★

You weren't sure how long JD had spent with his face between your thighs, but it was certainly long enough to both infuriate you and leave you desperately wanting more.

See, the problem was he hadn't actually started eating you out like you'd initally hoped. Instead he decided to mark up the inside of your thighs first, biting and sucking the sensitive skin there until they were practically covered with hickeys.

It was almost as if he was determined to make them match the lovebites on your neck, which was kind of funny considering no one would even be able to see the inside of your thighs except him. Then again, the thought alone of only him knowing about the marks there probably got him off, the possessive bastard.

"Can you just hurry up already?" You snapped after a while, starting to get fed up with his teasing.

He lifted his head up, a taunting smirk toying with his lips as he watched you. "I'm sorry, am I keeping you from something?"

A low growl of frustration formed in the back of your throat as you reached your hand down to grab onto his hair, yanking his head up a little bit more. "You've had your fun messing with me, but I'm starting to get sick of it."

He kept smirking, trying to remain calm and collected, but you didn't miss the way his eyes narrowed somewhat in annoyance at the action of you grabbing his hair. "And just what do you suggest I do instead?"

You could've smacked the smug look off his face in that moment and not felt the slightest bit guilty. "Get up and lay down on the bed," you ordered while letting go of his hair, not being gentle about it either. "I'm in charge now, which means you're going to do as I say."

For once, he didn't protest (but that was most likely only because he thought it was really hot whenever you bossed him around). He did as you told him to, casually laying back with his hands tucked behind his head. "What, are you finally going to repay me?"

It was difficult not to roll your eyes at his question. Of course he would think the only reason you were telling him to move was so that you could give him a blowjob. After all the waiting that he put you through? Yeah, as if.

"It's cute how you always manage to find a way to make things about you, even in situations when they're very clearly not." Your words were an obvious jab straight at his ego, and while they didn't make as big of a blow to it as you'd hoped they certainly didn't miss judging from the way he removed his hands from behind his head. It was as if he was realizing you had no intent at the moment of helping him get off.

"What's your point?" He looked a bit miffed, his tone holding a snippy edge to it as he kept his eyes trained on you.

"My point is that since you've refused to get me off in the way that you were supposed to, I'm having to resort to other measures." You began moving on the bed as you spoke, shifting until you were kneeling over top of his face, your thighs on either side of his head as you stared down at him with a displeased gaze.

He didn't seem at all upset by the sudden turn of events, and in fact appeared delighted to have you on top of him like that, but his pride still hurt a little from the way you so casually dismissed the idea of giving him a blowjob as a reward for helping you get off (something that he hadn't even properly done yet). "So this is your plan, then? Suffocating me as a punishment for not doing what you wanted?"

"If I wanted to suffocate you, I wouldn't bother with using my thighs. I'd just grab a pillow instead. Much easier."

Your direct manner of answering his snarky question caused him to let out an amused chuckle in response, once again reminding him why he loved you. "Fair enough."

"Now, shut up and do the job you were supposed to have done in the first place," you ordered in a stern tone as you lowered yourself down until your wet pussy made contact with his mouth, a soft groan of pleasure exiting your lips as you finally got some of the friction you so desperately needed.

He let out a soft hum, his tongue darting out almost immediately to lick a stripe along your folds. As much as you hated to admit it, he knew what he was doing when eating you out and was really good at driving you crazy because of it. If only he wasn't such a brat all the time.

You let out a breathy moan, slowing grinding yourself down onto his face. The feeling of his tongue lapping at your wet hole while his nose brushed against your throbbing clit made your back involuntarily arch in pleasure.

His hands gripped onto your thighs as you sat on his face, just tight enough to keep your balance steady. You had no idea whether he could breathe properly or not in his current position, but he didn't seem to care much either way.

"That's it, good boy." The words left your mouth before you could stop them. You always felt the need to praise him for doing a good job, even if he didn't deserve it. "Just like that."

Your words spurned him on further, his hands tightening on your thighs as he pulled you closer to his mouth, if that was possible. He seemed determined to please you, if only to hear those words again. He was so self-centered.

Still, you chose to reward his current good behavior regardless. "You're doing so good, just like that- You can be so well-behaved when you want go be, can't you?"

He responded with a muffled hum, one that seemed to shake you to your very core (in a good way). "Oh, God-" Your hands moved to grab onto the headboard as your eyes fluttered shut. It was getting a little hard for you to keep your current balance, which made you grateful for the firm grip he had on your thighs. "If you can make me cum right now, I'll be so proud of you."

That really did the trick of getting him motivated to get you to your "happy ending". As much of an ego he had, your reassurance that you were proud of him was enough to make him forget all about it, if only for the time being.

Swirling his tongue, he began to eat you out fervently, as if his whole life depended on it. Even after your legs began to tremble worse than before, even after a series of pants and moans escaped you in the heat of your climax, even after you all but collapsed on top of him, he kept going until told him to stop.

"Alright, baby. I think that's it for now," you announced while moving off his face, an action that elicited a needy whine from him.

"I wasn't done yet," he insisted with a pathetic looking pout, his hands instinctively reaching for you again as you laid back on the bed, trying to catch your breath.

"You can get so pitiful sometimes, did you know that?" You lightly teased as you watched him plant soft kisses along the hickeys he'd left behind earlier on your thighs. It was hard to stay mad at him when he was acting like a lovesick puppy.

"Can I keep going?" He begged, lifting his head up just enough to be able to catch your gaze, his face resting on your thigh as he watched you.

"Well, since you did so good for me I suppose I can let your little attitude from earlier slide."

No sooner had those words left your mouth did he shove his face right back to between your thighs, lapping eagerly at your aching folds and clit. Your hand moved to gently grip onto his hair, your head tilting back against the pillows behind you as you got comfortable. Something told you he wouldn't let up until you were an even bigger moaning and pleading mess than before, and of course you ended up being right.

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"Aha, got you!"

A proud grin was on your face as you successfully pinned JD down to the bed. He seemed a little miffed about "losing", only agreeing to do this in the first place because he thought for sure he'd win.

"Yeah, great," he grumbled with an eye roll, squirming slightly at the way your hands were holding down his wrists. "Now get off."

"Wait a minute-"

He scoffed in annoyance at your refusal to move right away, starting to feel more and more frustrated by the second. As you would soon come to find, that wasn't the only thing he was feeling currently.

"-dude, are you hard right now?"

He felt his face heat up at your question, trying to ignore just how much the answer was clearly yes. He could feel it, and now you could feel it, too.

But he didn't want to admit it, so he decided to lie through his teeth instead. "N- no..."

"You sure about that?" You smirked while pressing your knee further into his crotch, feeling the way his cock seemed to jolt forward and stiffen up in his pants at the action.

"St- stop-" He mumbled as he turned his head away, avoiding your gaze while his cheeks flushed bright red.

"Oh my God, you are." A sudden laugh erupted from your throat the moment you realized just how aroused he was, which did nothing but make him feel more embarrassed.

"S- shut up! It's not funny!" He tried to protest, the scowl he had on his lips immediately falling away when your knee forcefully rubbed against his groin.

It was now your turn to roll your eyes at him and the way he was acting. "Oh, don't be such a baby. You're fine."

"I- I'm serious, knock it off-" He tried to push you off him but you had firmly planted your body on top of his, your hands still pinning down his wrists at his sides.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?" You openly mocked, giving him a look of feigned fear. "Oh no, I'm so scared."

The embarrassment he felt about the current situation was quickly beginning to give way to another emotion he was much more well acquainted with: rage.

"Yeah, you know what? I just might."

If it had been anyone else, they would've gotten off him immediately. Hell, if it had been anyone else they wouldn't even risk play fighting with him to begin with.

But you weren't just anyone else, meaning you weren't scared of him, so despite the glare he was staring up at you with you did the exact opposite of what someone else might do and ignored him.

"Y'know, if I had of known you'd get so worked up over something as simple as play fighting-" you leaned down closer so that your face was mere inches away from his "-I would've done this a long time ago."

"Fuck you," he spit out angrily through gritted teeth as he tried his best not to give in to the arousal that was coursing through his body.

Merely shrugging, you responded calmly with, "Well, I mean, if you insist. I wasn't planning on going any further here, but if you really want to-"

Starting to become sick and tired of your teasing, he attempted to push you off him for a second time. Unlike when he first tried to do it, it actually worked, but that was only because you willingly let go.

You snickered in delight at his red face and heavy breathing, watching as he tried to pull himself together between all the dirty looks he shot you. It was clear you weren't worried or bothered by his anger from the way you casually leaned back, relaxing as you rested your hands behind your head.

"The next time you get hard from me being that close to you, I'll force you to cum in your pants for being such a dirty little pervert."

JD had no idea whether your words were meant to be a threat or a promise, and although he knew he should feel offended by them he couldn't help the shiver of pleasure that ran down his spine.

He could only hope you hadn't been able to tell how he did actually cum in his pants, which was why he shoved you off him in the first place.

ohhh anon i've been sitting on this one until i could properly respond. i'm on vacation rn and so i've been insanely busy running around and seeing the sights but whenever i had downtime i came back and read it cause it's so him and it's so real and it's so good. i'm at a pub now armed with a drink and a wall behind me so no one can see this so let's go.

he's so rough with veronica in the movie and i really do think it's less about wanting to 'hurt her' and more about being so overwhelmed and impassioned that he just puts all of his energy into every movement of his body so this ask really made me shudder.

ANYWAYS !! onto the actual stuff.

yes. yes, a thousand times yes. he doesn't mean to bash your head into the wall hard enough to nearly leave a dent in it, but he just wants to kiss you with every fiber of his being and he doesn't realize how much strength he's putting into the kiss. he just aims and rushes for you and he feels you bite his lip and gasp into his mouth when your head hits the wall. then he registers the sound and, well, he's gonna have to look you in the eyes and sit you down for a bit until he's absolutely certain he hasn't concussed you.

'shit,' he gripes, 'are you okay?' he's panting a little, but so are you, and his eyes are distinctly worried in a way that you're not used to seeing considering he doesn't often open up and let his more vulnerable emotions show. He's got your chin in his hand and he rakes it towards the back of your skull, rubbing against the knot that's forming, a soothing touch even if it smarts.

he really is worried that he knocked your block off for a second and he keeps his palm nestled right against the spot your skull had cracked into the wall, checking it every few seconds to make sure it's not bleeding. You are a bit stunned by the force with which he grabbed you but it's not because you're afraid of him. or maybe it is a little, you realize how much power he has but you like it. anyways, whatever it is, it's making you a little spacey and very horny.

JD tore off his shirt before helping me with mine, tossing it to the back seat. As soon as I was free of the fabric I jumped forward, crashing my lips against his.

I couldn’t see the cop, but I knew he had to have been close behind us. JD pushed me against the seat, forcing his tongue past my lips. He wrapped an arm around my waist, tightening his hold on me as he pulled away just enough to watch out the windows.

“Stay calm,” he whispered in my ear. I could hear the cop outside the car, his voice muffled. He must’ve been radioing someone. JD threaded his hands through my hair, tugging lightly as he returned to peppering feverish kisses along the edge of my mouth.

The cop’s voice got quieter, JD shooting another glance out the windshield.

When he turned back to me, he gave me a small smirk before kissing me again, this time with a kind of hunger he hadn't had before. He pulled me on top of him, holding my hips firmly to his. I pulled back to catch my breath as JD continued down my neck, nipping at my skin.

"God, this really turns you on," I panted, my hands tangled in his hair as he sucked my neck. He bucked his hips in reply, forcing his hard-on to grind against me. "Fuck," I moaned.

He brought one hand up to trace the edge of my bra, placing wet kisses across my chest.

"Get in the back seat." His voice was rough and low, coming out almost pleadingly.

I shuffled off of him, climbing over the seat. He followed quickly, awkwardly falling over the center console. I laughed at his clumsiness, causing a bashful smile to come across his face. I pulled him up to meet my lips, dragging him on top of me.

"We're you this turned on after Heather?" I questioned breathlessly, tugging on his hair to kiss his jawline.

"Yeah," he muttered, rolling his hips against me. I brought my free hand down to tug his jeans open. "Didn't have an excuse to rip your shirt off and make out with you though."

"You don't need one."

He moaned at my comment, helping me push down his jeans. I frantically tugged at his boxers, rushing to get them off. I whined as soon as his cock was free, his pink tip leaking precum.

"Hurry," I moaned, desperate to feel him inside of me.

JD gave me a swift kiss before snaking his hand up my skirt, pushing my panties aside. He lined himself up, dropping his head to my shoulder as he pushed into me. We both moaned at the feeling, my walls stretching around him. Once he bottomed out he took a sharp breath, kissing my collarbone.

"S' tight," he choked out.

I wrapped my legs around him as he began to move, sliding back before roughly pushing into me again.

"Fuck, JD." I clenched around him, attempting to push him farther into me. My walls struggled to take him all, but I needed as much of him as possible. "So big," I whined.

"Good girl," he moaned. "You can take it."

JD bucked into me as I tugged his hair. He brought his lips back to mine, muffling my moans. His tongue delicately pushed against mine, the action much softer than his thrusts.

He trailed kisses down to my chest again, reaching under me to unclasp my bra. As soon as the fabric was discarded, he let out a loud whine, pushing his face into my tits. His thrusts became harder and more erratic.

"JD," I cried, my walls fluttering helplessly around him.

"Fuck, darling." He brought a hand to my clit, rubbing fast circles. My back arched against his chest as I let out a surprised squeak.

"F—faster!" I begged, rocking my hips to meet his thrusts. He picked up his pace, fucking me into the seat. I could feel my stomach tightening, warning me of my impending orgasm. He bucked into me, his rhythm wild.

He hit my g spot, pounding into me relentlessly as he sent me over the edge. I arched further into him, screaming his name as I came around his cock.

He was right behind me, shooting hot cum into me as he fucked us through both our orgasms.

He collapsed on top of me, nestling his head into my neck. I loosened my grip on his hair, running my hand down the back of his neck.

"Fuck," I panted.

"You can say that again," he muttered.

Wednesdays were, objectively, your most questionable hobby.

Not in an illegal way. Well… kind of but in a “you are literally digging through a store’s trash like a raccoon with standards” type of way.

And honestly? You stood by it.

Because the beauty store threw away perfectly good products every single week, and you were not about to let a $23 foundation die in a dumpster just because the box was dented.

So here you were.

One foot hooked over the edge, the other awkwardly balancing as you leaned deeper into the dumpster, aggressively shifting bags around like you were on a mission.

“C’mon… don’t piss me off,” you muttered, pushing aside a ripped open box.

“I know y’all got my shade in here somewhere.”Your hand brushed against something small. You pulled it out, squinting at the small print label.

“Ooo Nyx lip liner? Don’t mind if I do.”

Straight into your roommate's old backpack. The bag felt heavy as you stuffed it more. You nodded to yourself like this was a successful haul so far.

It wasn’t because where the hell was the foundation.

You dug deeper, fully committed now, moving things around with less patience and more attitude.

“Where the fuck is it.”

Your hand froze.

“…huh?”

That… was not makeup.

You shifted a piece of cardboard out of the way and stared.

“A keyboard?”

You blinked at it like maybe if you stared at it hard enough, it would make sense as to why it was there. A broken palette or a hair tool or literally anything else would’ve made sense.

This did not.

“…why would anyone throw away a perfectly good keyboard?” you said, already reaching for it because, obviously, you’re going to take it.

Finders keepers. That’s global dumpster dive rules.

You pulled it out, brushing off dust and random debris, turning it over in your hands. It was… fine. It’s not cracked or has any missing keys. Just a few minor scratches like it had been tossed in here without much thought.

Weird, but not your problem.

You pressed a key.

Click.

Click.

“…okay,” you murmured, now fully testing it like you just found a free laptop on the street. The keys felt too smooth. You kept going anyway, tapping a few more.

Click click.

Your fingers moved without thinking.

Ctrl. A. Delete.

And then… the smell disappeared.

One second you were inhaling hot garbage air and the next your lungs were finally breathing in clean oxygen. You blinked.

“…wait.”

The heat from the pile of trash vanished like someone turned the world’s worst oven off. Suddenly your skin didn’t feel like it was being radioactively damaged.

“Hold on…”

You look down.

Oh shit.

“WAIT!”

You dropped to the ground. Concrete hit your back so fast it knocked the air out of you. An oomph leaves your body as the keyboard clattered somewhere beside you. You just laid there groaning, blinking up at the sky like your brain needed a full system reboot.

“…damn.”

You sat up and looked around you. The alley was still there. The store was still there. But the dumpster was gone? Like completely gone as if it had never existed. You slowly turned your head toward the keyboard, your stomach doing that awful little drop again.

“…what the fuck did I just do.”

You slide the keyboard into our bag and zip it closed, lingering there for a second trying to process what just happened.

I'm not high?

Your brain is still stuck replaying it over and over again. The image of the dumpster disappearing was way too clear to ignore.

Did I just find a magical keyboard?

You shake your head, letting out a small breath as you walk toward your car, still trying to process what just happened and how a random keyboard was somehow able to do… that. It doesn’t make sense.

Yet the more you replay it in your head, the clearer it becomes that you didn’t imagine it, that it actually happened. That alone is enough to send a quiet thrill through you. Because who just randomly finds a keyboard that can delete things out of existence?

Exactly.

You slide into the driver’s seat, your hands settling on the wheel as that excitement lingers. Before you can even think to question it further, you’re already starting the car and pulling out of the alley way.

Oh, the boys are going to flip their shit when they see this.

The drive home passes quicker than usual. You finally pull into your usual spot, right between Suguru and Satoru’s cars, parking a little messier than normal because you’re already reaching for your bag before the engine fully cuts off.

You hop out, shut the door, and head straight for the apartment, unlocking it quickly.

“GUYS GUYS.”

Your voice carries through the space as you step inside, already smiling, and a little breathless from the rush of it all.

You make your way into the living room where Satoru is sprawled across the couch, completely relaxed with one leg thrown over the armrest as he eats his daily kikufuku. He watches TV like nothing in the world matters, while Suguru sits on the lounge chair nearby, scrolling on his phone with a calm, unbothered expression.

“GUYS, guess what I found!”

You step directly in front of the TV without hesitation, blocking it completely as you stand there, your bag still hanging from your shoulder.

Satoru groans immediately, dragging a hand down his face in annoyance. “Oh my... moooove.”

“Another makeup product you don’t need,” Suguru says flatly, not even bothering to look up yet.

“Or clothes you think are ‘fine if you wash them,’” Satoru adds, glancing at you now with a smirk. Suguru lets out a quiet chuckle at that.

You roll your eyes, already glancing down at the table as you reach for the remote without asking.

Click.

The TV shuts off.

“Y/N!” Satoru snaps, sitting up immediately. His irritation is clear as he looks at the now black screen.

“…seriously,” Suguru mutters, finally lifting his gaze toward you.

You step back into place like nothing happened. A grin spreads across your face, your excitement obvious now that you actually have their attention.

“Now that I have your attention…”

“You better have found Cleopatra or something because what the hell,” Satoru says, clearly unimpressed as he is still slumped on the couch.

Your grin only widens, turning a little mischievous as you slowly reach into your bag and pull out the keyboard, holding it up like it’s the most impressive thing in the world.

“Taa daa.”

There’s a pause.

Suguru stares at it for a second before he bursts out laughing. The sound genuine as he leans back into his chair, shaking his head like this was the most stupidest thing ever.

“Are you serious?” he asks, still laughing under his breath.

“Y/N... just move out the way,” Satoru mutters, already reaching for the remote again.

“No you're not even going to let me show you what it can do,” you say, stepping forward and placing the keyboard down on the table. Your tone shifts just enough to show you’re actually serious now.

Suguru looks at you again. His expression shifts from amusement to curiosity as he studies your face, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking or not, or if you’ve actually just lost it.

Satoru, meanwhile, barely spares you another glance. He's already halfway through eating the last of his kikufuku as he reaches for the remote again, clearly ready to ignore whatever thi—

Until you press the keys. Your fingers move a little more deliberately this time, repeating exactly what you did before.

Ctrl. A. Delete.

The kikufuku disappears. No crumbs, no wrapper, nothing left behind, like it was never there in the first place.

"Hey!" Satoru whines. His voice sharp with disbelief as he stares down at his now empty hand. You freeze as your eyes widen. You look between his hand and the keyboard, your breath catching slightly.

“Oh my god…”

Suguru leans forward slowly. His attention completely locked in now and the earlier laughter gone as his gaze sharpens, watching the exact spot where the kikufuku used to be.

Satoru looks up at you again, his expression shifting from confusion and melting into shock, then into something much more interesting.

Suguru’s gaze lingers on the keyboard for a moment longer before he finally looks up at you. His expression is noticeably more serious than before.

“Where did you find that?” he asks.

You let out a breath, still riding that weird mix of adrenaline and excitement as you launch into the story. Explaining everything that happened from the dumpster, and the random keys you pressed, to the way it just… disappeared.

You gesture a lot while you talk, like maybe acting it out will somehow make it sound less insane, but judging by the way they’re both staring at you, it’s not doing you any favors.

By the time you finish, the room is quiet.

They are taking a while processing what you just said.

Suguru is staring at the keyboard again with his brows slightly drawn, while Satoru is looking at you like he’s halfway between impressed and deeply concerned.

“…what else does it do?!” Satoru suddenly blurts out. The excitement hits him all at once as he pushes himself up from the couch. Before you can even respond, he’s already gone, disappearing down the hall at full speed.

You blink.

“…oh, he’s about to make this worse,” Suguru mutters under his breath.

Satoru is back in seconds, holding up a slightly crumpled five dollar bill like it’s the key to a life changing experiment.

“Okay, okay, watch this,” he says, slapping it onto the table with way too much confidence for a guy who has no idea what he’s doing.

“Wait...maybe don’t—” you speak up already sensing where this is going.

“Gimme,” he cuts in, reaching over and snatching the keyboard straight out of your hands before you can even finish the sentence.

He pulls it closer, leaning over the table like a kid who just discovered something illegal but exciting. Suguru leans in, clearly just as invested now even if he’s pretending not to be.

Satoru smooths the five dollar bill out on the table like presentation matters, then glances down at the keyboard.

“…copy aaaaand paste…” he murmurs, sounding way too proud of himself for figuring that out. He presses the keys.

In the blink of an eye, another five dollar bill appears right next to the first, perfectly identical, like it just spawned there out of thin air.

All three of you freeze.

“…woah,” Satoru says, his voice dropping in genuine awe as his eyes light up instantly. He grabs both bills, flipping them over, and holding them up to the light. Comparing them like he’s about to discover some hidden flaw but there isn’t one.

“…no way,” he mutters, grinning like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Before either of you can stop him, he presses the keys again.

Ctrl. C.

Ctrl. V.

Another bill. Then again and again.

The table starts filling up fast, bills stacking unevenly as they keep appearing one after another. Satoru is fully locked in now, laughing menacingly as he just unlocked a cheat code for life.

“HAHA okay, wait, this is actually insane,” he says, not even looking up.

“Satoru...” you try again, watching the growing pile with a mix of disbelief and concern.

“This is literally free money. Do you understand how illegal this probably is?” he continues, completely ignoring you as he keeps going.

“Yeah, and you’re still doing it,” you point out.

“That sounds like a future problem,” he shoots back instantly, not missing a beat.

Suguru watches for another second, his expression tightening just slightly as the pile keeps growing, before he suddenly leans forward and snatches the keyboard right out of Satoru’s hands.

“That’s enough,” he says calmly, though there’s a quiet firmness there that wasn’t before.

Satoru looks up immediately, offended. “Hey—”

“You’re going to crash the economy in our living room,” Suguru replies without even looking at him, already turning the keyboard slightly in his hands as he studies it more closely.

Satoru blinks. “…that feels dramatic.”

“You just made about forty dollars in ten seconds,” you add.

“Okay, but how would the police know?”

Suguru ignores both of you, his focus fully on the keyboard now, his earlier amusement completely gone as curiosity takes over.

“…if it can do that,” he says slowly, more to himself than anyone else, “then there’s more.”

You glance down at the keyboard again, turning it slightly in your hands like it’s magically going to explain itself if you stare at it long enough.

“Okay, wait, there has to be something on this.” you mumble, already pulling your phone out. You type in the model number printed on the back, scrolling as the results pop up.

“…okay, um... apparently this is an HP SK-2501 wired multimedia keyboard from… 2000?” you say, blinking at your screen.

“2000? That thing is older than my patience.” Satoru repeats, leaning over your shoulder.

You snort a little, still scrolling. “I’m serious, it literally looks like a regular old keyboard.”

Suguru leans in slightly, way more focused than Satoru. “Keep reading.”

“Yeah yeah, hold on…” you skim through the page, your nose scrunching.

“It’s just saying basic stuff. Volume controls, shortcut keys… nothing special.”

You pause.

“Ooo, okay so this says it has a built-in microphone.”

That gets both of their attention.

“A microphone?” Suguru repeats.

“Yeah, like… voice command or something. It says if you say ‘computer,’ it activates a search function… I think?” you say, tilting your phone so they can kind of see. You barely finish your sentence befo—

“COMPUTER!” Satoru shouts.

You flinch. “Why are you yelling?”

The air in front of you flickers. Right there in the middle of the room. It kind of glitches for a second, like something trying to load, and then a search bar pops up.

Just floating there right in front of you.

“…oh.”

It’s not attached to anything just floating in the air. Glowing softly with a blinking cursor waiting at the left.

Satoru leans forward immediately. “No way.”

Suguru stands up without even thinking, stepping closer with that quiet curiosity of his, and reaches his hand out slowly.

His hand goes straight through it. The light bends around his arm for a second, like water rippling, before settling back into place when he pulls away.

“Okay, that’s… weirdly cool” he says under his breath.

You step a little closer too, staring a little too hard at it. Satoru, of course, is already over it in the best way possible, leaning forward with a grin like he just found his new favorite toy.

“Give me a random sweet treat… I don’t know,” he says, way too eager.

The cursor blinks as the bar flickers slightly. You glance at Suguru, then back at it, that same feeling creeping in again. Not just excitement this time but something a little… off.

All of a sudden, a banana split sundae appears on the table. It just pops into existence like it’s been there the whole time.

It's stacked with three scoops of Neapolitan ice cream, whipped cream piled way too high, chocolate drizzle melting down the sides, sprinkles everywhere, and a cherry sitting on top.

Satoru gasps like he just witnessed a miracle.

“No way- don’t touch it, don’t even look at it, I’m getting a spoon. ” he says already halfway to the kitchen before anyone can even process what just happened.

“You weren’t gonna share anyway,” you mutter, watching him disappear. Suguru leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the sundae like he’s trying to figure out if it’s real or if this is some kind of elaborate hallucination.

“That’s actually insane,” he says slowly.

Satoru comes back in record time with a spoon in hand. He sits down and drags the sundae closer to himself like someone’s about to snatch it out of his hands.

“This is the best day of my life,” he says, already digging in without hesitation.

“Of course it is,” Suguru replies even though he’s watching the bowl like he’s debating whether to snag a bite.

You don’t say anything at first, just standing there with your arms loosely crossed, watching them like this is the most normal thing in the world, even though five minutes ago none of this existed.

“Oh, by the way, you guys can't use it” you say casually.

Satoru pauses mid bite and Suguru stops moving completely. They both deadpan towards you.

“…what?” Satoru says slowly.

You smile, stepping forward and pulling the keyboard back toward you, holding it just a little closer to your chest.

“You both said it was useless so, technically, you don't get access to such a useless item,” you explain completely serious.

“That’s not how that works,” Satoru says as he points at you with his spoon.

“Yeah how were we supposed to know it was magic?” Suguru adds, leaning back now, clearly amused.

“Exactly, how were we supposed to know that shit deletes desserts out of existence and then spawns better ones?” Satoru continues, gesturing wildly now.

You shrug. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

They both stare at you like you just slapped them in the face. Satoru scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re gatekeeping that now?”

“Yes,” you say immediately.

Suguru huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he glances between the two of you. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ridiculous is that I live here and suddenly I don’t have access to the magic reality keyboard in my own home,” Satoru says, still holding the spoon like he’s making a valid point.

“Correct.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Oh well...” you gesture vaguely.

They both start talking at once after that, Satoru getting louder and more dramatic while Suguru chimes in with calmer with more sarcastic comments. The two of them very quickly team up against you like you’re the unreasonable one here.

You let them.

You let them complain and talk over each other. Letting Satoru take another bite mi -argument like that somehow strengthens his case. Honestly, it’s kind of funny watching them act like this over something they dismissed two minutes ago.

While they’re going back and forth your attention drifts back to the keyboard in your hands. Your thumb runs lightly over one of the keys, absentminded as your thoughts start wandering. Their voices blur into background noise.

Delete. Copy. Paste. Create.

Your gaze lifts slowly back to them. Satoru is still eating like nothing in the world matters. Suguru is watching you out of the corner of his eye like he knows you’re thinking something.

…does it work on humans?

Your fingers still for just a second, your expression shifting ever so slightly as you stare at them a little longer than before, your mind already starting to turn that idea over in ways it probably shouldn’t.

You don’t say anything at first, just staring at the keyboard.

“Computer?” you say.

The search bar flickers back into existence midair, glowing softly like it’s been waiting for you this whole time. Satoru doesn’t even look up, still focused on his sundae.

“Oh brother, here she goes again.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes flicking toward him.

“…have Satoru drop his sundae.”

Satoru’s arm jerks like a random muscle spasm. The spoon flies, his wrist twists, and the entire sundae slips right out of his hand.

SPLAT.

Right onto the floor.

You blink once then immediately burst out laughing. You don't even feel bad that you can't hold it in. Satoru just sits there staring at the mess on the ground. His brain is clearly trying to catch up to what just happened.

“…what the fuck?” he says slowly, looking down at his hand like it betrayed him.

Your breath catches before you even realize it as your grip tightens around the keyboard. Your heart begins to race, the feeling curling in your chest a little too close to excitement for comfort.

Because now you know that it obeys.

Your fingers hover over the keys again and your thoughts move faster than you can keep up with. The possibilities stack on top of each other in ways that feel a little dangerous.

This thing control more than just objects. Your heart raced as you were ready to say another command.

"Computer?" You hesitate for a minute as you glance between Suguru and Satoru.

"Make these guys make out."

Instantly, Suguru's composed facade shattered as he turned to Satoru. Their eyes lock in a heated gaze before their mouths collided and lips parted with urgent need. Their tongues explore each other as Suguru's hands roam up Satoru's chest, pulling him closer.

The sight of them making out sent a jolt to your own wet heat between your thighs. Satoru's cocky grin melts into desire as Suguru's touch turns sensual. Your body aches with jealousy and excitement.

As they kissed deeper, their bodies pressed together. You watch as Satoru's hands slide under Suguru's shirt, tracing the firm muscles of his back. You couldn't resist escalating things.

With a mischievous grin, you spoke up. "Computer?"

"Have them strip each other down to their boxers."

Clothes flew off in a frenzy. Suguru yanks Satoru's shirt over his head to reveal his toned abs and a trail of white hair leading to the bulge in his pants. Satoru quickly unties Suguru's drawstring, sliding his shorts down to expose his massive thighs and the outline of his erection straining against his black boxers.

They didn't stop kissing, their mouths devouring each other, moans vibrating in the air as you had another brilliant idea spark in your mind. The keyboard's power is fueling your boldness.

Why stop at two?

"Computer?"

"Have all three of us... fuck."

Satoru's eyes gleam with thrill and Suguru's reserved demeanor crack into a sensual smile. They broke apart just long enough to grab your hand and guide you towards Satoru's bedroom. The door closes behind you with a click, enclosing all of you in a room full of anticipation.

You set the keyboard down on the bedside table before turning your attention back to the boys.

The air grew thick, musk and sweat lingered as you fell into a three-way kiss. Your lips and tongue colliding in a chaotic dance. Satoru's cocky energy pressing against you while Suguru's steady hands roam over your curves and squeeze your breast through your hoodie.

Satoru's fingers trail down your sides and Suguru's thumb brushes your nipple until it hardens, leaving you breathless. They worked together to strip you down, tugging off your hoodie and jeans with efficiency. They leave you in your bra and underwear, the fabric clinging to your damp skin as your pussy throbbed with need.

You all tumbled onto the bed with Satoru on your left and Suguru on your right.

Their warm bodies sandwich you as their hands explore your thighs and waist. You leaned into Suguru, your kiss deepened into something predatory. Your tongue dove into his mouth while your other hand slipped back to palm Satoru's thick cock through his boxers. Feeling it pulsed under your touch

Your hunger shifted, urging you to turn your attention fully to Satoru.

You broke away from Suguru for a moment, capturing Satoru's lips in the same fierce kiss. Your mouth melds with raw intensity that made your toes curl. His tongue teases yours as his hands roam upward to cup your breast

He squeezed them firmly, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. Meanwhile, your other hand ventured down to Suguru's boxers, slipping inside to wrap around his throbbing cock. You do the same to Satoru, pulling them both free into the warm air of their room.

They were hot and heavy in your grip, their veins standing out along the shaft as you stroked them slowly. You savor the silky skin gliding under your fingers as their breath hitches into a deep groan.

Suguru threw his head back, his face flushed of pure ecstasy as his eyes fluttered shut.

"Fuck, y/n, your hands feel so damn g-good...keep going, just like that." he whispered.

Satoru's lips teased against your ear as he trailed his hand down your stomach. His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties to feel the wetness there.

"You're so w-wet already. God, I love how you get for us." he murmured. His touch unerring as he rubbed your swollen folds and circled your clit making you moan into his mouth.

"Stroke me harder, baby." Suguru's dirty words cut through, his voice sounding commanding despite his pleasure-druken state. You quickened your pace on them both.

You all were enjoying that for a moment before Suguru sat up fully against the headboard, yanking his boxers off completely in one swift motion. His cock standing proud and glistening with his precum.

You slipped off your own panties, the cool sheets brush against your bare skin as you positioned yourself between his legs. You lean down, taking his cock into your mouth with slow sucks, tasting the salty tang of his precum. You swirled your tongue around his sensitive head.

The wet squelching sound filled the space. Satoru laid back on the bed, guiding you to straddle his face. His tongue dove into your pussy the moment you settled down. His tongue lapped at your folds with eager strokes that made you gasp around Suguru's cock.

Your body is trembling.

The overwhelming pleasure it too much to handle.

Your eyes watered as Suguru's cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag softly around his thick length. Saliva drips from the corners of your mouth in sticky strands that trailed down his shaft.

He was gentle in his guidance. His hand cradling the back of your head with a firm grip in your hair, urging you deeper while his hips rocked ever so slightly.

Satoru's arms were locked around your waist like iron bands. He pins you firmly to his face as his tongue keeps moving relentlessly into your pussy. He can barely breathe but he doesn't care. His strong hand grips your ass while he sucks on your swollen clit. That drew out a muffled moan from you.

The feeling was utterly intoxicating.

Your body was shaking, every nerve felt alive. As the pleasure built up to an unbearable peak, Satoru's grip tightened, his fingers digging into your ass as he pulled you even closer. You grind involuntarily against his face.

"Mmm that's it, take me deeper..." Suguru's breath comes in ragged gasps as he whispers words of encouragement.

The hunger in the room demanded more.

Satoru released his hold just enough to switch positions. He guides you onto your hands and knees while he gets behind you. His hard cock presses against your entrance.

Suguru moved with him, positioning himself in front of you. Satoru pushed slowly into your dripping pussy, filling you with one deep, stretching thrust. The pressure makes you gasp as he pushes inside, inch by glorious inch.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned. His hands grip your hips steady as he fills you completely. You could feel his cock throbbing deep within your pulsing walls.

You whimper at the sheer size of him. The stretch burned.

Suguru was quick to silence you, thrusting his cock back into your mouth with a commanding grip on your hair. His length sliding over your tongue that left you a moaning mess.

Satoru's deep growls, Suguru's huskily breaths, and your muffled cries echoed the room. The intense pleasure made your fingers clutch the bedding.

Satoru leaned forward, his athletic frame arching over you, meeting Suguru's eyes. Their lips crash together is a passionate kiss, their tongues swirling in a battle for dominance. The wet sounds of their mouths mirror the slapping of skin.

Satoru slowed down, sliding out with a slick with plop that left you aching and exposed. You were shifted into missionary, legs spreading instinctively as Suguru positioned himself between them. His lean, muscular frame hovers over you.

His tip brushed against your soaked entrance, teasing before he pushed in deep. Stretching and filling you made you gasp. His thrust was steady and powerful as each one drove deeper. His dark hair falling forward as he lost himself in your pussy.

"That's it, take it all," Suguru muttered.

Satoru knelt by your head. He slapped his hard cock against your cheek.

"Let me feel that pretty mouth now," he said with a wicked grin. He rubs his tip against your bottom lip, guiding himself in as your lips parted. Cries of pleasure muffled around him.

Satoru's free hand trailed down Suguru's back, his finger tracing his muscles before dipping lower to rub circles against your sensitive clit. The tripled sensations overwhelmed you.

"So tight, so fucking perfect," Satoru groaned.

"Every inch of you is ours now." Suguru added.

The sounds of moans, wet slurps, and skin slapping sounded like a damn symphony. You pulled your mouth away from Satoru's cock, barely being able to catch your breath.

"Oh fuuck yes, I need both of you..." The words spill out of you in a lustful haze as you feel Suguru's balls slap against your ass. Suguru leaned down to capture your lips in a teeth clashing kiss. His tongue invades your mouth just as his cock fills you.

The keyboard's lingering magic whispered in your ear, urging you to push further. Your voice hoarse with need as you call out the next command.

"Com- computer~" you try to get out.

"Have her take both of us." Satoru interrupts.

Instantly, your bodies shifted in a whirlwind of motion. Satoru rolls onto his back and pulls you down onto his lap. His strong hands guide you to straddle his hips. His cock, still rock hard and glistening, slid into your dripping pussy with a single, deep thrust.

"Ahhh shiit," you cry out, your thighs trembling as you begin to ride him. Bouncing slowly at first, then picking up a frantic rhythm that had his head falling back against the pillows.

The stretch of him filling you was so intoxicating. Every downward grind sends jolts of pleasure through your core. Your breast brushes against his chest with each movement.

The overstimulation hit like a car crash when Suguru moved behind you. His hands gripped your waist with the firmness that you craved, positioning himself at your ass.

"You're so greedy for us, aren't you?" Satoru murmured in your ear. His hot breath mixed with the sweat on your neck as he thrust up to meet your hips.

Suguru pressed in, his cock pushing past the tight ring of resistance, stretching you in a way that bordered on overloading. The dual invasion makes your whole body quake with painful pleasure.

They pounded into you, Satoru's thick cock stroking your pussy while Suguru's drove deeper into your ass. The sensation left you breathless. Suguru leaned in close, his lips brushed your shoulder as he whispers near your ear.

"Take it all, mmh, let us r-ruin you completely." His sensual words pushed you right to the brink of your climax. The pressure is building up and about to burst.

"Come for us, baby," Satoru's dirty whispers grew more urgent. Their thrust got even harder.

Their encouragement shattered you. Your body convulsed in a blinding release that crashed over you, pulling them along.

"Aahh, shit... you b-both feel s-so good."

Their own climaxes erupt inside you with guttural groans and shuddering thrusts. Satoru's cock pulsed deep inside your pussy, spilling hot waves of cum that filled you up.

His seed seeps out around him as you collapse on his chest. Your breath is coming in ragged gasps as every muscle trembles from the aftershock.

Suguru followed after, his final thrust into your ass grows erratic before he stilled. His seed is flooding your ass leaving you with a feeling of being claimed.

You lay there sandwiched between them, Suguru's heart pounded against your back and Satoru's hands trace soothing circles on your thighs.

Yet, even in the blissful aftermath, the keyboard eerily sits on the bedside table, tugging at your awareness of it. A reminder of the danger game you've played. Satoru's fingers threaded through your hair.

"Fuck, y/n, that was incredible," his words sounded of genuine affection that made your chest tighten.

Suguru moved your hair and pressed gentle kisses on your neck down to your shoulders.

The night deepened around you, the soft glow of the street lights filter through the curtains. Satoru's hand slid down the interlock with yours as Suguru's breath was warm against your neck. You completely surrendered to the intoxicating feeling of satisfaction.

Satoru perks his head up.

"Computer?" His voice is deep and hoarsed.

"Let's do that again."

@cursed(your)wombz huh?

He had a pitch-black profile picture and a layout with nothing of note, a banner as equally colorless and unnotable, and a simple bio stating: 

I know what you want…

- C.

And beneath that was a link.

It stood out stark against the black background. You don’t click on it, of course- for fear of being something malicious, you’re avoiding it like you’d avoid a minefield. 

You’ve already heard one too many horror stories on here about such things. One click and you’d find your address posted somewhere. Instead, your eyes drop to the number of followers he had…and your eyebrows are immediately shooting up.

0 Following.

581k Followers.

Now that makes you blink.

Okay- alright, maybe it wasn’t the most astounding number you’ve ever seen throughout your expansive time on the Internet - but it was still niche celebrity-status. Especially on this app. Especially to be stalking an account like yours…where all you did was repost the stray picture of a pretty landscape or yell into the aether about your missing assignments for your friends to comment on. 

Now that was a little strange.

And so you’re scrolling down.

And you never quite know what you’re in for whenever you enter the realm of a person’s account—fanfiction with tags you never knew existed, one part of an argument on social media that really shouldn’t exist, mpreg. 

Which was all fine and dandy to be quite honest- you just never expect to be met with the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The first picture you’re seeing- pinned.

Posted just an hour ago. It’s a mirror selfie taken at a low angle; of a man with his body angled towards the lens and his phone covering his face. In nothing but a towel. With nothing but his chiselled body. His beefy arms flexed as he takes the picture, biceps rippled with a few veins—though still lean and almost smooth to the touch. Pierced nipples. Defined abs. Your eyes linger on the sparse dusting of dark hair leading below, below, below his fluffy white towel…

The picture cuts off just a few inches past his navel. You know because you’re enlarging it.

The photo is almost vampiric in nature.

Somehow. 

Dimly-lit. Beautiful—he clearly knew his angles and lighting. It’s slightly blurry and you can’t make out much of the man’s features - nothing more than the slender length of his fingers, silver rings, and the outline of his dark (perhaps brown?) hair. Touching his shoulders. From just above the hem of his towel, the amorphous blur of a tattoo snakes down his left v-line - and no matter how much you’re zooming in, you can’t quite figure out what it is. 

Something twists at the pit of your stomach as you’re latching your eyes onto the very obvious bulge he was sporting through the towel - very.

The flash created a shadow of his lengthy cock—oh. Hanging between thick thighs, heavy and needy. And it also illuminated the slight dampness clinging onto his body; perhaps he’d just gotten out of the shower, or was about to take on after a workout. 

Whichever scenario it was, both made your thighs clench- fuck.

Fingers slightly shaky, you’re exiting out of the picture and scrolling down for more. 

The next post is a video seemingly taken from the very same instance: it was from the point of view of the beautiful man. Facing downwards, as he zoomed the camera in on his bulge and ran one vein-covered, ringed hand down his abs- down his pelvis- down to that throbbing erection and squeezed himself through his towel. 

And then through your speakers echoes out the most pornographic moan. 

Thank goodness your dorm had thick walls. 

And that’s when you decide that you’ve seen enough.

Not enough as in enough enough to block this strange man and move on with your life- of course, not. As quickly as your fingers would possibly let you, you’re exiting out of the video and scrolling up to a bio that seemed to have more to hide than the first time you read through it. 

The link stands mockingly stark - almost winking at you - against the dark background. You think you know what it is.

And you click on it.

Suddenly, your laptop screen’s flooding with a gaudy pink color. A loading circle swivels in the middle of it for a few seconds, before you’re met with a logo in swooping, slanted black script: C4mBoyfriends. Better than that boy in your dms.

Rapidly, you’re opening up a new tab and typing in the name.

“C4mBoyfriends is an adult streaming platform that hosts webcam performers that choose to label themselves as male. Here they can stream live video, post photographs, and interact on forums with a wide array of paying viewers—for a range of content catering to specific niches or sexual roleplays. C4mBoyfriends, since its recent launch, has shot up in the industry as one of the most-visited adult sites and the safest for its performers. All cuts go to the performers themselves and the site runs on separate donations from its audience.”

Ah- you’d guessed right.

Excitement burbles at the pit of your stomach for a few seconds. You’re clicking back onto the tab with the pink logo, and finding that it’d stopped loading.

It was in the layout of a streaming device, with static images of ongoing streams on one side of the platform, and different pages listed out on top. But what took up the majority of your screen was the vision of the very same man from before- from the mirror selfie, from the video.

This time, it was a stream.

@cursed(your)wombz is streaming—#1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends [101 week streak]. [Only solo]. Your internet boyfriend <3

0 Subscribed.

820k Subscribers.

455k Currently watching.

This time, he had his towel lifted up and his hands fisted around his fat cock.

Perfectly angled. 

Your jaw drops. He was about eight- maybe more inches, though you weren’t in the state to count. Way too entranced by the way his veiny, ring-decorated hands were wrapped around his cock. Large. He was just so loooong and standing tall between wide-spread legs, shiverin’ every time he’s gliding his hand up and down. Up and down. 

Again and again.

Getting faster by the second before he arches-

The edge of his thumb’s reaching for his ruby-red crown—then smearing the glistening liquid that just kept on foaming from the top. He lathers it upon his palm and drags it down his hot erection, making every inch gleam underneath the off-camera lighting.

You’re clicking on a button to increase your volume.

And just in time, too, because then he snakes his left hand down and squeezes his heavy balls- letting out a botched groan that leaves your shorts oh-so-wet. 

Deep and guttural; there’s a slight quiver in them as he whispers. “F-fuck.” Just so full and sensitive—the man’s head tips backwards and his hips buck off the cushioned chair. Sluttily. As though he was fucking something invisible. It’s creaking ever-so-slightly as he settles back down, composing himself just a little bit before he starts cumming.

Pearly white droplets of cum. 

Beading from the very top of his shaft - where he was the most pink n’ angry - shaking as he empties out. Globs of it start to glide down his length, and a few more collect where his silver Prince Albert’s piercing was positioned right beneath his mushroomy tip.

You’re just letting your eyes linger upon that little heap of satiny sap, when the man thumbs upwards and smears that, too. Such a mess.

And you think that might be all- but then he’s reaching his non-dominant hand upwards and pressing down on his frothing cockhead. Stopping himself from cumming - and as he leans to the side, you swear you’re glimpsing the twinkle of even more piercings on the upper side of his shaft. Was that…a Jacob’s ladder?

You’re rendered so damn speechless that you almost don’t register him speaking- “Awwww, did my pretty sluts wanna watch me cum?” 

A shiver runs down your spine at the hitched tone of his voice- drunk on lust. He’s slightly slurring. So alluring, you almost catch yourself nodding.

“Well, too bad.” The man meanly snickers, before he’s suddenly reaching out with his non-dominant hand and angling it higher. The screen shifts to display that very same mouth-watering body from the picture—though, this time with the addition of a black-and-white mask that covered his features from forehead to his sharp jawline. 

The only opening in it was a concave cutout for his mouth - almost reminiscent of a Phantom of the Opera mask. In the background was a clearly expensive bedroom of a clearly expensive home - far different from your single dorm - an artwork that you couldn’t name on the wall behind him. Something like a photograph or a portrait. Something about it was so precise- so cinematic. Like watching a movie scene. He continues, “Because you know why? You don’t deserve it.”

There’s a flurry of comments on one side of the screen, so fast that you wonder how he reads it.

“Didn’t I tell you to spam me with your nastiest stories in the chat?” He asks, and from beneath his mask you catch the outline of dark eyes shifting down those hurried words. Those needy comments. “None of you are nasty enough, so none of you get to see me cum…”

You’re tearing your eyes off of him to peruse what they were saying.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: nuuuuuu please, curse! i’ll get on my knees!!

@vampzo333: me too ME TOO

@likezmenpregnant: My story about the body pillow wasn’t nasty enough? TT

@CCpervnextdoor: AWWWW I’m begging~

@Curse’swifey: I’LL PAY YOU EXTRA PLEASEEEEEEE

@Curse’swifey donated 500 cherries.

“Tch- what a desperate bunch. Just fucking look at yourselves…” And though his words weren’t in the least bit nice, you couldn’t deny just how badly he made your cunt twinge. 

Curse…that’s what his name was, huh?

You’re squeezing your thighs together- your sleep shorts were definitely soaked. 

Curse rolls out the kinks in his neck just a little, and stares down at the camera with a crooked grin. “But that’s not gonna be enough. I said to be nasty- so be nasty.” The active chat becomes nothing but a blur once more: pleas, donations, stories half-typed in their urgency. “And in return I’ll moan whatever name you want me to moan when I cum.”

Before you know it, you’re opening up the sign-up page in a new tab.

Keeping Curse’s livestream playing in the background as you zip through your details. You’re picking out a username for yourself: Ietsmakeamovie and hastily going back to the ongoing stream with your newfound handle. Was it too obvious to make it the same username as your other account? The one that he had stalked?

Fuck- you’re too wound up to think of something else at this point. You decide that you’ll change it later…

Luckily, Curse’s stream didn’t have a paying threshold before you could comment. And you’re jittery with excitement as you pull the laptop closer to yourself and start typing out something—hitting send before you could overthink it.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Seeing you is the first time I’ve gotten this wet.

Curse’s eyes drift down the chat, and he seems to latch onto something. Eyes widening just a fraction.

“The first time?”

Fuck.

You’re feeling a jolt at the way he addresses you - never expecting him to pick out that comment amongst tens of thousands of others that were uttering even filthier things. Curse leans in and speaks with his deep tone, “Those other boys didn’t know how to treat a perfect pussy like yours, huh? This is why they call me the Internet boyfriend, baby.”

@Ietsmakeamovie: Yeah.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Fuck, you’re so hot.

@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t even wanna look away to touch myself.

You feel embarrassed typing it all out - but you console yourself with the notion that no one here knows who you are. And you don’t know anyone here, either.

Curse leans back and starts pumping his cock even harder—taking his left hand off the drivelling top. His milky-white precum is frenzied n’ sticks to his hand like glue, and the chat grows more and more excited as Curse’s actions do the same.

“That’s alright, baby, you don’t have to finger yourself.” He chuckles, eyes locked on the comments. “I’d be doing that for you if I was there.”

@Ietsmakeamovie: Wish you were. You’d reach so much deeper.

@Ietsmakeamovie donated 1000 cherries.

“Fuh-fuck—” He hisses, head throwing back in his chair. You take the time to admire the lines of his prominent Adam’s apple - the way it bobs every time he’s taking a shaky swallow. “No need to donate or anything, baby, just keep- ngh, talking t’me like this and that’s enough…”

@0003h0lesforCurse: holy shit. i’ve never seen him like this.

@CCpervnextdoor: Needy Curse I like it~

@bewbsRlife: KEEP GOING OP KEEP GOING!!

You giggle to yourself.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Enough to make you cum, Curse?

“Greedy, greedy girl…” Through the slightest gaps in his mask you’re catching the way his nose crinkles in amusement. A wolfish smile. “S’that what you all want?”

The chat explodes in agreement.

He cocks his head, “Movie?”

Was that your new nickname now? Hastily, you reply-

@Ietsmakeamovie: Mhm.

“Well then…” He grins, toned body arching off the chair. “Get ready for a show—” Darkened gaze narrowing at the comments, “And you better not take your eyes off of me for a single second- hump your damn pillows if you have to. I don’t care.”

Quickly grabbing your own puffy pillow, you’re stuffing it between your legs.

Right as Curse lets his head loll backwards- and his cum drizzles out of his cock. He’s been edging the poor viewers and overstimulatin’ himself for so fucking long now—all it takes is a few pumps to let the cascade of white coat his hands and his rings. Just the slightest bit of silver peaking through.

Hard and fast.

The man’s cockhead flushes even redder as he drags his high out deliciously. Every burst of dopamine. Every heaving pant. Every pretty moan escaping him. 

It seems to be ramming into him in waves- gooey ribbons of seed coat his digits. Getting smeared like a gloss across eeeeevery single inch, ridge, and vein—and since Curse’s pace was something furious, a few globs of cum splatter across the towel and onto his thighs. A mess that he’s seeming to love.

Because in the next few seconds, he’s wrung out just the final bits of pleasure in him- and is raising his cum-coated fingers up to his mouth and sucking. Staring straight into the camera lens as he does so.

You’re watching slack-jawed as those long, lacquered digits disappear between his lips. Finishin’ them off squeaky clean and letting his head tip to the side.

He mouths, “Movie—”

Part of your username.

Though you hadn’t asked for him to moan your name, as he’d promised to do to one of the viewers had they been nasty enough. And this special treatment…

Maybe he did it to every new viewer. Maybe he just liked how much you complimented him- though everyone else did, too. Either way, it’s perhaps what sets off the bursts of electricity between your legs—and soon enough you’re hurtling into a high you hadn’t even realized had been building up and up and up.

Your lashes flutter shut as the orgasm overtakes you. 

Hips ruttin’ away into the plushness of your pillow- you wonder just how much better riding him would be…

And that’s setting off a whole new layer of dopamine at your core, your cunt quiverin’ as white-hot pleasure makes your heartbeat throb in your ears. Chest pounding. Breaths heavy.

By the time you’ve finished pushing through your high, you’re coming to find that Curse had somewhat cleaned himself up with the towel and was bantering back n’ forth with the chat. He rests his head on one hand and sweeps his eyes down the usernames, “What happened to dear Movie, huh?” Curse pretends to pout. “The first stream wasn’t too much for her, right?”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: kekekeke you’re too freaky, curse!!

@CCpervnextdoor: So dirty~

@daddytoeknee: Must thank Movie for the show though…

Urgently, you’re gathering yourself and tapping a few buttons on-screen.

@Ietsmakeamovie subscribed to @cursed(your)wombz. 

@Ietsmakeamovie donated 2500 cherries.

@Ietsmakeamovie: It’d never be too much.

“Ahhh, there you are.” Such a beautiful smile smears across his face, and Curse’s leaning in to take a closer look at the comments. “And thank you for subscribing, same time tomorrow?”

You’re unsure whether that was directed at you or everyone viewing- but you’re chiming in agreement alongside the rest of the comments. And Curse reads through them, lingering for just a little while longer before he grins.

“Heh- bye, sluts.”

And he covers the camera, the stream cuts off. 

Yet your heart still thunders.

Ignoring the time at the bottom of your laptop screen, you’re then clicking on his profile and scrolling through what other videos he had…

.

.

.

It was your fault that you kept dozing off.

Honestly. 

You should have known better- and you know that you should’ve known better…but you couldn’t help yourself. After Curse’s initial stream, you spent some time browsing through the numerous photographs and short clips that he’d posted; there were even some saved streams that were each dirtier than the last—each with his attractive mask and his even more attractive voice, his sensual cock getting pumped over and over for the audiences.

And so you’d left a few comments, a few hearts.

Throughout all of them, you made the peculiar discovery that they were all more high-quality than the last. The standard of being the #1 on the site, you guess. But the lighting and angles were all just so perfect…

You’d watched them for just a little while- at least, what you’d thought was a little while. Because by the time you’re realizing that your laptop battery was dying, and your eyes were tired, you’re turning your head in the direction of the dorm windows and- fuck.

Why was the Sun coming up?

And so you’d rushed to get at least half an hour of sleep before you had to get up for your 8AM lecture. 

Professor Yaga taught Film 101 as though he was trying to scare everyone off it. Rigorous coursework and never-altered deadlines. Though you yourself wouldn’t consider him an unreasonable man, it was impertinent to be punctual and alert in his classes - and right now, you were feeling neither of those. 

By the grace of the universe, you’re somehow managing to stumble into class just two minutes after it starts. It’s not enough to rouse Yaga’s anger - and either way, you had made a name for yourself as one of his most avid students - though it does get you a sternly raised brow as you apologize and take the nearest open seat.

Just-so-happening to be in the very last row. 

At the very forgotten corner.

Right beside who you knew to be Yaga’s actually most avid student—Choso Kamo.

Had it been a race between the two of you - perhaps between the entire department - Choso would have finished five times before anyone’s even stepping past the finish line. You would’ve gotten second. And that wasn’t to diminish your abilities in any way - you’d long since proven yourself to be one of the best students this course had even seen - it’s just…Choso was a film nerd through and through. 

If there was anyone that could live up to such a title, then it was him.

Choso lived, slept, and breathed film and television. He could name any television show around the world with just a single frame, and most he could recite line-for-line. Oh, that? He learned Korean just to immerse himself in that scene in Parasite. That scene? It was from the 1957 Sri Lankan film Amba Yahaluwo, by the way did you know that Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was filmed there, too?

Knitted vest. Hair in two messy space buns. 

Clunky glasses rested atop his nosebridge, and dark bangs covering most of his vision, you’d often see him tottering around campus with a column of books that was damn-near taller than him. And despite his towering demeanour - from your mental counting, Choso was around 6’2 or more - around most of the student body, he was the type that couldn’t meet your eyes no matter how many classes you shared with him.

Even now, as you seated right next to him and smiled- Choso softly yelps and turns away from.

You don’t take it personally, of course, as he was simply the shy type. And by the flush that rises to his high cheekbones, you know he - at the very least - doesn’t dislike you.

Situating yourself, you’re opening your bag and pulling out your laptop. Opening it- fuck.

The briefest flash of one of Curses’s previous streams—where he had his cock in his hands and his face contorted mid-ecstasy flashes across your screen. And you can’t slam your laptop shut fast enough- cracking it just the slightest bit to exit out of the numerous tabs, fingers nothing but a blur. Thank fuck your volume hadn’t been set on high.

Head ducked, you’re looking out from the corner of your eye to check whether Choso had seen anything. 

But if he did, he shows no indication.

Only keeping his back ramrod straight- his gaze ahead- his flush fiery as he listens to whatever Yaga was saying. 

And so you think you’re in the clear…for now…

Opening your laptop up once more, you’re logging onto your lecture platforms and attempting to forget about last night. Which was difficult when that smile upon Curse’s face, just beneath his mask - was the only thing running through your mind.

And before you know it, you’d been staring blankly at your screen for a few seconds—before Choso inches in just a centimeter closer. Unwilling to let himself take up even more space. He keeps his eyes trained ahead and his voice - fuck, you’d never heard his voice before but it was just so deep and measured, something you wouldn’t have expected out of him - low. 

Whispering to you, “H-he’s on Chapter 18 of Stone Butch Blues, we’re about to write a screenplay for the zoo scene.” 

“Ah…” You don’t know whether you’re more surprised at the timbre of his voice or the way he managed a proper sentence out to you. All your previous attempts at conversation throughout the semester had been futile—and you’d long resigned yourself to the idea that he was too nervous to ever talk to you. “Th-thank you.”

He doesn’t answer but nods in shy acknowledgement.

And as you’re opening up your file, you bask in the realization that Choso Kamo was actually hot underneath those glasses. If only you could see his features further…

Maybe you’re being a little delirious. Your eyes feel heavy. 

Heavy.

Heavier. 

Tap-tap-tap.

A shake.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

A warm hand on your shoulder, by the time you’re opening your eyes- you’re looking up into even warmer, molten chocolate-colored ones. They were framed by fawny eyelashes and thick glasses that made his shy gaze seem ever-so-slightly amplified. 

You think you’re stunned for a few seconds before Choso speaks, “U-um…class is over.”

“Oh.” That makes you dart your head up and look around, noticing that most of the students had filtered in or were in the process of already doing so. “Oh, shit-”

You’d seriously slept through all that?

And Yaga had left you alive?!

No, you weren’t going to question this act of mercy—thank goodness for the last row, because he likely hadn’t been able to see you. Shooting upright, you’re grabbing all your things and hoping you hadn’t snored next to the sweet boy - “Thank you so much for waking me.” You’re turning towards him and saying, earnestness seeping into your tone. “Knowing me, I would’ve slept right through till next class. Might actually have been more convenient.”

He startles into a laugh then raises a hand up to his mouth and quietens himself down, “It’s alright.” You’re staring closely at the little bells of laughter, and he turns his eyes downwards. Bashfully admitting, “Happens to me too, whenever I stay up um- studying. Long night?”

You sigh, “You could say that…” Not a long night studying, but…

And as the conversation quietens down and Choso worries down on his bottom lip, you’re hiking your backpack up on your shoulders and saying. “Well, I guess I should be going then. Catch up on the recordings of the lecture and everything-” Turning, “See you ‘round—and thanks again.”

You make all of five steps before Choso finally gathers up the courage to call out-

“Wait—!”

Confused, you’re facing him once more. “Yes?”

And his hand was out, his fingers were slightly trembling. He was mouthing out the words as though still debating whether to speak them into existence - whether he was capable of. “I…we-” Eventually mustering up the courage once you give a reassuring nod, “When will we meet up?”

That makes you pause.

Was he…

“F-for the assignment.” Choso clarifies, a flush rising to his cheeks as he likely realizes he should’ve led with that. “Professor Yaga’s mid-semester project he always does…”

Ah—you’re clapping a palm on your forehead. How could you have forgotten? Yaga had announced at the start of the semester that about halfway through, the class would be paired up or put into groups to work on a collaborative project that contributed to about 50% of your grade. This semester, it was to write a full-length movie screenplay for a book or musical of your choice. And you’d been excited for it, in fact, but after the…activities of last night it’d completely slipped your mind that he’d be delving more into it this lecture.

And the poor boy stumbles through his explanation, “H-he let everyone choose their partners, and I wanted to wake you up but…you just looked so peaceful.” He fidgets with his fingers and flushes, “I th-thought one of your friends would come up here and choose you but-”

Probing him gently, “But?”

“B-but I’m afraid you ended up paired with me.” Choso just looks so genuinely apologetic- “I’m sorry- no one picked me either. I should’ve woken you up, but we can go talk with Professor Yaga about changing partners if you’d like-”

“Hey—wait.” You’re cutting off his spiel, something in your chest aching at the utterly devastated furrow between his brows. You take a step closer to him, “I would love to do the project with you, Choso. No need to talk to Yaga about anything.”

He looks up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “B-but your friends…”

“I don’t really have close friends in this class, anyway.” You smile, “I’d much rather do it with you.”

“Really—?” Breathed. As if he couldn’t believe it.

And it’s after some time - and a deep inhale - that he speaks again. Finally sinking in that someone would choose him of all people—that you would, that he speaks again. “And um- would you like to work on the script at my place?” Before you can answer, his breath hitches and his head shoots up. “N-not that I’m pressuring you into…it’s nothing weird, I promise! We can meet anywhere else you like- the library, your place- wait, no that’s weird, too…”

“Choso- Choso.” You giggle. And if this was anyone else then you would’ve assumed that they were putting the moves on you. “I’m okay with your place.”

.

.

.

The apartment was a fair distance away from the campus dorms. 

Which made sense, you suppose, given the fact that less than half the people there would be able to afford the rent on such a place—especially after tuition. The highrise dove into the clouds, its vermicular body scaled in glistening windows and gold-accented furnishings within. You got the distinct feeling of being swallowed whole as you entered through the widely-gaped entrance, with several doormen and security that eyed you up and down, bowed at Choso.

You thanked them and made your way - slightly speechless - through the hallways.

This was everything you could ever dream of, and you’re sure you spot the odd actor or two down in the lobby. As you’re getting into an elevator the size of your entire dorm room, Choso punches in one of the highest floor numbers and turns to you-

Throughout the bus ride here, you’d been the one chattering away. And so it surprises you once he finally speaks, “I-I’m sorry…my place is a bit of a mess.”

“Can’t be as bad as mine. I won’t judge.” Who cares about a mess when he lives in a place like this? You couldn’t wait to go inside…

He pushes his chunky glasses upwards and gives you a shy smile, “Thank you.” Looking down at his polished shoes, “You’re so sweet.”

“Thank you.” 

And you rise upwards in silence.

Soon enough, you’re finding yourself being led up to his massive apartment. He’s punching in the numbers of the code and setting his backpack down—telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you shuffle inside awkwardly; past the lavish furnishings and the alien-shaped lamps that all rich places seemed to boast. 

He leads you in the direction of the master bedroom - where Choso said that his film collection was vast and likely to reveal techniques that the two of you would be able to incorporate into your own script.

“I even have a copy of Momijigari- it’s one of my most prized possessions.” He shoots you such a charming smile, eyes twinkling behind his glasses, over his shoulder. Heading inside. 

And you can’t help but follow.

A single step inside his not-so-humble abode and you’re feeling a sudden sense of déjà vu wash over you, rendering you unsteady on your feet. Not quite sure why, you’re sweeping your eyes around the space: the high-quality camera equipment in one corner (not unusual to see for a film student), the chic furnishings, and then over to the empty wall space above the king-sized bed, something in you remained dissatisfied as they find nothing there but white plaster.

Choso notices that you’ve stalled behind and looks over at you curiously—he was taking a seat on the carpet, laptop opened up on top of the coffee table. “Something wrong? I’m sorry, I know it’s really messy but-”

“No, you’re good.” You shake your head, “It’s actually not messy enough.”

He smiles.

That night, you went home and wondered why Choso’s smile looked so familiar.

.

.

.

The musical that you’d chosen for your ‘adaptation’ was The Phantom of the Opera, suggested by you, of course.

And if there had been any connection to the masked man you’d been watching the night prior, then you were just glad that Choso had no idea.

It was far easier, given the fact that it’d already been adapted from the initial novel—though that only meant that Yaga would be critiquing yours even harder. 

So you had to strive to be more cinematic, than the others in your class, stronger in ways than the ones before you - and though you doubt you’d ever match up to Schumacher’s visuals, there was little doubt as to whether you’d be the best amongst the students. This was a screenplay made to impress, and in the week since you’d pored over it—and Choso Kamo’s mahogany coffee table typing away at it, you only grew more determined in the fact. And throughout the week, you’ve been flitting in and out of that very apartment of his.

Choso had been a lovely partner for the project - the best you could’ve ever asked for - and you’re coming to find that he was actually far more funny than anyone ever gave him credit for. Far more open. Far more active when it came to something he was passionate about.

And of course, you knew that he’d be sweet.

Despite his initial insistence that he could do the project himself, you’d taken up half the work. And you’d joined him in browsing through his massive catalogue of movies, in searching up screenplays to read, and in annotating them for techniques when starting to write yours.

You’ve come to make friends with one of the doormen by now. 

Just today you’d watched the 2004 Phantom of the Opera adaptation. And after a few hours of occupying his space and getting to know the nerdy boy a little better, you’d go straight back home to…Curse.

Whenever Choso made you feel tingly with his sweetness, Curse would amplify that heat to right between your legs. 

It’s been a week of getting to know Choso Kamo, and a week of having Curse splashed across your laptop screen—cock furiously hard n’ his moans echoing. He’d smile and utter your username whilst wearing his iconic mask and it’d be a high strong enough to follow into the day after. And often Choso would ask you what you’re so happy about.

Today, in particular, Curse had just finished one of his streams - cumming aaaaaall over the desk this time - when he’d settled himself back down and started chatting with the comments. Responding to one or two of yours.

You’re just about to joke about why he was sticking so long after his orgasm when he speaks once more- 

Voice somewhat serious, “Alright, now…settle down, settle down.” Curse waves his hand airily at the camera, throwing a middle finger up when the chat only gets more frenzied. “Tch- what brats you all are, would you wanna roleplay that someday?”

@vampzo333: YES PLEASE.

@likezmenpregnant: How about you be the brat…?

@Ietsmakeamovie: I would like that. 

@sixeyesorsixh0les: ^^

@0003h0lesforCurse: ^

“Fine fine…” Underneath the mask, he rolls his eyes fondly. “But I really do have something to announce-”

@likezmenpregnant: You’re pregnant.

@Ietsmakeamovie: I’m the father-

@Curse’swifey: NO MEEEEEEEEEEE!!

“I’m thinking of getting a partner for these streams.” He finally admits, rubbing his chin as though still in thought. And your heart stops-

@bipplruletheworld: so down.

@Cursenoticeme44: Omg yeeeeeeeeees!!

@daddytoeknee: YESYESYES.

The chat practically explodes, and you’re unsure what to feel about it—after all, you don’t know Curse and it’d be strange to feel a little possessive over his solo streams, however, you did have your preferences. But then again, you can’t help but imagine just how much hotter it would be to have two people- perhaps to see him make expressions he never has before…

Ultimately, you’re quiet as Curse leans in and scans the chat. His brows furrow just a little as he sweeps through the blurring usernames, “I dunno…I’m still thinking about it- I haven’t even asked this person, to be honest. I just wanted to know what you guys thought.” Nodding his head along or huffing out laughter at some of the comments, “Movie?”

You jolt—at being called out.

He wanted your opinion specifically? You suppose you did contribute to about half his comment section most streams.

But you stall as your fingers reach for the keyboard. 

Biting down on your lip and contemplating for a little while. Though he waits as patiently as ever-

@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t mind!!

Something seems to wash over him as he reads your comment, nodding. “I see.” 

He moves onto something else and his expression was indiscernible. 

You’re flickering your eyes to the artwork behind him, the small corner of it peaking into the frame, and it suddenly hits you that it’s the theatrical poster of The Phantom of the Opera (2004).

.

.

.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

There’s something your brain was telling you that you’re absolutely refusing to believe—after all, how many people in the world loved The Phantom of the Opera? Hell, how many people in the world have watched The Phantom of the Opera?

That didn’t mean that everyone you came across had a secret identity as one of the hottest streamers on C4mBoyfriends.

You were being paranoid, you told yourself. You were being utterly silly- and the next time you’re going over to Choso’s apartment was the very next day. Which wasn’t entirely ideal, given how much you’d tossed and turned after Curse’s last stream conjuring up all the possibilities…but Yaga wouldn’t accept a request for an extension even if you were set on fire in front of him. And so you went.

The pit of your stomach twists as Choso swings the lavish wooden door open and gives you a beaming smile. So innocent. So sweet.

He shakily pushes his glasses up as he welcomes you in. “Come in—s-sorry if I took a while to get to the door, I’ve been doing some decorating recently.”

His nervous smile is what makes you find your voice. And you’re dubiously looking around the luxurious apartment, “You need to do some decorating?”

“Believe it or not, yes.” Choso huffs. “Would you like something to drink? Or maybe to eat? I checked out that bakery you recommended last time and you’re right- they have the best Danish pastries.”

“Actually, Choso…” You’re shaking your head, shooting him a grateful smile. “I’m good. I’d think I’d prefer to start right away, if that’s alright? I really wanna get to Act 2 today.”

“O-oh, of course—!”

And he’s sweetly guiding you inside, whilst you attempt not to look like you’re taking two steps at a time. Back to that familiar room. Back to that familiar desk. Back to that (somewhat) familiar bed which most certainly did not have an artwork from The Phantom of the Opera on it—

You open the door and the first thing you’re seeing is the familiar plane of that white mask. The Phantom. 

Choso follows behind you and catches you staring at the poster. Gravelly tone echoing from behind, “I told you I did some decorating.”

And you jump-

Swivelling around to find him bearing you a sheepish smile, “Sorry if I startled you.” He pushes those chunky glasses up, “Tea?”

“S-sure…” You breathe, if anything for a thing to occupy your mouth with. Wait- not like that—!

And as Choso disappears down the hall, you’re taking a seat on the bed you’ve sat on countless, countless times before without a single care in the world. Now you’re sinking into the very - the very - edge as though it’d swallow you whole.

Body just resting on the plush comforter before-

“Hey, so I also have coffee if you would prefer?” Comes Choso’s sudden voice.

And you’re startling once more- “Just tea is fine, thanks.” Barely managing to get that through your lips, you’re watching as he disappears…as the sound of his footsteps echo…

Before darting off the bed and now heading towards the camera equipment you’d noticed in the corner the first time you’d been here. What you’d assumed to be part of another one of his classes or personal projects. Now, you’re leaning in and wondering with just which camera he showed his pretty cock off to millions, at just what height of his tripod he made your cunt so heated. 

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck this was real.

Now, you’re noticing things in the room that you’d never noticed before. Like the ring light kept underneath his bed, and the dresser in the corner with numerous rings- those weren’t costume props or anything. They were pure silver.

Heavy.

Heavy, like the pit in your stomach—excited and swirling. Just trembling at the tips of your fingers - ever-so-slightly - you’re reaching out as though to touch it, as though to feel the alternate version of Choso that you knew longer than you knew Choso-

“Ah, so you’ve realized.”

And then his voice permeates the room.

The room that suddenly seems smaller, the room that suddenly seems to rise ten degrees in temperature - though goosebumps skitter across your skin. And almost as though in a horror movie, you’re turning in slow motion to face the bespectacled man who was now holding up a tray of steaming hot tea. 

He walks over soundlessly and sets it on the coffee table with a slight click! And besides that, Choso walks over to the dressing table and puts his silver rings on.

One by one.

His eyes hold court with yours through the mirror, “How long?” Voice a deep timbre. 

You’re taking a step closer without even realizing, “Um…just last night. Just now- actually.”

He chuckles and you realize he’s asking how long you’ve known about Curse.

“I-I found you by chance. About a week ago, actually…” And then you say what’s been on your mind ever since you had, “Ever since you liked and unliked my repost.”

“Ah, a rookie mistake.” Choso comments. “I should have known better than to stalk using my public account.” And with all rings now put on and glinting in the lighting of his bedroom, Choso shuffles through his jewellery tray to pluck his earrings in and one eyebrow piercing. And then…one lip piercing—a lip ring that twinkles mischievously as he smiles.

He rises and you think you’ve never quite appreciated his built frame. 

His deep eyes as they’re locking in on you. Echoing out, “Though…you really can’t say much- can you, Movie?”

And though you knew that he knew- you can’t stop the zaps of electricity running through your body. 

Sputtering out, “Yeah-” Your fists clench and you’re looking up at the object of both your fantasies and your secret interest these past few days - melded into one. “Yeah, I really can’t. Choso you’re so…”

“Different?” He fixes his glasses, “Though I really am shy, I can’t deny that- especially around you. But it helps to be a little more antisocial when I’m around idiots.”

He leans in closer- so close that his scorchin’ hot breath wafts across your features. You have no idea how you’d diminished such a distance so soon…

“And if my memory serves me right-” Choso taps on the edge of his chin, in mocking thought. “-I seem to remember that Movie agreed to have a partner on my stream.” You shiver. And he looks at you adoringly, “So how about it? Wanna make a movie, baby?”

You step a little closer. 

“Only if I get to match wardrobes.”

He chuckles and picks you up to spin you around-

And then it’s getting to work. And then it’s shuffling through his closet to find a mask that matches his own. 

He stretches on the rubber a bit and brings it to you—“I bought this one when I first started, but it ended up being too tight- I think it’d be just the one for you.”

It was. It fit perfectly.

And then he paces around the room and starts to set up- before Choso’s gaze catches you hovering around the bed, and then he’s clicking his tongue and forgoing the tripods altogether. With just the professional lights and the high-quality camera, Choso places the camera on top of the coffee table. Facing the foot of the bed - everything and anything could be seen.

Just with a few clicks he’s started the stream.

And with just a little nudge he’s urging you to sit next to him. 

“Hello, my little sluts—” Choso- or should you say Curse croons towards the camera. On one of his monitors you can see him being projected there - waving, in his knitted vest that clashed with his mask. You stand off awkwardly out of sight from the camera. He smiles. “As you can see, things are a little different today…”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: uuuuuu change of angle!! change of angle!!

@bewbsRlife: ARE WE GETTING A SURPRISEEEEEEE??

@likezmenpregnant: Pls be pregnant, Curse <3

“No- no, I’m not pregnant.” He laughs, “But I have been thinking about what we talked about last night.”

@bipplruletheworld: omg this can’t be…

“And guess what? I did what you guys told me about- and I talked to her.”

@bipplruletheworld: yessssssss

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE^^

@bewbsRlife: WOOOOOO-

@daddytoeknee: Omg where’s Movie, Ik she’d love this- heh. Imagine this WAS Movie though…

“So, my little sluts…” Choso announces, “I’d like to introduce you all to my new partner—” And he’s reaching out and clasping your wrist, looking up to check for reassurance before continuing. Miming whispering to the camera, “And this is her first time on stream, so be nice…”

You’re sheepishly walking into their view. 

Slightly bowing your intrusion into the stream, “Th-thanks for having me?”

“Isn’t she cuuuuute?” He asks the commenters, and there’s a flurry of agreements. You’re even spotting a few questions about your name n’ interests, even kinks, amongst those - all of which Choso waves off with a laugh. “Now now—we can have the Q&A later. For now, let’s get to the fun part…”

@Curse’swifey: FUCK THAT’S MY FAV PART-

@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Movie you’re missing out on a historic moment uwu

And the fun part consisted of clamoring onto the bed as fast as lightning. Letting the mattress dip n’ creak its protests out as Choso sits on it with his back turned to the camera, then lovingly pats his manspread thighs as a signal for you to climb on. Meaty muscles. Thick enough for you to want to sink your teeth into- how could you never have noticed?

Perhaps because this was the polar opposite of how he acted when he was on campus - always keeping to himself, never taking up too much space. Now he was practically vacuuming it all up so you had nowhere else to sit.

And you were more than happy to climb onto Choso Kamo’s lap.

Sitting your ass down on his readily-awaiting seat. From under your skirt you feel something hot—and throbbing between his legs. Cylindrically shaped and curved to the left.

Just the slightest movement makes his rock-hard erection twitch underneath- and you’re whimpering at the lewd sensation. At the way he drips out a hefty dollop of precum that seeps through his trousers and sticks to the front of your panties, making you gasp—“Ch-Cho-”

“Shhhh.” Choso wraps a hand ‘round your throat and cuts you off. 

And before you know it, he’s bouncing his knees to get you to slide your drippin’ pussy up and down his bulge. Up and down. Turning towards the camera, “Ya hear that?” Up and down. “My girl’s so needy- she’s already begging for it. But I dunno if she deserves it, huh?”

@bewbsRlife: I MEANNNN

@theh0rniestsoldier: i’m feeling mean today…

@daddytoeknee: Give her your mouth!!

“Mouth? I love that idea.” Choso titters.

And then he’s giving a teasing slap on the side of your ass cheeks—smack! 

“Please-”

“Sit on my face now, baby.” He purrs, eyes flickerin’ with pure need underneath his mask. Then leaning in to whisper in a loooow tone for only you to hear. “You know Choso, but let’s see if you can handle Curse.”

Then he leans back on the bed - his head pointing in the direction of the camera. 

And you’re shuffling up Choso’s toned, brick-hard body—straddling your knees upon either side of his head, veerin’ your hips right atop that pretty face. You’re sitting - right in front of the camera. Though nothing was revealed…yet. 

And Choso’s digging his tongue up to you instantly- he isn’t even making it past the fabric of your panties. But that doesn’t stop him from lettin’ his tastebuds take a looooong, luxurious lick of your swollen pussy.

Right down your sopping wet slit. 

Suddenly, the room echoes with one of his pornographic moans- the very same ones you’d listened to night after night through your laptop speakers. Now they’re even louder, and somehow even sexier, sending electricity shooting straight up, up, up from your core.

And even more treacherous was the way you’re feeling something cold…and metallic at the very middle of Choso’s tongue. Rock-hard. It takes whatever’s left of your rationality to realize that it’s a silvery tongue piercing smack-dab where his tastebuds kissed your pussy. Scraping alongside where you were most sensitive. 

Instantly; your head tips back and saliva starts bubbling at the sides of your lips. “Fuh-fuck…” And before you know it—you’re starting to drag your throbbing pussy up n’ down his features.

Short, barely-there jerks of your shy, shy hips.

And Choso chuckles huskily to himself at the cute way you were yearnin’ for his mouth. But what you didn’t expect was for him to reach one ringed hand up and squeeze the left side of your hips.

Your only warning.

Before he’s suddenly tightening his hold on you and reaching one more hand up- snaking it beneath your skirt like some pervert. Choso edges towards your throbbing cunt and places one good slap—

It’s the resounding smack! of skin-on-skin that makes you halt more than anything.

Jaw-dropped. Thighs quivering. The white-hot pleasure runs through your spine and leaves you barely hearing his roughened words, a tone lower than you knew his voice to be- as though drunk on the delicious taste of your pussy already. “Greedy, greedy girl…” Choso tuts, “Don’t tell me you’re trying to enjoy yourself without letting our dear audience in on the fun?”

Oh, shit.

You’re letting your head snap to where the camera was positioned and blinking its one gluttonous eye. Comments flooding the screen of the monitor so fast that you couldn’t read them-

You’d completely forgotten about the stream for a second. 

“I—oh, I um.” 

Yet another harsh smack! “Forgot, huh?” Amusement seeps into Choso’s words, as though he’d already guessed the situation.

You admit, “M-maybe…”

“I’m afraid I can’t blame you, baby.” Smack! “Curse’s mouth is too good, huh?” He yammers on and on, his tongue nudging deeper, his rippling tastebuds skidding into every ridge- as if trying to fuck you through your damn panties. “This pussy’s too good–she’s purring f’me already. Hear her?”

And you’re not sure why- but you’re nodding to whatever he says. “Y-yes—fuck.” 

“Mhm. So why don’t we let our lovely audience hear, too, huh?” You’re barely given the time to register his suggestion, before Choso husks out a command. “Lift your skirt up, baby.”

Your thighs squeeze around his head at the notion-

And your fingertips touch the short hemline of your skirt.

@Cursenoticeme44: Holy shit.

@theh0rniestsoldier: i’ve been waiting for thisssssssssss-

@daddytoeknee: WOW.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: bby’s so needy!!

@R€4leater: munch Curse #canon

The chat explodes as you let them bear witness to Choso’s face stuffed between your pretty legs- he’s redly-flushed and ravenous. They could see the slightest glimpse of his nose n’ the way he’s driving it between your sodden pussylips, diving and diving, they could see the glossy layers coating your cunt—and the way Choso’s pink lips come up to suck on it. 

Those handsome cheeks of his hollow out, as he’s makin’ out with your pussy through your panties.

Like a man starved.

Long canines slightly nippin’ at your folds- almost wolfish in mannerisms.

“Oh p-please…” You’re quivering atop him. You don’t even know what you’re begging for—just that it feels so good to have him veering his tongue hungrily against your cunt like this. And you wanted more.

More, more, and more.

Choso’s holding onto your restless hips with a clammy hand- he’s stuck to you almost like adhesive. And he guides your hips - he fucking slows them down - whilst you continue moanin’ and shaking atop his raw mouth. Glistening wet tongue extending even more than its usual length to slide-slide-sliiiiide your panties to the side-

And you’re gasping at the sudden whiff of cold bedroom air against your naked pussy. “Ch-” A spank. “I mean- fuck, Curse?”

“Mhm, m’here, baby.” He drawls out. Slightly slurring with all the extra globs of your pussy juices - pooling straight into your mouth, n’ Choso reaches up and smooches your soft swollen folds to smear it all around. Like some gloss. “M’here aaaaaand- so are 820k sluts that wanna watch you break.”

“B-break?” You’re gaping, “I thought you were just gonna- ngh, eat me out…?”

“Baby, Curse never ‘just’ does anything.” And you’re shocked to find him sliding his tongue out, tipping his head back to refer to the camera on the coffee table. “Isn’t that right, fuckin’ pervs?”

@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah.

@0003h0lesforCurse: duhhhhhhhhh

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU’RE THE BEST CURSE

@Fishygurodad: Fuck, her pussy’s divine.

“Heh…” Choso smiles into your cunt, “And so whaddaya say? How many slaps before I stick my tongue in her?”

@vampzo333: 3

@bbynohuuuuzz: 14

@Ilikepr1menumbers: 29

“Since m’feeling nice- read your favorite one out, baby.” He murmurs.

To which you’re unable to do anything but- you tilt your upper half just the slightest bit closer to the monitor and pick out the first one you can read through the blur of words and numbers:

@Fishygurodad: Until she cries.

Oh.

Your blood runs cold.

Your cunt grows heated.

And before you can either rectify your recitation or beg for mercy—Choso doesn’t hesitate before fixing the rings on his fingers to be slightly higher than before. Making sure they’re in line of him planting one- two- three good, loud spanks on your sobbin’ cunt. “O-oh my god- fuck, mmm, oh my god.”

Until the skin of his fingertips seems to redden, and your pussylips feel raw - “How about that?” He asks- not from you, but from the viewers.

@daddytoeknee: I don’t see her crying yet…also idkkkkk I’m getting Movie vibes.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: movie would’ve loved this-

And then it’s one after the other. Again and again, Choso’s emblazoning the rude outlines of his rings against yours - until you’ve fucking memorized the ridges n’ patterns of the one ring on his middle finger with the carving of an octopus. 

Tentacles flared out.

“Shit, not that damn ring again.”

And as he’s doing so he can’t help himself- fuck, he can’t heeeeelp himself. His canines dig into the sticky fabric of your underwear like a damn dog - and throughout the duration of what his hands were doing, you’re hearing the sharp riiiiip of fabric tearing—!

Soon enough, your panties are tattered and ruined in Choso’s maw- just from his mouth. He spits it out and continues swerving his thickened tips inwards to give a loving pinch on your clit—and you can’t help but burst into peals of shrill, needy cries. Both pain and pleasure mixing as he doles out a final swat-

Before Choso swipes your pussylips apart and spits- the glutinous glob of his saliva landing directly on your hole. He doesn’t give it the time to seep back out—instead, he’s surging up and shoving his face between your legs.

This time, without the barrier of your panties in the way. 

@CCpervnextdoor: HE FUCKING RIPPED IT OFF WITH HIS MOUTH??

@bewbsRlife: HOLY SHIT CURSE-

@Fishygurodad: Shiiiiit, I’d do the same ngl.

And then Choso’s shoving his tongue inside and slurpin’ all around your wet hole like a damn animal…

In and out.

In and out.

Probin’ into slippery sweet spots.

Chin hitting the back of your slit. Plastic mask rubbing against your clit. 

Choso’s pierced tongue was going absolutely fucking wild inside of you. He wastes no time before gripping either side of your cute hips and slammin’ your pussy down onto his mouth- hard and fast. The perverted nerd is slashing his tongue inwards, smearin’ apart your glue-covered folds. As deep as he could go. He doesn’t care if it hurts, he just needs to make sure that loooong slick muscle of his tastebuds were scrapin’ every inch of your walls.

With the curved tip of it, he flexes it against a sweet bundle of nerves. Making you buck with a pitchy moan of his name—“Ch-Cuuuurse—!” And the sensation was made even more delicious with the way his orb tongue piercing presses in contrast against your hot cunt. “It feels so good, Curse.”

“I already know.” Choso pipes up- cocky in all the ways you never knew he could be. “I already know- but what about those fuckers watching, huh?”

“W-well…” Spit drivels down your chin, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes focused to read the urgent chat. 

@bipplruletheworld: they’re so HOT!!

@NERDSAREMYBABYGIRLZ: OHHHH WHAT A MUNCH

@daddytoeknee: Me next <3

And it was clear that they were seeing the effect he had on you- how could they not?

Your eyes were dazed and teary, your thighs were shaking like leaves in the wind, Choso was making your body twitch—just from the way he’s reeling his entire tongue out. And breathing out steadily and slowly against your twitchin’ pussylips, freezing cold air that leaves you even wetter on top of him.

He’s unfastening his mouth - leaving it wiiiiide open for all the satiny ribbons of your slick to enter his gullet. And once you’re done- that isn’t enough riling you up.

Choso leaves a good slap on your folds and asks, “So…what about it?” Muffled through his mouthfuls.

“They agree- they agree—” You’re keening out. Star-struck, seeing pleasure burst behind your shuttered eyelids at the sudden stinging. “Fuck- you’re the hck! best I’ve ever had, Curse.”

“I agree.” He hums. And as if this entire ordeal wasn’t sinful enough, Choso’s swashing around the silky-smooth sap he’d collected from your leaking pussy. Letting the flavor seep into his tastebuds, before he’s then spitting again on your pussy. A semi-opaque layer of lewdness that coats your inner thighs in a sheen that catches the lighting. 

Perfect on camera.

You’re squeezing your wettened thighs together and creating an audible squelch!

“Awwww, look- this pussy agrees, too.”

The gooey addition startles you- and you rut.

Only straight down onto his awaiting fingers.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: oh, shit is he…

@legsopenforcurses: With the rings on, too!!

@likezmenpregnant: My show is onnnnn

It’s such a fucking mess for him to navigate- even with his own fingers. Soon enough, you’re arching your back as you feel him intrude a single ringed digit between those utterly swollen pussylips of yours—almost difficult to find your snug hole between them. You’re damn lucky that Choso’s fingers were slender as well as incredibly lengthy.

Because he’s circlin’ your tight orifice a few times - only a few times - before inserting the sections of his finger. Quirking just right and hitting the exact bundle of your nerves.

That infamous g-spot that made you yelp once he starts and keeps on hitting.

And his rings- oh, fuck, his rings.

Just so chunky and textured. They were the perfect designs to press up against your walls and massage them stupid- every drag meant that you’re feeling them dig into ridges n’ crevices you hadn’t even known existed. 

Hitting and hitting. Curling his dexterous finger and scraping- “Fuuuuck, oh my god.” The doughy tip of his finger soon becomes damn-near molded to the area where it was, and your eyes flicker to the back of your head as you continue anglin’ your hips so he could hit it perfectly. “Right there, Curse- r-right there.”

“I know.” Choso rolls his eyes - at least what seems like it underneath his mask. “That’s why I’m hitting it. Honestly…is my girl dickmatized?” He utters as he sucks on your clit—ultimately erupting a sobbing slurp! that makes him nod. “Mhm, I think my girl’s dickmatized.”

Tipping his head back before you can refute his claims. He then addresses the audience-

“Whaddaya think, my little pervs? Dickmatized already…maybe I should go easy on her, huh?”

@olderandR4w: nooooooooooo

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: NEVER.

@Fishygurodad: Go even harder.

“Tough crowd.” And with that said, Choso’s stuffin’ in just a few more fingers. Each with their own numerous rings and sopping wet sounds accompanying them—slurp!

One. 

Two.

You’re counting about three of his prolonged digits pushin’ your tight walls to their limits, rubbing your sweet spots raw with his constant bashing rhythm, before lustful fogginess coils around your brain. And it’s around here that Choso catches onto the glazed look in your eyes and chuckles—

“Ohhhh, you really are dickmatized.” He hums to himself, though you’re sure the professional mic picks it up either way. “And so soon, too. Probably hasn’t had a good finger-”

A fourth being added so that he can scissor apart your velvety channel whilst still multi-tasking with his other fingers to ram into your g-spot.

“-or even a good mouth on ‘er…” To emphasize his point, he presses a dramatically loud kiss upon your clit. One that’s making you bounce n’ bounce your hips atop his clammy face, and grind your throbbing nub down on his pointed nose. The addition of his mask just makes that cool touch even more lecherous. “My poor girl.” Choso still mutters out despite the way he’s gluing your cunt to his mouth. He pulls away from your clit with a loud pop! “What do you think, my slutty audience?”

At the slurring question you’re letting your head down to watch him. “Ch…Curse, what’ve you got on your mind-”

“M’just asking what else you deserve, baby.” He coos. And questions them once more, “How about a little quiz? Which parts of Curse are going to make my poor, poor girl feel the best? A). My fingers. B). My mouth. Or…”

And he pretends to listen to your noisy wet pussy once more.

“Or C…”  You could practically feel the grin plastering against your needy pussy. The way his eyes narrow in sinful amusement beneath his mask- you didn’t have to see his full face to know that Choso was enjoying this perhaps way more than he should. “—all of the above.”

And it was futile to think that they would answer anything else.

C floods your vision.

You’re letting your mouth droop, and your gaze meet Choso’s own between your legs- but you’re finding that you don’t have to say a thing for him to already know the answer.

And as expected, he gives a final roll of his tongue atop your clit - before munchin’ on your aching cunt once more. This time, he’s tunneling his fingers deep into your cavern whilst still licking inside with his prolonged tongue—when stretched out, Choso’s tongue could reach almost as deep as his fingers could.

Your cunt was being stretched-out to lengths you never thought about before.

Not only were Choso’s fingers thicker than yours, but his tongue was something ravenous- no matter how much you’re flinching in sensitivity, he isn’t slowing down. “Mmm-” He groans, barely breathing through even his flared nostrils. You’re hit with the distinct feeling that he thinks he doesn’t even have to breathe as long as he had you on him like this - “Mmm, hold still.”

Taking advantage of the fact to lavish your sensitive inches with kiss upon kiss. To grind his nose down purposefully on your clit. To glide his metallic piercing across those hidden spots. To bash your poor g-spot in again and agaaaain with his fingers before his tongue’s coming to the rescue to soothe the slightly raw sting-

So it’s not long before you’re throwing your head back and cumming.

Perhaps the strongest you’ve ever felt when you’re in the throes of your high.

You barter your hips forwards and keep up a steady pace - one that’s making Choso hit the exact spots you wanted him to during the peaks of your high. The utmost peaks. “Shit—shit, just like that.” Breathless. “K-keep going, baby, it feels so good.”

And he doesn’t even answer - too caught up in fucking you through your orgasm.

In the way you shudder above him. In the way you’re only getting even sweeter by the second-

Bodyheat raising a few degrees in temperature; your heart sings and the bed creaks with how much you’re jostling from above. This was even better than touching yourself to videos of him, there were so many thrills of bliss that he’s wringing out of you- like he’d wring out of himself during his solo videos. 

With both his fingers and his tongue, slurpin’ and sliding. Those doe-like eyes of his are edging straight to the back of his skull as he feels your drenched walls cleeeeench around his pierced tongue, as though it’s the best thing he’s ever fucking felt. And you’re acting on impulse - you really are - because the coffee table was positioned right beside the foot of the bed.

And all you had to do was reach your arm out to grab the simple camera there. Turning it into your point of view as Choso’s sweaty brown bangs stick to his forehead, as sweat trickles down his temple, as he lets out soft yet unyielding moans whenever you’re squeezing your thighs around his head.

@cockycockowner: no homo but that’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.

@theh0rniestsoldier: woah he’s PUSSYDRUNK

@Fishygurodad: Show me his POV.

@daddytoeknee: Don’t you know that she’s his girl now smh?^^

@daddytoeknee: Movie-core- wya ml??

Choso cocks his head and keeps making out with your pussy in all the ways that make your toes curl—pleasure elongating from your orgasm and spreading into every part of you. Your vessels, your cells, your atoms.

They’re all buzzing with pleasure and still aching for more once Choso finally pulls away with a loud pop! of his lips releasing. 

When they do, you’re sneaking a look down at him and noticing just how red n’ swollen they were. Even the skin around his jaw was flushed with the constant ramming contact. And the viewers are just gobbling it up - subscribing bells keep dinging here and there, and everywhere. 

Just a single look at his stats on-screen reveal that Choso’s climbed up to 870k just since you’d started this stream.

And it’s after a little while - after he’s had his fill - that the dark-haired man finally taps at the side of your thigh to gesture for you to get up. Though, even then, he’s tightening his grip on your body—going against his own fucking instruction to press a final few open-mouthed kisses before he’s done.

He chases after your pussy with his maw for a little- before he’s finally sitting up.

And it’s only then that he seems to notice the camera in your hand, blinking his glazed eyes a few times to make sure he isn’t dreaming things up. Once it finally registers, the most attractive grin spreads across his face. “You changed POVs?”

“Had to.” You admit, “I wanted them to see how pretty you are…”

“Guess you finally learned about sharing, hm? Greedy girl.” He chuckles darkly to himself. And then he starts looming closer, “But you realize that the show’s not done yet, right?”

You gulp.

@Fishygurodad: Fuck her already, damn!! I’m only here for her.

@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Hate to admit it, but he’s lowk right. I think I’ve discovered I’m bi…

@vampzo333: ^^

@girrrrrrrrrrth: ^^

“So impatient.” He looks at the monitor, reading the chat and tuts. “Honestly- so ungrateful. I should end the stream right here and fuck her on my own terms.”

There’s a frenzied flurry of comments- all of which you were sure were begging for Choso not to stop and bashing that one commenter for attempting to start a revolution. To which you’re only giggling and handing over the camera to him.

Choso - as the expert - then positions it somewhere by the edge of the fluffy pillows: where they’d be able to see the expanse of both your bodies and where you’d soon be connected…

And then you’re shedding your clothes in a hurry- making it to your smart blouse before he’s reaching a hand up and tearing through it. The buttons hit the floor, and at your noise of displeasure Choso merely lets out a half-delirious giggle. 

He leans in and whispers, “I-I have a Phantom of the Opera t-shirt I’d love for you to wear.”

The change in demeanour gives you utter whiplash, and you can’t help but stare at him open-mouthed.

“What?” Choso asks, next moving on to shrugging off his own fabrics. They’re landing on a heap beside the bed, and your lips slightly part at the display of his red-hot erection—it’s just as large and sensual as all those streams had proven him to be. Polished strawberry top. Slender veins along the middle. 

A happy trail of dark brown - nearly black - glistened with the splattered remnant of his precum. Just like the gleaming mess across his chin, mouth, and cheekbones that Choso wore like a medal.

He was slightly longer than even on camera- and even prettier up-close. Way up close- he shuffles his body up yours n’ fucks your tits a few times to dollop out glistening translucent precum across yours tits.

“Lighting’s not the best here.” Choso explains- or at least attempts to pin an explanation onto that. Onto something he’s clearly been wanting to do for so long. “Had to highlight ‘em, baby.”

You scoff, “It’s just…” Throwing a cautious glance at the camera, you lower your voice. “You’re so different from how you are in real life.”

“Oh? And how did you expect me to be, huh?” He positions himself between your legs - wrapping both of them around his waist. Before then thinking better of it and throwing them even more lewdly around his neck instead—his plush priggish tip kisses your entrance. “Did you expect me to be like…”

He trails off.

He doesn’t need to complete the rest of his sentence- and you don’t think you’d have heard him even if he tried.

Because in that very moment, Choso’s jerking his pale hips back a mere few inches—then plopping his globular tip between your pussylips and push-push-puuuuuushing. Fucking past the initial restraint of your first ring of muscle, he’s funneling in some thick inches that make your heels bang against the muscles of his back.

And he doesn’t even seem to notice.

He doesn’t even seem to breathe as he’s letting his cock swerve inside. Get suctioned inside. Get his Prince Albert’s piercing crept down your sensitive innards. Get gobbled up between your greedy legs-

You clench ‘round him and Choso throws his head back with a low, broken moan.

“Oh p-please—” He’s babbling out through unsteady pink lips, a lazy line of dribble starting up from one corner of his mouth. Those long lashes of his flutter as he’s reaching one bulky hand up to grip the headboard, and placing his right one on your hips- keeping you steady.

Fingers trembling. Muscles rippling.

@likezmenpregnant: Woah…make him do that again…

@sixeyesorsixh0les: SUBBY CURSE HELLO??

@whimperwhiteboywhimper: oh I am SO here for this

@Fishygurodad: Whatever…

Your eyes bulge once his throat cracks with what sounds like a whimper—“Please it feels so good.” And though you couldn’t quite make it out, even the chat seemed stunned as Choso punctures out a broken stutter of his hips. Delving a few inches into your goopy insides- though not enough to bottom out completely, as you’re still too wound-up for him to fit completely. And you’re able to pinpoint exactly where he’s using the orbed metal of his first piering. With more to come…“Ngh- oh.” Broken noises emanating into your eardrums and the mic. “It f-feels shooooo good, baby.”

Choso’s head drops into the crook of your neck, and there - and there - you’re feeling his cheeky grin.

And suddenly you’re understanding.

Oh—he was toying with you.

And he was doing it in a way that’d completely fooled you- and perhaps all of his viewers, too.

But before you’re able to open your mouth to bite back something at him, Choso staggers his hips back and gives you a vicious jackhammer with his cock, “O-ohhhhh, my god—” Your toes curl atop his shoulders, slippery with sweat. He hadn’t even rammed all the way inside yet, and yet the slightly left-leaning angle of his shaft was driving you wild.

Big and thick.

Running the slick globe of his tip down your walls, Choso probes a direct hit to that spot you loved so much. And he knew you loved it so much—he’d mapped out your entire pussy earlier, of course.

And yet, he’s still gasping as though the pearls gates of heaven had descended right here and there. He’s letting his sweet caramel eyes widen convincingly as he peers down at you, “I-is that…the spot, baby?”

@Curse’swifey: HE sounds SO NGH.

@daddytoeknee: Daddy likey…

@daddytoeknee: Also Movie would’ve really LOVED this, huh?

You hiss, “Curse, you should already know-”

“But how could I know—?” He exclaims. “This is my first time, after all…” Then Choso’s plastering his clammy tattooed hips - with a snake on the side - to yours, as though the two were connected by the force of the world’s strongest magnets: pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing. Every single battering ram of his mazing cocktip ends up lodged against your sweetly bruised g-spot, marking his circumference out with the sheer pace at which he was hitting it. 

“Shit—” Your nails clench on the sheets, and feeling jealous- Choso guides them to fist his hair instead. “Shit, right there. It f-feels so good-”

“There?” The once-nerdy man breathes out in awe. Disbelief every single time - or at least the mocking imitation of one. Swipin’ a line of precum down your nervy spot once more, “Th-there, baby—?”

Something breathy- octaves higher in his tone. “Yes- yes there-”

“There-” Choked up and ruined. Husky grunts hatching in the back of his throat. There was something there in his words that you couldn’t quite pinpoint—a sort of undertone of primal need, primal amusement as he ruined your pussy with his speedily pap-papping hips, but acted as though he had no idea what he was doing. Every single syllable uttered was met with a thorough whack of his curved cockhead against your particular spot- “There there there there- there-”

“Fuh-fuuuck-”

“So this g-spot’s really m-mine now, baby?” Choso asks. 

You whine, back arching off the mattress. “Yes-”

“Does she really have my mark on it now?”

“Yes…?” Eyes shooting open as you’re half-registering his question in your hazed brain. He bores his dark eyes down at you intensely. And as though to emphasize his point, you’re feeling his perfectly round tip squeezing into your throat by the next few thrusts. Deeper and deeper.

His Jacob’s Ladder starting to ease its frigid way past your entrance and glide across the roof of your cunt. It was a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

Choso probes even more, “I-is she really shaped to the shape of my cock now?” 

“Cho—ngh.” Quickly shutting your cockdrunken self up. Quickly reaching a ringed hand up to squeeze your throat- before he’s languidly snaking his way up to squeezing your pretty cheeks together.

Smushing your face in a way that was almost disrespectful- though, not that you were in any state of mind to call him out on it. And there’s a mean inkling in Choso’s tone as he coos, “Awww, b-baby, why aren’t you answering me?” Another rude slap! of his hips make your own sear in flames- that damn strength of his. Those damn piercings of his. “Is your poor, poor Curse not good enough?” 

Before you can answer, he’s looking at the blinking camera. 

“My babies, my girl doesn’t love my cock anymore…”

“I do—I do-” 

Squeezing his doughy-soft restraints - those contrastingly mean fingers of his - around your cheeks. He’s managing to smush your mouth shut and make you echo out the most pathetically pleading whines—as he fucks you. Determined and targeted.

The glossy rotund edge of his tip presses against your g-spot a few more times before you’re managing to make yourself take a peek at the comments on the monitor. 

Almost too far away- almost too blurry with the tears in your eyes. 

@Curse’snewestharem: Awwwww poor bby </33

@CCpervnextdoor: I would LOVE your cock, Curse!!

@girrrrrrrrrrth: is it just me or is he teasing us?

@Fishygurodad: ^^Yeah, he’s totally a fraud.

@Curseswombmommy: ^^girl shut up

“Th-they really think you’re oh-so-innocent…” You’re whispering up at him. Overstimulated tears in your eyes.

Breath hitching every time he’s surging his tattooed hips forwards and hitting that one spot particularly hard. Though there was never such a thing as too hard…

And Choso’s shooting you a secret smile - one just between the two of you - before morphing his expression into that of picture-perfect innocence. Roleplaying the demeanor of his nerdy self on campus, mixed with the utterly sultry—sexual way he was draaaaagging his lengthy cock in and out of your cunt.

Eventually, Choso’s emptying his inches out n’ bruising the bottom of your pussy. All of his nine - you seriously felt nine throbbing inches - inches shaping out the in-betweens of your legs. All of the beaded barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging inside- the slitherin’ feeling of them making themselves at home. Zig-zagging and slithering. 

He feels the sponginess of your cervix and presses a hand down on your abdomen just to make sure, before changing that excitement into one of almost-genuine bafflement- “I-I really bottomed out?” Choso’s pinkish bottom lip juts out and quivers dramatically.

“Of course, you did.” You’re ready to scoff-

But whatever sarcastic sound was in the back of your throat gets quickly dissolved at the sight of Choso with genuine tears in his eyes. Glistening. “But I never- ngh, never thought I’d be able to.” He puts some more merciless pressure on your stomach that makes you buck—

And the only thing you can do is let your head tip back into the pillows.

The only thing you can do is let out a few mottled moans as he rubs over the small tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushing his palm down so that he could feel it. 

Whispering out, “I-I never thought this pussy would claim my cock as- ngh, hers, hm?” And for the moment there, you’re completely sure that he isn’t talking to you. Rather, your pussy that was sobbing out squelches after every one of his jackhemmerin’ thrusts. “And it’s not too big, right?”

“N-never—”

“Because m’just a nerd with a- hngh, biiiiiig fuckin’ cock.” How pitiful, right? He’s letting his long, dark lashes flutter as Choso avoids meeting your eyes—as though in shyness. He drills his hips even deeper - one unforgettable strike after the other following every word he spoke. “Just a big- fat- fucking- cock-”

“Please—!” Eventually, your arms reach upwards and you’re grabbing ahold of whatever part of him it is you could reach first. Which just-so-happened to be his bulky deltoids.

Choso’s brows genuinely seem to furrow at the lewdness of you digging your nails into his muscles, leaving your marks for everyone and anyone to see even after this stream has ended. And so he continues in his faux-innocent tone, “Oh? Did that feel good, baby?”

Purposefully slidin’ his cock across your g-spot so that you’d have to cry out. “Y-yeeees—”

“I didn’t even know, baby.” His mouth hangs open, and the most lustrous squelches! echo between your two connected bodies. Your cunt n’ his precum were making such messes…“I had no idea…”

His Jacob’s Ladder leaves your channel feeling raw n’ overstimulated- you feel raw and overstimulated. 

And you’re laid-out on the bed dazed and feeling so fucking good as Choso’s picking his pace up even more, you notice for a split-second that his hands have moved. No longer was he holding onto your cheeks n’ watching you squirm—now, the nerdy man hooks both hands around your sweaty thighs and pins them close to his body.

Holding them in place as he leans down, down, dooooooown until the caps of your knees hit your tits. 

You’re keening at the stretch, and a searing burn spreads from between your pussy and along your hamstrings. How did he even hide such strength underneath those soft knitted vest? Such a body?

Before you know it, you’re being pressed into your first-ever mating press.

And Choso gapes as though he was just as bewildered as you, “O-oh…did I do that?” He’s fucking asking you—however, when your stunned expression bears no answer, he turns and asks the same question from the camera. The bursts of replies obviously agree n’ tease him. And he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly, “Did I really bend you in- heh-” A slight chuckle escapes him. “—half, baby?”

And what else can you do but nod and nod and nod—? 

“I think this is called a…breeding press?” He cocks his head ever-so-slightly, before shaking his head. “No wait- a mating press.”

“A m-mating press.” You’re repeating lamely.

“I c-can’t believe I’ve folded you into a mating press, baby.” Choso nearly snarls at himself, his hips accelerating until that rouge-tipped cock of his was almost nothing but a blur. “Can’t believe—s’like my body is moving before my mind, ngh. My fat cock’s not hittin’ you too deep, right, my girl?”

“Not in the l-least…”

And he really was long enough to make each and every probe feel as though it was slam-slam-slamming into your throat- the capped crown of his shaft was entering crevices n’ crannies you hadn’t even known you possessed. All marked out precisely by the silvery orb of his Prince Albert’s. 

Just then, after your answer, Choso reaches his left hand up to wrap ‘round your throat - and then hauls you back down to meet his slapping hips.

A thrust even harder than the ones before it.

Your breath gets snatched out of your lungs, dissipating into the heady air filled with the contact-riddled sounds of sex. Hard and fast. Only getting harder the longer you have your ankles looped ‘round his neck—“Not too hard, is it, baby?” Chosos asks you once more.

And you don’t have anything to spit out besides, “Oh f-fuck off.”

He gasps dramatically-

Well, not exactly dramatically. But in a way you knew was fake, and in a way that sends the chat exploding into comments.

The nerd pouts cutely, “Well, that’s not very nice…”

You’re rolling your eyes—right before Choso’s genuinely sending them rolling with his two fingers clamped around your clit. Using the silvery edges of his rings, he runs a few massages that end up with you sobbing and blabbering out your pleasure. 

@Curse’swifey: FUCKKKKKKKKKK they’re both so hot. THEY’RE BOTH SO RUINED.

@peepeesarebetterfictional: they both look like they’re gonna cum soon hehe

@bewbsRlife: CUM CUM CUM CUM CUM

Biting back. “I would argue th-that that’s not very nice, either.”

“But m’just trying to make my gorgeous girl cum…” And from where he’d been looming his pretty face above yours, Choso then lets his head droop down between your tits. During his ravenous pace, he’s roverin’ his mouth all over to kiss and suck at your tits, your nipples.

His cold lip ring drags across your left areola- and he catches onto the way you’re shivering. Before Choso then grabs your nipple between his lips n’ hollows his cheeks out sucking—“Promise m’just trying to make you feel- hah, good.” He mutters, slightly muffled. “Promise I just wanna fuck my cock raw if it means making my lifelong crush feel good…”

“Cho- Curse, are you…?” Your eyes widen.

And his own flap droopily a few times, “Hmmm?”

And that proved it.

That proved it.

Because Choso Kamo could be pretending to be a stuttering, panting, blushing mess on your heavenly cunt all he wanted- he could pretend to be pussydrunk out of his mind. But at the end of the day, it was impossible to hide when pretend turned into something…more. 

When the cocksure streamer that’d been driving you wild all this time morphs into the contentedly pussy-whipped nerd you expected him to be deep down inside.

His eyes genuinely glazed and blinking longingly.

His hair drenched in sweat.

His skin flushed with need- and only flushing even more fiercely the longer he kept his eyes on you. 

Without much ado, you’re throwing your hands around his neck and tuggin’ him as far as he could crane his neck when his entire body feels like collapsing onto you and into your maddening pussy. 

Choso pistons his hips slightly upwards to hear the slurp of his Jacob’s Ladder sliding across your walls, and he grooooans—

“Curse, baby…” You hum.

“Mhmmmm?” He replies with half-lidded eyes. Barely focused.

This was the big, bad #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends? As though sensing your thoughts, Choso’s fingers grow a little more frenzied on your clit. “I need you to cum inside, okay?”

He jolts at the idea- that sinful, sinful idea. Before chuckling, “Never had any other plan, baby.” And then he turns to the camera, “What do you think, fuckers? Think my girl deserves to cum?”

@Fishygurodad: Yes.

@Curse’swifey: YES.

@likezmenpregnant: Yesssss~

@girrrrrrrrrrth: yesyesyes.

@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah-

He’s holding out a little longer to make sure there wasn’t a single ‘no’ in there - and had there been one, you’re sure that Choso would have stopped and edged your incoming orgasm until it was a wave of complete agreement.

Luckily for you, they liked you.

And all he does now is press down harder on your g-spot from inside, lingering, and massage a pretty heart on your clit once more, lingering—before a final, thorough stroke is all it takes for you to hurtle into your second high of the night.

For you to arch your body into his chest, and shutter your eyes. “Ch-Cho…” 

Barely a whisper. He’s crashing his mouth into yours to make sure that secret between you two isn’t revealed. And you’re moaning deeply into Choso’s mouth as you cum—“Feels so- oh. It feels so…”

“Mhmmmm.”

Unable to even find the words.

The only thing you can do is riiiiiide out the massive wave of your high. It’s torrential; pure bliss floods your system from head-to-toe, and no matter how much you’re squirming your overstimulated hips, Choso only succeeds in batterin’ away his pierced cock into eeeevery single hidden sweet spot inside of you. The ones that prolonged your bliss and left spikes of euphoria leading up to your brain.

Your cunt clenched so tightly around his cock- almost as though you didn’t want him to even pull out. And Choso’s sweaty head drops once more into the crook of your neck as he cums with a shudder.

The knot between his brows deepening, the bedsheet around his knees bunching up as he surges his body upwards. Almost animalistically.

Choso bottoms out his furious, twitching cock and keeps it there- “Oh, fuck…” It didn’t sound like he was acting once his bawling red divot starts splatterin’ out more milky white wads. Deeep in the back of your pussy, right where your womb was, Choso puddles out his ecstasy in long ribbons. “Oh fuck fuck fuck—fuck. Always knew it’d feel this good.”

Wave upon wave.

Toes curling. Eyes scrunching shut.

If you thought his moans were sensual before, then you weren’t prepared for the ones your pussy was able to drag out of him - ragged and hollow utterances of your name. Over and over like a broken record, like a mantra.

He’s fucking into you to milk them out of his hefty balls- then fucking you again just to pump those webbed wads right back in. From the top of his rotund tip and dooooooown to the tufts of hairs at his base. All nine inches of him being used to stuff you till the brim—

You’re sure your insides look like an utter fuckin’ mess by the time he’s slowing his tattooed hips down ever-so-slightly—still shaking from the aftermath of his orgasm. This was far stronger than anything he’s ever experienced before. 

Drunkenly, you’re blinking your eyes up at him. “Always?”

He smiles, “Ever since our first lesson of Film 101.” Admitting, he lovingly wipes off a bit of his cum you were foaming between your pussylips. “You referenced Pride and Prejudice when talking about the best lines of dialogue of all time, and I-I’d been a goner since then.”

“Corny…” You snort. Though you can’t help the flutter of your heart.

“So um- coffee after this?”

“It better be dinner.”

He laughs in agreement. “Also I bought a vibrating piercing the other day and have been dying to try it…”

Your eyes widen.

And once you’re helping him pull out- Choso reaches for the camera and gets a good shot of the cum leaking between your legs. Before you’re both waving at it, “Thank you for joining us, today—this was the most fun I’ve had on stream yet- heh.”

You’re shooting the camera a pretty smile, too.

And Choso kisses the corner of your cheeks, “Until next time. This has been Curse and Movie.”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: holy fuck??

@Curse’swifey: WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT NO WAY-

@bewbsRlife: HOLD ON-

@CCpervnextdoor: SAY SIKE RN?

@bipplruletheworld: oh my god that’s amazing.

@likezmenpregnant: Oh, a love story for the ages~

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU TWO LOOKING FOR A THIRD??

@Fishygurodad: Damn.

@Fishygurodad: Hmu when he messes up.

@daddytoeknee: Stfu he won’t.

@daddytoeknee: Also I totally called it <3

A/N. I did NOT plan to have me inserted and beefing with Toji Fushiguro but here we are-

of course, where. the details, in a crisis, are secondary, but if he needs to be anywhere he has to know where to go. a stutter on the line, "uuh... is this bakugou katsuki speaking?"

katsuki blinks — this doesn't sound like his secretary, and if they aren't, they better have a good reason for waking him up at three in the fucking morning. "yeah, it is. why, you got the wrong number or somethin'?" he grunts.

there's shuffling on the other end. "um, no. this is musutafu central hospital calling. your wife took a hit during patrol and is now in surgery and stable, but we always need to call the closest relative even if in your line of work it's probably the norm."

the norm? you haven't been hit so bad that you needed to go to the hospital in years, let alone needed surgery. the nerve this woman has is too much for sleep-deprived bakugou, who just hangs up in her face as she rambles on about how much of a fan of his she is — is this girl an intern? did they just give his number to a rando?

you'll need clothes, he figures while throwing some of your shirts and pants in a duffel bag, as well as probably a little pick-me-up — he'll pass by the store on the way to the hospital. can you even eat snacks right out of surgery? he has no idea, but he'll smuggle in a whole pack of snickers bars anyways.

you had patrol last — this — night. they suck, but they have to happen at least twice a week, and nothing this serious has ever happened before. your husband is worried, of course, but as much as he is, he knows you can handle yourself and your opponents pretty well, and a hospital visit shouldn't undermine your worth.

he arrives at the hospital twenty minutes later, and goes up to the front desk with all the tension that a husband worried for his wife can have, "i'm looking for my wife — she should've been admitted earlier this morning before going for surgery."

the receptionist asks him for your name and looks it up on her computer, before smiling cordially at him, "oh, congratulations! your wife was just checked into the maternity ward. room 202, first floor,"

bakugou squints at her. now, he doesn't know a lot about hospitals, but surely you're in no maternity ward — he saw you yesterday evening before your shift and you didn't look pregnant at all. "i think i would notice if my wife was pregnant. check again, you must've gotten it wrong."

the receptionist frowns, looks again at her computer and shakes her head, "nope. room 202, maternity ward, first floor. i... sometimes it can happen."

katsuki doesn't think that babies can happen in the span of mere hours, but he's too tired to complain again. the hospital must've been full and just put you in the first room available, he figures, not caring about which ward you were in as long as you were put in a room.

he finds room 202 pretty easily and steps in without even knocking — it's not like he could see anything he's never seen before. "hey, the hospital called me a while ago to tell me you were in surgery, i brought you clothes and snacks and—"

he stops in his tracks, looking at the most tired version of you he's ever seen. you're laying on the bed, left arm bandaged and right arm with an IV on it. you've got a thick blanket on your chest, which your arms rest on. "...hi," he says tentatively, feeling like he's missed something big, "um... what happened to your arm?"

he's calm now, but you know that in the morning — once the sleepiness wears off and he finally is conscious about his bearings, he'll start yelling about the guy who scratched your arm and about how he's going to blow him up. thankfully, he's still not at the best of his capacity yet.

"katsuki," you say, weary. he stands up straighter. "remember the stomach ache i had yesterday?"

he frowns, "was that it? i told you to call out of work, you weren't feeling that well. damn you, woman, you never listen to me— was it appendicitis? food poisoning?"

"katsuki." you murmur again, a little firmer this time. he's getting real worried for sure, now. "what is it? it's too early for a fucking guessing game — you just got hospitalised!"

you sigh, clearly not knowing how to tell him whatever it is you're afflicted with. his mind's swarming with possibilities — is it chronic? are you dying? is it cancer? the only thing he knows is that it's never lupus.

you opt for the simplest way of revealing it to him: with your hand you lift up the blanket over your chest and reveal a soft tuft of blonde hair, "this is... well, i was hoping we could choose a name together."

bakugou blinks and bluntly blurts out, "whose baby is that? did you steal a baby?"

"of course not, dumbass! i didn't know i was pregnant!"

"how did you not know you were pregnant?" he drops the bag, hands going to his hair, "how did i not know you were pregnant? did i just miss the birth of our firstborn?"

miwa — who is barely thirty minutes old and already has her daddy wrapped around her finger — is a little rascal who just hid. in your belly. for nine months. she has to thank the universe that you don't drink and haven't taken any rough hits on the job these past few months, because everything about a cryptic pregnancy seems to bakugou like a voluntary gamble on life on the fetus' part.

she was pretty lucky to have an awesome mom like you, too, because katsuki's pretty sure that he would freak out if he went to the hospital for an arm injury, also told the doctor about stomach pains and then just had to birth a whole ass baby.

no wonder hime went unnoticed, though — she's so small she fits in her father's hand without struggle. she's got a blue onesie on — you didn't go to the ER prepared for a baby, so the new mother next room kindly told the nurses to take one of her baby's onesies for the mom in room 202 who didn't even know she was pregnant— thanks, random mom, you will be remembered and you will receive fresh-out of the oven croissants from that bougie patisserie uptown in the morning.

as you take a well-deserved nap, katsuki finds himself holding the kid who just turned his life upside down on one arm while he calls his mother — nevermind that it's now four in the morning and she'll probably go for blood as soon as she wakes up.

"KATSUKI!" just as expected, "YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXPLANATION FOR THIS CALL, BECAUSE I WAS HAVING THE BEST DREAM EVER AND YOU WAKING ME UP WASN'T INCLUDED!"

"hi, mom," he says, quieter than ever as he stares at his little girl sleeping with her lips parted, "do you still have those onesies you got when you first found out you were pregnant? the girl ones?"

"WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT? DID YOU REALLY JUST CALL ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO ASK ME ABOUT CLOTHES I BOUGHT TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO? YOU'VE SURELY GOT SOME NERVE! THEY WOULDN'T HAVE FIT YOU WHEN YOU WERE A KID BECAUSE YOU WERE SUCH A FAT BABY, LET ALONE NOW, WHY ARE YOU EVEN—"

"mom," he interrupts her, "we just had a baby. you guys are grandparents."

silence on the other line. "you know, this is a really bad joke, katsuki. i woke up your father to yell at you and you tell me this? i saw you guys last week. none of you looked pregnant at all."

he rolls his eyes — yeah, like he could get pregnant. "well, it's true. my wife just gave birth and we're at the hospital, with no newborn equipment nor half an idea of how to raise a baby. so, will you bring me those damn onesies or not, mom?"

hushed whispers on the other line, a distinct what's going on? from masaru. "i... be there in thirty."

for someone who was just screaming at him twenty minutes ago, mitsuki bakugou looks far too happy to hold her granddaughter in her arms. "look at her!" she gushes as masaru cries rivers of tears and snaps a billion photos, "she's so little! she's not fat like you were! not even one hour of life and she's already better than you!"

were it someone else, katsuki would've gotten mad, but miwa's face is so tender that he can't picture himself ever getting angry at her. "she is," he replies quietly. grandma and grandpa bring all the pink onesies that mitsuki had bought impulsively before finding out she was going to have a boy, and so hime finally gets the pink clothing and gigantic bow on the head that she deserves — bakugou will admit that if he didn't know she was a girl, he would've mistaken her for a boy with the blue onesie. are all newborns so weird-looking? is it just his?

katsuki has to wake you up when the nurse comes for feeding time, and mitsuki and masaru quietly move out of the room after congratulating you with teary eyes and the biggest smiles you've ever seen. and as your husband places your now very awake newborn girl on your chest and looks at the two of you like you hang the moon and the stars, you think that this must be the biggest surprise everyone's ever gotten.

his eyes drag down your body as you lean forward to grab another gift. the sweater rides up, exposing the dimples at the base of your spine, the curve of your lower back. he imagines gripping those hips, bending you over right there on the rug. stripping you bare, spreading your thighs, and sliding into that tight heat.

but it's not just fucking anymore. no, his mind goes way hungrier. he wants to fill you. breed you. watch your belly swell with his kid—round and heavy, tits leaking, all because of him. megumi would have a sibling, someone to boss around, and you'd be tied to him forever. marked. his.

he pictures it clear as day: you in a bigger place—not this cramped shithole, but something with an actual yard where megumi could run around with a little brother or sister trailing behind. you'd be barefoot in the kitchen, belly round again because he'd keep you that way—always full of his cum, always carrying his kid.

he'd come home from whatever dead-end job he scraped together, find you on the couch with the baby at your breast, megumi coloring nearby, and he'd pull you into his lap the second the kids were down. slide right back in, pump you full one more time just because he could. no protection, ever. he'd make damn sure you stayed knocked up, leaking him for days, thighs sticky with it.

it'd be a pain in the ass, yeah. more mouths to feed meant he'd have to stop gambling half his paychecks, get a real job—maybe security or bouncing at some club, something steady that paid enough for diapers and formula and whatever the fuck kids need.

he'd hate the routine, the early mornings, the boss breathing down his neck. but for you? fuck, you're worth it. worth every headache, every extra shift. he wants to breed you so bad it aches—wants to see megumi calling you mom without hesitation, wants a noisy house full of his brats. you'd look so fucking good heavy with his baby again, tits swollen, hips wider, glowing like you were made for it.

he'd keep you that way as long as you'd let him.

the thought makes his jeans tight. he shifts, palming himself discreetly, but you glance up then, catching his eye. "everything okay?" you ask, voice sweet, oblivious to his mind running wild.

"yeah," he grunts. "just thinkin'."

megumi yawns, rubbing his eyes, and toji seizes the moment. "bedtime, kid." he scoops megumi up, the boy mumbling protests but clinging to his neck. you stand, stretching, and toji's gaze zeros in on the way your sweater lifts, showing a strip of soft stomach. fuck, he wants his hands there—pressing down as he pumps into you, feeling himself through your skin.

he slams home in one thrust, bottoming out with a grunt. you're tight, hot, clenching around him like you never want to let him go. "fuck, yes." he sets a brutal pace, hips snapping, balls slapping your ass. the bed frame groans, but he doesn't care. his hand spans your stomach, pressing down. "feel me? right here. gonna put it deep."

you cry out, nails raking his back. "harder—god, toji—"

he obliges, folding you in half, knees to your chest. the angle lets him hit deeper, grinding against that spot that makes you see stars. "gonna pump you full. no pullin' out. want every drop takin'." sweat drips down his brow, muscles flexing with each thrust. he imagines it—your belly growing, waddling around his shitty house, megumi poking at the bump, asking if it's a brother or sister. you, glowing, tits heavy, begging him to fuck the ache away even when you're huge.

"want you knocked up by new year," he growls against your ear. "belly round again before spring. megumi chasin' a little sister around this same tree next christmas."

the words send heat spiraling through you. "yes—toji—please—"

he fucks you harder, like he's trying to brand the idea into your body. you push back to meet every thrust, taking him deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every snap of his hips.

"gonna keep you full," he rasps. "every night. plug you with it so it takes."

pressure coils tight and fast. you come with a choked cry, pussy clenching hard around him, milking him. he swears under his breath, pace stuttering.

"fuck—feels so fuckin' good—"

he buries himself to the hilt and unloads—thick, hot pulses flooding you deep. you feel every spurt, the way he throbs inside, grinding to push it further. he doesn’t pull out, just stays seated, cock plugging you as his cum fills you up.

minutes pass. the tree lights keep blinking, while he's still hard inside you, hand splayed over your lower belly like he can already feel it happening.

he shifts suddenly, big hands sliding down to grip behind your knees. before you can react, he's pushing your legs up and back, folding you nearly in half, ass lifted off the rug. his cock drives even deeper, the head pressed flush against your cervix, cum already pooling there.

"t-toji—what are you doing?"

"not lettin' luck decide." his eyes are fixed on where his dick disappears inside you, watching the way your pussy clenches around him, keeping him plugged. every throb of his cock pushes his load further in, no chance of it leaking out. "gonna make sure it takes. every fuckin' drop stays right where it belongs." you whimper, the position making you feel so full.

"good girl," he mutters finally, pulling out slow. "keep it all in. we're just gettin' started." you whine at the emptiness, at the warm trickle that follows. he flips you onto your stomach, spreads your thighs wide, and slides right back in.

"merry fuckin' christmas," he says, and starts all over again.

Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions. 

Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret. 

That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place— except for when he’s around.

The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it. 

There’s a view, but it’s not the city. 

“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”

He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing. 

If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you. 

He wears you out. 

Yet still, at the end of every night—

“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.” 

You are so fucking mean.

The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know. 

Now he’s a little less emotional and more… 

“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”

You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”

“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?” 

“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it. 

Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.

“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.” 

He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door. 

“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”

“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out. 

“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two. 

You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”

“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”

“Yup! Bye Gojo.”

He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face. 

Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21. 

You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better. 

Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life. 

He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.

It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of. 

You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids. 

Spoiler: It didn’t work. 

He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.

Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.

He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself. 

It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth. 

Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process. 

You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.

He still opened his mouth.

“Great sauna, isn’t it?”

Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.

The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh. 

“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it. 

It wasn’t. 

“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.

You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks. 

“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile. 

You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame. 

“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”

He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up. 

“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”

You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”

“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”

Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does. 

You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”

“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?

“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.” 

“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.” 

Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16. 

“Oh wow.” 

You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless. 

From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once. 

Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??

You: typing…

You: 

You: typing…

You: turn 21

Unknown Number: bet

You read that response and immediately regretted it. 

He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in. 

And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position. 

You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you. 

And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less. 

He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again. 

He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past. 

It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public. 

It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up. 

He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public. 

Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.

You: Do not fucking embarrass me.

You: Don’t even come near me.  

S. Gojo: fine .

It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.

The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty. 

He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.

Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours. 

That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit. 

He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head. 

“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”

“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”

“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.

“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”

“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious. 

To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.

“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”

“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”

“Stop. Talking.”

He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.

You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.

With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.  

On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there. 

Truly.

Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home. 

You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.

It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him. 

There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though. 

There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.

Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on. 

—

S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:

You: what do u want

S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔

You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it

S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please

S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today

You: im not even home

S. Gojo: ik i have a key

You: you took my spare key?

You: give it back

S. Gojo: today? (:

You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess

S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess

You: what do you even wanna come over for

S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later

You: why

S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me

You: why

S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years

S. Gojo: they’re not over it

You: pig

S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!

You: please don’t

You: but ya, no. go to the library or something

S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE

S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs

S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE

You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with

S. Gojo: BRO???

You: kiddinggg

You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed 

S. Gojo: i got u

S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want

You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak

S. Gojo: ):

You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway. 

Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone. 

You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”

“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen. 

“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place. 

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”

“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”

He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”

You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”

“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?” 

“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”

“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted. 

Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him. 

You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look. 

“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists. 

“Hungry enough.”

“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks. 

You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?” 

“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”

“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.” 

“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.” 

“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck. 

“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”

Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.” 

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.” 

He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display. 

“No?”

“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”

And distracted you were. 

Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.  

He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”

“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?

He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up. 

“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. 

“Were you thinking at all?”

“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”

“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”

“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him. 

He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck. 

It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?

The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself. 

He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach. 

“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear. 

“What are you–” 

He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.

“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.

He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them. 

You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him. 

He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.

“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you. 

“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.” 

“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again. 

You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.

“I know— M’sorry, baby.”

He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear. 

“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced. 

“T-too much,” you sputter out.

“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”

“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”

He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles. 

His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock. 

And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it. 

“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?” 

You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”

“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”

“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”

“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”

“Get me my fucking food.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face. 

. . .

He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine. 

“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.

“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one. 

You crack it open as you turn to look at him. 

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”

“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”

“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink. 

You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”

“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself. 

The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”

The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”

“No— appreciate you asking, though.”

“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”

He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next. 

You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.

“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”

“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”

“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment. 

He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”

“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”

“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time. 

You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.” 

He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”

There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”

“I am,” he scoffs. 

“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.

You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you. 

“I am your friend, right?” he asks. 

You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer. 

“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”

“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?” 

“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”

There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.

He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”

You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”

You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”

. . .

Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight. 

For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong. 

The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.

It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.

Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth. 

“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.” 

Mind you, they were in the same year. 

She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”

He shortens it. “M’not interested.”

“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull. 

And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you. 

“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”

You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face. 

Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).

“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”

The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.

“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.

Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”

“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”

Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”

Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go. 

“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair. 

Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”

Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face. 

The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit. 

It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night. 

He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight. 

After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.

“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything. 

He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”

“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”

“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.

“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”

“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly. 

“No.”

He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer. 

“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”

He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”

“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”

Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face. 

“Maybe.” 

He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”

At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.” 

“So you can fuck with my sleep?”

“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”

“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”

“I don’t have any!” 

“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”

“No, wait—”

“Good night~”

Click.

Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up. 

The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh. 

“Fuck this.”

. . .

Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off. 

Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality. 

“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.  

You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever. 

“What are you doing here?!”

Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”

He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.

Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”

“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”

“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.

“Thank you.”

Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy. 

The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him. 

“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”

“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers. 

You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.

But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice. 

“Good night.” 

. . .

Satoru wakes up twice. 

Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep. 

Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him. 

He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?” 

You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.” 

“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.

There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”

“That’s mean as fuck.”

“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.” 

“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”

“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”

“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view. 

As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone. 

Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the  pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever. 

It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”

“M’not,” Satoru mumbles. 

Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.

“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all. 

“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”

He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”

At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”

“I will.”

Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you. 

Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect. 

One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek. 

. . . 

It’s been several. 

Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes. 

His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful. 

Boring as fuck. 

He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations. 

It's like he just expects you to talk to him. 

He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date. 

And also your last.

. . . 

Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper. 

He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved. 

He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.

Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you. 

After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you. 

You’re not sure, honestly. 

It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion. 

You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels. 

At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex. 

You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him. 

. . .

Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.

And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head. 

At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him. 

As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him. 

He’s still a safe choice.

You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future. 

You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.

Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better. 

You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there. 

You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?” 

He slowly shakes his head, humming  indecisively. “Not yet.” 

You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?” 

He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.” 

It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch. 

“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?” 

You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard. 

“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.” 

Why the fuck would he take you here?

“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade.  “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?” 

“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest. 

“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.” 

It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop. 

You can absolutely check other places out.

Does this guy not understand free will exists? 

“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?” 

“Exactly,” he proudly nods. 

“There you two are!” 

…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is. 

At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine. 

He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze. 

You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection. 

“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.” 

Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction. 

Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand. 

“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?” 

Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru. 

“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.” 

“Wait— really?” 

Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere. 

He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet. 

“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.

“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur. 

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.” 

“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.” 

His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring. 

“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.” 

Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”

“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.” 

Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy. 

And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.

He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him. 

Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too. 

Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him. 

Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?” 

“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.

“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.” 

“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!” 

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”

“Not everything is about looks—“

He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”

Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.” 

“Yet?!” his voice broke. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.

“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”

Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?” 

“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says. 

“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”

“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath. 

“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”

You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”

“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”

You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has. 

“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”

He gets up.

There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet. 

“Where’s your car?” you ask. 

“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it. 

“Ow—”

“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder. 

“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”

You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go. 

“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”

“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”

“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”

“Because you—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”

gojo when reader said she hasn’t seen it “yet”:

You didn’t consider yourself a very superstitious person, but you could feel the eerie energy radiating from Woodstone as soon as you stepped on the grounds, but you had begun to feel a bit dissuaded from– everything really, and you had been missing your husband for the past… well, two decades, and really wanted to reconnect with him.

Trevor, however, didn’t take the exact same relaxed feelings about the reunion. He watched your car pull in and watched you get out of your car, as humans did, you had aged, but by god in his eyes you aged like absolute wine. Clearly, he looked mortified, though.

Trevor stood frozen in the front hall as he watched you step out of your car. His usual confident smirk was nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a wide-eyed look of panic. He ran a hand through his eternally perfect hair, pacing in tight circles.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. It’s her,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Her who?” Alberta asked, leaning on the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

“Her her! My wife! My widow! The woman I married, the woman I—ugh!” He groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch. “She’s here! What is she doing here? She’s supposed to be… I don’t know, happily remarried or writing a memoir about how awesome I was. Not staying here, with us!”

The other ghosts stared at him in a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Wait, you’re married?” Isaac asked, his brows furrowing. “I thought you were more of the, ah, bachelor for life type.”

“I was married for six years!” Trevor shot back, sitting up indignantly. “She’s my one true love. You don’t get over someone like that, okay?” He ran both hands through his hair this time, looking almost comically distraught. “And now she’s here, and she looks… amazing, but she’s aged, and I haven’t, and this is going to mess her up, right? Like, emotionally? This is bad, right?”

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” Alberta teased, her tone softening slightly. “But this explains a lot about why you’re extra dramatic today.”

Sam, who had been observing quietly, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “Trevor, she’s your wife? Why didn’t you ever mention her before?”

“Because it hurts, Sam!” Trevor threw up his hands. “She was the one. I miss her every single day, but what was I supposed to do? Drop it casually into conversation? ‘Oh, by the way, the love of my life is out there somewhere, and I’m stuck here in the No Pants Brigade for eternity.’ Real smooth.”

“Aw, Trev,” Pete said, his usual warmth shining through. “That’s actually… really sweet. Tragic, but sweet.”

“I know it’s tragic, Pete! That’s the whole point!” Trevor snapped, though his voice cracked slightly. “And now she’s here, and I can’t even tell her I’m here because… ghost rules! And you know me, I’m not good at being subtle. I’m gonna screw this up. I just know it.”

“You’ve already started screwing it up,” Hetty cut in, her tone sharp. “I can practically feel your anxiety polluting the air.”

“Thank you for the support, Hetty,” Trevor deadpanned before turning back to Samantha. “Sam, please, you’ve gotta help me. Tell her I’m here. Drop some hints. I don’t know, maybe do that whole ‘medium’ thing you’re always saying you’re not.”

Samantha gave him a sympathetic look. “Trevor, I don’t think telling her outright is the best idea. She’s here for a reason. Maybe she’s looking for closure. You should think about what she needs right now, not just what you want.”

Trevor groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I just…” He looked out the window again, watching as you hesitated near your car, seemingly mustering up the courage to come inside. “I miss her, Sam. Like, really miss her.”

The room fell silent for a moment. Even Hetty seemed to soften, though she wouldn’t admit it.

Samantha finally broke the silence, her voice gentle. “Then maybe this is your chance to give her what she’s been missing too. Just… try not to scare her, okay?”

Trevor nodded, though his lips curled into a sheepish grin. “I’ll do my best. No promises, though.”

“That’s what we’re worried about,” Alberta muttered, shaking her head as she followed the others to watch the unfolding chaos.

“Hello! Uh– you work here, right?” You spoke from the hallway, bags in hands. “Yup! Here for vacation?” Sam asked, getting behind the desk. There was a pause between the two of you before a hum of hesitancy came from you, not wanting to dump all of your dead-husband-trauma within a minute of meeting her, you just nodded. “Basically.”

—

You had got set up in your room, trying to relax despite the energy coming from the property, sitting up on the bed and texting, unaware of the specter of your deceased husband laying next to you. Trevor lay sprawled next to you on the bed, his usual cocky grin tempered with nervous excitement. “God, you’re even cuter than I remembered,” he murmured to himself, though you, of course, couldn’t hear him. “Okay, Trev, this is your moment. Don’t blow it. Start small. Subtle. Like… ghost Casanova.”

Meanwhile, you sat cross-legged on the bed, your phone in hand, scrolling through messages and photos. A faint frown tugged at your lips, and Trevor’s expression softened.

“Hey, don’t look sad. I’m right here!” he said, leaning closer. “Okay, time for step one: the classic ‘move a thing to get their attention’ move. Easy peasy.”

He eyed the pen sitting on the nightstand and focused all his energy on it. The pen wobbled slightly, then fell off the edge with a faint clatter.

You glanced up from your phone, startled. Your eyes darted to the nightstand, lingering for a moment, before you sighed and bent to pick up the pen.

“Must’ve knocked it off,” you mumbled to yourself, setting it back in place.

Trevor smacked his forehead. “Okay, maybe too subtle. Fine. Let’s turn it up a notch.”

He stood, pacing at the foot of the bed like a coach psyching himself up for the big game. “All right, Trev, think… what’s romantic but not terrifying? Candles? Too cliché. Write her a message? No penmanship when you’re a ghost.” He snapped his fingers. “Music! Music’s perfect. Nostalgic, romantic… plus, I know what song we danced to at our wedding. Boom. Easy win.”

He floated toward the room’s Bluetooth speaker, fiddling with the controls. It took a few tries, but soon the opening chords of “Your Song” by Elton John filled the room.

You froze mid-text, looking around with wide eyes.

“What the…” you whispered, putting your phone down. The music grew louder, and your brows furrowed.

Trevor grinned triumphantly, throwing his arms in the air. “Yes! She knows it’s me! Come on, babe, connect the dots. Ghost plus love song equals your amazing husband!”

But instead of looking touched or nostalgic, you grabbed the speaker, inspected it, and muttered, “That’s… weird. Haven’t heard that one in a while.” You turned the speaker off and set it down on the nightstand, shaking your head.

Trevor deflated, throwing himself backward onto the bed in frustration. “Come on! That was our song! How does that not scream ‘It’s Trevor!’?”

The faint smile you gave the speaker didn’t escape his notice, though. “Okay,” you murmured to yourself, “I dunno if I’m just imagining things. Or maybe it’s just… this place.” You paused, looking toward the window with a wistful expression, flashes of moments of your relationship running through your mind at the nostalgic song. “If only he was here…”

Trevor sat bolt upright at your words, his frustration melting into something softer. “I am here,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Trevor stayed where he was, staring at you with a mixture of love and longing, his resolve strengthening.

“All right, babe,” he murmured. “You might not believe it yet, but I’m gonna show you. You’ll know it’s me. I promise.”

He watched as you leaned back on the bed, phone forgotten, and closed your eyes. He stayed beside you, close enough that he imagined you could feel the warmth of his love, even if he couldn’t physically reach you.

“Tomorrow,” he said softly, “I’ll do better. You’ll see.”

–

The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled light across the Woodstone grounds. You walked slowly, arms crossed against the crisp air. It wasn’t the most energetic stroll—you’d never been one for intense hikes, nor exactly cut out for them—but it was peaceful. Quiet. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

The weight of memories pressed against you as you stopped by an old oak tree, brushing your fingers against its bark. “He would’ve loved this,” you murmured. The thought brought a bittersweet smile to your lips, though the ache in your chest never quite disappeared.

Inside the house, Trevor was a whirlwind of nervous energy, pacing in the living room. “Okay, okay. Yesterday didn’t go so great,” he admitted, running his hands through his hair. “But today’s a new day. I just need… a plan. A really good plan. So, ideas. Let’s hear ’em!”

Alberta rolled her eyes from her perch on the armrest of the couch. “Trevor, you can’t just throw random ghost tricks at her and expect her to piece it together. What’s your actual endgame here?”

“The endgame is for her to know it’s me, Albie!” Trevor gestured wildly, “I want her to feel like I’m still here for her. Like… in a good, romantic way. Not in a haunted way.”

“Well, you’re failing at both,” Hetty said flatly.

Isaac cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should try something more personal. Something that speaks to your connection with her.”

Trevor groaned. “I tried that! I played our wedding song, and she didn’t even get it! What else am I supposed to do?”

“Then maybe you should think about what she loved about you specifically,” Alberta said, leaning forward. “What was your thing? Your move? The thing that made her fall for you in the first place?”

Trevor paused, a rare moment of introspection crossing his face. “She used to say I had this way of… making her laugh, even when she didn’t want to. Like, no matter how bad her day was, I could always cheer her up. That’s what she loved about me.” He smiled faintly, the memory softening his usual bravado. “Man, she used to laugh so hard she’d snort, and she’d get all embarrassed, but I thought it was the cutest thing ever.”

“Well, there you go,” Alberta said. “You’ve got your answer.”

“Yeah, but how am I supposed to make her laugh if she can’t hear me?” Trevor threw up his hands. “I can’t exactly tell her my A+ jokes from ghost-land.”

Sam, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up. “Maybe you don’t need to say anything. Maybe you just need to remind her of something funny you did together. Like, recreate one of your inside jokes or a memory that’ll make her laugh.”

Trevor snapped his fingers. “Sam, you’re a genius! I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“It’s my property,” she deadpanned.

“Details.” Trevor waved her off, already pacing again as he brainstormed. “Okay, funny memory. Funny memory. Oh! Remember that time we went to that fancy restaurant, and I accidentally set the napkin on fire, and we had to sneak out before the maître d’ kicked us out? She loved that story!”

“Sure,” Hetty muttered, “because nothing says love like mild arson.”

Ignoring her, Trevor clapped his hands together. “That’s it. I’ll find a way to remind her of that. Maybe I’ll knock over a candle or something—just enough to jog her memory. Not, like, burn-the-place-down levels. I can do this!”

“Let’s hope you don’t accidentally commit ghost arson,” Isaac muttered as Trevor bolted toward the door, ready to execute his next brilliant plan.

Outside, you had wandered toward the gazebo, sitting down on the wooden bench with a sigh. The quiet was nice, though there was something about this place that made you feel… watched. Not in a bad way, but as if there was some invisible presence hovering nearby, waiting for the right moment.

From the shadows of the house, Trevor watched you with a determined glint in his eye. “All right, babe. Let’s make you laugh.”

–

You sat in the gazebo, absentmindedly watching a pair of squirrels chase each other around the base of a tree. The morning air was crisp, and for a moment, you let yourself relax.

From the shadows of the house, Trevor leaned against the doorway, cracking his knuckles. “Okay, Trev. Channel the glory days. Be suave. Be funny. Don’t… burn anything down for real this time.”

He floated closer, eyeing the picnic table in the gazebo. A small decorative lantern sat on the edge of it, its candle flickering gently in the breeze. Trevor grinned. “Perfect. Just a little nudge…”

He focused his energy on the lantern, tipping it ever so slightly until it teetered on the edge. With a faint clatter, it toppled over, landing on the table.

Startled, you turned to the sound, your brows furrowing. “Huh. That’s weird.”

Trevor winced. “Okay, not enough. Gotta amp it up.”

He scanned the area and spotted a small coffee table tablecloth, reminiscent of a napkin, resting next to the lantern. “This’ll do. Time to bring back the classics.” With a concentrated effort, he managed to slide the cloth toward the lantern’s flame, careful not to let it fully ignite.

The edge of the fabric began to smolder, a thin wisp of smoke curling into the air.

You gasped, leaping to your feet. “What the—?”

Trevor grinned, floating back as he waited for recognition to dawn. “Come on, babe. You have to remember this. Napkin fire? Fancy restaurant? Hilarious escape? It’s me!”

You quickly grabbed the mini tablecloth, smothering the tiny ember with your hands. With the danger gone, you sat back down, shaking your head with a bemused smile. “This place is seriously fucking with me.”

But then you paused, your fingers brushing over the singed edge of the cloth. Your smile softened, turning wistful.

“I’m really losing it now,” you muttered, though there was a glimmer of warmth in your eyes. “That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do…”

Trevor froze, his grin fading as his expression softened. “She remembers,” he whispered.

You leaned back against the bench, holding the fabric in your hands like it was a precious relic. A quiet laugh escaped you, tinged with both joy and sadness. “Trevor, if this is you… God, I miss you.”

Trevor floated closer, his heart aching at the sound of your voice saying his name. He knelt beside you, though he knew you couldn’t see him. “I miss you too, babe. More than anything.”

For a moment, the world felt still. Though you couldn’t see him, and he couldn’t physically touch you, Trevor sat beside you, basking in the quiet connection of the moment.

“I’ll make sure you know it’s me,” he whispered. “No matter what it takes.”

—

The evening had grown dark, the soft hum of crickets filling the air as you stepped out of the car and onto the gravel driveway of Woodstone. The long, flowing dress you’d chosen for dinner swayed gently as you walked toward the front entrance, your heels clicking softly on the steps.

Trevor had been lounging on the staircase banister, idly waiting for you to return. When the door creaked open, he glanced up, his usual grin fading into wide-eyed awe.

“Whoa,” he whispered, standing straighter as he took in the sight of you. “You look… incredible. Like, seriously incredible. Red carpet-level stunning. Damn.”

You closed the door behind you, taking a moment to adjust your coat and shake off the evening chill. The glow from the chandelier overhead illuminated your features, and Trevor floated closer, unable to stop staring.

“Babe, you always looked amazing, but this? This is next-level. If I had a heartbeat, it’d be racing right now.”

Completely oblivious to his presence, you made your way into the sitting room, setting your clutch down on the nearest table. You looked around, pausing as you took in the cozy ambiance of the room. Something about it felt oddly welcoming tonight, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why.

Trevor, meanwhile, hovered behind you, practically buzzing with excitement. “Okay, Trev, play it cool. She’s in a good mood. Maybe I can nudge something over—like a little love note or a flower. Yeah, that’s romantic. Not weird at all.”

He turned toward a nearby shelf, spotting a vase filled with dried flowers. “Perfect,” he said, focusing his energy on it. “Just a gentle tap…”

But Trevor’s enthusiasm got the better of him. Instead of the vase, he accidentally tipped the entire bookshelf.

“Wait, no! Nononono!” he yelled, trying to stop the shelf mid-fall.

With a thunderous crash, the bookshelf toppled over, sending books and decorative items scattering across the room.

You spun around, eyes wide, your heart pounding in your chest. “What the—”

The shock of the sound, combined with the sudden adrenaline surge, overwhelmed you. A sharp pain gripped your chest, and you staggered backward, clutching at your heart.

Trevor’s excitement immediately turned to panic. “Oh no. No, no, no. Babe, what’s happening? Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay!”

You gasped, trying to steady yourself against the edge of the couch, but your legs gave out. The last thing you saw was the chandelier’s light dimming as you collapsed to the floor.

“No!” Trevor shouted, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, futile in their ghostly form. “Please, don’t… not like this. Don’t leave me again!”

Moments later, the room seemed to shift. A strange warmth filled the air, and Trevor froze, staring at your body. Suddenly, your spirit appeared, standing next to him.

You blinked, disoriented, looking down at your hands and then at your body on the floor. “What… what just happened?”

Trevor’s jaw dropped. “Babe?”

You turned toward the familiar voice, your eyes widening as you saw him standing there, looking exactly as he had the day you’d lost him, just— minus some pants. “Trevor?”

He nodded, his voice trembling. “Yeah, it’s me. I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear, I was just trying to—”

But before he could finish, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, tears streaming down your face. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

For the first time in years, Trevor felt solid, real. He held you tightly, his own tears falling freely. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Trevor smiled, a mix of relief and guilt in his expression. “Well, about that… Turns out I’m still pretty good at screwing things up.” He didn’t let go of you for a second, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And for the record? You don’t look a day over 35, hon’.”

Trevor enjoyed the quiet moments together, you resting your head on his chest and him lightly tracing his fingers up and down your arms. He liked to use the opportunity to get as close to you as possible, his arms holding you against his frame and lips pressing kisses to every inch of your face. 

You giggled as each kiss was placed, on your cheeks, your nose, and your forehead. He lingered on your lips, deepening the kiss from a playful peck to something a bit more needy. Your fingers threaded through his hair and his hands lingered on the skin between your shirt and skirt. 

Just as the two of you broke apart for air and readied yourself for more, Hetty stepped through the closed door. 

“Oh! My word!” she gasped, a hand on her chest, startled by the intimate sight. 

You pushed Trevor back and he held his hands up like he’d been caught by the police. You pulled your shirt back down in place and smoothed out your hair as embarrassment heated your face. “Hetty! Y-Your back so soon,” you rushed out. 

She scoffed, eyes flickering between you and Trevor. “Apparently I am.” 

Trevor cleared his throat and smiled at her innocently. “We were just-” 

Hetty held up her hand to stop him. “I do not want to know,” she said before turning on her heel and swiftly leaving the room. You buried your head in your hands, embarrassment killing any of the romance that had been built up. 

SASS & ALBERTA

Trevor was a gentleman, despite what he sometimes came off to others as. He was sweet, endearing, and enamored by you. It was difficult to be a gentleman and be a ghost, but he made it work.

While he couldn’t pull your chair out or buy you flowers, he always held your hands on walks and complimented you as if you didn’t look the exact same every single day. He had an endless stash of cheesy compliments and though you weren’t the most talkative, he listened to every word out of your mouth as if it was the most interesting thing anyone had ever said. Trevor also had a habit of needing to be touching you in some way. Whether it was holding your hand, an arm thrown around your shoulder, or a hand on your knee. It was comforting to have him near, but sometimes the constant touchy-feely actions of Trevor were kicked up a notch when you thought you two were alone. 

Even when you two were somewhere not exactly private, it was hard not to be swept up in the sweetness that was Trevor. 

The kitchen was one of the least private places in the mansion, but you two just so happened to be in there when Jay and Sam were out in town and the rest of the ghosts were occupied in other parts of the house. Trevor was being his usual charming felt, his hands resting on your hips as he spoke to you with a small smile on his lips. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, listening intently. 

He punctuated his story with a kiss to your lips and you laughed into it, being pulled closer to him. You kissed him back almost feverishly, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours and the quietness of the moment you could have lived in forever. 

However, before the two of you even needed to come up for air, two voices broke through the quietness of the kitchen. 

“Oh, come on,” Sass grumbled, despite the amused glint in his eyes. 

Trevor sighed and dropped his hands from around your waist to throw them up in the air. “Does no one knock anymore?!” 

Alberta tilted her head to the side, brows raised. “This is the kitchen, lover-boy. No knocking required.” 

“And that’s not exactly possible,” Sass added, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you guys have to rub your happiness in everyone’s faces? Can you not pick up another hobby?” 

You winced, feeling bad. “Sorry.” 

Alberta smiled and lightly hit Sass on the shoulder. “Oh, leave ‘em be. There are worse things they could be doing in the kitchen than kissing,” she said, causing heat to rise up your neck and over your cheeks. “Remember that time we walked in on Flower trying to teach Thor yoga?” 

Sass shuttered. “Don’t remind me.” 

ISAAC 

The upstairs study was half cluttered with items Sam and Jay used for the B&B. They were in the middle of moving things around and trying to make sense of all of the rooms in the mansion. The study wasn’t used that often by anyone, which made it one of the few places of privacy inside the home. You enjoyed the seat in the study, back away from the clutter and beside an old bookshelf with untouched literature that you had asked Sam not to get rid of. The smell of old books made the room feel cozy to you, and from the chair you could see most of the backyard. 

When you wanted a moment alone, you went there. Sometimes, Trevor joined you. He liked to joke that he enjoyed the view as well, but his chair faced yours, and his eyes were not fixed out the window, but rather on you. He’d sit with his chin propped up on his fist and a goofy grin on his face that was laced with admiration. 

On that particular day, you stood at window, watching the birds you had come familiar with go about their day. Trevor joined you, standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist and head resting comfortably on your shoulder, watching too. But he had a shorter attention span than you, and when he grew bored of bird watching, he lovingly pressed kisses to your shoulder. 

With a smile, you turned your head and kissed his forehead, which made him light up. Despite being ghosts, there was an undeniable light in his eyes as he spun you around by your hips and brushed his hand sweetly across your cheek. You leaned into his touch before he grasped your face with his other hand, pulled your face closer to him, and kissed you. 

No matter what the moment was, Trevor also started kissing you slowly like he was savoring it. His touches were always gentle and thoughtful, even when his kisses turned more intense. 

Though, lately, any intensity and plunge into more unexplored territory had been halted by interruptions. That time was no different either as Isaac entered the study. 

“Oh!” he gasped out, not in shock like Hetty but in simple surprise. “Uh, my apologies.”

“Man,” Trevor groaned. 

Isaac cleared his throat and stood with his hands behind his back, a slightly apologetic look on his face. “I was just looking for you,” he said, looking at you. “Sam needed some assistance with something, but I can tell her you’re…busy.” 

You shook your head. “No, it’s all right.” You and Trevor bid a short ‘see you later’ before you followed Isaac to where Sam was. 

“I do apologize for ‘ruining the moment,’” he said, trying to mimic modern-day speak that he’d been slipping into his vocabulary as of late. “There does seem to be a distinct lack of privacy in this place.” 

You blew some air from your cheeks before muttering, “You’re telling me.” 

STEPHANIE 

In some form of a miracle, the ghosts, Sam, and Jay were all occupied with outside renovations. Well, Sam and Jay were busy with renovations and the ghosts were busy ‘livings watching,’ voicing their opinions, and causing general chaos for Sam and Jay. 

But the important thing was, the mansion was empty, and you and Trevor thought you’d finally have a moment alone. You spent the last twenty minutes simply talking in the upstairs TV room, laughing at stupid jokes and enjoying each other's presence uninterrupted. 

Your shy nature led you to not initiate anything Trevor; you were too nervous you’d do something wrong or misread a situation. But Trevor was never shy, and seemingly never nervous. He liked you wrapped in his arms, peace filling the empty room between you two as he kissed you between mumbles of compliments he liked to shower you with. 

Even though he was your boyfriend, he still knew how to make you flustered, hot-faced, and giddy like a schoolgirl with a crush. He trailed his hands down your arms before he placed him on your hips, rubbing circles with his thumbs absentmindedly. His kisses trailed down your jaw and onto your neck. You savored it, the feeling of his lips on your skin made you feel on fire. 

Just as Trevor worked his way back up to your lips, your fingers fumbling on his tie, a shriek filled the room so startling you two nearly toppled off of the couch. 

“Are you kidding me, Trevor?” 

Stephanie. 

Trevor, wide-eyed, stood up and smoothed down his shirt and suit jacket. “Looks who’s awake,” he said with forced enthusiasm.  

“W-What is this?” the teenage girl asked, gesturing between you and him. “You were kissing her?!” 

“Yeah, well, she is my girlfriend,” Trevor replied, annoyance flickering across his face. 

Stephanie turned her attention onto you, and if you hadn’t already been dead, the look she gave you would have likely killed you. 

You tried to offer her a polite smile, but she glared daggers at you before returning her attention to Trevor. “Cool,” she said, fake happiness dripping from her tone. “Totally cool.” With a narrowed gaze, she slowly turned around and walked out of the room. 

You buried your head in your hands and Trevor sighed. 

“Well, where were we?” he said. You shot him a look and his shoulders slumped. “Mood killed, huh?” 

With a nod, you added, “Good thing I’m dead already. I’m pretty sure she’s plotting my second murder.” 

Trevor chuckled. “Can’t be worse than the first, huh?” You did your best to copy Stephaine’s glare. 

SAM & JAY

“Believe it or not, I used to do this a lot in high school,” Trevor whispered, standing close to you inside the coat closet. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of your situation. Inside a mansion and two of you were sandwiched into a small closet, surrounded by guests' coats. 

“I’m not the first girl you’ve had in a closet?” 

Trevor kissed you before saying, “No, but you are my favorite.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you leaned forward, kissing him feverishly. The number of times you two had been interrupted was starting to add up, leading you to your current situation. All you wanted was some time alone with your boyfriend, which you didn’t think was a crime, but the universe did not feel you two were deserving of that. It kept throwing a roadblock in your way. 

And that time was no different. 

You two hardly shared a couple of kisses before the door was thrown open and Jay entered with Sam standing in the doorway. She was in the middle of saying something when her eyes landed on you and Trevor. 

“Hey!” she greeted, surprised. 

Jay glanced over his shoulder at her. “Hey?” 

“No,” she said. “We’re not alone in here.” 

Jay furrowed his brows. “There’s got to be a less ominous way to put that.” Sam quickly explained that you and Trevor were in the closet. “That’s kind of a weird place to be. What’re they doing in here?” 

Sam opened her mouth before looking at you and Trevor. Your back was up against the wall and his hands were still settled on your waist. She put the pieces together quickly, wincing with realization. “Um, just…hanging out,” she said with an awkward laugh. “Grab the coats so we can go, please?” 

While you appreciated her urgency to give you and Trevor some more alone time, the secrecy of the closet was broken as Thor and Flower passed by, giggling at the implications of the two of you in the closet. So, you two retreated back to the company of the never really quiet home. 

Trevor’s hands were over your eyes he led you somewhere. Once he stopped, he removed his hands and said, “Tada!” 

You stared at the closed door of his shared bedroom. Confused you turned to him. “We’re at your room,” you said. 

He beamed. “Nope, not anymore.” 

“What do you mean ‘not any more?’” 

“It’s our room!” 

At first, you were confused, your mind trying to make sense of what he had just said, but once it did, your eyes widened. “Our room? W-We’re moving in together?” 

“Well, we do already technically live together. Now we just share a room too.” Trevor twisted his hands around in front of him like he was nervous. “Is that…cool?” 

You smiled wide, stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug. “It’s perfect,” you whispered. 

A nose cracked under his knuckles.

A spine bowed from his blow.

Left.

Right.

Right.

Left.

The man ate an elbow. Swallowed teeth. Choked on his own blood. Suffocated from another liver shot.

Clattered! to the floor. A heap of blood and broken bones.

And Satoshi. Was still going.

Because the crowd was still roaring.

His heart was still hammering.

Ears still ringing.

His knees scratched on the concrete as he dropped over his opponent.

"What's up?" He spat.

Split knuckles crashed into the man's right jaw.

"Forgot how to fight?"

Crashed into the left.

Again.

And again—

— and again.

Until swollen eyes shut. And his shoulder was snatched.

Sukuna dragged him off. Was the only one who could. The only one who would dare to when Satoshi was still spitting blood and grating shouts from the depths of his lungs.

"Enough! Enough you did it— toshi."

He only stopped thrashing when Sukuna's bicep trapped his throat. When he held Satoshi against him. Calmed him down from the bloodlust throbbing in the backs of his eyes.

His chest ragged. Breaths splintered. Pupils blown out as he looked into raving crowd. Roaring from the thrill of the fight when it was adrenaline that pumped through his veins.

For a single. Shattering second.

He swore he saw your face at the centre of it all.

Satoshi squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to focus on the blood under his fingernails. The taste of iron in his gums.

It's his third fight. Third opponent he's knocked down into a crumpled pile.

And your name was still lodged in the back of his throat.

Fuck.

That was thirty minutes ago. The crowd was still buzzing. Focused on their new slab of meat while he slumped against some corner. White hair matted in maroon and smeared across the wall.

His chest hollow. His eyes heavy. From this spot he could see the next fight.

He fucking hated this place.

An underground fighting ring stitched together by some snob with more money than he knew what to do with.

Fighters claimed they did it for the thrill.

Everyone knew it was for the money.

It was a bit of both for Satoshi. The money paid well and he always had enough anger licking at the pit of his stomach to fuel him.

It had simmered when you came around.

So much for peace and love, huh?

"And just when I thought my favourite dog had run away." Drawled a voice.

A grunt scratched from the back of his throat as blunt nails curled into his hair. Jerking his head to face a pair of amused, violent eyes.

If it were anyone else, Satoshi would have broken their jaw.

Alas, that snob with more money than he knew what to do with was right before him. Zenin Naoya.

Dresses in black with his blonde hair combed neatly. Stare the colour of dirt and grime despite his polished stature.

Blue eyes narrowed at the grinning menace. But his body remained limb as Naoya's hand curled tighter in his hair and gave him a shake.

"It's good to have you back, toshi." He hummed.

Satoshi's lip curled. But he answered anyway.

"Don't tell me you need a mutt to make you money?" He huffed.

Naoya sighed, theatric as always. "These other guys just don't do it like you. They don't have that savagery."

Savage.

That's what Naoya always called him. Likened him to some mangey mutt who loved blood on his teeth.

Guess he didn't do much to prove otherwise.

Releasing his hair at last, Naoya stood to his feet. Plucking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands.

"Might as well get used to me, y'know. I'm thinking about transferring to that college of yours." He said.

Satoshi raised his head at that. "Someone like you even need a college degree?"

Naoya huffed, amused. If it were anyone else he might have thrown a fit.

For some reason, he took quite a liking to Satoshi.

"Just looking for some fun. Guess you could say I've gotten a bit bored with all this," he motioned behind him. To another sorry soul getting clobbered into the ground and the fervent crowd still cheering.

"That mean you doing away with the club?" Satoshi asked, slumping his head back to the wall.

"Oh of course not." Naoya wafted a hand as he turned. Probably to wander off and collect his dues.

Only to shoot a sly smile over his shoulder. One that twisted Satoshi's gut.

"Not when my favourite mutt's back. Can't let him off the leash again."

Satoru really did a number on you. The ache was deep, dull, in a satisfying way that fluttered butterflies in your gut.

Three days since the campus' not-so-friendly neighbourhood nerd gave you his virginity.

Three days since you finally got to touch him.

Three days of letting him touch you.

His eagerness overshadowed his inexperience. It was endearing, really. Being with someone who didn't know more than you, for once.

Something about that control felt safe.

The bag felt light on your shoulder today. Weird. You hadn't removed anything. Maybe it was the airy feeling of texting your favourite nerd whilst you navigated the bustling hallways.

You: hey so you wanna hang out later? Toru: sure. My place? The walls are thicker.

You blinked at the screen. Smiled to yourself. Satoru sure was enthusiastic about the sex, huh?

Tucking your phone back into your bag, you navigated the busy hallways. Your 8am was fifteen minutes away, and you'd rather be there early to get a good spot.

All those thoughts went down the drain the second you spotted a head of dishevelled white hair stalking down the hallway.

Sunken eyes. Pale skin. Missing his nose stud and leather jacket.

The jacket was still cooped up in a corner in your dorm. But that wasn't what you were focused on.

It was why he lacked one of his famous piercings.

Bloomed brutal and blue was a bruise. Spread over his nose in hues of ugly yellow and matching with a nastier one over his eye.

Satoshi looked. Battered.

Your feet paused at the foot of the hallway as observed him. Hands stuffed in his pockets and bag slouched over his shoulder. Looking like he was walking on autopilot. Like he wasn't even blinking.

Your mind scrambled to his jacket that was still crumpled in the corner of your room. To the night he'd left you with it. Where you both took to the town and wasted the night away at a carnival.

The same night Satoru gave you his virginity.

The same night Satoshi kissed you outside of your dorm.

It had completely passed you that you hadn't heard from the deliquent of the twins within those three days.

You assumed Satoshi had moved on to another girl. Guys like him always did. Not that it bothered you.

Fuck buddies aren't exclusive after all. You knew that all too well.

Still, seeing him with bruises all over his pretty face tugged at the weak strings tucked deep within your heart. So without much thought, you tailed after him. Zeroing down the hallway. Rounding a corner. Trying to catch up. Damn him and his long legs.

"Hey, Satoshi." You eventually call.

That was the part he should have turned around.

Gave you that cocky grin. Tossed a flirt.

But he kept walking.

So you called again, because surely, he didn't hear you. "Satoshi? Hey!"

No dice. What, had someone knocked his eardrums out of place?

Kicking into a little jog, you caught up to him at the end of the hall. Shoulder thumping into his as you rounded to stand in front of him.

At last, he stopped. Tilted his head down to look at you.

But that. . . Was that a glare?

"Hey," you frowned. Up close the bruises looked downright ghastly. Was his lip bust, too?

"What the hell happened? You okay?" You asked, choosing to ignore his glare. Because in no world would Satoshi actually—

"And why do you care?"

The question caught you off guard. Especially when it came from such a gruff voice. Deeper than you remember it being.

You had never heard Satoshi speak to you like that before.

"I. . . excuse me?" You blinked, reaching for your bag strap to ground you in reality.

The reality that Satoshi looked pissed. At you.

He still hasn't blinked. Not a wince. No falter. Uncannily motionless. The blue of his irises looked brighter.

Or maybe that was because his eyes were bloodshot.

"Are you deaf?" His voice rose. "I asked. Why do you care?"

Your heels felt uneasy. Tugging at you to turn tail and scamper off.

He'd only ever reserved teases for you. Flirts, jokes, the occasional tenderness if you squinted.

But not whatever this was.

Clearing your throat, you steady your resolve. Clearly, he was in a mood. You knew all too well about men and their moods.

"Because you're hurt," you spoke, soft. "And maybe because I'm a decent human being?" Sarcasm laced at the end.

Satoshi scoffed. You readied yourself to ask him another question, but his words froze your tongue in place.

"Are you?"

". . . What?"

"Are you a good person?"

"And what the hell does that mean, Satoshi?"

Your arms folded over your chest. Stare brittle where his was bitter. Still, you held yourself.

No matter how much the little voice in your head begged you to just turn the other cheek.

Just leave.

Run.

Satoshi's brow twitched. His face twisted. He took a step forward as his spine straightened. Voice raising. Tight with an unfamiliar coarseness.

"Decent human beings don't fuck around with a guy's brother after he takes you out on a date. Or is your mind that twisted?"

You faltered, throat tight. "Wait. How did you know that?"

"Satoru didn't tell you?" He grunted.

Tell you what?

"I came over in the morning to see you. He answered the door. Said you both had fun."

That, he hadn't told you. Not that it really mattered. What actually piqued your confusion was why Satoshi came around the following morning in the first place.

Not exactly fuck buddy behaviour, was it?

"Why were you even there?" You asked. It didn't feel like the right question.

Judging by the flare in Satoshi's stare, it seemed he shared the same sentiment.

He zeroed in.

Slam!

Hand on your shoulder. His forearm crashed above your head as your back shoved against the wall. Knocking the air from your lungs as your hands scrambled instinctively to his shoulder. Your eyes wide. Heart frazzled.

"Sato—!"

"What the hell's wrong with you?" His snarl rumbled from deep within his lungs.

Your nails bit into his shirt. "Wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You're the one acting weird."

"You're the one who fucked my brother."

"We're not exclusive so why should that even matter?"

"Maybe because I'm fucking in love with you?"

Ringing sliced through your ears. Your breath hitched. Heart stopped.

What?

"That. . ." Your eyes gaped. "What did you say?"

"Why the hell are you playing dumb!?"

His voice finally tore through the air. Raised high enough to have you flinching. You clutched his shirt tighter. Stared at him dumbfounded as he tiraded.

"You're the only girl I've been seeing for weeks— I took you out on a date. I. Fuck. I bought you flowers—" his teeth grit.

Something dangerously close to pain glinted in his eyes.

"And you're asking me why it matters that you fucked my twin? Huh? Why the hell do you think?"

"Stop it. Just—"

"Just what? Pretend I'm not in love with you? Pretend I'm fine with you slutting it up with my fucking brother?"

"Guys like you don't love."

It was your turn to spit at him. Voice steeped in venom as your hands shoved hard on his chest.

Satoshi stiffened. Brows furrowed and jaw tight as he held your stare. Glaring into your very soul.

"What?" You'd say he sounded vulnerable. But men like him weren't capable of that.

No. Men like him only took. And took. And used. Until nothing was left.

So you had no shame in digging your heels into the floor. Raising your chin. Snarling right back at him as you shoved again. This time putting some space between you both.

"I said," your hand bunched at the front of his shirt.

"Guys like you don't love. You don't know the meaning of it."

Your glare hardened. Words thinned. Disregarding the look in his eye and instead shoving your conviction down his throat.

You all but watched as Satoshi finally blinked. His face contorting in several different phases, before finally, he set on a scowl.

"Yeah?" His voice bit as he leaned back in. Loomed over you.

Still, you stood tall.

"Tell me what I'm all about then. Since you've got me all fucking figured out."

"Sex. That's all you're about. Nothing but a good time and getting your rocks off, huh?"

"That so?"

His nostrils flared.

Your eyes blazed. As you stepped closer. Bunching his shirt tighter.

He let you. Holding your glare all the way as you got up in his face. Pronounced each word sharper than the last.

"What else am I supposed to expect from a fuckboy?"

Silence.

His arms fell limp at his sides. But the fire in his eyes hardly snuffed out.

And then he grinned. Something faint, but rough. Hardly affectionate.

Bemused.

"Alright then."

Your back met the wall again. Another shove. This time he snatched your wrists and fixed them beside your head. Face craning in. Stare feral.

"All about the sex, huh?" His voice steeled to a smooth velvet. One that undeniably fluttered your heart.

You hated yourself for it.

The blue of his eyes struck into your very soul as he crooked his head over you. Dishevelled strands tickling your forehead.

He hummed, low. Vibrating your very ribcage.

"Well if babydoll likes her love rough who am I to deny?"

Two days.

Two days since your interaction with Satoshi.

Two days since you found out he was supposedly in love with you.

What a joke, right?

Men like Satoshi never loved. They couldn't. You'd had your fair share. Bit off more than you could chew.

An I love you wasn't a promise.

The word love was simply what guys threw around to make sure pretty, oblivious little things kept coming back.

You didn't bother asking Satoru why he hadn't told you about his twin's visit that morning.

You didn't care.

All cared about was his twin.

Tucked between your thighs with his glasses fogged. As your back arched from his living room couch. Hands delved in silky white hair and gripping the roots. His name on your tongue.

The apartment was spacious and neat. What more should you expect from mister model student? The AC crisped the air just right. Cooled your skin in the midst of heated makeouts, unlike your stuffy dorm.

You weren't even aware that Satoru had an apartment near campus in the first place. Didn't he have a dorm too? Perks of rich parents, you guessed.

Not that you could focus on any of that when his tongue squirmed between your folds.

Your head's hung back on the couch. Eyes fluttered to the dim lights above as your lips parted in pants. Moans building on your tongue and washing away together with the pleasure knotting in your gut.

Satoru was eager. Cutely so.

But that didn't make him any less inexperienced.

It was endearing. Sure. But try telling yourself that when you've been ten minutes dangling on an orgasm. Especially when you didn't come here to, well, cum in the first place.

You were hoping for some cuddling. Maybe a movie. Anything to keep your mind off of Satoshi and the frightening realisation that he might.

Actually love you.

But talks turned to kissing. Kissing turned to touching. And before you knew it— Satoru's cold lips were on your neck.

Now he's here. Buried between your legs. Sloppily working on your cunt. Panting on your slick and completely abandoning your clit which throbbed at the neglect.

You'd tried to guide him. Tried to buck and position him. After several failed attempts, you gave up. Flopped back on the couch and told yourself it'd be an experimental session.

But in that absence of pleasure, the pesky, bothersome memory of Satoshi crept back in.

What he had said to you.

Those three words.

I love you.

So lost in thought and the void of pleasure that you laid completely deaf to the creak of the front door and keys rattling.

Heavy footsteps on wooden floors and something dark in your peripheral is what finally snapped your eyes open.

Your muscles tensed. Breath bated. You couldn't even bring yourself to push Satoru away, who reluctantly paused his slippery licks to glance up at the presence at the doorway.

Silver piercings glinted in the dim light. Striking blue eyes shot to the pair behind skewed, fogged glasses.

A helmet tucked under his arm. Jacket slumped over his shoulder.

Satoshi.

For a moment, silence settled over the three of you. The room pulsed with something ugly. Awkward.

Satoshi's brow twitched.

Your hand nudged at Satoru's shoulder. Legs instinctively pressing together. Which subsequently only pulled Satoru deeper, who groaned and dug his nails into your thighs.

You shuddered. "Mngh. Satoru, wait—"

Before your darling nerd could so much as raise his head, a large hand shot out.

When the hell did he cross the room?

"Oh, don't stop on my account."

Satoshi's voice stabbed the air as his fingers curled into his brother's hair. Choking surprise from Satoru and a yelp from you as Satoshi shoved his face right back into your cunt. Smearing your slick all over nose and fluttering his blue eyes back into his skull.

Your lungs constricted. Hands rushing to Satoru's shoulders as a moan finally spilled from your lips. Urged from the hand that quite literally ground his face into your twitching pussy.

Breath thin. Eyes flickering. Your stare shot to Satoshi who slammed his other hand down on the back of the couch. Sapphires digging holes into the back of his brother's skull as his nails dug into his scalp.

Your spine bowed off the couch. Mind spinning. Heath hammering. As your hips bucked up into the nose now grinding perfect on your clit.

Satoshi only leaned over. Voice deep, ragged. Whilst Satoru's muffled in a whine.

"C'mon, toru. That's not how you eat pretty pussy. Lemme show you."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

♡ ₊˚‧ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

A shiver of excitement runs through your spine, spreading outward to the tips of your fingers. When you'd first brought up the idea of wanting to experiment in the bedroom, you'd half-expected Dick to tease you. But all you were met with was genuine interest, his eyes lighting up like you'd given him a gift.

Dick turns, his fingers dancing over a coil of deep blue rope.

"And this," he says, the rope flowing through his hands like water, "is for me."

He meets your gaze, closing the distance between you. The hunger is still in his eyes, pupils blown, but his voice is soft, serious, when he talks. "I'm gonna let you tie me up. Just my wrists. To the bed. And then you're gonna use that wand on me while I'm helpless. How's that for a surprise?"

"Really?"

He nods, extending his hands in invitation. You grab the rope and run it through your fingers. It's cool and impossibly smooth against your skin, and the sensation sends another spark of desire down your spine.

"It's soft," you murmur.

"Silk," Dick says, his voice a little rough as he watches your hands with rapt attention. "Doesn't burn or chafe. Best for beginners. And for people you don't want to hurt." He gives you a quick, reassuring smile. "Assuming I haven't done anything recently to make you want to hurt me. In that case, there's hemp."

You give a small breathy laugh as you look from the rope in your hands to the sturdy rings on your bedposts, then back to his face. The playful energy is still there, but it's banked now, replaced by a focused excitement. He's waiting for your lead.

"So," you say, your voice gaining confidence. "I tie you up. Just your wrists. To the bed. And then I get to play with you with that?" You nod toward the wand on the nightstand.

"Exactly," he breathes, his eyes dark. "I'll be totally at your mercy." He holds out his wrists, crossing them in a classic surrender pose. "You wanna learn the knot? It's easy. I'll show you."

The silk feels alive in your hands. "Show me."

Dick's smile is all encouragement. He holds his crossed wrists steady. "Okay. First, you make a loop like this." He guides your hands, his fingers warm over yours. You form a simple loop in the middle of the rope. "That's a bight. Now, you wrap it around both wrists, just above the joint. Not too tight—you should be able to slip two fingers underneath, easy."

You follow his instructions, wrapping the blue silk around his wrists. His skin is warm and you can feel the pulse in his veins.

"Good," he murmurs, his breath fanning your cheek. "Now, you take the end, thread it back through the bight, and pull it snug. That's a single-column tie. It won't tighten on its own, so it's safe."

You pull the knot snug. It holds firm. You're left with two long tails of rope and a sense of profound triumph. The emotion quickly spreads throughout your skin, a wildfire that only adds to the heat of your arousal.

"Perfect," Dick says, voice tight. He nods toward the bedpost. "Now, lead me over there. And tie the tails to the ring. Use the same knot."

You give the silk rope a gentle tug. He follows the pressure without resistance, letting you lead him the few steps to the side of his bed. Lifting his bound wrists, he offers them to the rings, recently welded to the bedpost. His eyes are locked on yours.

"Same knot," he reminds you softly, his voice a low thrum in the quiet room.

The gentle tone of his voice—so at odds with the profound hunger darkening his eyes—makes you dizzy with want. The ability for your boyfriend to be this patient, this controlled, even as you can see the clear evidence of his need straining against those slutty grey sweatpants, sends heat pooling low in your belly.

You take the two long tails of the blue rope. Your fingers remember the motion he showed you. You form a bight, wrap it around the ring, thread the end through, and pull it snug. The knot holds. Dick's arms are now stretched comfortably above his head, the silk taut but not straining. He gives an experimental tug.

"Perfect," he breathes. He's completely vulnerable, his chest exposed, his body open and offered to you. A faint tremor runs through him. "I'm all yours, baby. What's your first move?"

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, considering. He's spread out before you like a feast—all lean muscle and warm skin and devastating blue eyes—and you can barely think, your thoughts dissolving into the primal desire to devour him like a woman starved. To take and take until you're both wrecked.

The vibrator sits on the nightstand, waiting, but you don't reach for it yet.

Instead, you crawl onto the soft sheets before him, straddling his thighs as your hands come up to rest on his chest. Below your palms, his heart is a frantic, living rhythm. Dick is staring at you, cataloguing every small movement—the shift of your hips, the rise and fall of your chest, the way you're looking at him. His full lips are parted in waiting, the perfect image of a man in deep suspense, exactly where he wants to be—beneath his woman.

"You are so beautiful," he murmurs.

The words send heat cascading through your body, igniting every nerve ending. With the warmth of his affection fueling you into action, you lean down and kiss him.

Slow and deep, your body presses against his as your mouths move together, the weight of you pinning him half against the bedpost and the mattress below. He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through both of you. His bound hands flex above his head, the silk rope pulling taut. He can't touch you back, can't pull you closer.

You break the kiss, breathing hard, letting your hands trail down his body. Your thumbs brush over his nipples. "Your heart's going crazy," you murmur against his lips, biting back a triumphant grin.

He is, indeed, completely at the mercy of your mouth, your hands—your desires.

"You're killing me," he responds, his head falling back against the post, eyes squeezed shut. His whole body is trembling with the effort of staying still. "Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you hum, lips brushing the line of his jaw. You can feel the frantic flutter of his pulse there, too. You savor the feel of it, another token of your triumph—physical evidence of the effect you have on him.

Dick lets out a pained whine, his hips rolling forward helplessly. "Anything. Please."

Unable to hold it any longer, you smile against his skin, descending further. A chaste kiss to the column of his throat, followed by an open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest, right over his pounding heart. You roll your tongue over one of his nipples, teasing.

Dick arches off the bedpost with a gasp. "Oh—"

You pull back, biting your bottom lip to suppress a laugh, the amusement at his desperation fueling the arousal pooling in your core. The intimacy of the situation isn't lost on you—the trust it requires, the vulnerability he's offering so freely. When you look up at him, Dick's eyes are wild, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. You're not sure you've ever seen him look so desperate, so utterly undone. It's undeniably one of the most attractive states you've witnessed him in—this composed, confident man reduced to trembling need.

"You're so pretty like this," you murmur, your own voice gravelly. "All tied up and desperate for me."

You lean back, his eyes tracking your every move as you lean over him and pick up the wand from the nightstand. It's cool and heavy in your hand. A low, steady hum fills the quiet room as you turn it on, the vibration thrumming through your palm.

Dick's breath catches. He watches, mesmerized, as you bring the humming tip back to his body. You don't touch him yet. You just trace a slow, deliberate line down the center of his chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, hovering just above his skin. The air between the vibrating silicone and his flesh seems to crackle.

You stop just above the waistband of his sweatpants. The fabric is tented, straining over his obvious arousal.

"You're shaking," you observe, your voice deliberately calm.

"I wonder why," he grits out, his knuckles white where they grip the rope above his head. "I'm trying so fucking hard to be good."

You've seen Dick in situations much worse than this—watched him take hits that would hospitalize normal people, seen him work through pain with gritted teeth and determination. But you've never heard this level of raw need in his voice, never seen him this close to breaking from want alone. It makes your mouth water, makes everything below your waist clench.

You press the humming wand firmly against the bulge in his sweatpants.

The effect is immediate. Dick's whole body jerks against his restraints, a ragged groan tearing from his throat. The vibration transfers through the fabric, a deep, insistent thrumming right against his cock. His hips buck helplessly, trying to grind into the sensation, but you hold the wand steady, applying just enough pressure to keep him whining.

"Fuck—fuck, please—" he whines, his head thrashing back against the bedpost. His chest is flushed, sweat beading on his skin.

"Like this?" you ask, softly. His body is solid evidence of his enjoyment—every muscle in his chest pulled taut, abs clenching with each shuddering breath—but watching him struggle to form words, to answer through the pleasure, is undeniably intoxicating. You move the wand in a slow, circular motion, mapping the hard length of him through the soft fabric.

He lets out a choked sound. "Yes—god, yes, I—" His words dissolve into a groan as you increase the pressure. His thighs are trembling violently. "Please, I'm gonna—you can't—I'll cum in my pants like a fucking teenager—"

You pull the wand away.

The sudden absence of vibration makes him cry out, a sound of pure loss. He slumps against the ropes, panting, his eyes glazed and unfocused. A dark, damp spot has already spread on the front of his joggers.

"Looks like you already started," you murmur, tapping the wet fabric with the still-humming wand. He flinches, a full-body shudder wracking him.

You let the wand fall from your hand as you turn it off. It hits the sheets with a soft thud. Dick watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, his chest heaving, desperate and pleading without saying a word. You don't make him wait this time—unable to tease him further as your own patience withers away with your growing arousal. You can feel the evidence of your want, surely soaking through your underwear already, making you ache.

You make your way back down his body, planting a kiss against his hip bone as your hands go to his waistband. Hooking your fingers in the fabric and his boxers beneath, you pull them down in one smooth motion. His cock springs free, hard and flushed, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip.

The sight of him makes your mouth water, your stomach fluttering with anticipation. You lean forward and take him into your mouth in one slow, deep glide.

The sound he makes is pure, shattered relief. His hips buck instinctively, but the ropes hold him fast. You set a relentless pace, one hand wrapping around the base of his shaft, the other gripping his trembling thigh. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around the head with every upward stroke.

"Baby—fuck, I can't—I'm gonna—" he moans, his voice cracking.

You hum around him, the vibration making him shiver. His whole body goes rigid, straining against the silk bonds. Then he's coming, hot and bitter down your throat, his cries raw and broken above you. You swallow, working him through it until he's shuddering and spent, slumping bonelessly against the bedframe.

You pull off with a soft pop, looking up at him as you run your tongue along your lips. He's a wreck—sweat-slicked, trembling, his eyes glassy with pleasure and submission.

"Didn't come in your pants like a teenager, but you sure did last as long as one," you hum with a small, teasing grin.

Dick lets out a rough scoff, his cheeks tinged with a blush. "Shut up."

You reach up and begin working at the knot securing his wrists to the bedpost. Your fingers, still slick from saliva, fumble slightly with the silk. The single-column tie comes loose easily. Dick's arms drop, the blue rope still wrapped around his wrists like bracelets. He sags forward, his forehead pressing to yours.

"Fuck," he whispers, his voice wrecked. "That was so hot."

A soft laugh escapes you as he moves to collapse fully on his back. He pulls you to straddle his hips and you feel the hard line of his cock, already half-hard again, against your pants.

Leaning over him, your hair falls around both your faces, a curtain of privacy from the empty room. Dick's mouth is curved into a dazed smile, the heat in his eyes mixing with profound affection. You lean in and kiss him—soft at first, just a press of your lips against his. He melts into it, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, kissing you back with a quiet, desperate hunger that makes your stomach flip. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against yours, and a low, needy sound escapes his throat.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathing a little harder.

"Hi," he whispers, his voice rough.

"Hi," you respond. The giddiness in your chest, that fluttering love-sick bird, preens at his attention.

Dick leans forward to catch your lips in another kiss, his hands settling on your hips in a firm, kneading grip. "Your turn?"

"My turn," you echo.

You reach for the length of blue rope still trailing from his wrists. You unwind it slowly, the silk whispering against his skin. His eyes are locked on yours, dark with understanding and a fresh wave of anticipation.

You hold up the freed rope. "Tie me up next."

His lips curve into a sinful grin. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up until the cool air of the room hits your exposed skin. He brings the shirt over your head, tossing it aside without a glance.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to admire the view of you, naked from the waist up. "Fuck," he breathes, the word a raw, reverent exhale.

One of his hands comes up, his palm warm and slightly rough as it cups you, his thumb brushing over your nipple in a slow, deliberate circle. The sensation is electric, sharp and sweet, and you gasp, your back arching further into his touch. He watches your face, mesmerized by your reaction, his own expression one of awestruck hunger. You'd think he'd never seen you like this before—not that you've been together for years, not that he's mapped every inch of your body countless times. But the wonder never fades from his eyes, the reverence never dims.

He looks at you like it's the first time, every time.

"So beautiful," he whispers, his voice ragged. He leans down, his mouth replacing his thumb, his tongue tracing the same sensitive path. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He moves to your other breast, his tongue circling the peak with the same focused attention. His other hand finds its twin, his thumb and forefinger gently rolling and tugging at the sensitive nipple. The dual sensation makes you gasp, every nerve ending in your body alight.

You feel him smile against your skin, a smug, satisfied curve of his lips. Then a hand slowly trails down, resting at the waistband of your sweats. He lifts his head, his mouth detaching from your breast.

"On your stomach," he says, his voice dropping into a lower, commanding register.

A shiver runs through you. You roll off him, turning onto your stomach as he moves, leaning back on his heels to watch you. His hands are gentle as they gather your hair, sweeping it over your shoulder to expose the back of your neck.

The cool, smooth silk of the blue rope touches the skin between your shoulder blades. He begins to loop it. "Arms behind your back," he instructs, "Wrists together."

You comply, crossing your wrists at the small of your back. He wraps the silk around them, tying the same secure, single-column knot he taught you. It's snug but not tight.

You're bound, helpless, face-down on his bed. It's extremely erotic. You're halfway certain there's already a growing puddle on his sheets from your wetness alone.

"Good." His lips brush the shell of your ear. The silk of the rope shifts against your bound wrists. "Now, my turn. Tell me if you want me to stop."

You nod, breathless, your body singing in need. You feel the mattress move as Dick gets up, and then again, as he settles back next to you.

A second later, you jump slightly at the foreign feeling of something being traced slowly down the length of your spine—the curved smooth wand. He drags the silicone tip from the nape of your neck, over each vertebra, down to the waistband of your sweats. The sensation is electric in its promise, even with the vibrations turned off.

The low hum returns, filling the room. He places the vibrating wand flat against the small of your back, right above your waistband. The deep thrumming resonates through your entire body. He holds it there, letting the sensation sink in, before trailing it further, curving around your ass before he holds it against your aching core.

You gasp at the feeling, the vibrations making your body sing, even through the shifting fabric of your pants. Dick begins to move it in slow, deliberate circles.

A soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by the sheets. The vibration from the wand is a deep, insistent thrum that seems to settle in your bones, melting the tension from your shoulders. You arch your back slightly, pressing into the sensation.

Dick makes a pleased sound behind you. "That's it," he murmurs. The humming wand moves with more intention as he presses it slightly harder against your clothed core. The vibration is more direct now, more intimate. Your bound hands flex behind you.

He keeps the wand there for a long moment, letting the pleasure build, before he pulls it away. You hear the soft click as he turns it off and sets it aside. Then his hands are on you again, deft fingers slipping under the waistband of your sweats. He pulls them down, along with your underwear, in one slow, controlled motion. The cool air hits your exposed skin, making you shiver.

His palm settles on the back of your thigh. "So pretty," he whispers. "All tied up and spread out for me."

Words elude you as you push your hips back, a slow, needy roll that presses your bare ass against the warm palm still resting on your thigh. It's a wordless, unmistakable invitation.

Dick's breath hitches. His hand tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh for a moment before relaxing. "Greedy," he murmurs, but there's no reproach in it, only deep, delighted approval.

His other hand joins the first, both palms smoothing over the curves of your ass. He kneads gently, his thumbs tracing the sensitive crease where your thigh meets your body. Then one hand slips between your legs from behind.

You gasp into the sheets as his fingers find you ready. He strokes through your folds, coating himself in your slick.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groans, his voice thick with awe.

One finger slides into you easily, curling upward to find that sweet spot inside. You clench around him, a helpless, pulsing rhythm. He adds a second finger, stretching you, and you rock back against his hand, your bound wrists straining behind you, the silk rope the only thing keeping you from completely unraveling.

"More," you beg, your voice breaking as his fingers work you deeper. You're moaning softly, greedily welcoming the sensations—the stretch of his fingers inside you, the firm pressure of him against you, the low, approving murmur of his voice in your ear.

Your bound hands make every touch feel more intense, more deliberate. You're completely his to play with, and the thought alone makes you clench around his fingers.

"As you wish," he breathes, placing an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. His fingers curl harder, pumping into you with a steady rhythm that has your hips rocking back against his hand. He leans back, his other hand snaking around your hip to rub against your clit—the friction building into a tight, white-hot coil deep in your belly.

"You're gonna come for me, aren't you?" he groans, his voice filling the air alongside the obscene wet sounds of his fingers inside you, the slick rhythm of your desperation. "All tied up and taking it so good. So perfect."

You nod emphatically, your cheek pressed against the sheets. The combination of praise, relentless stimulation, and your desperate helplessness pushes you over, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that steals your breath. Your body clenches violently around his fingers, back arching off the bed as pleasure rips through every nerve.

Dick holds you through it, his fingers still moving inside you, drawing out the waves until you're shuddering and spent, panting into the sheets.

He slowly withdraws his fingers. You feel the wetness between your thighs, the cool air on your overheated skin. His hands come to your hips, turning you gently onto your back. He adjusts the silk rope—loosening it briefly, repositioning your wrists to rest at your stomach, then retying the knot with the same secure precision. The blue rope still binds your wrists together, but now they're settled lower, leaving you flat against the mattress rather than arched uncomfortably.

He looks down at you, his own face flushed, eyes dark with satisfaction and something softer.

"Fuck. I love you," he says, his voice rough. "You're incredible."

You look up at him, your pupils blown wide, still half dazed. The blue rope is still a soft, binding weight around your wrists. "Want you to fuck me," you breathe, the words a needy, breathless beg. "Please."

Dick's expression shifts, overwhelmed by raw, hungry desire. He lets out a shuddering breath. "You have no idea what you do to me." His eyes flick to the rings on the bedpost, then back to you. "Want me to tie you to those?" he asks, his voice rough with want. "Keep you spread out for me?"

You swallow hard, nodding. "Yes. But—" You shift slightly, testing the position of your bound wrists. "Lower. Not like yours were. I want to stay flat."

Understanding flashes in his eyes, followed by approval. "Yeah. I can do that."

He moves quickly, kneeling between your spread thighs. He takes the trailing ends of the silk rope and feeds them through the lower rings on the bedpost—the ones positioned closer to the mattress. He ties them off, and when he's done, your bound wrists are secured but your body remains flat against the bed, arms stretched just enough to create that delicious feeling of restraint without strain.

He leans over you, bracing one hand on the mattress by your head, the other guiding himself. The head of his cock nudges against your slick entrance, and you both gasp at the contact.

He pushes in slowly, a thick, relentless stretch that makes you arch your back. The silk rope pulls taut against your bound wrists. He buries himself to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, and stays there for a long moment, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing raggedly.

"You feel so good." His voice is strained. "Always so perfect around me."

Then he starts to move. You whine at his first thrusts, the fullness stealing your breath.

"Dick," you gasp, your bound hands tight with desperation to touch him. "Oh, fuck—"

He groans, a raw, desperate sound, and kisses you, swallowing the curse. It's messy, all tongue and shared breath. He pulls back enough to look down, watching himself disappear inside you.

"Look at that," he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. "Look at you taking me." He thrusts again, deep and claiming, his gaze fixed on the joining of your bodies. "You're so fucking beautiful like this. All mine."

He drops his head, his mouth finding your neck, sucking a mark into your skin as the pleasure builds. A tight, white-hot coil winding tighter and tighter in your belly once more.

He uses one hand to hike your leg higher over his hip, exposing you completely to him. The angle changes, and his next thrust is so deep you cry out, a melodic, broken moan that seems to hang in the air.

"That's it," he praises. He leans over you, bracing himself on his forearms, his face inches from yours as he fucks into you faster, harder.

"I love you." Dick's mouth catches yours in a heated kiss. "I love the sounds you make." Another kiss. "I love the way you feel beneath me." Yet another kiss, deeper, his lips still against yours as he adds, "And I love you being completely at my mercy."

You're beyond words, beyond thought. You're just sensation and need. "More," you beg, the word a ragged gasp. "Please, more."

He groans, his eyes darkening with a feral intensity.

"Yeah?" he breathes, his hips never slowing. "You can take it, baby? You can take all of me?"

You nod, dazed, your vision blurring at the edges. You can. You want to. You want everything he has to give.

"Fuck," he whispers, and then he's kissing you again, a messy, desperate clash of lips and tongue as his pace becomes relentless—a rhythm that's both punishing and reverent. You're both slick with sweat, breathing in each other's air, moving as one. The coil inside you winds tighter and tighter, a spring about to snap. You can feel his own control fraying, his thrusts becoming uneven, his groans more guttural.

His lips break from yours, hovering just above. "Don't come yet," he says, his voice ragged against your mouth.

"Please," you whimper, the word torn from you. "Dick, please—"

His thrusts don't slow, but they become more controlled, deeper, hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Not yet, baby. I want you to feel every inch of me. I want you to beg for it."

He's drawing it out, edging you mercilessly. The coil is a live wire, sparking with every deep stroke. You're trembling, your thighs shaking where they're wrapped around his waist. You're so close, teetering on the edge, held there by the iron control in his voice and the relentless, perfect rhythm of his hips.

"Dick—" you sob, your body trembling violently on the edge, every muscle coiled tight.

He grins, a wicked, predatory flash of teeth, and kisses you hard. Then he reaches over, his arm stretching, his fingers closing around the previously discarded wand. His dark eyes hold a promise as he flicks it on. The low hum fills the room again.

He goes back to thrusting into you, hard and deep, the bedframe protesting with each powerful drive of his hips. At the same time, he presses the humming wand against your clit.

The dual assault is immediate and overwhelming. The deep, filling stretch of his cock, the relentless vibration right on your most sensitive spot. You cry out, a raw, broken sound, as your orgasm rips through you. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure, your body convulsing around him, bound hands clawing at the air.

Dick groans, his rhythm faltering as you clench around him. "Fuck, baby—" he chokes out, his own control shattering as he follows you over the edge with a choked shout, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.

He falls above you, his body shaky as he presses small kisses to your chest. The wand falls from his limp hand, buzzing harmlessly against the sheets until he fumbles to turn it off.

You let out a ragged breath, your body flushed and dazed. A small, incredulous smile grows on your lips, and a soft laugh escapes you. "Holy shit."

Dick, still collapsed half on top of you, lifts his head. He's just as wrecked—sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes heavy-lidded. A matching grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice hoarse. "Holy shit is right."

He shifts his weight off you, gently disentangling and slipping out of your body. You feel the immediate, cool absence. Before you can protest, his fingers find the knot of the blue silk rope still binding your wrists. He works it loose with gentle tugs until the rope falls away, pooling on the sheets.

You bring your freed hands up, flexing your fingers. The skin is marked with faint, pretty lines from the silk. You reach over and trace one along his sweat-shined collarbone. He shivers and collapses beside you, pulling you with him so you're half-sprawled across his chest. His heart hammers against your ear, a frantic, living drum.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Well," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "Good first time?"

You bite back a teasing grin. "Eight out of ten," you say into his chest, your voice muffled by his skin and the aftershocks still humming through your veins.

Dick's chest vibrates with a low, genuine laugh. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, his fingers tangling gently in the damp strands at your nape.

"Only you," he murmurs, his voice rough with amusement, "could have an earth-shattering orgasm and immediately critique my performance."

"It's a gift," you say, but there's no bite to it. You're boneless, warm, sated in a way that has nothing to do with just the sex and everything to do with the solid, steady beat of his heart under your ear.

You lie there in comfortable silence, one of his arms wrapped around you, the other thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. For a while, there's nothing but the sound of your breathing evening out, the rustle of sheets, the distant hum of the city outside. It's peaceful. Liminal. That soft space between exertion and awareness where nothing hurts and everything feels right.

When you finally surface, properly surface, you notice the room is darker than you'd realized. The far window shows the city coming to life at night—neon bleeding through the blinds, headlights streaking past in blurred lines. You frown slightly and tilt your head to look up at him.

He must feel the shift because he moves his arm, looking down at you with a soft, questioning hum. "Hmm?"

"What time is it?" you ask.

Dick reaches for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen before showing it to you. Your eyes widen.

"Dick!" You smack his chest lightly, trying to sit up. "We were supposed to be at the manor an hour ago!"

"Nooo," he whines, petulantly. He pulls you back down, wrapping himself around you like a muscled octopus. "It's fine," he mumbles into your hair. "We'll just be late."

You huff, giving in despite yourself, the warmth of him pulling you in as you settle back against his chest. But then he adds, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice:

"I'll just tell them we got a little tied up."

You roll your eyes affectionately, pushing weakly at his chest. "Six out of ten now."

He pouts, laughing, holding you closer as your sweat-soaked bodies press together. He peppers kisses along your face—your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—coaxing a reluctant laugh from you despite your fake annoyance.

You don't make it to dinner that night.

AUTHORS NOTE: yeah...i mean... yeah :D like i mentioned i def wrote this w stick the landing in mind bc ummm headboard!!! sex lovers over here!!!

i also kinda hate this bc its def not my best work, but also i havent written in forever so a win is a win!! my pretty prose isnt needed for two freaks to fuck nasty