begging you to sign their tits.
At the very next Hero Awards, there’s a buzz like never before.
For several reasons, of course: first of all, the matching outfits between you and the famously handsome Nightwing (though you’d argue that yours is the one that looked better, secondly because some drama-lovers anticipated a rerun of the infamous fight between you and aforementioned handsome hero, and last but not least—because of the new category of awards you’d been nominated for.
Most Inspirational Hero Couple.
And it was no surprise that Choso had won this one, but at least this time—you’d won it, too.
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Hulk.
It happened not when he was angry, or excited, or panicked.
The results of a top-secret experiment funded by The University of Tokyo, intended to create human super-soldiers: it had been a failure. And Dr. Ryomen Sukuna had known better than to get his hopes up for such a volatile test subject—he was an expert in the field, 7 PhDs in a variety of sciences from biochemistry to radiophysics, he knew that it could take months, years, even decades before they observed even a mere anomaly similar to what they’d been hoping for.
But fuck- Sukuna had really thought he’d done it. He’d made humans immune to gamma radiation.
At least, he’d thought he did.
Ryomen Sukuna blinked his eyes open after the sudden explosion of radiation, and at most he’d expected to see his laboratory wrecked, his data completely wiped. At most.
He didn’t expect to be seeing it from eight feet high.
He didn’t expect to be seeing it with four eyes.
He didn’t expect to wield four massive arms in an attempt to find any shattered piece of glass from which he may see himself from-
Two mouths let out simultaneous gasps.
One of them slashed across his muscular stomach.
He was a monster.
It didn’t take a single one of his PhDs for Sukuna to know to flee the scene- not just the building, but Tokyo itself. Sirens loomed in the distance, and the acrid smell of radiation left him in waves- bystanders running to the rubble without realizing the danger. He knew you’d be alerted soon—you.
How could he ever face you like this?
Lo and behold he’d ended up at a squat village in Aogashima island; 358km away from Tokyo with only 160 residents. It was here, tucked behind sprawling mountainsides, that Sukuna had come to discover the little intricacies of his…condition. Through trial and error, through testing upon himself and attempting to control that four-armed version of him. Attempting.
And so the question: what made him transform?
He discovered that this monstrous state - which he dubbed to be a Curse state - was triggered by sudden increases of his heartbeat. Rarely anger, or excitement, or panic. What else might possibly raise the disgraced scientist’s heartrate well over 200 bpm?
Arousal.
Which is exactly what he’d been learning to control through his breathing techniques, his meditation, and his celibacy- not that he’d want anyone but you. But fuck…the dreams he’d have of you.
Nightmares, when he wakes up as the monstrous King of Curses.
Heaven, when the exact source of his nightmares - and wettest dreams - comes knocking at his shunted door one sunny summer day. A furrow between your brows. A furious word or two slipping out at the first sight of him.
Fuck.
.
.
.
One year, two months, and a few days since…the incident and you’d finally located where your ex-boyfriend (and former colleague) had disappeared.
And you’d expected him to have sunken into his work in one way or another.
You’d expected him to have holed himself away in some rural town—as he’d confessed to wanting to do on some nights, just with you. You’d even have expected him to have been working on some strange new project after the failure of his last one- he was the type to take it to heart. A little dramatic, but you expected this.
You just didn’t expect…his transformation.
Right before your very eyes.
Four arms. Four eyes. Two cocks that’d stayed twitchin’ in his baggy pants for a mere few minutes of your conversation- before you had your face pushed into pillows that smelled like him, legs struggling to keep you up, begging for more as Sukuna digs those two ruddied cockheads between your pussylips and sliiiiides in-
Just a few inches.
Just a few.
Before the resistance of your tight entrance gets too much- and Sukuna’s leaning back a bit to allow his cursed second mouth to spit down on your pussy. Hard.
The impact makes you shiver, sticky substance gluing your pussylips together. You swear you hear his second mouth snicker as he swabs that cloying texture with his cockheads, and uses his hands to manhandle you into pliable position - one hand cupping your abdomen and pulling you up- the other digging into the left side of your hips- the other reachin’ down to thumb apart your swollen folds and help him fuck his lengths inside. Thick and throbbing.
In short, slow semi-thrusts. He was just trying to fit inside. “Kuna—” Breathing out open-mouthed against the pillows. Needy.
“Needy brat.”
“Kuna.”
“Sh-shit.” And he wasn’t doing a single bit better than you. Sukuna was letting his head drop into the clammy crook of your neck, gnarled canines grazing on top of your skin- you feel the scowl across his face stretch even more as he pull-pull-puuuuuulls those hot erections backwards.
And then probes aaaaaaall the way back in - languidly.
“Fuck-” You’re gasping out—seeing pure white behind your eyelids. You almost couldn’t believe it. Sukuna was already sizable- but in this form?
He had his round, reddened tips just barely lodging between your swollen folds. Just so big. Pulsing. Pushing apart your slick walls with his circumferences, throbbing away inside you. Rubbing back and forth a few times to savor the squeeze of your hole - like heaven - before he’s stuffin’ every single nook, cranny, and crevice like never before.
And the carnal burn between your legs was only made sweeter by the way that Sukuna himself trembled on top of you. He’s letting out a coarse grunt-
Gasping.
“Fuck—fuck, is this okay?”
And a part of you melts at the utter tenderness in his tone - mixing with a hint of fear. Of disbelief. Ryomen Sukuna was never the type to be vulnerable, not even when the two of you had been dating—but as you look over your shoulder right now, you see that those devilish red eyes of his were observing every minute expression as though searching for a hint of rejection. Of disgust.
A hint that he’d been right about his changed form.
He was inhuman in his physique now, and…and he understands if you’d been scared away at any point-
But you’re only arching your spine and veering your hips back into him- cutting off whatever whirlwind of thoughts was bound to consume him. You’re picking up the pace that he’d been unsurely slowly down, bouncin’ down onto those slick-glossed shafts. They filled you up deliciously. “You don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily again, are you?”
“I-”
“I’m more than okay, Kuna.”
“And yet-”
“And yet, why won’t you fuck me even harder—” Huffing, you’re managing to get up onto your elbows and gain a bit more leverage. “Spent so long looking for you, y’know…”
“Tch.” The scientist grumbles, but you could feel the way those rotund tips of his twitch just a lil’ inside of you. “Should’ve known-” He’s matching your pace with his own, slamming the lines of his toned abs against the globes of your ass cheeks. “-that you’d be an utter slut for monster cock.”
“Cocks.” You correct.
Just then, the wetness of his second tongue trickles down your pussylips. Gathering up every wad of honeyed slick you were leaking out- he was glissading his tastebuds along every inch of you he could reach: your inner thighs, your cute ass, nearly reaching around to fuck your pretty pussy. “Don’t forget the tongue, too, girlie.”
“I c-could never…” You’re keening out.
“Oh?”
And with a grin, Sukuna second-guesses no longer—before he’s leaning his chiselled front over yours. The hard ridges and lines of his muscles massaging your back, he hooks his fourth muscular arm around your neck and pulls you into a damn headlock-
“Fuh-fuck-” Sukuna hisses through his canines - honed and longer and ready to bite. He ruts into you like a damn animal—“Shit, how I missed this…”
“Shouldn’t have run away then-”
“From the fuckin’ freak?”
Just the slightest press against your throbbing g-spot - it’s like a trigger for the sweet, sweet squeeze of your walls- so warm n’ hungry for his cocks. And Sukuna jerks into urgent attention,
And now he wasn’t fucking you slow- he wasn’t taking his time.
Ryomen Sukuna had his muscular hips arched n’ reluctant to part from yours. Probin’ those girthy inches of his inside—
You’re attempting to claw at the headboard for dear life- but his keen eyes immediately catch the sliver of action, and Sukuna wastes no time before tightening his headlock ‘round you until his biceps bulge against your throat, hauling you back into his vicious ploughs. “What?” He breathes, scalding hot against the side of your cheek. “Where are we going, girlie?”
“We?”
“We. I could never forget her.” He’s rasping out against your skin, sending vibrations across every axiom of you. “Always thought of her—”
“A-and what did you think about?” You’re whimpering.
He doesn’t answer for a few seconds. And you’re disappointed as you feel Sukuna take as much time as his heart desires, pulling out of your pussy with a cute pop! Before he swirls his ruddied tips to soften up your entrance once more, and gives you a thorough thrash- going even deeper than prior. He’s making the eyes roll to the back of your head- he’s finally bottoming out. “I thought about how she might take every inch of me…”
“Oh.”
The tip of his second tongue dips out as though to fuck your cunt simultaneously.
.
.
.
When you’re accompanying Sukuna back to Tokyo, it’s hand-in-hand.
Large and warm against yours. There were more callouses on his fingers than you remember there being - not those of laboratory test tubes, and flasks, and flipping on centrifuges; but the hardship from the year you didn’t have him—and he didn’t have himself, either.
But you’re tugging him into the airport, now.
Two tickets booked and a meeting at The University of Tokyo already planned - the two of you didn’t plan to let anyone know of his transformative abilities for now. Perhaps never.
There were things that the two of you hadn’t sorted out yet: like how would Sukuna explain away his disappearance to the science board? How would you both stay in your cramped Tokyo apartment when he turned into his Curse mode? How would you manage to work on controlling it when…
But you knew the two of you would find a way - you always do.
As you’re standing at the terminal to your flight, the ones at the farthest end of the line, you’re turning around to a lilting voice calling out both your names. Your full names. Who knew such a thing…Faced with a grinning woman in a jet-black suit, tinted sunglasses, and the most accomplished grin across her face. She introduces herself as Tony- or as you may know her: Iron Woman.
And would you and your hulking boyfriend perhaps be interested in a little something called—
Sukuna’s breath hitches.
—The Avengers?
♡ INO TAKUMA - Flash.
“Mr. Flash- Mr. Flash! Just one more question, please…”
“Mr. Flash?” Ino gets a sheepish expression across his face at the esteemed title- one that makes the rest of his team roll their eyes. And he’s turning to the reporter that wastes no time shoving his mic in his face; camera already rolling, news headlines running.
All part of the job—it’s already been an hour since they’ve saved the city (yet again) and they’re still being interviewed, with no sign of it stopping anytime soon.
And so Ino plasters his camera-ready smile on - the rest of the team might not be as savvy as he was with the media, but he was one of the most popular up-and-coming heroes for a reason. Hah. The people loved him, and he loved the people. He takes the mic from the reporter faster than he can blink, and the man startles out a laugh.
“Woah, did you get that?” He turns uncertainly to the cameraman, who nods though he himself wasn’t too sure. Turning back to the red-clad hero- “You sure are fast. Tell us, Mr. Flash, does this speed affect you in your normal life, too?”
Ino answers, “Well-”
“And what about in the more…intimate aspects?”
He’s somewhat taken aback, “What do you-”
“What about in bed?”
Ino’s jaw has never dropped faster—ironic, isn’t it?
And that reporter leans in with a smile that’s turned wicked - one that said he’s going to get paid a lot of money for this particular clip. “Tell us, Mr. Flash, do you last nothing but a flash in bed?” Those beady eyes then turn to you—not too far away and interviewing another one of his team - ever since the two of you started dating, you’d been careful to not let anything slip about it, going so far as to avoid interviewing him as you once did as a hero reporter.
Though you suppose that some whispers did let slip.
For the man was staring at you, though he asked the question from Ino. “Or perhaps there’s a certain…someone that might know the answer to this question?”
That clip of him open-mouthed and gaping takes over social media within a few minutes - it garnered some strange frenzy of amusement and morbid curiosity. Some defended him fervently against the intrusive reporter, some argued that if one was a hero then they should expect strange questions, others condemned such questions all together- where were the boundaries?
Everyone else argued back.
But most…oh, you could’ve already guessed that most couldn’t help but speculate the real answers for both questions: the bed situation and the ‘certain someone’.
Ino, of course, was bemoaning his haste.
Or at least he would-
But right now he had you splayed-out underneath him and letting him fuck you maddened—the slender length of his cock pistoning in and out of you at a frenzied pace.
“Fuh-fuck-” That pretty, pinkened mouth of his droops open with a wet gasp—and Ino shudders as the ruddied tip of his cock swerves around your insides. Stars burst behind his teary eyelids as he’s sprinklin’ out yet another few droplets of him, trickling it deeeep into the back of your womb as he’s fucking your wet channel through it.
He’s shuddering his hips forwards and locking his knots of seed against the softness of your womb- “Fuck, you’re making me c-cum again, pretty…” And it’s about the fifth time in the past hour that he’s repeating this, “B-but I’m really not a flash in bed, right…?”
Such doe-like eyes stare at you, those long lashes of his glittered in tears. And you can’t help but say, “Mhmmmm—you’re really not, Taku.”
“But then why do you sound like you’re making fun of me?” Those trembling fingertips of his take purchase upon either side of your hips, and Ino’s mahogany brows furrows as he concentrates. “This round- this round, m’gonna prove it to you.”
“Taku, baby, you’re pussydrunk-”
“Even better.”
It’s been hours.
Fucking hours.
And Ino hasn’t stopped ruttin’ himself into the warm wetness of your pussy- he can’t stop himself.
It’s been too long - at this point he wouldn’t even be able to give you a number - since you’d successfully steered him away from that reporter and accompanied him to his penthouse. Since you’d reassured him that he totally wasn’t too fast in bed and that you definitely did think the sex lasted long enough.
But still.
He didn’t last a flash in bed.
He really, really didn’t—which is why a young dawn was filtering through the curtains- but Ino Takuma still had his cock lodged thoroughly inside you and was showing no signs of stopping any time soon. He’s reaching down to wrap both your legs around his toned waist, folding you in half n’ kissing your sweaty forehead with his.
But his point was getting harder and harder to prove with every round that he’s fuckin’ you through - bottoming out deeply at the back of your womb, and letting out the prettiest shivers as he feels you clench. “Fuh…oh, fuck.” Uttering mere minutes after he’s started this round, “I-I think m’gonna…”
“What’s that, baby?” You’re reaching up to loop your arms around his neck, tugging the beautiful boy towards you.
“Nothing.”
Batting your lashes up at him, “Awwww, c’mon- you know you can tell me anything, Taku.”
“I-it’s really nothing.” He insists.
“Hmmm, alright then…” But you knew- oh, you already knew. The more rounds that Ino was plunging you through, the more n’ more pussydrunk that he was growing—the shorter he lasted. Which wasn’t entirely anything bad- you honestly found it cute how it’d only take a few sweet slides down your tight pussy’s channel for Ino to utterly fall apart.
But he’s soon feeling that prickly sensation of his high, and he only starts tunneling between your sopping pussylips even harder. Brows knitting. Fingers digging into your flesh. “M’not gonna cum, sweetness-” He hiccups, “I-I’m not gonna cum, promise-”
“Mhm, I trust you.” You’re coaxing him, “I know you’re gonna last, baby.”
There’s a breathless note in his voice. He looks up at you in surprise, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I know you can handle it- hah.”
Fervently nodding, “Yeah- yeah, and m’gonna make you cum—”
“Mhm—” Lewdly smiling up at him. He’s just so entranced by that sinful expression upon your face that he doesn’t notice the way you’ve planted your feet firmly on the damp mattress- suddenly rolling your hips up into his own. “So why don’t I…help you, my hero?”
“H-help—oh.” Stunned. Cutting himself off with a groan.
Ino’s eyes squeeze firmly shut, and he’s shaking viscerally at the sudden plap! of your skin hitting against his own. It’s a different kind of burn when it’s you who’s taking control - and even though he’s on top of you, it feels like he’s the one that should be squirmin’ and gasping.
It feels like he should be the one who’s cumming first-
“No—” Ino’s gritting out through clenched canines - there’s a low trundle of something in his tone that sounds like desperation. Before you know it, he’s increasing the speed of his hips—plap! plap! Plap!
That rounded, red tip of his finds the spot of your nerves just perfectly- and Ino doesn’t waste a single second before he’s starting to bludgeon it with his thrusts. So many times that it starts to feel a bit raw.
Pinning you down using the weight of his lower half, Ino digs his right hand instantly between your two trembly thighs. Brushin’ apart your pussylips with a singular swipe of his thumb- your head explodes in so many bursts of pleasure as he starts twiddlin’ with your pretty, plump clit. “No, no, no- don’t think that I don’t know what you’re hck! doing, sweetness.”
Fluttering your lashes innocently, “And what’s that, Taku?”
“D-don’t think that I don’t know you’re trying to make me—” Pausing to let his crowned shaft push into your womb with a resounding squelch! “-cum first.”
“So what if I am, hm?” You counter, “I just really, really love the way it feels when you’re filling me up-”
“I know what you’re doing there, too—” He’s snarling down at you- just so gone on your pussy by now that he likely doesn’t even realize he’s drooling. Those dilated pupils of his bore straight into your own as he angles his hips to constantly bash your poor g-spot, circlin’ every sensitive orifice. “I know what you’re doing- fuck, I know what you’re doing…”
And you can only squeal as the sheer pressure of his cadence increases-
“And I know what I’m doing, too.”
Because if you thought that was fast- then you weren’t ready for just how rapidly Ino’s fingers could make you fall apart. They were just so loooong and pretty, flexible enough to twist your nub in constant circular motions, flexible enough to make you sob.
It doesn’t matter how badly you’re attempting to buck away - Ino keeps his fingers firmly into the wettened crevice between your legs. Twisting his wrist into aaaall sorts of degrees just to see which one made you scream the most-
“Please—” You’re bawling out after only a few minutes of this, legs shaking. “P-please, that’s unfair-”
“How so?” One amused brow raises. Perspired.
“B-because you’re gonna make me cum-” And to anyone else that would’ve sounded like a petulant complaint, it would’ve even sounded like a sore loser that couldn’t take on the challenge—but Ino knew. And you knew, too. “-using your powers—”
And the superhero can only grin, “So?”
Thrust after thrust.
Roll after sloppy roll of his glued fingertips - they were running your body taut. Without much effort, Ino’s able to make his blushin’ divot massage against your pussy at a rate where his hips almost looked like a blur—not even half of the Flash’s top speed.
And the fact that he was going easy on you made you huff in complaint.
Without thinking much of it, you’re back to ruttin’ up into him - definitely unable to meet his cadence, but you knew you didn’t have to.
You already had him wrapped around your little finger.
It takes only a few needy slams of your treacly pussy against his cock - all the way down to his thickened bottom - for Ino to throw his head back and groan. “You’re gonna…fuck, you’re gonna kill me, girl.‘
“Huh? But I didn’t do anything?” In a mock-innocent tone, “I certainly don’t have any powers to use.”
“Did you forget p-pussy power?”
You smirk.
And as he’s increasing his pace, you only have to whimper out his name for Ino to falter- for him to shake his head and continue. And as you’re attempting to gain the upper hand, he only has to buzz your throbbing nub with his electric speed for you to lose your mind.
Eventually—you think you’re about to cum.
And before you can accept the thought of losing, you’re grabbin’ Ino by his pretty throat and dragging him down to kiss his lips. “C-cum inside me, Taku.”
It’s a tie.
You’re crashing into your high, and Ino’s crashing into his.
Both the steaming hot pleasure of your orgasm flooding your core- and the few droplets that his overworked cock manages out. Creamy white sap. Thinner than usual—he was fighting not to merely cum blanks. Whimpering. Bucking. Fucking you like a damn animal…You’ve both experienced so many throughout the night that your current waves of bliss rip through you hard and fast.
Though Ino himself wastes no time bumpin’ his crowned cock into every tiny ridge of your wet channel. Scrape-scrape-scraping down the spots where you were most sensitive, and dragging it out for as long as he can.
You’re gasping as it leaves you numb from your toes, pulling his sweat chest against yours. “F-fuck, that feels so good…”
“Yes—fuck, yes.” And as the shudders of your high pass, you feel Ino’s cock grow just a little more limp inside of you- well…for a mere few seconds, that is.
“T-tie-breaker?” He whines.
.
.
.
The next time the two of you are spotted out together, it’s for an interview. Of course.
In which you’d ‘cornered’ global superhero Flash after yet another one of his successful missions - before any of the other reporters could manage to get their claws on him - with the question they’ve all been asking—“Do you really last as quick as a flash in bed?”
You’re hearing the shocked gasps around you from the other reporters and bystanders. None had dared ask this question so directly since that clip had gone viral - and in the peripheries of your vision you could see that interviewer from before gnawing his teeth at the fact that you’d stolen his limelight. Surely thinking you’d have about as much luck as him, however…
But of course, Ino already knew you were about to ask this.
His grin stretches underneath his mask as he turns to you, cameras rolling. “I should be asking you that, pretty. Dinner at 7?”
“There you have it, folks.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - Spider-Man.
“S-so I guess what I’m trying to say is…” The masked intruder starts, his voice stuttering adorably through his lines. Though adorable as he may be, that doesn’t make you forget the fact that he was a man…tall…well-built…and clearly a crazed fanatic of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man who’d broken into your dorm—“Uh…I come in peace?”
You’re raising the frying pan in your hands even higher, “I know how to hide a body-”
“O—okay, woah-” He’s immediately taking a few steps back, which you suppose you wouldn’t expect from a dangerous intruder. But then again, maybe he was just new to the job?
If so, he should probably have his pay docked - he was utterly failing at being intimidating. For he’s flattening himself against the window from which he’d entered just a few minutes ago, hands raised in surrender and the whites of his masked eyes widening. Damn, that costume was pretty good…
“I come in peace. I swear I come in peace- I’d just been running from a bad guy, and your dorm just happened to be…the first one I saw? Either way, I promise I’m no danger and I’ll just be on my way now so-” He immediately hastens, “Put…the frying pan…down.”
“Make me.” Raising it even higher, he flinches.
“Okay- oh my god, okay—” It really didn’t take much to make the man surrender at all, immediately giving up on any peace-keeping. He scrambles around the room and you’re worrying that he’s looking for something to challenge your frying pan with- but it seems that he’d just been brainstorming how best to go about with…whatever this is. Because in no time, you’re practically seeing a light bulb go off beside his head, and the man raises his palms as though to brace you.
And you can’t deny it, you found yourself a bit interested. “Um, yes?”
“Get ready- look—” He utters through the web-patterned mask covering his face. “Don’t faint but…”
“But?”
“I’m…Spider-Man.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
You’re assessing the man from head-to-toe—or at least what you could make out of him from the most elaborate cosplay of Spider-Man you’ve ever seen. It could honestly have been impressive if it wasn’t for the fact that he was in your fucking dorm.
But you digress.
“Okay, so do you want the frying pan- or I’ve also got a rolling pin-”
“What? No—no, listen.” The man insists, “I really am Spider-Man- it’s true! You’ve gotta believe me-” Though your deadpan expression gave away just about how much you believed the words that were falling from his masked mouth. And so he’s groaning in frustration, “Look- look, if I just showed you a few tricks would that work? Would that finally prove to you that I’m Spider-Man?”
Unimpressed, you cross your arms. “Go on, then.”
And then the first thing he does is shoot a clingy web from one hand, it launches at an incredible speed and sticks to your ceiling. That’s going to be hell to get out…
“Hm…” You narrow your eyes at him, “Impressive. But I’ve seen better at Party City.”
“That’s not fucking Party Cit- anyways.” He runs a hand down his weary face—or at least what you expect his face to look like beneath that mask. And as soon as you blink, you’re finding this…intruder(?) climbing up your walls. Literally.
All hands on there, glued to it with an invisible adhesive.
You gape, “That’s not…”
“And how about this? This is even better—” Before you can refute that previous trick, too, this man jerks his head up (or was it considered down? You weren’t quite sure given the way he’d crawled all the way to your ceiling by this point) and basks in the silence for a split-second.
You wondered whether he was actually sensing something or just pulling your leg-
“My spider senses say that your vibrator’s plugged in but it isn’t charging.”
You almost want to throw the frying pan at him. However, you’re managing to tamper down the urge long enough to walk silently to your room and back—fuck it, he’d been completely right. You still sort of want to throw the frying pan at him.
But as though he’d sensed that, too, Spider-Man raises his hands up to cover his head.
So you’re setting it down on your table with a defeated sigh, “Alright, I believe you…Spider-Man. What’re you doing here?”
“Like I said-” He finally lets go of the ceiling and stands in front of you normally now, “-bad guy had been chasing me. That one was just a little…above my paygrade so I had to stall until Iron Woman could get here- which was about five minutes ago. The fight’s still going on, however, and I should probably lay low for now.”
Awkwardly shuffling, “So then…”
“So then if I could just stay here until then, um…”
“Um, sure.”
“Sure.” He twiddles his thumbs, “So- is there anything you’ve wanted to know in particular about Spider-Man?”
You smirk.
.
.
.
“Always wanted to know how—hah, big it is.” Biting down on your lower lip, you’re managing to hold back a pitchy whine as his solid tip enters your hole.
Puckered and plump.
Just the cutest pink- he was the perfect girth and size.
Big enough to make your entrance quiver just feeling him kiss up against you, slender n’ smooth enough that he’s already starting to eagerly ease inside of you. And as you’re lowering yourself down on him, the superhero grabs onto either side of your ravenous hips like a lifeline—letting out a few ragged swears as he jerks his hips up and thrusts-
“Y-you should know…” He’s wincing at the feeling of your cunt - so hot and wet. Wasn’t this just heaven?
Turning around to look at him- he’s rather glad you’d chosen a reverse cowgirl position. Because at least then you wouldn’t have seen the way he wiped away fucking tears—sobbing at just the feeling of being inside your wet pussy. “Mhm, spidey?”
“You should know that this is my first time.”
“Oh.”
And with that being said, he’s thumpin’ out the most thorough hit at the very bottom of your pussy. He doesn’t have the experience of just eeeeasing in his incredible length- he’s chasing the back of your cunt like a man starved.
Like a man in unbearable pain every second he isn’t feeling the hotness of your cervix, the globes of your ass, the sensation of your walls squeezing around him like an embrace. So hot and wet. So sweet. So addictive-
“Addictive?” You’re giggling back at him, “Pussy talking already, huh?”
“I-I don’t even know what that is…” He’s babbling out, voice thicker than before.
And you can’t help but glide your palms down the smoothness of his exposed thighs, feeling every curve and divot of the corded muscle beneath. His body was just to die for - toned but not overly muscular. More like a sleeper build.
And you’re having soooo much fun moving your hips ‘round in all sorts of ways that made his muscles bulge—
“Fuck- fuck.” He’s stupid after just a few strokes. Bucking. Moaning. Hands tugging on the edge of the mask that found itself firmly upon his face, he’s attempting to loosen it and gasping for air-
“You should take that off, too.” You’re turning around and huffing at the sole scrap of fabric that kept you from seeing - what you assumed to be - Spider-Man’s pretty face. The only thing you could see of him were those stray curls of…white? Perhaps they were a super platinum blond? They wrapped around the nape of his neck and slightly leaned towards his jawline, drenched in sweat and flushed right down to his tone pecs.
The way that he’s squirmin’ and letting out the most unfairly erotic grunts every time you’re swallowing him up only left you so much more impatient. So much more impatient. “I s-swear I won’t tell anyone about who you are…fuck, and isn’t it getting super hot in there?”
“It is…” He murmurs, more to himself than anything. “But, what if—”
Peering back at him as he trails off, “What?”
“What if I don’t look how you expect?”
“It’s the personality that matters.” Nodding in conviction, and then a sly smile stretches across your face at the way that makes his cockhead throb-throb-throb harder inside you. You’re wasting no time before increasing the speed of your hips until your hamstrings scream—“And the cock…heh.”
“S-so filthy.” The hero mutters, “But what if I’m…not your type?”
“Ugh—” Almost rolling your eyes- it was cute just how shy he was, really. But the first thing you’d wanted to do upon finding out that he was the real Spider-Man was to fuck him - so how much of a hint could you really give? “Baby, my type is loser heroes, and I think you fit the bill.”
“Thank y- hey.”
Just a few more sloppy thrusts - just a few more - and the man beneath you finds himself completely n’ utterly gone from the force of your hips. The sweetness of your cunt.
The way you’d tighten your legs around him any time he swabbed near your sweetest spots. And he was chasing that particular bundle of nerves with such fervour- he was gasping as he feels himself veering even soooo much closer to the throbbing of your deepest walls- he was reddening the skin ‘round his pelvis through sheer impact.
And just as he thinks that he couldn’t get even more drunk on the texture of your pussy…
You’re whimpering out a sweet lil’ echo of his hero name—
And the superhero beneath you lets his head loll behind into the pillows with a groooooan- mouth falling open at the feeling of your cunt surrounding him. Clenching.
Clamping down, you’re holding him hostage better than any villain ever could.
His heavy balls were nearly full enough to burst- and he’s thinking that he’s gonna cum just as soon as he rams his blushin’ tip almost straight into the target of—
And then his spider senses tell him that your fingers are thinking of reaching for his mask.
But before you can even let the thought come into proper fruition in your mind, he’s taking nothing but a single split second to web your pretty wrists together and flip the two of you over. Just because he’s pussydrunk doesn’t mean he isn’t one of the world’s best superheroes, hm?
Now fucking you with your face smushed into the pillows, your knees bracing on the mattress. His cock pounding out a single thrust between those sweet, sap-covered pussylips of yours- the hero hits your g-spot instantly.
And that’s all it takes for you to topple right into your high.
Pleasure rushing through your body in waves. Fingertips clenching at the sheer force of it. You’re seeing stars behind your eyes at the sensation- “Sh-shiiiiit—” Perhaps one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had in your life- and not only was it wound up by a virgin, but the virgin was none other than Spider-Man?!
Jaw dropping open—though it was in slight shock, he’s taking the opportunity to lean and spit.
Making you moan as the gluey wad skids down your tastebuds, “Ohhh, you’re a secret freak, huh?” And though you’d meant it as a half-joke, the hero is leaning his chiselled body dooooown to whisper into the side of your ear.
“Maybe.”
Then there’s the rustling of fabric.
Of masks being removed, perhaps? It takes your mind a few more moments of him slammin’ his rugged cock inside you to realize…
And then the white-hot feeling of your orgasm coursing through your veins is suddenly overtaken by the realization that Spider-Man - maskless and exposed - was right behind you. Looming. Looking for your reaction, you suppose…you feel a jolt go through your body as you realize that he was waiting for you to turn—bearing all of this for you.
And you wondered what he would look like.
Pretty, sure.
Slightly nerdy—perhaps, he never struck you as the jock type.
Someone sweet. Someone kind.
Maybe that was just your wishful thinking.
You turn around and there he is - Gojo Satoru. You fucking knew him—he went to your university. The white-haired ace of the Physics Department; always roaming around campus with his textbooks or camera, always with his head buried and rarely meeting anyone’s eyes, always in the library to the extent that he might as well have been part of the furniture.
Always with his camera lens pointed at you, though he doesn’t think you saw him enough to notice.
But of course, you saw him.
Of course, you saw him.
He’s the boy you’ve had a crush on since freshman year.
Gojo doesn’t meet your eyes now, either. He’s without his thick-rimmed glasses and has to squint just a little bit, looking self-consciously down at himself and fuck- you have to resist the urge to beg for missionary then and there just so that you can stare into his deep, azure eyes as he fucks you.
Instead, you just say- “Did you know that nerds are also my type?”
He beams brighter than the sun.
.
.
.
The next time you’re beside Gojo Satoru, it’s hand-in-hand and entering your next lecture.
You could feel the stares, the gasps, the whispers.
The nerd of the physics department, and one of the most popular girls on campus- or at least, that’s what Gojo claimed. Professor Yaga himself lets his bushy brows raise just the slightest inch once he spots the two of you—and it makes your nerdy boyfriend blush right now to his ivory roots.
“Sweetheart—” He’s whispering to you, “How about we swing around the city today? Promise I’d never let you drop.”
You smile, “I’d love to, Toru.”
Oh, you can imagine that the Daily Bugle is going to go into haywire.
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Daredevil.
“Do you trust me, angel?”
You can’t keep the smile off of your face, “Who would I trust if not the best lawyer in Tokyo? Maybe even the world?”
“Why only maybe?” Higuruma smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges—just barely visible past the frames of his sunglasses. Your boyfriend was just so handsome when he was in his work clothes: one amongst the many crisp suits he often wore to court, hair slicked back n’ not a single strand out of place, his cane by his side. But he continues, “You know how I’m a…lawyer of sorts?”
“Oh really? I had no idea.” You jest.
“How about we try something tonight, my angel…” And as you’re peering down at him in curiosity, Higuruma starts to loosen his tie just the slightest bit—and you’re suddenly understanding what he means. “How about a simulation of this aspect, though in a far lighter tone?”
Your jaw drops, “R-roleplay?”
.
.
.
“Denied.”
“Hiromi, baby—”
“The court finds you guilty on all counts of seduction.” Higuruma’s deep baritone rasps down at you, punctured only by the slamming of his gavel on his desk. Bang! Bang! Bang! Those pressurized vibrations send shockwaves down your own body, and the lawyer’s grin stretches as he watches you affected by such a thing.
How cute…he couldn’t stop but let your orgasm edge for the nth time tonight.
Edging you.
It’s later into the night, you’re spread out across Higuruma’s neat work desk- your back against the frigid texture of the mahogany, your front arching into his own. He presses his suit-clad front against your naked tits—the harsh texture of his heroic suit - as per your request - rubbin’ against your nipples n’ sending you into an absolute frenzy.
He was such a tease.
Grinning as though he knew exactly what he was doing- even though the tone of his voice speaks of nothing but faux innocent. The lawyer speaks, “You’re moving around so much- something wrong, sugar?”
“A-absolutely nothing.” You’re managing to echo out.
“Good.” Higuruma utters, pure devilish desire in his tone. And he doesn’t need to say his next words for you to already know where this was heading- after all, one of his hands reaches for where his gavel was upon the table - using his radar sense - and the other presses down on your hips.
Right above where his thickened length was pressed between your pussylips—Higuruma feels his hand down upon your stomach as he sinks himself inside. The throbbing, cylindrical intrusion of his cock glissading inside- “Because we’re having a retrail.”
And then the gavel comes down right on top of the wooden desk.
It creaks and nearly splinters—but all you can think of is the way that Higuruma was fuckin’ his rotund tip into you as though there was no tomorrow. He wasn’t wasting a single second.
Court time was precious, y’know?
So you best believe that Higuruma had your hips pinned down with his own powerful ones, the scritch-scratching of his tufted happy trail rendering you stupid. Fucking you in hard, purposeful thrusts - each one aimed precisely for where you were most sensitive.
His swabbin’ thrusts didn’t just hit deeeeep into the back of your pussy, but your boyfriend was ending up pressing against your sweetest orifices, your soft roof, the door to your womb—dragging his thumb down the knob of your clit.
With those honed senses of his, you’re lasting barely two pumps of his accurate cock before he’s locating your g-spot—fuck.
And giving it the most merciless strike ever.
He knew where it was from the slurping sounds of your cunt - the way they’d grow just a little damper as he headed for that one spot, he knew where it was from the counts of your breathing - how you’d let them grow a bit more ragged as he veered his cocktip even closer, he knew where it was from the smell of your cloying slick—growing even wetter n’ more drenched in honey as you’d find yourself spearheaded by him.
Rough.
“State your name.”
And so the trail commences.
You’re doing so as he says- a monumental task given the way that Higuruma’s greedy hips don’t stop taking you for a single second. In fact, he’s kissin’ your g-spot at a constant pace and seeming to only ask you questions when he knows you’ll be affected by the sudden bursts of pleasure.
“State your age.”
Your mouth opens. But instead of your age, comes out a jumbled mess of pleads and his name—because just then, Higuruma had reached his dominant hand down and pinched your pretty, puffy clit. So needy that you’re trickling out wads of slick from between your pussylips.
Your hole’s clenching so thoroughly around him that he almost has to falter, too. “Now, now…” Tutting - and you knew that that was never a good sign when it comes to lawyers, but especially Higuruma. “Is that a refusal to testify? I’m afraid this won’t help your case, my angel.”
“I-it’s not…” Hot tears run down your cheeks - and in response, he’s only squeezing your poor clit even harder. “Promise I’ll tell you.”
And it’s only after you’re finishing your response - syllable after syllable - that Higuruma finally lets go of your sensitive nub. That too with such a level of reluctance—if you hadn’t known any better, then you’d have said that that was a sullen pout slashed across his lips as Higuruma lets go of that sultry appendage.
His fingers instead slide uuuuuup and down your wettened crevice- the perfect feeling of where his throbbing cock kept on pumping in n’ out. Higuruma’s lips slightly part as he touches upon the sheer difference in girth, in the way that your cunt was struggling to keep all of him bulging inside of you and yet you were still yearning for more. “Hmmm, state your crimes now.”
“I-”
“Not you.” Higuruma interrupts, “I’m calling up another witness.”
And yet, there was no other witness - at least not that you could see. And surely you weren’t that dumbified yet that you couldn’t conjure up the vision of someone else here when—there was clearly no one else here.
None but you, your boyfriend, and…your pussy.
Higuruma Hiromi - the best lawyer in Tokyo - had his head leaned lovingly down and his brows furrowed as he listened to the precious sounds of your pussy. As if he was deeeeep in the middle of the conversation, understanding every single slurp, squelch, and the most sultry gulps as yet another inch of him is being swallowed.
All of it reaches his ears like music. And he hums as he feels the sound of it send shivers through his very being- “Ahhh, I see…” Straightening up, he leers down at you. “My witness states that your crime is seduction.”
“G-guilty…or wait- no.”
“Guilty?” Higuruma questions in faint amusement, “Do you admit to the charged and- hah, forfeit your right to an orgasm?”
“No—” Whining out needily, “No, please- I need to cu-”
“Objection, hearsay.” He cuts through you coolly - through his cock was rutting into you in a way that was anything but. “You do not need an orgasm, angel. But does the defendant believe that she deserves one?”
“Y-yes.” You shamefully admit.
“Does the defendant believe that she is guilty of the crimes of seduction?”
“Yes-”
“Does the defendant believe that she is worthy of a second chance, however?”
Arching your back into his. “Of course.”
“Hm…we might have to settle this with a jury.“ Those dark brows of his furrow, between them a perspired bead of sweat tracks down his forehead. And it doesn’t take long for your smart boyfriend to know just whom to ask—before you know it, he’s veering his head down and using his super-heightened senses to listen to every single sound of your pussy.
To listen to your arousal.
To smell it- just so sweet.
To let his brain come to a conclusion—“The jury has come to a unanimous decision.”
Your heart jumps to your throat.
“All counts- not guilty.” And then with a few more fervent rolls on top of your throbbing clit, Higuruma drags you all the way to the precipice of your high and—and this time - just this time - he actually lets you topple over the edge.
Straight over it.
White-hot flashes. Warmth filling you up like a flood.
It starts from the tips of your toes and then shoots all the way up to your poor, sparking brain. The superhero grins as tears track down your cheeks at the final release that you’re been waiting so long for, and he grins as you’re shaking through wave after wave of your high. “Good-” You’re gurgling out cutely, “S-so good-”
Head dropping back against the pillows.
The rounded edge of his cock shovels in as he’s bursting your high through you wildly—
“What can I say?” He hums, “I’m a really good lawyer.”
A/N. Confession time: Higu and Kuna’s ones were the hardest to do because I’ve never watched Hulk or Daredevil WHOOPS-
warning :- mdni, pet names, motorbike stimulation . public sex . fingering . dirty talk
"hold tight for me okay? promise I won't drive too fast" leon grins, adjusting the motorbike helmet on your head and lifting you up effortlessly onto the seat.
somehow he convinced you on a late night ride with him at 3am on his motorbike. not that you would complain, you always wanted to ride on one.
leon swung one leg over the bike and settled in front of you. he turned on the ignition, the engine roaring to life as the headlights switched on, illuminating the dark streets. he revved the engine, the familiar sound of his custom bike booming across the neighbourhood before settling into a steady purr.
you've never experienced anything like this. the sound and sensation vibrating through your body as a small gasp left your lips.
"like it darling?" leon turned his head around grinning, obliviously having heard how your body reacted to his most prized possession. you nodded excitedly, biting your lips beneath the helmet, watching him secure his own helmet and turning back around, giving the bike more revs.
what he didn't know was how the vibration and heat of the bike was making your cunt stimulated perfectly where you could feel your panties growing wet underneath your skirt.
you held onto his shoulders as he slowly accelerated, fighting the feeling of how his motorbike was pleasing you. he took off properly, weaving across the empty lanes before sidetracking onto the back quiet roads.
every bump on the road was hitting your cunt perfectly causing you to whimper as the vibration shook your core. you travelled your arms down leons shoulders and onto his waist, wrapping tightly as your clit pulsed with every shudder of the machine. you couldn't help but shamelessly roll your hips against his bike, trying to chase the friction.
leon slowed down as he felt you clutching his shirt and press yourself deeper against his back. you whimpered louder as the bike came to a stop on the side of the road, before leon whipped his head back and took his helmet off, looking down at the wet stain at the front of your seat, his brows lifting in amusement.
"what a mess you made" he groaned, smirking as he spread your thighs wider, taking off your helmet as you looked at him with wide eyes, humiliation burning your cheeks as your pussy leaked more onto his seat.
"you really got off on my bloody bike baby?" you nodded helplessly, unable to speak as the the bike continued purring underneath your swollen clit, electricity erupting throughout your body.
"pathetic little thing, dont let me stop you. use my bike as your toy... show me what it does to you" he growled, lifting you slightly so he could roll your tights and panties down.
your bare cunt hit the rough leathered seat, giving you a new sensation that made your eyes roll and gasp as you started to rock your hips in sloppy movements against the metal.
"thats it baby. keep going" he praised, kissing your throat before wedging two fingers between your wetness and the seat, pressing into your hole as you moaned, feeling him curl his digits and hit your spongy spot. your body shuddered as you began to feel the thick pressure building in your belly, walls clenching hard around his fingers.
"le-" you moaned, as you began cumming over his fingers and the seat, your vision blurring as pleasure ran through your body. shame filling your mind, you just cummed from a machine and in open air as leon works through your orgasm, pumping his fingers in and out of you as you fall into his chest.
he slides his fingers into his mouth, licking every bit of your juice as he hums in satisfaction, his other hand creased the back of your head as you catch your breath, your walls clenching over the rumble of his bike. dam this bike.
he pops his fingers out and lifts your head by your chin, meeting his fully blown pupiled eyes.
"you marked yourself on my bike" he muses, gliding his thumbs over your tear stained cheeks as you try to hide in embarrassment.
"lee im sor-" your voice squeaks
"don't you dare apologise, do you know what you done to me?" he glides his thumb across your glossy lips and with his other hand, he leads your palm to his fully erected cock under his leather trousers.
you gasp meeting your dazed eyes to his, squeezing his bulge as he grunts, rolling his head back as you continue to palm him, feeling his pre cum soak through the leather. you giggle, seeing him hot and flustered as you lean down and kiss his clothed bulge. he grunts louder, opening his eyes as you innocently smile at him. he grabs the back of your head, leaning you closer to him.
"now be my good girl and bend over my bike while I fuck your brains out" he whispers into your ear, tucking a stand a hair behind as you feel yourself getting wet again.
you know for a fact your cum will be painted on his bike forever.
notes :- this is a repost from my side blog (@/luvrdollz) trying to put all my writing in one area
CW: Explicit sexual content, rough sex, cunnilingus, shower sex, overstimulation, pet play, collar/leash play, praise, toxic relationship, jealousy, emotional whiplash, insecurities, petty crime, strong language, obsessive behavior, emotional distress, panic, self-destructive behavior, stalking, emotional manipulation, moral ambiguity, featuring appearances by Tim, Brian, Ben, and Jeff
Summary: A quiet stretch of days with Toby is interrupted by mounting unease and the ordinary weight of work and friendship, as something unspoken begins to shift beneath the surface.
Wordcount: 30k
Part 1: HERE
Part 2: HERE
Part 3: HERE
Part 4: HERE
Part 5: HERE
The days blurred together in a warm, hazy rhythm.
You and Toby fell into something that felt dangerously close to normal, or at least as normal as it could get with him. He used the keys like you’d asked. No more breaking in. He’d show up at odd hours, sometimes right after your shift, sometimes at dawn. You’d open the door and there he’d be: messy brown hair, crooked scarred grin, hatchets clipped to his belt, shoulders twitching with that familiar restless energy. He’d pull you into his arms before you could even say hello, burying his face in your neck like he’d been starving for the smell of you.
And you let him. More than let him, you craved it. The way he looked at you like you were the only real thing in his violent, chaotic world made your chest ache in the best way. The sex stayed intense, filthy, and loving all at once. In the quiet moments afterward, curled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, you felt secure. Safe, even. You told yourself the jealousy, the possessiveness, the way he sometimes went too still when Andy’s name came up, it was just damage. Trauma. You could handle it. You wanted to handle it. He was trying. He was keeping his promises.
You’d even started to convince yourself the car thing had nothing to do with him.
Andy’s sedan had been totaled, sure, but it made sense that some pissed-off customer had done it. People got unhinged over small shit all the time. Toby had sworn, looked you dead in the eyes with your hands on his jaw and sworn that he wouldn’t touch Andy. And he hadn’t. Andy was fine. Alive, complaining, but fine. So you pushed the lingering unease down deep and focused on the good. On how he’d started leaving little gifts at your door, a smooth river stone, a perfectly preserved pinecone, once even a small bundle of wildflowers tied with a strip of his own hoodie string. Things felt right. You were choosing this. Choosing him.
One afternoon before your shift you’d slipped into the pet store on the main strip, heart fluttering with nervous excitement. You’d spent way too long browsing, cheeks warm as you imagined Toby’s reaction. In the end you picked a sturdy black collar, soft leather on the inside, adjustable, with a sturdy metal ring at the front. Simple but strong. You paired it with a matching leash, black with a sturdy clip. The sweet cashier had given you a knowing little smile, but you didn’t care. You tucked the collar away like a secret, already buzzing with the thought of buckling it around Toby’s neck, tugging him close, calling him your good puppy while he melted for you.
You couldn’t wait to show him.
The shift dragged at a snail's pace. By the time you and Andy finally clocked out around 2:30 AM, you were both dead on your feet but riding that wired, post-shift high where everything feels a little funnier than it should. The gas station had been a circus, the usual mix of night owls, drunks, and weirdos, and you were starving.
“Pizza?” Andy asked as he locked up.
“God yes,” you groaned. “I’m about to eat my own arm.”
You ended up at a rundown little 24-hour pizzeria a few blocks away. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you slid into a corner booth, both of you still in your work clothes, hair messy, eyes tired but bright. Andy ordered a large pepperoni and two sodas while you claimed the booth and kicked your feet up.
When the pizza arrived, steaming and sloppy, you both dug in like animals. Cheese stretched in long gooey strings, sauce dripped down your chins, and neither of you cared. You laughed through mouthfuls, talking with your mouths full, the exhaustion making everything ten times funnier.
“Okay, okay, remember that guy earlier?” Andy said, wiping sauce off his cheek with the back of his hand. “The one who tried to shove three packs of smokes down his pants like we wouldn’t notice?”
You almost choked on your slice, grinning wide. “Yeah, stupid idiot. You told him you’d tase his ass if he didn’t empty his pockets. He actually believed you had a taser!”
“I don’t even own one!” Andy wheezed, slapping the table. “But the way he froze? Priceless. Thought he was gonna piss himself.”
You leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief as you recounted your part. “And then I lost it on him, ‘Empty your fucking pants right now you greasy little rat or I’ll shove that taser so far up your ass you’ll be lighting up like a Christmas tree!’” You demonstrated with a dramatic hand gesture, nearly knocking over your soda. “Fucker took off so fast he left one shoe behind. I still can’t believe it worked.”
Andy was laughing so hard he had to set his pizza down, holding his stomach. “You’re ruthless, dude. Brutal. I thought the guy was gonna cry. We make a hell of a team.”
You grinned, taking another big, messy bite. Sauce dripped onto your fingers and you licked it off without shame.
“Seriously though,” he said, pointing a half-eaten crust at you. “We could use that hatcheting hero again, man. More thieves than usual lately. If that psycho with the axes wants to swing by the store again and scare the shit out of a few more idiots, I’d pay him in free slushies for life.”
You froze mid-bite.
The pizza suddenly felt thick in your throat. You coughed hard, nearly choking as the words hit you. Hatcheting hero. The image flashed instantly - Toby with his hatchets gleaming, that manic crooked grin after he’d come back from “handling something.”
You forced a laugh, swallowing the bite down with a big gulp of soda. It burned a little going down. “That’s… dark as hell, Andy. But true.” You shook your head, still laughing even as your pulse kicked up. “Imagine if that guy showed up again one night and started chopping up more people. We’d never have another theft again.”
Andy cackled, oblivious, wiping grease from his hands. “Right? Free security. Best employee we never hired.”
You kept laughing with him, the sound a little too loud, a little too bright. Under the table your foot bounced restlessly. The pizza suddenly tasted heavier.
You steered the conversation away from the “hatcheting hero” topic with a deliberate laugh, wiping pizza grease off your fingers with a thin napkin that immediately disintegrated. “So,” you said, popping the last crust into your mouth and chewing sloppily, “you gonna walk me home tonight or what?”
Andy leaned back in the booth, patting his stomach with a satisfied groan. “Not tonight, actually.” He grinned, a little sheepish but mostly excited. “I’m heading straight over to my girl’s place after this. Gonna sleep over.”
You gasped dramatically, eyes widening as you leaned forward on your elbows. “Ooooh! Look at you, getting bold!” You wiggled your eyebrows, grinning wide. “First sleepover at her place? That’s a big step, mister.”
Andy laughed, the sound loud and genuine in the near-empty pizzeria. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little bashful under your teasing. “Yeah, yeah. First time. We’ve only ever crashed at my place before. She’s got this weird-ass roomie and she lives way out in the middle of nowhere, deep in the woods. Kinda spooky, honestly. But she finally caved and sent me the address, so… I gotta be brave and make the trek.” His grin turned crooked, eyes lighting up. “She’s bad as hell though. Totally worth it.”
You raised your eyebrows, impressed. “Damn. Deep in the woods? That’s commitment. She better be worth the hike, Andy.”
“Oh, she is,” he chuckled. “I’m trying to play it cool, but I’m lowkey nervous. Walking through the woods at night to her place? Feels like the start of a horror movie. But I'll be fine. Just gonna show up, be chill, and see where it goes.”
You hummed thoughtfully, nodding along as you listened. “Keep me updated, okay? I need the play-by-play. Especially if her roomie turns out to be some kinda weirdo.”
Andy laughed. “Deal. You’ll be the first to know if I survive the night or get murdered in the woods.”
You grinned and reached down for your bag, pulling out your wallet. “Dinner’s on me tonight, by the way.”
Andy blinked, already starting to protest. “Wait, no, you don’t have to, ”
“I know I don’t have to,” you cut him off lightly, sliding a few bills onto the table and waving the waitress over. “But you’ve been struggling with the car stuff, and I’ve got it covered this time. Don’t mention it.”
He looked genuinely appreciative, his shoulders dropping in relief as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Man… thank you. Seriously. That means a lot right now. I owe you one. Big time.”
You just smiled and shook your head. “We’re good. That’s what friends are for.”
The two of you paid and stepped out into the cool night air. The rundown pizzeria’s neon sign buzzed faintly behind you, casting pink and blue light across the cracked sidewalk. Andy pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it with a quick flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating his tired but content face. He took a drag and offered it to you without a word. You accepted, the familiar burn filling your lungs as you walked side by side for a little while, sharing the cigarette in comfortable silence broken only by occasional quiet laughs about the shift.
Eventually the path split. Andy slowed, nodding toward the narrow trail that cut into the treeline, the one that led deeper into the woods toward his girl’s place.
“This is me,” he said, taking the cigarette back for one last drag before crushing it under his shoe. “Wish me luck.”
You pulled him into a quick, tight side hug. “Good luck, dude. Text me when you get there safe. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
He laughed, squeezing you back. “That leaves a lot of options open. Night.”
“Night, Andy.”
You watched him head off down the dark trail for a moment, his figure swallowed quickly by the shadows and trees. Then you turned and started the familiar walk home, hands tucked into your pockets, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. The streets were quiet, streetlights casting long pools of orange light.
You walked tiredly, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder with every step. It swung loosely against your hip, the soft thump-thump matching the slow drag of your sneakers on the cracked sidewalk. The night air was cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of pine from the woods that ran parallel to the road. You dug into your jacket pocket for a cigarette, lit it with a quick flick of your lighter, and took a long, grateful drag. Smoke curled up into the dark as you exhaled, shoulders finally dropping a little.
God, you just wanted to sleep.
Your thoughts drifted as the streetlights grew farther apart. Andy was probably halfway to his girl’s place by now. You wondered if her roomie would actually be as weird as he’d made her sound. Your mind wandered further, to the black collar and leash still tucked carefully in your dresser at home, to Toby’s face when you’d finally buckle it around his neck, to the way he’d look up at you with those dark, needy eyes.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket.
Your heart lifted for a second, hoping and praying it was Toby.
You pulled it out, thumb already unlocking the screen,
joker 🤡:
wyd
send pics
You snorted under your breath, the sound half-amused, half-exasperated. Of course. Typical. You’d been ignoring him for days now, left every message on read, never answered the late-night booty calls, and he still kept trying. You swiped the notification away without opening it and shoved the phone back into your pocket. Jeff was the last person you had energy for tonight.
You kept walking, cigarette dangling from your lips, thoughts circling back to him anyway. The way he’d pressed the knife against that guy’s stomach in the club. The cocky side-hug outside. The cracked phone he’d shoved into your hands. You shook your head, a small, tired smile tugging at your mouth. He was trouble. Pure, concentrated trouble. And you already had more than enough of that in your life.
The edge of your neighborhood came into view. Houses sat dark and quiet behind their fences. The treeline on your left grew denser, the shadows between the pines thicker.
A soft rustle came from the trees.
You glanced over, cigarette smoke drifting from your lips. Nothing. Just the usual night sounds, wind through the branches, a distant dog barking somewhere. You kept walking.
The rustle came again. Closer this time.
You narrowed your eyes, slowing your steps. You stared into the dark wall of trees. Still nothing. No movement.
You exhaled through your nose and kept going, telling yourself it was a raccoon or a deer. The same deer you’d seen weeks ago, maybe. Your boots scuffed against the pavement. The bag swung against your side again.
Then two hands slid over your eyes from behind.
“Guess who,” a rough voice murmured right against your ear, the words broken by that unmistakable stammer and the faint crack of a neck tic.
You screamed.
The cigarette flew from your fingers, landing in a shower of sparks on the sidewalk. Your bag slipped off your shoulder. Your whole body jerked hard, heart slamming against your ribs so violently it hurt.
“Toby–! You fucking asshole–!”
You spun around the second his hands left your face, already swinging the bag at his chest. It hit him with a soft thud. He just laughed, that low, cracked, delighted laugh that always made something warm twist in your stomach, and caught the next swing easily, pulling the bag out of your grip and dropping it to the ground.
“You’re such a dick,” you huffed, still laughing even as you shoved at his shoulders. “I almost had a heart attack, you absolute psycho–”
Toby’s grin was wide and crooked under the streetlight, mouth pulled into pure joy. His dark eyes were bright, pupils blown, hair a complete mess. He didn’t give you time to keep yelling. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and he lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing, spinning you once, twice, your sneakers kicking uselessly in the air as you clung to his neck and laughed against his shoulder.
“Missed you,” he said into your hair, voice rough and happy and a little breathless. His neck cracked sharply as he spun you again. “Missed you s-so fucking much.”
You stayed wrapped around him even after he set you back on your feet, arms still looped around his neck, body pressed flush against his. The leftover adrenaline from the scare mixed with something warmer, something that always hit you the second you were this close to him. You leaned up and kissed him.
Toby made a soft, hungry sound against your mouth and kissed you back immediately, deep and enthusiastic, one hand sliding up into your hair while the other stayed firm on your waist. His lips were warm, a little chapped, and he tasted faintly of cigarettes and the woods. His neck twitched once mid-kiss, a sharp little crack, but he never pulled away. If anything he pressed closer, like he was trying to make up for every hour you’d been apart.
You eventually broke the kiss with a quiet laugh, still close enough that your noses brushed. Your hands stayed on his shoulders as you tilted your head, eyes narrowing playfully.
“Do you always lurk in the trees by my house like some creepy little stalker?” you asked, voice soft but teasing.
Toby’s mouth pulled into that crooked, unapologetic grin. His dark eyes glittered under the streetlight. “Yeah,” he said, completely shameless. “Maybe.”
You laughed and shoved him lightly in the chest. He barely moved, just swayed a little and kept grinning like you’d given him a compliment. You bent down to grab your bag and the strap, brushing dirt off it before slinging it back over your shoulder.
“C’mon, you absolute weirdo,” you said, nodding toward the last stretch of sidewalk that led to your house. “Let’s go.”
Toby fell into step beside you, his uneven gait matching yours, hatchets bumping softly against his thighs with every step. The night felt quieter now that he was walking next to you. His hand found yours almost automatically, fingers lacing through yours, calloused and warm.
“I was w-waiting for you,” he admitted after a few steps, voice lower, almost shy. His neck cracked to the side. “Your shift e-ended like… two hours a-ago. Figured you’d be home by n-now.”
You glanced over at him, squeezing his hand. “Got dinner with Andy after work. We were both starving and the pizzeria was still open, so we just… stayed a while.”
Toby’s fingers twitched in yours. The grin didn’t disappear, but something flickered behind his eyes for half a second, that familiar, restless shadow that always showed up whenever Andy’s name left your mouth. He didn’t say anything about it, though. Just hummed, low in his throat, and kept walking with you toward the soft glow of your porch light.
You felt the slight tension in his fingers when Andy’s name left your mouth and decided, firmly, that you didn’t want to start anything tonight. You just wanted him here, warm and close and yours, without the shadow of jealousy creeping in.
So you squeezed his hand and switched the topic before it could settle.
“What’d you do today, anyway?” you asked, glancing up at him as the two of you kept walking toward the soft yellow glow of your porch light.
Toby’s neck cracked sharply to the side. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, restless.
“Had some w-work to do,” he said, voice low and a little rough. “Helped T-Tim with something. Then I just… waited. Wanted to come see you.”
You lifted his hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it, right over a faded scar. Toby’s eyes flicked down to you, and that crooked, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His shoulders hitched once, but the smile stayed.
“How was your s-shift?” he asked after a moment, still watching you.
You exhaled a tired little laugh. “Wild. Some guy tried to shove three packs of smokes down his pants like we wouldn’t notice. Andy threatened to tase him, even though he doesn’t even own a taser, and I went full psycho and started cussing the guy out until he literally ran out of the store. Left a shoe behind and everything.” You grinned at the memory. “We were joking about it later at the pizzeria. Said the hatchet-swinging psycho from a while back might need to come back and scare the rest of the thieves off.”
Toby’s laugh came out low and cracked, genuine amusement flickering across his scarred face. His free hand brushed the handle of one of the hatchets at his hip.
“I’m a-available whenever,” he said, still grinning. “Just say the word.”
You laughed and nudged him with your shoulder. “It was just a joke, Toby. Calm down.”
He hummed, clearly still entertained by the idea, but he didn’t push it. The last stretch of sidewalk disappeared under your feet. You dug your keys out of your bag, unlocked the door, and pushed it open, stepping inside with Toby right behind you. The familiar scent of home wrapped around you both as the door clicked shut, sealing the night outside.
You dropped your bag onto the couch with a soft thud and stretched your arms high over your head, spine cracking in a long, satisfying arch. The motion pulled your shirt up just enough to bare a strip of skin at your waist. Toby was on you before you even lowered your arms, strong hands sliding around your middle from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. His lips found the side of your neck immediately, warm and a little rough, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses just below your ear.
You hummed, eyes slipping half-shut as his mouth moved lower, nuzzling into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. One of his hands splayed across your stomach, the other resting possessively on your hip.
“Shower with me,” you murmured, voice low and tired but already warming. “Come on.”
Toby made a quiet, affirmative sound against your skin, “Okay…”, and followed when you tugged him toward the bathroom. The light flicked on with a soft click, illuminating the small space in warm yellow. You turned to face him, rising onto your toes to kiss him once, slow and lingering, before you started peeling off your clothes.
Your shirt hit the floor first. You felt his dark eyes on every inch of newly exposed skin, tracking the way your hands moved. When you reached for the button of your pants he was still fully dressed, just staring, neck twitching once, shoulders hitching with a restless little tic.
You giggled, the sound soft and fond. “You’re allowed to undress too, you know.”
Toby blinked, then huffed a short, almost embarrassed laugh. He carefully unclipped the twin hatchets from his belt first and set them on the counter with care, handles facing away from the edge. Only then did he start stripping: hoodie, shirt, jeans, boxers. Piece by piece until he stood naked in front of you.
You let your gaze roam. The thick white bandages were gone. The bullet wound on his left shoulder had mostly closed, the skin around it pink and new, the worst of the swelling faded. The ugly purple and yellow bruises that had bloomed across his ribs weeks ago were now faint shadows, almost gone. He still looked battered in places, scars layered over scars, the permanent ones catching the light, but healthier.
Toby’s eyes dragged over you just as openly. You stepped in close again, hands sliding up his bare chest, and kissed him deeper this time. He answered immediately, mouth opening under yours, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other settled low on your back.
You broke the kiss only long enough to tug him toward the shower. The water hissed to life under your fingers, steam already beginning to rise. You pulled him in with you under the spray, the first rush of warmth making you both sigh. Toby’s arms wrapped around you again the second the water hit your skin, pulling your wet body against his. His hands slid up and down your back, slow and possessive, as the water cascaded over both of you.
“You’re s-so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your temple, voice rough and cracked with that familiar stammer. His lips brushed your wet hair, then the shell of your ear.
The water poured over both of you in a steady, warm cascade, steam thickening the air until the small bathroom felt like a private world of its own. Toby’s mouth was already on yours again, kissing you deep and hungry, tongue sliding against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed freely now that you were both naked under the spray, one splayed across your lower back, the other sliding down to cup and squeeze the soft curve of your ass, fingers digging in just enough to make you moan into his mouth.
You pressed closer, wet skin sliding against wet skin, and let one hand trail down the hard plane of his stomach. Your fingers wrapped around his cock, already thick and fully hard, the head flushed dark and leaking against your palm. You gave him a slow stroke from base to tip, thumb swirling over the sensitive head to spread the precum that was already beading there even under the water.
Toby’s hips jerked forward into your fist with a broken little sound. “F-fuck,” His neck cracked sharply to the side, shoulders hitching as a string of tics rolled through him. “Baby… you’re gonna k-kill me…”
You smiled against his mouth and stroked him again, slower this time, teasing. Your grip stayed loose enough that he had to chase the friction, hips rolling in small, desperate circles. “Love this dick,” you murmured, voice low and warm. “Love how hard you get for me the second I touch you.”
He groaned, forehead dropping against yours for a second as water ran down both your faces. “Need you so b-bad,” he rasped, the stammer thicker now, voice wrecked already. “Been thinking about you all day… about your pussy… about burying myself in you and n-never coming back out–”
His mouth left yours only to travel lower. He kissed along your jaw, down the wet column of your throat, then lower still until he was mouthing at the soft swell of your tits. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over the stiff peak while his free hand continued kneading your ass. You arched into him with a soft moan, hand still working his cock in lazy, torturous strokes.
“Toby…” you breathed, the name half a warning, half a plea.
He released your nipple with a wet pop and looked up at you through wet lashes, dark eyes glassy with need. “Let me ffff-fuck you,” he begged, voice cracking. “Please. I n-need to be inside you. Need to feel how t-tight you get when I stretch you o-open–”
You didn’t answer with words. You simply turned under the spray, presenting your back to him, and braced both hands against the slick tiled wall. Toby made a low, almost animal sound of pure want. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he yanked you back a little, forcing you to bend at the waist so your ass pressed flush against his cock. The thick length slid against your ass, the head dragging through your already slick folds, and you both hissed at the contact.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, one hand sliding up your spine to press between your shoulder blades, keeping you arched for him. “Presenting like such a g-good girl… so wet for me already…”
He lined himself up and pushed in with one slow, relentless thrust. The stretch was perfect, thick and deep and overwhelming after days of wanting him. You cried out, the sound echoing off the tiles as he bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, cock buried to the hilt inside your clenching heat.
“Mm–fuck–” Toby’s voice broke into a stuttered moan. His hands clamped down on your hips as he started moving, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in hard enough that the wet slap of skin on skin cut through the rush of the shower. Every thrust rocked you forward against the wall, your tits swinging with the force of it, water cascading over both of you.
He fucked you like that for long, relentless minutes, deep, punishing strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. His tics made the rhythm stutter and jerk unpredictably; every sharp crack of his neck or hitch of his shoulders drove him even deeper, ripping broken moans from your throat. One of his hands left your hip to reach around and palm your breast, squeezing and rolling the nipple between rough fingers while he kept pounding into you from behind.
“Take it,” he panted against your shoulder, lips brushing wet skin. “Take every fucking inch… this p-pussy was made for me, r-right?”
You could only moan in answer, pushing back to meet every thrust, the dual sensation of the warm water and his thick length stretching you open making your thighs tremble. The pleasure built fast and sharp, but before it could crest he suddenly pulled out, leaving you empty and aching. You whimpered at the loss, but Toby was already turning you around, strong hands under your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly.
Your back hit the cool tiled wall. Your legs wrapped automatically around his waist. He drove back up into you in one powerful thrust, the new angle letting him sink even deeper. You both groaned at the feeling, him buried to the root, your walls fluttering around him, water pouring over your joined bodies.
Toby’s mouth crashed into yours, the kiss open and filthy and desperate. Tongues tangled, teeth scraped, shared breath hot and wet between you as he fucked up into you hard and fast. Every upward snap of his hips punched a moan out of your throat that he swallowed greedily. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider so he could bury himself even deeper, the wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the small space.
“Gonna fill you up,” he growled against your lips, voice barely coherent. “Gonna c-cum so deep inside this p-perfect fucking pussy–”
You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, kissing him just as hungrily as he kept slamming up into you. The water ran over both of you in rivulets, dripping from your hair, sliding down your chests, gathering where your bodies joined. His rhythm grew more erratic, tics making his thrusts stutter and drive even harder. You felt him swell inside you, felt the first hard pulse of his release as he buried himself to the hilt with a shattered, broken moan and came hard, thick ropes of cum flooding deep inside you in long, pulsing waves while his whole body shuddered against yours.
He kept grinding through it, hips rolling in small, desperate circles as he emptied every last drop, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. Only when the last tremor left him did he go still, still buried deep, still holding you up against the wall like he never wanted to put you down.
You were still trembling, still aching, still right on the edge. You nuzzled against his wet cheek and let a teasing little smile curve your mouth.
“Aww,” you murmured, voice husky. “You came and I didn’t even get to finish. Rude.”
Toby’s laugh was low and breathless, still shaky from the intensity of his orgasm. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the soft spot just below your ear.
“We’re not d-done,” he promised, the stammer soft and earnest. “Not even close. I’m gonna take care of you in bed… make you cum so h-hard you forget how to talk. Gonna eat this puh-pretty pussy until you’re shaking a-and then ffff-fuck you all over again until you can’t take any more.”
You giggled, the sound bright and fond even as your walls clenched around his still-twitching cock. Your fingers threaded into his wet hair, tugging gently.
“Such a good boy,” you whispered against his lips. “My good puppy.”
Toby’s eyes fluttered half-shut at the praise, a soft, broken little sound escaping him. He kissed you one more time, slow and deep and full of promise, before carefully lowering you back to your feet under the warm spray.
You reached for the bottle of body wash still sitting on the little shelf inside the shower and squeezed a generous amount into your palm. The scent of clean soap mixed with the steam as you rubbed your hands together, then started working the lather over Toby’s body. You were thorough - slow strokes across the broad planes of his chest, down the hard lines of his stomach, over the fading bruises that still painted his ribs in soft yellows and greens. Your soapy hands slid along his arms, over the knuckles, then lower to wash between his thighs, careful and teasing around his half-hard cock that twitched under your touch.
Toby stood completely still under the spray and let you do whatever you wanted. His dark eyes never left your face. There was something almost worshipful in the way he watched you, pupils blown wide, mouth slightly parted, a soft, continuous little sound of contentment rumbling in his chest every time your hands moved over him.
When you’d washed every inch of him, you tilted his head forward and worked shampoo into his messy brown hair, massaging his scalp with your fingertips. He made a low, almost broken sound of pure pleasure and leaned into your hands like a dog being petted. You rinsed the suds away carefully, making sure nothing got in his eyes, then stepped back under the spray yourself.
“Your turn,” you said softly, smiling. “Wash me.”
Toby didn’t need to be told twice. He reached for the body wash with eager hands, lathering them thoroughly before starting on you. His touch was soft - slow circles over your shoulders, down your arms, across your collarbones. He paid special attention to your tits, soaping them thoroughly, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked under his touch. He washed lower, hands sliding over the soft curve of your stomach, then lower still to clean your thighs with careful strokes that made your breath catch. He even turned you around to wash your back and the curve of your ass.
When both of you were clean, you shut the water off. Steam still clung to the air as you stepped out onto the bathmat together. You grabbed a towel and started patting Toby dry, his chest, his arms, the fading bullet wound on his shoulder, the damp ends of his hair. He stood there and let you, a soft, almost shy smile tugging at his mouth the entire time. He looked so happy to be pampered, so quietly content under your hands, that something warm and possessive twisted in your chest.
You dried yourself off next, quickly, and the second the towel hit the floor Toby’s hands were on you again. He kissed you deep and slow as he guided you out of the bathroom and down the short hallway toward the bedroom, never breaking the contact of his mouth on yours. His hands stayed low on your bare hips, thumbs stroking the soft skin there as he walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.
You suddenly remembered the little present still waiting in the dresser and a slow, wicked grin spread across your face. You pulled away from the kiss just enough to speak, hands resting on his chest.
“Sit on the bed for me.”
Toby groaned softly, clearly not wanting to stop touching you, but he obeyed immediately. He sat on the edge of the mattress, naked and still slightly damp, dark eyes looking up at you with open need. His neck twitched once as he waited.
You stepped closer, standing between his spread knees, and cupped his face in both hands. “I have something for you,” you said, voice soft and warm. “You’ve been such a good boy for me lately… and good boys like you deserve a little treat.”
His eyes widened. The expression that crossed his face was pure, unguarded surprise, like the idea of receiving something just for being good had never even occurred to him. His mouth opened a little, but no words came out.
You giggled at the look and stepped over to the dresser. First you pulled open the top drawer and took out the new pair of panties you’d bought specially for tonight, black, delicate lace that sat high on the hips and dipped low in the front. You stepped into them slowly, letting the soft fabric slide up your legs before settling them into place. The lace framed everything perfectly.
Toby stared, completely transfixed. A rough, almost pained sound left his throat.
“That’s the h-hottest fucking sight I’ve e-ever seen,” he muttered, voice thick and broken with the stammer. “Jesus–”
You smiled over your shoulder at him, still standing by the dresser. “That’s not all.”
Then you reached deeper into the drawer and pulled out the black leather collar and the matching leash you’d bought days ago. The metal ring on the front of the collar caught the low light of the bedroom as you held both items up for him to see.
Toby simply sat there.
His mouth was open a little. His dark eyes were locked on the collar and leash like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. His shoulders hitched once, then went completely still, that dangerous, focused stillness that only ever happened when something hit him deep.
“No f-fucking way…” he muttered under his breath, voice cracking. “No fucking way…”
You giggled at the completely wrecked look on his face and stepped closer, standing between his knees again. The soft leather dangled from your fingers as you tilted your head, smiling down at him.
“Do you like it?” you asked softly. “I promised I’d get it for you… and I did.”
Toby nodded immediately, the motion almost frantic. His eyes stayed locked on yours, glassy and desperate and so fucking hopeful it made your chest ache. He looked up at you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.
“Yeah,” he breathed, the word barely more than a whimper. “Y-yeah… I like it. I like it so much–”
You brushed your knuckles gently along his scarred cheek. “Do you want me to put it on you?”
He nodded again, harder this time, swallowing thickly. His throat bobbed under the motion. “Please,” he whispered, voice small and broken and utterly pathetic in the best way. “Please put it on me. Thank you… thank you so much, I, fuck, thank you–”
You smiled, warm and possessive, and carefully opened the collar. The soft leather was cool against your fingers as you brought it around his neck. Toby stayed perfectly still for you, head tilted just enough to give you better access, eyes fluttering half-shut as the leather settled against his skin. You buckled it snugly, not too tight, just enough that he would feel it with every breath and every tic, and smoothed the leather with your thumb.
“Look at you,” you murmured, voice low and fond. “So pretty like this. My good boy all collared up for me.”
Toby let out a soft, broken whimper. The second your hand stayed near his face he turned into it, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your palm, then your wrist, then the inside of your forearm. He kept nuzzling and kissing your skin while you petted his messy wet hair, fingers threading through the damp strands. His whole body was trembling with how badly he needed this.
You reached for the leash next and clipped it securely to the metal ring at the front of the collar. The soft click of the metal connecting seemed almost deafening in the quiet bedroom. Toby’s cock was fully hard again, flushed dark against his thigh, twitching visibly every time the leash shifted.
You stepped back just enough to take up the slack and gave the leash a light tug.
“C’mon, doggy,” you said, voice soft but firm. “Down.”
Toby moaned, a deep, wrecked, almost pained sound of pure need, and obeyed instantly. He slid off the edge of the bed and dropped onto all fours on the bedroom floor. His head hung slightly, the black collar stark against his throat, the leash trailing up to your hand. His cock hung heavy and dripping between his thighs as he waited on his hands and knees, breathing hard, completely surrendered. He looked up at you from under his lashes, dark eyes glassy with devotion.
You gave the leash a short, sharp yank.
Toby moaned brokenly at the sudden tug on the collar and immediately crawled forward on his hands and knees until his face pressed right into the soft lace of your panties. His breath was already hot and ragged against the thin fabric. He nuzzled deeper with a desperate little sound, nose rubbing along your covered slit, mouth open as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the damp material. You could feel the way his whole body shuddered from it.
“You didn’t make me cum in the shower,” you teased, voice soft and mocking as you looked down at him. One hand stayed firm on the leash while the other threaded into his messy wet hair. “That was pretty selfish of you, puppy. Are you going to make it up to me now?”
Toby nodded frantically against your crotch, still mouthing at the lace, still breathing you in like he was starving. The collar shifted against his throat with every movement.
You tsked softly and gave the leash another light tug, forcing his head to tilt up just enough that his glassy dark eyes met yours.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes,” The word cracked out of him immediately, stammer thick and desperate. “Y-yes, please, yes, I’ll make it up to you, please let me, please–”
“Good,” you murmured, the single word full of warm approval.
You tugged the leash a little higher and slowly spread your legs wider, giving him better access. Toby groaned like he’d just been given permission to breathe and leaned in again, mouthing hungrily at the soaked lace. His tongue pressed flat against the fabric, dragging over your covered clit in long, eager strokes. The heat of his breath and the wet pressure of his mouth through the thin barrier felt so good it made your thighs tremble. Every exhale of his sent a fresh wave of warmth straight through the lace and into your skin.
You rolled your hips forward just a little, rubbing yourself against his face in slow motions. The soft scrape of his nose, the heat of his open mouth, the way he immediately chased every shift of your body with more desperate kisses and licks, it all sent sparks of pleasure coiling low in your belly. Toby whimpered continuously against you, the sound muffled by your panties, completely lost in the privilege of being allowed this close.
After a few more moments of grinding against his eager mouth, you carefully stepped backward. Toby followed, crawling on all fours as the leash stayed taut between you. Your legs hit the edge of the mattress. You lowered yourself down slowly until you were sitting on the bed, thighs still spread, the leash held loosely in one hand while Toby stayed on his knees between them, staring up at you with pure, wrecked devotion.
You leaned back on your elbows against the mattress and slowly spread your legs wider, the soft black lace of your panties already dark and damp between your thighs. The leash stayed loose in one hand, the other resting lightly on the bed beside you as you looked down at Toby still kneeling on the floor.
“Time for puppy to eat,” you said, voice low and warm with amusement.
Toby groaned like the words themselves had punched the air out of his lungs. He didn’t waste a second. He leaned in, caught the delicate waistband of your panties between his teeth, and started dragging them down. The lace stretched and clung for a moment before sliding over the curve of your hips. You watched every second of it, the way his mouth worked carefully, the way his dark eyes stayed locked on the prize he was uncovering, the soft little whimper that left him when the fabric finally cleared your thighs and dropped to the floor.
The second the panties were gone he dove in.
There was no teasing, there rarely was with him. Toby buried his face between your legs like a man starved, tongue flat and eager as he licked a long, filthy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. The wet heat of his mouth made your head fall back with a broken moan. He groaned right into your pussy, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive skin, and then he really started eating you.
His tongue was relentless, broad, messy strokes through your folds, then focused little flicks over your clit that made your thighs jump. He sucked the swollen bud between his lips and lashed it with the tip of his tongue at the same time, the dual sensation so intense your free hand flew down to fist in his wet hair. The collar shifted against his throat every time he moved. The leash stayed loose in your grip, but every now and then you gave it a light tug just to hear the soft, desperate sound he made against your cunt.
“That’s it,” you breathed, voice already shaky. “Look at you… such a good puppy, face buried in my pussy like you live for it. You do live for it, don’t you?”
Toby moaned his agreement straight into your wetness, nodding as best he could without ever pulling away. His hands came up to grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he could get deeper. He pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in slow, filthy thrusts before dragging it back up to your clit again. The wet, obscene sounds of him devouring you filled the quiet bedroom.
You tugged the leash a little harder, forcing his head up just enough that his glassy eyes met yours while his mouth was still working. “Don’t you dare stop. You didn’t make me cum in the shower… so you’re going to stay right here and eat this pussy until I soak your face. Understand?”
“Y-yes–” he gasped against your folds, the stammer thick and broken. “Yes, yes, please, gonna make you cum, gonna make you cum so hard–”
He doubled down. His tongue circled your clit in tight, rapid strokes while two fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot that made your vision blur. The combination of the relentless suction on your clit and the steady pressure of his fingers had your hips rolling against his face without shame. You used the leash to keep him exactly where you wanted him, tugging whenever he tried to come up for air, forcing him to stay buried and working.
“Fuck–” you panted, watching the way his face glistened with your arousal. “You love this, huh? Love being used like this?”
Toby’s answer was another long, wrecked moan and an even more frantic pace. He sucked your clit harder, fingers pumping faster, the wet sounds growing louder and filthier by the second. His free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks, holding you open while he worshipped every inch of you with his mouth.
The pleasure built fast and sharp under his desperate attention. Your thighs started trembling around his head. Your free hand tightened in his hair. The leash stayed taut in your other fist as you pulled him even closer, grinding against his eager tongue.
“That’s it, right there, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop–”
Toby obeyed like his life depended on it. He kept the exact pressure and speed you needed, tongue lashing your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you, and the orgasm crashed through you hard. You cried out, back arching off the bed as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his fingers, gushing against his mouth. Toby moaned like he was the one cumming, eagerly licking up every drop, sucking and lapping through the entire intense wave until your legs were shaking and oversensitive.
Only when you finally tugged the leash and pulled him back did he stop, face shiny and flushed, lips swollen, dark eyes completely wrecked with devotion as he looked up at you from between your spread thighs.
You were still trembling, still riding the soft aftershocks that fluttered through your oversensitive pussy, when your eyes dropped and caught the movement between Toby’s legs.
He was on his knees between your thighs, one hand wrapped tightly around his own cock, stroking himself in fast, desperate pulls. His eyes were locked on your still-twitching body, on the way your cunt clenched around nothing, on the shiny mess he’d left between your legs. His cock was flushed dark, the head glistening, and every stroke made his hips jerk forward like he couldn’t help himself.
You gave the leash a sharp, hard yank.
Toby’s head snapped up with a broken groan, the collar biting into his throat. His hand froze mid-stroke.
“Did I tell you you could touch yourself?” you asked, voice still a little breathless but firm.
He shook his head immediately, eyes wide and guilty. “N-no, shit, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry–” He yanked his hand away like he’d been burned, both palms pressing flat against his own thighs as he stared up at you. “I didn’t mean to, you just looked so ffff-fucking good, I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry–”
You watched him for a long moment, still holding the taut leash, letting the silence stretch until he was visibly trembling with the need to be good again.
“Can I… please?” he finally asked, voice small and polite and wrecked. “Can I fuck you? Please. I’ll be so g-good. I swear.”
You tilted your head, a slow, teasing smile curving your mouth. “You want to put that desperate little dick inside me after you came in the shower without permission and then touched yourself without asking?”
Toby nodded frantically, then leaned in and started nuzzling the soft skin of your inner thigh, pressing open-mouthed kisses higher and higher until his lips brushed the crease of your hip. He kept looking up at you the entire time, dark eyes glassy with pure need.
“I’ll be good,” he whispered against your skin, the stammer thick. “I’ll make you feel so good, I’ll fuck you e-exactly how you want, puh-please, please let me–”
You watched him for another beat, then gave a single, satisfied nod. “Okay. You can fuck me.”
The sound that left him was almost a sob of relief. He exhaled hard, shoulders dropping, then carefully spread your legs wider with both hands. He shifted forward on his knees until he was right between your thighs, the head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds. The contact made both of you moan.
Toby looked up at you one last time, seeking permission even now, then slowly pushed inside.
The stretch was perfect. Thick and deep and overwhelming after the orgasm he’d just given you. You moaned as he sank in inch by inch, your walls still fluttering and sensitive around him. He bottomed out with a broken groan, hips flush against yours, the collar shifting against his throat as his neck cracked sharply to the side.
“F-fuck–” he breathed, forehead dropping against your sternum for a second.
He started moving.
Slow at first, long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every inch of his cock against your sensitive walls. The wet sound of him sliding in and out of you filled the quiet bedroom. You kept the leash in one hand, the other resting on his shoulder, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your palm with every thrust. His tics made the rhythm uneven; every sharp crack of his neck or sudden hitch of his shoulders drove him deeper, punching soft gasps out of your throat.
“That’s it,” you murmured, voice low. “Fuck me. Show me how badly you needed this.”
Toby obeyed like the words were law. His pace picked up, hips snapping forward harder, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. He gripped your thighs and spread them wider, angling deeper so every thrust dragged against that perfect spot inside you. His cock stretched you open on every stroke, the thick head kissing your cervix when he bottomed out. The collar kept shifting with his movements; the leash stayed taut in your hand, a constant reminder of exactly who was in control.
“You feel so fucking good,” he panted, voice cracking. “You were–fuck–m-made for me–” He thrust particularly hard on the last word, making you cry out. “Gonna fuck you until you cum a-again, gonna make this pussy s-squeeze me so t-tight–”
You tugged the leash, forcing his head up so his glassy eyes met yours while he kept pounding into you. “Look at me while you fuck me. Don’t you dare look away.”
Toby’s moan was pure wrecked devotion. He kept his eyes locked on yours even as his hips snapped faster, even as another violent tic jerked through his shoulders and drove him even deeper. Sweat and leftover water from the shower still clung to his skin. His face was flushed, mouth open, every thrust punching soft, desperate sounds out of both of you.
He fucked you like that for long, relentless minutes, deep, hard, possessive strokes that kept you right on the edge again. Every time you clenched around him he groaned like it hurt in the best way. Every time you tugged the leash he moaned louder and fucked you harder. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, mixed with the soft jingle of the metal ring on his collar and the broken, stammered praise that kept spilling from his mouth.
“So good, so ffff-fucking good for me, my p-perfect girl, my owner, taking e-every inch like you were m-made for it–”
He never looked away. He never slowed down. He just kept fucking you with everything he had, collared and leashed and completely yours, while the last of the aftershocks from your first orgasm melted into the building heat of the second.
You tugged the leash just enough to make him look at you, a slow, teasing smile curving your lips even as his cock kept dragging deep inside you.
“Think you can actually make me cum again, puppy?” you asked, voice soft and mocking. “Or are you just going to fill me up and leave me aching?”
Toby’s eyes went wide and desperate. He nodded hard, the collar shifting against his throat with the motion.
“Y-yes, yes, I can, I will, please–” His voice cracked. “Gonna make you cum so fucking hard, I swear–”
Before you could tease him further he moved.
Strong hands gripped your hips and roughly flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. The sudden change made you gasp; the soft sheets pressed against your tits and the sensitive peak of your clit as your body settled flat. Toby didn’t give you time to adjust. He spread your thighs with his knees, lined himself up, and slammed back inside you from behind in one deep, brutal thrust.
The new angle was devastating. Every stroke dragged his thick cock along your front wall while your clit rubbed relentlessly against the mattress. The dual stimulation made your eyes roll back. You still held the leash loosely in one hand, the leather trailing back to the collar around his throat as he started fucking you hard and deep.
There was nothing gentle about it. Toby’s hips snapped forward in a relentless, punishing rhythm, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and filthy in the quiet room. Every thrust forced your body to grind against the bed, your clit catching friction with every movement. The stretch was perfect, the depth almost too much; he bottomed out so hard you could feel him in your belly. His hands stayed locked on your hips, fingers digging bruises into the soft flesh as he used you exactly the way he needed.
“Fuck, so deep–” you moaned into the sheets, the sound muffled and broken. “Toby–”
He only groaned in answer and fucked you harder. His tics made the rhythm uneven and even more intense; every sharp crack of his neck or sudden hitch of his shoulders drove him deeper, punching the air from your lungs. The collar jingled softly with every thrust. The leash stayed loose in your fist, a constant reminder that even like this, even while he was railing you into the mattress, he was still yours.
It felt so good it almost hurt. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. Your mouth fell open against the sheets, soft, continuous moans spilling out with every deep stroke. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around him, already so close again it was embarrassing.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Toby’s hand left your hip.
You felt the pad of his thumb press against the tight ring of your ass, slick with your own arousal. He rubbed slow circles for a second, giving you just enough time to feel it, then pushed the tip inside.
The dual penetration made you cry out.
Your whole body jerked. The thick stretch of his cock in your cunt combined with the intimate intrusion of his fingers in your ass was almost too much. Toby groaned like he’d just been given a gift and kept fucking you through it, thumb working deeper in time with his thrusts. The new sensation pushed you right over the edge.
You came hard.
Your orgasm ripped through you with a loud, broken moan that turned into a sob of pure pleasure. Your pussy clamped down around his cock, pulsing and gushing as wave after wave crashed over you. Your thighs shook uncontrollably. Drool soaked into the sheets beneath your open mouth as your eyes rolled back, the pleasure so intense it left you shaking and gasping. The constant grind of your clit against the mattress only prolonged it, making the climax stretch out until you were trembling and oversensitive.
Toby followed almost immediately.
The feeling of you cumming around him, the way your walls milked him, the way your ass clenched around his finger, was too much. He buried himself to the hilt with a shattered, stuttering moan and came hard, thick ropes of cum flooding deep inside you in long, pulsing waves. His hips kept jerking through it, grinding against your ass as he emptied every last drop, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, the collar still warm against your back.
He stayed buried deep for a long moment afterward, both of you breathing hard, bodies locked together and trembling. His finger slowly slipped free. His hands stroked weakly over your hips. The only sounds left in the room were the soft jingle of the leash and the quiet, broken little whimpers still leaving his throat as he came down.
The two of you just lay there for a long time, completely spent.
Your bodies were tangled, skin slick with sweat and leftover water from the shower, the sheets a mess beneath you. Toby’s weight rested heavily against your back for a moment longer before he carefully pulled out and rolled onto his side with a low, exhausted groan. You followed without thinking, turning toward him and immediately curling into the solid warmth of his chest. One of his arms came around you at once, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
Toby’s breathing was still uneven. His neck twitched once against the pillow, a soft little crack, before he pressed his face into your hair.
“Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough and cracked and almost shy. “That was… the b-best thing I’ve ever experienced. Seriously. Nothing’s e-ever felt like that.”
You let out a weak, breathless little laugh and tipped your face up to kiss him. The kiss was slow and lazy, all soft lips and shared breath, no urgency left in either of you. When you pulled back you reached up with one tired hand and unbuckled the black leather collar. The soft click of the buckle releasing was quiet in the dark room. You tossed it carelessly onto the floor somewhere near the leash, then immediately burrowed back into Toby’s arms.
He made a soft, contented sound and held you tighter.
The two of you traded a few more lazy kisses, unhurried, gentle, the kind that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with simply being close. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along your bare back. Your leg slid over his. The last of the tension melted out of both of you under the quiet weight of exhaustion and satisfaction.
Your eyes drifted shut first.
Toby was still murmuring something soft and broken against your hair when sleep finally pulled you under, warm and safe and completely drained in his arms.
Morning light spilled soft and gold across your little kitchen. You'd slept in late, tangled up with Toby half the night, and now the two of you sat at your small table in the warm quiet, still drowsy around the edges. You'd thrown together the best breakfast your bare cupboards could manage, scrambled eggs, some toast, coffee. Toby sat across from you in a borrowed t-shirt, his messy brown hair sticking up worse than usual, poking at his eggs with a fork. Every so often his neck cracked to the side or his shoulder hitched, but he looked calm. Content, even. The soft morning version of him you loved best.
You smiled at him over the rim of your mug. "You slept okay?"
"Mm." He nodded, mouth full. "Best sleep I've had in… I dunno. Long time." He swallowed, and that crooked scarred grin tugged at his mouth. "Your bed's b-better than m-mine."
"My bed, huh. Not the company?"
"…That too," he mumbled, cheeks going faintly red under the scars, and you laughed.
It was such an easy morning. You felt light, unhurried, cozy in your short nightgown with your feet tucked up under you on the chair.
You were halfway through a bite of toast when your phone vibrated against the table. You swallowed, wiped your fingers on a napkin, and picked it up. The screen lit up with a new message from Andy.
It was a picture.
Andy was propped up against a pile of pillows in a dimly lit bedroom, a blunt held loosely between two fingers, a lazy half-smile on his face. Curled into his side was a girl, only the long fall of black hair visible, her face hidden against his chest as she slept. The lighting was soft and golden, the whole image warm and intimate.
Andy:
yo first sleepover at her place survived
still alive 🙏
totally worth the hike thru the woods lmao
her roomie was weird asf but lowkey hella bad too 😂
You couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped you. You set the phone face-down on the table and took another bite of toast, still smiling a little.
Your thoughts drifted as you chewed.
Andy. The car. The way he’d looked when he showed you the photos of the wrecked sedan, tired, frustrated, trying to laugh it off but clearly stressed. Money was already tight for him. The side hustle was the only thing keeping him above water, and now he had to eat the cost of repairs out of pocket because he couldn’t risk the cops poking around. It was fucked. Really fucked. You hated seeing him struggle like that. Part of you wanted to help, actually help. Maybe move a little product for him, take some of the weight off his shoulders, make enough to at least cover the worst of the damage. It wouldn’t be that hard. You already knew half his regulars from the gas station. People trusted you.
You were still turning the idea over when Toby’s voice cut through the quiet. “What’re you thinking about?”
You glanced up. He was watching you over his coffee, dark eyes curious, a faint tic pulling at his shoulder.
For a second you considered brushing it off. Changing the subject. Keeping the peace. But you wanted to be honest with him. Especially after last night. Especially with how close you felt right now.
You set your toast down and met his gaze. “Andy,” you said quietly. “I was thinking about how rough it’s been for him since that thing with his car. He’s already struggling financially, and now he’s got to cover the repairs himself because he can’t exactly go to the cops. It’s… a lot. I was thinking about maybe helping him out. Selling some stuff for him. Just to take a little pressure off.”
Toby’s face fell the second the words left your mouth. It was like someone had flipped a switch. The soft, sleepy contentment vanished. His expression went tight and closed-off, dark eyes flattening as a sharp tic jerked his neck to the side. He set his fork down a little too hard.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he said, voice low and immediate.
You blinked at him. “I want to. I hate seeing people struggle like that. I don’t mind helping out.”
“Well I mind.” The words came out sharper than usual, the stammer thickening under the sudden tension. “I don’t want y-you doing that s-shit.”
You stared at him across the table, the easy warmth of the morning already cracking. Toby kept going before you could answer, shoulders hitching hard.
“What’s so special a-about Andy anyway?” he asked, the name tasting bitter in his mouth. “It’s always Andy this, Andy that. Andy Andy Andy. Why’s he the o-one you keep running to h-help?”
You set your mug down slowly. “He’s my friend, Toby. That’s what friends do.”
Toby scoffed, a short, ugly sound. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossing tight over his chest. “He’s a g-grown man. He can handle his own shit. He d-doesn’t need you getting mixed up in his puh-problems.”
“Can’t you understand the concept of friendship?” you asked, frustration starting to bleed into your voice.
“I can,” he shot back, another violent tic cracking through his neck. “But you’ve got me. Why do you n-need him?”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. It was so stupid. So completely, ridiculously stupid.
“You have friends too,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “Tim. Brian. You help them out all the time, right? This is the exact same thing.”
Toby shook his head immediately, the motion sharp and stubborn. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours, full of that restless, uncomprehending intensity. “It’s not the same,” he muttered. “It’s not. You don’t get it.”
He looked genuinely unable to process the comparison, like the idea of you helping Andy the way he helped his own people simply refused to fit inside his head.
"Toby." You reached across the table and took his hand. It was tense, trembling faintly. "Caring about Andy doesn't take anything away from you. That's not how it works. It's not–it's not a competition. You're my boyfriend. That's completely different from a friend. They're not the same thing at all."
"But you spend so much time with him," he pressed, voice cracking, eyes glassy now. "All those s-shifts. Just you and him. And now you w-wanna–you wanna do his little drug thing with him, s-spend even more–"
"Because he's my friend and he's struggling," you said gently, but firmly. "That's all it is."
You watched him try to hold the two ideas in his head at once, his own fierce, bottomless loyalty on one side, and the concept of you having any of your own on the other, and watched them refuse to fit together. Something behind his eyes just wouldn't reconcile it. To him, his loyalty to his friends made perfect sense; it was as natural as breathing. But your loyalty to anyone who wasn't him registered only as a threat, as something being taken from him, a slice of your attention he wasn't getting.
He didn't understand it. He genuinely, completely didn't. And you didn't know how to explain a thing so basic that it shouldn't have needed explaining.
"I just don't like it," he finally muttered, staring down at your joined hands. His voice had gone smaller. "I don't like h-him. I don't like you c-carin' about him."
You sighed, softening. You brought his hand up and pressed a kiss to his scarred knuckles. "I know. But you don't have to worry about him. Okay? He's not–there's nothing there. He's a friend. You're the one I want. You know that."
Toby was quiet for a long moment. His eyes stayed down. And then, slowly, the tension began to bleed out of him, the stillness releasing, the tics returning, his shoulders dropping by a fraction.
"…Okay," he said finally.
Just that. Okay.
And you smiled, relieved, thinking you'd smoothed it over, thinking you'd gotten through to him. You went back to your toast, the warm morning settling back over the kitchen, the movie of the night before and the argument already fading into just another little bump.
But across the table, Toby wasn't looking at you anymore. He was looking at nothing, fork still in his hand, his expression gone strangely blank. And that single quiet okay sat in the air exactly like the last one had, the one he'd given you on your couch, in the dark, with his hand over his heart.
Whatever you'd just explained to him, he hadn't heard the part you meant.
He'd only heard that you'd be spending even more time with Andy.
You could feel the weight still hanging in the air, so you did what you always did, you smoothed it over, steered somewhere gentler.
"You want more juice?" you asked, nodding toward his empty glass, keeping your voice light.
Toby blinked, pulled out of wherever his head had gone. His neck cracked softly. "…Yeah," he said. "Okay."
You pushed up from your chair and grabbed the carton off the counter, padding back over. You tipped it carefully over his glass, watching the orange fill it back up, then set the carton down. Before you moved away, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right at his hairline where the messy brown strands stuck up.
"You mean so much to me, you know that?" you murmured against his skin, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Like, so much. I hope you get that."
He went still under your touch, but the good kind this time. Soft. His shoulders eased. He let out a low hum, tipping his head just slightly into you, chasing the warmth of it.
His hand came up and covered yours where it sat on his shoulder, his fingers cool and calloused, holding on. "You mean e-everything to me. More than–" His voice caught, a little rough. "More than a-anything."
You smiled and let the moment stretch, your cheek resting against the top of his head for a beat, breathing him in, that faint pine and smoke and him. For that moment everything was warm and simple and yours.
You gave his shoulder one last squeeze and slipped back into your seat, reaching for your coffee. Toby picked his fork back up, and the quiet that settled over the kitchen this time was gentler, the tension of a few minutes ago finally dissolved.
He ate his eggs. He drank his juice. He gave you that crooked little grin when you caught his eye across the table.
And if there was something still turning slow and quiet behind those dark eyes, something you couldn't see, something that hadn't let go the way you thought it had, well. You didn't notice. You just finished your breakfast in the warm morning light, happy, and none the wiser.
Toby didn't sleep right for three days.
He'd come back from your place with that easy morning still clinging to him, your kiss on his forehead, your voice telling him he meant everything to you, and it should have been enough. It usually was enough. But it sat wrong in his chest this time, curdling slow, because underneath the soft stuff you'd said was the other thing, the thing he couldn't stop turning over: I've been thinking maybe I could help him out. Bring in some extra cash.
He paced his room until the floorboards felt personal to him, until he could've walked the width of it blind. His neck cracked hard against the quiet, over and over, tics stacking on top of each other the way they did when his head wouldn't slow down. He'd stop by the window, stare out at nothing, then start walking again.
He's my friend, you'd said. That's just what friends do.
He believed you. That was the maddening part, he actually believed you weren't lying, weren't cheating, weren't doing anything wrong by your own accounting of it. And it didn't matter. Believing you was never the problem. The problem was Andy existing in your life at all, taking up space that Toby wanted for himself and couldn't have, no matter how many times you explained the shape of it to him. He understood loyalty. He didn't understand sharing.
The car hadn't fixed it. He'd thought it would, thought wrecking the thing would put a wall up, make Andy skittish, make him small. Instead Andy just kept existing, cracked windshield and all, still working the same shifts as you, still texting you, still apparently needing help, and now you wanted to give him money. Time. Attention. More of you than Toby already didn't get enough of.
He sat on the edge of his bed with his laptop open, the old thing wheezing under his hands, and just looked at the search bar for a long time before he typed anything.
The idea had been sitting in him since that afternoon in Ben's room, since Jeff's rant about rats and snitches, since the offhand, disgusted way he'd mentioned tipping cops like it was something lower than killing a man. Toby hadn't thought about it again until now. But now it wouldn't leave him alone, because it fit the two conditions that mattered to him more than anything else: it wouldn't break his word, and it would work.
He thought about it the way he thought about most things, in a slow, private, half-lit way, turning the idea over without letting it fully catch the light. He wasn't hurting Andy. He'd promised not to hurt Andy, and this wasn't hurting, not with his own two hands, not in any way you could point to and say you broke your promise. This was just... telling the truth. Wasn't it? Andy was dealing. Andy did have drugs on him. All Toby would be doing was saying something true, out loud, to people whose whole job was dealing with things like that. That wasn't revenge. That wasn't cruelty. It was almost, and this thought arrived in his head fully formed and terrifyingly reasonable, it was almost responsible. A public service. Somebody had to do something about a guy who'd feed a girl a pill she didn't ask for and drive her home glassy-eyed while calling it a favor.
He was protecting you. That was all this was.
He believed that completely, in the way he believed most of the things he told himself, without a single crack in it.
His neck cracked hard. He got up, paced again, sat back down. He thought about your face when you'd said sorry, I know, but he's my friend, and something ugly twisted low in his chest, jealousy dressed up in the clothes of concern, indistinguishable to him from the real thing. He didn't examine it that closely. He never did.
By the third night he'd stopped pretending to himself that he was still deciding. He was just waiting now, waiting for the house to go quiet, for Brian's door to shut, for the version of himself that could actually go through with it to show up instead of the one still pacing.
It showed up around 2 AM.
He sat very still on the edge of his bed, laptop glow lighting the underside of his jaw, and dialed the number he'd found, the anonymous tip line, the kind that promised no names, no comebacks, nothing that could ever point back at a guy in a house full of killers who wasn't supposed to exist on paper anyway. His hand didn't shake. That was the strange part. All the tics, all the noise that lived under his skin every other hour of the day, gone, the second it actually mattered. Still and cold and focused, the same as he got right before a kill.
The line clicked over after two rings. A recorded prompt first, brief, then a real voice, clipped, tired-sounding, like it was the hundredth call of the night.
"Tip line, go ahead."
Toby's fingers tightened on the phone. His neck didn't crack. Nothing in him moved.
"I wanna report somebody dealing," he said. Flat. No stammer at all, the words came out of him smooth and even, like something else was driving.
"Okay. You want to stay anonymous?"
"Yeah."
"That's fine. Go ahead whenever you're ready."
He stared at the dark wall of his room for a second before he spoke again.
"Guy's name is Andrew Cole. Goes by Andy." He said the full name carefully, like he'd practiced it, like it mattered that it came out right the first time. "Works the night shift at the gas station off Route 9. The one by the old feed store."
"Mm-hm." The voice on the other end didn't sound surprised, didn't sound anything. Just writing it down. "And what's he dealing, do you know?"
"Pills. Weed. Some coke sometimes." Toby's jaw worked. "He keeps stuff on him. In his car too. And I think there's more at his house."
"You have a description of the vehicle?"
"Old sedan. Beat up. Windshield's cracked, hood's all messed up too." A short pause. "Somebody already got to it once."
"Okay." A pen scratching, faint, somewhere on the other end. "Understood. Anything else you want to add? Anybody else involved, anything like that?"
He thought about you for half a second, your face at the table, he's my friend, that's just what friends do, and shoved the thought down flat before it could climb any higher.
"No," he said. "Just him."
"Okay. We appreciate the call. You don't have to give us anything else if you don't want to."
"I don't."
"Alright. Take care."
The line went dead.
Toby sat there with the phone still against his ear for a few seconds after the call had already ended, the dial tone humming faint and then nothing at all. He lowered it slowly into his lap.
The room was very quiet. His shoulders didn't hitch. His neck stayed still, the tics gone the way they only went right before or right after something final.
I didn't touch him, he thought again, turning it over like a stone he could hold onto. I kept my word.
He set the phone on the nightstand, screen dark, and lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling until his eyes finally slid shut.
Toby woke up the next morning and felt lighter than he had in days.
The weight that had been sitting in his chest since the kitchen conversation with you was simply… gone. He lay still for a few seconds, staring at the cracked ceiling of his room, and waited for the usual spiral to start. It didn’t. Instead there was only a quiet, steady sense of rightness. He’d done what needed doing. He’d protected you. He’d removed the threat without ever laying a finger on Andy, without breaking a single word of the promise he’d made while your hands were on his face. Andy would be gone soon enough, arrested, locked up, out of your life, and Toby hadn’t even touched him. That made it clean. That made it good.
He sat up, stretched until his shoulders popped, and felt the last of the tension drain out of him. The tics were quieter this morning, the constant static under his skin turned down to a low hum. He pulled on a hoodie and padded downstairs.
The house was empty and quiet. Brian was still out on whatever job he’d taken. Jeff and Ben were nowhere to be seen, probably still crashed from whatever they’d been up to the night before. Tim’s usual sprawl on the couch was absent for once. Toby made himself a bowl of cereal and ate it standing at the counter, then carried the rest into the living room and dropped onto the couch.
He turned the TV on low and let some mindless daytime show drone in the background while he scrolled through his phone. His cracked screen lit up with your name. He smiled, a real, soft, almost shy smile, and started texting.
boyfriend 🪓:
morning
slept good?
Your reply came almost immediately. He read it twice, the corner of his mouth pulling higher, and typed back. The conversation stayed light and easy: how you’d slept, what you were doing, little pieces of nothing that somehow felt like everything. Every time your name popped up on the screen his chest went warm. He stayed like that for a long time, legs stretched out, phone in one hand, the other absently scratching at the back of his neck whenever a small tic tried to surface.
Eventually the stairs creaked.
Tim came down slow, favoring his bad leg hard, crutches tucked under both arms. The bandages around his thigh were still thick and clean, Jack’s work. He looked tired and irritated in equal measure, but when he saw Toby already occupying the couch he just grunted and limped over.
“Hey,” Tim muttered, dropping onto the opposite end of the cushions with a wince. He reached over without asking and plucked the remote out of Toby’s hand, flipping through channels until he found something with more explosions and fewer talking heads.
Toby didn’t argue. He just shifted to give Tim more room and kept one eye on his phone.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the kind that only happened when neither of them felt like starting shit. Tim eventually broke it with a low grunt.
“We’re heading out tonight,” he said, eyes still on the screen. “Mission. Longer one. Out of state. Brian said we’ll probably be gone a week, maybe more. Leaving as soon as he gets back this evening.”
Toby glanced over, still half-smiling from whatever you’d just texted him. “Alright.”
Tim snorted. “That’s it? Just ‘alright’?”
Toby shrugged, then let a crooked little smirk tug at his scarred mouth. “How you g-gonna go on a mission with that l-leg, huh? Gonna hop after the target?”
Tim’s head turned. He reached over and cuffed Toby lightly upside the back of the head, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make a point. “You don’t need a good leg to shoot, asshole.”
Toby laughed under his breath and looked back down at his phone, thumbs already moving across the cracked screen.
“Whatever,” he muttered, still half-smiling at whatever you’d just sent him.
Tim shifted on the couch, adjusting his bad leg with a low grunt, and pointed the remote at Toby like it was a weapon.
“Hey. Don’t forget you need to gather the supplies and weapons for tonight. Brian’s not gonna want to wait around while you dig through the shed like an idiot.”
Toby groaned theatrically, still staring at his phone. “Okay, okay.”
He stayed seated a little longer than necessary, finishing the last of the easy back-and-forth with you before he finally locked the screen and shoved the phone into his pocket. With another exaggerated sigh he pushed himself up off the couch. On the way past Tim he reached down and gave one of the crutches a playful little shove with his boot, making it slide a few inches across the floor.
“Careful with those,” Tim snapped, swatting at him. “I’ll break the other one over your fucking head, Tobes–”
Toby only chuckled and nudged the crutch back into place with his foot. “Relax. I’m going.”
He stepped out into the mild afternoon air, the front door clicking shut behind him. The yard was quiet except for the soft rustle of wind through the trees. Toby crossed the uneven ground toward the old shed that sat half-hidden near the treeline, boots scuffing against dirt and scattered pine needles. He pulled the door open with a familiar creak and stepped inside, blinking against the dimmer light.
Shelves lined the walls - tools, old tarps, crates of various sizes. He started searching for the ammunition boxes first, moving a few dusty containers aside, checking labels. His neck cracked once as he crouched to look on a lower shelf.
That was when his eyes landed on the heavy metal toolbox sitting near the back wall.
He paused.
He suddenly remembered Jeff’s bed. The one Smile had destroyed. The one he’d promised to fix so Jeff would stop crashing in Ben’s room.
Toby stared at the toolbox for a long second, weighing the two tasks against each other. The mission supplies could wait a little longer. Brian wasn’t back yet. And he’d given Jeff his word.
Might as well get it done today.
He set the ammunition boxes he’d already pulled aside back onto the shelf for now, grabbed the toolbox by the handle, and hauled it up. The weight of it felt solid and familiar in his grip. He stepped back out of the shed, kicked the door shut behind him with his heel, and headed toward the house again, boots heavy on the steps as he went back inside.
He climbed the stairs two at a time, the heavy toolbox swinging at his side. He stopped first at Jeff’s door and tried the handle. Locked. Of course it was locked. He gave it one more useless yank, then let out a short, irritated sigh and turned away.
Ben’s room, then.
He walked the short stretch of hallway and stopped outside the familiar door. Knocked once. Waited. Knocked again, harder.
Nothing.
“F-fucking…” Toby muttered under his breath. He didn’t bother with a third knock. He just turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The sight that greeted him made him freeze in the doorway.
Ben and Jeff were both asleep in Ben’s bed, wearing nothing but boxers.
Ben was curled on his side facing Jeff, long blonde hair a complete mess across the pillow, one arm tucked under his cheek. Jeff lay on his back, one arm thrown over his face to block out whatever light managed to sneak past the curtains. His long black hair was tangled and spread everywhere. One of his legs was messily thrown over Ben’s, bare chest and waist on full display, thin but toned, the usual scatter of old scars visible along his ribs and stomach. The sheets were half-kicked down around their hips.
Toby just stood there staring.
It was ridiculous.
He could still hear Ben’s voice from days ago, high and defensive: Nah, not in a gay way, man, it’s just his bed broke…
Right.
Toby shook his head slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. He stared at the two of them for another long second, taking in the complete lack of personal space, the way Jeff’s leg was still draped over Ben like it belonged there, the quiet sound of their breathing.
Then the decision settled in his chest, warm and mischievous.
He stepped fully into the room, lifted the heavy toolbox, and dropped it. The metal hit the wooden floor with a loud, echoing CLANG that bounced off the walls. At the exact same time Toby cupped both hands around his mouth and screamed at the top of his lungs: “WAKEY WAKEY!”
Ben jerked awake with a sharp gasp, eyes flying open. The second he registered the warm body next to him he scrambled backward like he’d been burned, yanking the tangled sheets up over his chest and giving Toby a pure death glare from the far side of the mattress.
“Yo, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Ben’s voice cracked, high and offended. He clutched the sheets tighter. “Knock, man! Fucking knock!”
Toby just shrugged, still standing in the doorway with the toolbox at his feet. “I did.”
On the other side of the bed Jeff let out a long, pained groan and dragged both arms up over his face, completely blocking out the world. He stayed like that for a few seconds before finally peeling one arm away just enough to crack a bloodshot eye open and look at Toby with pure, exhausted hatred.
“The fuck...” Jeff’s voice was low, raspy, and thick with sleep. He didn’t even bother sitting up. “It’s not even two yet, you piece of shit. Why the hell are you waking us up this early?”
Toby shook his head slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
These two really did live on a whole other planet. Different rules, different norms, different concept of what time of day was acceptable for being conscious. He glanced between them one more time, Ben still plastered against the wall with the sheets pulled up like a scandalized Victorian, Jeff half-dead and completely unbothered by how little space had been between them thirty seconds ago.
“I’m h-here to f-fix your bed, Jeff,” Toby said, deadpan. He nudged the toolbox with his boot. “Remember? The one Smile ate.”
Jeff let out another long, suffering groan and dropped his arm back over his face.
Ben just kept glaring.
Toby shifted his weight and jerked his chin toward the door. “C’mon. Get up, Jeff. Your d-door was l-locked when I tried to get in.”
Jeff let out one last long, suffering groan, then finally dragged himself upright. He sat on the edge of the mattress for a second like the effort might kill him, then pushed to his feet and stretched, arms overhead, back popping, the motion pulling his thin frame tight. He grabbed a wrinkled black shirt from the floor, tugged it on, then stepped into a pair of dark sweatpants that had been kicked halfway under the bed. Toby simply stood there and waited, toolbox at his feet, watching the whole sluggish process with mild impatience.
Once he was dressed, Jeff crouched down and reached under Ben’s bed, fishing around until his fingers closed on a set of keys. He pulled them out with a soft metallic jingle.
Toby’s brow furrowed. “What do you k-keep in your r-room that needs this much security? You g-got the door locked, keys h-hidden under the bed–”
“‘Cause I’m not about to have one of y’all sneakin’ in and goin’ through my shit,” Jeff said flatly, standing back up and jingling the keys. “Or liftin’ my stash. I know how this house works. Trust nobody. That’s rule one.”
Behind him, Ben caught Toby’s eye and mouthed, exaggeratedly, he’s paranoid, rolling his eyes for full effect.
Jeff didn’t even turn around. “I heard that.”
“You didn’t even see it–”
“I felt it, Ben.”
Ben huffed and flopped back down onto his bed, yanking the blanket up around himself. His cheeks were still faintly pink, the leftover embarrassment from being caught curled up with Jeff clearly not fully gone. He glared at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.
Toby bent down, grabbed the heavy toolbox, and followed Jeff toward the door. Just as they reached the threshold, Ben got in one last petty shot, muttering just loud enough to carry:
“Take your busted-ass bed and your paranoia and go, then. Some of us are tryna sleep.”
"Love you too, man," Jeff called back dryly, not looking.
Toby followed Jeff the short stretch of hallway to his room, the toolbox still hanging heavy at his side. The floorboards creaked under their boots.
“Ben a-always wake up that cranky?” Toby asked, glancing sideways at him.
Jeff snorted, the sound low and raspy. “Only when some twitchy fucker wakes him out of his beauty sleep.”
Toby rolled his eyes hard enough that it almost hurt. He let the silence sit for half a second, then added, completely deadpan:
“Maybe he’s j-just cranky ‘cause he w-won’t have someone to c-cuddle with anymore.”
Jeff stopped dead, turned halfway around, and gave Toby a look of pure, exhausted disbelief, the kind of look someone gives a toddler who just said something profoundly stupid.
“Yo.” He pointed a finger at Toby’s chest, voice flat and almost pitying. “That’s weird as fuck. Do I look gay to you? Be honest. Do I look like I cuddle? The answer is no.”
Toby just blinked at him, completely unimpressed.
Jeff kept going, clearly on a roll now, one hand waving lazily like he was dismissing the entire concept of physical affection.
“We share a bed ‘cause we’re bros. That’s it. Logistics. Not… whatever weird little fanfiction you’re writing in that twitchy head of yours. Ben’s a homie who happens to own a comfortable mattress. I tolerate him. He tolerates me. End of story.”
He turned back to the door, jammed the key in, and twisted it with unnecessary force.
“And for the record,” Jeff added over his shoulder, still in that same casual, belittling tone, “if I was gay–which I’m not–I could do better than Ben. I’m not that desperate.”
Toby tilted his head, completely deadpan. “What’s w-wrong with Ben? He’s a c-cute guy.”
Jeff blinked. For a solid second his brain visibly short-circuited. The usual lazy smirk faltered. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like he was trying to find an exit ramp that simply wasn’t there. He stared at Toby as if the words “cute guy” had been spoken in a language he’d never heard before.
Finally he just waved one hand in a vague, dismissive arc, clearly choosing the nuclear option of pure deflection.
“If he’s so cute, you go cuddle him.”
Toby had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He simply shook his head once, slow and unimpressed, and stayed silent. That silence was somehow louder than anything he could have said.
Jeff turned around with a muttered “unbelievable,” shoved the door the rest of the way open, and stepped inside like the conversation had personally offended him.
Toby simply followed him in.
Jeff's room was plain, an eerie contrast to the colorful, lived-in chaos of Ben's just down the hall. Where Ben's space was warm and cluttered and human, Jeff's felt like a cell. The air hit you first: something faintly chemical hanging in it, sharp and stale, the kind of smell that got into your throat. The walls were bare, like nobody actually lived here so much as slept here between things.
There wasn't much to it. A pull-up bar mounted in the doorway to the closet. A couple of weights on the floor. A collection of knives laid out along a shelf, the one thing in the room that looked cared for, cleaned and ordered with a precision that was almost unsettling.
A small desk sat shoved in the corner, a sketchbook and a scatter of pencils lying open across it. The second Toby's eyes drifted toward it, Jeff reached over without breaking stride and flipped the cover shut, tossing it carelessly onto the pile of clothes beside the desk. Toby caught only a flash of it before it closed, some rough, half-finished sketch, the vague shape of a girl maybe, but it was gone too fast to make out anything more than that, and he didn't think much of it.
And then the bed. Or what was left of it.
One whole side had been torn clean off, the frame splintered and gnawed, one of the legs bitten straight through. Smile had absolutely demolished it. The mattress sagged at an angle where the support had given out.
Empty pill bottles crowded the nightstand, and a scatter of little baggies lay here and there across the floor and surfaces. It was tragic, honestly. A bedroom could say a lot about a person, and this one didn't have anything good to say, no photos, no color, no softness anywhere. Just weapons, exercise, whatever numbed him, and a broken place to sleep it off.
Toby drifted further in, taking it all in with a flick of his dark eyes, then crouched down beside the ruined frame to inspect the damage. His neck cracked to the side.
Jeff leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. "Yeah, Smile went to town on it," he said, voice easy, almost fond. "Little bastard. Shoulda punished him for it, honestly." A shrug, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "But he's such a good boy, man. Couldn't do it. Just gave him a treat and let him off."
Toby hummed, stepping closer to crouch beside the wreckage. He didn't particularly want to be here. Being alone with Jeff wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, the guy grated on him, always had, with that smug lazy drawl and the way he looked at everything like it was beneath him. But a deal was a deal. Jeff had helped him out, given him what he needed, and Toby didn't leave debts hanging.
So he just wanted to get it over with.
He ran a hand along the busted frame, checking where the wood had split, testing how bad the damage really was. "…Okay," he muttered, mostly to himself, neck cracking to the side. "Gotta get the b-broken piece off first. Then, y-yeah. Could probably brace this side, get a new l-leg on it…" He kept mumbling through it, half a plan forming as he turned the toolbox around and flipped the latches open.
He started laying tools out on the bare floor, sorting through what he had, his mind already working the problem. The sooner he fixed it, the sooner he could leave.
He measured the split in the frame, worked the busted piece loose, sorted through the toolbox for what he needed. He was good at this, better than good, and it showed in the easy, focused way he moved.
Jeff watched him for a while, mildly amused, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Then he got bored and drifted over to his nightstand, rattling through the row of empty pill bottles like he was looking for one that wasn't. He found a half-empty baggie instead, dipped a finger in, and rubbed a little of the powder along his gums, working his jaw at the numb bite of it.
Toby glanced up and shot him a flat look. Didn't say anything. Just went back to the frame.
Jeff started pacing, restless, cracking his knuckles one at a time. "So where'd you learn all this, anyway?" he asked, nodding at Toby's hands. "The handy shit. Fixin' stuff."
Toby didn't look up. He fit a screw against the wood and started driving it in. "My dad," he said, casual, like it was nothing. "Used to get d-drunk and b-break shit. Furniture, doors, w-whatever was around. All the t-time." A shrug, another crack of his neck. "Somebody h-had to fix it after. So. Learned h-how."
Jeff paused mid-step. He blinked, clearly not expecting the offhand little trauma dump, and for a second he genuinely didn't know what to do with it. He snorted, more out of not knowing what else to say than anything. "…Damn. Aight." He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, somethin' good came outta that, at least. You're handy as hell."
"Mm." Toby didn't look up, just kept working, driving the next screw home.
Jeff let it drop and went back to his pacing, checking his phone, thumbing something out before shoving it back in his pocket. Toby ignored him and kept at it until he hit a spot he couldn't manage alone.
"Come here," Toby muttered, jerking his chin at the frame. "Hold this."
Jeff groaned, dragging his feet, but he came over and crouched down. Toby positioned his hands on the piece he needed braced, and Jeff held it, gripping the wood while Toby worked the joint back together. Up close, Jeff watched him, his eyes intent, like something was turning over behind them.
"So," Jeff said after a moment, still holding the piece. "Your little stop-a-plug thing. How's that goin'?"
Toby's hands didn't slow. "Fine."
"Fine as in you did it, or fine as in–"
"Fine as in d-drop it," Toby said flatly, fitting another screw.
"Uh huh." Jeff didn't sound like he was dropping it any time soon. "You gonna do the cop thing, or you gonna do the smart thing and just handle it yourself?"
"None of your b-business either w-way," Toby shot back, a little sharper. His shoulder hitched.
Jeff hummed, watching him work, and didn't push it, not on that. But something was still ticking behind his expression, and Toby could feel him looking. After a beat, Jeff shifted his grip on the wood and said, casual as anything:
"This got somethin' to do with that girlfriend you supposedly got yourself?"
Toby's hand stopped. Just for a second. Barely a hitch. Then he kept driving the screw, jaw tight, not looking up. "…Who told you I got a girlfriend."
"House talks, man." Jeff shrugged, still holding the piece. "Tim, Brian, they've been on your ass about some girl for weeks. Whole house knows." His mouth curled into that lazy, needling smirk. "Honestly I didn't even believe it. Figured you made her up." He tilted his head, studying Toby's face. "But you got real quiet just now. So. She's real, huh."
Toby's neck cracked hard to the side. He fit the next screw with more force than it needed. "None of your business."
"Didn't say it was." Jeff was grinning now, clearly enjoying himself, sensing he'd hit something. "Just puttin' it together, is all. You got a girl. And now, outta nowhere, you're askin' me and Benny how to take down some dealer." He let that hang. "Funny timing."
Toby didn't answer. His hands kept moving, steady and mechanical, but there was a tightness in his shoulders now that hadn't been there before, a stillness creeping up under the tics.
Jeff didn't get an answer right away, and that just seemed to feed him.
"C'mon, man," he said, grinning, still holding the wood steady while Toby worked. "That a nerve I hit? Twitch got a soft spot after all." He clicked his tongue.
Toby's jaw worked. His hand slowed on the screwdriver. "Shut the ffff-fuck up, Jeff, or I'll leave your b-bed like this."
Jeff huffed out a laugh, holding up his free hand in mock surrender, that lazy grin still plastered on. "Aight, aight. My bad." He didn't sound sorry at all.
Toby went quiet after that, driving the last few screws in with more focus than the job really needed, jaw tight, clearly chewing on something behind the silence. Jeff let him stew, watching him work with that same idle amusement, until Toby finally broke it himself.
"…If you had a g-girl," Toby said, not looking up, "you'd wanna p-protect her. Right? Keep her o-outta harm's w-way."
Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Guess so."
"That's a-all this is." Toby set the screwdriver down and reached for the next piece, jaw tight. "She's mixed up with some sh-shady people. I'm just lookin' out for her. That's it."
Jeff snorted, a short disbelieving laugh. "Lookin' out." He shook his head, grinning wider now. "Bro, you're a killer. You're literally one of the shadiest motherfuckers I know." He laughed again, louder, genuinely entertained. "The fuck are you talkin' about, protectin' her from shady people. What do you think you are?"
Toby's neck cracked. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, not with Jeff, of all people, but he pushed through it anyway, stubborn. "I'd n-never hurt her. I keep her s-safe. That's different." He tightened the last screw, testing the joint with a shove of his palm. "Other people muh-might not have her back like that. Not the way I do."
"Uh huh."
"You don't even got a g-girlfriend," Toby added, a little sharp, like it settled something. "So you wouldn't get it a-anyway."
That got a real laugh out of Jeff, short, cocky, genuine. He rolled his shoulders back against the wall. "Nah, man, and I don't want one either." He said it easy, like it was obvious. "Bitches are all the same anyway. Stupid as hell, every one of 'em. Only good for one thing, and it ain't conversation." He smirked, the kind of smirk that made it clear exactly what he meant, not bothering to soften it at all. "Get what you want, get out. That's it. That's the whole system, man, works fine."
Toby didn't even look up from the frame, unsurprised, already braced for exactly this. He just shook his head slightly, screwing the last piece into place.
"That's what you oughta be doin' too, honestly," Jeff went on, warming to it now, arms crossing. "All this–" he gestured vaguely at Toby, at the whole idea of him, "–girlfriend shit. Feelings. That's just a distraction, dawg. Fuck her a few times, move on. It's that simple." He shrugged. "Instead you're over here buildin' whole conspiracies in that thick head of yours. That's not protectin' her. That's just you bein' insane."
Toby rolled his eyes, not even surprised, tightening the last screw with a final twist.
"I'm just sayin'–" Jeff adjusted slightly, watching him with something almost clinical now under the smirk. "You got issues, man. Clear as day. You're jealous as hell, you're buildin' this whole thing up in your head over some plug who probably doesn't even think about her like that." He shook his head slowly. "You're makin' somethin' outta nothin'. And it's gonna bite you in the ass. Watch."
Toby stood up without another word, ignoring him, and moved to the other side of the frame to finish bracing the last joint. There wasn't any point arguing with Jeff. Never had been. The guy was just a piece of shit, plain and simple, and trying to explain anything to him was like trying to explain it to a wall that talked back and got off on it.
He worked in silence after that, tics rolling through his shoulders every so often but his hands steady, methodical, driving the last screws home and testing the frame with a firm shove of his palm. Satisfied, he sat back on his heels.
"Try it," he said, jerking his chin at the bed.
Jeff stood up and dropped onto the mattress, bouncing once, testing the give of it. He hummed, nodding along, then stretched out fully on his back with his arms behind his head like he was settling in for a nap. Then, smirking, he started thrusting his hips up lazily into the air a few times, laughing under his breath.
"Gotta make sure it holds up for all activities," he said, grinning over at Toby.
Toby just stared at him, flat, utterly unimpressed.
Jeff snorted and sat back up, patting the frame approvingly. "Yeah. It's fine, man. Thanks, I guess."
Toby grabbed the toolbox and started tossing the tools back in one by one, latching it shut. Jeff watched him from the bed, arms braced back on the mattress, that same lazy look on his face.
As Toby headed for the door, Jeff called after him.
"Hey. One more thing." He waited until Toby glanced back. "Let it go, dude. Chill out a little." He shrugged, easy, unbothered. "Maybe you're the one who needs a plug, way you're wound up lately. Come to me if you need somethin' to take the edge off."
Toby shook his head, muttering, "You're an idiot," and pushed the door open.
Jeff just laughed, low and unbothered, as Toby stepped out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him.
Things had been going pretty normal that day.
You’d woken up alone in your bed, the sheets still faintly smelling like Toby from the last time he’d stayed over. The morning had been quiet, a few lazy texts back and forth with him while you moved around the house. He’d told you about the mission sometime around noon. Longer one this time. Out of state. Probably a full week.
You’d stared at the message for a while before typing back something light, something understanding. It was just part of his job. Part of his life. You’d known that from the beginning. The strange hours, the sudden disappearances, the way he sometimes came back quieter or more wired than usual, it was all baked into whatever this thing between you was. You had to get used to it.
Still. There was a bad feeling sitting low in your body that wouldn’t leave.
You tried to blame it on the fact that Toby was about to be gone for a week. That made sense. You’d miss him. The house would feel too quiet. But the truth was the feeling had been there since the second you opened your eyes that morning, a low, persistent unease, like something was wrong even though nothing had happened yet. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
You tried to shake it off. You did the dishes. Wiped down the counters. Folded a load of laundry that had been sitting in the basket for two days. Put on music while you moved through the small rooms of your house, trying to fill the quiet with something normal. The weird feeling stayed anyway, a dull pressure behind your ribs that never quite went away no matter how many chores you checked off the list.
By the time the afternoon started tipping toward evening, you had to get ready for your shift.
You stood in front of your closet and pulled out the usual: a clean work polo and a pair of shorts that sat low on your hips. The fabric hugged the curve of them nicely, practical for the heat that still lingered even as the day cooled, but flattering enough that you didn’t feel completely swallowed by the gas-station uniform. You slipped the polo over your head, smoothed it down, then stepped into the shorts and tugged them into place.
In the bathroom you brushed your hair out until it fell smooth around your shoulders, then leaned in toward the mirror. Your reflection looked back at you, a little tired around the eyes, but fine. Normal. You tried to focus on positive things. The fact that Toby had seemed lighter today. The way he’d been texting more.
You told yourself the bad feeling was just nerves about him being gone. You almost believed it.
You grabbed your bag, keys, and phone, then stepped out the back door into the mild evening air.
And stopped dead.
Four–no, five–deer stood scattered across your small backyard like they’d been invited. One near the fence, two by the overgrown patch of grass where the mower never quite reached, another half-hidden beside the old shed, and a fifth standing closer to the house than any wild animal should’ve been. They were completely still, heads turned toward you the second the door opened.
You gasped softly.
The deer didn’t bolt. They just stared, large dark eyes locked on yours, ears twitching once but bodies frozen in place. The silence between you felt heavier than it should have.
You stared back, heart giving a weird little kick against your ribs. “…What the hell are you guys doing?” you asked, trying for a light tone even as something uneasy curled low in your stomach. “Throwing a party in my yard or what?”
None of them moved. The closest one blinked slowly.
You let out a breath and shook your head, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Alright. Fine. You can keep being here, I guess. Just… don’t eat my sad little garden.”
One of the deer, a sleek brown one with a pale patch near its throat, took a single step toward you. Just one.
You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. For a second you wondered, absurdly, what they were trying to tell you. If they were trying to tell you anything at all. The weird feeling that had been sitting in your chest all day sharpened, just for a moment, into something almost like a warning.
You forced a small, unsure smile at them, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Okay. Well. Be good, I guess.”
Then you turned away, stepped off the back porch, and started walking toward the gas station, the soft weight of their eyes following you until the trees finally cut them off from view.
You hurried the rest of the way to the gas station, the strange encounter with the deer still sitting heavy in the back of your mind. By the time the familiar fluorescent glow of the storefront came into view, the sun had dipped low enough that the lot was already washed in that flat, early-evening light.
Andy was already behind the register when you pushed through the door. He had a bright blue slushy in one hand and was chuckling at something on his phone, the sound low and easy. The second the little bell above the door jingled he looked up and grinned. “Sup.”
You groaned theatrically as you stepped into the cool-ish air of the store, already peeling your polo away from your lower back. “God, the humidity is disgusting today. I feel like I walked through soup.”
Andy took a long pull from the slushy, the straw making a hollow sound at the bottom, then ran a hand through his short buzzcut. “We lucky as hell the shitty AC’s still workin’ in this place. Another week of this heat and I’d quit on principle.”
You snorted, tossed your bag into the back room, and came back out to lean against the counter beside him. The two of you fell into the usual easy rhythm, complaining about the slow afternoon, about the weird guy who’d tried to pay with loose change the day before, about how the ice machine was making that grinding noise again. After a minute you straightened a little and glanced over at him.
“Okay, random, but… I had like five deer just standing in my backyard when I left. Straight up having a meeting or something. They just stared at me.”
Andy hummed, eyebrows lifting. He took another sip of the melting slushy before setting it down on the counter. “Dude… I actually saw a deer on my way to work too. Kept following me for like a good ten minutes. Every time I looked back it was still there. Hella weird.”
You felt that low, uneasy pressure in your chest tighten another notch.
Andy leaned his elbows on the counter, voice dropping into that half-serious, half-amused tone he used when he was about to say something strange. “Me and my girl were talkin’ about it a few days ago, actually. She lives right by the woods so she sees deer all the time. Apparently it’s like a static thing, people ‘round here been reportin’ weird static-like noises in the woods for ages. And deer can hear on a different frequency or some shit. She said they can sense when energies are off.”
He paused, then laughed it off with a little shake of his head, reaching for the slushy again. “She’s into some weird obscure stuff, man. But hey, let’s hope no one put bad energy on us or some shit, right?”
You leaned your hip against the counter and tilted your head, a small smile tugging at your mouth despite the lingering weird feeling from the deer conversation. “Guess that means the two of us might need to cleanse our auras or whatever the fuck spiritual people call it,” you said dryly.
Andy threw his head back and cackled, the sound bright against the quiet of the empty store. He pointed his half-melted blue slushy at you like it was sacred. “Nah, see, you got it all wrong. You just take a slushy from the machine. That’s where real salvation is. Cherry, blue raspberry, doesn’t matter. Instant spiritual reset, I’m tellin' you.”
You laughed, the tension in your shoulders loosening a little, and pushed off the counter. “Alright, fine. Point taken.”
You walked over to the humming machine, filled a cup with a mix of blue and red until it turned an unholy purple, and came back to lean against the counter again. The first icy sip made your teeth ache in the best way. For a moment the two of you just stood there in comfortable silence.
You turned the cup slowly in your hands and glanced over at him. “Hey… you ever figure out who was behind the car thing?”
Andy’s expression shifted. He shook his head, taking another pull from his own slushy. “Nope. No clue. Asked around a little, some of the regulars, a couple people I know. Nobody’s sayin’ shit. Or nobody knows. Either way, I’m still out a windshield and a hood.”
You hummed, chewing on the inside of your cheek for a second. “How’s the business going otherwise?”
“Little slow,” he admitted with a shrug. “Not too bad, though. Enough to keep the lights on. Could be worse.”
You stared down at the swirling purple ice for a moment, then looked up at him properly.
“I’ve been thinking,” you said, quieter. “I know I was joking about it before, but… I actually want to help. For real. I could move some stuff for you. Take a little of the pressure off. Just until you get back on your feet with the car and everything.”
Andy’s eyebrows shot up so fast it was almost comical. He set the slushy down hard enough that a little blue liquid spilled over the rim.
“Woah. Nah, man. No way.” His voice was firm, no room for argument. “I’m not lettin’ you get involved in bullshit like this. It’s no good. I was just a stupid kid when I started and look where it led me–felonies on my record, money problems every other month, some asshole trashing my car. It’s not a life I want for you. Not even a little.”
You opened your mouth to push back, but he kept going, shaking his head.
“I mean it. I’ll manage. I always do.” Then his expression softened, the hard edge fading into something warmer. “I’m just lucky as hell to have a friend like you lookin’ out for me. That already helps more than you know.”
You felt the quiet sincerity in his voice and let out a small breath. Instead of arguing further, you stepped closer and gave him a one-armed side hug, leaning your head briefly against his shoulder.
“Just say the word, okay?” you murmured. “Any time. I’ll always be there.”
Andy bumped his shoulder lightly against yours in return, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why you’re my favorite coworker.”
Before the moment could tip any further into soft territory, Andy cleared his throat and pushed off the counter, already reaching for a half-empty box of chips under the register.
“Alright, alright, c’mon. Shelves need stocking before the night rush hits. Get to work.”
You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and gave his shoulder one last affectionate squeeze before stepping back.
“Yes, sir,” you said with an exaggerated little salute, already turning toward the back room to grab another box.
And for a few minutes the strange weight that had been sitting in your chest all day loosened just enough to let the ordinary rhythm of the shift take over.
Hours slipped by that afternoon.
Toby went back to his own room, killing time the way he usually did, scrolling through old messages from you, pacing a little, letting the quiet of the house settle around him.
Then Brian’s voice cut through the hallway, sharp and carrying.
“Toby! Downstairs. Now.”
Toby sat up, the easy haze of the afternoon evaporating. Mission time.
He pulled on his hoodie, clipped both hatchets to his belt with practiced ease, and checked the weight of them against his thighs. One last glance around the room, then he was out the door and taking the stairs two at a time.
Brian was already halfway out the front door, a couple of long cases tucked under one arm, the keys to the truck jingling in his other hand. Tim came after him, moving slow and awkward on the crutches. For a guy built like a brick wall, he looked almost comical, big frame hunched, crutches swinging, every step careful and stiff. A stumbling deer in a man’s body.
Toby fell into step beside him.
“Need a hand, or–?”
Tim shot him a look so flat and annoyed it could’ve curdled milk.
Toby snorted under his breath and left it alone.
The three of them loaded the rest of the gear into the bed of the truck in near silence, ammo boxes, extra weapons, a couple of duffels. Toby took the heavier crates without being asked, stacking them neatly while Brian checked the straps. Once everything was secure, they climbed in.
Brian slid behind the wheel like always. Tim claimed the passenger seat with a low grunt, carefully lifting his bad leg in after him. Toby took the back, the crutches ending up propped against the seat next to him when Tim shoved them over the center console without looking.
The engine turned over. Tim already had a cigarette between his lips, the lighter clicking once before the tip glowed. Smoke drifted toward the cracked window as Brian pulled out of the driveway and onto the narrow road that led away from the house.
They were on their way.
The truck rumbled down the narrow road, tires crunching over gravel before the asphalt smoothed out. Toby settled into the back seat, unclipping both hatchets from his belt and setting them carefully on the floorboard by his boots so they wouldn’t dig into his legs. He stretched out as much as the cramped space allowed, one knee propped against the back of Tim’s seat, and left the black bandana pulled up over the lower half of his face. The fabric was familiar against his scars, a shield protecting him from the world.
Outside the window the trees thinned. The road curved toward town.
Toby’s eyes tracked the familiar landmarks as they passed the old feed store, the faded billboard, the stretch of road that always meant they were getting close to the gas station. Your gas station.
His stomach flipped.
He sat up straighter, neck cracking hard to the side. “Hey,” he said, voice already edged with urgency. “Can we–can we m-make one stop? Real q-quick. Five minutes.Tops.”
Brian’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Tim didn’t even turn around.
“No,” Tim said flatly, cigarette smoke drifting toward the cracked window.
“C’mon–” Toby leaned forward between the seats, the bandana shifting with the movement. “We’re gonna p-pass the g-gas station anyway. I just w-wanna say buh-bye before the mission. It’ll be fast. I swear. Just f-five minutes.”
Brian’s voice came low and unimpressed. “No.”
Toby’s shoulders hitched. “Please. I’ll be in and out. You won’t e-even have to turn the e-engine off. I just–I gotta see her before we leave for a w-whole week.”
Tim finally glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Jesus Christ. Listen to yourself. You’re beggin’ like a dog.”
Brian’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Down bad as hell, Tobes.”
“I’m not–” Toby’s voice cracked into a thicker stammer. “I’m not down bad, I just–it’s one stop. One. We’re a-already goin’ that way.”
The truck kept rolling. Toby kept talking, the words tumbling out faster, more desperate, the bandana muffling some of the edges but not the need underneath.
“Five minutes. That’s a-all. You can time me. I’ll r-run in, say bye, run back out. Please. Brian–”
Brian drove in silence for another few seconds, jaw working. Then he let out a long, put-upon sigh and flicked the turn signal. “I gotta fill the tank anyway,” he muttered. “That’s the only reason we’re stoppin’. You get five minutes. Not six. And if you’re not back in the truck when I’m done, I’m leavin’ your ass.”
Toby’s whole face lit up under the bandana. He clapped his hands together once, sharp and triumphant. “Fuck yeah–”
His phone was already in his hands, thumbs flying across the cracked screen as a wide, crooked smile pulled at the visible corners of his eyes.
boyfriend 🪓:
on my way
stoppin by the station real quick before work
be there in a min 🖤
In the front seats, Tim and Brian exchanged a long, silent look.
Tim raised one eyebrow and mouthed down bad around his cigarette. Brian just shook his head once, the corner of his mouth twitching with something that was almost pity.
Just when you’d resigned yourself to a long, boring shift and an entire week without seeing Toby, your phone buzzed in your back pocket.
You pulled it out, already half-expecting another sleazy text from Jeff or a spam notification, and then your whole face lit up. It was Toby and he was coming over.
A high-pitched little squeal escaped you before you could stop it. You bounced on the balls of your feet, doing a quick, ridiculous victory dance right there between the chip aisle and the drink coolers, phone clutched to your chest.
Andy looked up from the register with the most unimpressed expression he’d ever worn. “Damn. What, the STD test come back negative or something?”
You snatched the empty purple-slushy cup off the counter and chucked it at him. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder as you laughed. “You’re such a douche. My man’s stopping by to say bye before a job, asshole.”
Andy let out a long, dramatic whistle, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Woohoo, bandana boy!”
You flipped him off without heat, still grinning so hard your cheeks hurt, and started pacing the length of the store like a caged animal. Every few seconds you glanced out the front windows, heart kicking harder each time headlights swept across the lot.
Then the familiar beat-up truck finally pulled in and parked near the pumps.
You were already moving. “Be right back,” you muttered over your shoulder, barely waiting for Andy’s answering snort before you pushed through the door and into the warm evening air.
You were a little too excited to think straight. For a few bright seconds all you could focus on was the fact that Toby was here, that you’d get to see him, touch him, kiss him before he disappeared for a whole week. The truck, the other people inside it, everything else faded into background noise.
Then the driver’s door opened.
Brian stepped out to pump the gas. That blank, unreadable face. Those cold eyes that never seemed to soften. A second later Tim leaned out the passenger window, cigarette glowing between his fingers, dark eyes already tracking the bare length of your legs under the shorts. The second their faces registered, the happy flutter in your chest stuttered and died.
You remembered, weeks ago, the same two men coming in here, crowding you, talking down to you, trying to scare you off Toby like you were something disposable. The way Brian had looked through you. The way Tim had smirked and called you all those nasty things. The cold, ugly feeling of being sized up and dismissed by people who clearly thought they owned the boy you loved.
Your smile faltered.
Toby climbed out of the back seat a moment later, messy brown hair sticking up in every direction, black bandana covering the lower half of his face. Even with most of his expression hidden you could tell he was smiling, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the eager little bounce in his step as he came straight toward you with open arms.
You hurried over to him. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck at the same time his hands settled low on your waist, then lower, openly cupping your ass through the shorts like he didn’t care who was watching. You leaned up and pressed a firm kiss right against the fabric of the bandana where his mouth was. He made a soft, happy sound against your lips and kissed you back through the cloth, fingers squeezing once.
From the open passenger window Tim let out a low, amused whistle, still smoking, still staring.
You broke the kiss just enough to turn your head and shoot him the absolute filthiest look you could manage. “The fuck are you staring at, you limp-dick asshole?”
Toby’s laugh came out muffled and delighted against your cheek, arms still locked around you like he had zero intention of letting go.
Tim chuckled low from the open passenger window, tapping ash onto the pavement with a lazy flick of his wrist. The cigarette glowed between his fingers as he leaned his good elbow on the door frame, dark eyes still fixed on you with that same infuriating, amused glint.
“Aww, c’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice thick with mock sweetness. “You still mad about all that? Don’t tell me you’re gonna hold a grudge forever. Aren’t you gonna greet me the same sweet way you just did Toby?”
You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, still half-wrapped in Toby’s arms but twisted enough to glare fully at Tim. “Ohhh, wouldn’t you like that, you fucking sleaze?”
Tim’s grin widened. He glanced over at Toby, jerking his chin in your direction like he was sharing a private joke. “Damn, Tobes. You really know how to pick ‘em. Girl’s got a mouth on her, huh?”
Toby rolled his eyes. His hands stayed possessively on your waist, but his voice came out muffled and irritated. “Tim, shut up. Be n-nice. P-please.”
You weren’t finished.
You stepped half out of Toby’s hold just enough to square up toward the truck window, one hand still fisted in the front of Toby’s hoodie like an anchor.
“Not so big and strong now, are you?” you shot back, voice rising. “Not with your leg almost cut clean off. Yeah, I heard all about it. Guess I got my revenge through Toby after all. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you try to scare some girl off just because she likes your buddy.”
That one landed. Tim’s smirk flickered. Something colder flashed behind his eyes as he took a slow drag off the cigarette and exhaled through his nose. “A little limp ain’t gonna stop me from shit, sweetheart,” he said, voice lower now, less playful. “And you should be real fucking happy your boyfriend’s here right now. Real happy.”
Brian still hadn’t said a word. He stood at the pump, one hand on the nozzle, the other resting on the side of the truck, watching the whole exchange with that same blank, exhausted expression. He just shook his head once, slow, like this was exactly the kind of headache he’d expected the second Toby begged them to stop.
Your hands flew up in pure sass, fingers spreading as your voice climbed higher, words tumbling out fast and sharp. “Oh, I’m supposed to be happy? Happy that the same asshole who came in here weeks ago and treated me like garbage is now sitting in the passenger seat smoking like he owns the place? Fuck you. Seriously. Fuck every single thing about the way you and your blank-faced buddy over there tried to run me off. You don’t get to smile at me like we’re friends now just because Toby dragged your broken ass along for a pit stop–”
“Alright–!” Toby’s voice cut through the rising argument, half-laughing, half-exasperated. His neck cracked hard to the side as a string of tics rolled through his shoulders. He wrapped both arms around your middle and physically dragged you backward, away from the truck and closer to the front of the store, putting deliberate distance between you and the open passenger window.
“Enough,” he said, still chuckling under the bandana even as he kept pulling you with him. “Both of you. Shut up. C’mon.” His voice cracked into a thicker stammer as another tic jerked his head. “F-fuck, just… enough. Please.”
He kept walking you toward the relative safety of the storefront, one hand splayed protectively across your stomach, the other still gripping your hip, laughing under his breath the whole time like he couldn’t decide if the whole thing was hilarious or about to turn into a full disaster.
You let Toby drag you farther from the truck, sneakers scuffing against the pavement, but Tim wasn’t finished.
“Trashy little thing, ain’t she?” he called after you through the open window, voice loud enough to carry. “Mouthy, short shorts, jumpin’ on Tobes the second he steps out like she’s in heat. Real classy, sweetheart. Real fuckin’ classy.”
You twisted in Toby’s arms just long enough to spit hard in Tim’s direction and flip both middle fingers high in the air.
“Eat shit, you crippled piece of–”
“Enough!” Toby’s voice cracked sharp and final this time. He spun you the rest of the way around so your back was fully to the truck, one hand coming up to cup your jaw and force your eyes onto his. The bandana still covered the lower half of his face, but his dark eyes were intense and pleading under the messy hair.
“Just let it go,” he muttered, thumb brushing your cheek. “They’re not w-worth it. Seriously. Not worth it.”
You exhaled hard through your nose, still bristling, still half-ready to keep going. “I don’t understand how you put up with them all the time,” you muttered, voice low and frustrated. “I really don’t.”
Toby only shrugged, the motion small and almost absent. Whatever irritation he’d felt toward Tim was already fading; his attention had locked onto you completely. The way he was looking at you, soft, hungry, completely focused, made the last of your anger start to leak away.
You sighed, reached up, and hooked two fingers under the edge of the black bandana. You dragged it down under his chin in one smooth motion, baring the scarred mouth and the crooked little smile that was already forming.
Then you kissed him.
Toby responded instantly. His hands dropped to your ass and squeezed hard, pulling your hips flush against his as he kissed you deep and open and hungry right there under the fluorescent glow of the gas station lights. A soft, happy sound rumbled in his chest.
“Missed you,” he murmured against your lips between kisses, voice rough and warm. “So fuckin’ happy I got to see you before we left… you look so g-good… these s-shorts are k-killin’ me…”
His fingers kept kneading, openly possessive, like he’d already forgotten Brian and Tim and the truck and the mission entirely.
You stayed like that for another long moment, trading slow, lingering kisses under the glow of the station lights, the rest of the world temporarily irrelevant. You could feel the quiet happiness rolling off him in waves, the way he kept leaning in for just one more kiss like he was trying to store the feeling for the week ahead.
Eventually you pulled back just far enough to speak, noses still brushing. “Come inside with me,” you murmured, thumb stroking over the scar on his cheek. “I’ll grab you some snacks for the road.”
Toby’s eyes lit up immediately, that crooked, boyish smile spreading across his bare face. For half a second he looked purely happy again.
Then the realization hit.
His expression flickered. The smile dimmed. His shoulders hitched once as a small tic rolled through him. “…Is Andy in there?”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Toby. Please. Do not start.” You reached down, laced your fingers through his, and gave his hand a firm squeeze. “Just come inside. Two minutes. I’m not asking you to hug him or make conversation. Just… walk in with me, let me grab you some stuff, and walk back out. Please.”
He stared at you for a long second, jaw working under the scars. The internal battle was written all over his face, jealousy, reluctance, the stubborn need to keep you to himself warring with the fact that you’d asked him nicely.
Finally he let out a long, defeated sigh. “Alright,” he muttered, voice low and reluctant. “Fine.”
He still hadn’t pulled the bandana back up. In the anxious little spiral of realizing Andy was inside, it had completely slipped his mind. And you’d gotten so used to seeing him bare-faced, in your bed, in your shower, kissing you in the dark, that you didn’t even think to remind him either.
Hand in hand, the two of you turned toward the glowing entrance of the store.
You pushed the door open and stepped inside, Toby right behind you, his hand still loosely linked with yours.
Andy looked up from his phone behind the register. The second he registered both of you his face split into a wide, easy grin. “Well shit, look who it is.”
Toby went rigid beside you. You felt it immediately, the way his fingers tightened around yours for half a second before going slack, the sudden tension that locked his shoulders, the sharp little tic that cracked through his neck. His eyes flicked to Andy, then away, then back again. And in that same moment you watched the realization hit him: the bandana was still pulled down under his chin. His scarred face was fully exposed under the harsh fluorescent lights.
He tensed even harder, like he was bracing for the comment. The stare. The mockery.
It never came.
Andy barely glanced at the thick scar that cut across Toby’s cheek and mouth. His attention stayed light, open, completely unbothered as he stood up from the stool and came around the counter with an easy, friendly energy.
“Nice to finally actually meet you, man,” Andy said, already sticking his hand out in that casual way. “I mean properly.” He grinned wider. “What’s good?”
Toby froze. For a second he just stood there, towering a little over Andy, hands shoved deep into the front pocket of his hoodie like he didn’t know what else to do with them. His dark eyes darted around the store, the chip racks, the drink coolers, the scuffed linoleum floor, anywhere but Andy’s face. The welcoming tone, the complete lack of judgment, the easy invitation into small talk… none of it was what he’d expected. You could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as he tried to figure out how to respond to someone treating him like a normal person instead of a threat.
You gave his arm a gentle squeeze and smiled.
“I’m gonna grab you some snacks for the road,” you told him softly. “Be right back.”
You let go of his hand, snagged a plastic bag from under the counter, and headed for the candy aisle. The familiar rows of brightly colored wrappers greeted you. Without thinking you started dropping Snickers bars into the bag, three, then four, then a fifth for good measure. His favorites. The same ones he’d shoved in his pocket the very first night he walked into this store with that restless energy and those dark eyes, back when he first became your thief.
You lingered near the candy aisle a few seconds longer than necessary, listening.
Toby’s voice came first, low, a little stiff, the stammer thicker than usual under the weight of being perceived. “Uh… y-yeah. S’good. Just… passin’ through.”
Andy laughed, easy and warm, like they were already old acquaintances instead of two people who’d never properly spoken. “Man, I feel that. You want a drink or anything while you’re here? On the house. Coworker’s boyfriend tax.”
There was a short pause, then, to your quiet surprise, the low, rough sound of Toby actually chuckling. Just once. “I’m good,” Toby said. “Thanks.”
You smiled to yourself as you dropped two energy drinks into the bag alongside the pile of Snickers. Andy was good at this. Too good, maybe. He had that natural way of making people feel like they didn’t have to brace for impact, and hearing Toby slowly uncoil even a little under it made something warm settle in your chest. This was what he deserved. Ordinary kindness. Someone looking at him without flinching or calculating. Maybe, just maybe, he’d finally start to see that Andy wasn’t the threat he’d built up in his head.
You headed back toward the counter just as Toby spoke again. “I’m… headin’ out for a job. Week, maybe. Out of state.”
“Cool, cool,” Andy said, nodding. “Hustle never ends, right? Don’t worry about it, I’ll keep an eye on her while you’re gone.”
You reached them then, plastic bag swinging from your fingers, and let out a bright little laugh. “What do you need to keep an eye on me for?” you asked, bumping your shoulder lightly against Toby’s arm as you came to stand beside him. “I’m a model employee.”
Andy pointed at you with a grin, already talking to Toby like you weren’t even there.
“Bro. She tried to get in on the side hustle literally a few hours ago. Straight up offered to help me move product ‘cause she felt bad about the car situation. Uhh, long story short, somebody trashed my car. Anway, I had to shut that shit down immediately. Told her no way. It’s a bad idea. Messy as hell. I’m not draggin’ her into any of that.”
Toby went still. You watched the information land, the way his dark eyes flicked to Andy’s face, then briefly away, the small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture. He hadn’t expected that. Not the refusal. Not the protective edge in Andy’s voice. Not the simple, uncomplicated fact that Andy had looked out for you without being asked.
Toby nodded once, slow. “…Yeah,” he said, voice quieter. “She’s… like that. Always lookin’ out for people she cares about.”
The words were simple, but there was something careful underneath them. Something that sounded almost like respect.
You felt a soft rush of affection and leaned into his side, wrapping one arm around his waist in a quick side hug as you held the bag up. “Here you go,” you said, smiling up at him. “On me. Don’t say I never get you anything.”
Toby took the bag, fingers brushing yours. For a second his eyes lingered on Andy again, not hostile this time, just… thoughtful. The kind of thoughtful that came with the slow, private realization that the version of Andy he’d been carrying around in his head might not have been the full picture.
Andy leaned his elbows on the counter, still grinning as he looked between the two of you.
“Man, this boyfriend tax is gettin’ expensive,” he joked, nodding at the overstuffed plastic bag in Toby’s hand. “Snickers, energy drinks… you’re lucky as hell, dude. My own girl needs to start comin’ in so I can spoil her with the same treatment.”
You laughed, bumping your shoulder lightly against Toby’s. “Totally. She should. Free snacks for life.”
Then, because the moment felt easy and warm in a way you hadn’t expected, you added, “You know our whole relationship basically started because of Snickers, right?”
Andy raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“He came in one night and straight-up stole a bunch of them,” you said, glancing up at Toby with a teasing little smile. “Just shoved them in his pocket and walked out. Then the next day he actually came back and returned them. Looked so guilty about it I couldn’t even be mad.”
Andy threw his head back and laughed, a loud, genuine bark of amusement that filled the quiet store. “You’re kidding. That’s the most ridiculous origin story I’ve ever heard.”
Toby’s face went faintly pink under the fluorescent lights. He shifted his weight, free hand rubbing the back of his neck as a small tic hitched through his shoulder. “I–it wasn’t–I was gonna pay, I just… didn’t h-have cash on me that n-night,” he muttered, the stammer thicker with embarrassment. “And then I f-felt bad. So I brought ‘em b-back. That’s all.”
Andy was still laughing, shaking his head in pure delight. “Dude. That’s actually kind of wholesome. You’re lucky you returned the stolen goods, though. We’ve got some hatcheting maniac running around the neighborhood who apparently loves to hack up thieves. You might’ve ended up on the wrong end of an axe.”
Toby’s eyes flicked to yours, quick, knowing, giving you a private little smile, and then he actually laughed. A real one. Low and rough and almost fond.
You felt your own cheeks warm. You laughed too, maybe a little too quickly, trying very hard not to look as guilty as you suddenly felt. The memory of Toby in the woods with those same hatchets, the way he’d once pressed one to your throat in the heat of the moment, flashed through your mind and left you biting the inside of your cheek.
Outside, the truck’s horn blared, long and angry.
Toby’s head turned toward the sound. The easy moment cracked. “That’s me,” he said, already stepping back. He gave Andy a short nod, almost awkward in its sincerity. “See you around.”
“Yeah, man. Be safe out there.”
You followed Toby out the door and into the warm evening air, the plastic bag still swinging from his fingers. The second the door swung shut behind you, you reached for his free hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Hey,” you said softly. “Thank you. For coming in. And for… giving him a chance.”
Toby stopped walking. For a second he just looked at you, and something complicated moved behind his dark eyes, guilt, sharp and unmistakable, mixed with the quiet weight of a realization he wasn’t ready to say out loud. He nodded once, slow. “I was wrong,” he muttered, voice low enough that only you could hear it. “About him. He’s… alright.”
Then he leaned in and kissed you one last time, deep and lingering, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face like he was trying to memorize the feeling. Behind him Tim was yelling something crude through the open passenger window and Brian laid on the horn again, but Toby ignored both of them completely until he finally had to pull away.
He gave your hand one last squeeze, then turned and walked toward the waiting truck, the plastic bag of Snickers and energy drinks hanging at his side.
You stood there in the glow of the station lights and waved until he climbed into the back seat. Then, just before the truck pulled away, you lifted both hands and flipped Tim off one final time, before turning and stepping back inside the store.
Toby barely got the back door shut before the full weight of it crashed into him.
Brian pulled out of the gas station lot without a word, the truck accelerating onto the darkening road. Tim cracked the passenger window wider and lit another cigarette, the familiar smell of smoke drifting back. Everything looked normal. Ordinary. Just another drive out to another job.
But Toby’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He stared down at them in his lap, at the scarred knuckles, the faint tremor running through his fingers, and felt the panic rise so fast and so sharp it almost choked him. The plastic bag of Snickers and energy drinks sat on the seat beside him like an accusation. Andy’s easy grin.The way he’d refused to let you get involved in his 'side hustle’. The simple, uncomplicated kindness of a guy who had looked at Toby’s scarred face and hadn’t flinched, hadn’t mocked, hadn’t treated him like a freak.
And Toby had called the cops on him.
Anonymously. Coldly. Sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark like it was nothing more than taking out the trash.
For what?
The thought looped, vicious and relentless. For jealousy. For a threat that had never actually been a threat. For the stupid, possessive spiral that had convinced him Andy was dangerous when all Andy had ever done was be your friend and turn down the exact kind of help that could’ve dragged you into something messy.
He’d fucked it up.
He’d fucked it up so badly there was no clean way to undo it.
Toby pressed his back against the seat and tried to breathe through it, tried to keep his face neutral, tried to look like the same restless but functional version of himself Brian and Tim expected on a job. His neck cracked hard to the side. Then again. The tics were stacking, coming faster, his shoulders hitching in sharp, uneven jolts he couldn’t control.
Tim glanced back once, frowning around his cigarette. Brian’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and stayed there a second longer than usual.
Toby couldn’t hold it.
The pressure in his chest kept building until it felt like something was going to crack open. His breathing went short and shallow. His hands curled into fists so tight the nails bit into his palms. Every mile that passed only made the reality sit heavier: the tip was already out there. Someone had already written Andy’s name down. All of it already in motion, and Toby had been the one to set it moving.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He folded forward suddenly, elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his shaking hands.
“I did something r-really b-b-b-bad,” he said, voice muffled and cracked and small.
The truck went quiet except for the low rumble of the engine and the soft rush of wind past the windows.
Tim twisted halfway around in the passenger seat, cigarette paused halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”
Brian’s eyes were already locked on the rearview mirror, sharp and attentive. “What.”
Toby groaned into his hands, a low, miserable sound. For a second he almost swallowed it back down. Almost decided to keep it locked behind his teeth where it couldn’t make everything worse. But the guilt was too big, too loud, too corrosive to sit with alone in the back seat of this truck for the next several hours.
He dragged his hands down his face and looked up, eyes wide and glassy, the stammer turning every word into a frantic, uneven rush.
“I–I got it all wrong. I thought–thought he was a p-problem. I thought he was gonna drag her into shit or, or worse. I was so fffff-fucking sure. And I–” His voice broke. He had to swallow hard before he could keep going. “I called the c-cops. Anonymously. Told them his n-name, where he w-worked, that he was d-dealing, e-everything. And I was wrong. He’s not–he’s not what I thought. He’s actually a–a nice guy a-and he’s just her friend, nothing more, he–he even has his own g-girlfriend–and I still–I still fucking did it. I m-messed it all up. I messed everything up.”
Tim stared at Toby in open disbelief, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers.
Toby couldn’t stop talking now that the dam had broken. The words kept spilling out, tangled with guilt and rising panic and the sick, helpless knowledge that some things couldn’t be taken back no matter how much he wanted them to.
“I thought I was puh-protecting h-her,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I really thought I was. And a-all I did was fuck over s-someone who didn’t deserve it. Someone who’s a-actually good to her. Fuck. Fuck–”
His hands were back in his hair now, fingers twisting hard in the messy strands like he could physically pull the panic out of his own skull. His neck kept cracking, sharp and violent, one tic after another stacking until his whole upper body jerked with the force of them.
“I c-called and I told them e-everything and now it’s too l-late and I can’t take it back and s-she’s gonna h-hate me when she finds out and I p-promised her I’d be good, I promised–”
“Toby.”
Brian’s voice cut through the rambling like a blade, cold and raised just enough to demand attention. His eyes were locked on the rearview mirror, dark and hard.
“Slow the fuck down. You called the cops? On who?”
Toby let out a long, broken groan and dragged his hands down his face again. “Her friend. The guy from the gas station. I–I r-reported him. Anonymously. For d-dealing.”
The truck went deadly quiet for half a second.
Brian’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. When he spoke again his voice was low and dangerous, the kind of quiet that was somehow worse than yelling.
“In what world,” he said, each word precise and freezing, “did you think it was a good idea to get cops involved in anything? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
Tim twisted fully around in the passenger seat now, bad leg awkwardly braced, cigarette forgotten. His face had gone from confused to furious in the span of a heartbeat.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Tim’s voice rose fast, almost yelling. “Cops? You called the police? What the fuck is wrong with you? You got a problem with somebody, you handle it yourself. You don’t go running to the same people who would lock every single one of us up and throw away the key if they ever got the chance. What the hell were you thinking?”
Toby shook his head hard, fingers still knotted in his hair, pulling at the roots.
“I promised her,” he said, voice cracking into a near-whine of pure distress. “I promised her I w-wouldn’t hurt him. I s-swore I wouldn’t lay a f-finger on him. So I thought–I thought if I just told the t-truth, if I just made a c-call, it wouldn’t count. It wouldn’t b-break the promise. But I was wrong a-about him. I was so ffff-fucking wrong. He’s not a threat. And now I fucked e-everything up and I can’t f-fix it and she’s gonna find out and–”
His breath hitched. He yanked harder at his own hair, a raw, frustrated sound tearing out of his throat as another violent string of tics ripped through his shoulders and neck. He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t breathe right. The guilt and the panic and the sick knowledge that he’d set something irreversible in motion were all crashing together at once, and there was nowhere in the back seat of the truck to put any of it.
“Toby–hey–hey–”
Tim twisted fully around despite the bad leg, reaching back with both hands to try and catch Toby’s wrists and pull them away from his head. “Stop. Stop it. Look at me. Breathe, you little shit–”
Brian kept one hand locked on the wheel and reached back with the other, trying to grab whatever he could, a shoulder, an arm, anything to calm Toby down. The truck swerved slightly before he corrected it.
“Toby. Enough.” Brian’s voice was sharp, cold, and louder than usual. “You’re panicking. Pull it together.”
Toby barely seemed to hear them. The guilt had nowhere left to go except outward in pure distress.
“Stop the c-car,” he begged, voice cracking and frantic. “Please, just stop, turn around, I can s-still warn them, I c-can still fix it, it’s not too l-late, I can tell her–”
“No.” Brian’s answer was immediate and final. “We have a mission. An important one. There is nothing you can do about this right now. You should have thought about that before you decided to be a stupid fucking idiot and involve the cops in the first place.”
Tim still had a firm, almost aggressive hold on Toby’s arms, keeping them pinned away from his head as best he could in the awkward angle of the back seat. His voice rose into a near-shout, equal parts anger and something that might have been concern.
“Calm the fuck down. Right now. Some tips never even get acted on, you hear me? Just sit there, keep your mouth shut, and don’t do anything else stupid. Nothing traces back to you anyway. So stop. Stop.”
Toby’s breathing was still ragged. His whole body trembled under Tim’s grip. For a long, ugly stretch of road he kept fighting it, the panic, the need to undo what couldn’t be undone, before the fight finally drained out of him all at once.
He went still. Then he nodded once, small and defeated.
Tim slowly eased his hold but didn’t fully let go until he was sure Toby wasn’t going to lunge at himself again. Brian’s eyes stayed on the rearview mirror for another long moment before he finally looked back at the dark road ahead.
Toby slumped against the seat, staring at nothing. In the quiet that followed, the thoughts came in cold and clear.
Andy had looked at the scar, really looked at it, and hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t mocked. Hadn’t treated him like something broken or dangerous. In Toby’s entire life, that almost never happened. And that same person was the one he’d quietly destroyed.
He thought about you. About how much your friendship with Andy meant to you. About the way you’d smiled when the two of them managed even a few minutes of civil conversation. About how hard you’d worked to get him to give Andy a chance at all.
And underneath all of it sat the oldest, ugliest belief he carried: He ruined everything good that ever got close to him.
The truck kept moving into the night. Toby sat in the back seat with the plastic bag of Snickers beside him and said nothing more.
The long shift stretched on for hours.
By the time closing rolled around, both you and Andy were moving through the familiar routine on autopilot: wiping down counters, counting out the register, restocking the last few empty spots on the shelves, checking the locks on the back door.
Andy leaned against the counter while you finished sweeping near the drink coolers, arms crossed loosely, still looking faintly amused from earlier.
“For real though,” he said, “it was actually really nice meeting him. Toby. Dude’s intense as hell, but… I don’t know. Cool in his own way.” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “That scar’s badass, by the way. Looks like something out of a movie. He military or something?”
You smiled, pushing the broom in a slow arc. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something like that.”
Andy hummed.
You finished the last section of floor, then glanced over at him with a small, private little giggle. “He really is handsome, though. He doesn’t even realize it himself. It’s kind of ridiculous.”
Andy snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed the keys to the front door. “You’re down bad. It’s cute.”
The two of you finished the rest of the closing checklist in comfortable quiet, lights off in the back, security system armed, final glance around the empty store. You grabbed your bag from the break room and followed Andy out into the mild night air. The lot was mostly empty now, the truck long gone.
“Walk together?” he asked as he locked the door.
“Yeah.” You nodded, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I don’t mind taking the long way. We can pass your place first.”
Andy gave you a small, appreciative nod. Just as he finished turning the key in the lock, a low, familiar whistle cut across the empty lot.
You knew who it was before you even turned around.
Jeff. Of course.
Sure enough, there he was, strolling across the dark pavement with his hands shoved lazily into the pockets of his jeans, tall and completely unbothered by the late hour. His long black hair fell loose around his face, and that same cocky half-smirk was already in place like he’d been expecting to find the two of you out here.
You let out a quiet sigh and shot Andy a look that said really?
Andy only grinned, clearly trying not to laugh, and lifted a hand in an easy wave. “Yo.”
Jeff came to a stop a few feet away, that deep, dark chuckle already rolling out of him.
You crossed your arms. “We’re closed.”
“Awh, already?” He glanced past you at the darkened storefront, feigning pure disappointment. “Damn. Bad timing. Need a last-minute order, if you got it in you.”
He stuck his hand out. Andy clasped it in that casual bro handshake, already shaking his head with a small smile.
“It’s chill, don’t even worry about it.” Andy turned back to the door and started working the lock open again. “Favorite customer gets special treatment. C’mon.”
The second Andy’s attention was on the door, Jeff moved.
He stepped in close and smoothly slid one arm around your waist in a loose side hug, the contact warm and overly friendly. His voice dropped so only you could hear it, low and raspy against the side of your head. “Good to see you.”
You gave him a flat side-eye, even as the corner of your mouth threatened to betray you. “Uh-huh.”
You could smell him - cigarettes, sharp cologne, and something darker underneath that always seemed to cling to him. He was extremely tall up close, the kind of height that made you tilt your head back just to meet his eyes. And those eyes never left your face, dark and amused and openly interested, like the rest of the world had temporarily stopped mattering.
"Miss me?" he murmured, close to your ear.
"Not even a little," you shot back, but you huffed and patted his side once out of sheer tired reflex before stepping back out of his arm.
"You're relentless, you know that?" you added, shaking your head at him.
"I know." He grinned down at you, entirely too pleased with himself.
Andy got the door open and flicked the lights back on, waving the two of you inside. The store lit back up in its familiar buzzing fluorescent glow, and you trailed in after them, leaning against the counter while Andy circled behind it, dropping back into work mode. "Alright, what do you need?"
Jeff leaned an elbow on the counter, ticking it off lazily on his fingers. "Couple eighths of the usual weed. Handful of the blues, if you got 'em. And, uh–" he thought for a second, "–throw in some of that white too. Not a ton. Just enough to hold me over."
Andy raised an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle. "Damn, man, you're burnin' through this shit fast, huh?" He said it easy, no judgment in it, just the idle observation of somebody used to regulars.
Jeff just shrugged, unbothered. "Cash ain't a problem," he said simply, like that settled the whole thing.
Andy huffed a laugh and nodded, tucking the bag back under the counter. "Aight. Say less." He glanced between the two of you, an amused little glint in his eye. "Gimme a sec, gonna run to the back and grab it."
He shot you one last knowing, teasing look over his shoulder before disappearing through the door to the back room, leaving you alone with Jeff under the hum of the fluorescent lights.
You stood there for a second, very aware that you were alone with him now, the store gone quiet except for the low hum of the coolers and the faint buzz of the overhead lights. Jeff's eyes drifted over you, unhurried, down your shorts, back up to the wrinkled work polo, lingering just long enough to be obvious about it, before settling back on your face with that same lazy, unbothered smirk.
"Why you been ignorin' my texts," he asked, tilting his head slightly.
You laughed, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing loosely. "I've been busy."
"Busy." He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "At a gas station."
"Hey, gas station work is very demanding," you shot back. "Lot of responsibility. Lot of pressure." You gave him a flat look. "Also, you only text me in the middle of the night, Jeff. I know a booty call when I see one."
That got a real laugh out of him, low and genuine, head tipping back slightly. "Damn. Callin' me out like that." He nodded slowly, like he couldn't even argue with it. "Aight. Fair."
He went quiet for a second, patting down his jacket pocket like he'd just remembered something minor, something not worth making a fuss over. "Oh, here. Got somethin' for you."
He said it so casually it barely registered as an event, like he was handing you a receipt or a stick of gum, digging two fingers into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, a little worn at the creases like it had been sitting in there a while. He held it out without any ceremony at all, already glancing toward the back of the store like his mind was somewhere else entirely.
You took it, curious, and unfolded it.
Your breath caught, just slightly.
It was a drawing of you. Rough in places, the linework a little rushed at the edges, but there was real skill underneath it, the proportions right, the shading actually thought through, not just scribbled. He'd drawn you from that night outside the club: the shallow cut at your throat, the tousled hair, the short skirt. He'd taken some liberties, exaggerated a little here and there in a way that was undeniably a little vulgar. But it was drawn like he'd actually looked at you. Really looked, and remembered it, and then sat somewhere by himself and put it down on paper because he'd wanted to.
You didn't really know what to do with your face.
"I had no idea you could draw," you said finally, still staring down at it, turning it slightly like the angle might explain something.
Jeff just shrugged, hands going back into his pockets, rocking back on his heels, playing it off like it was nothing, like he handed out sketches of women he barely knew all the time and this was just Tuesday. "There's a lot you don't know about me."
He said it so lightly, so smug and unbothered, already glancing toward the back room like the conversation was basically over as far as he was concerned. But you stood there holding the paper, and it didn't feel like nothing. It sat oddly heavy in your hands for something so light, some rough sketch on a torn page, and underneath the flattered laugh you wanted to give him, some quieter part of you registered how strange it was, that this cocky, lazy, infuriating guy had apparently sat somewhere and thought about you enough to draw you. Carefully. From memory.
You glanced up at him, a little shy suddenly, unsure what expression you were supposed to be making. He was still watching you, and when your eyes met his, he didn't look away first. It held a beat too long to be casual, no matter how casual he was pretending the whole thing was.
You folded the paper back up slowly, more carefully than you needed to, and it must have shown on your face, something warmer than you meant to let slip, because the corner of his mouth curled up just slightly wider, like he'd clocked it and was choosing not to say anything about it.
"Thanks," you said, quieter than you meant to.
"Yeah," Jeff said, easy as ever, shrugging one shoulder like it cost him nothing at all. "Whatever."
But he didn't look away, and neither did you, and it sat there between you a moment longer than it should have.
You cleared your throat, forcing your eyes away from his, tucking the folded paper into your bag like it was no big deal. "So, um, did you hear what happened to Andy's car?"
Jeff raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. "Nah. What happened."
"It got trashed," you said, shaking your head. "Like, badly. Windshield smashed, whole hood clawed up, mirror ripped clean off. He thinks it was some customer who got pissed about his prices." You winced just thinking about the photo. "It was really bad, Jeff. Like somebody went at it with a bat or something."
Jeff hummed, unbothered, nodding slowly like this tracked completely. "Yeah, that's crackheads for you," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "Get all worked up over a couple extra bucks. Lose their whole mind over it." He said it like it was just a fact of the universe, nothing more interesting than the weather.
"Right?" You nodded. "It really sucks, though. He can't even afford to fix it right now." You glanced toward the back room, then back at Jeff, giving him a pointed, meaningful look. "So, you know. If you wanted to tip well tonight. For his good service. Just saying."
Jeff huffed out a laugh, catching exactly what you were doing. "Oh, that's how it's gonna go, huh." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something a little more teasing, a little more pointed. "Tell you what, I'll tip real good, if you stop ignorin' my texts."
You gave him a look, one eyebrow raised, fighting back a smirk. "That's blackmail."
"That's negotiation," he corrected, grinning.
You crossed your arms, tilting your head like you were actually mulling it over, drawing it out just to mess with him. "Hmm. I don't know. That's a pretty steep price for a gas station tip–"
That's when the door to the back room swung open, and Andy reappeared, black bag in hand, glancing between the two of you with that same amused glint from before.
He glanced between the two of you, brow raised. "What're you two chattin' about?"
"Nothing," you said quickly, a little too quickly, "just, stuff."
Jeff glanced at you sideways, that smug little smirk tugging at his mouth like he knew exactly how bad that answer sounded, but he didn't say anything, just let you squirm for a second and enjoyed it.
Andy just chuckled, setting the black bag down on the counter. "Aight, well. Here you go, man." He rattled off the total. "That's gonna be three-fifty."
Jeff nodded, already digging the fold of cash back out of his pocket, thumbing through it lazily. He counted out what looked like nearly double the amount and dropped it on the counter without ceremony.
"Keep the rest," he said, glancing at you again, quick and pointed. "Gotta tip a man for speedy service."
You bit back a smile, glancing away before he could catch it fully, something warm and a little exasperated sitting in your chest.
Andy's eyes went wide for a second before a grin spread across his face. "Yo, " He grabbed the cash, genuinely thrown. "Damn, man, you didn't have to do that. For real. Appreciate it." He reached out and pulled Jeff into a quick, easy bro-hug, clapping him on the back once before stepping away.
"No worries," Jeff said, unbothered, already tucking his order away into his jacket.
The three of you headed for the door, and Andy flicked the lights off behind you one last time before locking up, the store going dark and quiet at your backs.
Jeff turned to Andy first, giving him a lazy nod. "I'll be seein' you around, man."
"For sure," Andy said, still grinning, tucking the cash away.
Then Jeff turned to you, pulling you into a hug, easy and unhurried, one arm looping around you, and this time you actually hugged him back, arms coming up around him instead of just letting it happen to you. He leaned in slightly, voice low, just for you.
"Your turn to hold up your end," he murmured.
You didn't say anything back, but the way you held on a beat longer than you needed to probably said enough.
He pulled back eventually, giving you one last look, that same easy smirk in place, then stepped away and gave a final nod before turning and heading off across the parking lot in the other direction, hands back in his pockets, unhurried as ever.
You ran a hand through your hair, watching him go, feeling strangely warm despite the cool night air.
When he finally disappeared around the corner, you turned back to find Andy already watching you with a knowing little look on his face, eyebrows raised.
"Shut up," you said immediately, before he could even open his mouth, already laughing.
Andy just cackled, throwing his hands up. "I didn't say anything!"
"You didn't have to."
The two of you walked at an easy pace, the night quiet around you except for the occasional distant car and the soft scuff of your shoes on the sidewalk. Andy was still in a good mood from the tip Jeff had left, cracking little jokes about how he might actually be able to put a new windshield on the sedan next week if business stayed steady. You laughed along, shoulder brushing his every so often, the ordinary rhythm of the walk almost enough to smooth over the strange weight of the day.
You thought about Jeff’s drawing in your bag, and you almost mentioned it, the fact that he’d drawn you at all, the careful way he’d shaded the cut on your throat, but the words felt too complicated to drag into the open right now. You let the thought go.
You were mid-sentence about something dumb, still smiling, when you rounded the final corner onto Andy’s street.
The smile faded.
Several cars were parked at odd angles in front of his place. Not the usual neighbor vehicles. The lights on one of them were still flashing in slow, muted rotations, that steady, authoritative pulse of red and blue against the dark siding of the house. Another car sat darker, unmarked, but positioned in a way that blocked the driveway.
You slowed without meaning to.
Andy squinted ahead, still walking for half a second longer than you did.
“What the fuck…” he muttered. Then the color drained out of his face so fast it was almost visible. “Are those cop cars?”
You reached for something calm, something reasonable.
“Maybe it’s nothing,” you said, though your own stomach had already dropped. “Could be something next door. Or a welfare check. People call those in all the time.”
But the closer you got, the clearer the picture became.
Two officers stood near the front walk. Another was by the unmarked car, radio at his shoulder. The way they were positioned, not frantic, not searching the yard, just waiting, made it obvious they weren’t here for the neighbors.
They were here for him.
Andy stopped walking entirely. His breath had gone shallow. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no,” He glanced at you, eyes wide and already calculating, the same look people get when every exit suddenly looks smaller than it did a second ago. For a split second you could see the thought cross his face clear as day: run.
You stepped closer and caught his sleeve.
“Hey. Keep calm,” you said, voice low and steady even though your own pulse was climbing. “Don’t do anything stupid. It’s probably a misunderstanding. Just… breathe. We’ll figure it out.”
He didn’t answer right away. His breathing had gone shallow. The easy, joking version of him from thirty seconds ago was gone, replaced by someone who suddenly looked very young and very scared under the streetlights as the distance between you and the waiting officers kept shrinking.
You approached the house slowly, the distance between the sidewalk and the front steps feeling much longer than usual. The low crackle of a radio and the quiet murmur of voices carried through the still night air.
One of the officers stepped forward as soon as you were within speaking distance. His tone was polite, measured, the kind of professional calm that somehow made everything feel heavier.
“Andrew Cole?”
Andy’s jaw tightened. For a second it looked like he might deny it, but he gave a short nod instead.
“Yeah. That’s me.”
The officer asked a few basic questions, confirming the address, whether he lived alone, whether anyone else was inside the house. Andy answered in short, careful sentences. You stood slightly behind and to the side of him, heart beating hard enough that you could feel it in your throat. Every answer seemed to close another small door.
Then the officer said they had a warrant and would be searching the residence.
Andy turned his head just enough to catch your eye. The look he gave you was brief and unmistakable. I’m cooked.
Your stomach dropped. A cold sweat prickled along the back of your neck and under your arms despite the mild night air. You tried to keep your face neutral, but the anxiety was already sitting heavy in your chest.
One of the other officers shifted attention toward you. “And you are?”
You gave your full name when asked. Your voice came out steadier than you expected.
“How do you know Mr. Cole?”
“We work together,” you said. “At the gas station. We just closed up. I was walking him home.”
The officer nodded, making a brief note, then glanced at the bag hanging from your shoulder.
“Would you mind if I took a look at your bag?”
Every part of you wanted to push back, to ask why, to ask if you were being detained, to put some edge in your voice the way you normally would. The words sat right behind your teeth. But one look at Andy’s rigid posture and the tight line of his mouth made you swallow them.
You didn’t want to make this any worse for him.
“Okay,” you said, and slipped the bag off your shoulder, holding it out.
They checked the bag thoroughly but briefly, then handed it back with a short nod.
“Thank you. Miss, you may stay on the sidewalk for the moment.”
You stepped back as instructed, arms wrapped around yourself even though the night wasn’t cold. Two of the officers turned their attention fully to Andy.
“Mr. Cole, is there anything inside the residence we should know about before we go in?”
Andy’s jaw worked once. His eyes stayed fixed on some point past their shoulders. He didn’t answer the question. Instead he said, voice low and flat, “I want a lawyer.”
That was all.
They nodded like they’d expected it, then moved toward the house. You stood on the sidewalk under the streetlight and watched them disappear inside. The minutes stretched. Ten of them, maybe a little more. Every sound that came from the open front door, footsteps, the low exchange of voices, the occasional shift of furniture, made your stomach twist tighter. Andy didn’t look at you during that time. He just stood where they’d left him, hands visible, shoulders rigid, staring at the ground like he was already somewhere else.
When the officers came back out, the shift in the air was immediate and final.
They had found what they needed - Andy's stash.
Andy was placed under arrest in the front yard in full view of the quiet street. The cuffs went on with the soft, irreversible sound of metal closing. One of the officers began speaking the standard rights in a calm, practiced voice. Andy didn’t resist. He didn’t argue. He just stood there and let it happen, the last of the easy, joking energy from the walk completely gone.
Only when they started guiding him toward one of the cars did he finally look at you.
Your eyes had already started to sting. You could feel the heat building behind them, the first tears threatening to spill whether you wanted them to or not.
Andy saw it.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough but steady. “Don’t cry. It’s aight. For real.” He tried for a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay? Just… hold it down at the store for me in the meantime.”
You took a step forward without thinking. “Let me come with you. Please. Just to the station. I can wait, I can find out what’s going on, I can–”
One of the officers moved slightly into your path, polite but firm. “Miss, I need you to stay back. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”
“Please,” you said again, the word cracking. “He’s my friend. I just want to know where they’re taking him, how long this is going to–”
“Miss.” The same calm, professional tone. “Step back.”
You stopped. Your hands were shaking. The tears you’d been trying to hold finally slipped over and ran down your face as they opened the back door of the cruiser and guided Andy inside. He kept his eyes on you through the window for as long as he could, mouthing something that might have been it’s okay or don’t worry, before the door shut and cut him off from view.
The cars pulled away one after another, red and blue lights washing briefly over the front of his house and the empty street before the night swallowed them. You were left standing alone on the sidewalk with the heavy, sick knowledge that the strange bad feeling you’d carried all day had finally found its shape.
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 11.4K, original!blackfemreader, domestic!countrylifecoded, fiancè!suguru, mechanic!suguru, southerncoded!suguru, southernfiancè!femreader, aggressive!suguru, sweet!suguru, dominant!suguru, fingering, clit rubbing, pet names! dirty talk!, aggressive pet names!, titty sucking, squirting, creaming, condomless sex, pussy eating, slightly submissive suguru, dick sucking, overstimulation, talks of religion and marriage, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— i know y’all missed sweet baby suguru, i know i have. this is my favorite fic i’ve ever written for him. not too much to say—heavy talks of religion comin’ from a christian girly; so this was definitely personal for me. love you guys.
YOUR LEFT PALM STAINED WITH INK, BLEMISHED AS YOU FINISHED OFF THE FINAL SENTENCE IN YOUR JOURNAL. You had a lot on your mind at this moment, hoping that gathering your words on paper would help for a future conversation—one that you knew you’d disagree with your fiancè about.
You enjoyed the early morning of Sundays. It felt like the opportunity to clean your slate of everything that happened a month prior, forgiving yourself of all the mistakes you made, hoping blessings would come in return. But nothing felt more rewarding than the love you received when meeting him.
Maybe it was his looks—dark, long midnight hair that fell past his shoulders, wafting with the scent of his cologne that was a mixture of patchouli and tobacco. The fullness of his eyebrows that furrowed in a natural glare, piercing within his left side glinting each time he frowned. Big, broad body that was inked up like a flash sheet at a tattoo shop, just coaxing you in.
But no, it was more than that. It was the cadence of his deep voice, the puff of smoke that released his full lips with every cigarette he smoked, the way his large palms raked through his hair when he was frustrated—the way he peppered you in affection despite his attitude, the way he fucked you despite his attitude, the way he loved you despite his attitude, the way he protected you despite his attitude—He was yours, as you were his.
Of course you had to marry him.
But with every love, came a price. A sacrifice. One thing you knew about your fiancé, as much as he worshipped the ground you walked on? He always told you where you were wrong.
Back to the point of enjoying Sundays, you’d read a new scripture from your Bible, closing it with a soft hum as you finished. Your eyes flickered to the door leading downstairs—his territory, never yours. The industrial architecture of your condo was built by the hands of your fiancè, who’d structured the second level to be the house itself—sleek black interior, soft dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling to give a more vintage feel. He’d known your wants of a home that looked as if you lived in New York, as you were settled within the city of New Orleans.
A garage. Your fiancè spent most of his time down there—customizing, repairing, or maintaining vehicles brought to him as downtown's most known mechanic. You were used to the rumble of alternative metal music trembling the walls upstairs, and oftentimes you could endure it—but at this moment? Not so much.
Maybe you wanted to butter him up as well.
The wine red slip dress you wear flows on your body perfectly, the bounce of your ass peeking from the bottom as you stand within the kitchen—your curls clasped onto a dark cherry claw clip, Vera Wang glasses tilting at the bridge of your freckled nose.
Your palm wraps along the knob of the garage door, a whoosh of motor oil consuming your nose as you pad your feet down each step—and there he was.
My Own Summer, by DEFTONES echoed within the walls of the halfway opened garage, the sun of the morning attempting to peek in from under. His back was facing you, tattoos sunken into his entire upper body—black ink traced beneath the white wife beater he wears, having a bit of oil smudged across the material. His arms flexed as he kneeled further into the hood of a Ford F250, hair draped in a messy tie at the back of his head.
That’s when your soft voice carries beneath the music, “Workin’ hard?”
He didn’t even flinch—he could always tell when you were near.
“‘Truck is old as hell,” he grunts, “My customers expectin’ a miracle.”
His fingers tugged at the bolts within the truck’s hood, the low murmur of a cigarette hung between his lips as he spoke to you.
You hum, “You’ve always been good with your hands—I’m sure you can work somethin’ out.”
A puff of smoke, and then, a chuckle.
“Babydoll,” he husks, “Always the optimistic one.”
Hazel irises flick up, taking his hands away from the hood.
“You hate comin’ down here. You’ alright?”
“Just missed you.”
He was a silent killer, undressing you with his vision in milliseconds. They traced everywhere—the dark tresses of your curls, your heart shaped lips, snubbed nose and deep brown freckles on your caramel face—your nipples mirror your complexion through the thin cotton material of your slip, curved figure full as if you’d given birth.
He could damn near smell it on you, that you wanted something.
“‘Missed me, huh?” his voice lowering, “You sure?”
Your glasses slide a bit lower on your nose, an annoying habit as you push them up—you ask in the most innocent way, “Want some company?”
“C’mere.”
You make your way over to him, giggling softly as he instantly cuffs you by the fat of your ass. Your arms wrap along his neck, his large frame looming as he has to lower himself a bit to your comfort.
Your nose scrunches at the smoke that hazes against your face, “You have to do that this early in the morning?”
He smirks down at your little scrunch. That only makes him pull you closer, hands squeezing your flesh through the slip, the other pulling his cigarette for another puff.
“Open.”
Your mouth immediately obeyed, parting your lips for him. He flicks his ashy cigarette between finger and thumb, blowing a thick plume of smoke at you—the puff of sharp smoke billows into your mouth, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks in return.
You take the bud from him, pressing it between your lips as you inhale, sticking the cigarette between your pointer and middle finger as you blow, “You need to quit.”
“‘Gives me a big knoggin’,” he exhales, “You gon’ smoke it, or keep talkin’ shit?”
A roll to your eyes comes at that. You place it back between his lips, tightening your arms around his neck as you question, “Did you sleep well?”
“Slept just fine, darlin’,” he pauses, taking another puff, “You?”
“Like a baby,” you hum, mouth inches away from his—you inhale the scent of his cologne, exhaling as you say, “Come upstairs. I made breakfast.”
“Oh?” he cocks an eyebrow, “You made breakfast?”
He’s already pulling you away from the truck, keeping arm secured around your waist as his free hand shuts off the music from the speakers.
“Didn’t burn anythin’, did you?”
“I poisoned it.”
He could feel your body going to pull away, but a grunt has him tighten his arm around you, making you grin as you try to hide your amusement.
“Where’re you goin’?”
He spanks your ass, “What happened to breakfast, huh? Not gonna’ feed a growin’ man?”
“Be nice, Suguru,” you pout, “I’m sensitive.”
“You’re a brat is what you are,” he counters, clutching your chin.
When he sees the genuine frown on your lips, he dips his mouth down—his hair nearly brushed against the cheeks of your face as he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”
His grip then softens on your jaw, “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, doll,” he assures, “I promise.”
It was rare to get an apology out of him. Not like this, at least. You figured, maybe he really was in a good mood.
“‘S okay—I love you, bunny.”
You called him by a nickname that wasn’t his favorite, something you found yourself saying as he showed his sweet side. But of course, your tongue laps out for a kiss that might’ve overshadowed that.
A mixture of a groan and huff follows as one hand tangled into your dark tendrils, holding you still as he slotted his mouth against yours in return. He loved you right back.
Suguru carried you up the stairs as he closed the door with his foot, attempting to persuade you into taking a shower with him before he ate breakfast. He promised kisses, and much more, but you were too into journaling to accept such an exciting offer. So, he promised to see you after.
You’d made him French toast sprinkled in sugar powder, scrambled eggs and bacon alongside a cup of coffee. When you hear the hefty thump of his returning steps, his long hair was now damp from washing it, grey tee snug on his muscular upper body, enhancing the ink on his ivory complexion—your left hand continuously scribbled off, full lips twisting a straw in between as you drank your morning matcha.
“You’re too good to me, you know that?”
You hear that grunt before you feel it, a soft hum sounding from your nose as you feel his arms wrap along your hips from behind. The scent of his cologne masks your senses as he buries his face within your neck, smelling the vanilla oil you dabbed along it.
“I’m still gon’ be good after I tell you there was no pancake batter?”
You lean into him, continuously writing within your journal, “You forgot to pick some up last night.”
“You forgot to remind me.”
His nose nuzzled into the space of your neck, inhaling the rice milk scented soap, a deep sense of satisfaction settling within his chest.
“What’re you writin’?” he murmured, attempting to peek at the open journal.
“You know my rule—no peeking,” You reach forward, tugging a newspaper behind yourself, “Go eat.”
“Yes ma’am,” he grumbles, pressing one final kiss to the side of your neck, before begrudgingly pulling away.
Suguru’s broad shoulders stretched against the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing the strength beneath—He wore it like a second skin, his physique evident through every stitch—The dark material hugged tight around his muscular frame, matching sweatpants giving no modesty as you could easily find the weight ot his dick between his spread legs. The chair groaned under his body, his imposing presence making it seem almost miniature in comparison.
Even when he was eating, he was loud, taking huge bites out of the French toast, bacon crunching between his teeth before he washed it down with a swig of coffee. The newspaper you offered to him was already sprawled open, fingers flipping through the pages as he ate.
“Cat stuck in a tree?” You tease, taking another sip of your matcha, “What’s in the news today?”
“Funny,” he sarcastically drawls, completely engrossed in the section he reads, “Shootin’,” he then mumbled, “Down by the Garden District. Three dead, one injured.”
He pauses, expression sobering.
“They were kids, Baby. Not even twenty yet.”
“Jesus,” you sigh, “By the Garden District? You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he confirms, “It was a drive-by, happened around two in the mornin’. Probably some college kids fuckin’ around.”
“How’s your parents’ market doing Uptown?” You question, your voice carrying more concern, “Any trouble around there?”
“Uptown’s fine,” he assures, his tone firm as he shakes his head, “They’re always busy. Nothin’ too bad happens in the gentrified areas, you know that.”
You have the urge to feel his touch at your anxiety—you’re walking over to where he sits, wrapping your arms along his shoulders from behind—your palm slides across his hair, “I’m not so sure—somewhere like the Garden District having crime? It’s gettin’ scary being here.”
The second you made contact, he was leaning back into your front, allowing you to run your fingers through his hair.
“It’s always been scary,” he points out.
Suguru’s free hand settles along your forearm, anchoring you close against his back. His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your skin as he continued eating.
“That’s why we live in Lakeview—I got you, remember? You’re safe, stop worryin’.”
This seemed like a good transition into what you really wanted to say.
You peck the side of his face as you lean forward, right against his ear as you hum, “‘Wasn’t really worried about me.”
You give it a second of silence, “I spoke to my parents today.”
“You should talk to them. It’s First Sunday.”
Okay, here was the thing. Your parents lived about twenty minutes away from you—but it’s not like they knew that. You’d run away from a pious environment years ago like a thief in the night, going a long time without talking to your family. Despite the resentment you held, Suguru’s Japanese background made him an extremely prideful man—keeping a bond with your family was important regardless of the issues you had with them, he said.
Your voice draws a bit of irritation, “I’m shocked you’re pining for them, considering they don’t know you.”
“You chose to hide me from your family. Not the other way around.”
You frown, “I have my reasons, Suguru. You know that.”
“What’s the excuse? You haven’t even told them we’re about to get married, ‘cause what? The shit isn’t happenin’ in some church with a pastor?”
Yup, there it was.
Growing up in a religious home the way you did was overbearing, overwhelming, and closed you off to the life you could’ve had as a young adult. It created a resentment of others not like you, with your parents, with God, and kept you entirely shelled up until your late twenties.
Eventually you found your way back to the Bible, meeting Suguru not too long after, who was nothing like you—being an Asian man growing up in Louisiana, his parents were different from the traditional culture they provided back home. With that insouciant upbringing, your fiancé was in fact atheist, and had no belief of a man up above.
It caused a lot of disagreements between you two when it came to certain topics—but you were always understanding of each other in the end, and he always appreciated your prayer over him, no matter what he felt about it.
But this wasn’t about how you felt—your domineering parents were the concern when it came to you being married, and although you did a good job of keeping your life private—this time, you wanted them to be included. Their blessing, essentially.
But that didn’t come too easy when you had a man that didn’t think God was in between your relationship, or parents that seemed to think otherwise.
Your arms slide from his chest, “I’m gonna go finish writing in the room.”
“So you’re mad now?”
You’re nearly halfway down the hall as you hear him call, “You walkin’ away from me?”
That had you turn around, “Why are you tryna’ make me do this? You want me to be good with my parents, but you refuse to not bring up the fact that you’re atheist, knowing they’re gonna have a problem with that!”
“I don’t need your parents' approval. I wouldn’t give a fuck whether they accepted me or not,” he reminds you, “This marriage is between you and me—but I know how you feel about keepin’ this from them.”
You frown, “And that’s not what you’re seeming to understand, Getou. They’re not gonna accept this at all if they hear something like that.”
“So I’m Getou now?”
He was exhausted with this ongoing argument, the same one you’ve both had numerous times over. The subject was a delicate balancing act, teetering on the edge of the emotional. No matter how many times you tried to find a resolution, it always ended up in a heated discussion.
“You think I don’t know my own parents?”
“Baby—for so long, all you’ve ever wanted to do is mend shit with them.”
“It’s not just about me, Suguru!” you exclaim, cutting him off, “This affects us both—“
“I don’t need no blessin’. I’d kill for you, die for you. None of that has changed since the day we met.”
Your jaw clenches at his words.
You sigh, “All I’m asking is that you not bring all that up to them, Suguru. Why do you have to be so prideful?”
“Prideful?”
His jaw was now clenching in return.
“The shit is called honesty—Somethin’ you’ve already failed to do by keepin’ this from them. Me bein’ atheist' ain’t gonna be the first topic of conversation.”
“It’s prideful when you have to rub it in somebody’s face,” you cross your arms over your chest, “What would you get out of that argument?”
“You think I’m tryna’ go there intentionally startin’ an argument? That’s what you think?”
Your shoulders slouch, “I didn’t say that, Suguru.”
The way you soften your tone had him releasing the built up tension in his own jaw, hazel irises following your form. He huffs, standing from the chair to cross his arms over his chest as well.
“Let’s talk, baby. I’m not tryna’ argue,” his voice is just above a murmur—softer.
“I’m saying—“
You halt, your fingers fidgeting against your forearms. His eyebrow piercing shifts, sculpted face watching you, anticipating the rest of your sentence.
“My parents are strict. You know that. I’m trying to learn to forgive them and myself for the distance we have, and upsetting them isn’t gonna help the situation. I respect your morals, you know that. But they won’t. And the one thing I want is for them to love you just as much as I do.”
He couldn’t stay away from you any longer, taking a step closer.
“…They don’t gotta’ love me,” he finally murmurs, “You do. That’s all I need. I’m not tryna’ cause trouble between you and your parents, baby—I’d never do that. But I’m a grown ass man, and I’m not gonna’ put up a front for anybody.”
This wasn’t necessarily the answer you wanted—but one thing about your fiancé, he loved you more than the world, and he loved himself enough to be true to his word.
Your arms wrap around his hips, burying yourself within his chest as you exhale, “You’re warm.”
“Warm?” he repeats, a chuckle escaping him as his arms wrap tight around your shoulders, “You’re always cold.”
You give yourself a moment of silence, just being with him.
“They wanna meet you.”
“When?”
“…Tonight?”
Suguru’s body tenses.
“They said First Sunday would be a good time to bless our relationship, pray over new beginnings, stuff like that—I told them okay,” you rush by your own words, as if you didn’t know what his reaction would be.
And in return, your fiancé said—
“Shit.”
A couple of hours had gone by, and you were now sitting at the edge of the bed, watching Suguru swim through his articles of clothing as you tried to find something—presentable.
You shook your head, “Absolutely nothing short sleeved. You look like you’re in the Yakuza.”
He had been attempting to pull on a white tee, which you immediately tugged off his arms, tossing the material aside, “Next.”
“You sayin’ I don’t look presentable?”
“I’m saying I need you to look less like a bad boy,” you mutter, swimming your arms through his clothes on the floor—you stop, “How about a V—neck sweater, yeah? Does that say sweet boy?”
“I could still fuck you in a V—neck.”
You glare, “Are you trying to help? Or just be a smart ass?”
“Help.”
The best thing you could find was a long sleeve black tee, a sigh pulling at your lips as you question, “Got any slacks?”
“Did you forget everythin’ ‘bout me? Slacks? Don’t make me scream.”
“Suguru,” you whine, “Please just help me.”
The sound of your whine has him suck his teeth, pushing himself off the wall to begin rummaging through the clothing piled along the floor.
He crouched down to where the pants were, pulling out a pair of dark jeans as he tossed them on the bed, “That’s all I got, baby.”
The outfit you had to settle on was a long sleeve that unfortunately clung to his muscular build, equally dark jeans, boots and a belt along his waist.
Suguru stood below the ventilation in your bathroom as he lit a cigarette, leaning his head back as you attempted to brush his hair up into a more neat bun. When your eyes flicker to him in the mirror, the sight of smoke exhaling from his full lips, his Adam’s apple throbbing beneath the tattoos on his neck—you nearly facepalm yourself, murmuring, “This is hopeless.”
“Why are we even dressin’ nice? We’re sittin’ at the dinner table—or would you just be happier if I got naked?”
“I’m ignoring you,” you deadpan, “Just go sit on the bed while I get ready. Can you do that? And not make fun of me?”
“Gotta’ give me a kiss, bunny.”
He called you that in return when you were the opposite of sweet.
“And then you’ll leave me alone?”
“Promise.”
A palm comes to grab your chin, thumb gently grazing along your bottom lip as he plants his mouth against yours, “You’re cute.”
“I bet I’ll be adorable once I put my foot up your ass.”
The unfortunate issue was that you also didn’t have the best clothes to see your parents. So you settled for a black halter top secured by one shoulder, strings tying the material to your elongated waist similar to a corset, jeans molding your full hips, heels on your French tipped toes to pull the look together. You decided not to go heavy on the makeup today, your freckles sprucing heavily upon your nose—curls spiraling around your face, enhancing the natural flush of your caramel cheeks.
You did a spin within the mirror as you called out, “Baby? You like it?”
His eyes were already locked onto you the second you emerged from the bathroom, scanning over your curves clad in the form fitting material. A slight nod of his head comes in response, hands buried deep within his pockets, “You look good, pretty girl."
“Aww—you’re so sweet today, bunny,” you pout, hearing his grunt as you plop down onto his lap.
You hold his cheeks within your palms, “Today’s gonna be a good day, right?”
“Best day of my life.”
“Mhmm—And you’ll be good today?” You kneel your forehead against his, “‘Cause you love me?”
“You know I’m always good,” he murmured against your lips, a smirk at his mouth, “You doubtin’ me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Yeah, okay.”
The Garden District was one of the most picturesque areas in all of New Orleans, situated in the heart of the city. Known for its nineteenth century architecture, the neighborhood is filled with the smell of freshly cut flowers and the sight of grand gardens—hence the name. The houses were known for being beautiful, almost like works of art themselves.
Your fiancè leaned back against the seat of his black Subaru, twisting the wheel effortlessly as his GPS took him in the direction of a gated house—no, a mansion.
“Damn,” Suguru murmurs, eyes peering up as he pulls in the circular driveway of the home, the outside of the house looking like something out of a movie. The mansion was made of bricks and granite, surrounded by massive oak trees sitting on a perfectly manicured lawn.
You sigh to yourself, “The fortunes of being a well known pastor.”
“You sure he isn’t a drug lord and just kept it from you?”
“Suguru.”
“Damn, tough crowd.”
An older woman wearing a lemon patterned dress exits the house, hands clapping together when she sees the two of you stepping out the car.
“You made it!”
The woman’s voice was laced with a distinct creole accent.
You shriek, wrapping your arms around the neck of your family’s housekeeper—Hazel, who’d been in the house as long as you’d been born.
“I’ve missed you,” you sigh, squeezing her tighter, “And your delicious cooking.”
“I’ve missed you too, baby,” she returns the hug with a laugh, clucking as her hands rest against your shoulders, “Have you been treating yourself? You look wonderful,” she playfully taps the fullness of your hips, laughing once more.
The elder woman’s gaze shifted to your fiancé, dark brown eyes trailing over his built figure, “And you’re the young man who’s stolen my sweet babydoll away, ain’t you?”
Despite being a towering figure looming over the smaller women, a boyish grin spread along his face, gauges within his ears swinging as he extended a large palm for her to take, “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
Hazel nearly yanks him down as she takes his face within her palms, squeezing his cheeks, “Mwen pa t 'konnen ou te renmen gason Japonè—“
“Pa gen kreyòl devan lòt moun ki pa ka konprann li,” your face flushes as you rush through the creole dropping from your own lips, “Please, Hazel.”
She clicks her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest, “You’re big, huh?”
“Guilty,” he answers, a slight smirk upon his face, “Always makin’ sure to eat all the food your babydoll cooks.”
She merely huffed at the smugness of his tone, “Cocky, too.”
You roll your eyes, “How are you doing, Hazel?”
“I’m exhausted, honey girl, but I can’t complain, y’know?”
She sighs nonetheless, walking back towards the front door, “C’mon—let’s get you inside. Your parents are dyin’ to see you!”
A nervous knot formed within your stomach as you followed close behind Hazel, Suguru’s footsteps heavy as he walked beside you. You hadn’t seen your parents in years.
They could be the same.
But they could be completely different—
No.
You had to remain optimistic.
Your palm felt shaky beneath your fiancés, eyes peering at the golden trimmed ceiling—you felt a small tug as he pulled you closer to him, “You good?”
“Yeah,” your voice is soft, pressing your palm into his chest, “Just a little nervous.”
The inside was something out of an interior design magazine; white painted walls to offset the various floral rugs spread along the hardwood floors, framed family photos, and a tabletop filled with fresh cut roses.
“You got nothin’ to worry about, babydoll. Just breathe, a’right?”
“You’ll love me? Even if this is the worst experience ever?” You question, your finger rubbing at the gauge of his ear, pushing the tendrils of fallen hair from his jaw.
“You think you got’ enough reasons for me not to?”
You sigh, giving a weak laugh.
“You’re a dork.”
“Cheri?”
That name—one you were called all the time as a child.
Your eyes flick over, and that’s when you see them—your parents.
Your father stands over six feet—a height you hadn’t adorned, soft brown waves dusted with strands of silver and a well kept beard, a slight paunch to his stomach. He’s dressed in casual beige slacks and a button up, a Rolex watch along his wrist.
Your mother is inches shorter in height, wearing a floral patterned dress under a cardigan. She’s adorned with a tennis bracelet and pearl earrings, bob curled perfectly above her shoulders.
Your mother, ever the sunshine, gives you a warm smile as she steps forward, “Baby—look at you,” she croons, cupping your cheek within her hand, “You’re as lovely as ever.”
“Momma.”
You don’t know why you feel tears within your eyes, but you instantly bury yourself into the brace of your mother, your body shaking as you tremble, “Hi.”
Your mother’s arms wrapped around you tightly, hushing a soothing noise to calm your tears, "Shhh—ma chiot, you’re okay.”
“I’ve missed you so much,” you murmur to her, “I love you so much.”
She presses her hands against the sides of your face, her thumb swiping away the tears that streamed down your freckled cheeks, “I love you too, cheri,” she gives you a reassuring smile, “It’s been too long—“
“S’bout time you come home.”
You stiffen. Your eyes slowly pull away from your mother, finding your father’s displeased ones.
Your mother takes your hand in hers, “Ignore him—how about you introduce me to this handsome man of yours?”
You briefly swipe the tears from your face—Your free hand takes hold of Suguru’s, “Momma, this is my fiancé—Suguru Getou.”
“Your what?”
A loud swallow came from your throat as you gulped, “Yeah, we’re getting married in September—how about we talk about this at the dinner table, yeah?”
Your father’s mouth opened to speak, but was shut off by your mother’s hand covering his palm—she gave you a slight nod, lips pressed together in a tight smile.
“Right,” she manages, “Dinner.”
Here was the thing. Suguru was a man that didn’t say too much—he just observed—like now. Your father hadn’t acknowledged him, greeted him, even asked for a handshake. Suguru could tell that he was a man full of pride, and having his daughter come in with news as big as marriage? Probably wasn’t off to a good impression. But that didn’t irritate Suguru any less.
Your mother and father sat next to one another as you and Suguru sat across the dining table—It began awkwardly, nothing but the noise of silverware scraping against the plates as Caesar salad was the appetizer.
You couldn’t bear to have this entire dinner be silent and uncomfortable.
So you push, “What’s Hazel cooking tonight?”
“Gumbo.”
That was the only word that came from your father, and you found no interest in trying to add anything else. Though, you could feel the agitation rolling off of your fiancé without having to look.
“Your father helped Hazel in the kitchen a bit,” your mother smiles, attempting to keep the conversation going by any means necessary—she was trying.
Hazel thankfully waltzed into the room, the rich scent of gumbo wafting in the air with its warm aroma—A smile adorned her lips as she approached the table, beginning to fill each bowl with the soup.
“Mmm,” Hazel lets out a hum of contentment, “That smells good, doesn’t it?”
Your mother couldn’t help but agree, “It does, Hazel.”
She then adds on, “Your father did a sermon in Houston not too long ago, babydoll.”
You raise your eyebrows, “Really? How was that?”
“Fine,” is the word you received from your father.
Fine.
“Just fine?”
You see your mother make a face—one that you usually gave your fiancé at times, almost like a warning.
“It went well,” he then murmured, picking up the glass of his wine to take a sip, “It was for a big family’s church. They’re a generous group.”
“Right,” you hum softly—at this point, you’re not even sure what to say. So you end up circling back to the first topic of conversation, “Suguru is really good at making Gumbo too, Dad. His parents own a Market in Uptown—right, baby?”
The moment you mention Suguru, your father’s eyes flick over to his form, observing him from head to toe.
Nothing.
Somehow, your fiancè seemed relaxed. His expression was calm, a forced grin upon his face as he nodded, “I’m pretty good in the kitchen, yeah.”
“Sounds like you’re feeding my cheri well,” your mother smiles, “Is she feeding you the same?”
He nods once more, hand tightening on your thigh for a short moment, “More than well, ma’am. She’s real good to me—probably tryna’ fatten me up.”
You giggle, lightly swatting his chest in return. You say, “I’m not—“
“So you work in a market?”
The attention is pulled away between you and your fiancé, hearing the question come from your father.
You answer, “Um—no, Daddy—Suguru is actually a mechanic.”
“Mechanic?”
There was something within your father’s tone that sounded almost disgusted. Your back straightens at hearing it.
“Yes, sir. My parents own a market up town—not that anythin’ would be wrong with me workin’ under their business—“ he looks directly to your father, “I own an auto shop. ‘Specialize in Japanese imports to Louisiana.”
“I see.”
Your mother, however, seemed more pleased, “My—You have a business? That’s wonderful—my husband still doesn’t know his way around cars too much, it’s good we now have a mechanic in the family, huh?”
“Family?”
Your father’s brows furrowed.
“This one here”—he refers to you—”Hasn’t mentioned anything that sounds like a wedding date, so I’d be careful throwin’ the term ‘family’ around.”
Your father’s words left a silence hanging over the entire room. You felt the grip of Suguru’s hand on your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh as if to calm down his irritation.
“September, actually.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, “We’re tryna’ find a venue in Kyoto.”
“As in Japan, Kyoto?” your mother repeats.
“Yeah,” you smile, “I’ve always wanted to go there, and—Suguru figured it’d be the perfect opportunity to bring our family’s together,” you nod, slipping your fingers between his own, squeezing for comfort.
Here comes the main topic of discussion. Your father asks—
“Have you found a church?”
Your lips pressed together.
Your voice is soft, “No, Daddy. We um—we decided not to do it within a church.”
Both of your parents’ eyebrows shot up in surprise at your statement—But it was your mother that voiced the question, “You’re not?”
The air around the table was growing tenser by the second.
“I want somewhere outside—probably a garden or something,” you explain, knowing you were trying to hide behind that response.
“There are plenty of church venues with gardens in their backyard, cheri. Have you not liked any of the ones you looked at?”
“There’ve been many,” you murmur softly, “But—“
“I’m not a religious man, sir.”
Your eyes pop from their sockets, not expecting Suguru to say exactly what you begged him not to say.
Your mother nearly choked on her food, your father’s frown heavy over your fiancé— a slight pause of silence hangs in the air before speaking, “You’re not a Christian?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve never been able to get behind it,” he replied simply, “Never clicked with me.”
“You believe religion is a lie?”
“Dad—“
“Not necessarily a lie,” Suguru replied easily, “‘Just ain’t a factor in my own personal beliefs.”
“Suguru—“
“Let him speak.”
The sharpness in your father’s tone had you immediately snapping your mouth shut, shoulders visibly tensing—this wasn’t going how you wanted it to.
Your father’s jaw clenched as he took in Suguru’s words, “You’re aware you’re marryin’ into a religious family, right?”
“Absolutely. I love your daughter more than anythin’ in this world, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with her beliefs, just like she doesn’t have to agree with mine.”
“So you think my daughter is going to change her beliefs just to please you?”
Suguru’s eyes narrowed, “I never said that.”
“Sure sounds like that’s what you’re implying,” Your father hissed, “Converting others isn’t too far after abandoning a religion.”
Your mother tries to step in, “Honey—“
“Your daughter is an intelligent woman, sir. Nothin’ is gonna’ change my relationship with her—including religion, or lack thereof.”
“And that’s where your problem lies, Suguru. You don’t think religion is relevant, even though it’s the cornerstone that humans built upon—you don’t think it’s a factor in what drives us as people? How do you think you got that shop of yours? How your parents' market is still in business? How any of your successes come into your life? God did that.”
You see the way Suguru’s jaw clenches, “I don’t need religion to keep me goin’. I got your daughter, my family, myself. The same strength I always had comes from inside—It has nothin’ to do with some metaphorical bullshit up in the clouds.”
A fist slams down against the table.
Your father’s palm nearly made the dishes jump, “You don’t speak about God that way in this house!”
Hearing Hazel push through the swinging door of the kitchen from the commotion, your mother places her hand upon her husband's chest, “You both need to calm down!”
“I need to calm down?” Your father hissed, “This is your daughters doing!”
“I didn’t come here to make you upset,” you try to intervene, “I just wanted you to accept the man I loved—“
“You thought this was the way you’d get my blessing? Disappearing for years, coming back with a man that spits in the face of my morals? Disrespecting me?”
You frown, “I never disrespected you, Dad.”
Your father’s eyes were nearly bulging.
“You chose him over God.”
The silence that followed was suffocating, stifling. Hearing him say exactly how he felt was painful, and it nearly clasped your emotions by the throat.
Your head slowly shook from side to side, voice shaky, “I didn’t choose anyone over God— nothing is wrong with him being different from me!”
“He can’t be different from you—he’s supposed to be on your level,” your father snaps, eyes flashing with anger, “You’ve chosen a future with this man—With this—low life!”
“Daddy!—“
“I ain’t no fuckin’ low life,” Suguru snarls, “You don’t know shit about me. You don’t even know your own goddamn daughter.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about my own daughter!”
The chair legs shriek against the floorboards as the men both stood from the table—your father stood at his full height, but he was nowhere near as physically imposing as Suguru.
You were in absolute shock—your palms tug at Suguru’s arm, pleading for him to calm down, your mothers creole echoing across the room as she tries to calm her own husband, “Sispann sa! Ou pa ta dwe goumen ak pitit fi ou yo—“
“You did this.”
Your father looks directly at you.
A mixture of absolute disappointment and betrayal was carved all over your father’s face as he spoke, the words hitting you like a truck, “You chose this.”
The silence felt like an eternity—Your face remained blank, completely frozen in shock as the words registered within your brain.
“Dad—“
“Cheri,” your mom interrupted, “Please.”
Your mouth clasps shut. This was all your fault, it had to be. All the years you could’ve opened yourself to them, all the apologies that could’ve come before. They were hurt.
The kitchen door swung as your father exited through there, leaving the three of you standing in place.
Suguru frowns, “I wanna apologize—“
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Suguru.”
Your mother’s voice was soft, hand placed within a gentle hold at your shoulder, trying to sooth you as much as she was capable of, “I wanted to calm the situation down before it got worse. It’s just—different. It’s very different.”
She could feel you nearly trembling under her hand. Another beat of silence, she then asks, “Do you smoke, chou?” she questions your fiancé.
You could feel the anger burning off him. But out of respect, he gives your mother a nod, low voice responding, “Yes ma’am.”
“How about you get comfortable in cheri’s old bedroom, hm? I can’t allow you to drive home after an upsetting situation—there’s a terrace for you to smoke, Suguru.”
Your voice is tired, “Momma, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking,” she smiles, “You’re too old to believe anything should come from you asking me to do so.”
Her fingers brush at your hair, pushing it back from your face—she could see the frown in your eyebrows, rubbing your cheeks as she hums, “Pa gen devan, lanmou mwen.”
She then turns back to Suguru, “How about you get a head start? Hazel will show you up, provide towels if you’d like to prep for bed—I’d like to speak to my daughter, alone.”
Even if the request was phrased as a soft command, there was no room for refusal, and he knew that. He merely nodded, glancing towards you one last time—the grip he had on your hand was tighter as he looked over your face. Then, he let go. It felt cold without him.
Once being left in the dining room by yourselves, your mother sits in a chair beside the table—she pats the one beside her, “Come sit, chou.”
The moment you sit next to her, she presses her palms against the floral of her dress. She hums to you, “Do you remember the story of Joseph and the Colorful Coat?”
“I don’t know if I’m in the mood to hear a sermon, momma.”
An airy laugh comes from your mother, “You’re not getting a sermon, I’m simply reminding you.”
She leans back in her seat, a reminiscing look coming to her expression as she spoke, “Joseph is one of the most important figures out of the Bible. Do you remember why?”
You shake your head, “Not really.”
Your mother sighs, fingers curling gently around the hem of her dress, “Joseph was favored by his father. This favoritism, however, was hated by his brothers—and out of anger, they sold him as a slave. He was taken to Egypt, where he was then raised up as a servant, and grew into a man of success and power—even while being under the control of someone else, his life had a purpose.”
Your brows furrow a bit, taking in her words.
“I don’t really know where you’re tryna’ take this story, Momma.”
Your mother smiles once more, tilting her head so that her face rests against her palm, “Patience, babydoll.”
She exhales, “One day, he reunites with his brothers. Even after they did him wrong—he forgave them—but he didn’t just forgive them. He helped them.”
Her next words were delivered with soft intonation.
“He was able to turn a hardship into something so beautiful.”
Her hand rested on your own, “You’re just like Joseph, mon cheri.”
“Mama…”
“You’re not perfect,” she admits softly, “And neither am I, neither is your father—None of us are. Everyone in this world has a story— with those flaws being reminded, you have to forgive those who hurt you in order to move forward.”
You didn’t realize your vision had blurred—all of the pain you felt over the years, the strain of your parents—you had to remember that they also hurt from the distance you’d put between them.
You wrap your arms around your mother’s neck, your tears burying within her shoulder. You cry, “I’m so sorry, Momma. I just—“ you sniffle, “I just didn’t know how to come back. I wanted to live for me, and Dad wouldn’t—“
“I know, baby—“ she held you, gently rocking you side to side beneath her chin, “But your father loves you, and he’s sorry too. He’s just—a dummy, as you kids say.”
That makes you giggle through your tears, hugging her tighter than before.
She then says, “You’re marrying a man just as stubborn as him, you know.”
You keep your cheek within her shoulder, swiping your tears as you murmur, “I’m sorry about dinner tonight.”
“Don’t apologize,” she insists softly, voice tender and filled with reassurance, “You did nothing wrong, and neither did Suguru.”
“You don’t think he did?”
“Suguru spoke the truth, and—he’s right. You shouldn’t be forced to live your life the way your father would want you to. And as much as he loves you, he will come to his senses.”
“You think so?”
She taps your chin, “Look—it’s late, baby. Go on upstairs. You have time to talk to your father tomorrow. And once that settles over, we can start planning a wedding.”
You wipe the tears from your face, “You’re already planning a wedding and my father can’t stand him.”
She presses her palm over your hand, the other wiping gently at your tears, “And I’ll make sure it’s the most beautiful, gorgeous—the most magnificent wedding Kyoto will ever see.”
You smiled.
“I love you, Momma.”
She smiles in return, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, “I love you more, cheri.”
Closing the door to your old bedroom, you leaned your back against the wooden surface, letting out the breath of air you had been holding. You stared at the deep blue walls of the room, the furniture made of white, duvet covers and frills—The angel statuettes and artwork hung all across the ceiling like heavens within the sky.
You pushed yourself off the door, stepping towards the glass sliding door that led out to the terrace, finding your fiancé standing just in view—Your hand rests at the white sheer curtain, parting it slightly with the pads of your fingers as you looked out—Suguru had his back leaned against the ledge of the patio, cigarette raised to his lips as he smoked.
As he stood facing away from you, you could see the muscular outline of his body in the shadows cast upon him—every contour on display beneath his top. His hair was a beautiful mess. Some strands fell from the bun he had it in, falling over his face and along the nape of his neck.
“Needin’ a little company?”
His head turned towards the glass door, spotting you standing beneath the sheer curtains—the first thing he can discern is your eyes. His expression visibly softened, pierced eyebrow furrowing with concern.
He eyed you, “You were cryin’ again.”
A beat of silence.
You nod gently, “Yeah.”
Suguru’s silent for a long moment. He comes forward, eyes fixed on yours as he pulls you by your waist, “Talk to me.”
It’s another long stretch of silence before you break it.
“My father…” you trail off, trying to put your words together, “He can be stubborn.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
You nod along as well, taking in the silence of the night—the crickets that sounded around, the soft wind that brushed against you.
You feel his grip on your waist tighten as he asks, “You all right, though?”
He then sighs, “Baby, I wanna apologize for how I acted earlier—“
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I wanted my father to meet you—to give us his blessing, not for him to start an argument with you.”
Your fiancé’s thumb rubbed gently at the curve of your hip, his brows furrowing just a bit, “It’s not my place to get into it with your father, but he was sayin’ shit to—“
His chest rose and fell, taking another inhale off the cigarette—he then exhaled out into the air, the smoke disappearing with the wind, “It just didn’t sit right with me.”
You rub your fingers against his bicep, trailing it up to the ink of his neck—you sigh, “I know that. I’m not mad at you, Getou.”
“I’m supposed to be apologizin’. You’re not supposed to be consolin’ me.”
Your fingers reached for the back of his neck to scratch gently at his hairline, “So stop apologizing.”
You reach to grab the cigarette from his fingers—taking a drag of the smoke, the burn tickles your throat, nearly satisfying.
Suguru then murmured, “You seem to get that soft shit from your momma, bunny.”
A small smile played at the corner of your lips, “You’d be the first to say so.”
The taste of nicotine stuck to your tongue as you ran your thumb along the back of his neck, his eyes slowly shutting as your fingers moved in small circles.
He then asked, “You feel better now?”
“Mhm,” you murmur, “I wanna go cuddle.”
He chuckles lowly—deep and rough—just how you liked it, “You’re spoiled.”
A grin pulled at his lips when you nod in response, your smaller body leaning into his. He reached to pinch the base of the cigarette, pressing it to his lips for one last inhale before tossing the remnants away.
"C’mon.”
The moment you made contact with the soft comforter of your bed, your upper body leaned against the frame—your journal was sprawled against your thighs as you had your knees close to your chest, Suguru’s arm wrapped behind you in a way that kept you close as his face laid within your shoulder—your smaller form almost seemed to sink into his.
“You ever gonna’ tell me what you’re writin’ in there?”
You smile, glancing to the nightstand before you answer—an angel structured night light gleams the darkness of the room, stars glowing atop of the ceiling.
“You really wanna know?”
His chin rested upon your shoulder, nose buried within the skin of your neck, breathing you in—He nods, “Yeah.”
One of his hands rested atop your thigh as he spoke, palm rubbing along the skin in slow motions. The oversized shirt you wear smells of him.
You hum, “Unicorns, rainbows, babies. All the things I want in this lifetime.”
There's a grin pulling at his expression, “A baby, huh?”
You look back at him, nodding, “A boy, Keiji,” you scribble down within your journal, “‘Means peaceful.”
Suguru’s lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, nose just right over your pulse point, “You put thought into all of this.”
His words send a shiver down your spine, your answer a whispered, “M’always daydreaming.”
“I know.”
You pull your journal a bit closer to your chest, continuing to write your thoughts of the entire day. As you do so—you’re noticing something. Your fiancés fingers are circling at the top of your knee—but that’s when he slowly takes your thigh closest to him, raising it atop of his body in a way that has your legs spread open.
At first, you were too absorbed within your journal—but the moment his fingers draw closer on your inner thigh, his body looming above yours, your grip on the pen falters. Your face flushes, dropping your journal as you reach for his hair.
You giggle shyly, “Suguru.”
A low chuckle spouted from his lips —He leans down to nudge the tip of his nose against yours, “‘Thought you were writin’?”
He grunts the words to you.
His aura, his size—the giggles from your lips die down the moment his forehead pressed against yours, glaring down.
Suguru drops his lips onto your mouth, sucking them in between his before snatching them back, a popping flesh sound coming in return.
At the same moment, he spreads your legs just a bit more. His palm grazes up your leg, down to your thigh, following the sway of your hips as you gently squirm—then, his fingers make contact with your clit. They don’t move. They just—stay there.
Your fingers are the current comb in his ocean of hair. The moment you feel him below, you graze his scalp, a small pout forming at your lips.
“Whatchu’ poutin’ for?”
His fingers stay pressed between your legs, unmoving. His nose brushed against yours, lips still a few centimeters close to your own.
You could never hide your emotions from him—nor how sensitive you were.
And then, he’s rubbing—it’s slow, but it’s so intense. Your eyes shut as you weakly gasp into his mouth, thighs trembling in response.
He can feel the way your legs begin to respond, your grip on the back of his neck only gets tighter—He groaned out huskily, “Look at you.”
His tongue licked at one of your parted, panting lips.
Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your mouth—hard. But it fails to muffle the little mewl of his name that comes from your lips, all four of his fingers just rubbing.
“‘Bunny’s just too sensitive, huh?”
His voice sounds like a deep grumble to your ears.
Your lips part, another soft, breathless plea of his name comes from your mouth. He can feel how heated you are from below, how drenched you’re getting from just the simple touch of his fingers.
“Yeah—Yeah, you’re right there, ain’t you?”
Your head just nods so feverishly, your hand pulling him closer at the back of his neck.
His voice is rough, “Just listenin’ to your pussy, baby. She’s so loud.”
And it was—you could hear how wet you were, feeling the secretion beginning to build on your inner thighs. You pout even more, your mouth trembling—you say so softly, “Ohmygodbaby.”
“She fuckin’ missed me.”
The moment he said that, your breath left your lungs in a heavy, husky moan, a low slur of, “Suguru,” coming from your trembling lips.
His middle and ring finger suddenly sink in so slowly—Suguru lets out a moan, feeling as you tighten around his knuckles. Your mouth drops against his, cheek burying into his shoulder as you pout, “Ughn,” whining into the comforter to mask your reaction.
“Makin’ a fuckin’ mess already,” he mutters against your neck, sucking just beneath your jaw—His fingers curl inwards—Suguru grumbles a little moan, “You gotta’ open up more, baby. Gonna’ hurt when I go in.”
You whimpered, feeling his fingers sliding in and out of you, that all you could do was hold onto his hair.
You felt like you looked pathetic. His lips brush against yours and you try to capture them, mewling, “Suguruu.”
“You’re so fuckin’ whiny,” he grunts—“Agh,” you moan against his mouth, and he swallows it with a moan of his own, his fingers sinking even deeper.
“Look at you, baby. Look.”
The hand cradled behind you finds its way into your hair—it’s yanking your head up to peer down—you see his fingers going in and out, dropping deeper each time. You frown up to his face, pleasure so within your eyes as you squeal, “You’re so deep, baby.”
His fingers hit right at that little spot that made your back arch, “There we fuckin’ go.”
“Fuck, baby—“
“”Can’t wait ‘til I’m inside, bunny.”
You whimper, “I need you now, baby. Please.”
“There you’ go with that beggin’ shit.”
His fingers slide against your folds, slapping against your pussy—your thighs tremble, “C’mon, Suguru.”
When he gets you to a place of begging, it never stops. You take his large palm, clutching it around your throat as you lay on your side—your back presses to his chest, your palm now reaching down to spread your folds from behind as you whimper, “Please, ‘guru. Please.”
A growl comes from behind you, his jaw buried within your shoulder as his face pushes to the side of your head, pressing his mouth to your ear, “Keep sayin’ that shit. Keep sayin’ you want it.”
“Please,” you were so pouty, “I want it.”
His palm left your neck for a second, his hand coming down to grip onto the curve of your leg, lifting your thigh to adjust himself behind you, rubbing the fat tip of his dick against your folds, “How deep?”
“So deep.”
“Goddamn. I’m finna’ give you this shit.”
His tip sinks in just a little, spreading you apart in a discomforting pinch. And then—
Deep.
A grunt is ripped out of his mouth, his fingers digging into your thigh, finding their way back to your throat, “Fuckin’ hell, girl.”
The way you grip around his dick would’ve left another man falling apart, but—Suguru—he just kept going, his hand spreading your thigh further.
It hurt—but you loved it. This was the hurt you wanted. The pleasure is so violent that it courses your entire body, voice so whiny as you rock your hips back, “Yeah, baby. Uh—huhhh.”
Your little mewl only causes his fingers to tighten around that neck of yours—he’s tugging and yanking you back onto his dick, “Shit,” he groans out huskily, “Feels tighter every time I’m in you.”
He sounds drunk, so lost in the wet, warm feeling. You grip onto his fingers at your neck, nails sinking into his hand, “Itssobigbaby. So big.”
“Yeah?” he’s stroking into you, “This all you’ been wantin’?”
You are in fact so whiny, “Uh-huh,” your fingers grasp at his hand, “Yes.”
“Bounce back on it,” he grunts, “Move on me.”
You’d do anything he’d ask of you.
Your ass claps on his pelvis, bouncing back against his abdomen. His forehead knocks into the curls of your hair from behind, his palm tight on your throat, “Uhfuck,” he moans to you, “Just like that. Keep doin’ that.”
He’s letting you set the pace, “Goddamn,” His fingers twitch around your neck, “You’re so fuckin’ good.”
His moans against your ear are so much louder every time he sinks into you, balls drenched in your folds in such a nasty way, “—I feel you clampin’ so hard, girl. I can feel you all around me.”
“I’m so full.”
Between those words, you could barely catch your breath in a repetition of, “You’re so big.”
“You so small, girl,” he’s moaning into your ear, “I’m fillin’ you up.”
But something in him feels—hungry—like he’d lost his appetite hours before and found it in this moment. It’s like the blink of an eye, and his long, dark hair spills across your stomach—his mouth is now between your legs.
Your fingers are in his hair, pulling against him. His tongue is warm, sliding up and down your folds, wagging along your clit that saliva parts lines from the sides of his lips.
His name comes from your mouth in moan, and he only moans back, feeling the way your legs are clamping around his face, his hands pressing your thighs to keep you from moving away, “Pussy so pretty in my mouth—keep movin’ for me.”
His mouth was so good, he moans on your clit, able to taste all of your arousal—he groans into your core, “Uuunnhhh,” he moans into you, “I could eat you forever, baby.”
His hands are clamping down at your thighs, keeping you spread wide open, you could hear how sloppy his tongue was getting, “So fuckin’ wet for me, huh?” he asked, “All for me.”
He’s evil—the way his hair falls around his clenched jaw, eyebrow piercing glowing beneath the light—His pink tongue spreads out to show you the cream on it, straight teeth white as he grins above your pussy, “You see that? How you’re creamin’?”
He’s licking it up like it’s a treat, “You taste so good,” He moaned into you, “Can’t get enough of you.”
The feeling was mutual—you couldn’t get enough of him, either. You find yourself tugging him up, pulling his mouth into a kiss that wraps your tongue around his, his large body looming above yours—his hair shadows the both of you into a deeper kiss, tongues sinking in and out of each other's mouths.
His tongue laps your own, “You want me this fuckin’ bad?”
You don’t necessarily answer—but instead, flip yourself to where his back is against the bed—your tongue glides up the flesh of his abs, slender eyes coaxing his vision deeper into yours.
“Where you’ think you’re goin’?”
But he didn’t have to ask again—now, your mouth was on his tip.
Suguru groans—Your tongue laid flat, slowly lapping at the base of his length—his fingers sink into your hair as his head hits the headboard, “Shit, baby.”
Your fingers grip the base of his dick, stroking him up and down as your mouth works the head—he’s so big, he stretches your mouth wide, but you love it. You’re drooling spit onto his tip, the sexiest smile on your face as saliva coats your full lips—your freckled face is flushed, curls sprawling around your head so prettily—you whimper to him, “I miss you inside me, baby.”
He grips your hair, fisting your tresses as he tugs you back upward, “You wanna’ be on top that bad, huh?” His fingers grip the flesh of your waist, “Come fuck me.”
“That’s how you want it?” you slide your fingers against your swollen nipples, “Tell me.”
You keep your weight on him with one hand at his shoulder, the other gripping his tip as you slid it on your dripping folds.
“You’re too big.”
“Quit playin’,” He moaned into your throat, “You’re tryna’ get me to beg. That’s what you want, huh?”
You grip the clench of his jaw—your palm connects with his face, the grunt he gives in return making you giggle—you whimper at the smack he gives your ass, “I know you’ll beg.”
“You’re a brat.”
His hips grind along yours, and you repeat, “Lemme’ hear you beg, pretty boy.”
Your hands find grip within the mess of his hair, yanking against the tresses. His jaw clenches, “Mmnnngh,” he moaned as you slapped his tip against your folds, “Fuck.”
His voice is low in your ear, his grip tight and hard on your waist, “I want you so bad.”
His tip is back to sinking in, curls hanging above his face as you whimper, “You want me this bad, baby?”
“I need you, fuck.”
Your fingers rake through Suguru’s hair—He’s so deep, he’s spreading you open—you moan, “I’m so wet—just stay here,” you beg him not to move, smacking your lips against his for a moment.
“So good,” he’s panting to you, kissing you back, “You’re just so good.”
His hand slides down your back, finding the curve of your ass to hold. His other hand clenched around your thigh, beginning to lift you up, “Look at that, baby.”
Your thighs are clapping onto his, bouncing. Your mouth falls open at the feeling of him, your back curving forward, “Fuck.”
You whine to him, “I love bouncin’ on your dick, baby.”
“Yeah?” He’s grunting, “You take it so fuckin’ good. You must love that shit.”
Your curls are in your face—your eyes peer back to watch your ass jiggle and bounce with the rhythm of your tits —that you mewl, your head falling back as you groan.
“There you go.”
He’s watching you with dark, glazed eyes, fingers coming up to your lips to wipe away the spit around your mouth, dragging it across your nipples, “Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”
It happens before you realize—you’re squirting on him, your eyes watering all at the same time, rolling, face pouty as you grind on him, feeling the rupture of your body’s release.
You’re drenching his tip—You’re so over sensitive, he’s just grunting and moaning, like something out of a dream, “Goddamn, your shit is leakin’, baby,” he thrusts, “Let it all out.”
”I made a mess on you,” you’re sobbing, your body trembling in his arms as your sensitive clit aches. Suguru’s hand comes around and lands a smack that echoes off your ass. You moan as he snarls, “You’ made a fuckin’ mess, girl. You and that pretty little pussy.”
“Cum with me, pretty boy,” you whimper, “Cum in me.”
That name, it makes Suguru huff in return—but the sound is weakened by a whimper he does, “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”
His fingers grip the back of your neck as his body tensed beneath yours, “I’m gonna’… fuck…” He whined, burying his face against your shoulder, rocking you through his cum warming your insides, you’re panting in each other's mouths, moaning, so full of passion you’d never have for anyone else. He was yours, and you were his.
There’s silence for a moment in your shared bliss—your foreheads rest against each others, fingers brushing through hair, your chests rising and falling with heavy breaths.
Both of you laugh softly, feeling eased and content. He looks up to you, pressing a kiss to your chin, "You alright?”
“Yeah. I’m…”
You’re unsure—maybe it’s the moment—maybe it’s the fact that you were already crying. But more tears begin to fall from your face, your hands flying onto your flushed cheeks—you’re sobbing once more.
His face twists in panic, hands immediately coming to wipe at your tears, “Woah, baby, you’re good. Why you’ cryin’?”
He’s so gentle, sitting up straighter, keeping you close on his lap as you cling onto him.
“You’re okay,” he repeats, “Was it me? Did I do somethin’—“
“No,” you sniffle, “I just—I’m so sorry for keeping you from my family this long. I love you so much, Suguru. I wanna marry you a thousand times,” you whimper to him, “I wanna have your little babies and everything.”
When you press your face into his chest and cry harder, your fiancé can’t help but chuckle at your emotions—he cradles your head to his body, “You make a good case. But I’m not mad at you, baby.”
He lowers his neck, peeping your eyes through your covered face—he murmurs, “You gonna’ let me in?”
You sniffle, lowering your fingers from your face.
After a second of comfortable silence—just the sound of your breathing and Suguru’s soft laughter, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “You had to connect with your family before I came in, and now we got’ all the time in the world to make things right. I can’t wait to see you all pregnant, and married—I’m gonna give you a whole damn clan, girl.”
Your arms wrap around his neck so tight that you feel a grunt, squeezing as you repeat, “I love you so much, Suguru.”
“I love you so much more, pretty girl.”
“More than automobiles?”
“More than a damn car lot.”
Of course, you giggled.
When your eyes open again, a ray of sunlight peaks through the slit of white curtains, dancing across the bedsheets to greet your body the next morning. As your vision adjusts, an arm shifts around your waist—the ink on the strong, defined muscle holds a grip, fingers digging just slightly into your flesh.
Your heart was so warm, that it nearly had forgotten about the day before. But you were quickly reminded seconds later, as a soft knock came to the door of your old bedroom.
You frowned.
Slowly, your body turns towards your fiancé, mouth raising over his ear as you murmur, “I’ll be back, okay?”
He stirs just slightly, his thick fingers reaching to clutch onto your side when you move—his eyes cracked open, “Don’t forget ‘bout me.”
You smiled softly, reaching to brush the hair out of his eyes, “Promise I won’t.”
The moment you throw Suguru’s shirt onto your head and slip on some sweatpants, you quickly tug at the door in anticipation of Hazel—instead, a more familiar face.
Your fathers.
You glance around the hallway, narrowed eyes going back to him, “Good morning—you okay, Daddy?”
He clears his throat, hands resting behind his back. He looked exhausted.
“Can we…” he began softly, “Talk?”
You’re quick to nod, “Of course,” opening the door a bit further to step out, closing it gently behind you.
You stood opposite of him in the hall, face showing no emotion as you waited for him to begin. He exhaled silently, hands folded behind his back, “About yesterday…”
He shook his head, “I’m sorry to both you and your fiancé for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have—behaved the way I did.”
He takes another breath, “From not seeing you in years, to finding out you’re getting married—I just couldn’t admit to myself that you had grown up without me, baby girl. And—if you left home, it must’ve been my fault.”
Your eyes soften as you watch your father. He’s being completely vulnerable, and that wasn’t something you expected of him. You can’t help it—your hand reaches for his, gripping it tightly in a comforting gesture, “Daddy, that’s not true.”
He shook his head, fingers tightening around yours, “I messed up, baby,” a small sigh left his lips, “I messed up, not you. You wanted to see the world and spread your wings. That’s something I had to respect, even if it hurt me. I’d do anything for you, you know that.”
Your fingers are still wrapped around his, your free hand coming up to rub his shoulder affectionately, “Of course I know that.”
You sigh, “I have to apologize too. Being an adult, I should’ve been communicative with how I felt about leaving home—I just didn’t think you’d be receptive to it, so—it was easier to just leave. And—meeting Suguru, he made me realize how important family was.”
Your father’s face stays neutral.
“Despite your moral differences—Suguru is amazing, Daddy. He loves me more than I could express to you, and wants nothing more than for me to be happy. He encouraged me to come here yesterday.”
“He told you to come here?”
You nod, “He did.”
Another beat of silence.
“You’re happy, cheri?”
Your hand squeezed his, your voice a soft whisper, “Happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Then that’s all I want, baby girl. I’m happy for you, I’m so proud of you.”
A few tears welled up in your eyes, your fingers gripping onto his back so tight that you were afraid you’d leave a mark underneath his button up, hugging him. You buried your face into his shoulder, “I’m sorry for leaving, Daddy.”
“Don’t be sorry, princess,” his hand rubbed up and down your back, “You can always come home.”
You smiled, “I’d really like to make up for the missed years.”
He let out a soft hum from his chest, hand coming up to graze your cheek affectionately, “We can start by planning this wedding together—Tell me everything you want, and how much my pockets gonna break from it.”
He then sighs, “And—by letting me know when your fiancè wakes up, so I can talk to him as well.”
Your head tilts at that, eyes wide, “Really? You’re ready to do this?”
“As ready as I can be.”
Your face lights up, excitement spreading through your body as you cling onto his arm, “Good—I have so much to tell you! C’mon, you can treat me to some beignets— Then, you and Suguru can be besties, yeah?”
wilson bethel said he wanted dex to have a "really weirdo fucked up girlfriend", with whom dex could have "some toxic ass weird shit going on."
so i wrote a prelude what dex with a weirdo fucked up girl looks like :)
check out my masterlist with the rest of my weirdo!reader posts :3
1.9k words
mdni, ddba post-season two, fem!reader, freak4freak, age gap brief reference to roadkill, violence, no physical descriptions of reader, reader is mentally unstable, depictions of (undiagnosed and untreated) mental illness
about the reader:
you had spent the better of your life fighting your nature. it seemed that before you were even a thought, your path had been chosen for you: you were doomed to be incomprehensible, your behaviour could never be understood. not that anybody had ever tried.
at the age of four, you stopped speaking. seemingly by choice. you had put up walls against the rest of the world, wavering for nobody. you sustained it for an impressive amount of time, before you discovered a newfound interest for antagonising your parents with your words.
informing them in great detail of the roadkill you would see on your way to school (game birds, stray pets, rodents—the kind of creatures that would lay at the end of your parents' bed on some days), or telling them that your friend 'the watchman' protected you on the nights you refused to come home. god knows what you were up to then.
in your early adolescence, your parents had grown weary of handling your strangely ominous and, at times, violent behaviour, so they opted to hand you off to a wilderness therapy camp for 'troubled teens'. the grand idea was that you would be whipped into shape, perfectly silent and subservient by the time you returned home.
however, you ran away on the fifth night. your parents never heard from you again.
you spent the rest of your teen years skirting from town to town, couch surfing and doing odd jobs to stay afloat. eventually, you ended up in new york.
in your early adulthood, you felt unequipped to handle the blows of day-to-day life. every perceived slight from a more well-adjusted individual set your skin ablaze. you would clench your fists until your nails drew blood from your palms, staring at the offender with such intensity that any onlooker would think you were about to explode their head with your mind.
you had to float from job to job, never making more than minimum wage. your disagreeable nature tended to put customers off, so you weren't exactly destined for customer service. however, you found a sort of equilibrium in your role as a taxidermist.
you relished in not having to speak to people for a living. none of your 'clients' could speak at all. you only had to lay your hands on these animals, manipulating their cold flesh to recreate a living animal's likeness. it was amazing.
you fell into a routine that just barely kept you sane: you'd wake up in your little apartment and freshen up. most days you would manage to brush your teeth, but sometimes you missed the mark. nobody's perfect.
you'd sit on your fire escape and maybe smoke a cigarette with your coffee. though you knew it was bad, you enjoyed the film it left on your tongue.
every once in a while you would visit the diner about a block away. you didn't enjoy the social aspect (you could almost feel the other patrons' unease from your entrance), but you did love the pie. you'd stalk up to the counter, lurking silently until the waitress noticed you standing there. "blueberry pie. two slices. please."
she'd always nod warily, looking as if you had pointed a gun at her and demanded she empty the register.
you always sat in the same booth when you could. away from the rest of the diner, likely ideal for intimate meetings, but you never brought a guest. you waited for the pie to arrive (the waitress always left it on the table like she was feeding an animal known to bite) and shovelled forkfuls into your mouth until every crumb was gone. the only trace of you left in the diner was the plate with purple smudges on its ceramic surface and a crumpled ten dollar bill.
if you knew you were running low, you'd head to the bodega perched right outside your building and pick up at least two bottles of whiskey in advance. then you'd head straight back to your apartment. back to your safe haven that allowed you to hide from the outside world. stuffing dead animals and drinking yourself until you almost looked as alive as one of your works.
how you meet dex:
it sounds easy, but dex lived in your building. you were never sure exactly where, but you assumed he was on a floor above you since you only ever ran into him as he was headed down.
he would flash you a sharp grin. "good morning, kid." on an exceptional day you would mutter something to the effect of "hi", but most of the time your mouth was glued shut.
dex was somewhat intrigued by your standoffish (and generally off-putting) stature. the way you seemed to walk through life like an intruder evading capture; the way you always looked like you just wanted to sink into the earth's cold embrace.
he planned to stage interactions with you. first, he trailed a couple feet behind you on your walk to the diner. he entered about three minutes after you, faking surprise at you sitting at your booth when he 'spotted' you.
"oh, hey, kid. fancy seeing you here."
you had only thrown him a sidelong glance and nodded stiffly.
he asked "mind if i join you?" as he was already easing himself into the seat opposite you.
your skin almost crawled at the forced engagement. you didn't know what to do! what do you say to somebody you don't really know? especially one who seems to want to know you.
your fingernails scratched at your pants, an almost soothing gesture aside from how the pressure left furiously hot skin under the fabric.
he kept an eye on you hand shifting beneath the table, wondering how you had already become so agitated. "i'm tony. i haven't seen you around too much." he trailed off, expecting you to introduce yourself. or tell him to fuck off, or excuse yourself. nothing but a reserved grunt came from his statement.
by this time, the waitress had arrived with your two slices of blueberry pie. your iron grip moulds around a fork, not yet feeling comfortable to eat. you regretfully let your gaze lift to tony's face. to his vaguely amused grin and crinkles around his eyes.
"oh, don't let me stop you."
your gaze flits over his blonde hair, greying by his temples, before you avert your gaze and scarf down the slices. tony only watches quietly before you set the fork down and eye him again. you just barely force out the words "what do you want?"
the man lets out a soft huff that sounds like delight. at your engagement? at your voice? at your eyes on him"
"just wanna get to know you."
your relationship:
rocky. but almost like a mountain. the vast majority of time spent together is like the beautiful peak. delightfully cool, covered in soft snow, it feels almost giddy.
it often felt amazing. you always looked forward to welcoming him into your apartment at night. sometimes you would have already gotten started on a bottle. he could tell by the slight haze to your eyes, the unsteadiness to your gait. you would just barely crack a smile when you opened the door to him before stepping aside to let him in.
you'd let him into your bed. you were grateful that he didn't seem to mind the smell of tobacco clinging to your sheets. on a slow night he would let you cling to his back like a koala, tangling your legs with his as you revelled in the smell of his skin.
on other nights, he would unceremoniously slip into your apartment through the fire escape. parts of his bullseye getup would be soaked through with blood. his face would be smeared with it. he would flash you a soft grin, watching your eyes light up.
you enjoyed stitching him up. it was almost erotic to you, watching his skin tug ever so slightly as you threaded it back together. good as new. you'd smooth your hands over the planes of his skin, thin layers of dried blood cracking under your fingertips. nights like this always ended with you on top of him, whining as your fingernails dug into his already tortured skin. he didn't mind.
but every once in a while you slip, and the jagged sides catch on virtually every inch of your skin.
sure, dex had managed to worm his way into your life, but you're still the girl who has a tendency to shut herself away when uncomfortable. that doesn't fly with dex's almost suffocating need for proximity.
he had told you everything about him. all about dr. mercer, his time in the army, at the suicide prevention center, in the fbi. he told you that under fisk's order he had masqueraded as daredevil, committed atrocities. drowned his muzzle in blood for a man he, in a weird way, looked up to. every excruciating detail of his life was laid bare for you to gawk at. he hid nothing from you, and he expected the same of you.
you told him nothing of your past. he didn't know about your childhood spent on the outskirts of your own family. he didn't know about the wilderness camp or the years that followed. all he knew was the quiet girl in his apartment building. the one whose apartment reeked of cigarette smoke and whiskey, ever surface adorned with a taxidermied critter.
sometimes, he would sit on the sofa next to you. his hand almost petting your thigh, you sat staunchly next to him. he'd try and coax some context out of you. "sweetheart, you know i'd never make you do anything you don't want to. right?"
you'd nod.
"and," his hand would inch higher up, lingering closer to your clothed pussy. "you know i love you, right?"
you'd nod again. he smiles, seemingly satisfied.
"i just wish you'd open up to me, y'know? i wanna know more about my girl." his hand teases your pelvis, its proximity to where you need it creating a burn in your abdomen.
"i...don't like to talk about it, dex."
"i know, baby. that's hard. it's really hard. but..." almost cruelly, he lifts his hand off of your leg and grasps your jaw, forcing your face to his. you avoid his gaze, eyes darting anywhere but his own.
"when two adults love each other, they make sacrifices. i need you to tell me more about you."
you wrench your face out of his grip before standing up, flexing your fingers so as not to hurt your palms. dex had insisted on this the first time he saw your palms become ruddy with blood when he began probing you for information.
"i don't want to talk about it."
he stands too, looking down at you. his eyes are clearly swimming with annoyance, but he tries his best to level his tone. "baby, i just wanna know a little bit more about you, that's fair enough, right?"
you barely let him finish before storming off to your bathroom, locking the door and pressing your back against it. you know that dex is on the other side, and that he'll start knocking—pounding, really—finally demanding things of you. that you open the door, open yourself to him, understand him, see where he's coming from.
after hours, you leave. dex is still on the other side, sat right next to the door on the floor. his eyes flick up to you as you lower yourself to him, slotting your body into his arms.
he holds you softly, nothing like his grip on you earlier, and pets your hair.
author note: this is so arse, but i am willing to write more about specific scenarios with this pairing! i may also write one without an age gap :)
pls let me know what you guys want to see about dex and his freaky weirdo gf :P
Congratulations on 3000! You are an amazing writer, and I am always glad to get notifications when you have a new story!
Could you do 🥨 + 🌲 with Titus Danforth!?
Thank you so much♡♡♡♡
marriage proposal//"i'll take care of it"//titus danforth
okay im gonna cheat a bit on this and actually give you a very lengthy preview of my upcoming full titus danforth fic because it follows this request pretty exactly! hope that's okay xoxo ive been foaming at the mouth to share any of this so...
context: titus has impregnated a sugar baby (reader). the family has decided how to handle that.
3.1k
He expects you to make a fuss about it. Fully prepares himself to have to drug you, tie you up, kidnap you, and make it clear you don’t actually have a choice in the matter, as distasteful as that would be to him. At the very least, he anticipates resistance. For it to take more than one brunch. Modern women want careers, don’t they? It’s part of why he’s always sworn off girlfriends and dating in the standard sense. Ever since it became relatively acceptable for the elite, he’s strongly preferred paying for the company of simple, complication-free women procured by the family lawyers. He doesn’t want a girlfriend. He wants…a pet. A well-trained companion. Something reliable and reliant. A pretty, obedient creature to recline on the couch who makes no demands and listens with rapt attention to his every order.
So he’s pleased beyond belief at your reaction to his offer, outlined to you at your favorite chichi breakfast place in one of the nicer hotels downtown.
You gaze up at him over your streaming mug and ask bluntly, “What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one,” he lies. Smooth as butter. “I want to take care of you and the baby and I have the means to do so.”
“You’d already be doing that just by paying me at the rate you already do. With my job and your payments, I can afford a comfortable life,” you point out. “But you want me to marry you. Move in with you. So I have to assume there are rules. Catches.” You take a sip of the caffeine-free tea he’d ordered for you, savoring the spicy and citrusy notes. The ginger helps soothe your stomach. “Look, you’re obviously very wealthy. And I know you’re not rich because of something…normal, if you don’t mind the word.”
Titus snickers, “Not at all. Go on.”
“Before you made us exclusive, I’d been with a lot of secretive, rich men,” you explain slowly, “but you don’t seem like most of them.”
The waitress approaches your table. Titus rattles off quickly, clearly annoyed at the intrusion, “We’ll both do the three-course menu. I’ll have the foie gras torchon with prosciutto and figs, the filet mignon as rare as you’ll serve it, and the caviar trio in lieu of dessert.”
The order doesn’t surprise you after countless meals spent together. His food is always expensive and tastes of life cut short.
The waitress gives you a warm smile. “And for you, darling?”
“Don’t call her that,” Titus says, curt and emotionless. “She’ll have the yogurt parfait with the pistachio granola, lobster eggs Benedict, and the baked apple strudel.” Then he gives you a glance that borders on affectionate. “And I’m guessing she’d also like the gelato flight after.”
“You spoil me,” you lilt with batting eyelashes. Then you tell the waitress, “And a ginger ale, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”
As she disappears, Titus’ typically flat expression transforms into one of concern, which you haven’t seen on him often. He observes, “Ginger ale. Morning sickness?”
You sigh and confirm, “That’s been the theme of week seven.”
“Seven weeks,” he muses, sounding almost wistful. “Does that mean you’ll have your first ultrasound soon?”
“Monday morning,” you tell him with a tentative smile. “You can come, if you want.”
“I will. Definitely.” Titus sits up straighter and adjusts the sleeves of his charcoal gray button-down, a nervous habit since his custom-tailored clothes always sit perfectly on his chiseled body. “You were asking about rules. Saying I don’t seem like most men.”
“Right, yes.” You touch his hand across the table and he lets you. Titus never asks for affection, but you know he craves it. Deeply. Otherwise he would never have sought you out in the first place. Sex is cheap; companionship is priceless. While rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb, you muse aloud, “You don’t brag about your money, which means you’ve always had it. It’s just a part of you; you’ve never been without it. Your schedule has too much freedom to be a doctor, you don’t dress like a lawyer, you’re too private to be a CEO or anything you’d want to peacock about, and you’re not annoying.”
He smirks at your analysis. “What does that rule out?”
“Tech bro. Anyone who works in blockchain or AI.”
“Smart girl,” he praises with a short chuckle. “What’s your theory, then?”
“Something dark and secretive,” you tease, clearly joking with the low, spooky voice like a Halloween recording you put on. He doesn’t react like it’s a joke, though. So, more seriously, you say, “Maybe private security? Something with weapons; I know you try to be subtle, but I’ve always seen your carrying a gun.” That pleases him; you’ve already noticed his danger and didn’t flinch away. “I doubt it’s really illegal, like drugs, because you’re so clean about everything. I mean, my main point of contact the first three months was your lawyer,” you remind him with a laugh. Then you lean forward and continue, “Regardless, I can tell you have the kind of life where you’re not just going to marry and whisk away the first girl you knock up without some rules.”
Sounding amused, he sips his expensive cocktail and teases, “I can’t just want to be an honest man for the mother of my child?”
“You can, sure. But that’s not you.”
“You’re right about that,” he concedes after a moment. With a deep breath, he sits back in his chair and tells you, “I wouldn’t call them ‘rules’ so much as, perhaps, guidelines. Expectations. I won’t force anything on you. And I won’t abandon you if you go against them.”
That’s a patent lie, but he doesn’t think you’ll defy him, so he keeps it to himself.
You cross your arms over your chest. “Let’s get down to it, then, because I can imagine worse fates for this baby and me than having a rich, handsome daddy to take care of us. But I want to know what I’m getting into.”
“Very sensible. I can appreciate that.” The first round of food arrives and he gestures for you to dig in while he begins, “Your first priority would be growing a healthy pregnancy, of course. Go to all of your doctor’s appointments, follow their recommendations to the letter. You’d quit your job. Continue your classes if you’d like, but you’ll need to cut out any unnecessary stress. You’d move into the family estate; you can decorate and rearrange our building however you’d like as the lady of the house. I don’t care about things like that.”
“What do you mean by ‘the family estate’?” You give him a teasing raised eyebrow; you’re the only person he allows to look at him like that. “You live with mommy and daddy?”
“My father lives in the primary mansion on the grounds, yes. Mother is dead. There are a lot of different outbuildings along the property; it goes on forever. I don’t even know how many acres anymore; the lawyers buy up adjacent properties whenever they go for sale. We’d be in my private house, which is further back on the estate.”
“Like a guest house?”
“An eight-bedroom guest house, but yes.” Without giving you much time to process that, Titus goes on, “You’d have some social responsibilities as Mrs. Danforth. My mother’s passed now, so you’d be the official host when our family holds events, which we do often. You’d just have to look pretty, though, which you’re phenomenal at already.” As your cheeks warm, he assures you, “We have a whole team to handle the planning side if you aren’t interested in those sorts of things.”
You give a timid smile. “I like planning and hosting parties. It’d be nice to have some occasions to show off all the fancy dresses you’ve bought me.”
That makes him smile. Really smile. Like he can see you slotting into his life. “Good. Great. Well, you can have as much or as little involvement in our social circles as you’d like as long as you’re willing to put on one of those dresses and sit next to me adoringly when needed.”
“So far, that fits my resume to a tee.”
“And, in that vein, there are certain standards of dress and, let’s say, etiquette, for lack of a better word, that my sister can help you with getting used to.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yes. Ursula.” He toys with his fork, hovering it over the decadent spread. “I suppose we still have a lot to learn about each other.”
“I’m an open book,” you retort with a cheeky smile. “You’re the one with the secrets. I don’t even know your last name.”
“Danforth,” he says quietly. Like it’s a secret. Maybe it is. “Titus Victor Danforth.”
“Very stately name.” You wrinkle your nose a bit. “Does our baby have to have a name like that? It’s hard to imagine calling a newborn Titus Victor.”
“We’ll agree on a name like any other couple,” he chuckles. “But, for the record, I have family with much worse names than Titus.”
“Like Ursula,” you joke, earning a conspiratorial snort. You nod and drink some more of your tea as you consider everything thus far. “So I have to learn to sit pretty and do tricks. Got it. What else?”
His voice darkens and so do his hazel eyes. “The most important thing is that you’ll allow me to keep you safe and protect you. Against anyone and anything. By any means necessary.”
Your own voice drops to a whisper. “You say that like I’ll be in danger.”
“Sometimes you will be.”
Not taking it all too seriously, you check. “But you’ll always protect me? And our baby?”
He puffs up his chest and insists seriously, “With my life.”
No matter who or what tries to get in my way.
You narrow your eyes at him. “And you’ll take care of everything financially?”
“Yes.” Zero hesitation. “Always.”
You don’t doubt he can keep that promise, at least. When you take on sugar clients, you make sure to have proof of funds before agreeing to any arrangements. Titus passed that test with flying colors; you’re sure there’s incalculable wealth behind the many, many zeroes you’ve already seen. He’s always driving around in tinted luxury cars, wearing suits by $10,000-a-piece designers, handing over heavy black cards for quadruple digit dinner dates with no dobut on whether they’ll clear.
With a tiny smile, you press, “And you’ll marry me?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Can I have a real wedding?”
“Here I was thinking I’d have to convince you of that,” he laughs. Something unfamiliar is knocking around pleasantly in his ribs. “Our wedding would be very, ah, socially significant. You’ll be impressed by the guest list, I’m sure.”
“Give me a teaser.”
“Let’s just say if a bomb were dropped on it, the world’s economy would collapse.”
“Yeah, alright,” you giggle. He’s looking forward to the day you realize he’s telling the truth on that matter. “So I’d be a wife. Hm, okay.” You jokingly tap your chin and squint like you’re really thinking hard about it. “Does that mean I’ll have to cook for you?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“How about cleaning? Laundry? I hate doing laundry.”
“That’ll all be handled.”
“So we’ll have…servants?”
Titus can’t help but notice the way you’re already saying ‘we.’ He doesn’t mind the sound of it; you’re right where he wants you. Needs you. “We prefer to call them staff, but yes, we do.”
Curiosity piqued, you press, “How many?”
He starts running through the mental rolodex; the estate’s goings-ons don’t interest him much, so they’re at the periphery of his mind. “Full-time, on-site staff? We have three chefs – one in each house’s kitchen, of course – and an estate manager who oversees a handful of groundskeepers, gardeners, and housekeepers. There’s an incredibly effective security team. Part-time? Lawyers on retainer, naturally. And we have connections for anything you’d want. Ursula has her tennis coach and her pet pool boy. Father has his favorite mixologist and, ah, massage therapist. I’ve got my golf caddy as well. Each of us has our own driver, but you’d probably share mine a while. That’s a high-trust position; I’d want to personally hire yours for the safety of the baby. You’d also have your own personal assistant to help with whatever you need day-to-day. And you’ll be in charge of hiring out any childcare support you want, when the time comes. Nannies, tutors, those sorts of things.”
“Wow.” Your fork is stuck mid-air. “So you and your family are…rich rich.”
His lips curl up slightly. It’s nice to be around someone who isn’t used to snapping their fingers and having whatever they want in moments. Charming. “That would be a fair assessment, yes.”
Titus notices a selfish, almost cute little shimmer lighting up your eyes as you ask, “So I can have whatever I want?”
He cocks his head to the side and considers that. What it might mean to someone who didn’t grow up in the world he did. “Within reason.”
Your eyes narrow. “How about a car? Like a really ridiculous one – a neon yellow Lamborghini?”
Almost offended at the idea, he scoffs, “A car? Of course you can have a car. I thought you were going to say something ridiculous like an elephant.”
You pout and cross your arms playfully over your chest. “So you’re saying I couldn’t have an elephant if I really, really wanted one?”
Feeling indulgent beneath your delight, he sighs dramatically, “I suppose I could reopen and repurpose the stables for the mother of my child.”
“The stables?”
“My mother loved horses. We were raised on dressage but never really took to it. When she died, my sister and I-” let those wretched horses free and hunted them with arrows “-decided not to keep up the responsibility.”
“Could I have a horse?”
He almost winces at the memory of countless on-site animals becoming casualties in the family games, intentional or otherwise. Still, because it’s important, he relents, “If you want, sure. I don’t see the appeal, but you’ll have whatever hobbies make you happy and keep you occupied.”
“Don’t worry; I hate horses. Just curious.” You can tell he’s amused by your version of an interrogation, so you go on, “Will you still take me on dates?”
That puzzles him. Do you like these dates with him? He’s always assumed you just see him as a paycheck, which he doesn’t particularly mind, but the idea of a real relationship does tantalize him to a certain extent. So he says, “If you’d like that. I do enjoy your company, after all.”
“And sex whenever I want?”
A laugh punches out of him. They’re rare from Titus, so it makes you grin, too, for a second. He rolls his eyes and nods. “Of course; that’s one of my favorite parts of your company.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to give that up with you, considering the, ah, quality.”
Blush tinges the apples of his cheeks and you know better than to point it out. Titus has never been shy about his sexual prowess, but he also grew up in a family where it’s not acceptable to talk about those things over brunch. Titus clears his throat and checks, “What else do you want to know to decide?”
“To recap, I’ll be fed and housed and safe and spoiled beyond my wildest dreams?”
He nods, pleased. “Exactly.”
You bite your lower lip and ask, “But what if something happens to you? I’d be giving up all my independence and relying on you. I don’t want the baby’s security depending on whether or not you’re around for us.”
He doesn’t assure you that nothing will happen to him the way you’d anticipated. Instead, he admires your practicality. You can tell his life is dangerous, but you aren’t flinching. “You’ll be written quite handsomely into the family estate. Above my sister, actually, since you’ll be the mother of an heir. That’s permanent, even in the event of death or divorce.”
“An heir?” You almost choke on your food. “You’re not royalty, are you?”
He laughs, “Not in the sense you’re thinking of, certainly.”
Softer and more seriously as you consider the implications of everything said so far, you touch your lower abdomen and ask him, “Will our baby be safe?”
“Safer than you’ve ever been in your life here in the ‘real world,’” he says with actual sarcastic finger quotes. Then he squeezes your hand, meets your eyes with a new kind of warmth in his, and affirms, “I swear that nothing will ever harm our children.”
You smirk and tease, “Didn’t realize we had more than one on the way.”
He shrugs modestly. “I always liked having a sister.”
“And I always wished I had siblings.”
“Sounds like you agree.”
You let out a sharp laugh, the ridiculousness of the conversation hitting you at once. This is the kind of arrangement people agree to in the dark romances you read when you’re ovulating and here you are actually considering it for the rest of your life. After a minute of eating and thinking, you tell him, “I just have one more question.”
“Anything.”
“Will you love me, Titus?”
He takes his time thinking about the answer, which you appreciate. He isn’t just going to tell you what he thinks you want to hear. Honesty is more attractive to you than his silvering curls or glass jawline, though those definitely do it for you. Always have.
You’ve wasted a lot of time on men who lied to you, who strung you along, who took advantage of your lack of security. As strange as it may be, the thought of someone being very clear about their expectations and giving you everything in return has an appeal after all of that. You’d never have to worry about the things that currently absorb 90% of your time again.
You’ve finished your dish by the time Titus collects his response. Slowly and carefully, he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses each finger; you can’t stop the fluttering of your heart in response. Titus murmurs, “You may have to teach me how, bunny.” Gradually, he meets your eyes and offers, “If it matters, in the time we’ve known each other, I’ve already grown quite-” he struggles to find the word; you wonder if he’s ever been given ones for this variety of feelings “-fond of you. Which is unusual for me.”
A smile blooms over your lips. Relief punches Titus in the gut and he’s not so sure why. You take your hand from his and press it gingerly to his silver-scruffed cheek. “Fondness will do.”
and since this is 3k words of a proper fic i'm gonna go ahead and include my titus danforth taglist: @thatfanficstuff @speeedybaby @larkspurinthepitt @artsymaddie @erraticlibrarian @flyinglama @whitakerfiles @marvelousmissmaggie @freakinjorkinit @bellpepper10 @angelbunny222 @beltzboys2015 @karlawithacapitalk @jamespottersgirlfriend @h-the-comet @wolfiemarley @daria-muffdiver @peggyofoz @onigiri-miyas @loui4411
Warnings: smut but no p in v, smoking, dryhumping (what is a story of mine if it doesn't have any?!), finger sucking & soooo many pet names if you couldn't tell by the title
1 8 + , pairing: gf/ bmreader x bf/ bdmichael
a/n 1/2: your daughter is referred to as Pumpkin. there's a drought in sub mature era fics, sub doesn't always have to be equivalent to inexperienced!
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Today was an absolute success.
Was it chaotic?
Yes!
But still, it was a perfectly orchestrated, chaotic, success.
For the first time in the three years of you and Michael owning your luxurious family home in Malibu, you'd thrown a cookout.
The cookout was everything you'd envisioned and more.
A part of you realized that you and Michael had isolated yourselves from everyone, but the thoughts didn't really settle until it was too late.
After having your first child, the two of you had gone to unimaginable lengths to protect her. Michael especially. He'd grown this wondrously protective persona that he'd turn on and off like flipping a light switch. So when it came to his daughter.. don't let it come to her. That fierce instinct isolated you both from everyone. Including family.
You'd learned very quickly that snakes lived within every instance of your lives, but Michael — as he lived constantly in the starlight—had known that.
The morning after you found out you were pregnant Michael had already spoken to your landlord. He told you, and I quote "I'll be damned if I have my girl and child living here. You know I've been trying to move you out for months."
This was true. But you stood on the fact that you didn't want to be dependent on him. That you would still work, still live in your own house, and be the same independent woman you were before you and him became an item.
God forbid you got into an arguement with him and he left you stranded.
You knew he'd never, but thoughts like that didn't just disappear with conformation, they lingered even in your happiest moments, and furthur prevented you from moving in with him. Regardless of the fight you put up (you'd given up when he stared at you with puppy dog eyes) you ended up living with him by the end of the week.
The following week Michael approached you with various home designs much to your surprise. Once again, your complaints were futile, and when you finally gave in and accepted one the designs, Michael cheered — literally cheered —and with this he began renovations of his own home —orginally designed for one, now fit for family. Your home was far from basic, the usual minimalist coastal style of typical Malibu homes having nothing on him and his creative mind.
20 acres of beautiful green grass full of sprawling opportunity; (would've been more but you didn't want anymore land), and a custom modern lit family home spanning 6,000 feet of the property.
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The men tended the grill, Joseph hovering close with a watchful eye as his sons grilled ribs, hotdogs and hamburgers.
Even from the kitchen you could tell it was plethora of food, the amount where even after people grab extra plates for the ride home, there would be enough to eat off of the next three days. But by then you'd be sick of it. And Michael would serve you hand and foot to whatever your pretty heart desired, especially when it came to food.
The Jackson women (excluding Katherine because she was in the living room playing with your babygirl), were fixing sides in the kitchen. Greens, baked beans, mac and cheese, all the sweet and savory food that were usually paired with the meat.
You prepared your famous banana pudding, already having made a cake earlier in the day. Everyone kept insisting you rest and have fun like the rest of them, but you were hosting, so that was never an option.
"Word on the street is that one of y'all got a new boo and ain't tell me?" You roll your neck, tilting your head as you scanned over the three Jackson sisters with an arched brow.
Rebbie continued slowly stirring the pot of greens, an amused lilt grabbing the corner of her lips. "Well I'm happily married so excuse me."
LaToya pled the fifth, reaching into her bag and pulling out a compact mirror to fluff her blowout and reapply her lipstick.
Janet rubbed the side of her arm nervously, cracking under minimal pressure. "Okay fine! You got me.. there is someone." Quickly she shifts, changing the subject. "Don't you have pudding to finish?"
The cleanup following the phenomenal food and camaraderie was all but slow. Jackie and Tito put their muscles to work to help get everything stuff thrown away quickly and efficiently.
Mama K was simply content on the couch, rocking your toddler in her arms and passing her off to you when she notices your arrival. "She's been an angel this whole time.."
And when final goodbyes are exchanged and the last car pulls out of your long driveway? The house is still and quiet, save for the soft snores of your seven year old Yorkshire terrier, Mickey.
Michael closes the front door, and leans against it with a deep, content sigh. He pushes off the door and walks over to you, his arms encircling both you and Pumpkin in a gentle hug.
He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. "Thank you, (Name). Today was amazing.."
You don't respond, relishing in the moment. And the three of you stand in the foyer like a picture-perfect family.
Carefully he takes Pumpkin from your arms, cradling her against his shoulder with practiced ease. "I'll get her to bed.."
Michael settles her in the colorful expanse of the bedroom, and gently lays her in her toddler bed, pulling the fluffy blanket to her chin. He stands there for a minute, watchig the moonlight glimmer off of his daughters radiant brown skin, her curls jumbled from her exciting day of meeting new family members and toddling around.
He exits Pumpkins room and turns to you, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the living room couch.
Instantly, you both melt into the cushions, the slight tension in your shoulders easing into the leather.
Michael's arm finds your waist, pulling you flush to his side. You rest your hand on his chest and gasp as his fingers begin playing with the strap of your thong, snapping the material on your hips over and over.
"Michael!" You slap his chest with one hand and swat his hand with the other , fighting the giggles threatening to erupt in your chest.
"What?" He asks innocently, black waves casting shadows over his forehead as he tilts his head. "Y'got your whale tale out today."
You simply kiss your teeth, leaning forward to grab a leftover blunt in an ashtray and sparking it with the Barbie pink lighter that lived on your belt.
( i am not encouraging smoking in the same household as children! but this is fictitious, read it for the plot! )
The sweet, earthy, charred scent of the blunt mixes with the lingering aroma of the cookout. Michael watches you— or rather adores you—a lovestricken smile on his face as you take the first pull.
"We should make this an annual thing, baby. We don't see family enough." You exhale the smoke, leaning furthur into Michael's side.
"I like that," he nods slowly, "A tradition for our family."
Once, twice, three times.
You notice Michael's eyes drop to your blunt three times before his tongue darts out, wetting his lips; obviously he wants to take a hit.
Now, it wasn't often that Michael smoked. But whenever you sparked up, he couldn't help but want to join in. He'd take no more than two hits, sometimes a few more. But you knew he needed to preserve his voice, so sometimes you denied him.
Thankfully, tonight was not one of those times.
"You know what the best part of today was? Watching you in your element. Hosting, laughing, making your famous pudding. You're a natural. You know how to really build people up."
You giggle, using your freehand to throw a braid over your shoulder. "You don't have to kiss my ass to get a hit.."
"No, no! I'm serious!" Michael rubbed the back of his neck, a flush crawling its way up his neck, his lips tilted in a downward bashful smile.
"Well, still, thank you baby. That's what Big Mama does." You shrug, taking the blunt from your own lips and holding it out for him.
You watch closely as he leans in — his eyes never dropping from yours —and inhales, cheeks hollowing slightly. The quiet intimacy of the gesture as tangible as the thick smoke curling between you that drifted upward, brushing the ceiling.
"Big Mama?" His voice takes an amused lilt, exhaling the smoke softly. "I like that, suits you."
"How so? Besides the fact that I'm a thick ass mother." You tease, watching Michael's eyes drop when you lightly tap your behind, the flesh recoiling despite the slight restriction of your bedazzled jeans .
"That's part of it. But the way you take care of everybody. The love you show to our daughter. The way you made our house a home."
You set the blunt down in its ashtray, eyes fluttering shut when you lean into his shoulder, inhaling his cologne. "Mhm? Tell me more, bubba."
His voice drops to a hypnotic murmur, almost enough to lull you to sleep, the sound vibrating through his broad chest. "You're the reason for it all, (Name). You built a world, with a backyard and a garden with your roses, and hibiscuses, and those stunning lilies.." He pauses, his voice taking a quieter emotional turn. "And a crib in the next room."
"That's what I like to hear.." You smile, fingers finding his chin and bringing him closer until your lips brushed against each other. "Gimme sum'.."
Michael closes the distance between you, and slowly you kiss, the peck deepening slowly, fueled by the gentle buzz from the blunt and the success of the days ventures. His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks.
The makeout session continues, lazy and deep on the plush couch. You shift closer to his side, Michael's hand sliding from your face to your waist, pulling you firmly to his side before dropping to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.
"We got a sleepin' baby down the hall.. and you're kissin' me like you want another one.." His lip slips between his bottom teeth.
"It was just a little kiss.." You tease, trailing his jaw with your finger.
"A little kiss? That was more than a little kiss, mama." He leans in, nose brushing against yours. His gaze drops to your parted lips, his own parting in response, tongue brushing yours in a faster, sloppier kiss than before.
Instantly, you adjust over, thighs bracketing his hips. Michael's eyes flutter open, now dark with a fresh wave of desire.
If only walls could talk. This ole' couch has seen more things than it would've liked too, and tonight would be no different.
His large hands tighten on your waist, guiding the slow, deliberate rhythm of your hips against his growing erection.
Your lips find his neck, sucking and marking it up. His body naturally arches up to meet the slow grind of your hips.
"You're so hard beneath your jeans, baby.." You whisper, fingers tracing the fresh mark on his neck.
"Just.. being near you.." Michael strains out, his voice a low rasp, hips frantically searching for more friction.
Pumpkin shifts in her sleep, soft coos leaving her mouth and echoing down the corridor. Michael notices instantly, his ears perking up.
"We should...." He glances toward the hallway where Pumpkin sleeps, visibly torn between checking on your daughter and the sheer desire in his body.
You shake your head, manicured fingers grasping his chin and forcing his wide eyes back on yours. "We have a baby monitor for a reason.. focus on Big Mama. You said being near me gets you like this?"
His eyes lock on your own, captured by your gaze and the commanding tone in your voice. "Always.. from the first day we met. One look at me and I fall apart.."
The words land right between your thighs, and without another thought your hips are rocking faster, clit twitching. "Yeah? Don't drop my gaze."
His breathing grows ragged, matching your hips in perfect sync, a desperate rhythm. "Yes.. oh God, yes, (Name).."
You still your hips. "That's not my name, baby.."
You feel his hips stutter as he struggles to keep his focus, big hands dragging you down against him again. "Mama? Big Mama? Mommy? I don't know baby, just.. please.."
"That's it.." You rock again, feeling him buck up against you in a sharp involuntary movement that makes you gasp. "I haven't even got you out your clothes yet.."
A shudder runs through him as you nibble on his ear. The friction of your jeans against his is maddening, paired with the power in your voice, it's all pushing him dangerously close to the edge.
"You know I'm sensitive, Mama. You know what you do to me.."
"I'm so close.." Michael's eyes are glazed, still holding your stare as you commanded him earlier. He's trembling with the effort of holding back, knuckles white where he grips your hips. He's willingly submitting, and the thought alone is enough to send another wave of heat over your skin.
"Not yet.."
The sudden slow drag of your hips draws a frustrated groan from Michael's throat. His body arches up, searching for the friction you're denying him, but his attempt is futile and you hold your pace, a deliberate slow teasing.
"Please.." His forehead falls, landing right on your shoulder, placing your hand to his chest, allowing you to feel the rapid beat of his heart. "I'm listenin'.. I'm bein' good.."
"Beg f'me, papa."
And when you still? Michael whines again, his body taut as a bowstring.
"Please let me cum for you.." His hips raise in a tiny thrust, a helpless reflex. "I need it.. please, Ma.."
His expression is one of pure desperation, he's completely surrendered. Body laid bare(not physically but mentally) to your every command. And at that moment you take a second to stare at him. The waves of his hair— usually meticulously styled— ruffled and disorderly as if he'd spent a day with Pumpkin alone, pupils blown wide with desperation and desire, and the subtle twitch of his hips that's slowly becoming less subtle after every passing breath.
You pretend to ponder it, tapping your chin before resuming your fervored pace. "Let go for me.. you've been doing so good.."
Michael's eyes squeeze shut, his body convulsing beneath you. You slip your fingers in his mouth already knowing what to expect next. His lips wrap tight around your fingers just in time, tongue warm around the digits as a broken muffled moan escapes his throat, clawing it's way up from his gut.
His release is everything but subtle, body arching off the couch as he soaks the dark fabric of his deep-blue Levis. The warmth of release seeps onto your thighs and you're still rutting against him, riding out your orgasm with your own head thrown back.
Michael's chest is rising and falling quickly, one hand holding your waist and the other holding your braids away from your face, tugging your head back.
Slowly, you both collapse into the cushions, thighs drenched through the jeans with your arousal and your mixed release.
You both sit there for a long moment before turning your head, the soft pad of tiny quiet footsteps catching your attention.
"Ma-ma.." The toddler's soft voice rings out, rubbing her brown eyes with the back of her hand.
You and Michael share a quick knowing look and both stifle a laugh, tickled with your three-year-old's impeccable timing. Slowly, you pull a blanket from the side of the couch around your hips, shielding the innocent child's eyes from seeing the mess her 'mama' and 'papa' created.
a/n 2/2: i hope i lived up to everyone's expectations, i gained so many followers from the concept of big mama alone, and i don't wanna disappoint! i am so intentional with all of my stories & i hope it comes across that way! i also hope to make many mutuals real soon.
