dawn

You give him a tight smile when you sit on his couch. It’s not like you. He doesn’t say anything until you take a few puffs and your tense shoulders start to sag.

“What happened?”

“Boss was just being a dick all day.” You turn to give a real smile, eyes crinkling, “Good thing my drug dealers got a soft spot for me though, huh?”

“Who told you that?” He smirks, raising his eyebrows.

Your mouth drops in surprise, smacking his shoulder playfully.

“That’s mean.”

He laughs before continuing softly. “You’re my favorite client, you know that.”

That makes you smile, head rolling onto the back of the couch and he decides he likes making you do that. You close your eyes and when your chest starts to slowly raise with soft breathes, he decides to let you sleep.

The next time he sees you, you’re leaving the club, and when you recognize his car you jog over with an excited smile on your lips. You’ve got this little black dress on that makes it awfully hard to focus on anything else besides the curve of your hips.

“Simon! What are you doing here?”

“Bird? The hell you doing out here?”

“I went out with my friend.” You point to a man standing close by.

His jaw tenses, “Get in.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car, bird. I’m not arguing.” He’s already climbing out of the driver's seat to open the passenger door for you.

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Simon!” You say, but you let him guide you into the car anyway.

“He’s a big boy. He’ll survive.”

When he gets to your house you turn to him with a mischievous smile, “Were you jealous?”

“Of who?”

“Don’t play dumb!”

“Just making sure you’re safe s’all.” He shrugs casually.

You lean across the center console, “It’s okay. I’m not interested in him.”

“Good.”

That makes you smile bigger, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, “You gonna come in and smoke with me?”

“Course I am.”

You drag him inside giggling, stumbling a little over your high heels. You waste no time changing, pulling the dress over your head as you walk down the hallway, giving him a glimpse of your lacy covered ass before you disappear into your room.

You come back out in an oversized shirt and shorts. “Proper smoking fit now.”

“Could’ve stayed in the dress for me.”

You frown, “Was getting uncomfy.”

“Like you like this more anyways.”

That makes you smile shyly, sitting next to him on your couch. He’s already lit a joint, it’s pink, and the sight of his big hands around it makes you giggle.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to start?”

“C’mere.” He grunts, pulling you on to his lap.

It’s the first time you’ve been there since you begged to ride him. The memory makes him chub in his jeans.

He takes a big inhale before gripping your chin, dragging you to his lips, and exhales the smoke into your mouth. You squirm in his lap in surprise, fingers fisting his shirt with wide eyes, but you inhale as much as you can manage. You cough when he leans back casually, licking your lips like you were trying to chase the taste of him.

“Let me try.” You murmur.

He places the joint in your lips. You inhale before leaning forward nervously and blow the smoke into his mouth. It’s not as big as his hit and he swallows it easier than you had. Theres a long pause, the both of you staring at each other, your fingers smoothing the edges of his shirt you had bunched, before he puts the joint back in his mouth.

The two of you eventually take turns shotgunning the smoke into each other’s mouth. The pause between each inhale gets longer and longer, agonizingly so. Even more so when you keep your lips close, not kissing, just there. Breathes fanning over each other’s faces, your body becoming heavier and heavier on his thighs with each puff, the weed pulsing in your veins making you more lax than before.

The space between the two of you has gone a little hazy and you’re not entirely sure if it’s because of the joint or the smoke filling the room, but all the two of you can focus on is the other. You smell like tequila, and there’s a part of him who knows he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re drunk, but you’re so fucking pretty in his lap, eyes lidded and edges stained red, lips parted to take shaky breaths.

“‘s all gone.” He says, holding the tip.

“Yeah.” You whisper, but your eyes stay focused on his lips.

The corner of his mouth twitches, “That’s not a good idea. You’re drunk.”

“But you’re high now too, aren’t you? Evens it out.”

He chuckles, “I need more than just one j to be high, pretty.”

You frown.

“You were on a date anyway. Don’t think you want this.”

Your frown deepens, “Wasn’t a date. He’s just a friend.”

He hums, ignoring the irritation pulsing at his temples, fingers smoothing along your hips instead.

“Just a kiss?” You murmur, “Hold me over til I’m sober.”

He tuts his tongue, but he pulls you down anyway because he’s a man after all, he can only resist so much when you ask so sweetly. You smile against his lips, eyes fluttering shut and tugging him closer to you.

It’s slow, the both of your lips are a little numb from smoking, and the taste of the strawberry paper he buys for you has left a fruity taste in your mouths. His fingers tingle where they’re at your hips and there’s a pressure in his head from smoking. He can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss when you taste like that and sound so sweet against him, maybe it’s the weed in system that makes it harder to resist.

You let him lick into your mouth then, and your hips start to grind along his hardened length in his jeans when his tongue meets yours. You gasp against his lips every so often like you can’t seem to fill your lungs with enough air before diving back in impatiently because it’s such an inconvenience that you have to part in order to breathe.

He’s strong, god he’s strong because he manages to pull away, your lips stained a darker color, and you blink at him sadly when he stops your hips. All he can think about is how wet you probably are, just ruining your lacy panties, but he slides you off him anyway.

“Should drink some water and go to bed.” He says.

Your brows crease, pout on your lips, but you nod anyway.

You text him in the middle of the night two weeks later.

‘You up?’

‘For you.’

‘I think I’m greening out andd I’m rlly scared can you pls come pick me up?’

‘Where are you?’

‘I don’t knowww.’

‘Send me your location.’

You’re at some random party, and you give him a wobbly smile when you see him. That same friend at your side.

“Hi.”

“Hi, bird. Let’s go.”

You nod, your hands shaking when you lace your fingers with his and he drags you through the crowd. He takes you to his, helps you change into some of his clothes, and presses a glass of water to your lips. You chug it like you’re parched, barely saving any room to breathe.

“You’re gonna stress me out.”

You laugh quietly, “Sorry.”

“Gotta be careful smoking too much when you’re not somewhere you’re familiar with.” He sits you down on his bed.

“I know. It just kinda happened.”

“How you feeling?”

“Better with you.”

That makes his teeth show.

“You want me to put music on?”

You shake your head, “Just want to lay with you.”

He invites you over for a smoke session a few days later. You roll the joint between your thumbs nervously like theres something heavy on your mind.

“If you don’t wanna smoke we don’t have to. Just thought since it’s kinda our thing now.”

You smile big, “Our thing?”

“Mmhh.” He hums with a nod.

“That’s not what I was thinking about.” You murmur quietly.

“What’s it then?”

“You sleep with a lot of your clients?”

He chokes on the smoke he’s inhaled, coughing so much that tears well in his eyes.

“What?”

“Um, well. Have you fucked any of your other clients?” You bite at your bottom lip.

“Jesus, bird. No.” He coughs.

“Are you lying?” You squint.

“Never lie to you.”

“Okay.”

You smoke in silence after that. Your feet rest on his lap the entire time as you lean against the armrest. He runs his fingers along your ankles and up your calves to distract himself from the way your lips wrap around the joint. It’s innocent at first, he was being innocent at least, but then you nudge your toes on the bulge in his sweats and he raises his brows at you.

You shrug, a devilish smirk on your lips.

“Accident.”

But then your legs fall open a little, your pretty thighs parting slightly for him. It’s an invitation, an awfully tempting one and it all happens so fast, he almost doesn’t even realize he’s nosing along the wet patch of your underwear and placing your legs on his shoulders until you squeak in surprise. Foreplays not needed this time around, not when your drunken makeout session has weighed heavy at the recesses of your minds ever since.

Your panties come off easy enough and he beelines straight to the source. He kisses along your thighs once, twice, a third time and your breath gets faster with each approaching stamp of his lips. Except, his thumb finds your clit first, just soft strokes while his breath fans over your embarrassingly wet cunt.

When he does lick one flat swipe along your clit your back arches around the couch armrest. And then he dips lower and fucking groans into your pussy when he gets a real taste of you, eyes closed like he’s got sugar melting between his teeth and not you filling his senses. He indulges himself, just a little, slipping his tongue into your pussy, so he can lick the taste from the tap.

When he returns to your clit, your toes curl against his back, and your head slumps into the couch. You’ve got one hand stifling your moans and he’d make you take it off and sing for him, but he’s more concerned with laving at your swollen clit than anything else. He keeps his tongue gentle, each lick broad, to make sure he’s really smothering every inch of you.

You cry out when he takes the bead between his lips and sucks softly. Your mouth forms an o and the look you give him is so cute that he can’t help but smile into your pussy. Furrowed brows and big beady eyes, lashes wet at the edges like the stimulation was becoming too much.

You don’t try to pull away though, instead, you arch deeper into him, hand curling around the back of his head and pushing him closer to your clit. His big hands find your hips when you start to grind on his face messily, and it takes everything in him not to buck his own into his couch because he’s sure you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever fucked.

His nose bumps along your clit with each slow drag of your hips, and his face is drenched in juices down to his chin. He hopes the smell fucking sticks, hopes he can taste you on his tongue later tonight when you’re not there and he’s missing you.

You finish with his name on your lips and your thighs squeeze around his head tight. He licks it all up, lapping eagerly at your walls while your legs slowly relax, falling open onto his shoulders, and twitching with each followed lick in overstimulation.

When he comes up, your chest is heaving, like you were the one down there suffocated by your thighs and pussy. There’s this dopey smile on your lips and he can’t help but smile back, leaning down to kiss you with your arousal all over his face.

You don’t even scrunch your nose, you lick right into his mouth hungrily like he hadn’t just been feasting between your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect.” He grunts between sloppy kisses, hands fumbling with his sweats.

He feels you smile, “You’re the one who just ate me out.”

You make a surprised noise when the fat of his head slips into your entrance unexpectedly, hands clambering to his shoulders to find purchase on anything. He slides right in, your pussy nice and lax from your orgasm or maybe its from the joint the two of your shared. He rests his forehead against yours when he bottoms out, eyes trained on your face. Your nails dig into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth popped open in pleasure.

“Fuckkk,” He drawls, “She feels so good.”

You whine, nodding against his forehead.

He starts with shallow thrusts, fucking into you just deep enough for you to get used to the stretch. When you start to impatiently arch into him for more, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and pushes forward.

The new angle makes you moan loudly and the pace Simon sets is brutal. He’s got your knee to your shoulder and theres this ugly feeling swirling in his chest from your antics all fucking month.

“Been fucking stressing me out all month, you know that?” He grits his teeth.

You shake your head, but he wasn’t really looking for a response.

“Can’t just fucking stay home, can you? Always gotta get yourself into some trouble, don’t you?” His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh.

You whimper at his tone, “It’s not on purpose.”

“Asking if I sleep with other girls, like you aren’t smoking with other men.”

His hips slam into you hard at the end of his sentence, like he’s emphasizing his words.

“They fuck you like this? Huh?”

You shake your head again, “No! No, just you Simon.”

He’s not even sure where that came from when you guys have only fucked once, you’re not his, but you’re wrapped around him, pressing kisses against his neck because you think he’s mad and how can he not be jealous?

“You all mine?” He whispers, hips stuttering with his strength to not finish.

“Yes, yes, god, yes.”

one big hand slides up, covers your mouth completely. palm warm, fingers splayed wide so your muffled whimpers vibrate right into his skin. he doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t hurt—just holds. keeps every needy little sound locked behind his hand while he starts fucking you in long, punishing strokes.

the wet slap of his hips meeting your ass fills the room. loud. obscene. you can feel how soaked you are, how your slick’s dripping down your thighs, coating his balls every time he bottoms out.

his other hand snakes between your bodies.

two fingers find your clit immediately: swollen, oversensitive, throbbing and he doesn’t tease you, just rubs firm, tight circles.

your man is mean.

your whole body jerks under him, back arching uselessly because there’s nowhere to go. he’s too heavy, too deep, too everywhere. the overstimulation hits like a freight train and you’re crying into his palm, tears slipping down your temples, thighs trying to snap shut but his knees keep you spread wide.

“there she is,” he breathes against your cheek. “that’s it. let it happen.”

he grinds in deep, pubic bone crushing right against your clit while his fingers keep working merciless little circles. your cunt clamps down so hard he groans—low, wrecked—and his rhythm stutters for half a second before he fucks you even harder.

“gonna cum again for me?” his voice is velvet dragged over gravel. “even though it’s too much? even though you’re shaking?”

you can only sob into his hand. nod frantically. thighs quivering, toes curling, whole body wound so tight you think you might break.

he presses his forehead to yours. eyes dark, pupils blown. watching every twitch of your face while he ruins you.

“good girl,” he whispers. “cum on my cock. soak me. make a fucking mess.”

his fingers speed up. relentless, and you do.

you shatter so hard your vision whites out, back bowing, cunt spasming violently around his length while you scream into his palm. he doesn’t stop fucking you through it—keeps that same brutal pace, drawing it out until you’re limp and twitching and drooling against his hand.

only then does he finally slow.

still buried to the hilt.

still heavy on top of you.

he lifts his palm just enough to let you gasp wet, shaky breaths.

then he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and almost tender.

“you’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “not until i say so.”

and he rolls his hips again—just once. slow and deep.

making sure you feel every inch.

He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.

“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”

“Relax, bird. I do.”

“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”

“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.

“What?”

“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”

You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”

Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.

The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.

“Hi.”

He chuckled, “You’re back.”

You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.

“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’

“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”

“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”

“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”

That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”

You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”

When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”

“Do you want free weed or not?”

You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”

You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’

He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.

He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.

“Hi.”

He laughs, “Hi, bird.”

“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”

“Yeah? What you need today?”

“You have any more?”

He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”

You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”

His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”

You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.

“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”

You nod eagerly.

“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”

He holds it out to you, “There you go.”

You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”

You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.

‘How’d I do?’

‘Looks like shit.’

‘That’s mean :(‘

‘Come over, let me help.’

‘On my way!’

You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.

“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”

“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”

Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.

“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”

He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.

You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.

All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.

He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’

He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.

You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.

“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.

He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.

“Never make pretty girls pay.”

“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”

He shakes his head, “Just you.”

You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”

He smirks, “Is it working?”

You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”

He catches your wrist.

“You giving it to my friends for free too?”

“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.

“Just you.”

You peer down at him then, “Huh?”

His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.

You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.

You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.

Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.

“Wanted you to do that for ages.”

He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”

Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”

He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”

You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.

Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?

His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”

You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”

There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.

You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.

He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.

“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”

He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”

You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.

Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.

And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.

You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.

“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.

He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.

You don’t listen well.

You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.

His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.

He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.

He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.

“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”

You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in shock.

He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.

When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.

He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.

He doesn’t stop.

You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.

He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.

Your fingers feel a bit tingly. Your arms are bound together and tied firmly to your headboard. Any slight movement puts an annoying strain on your shoulders. Your legs are spread, each ankle tied to the edge of your bed frame.

Toji’s already put you through the wringer for hours, and now, he wants to play a game.

“You can’t be mad once we start. Don’t forget you started it, princess.”

Those words are stuck ringing in your head. He’s only vague like that when he’s planning something asinine. You said yes without even asking what game it is. Your body is so exhausted, but you just can’t say no when it comes to him.

He’s insane but damn…

Anything you do with him is exhilarating.

Your heart is pulsing just thinking about it. Pounding so fast it can't keep up with your mind. Without a word, you feel his body heat hit your inner thighs as he crawls onto the bed. As soon as you sense he’s stopped, you hear the sharp and abrupt click of metal.

“T-Toji??”

It's as if your call falls on deaf ears. You can’t see a thing, but you can just feel that soul-penetrating gaze of his. Analyzing you as your mind races, not knowing his next move. He just adores the way you bend for him no matter what.

That captivating look of a lust-filled anxiety is exactly what he’s looking for.

He starts to trail a cold and heavy steel object down your belly. You jerk at the sudden feeling. “What the hell is that?!” You say breathlessly.

“Don’t worry, princess, I won’t do anything to hurt you.” You can hear his lips part with a smile.

“On purpose…”

That one phrase sends a shiver down your spine, paired with a strong heat to your sweet spot. You don’t know whether you want to panic or fuck him like you’ve gone crazy. Either way, this foretaste is strangely…. Enticing.

He’s hovering over you. You can feel the heavy heat from his body looming over you as he draws his lips to your ear. He bites the tip of your ear as he presses the cold object against the temple of your head. Your chest feels cramped from the anticipation.

Immediately, the cutting and all too familiar sound of a revolver spinning hits your ears, vibrating against the side of your head. You let out an inaudible gasp. A seething wave of adrenaline and utter shock slaps you. Before you can even speak, you hear a final click from the gun.

“You wanna go first or should I?”

“I-I don’t even know what the fuck– Nghh!”

Suddenly, he starts rubbing the leaking tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. Your hips buck instantly. Every little motion feels sensually vast. Like intense strokes of pleasure.

“We’re playing Russian Roulette, baby. You know I'm trigger-happy.”

Your eyes widen under the blindfold, and you start panting. In spite of that, you let out a humorless chuckle. “You’re fucking crazy.” Hundreds of thoughts sprint through your head. On the outside, you’re absolutely scared and rightfully so; this man is unpredictable.

Except…

That “fear” is only a fraction of what you're truly feeling. Your mind and body are being heavily overtrumped by a deviating sense of desire.

A feeling so tense it's well-nigh paralyzing..

“Oh, Princess. I wouldn’t be talking like that if I were you.” He scoffs and presses the barrel of the gun further against your head.

“I'm crazy, but I'm not a fucking idiot.” He scoffs.

“Chance is one in six. Let's test our luck.”

You hear his finger rest on the lever. Instinctively, you hold your breath and every muscle in your body tenses up. The silence that fills the air is more than deafening. This hesitation is agonizing. Your breath is quickening as the seconds pass. You cinch your eyes shut reflexively.

“JUST FUCKING–”

Before you can finish, he pulls the trigger and slams his rigid and throbbing cock deep into you. So deep you can feel his tip twitching against your cervix. Your pussy immediately clenches around him. “Haa–!” The air catches in your throat, and you jerk. You can hear the hollow echoes of an empty click bounce off the walls.

You let out a shaky breath of pure relief. Now more than ever, your mind is completely in disarray. Your heart is beating faster and faster with every passionate pound from Toji’s cock. Sliding against your slick and warm walls rapidly. Every sensation is so overwhelmingly amazing. Your muscles are trembling, and your senses are so strong it's almost surreal.

You can’t explain it, but you're feeling pure ecstasy.

“Woow, Lucky girl.”

He is so arrogantly sarcastic. It's like he’s trying to mess with your head. Well, you know he is. And it feels so fucking good. You can just feel yourself falling into his hands.

He pulls the gun away from your head, and you can hear him place it against his. Without hesitation, he presses the trigger. You gasp instinctively at the sound. Then… nothing. It was an empty click. Your body relaxes and your head slumps in relief. He scoffs and drops the gun next to your thigh.

“Don’t be so relieved. I want you shaking before the next time I pick up that gun.”

He grabs your hips and starts ramming his cock into your clenching pussy. Hard and Hot. Loud moans and begging for more break out of you and land on his ears like a raunchy symphony.

“Beg harder for me, Princess. I can’t tell if you really mean it.”

His voice sounds so calm and tender. It’s so terribly forced. You know all he means is  “All that whining is just gonna get you fucked harder.” And that's all you want.

The sharp, rushed sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the room. A wet, unforgiving rhythm that makes your head roll back. Tears drip down your cheek from the sides of the blindfold. A small, sadistic laugh escapes him.

He cups your jaw and tilts your head as he dives into the crook of your neck. Licking and biting you like he’s gone mad. Every relentless stroke mixed with the faint sting from his bites makes your body shudder with pleasure. Your mind is going completely numb.

Your fingers and toes curl and twitch reflexively. You're grabbing at the air at the point. He moves his hand down to your neck, squeezing it as he pulls away. Your moans turn into weak gasps once his grip tightens.

“I just can't help myself when you look so fucking desperate.”

For such harsh and selfish words, they only add to the sheer amount of euphoria you feel.

His cock throbs harder the tighter your pussy clenches. You can even feel the thick veins on his cock pulsing as it slides up your glossy walls. His tip is kissing your bobbing cervix swiftly. Your entire body is burning with pleasure; you feel like you’re melting.

“T-Toji…So– Fucking…”

“You gotta speak up, baby, the neighbors can’t hear you yet.”

With your words misplaced and slurred, the last ounce of whatever control you have breaks out of you as your hips buck violently against his pulsing cock. The rhythm of his strokes is getting messy. Arousal and cum leak out under you with each rapidly disordered thrust.

The pace of cock slackens. But he doesn’t stop. He’s just sliding it in and out so slowly it's almost torturous. You’re shaking and twitching regardless.

Just like he wanted.

You can’t even catch your breath before he places the cold tip of the revolver back on your stomach, slowly sliding it down. He stops once it gets to your sweet spot. He circles the edge of the barrel on your clit. “Wait– Mnghh…” You start grinding your hips against it mindlessly.  You shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as you are.

“Your turn.”

He’s trying to taunt you. But now the only thing going through your head is “One-in-six chance,” over and over.  Not like you're terrified, though. No… It’s as if you're gambling.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins feels so cold and tingly. It feels so good. All of this is addicting.

An involuntary smirk breaks across your face and a sly chuckle escapes you. He pauses.

“You called me crazy? You’re fucking sick.”

He’s talking as if that’s ever a problem when it comes to him. He wanted to ruin you so badly, and he did exactly that. He can’t be shocked now.

“A little fear turned you into the sluttiest thing I've ever seen. You’re perfect.”

He presses the barrel further onto your throbbing clit and circles it faster. How good it feels is almost regrettable. Your hips are grinding against the barrel violently. Toji’s making you beg with your body. You’re already past the point of relaxing.

Finally, the rhythm of his strokes speeds up again. You can hear the sound of your pussy sucking him in and out. Every sensation, to your clit especially, feels like a feverish wave. A feeling of physical ecstasy so addicting you hope never goes away.

And just as you cum again, he pulls the trigger. Your muscles lock instantly as your body jerks back. The reassuring sound of an empty click pulls you back to reality. “Fuck…” You sigh deeply, and the tightening in your chest fades. You were so far gone; the thought of this stupidly thrilling “game” slipped your mind completely.

Out of nowhere, Toji starts untying one of your hands. Once it's free, he places the gun in your palm. It's a bit lighter than you thought.

“You look like you were having so much fun, baby. How bout’ you take a shot?”

He slides the blindfold off your head. Your eyes flutter as they struggle to adjust to this new hit of light. Your vision floats around the room as the haze clears. Once your eyes focus, you raise the gun slightly, and you notice something...Odd to say the least. You narrow your eyes and tilt your head.

You can see straight through every glinting chamber of the gun.

There were never any fucking bullets.

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕- @iluvvsatoru @msnoirgirl @mutsu422 (lmk if you wanna be added (ㅠ﹏ㅠ)

You might as well be braindead, aching for the relief that's been so close to the tip of your fingers and yet so far. You know he's aware of how much you're trembling around him, how your slick is pooling in the sheets, making a mess of them. You've lost count of how many times he's brought you to the edge already, made you feel so good that you could barely keep your eyes open, could barely catch your breath.

"Please, please I need it."

You don't know if he's been edging himself as much as he's edged you, but you can feel him twitch inside of you when you beg. Your thighs are trembling, hips jerking every few seconds to chase the stimulation he's been so cruel to deny you.

He kisses the tip of your nose. "Look at me when you cum, okay? Daddy wants to see those pretty eyes."

Before you can even register what he's asking of you, he shifts, his cock pressing against that sweet spot inside of you. Your jaw drops, and the moan that rips from your throat sounds like you're dying—and maybe you are, because this is the best feeling on fucking earth.

"Good girl, that's it," he growls into your ear, hips pistoning in and out of you.

The room is filled with your sounds, the slap of skin, and Simon's murmurs of praise. He's got you barreling toward that bliss—the one he keeps dangling in front of you only to rip away. He's not going to this time; you can tell by the way his breath turns sharp, his pants falling into your hair, and his cock swelling inside of you.

When it finally crashes into you, you're sent into a dark abyss. Your vision blurs, and your entire body tenses. Every muscle clenches, from your calves to your neck, and the only thing you know for certain is that you're falling, falling, falling. Simon is the only thing you can feel—his hands on your hips, his lips on your shoulder, and his cock so deep inside of you that you swear you can feel it in your belly.

The tremors are hard to come down from, but Simon doesn't stop. He continues to fuck you through the aftershocks until you're a sobbing mess beneath him.

"Fuck, bird. You feel so good."

His pace is punishing, each thrust making your body jerk with the intensity. It's too much, and you're about to protest, but then he's pulling out, the sudden empty feeling leaving you gasping.

It's only when the cool air of the room hits your swollen, sensitive skin that you realize he's flipping you onto your stomach. You're too tired to fight him, too fucked out to do anything but let him position you how he wants. He lifts your hips off the bed, getting a firm grip on your ass, the flesh squeezing between his fingers as he spreads your cheeks.

Simon's not a cruel man, not really. But when he lowers his head, his tongue laving over the flesh of your ass, you can't help but think he's out to ruin you. His lips are on your cheeks, sucking marks into the skin that will probably be there for days. It tickles, the sensation making you squirm, and the whimper you let out is pathetic even to your own ears.

"Simon," you warn, but it's weak, and he knows it.

"Shh, bird. Just let Daddy take care of you."

You're not sure how much more you can take, but then he's rolling you back over, pinning you flat to the mattress as his tongue laps at the slick coated over your thighs. It's so filthy—the sounds of his mouth on you, the feel of his tongue so close to where you're throbbing. You can't help but arch your back, pushing yourself closer to his mouth, but he just laughs against you.

He's going to kill you. You're sure of it. Because when his tongue finally finds your clit, you nearly come again, the sensation far too much after all the orgasms he's already pulled from you.

You're convulsing, your entire body shaking as you try to escape the pleasure that's quickly turning into pain. He doesn't let you, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you in place as he devours you. The sounds are obscene: the wetness of his tongue against you, the violent way your body reacts to him.

It's too much, and you're sobbing, tears streaming down your face as you beg him to stop, to let you breathe. You're not even sure what you're saying anymore, the words tumbling out in a rush.

"Please, Daddy. I can't, I can't cum anymore. Please, just use something else. My ass, my tits. Anything else. Please."

You're not above begging, not when you're this far gone. Simon pulls away, his lips swollen, his chin covered in your slick. He looks at you, his eyes dark with lust, and you know he's considering it. He could make you cum again—could probably make you pass out from the pleasure—but he's not going to.

"But I need a little more. Can you give Daddy a little more?"

You're nodding before he even finishes speaking, willing to agree to anything if it means he'll stop torturing your clit. He grins, and then he's sliding into you again, his cock stretching you in the best way. The hand that's not holding your hip comes up to cover your mouth, his fingers pressing against your lips.

"You're such a good girl for me. I'm gonna give you more, okay? Just a little more."

You're not sure what he means by that, but then he's moving, his hips snapping against yours. The angle is different now—deeper. It's overwhelming, the way he's filling you, the way his heavy body is pressed against yours. You're trapped under him, your legs wrapped around his waist, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"More, fuck yes." The words are muffled by his hand, but he hears them, and his pace quickens.

You're not sure how much time passes, but you're lost in the feeling of him, of the way he's fucking you like he owns you. Maybe he does, because you're his in every way that matters.

When he finally cums, it's with a guttural groan, his body tensing above you. You can feel the heat of him inside of you, the way his cock pulses as he fills you. It's enough to push you over the edge one last time, your body trembling as you fall apart for him.

"Open your mouth, bird. Daddy wants to see."

You do as he says, your mouth falling open, your tongue out. He spits into it, the act so filthy that it makes your head spin. You swallow it, your eyes never leaving his, and he groans, his hips jerking as he rides out the last of his orgasm.

When it's over, he collapses on top of you, his body covering yours like a blanket. You're both sweaty, sticky, and thoroughly fucked out. His hands are gentle as he strokes your hair, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple.

"You did so good for me, love. So good."

You hum in response, your eyes already closing as exhaustion takes over. Simon shifts, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you closer. You're safe here, in his arms, and you know that no matter what happens, you'll always have this.

You've never spoken against him. Never offered a correction. Never lifted your chin in challenge. He's the one who knows best. The one who decides every move. Why would anyone need to advise a man who moves through the world as if every path already belongs to him?

You're not a soft thing in his eyes. Never that. You're simply beautiful. Proper. A follower who understands her place so completely that the place itself becomes sacred. He keeps the "filthy" ones around for the mask the establishment needs. Humans who smile and nod and never ask what truly lives beneath the floorboards. You're different. Pure in the way only something unbroken can be pure. Ordinary enough to pass. Rare enough that no other body has ever held his attention the way yours does.

When the meetings end and the last disciple bows out, the door closes and the air changes.

“Come here,” he says, voice low.

You go. Your hands slide up his chest, fingers spreading over the hard planes of muscle, then around to his back. The contact does something to him. You feel it in the way his breath catches. In the way his hips press forward. He's already hard, thick and heavy against your stomach.

His hands find the buttons of your shirt with the same careful patience he uses for everything that matters. He strips you slowly. Each layer peeled back like an offering. Your skin, warm under his palms. He cherishes that warmth. Presses his mouth to the slope of your shoulder and breathes you in.

He lifts you up, with swift ease. Carries you to the low couch in his private rooms. Lays you down and looks at you the way a man looks at something he has decided to keep.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So open for me already.”

Your cunt is slick when he slides two fingers through the wetness. He watches your face while he works them inside. Slow and deep. Stretching you open on nothing but his hand until you’re trembling. Then he replaces his fingers with his cock.

The first push is always a burn of pleasure because he's thick. Thick enough that your body has to yield around him, has to make room. You take him. You always take him. He seats himself fully inside your snug warm walls and stays there for a moment longer, forehead pressed to yours, violet eyes half-lidded with the sheer relief of being inside you.

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s my girl.”

He fucks you like he has all the time in the world and none of it at once. Long, rolling thrusts that drag against every sensitive place inside you. His hands hold your hips steady. His mouth finds your throat, your collarbone, the soft underside of your breast. You cling to him. Fingers in his hair. Legs locked around his waist. The heat builds until it is almost unbearable. Suguru doesn't stop. He never stops until you cum around him, clenching and shaking, and even then he keeps going, chasing his own release with a low sound that vibrates against your skin.

When he finishes he stays buried inside you. Breathing hard. Hands stroking slow paths up and down your sides as if memorizing the shape of you all over again.

You fall asleep like that, more nights than not. Wrapped in his arms. Warm and claimed.

He doesn't get many hours for personal matters. The cult demands him. The plans demand him. But when the two of you finally close the door on the rest of the world, the fever between you is too much for either of you to ignore. He becomes insatiable. You become willing. Your vulnerability is his to cherish. Your heat is his to take.

And you've never once refused him his right.

It happens on an ordinary afternoon.

A discussion about the next gathering. Numbers. Timing. The usual quiet exchange of information. Someone asks a question that needs an answer and the answer is already forming on Suguru’s tongue when you speak.

You raise your voice. Just a little. Just enough, that the words that leave your mouth are the wrong ones. A suggestion that is not yours to make. A correction that lands like a slap in a room that has never heard you raise anything louder than a soft mindless “yes.”

The silence that follows is sharp.

Suguru’s violet eyes turn to you. There's no warmth in them. Only the still, assessing cold of a man who has been interrupted by something he didn't expect.

You feel the mistake in your bones the second the last syllable dies.

He doesn’t raise his voice. He does not need to.

“That will be all for today,” he says to the others.

They file out. The door shuts. You remain standing where you are, heart beating too fast, your mouth feels dry.

He looks at you, and it feels like time slows to a crawl. Like his stare is burning a hole through you.

Then he turns and walks away. Not even an utter of his disappointment. You knew you fucked up when he doesn't even bother to speak.

That night you go to his room the way you always do. The soft knock. The quiet entrance. You expect the usual. The slow undressing. The heated look. The way his hands reach for you the moment the door is locked.

Instead he's seated in the armchair by the window. Fully dressed. Robes still on. Violet eyes watching you with a distance that makes your stomach drop.

“Take your clothes off,” he says.

The words are calm. Flat, with no room for protests.

You obey. Fingers trembling slightly as you undo buttons and let fabric fall. Shirt. Skirt. Undergarments. Until you stand naked in the middle of the room and the air feels colder than it should.

“On the bed. Legs spread.”

You climb onto the sheets. Lie back. Open your thighs the way you always do for him. Your cunt is already wet. It always is when he looks at you like this, even when the look is wrong.

He stands. Walks to the low cabinet against the wall. Opens a drawer. When he turns back he is holding something you have never seen in these rooms.

A dildo. Thick, darker in the dim light. Rigid. Nothing like the living heat of him.

“For your insolence, I've decided a punishment,” he says, voice soft and hollow, filled with undeniable satisfaction, apparent in his voice for having gotten his way. A faint trace of anger still lingered on his tongue. “you’re going to get filled by this instead.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn't come to the bed right away. He stands there and looks at you. At the way your legs are open. At the slick shine between them. At the way your chest rises and falls too quickly.

Then he kneels between your thighs.

The head of the toy presses against your entrance. Cool and hard. Unyielding. He watches your face as he pushes the tip slow and steady. The stretch is different. There's no give. No warmth. No pulse of blood and life. Just the solid pressure of something that can't love you back.

You feel the loss of him immediately. The absence of his weight. His hands. The way his body always covered yours completely.

“Take it,” he murmurs.

Working the toy deeper. Inch by inch. Your cunt clenches around the plastic, trying to adjust, trying to find something that's not there. It is too hard. Too smooth. Nothing like the thick, veined heat of his cock that you've grown so used to.

He doesn't stop until it's fully nestled inside you, in the snug clammy walls of your cunt, pulsing around the girth of it, your pussy juices gushing out and around it.

Then, he begins to move the toy.

Long, unhurried strokes. Pulling it almost all the way out before pushing back in. Stretching you open on something that doesn't care how you feel. Your hips twitch madly. Your hands fist in the sheets, fingers curled in silk like. A soft sound leaves your throat.

Suguru’s eyes never leave your face.

He fucks you with the toy the way he fucks you with his cock. Patient and thorough. Watching every flicker of sensation that crosses your expression. When your thighs start to tremble, he angles the dildo just so, dragging it against the place inside you that makes your breath stutter.

“Feel that?” he asks quietly. “That’s what happens when you forget yourself.”

You want his hands on your hips. You want his mouth on your throat. You want the solid weight of him pressing you into the mattress. Instead there is only the relentless slide of plastic and the cold distance in his violet eyes.

He keeps going. Stretching you. Opening you. Filling you with something that can never replace him. Your cunt is wet around the toy, slick sounds filling the quiet room, but the pleasure is hollow. Incomplete.

He doesn't let you cum.

When your body starts to tighten, when the pleasure begins to crest, he slows. Stops. Holds the dildo still inside you while you whimper and shift, seeking friction that's no longer offered.

“Not yet,” he says.

Then he starts again. Builds you up. Denies you. Over and over until your thighs are shaking and your voice is soft and broken, and all you can think about is how much you miss the real weight of him.

Finally he pulls the toy free. Sets it aside. Looks down at your open, glistening cunt with something close to satisfaction.

“You will remember this the next time you open your mouth without being asked.”

He stands. Adjusts his robe. Walks toward the door.

You remain on the bed. Legs still spread. Body aching and empty, needy for him in a way that has nothing to do with the plastic that just filled you.

The door closes softly behind him.

The room is quiet once more, just your uneven breaths in the dark.

And for the first time since you became his, you're left alone with the cold.

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an: not sure that i love this but i hope yall do 🫶