♡.

You glanced at Connie, smiling shyly as if he were a stranger and not your boyfriend of several years. It was a shame your overprotective brother was in the room; you would have loved to get down on your knees to kiss the tattoos on his stomach and take his pierced dick in your mouth, turned on by his dark streetwear outfit, contrasting with your pink one. He looked like a bad boy, but the only bad guy here was Eren; Connie was a loverboy. He returned your small smile by discreetly patting the spot next to him. You sat down next to him, pleased because you thought he was looking at the drawings you were making on your tablet, but the truth was that Connie was staring at your thick thighs, which had tripled in size in your seated position. He remembered what it felt like to have them trembling around his head and adjusted his sweatpants so his erection wouldn't be noticeable. He took out his phone. You had to know.

“I want to be inside you.”

Concentrated in your digital art and oblivious to the tension, your stylus stopped drawing, your eyes rereading the message in confusion.

‘In a food, stabbing, or sexual way?’ You sent.

Connie giggled softly when he received the notification. You and your autistic brain that takes everything literally. Dirty talk was a pain in the ass with you.

“All three. Your beauty stabs me, I want to eat you up to have you inside me, and I want to fuck you.”

“That’s something Chikage from Hakuouki would have said.”

“Who is this nobody from another otome?”

“Speak of my husband with respect.”

“Your real future husband is right here, princesa,” he whispered in your ear. You shivered at the sensual intonation of his voice, as close as you were, your body overheating at the thought of tonight. You checked that no one was looking in your direction so you could sign “I hope so, but you know it’s not possible.”

Connie didn’t lose his sweet expression, still a playful glint in his eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh to grasp the soft flesh. “Ony will have to kill me with his own hands to prevent our future together. Even my spirit will haunt him. He can’t do anything to me.” 

You quickly brushed his hand away, heat rising to your neck and burning your cheeks.

Your relationship consisted of three things: acting like goofy fools together, him playing the hero of forbidden romances, and him making love to you passionately and tenderly.

Being with Connie was like living a real rom-com, even though he was a drug dealer.

You were writing a new message. “I’m going to leave you, you make my head boil.”

He laughed softly. “Since when does my girl understand metaphors like that?”

You playfully punched him and signed “I’m not a walking autistic cliché.”

“Yes, you are. Look at what you sent me a few minutes ago.” 

You ignored him and went back up to your room and once at the top of the stairs you gave him the finger and he just gave you his stupid smile with his red eyes because of the weed.

  ──────── 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭,

Connie walked into your room, immediately ripping off his hoodie and t-shirt and throwing them on the floor, revealing his fully tattooed chest and abdomen. Filled with designs you'd done, like the rose that started its stem on his hip and whose petals touched his ribs, the soft style of the tattoo contrasted with the harsh lines of the ink. But Connie loved it. It was like having you and him inside him, on him, for him. 

'Heaven or Las Vegas' by Cocteau Twins played softly in your room as you sat at your vanity. The dream pop song made Connie, who was stoned out, drift even further into the psychedelic atmosphere. You detangled your hair with hair milk, separating it into four twists—two in the front on each side, two in the back—so it would be easier to manage tomorrow when you went to get your hair braided by your favorite braider, who didn't charge an entire month's salary for long knotless braids. Connie admired the goddess who was his girlfriend for a long time, licking his lips as he noticed you were wearing that Savage X Fenty pale rose nightgown, which was sheer, with a ribbon bow at the center of your chest.

“Mami, I missed you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your neck and burying his face in your scalp, inhaling the scent of rosemary mint from your Mielle hair oil, castor oil, and shea butter from your Skala leave-in conditioner. He bought that one for you after seeing a TikTok about a Brazilian influencer with the same curl pattern as you recommending it.

With your hands manicured in a French manicure, you used sign language to communicate “We saw each other earlier,” with a roll of your eyes.

“I know, but I’m obsessed with my princess.” He kissed the back of your neck, his cuban accent adding charisma to his voice. 

His desire, love, and passion for you, dripping from his voice, made you feel all giddy and fuzzy in your stomach. You smiled shyly at him in the mirror of your heart-shaped vanity.

“Don’t smile like that,” he said softly, almost desperately, his red eyes and dilated pupils even more affected by your little smile. “You’re so gorgeous in this.” He played with the thin straps of your nightgown. “But I’m sure you’re even prettier without them, aren’t you, baby?” 

Shyly, you ignored his compliment and finished styling your hair before protecting it with your satin bonnet, the same color as your wardrobe, before getting up to hug Connie. Thinking he wanted to make love now, you led him toward the bed, but Connie spun you around.

Chuckling, you understood he wanted to dance and followed him, as the dream pop song stopped to make way for “Punch Drunk” by Sade. A wordless jazz track, purely instrumental, that made you feel like you were in an old jazz bar with your secret forbidden lover. 

His hand on the small of your back, Connie made you dance, roaming around your room, laughing when you bumped into furniture because the space was small, kissing you when the saxophone was more intense than ever. He took advantage of the kisses to move his hands up and caress the voluptuous curves of your chubby body. Your fat ass, which he gripped even though you tried to push him away, the pudginess of your belly that he loved to feel under his fingers, and your ample breasts that rose and fell rapidly before him because of your barely concealed desire.

“Use your voice, what do you want?” he teased, knowing damn well you had nonverbal autism.

You glared at him and tried to push him away, but he threw you onto the bed.

“Aww, I’m such a bad boyfriend, I have to make amends for my crimes.”

He removed the rest of his clothes, keeping his black boxer briefs on for now. He stayed on his knees on the bed as you lay there, resting on your elbows.

You nodded at what he said and lifted your legs to place your French-manicured foot on the center of his collarbones. Connie smirked, knowing what you wanted.

He took your foot in his hands and kissed it all over, from heel to toe, appreciating the softness of your skin as you had just come from the shower where you had exfoliated. He wrapped his tongue around your toes, then sucked on them, his gray eyes fixed on you, a fire igniting from your core and spreading through your body.

You wanted this, you needed this. You gave him your other foot where he did the same, little shivers running through you at the movements of his tongue on your skin. Your breathing quickened as his lips moved up your leg, venturing under your nightgown. You couldn't see Connie because of your chubby belly, so you lay fully on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Not being able to speak or see him should have made your sex life difficult, but it was quite the opposite. Connie regularly checked for your consent and comfort; your nonverbal communication wasn't an issue. You tugged at his hair to let him know you liked what his tongue was doing, and you patted his shoulders to tell him to pause because the wave of overstimulation was near. As for the details—how fast or slow to use his tongue, which spot to lick—Connie paid close attention to your breathing and the way your thighs clenched around his head to gauge whether he was doing a good job.

“I’m gonna keep this on you,” he breathed, liking the lacy pink panties you were wearing. He pushed it to the side, his warm breath on your cunt, in need for attention.

The music switched to “Iceblink Punk” by Cocteau Twins, and the combination of the psychedelic sound and Connie’s tongue plunging into you was surreal. You felt like you were floating high in the sky.

Connie was truly gentle, slow, and calm when he was eating you out. Eating pussy was an art, and he was the Mozart and Shakespeare of the field. He took his time pleasuring you, smiling because even when you couldn’t speak; you didn’t fake your panting. The warm metal ball of his piercing kept rolling around your throbbing bud, just to feel your legs tremble, but his tongue explored every corner, collecting your arousal in his mouth. He was even disappointed you'd just showered, because it lacked flavor. He was a perverted loverboy like that, yeah.

Lapping through wet folds, he groaned every time he felt the pulse of your pussy in his mouth. His hands gripped your thick hips, making them grind against his face, to guide you, to show you it was okay to do that, because your autism sometimes made you a motionless robot during sex.

“You’re okay, baby?” he asked softly, reassured when you stroked his scalp to say yes.

After a comfortable rhythm of hip movements settled in, he removed his hands and sank his fingers inside you, all the while sucking your clit. A searing, burning sensation in your lower abdomen, almost setting your whole being ablaze, as you pulled at his short hair that had grown since his buzzcut to indicate to him that the combination was perfect.

When you reached your peak, there were no dramatic expressions or noises, just Connie nearly choking as you pushed your pelvic floor into his head and painfully squeezed your thighs around him.

“Still in a hyposensitivity mode?” he whispered, as he managed to pull away from your grip.

You nodded, catching your breath. Connie was always attentive to your autistic sensory needs, especially when you were in a sensory-seeking mode, or a mode where your sensitivity was low and you needed a lot of stimulation, like now.

He removed his underwear, nudging your entrance with his pierced tip as he laid down on you, putting all his weight on you. You were crushed by him, but it was perfect. To further satisfy your sensory needs, he wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing comfortably. It was the perfect combination of pressure for you.

“No tits touching?”

You shook your head. Sometimes, you needed a lot of stimulation while simultaneously hating stimulation somewhere.

He leaned down to kiss your neck. “Okay, mami. Gonna take of you, now. Do you feel my piercing?”

He slid his pierced dick through the folds, still not entering for the moment. Your hands caressed his back, digging your nails into it to communicate that yes, you feel it, and you like it. He groaned, placing more passionate open-mouthed kisses on your skin. He pushed his hips, your warmth welcoming him like a king. He smiled against your skin hearing your usual gasp when his full size was inside you.

“Can’t handle these inches, huh?” he teased, sucking your earlobe. “You’re gonna take this dick anyway. Too bad for you, princesa.”

He leaned back to see your eyes widening every time he penetrated you. He moved his hips backward to let you breathe and pushed back in.

“Why is she wetter than usual?”

He looked at your slick cock, which covered his face with awe.

You pointed at his red eyes. His smile widened.

“Are you turned on by my stoner self? You’re so cute.” He kissed you, his tongue entwined with yours. You breathed softly into the kiss, overwhelmed by him, his dick, his affection.

He slipped his hands under your bent knees and placed them on his shoulders. The position you were in made it impossible for him to hide your belly rolls under your sheer nightgown. He looked terrifying with his low groan and his eyes dilated by weed and your beauty, staring at your curves as if he wanted to devour you whole. He wrapped his hand around your neck again, to your great pleasure. He increased the speed of his thrusts, panting above you, obsessed with the sight of your eyes rolling back when he touched a sensitive spot inside you.

A fever rose in your belly; you were embarrassed to come so quickly again, but every movement of Connie's was precise and deep, so he chuckled when he felt your legs clench his head once more.

He kissed your forehead.

“My baby is needy tonight.”

You nodded, cuddling him, pleading with your eyes to go even faster and harder.

He gladly spent the whole night taking care of you like he always does. Because that’s the thing about Connie: when his princess wants something, he’s going to give it to her. Even if his best friend, your brother, would kill him if he knew.

The baby's cries seemed to subside when she realized she wasn't alone anymore. As if an inexplicable bond connected you to that tiny being. Mother to child. If you could, you would sever the thread that entangled you.

When you gave birth, you thought you would feel that love all mothers talked about, that raw emotion that gripped the heart and delivered promises of protection. Yet you felt nothing. No hatred, no anger. Just an abyssal void. With empty eyes, you stared at the baby in your arms, wondering if you were lucky enough to have her die prematurely.

You pressed the tip of the knife into your daughter's belly, the chubby flesh creating a dip. She was so cute in her pink onesie, the scent of the special baby oil emanating from her making you sick. Becoming a mother meant sacrificing a part of your life for a vulnerable being who didn't know how to navigate the world without you, and you weren't sure you had the instruction manual to be the best guide.

You hadn't eaten or slept since her birth. What mother who couldn't take care of herself could possibly take care of her family?

The more you looked at her, the more hesitant your grip on the knife became. The more you focused on her toothless mouth, her tiny nose, and the few black hairs she had, the more you felt his weight on you. Your breathing quickened, the panic of being trapped beneath a man overwhelming you. You dropped the knife in her crib and rushed back to the kitchen, sitting on the floor with your arms around your knees as you rocked back and forth.

The crying started again, and you were about to lose it. She was too noisy, reminded you too much of him, gave you a stomachache, and then—it was your turn to cry. The bond between mother and daughter. What do you do in this kind of situation? When you had dreams, goals in life that were shattered by the arrival of a baby?  When you were little and you cried, who did you run to for comfort?

Onyankopon. Your brother. Your best friend.

But it's been months since you last spoke, ever since you left college and distanced yourself from your family. He's still friends with the traitor. He doesn't know what happened. You took your phone out of your pocket and stared at Ony's number. He wasn't going to answer. You pressed the call button, waiting with your heart pounding for him to reply.

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚?” he awoke the call, his voice surprised.

You missed his voice, your heart felt lighter when you heard it.

“Hi Ony.”

“Why are you crying?” The bond between brother and sister. He knew just from your voice. He didn't ask why you hadn't spoken to him in so long, why you decided to go through your pregnancy alone. He just wants to know why his best friend is suffering.

“The baby.”

That’s all you tell him. He doesn’t need to know that you were contemplating killing your daughter, that you were depressed and suffering from panic attacks.

Ony sighed, empathy filling his voice.

“It must be hard being a single mother, I understand. Do you need money? Do you need anything? Tell me, I’ll give you anything you need.”

Your best friend. 

“No. I…”

Your eyes rested on the knife drawer.

“I need something to relax me. Especially at night. She sleeps during the day, but at night she cries so much it makes me anxious.”.

“Why don’t you go see a doctor for anti-anxiety medication?”

You drew your lips into a thin line. You hadn't even been able to talk to your brother about your trauma, how were you doing talking to someone you barely knew?

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚?”

“I can't,” you whispered.

Ony remained silent on the other end of the phone line for a few seconds. There was so much he didn't know about you right now, so many questions. He felt like he'd lost his sister, and he was grateful that you were talking to him again even if you weren't giving him any answers.

“I have an idea, but I don't know if you'll like it. Smoke some weed. It might help you fall asleep.”

“Okay.”

“You changed,” he chuckled. It was true that you weren't the type of girl who did that kind of stuff. When you were in college, you were so focused on your studies that you never went to frat parties. Not because you were the "innocent good girl" type, but because you were ambitious. You dreamed of being a writer, and your creative writing major was the perfect degree for you. You loved spending hours analyzing texts, reading classics, and debating in class. Too bad now you couldn't write.

"I've lost myself."

"Don't say that. It's just weed, it's not a big deal. Everyone smokes weed."

"No, Ony. I've really lost myself. I'm this close to taking cocaine to feel better."

"Stay on the green side, never something artificial like coke, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. I don't know what you're going through, but know that I'm here when you're ready to talk."

Was it true? Would he really believe you if you told him?

"Thank you, Ony." 

“I’m gonna send you a friend’s number. His shit is the best.” 

A shiver ran down your spine. You hoped it wasn’t one of his friends  you’d spent your teenage years and college years with. You received the screenshot of the guy’s contact and your body relaxed when you saw that the name “Eren” was unfamiliar.

────────

Ony had said that Eren often woke up late, so he would travel for any request in the middle of the night. Under the moonlight, you left your building wearing a vest that was becoming too small for you. Since you weren't eating, instead of losing weight, your body was storing every little thing you ingested. But you were too depressed to care about your appearance. A black car was parked in front of the building, its windows down, and music was playing. As you approached the vehicle, you recognized Future's voice and the song "PLUTOSKI." You crouched down in front of it, getting to the level of the window.

A man who looked to be about your age had his eyes glued to his phone. His mid-length brown hair framed his face, while his hand held a cigarette outside the car window. His black hoodie blended well with his tattooed skin; you could see ink designs on his neck and hands. His angular features, his mustache and goatee—he was a very masculine man.

“Hi,” you said shyly, resting your elbow on the windowsill. Alerted by your voice, he looked up. Emerald eyes met your brown ones, and you observed each other for a few seconds. Eren’s eyes narrowed on you, noticing that your eyes were puffy.

Ony had warned him that his sister would ask for his services, and he asked him to be gentle with you because motherhood was rough on you. Eren was used to having all sorts of different clients, so selling weed to a single mother wasn’t unfamiliar to him. He was already planning to make you an offer since you were his friend’s sister, but seeing your red eyes, he knew it would make you feel better. He turned down the music on his phone and leaned over to the passenger window.

“Yo.” He inclined his head. “You good?”

“Yeah, sorry. Rough day.” You tried to smile, but it came across as a grimace.

“It’s okay, come in.”

You opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat.

“What’s your budget?” You fidgeted your hands on your thighs, glancing at your building. You thought about your baby crying while you were outside with a drug dealer. What a terrible mother you were. The traitor had ruined your life and your child’s in his wake.

“I only have $30.”

He let out a low chuckle.

“You made me come all this way for $30?”

“Sorry.” You swallowed hard. “I haven’t had many tips at my job lately.”

He brought his cigarette to his mouth for a drag and exhaled.

“It’s all good. No need to explain.”

Eren didn’t care about his clients’ private lives, but you were his friend’s sister; he was at least going to treat you with respect and empathy.

“A bit more than half an eighth is enough for you?” He rummaged in his glove box for 2-gram bags of weed.

“I don’t know what that means.”

His lips curved into an amused smile.

“Your brother is a heavy user, though.”

You looked away; he was a stranger. He didn’t need to know that you had cut ties with your brother for months after your rape. Eren noticed your distant expression, but he didn’t press the issue. He checked his notifications on his phone to see where his clients needed him. It could take him 5 minutes to roll the blunts for you, since you were a beginner. In the dim light of the car, he looked even more attractive, and that made you sad. Sad because you wished you could have fun with a man like him, like you used to do in the rare moments when you weren't studying. Sad because he seemed friendly; you could at least joke with him, but the fact that he was so masculine scared you, reminding you of the traitor.

“It's a grinder,” he explained, showing the cylinder on the dashboard that he had taken out of its glove box. “You put the buds inside, and by twisting it, it makes little pieces. I can give it to you; I have loads at home.”

Your heart swelled at his gift, and you relaxed as you listened to him.

He showed you how to roll a blunt, depositing the greenery onto the paper.

“You need a filter, but a rolled-up piece of cardboard will do.” He showed you the small white piece and placed it inside the paper. He rolled it between his fingers and then brought it to his lips to lick the sticky part.

“Try it.” He handed you one of the small papers for blunts and cigarettes.

You managed to get a little greenery to fill the paper, but when you rolled the paper up to close the blunt, you dropped the filter in the car.

“Six out of ten. You're average,” he teased you, but his tone wasn't unkind. 

You didn't know how, but spending time learning to roll had soothed the unease that consumed you and led you to open the knife drawer. When you gave him your money to pay, you were overcome with the need to stay longer. People were touch-starved, but you were deprived of attention. Like a desert explorer who had spent hours without water, you felt reborn to have a little social interaction after spending your pregnancy alone.

“Do you want to smoke with me?” you asked in a small voice as he started the car.

He paused. “Don’t you have a baby to take care of?”

“Right.”

You flinched and looked down. His gaze softened.

“Avoid showing that kind of expression to other dealers; some of them might take advantage of your distress,” he said, his voice serious.

“I know…”

“And don’t trust dealers who consume the merchandise reserved for their clients. These motherfuckers have no discipline and are probably stupid.”

“You don’t smoke?” 

“Of course I do,” he chuckled. “Not just the weed for my clients.” He received a notification on his phone, and he glanced down. “I have other drops to make.” 

You placed your hand on the car door handle, but he nudged you, offering his fist.

You bumped your fist with his, making a handshake that took you back to your college days with your brother's group of friends.

“Don't change your plug, I get jealous easily.” Your lips quirked up, and for the first time that evening, you had a semblance of a positive expression on your face.

“Don't worry, have a good night,” you got out of the car and walked to your building, your heart lighter than before.

Once home, you breastfed your daughter, your eyes devoid of emotion as you watched the baby in your arms. Your breasts had grown to accommodate the milk needed to nourish her, but your heart didn't have the space to accept it. You rocked her to sleep, and once she was asleep in her crib, you lay down on your bed to smoke the blunts you had rolled. After a few minutes, a state of bliss, free from doubts and anxieties, took hold of you, and you fell asleep, an image of Eren's hand tattoos as he showed you how to roll a joint in your mind.

────────

౨ৎ two months with you ౨ৎ

“Luther” by Kendrick Lamar and SZA played in the living room as Ony, Eren, Connie and Armin smoked together on the couch.

“I tell you the best movie director is Barry Jenkins,” Ony shook his head, his voice dismissive.

“You’re out of your mind,” Connie mumbled. “Have you seen ‘do the right thing’ by Spike Lee?”

“Eren tells this dumbass that Moonlight is the best movie ever made,” Ony nudged Eren, who was barely responsive. Head resting on the backseat, his eyes red-rimmed and half-lidded, he glanced at Ony with a frown.

“Fuck off, man. You know I don’t watch movies.”

“Are you even literate?” Connie chuckled.

Eren glared at him. “What's even the correlation between your question and the topic, dickhead?”

“Eren is more like a music nerd.” Armin said, passing the blunt to Connie. “If you guys had movies about music, he'd watch them.”

Ony side-eyesed Armin. “Here comes the bromance. Leave that dick out of your mouth, man.”

Eren's phone rang. He glanced at the notification. It was a message from you.

“The usual, please. I had a rough day. Can I keep you company while you do your drops?”

“Ony?” he asked. 

Ony stopped bickering with Armin to focus on Eren. “Yeah?”

“Why is your sister so lonely?”

Ony scratched the back of his head, wincing. He was asking himself the same question. “She cut ties with everyone about a year ago, for no reason. She doesn't want to see me, but we talk from time to time.”

Eren's eyes narrowed. “And… You're okay with that? I mean, she has a baby. I've been providing for her for two months now, and every time I see her, she looks like she's been crying.”

“What do you think I am, Eren?” Ony's face hardened. “She is my best friend. I've tried to understand her, but try helping someone who's moving without giving their address to anyone. I'm just going to wait until she's ready to talk about it.”

“She seems to need someone to force their way in.”

“Why don't you want to be her friend?” Ony tried. “She has issues with her family. Maybe someone from the outside would help her.”

“Do I look like a good friend?” Eren sighed, leaned over to rest his elbows on his thighs. He stared at his sneakers. It wasn't that Eren lacked confidence; it was just that he'd never been good at emotional comfort. So trying to improve the mood of a depressed single mother was beyond his capabilities.

“You're a good friend, 'Ren,” Connie reassured him.

Eren rolled his eyes, not believing any of this.

“It's true,” Armin added.

“Oh, we know you like him, man,” Ony laughed quietly.

The boys' laughter filled the room as Eren remained silent, staring at your message.

Eren didn't like broken people. They destroyed everything in their path and were so needy that they stole other people's freedom. Eren needed to be in control of his life. It was thanks to this determination that he had saved his family and lifted them out of poverty. A lot of pressure on the shoulders of a little boy. He was devastated to lose his father, but now, as the only boy in the family, he had to find solutions quickly. He had started dealing drugs for a gang at 15. Being a low-ranking member of a criminal organization was tough because he was the one who had to do the risky work that no one else wanted. But he didn't care; his mother was no longer working due to grief-induced depression, and they had to find money.

He had done everything to ensure his family lacked nothing. He paid for his mother's therapy, paid for his sister Mikasa's ballet lessons, and supported her passion for gothic style. Eren was a fighter. So how could he help a woman who had nothing and couldn't even find the motivation to raise her child? What did he have to teach her?

“Anyway, I don't care about her. She’s your sister, not mine. I have nothing to gain by being her friend,” he lied, but he got up anyway and grabbed his car keys from the coffee table.

“Be gentle with her or I will kill you,” Ony warned him.

“You can’t even take care of her and you’re acting like you’re protecting her,” he sneered, shaking hands with all his best friends before leaving Ony’s home.

────────

“You good?” Eren asked, observing how puffy your eyes were.

Sitting in the passenger seat of his car, you stared at your trembling hands. “Yeah.”

“You don’t seem well.”

“Is this any different from usual?” you grumbled.

“Watch your tone.” Eren started the car and connected his phone via Bluetooth to play his playlist. Bodies by Drowing Pool played in the car, and you watched him curiously as the metal music enveloped you.

“I don’t understand your taste in music. Last Saturday it was rap, today it’s rock.”

“Nu metal, not rock,” he corrected with an amused smile. “I just like music. Why choose a genre when I can appreciate everyone’s art?”

“It’s been months since I listened to music. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be a fan of someone’s discography.”

“Why?” He turned the steering wheel with one hand while his other hand was outside the window, holding a cigarette.

You pressed your back against the seat, your gaze lost on the road. Eren was no longer a stranger. You had shared laughs and some eye contact. But he was your plug, not your friend. How could you talk to him about your trauma, your anxieties, your flashbacks, the fear of losing your brother if you confessed that one of his friends had raped you? He was a man. Men didn't care about women's suffering.

“I guess I can't connect with my emotions anymore. So I can't appreciate art.”

“Like depression?”

“Something like that…”

“When you have these kinds of problems, you always have to talk to someone, otherwise your loved ones will suffer with you.”

“The drug dealer is pro-therapy?” 

He glanced sideways at you. “I said watch your tone.” 

As usual when you talked with Eren, he managed to make you smile and lighten your heart. You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head as you watched him drive. When your eyes landed on Eren, you missed a part of yourself. The part that wasn't afraid of men. The part that flirted with them confidently. The part that knew how to hold a conversation without trauma dumping. Today, only the ashes of a shattered identity remained. Maybe if Eren were ugly, you'd be able to stop being nostalgic for your old self.

“Your hair's grown,” you said softly.

“Yeah, I know, I need to cut it.”

“Wait—No! You look good like that.”

“My bad, if my favorite depressed girl said I was looking good, I should trust her.” 

Your quiet laugh filled the car. 

Eren brought his cigarette to his lips to take a drag, and as he exhaled the smoke, he glanced at you. “You're pretty when you smile.”

“I'm ugly when I'm not smiling?”

“I swear I don't understand women.”

“Thank you, Eren, I was joking.”

A pleasant silence hung in the car. Eren stopped at various buildings to supply his clients with weed. He seemed so comfortable in his job that you wondered why he'd ended up doing this kind of work. He must be financially comfortable, much more so than with your job as a barmaid.

“Are you going to tell me about it or not?” His deep voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Talk about what?”

“Why do you need to spend time with me? Why did you want to come with me to my drops? Why do you look like you’ve been crying every time you get in my car?”

You didn’t want to talk about that. He wouldn’t understand. No one would. Your pain was your best-kept secret. Suffering is precious. Especially when it shapes your identity. You wanted to be more than a rape victim, more than just the label of a woman whose “no” wasn’t heard, but it felt like your life had stopped that night. You didn’t recognize yourself anymore.

“I’ve lost myself,” you repeated what you’d told Ony two months earlier. Hoping he’d understand without asking too many questions.

“And why don’t you go to therapy to find yourself again?”

“They’ll never understand.” How could you explain that you had the option of an abortion but you were too depressed to even leave your house? People will laugh at you, tell you it was your choice, that you can't complain now.

“That's what my mother used to say before I forced her ass to see a therapist. Now, she's doing much better.”

“My problem isn't something that can be fixed with therapy; I need to go back in time and prevent the event from happening.”

“You're not special, you know.” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes serious. “Everyone lives—”

You shot him a cold glare. “You don't know anything about me, so shut up before you compare my traumas to someone else's.”

His jaw tightened. “I'm not your friend, so don't look at me like that before I put shady stuff in the shit you're buying from me.” He threw his cigarette out the window. He gestured with his fingers to indicate the space between you. “The distance between us, you're the one creating it. I could become your best friend in no time if you'd stop acting all mysterious.”

“Who said I wanted to be your friend?”

“You're literally beggin’ for my attention.”

It was awfully true. You had nothing to say against it, so you drew your lips into a thin line and stared at the road.

“You're not special either,” you finally said after a minute of silence. “I don't see anyone besides my daughter, so of course I'm going to get attached to the first person who speaks to me.” 

Get attached to him? You'd lost your mind. Eren didn't do serious relationships. Imagine if he started a family with someone only to suddenly die like his father and leave his wife depressed? No, Eren wasn't going to repeat what had broken his family.

“That's your first mistake. Don't get attached to me.”

His voice was harsher than expected, but it was a defense mechanism.

Your heart sank. You didn't like his tone, what he was trying to say, and you felt stupid because he was just your plug, so why did it hurt so much to hear it? He drove silently to your building. Once there, he stopped the car and stood there without speaking for a few minutes. He glanced in your direction and his heart ached at your downcast expression. He had to make apologies. He wasn't a bad guy, just awkward with his emotions.

“Your brother wants me to take care of you. I'm not good at emotional support; I'm more efficient when it comes to making money. So sorry if I say the wrong things.”

His softer voice soothed the wound his words had created. You didn't reply until you opened the car door. He grabbed your arm before you could let go.

“Call me if you want to come with me on my drops.”

You paused. “So you can tell me I’m not special and that everyone has traumas?”

“Maybe if you talked to me more, I’d stop staying stupid shit like this.”

“So you admit it’s stupid.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’m going to avoid talking to you since I’m not allowed to get attached to you.”

His grip on your arm tightened. “I can be a close friend, but don’t ask me to be more than that.”

“I never asked for more than that. I’m not ready for that either,” you whispered before getting out of the car and walking to your building.

For the first time, Eren didn’t leave immediately and stared thoughtfully at the ghostly image of your silhouette in the street.

────────

౨ৎ four months with you ౨ৎ

Rap blasting in his headphones, Eren focused on his workout on the gym's free weight machines, working his arms with precision, slowing down to feel the burn. Eren didn't have a massive body; he had a sleeper build. Looking at him, you'd think he was just thin, but once he was naked, the definition of his muscles was impressive. He was progressing toward a more muscular physique, like Ony, who was very muscular.

“Your ass is rounder than me, lucky bastard,” Ony nudged him as Eren got up from the weight machine to clean up where he'd sat. A soft chuckle escaped Eren's mouth.

“Stop looking at my ass and find yourself a woman.”

“I have plenty of women. You're the one who needs affection, ‘Ren.”

“I'm perfectly fine.”

“Why don't you sleep with my sister?” 

Eren dropped his towel, which fell to the floor, and his eyes widened. “The fuck?”

“I admit that sounds weird.”

“It’s downright weird, man.”

“I meant, why don’t you try to have a relationship with her?”

Eren frowned. “Why the hell are you forcing me to be close to her?”

“You’re the only one she talks to regularly. She barely replies to my messages. I wish she had a friend or a boyfriend, I don’t care. Just someone to talk to.”

His frown deepened. “Isn’t it a little late to be worrying about this? She went through her pregnancy alone.”

“Ren, you don’t know my sister. She just shuts down even more when you force her to talk. I prefer to give her the space she needs. She’ll come see me whenever she wants. But that doesn’t stop me from trying to help her in my own way.”

Eren picked up his towel from the floor and headed towards the locker room, followed by Ony. “‘Ren, please.’”

“I don’t understand why it’s up to me to heal your sister. It’s not my role. I’m not a therapist.”

“Okay, man, I get that. But it’s almost her birthday, and aside from you and me, she doesn’t talk to anyone anymore.”

“Not even her parents?”

“They reacted badly when she dropped out of college.”

He undressed in one of the changing room stalls and continued talking to Ony.

“So your sister went through something pretty traumatic to drop out of college, stop talking to you, and choose to go through her pregnancy alone, and you think a drug dealer like me is the solution to your problems.”

“Everyone loves you, Eren.”

“And as it should be.” A quiet laugh escaped Ony’s mouth. They showered in silence in individual shower stalls, sharing a toning shower gel.

“What do you want to do for her birthday?” Eren asked, walking beside Ony as they left the gym after changing into clean clothes. “She doesn’t seem to be in the mood for parties. And she has a baby.”

“She told me she works at a bar. I wanted to surprise her by picking her up for drinks at my place with my friends. Just Connie and Armin, not my college friends. She’s been ignoring them for a year now.”

“I know where she works. She’s asked me to come over after her shift.”

Ony smiled. “You’re doing a good job, thank you.”

“Fuck you. It’s not like that.”

“It is like that. She told me that at least three times a week, she comes with you when you’re doing your drops.”

“She’s all alone,” Eren stated, as if that alone explained why he was spending so much time with you. 

“Since when do you care about lonely women?”

“It’s hard not to sympathize with someone you see crying every week. It’s not that deep.” 

Ony raised questions Eren didn’t want to think about. Everything was fine. He was just your friend, your plug, and you went with him to do his drops. Sometimes you laughed, sometimes you argued, but it always ended in softer voices. Although it was fragile, there was definitely a connection. But it was up to Eren to figure out if it meant more than that. The weeks flew by. He felt like ever since he met you, his whole life revolved around you. He looked forward to spending time with you—something he couldn’t explain himself. He cared. He really cared. And he didn’t even know when it had happened during those four months.

────────

“Is Ony’s sister hot?” Connie asked enthusiastically, but he calmed down immediately when his eyes met Eren’s cold glare. “What? I’m just asking—”

“You didn’t even bag Sasha, you want the unattainable,” Eren mocked him.

“Ouch.” Connie pretended to be heartbroken.

Sitting in Eren’s car, Connie in the front, Armin and Ony in the back, they waited for you to finish your shift.

“I’m going to put on some Sexy Redd to make her feel comfortable.” Connie connected his phone to the car to play “Mad at Me.” Eren pinched the bridge of his nose and changed the music to “Go Gina” by SZA.

“That’s not her kind of music, stop your bullshit.”

At that moment, you stepped out of the bar where you worked. Eren honked the horn, and you jumped. He almost felt guilty. Recognizing Eren's car, you approached cautiously, not understanding why he was there.

Eren rolled down the car window and poked his head out to talk to you.

“Happy birthday.”

“W-What?” you stammered, your eyes widening as you saw your brother in the car. 

What day was it? Damn, that's right. It was your birthday. You'd completely forgotten.

But the real question was, why was Eren there for you?

“Bring your ass over here.” He gestured toward the backseat with his thumb.

“I can't…” You stared at the tiny space that remained in the backseat, between Ony and Armin. Just imagining yourself squeezed between men made your stomach churn.

“Why can't you?” Eren asked, his voice soft.

You struggled to verbalize your anguish, the words dying on your tongue. Eren stared at you for a few seconds before turning to Connie.

“Leave the car.”

“The fuck?!”.

Eren ignored him and turned to the backseat.

“Everyone out of the car, you’re going to take the subway.”

Disappointed exclamations echoed through the vehicle, but Eren didn’t care and insisted until all his friends left. Once the trio had walked away to catch the subway, he nodded for you to come to the passenger side. Once seated in the car, you cleared your throat.

“Thank you.”

Eren didn’t reply and started the car. He really cared and he hated it.

────────

Eren was late arriving at Ony's place because he had to pick up your daughter from daycare. While he was driving, he couldn't help but steal curious glances at the baby in your arms. He was itching to ask about the father, but he didn't say anything because something in his head told him that your child's father was probably the cause of all your problems. During the evening, something didn't sit right with him. It was your birthday, yet you remained silent. Connie was trying to make it fun by playing "guess the song" videos on the TV. He was making an effort because you were his best friend's sister. But you barely reacted. You didn't touch any of the food Armin had prepared on the coffee table. He'd seen you smile and laugh before; he knew you were capable of it.

Fuck, he couldn't even focus on anything else. You flooded his thoughts. Was the baby the problem? Were you having trouble getting out of "mom mode"? He was about to do something crazy. After spending the evening watching you while sitting on the couch smoking a blunt, he got up to sit next to you and nudged your arm.

“Give me the baby.”

You looked at him like he had multiple heads.

"Give me the baby," he repeated, his voice gruff, barely responsive because of the weed. "Go have fun with Connie."

"I don't want to have fun—"

"Too bad, I want you to."

He leaned over to wrap his arms around your daughter, and reluctantly you let him hold her. He struggled for a few moments to figure out how to wrap his arms around the baby, but once he was secure against her, he watched her in silence. She had large, curious brown eyes that seemed to react to every sudden movement, so he had to touch her gently. He raised one hand to rub his index finger against her cheek. She smiled, and Eren fought the urge not to smile too, faced with the bundle of tenderness in his arms.

He looked up, and as usual, his eyes always landed on the same person who had occupied his thoughts these past few months—you. You were playfully bickering with Connie because he was deliberately talking so you wouldn't hear the music playing to guess the name. You radiated so much energy; it was a joy to see. Eren tried not to think about the uncomfortable feeling that threatened to ruin the moment and overwhelm him. He knew he was doing something pretty special for a girl he didn't know well enough to do that.

But he felt like he knew you. He could tell when you were anxious, what might make you laugh, what might annoy you. He knew what creates a cute pout on your lips or a glare. He really cared. He hoped this day would be a good memory for you.

────────

౨ৎ six months with you ౨ৎ

The months flew by, and you needed to buy bigger clothes for your daughter. You worked harder and harder to cover your expenses, but the more exhausted you became, the harder it was to control your anxiety. Your fear of men was complex. Normally, you could never have had such a special relationship with Eren because he was a man. A very masculine man, at that. It was only because he was your plug that you had managed to overcome your fear. 

But while you were working, it was difficult not to panic when older men hit on you. Your rape hadn't just destroyed your trust in your loved ones; it had also destroyed your trust in all of humanity. So any man could be a threat. You needed to improve your coping mechanisms because they weren't working anymore. Every time you took a step toward healing, you took twenty steps back.

Your birthday had been amazing. You hadn't laughed that much in a long time. But after that day, your daily grind had resumed with even more intensity. The baby's crying, the diaper changes, the breastfeeding. All that work for a baby you didn't even want.

“Hurry up, there are a lot of customers!!” your boss clapped his hands, and you rushed to grab the trays of beer and bring them to the order tables.

You had to pull yourself together. This month, you'd had six panic attacks in front of customers, and your boss had said you were fired the next time. You handed out beers to each table, forcing yourself to smile to get tips. But you were barely taking care of yourself these days; your clothes were simple and not the kind of revealing outfits men liked.

“Oh, huh! It's been a while.”

You froze at the voice beside you. When you slowly turned your head, your face crumpled as you saw the college friends you'd been running from for over a year because they were all friends with the traitor.

“Hi… I…” Your grip on the tray of empty glasses became increasingly hesitant as your hands trembled. Your mind flashed through images of the party where everything had gone wrong, and you could no longer focus on the real world.

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚! Order for table 5.”

You were unable to move, paralyzed. You could feel your hands on you, on your mouth, your weight pressing you against the mattress.

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, are you okay?”

You took a few steps, but your mind was still on that grim night. You didn't notice you bumped into a customer, glasses shattering on the floor. Your boss yelled at you, but you stared at the broken glass, a stark reminder of your current life.

────────

“If you want a car ride while you cry, I can do that if you want.” Eren offered in an unusually gentle voice.

He wasn't always sure how to handle the situation; usually, when you came to see him, you were done crying. But the second you sat down in the passenger seat that night, you burst into tears. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, letting you express your feelings uninterrupted.

“I'm so sorry.”

“I don't mind.”

“I feel like I'm a burden to everyone and worrying everyone for nothing. I always make the wrong choices. I can't stand ruining my life anymore.”

“You're doing your best—”

“Eren, I got fired today. I deliberately took a job at that bar because it was far from the university I was at,” you sniffled. “Now I have to find a job quickly—”

“How much money do you need?” He cut in. “How much and how long?”

You were frowned upon, confused, but thought quickly. “Eren, I don’t want to deal drugs!”

“The fuck are you talking about?” he chuckled darkly. “You’re too fragile to do that. I wanted to pay your bills.”

This time, you paused. “W-What?”

“It’s not a big deal.” He started the car and focused on the road as if he wasn’t saying crazy things.

“Did you snort cocaine?!”

His lips curved into an amused smile. “Nah, not into that. Only the greenery.”

“Eren—”

“You’re a depressed single mother and my friend’s sister. I’m not going to leave you in the lurch.”

The truth was, Eren didn’t know any other way. His entire adolescence had been put on hold to help his mother, so your situation mirrored his own childhood. You didn't argue about how well you could manage on your own because you knew it would be stupid to refuse such an offer. You lowered your head, swallowing hard.

“Thank you, but…”

“But what?” he sighed.

“I don't really understand the relationship we have.”

“Me neither.”

Neither of you spoke for a few moments before you brought up the subject of your job again.

“I want to work from home, I don't want to go out anymore.”

“Why?” 

You couldn't tell him. You could only tell him that now that you'd run into his friends, there was a possibility of…

“I'm scared,” you said simply.

“Okay.” He tilted his head. “My mother had something similar when my father died. She wanted to stay constantly in the house that had sheltered her husband and was unable to leave it, even to go shopping. I was the one who did it.”

“It must have been a heavy responsibility to bear, no matter your age.” 

His eyebrows knitted. He didn't like receiving pity.

“Sometimes our loved ones need us, and that's what community is all about.”

“Pro-therapy, pro-community, I think I've got the first ethical plug right here.”

“Don't mock me,” he side-eyed you.

“I'm just joking, ‘Ren.”

He liked the sound of his nickname on your tongue.

“What kind of job do you want back home?”

“I've always wanted to be a writer.” Your dreamy eyes stared at the road as he drove. “I've always preferred novels to movies. Every time I finished a good movie, I was sad that there weren't any novels adapted because I want to know what the characters are thinking. I feel like I'm part of the story. So, ever since I learned to hold a pencil, I've been writing stories. But since my depression, I haven't been able to write anymore.”

“Why don’t you write a memoir about your life as a mother with depression?” 

You burst into incredulous laughter. “No one will want to read that.”

“I will.”

“Please. I’m not even thirty yet; I’m not going to write a memoir at my age.”

“Or write poetry if a novel is too difficult.”

“I only want to write about these sad subjects right now.”

“It’s okay. Sometimes that’s what you feel like doing.”

“Why do I get the impression you’re speaking as an artist?”

He turned his head to look at you, a deep crease between his eyes.

“What? A drug dealer isn’t allowed to be interested in art?”

“You know damn well I don’t judge you like that.”

“I hope so.” His features softened.

“What do you do outside of your job?” 

“Gym and drawing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I always wanted to be a tattoo artist.”

Eren rarely talked about himself, so you enjoyed learning more about him; it was like a special gift he was giving you.

“And why don’t you pursue your dreams?”

“It’s hard to leave illegality when you get a taste of money.”

“You don’t pursue your dreams because you want money?” You repeated, judgment in your voice.

“I thought you wouldn’t judge me?” He smiled.

“It’s just that I’d kill to be in your situation. You have the ability to achieve your dream, but you’re holding yourself back for purely capitalist reasons.”

“Grow up poor and frustrated from having nothing, and you’ll see how hard it is to leave abundance once you’ve experienced it.” 

“Right, I… I don’t know what it’s like… But Eren, one day, you’ll have to make this dream come true.”

“I will when you publish your first novel.”

You glared at him. “You’re not fair.”

“Never, never, baby.”

Your mouth opened slightly when he called you “baby” in his deep voice. You deliberately ignored the fluttering heat in your stomach.

Like every time you talked to Eren, you felt better. You weren’t so worried about the future anymore.

Was that really a good thing? Could you really trust this man? Hadn’t you forgotten how traumatized you were by the traitor’s betrayal? What if Eren was being nice to you on purpose, only to rape you when he got the chance, just like the traitor? Your heart pounding, you watched Eren drive, unsure whether to shield yourself from his kindness or welcome him with open arms.

────────

“Sorry about the mess,” you shyly apologized, letting Eren—who was carrying your grocery bags—go ahead.

“I don’t mind.” He shook his head, but surprise flashed across his face at the amount of plastic waste on the living room floor. “Well…”

“Yeah…” Ashamed, you stared at your shoes.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble cleaning?”

“Why would I tell you? You’re not going to help me clean up…”

“Of course I will, go and rest, I’ll take care of it.” He placed the shopping bags in the open-plan kitchen/living room. 

You wanted to refuse, but you’d had another sleepless night because of your daughter’s crying. You desperately needed a nap—your eyes were so heavy. You lay down on the sofa and watched him pick up all the trash before drifting off to sleep. When you woke up, Eren was no longer in the living room, and he had put away the groceries he’d bought. You stretched and looked for him in the apartment. Thinking he’d left, you went to your daughter’s room, where she was crying. Eren was standing there, trying to rock her. 

“She’s hungry,” you explained, taking him from your arms. You carried her to the living room and sat on the sofa while Eren was following you. You pulled your right breast out of your t-shirt to breastfeed the baby. The soft sucking sounds filled the room.

"Why are your eyes so empty when you look at your daughter?" He sat next to you.

His question unsettled you. You'd never noticed before.

"What do you mean?"

"Was the pregnancy planned?"

You tensed. Was this the moment to acknowledge the elephant in the room?

"Not really..."

"Do you love her?"

Eren wasn't trying to be mean or intrusive; he genuinely wanted to know about your relationship with your daughter.

“I… I'm just doing what I have to do as a mother to meet all her needs,” you managed to say, despite the slight tremor in your voice. You would never admit to him that you had considered killing her.

Eren's voice grew serious. “You take care of her physical needs, okay, but if you don't love her, she'll know it.”

“How is that supposed to help me?” you replied defensively.

“If you don't love her,” he stared at the infant in your arms, “you can give her to a family who will love her more than you do.” 

You tightened your embrace around your baby. “I've thought about that. But I'm afraid I'll regret it. Even if I hate her now, maybe I'll love her later.”

You couldn't understand what you felt for this child. You hated her; she represented your trauma. Every time you saw her, you were reminded of your rape, but at the same time… There was a kind of protectiveness, hard to explain, that prevented you from abandoning this child. Because this baby was innocent and hadn't asked for any of this.

“So you admit you hate her.”

“Yeah.”

He let out a heavy breath. “I don't understand why you don't want to get help from a therapist. You don't have to go through this alone.”

You looked away, your face tense.

“Look at me,” Eren said softly, brushing a lock of curly locks away from your face.

“You can't understand.”

“I pay your bills, baby.”

“And what?” Your voice grew hoarse.

“It means that I’m part of your life, yes or no, so I have the capacity to understand what you’re feeling.”

“You’re the one who told me not to get attached to you, and now you want me to let you in more and more.”

“I said I would take care of you, not be your boyfriend.”

You looked up at him, your jaw clenched.

“You’re doing everything a boyfriend does.”

“Except for one thing.” His intense gaze landed on your parted lips before moving up to lock with yours. “I’ve been a good boy, right? I didn’t fuck with you when you were so needy and lonely.”

He couldn’t imagine how his words hurt you. He was talking crudely about intimacy between you, without knowing that it was your greatest fear right now. The truth was, Eren had never been in a serious relationship, so he didn't realize how harsh his words had been. That's how he talked to women he wanted to sleep with; he'd never really been with anyone he cared about before you.

“You're mean.” Your eyes stung. “Don't ever talk about me that way again.”

“I can't cuss with you, baby?” He cocked his head to one side. “Tell me what else I shouldn't do. There must be things I need to learn about you.” 

He said “you,” but you both knew he meant “body.” He was flirting with you awkwardly, and you didn't know how to react. The way he spoke hurt, but you couldn't deny the effect his deep voice had on you, and the cologne enveloping you made you feel like you were bathing in his essence.

The situation was strange because you had one breast exposed, but his eyes weren't on it; they were fixed on your mouth.

“The fact that you didn't take advantage of my vulnerability is the bare minimum. Anyway, I would never have let you touch me.”

“Are you sure about that?” He moved even closer. “Maybe because you were so lonely, you asked me to keep your body warm.”

You focused on your baby so as not to meet his gaze and not to weaken under the pressure of the sensual atmosphere that had been created.

“Absolutely not.”

“I think you're mistaken.”

How could you tell him that you were terrified of intimacy without revealing your secret?

“I'm not that kind of girl, Eren.”

“I hope you'll show me what kind of girl you are one day.”

You sank back into the sofa, biting the inside of your cheek. Anxiety mixed with shyness, and you didn't know what to say.

“Since when do you see me like this?”

“Now. I'm an impulsive man.”

“I think you should find some women to have fun with. I don't want to be used.”

“Why do you have such a negative view of sex? I want to please you.”

The flashbacks flooded back. Your eyes watered. You were pathetic. You spent all your time crying and being a burden to Eren.

“Listen, Eren, it's very kind of you to do the grocery shopping and cleaning, but I'd like you to go home.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, it's just…” you sniffled.

Tell him. Tell Ony. File a complaint. Do something. Don't be pathetic.

“I think it would be better if we stopped talking.”

Eren flinched. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. Absolutely not.

“You’re tired, you should rest a little longer.” He patted your arm.

“No, Eren, I’m lucid. I bring you nothing. I give you nothing. I only take, take, and take. I’m not ready to heal, I’m not doing anything to get better, I’m only bringing you down. A friendship is supposed to be beneficial for both of us.”

“It is beneficial for me. I have fun when we talk. I love taking care of you. You’re my friend.”

“We aren’t friends, you want to fuck me.”

“Friends with benefits.”

“You’ll never have my benefits.”

His lips quirked up. “Don’t challenge me.”

“And in any case, our relationship isn’t healthy. You feel useful helping me because you have a savior complex.”

“That’s just how I was raised. I’m the man who takes care of his family, the man who provides, the man who protects. When my father died, the responsibility fell on me.”

“I’m not your family, Eren. And that’s a misogynistic way of thinking.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be cared for. I want to be useful to my loved ones. That’s how I operate.” He played with one of your curly locks.

“I want to love you too,” you whispered.

“I told you, ‘Don’t get attached to me.’ I don’t want your love.”

“So I should accept all your care without giving you anything in return?”

“Yeah, princess treatment. You don’t have to do anything.” 

Your heart was pounding. You desperately wanted to believe it, but scenarios of him betraying you flooded your mind.

“I don't know, ‘Ren… I—”

“Just try it for a few months, and if you don't like it, I'm out of your life.”

Your daughter started coughing, showing she'd had enough milk, and you tucked your breast into your top.

“Okay.” You tried to smile.

“I'll try to find you a therapist who makes sessions at your place.” Eren stood up and put his hands in the pockets of his baggy navy jeans.

“I don't—”

“Shut your mouth.” 

Your gazes challenged each other for a few seconds before you turned your head away, and Eren smirked.

“Have a good night,” he said before leaving the apartment.

What was this feeling of hope that all was not lost? Was this how you fall in love? But was it healthy? The relationship was so unbalanced. Did you have the right?

────────

౨ৎ eight months with you ౨ৎ

You and Eren had found a routine. Every Saturday, when Eren came to give you your weed, he'd run errands and clean while you took a nap. Every time you woke up, Eren had Neusa in his arms, and it gave you a strange feeling in your stomach. You avoided talking about the fact that he treated her like she was his daughter. The rest of the week, he made his drops, drew, and spent time with his friends. You texted a lot. You made an effort to ask as many questions as possible about Eren's life, since you were the center of your relationship with him. Eren had found a therapist who came every Wednesday for therapy sessions. Their name was Hange; they were a bit eccentric, but they didn't press the issue when you didn't want to talk about the root of your problems. The therapy focused on how to manage your anxiety.

There was so much to work on within yourself, but you weren't ready yet. Maybe you never will. Eren said it was okay if you never spoke, and you tried to believe him. You were brainstorming your novels when there was a knock at the door. You left your desk to open it and found Eren, his eyes red and his hands in his hoodie pockets. You might have thought he'd been smoking, but his eyes weren't half-closed, and the puffiness told you he'd been crying. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for him.

"Yo," he greeted you, his voice gruff.

"It's not Saturday." You let him into the apartment.

"Do I need a specific day to see my favorite girl?" Butterflies fluttered in your stomach the way he was referring to his favorite girl.

"Where is my second favorite girl?" He looked around the living room.

 “She’s asleep, leave her alone. You carry her more than I do.”

He let out a quiet laugh, then flopped onto the couch, spreading his legs. He patted his thighs with a look that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. You sat on your lap and he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth, then rested your head in the crook of your neck. A heavy breath escaped his mouth, as if he was holding back all his sorrows before crossing the threshold and could finally let them out.

“Why do you look like you’ve been crying?”

“Rough day,” he simply replied. You ran your hand through his hair, untangling a few strands, and he closed his eyes at your touch.

“I couldn’t go see my friends. The last time they saw me cry, I heard about it for years.”

Your body shook from your giggle, and he glared at you.

“So I figured I could go see the certified CEO of tears; at least you wouldn’t judge me.”

“It’s true that I cry a lot,” you admitted, your voice guilty.

“It means you have a lot of emotions to express, which is healthy. I feel a lot too, but it manifests in my anger. It’s no fun.”

You silently stroked his hair for a few moments before he spoke.

“It’s my dad’s birthday.”

Oh. Everything made sense.

You cupped his face in your hands to get a better look. With his bright eyes and sad expression, he looked like a little puppy deserving all the attention in the world.

“It’s ridiculous. I’m fine all year, and then there are days like this, when I feel like the world has collapsed.” 

“Hange told me the body remembers the date of the trauma.”

“I’m not traumatized. You are.”

You pouted. “It sounds like you’re talking about an illness.”

“Yeah, so if you could avoid infecting me, thanks.”

You mock-punched him, and his lips curved into a small smile.

“You look pretty when you pout. I might intentionally reproduce that expression on your face in the future.”

“I thought I was prettier when I smiled.”

“You’re the prettiest anyway, no debate.”

He nuzzled your neck, inhaling your comforting scent.

“You want to talk about your father?”

“Nah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just being with you makes me feel good.”

That was enough to soothe your worried heart. You stayed cuddling for a while before Neusa woke up crying. You flinched, her cries triggering you as always, but Eren kissed you on the temple.

“I’ll take care of it.”

He got up to go to Neusa's room, and you took the opportunity to change into your pajamas and turn off all the lights in the apartment. Sitting on your bed, you waited for Eren, rolling blunts. He finally knocked on the door, his hands in his jeans pockets, his gaze fixed on the floor; he almost looked shy.

"I'm sorry to ask, but can I sleep over tonight? I don't really want to be alone." 

You patted the spot next to you without saying anything.

He sat up and looked at your blunts strangely.

"Why are they so fat?"

"It hit faster," you teased.

"Right, right, now you're an expert. Don't forget you always dropped the filter first." 

You scoffed before giving him a blunt. With a lighter, he lit it and took a few drags before lying down to stare at the ceiling where the smoke from his mouth rose.

“Imagine you build a family with someone and then you die, and it’s your first child who has to deal with what you left behind. Everything you worked so hard for—gone.”

“I think I’ll be very sad but very proud of my child in the afterlife.” 

A bitter smile formed on his lips.

“I doubt my father is proud of me. He was a doctor. Now I sell addictions to people.”

“I think the end justifies the means.”

“Me too.” He passed you the blunt so you could take a drag. “That’s why I can’t start a family.”

“Are you afraid of abandoning them when you die?”

“I guess so.” 

“What if you die of old age? You’ll be able to see your grandchildren and everyone will be happy?”

“It’s precisely because I can’t choose that I prefer to avoid disaster.” He glanced at you. “And you, what’s your greatest fear?”

Being betrayed again. You looked away, your eyes shifting.

“Okay, okay.” He rolled his eyes, but there was no malice in his voice. “At least tell Hange.”

“No, I want to tell you, but…”

“But what?”

“Eren, if I told someone what happened, it would be admitting I’m an idiot.”

“Connie is an idiot, and he’s perfectly fine with it.”

“Not an idiot like him. An idiot like… a victim.”

His eyes narrowed. “And what’s so idiotic about being a victim?”

“There’s no value in being on the side of those who didn’t fight.” 

He pulled your arm so you fell onto his chest. Your curly hair brushed against his face, and he gazed into your eyes.

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

“Yeah?” you replied shyly.

“No matter what happened to you, you shouldn’t be ashamed or think you’re worthless just because you couldn’t defend yourself. Fight or flight response, Hange didn’t you talk about that?”

“Just because you explain it rationally doesn’t change how I feel.” Your upper lip quivered.

“Do you want to cry?”

“I’m not pathetic, stop seeing me like that.” Your eyes welled up in spite of yourself.

He cupped your face, pulling it close until your noses touched.

“Cry, I’ll drink them in.”

You chuckled, your shoulders shaking. “You’re so embarrassing, oh my god.”

A tear fell into the space between his nose and lips, and he stuck out his tongue to lick it. You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“See?”

“That was very corny, Eren. Totally unsexy.”

“Because you usually find me sexy?” Heat rushed to your cheeks, but you tried to keep a normal, unflustered expression.

“No.”

“Liar.”

He licked your lips. Your eyes widened, a heat crackling in your lower abdomen.

“Eren…”

“Hm?”

“You’re weird.”

“I want you.”

He looked into your eyes, deadass. This was the day you'd been dreading. The day he'd confess the desire between you, the day you'd be forced to refuse him because of your fears, even though you were dying to discover who he was in an intimate setting. If you'd known him for two years right away, you would have undressed for him in a single glance. But you weren't the same person you used to be. Or at least, that's what you thought.

"I already told you I wasn't that kind of girl."

"Just a kiss, baby. I've been a good boy lately." 

You stared down at his plump lips, your mouth watering at the thought of kissing him passionately. What was stopping you? It was just a kiss. Nothing more. You didn't have to be afraid of Eren. You were safe. Your lips brushed for a few seconds before you pressed them against his. Just a kiss. He traced your upper lip with the edge of his tongue before slithering it into your mouth, sliding it onto yours. Just a kiss. He groaned into the kiss as your tongues tangled together. Just a kiss. So focused on feeling him make out with you, you forgot to breathe, so when he pulled away, you took a deep breath.

You looked at each other in silence for a moment, panting, before devouring each other's mouths again. His hands slipped under your t-shirt, caressing your sides, digging into the generous padding, kneading the pillowy flesh.

"So cute," he murmured against you. He liked having something to grab; he'd already noticed your ample curves before and was thrilled to finally be able to touch you. His rough hands on your soft skin made you shiver, and you missed what it felt like to be touched by someone. Missed what it felt like to be desired, to be seen as the most beautiful person on earth for a moment. Your brain on autopilot, your lips moved in sync, his tongue playing with yours as he gripped your thick waist. 

Not satisfied with the position, he rolled you onto your back to lie on top of you, his right hand on the headboard, his left elbow beside your ear. He ground his hips against yours to make you feel his erection, the friction fanning a fire in the pit of your stomach.  You were nothing but sweat, heat, and desire as you wrapped your legs around his waist and rocked your lower body against his. He pulled away to run hot, open-mouthed kisses over your skin, tickling you, and he smiled against your skin. The kiss had pressed a button in your brain, releasing fragments of your former self, a confident girl who knew how to enjoy herself with boys.

It wasn't until he pulled off your t-shirt, until the cold air hit your skin, that you snapped out of your trance, and your defenses reformed with lightning speed. As if regaining consciousness, your gaze lost its fiery glint, your body began to tremble, and you avoided his gaze, covering your chest with your hands. He lifted his head from your neck. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, “what’s bothering you?” 

Your words died on your tongue. He tilted his head, his eyes gentle. He wanted to choose the right words. He had connected the dots, and he had a pretty good idea what had happened. You’d have to be blind not to understand.

“You know, can you tell me anything?” 

You nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “

You know I would never hurt you?” 

In the fog that was the inside of your head, Eren’s deep voice brought you back to reality. It grounded you.

You timidly raised your head toward him and nodded again. He pulled off your pajama shorts, taking your panties with them. He leaned down to trail kisses from your neck to your stomach, taking care to suck on your brown nipples, goosebumps erupting with every lick and press of his lips. Reaching your hips, he tried to spread your legs, but they were firmly closed.

“Please, baby, I will make you feel so good.” He kissed your thighs, waiting for you. You slowly opened your legs, Eren nibbled the inside of your thighs, and moved up to your tight heat to part your lips with his fingers. In front of your tender cunt, he was almost in love; she was so pretty, she needed his care.

His tongue caressed your wet folds, fanning the flames that threatened to consume your entire being. Placing your thighs on his shoulders for better positioning, he sank his tongue inside, twisting around at a slow pace, always gently, as if your most intimate parts were sacred. He collected your arousal in his mouth, his eyes rolling back with the sweet taste. There was something intimate about having your taste in his mouth, your scent enveloping his face.

You were so withdrawn, keeping your precious secrets hidden in your heart, safe from others. He wanted you to let go, to savor this moment without your inner demons making you doubt whether you deserved this pleasure or not. He pushed his tongue further, touching you in hidden recesses deep inside. You stared at the ceiling, your heart pounding. You were with a man, in your bed, doing things you never thought you'd do again because of your fears. Everything was okay; you could allow yourself to enjoy yourself. It was okay if your legs trembled; Eren seemed not to mind. You got this.

He explored every inch of your pussy, slurping the slick leaking from your slit. He knew he was good at this, but he didn't know if you liked what was happening because you were still. Often, eating out was a passionate act with the giver devouring his partner and the woman frantically rocking her hips in their face. But your body was inert; you made no sound. He pulled his mouth away from you to raise his head.

“You good?” he murmured.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him. “I can’t cum, Eren.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean you can’t cum?”

Everyone can cum, right? Why can’t you?

“I… Something happened.”

Her eyes saddened. “Baby, who hurt you so badly? There’s nothing you can do.”

The feeling of being a burden, a useless and broken woman, washed over you again. The urge to cry returned, but you were tired of being a crybaby. It was embarrassing. You wanted to be strong, someone Eren could be proud to have around, not the broken girl he helped because he’d been raised with a savior complex.

“I’m sorry, Eren, you can leave if—”

“Hell no.” The tips of her fingers teased your entrance. “It’s okay if you don’t reach your peak, we can still have a good time. The most important thing is to share something.” 

This was a bit unfamiliar to Eren. When he slept with women, the goal was for both of them to orgasm, and then it was over. He'd never truly shared anything as intense as this, where he had to take care of someone and simply enjoy the moment without performing. Enjoy the present moment. He'd never really done that before. His life was a constant race for money; he didn't have time to rest. He plunged two fingers into your glistening flesh, the palms of his hands facing the ceiling so he could curl them inside and reach your sweet spot. You tensed at the sensation of a foreign object penetrating you, a flashback to when the traitor had thrust his fingers inside you, ignoring your distress and your "no."

Eren noticed your panicked eyes and slowed the pace of his thrusting. He lowered his head to slide his tongue over your clit, wrapping his lips around the sluice bud to suck it. A soft fire snaked through you, awakening every fiber of your being. You closed your eyes tightly, your body heating up. You arched your back, your breath becoming ragged at the divine sensation of his tongue on your sensitive flesh and his fingers pumping in and out of you. It wasn't pointless. Even if something inside you was broken, it wasn't useless. There was meaning in doing this.

“That's an expression I've never seen,” he whispered, his warm breath on your cunt, “what do I have to do to make you keep it forever?” The thrusts of his fingers became more intense, the squelch of pussy filling the room. A moan tore from your lips. “Tell me, baby. What's your favorite sex position?”

“Currently or when I was normal?”

“You’re normal to me. The best kind.”

“I think…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to remember a time when fear wasn’t your primary emotion. “I liked when my legs were on a man’s shoulders.” Eren pulled away from you and removed his t-shirt, revealing a body covered in black ink, the contours of his bulging muscles making your mouth water. The rest of his clothes fell to the floor, and once he stood naked before you, like a Greek god, you bent your knees and spread your legs a little wider. Eren followed your movement with his eyes, his lips curving into a smirk.

“You want me?” His voice dropped a few octaves, becoming husky.

How could you tell him you found him sexy with his burning green eyes contrasting with the darkness of his hair and neck tattoos? That he so masculine next to you that it made you long for a better relationship with your femininity? You stared at him, your gaze shy, hoping he would figure it out on his own. He grabbed one of your calves to pull your ass to the edge of the bed, then slid his hands down to your hips to lift your lower body, bringing it closer to his erection. Lying down, the position allowed you to glimpse his pink tip nudging your entrance, his imposing size, and your heart gripped with terror. What if Eren were to transform into a monster? Shatter your trust? Betray you? Fuck you without regard for your boundaries and fears? Ignore your "no" and your "stop"?

"I'm not him," he reassured you, feeling the tremors in your body. "You're safe and cared for. I'll stop if you're uncomfortable." He took your legs, placing your heels on his shoulders, and turned his head to kiss one of your calves. “Do you trust me?”

You wanted to say yes, that he was the only man who made your heart beat since your rape, but the words wouldn't come. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you rushed to dry them because you didn't want to be a crybaby.

“Stop that shit,” he gritted out, “you know you can cry with me. I won't judge.” He wanted to bend down to kiss you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, to make love to you missionary-style to reassure you, but he was afraid his weight on you would trigger you. 

He didn't know what he was doing. He had never slept with a woman who had been raped. He had never been very gentle in bed, especially with one-night stands that didn't require emotional intimacy. But you, you needed all his attention and affection. He felt that if he held you wrong, you'd collapse, and in a way, he was waiting for you to do that so you'd see he was capable of catching you.

"Let it out," he continued, "if you can't enjoy sex, at least use this moment as an outlet." He placed his hand on one of your thick thighs pressed against his sculpted abdomen. "I'll start, is that okay with you, baby?"

Consent is sexy, consent is godly, so why do you feel miserable? Eren was definitely rough in bed. It suited his vibe. You didn't like him making an effort for you; it made you feel fragile when you wanted to be a strong woman. You gave him a slow nod. He moved his hips forward, burying the tip inside, cursing under his breath because you were so tight, he hadn't prepared you enough. He looked so beautiful like this, his gaze focused, brows furrowed, his body tense with the feeling that he couldn't go any deeper now. You wanted to devour him. He pulled out, a guilty expression on his face.

"I didn't do enough foreplay—"

"You can fuck me, Eren." You sniffled. "I want you."

"Promise me you won't tell this to another man." With the slow drag of his dick, he penetrated you, stretching you to his size. He closed his eyes and sighed at the sensation of the damp, tight heat enveloping him. “Keep saying shit like this. Just for me.”

As the roll of his hips fed into you, you whispered praise about him, how sexy you found him, how you wanted him to take you, how good it felt to feel him inside you. His ego swelled, and his lips quirked up, but he remained silent, flooded with your verbal desire. Tears streamed down your cheeks, flashbacks flooding your mind, but talking to him kept you grounded in the moment. He didn't tell you to stop crying, that you were ruining the mood, that you were weak. He accepted vulnerability, making it his own.

Every thrust of his hips filled you, spreading a warmth throughout your being that cradled you. The slick spilling from your cunt added a new sound atmosphere as the wet noises of your union filled the room. After a while, you were no longer able to speak, the hot coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter, like an insatiable hunger devouring your body. Your lips parted, you panted, your ample chest rising and falling, your breathy moans mingling with his groans. The green of his eyes was stormy with desire as he took of the sight of your sweaty body being taken by him. Everything was so right, everything was so good.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice rapsy.

“I can’t cum, it’s no use.”

“I don’t think I asked for your opinion. Touch yourself.”

Your hand, which was clinging to the sheets, descended to the feverish warmth of your inner thighs, so that your fingers made circles on your throbbing bud. His gaze darkened and he picked up the pace—his movements still gentle.

“Touch your chest.”

Your other hand began to knead one of your breasts. “L-Like this?”

He bit his lower lip, staring at you. The sight made his cock twitch inside you. “I’m going to finish soon if you keep teasing me like this.”

You chuckled. “I’m doing what you want me to do…”

“Don’t laugh at me before I fuck you like a slut.”

Fear flashed across your face and he smirked.

“Awwww,” he teased, “sorry, baby.”

You moved your foot to try and kick him in the face, but he kissed your toes. He angled his hips deeper, and a gasp escaped your mouth at how full of him you were. An electric urgency coursed beneath his skin, awakening every crease, every hollow, urging him to fuck you faster. “E-Eren, wait,” you breathed out as his thrusts quickened, your sobs intensifying.

“I’m not him,” he rasped, rocking his hips, his insides igniting with a gentle fire. “You feel it? How good I fill you? How good I fuck you? I can feel your pussy pulsing around me.”

“I’m scared…”

“Of what? Where’s the danger?”

“I don’t know,” you sobbed, “I don’t feel good.”

Eren stopped abruptly. He released your hips and looked at you with concern as you curled up on the bed, your hands covering your face. Everything wasn’t right, everything wasn’t good. Eren ran a hand through his hair. What should he do? Letting you cry because you needed to, or trying to comfort you? But what could he say to erase such a violent fear? He got dressed and left the room. From cleaning your place so often, he knew where most of your things were. He took out a glass, filled it with juice, grabbed a packet of candy, and went back into the bedroom. He sat down next to you and stroked your back.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed.

“I don’t see anyone offended in the room.”

He put the glass and candy on the floor before pulling you back close to his chest. His erection was aching, but reassuring you was more important. You were probably thinking you were a burden, a miserable woman. You needed to hear that you weren’t any of that. He kissed the top of your head. 

“You’re not broken, just a bit damaged.”

“It’s been two years, and I’m still the same.”

“People suffer from their trauma for decades and decades, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. You’re at the very beginning of your healing.”

You sniffled, snuggling against his chest. “But I have a baby, I can’t continue to be such a mess.”

“You didn’t even want the baby, how do you expect to be okay?”

“I should have had an abortion,” you murmured.

He didn’t judge you; he took your pain and held it close. “You can still put her in an orphanage.”

“No.” You nuzzled his chest. “Imagine her being abused by a family…”

“You say you hate her, but you’re very protective.”

“I don’t want to talk about her. Just hold me.”

“Okay.” 

In the following weeks, Eren slept with you every Saturday. It wasn’t easy. You had to find positions that wouldn't trigger you, and he had to manage to stay aroused even if you were crying against him. But he was making an effort for you; he knew you needed that space to express yourself. You didn't really talk about being a couple, even though your relationship was particularly ambiguous. Sleeping with Eren had unlocked something within you, and for the first time in your life, you had dared to talk to Hange about your rape. The healing process was only just beginning.

────────

౨ৎ ten months with you ౨ৎ

“What if he rapes me now that he has access to my body?” The tremor in your voice didn't go unnoticed. Hange adjusted her glasses and leaned over the table, crossing her arms, her eyes serious.

“What if everything happened and you'd met a charming man who loved you? Did you consider that possibility before you first thought of the catastrophe?”

“Eren doesn't love me. He's just used to taking care of his mother and sister, so he's incapable of leaving a woman alone in distress. He's got an ego. He likes to be in control of my life.”

“It's true that your relationship is unbalanced right now, but there's no guarantee that won't change with time.”

You looked down, sniffing. “I’d like to have a relationship with him once I’ve regained my personality. Once I have something to offer him. I’m just a shadow of my former self these days.”

The worst thing about trauma is that the day the incident happens, everything collapses for you, but the world keeps turning. You’ve lost a part of yourself, but it’s just another random Monday for everyone else. You continue to sink, but capitalist society wants you to remain productive; you don’t have time to wallow in self-pity. And God forbid, PTSD takes control of your entire personality; you’ll be seen as annoying.

“I’m trying to write right now, but I’m struggling. All the writing advice I get tells me it’s wrong to write trauma-defined characters and that they need to have a lovable side personality so the reader connects with them, but… What if the trauma makes you weak, miserable, detestable? The only times trauma completely transforms a person is often with the villains in fiction.” You raised your head, a passionate glint in your eyes like every time you talked about writing. “I want to write a character like me.” 

Hange’s eyes softened. ‘L$D’ by A$AP ROCKY played in your kitchen, the dreamy soft song filling the room. Hange always played music to make her patients feel comfortable.

“Why don’t you write a memoir? Write everything you feel in a journal, and once you think you’ve made peace with your past, write a memoir.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever make peace with my past…”

“You never thought you’d sleep with a man again, but look at you now. Getting slutted out every week.” 

Blood rushed to your cheeks as your flustered expression made Hange laugh.

The rest of the therapy session went smoothly. A few minutes after Hange left your apartment, Eren knocked on the door.

“Sup.” He was standing there, hands in the pockets of his baggy navy jeans, his bicep tattoos standing out even more against his white t-shirt. You’d let him kiss you against the door if you could.

“Hey,” you smiled softly. “You need something? It’s not Saturday.”

“I’ve been thinking about something. I think it would do you good to have some friends. You don’t see anyone all week except me, it’s not healthy.” 

“But I’m afraid to leave the house…”

“That’s why I’ll come with you. You won’t be alone,” he promised, nodding his chin, “go get dressed and take Neusa with you.” 

You went to do as he asked, ignoring the butterflies fluttering in your stomach and the fact that he wanted to improve your social life.

────────

Eren's car stopped in front of a mysterious building, its architecture modern and its windows large. Eren took Neusa in his arms and walked you to the entrance without giving you any information. Once inside, while Eren spoke to the receptionist, you observed the multitude of posters on the walls, and a flash of understanding crossed your face as you read their contents. It was an association for women who were victims of sexual abuse. All types of sexual abuse, whether incest, prostitution, or marital rape. The association opened its doors to any woman whose "no" had been ignored, to any woman who had been pressured into saying "yes," or to any woman who thought it was normal to sleep with someone older while still a minor.

You stared at Eren's back, biting your lower lip. What had you done to deserve this? All you did was cry and be needy. As if he could hear your thoughts, he turned around.

“They have support groups and a social media group for those who need to talk more. There’s one starting in five minutes in the door on the left. I’ll wait for you in the waiting room.”

“Eren, why are you doing all this? I’m not even—”

“Shut up, you’re going to ruin my mood.”

Eren ignored you and went to sit down and play with Neusa. There was something comical about watching this muscular, tattooed man play with a little baby. You could hear your daughter’s soft coos, and your heart swelled.

The support group session lasted a good hour. There were all kinds of women in a small group of 15. Prostitutes, teenagers, mothers. Some had completely fallen apart after their rape, just like you; some had become addicted to sex; others hadn't realized the gravity of the situation until years later; and still others had been abused at a young age and confused love with sex, especially when the perpetrator was a family member. You remained silent for the entire hour, but you listened attentively to what they said. Sometimes it resonated with your own feelings; sometimes you gained a new perspective on the trauma that you hadn't considered. It was comforting to be surrounded by people who admitted to being deeply affected by the same event as you.

You no longer felt weak or alone. These women were strong, and it would be foolish to exclude you, thinking you were the exception, the one who would never heal. Perhaps you will be left with lasting effects, but you will learn to live with them because everyone has a degree of resilience within them. You exchanged numbers with the other mothers; at least you'd get some parenting advice, and you could talk to them about your mixed feelings about your daughter. Eren looked up as you left the room.

“I thought you'd come back crying,” he teased, getting up from his chair to join you.

“I feel strangely good. It did me good.”

“Good.”

The car ride was quick, but instead of going to your apartment, it stopped at Ony's.

“Eren—”

“You need to make up with your brother.” 

A shadow fell over your face.

“I don't want to talk to someone who's friends with my rapist.” 

“But he doesn’t know anything, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. He can’t guess. He’s not with you as often as I am, so I figured out what happened.”

 You stared silently at your daughter.

“Talk to him, please,” he insisted, “you’re doing everything right, things will start getting better for you, I promise.”

When Ony opened the door and saw you and Eren, with your daughter in your arms, his radiant smile made your heart ache.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Eren took Neusa and went into the house, leaving you alone with Ony. Ony closed the door and pressed his back against it, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

“So…” he began.

“How’s it going with university?”

His eyes lit up.

“It’s so great, the master’s program is much more interesting than the bachelor’s. I love studying architecture so much that I think I’ll continue all the way to a doctorate.”

You gave him a small smile. Ony had always been a very intelligent and ambitious man. Ever since he was little, he’d always wanted to build houses; Lego was his favorite toy when he was a kid. So when, after finishing high school, he said he wanted to have his own architecture firm, everyone knew he was going to be successful.

“It makes me happy to see you thriving.”

“And you? Have you been writing your novels?”

You made a face. “I stopped writing after my pregnancy, but I’ve started again recently. I’m just afraid people won’t like them.” 

“Why? You're talented, you've always written since you were little. I was so surprised when I found your Wattpad account when you were 13. You were freaky as hell on here.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “Yeah, I know… It's just that I want to write about what happened to me, but I feel like all the writing advice tells me my way is wrong.”

“Who gives a fuck? It's your story, you know what you went through, so you write it however you want.”

Tell him.

“Ony, I…” Your throat tightened, the words stuck in your mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still friends with… Floch?” Saying his name made you feel nauseous.

“Of course I am, he wants to do a PhD with me. It's cool to have a friend with the same ambitions as you.”

“R-Right…”

“Are you okay?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, worried by the tears welling in your eyes.

“Ony, Floch hurt me really badly… I… I would like you to stop talking to him.”

Surprise flashed across his face. “He hurt you?”

“He’s Neusa’s father.” 

A deep crease formed between his eyebrows as he considered what you were trying to say before his face hardened.

“You… you slept together? And he didn’t take responsibility for the baby?”

“It’s so much worse than that, Ony. Don’t make me say it out loud.” 

Fury ignited in his eyes as he realized what had happened.

“Fuck, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You spent your whole pregnancy alone with this on your mind, damn it!”

“I-It’s okay, Ony, it’s okay. I needed this time alone; I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about it.”

“No, this isn’t okay, you have to file a complaint! I’m going to kill him the moment I see him at college, I swear to God—”

“Ony, I’m the victim, so I get to decide what happens to my rape,” you cut in, your voice harsh, “I don’t want to go to the police, and I don’t want to cause any trouble. So you’re not going to do anything to him. I just want you to stop being his friend so I feel safe with you.”

His face softened, his gaze turned guilty. “Okay, sorry. You’re right, it’s your trauma. It’s just… It’s so unfair. I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. He inhaled your scent, which he had missed during the months you had cut ties with him.

“I'm glad I sent Eren to be your friend; he brought my sister back to me.”

“Hm, we're more than friends…”

“No way, he loves you like that?”

“I don't think he really loves me—” 

The door opened, the baby's cries interrupting your conversation.

“I think she's hungry,” Eren stated, rocking the baby in his arms.

“Okay, let's go home, then,” you suggested and glanced at Ony. “Don't you see me differently?”

He huffed. “The fuck you're talking about? It's not your fault. It's him I see differently now.” Ony kissed your cheeks goodbye before giving you one last hug. The care ride to your apartment was short, and after you breastfed your daughter, Eren rocked her to sleep.

Once you were alone, Eren lay down on your bed and sat you on his lap. His hands came to rest on your ass, and he kneaded your ample flesh, his eyes closed.

“Eren?”

“Hm?”

“What do you like about me?”

His eyes fluttered open. He stared at you, lingering on your pouty lips. “Everything.”

“I am more nothing than everything, Eren.”

“That’s not true.” He sat up on the bed and pulled you against his chest. “I love your smile. You never smile, so I go crazy when I manage to get a happy expression on your face. It’s like winning a gold medal. You’re a bit like a cat; it takes a long time for you to give your trust. It’s rewarding to be with you. I like working for your trust.”

His words sent a wave of heat through your entire body.

“Eren…”

“I love it when you talk to me about your novels. You have such a vivid imagination; I could listen to you for hours. I hope to read them someday.”

“I don’t know when I’ll finally finish my projects…”

“But you will, I’m sure of it.” His hands cupped your face, and he pressed his lips to yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. “I like being here for you. It makes me useful, I love taking care of you,” he whispered against you.

You flinched. “This isn’t healthy, Eren. A good relationship should be balanced; I should give you as much as you give me. This is toxic between us. It’s your ego wanting to be useful and control everything.”

His hands slipped under your t-shirt to caress your soft stomach, his erection hardening at the feel of your pillowy flesh that he loved to touch. “What if this is how our relationship should be? I’ll be the one who provides, and you just focus on healing.”

“It’s toxic—”

“Who gives a shit? Let’s be toxic together.” He lifted your t-shirt and you raised your arms for him to take it off. “Let’s be unconventional, let’s be abnormal.”

Thirty minutes later, the sound of your pants filled the room as you rode Eren on his lap, his hands gripping your ass as if it were his most precious possession. He ravished your mouth, making out with you passionately, his kisses desperate as he wanted you to accept the unbalanced nature of their relationship, to accept his care and his love language. Your eyes were closed, while his remained wide open, feverish, in love.

“Eren?”

“Hm?”

He tugged at your hair to make you lift your chin and traced his mouth down your neck, leaving a wet trail behind him. Your mind was in a daze, you were bathed in his affection, enveloped by him, his scent all around you. Like on a cloud, your heart swelled, almost bursting with the love you felt for him.

“I think I really love you,” you murmured.

His grip on your hair tightened, and he paused, his warm breath on your skin.

“Don't say stupid shit like this.”

“I know, we shouldn't, we aren't healthy, but—”

A heavy breath escaped his lips. “That's not the problem, baby. You know damn well what the real problem is.”

“Eren, you can't control death. It's not your fault if you die and your family is left without you.”

His hands gripped your hips, guiding you to ride him faster. A veil of shadow crossed his face.

“Shut up, you can't understand. You don't know me.” 

“I can’t understand? I don’t know you?” You huffed. “That’s why you came to me when you were crying for your father?”

 He stretched his back on the bed and pressed the heels of his feet into the floor to lift his hips and thrust harder into you. Your hands fell onto his shoulders as you bounced on his dick, the ball of heat in your belly threatening to explode at any moment.

“Don’t talk about that when I fuck you,” he muttered.

“So when are we going to talk about this?”

“When I’m ready, for fuck’s sake. I’ve been patient with you, right? Are you the only one allowed to be traumatized or what?” he snarled, pounding into you. You wanted to contradict him, tell him you understood his pain, but you wanted him all to yourself so badly that you were frustrated with the situation, but the pleasure took over. Your pants turned into breathy moans as he rutted into your pulsing hole. He made you ride him, making your whole body jiggle, making you feel alive and so turned on. His eyes half-lidded, his mouth watered at the sight of your tits bouncing around.

You tried to cover your mouth to avoid waking your daughter, but he yanked your arm away and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing your sweaty chest against his. He shivered at your whines next to his ears, his ragged breathing beside you making your cunt clench. Bending his knees, he raised his hips even higher so his downward strokes would deepen, hitting your spongy spot inside you. The embers in the hollow of your body ignited, awakening all your senses, every inch of skin.

“E-Eren, I think I'm gonna….” Your mouth agape, waves of pleasure rising from your core and stretching through your body, making you tremble as your drenched heat tightened around Eren.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered in your ear as his thumb slipped between your thighs to slide onto your clit. “Give me that shit.”

The combination of his finger on your throbbing bud and his deep voice in your ears made your eyes roll back as you let yourself succumb to the ecstasy that was washing over you. Eren hissed, your cunt spasming around him, biting his lower lip to keep from coming inside you just yet. Once you came down from your high, breathless, you looked at Eren, shocked. He smirked, an arrogant glint in his eye.

“I-I came!”

“Damn, this dick is really that good.”

“Eren!” 

He resumed the rhythm of his thrusts, slower now.

“I think it’s because you weren’t thinking about your rape. You were so busy trying to change my mind that your body gave out.”

Your eyes watered, moved by the progress you had made.

He chuckled. “Crybaby.” He pressed his lips against yours.

He continued making love to you, hoping you would forget the little argument you'd had, focusing on how good he was in bed with you.

────────

౨ৎ one year with you ౨ৎ

“Papa?” Eren was giving Neusa a bath when she uttered her first word. It wasn’t a word for her mother, but a word for him. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. He tried to ignore how his heart swelled with affection, how much he wanted those words to hold him in his heart for the rest of his life.

“Y-Yes?” 

Neusa smiled and raised her arms to hug him, a joyful glint in her brown eyes. He leaned into the tub to give her what she wanted, even though she wet his t-shirt. She snuggled against him, her chubby body contrasting with the hardness of his muscles, but it was mostly his scent that made her want to be close to him. His hands trembled behind her back; he didn’t know what to do with the emotions fluttering like butterflies within him.

She thought he was her father. Was he ready for this? Damn it, what the hell was he doing taking care of a baby that wasn't even his? He finished bathing and dressing Neusa in silence, his mind racing. He put her in the playpen he'd bought for her and slipped on his shoes. He had to get out of here as fast as he could. He was just doing stupid things, things he'd sworn he'd never do. Before leaving the apartment, he glanced at you sleeping on the sofa. Was this love? Something that confronted your fears and made you miserable for someone? He didn't need that, damn it.

He drove like a maniac, frustrated by all the people in front of him who were preventing him from quickly meeting up with his friends. Once he arrived at Ony's, when he opened the door, Eren barely greeted him and entered the house. In the living room, Connie was playing Final Fantasy VII on the PS4, being Cloud Strife while Armin studied his biology. Eren slumped on the sofa and leaned over to rummage through the coffee table drawers for the weed Ony always kept there.

“Ren, you’re not at home, you could at least say hello, you asshole,” Ony muttered, giving Eren a light tap on the head.

“Fuck off, I’m in a bad mood.”

“That single mother pussy is no longer good?” Connie teased.

“Say one more thing like that about her, and I’ll fuck Sasha and send you the video.”

“You’ll never do that, you’re too in love with that other depressive.”

“Yeah, that’s the fucking problem,” Eren muttered. Armin glanced at Connie as if to say, "Stop, this seems serious," and Connie rolled his eyes.

"What happened with my sister?" Ony sat down next to Eren.

"You're going to laugh at me."

"Is this any different from usual?" Connie chuckled.

Armin threw a pillow at his face. "You can speak to us, we're your best friends," he reassured him in a soft voice.

"Dickrider," Connie huffed.

Eren took a drag on his blunt and exhaled the smoke, leaning back against the sofa.

"I think I'm in love and it's scaring the shit out of me."

"Awwwww," Connie cooed.

"Finally," Ony shook his head, "I knew your avoidant ass would fall in love one day." 

Eren glared at his friends. "You don't even understand the problem, you idiots. I can't. I really can't."

"Don't ever think of leaving my sister, it will destroy her."

Eren looked away.

"Eren." Ony's gaze hardened. "Don't even think about it."

"His daughter takes me for her father. I have reached my limit."

"And whose fault is that?" Connie sneered. "You always take care of his baby like it's your own."

Armin, who had been silently observing the situation, dropped his biology textbooks and cleared his throat.

"Is it because of your father, Eren?"

"What else do you think it's because of, you moron?" Eren shot daggers at Armin. 

“That’s not how you deal with your dickrider, Eren,” Connie joked.

“I don’t know why I came to see you, you’re useless. I’m getting out of here.” Eren got up from the couch, but Ony grabbed his arm.

“Man, you need us. Stop your bullshit.” 

Eren stared at the wall without looking at his friend, his jaw clenched. Of course he needed them, but how could he express the fear he felt? He felt like he was becoming that lost teenager again, forced to take on the role of father in his family. A pressure that wouldn’t leave him, and one he didn’t want to intensify. The vivid memory of having to be more authoritative with his sister and being his mother's emotional support when he was only 15 brought tears to his eyes, and he lowered his head to avoid Ony noticing, but it was too late because Ony stroked his back.

“Connie, turn off the PS4,” Ony ordered.

“Damn, I was gonna see Tifa.” Connie turned off the game console and focused on Eren, whose gaze was shifty. “You know what you need? A good car ride while you trauma dump your miserable life.”

“My life isn’t miserable,” Eren said defensively.

“You’re literally a drug dealer, man.”

“I bet your girl buys it from me.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Everyone out,” Ony commanded. The group of men left the house and gathered in Eren’s car. It was Connie driving, and Eren pressed his temple against the passenger window. He watched the scenery go by, while his friends put on their favorite music in the car.

He was thinking about you. You had made so much progress. You smiled much more, didn't cry during sex anymore, went out to run errands, and had even made friends at the association. He hadn't forgotten the time you asked him not to come over one Saturday because you were going out to a bar with your friends. He was so proud of you. What would happen if he drifted away from you? You'd find a man who didn't have to do all the work Eren had done to be by your side. It would be so easy for him. Neusa would forget Eren quickly, and you would be a happy family. Everything would be right, everything would be good. He felt like throwing up just thinking about it. Eren was selfish. He wanted you all to himself, like that PnB Rock song.

“What if I take the plunge?” Eren began, his voice unsure. “I mean… I’m more likely to end up in prison than to die suddenly like my father, right?”

“Yeah, your destiny is prison.” 

Eren shot a cold glare at Connie.

“If your father had died of a hereditary disease, your fear would be valid. But it’s just your trauma talking because there’s no guarantee you’ll have the same life as your father,” Armin argued, which soothed Eren’s fears.

“I think you should go to therapy,” Ony suggested. “Imagine if you run away at every baby milestone, you’ll traumatize her.” 

He had forced his mother to talk to someone so much that he had forgotten he, too, was affected by his father’s death. Eren’s phone rang in his pocket. It was you.

‘You didn’t close the baby playpen, she was playing with knives!!’ 

His fingers slid across the keypad. 

'Since when have you been worried about her?'

'That's not the point. You'd make a terrible father.' 

The amused smile he'd been wearing vanished.

'Don't say stuff like that ever again.' 

He ignored your other messages and put his phone back in his pocket.

“We can go home,” he announced.

Armin had a bad feeling. “What are you going to do?”

“What I'm the best at.”

────────

Eren ignored you for three weeks. No calls, no messages, no visits. Nothing. It broke your heart, and you struggled to imagine your story was over.

“You’re way too pretty to be crying over that bastard.” Ymir grabbed your phone, which you were staring at, stupidly waiting for a notification from Eren.

“Don’t call him that, he’s—”

“He’s an asshole, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚,” Historia cut in, and you knew when she used cuss words, she meant it. Ymir and Historia were both women in the association. After a lot of abuse from men, when they found each other, it felt like destiny.

“You know what you need? What do we do when we need a break, Historia?” 

Historia blushed, playing with her blonde hair as she tried to form her answer. “You sleep with someone.”

“Hell no,” you protested, but Ymir pushed you into the bar against your will.

“You already have the outfit for it,” Historia argued, following you.

“Thanks for making me wear this dress,” you grumbled, smoothing the creased fabric of the red mini-dress that was attracting the attention of every man in the bar. “You know very well that this isn’t like me.”

“Yes, when you’re sober.” Ymir smiled wickedly.

You looked up in exasperation, deciding you would just go along with it for the night, to take your mind off things. The rest of the night passed in a daze as the alcohol transformed you into this sociable, smiling woman. You met a man, Jean, who made you laugh while Eren made you cry, so it was only natural that you brought him home, encouraged by Ymir's thumbs-up. You didn't even remember his hands on your body or his mouth on your skin. The only thing on your mind when you woke up was that Eren still hadn't contacted you.

────────

౨ৎ one year and three months with you౨ৎ

“After spending your childhood shouldering responsibilities that weren’t suited to your age, you avoid any situation that demands too much of you?” Eren’s therapist still had that cold, nonchalant voice as he spoke truths Eren wasn’t ready to accept. Mr. Ackerman was a pain in the ass.

“That’s not what I said,” Eren muttered, glaring at him.

“What have you done these past few weeks to confirm something else?”

“We don’t care about that.”

“Ah.” Levi’s lips quirked up (but never more than that). “So you want me to be a hypocrite, Yeager?”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re weak. Very weak. Weaker than her. She didn’t run away from you when she was scared.” 

Eren's heart tightened painfully, and he jumped up from his chair, his eyes blazing fury.

"Fuck you." Eren stormed out of the therapist's office.

"See you next Wednesday," Levi managed to say before Eren slammed the door.

Once outside, Eren frantically searched for a cigarette and cursed under his breath, realizing he was out. He bought some at a nearby tobacco shop before the pack slipped from his hands as his eyes fell on you, just a few meters away. Dressed in a floral dress with ruffles, you radiated light, the sun's rays illuminating your hair and brown eyes. You were leaving the convenience store with shopping bags while a man with chestnut hair held Neusa. He said something that made you laugh, and Eren felt like committing a terrorist act. His feet walked on their own toward you as his hand crushed the pack of cigarettes.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your smile fading before the angry man in front of you.

“Eren?”

“I work on myself, and what are you doing? Sleeping with the whole town?”

“Papa!” Neusa reached out toward Eren, a confused glint in her eyes, as if she remembered him and no longer wanted the man holding her.

You flinched. “Don’t talk like that in front of my child.”

“Don’t bring strangers around in front of my daughter, then.”

“Your daughter?!” you repeated, incredulous.

“Yeah, my daughter,” he replied, his voice harsh.

“Is he Neusa’s father?” Jean asked, a superior look on his face because he was the one you had chosen at that moment. 

You tightened the straps on your bags. “You could say that.”

“Give me that fucking baby,” Eren ordered Jean, who was staring at him in surprise.

Eren didn't wait and basically yanked Neusa away from him before driving off with her. You rushed after him, yelling, leaving a sheepish Jean behind.

“You can't come back into my life after ignoring me for three months!”

“Put your ass in the car and shut the fuck up.”

Eren sat Neusa in the child seat in the back seat, and your heart swelled at the fact that he hadn't thrown her out. Maybe he'd planned to come back all along?

You put the groceries in his trunk and ignored the voice in your head telling you that you had no backbone. You sat on the passenger side and while he drove, you refused to look at him.

“You give your body to any idiot who gives you attention now?”

“You quickly forget how you got me into your bed.”

“I worked for that. He doesn’t even know your deepest wound.”

“It felt good to spend time with him,” you confessed sincerely. “I didn’t constantly feel weak and miserable like I did with you. I finally felt like something, like I was more than just a raped girl.”

Eren stared at the road, his eyes dark and his grip on the steering wheel tight. He didn’t like that conversation at all.

“What does that even mean?”

“Nothing, just that life is still worth living when you’re not here.” 

Why did it hurt him so much that you weren’t broken by his absence? He wanted to be indispensable to those close to him. That was the purpose of his existence.

“I guess it’s good that you’re not depressed anymore,” he grumbled.

“You… guess?”

“Do you want me to be honest for a moment?” He glanced at you, his gaze hard. “I wanted you to be at your lowest point when I came back.” 

You blinked several times, no emotion on your face because you knew very well what kind of man Eren was.

“I wanted to start taking care of you again, to be indispensable to you, and it would flatter my ego to be the reason you were still standing,” he continued. “But I forgot that the woman I fell in love with is stronger than me. You find light in the darkest corners and you always get back up from the hardest blows, while I'm a coward who can't face my feelings.” 

Neusa chirped, raising her arms, clearly very happy to see Eren again. You were very happy to see him too; you had missed him. His words healed a part of you, and you nibbled at the inside of your cheek. 

“I’m glad you admit your mistakes, but that won’t undo the damage you’ve done. Just because I was with another man doesn’t mean I didn’t suffer.”

Eren remained silent the entire way home. He was helping you put away the groceries, and his heart tightened when he realized Neusa could walk now. He’d missed her first steps. She stayed close to Eren, hugging his calf and looking up at him with a radiant smile. He stroked her curly hair, touched by her. He grabbed a trash bag and threw all of Jean’s things that were lying around on the couch, and you rolled your eyes but said nothing. Jean was kind, but the love of your life was Eren. The one who was there for you through your worst moments, no matter how unhealthy your relationship was.

Once you were seated on the couch, Neusa playing with Eren’s sneaker laces, he broke the silence. “I’m going to buy you a house.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “What?”

“Neusa needs a garden to play in.”

“We aren’t a couple, Eren. You rejected me when—”

His jaw clenched. “That was months ago. I started therapy two months ago. I’ve made some progress on that.”

“Eren, you don’t become a new person in two months of therapy—”

“I love you.”

“No, you don’t!” you protested. “You just want to save a broken girl.”

“What can I do to prove it to you?”

“Be there for me even when I’m doing well. Don’t disappear when I’m doing better.”

“I promise you I will always be there for you.”

“I want action, Eren.”

“I want to buy a whole fucking house for you.”

You stood up from the couch, smoothing out your dress.

“We’ll see once I get there.”

Eren was truly your lapdog. He thought he was in control, but it was you. His dick hardened at the thought. He really met his match.

────────

౨ৎ one year and six months with you ౨ৎ

Eren had stopped dealing drugs. He had chosen to pursue his greatest ambition: to become a tattoo artist. As an apprentice in a tattoo parlor, he was slowly getting used to earning a normal salary, not the astronomical sums he'd made before when he was operating illegally. He was driven by the desire to realize his dream, but above all, he had changed careers to be a good father to Neusa. His greatest fear was abandoning his family. What would he do if he ended up in prison and you were left alone with Neusa? He couldn't bear to get out of prison and see you with someone else.

“Papa!” Neusa cried happily when she saw Eren come home from work. She ran to his feet and held out her arms for him to hug her. Eren smiled and bent down to pick up his daughter—yes, his—and kissed her cheek.

“Where is Mama?” Neusa pointed toward the bathroom. He took a few steps to the room. He frowned as he tried to open the door, then knocked. Sniffles came from inside.

“You good?” 

You opened the door slowly, looking at your feet. His eyes narrowed on your trembling hand holding a positive pregnancy test. Eren had used a good portion of his savings to buy a house in the countryside. The cottage was surrounded by a large garden, whose abundant flowers bloomed in the spring. Neusa loved tending the flowers with her mother; there was love throughout the house. And a lot of love between you and Eren. You hadn't talked about being a couple yet; you still needed time to fully trust Eren after he abandoned you for three months. Since he'd started therapy with Levi, he'd been more honest about his feelings. You were a somewhat unconventional couple, but it worked for you.

You were on the birth control pill, but there were always mistakes.

“You know you can have an abortion, I don't mind,” he whispered, wiping away your tears.

“No, I want the baby. I want a baby born of love.”

His eyes softened. “Then, why are you crying?”

“I had memories of my pregnancy when I was alone.”

“That's in the past now. You're not defined by that.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead. “We're going to build a good family together, right?”

You nodded, sniffing. You stared down at the pregnancy test. 

Maybe there was light even in the darkest path.

────────

౨ৎ four years and six months with you ౨ৎ

“Mommy doesn’t love me,” Neusa stated, as Eren helped her get dressed for school. He froze, his hands resting on her tiny shoulders.

“Don’t say things like that, sweetheart.”

“But it’s true.” Her sparkling brown eyes watered. “She prefers Naya to me. She’s always hugging and kissing her, never me.” 

Eren was at a loss for words because he couldn’t argue with the truth. How could he explain to a four-year-old that her mother saw her rapist when she looked at her? How could he explain that she preferred the baby she had with the man she loved? He walked her to school, then came home. Once he got back, you were making yourself a coffee in the kitchen. Your face lit up when you saw Eren. “I finally finished my novel yesterday; it's 120,000 words. I think it'll take me about three months to see my second draft. I'm so happy.”

“Cool,” Eren muttered, his jaw tense.

Your smile faded at his serious tone.

“Are you okay…?”

“We need to talk about something.” 

How could he tell you that you weren't a good mother? How could he tell you that you were hurting your daughter without making you feel guilty about something that wasn't your fault?

“Neusa thinks you don't love her,” he began. “She's noticed that you're more affectionate with her little sister.” 

You drew a thin line from your lips. The conversation made you feel uncomfortable, and you avoided Eren's gaze.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you.”

You looked up. “I… She ruined my life, Eren.”

“Floch ruined it,” he corrected. “She’s innocent. It’s not her fault. You…” He took a deep breath before saying what he was about to say. “You can’t blame your trauma when you now have responsibilities. You should have had an abortion if you didn’t want her.” 

Your coffee cup slipped from your hands and crashed to the floor.

“Are you serious?” you asked, hurt in your voice. “You know damn well I was too depressed to even leave my house at that time.”

“I know, I—”

“You don’t know anything!” you shouted, your voice breaking. “I should have gone to a gynecologist after the incident because I had vaginal lesions! I didn’t do anything! I was unable to leave my house!”

“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚… I'm just saying—”

“Yes, I don't love her! So what?!” you yelled. “She looks just like him.”

His heart ached because it was his own daughter you were talking about.

“Talk about her with respect, please.”

“She's mine, Eren. I don't know who you think you are.”

“Oh,” he moved closer to you, “so I'm not her father anymore when it suits you?” 

You locked your gaze with him. “Yes—”

“You know what I think?” he cut in, lowering his head toward you. “I think you love her.”

“I-I don’t, Eren.”

“You love her. That’s why you never wanted to give her up. You had every opportunity to place her in an orphanage, but you never did. I even remember you saying you were afraid she’d be abused in another family. You’re afraid to admit it to yourself because loving her means accepting a part of your rapist.” 

You pushed Eren away violently, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him. Tears welled up in your brown eyes, and in that moment you looked so much like your daughter that it hurt him to see you two so far apart.

“That’s not true.”

“If you can’t love her for herself, love her for me.” He kissed away your tears. “Floch isn’t here anymore, it’s just us. You’re so strong, you know that? I know you can do it.”

“But I have flashbacks when I look at her…”

“It’s because of your PTSD. Maybe Hange isn’t effective enough. We need to find a therapist who specializes in trauma.”

“I don’t want to tell a stranger what happened again.”

“Or…” He stroked your cheeks. “We’ll do Yeager-style therapy.”

You chuckled, sniffing. “What’s this nonsense you’re spouting now?”

“You learn to love your daughter by getting to know her. You spend time with her, you play games with her. You try to create a bond that goes beyond the fact that she’s a rape baby.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“You will.” He kissed you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You will do it because you want a happy family. Loving her will never be loving Floch, baby. Loving her will always be between you and me.” He hugged your trembling body, promising you sunny days and calm nights, assuring you that everything would be okay.

────────

In the following months, Eren bought a multitude of games for you to play with children and adults so you could spend time with Neusa. During this time, you realized you knew nothing about your daughter. She was a cheerful girl, well-behaved, and very advanced for her age. Her favorite colors were purple and burgundy because her favorite Winx was Stormy. She loved to draw, just like Eren, especially the flowers around your house. Everyone at school liked her. So why was it so hard for you to love her? You forced yourself to remember that she was Eren's child. You had to get Floch out of your mind. That was the only way you could feel any affection for her.

The more weeks passed, the more you found similarities between her and Eren. Her habit of having her hot chocolate in the morning while Eren drank his coffee, the fact that she preferred baggy clothes to girly outfits, her stubborn personality that held onto an idea once she was convinced of something—just like Eren. She was his daughter. It had taken you a while to see it, but now it was clear. Neusa was thrilled to spend so much time with her mother and never again complained about not being loved enough. A happy family.

But something was missing for Eren to be completely happy. He proposed to you one day while your daughters were playing in a park. He thought it would be more symbolic in a natural setting, while you smiled at your children, rather than some cliché dinner at a restaurant. He let you choose the wedding decorations but made you hurry because he was waiting for the chance to call you his wife like never before. Neusa was overjoyed; she thought she'd transform into a princess once the wedding took place. In her childlike mind, you were the queen and Eren the king.

In a way, it was true. You had created a kingdom together. A happy family. Nothing could tear you apart now.

────────

౨ৎ a life with you ౨ৎ

‘Who wants that perfect love story anyway, anyway?

Cliché, cliché, cliché, cliché

Who wants that hero love that saves the day anyway?

Cliché, cliché, cliché, cliché

What about the bad guy goes good, yeah?

An innocent love I'm misunderstood, yeah?

Black hour glass, our glass

Toast to clichés in a dark past

Toast to clichés in a dark past’

Accompanied by Beyoncé's voice, your father held your arm as you walked toward the man who would be your husband in a few minutes.

Eren almost never cried, only for his father. So you didn't expect to see a tearful gaze when you looked up at him.

A gentle look on your face, you smiled at him.

“You're the crybaby now.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, his eyes filled with so much love.

Normally, he would have made a lewd comment about your outfit, saying he couldn't wait to take your dress off tonight, but he was so awestruck by your beauty that nothing came out. He could only admire you.

When it was time to exchange your wedding vows, Connie giggled at how sappy his friend sounded before Ony stepped on his foot to silence him. 

“This ceremony should have taken place at least 3 months earlier. But some asshole preferred to run away than be there for the woman he loved.” He locked his gaze with yours. “From now on, that's it, no more bullshit. I won't be scared anymore. I want your heart, your soul, your pain, to make it mine. I want you to be able to look into my eyes one day if you ever wonder what love is. I don't care if I sound arrogant, but love will always start with me. I will be your beginning and your end. And in the middle, there will be our daughters. A happy family, that's what I always promised you, and I intend to keep my word.”

You tried to hold back your tears but it was difficult.

“You told me one day we were toxic, that I didn't love you. Is that still how you see us? When I come home from work and you're asleep, when I'm making your favorite meal, you don't feel my love? What about when you talk to me about your novels and I can't get enough of hearing you say the same thing over and over? What about when I quit my fucking job for you? If I have to set myself on fire to prove I love you, I will. Don't tempt me, you've never seen a guy madly in love in action.” 

Laughter rippled through the reception room. 

“So… I don't know how to end this.” He took your hands in his. “I just want to know I'm ready. Ready to be the best husband you've ever seen, ready to be an even better father. Ready to fight against all of my fears and yours, and I guarantee I'll come out on top.” He lowered his head to kiss your knuckles.

“The kiss comes later, Eren,” Connie shouted.

Eren turned his head to glare at his friend.

“It’s my wedding, and I’ve decided I’ll kiss her now.” 

Before you could react, he grabbed your waist and crushed his lips against yours. You smiled against him, returning his kiss. 

Lulled by the applause and the cheers of your daughters, you thought about what he had said. 

Love really started with him and ended with him.

Becoming Spider-Man’s favorite person was… an adjustment. 

It only took one wrong turn down a sketchy alley after a girl’s night filled with too many drinks for things to go sideways. That is, until the masked vigilante swooped and beat the absolute shit out of a group of wannabe muggers before they could even lay a finger on you. Once the last guy was webbed to a dumpster, Spider-Man took a look at your flushed cheeks and dazed eyes and decided without hesitation that it was now his personal mission to keep you safe. 

He walked you home, steadying you as you clung to his arm (not that he was complaining—physical affection was in short supply for him), and even tucked you into bed with the patience of a saint after you somehow managed to trip three times on your way into the bedroom. 

After that night, sightings of the hero became more and more frequent until he eventually dropped the pretense of subtlety and started showing up whenever he felt like it. 

At first, he’d walk you home—waiting outside after your shifts like it was the most normal thing in the world, insisting that he’d feel better knowing you made it home safe, or popping up after a girl’s night out and teasing that he couldn’t risk another alleyway incident. Then he started showing up on your fire-escape after patrols, secretly preening under his mask at the attention you’d give him while patching up his cuts and icing his bruises. Finally, nights of playing the role of Spider-Man’s personal nurse melted into nights of sharing secrets with the masked man until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. 

Over the next few months, the two of you learned almost everything about each other—everything except for his name and what he looked like under the suit, that is. But honestly, that only made it easier for both of you to be so open with each other. There wasn’t another soul alive that knows you as well as he does, and vice versa. 

Which is exactly what led to your current argument. 

“Seriously, I’m fine!” A huff leaves your lips as you cross your arms and lean back against the armrest, glaring at the exasperated man throwing his hands up at the other end of the couch. 

You were not fine and he knew that.

“Fine? You call a massive bruise across your hip and thigh fine?” He scoffs from behind his mask. “One that you wouldn’t even have had you just waited for me to get here and help you!” 

Okay… maybe trying to put together your new bookshelf on your own was a bad idea. So what? You were bored and he was patrolling later than usual. How were you supposed to know turning around for half a second to grab the screwdriver would mean the entire shelf tilting forward and falling onto your leg? 

“It’s not my fault that you decided to show up late,” you counter, rolling your eyes. “Besides, it’s not even that big.” 

That was a lie. 

It was actually one of the biggest bruises you’d ever gotten and it hurt like a bitch. But did he need to know that? No. Because then he’d never shut up about being right. 

“Oh really?” 

A yelp flies out of your mouth as his gloved hand grips your ankle, yanking you towards him until your thighs sprawl across his. 

“Not that big, huh?” He quips. Before you can respond he leans forward, placing his forearm onto your exposed skin and lining it up beside the bruise. 

You’d changed into shorts and a tank top earlier, needing easy access to the bruise so you could ice it. However, you’d barely had the chance to shut the freezer before Spider-Man—the silent bastard that he was—had waltzed in unannounced (you knew giving him unlimited window access would bite you in the ass one day) and startled you so badly the makeshift ice pack you’d made flew into the air, smacked the ceiling, then splattered onto the floor. That’s how you ended up on the couch being lectured by a grown man in a spandex suit. A skin tight, incredibly distracting spandex suit.  

His fingertips graze your waist, barely slipping underneath the fabric of your top, reminding you of the compromising position you now found yourself in. 

“Y-yeah.” You swallow, eyes locked on the hand now pressing lightly into the edges of the purpling skin. “Not that big. Maybe you need to get your eyes checked, bug boy.” 

A chuckle rumbles low in his throat, his head cocking to the side as his thumb gently swipes across the tender mark, a hiss falling from your lips at the pressure. He straightens, humming before responding. “Maybe you need to get your eyes checked, sweetheart. Because that bruise is almost as big as your mouth.” 

His cackle fills the room as you swat at him, grumbling under your breath about him being the one with the big mouth before you shift, pulling your legs back with a “hmph” and crossing your arms. The movement causes a twinge of pain to shoot through you, and Spider-Man immediately clocks the wince you tried (and clearly failed) to conceal. His entire demeanor softens, and with an exaggerated sigh he stands, making his way into your kitchen. 

“Wait—what are you doing?” 

“Making an ice pack so I can ice your gigantic bruise. Duh.” 

Your heart flutters even as your eyes roll. Smart-ass. 

“Y’know… I kind of like the idea of you being my nurse for once,” you muse, turning to watch him over the edge of the couch. 

His back muscles flex as he shuts the freezer door, a pang of heat shooting through you at the sight. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he glances back briefly. 

“Keep thinking you’re Miss Independent and I’ll be doing it every week.” 

“If I could aim, this pillow would be smacking the back of your stupid head right now. Just thought I’d let you know.” 

He laughs loudly at that, sealing the Ziploc bag he’d packed with ice before wrapping it in a small towel. He makes his way over to you, sitting back down and pulling your legs across his lap. But he doesn’t place the ice pack on you yet, instead holding it just out of reach. 

“Say I don’t have a stupid head and I’ll ice your boo boo.” 

An indignant scoff leaves your lips as you arch a brow. “My boo boo? Seriously? Am I five now?” 

Spider-Man doubles down, putting on an exaggerated baby voice. “Does the princess not want me to make her boo boo feel better?” 

You laugh despite yourself, biting your lower lip to stifle it as you shake your head. “Shut the fuck up,” you giggle, shoving his arm playfully. “Fine. You don’t have a stupid head. Fix my boo boo.” 

“Throw a please in there.” 

With an annoyed groan, you toss your head back against the arm rest before sitting up and pointing an accusatory finger at him. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“I’ll help you sound it out. Puhhh leaseee. C’mon, put it together now—“ 

Both of you are cackling now, unable to hold it in any longer. Your shoulders shake as you wipe a tear from your eye, grinning like a madman. 

“Puhhh leaseee ice my boo boo, oh mighty Spider-Nurse.” 

Finally, he relents. His hand rubs up and down your thigh once in a soothing gesture, pushing the fabric of your shorts higher before placing the ice pack over the tender mark. A small moan falls from your lips at the feeling of the ice pressing into your bruise, immediately providing relief for the throbbing you’d been trying to ignore since he got there.  

Spider-Man stiffens at the sound, the ice in the bag crunching together as his hand lightly clenches it.

Your eyes dart down at the sound, your lower lip tucked behind your teeth as the cold slowly eases the soreness. The sight of his hand practically engulfing the makeshift ice pack has you squirming, pressing your legs harder into his lap unintentionally. Since when were his hands so big?

He clears his throat, moving the ice pack higher up your thigh.

"Does that feel good?"

You're so distracted by the sight of his hand that you don't hear him. It isn't until his fingers grip your chin, lightly tilting your head up to face him, that you realize he'd even spoken. Heat floods your cheeks, a nervous laugh bubbling out as his thumb strokes your jaw.

"I uh… I'm sorry, what did you say?"

You can practically feel his eyes boring into yours through the mask's expressionless lenses. The feeling of his gloved hand cupping the side of your neck has your pulse racing—something you're sure he's more than aware of with his advanced senses. The ice pack lays forgotten on your thigh, numbing the sore flesh underneath.

"I asked if it feels good, sweetheart."

Something about his voice has your breath hitching. Gone was the teasing lilt from earlier, replaced with something low and laced with hunger.

You nod, leaning instinctively into his touch. "Mhm."

His restraint was already hanging on by a thread at the sight of you in those pajamas, but now? With you melting into his touch like some spoiled house cat? Yeah, he's done for.

Before he can stop himself, he's gravitating forward until his forehead presses against yours.

"Can I make you feel even better?"

The question hangs in the air between you, thick and heavy, like a held breath. His thumb is tracing slow, rhythmic circles just beneath your ear, making your skin prickle. Every inch of you is buzzing, alert and aching in the best possible way.

"Please do."

That's all it takes for the last shred of his restraint to crumble.

He pulls away just enough to lift his mask below his nose, going to remove it completely before your hand shoots up to grab his wrist.

"Wait! Can you—uh, can you keep it on for now?"

Embarrassment crashes into you like a wave the second the words leave your mouth. It wasn't that you didn't want to see him. God, no. You'd been dying to finally see New York's very own hero without the mask. But something about the idea of it staying on, at least for a little while longer, had heat pooling in your lower stomach.

His lips quirk into an amused grin, his brows twitching beneath the mask with the faintest flicker of surprise at the request.

"What? You think I'm ugly under here or something?" He teases, chuckling softly.

Your annoyed groan catches in your throat as his nose brushes against yours, taunting you with what was to come. "The ugliest," you tease back before your voice lowers. "I just… I don't want it to feel different. Not yet."

"And you think the mask is hot."

Of course he'd pick up on that. You should've never indulged him when he pestered you about the last book you were reading (one that just happened to include a masked character).

"…And if I do?"

He studies you for a beat before leaning in again, his voice a breath against your lips.

"Whatever you want, princess."

Then he kisses you.

It starts slow—exploratory, reverent as you familiarize yourselves with the taste and feel of each other. His lips are warm and slightly chapped, moving over yours with a dizzying mix of hunger and tenderness like he's trying to savor your first kiss and hold himself back at the same time. His hand glides from your neck to the small of your back, hefting you into his lap with an ease that leaves you whimpering against his lips.

The forgotten icepack tumbles to the floor with a soft thud, though neither of you flinch. Right now, all that exists is you, him, and the molten tension threatening to consume you both.

You shift, settling into his lap with your thighs bracketing his hips while your fingers curl into the fabric of his suit. The feeling of him pressing against you—hard and deliciously thick through the thin cotton of your shorts—has you grinding down, chasing friction to ease the throbbing between your legs.

His resulting groan has you sighing into his mouth, his tongue brushing your bottom lip in a silent plea for more. You grant his wish, the kiss turning from tentative to ravenous in a heartbeat. He grips your waist with one hand, letting the other drift across your bare (uninjured) thigh towards the hem of your shorts. The movement is careful, deliberate, like he's still giving you time to change your mind.

As if that would ever happen.

Your hips rock down into his, needing to be closer to him. Needing to feel him. More of him. All of him.

“Spidey–” 

“Peter,” he exhales against your lips, pressing another bruising kiss to your mouth before resting his forehead against yours. “Call me Peter.”

“Peter…”

The name settles on your tongue, and when you repeat it he groans before crushing his mouth back to yours. 

"'M not—" He breaks the kiss once more, his hands slipping beneath your thighs the only warning you get before he rises from the couch. "I'm not doing this on your couch. Not for the first time."

The promise of a next time—even though you already knew it was inevitable—sends a thrill rushing through you. A breathless smile plays on your lips as your legs tighten around his waist, your bodies pressed close as he carries you through the dim hallway. His hands are firm beneath you, the tension almost palpable as your bedroom door comes into view. The warm glow of your lamp spills out from under the door, casting a golden trail across the floor.

He keeps you hoisted up with one hand while his other reaches for the doorknob, his effortless show of strength making you duck your head into the crook of his neck. The door pops open with a soft click, the sound punctuating the surreal silence. This was real. After months of longing and fantasizing, it was actually happening.

Once inside, he kicks the door shut with his heel before pressing his mouth to yours in a gentle peck. His forehead rests against yours again, grounding you both as you breathe each other in.

"Still want this?" He murmurs, his thumb stroking the skin of your thigh while he waits for an answer.

Your nod is immediate, the motion small but certain. "Of course I do. Do you?"

The hint of insecurity creeping into your tone shatters him. How could he not want you? You were everything he didn't know he was still allowed to hope for after being used as the Universe's personal punching bag for the past several years. He wanted this and so, so much more with you. He has from the moment he met you.

"I've never wanted anything more than I want you, sweetheart."

Gently, he lowers you onto the bed, his mouth finding yours as soon as your head hits the pillows. His fingers skim your sides, like he's comitting the shape of you to memory. Like he can't go more than a few seconds without touching you in some way.

Mindful of your bruise, he hikes your legs further up around his waist before he's pressing his hips down, letting out the most delicious grunt into your mouth at the friction the movement provides. The two of you stay exactly like that for a few minutes—trapped in a searing push and pull of grinding hips and open-mouthed kisses as your hands roam the span of his suit-clad back.

Hands tug at your shorts, managing to push them down despite his weight on top of you. He huffs out a laugh when you wriggle around, breaking the kiss long enough to help you slip out of them before tossing them carelessly to the floor. Without the barrier of your shorts in the way (not that they were blocking much anyways), the friction of his aching length grinding against you feels even more intense, the rough fabric of his suit rubbing against your clit in just the right way.

Finally, after your airy sighs have escalated to helpless moans against his lips, he pulls away to drop his head into the crook of your neck with a soft groan of your name.

“You trust me?” 

His breath is warm where it pants over your ear, his voice a low rumble. 

“You know I do.” 

Your reply came out breathier than you’d intended, causing him to chuckle as his lips trailed down your neck before he leaned back. 

“Then put your arms up for me, baby.” 

Your brows furrow as you follow his instructions, letting him guide your hands exactly where he wanted them—wrists crossed and in line with one of the posts of your headboard. A sharp thwip cuts through the air before you can even think to ask what he’s doing. 

“Peter!” 

Webbing binds your hands to the post, leaving you lying exposed for him in nothing but a thin tank top and the lacy panties you’d picked out in the delusional hopes that he’d be seeing them (and somehow, that delusion paid off). Something about it felt exhilarating. You were quite literally the spider’s prey—tied up and held at his mercy until he decides it’s time to devour you. 

“Shh,” Peter murmurs, smirking as he glides a gloved hand up the side of your thigh, causing goosebumps to form in its wake. “I’m just… providing a little pain relief. That’s all. Remember?” 

He says it so casually, as though he’s simply running you a candlelit bubble bath or popping a cap of lotion open to massage you instead of planning to make you cum so hard you forget your own name. That coy nonchalance sends a shiver up your spine and heat curling in your lower belly, anticipation gnawing at you as you wait on his next move. 

Your eyes linger on the outline of his face—the part of it that you can see, anyways—mirroring his gaze as he does the same. His jawline is defined, dusted with a hint of stubble. His upper lip is thin, the lower fuller, both kissed raw and glistening with traces of your lip gloss. And as much as you craved to see the rest of him, you had to admit it was exhilarating only being able to see a fraction of the man behind the mask. 

“God, you’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” Peter breathes, finally breaking the heavy silence as he shuffles forward to wrap your legs around his waist once more. 

Heat spreads across your cheeks as you try to turn your face into your arm, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to fight off a nervous grin. His fingers curl around your chin, gently coaxing you to face him again. The soft sound of a “tsk” escapes his lips before he tilts his head. 

“Why’re you hiding from me, pretty girl? Huh?” His thumb drags over your lip, tugging it free before tapping it once. "Let me see you."

A shiver runs through you at that as you nod, your hips arching towards his whenever his mouth begins tracing up and down your throat. Kisses trail down your body until his chin is resting on your hip, the glint in his lenses almost taunting you as he keeps his gaze locked on your face. His stubble is prickly against your skin, heightening your already sensitive nerves.

"Why'd you stop?"

It's petulant and needy, but you can't find it in yourself to care. You wanted him to touch you. To taste you. To make you forget all about the bruise that led to this very moment.

Peter chuckles, tilting his head to nip gently at your hip. "Such a spoiled thing already," he murmurs before dragging his lips across your skin, lingering just below your belly button. "Do you want the mask on or off, sweetheart?"

That was a good question.

On one hand, it felt exhilarating watching him look up at you with the mask on, like you were some dirty little secret the vigilante kept tucked away from the world. But on the other, you really wanted to look into his eyes while he simultaneously took you apart and put you back together again.

The desire to see the man between your thighs won, your curiosity getting the best of you.

"Off, please."

You felt his wolfish grin against your skin before he pulled back just enough to tug the mask completely off, tossing it to the ground with a muted thump.

The man before you is… impossibly handsome.

Peter has the kind of beauty that leaves you momentarily stunned, your jaw dropping before you can catch yourself. His cheekbones are sharp, his dark hair tousled with an effortless charm that's somehow sexy and disarmingly endearing all at once. And then there are his eyes—a deep, rich amber, layered as though he's carrying a weight he never talks about but never quite puts down either.

You manage to find your voice, though it comes out quieter than you expect. "You are… ridiculously attractive." It's not poetic by any means, and you know he deserves a better compliment, but the sight of him paired with the feeling of his breath fanning across your core has your brain scrambled.

His gaze flickers with something unreadable—disbelief, maybe? There's hesitance in his posture, like he's not used to being truly seen. Then his lips turn up into a small, almost bashful smile.

"You think so, pretty girl?"

Your heart skips at the nickname and the way it effortlessly rolls off his tongue. A smile tugs at your lips. "Duh. I thought it even before the mask came off, too." You giggle at the exaggerated eye-roll he gives you before continuing. "Honestly, it's kind of rude Spider… looking like that while being the funniest vigilante I know? You're lethal."

He laughs, dropping his forehead to rest against your thigh before glancing up at you through his lashes. "I'm the only vigilante you know, sweetheart."

"Doesn't matter," you scoff playfully, nudging his shoulder with your knee. "You've ruined all future vigilantes for me. You set a very high bar."

Peter hums, the sound vibrating faintly against your skin. "Good," he murmurs, peppering kisses across your pelvis. "Can't have someone else swooping in and saving my girl. I don't share."

Your pulse quickens at the subtle shift in his tone. His girl. You were his girl.

"Your girl, huh?"

"Yeah. My girl, my sweetheart… and, without question, the most stubborn pain in my ass," he smirks, pressing a kiss to your bruise as you squawk indignantly.

Your hips shift in his hold as his fingers trace up and down your waist, drawing his attention back to where you were aching for him.

"Now, if you don't mind, princess, I'm going to take care of you like I promised."

Peter's gaze drops as he speaks, and his eyes darken at the sight of the damp patch on your panties, tracing it with his index finger before tugging the fabric down. Once the lace has joined the growing pile of clothes, he presses another gentle kiss to your bruise with a whispered "poor baby" before easing your legs over his shoulders. His hands caress your waist for a moment, admiring the sight of you spread out for him.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you tease, trying to sound confident even though you're squirming underneath his gaze. Your breath hitches as he nips your inner thigh in retaliation.

"Why take a picture when I can have the real thing whenever I want, hm?"

A gasp spills from your lips as he leans forward, not giving you time to respond as he latches his mouth over you. His tongue laves up and down your folds, circling your clit before he groans, burying his face impossibly closer as he begins lapping at you like a man starved.

His nose bumps against your clit as he licks greedily into you, causing a desperate whimper to fall from your lips at the spark of pleasure it sends coursing through you. A groan rumbles low in his throat, his hands pressing you down into the bed to keep you still as he devours you. It's obscene—your noises blending with his to create an explicit symphony, reverberating off the walls as the coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter with each feverish lick.

"Taste so fucking good, sweetheart," he rasps against you, his words muffled as he dives right back in, his tongue fucking into you as you cry out.

Your thighs clamp down around his head, letting out a shaky moan as he moves to suckle gently at your clit. You were embarrassingly close already, your thighs trembling as he worked you over relentlessly with his mouth.

"You can take it," Peter mumbles into your slick skin, dipping his tongue down into your entrance once more. "Cum on my face, baby. Please—"

His words push you over the edge, your climax ripping through you so hard no sound leaves your open mouth, your back arching off the bed and hands yanking uselessly at the webbing despite him holding you down to coax you through it. It was as though all of the air had been knocked from your lungs, but you didn't need to breathe if it meant Peter would keep touching you. Finally, a soft cry fills the air as your hips jerk against his face, your thighs trembling on his shoulders as he presses one last kiss to your clit.

Your chest heaves as Peter lowers your legs back down to the mattress, your face flushed as you gawk at him. His hands rub soothingly up and down your legs, pushing them open wide enough so that he can slot himself between them. His lips brush against your forehead, then your nose, then your cheeks, until they finally reach yours, hungry but gentle.

The taste of yourself on his tongue sends a shiver down your spine, your body twisting as you tug helplessly at the webs binding your wrists. You wanted to touch him—to thread your fingers through his hair, to trace the lines of the muscles that had been tempting you beneath his suit for months. But he wasn't done with you yet.

"Still good, sweetheart?"

The words vibrate against your lips before he pulls back, lifting his head to search your eyes. His hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your jawline. At your nod, his lips curve into a crooked, teasing grin.

"Use your words, baby."

An annoyed groan rumbles in your throat before his lips trail down your neck, effectively halting your complaining.

"I'm fine, Peter," you whine petulantly, arching into him as his body settles above yours. "Please just—touch me, fuck me. Anything. I need you."

Something inside of him snaps at your pleading. He swallows, breath warm against the hollow of your neck, then nips softly beneath your ear before pulling away. He rises from the bed, and the sudden absence of his heat prickles along your skin. A soft pout tugs at your lips, the chill of the room settling around you like a quiet ache.

Your gaze fixes on him as he unzips his suit, eyes hungrily tracing each inch of skin that's revealed as the fabric slips lower and lower. Finally, it settles in a heap around his ankles that he kicks away. His brow arches as he notices your staring, a smirk making its way onto his face as he realizes exactly what you're staring at.

The tent in his boxers is… intimidating, to say the least—long and deliciously thick against navy cotton. You'd felt him earlier when he was grinding against you, but clearly you'd underestimated just how big he actually was without his suit compressing him.

"Jesus, Peter."

Your whisper has his cheeks reddening, his cock twitching in its confines as he kneels back onto the bed. He takes his place above you once more, his elbows digging into the mattress beside your ribs as he lowers himself until your chests are pressed together. A broken sigh leaves your lips as his hips rock against yours, the fabric dampening almost immediately with your arousal.

"You think you can take it?"

His question isn't laced with cockiness—only quiet, genuine concern.

"Make me take it."

A guttural groan fills the air, a strained laugh making its way into the space between you as he grinds against you harder. "Yeah? Want me to make you take it, pretty girl?" he murmurs, gripping your waist before pressing a feverish kiss to your mouth. "I'll make you take it."

He shoves a hand between your bodies, attempting to push his boxers off without having to detach from you. Once they're off, he breaks away, panting softly as he rubs the head of his aching cock up and down your soaking folds. His eyes lock on the sight, pupils blown as he watches your arousal coat him.

A whine escapes your lips as he finally starts to push in, the burning stretch making your toes curl. He sinks in one, two, three inches and then… stops? Your hips buck impatiently, but his hands keep you pinned to the bed as he grins darkly above you. 

"Peter—"

He cuts off your protest, easing out of you before rocking forward again. "Shhh, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good, huh? You gonna let me take care of you?"

Your eyes flutter shut at the movement, your breath catching in your throat as he repeats it. His touch, his taste, his smell… all of it had your mind reeling. You couldn't think—only feel. And God, it all felt so unbearably good.

"Fuck, Peter— feels so good," you whimper, tipping your head back against the pillows as his lips found your neck, sucking small, possessive marks into your skin.

Peter’s teeth nip gently at your pulse point as he continues his movements, teasing you with tiny, barely there thrusts that pushed just past your entrance and a thumb circling your clit until tears brimmed in your eyes. 

Breathy moans flow from your lips as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably, the pleasure coiling in your lower stomach so tight it felt like you were about to combust into a thousand tiny pieces. There was just enough of a stretch to make your toes curl while he continued his torture against your clit, sparks of pleasure zipping up your spine until you were crying out and arching into him. 

You’ve had intense orgasms before, sure. But none of them had ever felt as intense as this. 

White flashes behind your eyelids as you writhe beneath him, your hands desperately clawing at the webbing because you need something to hold onto. Sobs fill the room as your legs kick helplessly around his waist, pleasure wracking your entire frame in waves. 

“Holy shit,” Peter breathes, working you through your climax with wide, reverent eyes and feather-light kisses against your collarbones. 

When you finally feel your soul come back into your body, your eyes blink open, glancing down between the two of you in confusion. Why were you so wet—

Oh. 

Oh. 

He’d made you squirt. Spider-Man himself had made you squirt. 

“I-I’m so sor—“ 

Before you could finish stammering out an apology, Peter was sinking into you fully with one smooth thrust. 

“Don’t you ever—” Peter panted, dropping his head into the crook of your neck with a whimper as he bottoms out. “—ever apologize for that, sweetheart.” 

He rocks forward once, the two of you groaning in synchronicity. He repeats the movement, squeezing your hips so harshly you knew there’d be fingerprint shaped bruises the next day, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. In fact, you secretly loved the idea that there would be physical proof of just how well Peter had fucked you.  

“God, your pussy feels incredible. You feel incredible. Did so good for me, baby.” 

His hips begin rutting into yours; hard, deep strokes that have your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth gaped open while he pants divinely against your temple. His hands are roaming your body, alternating between squeezing your hips and pulling you into his thrusts to groping at your breasts, pinching your nipples as his cock drives into your G-spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"So deep, Peter—" you pant, crying out as he drills into you.

It's all so intense, and a frustrated whine rumbles low in your throat as you tug at your bindings for the umpteenth time.

"I want—Peter, I wanna touch you. Please?"

He nods instantly, sitting back on his haunches and reaching up with one hand to rip the webbing from your wrists. The way it shreds as easily as paper from his unintentional show of strength has you moaning, your hands sliding into his dark strands and tugging his mouth to yours, desperate to be as close to him as physically possible.

His tongue swipes against yours in languid strokes, a dizzying contradiction to the blur of his hips between yours. His hands slide down to grip your thighs, hauling your legs up to rest in the bends of his elbows before he leans forward, effectively folding you in half as his hips continue plowing into you.

"You're clenching me so hard, sweetheart—fuck—" Peter grunts against your lips as your nails rake down his back, the sting only driving him to move harder. "—taking me so well. So fucking good for me."

His words have your head falling back into the pillow, cries filling the room as you writhe underneath him. Your hands come up to push weakly at his chest, his brows furrowing as he instantly slows his pace to a crawl.

"Hey, hey—you okay?" He murmurs, bringing a hand up to caress your face.

You swallow hard, nodding as you nuzzle into his touch. "Y-yeah, yeah I'm fine I just—I want—" you stammer, struggling to find the words.

"What do you want, princess? Hm? Tell me and it's yours."

The way he's practically cooing the words has you clenching around him, a move that has both of you groaning at the sensation. Even while he was ruining you, he was still sweet. Still putting you first, just like he always did.

"Wanna ride you… please?"

Peter's hips stutter at that, letting out a sharp exhale as he fights to not cum inside you right then and there.

"God, yes."

You hiss as he eases out of you, the emptiness leaving you dizzy as he maneuvers the two of you around. He props up against the headboard, pulling you into his lap. His eyes dart down to your bruise, a line forming between his brows as he frowns slightly.

"You sure this isn't going to hurt you, baby?"

"I'll be fine," you insist, pecking his nose.

Was the bruise sore? Absolutely. Did it sting when your muscles flexed? Maybe a little. But the sight of him beneath you—staring up at you like you were his entire universe—made it easy to ignore it. You wanted to make him feel as good as he'd been making you feel the entire night, bruise be damned.

You shift, kneeling above him as you reach down to line him back up with your entrance. A shudder runs through him as you slowly sink down, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. From this angle, he somehow manages to go even deeper, the feeling causing your breath to catch in your throat as your hips finally meet his.

Peter's hands glide from your hips down to your ass, kneading the flesh gently as you begin to move. His head thumps back against the headboard, his eyes half-lidded but trained on you as you rock against him.

"Love watching you use my cock to get yourself off," he murmurs, leaning forward to take your left nipple into his mouth.

Your gasp has him chuckling against your skin, his tongue swirling around the peak until your nails dig into his shoulders. Your hips move earnestly now, his own coming up to meet yours in deep, hard thrusts that have your eyes rolling back into your head.

A guttural moan rumbles in his chest as he switches to your neglected breast, biting down gently as you clench around him. Your clit brushed against his pelvis with each thrust, driving you closer and closer towards your orgasm. His hands were gripping your ass tightly now, dragging you up and down his cock as he panted against your skin.

"'M not—not gonna last much longer, sweetheart," Peter groans against your skin, trailing his tongue up the column of your throat before pressing a heated kiss to your lips.

You couldn't even answer with words anymore—just wrecked little noises that had Peter's mind reeling. You were close too, just on the brink of your third climax of the night. But you wanted to see him fall apart first.

With a determined sigh, your hips rolled down into his, your walls squeezing his cock. Your head tips forward, resting on his shoulder for a moment before you whisper in his ear.

"Cum inside me, Peter. Please… wanna feel you—"

That's all it takes.

Peter's hips jerk hard, thrusting up harshly into you as he manages a choked "oh, fuck" before spilling inside of you in warm spurts. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into him as he whimpers into your neck. His orgasm triggers yours, your hips moving erratically against his as you cry out his name.

Your hips move against his until the overstimulation has you both groaning. With one last kiss, he helps to lift you from his lap, easing you off of his cock with a small grunt. The feeling of his cum dripping down your thigh has your nose wrinkling, and he chuckles, propping you against the pillows before rolling out of the bed.

Panic rises in your chest as you watch him stand, your brows pinching together as you quickly sit back up. "Wait—are you leaving?" Your words are rushed, slurred from exhaustion.

"What?" Peter blinks at you incredulously, like you've just said the most absurd thing he's ever heard. His expression softens before he continues. "Baby—no. No. I would never. I'm just going to grab a few things to take care of you, okay? I'll be right back. Promise"

Relief sags your shoulders as you let out the breath you were holding, smiling sheepishly. Right. He's not a dickhead like your ex's and actually believes in aftercare. "Oh, okay... thank you."

He bends down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Always, princess. Now lay back down."

It doesn't take him long before he's returning with a warm washcloth, two water bottles, and another makeshift ice pack. He wipes you gently, pressing a kiss to your knee when you squirm at the feeling of the rag wiping between your thighs.

"Alright, pretty girl. You're all clean. Now go pee," Peter instructs, giving your ass a playful smack and chuckling as you grumble about having to get out of the bed.

Once you come back from the bathroom, he's sprawled across your bed in his boxers, chugging a water bottle. He pats the space beside him, waiting for you to nestle into his side before he hands you the other bottle.

"I still can't believe you managed to topple an entire bookshelf onto yourself," he murmurs as he places the ice pack against your bruise. "Seriously, next time just wait for me. Okay?"

You roll your eyes but the hint of a smile betrays you as you lean in closer, resting your head against his shoulder with a quiet, contented sigh.

"Noted, Spider-Nurse."

For a while, the room holds only the soft rhythm of your breathing and the steady beat of your heart slowing beside his. Then, his voice cuts through the silence,

"You okay? Was that… too much?"

A lazy grin makes its way onto your face as you tilt your head to look at him, catching his eyes in the low light. "Better than okay, bug boy. That was perfect," you murmur. Your lips find his—light, reassuring, and full of something unsaid. He hums against your lips, arm tightening around your waist.

Neither of you says much after that. The room settles into a quiet hush—the AC whirring, the muffled noise of the city through the window—and it all feels distant. Small. Unimportant. Right now, it's just the two of you, suspended in a moment that doesn't ask for anything more than just you two existing.

His fingers move in slow, absent strokes along your arm. The steady motion makes your body heavier, like sleep is wrapping itself around you before you're ready to notice. Peter notices the way your eyelids begin to droop, grinning to himself before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "Get some rest, my beautiful girl," he whispers before you can drift off completely. Your eyes slip shut as you nod against him, burying your face into his chest with a yawn before letting sleep pull you under.

You were wearing a new dress that you had bought the day before. It hugged your chubby body perfectly, stopping halfway up your thick thighs. The pale pink fabric brought out the luminous glow of your brown skin. Made of satin and molding to your curves in the most exquisite way, with thin straps that barely supported your breasts, the ribbon bow at the center of your chest made your sexy outfit cute. Your long braids was tied in a low bun held by a ribbon bow at the back, leaving your pretty round face uncovered. Your eyelids were enhanced with glittery pink eyeshadow, your long false eyelashes made your gaze so seductive, and your lips were glossy, looking so delicious. A literal angel. Eren, Ony, and Connie would eat you up if they could.

Eren adjusted his bulge in his black sweatpants and tried to look away so as not to worsen his erection by staring at you, while Connie and Ony were still staring, completely unashamed of looking like creeps. Your Mary Jane heels clicked on the floor as you walked around the restaurant taking orders from your little notebook, and when you arrived at the three men's table, your eyes lit up, happy to see them.

They were your favorite customers. They'd been coming to eat at the restaurant three times a week for at least a year. You didn't know how they'd managed to always be there during your shifts—Connie had threatened your boss to give him your work schedule—but it was always a pleasure to see them. They always complimented you and were so sweet to you, nothing like the old men who had wives and looked at you with lust in their eyes.

The most intimidating one was Eren. He was always dressed in black with a hood over his head that hid his face, but you could glimpse his neck tattoos peeking out from under his hoodie. His eyes were always hald-lidded and red from weed, staring intensely into your soul when you took his order, sending shivers down your spine. He was known as the university's plug; you'd never used his services, but his deep voice spoke to you so sweetly that you considered buying from him so he could talk to you privately.

The friendliest was Ony. Compared to Eren's dark appearance, Ony exuded light. You would have to be a psychoapth to not to like Ony's intelligence and kindness. He loved fashion and taking care of himself, you both always talked about skincare and clothes. He played basketball on your university team, making him the most popular of the trio. You loved learning about his sport, and hear the passion in his voice when he talked about Lamelo Ball. He was a bit of a star on campus but was the least arrogant man you'd ever met, always smiling softly when you talked to him, making you feel so safe and care for.

The most flirtatious was Connie. You could never look him in the eye when he called you ‘princesa’, joking about how you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. You never knew if he called you ‘mami’ just because it was normal for latino men, or if he was actually trying to flirt with you. Like Eren, he often wore his hood up, hiding his eyebrow piercings, but he wasn't as intimidating. He always had a teasing glint in his eyes that made you flutter.

“Hey,” you said shyly, approaching their table.

As always, Eren was stoned out, his pupils dilated as he looked at you, making your spine tingle. Ony’s lips curved into a smile, clenching his tattooed hand to bump his fists against yours.

You didn’t have any friends because of your social anxiety, only Jean as a boyfriend, so it always made you happy when they treated you like one of their own, even though they were just regular customers you sometimes ran into at university.

“The usual?” you asked, already knowing what they were going to order. A cheeseburger with fries for Ony (don’t tell Reiner, his coach, that he loves that), a steak with fries for Eren, and a salad for Connie.

“No, I want something sweeter today,” Connie replied, leaning back against the back of his chair. Eren smirked, understanding perfectly what his best friend really wanted.

“You just want dessert today?” You tilted your head.

Ony’s eyes softened; you looked so cute with your head cocked to the side.

“Nah.” Connie’s voice grew seductive. “Just you.”

Your autistic brain, which didn’t quite grasp irony and sarcasm, made you wear a confused expression. “Hm, what do you mean?”

Connie just licked his lips, his gaze lingering on your fat thighs. “Nothing, mami.”

“Is that a new dress?” Ony asked, tugging at the hem. “You always wear frilly dresses.”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, enthusiastic and all smiles. You loved fashion so much; you were happy that Ony, who was also a fashion boy, noticed your new clothes. “My boyfriend said frills were childish, so I’m trying out a new style.”

The trio frowned and looked at each other, silently saying, “We should kill that motherfucker.”

“Break up with him,” Eren advised, his face hard.

You shook your head, your heart squeezing painfully at the thought of leaving the only man who accepted your autism without judging you. “N-No, it’s okay.” You looked at your feet, your lips trembling as you realized that the only reason you were with Jean was because he didn’t make you feel different from other girls, not because you actually loved him. You needed so much validation from others.

Ony caressed your thigh, sliding his hand up under your dress to grasp the plushness.

“Hey, it’s okay, baby. ‘Ren is kidding.’”

“I’m dead serious, man.”

Ony's gentle caresses on your skin relaxed you, and your autistic brain didn't really grasp that this was inappropriate contact between friends. You just thought he was being kind. Your face softened, and Ony took a perverse pleasure in exploiting your lack of understanding of social cues. 

After the chef prepared their meals, you brought them. As you placed the tray on their tables, you dropped a glass, which shattered. You apologized and bent down to pick up the shards, the skirt of your dress lifting up. Eren glanced at your ass, now visible to everyone, lingering on the way your panties molded your folds. His gut twisted in arousal.

“Connie, take a picture,” Eren whispered.

“I’m your lapdog or something? I only like orders from her, idiot,” Connie muttered but silently took a picture of your body under your dress. They had a whole dossier like that. Photos of you smiling at other customers, photos of you space-outing, photos of you studying in the university library… They were perverts. And stalkers. They didn't really care that it was wrong.

When you finally picked up your mess from the floor, you gave them a shy smile that accentuated their secret erections before walking away.

What a cute angel. You had no idea these men were devils.

────────

'I saw Jean with a girl at a frat party, I'm so sorry sweetheart I think he's cheating on you :((' 

Your stomach dropped when you saw Sasha's text message, your world crumbled in minutes. 

It wasn't possible. 

You and Jean had been together for two years. You'd experienced all your firsts with him. He was the first boy who didn't think you were too much, the first boy who didn't seem to see your autism as a burden, the first boy who made you believe that a weird girl like you could finally be loved. He couldn't have cheated on you. Jean loved you. He told you every day. You weren't too much for him. Please, you hope it was a misunderstanding. 

You got out of bed, where you'd been studying your botany books, and went to your closet. You'd never been to a frat party because your social anxiety made it difficult for you. Places where there were too many people scared you too. You preferred to stay safe in your apartment, in your bed with satin sheets and stuffed with plushies.

You slipped into a pink denim skirt, a matching bustier top, and your white Naked Wolfe platform boots. You let your long pale pink goddess braids cascade down your back, hoping your outfit was cool enough for a frat party and people wouldn’t overdose with all the pink on you.

Sasha sent you the address, and you left your apartment with a knot in your stomach.

A two-year relationship couldn't end like this. Jean loved you, right? You weren't some unlovable woman who was going to end up alone for the rest of her life, were you?

You clutched the strap of your bag, looking at the floor as you entered the frat house. You didn't want to see the sea of ​​students; it would trigger a panic attack. Rap ​​music blasted from the party's big speakers; maybe a Big Boogie song. People laughed and yelled along to the lyrics. The smell of alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana were everywhere, and you felt like you were in hell. There were too many stimuli all around you, enveloping you and making your brain confused, unable to function properly.

You raised your head, your heart pounding. You had to look around to find Jean. You inspected the ground floor, trying to ignore how your body stiffened when you brushed against the sweaty bodies of the dancers. You hated physical contact because of your autism; you needed to be in a comfortable environment to be touched because of your sensory issues. Sex needed to be gradual.

And then, as you climbed the stairs, reaching the first floor, you saw him. 

Pressing Mikasa's body against the wall, his head buried in her neck, his hips grinding into her.

You stood paralyzed, watching them, your heart aching.

You knew Mikasa well. She was a goth girl who was in the same major as Jean. You'd already seen them hanging out together, and Jean had told you she was just a friend.

You didn't yell that he was an asshole. You didn't try to separate them.

You turned around, went downstairs, and left the fraternity house to sit on the sidewalk.

Was it because she understood sarcasm and didn't need the same jokes repeated to her to get the humor?

Was it because she knew how to be quiet when she was passionate about something instead of yapping for hours about a topic nobody cared about, annoying everyone around you?

Was it because she didn't shut down when she was upset?

Was it because she knew how to recognize her feelings when she experienced strong emotions instead of being unable to speak and explain what she felt?

Was it because she didn't need childish things like plushies for comfort?

Was it because she was interested in grown-up things instead of being obsessed with dolls?

You wrapped your arms around your knees and let the tears flow.

As always, because of your autism, you never knew what you were feeling and struggled to identify your emotions. Was it heartbreak? You weren't even in love with Jean. He was just a boy who gave you attention when everyone else rejected you.

No, it was failure.

Failure because you were both not enough and too much. You just wanted to curl up in bed, hug your plushies tightly, and forget that you were an unlovable woman.

To make matters worse, a torrential downpour soaked your clothes, making them wet and sticky, sending shivers of discomfort down your spine. You hated it when your clothes felt too tight because of your sensory issues; it almost hurt and could cause meltdowns.

A flashback of Jean telling you he loved you in the missionary position and that you were his favorite girl intensified your tears.

Could you really blame Jean?

Who would want a girl like you?

A shy girl who was scared of eye contact, never spoke in public, and barely managed to hold a conversation without getting distracted.

You wished you were a normal girl. You wished you were better at hiding your symptoms. You wished you fit in more easily in society.

“Who stole your smile, mami?” A deep voice boomed in front of you, and someone flicked your forehead. You lifted your teary eyes and met Connie's gaze. Next to him, Eren had his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, his hood still pulled up, but you could see his concerned expression. Ony held a coat over you to keep the rain from soaking you even more.

You parted your lips, trying to speak, but no words came out. You felt so many emotions that your brain couldn't function anymore. You were happy to see them; they always brightened your day, but tonight, you were so depressed. You failed at love. You were unlovable.

The combination of your clothes clinging to your skin, the loud music blasting from the frat house, and your pain—you just buried your head in your thighs, ignoring everything around you.

Several muscular arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground, and when you raised your head, you were sitting in a car with them.

They drove for a good hour on purpose so you could calm down and refocus on your bodily sensations. The silence of the car calmed your distress for a moment, and you remained silent until they drove you to their apartment.

You were so depressed that you followed them without a word to their place, instead of asking them for a ride home. When you entered their living room, you sat on their couch, staring at the floor.

Eren casually slumped down next to you and put an arm around your shoulders.

“Where is my bubbly girl?”

“Dead,” you muttered.

He chuckled lowly.

“Don’t say stuff like this, I would be very heartbroken if you died.”

“I doubt it.” You were playing with the bottom of your skirt. “You will replace me easily like my boyfriend did when he cheated on me.”

Eren glanced at Ony, seeming to say ‘emotional stuff is for you, man’, and Ony sat down next to you. He placed his hand on your thick thigh, squeezing the plushness, his voice gentle.

“He cheated on you?”

You nodded, silently. There was nothing else to say.

“You don’t feel like you can change him and the need to go back to him like some abused women do?” Connie asked, standing with his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“Not really. I think it’s clear I wasn’t the right woman for him.”

“You mean, he wasn’t the right man for you,” Eren corrected.

“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t blame him.” 

Connie tsked.

“Princesa, you talk like those abused women.”

“Yeah,” Ony joined the conversation, “I don’t like how you’re talking right now, mama.”

 Your eyes watered again as you thought of all the reasons Jean was right to cheat on you.

“You don’t understand,” you sniffed.

Eren leaned against you, his warm breath caressing your neck as he spoke into your ear, his deep voice making you shiver.

“Then explain, sweetheart.” 

Ony kissed the tears that were running down your chubby cheeks, and you suddenly felt strangely cared for. Like a warm blanket over your bruised heart. Wrapped in gentle warmth. In the light of affection, not the darkness of rejection.

Maybe they'll understand if you explain? Maybe you weren't really alone in the world?

“I was homeschooled because I had school phobia,” you said shyly. They all listened attentively without saying a word. “I didn't understand the children around me, so it created anxiety. I didn't learn how to mask my autism because I was never in contact with the outside world and my parents were overprotective. So, I just… live my life without hiding my symptoms.”

“That's actually a good thing, you're sincere,” Connie commented, kneeling down to rest his head on your lap. You ran your hands over his bleached buzzcut, your autistic brain fascinated by the feel of his short, freshly shaved hair. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you realized you were the center of attention, making you even more timid than you already were.

“Not really,” you hesitated, “you need to mask your autism to fit in. Only people who want to be outcasts don’t mask it.”

“I’m an asshole, I don’t try to soften up for people, and I have a very good social life,” Eren grumbled, absolutely disagreeing with what you were saying. You didn’t need to perform a personality that wasn’t yours to be accepted; just being yourself was enough.

“That’s right, Eren is the worst person I know.”

Eren glared at Ony who had said that, his brown, lidded eyes shooting daggers, but Ony smirked at him.

“What’s your point, mami? Are you saying Jean cheated on you because you’re not masking your autism?” Connie ignored these two best friends, focused on your suffering.

Your breath hitched when you gazed into his eyes and saw only care, concern, and affection.

“I’m just saying… Maybe if I was a normal girl, maybe he wouldn’t—”

“You know what to do when a boy cheats on you?” He cut in.

You shook your head.

“You show him you’re wanted elsewhere.” He lifted the hem of your skirt to place kisses on your plush thighs, his lips soft against your skin.

“W-Wait,” his kisses made you tickle, “Connie, you’re—”

“Get revenge on that bastard with us.” Eren buried his head in your neck, and your body warmed as you felt his hot tongue on your flesh. Ony slipped his hand under your top to knead one of your breasts. His hand was so large it enveloped it perfectly, making you flustered.

Your brain was in overdrive. Just seconds before, you had been crying because you were suffering from your disability, and now three hot men were kissing and touching you intimately.

An hour ago, you would have pushed them away because you had a boyfriend, but now?

Your freaky side had awakened, your cunt throbbing at the thought of letting yourself be manhandled by three men.

“How do I get revenge?” You whispered, your voice sounding innocent as if you weren't squeezing your thighs together to hide the smell of your arousal from Connie.

“You know damn well, sweetheart,” Eren chuckled before catching a piece of your skin between his teeth and sucking it vociferously. A wave of heat snaked through your lower abdomen and up your upper body, warming your entire being.

Your cheeks burned, feeling slutty for even liking the attention the three men were giving you.

Connie took his phone out of his jeans pocket, turned on the camera to record a video. He spread your legs and lifted your skirt, filming your clothed pussy where a wet spot resided.

“You’re gonna show that dumbass that if he doesn’t want you, other men will take good care of you,” he asserted, rubbing his fingers on the darker part of your panties, making you shiver.

You didn't think Jean would really care if you were getting laid by other men; he'd already shown enough that he didn't give a damn about you. But you said nothing, because part of you was thrilled at the idea of ​​a foursome.

When you were 18, you had a list of things you wanted to experience once you were cured of your social anxiety. Group sex was one of the things on the list. You were a freaky girl, what can you say? It was time to make one of your dreams come true.

“You’re not gonna eat her out before me,” Eren pushed Connie’s head from between your legs.

“Nobody likes chubby women more than me, so yeah, I’m gonna eat her out first.” Connie bit Eren’s hand before nibbling at the inside of your thighs. “Right, baby? Nobody likes your body more than me?” He looked up at you, his voice sultry.

Before you could answer, Eren’s hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you closer. You gasped, your breath coming in the tightness of the pressure, and when you turned your head toward him, his intense eyes made you swallow hard. There was something terrifying about him in that moment.

“Don’t even answer his question, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I love you more than him.” He crushed his lips against yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. An electric current pulsed beneath your skin. You closed your eyes, enjoying the intensity of the kiss. There was something about Eren's intimidating aura that made you want to be an obedient girl, fulfilling his every desire and simply pleasing him. You moaned into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, kissing you as if he had something to prove. His hand tightened around your throat, making sure you knew who was in charge.

When he pulled away, your eyes fluttered open. His gaze was burning hot, and you almost wanted to tell everyone to leave so he could kiss you like that all night.

Ony's eyes narrowed when he saw the interaction between you and Eren. That bastard. Eren had always been possessive; it didn't surprise him that he was trying to monopolize you.

There had always been a kind of tension between the three boys. As many people said, there was always a duo in a trio, and that was the case with them. Ony and Connie always teamed up to annoy Eren, ragebaiting him and provoking his anger issues.

Now that they were in love with the same girl, it was a race to see who would be your favorite. Ony could no longer count on Connie to beat Eren; he had to assert himself.

While Eren was dominant, Ony was the gentlest man alive. Most of his exes had left him because he was too nice, but he wasn't heartbroken. He didn't want to become a bully like Eren to be appreciated for who he truly was. He was going to find a girl who would find comfort in his kindness, not get bored by his loving caresses, and be satisfied by his gentle side. He was determined to make sure that girl was you.

“Stop choking her, that's not how you treat the girl of your dreams.”

“I touch her however I want. She seems to like it, doesn't she ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚?”

You looked back and forth between Eren and Ony, silent before giggling softly.

“I like you both.”

“Nah, you need to choose someone.” Eren’s hand around your throat moved down to caress your pudgy belly beneath your top, and he sucked on your earlobe. Ony lifted your top to just above your breasts before leaning down to take your nipple in his mouth. You didn't even think about sucking in your stomach or trying to position yourself in a way that would lessen the sagness of your breasts. You were comfortable, felt pretty under their hands and lips, your body hot all over.

Connie slapped your thigh.

“Stop focusing on these useless men, mami,” he muttered.

He caressed your clothed core, making gentle back-and-forth movements that transformed into circular motions around your clit. His hot breath on you, his intense gaze, and his calloused fingers against you were an explosive cocktail that already had you trembling.

“Sensitive as fuck,” he chuckled. “Autism or you’re just needy?”

“Both,” you breathed shyly.

The wet patch grew larger as Connie played with your clothed pussy. A frenzy took hold of your body. The atmosphere was perfect, the touches were intentional and tailored to your needs; you didn't feel overwhelmed by the sensory stimulation. Ony's mouth on your breast, Eren's teeth on your lob, and Connie's fingers pressing against you… It was so simple, yet perfect.

You rocked your hips against Connie's hands. “I want more, please.” Your neediness was barely concealed in your voice.

Connie smirked. “Yeah? What does my girl want?”

"Um… You know what I want," you whispered, feeling so shy you would have hidden under the sofa if you could. Being a shy, introverted girl in a freak body was a nightmare. You wanted to be slutted out so badly but struggled to get there.

"You have no game, Connie," Eren mocked, his hand still gently caressing your stomach. His petty laugh was hoarse and sent waves of pleasure into your center.

Connie ignores his best friend and slowly took off your panties. You hated thongs and very thin panties with your sensory issues, you were glad nobody made fun of your plain pink cotton underwear.

When he looked at your bare pussy, he had the same glint he had when he called you a ‘tremendo mango’ at the restaurant. For many weeks, you thought it was a cute way of showing appreciation with a fruit metaphor before googling and realizing it was a compliment on your looks in Cuba.

“So pretty.” The tip of his fingers wandered over the gossy folds just to feel your wetness and touch your cunt swollen with desire and expectation.

“Do you like sexual stimulation?” Ony asked gently, his tongue curling around your other brown nipple.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” You said, clueless, shivering again at Eren’s open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

“I mean sex toys and temperature play.”

Your lips parted in anticipation.

“If it’s gradual and we stop when it’s too much, I think it’s okay,” you smiled.

Ony was jealous of Connie at that moment because he would have eaten you for days for that cute expression.

Ony left the room, already missing his tongue on your body. But Eren’s on your neck was divine. He wasn’t ashamed to devour your neck, sucking on the bits of skin he had caught between his teeth, making you dizzy.

Connie set up his phone so he could film you and have his hands free. He sank his fingers between your lips, parting them, and the way he inspected your flesh made you nervous, but the sensation was so good, he chuckled every time you clenched your thighs too much.

“Focus on the top, please, Connie,” you said, trembling with longing to feel his touch on your clit.

“Nah. You’re not dominant enough for my submissive side, I’m bored.” 

You widened your eyes as he withdrew his fingers and, in a panic, you grabbed his head, pressing it against your pussy. The vibrations of his laughter against you sent waves of electricity through your body, and when his tongue lapped through the folds, you saw stars. Ony returned with mysterious toys in his hands and glared at Connie, who had the chance to taste you first. You thought Ony was going to use the objects on you, but he sat down next to you and resumed sucking your nipples greedily, as if preparing you and testing waters. One hand on Connie's buzzcut, pressing it against you, the other on Ony's short black hair—with a fresh new fade because he doesn't play about his appearance, just like you (#besties)—you felt like a queen with her loyal maids existing to please you.

Eren had practically become a vampire with all the little bites he'd made on your neck.

"I could eat you up," he whispered, nuzzling you. "Why do you smell so good?" 

“Well, to make perfume last longer, it’s recommended to start with a cream and then layer it with oils, butters, mists, and even Vaseline so it lasts longer. You also need a perfume with a high concentration, not just an eau de toilette—” 

He bit you so hard you let out a pained moan.

“Nerdy ass.”

“She’s right, though,” Ony joined the conversation, leaving your nipples alone. “Men need to stop with cheap cologne and buy pure perfume. They buy Savage by Dior and are still surprised they don’t have game.”

“Not everyone is a self-care nerd like you, Ony,” Eren chuckled. “Opinion on Maison Crivelli?”

“You’re trying too hard to be niche, just buy Creed Aventus or some Armani stuff.”

“It’s $300, dumb ass.”

“You’re a rich plug, ‘Ren. But I would buy it for you if you weren’t the ban of my existence.” 

“Is this… What they call ‘bromance’?” you added to the conversation in a frail voice because the way Connie was eating you out… You tried not to make a fool of yourself by whimpering like a dog in heat.

“More like rivalry,” Eren said, mock-disdain in his voice.

“He’s jealous because I’m taking care of you while he’s hurting you with his teeth,” Ony teased, clipping a nipple clamp to your little finger to check if the intensity of the fixed pressure and tension wasn’t too overwhelming. After receiving your blessing, he clipped them to your nipples, the silver chain connecting them contrasting with your princess-like appearance.

It felt a little painful… but the pain was exquisite, a sensation you hadn’t experienced before. You were discovering a masochistic side to yourself today.

“She looks so pretty like this,” Eren murmured, staring at your body. “I feel like I’m going to ruin her if I touch her more.” He put a little distance between you to unbutton his jeans and free his heavy erection.

Connie stopped eating you out for a moment. He collected a lot of your arousal on his hand to spread it on Eren's dick, making masturbation easier. You looked at Eren, amazed that he wasn't bothered by his best friend touching his cock. He smirked.

"Brotherhood, baby." 

You burst out laughing but ended up moaning as Connie went back into business.

Ony and Eren glanced at each other, both captivated by the way you arched your back on the couch, your chest rising and falling, your lips agape.

Ony kissed your arm, along the length of it, as Eren shamelessly stroked his dick while staring at you.

"Ony, you need to fuck her first. I'm going to overwhelm her, I'll save my turn for last," Eren proposed, his voice raspier as his hand worked itself over.

"I like the way you're thinking," Ony smiled against your skin, happy to be the first. Connie's tongue traced around your clit. He was having fun. Sometimes he pressed the tip of his tongue against your clit without moving, to make you whimper; sometimes he made circles over it to make you tremble; or most of the time he avoided touching it so as not to overstimulate you and lapped through the folds. The combination of Ony's kisses returning to your neck, the nipple claws, Connie's tongue, and the sounds of Eren's hand rubbing together made you feel like you were overheating, until you finally exploded. It wasn't spectacular; your autism made you struggle to show big emotions on your face, but Connie and Ony caught the way your body was wracked with spasms and your lip was bitten.

"Now get out of the way." Ony pushed Connie aside, who was laughing at his best friend's excitement.

Connie got up from the floor and picked up his phone to be the cameraman again. Ony laid you down on the couch, resting your head on Eren's lap. Eren smirked at you, looking down at you, his erection just next to your shy face.

“Are we going to do double penetration at some point? Because I need to be prepared, it can hurt,” you said softly, anxiously. Your autistic brain needed to know all the preparations and plan everything in advance so you wouldn't be surprised when it happened. You constantly needed clear instructions and reassurance.

The three of them let out a quiet laugh.

Eren used the hand that didn't touch his length to stroke the top of your head.

“You are prepared, don't worry.” 

Ony removed his clothes, and your jaw dropped at the sight of all the tattoos that adorned his dark brown skin, making him look intimidating and even sexier now. He lay on top of you, the hard planes of his body pressed against your soft curves. You felt the definition of his muscles against you, the proof of his dedication to his sport.

His head above you, his beauty and his handsomeness made your cunt clench.

“Hey,” you whispered softly.

“Hey.” He smiled wrapping your thick thigh around his waist. “How do you want it, love?”

You wrapped an arm around his neck, pressing him against you. “Slow and deep.”

“I’m gonna give you that.”

“I’m not this filming this sappy shit,” Connie grumbled.

“Yeah, they are acting as if my dick isn’t aching right now. The fuck you mean slow?” Eren added.

Ony and you ignored them. He kissed you as he lined his dick to your entrance and pushed his hips in. Your eyes widened at the size difference with Jean, and glanced at Eren, who also had a large one. Feeling full, you had trouble breathing as he bottomed out, and then being able to do it again when he moved his hips backward.

Ony felt Eren’s jealous glare in the back of his head and chuckled.

“Take care of my friend, baby,” he commanded.

With your free hand, you jerked your wrist to jerk Eren's cock, while Ony fucked you. Eren let out a groan of relief at the contact of your hand.

“Such a versatile girl,” Connie teased, making you flustered.

Ony was a precise man. He hated jackhammering during sex. All his thrusts were calculated to please his partner, not just to ejaculate. He was gentle, but incredibly intense. Slow thrusts didn’t mean no hard thrusts. So he angled his hips perfectly so that every time he hit the depth of your pussy, he struck a sensitive spot that made your chubby body tremble even if his pace was slow. The way your curves jiggled with his every move was mesmerizing, and all three men’s eyes in the room were fixed on you.

Your hand ran along Eren’s length, squeezing sometimes, stroking most of the time, as you moaned because of Ony fucking you. His hips slammed so hard against you, feeling so good, while still being gentle; this man was crazy. How was that possible? You hugged him more, wanting to make love with him forever.

Eren’s hand twitched at the top of your head, his breathing ragged. He didn't even contain his arousal for long and let himself cum on your face. You let out a chuckle at the surprise of the action. Ony leaned down to lick some of it on your cheek.

“Why are all of you so gay?” you asked, confused.

“Shhhh,” Ony pressed his lips against yours, continuing his slow love making

“Okay, Ony your time is up,” Eren muttered, punching Ony in the shoulder. Ony groaned, not even that close from release but agreed to withdraw from you. Eren cleaned your face with a tissue before placing a kiss on your forehead.

You let them manipulate your body into whatever position they wanted. You were now sitting on Connie, who had given the camera to Ony, with Eren positioned behind you.

You knew Eren was aggressive. You could feel it in his aura and the way he spoke to people. So, as both dicks slid inside you, your heart pounded with the excitement of being manhandled. It took a little while to adjust to the two cocks inside you, but once you were comfortable, Connie murmured, "Kiss me." You leaned down to give him what he needed.

You rocked your hips, Eren's and Connie's hands on them for the moment. Eren was dangerously calm as you rode Connie, and didn't give him much friction. The sweat that had accumulated on your back intensified as you thought about when Eren would snap and show his true colors. 

“Boring,” he finally snapped, grabbing a handful of your braids and pulling them back, making you gasp.

On his knees on the couch, his hips moved back and forth at a punishing pace. Absolutely no attempt at a gradual rhythm to get you used to it; he didn’t care about your whimpers. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it.

Connie kept his hands on your hips, guiding them to gyrate on him. Sometimes, his hands moved up to touch your love handles, kneading your softness.

“The way we don’t need any lube,” Ony joked, moving closer to the trio, nudging his dick against your cheek while filming your flustered reaction. “You think you take three dicks inside you, baby?”

You nodded softly, wanting to please him. Eren released your hair to let you lean down to take Ony’s dick in your mouth. But Eren picked up the pace even more, hand on your back.

You almost choked on Ony’s dick with the aggressiveness of Eren’s thrusts, and the worst part was that Ony pushed his hips anyway. You looked up at him in surprise and he gave you a little smirk, zooming in on your betrayed expression.

“What is it? Your mouth is full of dick, you can’t tell me how betrayed you are that I have a bit of Eren in me. Poor you.”

Ony’s tone became more petty and you moaned on his dick, turned on by this new change of event. You hoped he would still have mostly his gentle side, but you don’t mind his mean side sometimes.

“Bounce that ass, bitch. You’re not doing enough for me,” Eren muttered.

Eren’s frantic pace made you gargling with Ony’s dick, the sound of it making the three men growl. Ony fed you his cock with quick snap of his hips, hitting the deepest spot you can take him. Connie played with your breasts and nipples clamps as he lifted his own pelvic floor to penetrate you deeper. Eren still stroked your braids even though he fucked you like he hated your guts.

The video continued to play, filming the spectacle.

But the camera will never be enough to understand the pleasure you were currently feeling. Hearing Ony groan because of you made you feel powerful. The fact that Eren fucked you like an animal made you let go. And Connie, who was a mix of both but in a submissive way, made you feel understood, since he saw your lack of confidence.

Everything was perfect.

But as always, your disability ruined everything. 

Maybe they'll get tired of you like Jean did because of it. You patted Ony's thigh to let him know you wanted to stop, and when the boys realized you were overstimulated, they stopped everything, including the video.

It was like you had needles everywhere, and even the touch of a feather was unbearable. Anxiety and discomfort paralyzed you. You couldn't speak until the sensory overload dissipated, and you just sat on the sofa staring at the floor, extremely embarrassed by how you felt in front of them.

────────

𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫…

They weren't making fun of you. They understood what was happening and turned off the lights to reduce sensory input and did breathing exercises with you. You begged them never to mention it again, it was so embarrassing and you felt bad about ruining everything, but they always reassured you that they didn't care.

Now, you were in a polyamorous relationship with them.

It happened so naturally. The day after they sent the video to Jean, you were bombarded with messages from him, but you ended up blocking him on Eren's orders. Sad about your breakup, Ony took you shopping with him, and Connie made you Cuban dishes that catered to your autistic food obsessions to comfort you.

After a few days, you had stopped thinking about Jean because you were always spending time with your new boyfriends.

They were all diametrically opposed, but all perfect for you.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

This should have stayed private between you and Sasha.

When she asked you who your favorite boyfriend was, you told her you loved them all equally for different reasons, but that Ony was the one you felt the most cared for with.

One day, Eren was on your phone for some random reason, and Sasha sent you a TikTok about couples, saying, "That's so Ony, no wonder he is your favorite boyfriend."

You never saw Eren so angry.

No matter how much you explained the nuance of your opinion, he wouldn't listen and was deeply hurt that you were had a favorite in your relationship with them.

Connie was nonchalant, so he couldn't care less, but he wasn't helping to ease the tension in the apartment because Eren had been in a constant sour mood since the incident. During the week you made love individually, and on weekends you had foursomes, but Eren had stopped participating in anything.

Eren always played the bad boy, but he was one of the most emotional men in the world.

But, thinking about it, you understood why he was so hurt.

You and Eren had a somewhat special relationship. It had taken you weeks to get used to calling him by the word he wanted to hear from you, because it was new to you. But he deserved it. He lived up to the word. He had punched a guy at a frat party who had made fun of you for not talking much. He was the one who knew the signs of your sensory overload best. He gave you advice on how to earn more respect. He was all about making yourself respected, protected, and taken care of. A dad.

Of course, he was hurt that you felt more cared for by Ony than with him, just because Ony was gentler. It made him feel bad about his personality, about himself. He didn't want to be the favorite, but he didn't want to be one of the least liked of your quartet either.

“Eren, you're such a child,” you pouted when he continued to ignore you while he played Final Fantasy XV on the big TV in your apartment.

“You literally have stim toys,” he mumbled, not an ounce of gentleness in his voice, his jaw clenched.

“A real daddy wouldn't act like that.” 

That's when you annoyed him. He threw his controller onto the couch, abandoning Noctis character, and ran after you. You screamed as he charged toward you and started running all over the apartment. Instinctively, you went into his room—big mistake. Eren locked the door and grabbed your braids, pulling you against his muscular chest. Eren had a sleeper build, thin from the outside, a greek god once naked.

“And a daddy wouldn’t fuck his daughter so what is your point, huh?” Eren mumbled.

You nuzzle his hard chest, not finding the comfort you can find in Connie’s body which is less muscular and softer. “Connie is better for hugging, like a real daddy,” you teased him.

“Strip.”

“Uh?”

“You’re going to learn who is really taking care of you in this house.”

── .✦ 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫…

“I’m so sorry!” you cried, but it didn’t matter since Eren had pushed your face into the pillow. All your pleas, screams, and cries were muffled now. The only thing that could be heard was Eren’s ragged and your flesh bumping against each other. The backshots were crazy, and he wished he could send this to Connie.

“Sorry for what? Disobeying dad? Making fun of me? Be specific because you’ve been a really bad kid lately and it pissed me off,” he panted, picking up the pace, if that was even possible. 

Your tears soaked the pillow and intensified as he thrust into you. It felt so good; before Eren, you didn’t know you could have sex like this because of your sensory issues. But it was perfect. Eren didn’t change much. He would always be dominant, and you would always be submissive. He would always choose positions where he was in control, always slap you, choke you, and spank you. It was very brutal, but it was so comforting for you, autistically. You loved routine. Eren's brutality was comforting.

“I love you, I'm sorry for saying Ony was my favorite,” you sniffed, lifting your head as best you could so he could hear you.

“You're only sorry because I'm fucking you to make you say it.”

“No, I—”

“I love Ony. He is the smartest man I know. People only care about his athletic performance, but he has a brilliant brain, very strategic. However,” he grumbled, “my kid can't love him that much.”

“You're right, I'm sorry,” you repeated like a robot because you wanted him to turn you over quickly so you could kiss your favorite angry boyfriend. “You're perfect for me, Eren.”

“Uh,” he smirked, his pace slowing down, “I don’t remember being called this.”

“Stop trying to make me embarrassed. Our relationship is already very weird,” you whispered.

“Ah, you're a hypocrite now? It's just because Connie came back from college a few minutes ago that you're whispering. When he's not there, you easily shout “i feel it in my belly daddy”. You think I'm stupid?”

“Shut your damn mouth, oh my god!” you screamed, mortified that Connie knew what you and Eren had as a dynamic. Connie was a bastard, he was gonna make fun of a dynamic that is deeper than just sex.

A deep chuckle rumbled in Eren’s chest. He pulled your thighs back so that you were lying down and in a prone bone position. He nuzzled your neck. “I accept the apologies of my daugther.”

“Ewwww.”

“Acting you’re not into that shit.”

You laughed and he kissed your skin, making you shiver.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[messages from ‘princess’s harem 🎀 ’ group chat]

goofiestcubandick69 : i just heard our girl call eren daddy in bed ??????????

lamelo’s left ball : wdym daddy that boy can’t even handle his own emotions 

lamelo’s left ball : how he is gonna handle a kid

goofiestcubandick69 : thats what im saying

[...]

you : ummmm can yall forget this okay…….

worstpsychiatricpatient : im actually her dad tho

worstpsychiatricpatient : do you even know what is hyposensitivity in autism

lamelo’s left ball : you’re acting like that’s a fatal character flaw to not know

lamelo’s left ball : admitting you don’t know something is the first step to be smarter 

goofiestcubandick69 : no but do she knows you ate your own shit when we were at the nursery 

[worstpsychiatricpatient has left the chat.]

goofiestcubandick69 : yeah thats what i thought 

you : WTF ????????????????????

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐨𝐧𝐲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Studying for exams was torture for your autism.

Exams disrupted all your routines; you now had to care about things you didn't care about, and you didn't dare complain to your boyfriends because you felt like you complained all the time. As if you had a monopoly on suffering. They suffered from exams too, and you didn't want to bother them with your usual autistic complaints.

You were trying not to burst into tears in the university library because of all the academic pressure and the sheer amount of material you had to study.

As you were reviewing your lectures’s notes, someone sat down next to you. A familiar scent of men's cologne made you stiffen as you looked at the person.

"Not sucking three dicks?" Jean smiled, but there was nothing warm in his expression.

“I’ll do what I want, you cheated on me,” you muttered, unsure of yourself, but like Eren and Connie had taught you to be more confident in your comebacks.

“You weren’t exactly the ideal girlfriend. They’ll leave you eventually and realize it too.” You looked away from the brown-haired man to your textbooks, your eyes welling with tears.

It was your biggest fear.

Being a burden to others. That’s why you tried not to complain too much about your autism so as not to bore your boyfriends.

You wanted your boyfriends to be able to talk about your personality first. About your love of pink. About your collection of perfumes and platform boots. About your knowledge of cosmetology. About your rare vintage clothes.

No, they had to tell all their friends during parties that you were autistic so no one would be mean to you because you didn't talk much because of not understanding the world around you and struggling to read the room.

You were chatty with your boyfriends because they had become routines. But anything new was difficult for you to understand, so you struggled to be yourself.

You shouldn't be ashamed of your disability, but a disability did what it did: it handicapped you in life.

"Many autistic people are happily married. My boyfriends are happy with me. You're the only idiot who can't leave me and prefers to be unfaithful," you said in a trembling voice before leaving the university library. You hoped your boyfriend were proud of you for standing for yourself.

────────

When sadness strikes, always turn to Ony. It should be a famous saying.

“Point in my life” by Gucci Mane was playing in the gym, accompanied by the sound of bouncing basketballs. You cheered Ony on as he made baskets for his practice. With each basket, you yelled, and he turned to look at you, laughing. The other people in the stands looked at you as if you were the male-centered protagonist of a romance novel, but you didn't care. Your baby, your man was surely going to be drafted this summer; he deserved all the praise!

When he finished his practice, you went to the locker room with him. You innocently watched all the men getting dressed in front of you, giving you strange looks, waiting to be alone with your lover.

Once alone, Ony d led you to the showers so you could get undressed.

 “What’s on your mind? I know these eyes cried, ma’. Don’t fool me,” Ony murmured, kneeling before you when you were finally naked under the shower spray.

“W-What are you doing?” 

He pressed your back against the shower wall and lifted one of your legs to his shoulder.

“You don’t know? Pussy eating therapy session.” 

You burst into laughter at the absurdity but quickly panted when he buried his nose and mouth deep into wet folds.

“I… I feel like I’m going to burn out from the exams. It’s just too much. I can’t sleep because it stresses me out so much, and on top of that, I’m not doing my usual routines anymore, so I’m not myself anymore,” you paused to let out a moan as his tongue caressed a particularly sensitive spot. “I cry all the time when I study, and I didn’t want to seem like an attention whore by talking to you about my problems.” 

Indulging in your arousal, he groaned at the scent of you; it made him lose his mind. He moved his tongue deeper, lapping at you, twisting it inside.

“I’m scared you, Connie and Eren will leaving me because of my autism.”

That made him stop completely, and he looked at you in horror.

“The fuck?”

Thinking about what Jean said made your eyes water, and fed up, you sobbed. Sometimes you laughed, sometimes you cried; these days you didn’t even remember yourself.

“Mama,” he said softly, rising from the floor to embrace you, kissing your cheek wet not from the shower but from your tears. “Who put these shitty ideas in your head?”

“M-My ex…”

“And what did I tell you about that motherfucker?”

“That he was stupid to look at any other woman but me.”

“Exactly, so why do you listen to him?”

“I don’t know, he was as loving as you all, and still cheated.”

“Being loving doesn’t mean shit. He never helped you during a meltdown. We did. A lot. I hope he dies.”

You widened your eyes. “Don’t say that!”

“What are you gonna do with your socially anxious ass to make me stop, huh?”

You pouted. “Nothing…”

“Right, now let me fuck you good, you need it.”

He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, as he stood pushing you against the wall.

He kissed you as his dick slid in, all his affection communicate through his tongue, his kiss, the way his hips slammed again you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your hands stroking his short hair under the shower jet which dampened it into tight curls.

“I feel so safe with you, Ony. Sorry for what I said, I trust you. I’m a bit tired because of school, I think,” you whispered against his lips.

“Yeah? You’re not gonna listen to this dumbass again?”

You shook your head.

“Proud of my sweet girl.”

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐨𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[messages from ‘princess’s harem 🎀 ’ group chat]

goofiestcubandick69 : are yall into public sex 

you : NO!!!!!!!!!!

worstpsychiatricpatient : yea

lamelo’s left ball : hell no 

lamelo’s left ball : nobody looks at my girl like that

goofiestcubandick69 : then why there is a rumor on the campus about our girl looking at naked men with you

worstpsychiatricpatient : thats even gayer than when he licked my cum

lamelo’s left ball : we masturbated together in middle school eren

[worstpsychiatricpatient has left the chat.]

goofiestcubandick69 : man you’re a child 

goofiestcubandick69 : and gay

goofiestcubandick69 : ony i didnt forget 

goofiestcubandick69 : you put MY girl with naked men 

goofiestcubandick69 : tf is wrong with you

lamelo’s left ball : why are we focused on ME when SHE was in my male locker room ?????

goofiestcubandick69 : mi princesa can do no wrong

goofiestcubandick69 : soy su perro 

you : exactlyyyyyy

[worstpsychiatricpatient is back in the chat.]

worstpsychiatricpatient : two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyyyyy’

[worstpsychiatricpatient has left the chat.]

goofiestcubandick69 : this man is true to his @

goofiestcubandick69 : don’t call mi princesa a bitch u motherfucker

goofiestcubandick69 : but call me a bitch if you want to i’m into that

you : ????????

lamelo’s left ball : he has the nerve to call eren gay

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

If Eren was your angry boyfriend, Ony your gentle lover, Connie should be your sexy latino man?

That's what everyone thought about Connie.

On campus, the girls with a latino men fetish are interested in him because of his accent. His tattoos. His piercings. His immigrant status. He knows these white american girls well, girls who see latin America as a land full of sexy men, who think latin culture is just about aesthetics. So he created three phases to find the right people for him.

First, phase number 1, which attracts all the girls: The laid-back latino.

Sweatpants. Tattoos. Laid-back persona. Stoned out a lot. Hanging out with the university's plug Eren and the university's star, Ony. Calling any girl 'mami'. The girls love it, adore it, and can't get enough.

Then, he reveals a little bit of himself, and that's when things get out of hand. 

There's his "goofy" phase, when he shows how weird and funny he can be, even if it makes him less of a stereotypical latino man.

99% of the girls leave or get the ick.

That's how he knew you were the one because you never thought much of his goofy behavior sometimes and just went along with him. He feels so normal with you; he doesn't have to perform some racist stereotype with you, you just accept him with all his facets.

Now, he can finally show his final layer: his submissive side.

────────

Being the dominant one in the relationship was so much fun.

Of course, you liked being manhandled by Eren, or being praised by Ony.

But it was just as exciting as getting what your submissive man wanted tonight.

“Do whatever you want to do to me in my sleep. If I don’t wake up with you fucking me, I’m gonna blow up the apartment.”

You and Connie looked at each other during dinner, even when you were on Eren’s lap or in Ony’s arms. You both knew you were going to have fun tonight when everyone was asleep. You were going to have fun when he was asleep.

You crept into his room so as not to wake him. You climbed onto the bed and noticed he wasn’t wearing a blanket or a shirt. You chuckled; he was really waiting for this.

You leaned down to kiss all over his chest and abdomen, your tongue flicking around his navel piercing and all his tattoos.

His body shivered, but he didn't open his eyes.

You stripped him of the rest of his clothes and spat on your bare breasts, then smeared the saliva on the inside of your breasts. Your mouth watered at his hard pierced dick that reacted to your kisses. Big. Thick. Exactly the type of dick you wanted to rub your tits around.

You gently palmed his cock before placing it between your breasts. You added more saliva to your mess as you kneaded your breasts around him. The situation was oddly stimulating sensorially with the softness of your chest and the humidity of your saliva.

“Mami, I missed you,” Connie murmured, voice still sleepy as he rubbed his eyes.

You gave him an affectionate smile. “What do you want tonight?”

“Uh, you never learn? My body belongs to you. You’re the one who chooses everything.”

A fire snaked through your belly, igniting your insides.

You stopped what you were doing even though you saw disappointment in his eyes, but they lit up when you sat on his pelvis, sliding down his dick.

“Oh hell yeah,” he moaned, his hands coming to your hips but you slapped him.

“I didn’t say you could do that, Connie,” you chided him. “Put your hands above your head, I’ll slap you if you move them.”

His gut twisted with arousal, he absolutely nodded and obeyed with enamored eyes.

You couldn't say no to people but were able to slap your man, the duality of an autistic freaky woman.

You leaned down to stabilize yourself on his shoulders. Lifting yourself off his cock, you slid down again brutally, making him gasp and whine for more. When he whined too much, you slapped him and told him to stop. He almost cummed and bit his lower lip till it bled not to.

You did everything you wanted to Connie. A slow pace when your legs were tired. At fast pace, fucking yourself on his dick. Sometimes, you turned over and he thanked God women existed just to see your ass gyrating in front of him.

When you were the dominant one, you experienced less sensory overload during sex, that’s why you loved having sex with Connie so much.

You rode him, rocking your hips against him, your tits bouncing, looking like a voluptuous succubus who haunted him at night. It made him lose his mind, and spouting nonsense, his brain going dumb.

“Yesterday I genuinely cried because I wanted to eat you out but it was Ony’s day, so I ate so many sweets just to feel you on my tongue.”

Your heart fluttered and you leaned down to kiss him. “You’re so cute and weird, Connie.”

He forgot about the rules and just hugged his favorite girl ever.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[messages from ‘princess’s harem 🎀 ’ group chat]

worstpsychiatristpatient : how do you cope with the fact that your girl is a rapist

you : WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

you : ???????????

goofiestcubandick69 : she cant rape me since i am her slave 

goofiestcubandick69 : my body is her propriety

worstpsychiatristpatient : not only my girl is a rapist

worstpsychiatristpatient : but she uses mind control

goofiestcubandick69 : exactly

goofiestcubandick69 : my mind is controlled by her

goofiestcubandick69 : i always think of my girl

lamelo’s left ball : i’m employed what happened

you : eren discovered somno

[lamelo’s left ball is now offline.]

goofiestcubandick69 : thats why i love ony

goofiestcubandick69 : he knows how to mind his own business

worstpsychiatristpatient : just so you know i called the police

worstpsychiatristpatient : mind u i’m the only one who have a real job and a dangerous one at that

worstpsychiatristpatient : so fuck u lamelo wannabe

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬  ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“Ma’, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Ony took the star you were trying to put on top of the fake pink tree Connie had found on some niche website. He placed it where you wanted it.

“There is no way, it’s really the only color we will ever see at Christmas,” Eren grumbled, rummaging through the Christmas decorations you and Connie had bought weeks earlier, appalled by all the pink in them. “Christmas is green and red!”

“Well, it’s my girl’s world so I don’t care about Christmas rules,” Connie mumbled, taking a drag of his blunt, sitting on the couch.

“And you guys also have pink Christmas pajamas to wear!” you said excitedly, pulling out the pink pajama sets with snowflake patterns.

Eren winced, Connie gave a thumbs-up, and Ony chuckled. But they wore them all, just for your beautiful eyes.

It was going to be a fun Christmas, but you wouldn't trade places for anything in the world.

Because you were with the three loves of your life. In no particular order. Just the trio of your heart.

On the floor, supporting their bodies solely on the forearms, bulging with blueish veins. With straight, naked spines and gym shorts brushing their trembling knees. With lots and lots of droplets of sweat blanketing their skin, and throats choking out low, short breaths.

"What the fuck are you two doing?" was the first thing that filled the room, and both of them slowly looked back.

"Oh, hi baby, how was your day–ahh," Satoru mumbled, with interrputing snippets of moans.

Your eyes moved to the open laptop in front of them, showing a timer displaying... one hour?

And then you noticed their phones, connected to the chargers, with a camera turned on and directed right at them, and a clock.

"How was my day? Awful, tiring, stressful, and I thought about nothing but going back to my clean house and two loving boyfriends," you said on one breath, seeing their faces freeze in horror.

Satoru growled, and Suguru followed him with a heavy sigh.

"Baby, we're so sorry, fuck, yeah it, ugh, somehow slipped our minds–" Satoru started, but you quickly cut in.

"Slipped your minds? I've reminded you three times already!"

"Darling, we're really sorry," Suguru added, lifting up his hips a bit higher. "It's just, we've been training so long for this, and–"

"For what exactly?" rolled irritated, with arms crossing on your chest.

You moved in front of them, sitting down on the bed. From this perspective, they looked much more tired. Exhausted, truly, but the sight of their broad backs bulging with muscles and sweat dripping down their chins was... oh well, it was rather pleasant.

They glanced up at your fuming face, trying not to look at the way your crossed arms plumped up your breasts.

"For beating the world's Guinness record in the longest plank," Suguru mumbled.

The what?

"I'm sorry? How the hell have you even got this idea?"

Satoru noticed a few strands of hair slipping from your pin-up, and Suguru started to move his attention towards the fire lighting up your curved eyes.

Oh, something else on his body also started to get fired up!

"Baby, you're not chronically online, and it shows," Satoru mumbled, and you did everything in your power to not slap him across his cheeky face. "We're just trying to assert our dominance in the plank challenge community."

"Assert your dominance?"

They nodded.

"To prove to some random people on the internet that you can do some stupid plank?"

They nodded again.

"Meaning, you need to stay in this position for the next–"

"Eight and a half hours," Suguru choked out, and your knees almost gave away.

Oh, they must've been joking.

You looked down at their sweating bodies with shoulders shaking from fatigue. Two pairs of eyes, one ocean blue and the other deep purple, wandered around your body, stopping on every curve of your skin.

You weren't wearing anything nice, truly, just normal, daily clothes.

The problem was that the three of you hadn't had sex for the past four days. Yes, rather... weird. But you were truly flooded with work, and they trained like two fools, so at the end of the day, all of you were too tired to even lift a finger.

But now, the tension slowly rising inside the room was getting unbearable. With their feverish bodies shuddering under your gaze, and low whimpers making you a little warm.

A little wet, with crossed legs making your cunt squish in pleasure as the material of your panties brushed against your clit.

The room was getting foggy, almost stuffy, with a smell of salty sweat lingering in the air and their hot breaths warming it up.

You've noticed their glances – lost and longing. Deprived of any attention whatsoever, and focusing only on the way the jeans dipped into the curve of your hips.

"That's a pity," you said, before rolling a dramatic sigh. "I thought we could finally have some fun today."

Their breaths shuddered.

"F-Fun?" Satoru muttered. "Like–"

You stood up, walking to your night table.

To the drawer that has been closed and dusted since you started dating those two fools. But now that a little teasing punishment slipped into your mind, you turned the key and opened it again.

The jewel.

Your favourite sex toy, you've been using every single night for all those years.

"Like me taking your cocks at the same time. You fucking me in Paris–"

"In France?" Satoru asked speechlessly, and Suguru tsked.

"No, dumbass, she meant the Eiffel Tower position," he muttered, irritated, and you giggled under your breath.

Your back was turned their way and the only thing they could see was you, bending over the drawer and taking something out.

Something long and heavy, hidden warmly in a plush bag. But then you turned their way and came closer, holding in hands a little, dirty secret you've been keeping from your two boyfriends for the past three years.

A long dildo, covered in soft pink silicone. With a little vibrator that could be either attached or used separately, having the sweetest, most toe-curling function of clit sucking.

And both of them growled, with hips almost hitting the floor.

Something behind Satoru's eyes boiled, and his pupils looked almost heart-shaped. "Baby, what the hell is this?"

You giggled, taking off your top in one quick move. The bra followed right away, finally letting your breasts spill from its relentless cups.

With nipples already hard and warm, as if waiting to be caressed.

A second later, you took off your trousers and panties, dropping the wet, dirty material right in front of their faces.

Not close enough to let them grab it and shove straight into their noses.

And thus you stood above, naked like a goddess, with plush thighs already wet in dripping juices and eyes dropping down onto their flushed faces.

"Unfortunately, it seems that my boyfriends are completely useless for the next," you glanced at the timer. "Eight hours, so I need to pleasure myself with something else."

A few soft pillows landed in front of them, before you plopped your supple ass down.

"Darling, just give us a few more hours and–" Suguru started, but then his throat suddenly clenched.

Because you spread your thighs open, giving them a delicious look of a creamy cum dripping down your fluttering hole and a little clit peeking from between soaked folds.

You raised two fingers to your plump lips and wetted them with a spit, before plunging them down, down, down. Straight between your legs, to give your two boyfriends an even better view of your cunt.

Your back leaned against the bed's frame, allowing your second hand to squeeze your plush tits, with fat spilling softly between your fingers.

"I can't Sugu," your lips pouted, doe eyes glancing at two possessed men. "Been waiting so long, look how wet I am."

Your finger circled the trembling clit, sending a wave of pleasure down your spine.

"I-I see darling, I see," he mumbled, looking almost like a starved dog.

In fact, both of them resembled beasts – with eyes glued to your sweet pussy and spit circling in the corners of their mouths.

You've noticed a bulge in their shorts, hiding behind a black material painfully hard cocks.

Your lips lifted in a smirk before you tested your clit again. Circling, pinching, rolling it with fingers, and letting sweet moans fill the stuffy room. One finger slipped inside your tight hole, but it was rather too short and too thin, compared to the thick digits of your boyfriends.

But you didn't show any dissatisfaction – instead, let out a honeyed cry.

"Mhmm, if only there was someone worth eating me out," slipped seductively, with a sweet, whiny voice.

Both of your boyfriends nodded in unison – frenzily, madly, with a quiet b-baby let me, and, fuck, darling, c-come a bit closer, rolling from their mouths on a single breath.

Your head tilted. "I don't think you deserve to taste her, hm?"

They whimpered (oh!) and shook heads.

Because they knew, fuck, they knew that if only they did what you asked them for, none of this would happen.

If only they didn't put into their heads some weird challenge and instead focused on their beautiful girl, right now Satoru could sink his cock into your tight cunt, and Suguru could suck on your plush tits.

To be the ones flickering your clit and have you moaning on their fingers, but instead, they could only take pleasure from watching a soft little frown crease your forehead.

Torturing them like that, however, wasn't enough and a sudden, horrific idea slipped into your mind.

"Do you want to have a little taste?" rolled in melody, and their heads almost snapped from the frantic nodding. "But just a single lick, hm? I can't leave my boys starved, after all."

A desperate yes, yes, yes baby please, and, just a lick, I promise, fuck darling just let me smell it, filled your ears.

So you moved a bit closer, till your cunt was right under their fallen lips and already lulling out tongues. Forearms started to shake from the fever coiling in their bodies, and cocks burned in need to get into the clutches of your warm cunt.

"Easy, remember, just a–"

But, well, foolish you must've been to think that your two starved beasts wouldn't use this chance to dive deep into your spread cunt.

With both Satoru and Suguru lowering their faces the second your hips moved close enough, to have your drenched hole right at their fingertips.

With two tongues sliding between your silky folds, lips sucking on a clit, and groans vibrating right into your womb.

"Fuck, baby, fuck fuck fuck, you taste heavenly," Satoru cried, with your sugary juices already dripping down his chin.

Suguru was no better, with a tongue trying to thrust inside your hole, till your feet curled in pleasure. "My sweet girl, oh fuck, tasting so good, clenching on me like a slut."

Their tongues brushed against each other, licking you clean in a harmony, working your hole open and slurping on a little, trembling clit like their life depended on it.

At some point, oh dear lord, they started kissing – messily, yearningly, with your gluey juices stuck to their lips, mixing with a spit. Your pussy was left alone for a single second before they went back to her again, smacking lips against each other while slurping on your drenched cunt.

You almost brushed their cheeks, beaming with droplets of sweat and single strands of hair twisting on pulsing temples.

Oh, they looked absolutely defeated. Miserable, with wet foreheads furrowed in a maddened crease and forearms almost giving out under the sweetness of your cunt.

They looked as if they enjoyed it too much, so...

"No, no, no, baby, w-where are you going?" Satoru whined, with a single, pearly string stretching between your folds and his chin.

Suguru, on the other hand, was ready to cry, with wobbly lips and a teary gaze following your glistening cunt, slowly drawing away.

You giggled, catching their delirious eyes, almost begging you to come back.

"Darling, forgive us, please, we're so fucking stupid," Suguru started.

Satoru rolled a sharp breath, feeling his cock leak through the shorts. "We're sorry, baby, we're so sorry, p-please come here."

Oh my!

You loved to see them in such a state. So miserable, beseeching, so, so different from their usual bold personalities.

And thus a sudden warmth hit your face, with a thrill boring through your spine.

One could think they were punished enough. Maybe it was time to let it go.

But watching them was just purely too exciting, and your cunt squeezed in need, every time their warm, shuddered breath hit your folds.

"How can I? Have you forgotten that it's supposed to be your punishment?" Your head tilted, before you finally grabbed the thing they had feared the most. "Besides, I don't think you can make me cum in such a state, but this–" a soft, pink dildo sat neatly between your fingers. "Can do the job."

Satoru furrowed. "Baby, do you really think it can make you cum? It's rather–"

"Small," Suguru finished. "Darling, your cunt needs a bigger stretch."

Well, they were right.

But it didn't matter, for your aim wasn't to cum, but to give them a taste of discipline.

Your finger flicked a button and the dildo, together with a vibrator, started buzzing in a low hum. You moved a little, pinkish head towards your clit, before–

"Oh fuck–nghh," a cry rolled from your fallen lips, feeling the vibrator sucking on your bud. With a little waves sent towards a bundle of nerves and pearly cum vibrating under its whirr.

Your legs spread wider, eyes already crossed, and when a long toy pushed through your flapping hole, you almost burst.

And the best of all – your boyfriends were right there.

Watching, with jealousy eating them alive and bodies quivering from a honeyed melody of your moans.

From your cunt swallowing the pinkish dildo the same way it always swallowed their dicks, and wetness pooling under your hips. The pillow was already drenched, and both Satoru and Suguru couldn't wait to lick it clean of your cum.

"Mhm, fuck, T-Toru, S-Sugu," you purred, pushing the toy even deeper. "Wish it were your cocks, nghh."

Their minds spiralled, gaze wavered between your puckered hole and hearty face twisting in pleasure. With glossy eyes, lips fallen open, and saliva trickling from the corner.

You looked fucked, and for some reason, they weren't the ones to push all your sweet buttons and cherish the plush, trembling body wriggling under theirs.

Instead, they could only pant and sob, with fat cocks strangled by already drenched briefs and cheeks still wet from your juices.

But instead of oogling you like two losers, they decided to give you a little push.

To come back willingly and move those fat hips back under their noses.

Maybe they wouldn't be able to sink their cocks into your wet cunt, but they could also not look at your plush body wriggling in pleasure and not talk your pretty mind through it, right?

After all, you were always such a slut for dirty talk.

"You look so fucking good, baby," Satoru started, glimpsing straight into your eyes. "My pretty girl, so so pretty. Thrust it a little deeper for us, hm?"

Your brows creased, but you followed his deep voice, moving the silicone toy inside your hole. "Mmm, so good."

"Heighten the intensity, darling. Feel it suck your sweet little clit," Suguru hummed, seeing you push a vibrator's button. It was buzzing louder, with its small gap pulling in your trembling clit. "That's right, our good girl–fuck–you're doing so well."

"Do you feel good?" Satoru added, a smile curving his sly lips. "Tell us, baby, talk to us. Is it good? Does it suck on your clit the way we do?"

Your head shook, tears already pricking in the corners of your eyes. "No–mhmm–you always eat me s-so good–ngh–the best."

None of you knew who was losing this battle – you, hearing their deep voices slowly talking you through it, or they, seeing how sloppily you tried to make yourself cum.

The silicone dildo pushed all your good spots, but it didn't kiss your cervix the way their cocks did. It didn't have a slightly curved head and bulging veins that scraped your walls in pleasing thrusts.

It wasn't warm and heavy, sitting inside your cunt snuggly and pumping you full of hot cum.

Fuck, it couldn't even breed you.

And they knew all of it too well, so that's why your creased forehead was giving them so, so much delight.

You would break at some point, they thought.

"Have you found it, baby? Is your silly little toy long enough to push your sweet spot?" Satoru cooed, clenching his fingers on a plush carpet. "Talk to us, baby, tell us how nice it's filling your tight cunt."

"It's too small, right?" Suguru rolled, watching a toy disappear inside your hole with quicker thrusts. "Wouldn't it feel better to be stuffed with our cocks? Our pretty girl loves to get pumped full of cum sooo much, I'm not sure whether she'll cum like that. Right, Toru?"

Another man nodded, with cheeky eyes oogling your shaking thighs. "You're right Sugu, who's going to fill your belly, baby? Aren't you just a little slut who likes to get bred, huh? Come on, move a bit closer, let us have a good look."

"N-No, it's–mhmm–your p-punishment," you cried, feeling a warmth already coiling somewhere inside your stomach.

But it wasn't enough.

Fuck, something was missing, and you knew precisely what.

"You can't cum, right?" Satoru guessed. "Your eyes betrayed you, baby. Move it a bit lower, yeah, that's right, good girl."

"Press it again, let it cover your clit fully," Suguru cooed, seeing your belly rising in and falling much, much quicker. You were almost there. "Imagine it's our lips, darling. Think about us sucking on your sweet clit. Shoving our cocks into your tight cunt, fuck," his eyes travelled deliriously between your messy hole and crossing eyes. "You look so delicious, pretty girl. Move a bit closer, come on. Let us make you cum."

But, oh, you were stubborn.

And they – they were stupid.

Because after another few dirty comments and their low voices tickling your spine, the knot finally untied.

Your cunt squeezed around the toy, clit quivered, and with a last few strokes, you finally cummed. With sweet squirt landing all over your boyfriends' faces, cushions, and carpet, drenching your thighs and their lips in a rich liquid.

You came with curled toes and thighs fallen open, giving them a scrumptious look of your pulsing hole and cum dripping down your velvety thighs.

And then, fuck, both of them just gave up, feeling all the accumulated strength leaving their bodies.

But before their chins hit the floor, they started crawling. With sore muscles and trembling arms, after almost two hours of staying in a plank, they already regretted so fucking much.

"Wait, what are you-" you didn't finish, as they were already here.

Right between your spread legs, with tongues licking your pussy and thighs and belly clean, slurping on the sweet cum and brushing their cocks against the carpet.

"I can't believe–fuck–I can't believe we missed it," Satoru cried, pushing his fingers inside your hole, and scooping away even more of the creamy liquids.

Suguru followed, licking Satoru's fingers clean, like a starved animal. "We're so stupid, darling, so so stupid, but never do it again."

They needed only a few, pathetic strokes to cum straight into their slacks. With heavy ropes of cum marring their cocks and choked moans going right into your sensitive cunt.

There was a moment of silence, with nothing but your heavy breaths filling the steamy room. It smelled of sex and sweat, with their backs still coated in salty droplets, and shoulders shaking in exhaustion.

"Well," you started, looking over at the clock. "It seemed that you still have eight hours left, so I expect you'll spend them on cleaning the house."

They nodded obediently, with a silent yes baby.

"But," Satoru murmured, seizing your dear, pinkish treasure. "This devil's spawn is leaving our household."

You giggled, grabbing the dildo from his hand. "It will if there won't be a single dust on the table."

"And we're also going to Paris," Suguru gave you a wink, before both of them left you with a sweet kiss.

Oh well, you did go to Paris.

Three times, on the same evening.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Okay, so now I'll start working on my 3k event fic.

Tagging people from the Gojo list, please don't eat me! I think it's time to make a taglist for multi-fics.

like, what cosmic joke is this? this man looks like he could ruin a marriage just by existing and apparently, he did. six foot something of pure bad decision energy, broad shoulders, smug grin, voice that sounds like gravel in honey. he’s got that kind of presence that fills the whole room, and you can’t decide whether to scream or faint. kind of man every woman looks at once and thinks, "yeah, I’d risk it all."

and the best part? he’s now in your house. living, breathing, occasionally shirtless, miracle of a man. you’re convinced God has favorites, and it’s definitely not your mom. she doesn’t even like him that much, it’s all petty revenge after your dad’s affair. she married Toji just to get back at him. you almost respect her pettiness.

Toji, on the other hand? he’s clearly in it for the lifestyle. fancy house, expensive stuff, late mornings. you can’t even blame him. you’d marry your mom too if it meant lounging around in designer boxers.

but nothing stops your brain from short-circuiting every time he walks by. so, yeah. you’ve been trying to get closer. trying being the key word. like that time when you hovered near the kitchen doorway, pretending to need help opening a jar.

“Toji, could you—uh—open this for me?”

he looked up from his phone, sighed, and popped the lid open in one go. “there.”

and left. no smirk. no banter. nothing. you just stood there holding a jar of pickles, mentally screaming.

or when you “accidentally” dropped a pen near him while he was watching TV. you bent to grab it, slow, dramatic, perfect angle and he just turned the volume up. once, you even tried sitting next to him on the couch while your mom was out. the man got up mid-episode, muttered something about needing to fix a shelf, and disappeared for the rest of the evening.

It’s like he’s immune to you. or worse, he knows exactly what you’re doing and is choosing peace by pretending not to notice. you have fuckin' no idea what's even going on that stupidly attractive old man's head.

still, you don’t quit. never back down, never what?

so you linger when he’s in the kitchen, offer to “help” when he’s fixing something, steal glances every time he walks past in a towel. not that you’d admit that last part out loud.

your friends would never believe you anyway.

“your mom’s husband?” they’d whisper. "girl, what the hell?" you’d just shrug, sipping your iced coffee like, yeah, and what about it? they haven't seen him anyways. If they did, they would understand. right? because really—how are you supposed to live normally when your mom’s petty revenge husband looks like a walking sin?

but it ain’t working. that man hasn’t budged. not once. not at all responsive. It's hard to say if he's playing hard to get or he's just that oblivious. so naturally, you try another method, the oldest trick in the book, the one no man with functioning eyes could possibly resist.

slutty clothes.

you start with the little things. tiny shorts that should honestly be classified as underwear. tank tops that definitely weren’t made to contain. sometimes you skip the bra altogether, y’know, for “laundry reasons.” but of course, your grand plan doesn’t exactly go as intended.

Toji, the man himself, has the patience of Buddha and the awareness of a brick or it seems to be. the most you ever get from him is a furrowed brow and that annoyingly deep voice going—

“you’ll get cold walkin’ around like that.”

or

“don’t go outside dressed like that, it’s fine in the house.”

sir. be serious.

you’re trying to make him your daddy, not your dad. and yet somehow, every single thing he does only makes it worse. the way he talks, the way he moves around the house with his stupid broad back showing through that compression shirt, veins popping out when he opens a jar for your mom like it’s no big deal. the audacity.

you swear, if the universe had a sense of humor, this is it. you spend years daydreaming about dilfs, and now the real thing is just out here existing in your kitchen, using your favorite mug, scolding you about the air conditioner like he pays the bills.

It’s honestly infuriating. you’re trying to make him look at you, not act like your overprotective dad. so yeah, maybe you’ve started getting bolder.

brushing past him in the kitchen when there’s enough space not to. leaning a bit too close when you hand him something. “accidentally” losing your balance so your hand lands on his chest or arm, solid, warm, annoyingly steady. and for a while, he plays it cool. like nothing’s happening. like you’re just clumsy.

but lately, you’ve started catching little cracks, the twitch in his jaw, the way he clears his throat, how his eyes don’t quite know where to look when your tank top’s a bit too low. then it happens.

he’s in the kitchen way past midnight, fridge door open, drinking straight from the bottle. you walk in quietly, pretending to rummage through a cabinet looking around.

yeah, this is perfect, even though you're risking it all. you slide between him and the open fridge, the cold air hitting your bare thighs under that tiny sleep short. you bend a little, pretending to look inside. your ass presses firm against his crotch as you bend over, pretending to scan the bottom shelf.

that shameless man was wearing only a pair of boxers which you swear is see-through when looked at from specific angles. you feel the heat of his manhood through that piece of fabric.

you're just a girl. a girl who's obsessed with hunky older men, especially Toji fushiguro and the same man's cock is pressing up against your plump ass. a girl who's just so horny and wants to get dicked down for good.

you couldn't help but grind back slow, rolling your hips against the hardness of him. a low 'fuck" rumbles from his chest, vibrating through your spine. his hand grips on the door, but he doesn’t push you away. his hips snap forward, grinding that thick bulge right against your ass. you feel every ridge, every pulse through the thin fabric of your shorts.

“brat,” he growls, voice rough like gravel. “ya playin’ with shit you don’t understand.”

his hands clamp down hard on your hips, fingers digging in. you keep rolling your hips, slow and deliberate, feeling him get impossibly harder. his groan vibrates against your back, low and hungry. he matches your rhythm, thrusting against you coordinating with the delicious rolls of your hips.

Toji fushiguro lost it when your hands slide back, fingers digging into the waistband of your shorts before slipping under to spread your ass cheeks wide. thin cotton is all that separates you now, and you shove back hard, grinding that thick, pulsing bulge right against your slick heat.

"fuckin' desperate," he rasps, breath scalding your shoulder as his hips snap forward again. you feel the exact moment he snaps, a ragged inhale, the tremor in his grip, the low noise ripped from his throat and then his calloused palm cups your cunt firmly, fingers pressing hard against your clit through the soaked fabric. then he lifts you like you weigh nothing, one arm hooked under your thighs, the other bracing your back and slams you down onto the cold kitchen counter. bare thighs hit the marble, sharp and shocking. he steps between your legs, forcing them wider with his hips, his boxers tented obscenely.

the fridge hums in the silence. he yanks your shorts down your legs in one rough pull, the fabric tearing at the seams. cool air hits your exposed cunt, making you shiver. his thumb drags through your slick folds, spreading you open.

"look at ya," he rasps, thumb circling your clit slowly. "all leakin' from humping me like a damn bitch in heat."

his other hand fists in your hair, holding your head back. you gasp, arching off the counter. his thumb presses hard against your clit, making you jerk against the counter.

"do you even know what you're playing with, kid?" he rasps, eyes dropping to your bare cunt. "slutty little cunny... were you that desperate for a cock that you decided to hump on your stepdad?" his voice is thick, mocking, but his hips grind forward, the heat of him branding you through his boxers.

you whimper as his thumb grinds slow circles on your clit, your hips lifting off the cold counter. "mhhmm, Toji," you pant, voice thick with need. "you've been... ignoring me...."

his thumb stops circling. "fuck yes," he grunts, voice raw. "cause I ain't dumb." he leans down, his breath hot and heavy on your lips.

"think I don't see ya'? walkin' around in scraps of fabric? bendin' over just so?" his free hand slides up your inner thigh, rough calluses scraping your skin.

"why not, Toji?" you gasp, hips bucking against his stilled hand. "please... need you."

"fuckin' whore," he growls, the word thick with heat and insult. fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh. "you know that's not what you wanna call me... right?"

his eyes lock onto yours, intense and demanding. you can only nod frantically, the counter cold beneath your bare back, your cunt throbbing against his palm.

"say it," he commands, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. thumb presses down hard on your clit, a sharp, delicious pressure that makes your vision blur. "say it now, brat." his other hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back further, forcing the word out.

"d...daddy," you whimper, the word thick and needy, echoing in the quiet kitchen. a dark, satisfied smirk twists his lips.

"whatcha want from daddy, huh?" he rasps, his voice rough velvet. your hips buck uselessly against his hand.

"wanna see it..." you pant, the admission raw and shameless.

"see what, brat?" he taunts, leaning closer, his breath hot on your face.

"daddy's cock..." you gasp, "please."

"that so?" low chuckle rumbles in his chest.

In one fluid motion, he shoves his boxers down his hips. his cock springs free, thick and heavy, already leaking, the angry red head glistening under the dim kitchen light. he wraps his fist around the base, giving it a slow, deliberate pump, the veins standing out starkly. he taps the swollen head firmly against your soaked cunt, smearing pre-cum over your clit and swollen lips.

"this what you've been teasin' for, baby?" he growls, rubbing the hot, slick tip in tight circles against your aching entrance. "fuck, you're soaked."

you couldn't believe it, but it’s finally happening. all that teasing and now he’s right here, too close, too real. you’ve imagined this a hundred times, but none of those daydreams hit like this.

this is it. this is what you’ve been waiting for. and god, the sheer size of him is making your cunt throb and dumb in the head.

"sooo big... daddy..." you gasp, arching your back off the cold counter, trying to fuck yourself on that thick head. your hands scramble at his hips, nails digging into his skin.

"In me... please... inside.." your voice is a high, desperate whine, every nerve ending screaming for him to fill you, to finally give you what you've been fantasizing about for weeks. you feel stretched just from the pressure of him against your entrance. his eyes, dark and predatory, rake over your face.

"who the fuck raised you to be such a whore, kid?" he rasps, his voice thick with a mix of disbelief and raw lust. he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "shit... fuckin' wet yourself just waitin' for this, huh?"

his hips push forward slightly, the thick tip stretching your tight entrance, making you cry out.

"completely gone, aren't ya'?" he pulls back slightly, denying you that full penetration, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "come on... do it yourself... use daddy as much as you want."

your hand darts down, wrapping around the thick, hot length of him. It pulses violently in your grip, slick with your juices and his pre-cum. you pump him once, twice, the velvety skin sliding easily in your fist, before guiding him back to your entrance. you rub the swollen head firmly against your clit, grinding against it, a moan tearing from your throat as you feel the ridge catch against your sensitive nub. with a desperate gasp, you angle him down and shove his cockhead hard against your soaked opening, forcing it past the tight ring of muscle. you sink down onto the first few inches with a choked cry, the stretch burning beautifully. at the same time, his big paws come up roughly, kneading your tits through the sleep shirt, pinching your nipples hard through the fabric, making you arch and gasp.

fuckin' finally.

"move, move, daddy!" you whimper, your voice high and frantic, your hips already rocking against him, trying to take more of that impossible thickness. he just chuckles, a low, dark sound that vibrates through your core where you're stretched around him.

"Impatient little bitch," he rasps, his eyes gleaming with predatory amusement. before you can beg again, his hands clamp onto your inner thighs, fingers digging in brutally. he forces your legs closed, trapping his cock tightly between your thighs and in your dripping cunt. then, in one quick motion, he hoists your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. your hips are lifted clean off the counter, your back arching painfully. new angle makes you feel impossibly tight around him.

"fuck!" you cry out, the shift driving him impossibly deeper inside you, the thick ridge of his cockhead scraping against a spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes.

he doesn't wait. with your legs pinned over his shoulders, your cunt stretched wide around him, he starts fucking you. hard. deep.

each brutal thrust slams your ass back down onto the cold marble countertop with a sharp smack. his hips piston relentlessly, the thick shaft dragging against your walls, the swollen head pounding against your deepest spot. the wet, filthy sound of his cock plunging into your soaked cunt fills the kitchen, rhythmic and obscene.

"that's it," he grunts, his voice thick and strained, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your heaving chest. "take it. take daddy's cock, fuckin' whore."

his eyes are locked on where you're joined, watching himself disappear inside you again and again, his expression feral with lust. stretch is almost too much, the relentless pounding overwhelming. feel him everywhere, the thick heat filling you, the rough drag against your sensitive walls, the brutal grip on your thighs, the sting of your nipples where he pinched them.

"daddy!" you scream, the word ripped from you as he hits that spot again, deeper and harder than before. your vision whites out. "fuck, fuck! right there! don't stop!"

you're babbling, completely lost to the sensation, your body tightening around him. he just grunts, his rhythm never slowing, driving into you as his own release building in the tense set of his jaw, the cords straining in his neck.

"such a slut," Toji grits out, his voice ragged, strained. he bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and the wet slap of skin against skin echoes off the tiles, counterpoint to your choked gasps and his harsh breathing.

"daddy's cummin' baby. . . "

he groans as he loses control, a guttural groan tears from his chest, raw and primal. his thrusts become erratic, frantic, slamming deep as his cock pulses violently inside you. hot cum floods your cunt in thick, pulsing jets, the sensation making you cry out as your own climax crashes over you, milking him desperately. your walls clamp down hard, spasming around his length, trying to draw every last drop.

he doesn't stop. even as his cock twitches, spilling the last of his release deep inside you, his hips keep moving. slow, deliberate thrusts now, grinding his softening cock against your oversensitive walls, milking himself against your fluttering cunt. his eyes are heavy-lidded, fixed on where you're joined. his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open, forcing you to feel the wet slide of his spend mixed with yours. he leans forward slightly, his breath hot against your ear.

"filled you up good, didn't I, brat?" he rasps, his voice vibrates through your core. "came so much inside ya."

he finally pulls out. thick, pearly stream of cum follows his cock, overflowing your swollen, gaping entrance and dripping down onto the cold marble counter beneath your ass. you gasp, looking down at the mess between your trembling thighs, your cunt glistening, stretched, leaking his seed onto the stark white surface. your mouth forms a shocked little "O".

"daddy..." you breathe, your voice trembling, "there's... so much..." eyes flicker up to his face, wide with a mix of awe and disbelief.

Toji just smirks, a dark, knowing curve of his lips as he looks down at his handiwork. he wipes the slick head of his cock roughly against your inner thigh, leaving a wet streak.

"course there is," he grunts, his voice still rough but laced with a smug satisfaction. "been testin' me for weeks, haven't ya? showin' those tits, bendin' over, rubbin' that tight little ass on me..." he leans closer, his gaze intense.

"got exactly what you were beggin' for. every fuckin' drop." his thumb swipes through the mess on your thigh, then brings it to your lips, smearing the salty tang across your mouth.

"mmhm, daddy," you whimper, sucking his thumb clean instinctively, your eyes pleading. "can we... do this everyday? please... please.... please? need it."

a low chuckle escapes him. "you'll fuckin' break if I keep poundin' this little cunt everyday, brat," he says, his eyes roaming over your flushed, spent body. "already look used up."

you arch your back slightly, pushing your tits out. "Please," you beg, your voice thick with need, "can't stop thinking about you... love you so much."

he just stares at you for a long moment, that smirk still playing on his lips. without warning, he leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss. not gentle. It's deep, sloppy, wet, all tongue and teeth and hunger, stealing your breath and leaving your head spinning. he pulls back, leaving your lips swollen and slick.

"what the hell am I gonna do with ya'..." he mutters, shaking his head, a strange mix of affection and amusement in his eyes. he tucks his softening cock back into his boxers with a rough tug, the fabric straining.

"clean this mess up," he orders, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. "and get your ass to bed. before your mama wakes up and catches her little girl lookin' like a well-used fuckdoll."

a/n : honourable mention to the queen @madamechrissy who let me use the title 🥺🙏

Maybe it doesn't help that you also walked off to flirt with a hot silver fox at the bar either. He had been staring you down for quite some time too—you could feel his eyes grazing up your legs, slick with oil and body glitter under the flashing pink and purple strobe lights, as you stood with your girlfriends, laughing, drinking, and recording videos for your IG reels of your wild night on the Miami strip.  

But your friends knew what you were doing! They knew what was up as soon as you touched down in Miami last night! As soon as one of them suggested, “Let’s go to Miami!” for your spring break trip while chilling in your dorm, you all knew what it was all about. “Sure, I’m down,” you replied from your bed, painting a new, fresh set on your nails for the week. 

“You just wanna go ‘cause you wanna get a dollar,” one of your friends had giggled, knowingly smirking at you from her spot drinking a Buzz Ball. It was a warm, chill night where no parties were happening and you three were fine just being lazy and girly in your thousand-something-dollar-a-month dorm for a Friday night. 

You playfully side-eyed her, pursing your glossy lips. “No,” you scoffed. “Not a dollar, boo. I want that black card and everything!” Your girls began to giggle and snort at your joke, rolling their eyes, but you were dead serious. To pay for books, classes, food, and tuition at an ivy league school, you needed your hustles and side businesses. 

And yes, you call hustling and scamming rich, horny guys out of their money your “hustle” and “side business”. Your main side hustles include an online boutique for custom press-on nails and writing smut commissions of your favorite anime characters. Your main gig, however, is working as a bartender at a ritzy bar when you’re not studying for exams and cramming for papers. 

You used to do this online during your freshmen of college, selling feet pictures and lewds in your cutest bra and panty sets for a price, flirting with men behind a screen who would sent you hundreds of dollars for commissions. But when you turned twenty-one and got a job at the bar across town, all of that changed for you in the best possible way. A whole new world of dinner dates, gifts, and a plot line straight out of a City Girls song had been opened for you. 

You got your first start chatting up customers at your job, flirting with the most prominent business men—from lawyers, doctors, and CEOs to blue collared men and 9-5 fellas coming off from a shift for a drink. You realized the more you flirted and flashed a pretty smile, the more tips you got. The more they kept coming in as regulars. The more they offered you drinks, dates, and their digits. 

So you started going to the clubs with your friends and hitting up the best restaurants and bars. Not only to treat your girls to the nightlife with your new income, but you also wanted to fish out catches for them too! You were the kinda girl who put your pretty friends onto your game and they caught on very quickly. Soon, you three were getting the bag together. 

It was fairly easy, you realized, selling men a dream and promising them something you had no intention of giving them: your heart. Your affection. You may act like it through the way you moved your body, flashed your smile, and used your mouth, but you’d never ever date any of the men you came across. 

Send them a nude? Sure! Let them eat you out and perhaps give them a blowjob if you were feeling generous? Bet! If they are coming with big dollars and even bigger gifts, you’ll even let them hit. But as soon as they get too comfortable, too close, or start pulling back on the loot, you dump them. 

And this is the same mindset you carried as soon as you stepped off of plane in Miami, FL with the other spring breakers looking to wild out for the next couple of days on the beach, the pool, and the best resorts and hotels. You kept this in your mind as you sat at your vanity mirror in your gorgeous hotel room complete with two beds, a futon, a walk-in closet, a whirlpool bathtub, and a balcony with a hot tub. 

“So we still goin’ to the club after dinner?” one of your friends asked from the bed, strapping on her heels. Your other friend scoffed at her as she stood in her closet, choosing between two mini skirts for the night. “Of course, silly girl! We in Miami, bitch! We’re hittin’ up as many clubs as we can!” 

“Mmm-hmm,” your girlfriend from the bed giggled, eyeing you as you carefully styled your hair for the Miami humidity and heat in the bathroom, wearing a pretty white robe. “Y/N wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ll be out till we drop.” 

“You bitches always clown me,” you tutted as they laughed, turning in the leather stool, not yet dressed since your dinner at the steakhouse was in an hour. You took that hour to make yourself look and smell like you tasted like sugar. 

Your skin was soft from a fresh shave, supple and creamy to the touch, smelling of the tropical coconut bubble bath that you soaked in earlier. You got a mani and pedi two days before your trip, picking a nice pink toe and a French tip for your fingernails. You even went to get your bikini wax and although it hurt like hell, your pussy looked like a million dollars! Smooth, soft, and oh-so beautiful.

You felt like a million dollars too, excited to wear your new vacation clothes to the hottest restaurants, boutiques, clubs, and the pool: nothing but sundresses, bikinis, mini skirts, and strappy heels and sandals. You were guaranteed to pick up a few catches for the next four days in Miami. 

“And most importantly, we agree to stick together, right?” you asked your friends as you turned back to pluck a hair out of your chin. “We come together, we leave together.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” your friend hollered. “In a zoo like this, we’ve gotta stick together.” 

“Hell yeah!” your other friend agreed. “The guys out here are big horny already! Need to make sure none of us get snatched up in a van or somethin’!” 

“Exaaaactly,” you replied, lowering your tweezers and preparing to get your makeup ready. “So don’t go wanderin’ off, you two!” 

But of course, your dumb, drunk ass didn’t follow your own advice or rules. Of course, you pre-gamed too much before you left for dinner. Of course, you got a cocktail at dinner and was feeling frisky. So of course, when you arrived at the beach-y nightclub and caught the eye of the silver fox, you walked away from your friends without telling them where you were headed. 

Time had passed on as you flirted with the owner of a chain of burger restaurants, complimenting his short-cropped hair and indulging in his sweet compliments towards your beauty and outfit. You sat with him at the bar, legs crossed, titties popping, and the effects of the several glasses of tequila and vodka you’ve had taking over in addition to breathing in some weed smoke wafting through the air and your friend’s strawberry cheesecake vape smoke in the rental car you drove over here. 

You had originally planned on being the designated driver, but that shit went straight out the window (no pun intended) as soon as you pre-gamed. You were able to sober up relatively quickly, but the fact that you were vacationing in Miami and rubbing elbows with the hottest men got the best of you. So you drank more than you should’ve. 

And now here you are, looking around the same nightclub for your friends who have vanished from their spot on the dance floor. You have seen the same bathrooms with the same people in tank tops, board shorts, and mini dresses shuffling in and out. The same palm trees and lounge chairs giving the club a tropical feel. The same bar, bottles, and DJ shuffling his mixes. 

You start to feel dizzy and disoriented, so you venture outside of the club, already knowing you won’t be able to get back in since you paid for entry. Nightlife in Miami is pretty strict—you have to have the right clothes, the right crowd, and the right money. The club you and your girls chose was one of those “no pay, no entry” clubs, and while annoying and ridiculous, these are the type of clubs crawling with the elite. 

That’s why you dressed in the cutest outfit tonight: an ensemble of a cheetah-printed mini dress tight on your curves, accentuating each one, and highlighting your thighs and cleavage glistening in body oil and a shimmery gold glitter that makes you shine and shimmer every time you move in some lighting. You chose black Gladiator-type sandal heels that made your legs look immaculate due to the straps twining up your calves like ivy and golden jewelry. Even your makeup is set for the occasion: juicy, glossy lips, a cat eye, and shimmery highlight adorning your cheekbones. 

But you feel now that all of your hardworking has gone out the window. You’ve never felt more unsexy and more irked than you do now standing in front of the neon nightclub sign glowing above you…and right beside the hot bouncer you and your girlfriends were checking out when you got here. 

Very tall. Very muscular. Very hot. Rugged but not too much with the right splash of sexiness given from his inked arms, black muscle tee, black, short cropped hair, a scarred lip, and the silver chain dangling from his thick neck. A piercing in his left brow glistens like his storm cloud-colored eyes and a ring dangles from his bottom lip as he sneers at the college boy beaming at him with a very fake-looking ID from the red velvet rope. “Now you know good and goddamn well that ain’t you,” he scoffs. “Fuck outta here before I call the cops, kid.” 

He only has the give the guy a look before the boy takes off running, leaving the line of spring breakers waiting to enter. You were once one of them with your girls just hours before, checking the hot bouncer out. “Is that the guard?” your friend gasped. “God, look at those arms! He’s so fuckin’ hot!” 

Your other friend nodded, drinking him in like he was a tall class of water. “Uh-huh. He can carry me outta here anytime he wants.” You silently agreed, your eyes roaming over the older man’s tattoos and pecs pushing against his shirt. At some point, his eyes drifted up from checking IDs and driver licenses, and they locked on you. 

You felt a hot current run through you like someone just stuck you with an electric wire. Attraction pulsed inside of you, making you feel hot all over. You weren’t used to a man making you feel this way, especially when you had so many older men on your roster already. You didn't date college boys, especially ones at your school. You kept to men in their thirties and stopped at late forties. 

You couldn’t tell quite what age the bouncer was, but you knew he was much older judging by his deep voice when you finally walked up to him with your girls. “Evenin’, ladies,” he crooned, but his eyes stayed dead on you. “Got an ID for me?” His grey irises then glazed over all three of you, appearing to be checking you all out. “Sure…Toji,” you purred, reading his name tag. “We have that and more~” 

You heard your girls titter behind you as you dug into your purse, smirking as you felt Toji’s eyes laying on your tits. You were so glad you glazed them with body glitter to make them sparkle earlier before dinner. You finally found your driver’s incense and handed it to Toji, smiling brightly at him. But your smile fell when he pulled a sour face. “Sorry, sweets; we don’t take expired licenses. Ya got your ID?” 

“I, uh…left at the room,” you lamely admitted. You had only realized it at dinner, but you weren’t carded once even while you were ordering alcohol. You didn’t think getting into the club would be a problem. “So she can’t get in?” your friend asked. “C’mon, Mr. Toji, we swear she’s twenty-one!” 

Toji quirked a brow at the name, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah! My birthday is on my college ID, here!” You practically shoved the ID at him to which he peered at the smiling, bright student with your university printed underneath. He stared at it then at you, peering through your soul like a dad trying to get a lie out of his kid. 

You knew at this point that you had to up your game. “Can’t you just accept this one time?” you asked, peering up at him through your lashes. “I’d really appreciate it.” You stuck your tits out a bit more and flashed him a smile, flirty and pretty. The same smile you flashed at every man you wanted something out of. 

Toji didn’t look like he’d budge at first, still examining your college ID. “First time in Miami?” he asked. You and your friends nodded, silently praying he’d give in. Finally, he sighed, rolling his eyes into his head, and handed you back your ID. “You’re lucky that you’re cute. But if you leave, you gotta pay again to get back in.” 

You resisted the urge to squeal with victory, biting your lip as you eyed the bouncer. “Yes, sir,” you replied, your tone sultry and sweet. “Thanks for bein’ so sweet, Toji. See you later?” He didn’t reply, but the look he gave you said a lot as he let you pass the rope. As you walked on by, you felt his eyes on your ass and smiled to yourself. 

Now you feel no kind of sexiness or seductive energy as you stand here now, irked beyond hell with the booze only fueling it. Toji sees you standing there with your phone just as he lets a gaggle of college boys inside the club. “Hey, you good?” he calls over to you. You glance at him, noticing his concerned expression. “Yeah, m’fine, thanks,” you slur out all in one breath. 

You don’t pay any attention to him as you begin to furiously type out yet ANOTHER text your friends in your group chat. The last one you sent was ten minutes ago. 

You: Where the fuck are y’all??? 

*Delivered at 11:09 PM* 

You then resort to calling one of them, impatiently tapping your heel on the pavement. “C’mon, bitch, c’mon,” you mutter. Beeeep! “This caller’s mailbox is full!” the voice of the robotic bitch cheerfully announces before the call dies. You cuss, wanting to break your phone into little bits out of pure anger. 

Now they’re just not answering their phones. You picture them in a car, pool, or hotel somewhere, kissing on hot men and hopping on dick while their purses lie somewhere in the cut, their phones abandoned…and you as well. You feel forgotten, standing in your nightclub best, phone hot with your new catches’ phone numbers and your wallet fat from— 

“Hey there.” You startle, turning to see Toji standing there, practically towering over you. He wears a disarming smile to try and ease your nerves, but with men, you never know. “Hey, girl, you sure you good? Anythin’ I can help ya with?” You scowl at him, the alcohol making you less tolerable. “I told you that I’m fine, thanks,” you firmly reply. “And I’m not a girl; I’m a grown ass woman.” 

You try to inch away from him, but you nearly stumble, having to grab onto his arm for balance. He lets you, watching you in amusement. But the bouncer just chuckles. “I saw from your ID. You just turned twenty-one a month ago. Happy belated.” You snatch your hand off of him, trying to mask your arousal at how hard his muscle felt under your fingertips. “Thanks.” 

You look down at your phone again, checking the text. Still not read. “Actually, maybe you can help me,” you say, clearing your throat. Awkwardly, you turn to Toji who looks 100% smug that you actually acknowledge that you need his assistance now. “You seen two girls in a zebra mini skirt and a tiger-stripe dress? I can’t find ‘em.” 

The reason you and your friends matched themes tonight is because it was supposed to be easier to find each other throughout the night. Too bad that plan went to shit. “Yeah, the girls you came in here with, right?” Toji asks, furrowing his brow in concern. “You can’t find ‘em? They left you here?” 

He is working that sexy jaw as he pops some gum, the scent of mint wafting through the air.“No,” you reply with a huff. “I just can’t find ‘em. This club is crowded as fuck and the strip is—“ 

“Toji!” a rough, rasped voice suddenly yells, scaring you and half the crowd. Toji ran a hand over his face, immediately going back to dealing with the rest of the line of people like he hadn’t taken a break to chat you up. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Here comes trouble.” 

When you twist around to face this “trouble”, you swear that you start shaking in your heels. This bouncer is just as tall as Toji, maybe even a few inches taller, practically looming over you as he stomps towards you in his black boots. He has the same black attire as Toji, the bouncer uniform, his muscles pushing against his black tee and cargo pants like he pumps iron for a living. Even his pink, spiked hair can’t take much away from how fucking scary he is. 

His arms and neck are roped in ink and piercings embedded in his ears, right eyebrow, and bottom lip (fucking snakebites, your weakness) glisten in the Miami moonlight, giving him a forbidden, almost dangerous look to him. But it isn’t just the muscles or tattoos that get you shaking: it’s his eyes. Crimson as blood just drawn, accessing the area as he storms up to the velvet rope, completely ignoring your presence as he glares at Toji. “You botherin’ with the girls again?” he grumbles, putting his hands on his hips. “You keep it up and you’ll end up on the watchlist, ya perv.” 

His eyes then trail down, down, down to you, making your heart pound and your skin sweat in the humid air. “Who’re you?” he demands. His tone is rough and totally out of pocket. Instantly, your attraction fades…just a smidge. His cologne doesn’t help the situation. “Y/N. Who’re you?” you shoot back, raising a brow at him. 

Toji chuckles, already knowing some shit is about to go down. “That’s Sukuna, my partner and someone who definitely needs a heavy dose of happy pills.” He grins at the pink-haired bouncer as he opens the club door for two girls wearing matching pink mini dresses that could pass for swimsuits too. 

Sukuna is still staring you down, a toothpick moving around in his mouth. You ignore the flash of metal in his tongue (and how much it makes you throb when you imagine feeling it somewhere down below). “You tryin’ get in, girly?” he gruffly asks. “Got an ID on you?” 

“Nah, she’s tryin’ to look for her friends,” Toji answers for you. “They left her here.” 

“They didn’t leave me!” you snap, glaring at the bouncers who only look amused at your feistiness. “I just can’t find them. I was at the bar, looked, and they were gone.” Which isn’t entirely true, but you don’t dare show it. “So you two ain’t seen ‘em at all?” you ask, crossing your arms over your bosom, unintentionally pressing your tits up for more of a view.

Toji shrugs, looking somewhat apologetic. “Nah, sorry.” Meanwhile, Sukuna scrunches his nose and crosses his beefy arms over his big chest. “Fuck I look like? A babysitter?” He pauses, tossing his toothpick away. “I got enough trouble dealin’ with y’all drunk kids when the club closes.” 

You grit your teeth, irritated with this jerk. He may be hot, but he’s also disrespectful and annoying. “I’m not a kid,” you growl. “I just turned twenty-one. What are you, fifty?” Toji snorts into his hand, failing at stifling his laugh, while Sukuna sizes you up with a hot look. “Can’t imagine why your girls left you,” he sarcastically replies. “You seem so sweet.” 

You feel your blood boil at his sharp remark, but you don’t let your anger get the best of you. The last thing you need is to fight a bouncer and get arrested for assault…but if he keeps playing, he’ll end up getting hit with your shoe. “Listen…Sukuna,” you hiss, looking at his name tag. “I’m just tryin’ to find my friends. And then I’ll let you get back to your stupid minimum wage job, how ‘bout that?” 

You turn to him fully, hand on your hip and glossy, plump lips pursed in a way that he can’t keep his eyes off of. You can see his simmering irritation, but you also see the way his eyes are glued to your mouth; your tits; your neck. You can’t keep your eyes off of his tattoos or the way his Adam’s Apple bobs, your anger slowly simmering down to lust. 

“Alright, alright,” Toji says, putting an end to your bickering. He places a big, tatted hand between Sukuna and you, creating a barrier. After sharing a look with Sukuna, the pink-haired bouncer sniffs and busies himself getting buck with club-goers while Toji deals with you. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but we really ain’t seen ‘em. They might still be in the club or they could’ve went back to your hotel.” 

“Or they left with some dudes to get some dick,” Sukuna adds, side-eyeing you and you return it with a glare. “What? I’m just bein’ real about it.” 

You are beyond annoyed, both by your friends’ actions and the bouncers’ lack of help. Anything could’ve happened to your friends and they don’t even care! “Sooo neither of you can look at the security cameras?” you scoff. 

Toji pulls a face that looks like that grimacing emoji. “Nah, that’s more for security hazards, like theft, shootings an’ shit. Not for drunk posses gettin’ broken up.” 

“But this is a security hazard!” you argue. “They could’ve gotten kidnapped or drugged o-or—“ 

“Whoa, whoa, Ivy League, chill!” Toji cuts in, stifling a smirk. “You’ll give yourself a damn heart attack. I’m sure they’re both fine and just chillin’ with some guys. They’ll pop up again.” 

His lips then stretch into a smile that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “In the meantime, you can chill with us. We’ll keep you safe.” 

Sukuna’s blood-red eyes skate back over to you, making you shiver. “Thanks but no thanks,” you grumble. “No offense, but it would look weird for a college girl to hang with two old guys she doesn’t know.” 

“Ain’t that what you were doin’ already?” Sukuna asks, raising his pierced brow at you. “I saw you at the bar with that old prick in the blue suit. Looks to me you were quite cozy.” You scoff at him, realizing that you’ve been watched by the bouncer right under your nose. “You were spying on me?!” you hiss, alarming the crowd and definitely causing a scene. The bouncers barely react, still looking amused at your outburst. “When I get back to my room, I’m gonna make sure I report you, you old—” 

Brrring-brrrring! 

You gasp, realizing that your phone is ringing in your purse. “Saved by the bell,” Toji chuckles. “You might wanna get that, sweets.” While his back is turned and he’s busy helping Sukuna with the rest of the clubbers, you dig into your bag for your phone and check the caller ID. It’s your friend! Thank God and the inventor of phones! “Hello?” you gasp when you answer. 

The sounds of blasting Cardi B music and rushing wind hits you dead in your eardrum.“Heeeey, baaaabe!” Your friend slurs into the phone. “Giiiirl, where have you been?! We’ve been lookin’ all over for yoooou!” 

You try hard to relax, but your anger builds the more you hear the music and male laughter in the background. Is it possible your friends really did leave you for dick? ‘Like what you left them on the dance floor for?’ a critical voice in your head whispers.

“Da fuck you mean where have I been?!” you angrily shout. “Where the hell are you two?! I’ve been lookin’ all over for you! You just left me here!” 

“No, we didn’t!” your friend argues. “You walked away from us and we tried lookin’ for you, but then we—” 

“Damn, you on the phone instead of kissin’ me?” a male sultry voice asks. It is deep and seductive, even turning you on while you’re on the other end. “Turn the music up, Satoru,” another sexy male voice orders, this one deeper. “This cutie back here said this is her shit.” 

Then you hear girlish laughter, the very obvious soft, wet smacks of a make out session, and the music getting amped up to the point where you have to scream into the phone. “Who the fuck is that?!” you gasp. “You two left me for some dick?!” 

“Who’s that?” one of the males—sounding like this “Satoru” guy—asks. "Another friend? Tell her to come through! Me and Suguru got room for more!” You pinch your sinuses, feeling a headache coming on. You can’t believe this is happening to you. The more you picture your friends chilling in a car with these hot strangers, the more you feel your irritation boiling. 

“Well, we were lookin’ for you and called your phone, like, a dozen times!” your friend argues. "Then we met Satoru and Suguru and they’re goin’ to a pool party, so…” You pauses, laughing. “Toru, stooooop!” she giggles. 

You pinch your nose harder, nearly digging your French tips into your skin as the headache pounds harder against your skull. “Bitch, how am I supposed to get home?” you ask, exasperated. You already know buying an Uber will be through the roof since the block is hot, never mind that you live fifteen minutes from the club. 

“O-Oh, girl, you’re b-b-breakin’ up!” your friends says, her voice coming out static-y. Suddenly, the call cuts and it drops, leaving you alone once again. You resist the urge to crash out, feeling nothing but violence. “Well, that didn’t sound good,” Toji deadpans with a whistle. “Y’know, if you’re really in a pinch, I could drive you wherever you need to go.”

You scowl at him, wondering if he’s deadass suggesting something so reckless. “I don’t get into cars with men that I don’t know,” you scoff. Sukuna catches your answer and glances at you, chewing some gum he probably slipped out of Toji’s pocket. “Wasn’t you just about to do that with an Uber?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips. 

If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now with the way you glare at him. “I don’t need to fuckin’ explain myself to you,” you hiss. “You’re just the bouncer. Shouldn’t you be doing your job?”

Like clockwork, a college frat tries to move past Sukuna’s neglectful eye, only to get a hand in the chest. “Aye, no buttin, asshole,” he growls. “Back of the line or I’ll move your ass for you.” 

Unbeknownst to you, Toji is still watching you while you open the Uber app. Just as you suspected, it’s $40 for one trip…and that’s just with a 15-minute wait! Beep-beep!The sudden honking of a car grabs your attention and you turn to see the line of cars coming up in valet parking beside the club venue. Right where you came through and parked your rental hours ago. 

“I hope you ain’t thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’.” 

You twist around, finding Toji watching you closely with his arms crossed over this beefy chest. “Excuse me?" you sharply ask. He replies, barely missing a beat. “The last thing you wanna do is get behind the wheel of a car drunk, ‘specially in Miami. Trust me: you’re better off with that Uber.” 

You gape at him, not believing the balls this man possesses to be telling you shit. “I need you to tell me anything,” you scoff. “You’re not my father.” With that, you turn on your heel and stomp off…well, really stumble since you can hardly walk in your heels. You shouldn’t have drank as much as you did. 

You know that if you can hardly walk, you can’t drive either. Though you’ve driven drunk before, it was only from frat parties; your dorm has always been right up the road. The risk of getting arrested or possibly wrecking is high here. But…you also don't want to spend all this money getting an Uber and face the humiliation of leaving your pretty rental at the club to pick up tomorrow.

 “Fuck it,” you huff to yourself. So what do you do? You push all logic to the side and try your luck at the valet. 

After conjuring some willpower and straightening your back, you slowly strut over to the young man standing by the white Range Rover you rented specifically for this trip, wanting to ride in style. As soon as he sees you, his eyes widen and he looks starstruck, staring dead at your tits. And like an idiot, after a purr of a thank you and offering to buy him a drink sometime, you get your keys AND his number with no intention of calling. 

As soon as you get your keys, dangling with a bedazzled Kuromi and cherry keychains, in addition to the rental pod, you hop in the driver’s seat, slide your heels off, and place your purse on the dashboard before getting comfy. “Okay, bitch, relax,” you whisper to yourself. “You got this. It’s just a five-minute drive. You know what you’re doing! Just take it nice and slow…” 

Slowly, you put the key in the ignition, start the car, and begin to slooooowly peel out of the valet to drive around the club. You gasp, quickly ducking as you ride by the two hot bouncers, not wanting them to see you. But they’re too busy arguing with three guys a head shorter than them about getting in the club. 

After a few minutes of driving as slow as possible, you’ve successfully made it away from the club and you’re still in one piece. You’re on the street now, about ten minutes away from the hotel. The lights are bright. The AC is cranked up high. Everything feels okay despite the cars driving in back, in front, and beside you. 

You giggle to yourself, feeling proud and giddy over how easy this is. “Fuckin’ assholes,” you mutter, referring to both the bouncers and your friends. You’ll tear your girlfriends a new one when they get back from hopping on dick, that’s for sure. 

That’s when the sound of your favorite Kehlani song blasts from your phone as you get a call from one of your friends. “Speak of the devil,” you murmur. But as you reach for it, the bumpy road causes it to slide across the dashboard and on the floor. “Fuck!” you yelp. But as you reach for it, keeping one hand on the wheel, you accidentally drift to the left and nearly knock into another car. 

HONK-HONK! 

“Fuck out the way!” a driver hollers as he speeds past you in his pickup truck. You gasp, quickly sitting upright and gripping the wheel with an iron grip. Your brain begins to go into hyperdrive as your phone keeps ringing from the floor. ’Pull over, bitch!’ your subconscious screams at you. ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’ 

Only problem is that this road has no room to pull over. The street is hot with cars and you can’t seem to focus enough to shift after nearly getting into an accident. You feel panic set in as your phone continues to ring, your fists clenching the steering wheel. To make matters one hundred times worse, you begin hear police sirens. They are distant at first, somewhere behind you in the lane. 

But then the cars begin to part and you can see the flashing red and blue lights. They get closer and closer until the squad car is behind another car, the sirens making you ears hurt. Then you realize it: they’re after you. “Oh, shit,” you whimper. 

Horrifyingly, the car behind you shifts into another lane, leaving the squad car to drive right behind you. You can’t see the driver or passenger’s faces in the rearview, the lights too bright and blinding. Then you hear the dreaded echo of a radio speaker, and a deep, rasped, and vaguely familiar speaking into it: “Driver in the white Range Rover license plate #T00G00D4U. Pull over now or you’ll be subject to arrest.” 

You’re the driver in the white Range Rover. You’re the one with that license plate which made you specifically rent this car for your trip. He’s talking to you. You clench the wheel, terrified, and your brain begins to sober as fear takes over. You can’t believe this! You haven’t been chased by the cops EVER in your life!

Another harsh honk makes you jump and you see that the police car is right on top of you, damn near peeling the paint. “Okay, okay!” you shout, putting your hand out the window for the officers to see. 

Quickly, you turn the first corner you see down a semi-deserted street where there is nothing but gates and palm trees hidden behind a hotel and a strip of condos. The only audience you have are drunk college kids who are too busy indulging in their own conversations to pay much attention to you. At least you have witnesses if something goes wrong. 

You pull over on the side, heart about to fall out of your ass and chest rising and falling as you gulp down deep breaths. You try to tell yourself to stay calm, to be focused, that everything will be okay. But when the police car parks behind you and the passenger’s side opens, you feel your blood run cold. What if you go to jail tonight? What if everyone back home finds out? What if you lose everything you’ve worked so hard for? You don’t know what you’ll do if you’re expelled from such a prestigious school. 

Maybe you can still take off, you deliriously think. Maybe you can act like you’re having seizure or something. Maybe— 

Knock-knock! The rapping of a fist against your car window stops you short from thinking of a stupid ass escape plan. You gasp, startled, and turn to face the officer…only to see the familiar face of one of the club bouncers from earlier, scarred lip and all. “You?” you hiss. 

Toji smirks at you, dressed in the blue police uniform with the hat, tool belt, and badge that.“Me,” he chuckles, peering at you through the open window. “Evenin’, miss. I told you to get that Uber.” He sighs like a disappointed dad and takes out a notepad and pen. “License and registration please.” 

He looks at you expectantly and firmly when you don’t do what he says ASAP. “What is this, a fuckin’ joke?” you scoff. “You’re not a cop! You’re a bouncer!” But his uniform looks pretty damn real to you; even the gun you see in its upholstery at his belt. He pauses, frowning. “Are you refusing to give me your license and registration?” he asks. You say nothing, still staring at him in shock, trying to figure out if you’re hallucinating or not.

Toji sighs and pulls out his walkie talkie, pressing a button before speaking into it. “Callin’ for backup, Ryomen.” His grey eyes shift to you, making your heart pound. “This one is bein’…difficult.” He then gives you a wolfish smirk that makes your blood run cold.

You see the driver’s door to the squad car open behind you and another officer gets out, just as tall and menacing in his black boots as Toji is. He comes walking up to your car, whistling as he does, and comes around to the passenger’s side where a harsh light shines into your car. When you turn towards the shining light, placing a hand over your eyes, you are met with the crimson irises of Sukuna. 

He, too, is wearing a police uniform with a toothpick dangling from between his pierced lips. “Typical,” he scoffs. “I knew you’d do some dumb shit like this. College girls like you always do.” 

You gape at the both of them surrounding your car, still in deep denial about your current situation. “What is this, some kinda joke?” you snort. “There’s no way you two are actually cops.” 

But Toji tuts, placing his hands on his narrow hips. “Oh, on the contrary, sweets; this is realer than realer. Nothin’ funny about this or drivin’ under the influence.” 

“See this, smart girl?” Sukuna mocks, popping the collar of his shirt, showing off the gold police badge stuck to it. “This here is a very real uniform, a very real badge…” Clink. Your eyes widen as he yanks the pairs of metal handcuffs from his belt, dangling them at you. “And very real handcuffs.” 

Despite the alcohol still making your head fuzzy, clarity begins to rip at the edges of your drunken state little by little. You sit there, frozen, unsure of what to do. Toji makes the decision for you, nodding at the door handle. “Out of the car, miss.” 

“You’re joking,” you whisper, still in denial. Then Sukuna jumps in, rougher and more aggressive than his partner. “Did he fuckin’ stutter? Out of the car.” Not wanting to push this anymore than you have, you slowly step out of the car, stumbling slightly in your heels. Toji shuts the door for you. 

Sukuna joins him, the both of them towering over you like mountains while you stand there, humiliated, hugging yourself tight. “Got calls that you were swervin’ around the road, not to mention you got in this rental totally drunk.” Sukuna scowls at you, sizing you up. “Did you know it’s a crime to drive under the influence?” 

You stay quiet, your glossy lips in a slight pout as you stare the officer down, your stubbornness still licking with a vengeance. “He asked you a question, sweets,” Toji says, his tone blunt. “I suggest you answer him.” You lower your eyes from Sukuna’s piercing gaze, staring down at your pretty, painted toes. “Yes,” you begrudgingly sigh. 

Sukuna sighs as if he was hoping you wouldn’t say that. “Where’s your license and registration at?” You tell him that your bag fell on the floor to which he fishes it out. Despite your irritation at him digging around in your shit, you bite back your harsh words and let him get your license out of your wallet. Sukuna examines your license, rolling his toothpick around in his mouth. “License expired two months ago. Better get that checked out. Now where’s that registration?” 

“It’s a rental,” you murmur, referring to your ride. Sukuna raises a brow at you, his gaze glowering. “Damn, you rented this ride and you’re drivin' around in it drunk?” Toji scoffs. “No offense, ivy League, but your priorities are mad fucked up.”

“But a girl tryin’ to score clubs for some loot usually has fucked-up priorities,” Sukuna adds. You glare at him, especially when he keeps your purse, letting it dangle off of his big arm. “What the fuck does that mean?” you hiss. 

The two bouncers/officers share a humored look, finding you adorable. “In case you ain’t piece it together yet, we’re undercover,” Sukuna explains. “We pose as bouncers at that club ‘cause it’s a hotspot for crime: shootings, fights, and drunk drivin’.” 

Though your heart begins to accelerate as realization hits you, you refuse to give in. You won’t submit to these pricks and let them ruin your night. Then, like clockwork, you get an idea. A horrible, drunken, messy ass idea that may just get you arrested anyway…but it’s worth a shot.

“Okay, fine,” you sigh, raising your hands in defense. “You got me. I’m a bad girl and I won’t do it again, officers. Can I please go now?” You stare at them both through your lashes, putting on the charm that you know is irresistible to all men. 

If either of them are hooked onto your charm, they don’t show it, looking unamused and somewhat irritated (especially Sukuna). “After some field sobriety tests, sure,” Toji replies, his eyes locked right on your face. His gaze is intense as if he’s looking straight through you, seeing the scared girl there beneath the sexy clothes and flirty attitude. 

You fight to stay cool, calm, and collected, keeping focus on your freedom. “So if I pass, am I free to go?” Toji nods, slipping a pen out of his belt. “If you pass ‘em. Now pay close attention to this pen.” You nod, inching closer to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his big body. “Yes, sir,” you purr, eyeing the ink lacing his knuckles. “Nice tattoos.” 

Toji ignores your statement, but you notice that his Adam’s Apple bobs. You bite back a little giggle, feeling emboldened and oh-so smart. This is a walk in the fucking park! At this rate, you’ll make it out of here in no time!

….But of course, that’s just the shots talking. 

Each test you do is like a game to you and it starts to test the officers’ patience. When Toji instructs you to watch the moving pen to test your eye movement, you keep staring at his neck and tattoos. When Sukuna instructs you to walk in a straight line while counting to ten, you turn around and “accidentally” flash him and Toji a peek of your ass. 

“Whoops!” you giggle, pulling down the hem of your dress riding up onto your hips. “Forgot my dress is short!” Sukuna isn’t amused, rolling his crimson eyes, his jaw tight as a drum. “Sure, you did. Just do the steps, college girl.” 

You cluck your tongue at him, picking up on the derogatory tone. “So mean,” you coo, staring up at him through hooded eyes. "What, a college girl come and break your heart, Officer Ryomen?”

You say his last name slow and sultry, making Sukuna’s eye twitch. “Don’t push it, girl. Start from ten and walk in a straight line.”

You smile, feeling like hot shit, and begin to sashay down an imaginary line in the street, counting as you do. You stumble a bit, nearly tumble in your heels a few times, and even miss some numbers so the officers have to fill you in. Through it all, you keep your walk slow and sexy, feeling your ass jiggle in your dress with every step you take, knowing that the officers are watching. 

Finally, you turn and walk back to them, titties bouncing and smiling confidently. “Did I do good, officers?” you purr. The officers share discouraged expression and look back at you, unswayed by your antics. “So you’re gonna arrest me now?” you laugh, placing a hand on your hip. “But I did every test!” 

“And you failed ‘em all, sugar,” Toji dismissively replies, jotting something down in his notepad. “You can barely focus and your coordination is fucked. You get on the road again, you’ll kill somebody or yourself.” 

That’s when you see Sukuna’s hand inching towards his cuffs. Quickly, your mind flips into fight or flight mode, racing for a diversion. So you decide to stupidly turn up the heat and stare up at the officers pleadingly. “There has to be something I can do to make you rethink this,” you say, your voice soft and sultry. “Please…I’ll do anything you want. You really wanna take me to jail?” 

You bat your long, soft lashes. Stick out your chest. Inch yourself towards them so they can smell your perfume. Suddenly, their expressions soften and you feel a spark of hope. “Anything?” Toji ponders, raising a brow at you. You grin, pleased with yourself. “Yes. Anything that you—”

Clank. 

You gasp, finding the metal cuffs interlocking your wrists behind your back. Sukuna stands behind you, working them tight around your wrists. “That ain’t gon’ work on us, sweetie,” Toji huffs. “Sorry to break it to ya, but we ain’t dumb. We’ve had plenty of girls flaunt their mama gave ‘em tryin’ to get out of jail.” 

Sukuna sneers at you, looking disgusted at your tricks. “Don’t play dumb either. We know exactly what you’re doin’, ya little freak.” He wraps a hand around your elbow, keeping you still, and you resist the urge to fight against him with your wrists back. “Tryin’ to seduce a cop to get out of an arrest. How predictable.” 

He stares down at you, his eyes glistening with mirth. He’s enjoying this. “Y’know, we’re liable to add a charge just for that, right?” he snickers. “In addition to your side quests at the club.” You gape at him, confused, until Sukuna tosses Toji your purse. “Give it back!” you gasp, incensed. 

“Ah-ah,” Toji tuts, wagging a finger at her. “Not when we’ve got probable cause to search it. Not when a couple of guys from the club were missing their dollars after chattin’ you up.” 

Suddenly, it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of your lungs. “What?” you squeak. “I-I don’t know what you—” 

“Don’t lie,” Sukuna growls, his grip on your elbow tightening. “I was watchin’ you with that old geazer at the club. When his back was turned to order you a drink, you slipped $100 out his pocket.” 

Toji nods, digging into your wallet and flashing you the wad of money that got increasingly bigger after your romp at the club. “Mmm-hmm. Not to mention the other male patrons puttin’ in reports about stolen goods. We had a hunch it was you.” 

You feel your blood run ice cold as Sukuna twists you around, forcing you against the hood of his squad car. You feel his big, calloused hands adjusting the cuffs, his minty breath fanning the back of your neck. “That’s why we got put undercover,” he bitingly whispers. “To bag any scammin’, lyin’, cheatin’ college girls who think they can just fly to Miami and snatch a bag just because they want to.” 

You feel tears prick your eyes, humiliating pricking your skin. Now they know your secret. What if everyone else finds out too, in addition to your DUI? ‘Oh, damn,’ you think. You’ve dug yourself a deep hole that you can’t get out of. 

“So theft, DUI, soliciting sex with an officer, and resisting arrest…” Toji pauses, his fingers grazing the little camera attached to his belt. "All on body camera. That’s four charges on your pretty hands, mama. You sure you wanna keep goin’?” He gives you a mocking smirk, making you want to spit in his face. 

But instead, you feel the tears build. “I can’t go to jail,” you lament. “If my parents and my school find out, I’ll lose my scholarship! I’ll get kicked out! I’ll lose everything!” The situation has sobered you and you just now are thinking about the consequences of your actions a little too late. 

The officers are less than persuaded, barely even blinking as Toji comes to open the back door to the cop car. “Please don’t do this,” you beg as Sukuna yanks you up, making you stand up straight…and brush against his groin. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but it feels a lot stiffer than you thought. Is that his belt buckle? Maybe his gun or taser?

You have no time to think before Toji is waving you into the backseat. “Just doin’ our job,” he inanimately says. “Now c’mon, bad girl.” Sukuna releases you, watching you as you do the walk of shame to the car. Toji comes behind you, loosening the cuffs a bit for you so you don’t get markings. “I won’t make ‘em too tight like Kuna,” he murmurs. “Don’t wanna rough ya up…but somethin’ tells me you like that shit.” 

He brushes up against you then just as he gently pushes you into the backseat. He feels hot and hard, but you can’t focus on it for too long when you’re in the cop car, reality hitting you like a slap in the face. “Watch your head, girly,” Sukuna says. “Don’t let the door hit you.” He pauses, his eyes rolling over you cuffed in the backseat. “I don’t recommend a nap; the road is kinda bumpy.” 

Toji smirks as he stands next to his partner, muting his walkie talkie that buzzes and crackles on his hip. “She can handle it…can’t you, doll?” And maybe it’s your imagination, but you think you see him wink. 

Then he shuts the door, leaving you to quietly sulk and rethink your life’s choices, praying to God that tonight will end. 

The ride isn’t as bumpy as Sukuna said it would be…but maybe that’s just because you fall asleep during the ride. 

You didn’t think it was possible at first, but the alcohol catches up with you, in addition to you crashing after such an adrenaline rush earlier. Before you fall asleep, you catch snippets of the officers’ conversation: calling a tow company so your rental will be at the station; fingerprints; a possible mugshot, etc. 

The only reason you wake up is because Sukuna neglects to drive into a pot hole. The car shakes and you startle awake, still cuffed and still in hell. You look around groggily, finding nothing but an empty street ahead of you. “Where are we?” you ask. “Is this where the station is?” 

Neither of them answer. “Turn right here,” Toji says, his hand dangling out the window, a cig between his fingers. Sukuna glares at him, gripping the wheel with one hand. “I know where the fuck I’m goin’,” he growls. “Stop drivin’ from the passenger’s side, bitch.” 

You gape at them from the backseat, your blood pressure spiking. You don’t know why you feel so weird, like something is terribly off. When the car cops to a stop, you peer through the window at your new surroundings: you’re under a highway standing beside the empty, serene shores of a beach.

The dark, frothy waves crash against the soft sands and mossy rocks, the sounds of them accompanied by the cawing of seagulls and the hum of cars above you on the bridge. 

Everything is quiet, including the officers. You stare at them, petrified. “What is this?” you ask. Again, they don’t answer. Instead, Sukuna cuts off the engine and steps out of the car with Toji. The black-haired officer comes around to your door and opens it, his grey eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Out of the car,” he orders. 

After unbuckling you, you tentatively step out into the balmy air, hands cuffed. You are shaking in your club best, scared out of your mind. You feel tears burn in your eyes, blurring your vision. How could this all go wrong so quickly? Why did you have to be such a money-hungry bitch and leave your friends? 

Toji leans against the car, watching you intently and smoking his cigarette. Smoke billows from his plump lips and hits you in the face, making you cough a bit. “So here’s the plan, sweets: we’re not gonna arrest you.” 

You scowl at him, utterly confused. “You’re not?” You look at Sukuna who just sits on the hood of the car, arms crossed. Watching you ever-so seriously. 

“Nah,” Toji replies, smirking. “You caught us on a good night and you seem remorseful, so we’ll let’cha off the hook…but only if you’re a real good girl for us tonight.” His smirk grows, crossing villain-like territory. “Or a real bad girl, I should say. You said you’d do anything for us. Right, ‘Kuna?” 

His grey eyes slide over to the pink-haired menace, as do yours. You watch with uncertainty as Sukuna silently rises from his spot, takes three strides towards you, and grips you into his body with one yank of your elbow. You squeak, terrified…until he presses his mouth against yours. 

His kiss isn’t nice either: it’s rough. Possessive. Forceful. “Mmph!” you gasp, angered. Abruptly, you pull away, glaring. “What the fuck are you doing?!” 

His crimson eyes narrow, his grip possessive. “Takin’ what’s owed to me. You think you can get out of this without givin’ us somethin’ in return?” The big, fat moon glistens in his eyes, making his lustful stare even more intense. 

You can’t even attempt to protest, your throat dry as sandpaper. “Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doin’, baby cakes,” he hotly growls. “Showin’ that ass off. Stickin’ those tits out at me. Betcha did the same thing with those other geezers.” He pauses, pushing himself into you, making you feel the hard, hot throb of his cock that you felt earlier. He’s hard. 

You silently gasp, aghast by this. Usually, you’d be a lot smugger, but something about these two assholes, as sexy as they are, getting rock over your drunken, seductive antics is shaking you to your core. Aren’t officers supposed to be immune to this type of bullshit?! 

Sukuna’s hand circles around to grab your ass just as Toji comes up behind you, his hands sliding over your arms. “You know you want this, baby doll,” he murmurs. “We want it too. Can’t you feel it?” You can, pulsing and throbbing into you at both ends, their cocks chubbing against their pants. 

You are trapped between them, unable to go anywhere. You are nervous and uncomfortable…but also aroused; you can't deny the throb that has formed in your pussy, warm and pulsing. “You said you’d do anything for your freedom,” Toji continues, his lips at your ear. “So prove it. You show us a good time and let us use that pretty body.” 

His big hands slide over your sides while Sukuna cups your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. You see nothing but molten lust there, bubbling like volcano lava. You swallow hard, knowing that you can’t escape this or talk them out of what you’ve caused. “What will you do?” you whisper. 

Sukuna smirks at your determined expression, tilting your chin up farther to stare into his red coal-like eyes. “Whatever we fuckin’ want,” he replies. You shiver at his response—whether out of fear or arousal, you aren't too sure. It is all combined, swimming inside of your belly, making it flip and jump like you’re on a rollercoaster. 

“But you’ll love it, darlin’,” Toji adds, pressing a kiss to your neck. “We promise. We know you like it rough, but we wouldn’t dare hurt you. We don’t bite very hard.” He steals Sukuna’s thunder and turns your cheek to face him. “Just kiss me and find out,” he murmurs, the scent of mint gum and his cologne wafting off of him. 

Maybe it’s all of that or the tequila shots or the Miami heat, but whatever it is, it makes you close the gap from his lips that are just inches from yours. He never moves; he lets YOU take that opportunity, proving to him how much you want it.

Unfortunately, Toji’s kiss is like magic—his mouth is sweet yet rough, his tongue tasting of whiskey and nicotine. You find yourself getting addicted to him the more his soft lips move with yours, gently suckling on your tongue. 

When he pulls away, he latches his lips onto your bottom lip, pulling it back into place. “Not bad, baby girl. You’re a good kisser.” He gives you a smirk, his eyes trailing down to your dress. “I can tell that I am too. Those nipples are sayin’ hi to me.” 

You look down, finding your nipples embarrassingly poking through your dress. “I-I’m cold,” you stammer, still stubborn despite all odds. His smirk grows, amused by your bratty streak. “Aww, poor baby. We’ll warm ya up, won’t we, Kuna?” 

He then proceeds to kiss you down, his pierced tongue swirling with yours, while Sukuna busies himself rubbing his hands over your tits, hips, and ass. He gropes you like you belong to him, squeezing all the right places. You gasp as he grips your chin, yanking your face towards him and tearing you away from Toji’s drugging kiss to give you his own. 

Sukuna kisses roughly and possessively, smashing his lips against yours, his cold metal snakebites pressing into your chin. You taste tequila on his tongue, spiking the sloppy kiss. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he gruffly chastises you against your lips. “You were eye-fuckin’ me hard outside that club.” 

Toji hums in agreement, his thick fingers tickling your sides as they slide up to your shoulders. “Me too. I’m shocked you ain’t fall to your knees and whip my dick out to suck.” He pauses, yanking down the straps to your dress. “Wouldn’t mind that right now.” 

“Uh-huh,” Sukuna exhales, pausing to suckle on your bottom lip, leaving you gushing in your panties. “Same here. She needs that smart ass mouth filled with somethin’.” He takes your palm, pressing it against his hard cock pressed against his pants. You swallow, your stomach flipping at the feeling of how hard, hot, and big he is. “So you like my smart mouth?” you find yourself quipping. 

Sukuna’s eyes flash with a wildfire that excites and frightens you, making Toji chuckle. “Mmm, don’t push him, baby. Sukuna knows how to tame the brats.” And you start to believe it when Sukuna roughly hikes your dress up over your hips, right around the same time Toji successfully pulls your straps down to expose your tits and pierced nipples. 

“Shit!” Toji hisses, staring in awe at all you have to offer under the moonlight, including your creamy thighs holding your soft, pushy pussy between them. But that isn’t what gets him swearing: it’s the fact that you’re wearing— 

“A G-string?” Sukuna tuts, his brows raising an inch at the sight of your asscheeks looking plump and succulent from the tight string thong. “You fuckin’ little slut.” 

SMACK!

“Ow!” you gasp, jumping as Sukuna’s big hand comes down hard across your ass. You can’t give him an earful though because suddenly, he is forcing you towards the cop car and forcefully bending you over it, his hand flat on your backside. You squeak, taken aback by the sudden move. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls, pressing his hard dick against your ass bent over the hood. “Keep that mouth shut. Don’t play with me.” 

Despite your stubbornness and irritation, you do as he says and brace yourself for another harsh hit. But even as you mentally prepare yourself to feel that sharp sting across your ass, nothing prepares you for when you actually feel it. 

SMACK!

Shockingly, you moan at this one. Though Sukuna is a hard hitter so his assault stings like hell, it also goes straight to your pussy, making it throb annoyingly in your thong. “Ooooh, you like this, huh?” he chuckles, smugness in his tone. “Naughty girl likes gettin’ spanked, hm? Not surprisin’ at all.” 

SMACK! 

“Bet this is all you need to whip ya into shape. Make you into a good girl,” he whispers.  

SMACK! 

“You just needed a nice.” 

SMACK!

“Hard.” 

SMACK!

“Spanking.” 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“S-Stop!” you beg through tears, feeling them burn in your eye sockets. “I-It hurts!” You grip the chuffs holding your wrists, your thighs shaking and pussy dripping at the lick of fire across your asscheeks. Sukuna begins to rub and pepper your ass in wet kisses, soothing some of the burning sensation from your skin. “Aw, it hurts, pretty girl?” he mockingly coos. “But you’re takin’ it so well. Bet you can take this dick just as good.”

“C’mon, Sukuna,” Toji says, but his voice is breathless with arousal. “Let her breathe. We ain't even get to that pussy yet.” You feel his fingers pinch your thong, pulling it back and snapping it back into place like a sling shot. The sharp sting against your skin makes you squeak, earning a laugh out of him. “She already gave us such easy access,” he chuckles. 

SNAP!

“H-Hey!” you exclaim when you hear the very-obvious sound of your G-string snapping when Toji yanks it off your body. He smirks, shoving the tiny, wet fabric into his pocket, freeing your soft, plushy, puffy pussy lips from the last thing protecting it from the officers’ lustful eyes and the humid air.

Sukuna groans as he ruts himself against you through his pants, rubbing himself against your bare ass as if it’s there for him. “What could that be, babydoll, hm?” he asks. “A nice, big pistol stickin’ in your back?” He claps a possessive hand on your ass, gripping it, making you whimper. 

“I’ve got one too,” Toji jokes, taking your cuffed hands and placing them right on his bulge. “Right here, baby,” he says through a shudder. “It’s ready to shoot up your club.” Sukuna glares at him, sneering in disgust. “Never say that shit again. Just plug her mouth up while I’m back here.” 

Toji grins an evil grin that glints in the moonlight, watching his partner lay his palms flat on your ass and prying them apart. You whimper as you feel him duck down between your thighs, open that mouth up, and— 

“O-Oh, fuck,” you gasp, instantly rearing yourself back to sit on his face as much as possible. You’re not shocked that Sukuna is good at eating pussy—a man with as much mouth as he has usually is. His tongue is wicked, sliding along your wet folds, prying them apart to caress your clit. He does so slowly, tantalizingly, driving you to frustration and impatience. “Dammit, don’t tease me,” you hiss, earning a harsh smack on the pussy. 

You squeak at the assault, your clit jumping as his palm smacks it. “Don’t tell me what to do,” Sukuna growls as he pries your asscheeks apart farther, making you whine. “You must be forgettin’, little girl: you don’t have a say in this anymore. I do what I fuckin’ want. Tonight, I own this pussy.” 

SPANK! 

“Ow!” you exclaim, flinching at another smack on your pussy. Sukuna gives your asscheek a scrape with his teeth, making you flinch. “Shut up,” he demands. “You knew what you were in for when you decided to seduce us. Just who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” Then he dives right back into your pussy, sucking on your soaked lips, making them glisten in his spit.

You moan and whine at the feeling he gives you, your sounds wafting in the summer air. “You’re so cute like this, mama,” Toji murmurs, giving you a sloppy kiss as his big hand cascades down your stinging ass, soothing the fiery sensation from Sukuna’s spanks. Sukuna is less gentle, instead opting to give your pussy a couple of smacks as that tongue gets to work. 

You can’t run or hide or squirm when Sukuna presses his thumb against your asshole as he continues eating your pussy, his soft lips and tongue caressing your slit. You moan against the cold metal hood of the cop car at each long lick that he gives you, prying your lips open to slurp you straight from the source. It’s too intense, each stroke of his tongue and press of this thumb against your hole quickly making you soaked. “A-ah, fuck!” you gasp aloud. “Shit, slow down!” 

But he doesn’t. He doesn't even listen to you, licking as much as he wants without end. “Man is starvin’, ain’t he?” Toji cackles, palming himself as he watches the lewd scene unfold before him. “Mmm, but you can take it. You’s a big girl, right?” 

Click-click. 

Your body freezes at the sound and you find yourself staring up at the barrel of a gun. ‘Da fuck?!’ you think, your heart plummeting into your chest. Toji smirks, cocking his head at you as he presses the cool barrel of the gun against your wobbly lips. “Suck on it, mamas,” he coos. “C’mon now, you know exactly how to put those lips to work. I know ya do.” 

With no choice in the matter, you open your mouth and allow Toji to slowly insert the gun between your glossy, wet lips. And you suck. No matter how afraid or how much your body is fighting against it, you bob your head up and down as if you’re sucking a cock, hollowing your cheeks along the cold metal barrel. “Atta girl,” Toji teasingly drawls out. “Open that throat for Papa.” 

You whimper around the gun as Sukuna’s tongue toys with your cunt, making you sobbing wet, the cold metal ball of his piercing tickling your clit. You can’t tell if any of this is against your will anymore. You seduced them, right? You were willing to do whatever you could to get out of an arrest, right? The lines are becoming blurry now. Nothing makes sense anymore. 

 “Enough of this shit,” Sukuna growls, the vibrations traveling up your pussy. “She needs to suck on somethin’ else now.” 

Toji huffs, but fortunately takes the gun out of your mouth now slick with your spit. “So impatient. Whatever happened to foreplay?” You see him reach for his belt, unbuckling it, and then snatching his zipper down. 

Then out comes his cock—hard, thick, and curved at the tip. His stomach is sinewy with black hair, traveling down towards a sexy happy trail and some heavy balls full of cum. “Want somethin’ else in that mouth, mama?” he whispers, a hot smirk adorning his lips. He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead pressing his cock against your lips and pushing forward.

You let him enter, having no choice but to do so, keeping your teeth behind your cushiony lips. Toji groans as he slides into your hot, wet mouth, making his home there. “Ahhhh,” he exhales. “That’s it, babe. Such a pretty mouth on you when you ain’t complainin’.” 

He begins to rock his hips forward, fucking your mouth while Sukuna tongue fucks your cunt, even sliding a finger against your clit to stroke it while his tongue invades your hole. Your eyes grow watery from the pleasure and Toji’s big cock stretches out your mouth, making your jaw ache. “Yeah, you like it?” he asks, his voice heavy and breathless. “C’mon, you know what to do with a nice, big dick, I’m sure.” 

He pulls out and slaps his heavy cock against your tongue, making a wet plap-plap sound as he does before sinking back in deeper, making you nearly choke. Sukuna’s tongue is invading your pussy, making your quivering walls and each muscle even more tender and sensitive from his relentless tongue-fucking. “But wait!” you wail around Toji’s dick, desperately panting and wailing from Sukuna’s mouth. 

And then Toji is sinking his cock deeeeep into your throat, silencing you with wet choking and gagging as your throat flexes around the foreign object in it. “But nothin’,” he growls through his teeth, his eyes grey slits as he watches your hot mouth wrap around his cock. “Nothin’ but you takin’ the rest of this dick. C’mon, mama, don’t you wanna please me? I could be the reason you go home tonight.

His chuckle is almost evil as he fucks your throat like it’s a fleshlight, his hands indulging in your soft hair and ass, smacking the beautiful globes as Sukuna greedily laps at your cunt. His soft lips and long tongue caress every single part of your pussy and clit, alternating between slurping at both, drinking you in like a starved man.

It doesn’t take long for an orgasm to rise to the surface, forcefully so. Sukuna can feel it in the way your pussy tightens around his moving, swirling tongue as Toji groans, plap-plap-plapping away at your mouth. “Hold it,” the pink-haired officer growls, sending vibrations throughout your pussy. “Tell us you’re ours and you can cum. Don’t you dare fuckin’ disobey me.” 

Gasps and moans leave your lips, your fingers and toes curling at the pleasurable sensations and the sheer willpower it takes for you not to cum. “Tell us, mama,” Toji moans, tapping your chin with his fingers. “Tell us that this pretty body is ours and we’ll make you cum as many times as you need to.” 

And you do. Despite the fury you feel at giving into them, it feels too damn good! You’ll do anything it takes to just cum. It is too much for your body to hold on and not release. “I’m yours!” you sob, gripping your cuffs for dear life. “I promise I’m yours!” 

Your beautiful voice crying out for them both is enough to make both men stick their cocks in you and rail you until they fill you up. Finally, you are graced with a nut after you commit the ultimate sin and sign of disrespect to yourself. “Do it,” Sukuna growls into your pussy. “Cum for me.” 

It takes a while to build, but once it does, it comes crashing down like a house of cards, washing over you as Toji grips your hair and fucks your throat. “F-Fuck, that almost made me cum!” he groans. “C’mon, Sukuna, get inside her before I take your spot.” 

Sukuna glares at his partner from behind your ass, slurping up your honey as you twitch in his mouth. “Not unless you want a cap in your ass.” As you continue to moan around Toji’s cock and your pussy continues to cream, Sukuna quickly tears himself away from you and slides his cock inside of you without warning. 

You let out a high-pitched yelp at the sudden stretch just as you are in the throes of your intense orgasm. You nearly bite down on Toji’s dick from the sudden sensation, making him hiss. “Jesus, girl, watch the teeth,” he huffs. 

Sukuna leans down to nibble on your ear, his teeth catching your earlobe. “Gotcha,” he whispers. He grabs your hips, digging his nails in, and proceeds to slowly rock into you, giving you both a chance to get used to each other. Unfortunately for you, he feels good. Horribly, sinfully, disgustingly good. The way he stretches out the velvety, wet walls of your pussy and creates sloppy, squelching sounds whenever he thrusts add to the tingles of pleasure in your core that grow with every passing second. 

Sukuna grunts in your ear, overcome by how tight and wet you are. You grip him like a vice, tempting him to get closer by gripping your ass with one greedy hand while the other toys with one of your juicy tits squished against the car hood. Toji watches on, pulling out and pumping his cock with one fist in your face. “How’s she feel, partner?” he asks, his tone husky and low. 

Sukuna’s hooded gaze briefly meets his before falling back down to your jiggling ass. “Fuckin’....fuck,” he groans. 

Toji tosses his head back and laughs as if that was the funniest shit he has ever heard. “I knew it was a good idea to catch you tonight!” he guffaws, giving your ass a hard smack as Sukuna continues to pound your pussy against the car hood. “I knew we’d come across you again.” 

“It was only be a matter of time till we met again,” Sukuna adds, wrapping a hand around your throat. “And now here we are.” He squeezes, causing you to let out a wheezed gasp as he sinks his cock in deeper, his balls slapping against your clit. “C’mon, fuck me back. You’ve gotta work for that nut and your freedom, slutty girl.”

You do your best to rock yourself back, only causing him to fuck you harder. The sounds of his balls slapping your clit and your ass colliding with his thighs echoes throughout the quiet Miami air along with your moans and his and Toji’s deep groans and grunts. You’ve never been fucked like this before–so rough and ferocious. 

No man could ever fuck you and make you feel such a way or take you out of yourself. “Oh, my God!” you bellow around Toji’s cock, losing all composure. Sukuna chuckles, massaging your throat as he continues to plow your pussy just right, nailing that spot that makes you see stars over and over again. “Thanks, but not quite, baby,” he sniggers. “Guess the dick has got that brain goin’ stupid, huh?” 

Toji cackles, massaging his cock head against your soft, juicy lips and panting, drooling tongue. “Stupid is a nice look on her,” he comments, chuckling. “You look so pretty takin’ cock, sugar. Ain’t this better than hoppin’ on some college kid’s cock? Or takin’ some old geezer in a bathroom stall? 

You don’t respond. You can’t. The act of talking has completely left your brain as the officer behind you fucks your pussy off of its hinges, grabbing your ass for leverage. His fingers dig into the flesh of your butt cheeks, the sting of it mixing with the pleasurable sting you feel from his cock repeatedly plunging in and out of you. 

You can tell that he is close when his moans start increasing, getting louder, and his cock starts swelling inside of you. “Take it,” he hisses into your ear. “Take this shit. Just like a good girl should!” And without warning, he finally blows his load inside of you with a loud moan that triggers a second nut. You gasp as you feel a warm shot of his cum enter you, filling you up, while you shiver and shake through the currents of your orgasm, moaning wantonly.

Sukuna purrs–actually purrs–as he nuzzles his face into your ear, nipping at your cheek with his teeth while your pussy squeezes and flexes around him. “That’s a good girl,” he whispers, still softly groaning as the rest of his spunk escapes him and enters you. 

Once exhaustion and post-nut clarity kick in, he slowly slides out of you, emitting a weak moan from both of you. His cum drips from your pussy and down your thighs, making them slick. Toji smiles at you, looking proud. “Not bad, mamas,” he chuckles. “I was sure he fucked you out of your mind.” 

And he did. You are so dizzy, dazed, and disoriented that it feels like your head has been dunked underwater. Your eardrums are throbbing. You’re in need of air despite your lungs filling with it every time you inhale to catch your breath. And yet, you’re cum drunk. Dickmatized. Sukuna did something to you. “More,” you whine. “I-I want more.” 

Toji looks shocked at first but then breaks into a shit-eating grin as he looks at Sukuna, happy as a clam. “Fine by me, baby,” he chuckles, tapping his dick against your tongue before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I need to get my nut too. Let’s sit her down; her legs are gonna give out.” 

Minutes later, you find yourself straddling Toji’s lap while he sits in the open passenger's seat, his pants down and his cock slapping against your sobbing pussy. Your thighs are spread wide for him and Sukuna’s viewing pleasure as he stands before you and Toji, one hand up on the car roof while the other is tweaking your pierced nipples, pulling on the studs till you whine. 

You whine and moan like a bitch in heat as Toji’s fat dick massages your pussy, stroking along your slit, nearly sinking it but not quite. Toji teases you, grinning as you desperately grind your cunt against his stiff cock, desperate to take him, but it’s hard to do so when your wrists are still cuffed behind your back. “You want this?” he whispers. “You want Papa to fuck this pussy and make you his good girl?” 

“Yes, please!” you moan into the night sky, not caring about anything anymore but fucking and cumming. “God, Papa, please fuck me! I need you to—”

Without waiting for you to finish, he slides his hard cock inside of you. Your eyes squeeze shut as he fills you just as Sukuna had, stretching out your wet walls and tenderizing your cunt. You can’t take it. It’s too much. Your pussy is about to burst!

“Hey.”

Sukuna taps your cheek with something hard, hot, and throbbing. When you open your eyes, you see his cock out now—big, thick, veiny, and pierced with three studs starting from the underside of his cocked and traveling up. “Look at me,” he demands, his handsome face flushed, his top unbuttoned to show off his tattoos licking his pecs, abs, and pink happy trail. “You look at nothin’ but me while my partner fucks that pretty pussy, got it?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t–not while Toji is deeply filling your pussy with his cock, plunging in and out of you, drawing weak moans and sobs out of your tired, aching body, bouncing you up and down on his dick like a little bunny. 

Suddenly, Sukuna’s cock head is pressed against your lips as his hand wraps tightly around the base, pumping himself in your face. He hovers above your head, his balls hanging down to lightly brush against your nose as he strokes himself away using your throat to the sight of Toji fucking you dumb in in his lap. “Fuck, that pussy’s amazing!” the black-haired officer moans. “You’re gonna make me fuckin’ nut soon.” 

“Shit, me too,” Sukuna grunts, pulling out and desperately slapping his cock against his hand to stop himself from spraying his load. “This girl’s throat is tighter than her pussy.” But you need it. You need their cum like you need air, wanting to get drunk off of it. “Do it, Daddies,” you moan. “Cum for me. Fill me up please!” 

Toji takes that personally, using you as a personal fuck doll to get himself off, the sound of the car seat squeaking as he thrusts up harder, faster, making your tits bounce with every rough thrust. “Shit, I’mma cum! I’m gonna fill you the fuck—”

Brrrring! Brrrring!

Both the officers look like they just witnessed a murder as Sukuna’s cell phone begins to ring in his pants. “Shit, that’s probably the station callin’!” He snatches it out, glares at the caller ID, and passes it to Toji as he continues to fuck your throat. “Answer it; I’ll keep her quiet. She can’t say shit around this dick.” 

Toji glares at his partner, slowing his thrusts but still fucking you nice, deep, and slow. “I have to answer it?” he scoffs. He rolls his eyes and grips you tight against him as he answers the phone, clearing his throat. “Officer Fushiguro,” he answers. “You’re on speaker.” 

Which means this man can probably hear the sound of these two officers filling both of your holes and turning you into a personal toy. To your surprise, you kind of like that freaky shit. 

“Toji? It’s me, Shiu. I can only imagine you’re busy since you didn’t check the caller ID first.” The officer—Shiu, his name is?—sounds knowing and tired as he speaks from the other end. Toji chuckles, sounding shockingly normal despite still fucking your guts out and filling your pussy up. “My bad, Shiu. I got preoccupied.” 

He smirks against your sweaty cheek as he reaches around to rub your throbbing clit, making you whine around Sukuna’s pulsing dick. “What’s up? You need us there?” 

“Yeah, we’re swamped with spring breakers and need more people,” Shiu sighs. I know you and Sukuna left earlier, but the club closes in about an hour.”

Toji nods, biting back a grunt as you tighten around him, squeezing his cock in the most forceful hug ever. “Roger that. We’ve got our own spring breaker to bring it too.” He pauses, winking at you while Sukuna gives you a toothy grin. “She’s quite remorseful though.” 

“Uh-huh,” Shiu replies, sounding like he knows just what’s up. "I’ll see you three back here then.”

When he hangs up, Toji kisses your neck, feeling your muscles tense. “Relax, baby, you’re not under arrest. Nothing’s goin’ public, so unclench that pussy…actually, don’t.” He groans into your shoulder, suckling on it as he fucks your pussy again, jackhammering up into it, massaging your G-spot and making you see the entire galaxy. 

“No, do,” Sukuna growls. “We need to get outta here.” He looks enraged as he pulls his hard cock out of you, shoving it back into his pants like nothing happened. Toji groans in frustration, slowing his thrusts but never pulling out. “Dammit! And I was just about to nut!” 

So were you—you can’t help but feel a pang of sexual frustration and temporary insanity at being denied another orgasm. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna huffs, dressing himself. “There’s always the ride there.” He gives you a hot look and a smirk as he stares down at you, the promise of more fun in his eyes. “You up for the challenge, babes? I’m sure you’ve given road head and pussy before.” 

Toji softly chuckles, the sexy sound traveling straight to your belly, making it flip. He nuzzles his nose into your neck as his cock continues to slowly thrust in and out of you, making you teeter on the edge of an orgasm. 

And against your better judgment, you agree to get back in the car—because the fuck you look like getting stranded at the beach and not getting another nut out of it?—and have the two officers drive you to the station this time.

And when you do, they use you. Take you. Make you cum in the thirty minutes it takes to drive back to the station. 

First, they take turns using your mouth, gripping your hair and letting you use that hot, wet mouth with that skillful tongue and plush lips on their cocks. Toji crawls into the backseat at some point and spreads his thighs wide, leaning against the car window as he watches you bob your head up and down his stiff dick, making him groan, hiss, and swear.

“That’s a good girl,” he sighs, loving how your wet mouth feels massaging him. “God, mama, you were gonna give this mouth away to just ANY rich dude tonight?” 

Sukuna takes his turn, using one hand to place on your scalp as you stroke your mouth up and down his length. He swears and grunts as your saliva trickles down to his balls, staining his pants and drenching his balls while Toji plays with your pussy, licking his thick fingers and sticking them in your dripping hole. The sensations make him swerve around the road, causing him to put on the flashing lights and sirens to alert people that the cops are coming through…and cumming through. 

And you do this all with your hands still cuffed, using your neck and jaw like your life depends on giving some bomb ass head. It is less than easy since both Toji and Sukuna are so goddamn big, but it helps you make your pussy nice and slick. 

Finally, Toji has you sit in his lap and jackhammers inside of you in the passenger’s seat, finishing what was rudely interrupted. You are a moaning, whining, wailing mess, your legs wide open, dress hiked up on your thighs, heels pressed against the dashboard and Sukuna’s lap while he reaches over to toy with your pussy. He rubs your clit with two thick, wet fingers while he steers the car with the other, alternating between staring at Toji fucking the shit out of you and on the road ahead. 

With every thrust of Toji’s hard, throbbing, pulsing cock, you know that you will never be the same after tonight. Toji digs his fingers into the flesh of your thighs, pinning you open, drilling his cock into you with every intention of shooting up your club. “Shit, mama,” he exhales in your ear. "Keep this shit up and we may just keep ya.” 

“Bet she’d love that shit,” Sukuna grunts, his naked cock stiffening against his thigh out of his fly. “Bet she’d love to be kept and locked up so she won’t have to deal with these rich, horny bastards, wouldn’t you, sweets?” 

You only whimper in response, your head lolling back against Toji’s shoulder, his cologne filling your nostrils, making you drunker. The officer’s grey eyes roll to the back of his head, showing the whites of his eyeballs, as his thrusts become harder and fast paced. “M’close,” he warns. “‘Bout to fill this pussy up. C’mon, cum with me, mama.” 

Your moans fill the cabin of the car he rails you harder, faster, making your tits and tummy jiggle with the force of his fucking. Sukuna rubs your clit faster, telling that your close from the way you begin to gyrate in Toji’s lap, desperate to reach your peak. Finally, with a moan louder than Sukuna’s, Toji explodes inside of you, releasing rope after rope of cum inside of your pussy. 

You can’t help it: you cum too. Sparks of electric pleasure shock you from the inside out as your pussy tightens and flexes around the hard cock inside of you, drawing your third orgasm out of you. Seconds later, Sukuna forces your head over to suck on his cock and gives a guttural groan as he busts another load down your throat, coating it in his spunk. 

You look in his eyes as you do it, allowing him to slip the head in and gently fuck your mouth, letting his cum settle onto your tastebuds. Meanwhile, Toji is pushing the rest of his load inside of you, soft grunts leaving his lips, quite possibly knocking you up. Maybe Sukuna did too. There was no condom. But you find that you can’t find it in you to care right now. 

Finally, Toji slows his thrusts and pulls his cock out of you, causing his cum to leak from your cunt and drip down your throat, coating them in his glistening, sticky spunk. He leans back into the carseat, his toned body dripping in perspiration. “Nice job, babes,” he pants. “Consider yourself a free woman. You’ve convinced us well.” He gives you a smirk, a playful glint in his grey eyes. Sukuna chuckles, slipping his now-flaccid cock out of your mouth. 

You slump against the glove compartment, breathing heavily, feeling sticky, heavy, and exhausted. “Hey.” Tap-tap. You feel Sukuna’s hand lightly smack your cheek, making you weakly open your eyes. “You good, baby?” he asks. “Talk to me.” 

Somehow, you find the willpower and energy to speak: “Y-Yes,” you stammer. Sukuna looks pleased with this, moving your fucked-out hair out of your face. “Good ‘cause we’re here. Gotta get you home to your girls so you can tell ‘em all about your night, don’t we?” 

Toji chuckles as he helps you sit up and squeezes you against him as if he doesn’t want to release you. To your surprise, he unlocks the cuffs from your aching wrists just as you pull up to your destination…but it’s not a police station. You’re back at the nightclub, parked around back so the gaggle of club goers and spring breakers exiting the venue can’t see you stumble out of the cop car. 

Toji slips you off of him and helps you out, his rough, calloused hand gripping yours. “Lemme help ya,” he says, pulling down your dress and wiping your mouth for you. You keep a hold on his hard bicep, feeling unsteady, sweaty, and sticky.

You need a hot shower, a blunt, and a bed…but before that, you need answers. “We’re back at the club?” you asked, utterly confused. “Why?” 

You get your answer when the back door opens and another officer comes walking out, looking rather haggard yet still very handsome with his thin mustache, masculine features, and a cigarette dangling from his lips. The name tag above his gold badge reads “Kong Shiu”. He pauses at the sight of you three and places his hands on his hips. “Well,” he deadpans. “Guess you two had a joyride.” 

“Oh, definitely,” Toji cackles, palming your waist as he squeezes you against him. “This one is good to go, Shiu. She’s all yours. Thanks again for lettin’ us take a spin.” You turn to Toji, confused and worried, a gut feeling that something isn’t entirely right making your stomach twisting. 

“Don’t worry, doll,” Shiu says, his deep voice soft and assuring. “I’m gonna take you to where you’re stayin’ at. I’m sure these two fuckheads put you through the wringer.” He sighs, shaking his head. Freaky ass men, aren't they? Roleplayin’ as cops to catch some ass.” 

Suddenly, your entire world stops and you feel like you’ve just been dipped in ice water. You are terribly sober now and completely aware of this big ass plot twist. Sukuna smirks as he gets out of the car, knowing that you know what is going on now. “Oh, you really thought we were real cops?” he snorts. “Guess we’re just that good.” 

“Nah, baby,” Toji chuckles, crooking his finger under your chin. “We just like to have some fun every now and again with chicks like you…but you were by far the best.” You stand there frozen, completely in shock, realizing that you just let these two lying-ass bouncers fuck you raw and use you like a fleshlight all for nothing. 

Sukuna sheds his uniform like it’s nothing, stopping at his pants and shoving his shirt in Shiu’s hands. “Hope you learned your lesson, doll,” he murmurs in your ear as he passes you. “Come back again while you’re here if you need to get fucked by a real man again. Here’s your purse back.” Then he’s gone, disappearing into the club. 

“C’mon, Toji,” Shiu says, making an impatient come hither motion with his hand. “Gimme my shit and my ride. You need to clean up that damn club.” 

Toji rolls his eyes but coughs up his shirt too, stopping at his boots and pants, leaving his impressive muscles on display. He gives you a cheeky smile as he passes by you, not-so-subtly pinching your ass as he does. “Thanks for the fun, mama,” he whispers. “Till we meet again next spring break.” 

Once he’s gone, Shiu invites you back into the cop car, tossing the used shirts in the backseat while you sit in the passenger’s seat, the scent of sex evident. Shiu acts like he doesn’t notice it as he slides into the driver’s seat, sighing as he tosses his cig out of the window. “Where we headed?” he asks. You tell him the address of your hotel and sit back in your seat as he drives off, taking you away from tonight’s events. 

“Soooo they told me to let you off the hook for your crimes tonight,” he explains, eyeing you curiously as pulls away from the club. “So what exactly did a gal like you do to get out of an arrest tonight?” 

You say nothing, instead digging into your bag for your phone. It is blowing up with texts from your friends wondering where you are. You slip your phone back into your bag only to find a slip of paper hidden between the money you snatched tonight in your wallet. You take it out, finding a scribbling of Toji and Sukuna’s names and cell numbers on them. 

In case you decide to be a bad girl again on your little trip. -xxx 

To your surprise, your lips stretch into a smirk and you slip the paper back into your bag. “Just did what I could,” you answer, turning to look at Shiu as he says it. He is already looking at you, his brown eyes glittering with a light that isn’t professional or friendly. 

“Damn,” he sighs, hooking an arm around your seat as he cruises down the street with one hand. “Wish I coulda been there. Both them motherfuckers always get all the fun with spring breakers.” 

THE END.