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But lying beneath your panting, sweating husband as he ruts into you from behind doesn’t make even the least bit of your pussy twitch. While the foreplay started off good, it started during a moment where you were just chilling, reading a book, kind of hungry, and not in the mood for sex…but of course, your husband can’t read the room and is always thinking with his dick. 

So when he proceeds to speed up and repeat that “oh, yeah, oh, yeah” mantra that he does when he gets close, you lie there on your tummy and let it happen, just letting him enjoy it.

You feel like you owe him this. After all, you did take him away from his job and responsibilities as a businessman for a seven-day trip at a resort along the Caribbean sea. Maybe lackluster sex isn’t too bad. Not like other things in your marriage. 

And you are reminded of those things when you feel him pull out and spray his cum on your ass, stilling his hips and letting out a loud grunt as he grips your ass so tight that you wince with pain. When he finally lets out a sigh of relief, he stares down at you, a lazy smile on his face. “Did you cum?” he asks. You nod though you certainly didn’t. But you are the dutiful wife, moaning when you should and pumping up his ego. 

Satisfied, your hubby gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and rolls off of you, leaving you lying naked on the pristinely white sheets of your king-sized bed. You purposely ordered a suite for the two of you for this trip, complete with sofa bed, a vanity for your makeup, a mini-bar, and a balcony overlooking the beach. Perfect for a “baection” with your man to get your marriage back on track and spend time together…or so you thought. 

Once again, reality smacks you in the face when he moves to the edge of the bed naked, showing off his toned body. He truly is a beautiful specimen, but if any woman got him in the bedroom now, they would dumb his ass before he could bust a nut.

The sex while you were dating was quite good, but now? He barely takes the time to make you cum. One could argue that it’s because of his demanding career, but you always take the time to make him “arrive” when you are intimate. 

But him? Crickets. Not to mention no consideration for your pleasure, no care, and no spark. You can’t remember the last time he even attempted to make you cum!

And then…there is the worse part. You turn over on your side as he slides on his robe. “You’re not gonna cuddle?” you disappointedly ask. Your husband pulls a face like he doesn’t believe you’re serious. “You know I don’t cuddle after sex, Y/N. It’s nasty.” 

You scowl at him. He didn’t used to be like this at all. He used to snuggle with you afterwards. Now after sex he is more concerned about cumming and then cleaning up, barely regarding you as his wife. “And cumming on my ass isn’t?” you ask, your tone snipped. He pauses from tying his robe and grimaces. “Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to join me, but not with that attitude.” 

You rise from your position and get under the covers, the cool sheets feeling like silk against your naked body. “I’m sorry, I just…we never cuddle anymore. I thought this trip would change that.”

Your husband only sighs as if you pouring your heart out to him is more of an inconvenience to his shower than not. “We can cuddle after my shower, Y/N. Don’t be so impatient.” 

And then he is gone, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving you alone to feel hurt. And then that hurt stews into irritation. When you hear the water running, it steams just as your anger does.

You start to wonder what you did any of this for. Stressing over the best resorts and just to appease a husband who could care less about the waning romance in your marriage? Four years together, one year married, and all of it hanging on a thin thread because he refuses counseling, therapy, or to talk about your issues. 

Your anger pushes you to rise from the prison of the bed, wipe your hubby’s spunk off your ass with some tissues, and get dressed in your brand new bikini. It is a vibrant yellow that makes your brown skin pop and makes your ass look absolutely delectable. It is among one of the pieces of sexy vacation outfits that you brought along for this vacation. After dressing, you begin packing your beach bag, barely turning around when you hear the shower shut off and footsteps approach. 

“Hey, where ya goin’?” your husband asks as if he didn’t just reject you. You don’t turn around as you toss sun tan oil and a romance book in your bag. “I’m going to the pool,” you snippily reply. “Alone.” 

Your husband is silent, watching you pack. “But I thought we were gonna cuddle.” You scoff, finally turning to face him dripping wet in his towel. “Well, we could’ve, but you wanted to shower first after fucking me when I told you about three times that I wasn’t in the mood.” 

You watch his face change from confusion to irritation. Yet another fight and you’ve only been on this ship for a day! “So now I’m the bad guy now?” he scoffs. “You always do this, Y/N. You always wanna twist shit around on me when you don’t get your way!” 

You tilt your head at him, glaring daggers. “When I don’t get my way?” you parrot, enraged.

You could smack him with the sunscreen you’re holding gripped in your hand. “All I did was ask for a fucking snuggle with my husband who only shows me affection when he’s got his dick in me.” 

“That isn’t true!” he barks. You scoffingly laugh. “Oh, it’s not? I had to beg you to come on this vacation just to try to re-spark our romance…and you didn’t even wanna do that!”

You had been planning your introduction to the idea for months, praying that he would agree. He only agreed when you mentioned that you would pay for it and all he had to do was take off for the week. Thank God for your high-paying job and you saving up money for this trip. 

Your husband stands before you now, fuming and fumbling for something to say. You continue to pack until completion and grab your wedges and key card before putting on your sunglasses. “I’ll be back up later,” you grumble. “Don’t wait up.” And you leave him standing in his towel, shutting the hotel door behind you before venturing off to the pool for a cool dip and a cool drink. 

Your pool time to decompress proves to be a good plan. Deciding that the pool is too crowded for your liking, you head to the adults-only area complete with two bars, hot tubs, and ocean views galore. You go to the bar to order yourself a pretty and strong cocktail to take the last ten minutes out of your head.

As you sip on your drink with its pineapple and orange wedges on the glass, your phone rings in your bag. You fish it out, grinning as your friend’s name flashes across the screen. Thank God for the wi-fi package. “Heeeey, babes!” she shouts when you answer. Hearing her voice makes you homesick instantly. “Hey, babes,” you greet. “God, am I happy to hear from you.” 

“I guess the plan isn’t going well,” she replies. “I was gonna ask how your trip is.” 

You cross your legs on the stool, showing off your legs and skin glowing with sun tan oil for all to see. “Oh, I’m loving it, but not being in the same room with a man who won’t even cuddle me after fucking me.” You have admitted some things to your friend about your romance issues in your marriage, but not this. 

“Daaamn, it’s like that?!” she gasps. “Girl, you should've been divorced that loser! I don’t know why you’re even bothering with this BS. You’ve only been married for a year!” 

She’s been telling you this since you got married, reluctantly becoming your maid of honor despite her clear disdain for your fiancé. “But we’ve been together for four,” you remind her. “I can’t just walk away from that. When things are tough in a long term relationship, you try to work ‘em out!” 

‘Until you can’t anymore,’ a little voice in your head remarks. ‘And maybe you’ve reached that limit.’ You wipe the thought away with another sip of your cocktail, your tastebuds exploding with the taste of rum and guava fruit. 

“Yes, but why bother if you’re not happy?” your friend asks. “I mean, are you doing any of this because of you or him?” 

You stop short, thinking about this. Is any of this for you anymore? What about your happiness? Your feelings? “This is for both of us,” you finally reply. “I can’t go on like this anymore. No touching, kissing, or romance…” 

Lately, it’s been happening more since your husband’s promotion as you expressed to your friend months before. The dates have been dwindling, the connection is fading, and the sex is less than enjoyable. You aren’t happy, but you aren’t willing to give up either. 

“How’s he been on the trip?” your friend asks. You use your straw to stir the ice around in your glass. “Just not paying much attention to me, drinking a lot…looking at other women.”

You wince as your friend begins to explode with rage. “EXCUSE ME?!” she bellows. “Oh, heeeell no! You’re gonna have to get even, girl. If he’s gonna do what he wants on this trip, so will you.” 

“What does that mean?” you ask, not entirely sure you want to know the answer. She is happy to elaborate regardless: “It means finding the hottest guy there and getting some vacay dick, no strings attached.” 

You nearly choke on the bit of pineapple wedge you bite into. “I can’t cheat on my husband!” you hiss into the phone. “What kinda girl do you think I am?!” 

Your friend huffs in response. “Fine, then just flirt. Y/N, this is about your enjoyment too! You’re there for another six days, so why not make the most of it with an international stud?” 

You can’t believe you're hearing this. You must have heatstroke. “You’re insane,” you scoff. “I can’t just pick some random guy and—“ You cut yourself off reaching across the bar for a napkin only for your hand to brush against someone else’s. 

“Oh, sorry!” you gasp. “I wasn’t paying any….” Your words immediately die when you catch a glimpse of the red-hot stud sitting next to you at the bar. Literally, his long hair is red-hot, cascading down to his broad shoulders and chest exposed through the few unbuttoned buttons to his Hawaiian top. He is a big guy, at least six-foot something and all muscle as he sits in the stool next to you, bigger than you even while sitting down.

Your eyes trail down to his red trunks hanging loosely from his muscular thighs and calves right down to his big feet in his open-toe slides. Your eyes lecherously slide back up to his beefy arms, one of them inked with a sleeve, and the sharp, toothy smile he gives you. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he replies, his crimson eyes kind, sparkling in the summer sun. “It’s my bad. I was actually gonna ask what drink that was.” You are so gobsmacked by this sexy stranger than you barely hear your friend screaming at you. “Y/N?!” she screeches. “Who is that?! Is he hot?!” 

“Gottagocallyoulaterloveyabye,” you say in a rush before hanging up. The red-hot stranger continues to smile, making you sweat more than the hot rays above. “U-Uh, it’s called a Sex On The Beach.” 

He laughs, the sound making your stomach curl. Even his laugh is sexy! “Interesting drink name,” he chuckles. “I heard they have a Cherry Popper and somethin’ called a Pink Pussy here too. Bakugou likes those.” 

“Bakugou?” you question. He tuts, smacking himself on the forehead with a sheepish smile. “Oh, sorry; my husband.” 

Your eyes glide down to the gold band on one of his thick ring fingers. Of course, he’s married. “Oh,” you sigh, wilting in disappointment…but why? You’re married! “I’ll have to try those ones. My husband ain’t a fan of cocktails like that; he calls them girly.” 

You may as well let the stranger know that you’re married too. It’s only right…right? “Girly or not, they’re still hella good!” he laughs. “I know me and my man don’t care. I’m Kirishima, by the way.” He sticks one of his big, calloused, scarred hands out for a shake. You ignore the way your pulse jumps as your palm connects with his. 

Kirishima? Where have you heard that name before? Suddenly, it clicks. “Wait, are you—“ 

“Red Riot?” he chuckles. “Just don’t blow my cover. I think the Hawaiian shirt is working.” You are shocked. You’ve never met a celebrity before, let alone a pro hero. You’re not used to seeing him without his gear either! 

“It’s a pleasure, Red Riot,” you whisper, once again shaking his hand. It’s really just an excuse to feel his calloused palm gripped in yours again. “So you guys are here on a much-needed vacation?” you ask, sipping on your drink.

“Emphasis on ‘much-needed’,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus it’s our fifth year wedding anniversary and we wanted to celebrate. We’ve been together since our UA days.” 

High school sweethearts?! You could melt right here on your stool. “That’s so sweet!” you coo, raising your glass to him. “Well, happy anniversary to the both of you.” The redheaded hunk smiles, blinding you. “Well, thank you…uh…” 

“Y/N,” you introduce. “L/N.” The pro’s raises his sexy, pierced brow in interest. “Full government?” he chuckles. “Ejirou Kirishima then. My friends call me—“ 

“Oi, shitty hair!” someone barks from the lounge chairs. “What’s the hold up?! You went to get drinks five minutes ago!” You turn your head to the rough n’ gruff-sounding voice, nearly dropping your drink at the sight of the platinum blonde stud standing before you. 

He is ALL man, just as his husband is: big, tall, all muscle, and all tattoos. In opposition to his husband, Dynamight has two sleeves plus a large dragon tattoo snaking around his left slave. Its tail trails up to his orange swim trunks that match the black skull tank top he wears. 

Despite the Raybans covering his eyes, you can tell his eyes are as intense as his handsome face etched in seriousness is. The sun glows against his blonde undercut and the piercings glinting in his ears. His plump bottom lip and brow are pierced as well, definitely exposing you for your fetish. 

The redhead turns to you with a smirk. “It’s Kiri, actually,” he whispers. He then rises to greet his husband, smiling extra big. “Sorry, babe; I got caught up talkin’ to my new friend here. Y/N, this is my husband Katsuki Bakugou.” 

When Bakugou finally stops in front of you, you have to use every ounce of energy to appear normal while sitting with the two mountain-sized pros while they stand over you. Bakugou takes his shades off, putting them on his forehead. Those vermillion eyes are like lasers, intensified by Bakugou’s brooding look your way. His stare is hotter than the damn sun and you lose your cool. 

“N-Nice to meet you,” you stammer. You stick your hand out for a shake. Bakugou stares at it for a brief moment before he takes it in his inked hand. “Likewise. You tryin’ to steal my husband from me?” His expression is so steely that you nearly miss the quirk at the corner of his mouth. 

“He’s joking,” Kiri chuckles, nudging Bakugou in the arm. “Don’t scare the poor lady! I was just telling Y/N here that we’re on our anniversary trip.” Bakugou rolls his eyes but his cheeks are flushed pink. “Ya might as well tell it to everybody on this fuckin’ island.” 

Kiri laughs, pressing a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “So are you here on your own anniversary trip?” the redhead curiously asks. You mentioned your hubby.” 

“Oh, uh…” You freeze, thinking of something to answer with. “Maybe with friends?” Kiri adds. “Family? Or a solo traveler? Which would be cool too!” 

“Jesus, shitty hair, what’s with the third degree?” Bakugou criticizes, glaring at his husband through his shades. The redhead goes red in the face, somehow making himself look sexier. “Sorry. I might’ve had too much before this.” 

“I’m here with my husband,” you finally answer. “Nothing too special.” You take a sip of your drink to cool yourself down and give yourself some liquid courage. Discussing your marriage woes with strangers isn’t ideal for a starter convo for you, yet here you are. The couple look confused and quite perturbed at your statement. “What does that mean?” Bakugou asks, raising a pierced brow at you. 

You shrug, feeling hot all over and the breeze from the ocean provides no comfort. You shouldn’t have talked. “Just that it’s not an anniversary trip or a honeymoon. It was my idea for a vacation.” You almost say that the entire trip came out of your pocket as well. “We’ve been together for four years, married for one.” 

“Well, that’s somethin’ to celebrate!” Kiri exclaims, obviously trying to lighten things up. “And if you’re thinkin’ up fun trips like this, he should feel lucky to have you.” The genuine nature of his tone and the kindness in his eyes nearly make you fold. “You wouldn’t be the first to think that,” you bashfully reply, “but thank you.” 

Kiri looks like he wants to say more but a tray of shot glasses wedged with lime and filled with clear liquid stops him short. “Shots on the house for the happy couple?” the bartender asks with a grin. When he motions to you with the tray, you realize with horror what he’s referring to. “O-Oh, we’re not—“ 

“Don’t be so coy, honey,” Kiri laughs, giving you a wink. “Thanks, sir! We’d love free shots!” He takes the tray from the bartender with no problem and gives him a thankful grin. You stare at him, wondering what in the world just happened and if you’re possibly hallucinating. Bakugou nudges your hip with his, smirking. “Don’t think nothin’ of it. You looked like you needed some tequila.” 

He passes you a shot, the strong aroma nearly singeing your nostril hairs. An open invitation. After all, how often do you find yourself drinking with celebrities? Let alone pro heroes? And it is a vacation. “I guess I do,” you giggle, taking the shot from his thick fingers. You ignore the way your stomach flip flops as your fingertips brush his. “Cheers then!” 

Bakugou’s eyes are full of mirth and interest. “To what?” he asks. You give him a secretive smile, placing a lime wedge in your mouth and sucking on it. You think the couple’s eyes flitting down to your mouth is just a trick of the sun. “To an unforgettable trip,” you respond. 

Clink! 

The three of you clink shots and down them in unison, laughing when Kiri coughs his lungs out. For the next fifteen minutes or so while Kiri orders cocktails for himself and Bakugou, you chat. 

You learn about Musutafu, their home in Japan, is riddled with even more pro heroes than in the U.S. 

You learn about Kiri’s love for spicy foods and Bakugou’s secret obsession with the manga series 

‘A Sign of Affection’ that you both gush over. You tell them about your job and daily life; your likes and dislikes; your relationship with your husband. 

You notice the way Kiri keeps a hand on Bakugou’s knee while sitting to stop him from bouncing it so much. Your eyes catch the way Bakugou’s fingers toy with the hair at the nape of Kiri’s neck. Little things like this make you envious. Not just of them, but of the fact that you can’t join in such PDA. Your husband would never hear of it. 

By the time the convo comes to an end, you feel that buzz and rush of warmth from your drink and three tequila shots. And that recklessness that causes you to eye the couple’s crotches too much.

You should lay down before you do something you’ll regret. “You two should probably head back to your seats,” you tell the couple. “That family with the five kids looks awfully desperate for a chair.” You nod at the stressed-looking couple hollering at their kids to pick up their beach towels and stop fighting. 

Bakugou grumbles something, already getting up to lay claim on their chairs. “Well, maybe we’ll see you around again,” Kiri says with a smile. “Me and Bakugou are thinkin’ of going to Club Paradise. You should bring your man along.” You blink in confusion before your brain, fuzzy from the tequila and the couples’ mixed cologne, realizes that he means the resort’s nightclub. 

“Or just bring yourself,” Bakugou cuts in, not even caring how this suggestion sounds. “Sounds like your man is a wet blanket…no offense.” He shrugs passively though he doesn’t look like he’s that apologetic.

You’re sure the tipsy details you provided to them about your hubby doesn’t help: he doesn’t dance, he hates going out, and he’s all about work. “It’s fine,” you chuckle. “He might be interested, but we’ll see. I’ll give it some thought.” 

“You should,” Kiri replies, unintentionally flexing as he stretches. You do your best to not stare. “A good drink and a dance always helps to…ease the tension.” Your ears perk at the way he says the last three words: seductive. Suggestive. A hot promise lying between the lines. If he meant it to come off this way, he succeeded because your body instantly responds. 

“Especially with good company, I’m sure,” you say, shocking yourself by flirting back. Even more so with the way you stare straight at Kiri and Bakugou while you say it, memorizing their eye color for later. The two look like they want to say more to you, but they are interrupted by two pineapples being shoved at them. 

“For Mr. Kirishima?” the bartender calls. Their drinks are done which means they are leaving now. You feel a pang of disappointment, but it ebbs somewhat when Kiri shoots you a smile. “See ya around, Y/N,” he says before walking off with his husband. As they leave, Bakugou turns back to look at you, his crimson eyes playing with you over the rim of his shades. 

When you turn around to order a cool drink of water (because you desperately need it), your bikini bottoms feel sticky and you’re bothered. Extremely bothered. Especially when you sense that the couple is still eyeing you down from the back. Your nipples tingle beneath your bikini top and everything feels too stimulating. You haven’t had any guy make you feel this horny in years, let alone your husband! 

Maybe you will take your friend’s advice tonight. There is no shame in flirting and having a little fun that doesn’t involve infidelity. Luckily for you, your husband has the same idea that the hot couple did: a night at Paradise.

When you go back upstairs for a shower and a nap, he peppers you in apologetic kisses. “I thought a lot about what you said earlier and I wanna make it up to you. Tonight will just be about you and me.” You believe him when he says this, trusting his word….until you actually get there. 

After a shower, a nap, and some dinner at the buffet, you dress in your vacation clubbing finest: a short, backless dress that ties at the neck and some strapped gold heels with your white toes out. You leave your braids down, spray some fruity body mist on your skin, slather your body in shimmery oil, and you feel delicious as you stare at yourself in the mirror. 

You wonder, briefly, if the sexy couple you met earlier will think so too. You’d be lying if you said you aren’t looking forward to seeing them tonight if they come. It’s the only thing worth staying for as you watch your drunk husband flirt with an Amazonian woman with the skin-tight dress, spray tan, and veneers right in your face. You can’t even enjoy the beautiful, tropical ambience or the music because of how irritated you are. 

First, your husband decided to pre-game by ordering a whiskey with dinner. Now he’s here barely spending time with you when you look like a whole snack and disrespecting you?! He wouldn’t even be here if you didn’t pay for the trip!

The woman gives a raucous laugh at something he says, her teeth reminding you of a camel’s. “I can’t believe you live so close to me! What’s it like there? Are the guys as handsome as you?” 

Your husband grins, sloppy and proud. You decide you’ve had enough and stroll up to them, putting a possessive hand on his shoulder. “Yes, they are,” you reply to the irritated woman. You whip your husband around to face you, fixing his collar. “Babe, why don’t we go get some drinks? There’s tons of cheap choices.” 

At the mention of more booze, he nods and goes into his shorts for his wallet. Then he pats himself down. Then he checks his phone. “Shit, I left my card in the room,” he huffs. “Why don’t you get the drinks, babe? You’ve got your money, right?” You stare at him, your anger boiling like hot soup. “You left your credit card upstairs?” you hiss. 

“But it was your idea to come here. Not mine.” Your husband begins to look around the room, concerned about other people but not you. “Listen, let’s not do this here, especially in public. Just get us some drinks and we can discuss this later.”

He gives you a look like he isn’t down with your “BS” tonight and you quickly storm off, heading to the bar. You could leave him standing here if you wanted to. Then he can be concerned with what other people think. 

You are so angry that you nearly miss someone calling your name from the end of the bar. You look and your heart flips at the sight of the sexy couple that have been invading your thoughts since your first meeting at the pool.

Both are wearing Hawaiian shirts in differing ways (Kiri’s is slightly unbuttoned at the chest while Bakugou keeps his open to expose his white wife beater underneath) and shorts that don’t drag your attention to their dicks at all. 

“Hey, you made it!” Kiri announces, looking overjoyed to see you. Bakugou sits on a stool, a smirk playing on his juicy-looking lips. “So she decided to show up. Where’s your husband at?” 

He looks around the club glowing with pink and purple lights shaped like palm leaves.

“Oh, chatting away with new friends,” you passively reply, so glad that you sprayed yourself with your favorite body mist. “So nice to see you two again.” Bakugou shrugs, his eyes flitting across your form. “Well, we did say we’d be here.” 

“Correction: I said we MIGHT show up,” Kiri states, earning an eye roll from his husband. “But now that you’re here, I’m glad we decided to come tonight. You look great.” His crimson eyes drink in your outfit and legs glowing with shimmery, gold oil, much to your satisfaction. “You two don’t look too bad yourselves,” you flirt, shooting them both a smile. “The Hawaiian print fits you.” 

“Bakugou hates it,” Kiri whispers, making you giggle. He raises a brow at you, curious. “So your man sent you to get drinks? Or are you just that independent?” 

You can tell he is trying to joke with you, but knows that your answer is the latter. “Both,” you sigh. “He’s a little occupied right now, but he wanted us to come here tonight. Something we could both do together.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. What a crock of shit. “And where’s he at now?” Bakugou wonders aloud, still looking around the room. Why he wants to meet your spouse so badly is beyond you. “He should be right…”

You turn, pointing an acrylic nail behind you at the spot where your husband was before…but he is gone. Your stomach drops and you begin to look around the club at unfamiliar faces. He couldn’t have…he wouldn’t… 

Then you hear his ridiculous, drunk laugh and peer across the dance floor where he is sitting in a wicker chair with another woman with enough Botox in her face that her muscles don’t move. You feel your anger reach its breaking point. He left you. He left you.

“Hold my spot,” you growl to the couple, and then you’re storming off, titties and hair angrily bouncing as you do. Your eyes are set dead on your husband, ready to tear him a new one. 

When you finally stop in front of him, it takes him a while to even register your presence. In the time you were at the bar, he has gotten even drunker, his collar askew and his eyes glassy. “There you are!” he exclaims.

You place a hand on your hip, glaring down at him. “And here you are, abandoning me and talking to a chick who isn’t your wife.” 

The Botox woman’s face pales and she scowls at your man. “Your wife?” she scoffs. “You didn’t tell me you were married! Where’s your wedding band?!” Your eyes shoot down to his hand. Sure enough, it’s gone. He took it off. 

“That was just so I wouldn’t lose it!” your husband quickly protests. He stands and puts his hands up as if calming a crazed animal. “Relax, babe. She’s just interested in a possible investment in my company.” You cut your eyes to the woman sipping her martini, looking like a kid caught in the cookie jar. “Oh, I’m sure she is,” you mutter. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” 

You turn and begin to walk off, but you hear your husband sigh, “Oh, here we go”. That enrages you even further. You storm off to a secluded area in the club, arms crossed and fuming. Your husband follows, looking aloof to your rage. “What’d I do now, Mommy?” he drunkenly asks.

You shove him, earning a few looks of interest and alarm. “Don’t talk to me like that!” you hiss. “How could you just abandon me like that in a place I’m unfamiliar with and with people that I don’t know?!” 

Your husband glares at you, confused and irritated. “I didn’t abandon you! You were getting the drinks!” 

But you barely listen to this half-assed argument, firing off like a firecracker. “That’s the other thing; you wanted to come here tonight and you left the room without your money. So now your wife has to pay for everything while you get drunk off of my dime and flirt with other women.”

You flash your hand at him where your diamond ring glistens. “And I didn’t leave my ring either!” 

Your husband rolls his eyes, his face growing red. “I wasn’t flirting with—“ 

“Oh, save it!” you snap. “Or were you too trashed those other times too that you don’t even remember?” He pulls a face, looking at you as if you’re the crazy one. “What is this about, Y/N? Why are you being this way?”

You can feel tears pushing at your tear ducts, but you push them away; you refuse to cry in public. “I wanted to come on this trip for us to get closer,” you lament. “For us to build that romance again; that spark that we’re missing! And you’re not even trying even a little bit!” 

And instead of showing you compassion and understanding, your husband continues to neglect and invalidate your feelings. “Listen…I don’t know what you want me to fucking do,” he tiredly sighs. “I can’t be the perfect man that you’re looking for, Y/N. He doesn’t exist.” 

‘Clearly,’ you bitterly think. He has shown you that. 

“I do everything for you and this is how you repay me,” he scoffs, still scowling. “Well, fine, if you feel that way, I’ll just leave you be.” He takes a step back and then turns around, walking towards the exit. Your eyes widen at him, gobsmacked. “Wait, you’re leaving?” you gasp. “You can’t be serious. You’re gonna leave me here alone?” 

Then your husband turns around and you think he’s going to apologize; to tell you he is just joking…but then he motions his hands at you in a ‘shoo, shoo’ motion as if you are a mere, pesky fly. “Come upstairs when you’re done acting like a bitch to me,” he cooly says. And then he leaves you alone for good, standing in the club completely humiliated and heartbroken. 

Luckily, someone comes to your rescue to save you from your heartbreak. They tap you on the shoulder and you turn to see Kiri standing there with a gigawatt smile on his handsome face. “Excuse me, miss; me and my husband saw you across the bar and really dug your vibe. Can we buy you a drink?”

He gives you a wink that somehow masks the heartbreak you’re feeling. “Just make sure it’s strong,” you joke back. 

He begins to lead you back to the bar where Bakugou sits, sipping on a mai tai. “Did you find your husband?” Kiri asks, taking the mojito that Bakugou passes to him. “Where’s he at? I thought we were meeting him.”

You stare warily at the pros, biting back tears. “Uh…he wasn’t feeling too good and went upstairs,” you lie. 

Bakugou sees right through it like it’s glass. He takes a final sip of his drink, draining the glass, and nearly slams it on the bar. “Y’know, you’re just as bad as this one when you lie,” he roughly says, nudging Kiri in the arm. “Eyes goin’ off to the side, a little pause like you’re thinkin’ of somethin’ on the spot…you’re not slick.” 

You feel your body flush under the strobe lights. ‘Oh, no,’ you think, lamenting to yourself. ‘Now he’s gonna ask you why you lied, you dummy!’ 

But to your surprise, Bakugou leans one beefy, inked arm over the bar, waving down the bartender. “But if you’re truly hellbent on coverin’ your man’s back, we won’t push it. If anything, I respect it…can’t understand why the goofy left you here though.” He waves a hand again at the bartender, growing irritated at being ignored. 

“Yeah,” Kiri agrees, standing behind Bakugou’s stool and rubbing his shoulders to calm him. He is so tall that he towers over you, somehow making you feel more safe than intimidated by his sheer size. “It’s kinda weird he would just leave without you, unless he had food poisoning or somethin’.” 

Maybe it’s the hot wash of lights or the men accompanying you, but you feel the truth push at your throat. “He didn’t,” you admit. The couple immediately turn their attention to you. “I caught him talking to another woman, we had a fight, and then he left.” 

Kiri blinks his crimson eyes at you. “He left you alone?” he asks in disbelief. “Here?”

You slowly nod, biting your lower lip to keep from crying in front of these two strangers. “He told me to come upstairs when I stopped being a bitch,” you add, cracking a wry smile at the two. “Can you believe this is my marriage?” You laugh it off, but the couple can tell that it is fake and icy.

“Shit, I already thought the guy was a loser; now, it’s a fact for sure,” Bakugou grumbles. 

“Leaving your wife or girlfriend in the middle of a club is NOT manly,” Kiri growls, eyes flashing with anger. “Good thing we’re with you. We can keep you company as long as you’re here!”

Bakugou passes Kiri's mojito to you, coaxing you to sip. “And you can tell us more about this asshole you decided to marry.” He bangs on the bar, scaring a few people. “Yo, bartender! You’re about to lose your tip!” 

You take a tiny sip of the mojito, your tastebuds exploding with the taste of mint, lime, and rum. Kiri pats the empty stool beside Bakugou and you sit, crossing one leg over the other, your dress riding up slightly on your thighs. Kiri sits on your left, sandwiching you between himself and his husband. 

The bartender returns, sweating slightly and out of breath. “Apologies, Mr. Bakugou! Free rounds for the happy couple?” The couple turn to look at you, asking you in silence. “It’s free rounds, darlings,” you giggle, flipping your braids over one shoulder. “I’d be happy to share…and a rum punch too, please!”  

Two rum punches and three tequila shots later, you are spilling your guts to the couple. The three of you sit in a secluded lounge area overlooking the beach, the silver moon glowing off of the waves softly crashing on the shore.

Most people are on the dance floor or at the bar, so you have privacy with the two hunks who sit across from you in lounge chairs. You sit on a small hammock held between two fake palm trees, talking on and on about your husband’s neglect and bummy, crummy ways. 

Through it all, the couple stay quiet, paying close attention to you. You appreciate their listening ears, feeling better just getting it all out.

“So we packed up and came on this vacay in the hopes of rekindling our romance,” you explain, nursing a glass of water that Bakugou ordered for you. “It was my idea and he went along with it, but…now I’m thinking that this was a total waste of time.” You place a hand on your head, mostly because it is spinning but also because you feel so stupid. 

“For him?” Kiri says, sipping his second mojito. “I’d have to say yes; there is NO gettin’ through a guy like that, sweetheart. But a trip like this for yourself is never a waste! You come here to enjoy the pool, the excursions, and makin’ new friends like us.” 

You laugh, finding his words adorable. “We’re friends?” you giggle, not realizing how this sounds: like you want to be more. “Well, I guess only friends would buy me drinks and listen to me trauma dump.” 

Bakugou clucks his tongue, rolling his vermillion eyes. His eyes are so pretty…like rubies. “It’s not trauma dumping if we wanna hear it, silly girl.” Kiri nods, agreeing. “Bakugou’s right, sweetheart. We like you; plus, you’re the first girl we’ve met here that isn’t tryin’ to have a threesome with us.” 

He doesn’t know how wrong he is. And if he keeps calling you ‘sweetheart’, who knows what will happen next. “I like you guys too,” you admit, flushing bashfully. “You make a cute couple; I’m almost jealous!” 

Bakugou cracks a humored smile, sipping a piña colada now. “Well, don’t be. The bartenders already think we’re together.” His tongue glints with something–a piercing, you realize–as he toys with the straw in his glass. 

Suddenly, a thought pops into your head that you have no business saying aloud: “Wouldn’t it be funny if we acted as a couple this whole trip just for the hell of it? Two sexy husbands and their pretty wife?” You begin to laugh a little too much, your cheeks hurting and tears pricking at your lashes coated in mascara. 

When you stop, you realize that the couple aren’t laughing. They’re just staring dead at you. “Yeah,” Kiri deadpans. “Hilarious.” 

Suddenly, the air feels tense and the magic from the alcohol is fading. You don’t feel sexy or confident anymore; just awkward. You take a couple sips of the water and place it on the “W-Well, it’s getting late and my husband is probably wondering where I am.” 

“No, he’s not,” Bakugou argues. The finality in his tone stops you short, rendering you speechless. “Any dickhead who leaves his wife alone in a club isn’t thinkin’ ‘bout her well-being at all.” His gaze is intense and unwavering as he stares at you over his glass rim. “Sorry to break it to ya, babe.” 

Babe? Sweetheart? What the fuck is going on here? ….And why are you so okay with it? You’re so wrapped up in decoding this situation when suddenly, the couple leave their post and come to sit with you in the hammock. Gently, they both climb in and sandwich you between them, their tree-trunk legs dangling off of the side with you. 

“So why not spend the night with two guys who actually want your attention?” Bakugou asks, his lips just a little too close to your ear. You suddenly lose the ability to function like a human being. “W-What?” you stammer, turning to the blonde. “What do you–” 

“You know what I mean,” he interjects. “Can you really sit here and act like you don’t want us too?” One of his hands lays on your knee, making your skin tingle. 

“We’ve been watchin’ you for awhile now,” Kiri confesses, his hand brushing your fingertips. “It wasn’t our intention to ever do anything with another person on this trip, but when we saw you at the pool…” He pauses, taking a breath. “Shit, Y/N, our want for you was instant.” Your pussy gushes at his sinful confession, leaving your thighs trembling.  

“And when we found out your bitch ass husband left you alone here?” Bakugou’s lips stretch into a smile, his eyes mischievous. “It was a wrap.” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Out of anyone else in here, these two happily married men want you tonight? 

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Kiri gently says, taking your silence for discomfort. “If intimacy isn’t on the table for you, we can just stay here, share some drinks, and dance…or if you really feel uncomfortable, just tell us and we’ll leave you be. Your comfort matters to us, Y/N.”

This man barely knows you and he is showing you more consideration than your husband has in months. Bakugou’s lips brush against your ear, the smell of mint and rum on his tongue. “Either way, we wanna make your husband regret ever leaving you here alone tonight,” he murmurs. “So what’s it gonna be, little one?”

Little one. How did he know that name makes you wet?

You have never been hornier than you are right now sitting between these two studs. The tequila and rum you’ve consumed over the hour helps too. It helps you make the first move by turning towards Kiri, cupping his face in his hands, and pressing your lips to his. He makes a small noise of surprise before he melts into your kiss, his soft lips moving against yours. “Mmm,” he hums against your lips, the sound seducing you. 

When you pull away, his crimson eyes are dazed and hooded. You then turn to Bakugou who watches with bated breath. “You get one too, Dynamight,” you giggle before your lips are crushed against his. Just like his hubby, Bakugou’s kiss causes sparks to ignite in the air and your arousal to switch to hyperdrive. The yearning you feel for these two is instantaneous and intense.

When you pull away, you take their hands in both of yours and interlace your fingers. “So I guess it’s your room then, boys?” you seductively ask, peering up at them through your lashes. 

Somehow, moments later, you find yourself in between the two married pros on a big bed, stark naked and their big, hard, throbbing, pretty cocks stiff in your hands as you stroke them up and down, up and down. You keep your dress on, but your straps were tugged off by Bakugou to expose your tits while Kiri stripped off your heels, blushing as he told you how pretty your feet were. 

You pay close attention to their luscious moans and responsive hums of pleasure as your hands, slick with your saliva, twist around the base as you scale them up to their bulbous tips dripping in pre all for you. You take a couple licks at the white pearls, smiling as their moans grow louder at the feeling of your tongue on them. They felt your tongue minutes before once they stripped, letting you indulge in every rippling muscle they had. 

When they finally took off their pants, you were amazed. While both big and veiny, they have their differences too: Bakugou is smooth and curves upward while Kiri is thick, has a happy trail, and has a dick piercing. You gaped at both of them while the two softly chuckled, finding your reaction endearing.

“I’m guessin’ your man is lackin’ in this department?” Bakugou asked, his hand curling in your braids. Staring at the cock in your face, you silently nodded. Severely, your husband was lacking.

Tap-tap.

Bakugou tapped his tip slightly against your lips, his hooded eyes exploding with lust. “Well? You just gonna stare or take care of ‘em?” Kiri bit his lip and watched, silently urging you to do as you wanted to his dick. 

You do just that, sliding Bakugou’s hard cock into your mouth while you continue to stroke Kiri, loving their eyes on you as you take the blonde deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You raise your eyes to him, watching his handsome face flush red as he watches you throat him, his hips slowly grinding to push himself deeper. “Ah, shit,” he sighs, his eyes sexily rolling back to show the whites and red tendrils of his eyeballs.  

Kiri toothily grins at his husband fucking your mouth, still slowly fucking your hand. “Feelin’ good, Kats?” he chuckles. “Me too. She’s bein’ such a good girl, isn’t she?” He sticks two fingers under your chin to catch the drool that has begun to drip down from your lips and sucks your saliva off of them, staring straight at you as he does. 

“Almost,” Bakugou replies, laughing to himself. “She needs to take this dick a little more.” So he speeds up, increasing his speed so the sounds of you gagging and your wet throat flexing around his cock are more intense and lively, causing him to groan.

“Open wide, baby,” he grunts. “Open that throat up for me.” You’re feeling good and used now as he begins to fuck your face, ruining your lip gloss and staining your cheeks with mascara. 

“God, yes, baby!” he groans. “Deeper. Take me deeper.”

You don’t know how much deeper he can go. Your eyes sting with tears as you feel your throat protest against being filled, causing you to gag more. But you push through, breathing through your nostrils and letting the pro fuck your jaw off of its hinges, your spit dripping down to your tits from your chin. 

“Don’t make her choke now, Kats,” Kiri says, though his cock throbs in your palm at the sight of you gagging on husband’s dick. “I still need my turn.” Bakugou huffs with irritation, but slides out, letting you suck in some air. “Fine; just don’t hog her. That’ll piss me off.” 

Then it’s Kiri’s turn. He is thicker than Bakugou so when he slides into your mouth, you feel it. The wet walls to your throat stretch around him as he slides in deeper, causing you to open your throat as if you are preparing to yawn to accommodate him.

The redhead tilts his head back and moans to the ceiling, his big hand gripping the back of your head. “Oh, fuck!” he moans, pumping his hips forward and back, fucking your throat as if it were a toy. 

You feel absolutely, positively used. You feel like the sluttiest woman who has ever walked the earth. And you love every second of it. Bakugou smiles sinfully as he watches you deepthroat Kiri, making his husband moan and whimper as your throat constricts and flexes around hum.

“I knew you’d be good at this, cutie,” he groans. He pulls you off of Kiri to look deep into his eyes. “You’re just our type too: pretty and eager.” 

His lips crash against yours and his tongue slips into your mouth, never mind that you just sucked two cocks. He kisses you passionately and eagerly, relishing and swallowing the muffled moans you make. And then he’s taking Kiri’s cock and sliding it back into your mouth for you, using his hand to push you down on his husband’s shaft. 

“And very small,” Kiri adds, chuckling through panted breath. “Small enough to pick up and put in any position you wanna get fucked in tonight.” He peers down at you through red slits for his eyes as you throat his cock, sucking and glucking as if it is your profession, spit and pre placing your lipgloss. 

“Would you like that, baby?” he murmurs. You peer up at him through your lashes, feeling heat pool between your thighs. “Mmm-hmm,” you hum around his cock. 

Bakugou snatches you away and replaces Kiri’s dick with his, fucking your mouth once more. Your eyes roll back as his cock slides against your throat, filling it, taking it for his own. “Oh, fuck, yes,” he groans, his fist full of your braids. “Take it, baby. You take it so fuckin’ good.”

His muscles tense as he pistons into your mouth as he would a fleshlight or Kiri’s ass, his balls full of cum and slapping slightly against your chin. 

You feel Kiri’s big palm on your ass, stroking it over your dress. “You’re still wearin’ too much,” he growls, squeezing a handful of your ass. Bakugou watches with interest, loving how you look arching your back as you suck him dry. “Not a bad view,” he hums. “‘Specially from this angle.” 

SMACK! 

Your body flinches and you moan around the cock in your mouth as you feel a sting from Bakugou’s assault on your asscheeks. Kiri’s thick fingers curl under your chin, forcing you to stare up at his handsome, flushed face. “Look up at me, cutie pie. Show me those pretty eyes while you suck my husband’s fat dick.” 

SMACK!

Bakugou smacks your ass hard again, definitely using some of his quirk because of the sharp zap you feel licking across your skin despite the fabric of your dress. “Arch that back a little more, babe,” he gently coos despite rudely fucking your throat. “I wanna see that pussy while you suck me off.” 

He pulls the hem of your dress up to reveal the thong settled between your asscheeks..and currently being eaten up by your pussy, wet pussy. Kiri practically drools at the sight, grabbing your ass at the same time Bakugou does.

“A thong?” he tuts. “What a slut we’ve got, Kats.” Bakugou growls in agreement, palming the soft globes of your butt. “Betcha wore this hopin’ you’d get fucked by another man tonight,” he growls. “Or maybe by us.” 

SMACK! 

“Am I right?” he asks. You feel your asscheeks recoil against his palm, the zap of electricity from his sweaty palm making your senses fire up.

“Y-Yes!” you whimper out. Despite the pain, there is pleasure mixed in the stinging sensation, causing your clit to throb against the slick, sticky fabric of your thong stuck against your pussy lips. 

SMACK! 

This time, Kiri does it and he hits very hard. You wouldn’t be shocked if he left a handprint. “Sorry, little one,” he chuckles. “I just couldn’t resist you anymore.”

He continues to spank your ass, lighting fire across your cheeks and possibly using his quirk too to make his hand a lot rougher. Bakugou slips his cock out and feeds you Kiri’s instead, his dick throbbing and twitching as his husband roughly fucks your mouth this time around. 

You feel his sneaky fingers wrap around the thin waistband of your thong, pulling it so it rubs against your needy slit. “Such a little minx,” he continues as he toys with your thong. “Wantin’ to get fucked by total strangers.” 

SNAP! 

He snaps the thin string back into place like a rubber band, making you jump from the slight sting as it hits your skin. “Shit, look at how wet she is!” Kiri groans. “It’s drippin’ all down these thighs.” He and Bakugou stare at the slick staining your inner thighs which you didn’t realize either. You’ve never been this wet before. 

“All of this just for a couple of spanks on that ass and dick in your mouth?” Bakugou chuckles, thoughtfully stroking your asscheeks. “Yeah, we’re definitely not lettin’ you go back to that dickhead now.” 

Kiri pulls his cock out of your wet mouth, causing a string of spit to connect from his tip to your bottom lip. “You’re stuck with us tonight, baby,” he says, his voice low and sultry. “And maybe for the next six days too.”

He lays you back on the bed, dangling your legs off of the edge as he and Bakugou kneel before you. Their eyes glint at you like twin moons, hot with lust. “Now let us show you what we do to pretty pussies like yours.” 

Somehow, you find yourself on your back with the entire room spinning and swirling as the married couple proceed to share your pussy like it is their last meal on their vacation. Sometimes they share, both of their tongues and soft lips sucking, slurping, licking, and caressing every inch of your sensitive, sopping wet cunt. They alternate between each other too, both of them individually eating you out too. 

Kiri is a whole munch, diving deep into the wet depths of your pussy, moaning about how good and sweet you taste. His crimson eyes lock dead on you, paying attention to the way you respond to his tongue flicks and swirls. Your husband has NEVER eaten you out like this: so eagerly and sloppily yet still considering your pleasure and what you need.

You writhe and squirm against Kiri’s mouth, gripping his red locks for dear life. “O-Oh, shit!” you moan. “Oh, fuck yes, yes, yes! That’s s-so, so good!” 

The redhead hums in amusement, tearing the lips on his face away from your wet, puffy ones below with a wet pop! “Such a squirmer,” he cackles, his big hands squeezing the flesh where your thighs meet your ass.

Bakugou, who has begun to fist his leaking, hard cock, has his sights set dead on your pussy. “Hold her down. She’s not gonna do shit when I’m tongue fuckin’ that pussy.” 

The blonde is a little rougher and more possessive than Kiri, but still eager to slurp up everything you give him. He holds one of your thighs, pressing one leg open while Kiri has the other, the both of them working together to ensure that you can’t move as Bakugou eats your pussy with abandon.

You cry and sob at his tongue lashings, the cold metal of his tongue piercing melting like ice cream against the soaking, hot walls of your pussy. 

You feel another tongue caressing the other hole you have down below, the wetness of his spit slipping down your asscrack. “Mmm, fuck, Kiri,” you whine. The redhead grins against your asscheeks, one hand massaging the globes while he wiggles his tongue against your asshole.

“Yeah?” he teases. “You like gettin’ this ass eaten too?” You whimper as Bakugou sucks on your clit at the same time Kiri presses an open-mouthed kiss to your asshole. “Little slut,” he whispers before his tongue is rimming the tight hole of your ass. 

Your eyes widen and your mouth falls slack. You have never had anyone eat your ass before, but this was something you discussed with the couple before coming in here. During the walk back to their room, you discussed all the things you want to try and enjoy in the bedroom, including the possibility of anal sex–something your husband wouldn’t dare to discuss. 

“Hey,” Bakugou suddenly growls, nipping at your inner thigh with his teeth. “Don’t neglect me. I’m the one puttin’ in work down here too.” 

SMACK! 

You shriek, damn near cumming as his palm comes down on your clit, a zap of electricity making your toes curl and your thighs buckle. “I-I’m sorry!” you sob. “I won’t do it again, Daddy, I promise!”

His vermillion eyes glare at you as he smirks, cocky and proud. “Damn right, you won’t; not if you wanna cum…and you do wanna cum, don’t you, little one?” he murmurs before taking your clit into his mouth and gently sucking on the nub. 

He and Kiri continue to slurp at your holes, their saliva dripping down your thighs and your asscrack, soaking you and making your holes even more lubricated. It helps for their tongues to dip in and fuck you, causing your moans to grow louder, so loud that you’re sure that the entire resort can hear you. You dig your hands in their hair and grip their scalps as you feel yourself peaking, your orgasm cresting so much that your back arches. 

“Oh, my God, I’m gonna cum!” you wail out. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna fucking…!”

The two men lick faster, their tongues and lips encouraging you to spill your cum all over them. In a split second, you do and you nearly scream to the heavens as the pleasure engulfs you, washing you away on a wave. The couple moan and growl in appreciation as you spill your cream all over their tongues; they lick away, cleaning up every inch of you. The cum that spills down your asscrack, Kiri catches, feral grunts escaping him. 

When you are finally twitching and whimpering, the two stop, their lips coated in your juices. You watch in awe as they begin to kiss in front of you, mashing their lips together in a sloppy kiss. You could cum again just by looking at them.

“Let’s give this hole a break now,” Kiri suggests, his smile mischievous and lustful. One finger rims your asshole, making you flinch at the sensitivity. “I think this one here needs some more playin’ with.”

He turns to Bakugou, puckering his lips at him. “Get the lube for us, won’t you, hubby?” he teases.

Minutes later, after Bakugou grabs a travel bottle of warming, edible lube from the nightstand, you are turned over and bent over the bed, your ass sticking in the air and gripping the sheets as one of Bakugou’s thick fingers gently probes your ass. “Oh!” you gasp, your eyes rolling behind your head. “Ah, fuck!” 

“Does it hurt?” Bakugou asks. You whimper, shaking your head into the bed, but he thoughtfully strokes your ass, envoking a response from you. “Answer me, little one. Gotta know you’re okay.” 

“N-No,” you squeak. “Just…a lot.” It is a foreign feeling that is different from Kiri’s tongue, but the lube and copious amounts of spit that Kiri provided earlier help a lot. Bakugou slips his finger in a little more, taking in the way your body talks to him. “Nice and slow, little one. Gotta make sure we don’t hurt you.” 

Hurt isn’t even a word in your vocab at this point. Your pussy is gushing like it hasn’t before, slipping down your thighs as Bakugou slowly fucks your ass with his finger, opening you up more and more. “Fuck, you’re so tight here,” he grunts. “I’ve been watchin’ this ass all night. Just wanna fuck you here.” 

SMACK! 

He gives your ass a playful slap that has you singing and crooning like a songbird into the sheets stained in your makeup. “Stretch you out the way you need to be,” he murmurs with want, his cock throbbing and pulsing with need between his thighs. Kiri wraps a hand around his husband’s cock and slowly begins stroking him while he brings his lips over to your pussy. 

“But don’t worry, cutie; we’ll fuck you here too. Can’t neglect her, now, can we?” He puckers his lips and spits on your pussy before slurping it back up, stimulating your kitty while Bakugou continues to fuck the puckered hole of your ass. “Fuck, look at you,” he rasps. “Little vixen is gettin’ wetter from this.”

Kiri hums in agreement, your cream and his spit sliding down his chin.

“All it takes is some fingers in your pretty little asshole, don’t it?” the blonde asks before he adds his tongue into the mix, licking around your hole as he continues to probe the tight hole with his finger. 

“Oh, fuck!” you whimper. “Please! More!” Bakugou laughs, taken aback. “More?” he parrots, grinning. “What, you want these dicks now? Is that it? Are these fingers and tongues not enough for some slutty holes like yours?” 

You can’t help it; his dirty words coax your body to move on its own and you toss yourself back into Bakugou’s finger, taking the digit fully in your ass. “That’s a good girl, little one,” Kiri murmurs, his tongue swirling around your clit. “Fuck yourself on Katsuki’s finger. Make yourself cum again.” 

And you do. The stimulation and the warming lube are too much, making every part of your body sensitive to the touch. “H-Ha, o-oh, m-m-my G-God!” you stutter, your hips bucking like a bull’s. “I-I’m gonna cum again!” 

“Oh, yeah?” Kiri laughs against your pussy. “Do it, cutie. Cum for us again. Make that pretty hole cum for us.” He and Bakugou continue to lick, grunting and moaning into your holes, pushing you further to the edge. 

But instead of that warmth in your core, you feel a tickle in your bladder and you realize with horror what is happening. “Wait, you guys!” you shout in a warning. “Wait, I don’t think…I’m gonna pee! Stop!”

But they don’t and unfortunately for you, liquid squirts and spills wildly from your pussy and into Kiri’s mouth. He sputters in shock though he doesn’t pull away, slurping up every ounce of you. 

“Shit, she squirted!” Bakugou gasps, laughing in disbelief at the scene. “I’m guessin’ her man never made her do that,” he cackles. He dives down and licks some up for himself, moaning in appreciation and satisfaction at your taste. “There’s plenty more where that came from.” 

You don’t even know what ‘more’ looks like for you. You think squirting when you’ve never before just about takes the cake, but as the two men climb up on the bed with you, you know that this is not the case for them. 

Kiri gently rubs your back, placing his palm at the middle of your spine as you huff and puff, exhausted. “Tuckered out, little baby?” he coos. Wordlessly, you shake your head. Despite your exhaustion, your need for their cocks is more. “No?” he chuckles. “Even after all that, you still want us?” 

“Oh, baby, we’re gonna have some fun with you,” Bakugou groans. He hikes you up with ease, sitting you down in his lap, his hard cock throbbing against your tummy. “Tell us you want us to fuck you,” he demands, his eyes drilling hard into yours. 

Your response is automatic, your want ignited. “I want you to fuck me,” you reply. “Want you both inside me. Need you both to fill me up and make each other cum.” You wrap a hand around both of them, earning wanton groans in response to your touch. “Please, Daddies?” you beg. 

That plea and your doe-like, brown eyes peering up at them lead to you straddling Kiri’s lap while his thick cock slides against your slit, nudging your clit and making you slippery enough to slide down his shaft. The big, beefy redhead leans back against the headboard, his big hands massaging your ass while you straddle his thighs, grinding your pussy against the shaft of his throbbing dick. “You feel so good, Kiri,” you moan, gripping his shoulders. 

The redhead jerkingly nods in agreement, biting his lip at the feeling. “You do too. Easy now, cutie. I’m bigger than your husband, so take all the time that you—“ 

Evidently, you already had enough time because you’re suddenly sliding your dripping pussy down on him. You both loudly moan at the explosive pleasure, your gummy walls tight and silky around his velvety, pulsing cock. “That was easy,” Bakugou chuckles. “Cock slut couldn’t wait to take you.” He is on his knees behind you, rutting his cock up against your asshole. 

You feel tears prick your eyes, making them glassy and wet as you bring yourself up and down on Kiri’s thick cock, whimpers and sobs leaving your sticky lips. “Oh, fuck, Kiri!” you sob. “You’re so fucking big! You’re stretching me out so good!”

You can feel it–everytime you come down, you somehow feel yourself stretching more. Despite your husband’s nice penis, he could never make you feel this needy. This desperate to take more. 

Bakugou presses a kiss to your shoulder, his pre-cum staining your asscheeks. “Slowly, baby. There’s no rush for this. I’m lettin’ you use my man, so be grateful.” 

You bite your trembling lip, doing your best to go slow. “I-I am,” you whimper. “Thank you!” The blonde groans at your sweetness, his tip nudging your asshole. 

Kiri watches your bouncing tits as you come up and down on his cock like a little bunny, his face flushed red and his eyes crimson slits. “Such a little sweetheart,” he groans. “And such a sweet little pussy too, f-f-fuck!” He grips your ass tighter, drawing you to him.

“Ride me, angel,” he begs, staring up at you. “Please bounce on my cock. Keep usin’ that dick like a toy, little one. Use me.” 

You do as you’re told and begin bouncing a little faster on him, creating an orgasmic rhythm that takes you both to paradise. You dig your nails into Kiri’s shoulders, damn near breaking skin, but he doesn’t care. Not when your cunt is this good.

“Guess you ain’t the only slut here,” Bakugou chuckles. “Does she feel good, Eji?” The redhead whimpers in reply, his fangs digging into his bottom lip. “Words,” the blonde growls. 

“Y-Yeah!” Kiri grunts out. “So good!” Bakugou hums in enjoyment and satisfaction, tucking his hand between you to rub Kiri’s heavy balls. “Then fuck her back. Don’t make her do all the work.” Kiri does as he is told, raising his hips to meet you as you come down, plunging his cock deeper inside of you. 

As he does this, Bakugou’s tip passes the threshold of your ass a bit, making you gasp. “I’m gonna go in now, baby,” he warns. “Just relax. You feel nice and loose now. It’s fuckin’ gapin’ for me.” You can feel it, the walls of your ass nice and stretched, the cool air making you shiver. 

“Fuck, that’s hot!” Kiri groans. “She’s stretched out here too.” And he’s right–you are so stretched open by his cock that he has no problem fucking you dumb, sliding you up and down, up and down, along his cock slick with your juices and his pre-cum. 

“You ready, baby girl?” Bakugou whispers, his lips toying with your ear. “Just tap my thigh if you need me to stop. That goes for shitty hair too.” It takes a moment to find your words, but you do despite your head dizzy with pleasure. You turn to hook an arm around his head, pulling him closer. “Yes, sir,” you mewl. 

“Just the tip,” he grunts before he slides the rest of the way in, pushing past the rim of your ass. He grunts in pleasure as a strange howl escapes you, making you feel like a totally different person. A stranger. A slut who likes getting fucked by two fat cocks in both of her holes. 

“Oh, my God!” you wail, your head falling against Kiri’s chest. Bakugou slides the tip out an inch and goes back in, repeating this action for a couple of minutes, allowing your hole to grow familiar with his cock. “Easy; just fuck me back slowly. Take your time. Gotta make sure you can take all this dick.” 

The two of them begin to fuck you in unison, Kiri slowing down to match Bakugou’s tempo and not overwhelm you. Their luscious moans and feral grunts fill the bedroom smelling of sex, lube, and mingled cologne and body mist, their sweet whispers of “you’re doin’ so good, little one” and “such a good fuckin’ slut for us” making your body tingle with need. 

At some point, the slow fucking flies out the window and Kiri begins to rut up into you, his hips slamming up against yours. Bakugou chuckles, still rolling his hips slow and easy as he fucks your asshole. “So much for nice and slow. You’re fucking her like you wanna nut, shitty hair.” 

“Can’t help it,” the redhead grunts. “She feels so perfect!” His balls, soaked in your juices, slap against your clit as he pounds up into you, grunting with each thrust. “Goddammit,” Bakugou hisses, “if you keep poundin’ her like that, you’ll make me wanna speed up too.” His balls stimulate you too, your needy button nearly exploding from the pleasure. 

“Go ahead,” you beg. “Fuck me faster! Please!” The couple stare at you in astonishment, slightly pausing to regard you in shock. “Faster?” they ask in unison.

You nod, pressing your face into Kiri’s shoulder. You don’t want them to see your face–you know you look a hot ass mess. Bakugou gives your ass a smack, chuckling as he does. “You’ve got it, little one. Just don’t run from us.” 

For the next blissful minutes–or hours?–, the couple fuck your holes in unison, their cocks frotting and rubbing against one another, making them moan, grunt, and whimper into your ear. You bounce pathetically on their dicks, forced to take all of it as you whimper and sob, tears threatening to drip down your cheeks stained with ruined mascara and foundation. You have never felt this good before. 

Brrring! Brrrring! 

Your eyes open, your vision blurry, and you look down at the nightstand where your purse is. “My phone!” you whine.

Kiri yanks your purse open and takes your phone out, looking at the caller ID. “Oh, it’s the man of the hour!” he jokes. He grins toothily at you, flashing you your phone screen. “Your husband’s calling, baby.” 

‘Oh, shit,’ you think. What time even is it? How long have you been here? He must think you’ve been kidnapped or something! 

“Answer it,” Bakugou grunts. “Put it on speaker.” 

“W-Wait!” you protest, but it’s too late. Kiri answers the phone and continues to fuck you as he stares, his breath coming out in short pants. “Helloooo? Bakugou residence.” 

You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your pathetic, slutty moans as the two men fuck you stupid, Bakugou yanking on your braids while Kiri rubs your clit. “Who are you?” your husband demands. “Where’s Y/N? This is her number, isn’t it?” 

Kiri smirks at you. “Oh, it is, but Y/N can’t come to the phone right now. She’s too busy gettin’ her brains fucked out—something you can’t and won’t do.” 

Bakugou tears your hand off of your mouth, forcing those loud moans and whines to escape you, exposing the truth to your husband about his dirty little wife. “Y/N, answer me!” he shouts.

You do so, moaning Bakugou’s name as his cock fills your ass. Your husband grows enraged, screaming belligerently. “You bitch! How could you do this to me?! I’m your husband!” 

Bakugou snatches the phone from Kiri, giving your husband a piece of his mind now. “Then you should’ve thought about that before actin’ like a damn loser,” he growls. “Now shut the fuck up and stop ruinin’ my fun with your wife. It ain’t our fault you’re gettin’ cucked.” 

He then hangs up before your husband can reply and ruts into you faster alongside Kiri, their thrusts intense and merciful, making the bed shake beneath them. With their dick-alicious dicks and the saucy excitement of your husband hearing you get fucked, you can’t help but feel another orgasm coming on. “M’gonna cum again!” you whimper. “I’m so close!” 

“Cum with me,” Kiri demands, his dick jackhammering into you as you frantically rub your clit. “Cum on that dick, little one. It’s all fucking yours!” 

Bakugou is close too judging by how his cock pulses in your ass and his fingers dig into the flesh of your buttcheeks. “Thaaat’s it,” he coos through gritted teeth. “That’s my girl lettin’ me fuck that drippin’ little hole.” 

It doesn’t take long for all three of you to cum together, the couple’s thrusts stilling for a moment as they fill you to the brim with their spunk.

You moan loudly, so loud that it bounces off of the bedroom walls, as your holes clench around their cocks and your pussy spasms, spilling your honey all over Kiri’s thick, beautiful cock. Your eyelashes flutter and your muscles clench, your intense nut sending you through the stars and across the galaxy. 

When the high fades and you go limp, the couple gently pry you off of their cocks and lay you down on your back. Like a rag doll, your body is limp and loose, allowing Bakugou to hook your legs up to expose your ass. “Stay there,” he grunts. “Stay right fuckin’ there. I wanna cum all over that ass.” 

Kiri kneels over you, his semi-hard cock hanging in your face. “I’ve still got some for these pretty titties too. I want your bitch ass husband to smell us when you go back to your hotel room, cutie~” 

The two fuck their cocks with their hands, sending spurts of cum all over your tits and ass. You gasp at the warm droplets coating your skin, already drying. Then the couple pull you up onto your knees, holding their cocks out for you. They are coated in cum, slick and juicy. “Clean us off, naughty girl,” Bakugou gruffly demands. “You caused it, so it’s your responsibility.” 

You do as told, kitten-licking and slurping up the taste of your holes and their cum from their cocks, relishing the soft moans and hushed swears as you do. Once you finish, the two gently lay you on your back and lick you clean too, being extra gentle with your pussy and putting a soft pillow under your sore ass. Your entire body feels sore, but deliciously so. 

The pros then lay side by side with you between them, Bakugou on your right while Kiri takes your left. The redhead snuggles into your backside, his hair tickling your face.

“You were amazing, sweetheart. You definitely made this trip unforgettable, that’s for sure!” He wraps his big arms around you, encasing you in a warm, sweaty embrace. 

Exhaustion makes your brain foggy and you can barely focus on what he is saying to you. “Mmm-hmm,” you sleepily agree. 

Bakugou tsks, wrapping an arm around your neck, allowing his arm to be your pillow. “Such a baby,” he huffs. “Close your eyes. Don’t fight it if ya need to sleep.” 

In your blissed out, sleepy state, you ask the question, “So I can spend the night?” 

The blonde once again tsks, scowling down at you. “What kinda stupid question is that? Why else would we be cuddlin’ your ass?” He presses a kiss to the crown of your forehead, making your skin flush with warmth. 

Kiri chuckles behind you, becoming the big spoon as he squeezes you between himself and Bakugou, protecting you from the darkness and tomorrow. “That’s a yes. You could even stay the entire trip if you wanted to, cutie.” 

He too kisses you, pressing one softly against your cheek. “And Musutafu’s only a plane ride away,” he adds. “Anything’s possible, baby.” 

You sleepily smile into Bakugou’s chest, feeling his heart beat against your cheek. That all sounds so nice. The three of you? Together? They, your sexy boyfriends and you, their pretty little girlfriend? It sounds so perfect… 

Yet so unpredictable. Tomorrow is only a sunrise away and the future is uncertain. You know eventually, you will have to go back to your hotel room and face your husband. Face your problems. Face the inevitable crash and burn of your marriage. You know that you will have to return home soon and figure things out from there. 

Everything feels unsure right now, but one thing in your mind that remains as you fall off to sleep is for sure: you’re getting a divorce. 

THE END.

Still, you sigh and reach for your things. “You guys are acting insane, you know that?”

Gojo stands at the same time, stretching like the entire situation is just mildly inconvenient rather than anything serious, his usual grin slipping back into place as if it never left. “We prefer ‘concerned citizens,’ actually.”

“You’re not citizens of anything,” you mutter under your breath.

Sukuna is already walking ahead without waiting for the rest of you, hands in his pockets, posture loose but deliberate in a way that makes it feel like he’s always aware of exits, distances, people around him, even when he looks like he isn’t paying attention at all.

Of course he is.

The car ride back doesn’t feel like the earlier one. It’s quieter in a way that presses more than it comforts, like the space between words has gotten heavier instead of emptier. Gojo tries to force some kind of normal back into it at first, turning the music on a little too loud, talking about random things that don’t connect to anything real, laughing at his own comments like he can still pull the mood back into place if he tries hard enough, but even he starts to fade into the background when you don’t really give him anything to bounce off anymore.

Sukuna drives without saying much at all.

Just steady hands on the wheel, eyes forward, expression unreadable in that way that never fully feels relaxed even when he’s silent. There’s a kind of focus to him that makes everything else feel slightly less stable by comparison, like he’s paying attention to something no one else has noticed yet.

You end up staring out the window instead, watching streetlights blur past in streaks of warm color that don’t match how you feel inside.

“You two are being weird,” you finally say, breaking the silence more out of discomfort than confidence.

Gojo perks up immediately like he’s been waiting for you to say something. “Define weird.”

“This,” you gesture vaguely between them without even looking away from the window at first, “all of this. Acting like I need security detail or something.”

Sukuna doesn’t look at you when he answers, but his voice is steady, flat in a way that doesn’t invite argument. “You do.”

You frown immediately. “No, I don’t.”

Gojo leans forward from the back seat, resting his arms on the front console like he’s joining a conversation he already decided he’s winning. “Okay but hypothetically—”

“I hate when you say hypothetically,” you cut in automatically.

He ignores you completely. “Hypothetically, if something creepy is calling you, and people are getting killed on campus, and that same someone somehow knows things they shouldn’t—”

“It’s still just a prank,” you insist, even though it comes out less certain than you want it to.

Sukuna scoffs quietly under his breath at that, not dramatic, not loud—just enough for you to notice it, and somehow that small sound does more than any argument could.

Gojo shrugs like he’s trying to lighten the weight again. “Anyways, point is—we’re staying alert.”

Sukuna finally glances at you for half a second, just long enough that it feels deliberate, before looking back at the road. “You’re not staying alone tonight.”

You sit up slightly, instantly alert again. “Excuse me?”

Gojo smiles like he’s been waiting for that reaction. “We’re crashing your place.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes we are,” he answers immediately, too casual for how absolute it sounds.

Sukuna doesn’t argue. He doesn’t even look like he needs to.

And that’s when it clicks—not as a realization, but as something settling uncomfortably into place

They weren’t asking.

They were deciding.

By the time you reach your house, the argument has drained out of you more than you want to admit. It isn’t even that you’ve agreed—it’s more like you’ve run out of energy to keep pushing back against something that doesn’t seem interested in changing direction no matter what you say.

The house feels normal when you unlock the door. Warm. Familiar. Safe in a way that almost convinces you, for a second, that everything outside of it can stay outside.

Gojo steps in immediately behind you like he’s done it a hundred times before. “Nice place.”

“You’ve been here before,” you say flatly without even turning around.

“Yeah,” he replies, completely unfazed, “but I like reminding you I’m welcome.”

Sukuna follows more slowly, pausing just inside the doorway before fully stepping in. His eyes move across the room in a quiet sweep—windows, corners, hallway—like he’s confirming something for himself rather than just observing it. There’s no panic in it, no obvious concern, just calculation that doesn’t really match the setting of a normal living room.

That makes you pause without meaning to.

You close the door behind them anyway.

“You guys are seriously staying?” you ask again, slower this time.

“Yes,” Sukuna says immediately.

“Yup,” Gojo echoes, raising a hand like he’s signing attendance.

You sigh under your breath. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“You didn’t disagree hard enough,” Gojo replies, already moving further inside like he’s claimed the space.

You just stare at him for a second, and he smiles back like that’s the end of the conversation.

Within minutes, he’s already messing with your TV setup like he owns it.

“This horror selection is offensive,” he announces loudly. “How are you surviving like this? This is cinematic neglect.”

“It’s called having taste,” you mutter as you head toward the kitchen just to breathe away from him for a second.

Sukuna sits down on the arm of the couch instead of the seat, watching Gojo work the remote with a level of patience that looks practiced rather than natural.

“You always say that,” he says quietly.

“That doesn’t make it wrong,” you call back from the kitchen.

From there, you can still hear them—Gojo complaining, overreacting, talking too much, Sukuna responding only when necessary, his voice low and controlled in a way that never wastes words. It almost feels normal if you don’t think too hard about it.

Almost.

But underneath everything, there’s still that same tension sitting just out of reach of language, like the air hasn’t fully settled yet.

Like something is still waiting to happen.

When you come back out with snacks, Gojo is already standing again, stretching like he’s made a decision.

“I’m gonna go grab better movies,” he announces.

You blink. “What?”

He points at the TV like it’s personally offended him. “This is criminal. I need real horror. Not… whatever this is.”

Sukuna looks up slightly. “Where are you going?”

“Video store,” Gojo says like it’s obvious. “Downtown. Still has actual good stuff. I’ll be quick.”

You frown. “It’s almost dark.”

Gojo waves it off without even looking worried. “Relax. I’m not the one getting creepy phone calls, remember?”

You open your mouth to respond—

But Sukuna cuts in first.

“Don’t be long.”

Gojo pauses just long enough to glance at him, grin widening slightly in a way that doesn’t feel entirely playful.

“Oh?” he hums.

Sukuna doesn’t react. Doesn’t explain. Just holds his gaze, calm and unreadable.

For a second, it feels like something is being said without words that you’re not part of.

Gojo finally laughs under his breath. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t miss me too much.”

He heads for the door, stopping just before it, looking back over his shoulder at you.

“Lock it behind me,” he adds lightly, like it’s nothing important at all.

Then he leaves.

The door clicks shut.

And suddenly, the house feels different—not empty, not quiet exactly, just shifted.

And it’s only you and Sukuna left now.

── დ ──

The house settles into silence after that in a way that feels different from earlier, not empty exactly, but less distracted, like there’s no longer anything filling the space between you and Sukuna except the things neither of you are saying.

You end up sitting back on the couch again, arms loosely folded around yourself without realizing it, eyes drifting toward the muted TV while your mind refuses to actually focus on whatever is playing. Sukuna sits a little ways off, not far enough to be avoidant, not close enough to be familiar, just there in a way that feels deliberate, like he chose that exact distance without thinking about it too long.

Every so often you feel him glance at you, quick and controlled, like he’s checking something without wanting you to notice, but you do anyway, because you’ve started noticing more than you should.

“You don’t look fine,” he says eventually, voice low enough that it almost blends into the background noise of the TV.

You don’t even look at him at first, forcing a small laugh like it’s nothing, like it’s easy. “I am fine.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and that silence is what makes you look over at him properly. His eyes are on you now, steady, not accusing, but not buying a single word either, like he’s already decided your answer doesn’t matter because it isn’t the truth.

That alone makes your chest tighten slightly in a way you don’t know how to explain, so you lean back further into the couch like it’ll help you disappear into something less exposed.

“You’ve said that a lot recently,” he says after a moment, quieter this time, not pushing, just observing, and there’s something in his tone that feels less sharp than usual, more controlled in a way that isn’t cold, just careful.

You try to brush it off again, but it comes out weaker than you want it to. “It’s nothing. It’s just some weird calls. It’s not like—” you stop yourself because even saying it out loud feels stupid now, like pretending it’s small is getting harder every time you repeat it.

Sukuna exhales slowly through his nose, leaning back slightly like he’s choosing his next words instead of reacting. “You keep acting like you can just ignore it and it’ll go away.”

That makes you go quiet for a second longer than you intend to, your gaze dropping to your hands without meaning to. There’s something about the way he says it—not dramatic, not loud, just steady—that makes it harder to keep holding everything in place.

“I’m not ignoring it,” you mutter, though it doesn’t sound convincing even to you.

“No,” he replies immediately, and there’s no judgment in it, just certainty, “you’re holding it in like it won’t mess you up eventually.”

The words land heavier than you expect, and for a second you don’t have anything smart to say back. You just sit there, staring at the TV while your throat tightens slightly, annoyed at yourself more than anything for even letting it get to you.

Sukuna watches you for a moment longer, then shifts closer—not fully invading your space, just enough that the distance doesn’t feel like a barrier anymore.

“Tell me what they said,” he adds, quieter now.

You hesitate, because saying it out loud makes it real in a way you’ve been avoiding all day, but something about the way he’s looking at you doesn’t feel like pressure, more like patience that doesn’t plan on leaving. So eventually you do, voice lower than usual as you explain it in fragments at first, the call, the questions, the way they knew things they shouldn’t have known, how it didn’t feel random, how it felt like being watched even when nothing was there. Sukuna doesn’t interrupt you once, doesn’t try to fix it or joke it away, just listens with that same steady focus that makes it feel like you’re not being dismissed for once.

When you finally stop talking, the silence that follows doesn’t feel as sharp as before.

“That's fucked up,” he says simply, like he’s stating a fact instead of reacting to it, and the lack of exaggeration somehow makes it more real.

You let out a small breath that sounds almost like a laugh but doesn’t fully become one. “Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

That earns the faintest shift in his expression, something barely there but softer than before. “You shouldn’t be dealing with that alone.”

“I’m not alone,” you say automatically, then hesitate when you realize how quickly you said it, like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him.

Sukuna studies you for a second longer, then reaches up—not sudden, not forceful—and gently cups your cheek in a way that makes your words stop entirely.

It isn’t dramatic, it isn’t soft in an overly sentimental way either, it’s just steady, grounding in a way that feels unfamiliar coming from him. His thumb brushes lightly once like he’s making sure you’re actually there, actually okay enough to be sitting in front of him.

“You are right now,” he says quietly, voice lower than before, “and that’s not happening again.”

Something in your chest tightens at the way he says it—not like a promise made for effect, but like something already decided.

You try to recover a little of yourself with a shaky breath, because vulnerability feels too exposed all of a sudden, and you force a small, uneven smile. “Wow,” you mutter, trying to lighten it, “didn’t know you had a soft side.”

His hand doesn’t move away immediately, but his eyes narrow slightly in warning that isn’t harsh, just… focused. “Don’t ruin it.”

That actually makes you let out a real breath of laughter, softer this time, more genuine, and for a moment the tension between you shifts instead of breaking, like it’s still there but not as heavy. Sukuna finally lets his hand drop, but the space he was in still feels occupied somehow.

For a while after that, neither of you speak much, but it’s not awkward anymore in the same way. It’s quieter, more aware, like something between you has changed shape without either of you naming it.

Every so often your eyes meet and linger a second too long before one of you looks away first, like there’s an unspoken line neither of you is fully stepping over yet but both of you are standing right in front of.

At some point you notice it—how close he’s sitting now compared to before, how you didn’t even realize when the distance disappeared. And when you look at him again, he’s already looking at you, not moving, not joking, just there in a way that makes your heartbeat feel louder than it should.

Neither of you says anything.

Neither of you really needs to.

The moment stretches out like it’s deciding what it wants to become, until—

The phone rings.

The sound cuts through everything instantly, too sharp, too sudden, breaking whatever quiet had started forming between you. You jerk slightly, eyes snapping toward your phone like your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up, and Sukuna moves at the same time, already standing without hesitation.

“I’ll get it,” you say quickly, starting to shift forward.

“No,” he cuts in immediately, already stepping past you, tone firmer now in a way that doesn’t invite argument, “stay.”

You pause, watching him move, your mouth parting slightly like you want to say something but can’t quite find it fast enough. Sukuna doesn’t look back at you when he picks up the phone, just answers it with a calmness that feels wrong given everything that just happened in the room.

And for the first time since Gojo left, the air doesn’t feel quiet anymore.

It feels like it’s holding its breath again.

── დ ──

The living room still held the faint scent of buttered popcorn and the low hum of the television left on mute. Sukuna stood rigid by the corded phone mounted on the wall, one hand braced against the paneling while the other gripped the receiver so tightly his knuckles had gone bone-white.

His jaw flexed once, twice, the muscle ticking beneath his skin as he listened. The voice on the other end was low, distorted through whatever cheap modulator the caller was using, but it carried that same sickening familiarity that had been haunting you for days.

"Hello?" the voice drawled, stretching the word out like it was tasting something sweet. "Did you really think it would be over, Y/N? That one little hang-up would make me disappear?"

Sukuna’s reply came out flat, almost bored, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. "Wrong number, asshole. Try again some other night."

A soft, wet chuckle filtered through the line. "Oh, I don’t think so. You sound different tonight. Deeper. Rougher. Not the little scared girl I’ve been talking to. Who’s there with you, sweetheart? Is that your boyfriend? Or just some guy you’re letting hang around while you pretend everything’s fine?"

You had froze on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, but the moment you heard the voice—distorted yet unmistakable—you felt your stomach drop straight through the floor. Your breath caught. You knew that tone. You knew the way it lingered on your name like it owned it.

The same voice that had called you two nights ago while you were alone in the kitchen, the same one that had whispered about the windows, Her eyes snapped to Sukuna, wide and glassy, silently begging him to confirm what she already feared.

He didn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on the wall ahead, crimson eyes narrowed into slits. "I said wrong number. Lose this number before I lose my patience."

"Patience," the caller repeated, almost fondly. "That’s funny coming from you. I wonder how patient you’ll be when I tell you exactly what I’m going to do to her. To Y/N. She’s been so jumpy lately, hasn’t she? Jumping at every shadow, checking the locks twice, three times. Cute. Real cute. But locks don’t stop someone who already knows the layout of the house. Someone who’s been watching. Someone who knows she likes to leave the back porch light off because she thinks it saves electricity."

Sukuna’s free hand curled into a fist at his side. "You’re wasting your breath."

"Am I?" The voice dropped lower, turning oily. "Tell me, does she still sleep with that little nightlight on in the hallway? The one shaped like a moon? I bet she does. I bet she lies there staring at the ceiling, wondering if tonight’s the night someone finally comes through that window she always forgets to latch.

And when they do… when I do… I’m going to make sure she screams loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear."

Your pulse roared in h you're ears. You pushed off the couch on shaky legs, bare feet padding across the hardwood as you edged closer to Sukuna, trying to catch any fragment of the conversation.

The caller’s words were muffled now, but you could still make out the cadence—slow, deliberate, savoring every syllable. Your tomach twisted. You reached out, fingers brushing Sukuna’s sleeve, but he shook his head once, sharp and warning.

"You’re not scaring anyone," Sukuna said, voice calm but edged with steel. "Whatever game you’re playing, it ends here."

"Game?" The caller laughed again, louder this time, the sound crackling through the receiver. "This isn’t a game, pretty boy. This is foreplay. And Y/N… she’s been such a good little participant. Answering every call, staying on the line just a little longer each time. She likes the attention, doesn’t she? Likes knowing someone’s thinking about her. Watching her. Wanting her."

The line went quiet for a beat, then the voice returned, colder. "I can see the living room from here. The curtains are open just enough. I see you standing there, trying to play the hero. But heroes die first in these kinds of stories. You should know that."

Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward the front windows, scanning the darkness beyond the glass. Nothing moved. The street outside looked empty, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up anyway. "Keep talking. I’m tracing this call right now."

"Liar," the caller purred. "You’re not tracing anything. You’re just standing there, listening, wondering how fast you can get Y/N out of the house before I come inside. But you won’t make it. I’m already closer than you think."

Your hand flew to her mouth. You could hear it now—the faint, rhythmic breathing on the other end, the way the caller seemed to be savoring the silence between words. Your mind raced back to every late-night conversation you had with this voice, every threat disguised as a question, every detail they’d known about your life that no stranger should. The realization hit you like ice water: this wasn’t random. This was personal.

"Did you think it would be over?" the caller repeated, voice rising with something almost giddy. "Did you really believe I’d just stop? After all the fun we’ve had? After I told you exactly how I’d gut those pretty insides of yours if you ever think to hang up on me? No, Y/n. We’re just getting started. And tonight… tonight I’m tired of talking. Tonight I want to see you in person."

A soft click echoed through the line, followed by the dial tone. Sukuna slammed the receiver down harder than necessary, the plastic cracking against the cradle. He turned to you, mouth opening to say something, but the words died on his tongue when the unmistakable sound of shattering glass exploded from the kitchen.

The back door had been forced. Shards of the small window pane littered the tile floor, and through the jagged opening a tall figure in a flowing black robe and a stark white ghost mask stepped inside. The knife in their gloved hand caught the low light from the living room lamp, the blade long and serrated, already dripping with something dark.

Sukuna moved first. He lunged forward, grabbing the intruder’s wrist before the knife could arc toward his chest. The two men collided hard against the kitchen island, grunting as they grappled.

Sukuna’s free hand drove a brutal punch into the side of the mask, the plastic cracking under the force. The killer staggered but didn’t release the blade. Instead they twisted, driving the knife upward into Sukuna’s side with a sickening wet sound.

Sukuna’s breath punched out of him in a sharp grunt, blood immediately soaking through his shirt and down his hip.

You screamed. didn’t think—you just moved. Your fingers closed around the heavy wooden frame of a portrait hanging near the hallway entrance. You ripped it off the wall and swung with everything you had.

The corner of the frame connected with the back of the killer’s head in a loud crack. The masked figure dropped to one knee, releasing Sukuna’s side as they clutched at their skull. The knife clattered to the floor.

"Come on!" You grabbed Sukuna’s arm, hauling him toward the stairs even as blood continued to seep between his fingers where he pressed against the wound. Behind them the killer was already rising, mask askew, knife retrieved, boots pounding across the hardwood in pursuit.

They reached the top of the stairs just as the first heavy thud hit the bedroom door. Sukuna slammed it shut with his good shoulder, twisting the lock with shaking fingers.

You dragged your desk chair across the room and wedged it under the knob while Sukuna shoved her nightstand against the door for good measure. The barricade rattled violently as the killer threw their full weight against it from the other side, each impact making the wood groan.

"Phone," Sukuna rasped, sliding down the wall to sit with his back against the barricade, one hand still clamped over his bleeding side. "Call 911. Now."

Your hands trembled so badly you nearly dropped the cordless phone twice before you managed to dial the three numbers.

The line rang once, twice, while the pounding on the door grew louder, more frantic, the killer’s boots kicking hard enough to make the hinges shriek. Sukuna’s breathing was labored, but his crimson eyes stayed locked on the door, ready to move again if the barricade failed.

The operator’s voice finally crackled through. "911, what’s your emergency?"

Your voice came out thin and shaking. "Someone’s in the house. They broke in. My friend’s hurt—he’s bleeding. Please send help. Please."

Another thunderous kick shook the door. The killer’s voice, no longer filtered through the phone, rose from the hallway in a low, mocking sing-song. "Y/N… open up. We’re not finished yet."

Sukuna gritted his teeth, pressing harder against the wound as fresh blood welled between his fingers. The night outside the bedroom window remained dark and silent, offering no help, no sirens yet, nothing but the relentless, furious pounding of the killer trying to break through.

Sukuna’s crimson eyes stayed locked on the bedroom door as another violent kick slammed into the wood from the other side. The hinges groaned under the force, the entire frame shuddering like it might tear free from the wall at any second.

Splinters flew from the edges where the killer’s boot connected again and again, each impact louder than the last. He could see the door bowing inward, the cheap lock already cracked and useless.

Without wasting another second he pushed himself up from the floor despite the burning pain in his side, blood still seeping between his fingers.

He grabbed the heavy dresser next to your bed and dragged it across the carpet with a grunt, muscles straining as he wedged it against the barricade. The nightstand and chair shifted but held for now.

Your gaze darted around the room in panic until it landed on the window. The sash was cracked open just enough for a breeze to slip through, the curtains fluttering slightly. your stomach dropped.

Had the killer been inside the whole time? Watching them from the shadows while they were downstairs? Had he been the one making those calls from within the house itself, listening to every word, every breath? The thought made her skin crawl.

Questions flooded your mind in a dizzying rush—how long had the intruder been there? Had he followed them up the stairs? Was he the reason the back door had been so easy to break? You're hands shook harder as she stared at the open window, heart hammering against your ribs.

Sukuna’s voice cut through the spiral. “Y/n. Look at me. Breathe. We don’t have time for that right now.”

Another thunderous kick rocked the door. The dresser scraped an inch across the floor. The killer’s gloved hand appeared through the widening gap, fingers clawing at the wood as they tried to force their way inside. The mask’s empty black eyes seemed to stare straight through the crack, the serrated knife flashing in the low light.

“Fuck,” Sukuna hissed, grabbing your arm and yanking you toward the window. “Nothing’s holding. We have to go.”

They heard it at the same time—the distant wail of sirens cutting through the night. Relief mixed with fresh terror as Sukuna shoved the window open wider and helped you climb out onto the roof.

He followed right behind, ignoring the sharp pain in his side as they slid down the shingles and dropped to the grass below. Your bare feet hit the ground hard, and you stumbled forward, tears already streaming down your face. Your whole body shook uncontrollably, sobs tearing from your throat as the adrenaline crashed through your system.

Sukuna pulled you against his chest the moment they reached the front yard, one arm wrapped tight around your shoulders while his other hand stayed pressed to his bleeding wound.

“I’ve got you,” he muttered against your hair, voice low and steady even as his own breathing came ragged. “You’re okay. We’re out. Police are here.”

Two patrol cars screeched to a stop at the curb, lights flashing red and blue across the lawn. Officers poured out with flashlights and drawn weapons, shouting orders as they rushed toward the house.

You buried your face in Sukuna’s shirt, still trembling so hard your teeth chattered. The killer’s voice echoed in your head even now—the sing-song taunt from the hallway, the threats over the phone. You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop the helpless shakes that wracked your frame.

Sukuna held you tighter, ignoring the blood soaking into his clothes as he guided you toward the officers. One of them approached quickly, radio crackling at his hip. “Ma’am, sir—are you hurt? We need to get you checked out.”

You could only nod weakly, still clinging to Sukuna as the police moved past them and into the house, flashlights sweeping through the darkness. The sirens continued to wail in the background while the officers searched room by room, their voices echoing from inside.

Sukuna kept one arm around you, crimson eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement, refusing to let go even as more backup arrived on the scene.

── დ ──

The police lights painted the front of your house in harsh, rotating colors that didn’t feel real against how drained everything inside you already was. You stood near the edge of the yard without really standing straight, body still locked in that leftover shock that hadn’t fully caught up with your breathing yet, your hands shaking in small, delayed tremors every time your mind replayed something you didn’t want to see again.

Officers moved in and out of your house with practiced urgency, calling out to each other, checking rooms, doors, windows, speaking in that calm official tone that somehow made everything feel even less real than it already did. You could hear fragments of it all but none of it fully stayed—just pieces floating in and out like your brain couldn’t decide what mattered anymore.

Sukuna was off to the side getting checked by paramedics, sitting in a way that looked too controlled for someone who had just gone through what he did, jaw tight even as someone asked him questions he barely answered.

There was a stain of blood at his side where the injury had been, nothing dramatic in how it looked, but enough to make your stomach twist every time your eyes accidentally landed on it because it meant the moment inside the house had been real, not something your mind had exaggerated.

Every so often his eyes flicked toward you instead of the officers, like he was checking without needing permission, making sure you were still there, still upright, still not slipping further into whatever state you’d been stuck in since it happened.

And you were still stuck in it.

In your head, the house wasn’t outside anymore—it was still that room upstairs, still the door shaking under impact, still that voice through the phone sounding calm while everything around you turned sharp and violent.

You couldn’t shake the way he laughed like he already belonged there, like your panic had been something it expected, even enjoyed. Even now, standing in open air, you kept replaying the sound of it, the timing of it, the certainty in it. It didn’t feel like fear anymore. It felt like being watched even after it was over.

That was when you saw Gojo.

He was standing a little farther down the yard with something still in his hands—movie cases, completely forgotten now, hanging loosely like his grip had gone absent without him noticing. His expression didn’t match his usual energy at all.

There was confusion first, sharp and immediate, and then something heavier underneath it when his eyes landed properly on you, like his brain was trying to catch up to a reality that didn’t make sense with what he left behind.

The second he processed it, he dropped everything without hesitation, the cases hitting the ground with a dull sound that didn’t even register properly in the chaos, and he was already moving toward you.

“Hey—what the hell happened?” he asked, voice lower than usual, no humor in it, just disbelief trying to anchor itself to something solid.

You barely had time to process him before he was in front of you, hands hovering for half a second like he wasn’t sure if touching you was the right thing, before he just pulled you into a tight, abrupt hug anyway.

It wasn’t playful like he usually was. It was immediate, instinctive, like he had decided without thinking that you were the thing that mattered most in that moment. You could feel how fast he was breathing against you when he spoke again, quieter now, “Talk to me. What the hell happened in there?”

And when you did try to speak, it all came out at once, messy and uneven, not even in order—how the mysterious caller came back, how the voice changed, how it knew things it shouldn’t have known, how it felt like it was inside the house before anything even broke, how Sukuna picked up and everything shifted, how the fighting started, how the door shook so violently it felt like it wouldn’t hold, how you didn’t even think before grabbing what you could to help, how everything became movement and panic and noise until there was no space left for anything else.

Gojo went still in a way that didn’t match him at all as he listened, his usual grin completely gone, replaced with something sharper, more focused, like he was trying to map every word into something he could understand and fix.

Behind you, Sukuna had already pushed himself off the medical support and was walking closer despite the pain he wasn’t showing properly. His gaze stayed fixed on you while Gojo processed everything, but there was something different in his expression now too—less controlled than before, not shaken exactly, but aware in a way that felt heavier, like he was replaying the same moments you were but from a different angle.

“Someone was inside your house,” Gojo finally said, slower now, like saying it too quickly would make it more real than it already was.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Your throat tightened instead, eyes drifting back toward the house like it might give you something you missed, something that would explain how any of this even happened. “I don’t know,” you said finally, voice quieter than before. “I don’t know if he was already in there or if the window—if I left it open or—”

Sukuna cut in immediately, not harsh, just steady in a way that grounded the spiral starting in your head. “It doesn’t matter right now.”

You looked at him, confused.

“It does matter,” you said, but it came out weaker than you meant.

“No,” he repeated, stepping closer until he was directly in your line of sight, voice low enough that it wasn’t for anyone else, only you. “Right now what matters is you’re out of there.”

The certainty in his tone made something in your chest tighten in a way that wasn’t just fear anymore, but exhaustion finally cracking through it. Gojo, still standing beside you, glanced between the two of you like he wanted to interrupt with something lighter, something that made sense of it, but even he couldn’t find it this time. Instead, he just exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“This is insane,” he muttered, but it didn’t sound like a joke anymore. It sounded like he was trying to accept it.

Around you, neighbors had started gathering further down the street, voices low but constant, curiosity bleeding into fear, phones out, whispers spreading too fast. Reporters were already pushing closer at the edges of the police line, trying to get statements, trying to turn something that was still happening into something consumable. Sukuna’s head turned slightly toward them, expression hardening immediately.

“Fuck off,” he snapped sharply when one of them tried stepping closer, and even the officers nearby didn’t fully argue with the tone of it.

But none of that noise really reached you fully. Not anymore.

Because your mind kept going back to the room upstairs. To the window. To the possibility that you had never actually been alone at any point that night.

And that thought wouldn’t leave.

Gojo noticed your silence again, softer this time. “Hey,” he said, more carefully now, “you’re not staying there tonight. You shouldn’t even think about it.”

Sukuna’s voice came right after, steady as ever but quieter than before. “Come with us.”

It wasn’t framed as a question.

It was a line drawn.

You shook your head slightly, overwhelmed more than anything else, because the idea of going back inside any house tonight felt impossible, but the idea of going anywhere with the weight of everything still sitting in your chest felt just as hard. “I… I can’t go back there,” you admitted finally, voice breaking at the end despite how hard you tried to hold it together.

There was a brief pause between them, something unspoken passing that you didn’t fully catch, but it shifted the air anyway.

Then you reached for your phone with shaking hands and stepped away slightly, turning your back just enough to breathe. “I’m calling Shoko,” you said quietly. “I need—someone I can just… stay with tonight.”

Neither of them stopped you.

But you felt it anyway—the way they both reacted without saying anything, like that answer meant something more than just a plan change.

Minutes later, when Shoko arrived and stepped out of her car, she took in the scene immediately—the police, the house, your face, the state of everything without needing anyone to explain it. She didn’t ask questions first. She just walked straight to you and pulled you into a hug that felt steady in a way nothing else had all night.

And only after a moment did she look up at Gojo and Sukuna, voice flat but sharp with concern.

“What the hell happened?”

Neither of them answered right away.

Because for once, even they didn’t have a clean way to say it.

── დ ──

Sukuna is the one who ends up explaining it, not because he wants to, but because no one else can really piece it together in a way that makes sense without it sounding like panic. His voice stays steady the entire time, low and controlled, but there’s a tension underneath it that wasn’t there before—like he’s forcing himself to replay something he doesn’t actually want to revisit.

He talks about the call first, how it started the same as before but felt different this time, less like a game and more like something watching from the other side of the line. Then the shift, how the sound in the house changed, how it stopped feeling like coincidence when the noises started coming from inside instead of outside.

He doesn’t exaggerate, doesn’t dramatize it, but that almost makes it worse, because every detail he gives lands too cleanly, too real, like he’s describing something that still hasn’t fully left the room.

Shoko listens without interrupting, arms crossed loosely, expression unreadable in that way she has when she’s processing something too fast to immediately react to it. She glances once at you while Sukuna speaks, then back toward him, absorbing it all without asking for repetition, and when he finally finishes, there’s a long pause where nobody speaks because there isn’t really anything obvious to say first.

The police begin stepping out of your house around the same time, speaking to each other in low voices, confirming that the search is complete, that there’s no one left inside, that the situation is “contained,” even though nobody there looks like they fully believes that word means anything right now.

One of them gestures toward the crowd and tells everyone to clear the area, go home, give space, like it’s just procedure and not something that just cracked open everyone’s sense of safety.

That’s when Shoko shifts her attention fully to you.

“You’re coming with me,” she says simply, not like a suggestion, not even like a decision that needs input, just something already decided the moment she saw your face.

You barely get a chance to nod before movement breaks out near the edge of the scene. Reporters have gotten closer again, microphones already up, voices overlapping, asking questions that don’t feel real in the middle of everything that just happened.

You hear your name first, then words like incident, attack, what did you see, all blending together in a way that makes your stomach twist because it feels too immediate, too invasive, like they’re trying to turn something still bleeding into something performable.

One of them steps directly into your path, a woman holding her mic up like she’s entitled to answers, her tone sharp in that practiced way that tries to sound calm while pushing anyway. “Can you describe what it felt like being inside the house during the attack? Were you alone when it happened?”

Something in you snaps—not loud, not dramatic, just fast.

You stop walking.

The crowd doesn’t immediately understand what’s about to happen, not until your expression changes and you turn fully toward her. There’s a second where everything feels suspended, like even the noise behind her lowers just slightly, and then your hand moves before your thoughts catch up.

The impact is quick and clean, not exaggerated, but enough that the reporter stumbles back in shock, her mic dropping slightly as the crowd immediately reacts like they’ve just witnessed something they didn’t expect from you.

For a second, nobody speaks.

Then everything erupts at once—gasps, murmurs, someone calling your name, someone else telling you to move, cameras shifting rapidly. But you don’t stay to hear any of it. Shoko is already opening the car door, and you get inside without looking back again, your hands still shaking slightly from adrenaline that hasn’t fully burned off yet.

Gojo calls your name once from behind, but you don’t turn.

Sukuna doesn’t call out.

He just watches as Shoko closes the door and starts the engine.

The car pulls away, and the sound of the crowd fades behind you, replaced by silence that feels heavier in its own way.

The drive to Shoko’s place is quiet for a while. Not uncomfortable, just full in a way that doesn’t need words immediately. You sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window without really focusing on anything, replaying fragments of the night in pieces you still can’t fully organize into something that makes sense. Shoko doesn’t push you to talk. She just drives, occasionally glancing at you like she’s making sure you’re still present, still here, still real.

When you finally arrive, she doesn’t waste time.

“You’re staying here,” she says as she unlocks her door, tone flat but certain. “As long as you need. Don’t argue.”

You don’t.

Inside, her place feels quieter than yours in a way that’s different, less haunted, more grounded. Like nothing bad has ever really been allowed to linger here long enough to settle. She leads you to her room without much ceremony, and you end up sitting on her bed first, then slowly lying down as the exhaustion finally catches up with everything your body has been ignoring all night.

Shoko sits beside you for a while, leaning back slightly, staring at the ceiling like she’s thinking through too many things at once.

After a moment, she lets out a small breath.

“Those two,” she says casually, like she’s commenting on something mildly annoying instead of life-threatening situations, “your beavis and butthead duo… they always like this or is today special?”

Despite everything, a weak sound almost leaves you that might’ve been a laugh if your chest didn’t feel so heavy. You turn your head slightly toward her.

“No,” you say quietly. “Sukuna was with me the whole time. Gojo left to get better movies.”

Shoko hums, like she’s filing that away without judgment. “Right. Of course he did.”

There’s another pause after that, more natural this time. She pulls a blanket slightly over you without making it feel like a big gesture, just something automatic, like she’s decided you don’t get to deal with anything else tonight.

“Get some sleep,” she says after a while, already shifting to lie down beside you but not too close, giving you space without leaving you alone in it. “Nothing else you can do tonight anyway.”

You don’t answer immediately.

Your eyes stay open longer than they should, staring at the dim edge of the room, listening to Shoko’s breathing settle into something steady.

But your mind doesn’t settle.

Because even now, even here, safe and away from it all, you can’t stop replaying what she said earlier.

Do you think those two—

You turn your head slightly, just enough to glance at the dark ceiling.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, despite everything that just happened, you can’t help it.

You wonder.

── დ ──

Morning doesn’t really feel like morning when it starts with Shoko pulling the blanket off you and lightly smacking you in the shoulder with a pillow like she’s trying to restart your entire existence instead of just waking you up. You barely move at first, still half stuck in that heavy in-between state where sleep didn’t actually fix anything and your brain is already remembering things you weren’t ready to think about again. Shoko doesn’t say anything soft or careful about it, she just looks down at you with that tired expression of hers and sighs like she’s already made up her mind.

“Get up,” she says bluntly, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “We’re going to campus."

You groan quietly into the blanket but don't really argue, mostly because your body feels too heavy to properly resist anything yet. The idea of going back to campus after everything feels almost unreal, like you’re stepping into a place that should’ve paused while you were gone and somehow didn’t.

The walk there doesn’t help.

If anything, it makes it worse.

Campus feels different the moment you get close to it—not quieter, not calmer, just sharper. Like everyone already knows something about you before you even fully step through the gates. The shift is immediate; conversations lower just slightly when you pass, heads turning in that subtle way that pretends not to stare while still staring anyway. You catch fragments as you walk past—your name, the word “house,” “attack,” “news”—all broken up into pieces that never fully form something respectful.

It’s not fear in their voices.

It’s curiosity.

And something worse underneath it.

Entertainment.

You keep your eyes forward, shoulders tight, while Shoko walks beside you like none of it is worth slowing down for. Someone calls out something behind you—half question, half joke—but she doesn’t even turn around. She just pushes forward through the crowd without hesitation, making space by existing in it like she refuses to acknowledge the noise.

“Hey, isn’t that her?” someone says louder.

“Dude, she actually punched that reporter—”

“That was insane, though.”

You hear it all even when you try not to.

Shoko clicks her tongue once, annoyed now, and pushes through a cluster of students blocking the hallway until the noise thins just enough for you to breathe again. That’s when you see them.

Gojo is leaning against a railing like he’s been waiting there on purpose, hands in his pockets, expression already lighting up when he spots you. Sukuna is a little further back, standing instead of sitting, posture the same as always but his eyes immediately landing on you like they’ve been checking for you before anything else in the room.

You don’t even realize you’re walking toward them until you are.

“How are you guys?” you ask before you can overthink it, voice quieter than you intended.

Gojo reacts first, like he always does, grin snapping back into place immediately even though there’s something about his eyes that doesn’t fully match it. “Alive, unfortunately. I was really hoping for a quieter morning.”

You let out a small breath through your nose despite yourself.

“That’s not funny,” you say automatically.

“It’s a little funny,” he shrugs. “In a tragic, character-development kind of way.”

Shoko exhales like she’s already tired of him being alive in general. “I’m going to the cafeteria. Don’t let him say anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Sukuna doesn’t look at her, but his voice is flat when he answers anyway. “No promises.”

That earns him a side-eye from Gojo immediately.

“You’re so supportive,” Gojo mutters.

Shoko doesn’t respond. She just looks at you once, briefly, something quieter in her expression now before she turns away. “See you later.”

And then she’s gone.

That leaves you standing there with them.

Which somehow feels louder than the hallway.

Students pass by in waves now that Shoko isn’t blocking the path, and with it comes attention again—more obvious this time. You hear it before you see it. Whispered comments, laughter that doesn’t bother hiding itself, phones subtly angled like people are already recording without actually recording. Someone nearby whispers, “That’s her, right?” like you’re not standing two feet away.

Then another voice, louder, careless: “Bro she actually hit a reporter. That’s kinda hot”

You stop walking for half a second without meaning to.

Gojo hears it too, but instead of reacting the way you expect, he just tilts his head slightly and mutters, “Yeah, that was kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

“Gojo,” you say immediately, warning in your tone.

“What? I’m being supportive.”

Sukuna finally shifts his gaze slightly toward the crowd, eyes narrowing just enough that the people closest instinctively quiet down, like something about his stare registers as a line they shouldn’t cross even if no one says it out loud.

You don’t stay there long.

It’s too much attention, too many eyes, too many voices pretending they’re not talking about you while absolutely talking about you.

“I need to go,” you say suddenly, already stepping back.

Gojo lifts a hand slightly like he’s about to joke again, then seems to think better of it. “Bathroom break or emotional escape?”

You ignore him and keep walking.

Behind you, you hear Sukuna’s voice, lower than the rest.

“She’s not fine.”

And then Gojo, quieter than before. “Yeah. No shit.”

But you’re already gone before either of them can say anything else.

The bathroom is empty when you get there, which is the first relief you’ve had all morning. You shut the door behind you and just stand there for a second, hands braced lightly against the sink as your reflection stares back at you like it doesn’t quite match what you feel inside.

Because it doesn’t.

Nothing about today feels normal.

Nothing about you does either.

And for a moment, in the quiet, you let yourself breathe without anyone watching.

Just for a second.

The bathroom was quiet enough that you could finally hear yourself think, which was exactly why you stayed in the stall longer than necessary, sitting with your elbows resting on your knees while you stared down at the cracked tile floor beneath the door and tried to force your brain into something calmer than whatever the hell this entire day had become.

Ever since you got to campus it felt like every hallway turned into a spotlight the second you walked through it, conversations lowering just enough for you to notice, eyes flicking toward you and away again like people were trying to decide whether you were interesting or dangerous or just something to talk about until they got bored.

You closed your eyes for a second, not because you were relaxed, but because you were tired in a way that sat behind your ribs and refused to go away no matter how much you tried to ignore it, and the moment you did, everything from the last night started slipping back in anyway—the phone call, the voice, the way it spoke like it already knew how your life fit together better than you did, and the worst part was that even now, in a public bathroom with fluorescent lights buzzing above you, part of you still felt like it was somewhere nearby watching instead of gone.

The bathroom door opened suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts so fast your body went still without permission, and a group of girls walked in laughing like they owned the space, voices bouncing off the mirrors while they fixed their hair and leaned into each other like nothing outside of themselves mattered.

At first you tried to tune them out, staring down again and telling yourself it wasn’t worth it, it never was, until one of them said your name in that careless tone people use when they don’t think the person they’re talking about can hear them.

“Doesn’t it feel kind of off though?” one of them said, laughing a little like she already knew she was going to be agreed with.

Another voice cut in immediately, sharper, more certain. “Thank you, I’ve been saying that. Everyone’s acting like it’s all just happening to her for no reason, but it’s weird, right? Like what are the chances.”

You felt your shoulders tighten slightly at the sink even though you were still hidden in the stall, your body reacting before your mind fully caught up, because now you were listening even though you didn’t want to be.

“I’m just saying,” another girl added, “first the calls, then the whole campus situation, then she’s suddenly everywhere after that reporter thing? It’s like it keeps escalating around her specifically.”

A small laugh followed that didn’t sound like humor so much as curiosity being disguised as confidence. “People do weird things for attention, I’m not even trying to be mean, but like… it adds up.”

Your fingers curled slowly against your palm without you noticing at first, your nails pressing into skin just enough to ground you because otherwise you weren’t sure what you’d do with all the heat building behind your ribs.

Not because you believed them, but because of how easily they were saying it, like they were piecing together a story about someone they’d never actually looked at properly.

“Honestly,” one of them said after a pause, voice dropping slightly like she was enjoying it more now, “if she’s involved in something, that would explain a lot.”

That earned a laugh from the group.

“Stop, that’s insane,” someone said, but she was laughing too.

“Imagine though,” another added, “plot twist she’s actually the killer.”

More laughter, louder this time, like it was funny to make something like that into a joke instead of a person.

You pressed your tongue lightly against the inside of your cheek, trying not to react, because reacting would mean giving them something they didn’t deserve, but it was getting harder to stay still the longer they talked like your entire life was just a theory they were running for entertainment.

Eventually one of them checked her phone and sighed like she was bored already.

“We’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Their footsteps shifted toward the door, voices fading back into the hallway like nothing had happened at all, and one of them laughed one last time before leaving.

“If she is the killer, I hope she doesn’t stab me for saying that.”

The door shut.

Silence dropped back into the bathroom like it had been waiting.

You stayed in the stall for a few seconds longer than you needed to, not because you were scared, but because anger didn’t really know where to go when there was nowhere to aim it, and when you finally stood up, you didn’t look at the mirror right away because you already knew what your face would look like if you did.

By the time you washed your hands and stepped out, you’d already rebuilt your expression into something neutral enough to pass for normal, even if it didn’t feel like it belonged to you anymore.

── დ ──

First period didn’t feel any easier.

Shoko noticed you the second you sat down beside her, not because you said anything different, but because you didn’t say anything at all, just dropped into your seat a little too carefully like you were trying not to spill something inside yourself, and when she glanced at you, her expression shifted slightly into something more observant than usual.

“You okay?” she asked, not softly, just direct, like she already knew what the answer probably wasn’t going to be.

You shrugged once, forcing it to look casual even though it felt off the second it left you. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than comfortable, reading the space between your words more than the words themselves, then she leaned back in her chair slightly with a small exhale.

“You look pissed.”

“I’m not,” you said, a little too quickly.

That earned a quiet look from her, the kind that didn’t accuse you of lying but didn’t believe you either.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she said finally.

A small almost-smile pulled at your mouth before you could stop it, but it didn’t fully land, so you just looked away instead and opened your notebook like that would fix anything.

“Can we not do this right now?” you muttered.

Shoko didn’t push it further, just nodded once and turned her attention forward again, but the silence between you didn’t feel empty, it felt full of things neither of you were saying.

── დ ──

The announcement came later in the day when nobody expected anything more than normal class updates, the intercom crackling overhead and pulling the entire room into attention out of habit more than concern at first, because announcements were usually nothing important, just schedule changes or reminders or things people ignored while scrolling on their phones.

“Students and staff,” the voice began, and something about the tone immediately made the room feel different.

It wasn’t calm.

It was controlled.

Like the person speaking was holding something back.

“Please remain calm. Due to an emergency situation on campus, classes are being dismissed early today.”

A few students straightened slightly, confused more than alarmed, but nobody fully reacted yet because “early dismissal” didn’t mean anything serious on its own.

Then the pause came.

A fraction of silence that lasted just long enough to feel wrong.

“We have received confirmation that the principal was found deceased earlier this morning.”

For a second, the room didn’t understand what it had heard.

It just hung there.

Too heavy to process immediately.

Then everything broke at once.

Voices erupted across the classroom, chairs shifting violently, someone laughing like they didn’t know how else to respond, someone else swearing under their breath, the teacher trying to speak over all of it and failing almost instantly.

You didn’t move right away.

You just sat there, staring at nothing in particular, because your brain was still trying to decide whether this was real or just another thing being added to a list that was already too long to make sense of.

And in the noise of everyone else reacting, one thought pushed through anyway, cold and unavoidable.

This wasn’t random anymore.

Not to you.

Not in your life.

Something was connected, even if you couldn’t see how yet.

And that realization made the room feel a lot smaller than it was supposed to be.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

(This a continuation to part 1 !!! If you haven't read)

you knew it was greedy. acting as if you were unable to wait just another hour for him to be home, but desperation decided to take over your rationale, slippery fingertips fumbling with the indented button on the side to toy with the fancy settings.

pressing it once caused it to lightly buzz, assuming it was the perfect speed to tease your clit with, pushing it two more times, the buzzing continued, only leveling up the intensity of said movements, the third setting surely too much to handle tonight.

clicking to the forth, fifth, and sixth setting, the bullet completely changed up its previous vibrations, different courses of uneven patterns stuttering and pulsating so intensely it shook your wrist. widening your gaze, you felt unsure of where to even begin with the toy.

you settled on the second setting, not too soft yet strong enough to make you squirm, it was just what you needed to relieve the ache katsuki couldn’t help with. tearing your panties down your legs, you swiftly got to work, adjusting yourself wide open for your new found friend of the evening.

a gasp released from your lips once you pressed it up against your cunt, the circular tip smushing perfectly on top of your slippery clit, giving you just enough stimuli to feel complete.

it was heaven sent. finally having something to pass the time alone, the dull ache between your legs starting to subside as it massaged your gushy folds expertly, little jolts of pleasure sending jitters down your thighs. you slammed your eyes shut, shaky gasps unraveling into roaring moans, not care about anything else other than the toy buzzin’ between your thighs.

getting lost in the feeling, you were unaware katsuki came home and was currently staring at you in the doorframe. for once, he was unable to find the right words to say, cluelessly leaning against the etched mahogany with his hands crossed over his waist, mind at a crossroads with exactly what to do with you.

you looked so pretty like this, the small cast of light shining just below your navel, fingertips gripping the vibrator as if you needed it to stay alive, squelching cunt rivaling the dull buzzes the toy sings into the night.

vibrant garnet eyes watch you play with yourself for what feels like hours, only choosing to finally speak up when he notices you getting closer to your climax, his voice cutting through the tangled sounds directly in front of him.

“gettin’ started without me?”

you practically fall off the bed when you hear his gravelly voice, stumbling over words of uncertain apologies, quickly pulling the toy away from your clit. it vibrates in your hand, sounding hallow as it sits in a flat fist pressed into the mattress. leaning up on your elbows to face the man who caught you playing with your pussy, your voice begins to shake, “k-katsuki! i—”

“—i what?” he’s questioning, legs dipping into the edge of the mattress, tongue clicking to the roof of his mouth when you don’t respond, “now that you know i’ve been standin’ here for ten minutes you wanna get fuckin’ shy?”

“it was not ten minutes!” you gasp in horror at the fact was watching you for so long, the weight of him getting closer causing your heart to rapidly pound in uneven repetitions, blood pooling in your eardrums.

“it’s been long enough for me to notice you gettin’ off by yourself, thought you were going to wait up f’me.”

“i was—i am!” you feel bad now, laying in his bed, soaking his expensive sheets, you should’ve just waited. quickly recovering, you clear your throat, laying back down and sighing, “i’m sorry kats, but ‘s not my fault you took so long getting home.”

“got home as fast as i could,” he pushes back, toying with the uncomfortably tight waistband of his pants, voice continuing, “now, are you gonna let me watch you play with your pussy, or do you want me to do it?”

.

when you reluctantly handed over the purple toy, you never expected for katsuki to use it like this.

running the little bullet up and down his thick cock with legs spread wide on his side of the bed to give you the perfect view of the toy caressing his cock. the royal purple’s a stark difference to the milky shade of his veiny shaft, thick fingers tapping away at the ‘on’ button, the fluttering noises rapidly changing.

“shit, didn’t realize how many fuckin’ settings this thing had,” he’s cursing, a pearly bead of pre drippin’ out of his heated slit, the clear mixture drifting to towards the buzzing toy.

your confident boyfriend settles on the third setting, the vibrations just as loud as the growl roaring from his throat once he slides it up to his head, “fuckkkk…” he’s cursing, body tensing at the new found feeling of the vibrator caressing him with strange sensation he’s never felt until now.

you’re glad he turned on the lamp, watching in awe at his face twisting up in pleasure, eyebrows pinched, eyes slammed shut. “how’s it feel katsuki?” you’re questioning, tastebuds slick with jealousy at how sexy he looks like this, the toy looking so minuscule against his girthy cock.

“feels pretty fuckin’ weird, he grits through his teeth, starting to get used to the sensitivity, swirling the bullet around his tip, hips bucking off the bed at the harsh setting, “s-shittt! i can get why you were usin’ it without me baby.”

“jus’ missed you tsuki, you know i’m sorry, don’t you?” purring, you claw at his bare chest, nails raking down the plush flesh of his pecs, translucent chest hairs tickling your fingertips.

he opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown wide with lust, “you know i woulda fucked you all night if you just waited on me.”

“you still can katsuki!” you whine, cunt clenching around nothing when he’s gripping the bottom of his base, knuckles blanching as he squeezes it tightly.

“fuck—lay back ‘n spread yourself f’me baby, wanna see all of you.” blond hair nods in the direction of the sheets you messed up, eager to watch your slick cunt again; this time with a light on.

nervousness creeps up the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, “it’s still d-dark in here ‘tsuki—”

“—don’t care how dark-shittt!” he interrupts, fist beginning to pump at his cock. he lets the toy do the rest of the work vibrating down the head, pretty rose hued tip beginning to bloom a painful shade of maroon, “little fuckin’ piece of plastic feels so damn good baby.”

you watch with an opened mouth, shoulders dipping backwards to the sheets. you spread your legs eagerly for katsuki to gawk at your slit, your pussy lips squelching at the new position, sticky sap practically doubling in size since you started watching katsuki play with himself in front of you.

you swipe your fingers through it, spreading them wide enough to open your glistening insides, biting your lip when katsuki moans, his cock uncontrollably jerking upwards in excitement, “hmmmm? but i feel better, don’t i?”

“fuck yeah you do,” katsuki shakes his head, unable to focus on anything but the mess growing in front of him. suddenly he’s ripping his fist off his cock and grabbing your slick covered hand, pulling you in his direction the best he can, “c’mere ’n give me a kiss.”

stumbling forward, you grab his hand for balance, shakily crawling towards him. he leads you to sit on his bare thigh, cunt dripping on the tensed muscle beneath it, your body so close your knee knocks into his hard vibrating cock.

“s-shit! get closer baby,” he’s groaning, abs tensing at the pleasure overcoming him. the toy feels good, too good. way better than any time he’s ever fisted his cock alone and almost as perfect as your tight lil’ pussy.

almost.

you lean into his pursed lips, pressing a messy kiss into them. instantly katsuki sticks his tongue out, swiping it over your bottom lip to coat you in his spit, and when you gasp in pleasure, he’s biting it between his teeth with just enough pressure to make you melt.

you’re fully humping him now, squelches and vibrations soaring through the bleak bedroom, both of you fully focused on making yourselves feel good, fucking yourselves silly with hopes to fall apart together like you always do.

you’ve been attempting to cum for far too long, the teasing of your achy clit allowing the bundle of nerves to fester into intense sensitivity, each roll of your hips heating up deep inside your core.

he brings the vibrator down his shaft again, this time swapping the hand on his base to squeeze at his tip. the vibrator drifts towards his balls, tracing the thick vein that travels at the very bottom of his shaft.

katsuki wants to grab at you so damn bad it’s killing him. face flushing maroon, he listens to the little exasperated breaths you’re pressin’ past his lips. “love you baby,” katsuki mumbles into your mouth, sucking on your tongue. he can taste the leftover toothpaste from your night routine, smiling when you moan around his mouth. “you close? can fuckin’ f-feel it. you’re soakin’ me like crazy.”

“mhm—please kats!” you whine, gripping the prickly locs of hair at the nape of his neck, the vibrations of the toy rubbing your leg each time you feverishly rock against him.

he desperately wants to see you cum first. the sinful look on your face as you fall apart always sending him right over the edge, he knows you’re getting closer by the way your words quiet down and your breathing gets heavier.

“come on, you got it,” he’s grunting, clicking the button for the next option of vibrations, settling on the one where it stutters on and off, hips jerking at the uneven feeling, “shit! cum with me baby—fuck, fuck, fuckkk.”suddenly, katsuki can’t hold back anymore, the change in pace instantly forcing his cock to erupt all over the two of you.

it coats you in waves, the warm creamy liquid making a mess on his washboard abs, the droplets cascading the side of your body. you can feel it spilling all over you, leaking from your waist down to your thigh, syrupy liquid wrecking the sheets.

“katsuki! oh my god!” you’re mewling, clammy hands gripping him into place to rub your clit just right. his words are like your very own magic button themselves, body trembling as your high tears through your body, hips halting to allow your release to roll through you, core tingling, eyes prickling with stars.

not bothering to turn the toy off, katsuki lazily throws it to the side, two hands pulling you completely on top of him in a straddle, sticky palms running up the expanse of your back. “got ya real fuckin’ messy, didn’t i?”

“mhm,” breathing out, you lazily fall into his neck, placing a kiss to the soft skin between his shoulder, “that’s okay though, i love seeing you all needy like that.”

“huh? y’call that needy?” tossing you on your back, he hovers over your body, lips curling into a smirk, “the only one needy was you fuckin’ that toy instead of waiting on me to do it myself.”

your jaw drops. then closes. then opens again.

“c’mon, y’know im jus’ teasing you,” katsuki shakes his head, placing a kiss to the middle of your breasts, blond hair lowering between your thighs, “lemme clean ya up.”

And you’re so used to it, the casual touching, the way they both smell faintly of cedar and whatever cologne they stole from each other, that you never question how heavy their breathing gets when you shift and your ass presses back against Eren’s hips.

You yawn, stretch like a cat, and announce it without thinking.

“I’ve got a date tomorrow night.”

The room doesn’t freeze. Not exactly.

But the lazy thumb on your thigh stops dead. Toru’s fingers pause mid-scratch against your scalp. The only sound left is the muffled explosions from the television and the sudden harsh rhythm of Eren’s exhale through his nose.

“A date,” Eren repeats. Flat. Like he’s tasting something bitter.

“Yeah,” you hum, oblivious, scrolling through your phone now. “This guy from chem. He’s cute. Kinda tall. Said he’d take me to that new ramen place downtown.”

Toru’s voice comes quieter than usual. Almost gentle. “Tomorrow.”

“Mhm.” You tilt your head back to look up at him, smiling all sweet and glassy-eyed like you always do when you’re happy. “Why? You guys wanna come third-wheel? I can ask if he’s cool with it.”

Eren laughs, but it’s wrong. Sharp, with no humor in it at all.

He shifts under you suddenly, strong hands clamping around your hips, keeping you pinned right where you are. You squeak in surprise, thighs squeezing together on instinct.

“No,” he says. Low and dangerous. “We don’t wanna third-wheel, princess.”

Toru’s hand slides from your hair down to your throat…not choking, just… holding. Collarbone to jaw. His thumb brushing the soft skin under your chin so you have to look at him.

“You’re not going,” he murmurs.

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Huh?”

“You’re not going on a date,” Eren cuts in, voice rougher now, hips rolling up just enough that you feel exactly how hard he is. Not subtle. Not pretending anymore. The thick outline of him presses insistently against your ass through thin layers of fabric. “Not with him. Not with anyone.”

Your breath catches. You’re still trying to process, still trying to stay in that sweet, fuzzy headspace where they’re just your overprotective best friends so when Toru leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth soft, teasing and barely there, you're a bit stunned to say the least.

But Eren doesn’t tease.

He grabs your chin, turns your face towards him, and kisses you like he’s been starving for it. Deep and messy, his tongue sliding against yours before you can even gasp. One hand fists in your hair while the other slips under the hoodie, rough palm skating up your bare stomach until he’s cupping your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple like he’s done it a thousand times in his head, he grabs it and balls up the fabric in his palm and tugs it off you, throwing it behind the couch without care.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard. Your lips are swollen. His eyes are dilated, black eating the emerald green.

“We’ve been good,” he rasps. “So fucking good. Letting you prance around in those tiny shorts, letting you sleep between us, letting you rub that pretty little body all over us every night like it’s nothing. But a date?” He laughs again low and bitter. “Nah, baby. That shit ends tonight.”

Toru’s mouth finds your neck. Open-mouthed, he sucks a bruise right under your jaw while his hand slides between your thighs, not touching your pussy yet, just cupping you over your panties, letting you feel the heat of his palm.

“You’ve been so sweet to us,” Toru whispers against your skin. “Letting us hold you. Letting us get hard and pretend it’s an accident. But we’re done pretending, baby.”

Eren’s fingers pinch your nipple harder and you whimper embarrassingly which makes them both look at each other in unison and smirk.

“We both think about this cunt every single night,” he growls. “Every time you fall asleep between us, we’re rock fucking hard imagining how tight you’d feel. How wet you are, how you’d cry our names when we finally stretch you open.”

Toru hums in agreement, middle finger pressing just enough against your clit through the cotton that your hips jerk.

“You’re ours,” he says simply. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been obvious. “Always have been. You just didn’t know we were waiting for permission to take what’s ours.”

Eren leans in again, lips brushing yours.

“Tell us you want it,” he murmurs. “Tell us you want both of us. Or we stop right now… and you can go on your little date tomorrow like a good girl.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“But if you do…” He smiles slowly, a feral glint in his eyes,"We're not letting you leave this couch until your pussy’s so full of us you can’t even think about another man’s name.”

Your thighs tremble.

Your heart hammers, you aren't entirely sure if the imagery Eren’s just conjured up is what has your body on fire and mind in disarray with boiling want. Do you really want them both at the same time, your best friends…were you always this naive about them or did you just realise that you want them too.. God, yes you fucking do.

And between them now, with their warmth, dicks hard and unyielding tension, you feel something inside you finally give in.

Soft and sweet and a little dumb with want.

“…please,” you whisper.

Eren groans like you just handed him the keys to heaven.

Toru smiles against your throat.

“Good girl.”

You’re still trembling from the way they pinned you down, Eren’s mouth bruising yours, Satoru’s teeth grazing your throat and when Toru shifts, sitting up straighter on the couch. His hoodie is rucked up just enough to show the sharp cut of his hips, the light trail of hair disappearing into gray sweats that are doing nothing to hide how fucking thick he is.

“Baby,” he says, voice all soft velvet now, “need your mouth.”

Your eyes drop automatically. His hand catches yours, guides it down slow until your palm presses flat over the obscene bulge. Even through the fabric you can feel the heat, the heavy throb. He’s so hard it looks painful, long, thick and curving up toward his stomach like it’s begging.

“See, baby? m’hard for you,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your knuckles while he makes you feel every inch. “Been like this every night you sleep between us. Couldn’t help it. Your little ass grinding back, those tiny whimpers you make in your sleep… fuck.”

You swallow. Your mouth feels too wet, too empty.

He tugs the waistband of his sweats down just enough. No underwear.. you think thats gross but also fucking hot ugh. Just him and his fat, flushed cock, the tip already slick and shiny with precum that beads at the slit and drips slow down the underside. It twitches when the cool air hits it. So pretty. So stupidly big. The kind of cock that makes your thighs clench on instinct.

You’re sweet about it. Always sweet. You lean forward without being told twice, pressing the softest, open-mouthed kiss right to the fat head. Your lips brush the sticky tip and he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking like he can’t help it.

“Good girl,” Toru breathes. One hand cups the back of your head, not pushing, just holding. “Just like that. Kiss it again. Taste me, pretty please.”

You do. Another slow, filthy kiss. Then another. Letting your tongue flick out to lap at the precum, salty and warm. He groans low in his throat.

“Open up, baby. Gonna teach you exactly how I like it.”

You part your lips. He guides himself in slowly, inch by thick inch, until the head sits heavy on your tongue. Your eyes water instantly at the stretch, but you don’t pull back. You just look up at him with those big, glassy eyes while he starts telling you what he wants.

“Suck the tip first.. yeah aaaah- just like that. Swirl your pretty tongue around it. Fuck… goodness baby. Now take a little more. Relax your throat for me, sweet thing. Breathe through your nose.”

You try. You really try. He’s so big it makes your jaw ache already, but the way he’s looking at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen makes you want to take all of him. You hollow your cheeks, suck soft, letting your tongue drag along the thick vein underneath.

Behind you, Eren’s been patient. Too patient.

His hands find the backs of your thighs, prying them apart until you’re spread wide across his lap. Cool air hits your soaked panties and you whimper around Toru’s cock.

“Come on, baby girl,” Eren growls against the shell of your ear. “Won’t you let me see this pretty pussy? Been dying to look at it properly.”

His fingers hook into the crotch of your panties, tugging them to the side. You’re dripping. Embarrassingly so, strings of slick connecting your folds to the fabric when he pulls it away and he groans like he’s in pain.

“Fuck. Look at her, Toru. She’s fucking soaked.”

Toru’s hips stutter forward, pushing a little deeper into your mouth at the sight. You gag softly but keep going, drool's already slipping down your chin.

Eren’s fingers slide through your folds slowly with deliberate care, coating themselves in your wetness before he finds your clit. Cute little swollen thing, peeking out and begging. He rubs it in tight, mean circles with his thumb while two fingers tease your entrance, not pushing in yet. Just circling. Spreading you open.

“So wet for us,” he mutters. “This little cunt’s been waiting, huh? Knew you needed both of us stretching you out.”

You moan around Toru’s cock, the vibrations making him curse under his breath. Your hips buck forward into Eren’s hand without thinking, chasing the pressure on your clit.

Toru’s grip tightens in your hair. “That’s it, baby. Keep sucking. Gonna fuck your mouth slow while Eren plays with this perfect pussy. You’re doing so good for us.”

Eren slips one finger inside you, then another immediately, curling them just right while his thumb keeps working your clit in relentless little strokes. You’re shaking now, thighs trembling, drool dripping down Toru’s cock as you try to take him deeper. 

Eren hooks his fingers into the thin waistband of your panties now, tugging them down with slow, patient care, down the swell of you ass and the crotch is soaked, from his spit and your sticky slick. Once he gets it off he presses an open mouthed kiss to your pretty cunt, his mouth fully englufing you with no barrier stopping him anymore.

They’ve got you right where they want you, split open between them, mouth full, cunt dripping, completely theirs.

And they’re only just getting started.

Toru’s grip in your hair turns firmer but not cruel, just enough to remind you who’s in control. He rocks his hips up slow, feeding you another thick inch until the head bumps the back of your throat and your eyes water instantly. You gag around him, soft and wet, helpless little sound that makes his abs flex and his breath hitch.

“Fuck, baby… that’s it,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gag on it. Let me feel that tight little throat squeeze me. You’re so sweet when you try to take it all.”

Tears prick your lashes. Drool spills from the corners of your mouth, slicking down his shaft, dripping onto your chin and the couch beneath. You’re messy for him, always so eager to please and he loves it. Loves the way your tongue still tries to swirl even when you’re struggling, the way your cheeks hollow every time he pulls back just to push in again.

Behind you, Eren’s done playing nice.

He’s got your thighs shoved wide, knees hooked over his shoulders now so your ass is lifted just enough for him to bury his face where he’s been dying to be. Rough hands spread your cunt open, his fingers digging into soft, slick flesh, holding you apart like he’s displaying you. You’re so wet it’s obscene: glistening folds, clit swollen and throbbing, strings of arousal clinging to his fingers when he pulls them away.

“Look at this sloppy little pussy,” he mutters against your inner thigh, hot breath fanning over your core. “Dripping all over my hand just from sucking him off. You love being used like this, don’t you?”

Before you can even whimper around Toru’s cock, Eren slaps your pussy, a sharp, wet smack that makes your whole body jolt. The sting blooms fast into heat, clit pulsing harder. You cry out muffled around the thick length filling your mouth.

Eren does it again. Harder. The sound is filthy, each wet smacks echoing in the quiet room. Your hips buck uselessly, cunt clenching around nothing.

“Sensitive already?” he taunts, voice low and mean. Then he spits, right on your clit, a thick glob of saliva landing perfectly, sliding down your folds. He watches it drip with dark eyes before leaning in and dragging his tongue flat from your entrance to your clit in one long, slow stripe.

You sob around Toru. The vibration makes him curse and thrust deeper, holding you there until your nose brushes his pelvis and you’re choking sweetly, and tears streaming.

Eren eats you like he’s starving. Tongue flicking fast over your clit, then sucking it between his lips with hard pulls that make your thighs shake. He alternates: sloppy open-mouthed kisses to your folds, tongue dipping inside to fuck you shallow, then back to circling that needy little bud. Every time you get close, your hips grinding and muffled moans turning desperate, he pulls back. Just enough.

Edging and Torturing you… keeping you right on the brink.

“Uh-uh,” he growls when your cunt flutters, so close you can taste it. Another slap, lighter this time, but it still makes you yelp around Toru’s cock. “Not yet, baby girl. You don’t come until we say.”

Toru’s breathing is ragged now, hips stuttering as he fucks your throat in shallow thrusts. “She’s gonna make me come if she keeps moaning like that,” he warns Eren, but there’s no real complaint in it, just raw need. “Fuck… her mouth’s so warm. So fucking wet.”

Eren hums against your clit, the vibration ripping another choked sound from you. He spits again messily then sucks your clit back into his mouth while two fingers slide inside, curling against that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

You’re shaking. Drooling. Gagging sweetly every time Toru bottoms out. Cunt clenching around Eren’s fingers while he edges you mercilessly with every lick, suck, slap, spit, repeat.

They’ve got you trapped between them, mouth stuffed full, pussy spread and devoured, body trembling on the edge of something massive.

Toru’s thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, almost tenderly and he slips his cock out of from your mouth and taps the tip of his cock to your lips as you catch your breath, smearing bubbly saliva and pre over your lips messily.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers. “Taking us both so pretty.”

Eren pulls back just long enough to murmur against your dripping folds:

“Gonna let you come soon, baby… but only when you’re choking on his load and begging for mine.”

Your whole body clenches at the promise.

They’re not stopping.

Not until you’re ruined for anyone else.

Eren pulls back from your dripping cunt with a wet, obscene sound, his lips shiny, chin slick with you. He’s breathing hard, eyes dark and blown out like he’s high off the taste. Without a word he shifts, lying flat on his back along the couch, one arm hooked behind his head while the other reaches for your hip.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps, voice rough from all the growling and licking. “Sit on my face. Need this pretty pussy grinding on my tongue right fucking now.”

You’re still dazed, mouth swollen from Toru, thighs shaking from the edging, but the command cuts through the fog. You crawl forward on shaky knees, straddling his head. He doesn’t wait for you to settle. Big hands clamp around your hips and yank you down hard until your soaked cunt is pressed flush to his mouth.

The first swipe of his tongue is filthy, long and flat dragging from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans into you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, vibrations ripping a broken moan from your throat. Then he’s eating you messy: lips sucking at your folds, tongue fucking inside shallow and greedy, nose bumping your clit with every tilt of his head. He’s loud about it slurping, sucking and growling against your core like he’s trying to drink you dry.

Your hands scramble for purchase, fingers digging into the back of the couch as your hips rock instinctively, grinding down on his face. He loves it. Encourages it with bruising grips, guiding you to ride his tongue harder and faster.

Toru’s been watching the whole time, stroking himself slow and lazy while you gagged on him earlier. Now he stands up beside the couch, his sweats shoved down to his thighs, cock flushed dark and glistening from your spit. He steps closer, one hand fisting the base while the other cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him.

“Open up again, baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Gonna fuck this pretty mouth while he eats you out.”

You part your lips on instinct, still so sweet, so pliant and he slides back in. Not gentle this time. He pushes deep right away, hitting the back of your throat until your eyes water fresh and you gag around him, sloppy and wet. Drool spills immediately, running down your chin, dripping onto Eren’s chest below you.

Toru starts thrusting in, slow at first, letting you adjust, then deeper, harder. One hand tangles in your hair to hold you steady while the other braces on the back of the couch. “That’s it… throat me like a good girl. Fuck, look at you nmgh taking it so sloppy, making such aaah mess.”

Every time he bottoms out you choke. Sweet, wet gurgles that make Eren groan louder into your cunt. The sound vibrates straight through your clit and you buck harder against his face, smearing yourself all over his mouth, his nose, his chin. He doesn’t care. He just spreads you wider with his thumbs, tongue flicking fast over your clit before sucking it between his lips again, relentlessly.

His own hand slips down, his fingers wrapping around his neglected cock, stroking himself in rough, tight pulls while he devours you. The wet schlick of his fist mixes with the filthy sounds of his mouth on your pussy and Toru’s dick sliding in and out of your throat.

You’re caught perfectly between them: hips grinding desperate on Eren’s tongue, throat stuffed full of Toru’s thick length, drool and slick everywhere. Your moans are muffled and broken, vibrating around him every time Eren licks that perfect spot inside you with his tongue.

Toru’s hips stutter, breath hitching. “Fuck… gonna cum soon if you keep choking on me like that, baby.”

Eren pulls back just enough to growl against your folds, words muffled but clear. “Not yet. She comes first. Then we both fill her up.”

He dives back in, sucking your clit hard, tongue flicking merciless while his fingers dig into your ass, spreading you even wider so he can bury his face deeper.

You’re trembling, thighs quaking, so close it hurts.

Toru fucks your mouth faster. Shallow,  sloppy thrusts that make spit drip down onto Eren’s abs.

Eren strokes himself harder, hips bucking up into his fist like he can’t help it.

They’ve got you right there teetering, dripping, stuffed full and theirs.

Just a little more.

And you’re going to shatter.

It hits you like a wave you can’t outrun.

Eren’s tongue is relentlessly sucking your clit in hard, pulsing pulls while his fingers dig into your hips, holding you down so you can’t escape even if you wanted to. Your thighs lock around his head, whole body seizing as the pressure snaps. You cum hard shaking. Cries muffled around Toru’s cock, hips grinding down messy and desperate onto Eren’s face. Slick floods his mouth; he drinks it up greedily, groaning deep vibrations straight into your core that drag the orgasm out longer, sharper, until you’re sobbing with it.

Your cunt pulses around nothing, clenching on air, dripping down his chin, his neck. He doesn’t stop licking, not even when you’re twitching and oversensitive. Just softer laps now, soothing the raw edges while you shudder through the aftershocks.

Toru’s been fucking your throat steady, but the way you choke and moan around him when you come tips him over. He pulls back suddenly. Only the fat, swollen tip still resting on your tongue and strokes himself faster and rough.

“Fuck ngh open wide, baby,” he pants. “Gonna, fuck- give it to you.”

You do. Tongue out, lips parted, eyes glassy and teary from everything staring up at him. He groans low, hips jerking, and comes thick, rope after hot, heavy rope painting your tongue white. It’s so much it spills a little at the corners of your mouth before you can catch it all. Warm and salty, thick enough that it clings n pools heavy in the center of your tongue.

He milks the last drops out with slow strokes, smearing the tip across your lips like he’s marking you.

“Don’t swallow it yet, pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and soft all at once. “Need to see it first.”

You stay like that, kneeling between them, thighs still trembling from Eren’s mouth, mouth full of Toru’s load. Eren finally eases you up just enough to sit back against the couch arm, pulling you half into his lap so you’re still facing Toru. His hands slide up your sides, possessively, while he watches with dark emerald, hungry eyes.

Toru steps closer. Cups your jaw gently but firm, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth where a little escaped.

“Show me,” he says.

You part your lips slowly, careful not to let any spill. Your tongue coated, its thick, pearlescent-white, his cum sitting heavy and pooling in the middle, strings of it connecting to the roof of your mouth when you part wider. It’s obscene. Beautifully yours.

Toru exhales shaky. “Fuck… look at that. All for us.”

He reaches in, two long fingers sliding past your lips, pressing into the warm pool of his own release. He stirs it lazy, coating his fingertips, feeling how thick and sticky it is while you whimper softly around the intrusion. Your eyes flutter, lashes wet.

Then he pulls his fingers out, glistening, dripping, and brings them straight to his own mouth. Sucks them clean and slow, tongue swirling around the digits, tasting himself mixed with the faint sweetness of your spit. His eyes never leave yours, cerulean eyes a hint darker and possessive, like he’s claiming every part of this.

“Sweet,” he murmurs against his fingers. “But not as sweet as you’re gonna taste when we both fill that pretty cunt next.”

Eren’s hand slips between your thighs again, fingers brushing your still-throbbing clit, making you jolt.

“Our turn to mark you inside,” Eren growls low against your ear, nipping the lobe. “Gonna stuff you so full you’ll be leaking us for days.”

You’re still holding Toru’s cum on your tongue, thick, warm and waiting.

Toru leans down, kisses the corner of your mouth softly.

“Now swallow, baby,” he whispers. “Take all of me… then we’ll give you both.”

Your throat works. You swallow slow, feeling it slide down, warm and heavy while they watch like it’s the hottest thing they’ve ever seen.

And when your lips part again, empty now, Eren’s already shifting you, lining himself up.

They’re nowhere near done.

Not even close.

Eren’s hands are already on your hips the second you finish swallowing, rough palms sliding up your sides, guiding you with that same possessive grip he’s always had but never let loose like this. He pulls you forward until you’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs. Your arms loop around his shoulders automatically, fingers digging into the back of his neck, forehead dropping to rest against his as you try to catch your breath.

He’s hard again, thick and flushed, leaking at the tip from stroking himself while he ate you out. The head nudges against your soaked entrance, slicking itself in your arousal without even trying. You whimper at the contact, hips twitching forward on instinct.

“Easy, baby girl,” Eren murmurs, voice low and wrecked. One hand stays clamped on your hip while the other reaches between you, guiding himself right to your opening. “Gonna take me slow and let me feel every inch of this tight little cunt finally wrap around me?”

You nod dumbly and eager, still hazy from coming so hard, and you start to sink down.

The stretch is immediate. Intense. He’s thick enough that your walls flutter and grip around the head the second it pops inside, and you gasp sharply against his mouth. Eren groans like he’s been punched in the gut, head falling back against the couch for a second before he snaps it forward again to watch your face.

“Fuck… look at you,” he breathes. “Taking me so pretty already.”

You keep sinking down slow and carefully, until he’s buried halfway in. Your thighs tremble from the burn of it and that’s when Toru moves.

He’s been right behind you the whole time, silent and patient, stroking himself lazy while he watched. Now he presses in close, chest flush to your back, one arm banding around your waist to hold you steady while his other hand slides down between your spread thighs.

As you take another inch of Eren, Toru shoves two fingers into your dripping cunt right alongside Eren’s cock.

The stretch doubles instantly. Your walls clamp down hard, fluttering wildly around the sudden fullness. You cry out high and broken, head tipping back against Toru’s shoulder.

“Fuck, baby,” Toru whispers hot against your ear, fingers curling deep, pressing against that spot that makes your toes curl. “So tight. So fucking full already and we’re just getting started.”

Eren’s hips jerk up on instinct, pushing deeper while Toru’s fingers thrust in shallow, matching the rhythm. The drag is obscene, Eren’s thick length stretching you open, Toru’s fingers rubbing against him through your walls, slick sounds filling the room every time they move.

“You’ll let me stretch this pretty pussy out too, hm?” Toru murmurs, voice all soft velvet as makes it sounds more like a promise than a threat. He scissors his fingers in slower, spreading you wider around Eren’s cock, making room. “Gonna open you up nice and slow so you can take both of us. Gonna feel so good when I slide in right next to him… gonna ruin this little cunt for anyone else.”

You’re shaking between them, overwhelmed and suffed, dripping down Eren’s shaft and Toru’s wrist. Eren’s mouth finds your throat, sucking a fresh bruise while he bottoms out fully, hips flush to yours. The pressure is insane, Eren’s cock throbbing deep inside, Toru’s fingers still working you open, curling and thrusting until you’re clenching so hard it hurts in the best way.

“Goddamn,” Eren growls against your skin. “She’s gripping me like a fucking vice. Keep going, Toru ngh stretch her more. Wanna haah feel you in there with me.”

Toru adds a third finger in slow and carefully and you sob, nails digging into Eren’s shoulders. The burn blooms into heat, into pleasure so sharp it whites out your vision for a second.

“That’s it,” Toru praises, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Such a good girl. Taking us both already. Gonna fuck you together soon… gonna fill you up until you’re leaking us for days.”

Eren starts rocking up into you with shallow thrusts that make his cock drag against Toru’s fingers with every stroke. You’re so full you can barely think, just feel. Just take.

They’ve got you pinned perfectly, in the front and back, cock and fingers, mouths and hands everywhere.

And they’re only warming you up.

Toru’s fingers are still buried deep, three thick digits stretching you wide around Eren’s cock. When he finally starts to pull them out, slow. Every inch drags against your fluttering walls, against the heavy length already filling you, making you whimper and clench harder around Eren.

You’re shaking in Eren’s lap, arms locked around his shoulders, forehead pressed to his as you try to breathe through the overwhelming fullness. Eren’s hands grip your hips like anchors, keeping you seated deep on him while he watches Toru over your shoulder with those emerald, impatient eyes.

Toru’s voice is low against the back of your neck, lips brushing skin. “Gonna replace these fingers now, baby. Gonna slide right in next to him… gonna make this pretty pussy take us both.”

He shifts closer, chest flush to your back again, one hand steadying your waist while the other guides his cock down. The fat, slick head nudges right against your already-stretched entrance, pressing insistently beside Eren’s shaft. You feel the pressure immediately, hot, blunt, and impossible… fuck- it feels impossible and your breath hitches into a soft, panicked whine.

“Shh,” Toru soothes, kissing the curve of your shoulder. “Relax for me. You’ve been so good… you can take it. Just breathe.”

Eren groans low when he feels Toru start to push, feels the thick head crowding in, stretching you further. “Fuck… yeah, push in slow. Let her feel every inch.”

You’re so wet it helps, slick dripping down Eren’s balls, coating Toru’s tip but the stretch is blinding. Toru rocks forward gently at first, just the head breaching you alongside Eren. Your walls burn, fluttering wildly, trying to accommodate the impossible double thickness. A broken sob tears from your throat; your nails dig crescent moons into Eren’s shoulders.

“Too much?” Eren murmurs against your lips, kissing you soft and messy to distract you. “You’re doing so good, baby girl. Look at you, taking two cocks like you were made for it.”

You whine, embarrassed by the fact of his words. Eren soothes you gently, petting your back with slow strokes, shushing you in his arms.

Toru takes that as a sign to sink in deeper, inch by slow, torturous inch, until he’s buried to the hilt right next to Eren. The fullness is obscene: two thick lengths pressed flush together inside you, walls stretched thin and tremble around them. You can feel every vein, every throb, the way they twitch against each other through the thin barrier of your body.

“Goddamn,” Toru breathes, voice wrecked. His forehead drops to your shoulder, hips flush to your ass. “So fucking tight… can feel him right next to me. Feel how full you are, baby?”

You can’t speak… the words are stuck, you just nod frantically, tears slipping down your cheeks from the intensity. Eren starts moving first. Shallow, careful rolls of his hips that make both cocks drag inside you at once. The friction is electric; every slide rubs them together, rubs against that deep spot that makes your vision blur.

Toru matches him after a moment, pulling back slow while Eren pushes in, then switching. They find a rhythm quick: one in, one out, seesawing deep inside you so there’s never a second you’re empty. The drag is relentless, stretching, filling. Utterly overwhelming.

You’re crying now, soft and overwhelmed sobs into Eren’s neck while your hips start rocking back on instinct, chasing more even though you’re already so full it hurts in the sweetest way.

“That’s it,” Eren growls, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. “Ride us, baby. Fuck yourself on both our cocks. Show us how much you love being stuffed like this.”

Toru’s hand slips around to your clit, fingers finding the swollen bud and rubbing tight, fast circles while they keep thrusting. The added stimulation sends sparks up your spine; you clench hard around them both, making them groan in unison.

“Gonna come again?” Toru whispers hot against your ear. “Gonna soak us both? Milk us until we fill this little cunt up?”

Eren’s thrusts get harder, deeper. Hips snapping up to meet yours. “Come on our cocks, pretty girl. Let us feel it. Then we’re gonna pump you so full you’ll be dripping for us so beautifully.”

You’re trembling, teetering, so close again, your body stretched to its limit, clit throbbing under Toru’s fingers, two thick cocks ruining you from the inside out.

They’ve got you pinned, claimed and completely theirs.

And when you shatter this time it’s going to be devastating.

They’re moving in perfect, brutal sync now, Eren thrusting up deep while Toru drives in from behind, cocks sliding against each other inside your stretched, fluttering walls. Every push rubs them together through the thin membrane, friction so intense it makes your eyes roll back. You’re creaming around them. Thick, milky slick coating both shafts, dripping down Eren’s balls and Toru’s thighs with every wet slap of skin on skin.

Your tight walls grip them like a vice, milking desperately as they fuck straight into your cervix, blunt heads battering that deep, sensitive spot over and over. The pressure builds fast, sharp and overwhelming; your tummy bulges visibly with each thrust, the outline of their cocks pressing outward against your lower belly.

Eren notices first. His hand slides down from your hip, palm flattening over the soft swell. He pushes on it firmly, gently and deliberately, right where the bulge is most pronounced.

“Fuck, look at that,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Can feel myself right here… feel how deep we are inside you, baby girl? Stretching her little pussy so wide she’s bulging for us.”

You whimper broken and high, hips jerking between them. The pressure of his palm combined with the relentless pounding sends sparks shooting up your spine. Toru’s hand joins, fingers splaying beside Eren’s, both of them pressing down in tandem as they thrust harder, deeper.

“Gonna make you come like this,” Toru murmurs hot against your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “Gonna feel you cream all over both our cocks while we kiss your cervix, hm baby want us deep in there?.”

You bite your lip, and it hits you suddenly and violent.

Your whole body locks up, back arching, thighs quaking, a raw sob tearing from your throat as you come harder than before. Walls spasm wildly around them, clenching so tight it drags broken groans from both their throats. Slick gushes out in messy pulses, soaking their cocks, dripping down in thick rivulets. Your vision whites out for a second; you’re shaking, crying, completely lost in the overwhelming fullness and the way Eren’s palm keeps pushing on that bulge, making every pulse of your orgasm feel deeper, sharper.

They don’t stop, can’t stop. They bury themselves to the hilt in one final, synchronized thrust, Eren’s hips snapping up, Toru slamming forward until there’s no space left inside you. You feel them throb, swell, and then they’re coming hard.

Hot, thick spurts flood you at the same time, Eren's cock pulsing deep against your cervix while Toru unloads right beside him, ropes of cum mixing, filling every inch until you’re overflowing. The pressure is insane; your walls flutter helplessly around the double load, trying to take it all but failing beautifully.

Toru pulls back just enough, barely an inch while staying buried deep. His free hand slides down between your thighs, thumb hooking one swollen lip and spreading you open wide. The sight is filthy: your pussy stretched obscenely around both cocks, creamy white cum already leaking out in a fat, slow spurt. It slips from between their shafts thick and pearly dripping down Toru’s length in a heavy trail, coating his balls, pooling on Eren’s thighs beneath you.

“Fuck… look at her leaking us,” Toru breathes, thumb rubbing slow circles through the mess, spreading it over your clit. “So full she can’t even keep it all inside.”

Eren groans low, hips twitching with aftershocks as another small spurt escapes him. His palm stays pressed to your tummy, feeling the faint throb of their cocks still buried deep.

“You’re ours now,” he rasps, kissing your sweaty temple. “This pussy’s marked. Stuffed. Leaking both of us.”

You’re trembling between them overstimulated, full to bursting, cum dripping slow and steady down your thighs. They don’t pull out. Not yet.

They just hold you there, cocks softening slightly but still thick inside, keeping every drop plugged deep while their hands roam lazy over your body.

Claimed.

Ruined.

Theirs.

The room feels heavier now, thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and the faint salt of cum. You’re still straddling Eren’s lap, thighs quivering, body limp and boneless between them. Their cocks are softening inside you, but neither has pulled out yet, just resting there, keeping you plugged full, every tiny shift making a fresh trickle of their mixed release slip out.

Toru moves first.

He eases back slow and carefull, so so gentle, until his cock finally slips free with a wet, obscene sound. A thick gush of cum follows immediately, spilling from your stretched hole, running hot down your inner thighs and dripping onto Eren’s lap. You whimper at the sudden emptiness, walls fluttering around Eren’s length like they’re trying to pull him deeper to compensate.

Toru doesn’t go far.

He leans in close behind you again, chest pressed to your back, arms wrapping around your waist in a loose, possessive hold. His lips find the side of your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses. Trailing up the curve where he’d bitten earlier. Gentle now. Soothing. Each press of his mouth feels like an apology and a promise at once.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and wrecked. “Took us both so perfect. Look at you… all messy and full of us.” Another kiss, slower, right under your ear. His tongue flicks out to taste the salt there. “Gonna take care of you now. Promise.”

His hands slide up your sides, warm palms smoothing over ribs, petting you like you’re something fragile and precious. One hand cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your skull while he keeps kissing your throat, your jaw, the soft spot behind your ear.

Eren’s still buried inside you, half-hard, twitching lazily every time your walls flutter. He shifts just enough to sit up straighter, pulling you flush against his chest so your breasts press to him. His mouth finds yours immediately, a slow, deep kiss that tastes like your own slick and his tongue. Lazy. Unhurried. Like he’s savoring every second now that the frantic edge is gone.

One hand slides up to cup your breast, thumb circling the nipple soft and unhurried, teasing it back to a stiff peak. He pinches gently, rolls it between his fingers, then soothes with the flat of his palm. The other hand stays low, splayed over your lower belly where the bulge has softened but you can still feel the faint throb of him inside.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he mutters against your lips, kissing you again, messy and open-mouthed, tongue sliding slow against yours. “All flushed and leaking us. Our pretty girl.”

He keeps playing with your tits, kneading one while he kisses you deeper, then switching to the other, thumb flicking the nipple until you arch into his touch with a soft whine. Every tug sends little aftershocks through your oversensitive body; your cunt clenches weakly around him, milking another small bead of cum that drips out around his base.

Toru’s mouth never leaves your neck, kissing and sucking soft bruises into fresh skin, whispering praise between each press of his lips.

“So sweet… so fucking perfect… ours, baby. All ours.”

Eren breaks the kiss just long enough to murmur against your mouth, “Gonna stay like this a while. Keep you full. Keep you warm.”

His fingers keep teasing your nipple with gentle pinches and slow circles, while Toru’s hands roam your sides, your back, your hips. They’re everywhere and nowhere all at once, soft touches and warm mouths, their low voices rumbling praise into your skin.

You’re boneless between them, head lolling back against Toru’s shoulder, lips parted on shaky breaths, body humming with the quiet afterglow.

They don’t rush.

They just hold you.

Kiss you.

Pet you.

Like they’ve got all night.

Like they’ve finally got what they’ve wanted for so long.

And they’re never letting go.

You sit next to the lonely soul with the horrible comb-over at the pool bar, your cheek in your hand and your brain taking you to places other than here with him.

“I just don’t think women realize how much they can hurt men by treating them like sex objects, y’know? Like, I understand that men can do it too, but I believe that’s only because men are testing women! They want to weed out the real women and the whores. I thought my ex-wife was a real woman, but…”

To anyone watching, it’d look like you’re intently listening to the man—a divorced investment banker, as he told you—discuss his extremely sexist, incel views and ideologies, but your eyes are about a second away from rolling out of your skull. 

Your eyes flit to where you left Yuki, your bestie and partner in crime, at the poolside only to find her flirting with the cute guy you met yesterday standing in line to get dinner at the buffet. He has a black mullet, inked muscles, and a lip piercing that no doubt is getting Yuki interested. You believe his name is Choso. 

Yuki lays back on her pool chair in her black bikini and sunglasses, flashing Choso a smile that makes him blush and sheepishly rub the back of his neck. You curse your friend for having such an easy time flirting with cute guys while you’re stuck sitting in the middle of this middle-aged man’s tirade of ignorant thoughts that people refuse to listen to, so that’s why he’s telling you. 

“Most women are gold diggers nowadays and only seem to focus on the outside instead of the inside,” he laments into his vodka spritzer. “That’s why I’m so glad you’re not like that. As nice-looking as you are, you’re still sitting here talking to me.” He gives you a smile that makes you feel bad because he is 100% wrong. 

Not that you’re a gold digger, but you absolutely would want to talk to someone you classify as ‘eye candy’, like Choso. Especially someone who doesn’t make you want to take a gun to your forehead. But you force a smile anyway. The divorcee turns to the bar and waves his hand. “A third, please!” he calls. 

With him distracted, you take a sip of your tequila sunrise, wanting desperately to get another. You curse Yuki even more for encouraging you to flirt even though this is what a singles’ cruise is supposed to be about: flirting, romancing, and fucking people that you’ll never see again. 

Yuki had come up with the idea for you two to vacay on the water for seven days on a boat about five months ago when you were still healing from your boyfriend’s betrayal. 

After three years of dating and hoping to live together to begin your lives, you discovered that he had been cheating on you after a random chick contacted you on IG and sent you photos of him in her bed. “I don’t want to keep him,” she told you. “I just wanted you to know what was going on.” 

Of course, he denied it until you showed him photos. Then it was the waterworks, the “I’m so sorry”s, theempty promises of never doing it again. 

But of course, dogs will be dogs. As soon as you broke it off, you found him posted up in a strip club between two dancers’ fat asses. You blocked him with the quickness, permanently taking him out of your life, but that didn’t stop the heartbreak, betrayal, and lonely nights when you desperately wanted to call. 

Tired of seeing you moping around, Yuki found the perfect solution: “Let’s go on a singles’ cruise!” she bellowed to you over coffee one morning. “It’s for seven days, we dock at three islands, and we’ll be on a boat with other hot singles like us!” 

You thought it was a stupid plan. You didn’t need to meet anyone to help you heal. But then again, it would be nice to get out of the city and see new sights. And maybe the water and hot guys would help cure your heartbreak. 

So you agreed, split the payment with Yuki, packed your cutest swimsuits and sundresses, and now here you are….trying to think of a good way to tell this drunk divorcee that it was nice chatting with him, but you’re due for a dip in the pool. The skimpy, cut-out one-piece that Yuki made you buy isn’t just for looking, though the thong and deep V-neck at the chest look quite yummy on you. 

You sip your drink for liquid courage, but you’re stopped when a deep, silky yet raspy voice comes from behind the bar: “Sorry, sir, but you reached your limit on your drink card. I can’t serve you anymore till you get that taken care of.” 

Both you and the divorcee turn to stare in shock at the bartender standing behind the tiki bar…and he’s by far the finest man you’ve ever seen. 

He’s tall, he’s buff, and he’s got eyes and a voice that would make any woman cream her panties. Standing about six-foot something, he towers over you as you sit on your barstool. His toned body fills out his Hawaiian shirt and khakis, his thick thighs and pecs pushing up against the fabric. You see yourself running your fingers through his black hair or the scar running over the corner of his lips. Veins run up and down his arms and in his big, calloused hands that pass the card back to the divorcee who looks red in the face. 

“W-What?!” He stammers. “But that’s impossible! I specifically ordered a card for unlimited drinks!” The bartender shrugs, not looking the least bit apologetic or sympathetic. “Well, ya may not remember, but I had warned you at the casino bar to be careful orderin’ all of those drinks, especially since you only got on the boat yesterday.” 

The divorcee opens his mouth to say more and the buff bartender raises an eyebrow, waiting for a rebuttal. Instead, the poor man snatches his card up, downs the rest of his drink, and scurries off back to the pool. You turn to the bartender who shakes his head disappointedly. “Don’t worry ‘bout him. He’s just a lonely soul. And a creep. All he does is bother the single girls.” 

He pauses, picking up a shaker and vigorously shaking it as he speaks. “I’m assumin’ you’re single?” he questions, obviously fishing for a conversation. You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering what he’s getting at. “I am,” you reply. “Why? You interested?” 

He stifles a chuckle as he opens the shaker and pours some orange liquid into a frosted daiquiri glass. “That would be overstepping, wouldn’t it? I mean, you’re a customer and this is my job. It wouldn’t be…” He pauses, passing you another tequila sunrise “Proper.” 

He gives you a smirk, the very tiny movement making your insides flutter. He’s just too damn fine! “My treat. No payment required.” Hesitantly, you take the new glass while he takes your old one to get washed. ”What is this?” you chuckle. “You buyin’ me a drink?” 

“Makin’ one, actually,” he corrects you as he passes two people some cranberry vodkas. “And to make you feel better after that guy got on ya nerves.” He ticks his intense eyes up to yours. “You looked like ya needed a hand.” 

You titter into your glass, already feeling the tequila taking its toll, making you talk shit. “A hand?” you parrot. “I was actually handling that myself, thank you very much.” 

The bartender laughs at this. The deep, sexy rumble of the sound makes you feel hot in your swimsuit. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause you were doing such a great job,” he sarcastically replies. “That man would’ve talked you to death.” 

You purse your lips at him, wondering if you should send the drink back or toss it in his face. “And who are you?” you sharply ask. It’s more rhetorical, but he answers anyway: “Toji Fushiguro.” He reaches one of his big hands out across the bar towards you. 

“Pleasure to meet you, uh…” He trails off, allowing you to fill the space with your name. You hesitantly eye his hand before tentatively reaching out to shake it. “Y/N,” you say, ignoring the zing of electricity zipping through your arm at his rough palm and firm grip. “Nice to meet you too.” 

“Mmm, I’m sure,” Toji replies and you quirk a questionable brow. “I make the best drinks on this boat.” He retracts his hand and you suddenly feel cold despite the hot sun beaming down on you. “You’ll be even happier you’ve met me once you get a taste of the cocktails I can whip up.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, really? You talk such big game that I almost don’t believe you.” You take a sip of your drink, aware that he made it and it’s the best damn tequila sunrise you’ve ever had. It puts the one you had earlier by another bartender to shame. 

A spark suddenly appears behind Toji’s eyes. One of…interest? Mirth? Curiosity Whatever it is, it makes you feel exposed in your deep-cut bathing suit showing off the sliver of your titties. “It ain’t ‘big game’, Y/N,” he says, your name sounding like a sin coming off of his tongue. “When I talk, it ain’t shit. It’s all real and from experience.” 

You watch his hands quickly fix another drink, grabbing, whisking, mixing, etc. He is obviously a pro at this. You can’t imagine what his fingers could do to you in a bed. Realizing where your thoughts are headed, you mentally kick yourself. He’s a whole stranger and you’re thinking about fucking him! 

‘Get it together,’ you think. You still haven’t even read his intentions yet. Though he’s undeniably hot with hands that you’d love to feel wrapped around your neck, a body you want on top of yours, and a voice that you know has delicious moans, you don’t know how you feel about sleeping with a guy you barely know. You at least want to get to know more about him.

So you play along, twirling your straw around your glass. “Oh, really? I’d say prove it, but you already fixed me a drink and you look kinda busy.” You take the straw into your mouth, wrapping your plump, glossy lips around it. Toji watches, staring dead at your mouth. His eyes tick back up to yours as if he just realized that he’s working and he smirks. “Not busy enough for you,” he replies. 

Before he can do absolutely anything though, his phone rings in his back pocket. He looks visibly frustrated, his brows narrowing and the scarred corner of his mouth twitching. “Shit. Duty calls, I’m afraid.” 

You find yourself feeling disappointed that he’s leaving. “But listen,” he continues, passing you a white card from behind the bar. You take it and read it, realizing that it’s an invitation. “I’m gonna be workin’ at an all-white party later tonight, adults only. It’ll start at 8, but I suggest comin’ around 10 if you want the best drinks. That’s when my shift starts.” 

His smirk, sparked with playfulness and mischief, widens. You contemplate your decision for a bit before you give him a smile. “Alright then,” you agree. “I’ll see you then, Toji.” 

You take a final sip of your drink and pass it to him. As he grabs it, your fingers brush against each other. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but you believe you see him inhale sharply through his nostrils as if your touch has burned him. 

I’ll be lookin’ forward to it,” he murmurs. “Enjoy the drink and the pool.” He gives you a wink before he heads off to tend to other customers, leaving you feeling lightheaded and tingly all over. 

When you meet up with Yuki by the pool, you feel like you need to take a dip to cool off. She sits up in her chair, putting her sunglasses on her head. “Whatcha get?” she asks. “A number from that hot bartender, I hope.” She grins at you, signaling that she’d been watching you the whole time. 

With a secretive smile, you silently pass her the invite and her eyes go wide. “An invite?!” she gasps, grinning up at you. “Girl, he wants you! Now we have to go! You brought a white dress with you, right?” 

And so Yuki drags you to the nearest shop on the boat to get the perfect outfit for tonight. 

As soon as you arrive at the all-white party with Yuki, you want to go back to your room and sleep almost immediately. 

Number one it’s because the music is waaay too loud. While you’re a fan of rolling your windows down and blasting your music in your car, it’s not enough to blow out your eardrums. But this music is. 

And number two, the pool is waaaay too crowded. There has to be about one hundred guests here tonight all dressed in their finest white outfits under the strobe lights. They surround the pool and tiki bar where the bartenders are working overtime. 

You look towards the bar, hoping to at least see a glimpse of Toji. Admittedly, he was the only reason you decided to buy the dress Yuki pressed you into trying on before you came down here after filling your stomachs at supper. 

Before the party, you and Yuki attended a delicious lobster dinner and pre-gamed with cocktails before going upstairs to get dressed. She’s decked out in a flowing white dress that hugs her toned body oh-so nicely and strappy sandals, her flowing, blonde hair cascading down her back in soft curls. She looks damn good. 

You feel like you do too. Standing in the bathroom mirror, you slid your hands down your sides in your white backless mini dress with a skater skirt that stops mid-thigh and ties around your neck in a cute bow. The V-neck leaves a silver of cleavage that eyes are drawn to because of the long gold chain you added to match your earrings and strappy heels. After applying some Fenty Gloss bomb to make your lips look plump and juicy, some shimmer oil to make your brown skin pop, and piling your braids into a bun at the top of your head, you felt sexy. Goddess-like. Good enough to eat. 

But even now, despite still looking hot, you don’t quite feel it. You can already feel yourself becoming overstimulated by the crowd and disappointed at not seeing Toji.“Well, it’s 10:02 and he’s not here,” you announce, checking your phone. 

Yuki pets your shoulder, intending to comfort you. “He’s probably just late,” she assures you, looking around for someone in particular before pouting. “Choso isn’t here yet either. C’mon, let’s get a drink.” 

She drags you over to the tiki bar, scouting two stools at the end of the bar. You anxiously tap your finger against your knee, your anxiety rising along with the sound of the music and miscellaneous conversations as people get drunker. Suddenly, the idea of meeting Toji with the intention of flirting and possibly having casual sex doesn’t feel like a good idea. 

“Yuki, I don’t know about this,” you sigh, leaning in towards her ear. “I haven’t dated or slept with anyone since the breakup.” Your friend furrows her blonde brows at you, her eyes soft. “And that’s okay!” she replies. “All it takes is a little push. Bartender, a round of tequila over here, please!” 

She waves one manicured hand at the pixie blonde running the bar. She then turns to you, cocking her head to the side. “That Toji guy looked like he’s exactly what you need, but you need to give him a try! Besides, even if he doesn’t show, you’ve got plenty of dudes in here who will gladly spend the night with you as fine as you look!” 

She motions her hand up and down your legs, thighs, boobs, face…even your French tipped feet. “What have you got to lose?” she asks and the question stumps you. Really, nothing. You already lost your relationship. And maybe a trip filled with hot sex would be just the trick to help you out of your heartbroken slump. 

But even so, the anxious, paranoid part of you still lingers on the ‘what ifs’. What if he isn’t interested? What if he turns out to be a creep? What if he tosses you over the balcony into the shark-infested waters? ….Okay, maybe that’s just your ID Channel obsession talking, but still! 

Even now, your lips wobble, prepared to protest against Yuki’s encouraging speech. “But—“ 

“Hey there, can I buy you two pretty ladies some drinks?” A mildly familiar, sexy, deep voice suddenly asks near your ear. You turn around, prepared to either agree or refuse, but your words die in your throat when you see Toji leaning against the bar behind you. 

And he looks yummier than he did earlier. He decided to wear white too—the shirt he wears is short-sleeved and halfway unbuttoned to show the sliver of his chest and a name tattoo that you can’t read on his right pec paired with khaki shorts and white Vans. 

The gold jewelry—a chain around his neck, a watch, and an anklet around one of his ankles—add to this deliciously masculine summertime fit. You’ve been waiting for him to arrive, but now that he’s here, all the flirty bite you had in you earlier vanishes.

You let out an embarrassing croak which he humorously smiles at. His smile is a killer, all white teeth and dimples. Damn him. He knows his powers. “I thought you were making the drinks,” Yuki says, talking for you since you suddenly can’t. “Though we’re not complaining, shouldn’t you be behind that bar?” 

“Not till 10:30,” Toji answers with a wink. “We’re fully booked with bartenders till then, so I’ve got a little break, but I can make a few exceptions for you two.” He looks at the bar, finding the tray of tequila shots sitting there. “Or not,” he chuckles. “Looks like you girls have already started.” 

He takes a seat next to you, practically filling up the space beside you with how big he is. “Uh, this is my friend Yuki,” you say, quickly snapping back to reality. “She’s my cruise buddy.” The blonde smiles at the bartender, putting an arm around you. “And the best person in her life,” she giggles. 

Toji offers his hand across you for a handshake. “Toji. Nice to meet you.” 

Yuki’s phone suddenly flashes and she quickly digs into her purse for it. She smiles at the mystery message on her phone and gives you a wink. “You two go on ahead and enjoy yourselves. My guest just arrived.” 

Meaning Choso is here and you’ll be left alone. Yuki downs a tequila shot, gives you a sticky kiss on the cheek, and leans down to whisper to you. “Have fun,” she says. “Call me if you need me.” And then, before you can even stop her or beg her to stay, she is gone. 

Now you’re left alone with the hot bartender. You become acutely aware of how close he's sitting next to you, his knee almost brushing yours. He clears his throat to ebb away the awkwardness. “So you decided to come,” he states, smiling at you. 

You turn away, staring at your nails instead. You’re afraid to look at him too much or else you’ll melt. “I said I would, didn’t I?” you reply, picking up a shot glass. “So here I am.” You take a swig and swallow it whole before sucking on a lime to ease the strong taste and burn in your throat. 

“I’d say you look good, but that isn’t goin’ to sweeten you up, is it?” He says it jokingly, but you can tell he’s noticed how hostile you seem. “What, party scene ain’t your thing?” 

You turn him, expecting him to be laughing at you, but you see none of that. Now you feel like a bitch. “Ah…no, I’m just a little seasick,” you lie. “Sorry. I’m just not used to cruises.” You sound as lame as you feel. “Why’d you decide to come then?” he wonders aloud. “Other than for the pool and the islands.” 

You allow yourself to chuckle, liking that he’s trying to ease your nerves. So you decide to tell him. “A breakup.” You watch Toji’s face fall. “I was with someone for three years, hoping that they’d ask me to move in with them or even propose, but that didn’t happen ‘cause they cheated on me, and for the last five months, I’ve been…” 

You pause, realizing that you’ve been talking for far too long. “Shit,” you sheepishly laugh. “Why didn’t you stop me from rambling?” 

Toji reaches across you for a shot glass and you realize just how big his arm is. He could put you in a chokehold if he wanted to…and you’d enjoy it. ‘Cause I thought it was cute,” he replies as he downs the shot in one gulp. “But seriously: your ex sounds like a fuckin’ idiot. Barely a man.” 

You crack a small smile at his attempt at comforting you. “Yeah,” you sigh. “Thanks.” 

Silence descends upon you again, but this time, it’s less awkward or tense. 

“You ain’t the only one with a breakup on their back,” he somberly says. “My ex-wife and I divorced years ago, but she recently got engaged to a new man. Can’t say I didn’t feel that blow.” He heaves a heavy sigh at the memory. 

“Well, what happened?” you blurt and then cover your mouth, horrified at your prying. What is wrong with you tonight? “I-I’m sorry, you don’t have to—“ 

“Money problems,” he interrupts. “Plus, we married young when we had my son and started growin’ apart. That’s the name I’ve got on my chest that you were starin’ at: my son’s name.” He peels back a bit of his shirt to show you his tattoo. “Megumi”.

“Yes, I saw you starin’ at it earlier,” he sniggers, his eyes filled with mirth. “You’re not as discreet as you think, darlin’.” You scowl at him, happy to be Black so he doesn’t see you blushing. “You jerk,” you scoff while he cackles at your dispense. “Fine. Then what about you starin’ dead at my boobs?” 

Toji looks like a kid caught in a cookie jar now. “It’s actually the necklace I was starin’ at—“ 

“Liar!” you laugh, lightly punching him in the arm. “You sound like one of my school kids’ lyin’ to my face after I told them not to do something.” Interest appears on his face “You a teacher?” 

You nod, picking up another shot. Your second one of the night. “Yep, for about five years now.” You love your teaching job and your students. It feels good to be able to be such an important figure in their little lives. 

Toji whistles to himself. “Shit, my kid would definitely pay attention in school if he had a teacher that looked like you.” You criticize yourself for folding so easily. How does this man have so much game? But then again, he was married, so you suppose he knows how to flirt. 

He reaches for another shot and holds it up. “Cheers to new experiences and a summer to remember.” You smile and raise your glass as well. “Cheers,” you parrot before you both down your shots in one gulp. 

Your second shot turns into a third. Then a fourth. And soon, it becomes easier to talk to Toji and not feel so awkward. You feel loose, but not enough to come out of your clothes or fall over chairs. The liquid courage gives you just enough confidence to stop being so closed off and start talking.

Really talking. You converse with Toji the whole time about everything: your job, why he decided to bartend, where you’re both from (you’re from the US while he was born in Japan), relationships, food, etc. 

You find that you love talking to Toji. It could be the tequila shots, but you find yourself hanging onto all of his answers, jokes, and little quips. You giggle at his attempts at flirting with you and you flirt back, slamming your attraction down on the bar. “Y’know, you’re a really good listener,” you drunkenly admit. “Definitely not like my dick ex.”

He laughs, sucking on a lime. “It’s the magic of a bartender. I get that a lot, but you make it easy to listen.” His hooded eyes stare deeply into yours, making you turn into a puddle on the bar stool. You feel absolutely delicious and untouchable being in his presence, especially under his gaze. He can’t keep his eyes off of you. 

However, his magic is broken when a timer on his phone goes off. “Well, duty calls,” he sighs, stretching his big arms over his head. “Now I can show you all my tricks.” 

You giggle as he slides off of his stool and lifts up the bar to get to his post. “You mean that big game you were talkin’ earlier?” you snigger, crossing your legs as you turn to face him. “Ah-ah, sweetie,” he tuts. “I told you: it’s all real. Lemme prove it to you.” 

‘I’d let you prove anything to me,’ you think, completely and totally wet over this man. How can you not be? Every word out of his mouth sounds like an innuendo or a promise better suited for the bedroom. 

You try to quell your horny thoughts as you watch him lean over the bar, giving you that playful smile. “What would you like?” he asks. “A mango daiquiri? Piña colada? Pick your poison.”

You take a moment to think, tapping one nail against your chin. “Hmmm…how ‘bout a mai tai?” 

Toji’s smile falls. “Seriously?” he asks. “C’mon, darlin’, give me somethin’ bettter!” 

You stick your tongue out at him. “I want what I want,” you boldly say. “Now are you gonna give it to me or do I have to find it with another bartender?” You cock your head to the side, sizing him up. Toji, on the same type of time as you, smirks and begins to whip up your order. 

You watch his big arms and skillful hands whisk; pour; grab; shake. You imagine his hands all over you, one wrapped around your neck while the other is between your thighs, his thick fingers curled in your pu– 

“Somethin’ here you like, miss?” he teasingly asks, his brown eyes fixed on you. You’ve been caught. “No,” you cough, feigning embarrassment. “Just wonderin’ what the hell is takin’ so long.” A twinkle appears in Toji’s eyes, attracted to your ability to keep up with his quips, as he finally pushes the finished drink your way. 

He watches you as you take a sip. You moan softly at the taste, falling in love with it. “Mmm!” you hum. “Okay, fine, I’ll bite. This is amazing.”

 Toji smiles, pleased. “I’m so glad I could please you,” he responds in that silky voice. “Looks like dude over there wants to please you too.” He nods down at the bar. 

You look to where he’s looking and notice another admirer with so much hair gel that it makes his hair stick together in clumps. He gives you a smile and raises his glass your way. “Mmmm,” you hum, but not in a seductive, pleased way. You’re disgusted. “Not your type?” Toji asks, stifling his laughter as he wipes down the bar. 

You give the stranger a small smile before turning away and sipping your drink as if he isn’t there. “Let’s just say I don’t like hair gel.” Toji suddenly stops cleaning, interested in you now. “Then what is your type?” he boldly asks. 

‘You.’ You pout pretending to think. A lady never tells her secrets this early, but there’s something about the bartender that makes you want to throw all caution to the wind. You want him to know you’re feeling him. 

“Well….I like men who are tall…and can make me laugh…and are good with their hands.” You trail your eyes down to his big, strong hands. He notices. “What about you? What’s your type of girl?” 

You take a sip of your drink to cool yourself down, feeling hot all over. But then Toji fixes you with a look over the bar that makes you feel like you’ve stepped foot in a boiling volcano. “The kind that like mai tais,” he answers. 

His phone rings then, stopping whatever was about to happen from happening. “That’s my boss. Hang on a sec.” 

When he leaves, you finally feel like you can breathe, but your pussy has had it by now. She knows what she wants and she will get it. So you quickly take two more sips of your mai tai and fish a tip out of your purse along with a pen that you use to scribble down a message on a napkin: 

Toji, I loved talking to you & would like to do more up in my cabin. Cabin 210. Come up if you’re interested. - Y/N 

You fold the money into the napkin and leave it under your drink before leaving. When you text Yuki that you’re heading upstairs and tell her to stay at the party, she catches on immediately. You don’t have to tell her that Toji will possibly be upstairs with you. “Just be careful and tell me everything later,” she texts you back. 

After an hour of waiting in your cabin, Toji doesn’t show up. After two, he still doesn’t show up. When three hours go by, you’ve finished your glass of wine and have dozed off on the couch. When you wake up alone in your cabin with no Toji, you feel disappointment and embarrassment flare inside of you. You feel stupid. 

While it occurs to you that you never specifically asked him when his shift ends tonight, if you had asked, you would’ve exposed yourself for wanting to spend the night with him. You were supposed to be a creature of mystery AND seduction! 

But maybe you should’ve been real about your intentions from the start like Yuki encouraged you to be. You think about your lovely best friend leaving the party with Choso on her arm and going up to his room. The thought makes you green with envy. 

You thought for sure that you’d be in the same boat as her tonight when you met Toji, but you were sadly mistaken. Now here you are, sitting alone in your pretty sundress, slightly sober from the nap and not wanting to be. Viciously swiping away a lone tear that drips down your cheek, you pour yourself another glass of wine. What you need right now is a hot bubble bath. 

But as you walk towards the bathroom with every intention of drawing yourself a relaxing bath, stripping off your stupid dress, sipping your wine, and washing away tonight, you hear a sudden loud knock on the door. 

You startle, nearly dropping your goblet. You stare at the door, perplexed and scared. Yuki has her own key, so she won’t be knocking. So who in the hell is knocking on your door at this time of night? 

“Yes?” you call, your voice stern, only wobbling a bit from nerves. 

“Y/N?” Toji’s deep voice drifts through the door. “It’s Toji. It’s late, I know, but I got your note and—“ 

You’re walking across the room and flinging the door open before he can finish. There he is standing before you. This isn’t a drunken hallucination or a mirage. He is right here at your door, still as sexy as the moment you saw him at the party. He leans against the doorframe, looking like a big Adonis. “You’re here,” you exhale. 

“Can I come in?” he asks, his dark eyes hopeful. You nod and step aside for him to enter the empty cabin.

“I was sayin’ I got your note, but I got held up at the party. I was put on cleanin’ duty, but after that, I shot out of there as fast as I could.” He turns to you now and takes your smaller hands in his bigger ones, gently stroking your knuckles with his thumbs. His touch sends electricity shooting throughout your body. 

“I’m sorry to ask,” he says, his voice soft, “but is your offer still on the table?” His gaze is not intense but it is hot. It tells you that he still wants whatever you want to happen to happen. You now know he feels the same attraction to you that you do to him. 

Throwing all caution, insecurities, and doubt to the wind, you take your hands out of his, place them on his broad shoulders, and stand on your toes to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. Toji moans into the kiss, his lips moving in tandem with yours. He tastes of mint gum and the tequila you consumed before, his tongue slowly chasing yours. 

When you pull away, there is a string of spit that attaches itself to your bottom lip. Toji’s gaze is dark and heated, burning you on the spot. “Don’t apologize,” you murmur against his lips. “Just fuck me. Please.” 

Toji grins down at you and instantly grabs your ass over your dress. “That’s all I needed to hear, baby,” he exhales before swooping in to take you into another sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that results in a make-out session. 

His pillowy-soft lips and stubble rubbing against your chin instantly make you wet. You can’t remember the last time a man’s kiss made you feel so aroused. His hands and body too. As his fingers and big palms glide up and down your thighs and ass beneath your dress, your hands indulge in his lusciously hard muscles. 

His biceps, pectorals, and abs all seduce you, making your inner thighs clench together in excitement. You can’t help but moan and whimper into his mouth, your bodies pressed against each other, hands all over each other’s bodies.

Finally fed up, Toji tears himself away from you, panting heavily. “Turn around and let me take this off of you,” he demands, his hands gliding down your sides. “As good as you look in this dress, I need to see it on the floor.” 

You do as he says and shiver as his fingers brush your skin while he toys with the bow holding your dress up. He only has to pull on one of the ties to make it slide off your body, exposing your brown skin, naked breasts, and thong to him. He runs a hand down his face as he gapes at you. “Shit,” he hisses. “Now why the fuck would anyone cheat on you? Your ex is officially a dumbass.” 

He moves towards you and swoops you up in his arms, wrapping them around your front. You bite your lip, instantly falling back into him. “You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he whispers, his teeth nibbling at your ear. “Lemme show you how much. Just tell me what you like.” 

As he kisses up and down your neck, gently sucks and nibbles on your hard nipples, and massages your ass with those big hands, you tell him every naughty, nasty thing you love. You tell him your kinks. Your fantasies. How you want to be touched and used. Toji’s smile grows wider and his cock grows harder with every secret that you tell him. 

Somehow, that all results in you getting spread eagle on your twin-sized bed while Toji is between your thighs, slurping at your pussy and fingerfucking you. 

You gasp and writhe on the mattress, one hand gripping the comforter while the other is laced in Toji’s black locks. “God, Toji, yes!” You whine, your voice bouncing off of the room’s walls. 

You don’t care if your neighbors hear you. Anyone would be as loud as you if they could feel Toji’s tongue swirling against your clit and his long, skilled fingers curling up inside of you. The wet squelching of his digits fucking your cunt make you even wetter much to his enjoyment. He eagerly slurps and licks up all that you give him, his tongue sliding down to your asscrack and then up again to your slit. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good, mama,” he moans, pressing a kiss to your quivering inner thighs. “But I know what’ll make ya taste even better.” He gives you a mischievous rin that both excites and scares you. He slowly slides his fingers out of you and sucks on them, looking you in your eyes as he does.

“Stay here,” he orders even though you’re not going anywhere. You watch him walk over to the mini fridge in your cabin and retrieve the complimentary mini bottle of Patron that was given to you and Yuki yesterday as a welcome gift. You got that along with the bottle of wine you just consumed, a fruit plate, and a bag of chocolates that you both shared while sitting on the balcony last night. 

Though Toji is only gone for two minutes, it’s enough to make your throbbing, aching pussy feel desperate and impatient. When he returns, you whimper, sliding your hand down to play with yourself. 

“Toji, please,” you whisper, gasping when he smacks your hand away. “Uh-uh,” he sternly says. “That’s my pussy tonight. No touchin’ what’s mine.” 

The idea of that turns you on more than you can express. You helplessly watch as he pops open the Patron and takes a swig before pouring a few droplets onto your hard, brown nipples. He swoops down and sucks on both, causing shocks of pleasure to soar through you. “Mmm,” you hum, eyes rolling back at the pleasure. 

Toji pulls away, his eyes intense. “Open your mouth,” he demands and you do. He takes a swig of the tequila before he leans in and presses his mouth to yours, spitting the Patron in it. You have no choice but to swallow it, your cunt throbbing from the act. 

“Like that, baby?” he asks, smirking down at you. Chuckling when you nod, he hovers over you and pours some Patron on your pussy lips. You gasp as the cool liquid hits your sensitive, heated skin, but the chill doesn’t last for long when Toji swoops in to engulf your cunt in his mouth and tongue. 

“Oh, Toji!” you gasp, your back arching off the bed. His fingers slip inside of you again as he hungrily laps at your pussy, slurping up your juices and the tequila. “Shit,” you hiss. “Right there! Oooh, yes, right there!” 

The bartender chuckles against your clit, keeping the same tempo and pressure as he fingers you, causing more juices to slip down your asscrack and onto the bed. It doesn’t take long for that knot in your core to tighten, threatening to snap the more Toji plays with your clit and your pussy. You grip his hair and shoulder for dear life, digging your nails into his skin and scalp. 

“T-Toji,” you stammer. “I-I’m close! You’re gonna…gonna make me cum.” The sexy man between your thighs mumbles in agreement against your cunt, demanding your orgasm with his fingers and tongue. “Cum for me, you little slut,” he growls. “Do it. Give it to me, baby.” 

You don’t even have a chance to warn him before your orgasm rolls out of you and hits you like a tidal wave that rocks you to your core. A loud scream-like moan escapes you as you gush all over Toji’s face, coating his chin and mouth in your cum along with his fingers. They become sticky with you and he loves every second of it. He continues to do this even as your body squirms beneath him and you try to push him away. 

“T-Toji,” you whimper. “W-Wait, oh, fuck, wait, i-it’s too much!” You’ve become overstimulated, your clit throbbing in protest to his tongue bath. Finally, he pulls away and hovers over you, his fingers and mouth coated in your cum. He then puts his fingers above your mouth. “Taste yourself,” he orders. 

Like a puppet pulled on strings, you sit up and suck your cum off of his fingers, staring deep into his eyes as you do. He then tears his digits out of your mouth like you just bit him and jumps up to strip. You watch with eager eyes as he takes off his shirt, pants, and then finally his briefs. 

Your eyes roam down his big, squeezable pecs, his washboard abs where a delicious happy trail lies, right down to his long, thick third arm swinging between his thick thighs and dripping in precum. 

“You’re perfect,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. Toji chuckles, pleased with your reaction to his physique. “Glad you like what you see, mama,” he says, giving his cock a little sway that has you hypnotized. “I do too.” He comes over to the edge of the bed and gets on top of you, straddling your chest. 

Your eyes widen at the cock in your face gently probing your chin. “Open your mouth, baby,” he coaxes. “Don’t I deserve some fun too?” 

He pushes his hips forward, gently prying your lips apart. You allow him to slide into your mouth and stretch your jaw to accommodate his girth. He is all length and thickness, stretching out your cheeks and immediately causing spit to gather in your mouth which makes it easier for him to fuck it. 

“Shit, baby,” he groans, watching you take his cock deeper. “You must’ve needed this too.” Through his hooded gaze, he is enchanted by the way you gag and slobber on his cock, no hands. You bob your head up and down, your moans causing vibrations along his shaft that travel all the way to his balls. 

His hand grabs the back of your head as he begins to roll his hips against your mouth, making you take more and more of him down your throat. You begin to gag as he hits the back of your throat, but you don’t pull away. He chuckles, caressing your scalp. “I like that noise,” he hums. “Keep gaggin’ on that shit for me.” 

Like a good girl, you do, breathing through your nostrils as you do. You look up into his eyes, spit copious amounts of saliva onto his dick, and suck that shit like it’s your profession. His moans and swears egg you on, making your pussy throb and gush excitedly at the sexy sounds escaping his mouth. 

Even with the spit dripping down your mouth and your mascara ruined, you’ve never felt sexier being used like a toy for Toji’s pleasure. 

Having had enough, Toji finally slides out of your mouth with a moan and quickly jumps off of you. He stands at the end of the bed between your thighs and slides his dick once, twice, thrice against your slit before finally sliding home inside of the wet depths of your pussy. You both gasp in unison at the contact, the bliss hitting you both instantly. 

He yanks on your ankles, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, and begins slowly rocking his hips into you. The act causes your clit to glide against his pelvis and more wetness to gather in your pussy that gushes around him. It makes it much easier for Toji to fuck you, so he places his hands on either side of your head and deepens his strokes. Your mouth falls agape, the stretching sensation and pleasure you feel otherworldly. “Ah!” you gasp, grabbing his shoulders. 

Toji is feeling the same, unable to stop his hips from moving and moans from escaping his lips. “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts. “You feel so good, darlin’.”

He pants and groans in your ear, making your pussy throb excitedly at the sounds. The pleasure is so immense that you can feel tears gently pushing past your eyes. You can’t remember the last time you felt this good. You can’t get enough of him. You need all of him. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. When he leans up to look down at you, you hold his gaze with yours. “Fuck me, Toji,” you beg through teary eyes. “Just take what you need.” 

Toji takes your wrists in his hands and pins them above your head, causing your heart to leap. “No…I’m gonna give you what you need,” he softly growls and captures your mouth in a sloppy kiss.

And then he proceeds to grab your hips and piston into you until you see stars. You can’t stop the moans and gasps that escape you as his cock strokes your insides, causing lewd squelches and bouncing bedsprings to create a symphony of sex in the cabin. 

To anyone walking by your room, they’d absolutely know what’s up. You’re so loud that, of course, they’d hear your incoherent words mushed together from the pleasure and deep dick you’re being given. “Fuck, Toji, yes!” you babble. “Fuck me just like that! Just. Like. That!” 

Toji grins above you, proud of the way you’re submitting to him with every roll of his hips. Your body looks so good beneath him, pinned down to the bed with no way to go. You have no choice but to take all the dick he’s giving you. He loves the way your tits jiggle with every thrust of his hips, giving him something to watch other than your pretty face. 

He wonders what else he can make jiggle. Suddenly getting an idea, he pauses in his fucking and places his hands under your ass. Without pulling out, he picks you up and begins walking with you away from the bed. “W-Where are we going?” you softly ask, tightening your limbs around him. Toji just smirks at you as he uses one hand to unlock the balcony. “To get some air.” 

When you suddenly feel the cool air tinged with the smell of sea salt on your skin, you feel your heart leap and your stomach flip. What is he planning? 

With a soft moan, Toji pulls out of you and places you onto your feet. His eyes, filled with lust, are illuminated by the big, silver moon that hangs above the dark sea below. 

“Bend over,” he demands. 

Your eyes widen at him. “W-What?” you squeak. “But someone could see us!” There are plenty of people down below and on either side of you in their own cabins. Anyone could look up or over at you getting slutted out on the balcony. 

Toji firmly grasps your chin and squeezes your cheeks together, his expression almost feral. “I don’t give a fuck,” he growls. “They can look all the way. Regardless, I’m makin’ you cum and then fillin’ you up. Now bend the fuck over.” With his other hand, he gives your ass a smack. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

With your ass stinging and your pussy weeping, how can you deny him? You turn around and slowly bend over the balcony, grasping the bar as you do. You moan as he slides his cock up against your slit, nudging your clit, before sliding in again. Your moans grow embarrassingly louder as he begins to fuck you, his cock sinking deeper inside of you at this angle.

“Fuuuck, you got wetter, mama,” he cackles, gripping your hips. “What, does my little slut like gettin’ backshots in public?” 

Slowly, he lifts up one of your legs, not enough to hurt you but enough to make you feel even more of him. His heavy balls slap against your clit as he thrusts a little faster than before, paying close attention to how you respond. T-Toji, no!” you whine. “Someone’s gonna see!” 

You can see people walking about on the lower deck, unaware of the woman getting backshots above them. 

SMACK! 

He gives your asscheek another harsh swat that echoes across the water. “Didn’t I tell you I don’t give a fuck?” he grunts. “Let ‘em see this pussy gettin’ filled up. I’m givin’ you more pleasure than they’ll ever have in their lives, baby.” 

He grabs one of your tits with one hand, massaging it while he presses his face into your hair. You can feel him everywhere. Your senses are filled with nothing but him. 

Getting fucked by him in the summer, sea breeze and moonlight is the most erotic thing that has ever happened to you. You can feel your pussy tightening around him, your peak nearing. 

As if sensing it, Toji turns your face to meet his as he continues to piston his cock into you, though he slows his pace in favor of agonizingly slow strokes. “Look at me, you little slut,” he demands. “Watch me fuck you.” His handsome face is flushed, sweat sticking to his forehead. “Tell me it feels good. Tell me you love this fuckin’ cock.” 

You feel delirious from the pleasure, like another woman who lives off of getting fucked and slutted out for the rest of her days has crawled into your body. “I love it!” you whine. “I fucking love it the way you fuck me, Daddy!” That’s the magic word for Toji. 

He grips you to him and proceeds to fuck you faster, harder, giving you exactly East you need. You wrap your arm around his head to bring him closer, sharing a sloppy kiss as his thrusts quickly bring you over the edge. You don’t care if people see you. You don’t care if they hear you. All that matters is right now. All that matters is that you cum. 

“God, Toji!” you shout, your voice carried among the waves. “You’re gonna make me cum!” Toji loops a hand around your neck and squeezes, making you gasp at the pressure. “Try again, mama.” 

Realizing your mistake, you quickly correct yourself, needing to cum. “Daddy, please,” you sob. “Please keep going! I need you to make me cum!” 

Toji smiles against your cheek, supremely satisfied with your compliance. “Good girl,” he grunts. “M’close too. Want you to cum on this dick while I fill you up.” 

There is no more talking. Only desperate moans, grunts, and gasps as he takes you to the land of bliss with his cock. You get yourself there quicker by rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts and finally, that knot inside of your core snaps. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” you babble. 

Toji doesn’t need to warn you. His desperate, sloppy thrusts tell you that he’s close and when he grips you tighter than a vice, your body flush against his, you know that he’s cumming you. As your pussy gushes around him, his cock explodes and floods you with his cum. 

You both moan in unison as your orgasms take you through the stars and above, beyond the sea and beyond that. It’s blissful. It’s a high you’ve never experienced before. 

When it fades, Toji pulls his cock, wet with your cum, out of you and wraps his hand around it, pumping it as he gives you a heated look. “On your knees. I’m not done with you yet.”

On wobbly legs, you kneel down in front of him, watching him lazily stroke his cock in front of you. “Clean yourself off of me,” he demands. “You made the mess, so you need to clean it up.” 

You open your mouth and lazily lick his cock, cleaning yourself off of him. He softly moans as you do, caressing your hair. “Good girl,” he sighs. “Now did I make it up to you or what?”

You lean your head against his thigh, too exhausted to reply. “Aw, poor thing got fucked too good,” he chuckles. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” 

Suddenly, you’re lifted off of the floor and carried into the cabin. You feel the cool comforter underneath you as Toji lays you down on the bed and then his warm, hard body curls next to yours. You lean your head on his chest as he tests his hand on your ass, comfortable and content.

“So I’m guessin’ they’ll be a next time for this while you’re on your trip?” he asks. 

You can only nod in response, a smile on your face, as sleep comes like a wave and sweeps you out to sea with him. Your heartbreak finally vanishing all because of your beloved bartender. 

THE END.

“It’s okay,” you wave it off before kneeling to give Nanako a proper hug. Lightly, Mimiko weasels her way in. “Did you two bring a lunch, today?

The question is superfluous—of course, they did. Mimiko is allergic to most things, and it’s a much safer play to simply bring food from home. But, if you forget to remind them immediately, they’ll forget to give it to you, and you’ll forget to remind them once the chaos of class starts. It’s an endless cycle of forgetting.

Nanako nods vehemently, digging into her themed backpack for two modern bento boxes, and hands them over with chubby fingers. “Yep! Papa made it!”

You smile and nod, getting to your feet to refrigerate them. With knees popping and aching on your way up, you wonder how long you’ll have until you feel truly, properly old. Mr. Getō lingers in the doorway, pays a swooning mother no mind as she unleashes her feral child in the room, and you find an excuse for small talk, because you can.

“What’d you make them?” You’re digging into the mini-fridge now, the one by the front door, and place their lunch boxes in the spot you always put them. Lower level, to the right. Mr. Getō shrugs in his suit like he doesn’t have somewhere to be.

“Just leftovers,” he says. You stand to your feet, brushing the apron off. “Tako sausage and omurice.”

“Awh, I love tako sausage,” you gush, and eye the room as it slowly begins to fill. Single mothers whisper behind your back. You know, becase your hackles raise. “I don’t know why, but sausage always tastes better squid-ified.”

Mr. Getō lifts an eyebrow. “…Squid-ified.”

“Yeah,” you nod away the stark reminder of exactly why you’re not this man’s type. He seems like such a no nonsense guy, and here you are, yapping.

“Well. If I knew that, I would’ve brought you some,” he offers with a kind smile, and your knees buckle. Just a little.

“Bah,” you wave the platitude away. “I’m an adult. If I really want tako sausage that bad, I can make it.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what.”

“Make it.”

“Oh! No.” You snort, suppress a giggle, and breathe. “I’m lazy.”

Crossing his arms, Mr. Getō rests a shoulder against the door frame. “Says the woman taking care of twenty gremlins on a daily basis.”

“Hey, they may be gremlins, but they’re my gremlins,” you say, eyes scanning the room. Yūji Itadori gnaws on a jumbo block. You should probably take it from him before he hurts himself. Thankfully (unthankfully) Mr. Getō checks his watch, and realizes—

“Shit, I’m going to be late. I will, um, see you at pick up,” he pushes away from the wall, smile never failing. Class is going to begin soon, anyways. Before you can respond, though, he perks up with an afterthought. “Oh, and—if Nanako says anything else, please disregard it. It’s not…she has a fixation, right now.”

You don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.

“Um…okay?”

“Okay,” Mr. Getō exhales, wavering by the door for one more second. “See you at five?”

“Sounds good,” you smile, and avoid thinking about how it sounds like a promise. Lock the fuck in. You’re no better than any of the mothers that swoon under the smooth of his voice. And, you hate yourself for it, every single time.

Once Mr. Getō leaves, so do the rest of the parents—the mothers, lingering, hoping that he might give them a sliver of his day. Fools, you think, because they won’t get anything if it doesn’t concern Nanako or Mimiko.

You walk to the front of the room, taking Yūji’s block away from him on the way. Luckily, he’s not a crier.

“Okay, everyone! Quiet Coyote!”

“Papa’s crying again.”

“I know.”

“He’s lonely.”

“I know.”

Suguru Getō is such a good dad.

While this something you know, it doesn’t make your heart swell any less.

“See! He likes you, lots!” Nanako holds up the sticky note plastered to the interior of her lunch. You crouch to read, instead of taking the note and pulling it to your face.

have a good day at school! i love you both so much. please don’t give ms. y/n a hard time. (nanako)

And, while there’s no proof that ‘he likes you lots,’ you appreciate Nanako’s match making sentiment nonetheless. Mimiko eats quietly next to her. Eyeing the tako sausage in their bento boxes, your mouth waters. Just a little bit.

But, you brought a sandwich. God, adult food is so boring.

“Yes, your Dad is a very nice man,” you smile, and ruffle ginger hair. Nanako beams.

“Exactly! So you’ll marry him?”

“No, Nanako.”

Nanako whines at that, and even Mimiko seems a little disappointed. “What? Why not?”

You suppress a groan. How do you explain without alluding to adult concepts that run right over children’s heads.

“Because, that’s not how relationships work, Sweetie,” you sigh, and adjust your legs so your knees hurt less. “Both people need to be on board. It’s a partnership.”

Nanako frowns. “Pardnership?”

You hum and nod. “Yes. Like the buddy system—marriage is one big buddy system.”

“But,” her bottom lip warbles, and shit, fuck, “Papa wants a buddy.”

“And, he’ll get one,” you know he will, it just won’t be you. And, you’re fine with that, you barely know the man—he’s just nice to look at, and takes very good care of the only two angels on Earth. “But, he has to choose. You can’t choose for him.”

“But—”

“No buts, Nanako,” because, you really can’t have this conversation for much longer. “Eat your food before it gets cold, okay? Your Papa will find a buddy, soon.”

“But,” Nanako begins again, because she’s stubborn, and has never been a good listener unless she wants to be. “But, you’d be a good buddy—I want you to be his buddy.”

You sigh. Swallow. Pat Nanako on the head in hopes it’ll placate whatever is going through her little mind at the moment.

“Eat your food, Nanako.”

“Papa, why don’t we have a Mommy, yet?”

“Girls—you’re four years old. Papa need a little more time than that.”

“Why?”

“…Because.”

“That’s a bad reason!”

You’re a little lonely. You can admit that, at least.

It’s not easy—after wrangling 20 five year olds all day—to have the energy for much else but recuperation. You’ve gone on a few dates, during the summer when class is no longer an something to worry about. You make as much time as you can for friends, on the weekends, maybe once or twice a month, when you don’t have a laundry list of errands to run because you waited the whole week to do them. That doesn’t make your apartment feel any less empty, though.

Heating up the other half of your sandwich, you try to remember the last time you went on a second date. Your boyfriend from college, maybe? You both lived on opposite sides of the country, and it wasn’t long after graduation before everything fell apart. Most parents you meet are surprised that you don’t have kids of your own by now, but that’s not the case—the issue is that you have twenty of them, from eight to three.

(To five, if you count the after school program.)

The microwave beeps, and you take the sandwich out. It’s cold in the middle, you should’ve flipped it open, but you’re too tired to care. That’s been a reoccurring thing, lately—being tired. Being cold.

“But, you’d be a good buddy!”

Yeah. You wouldn’t mind a buddy, either, Nanako.

“…What are you two doing?”

“Nothing, Papa!”

“Girls—thank you. Now, go to bed. I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, goodnight!”

Click.

“There’s an h in spaghetti, Nanako—”

Now. As stated, Mimiko is just as bad as her sister. Possibly worse—at least, Nanako is easy to say no to.

“My Papa is sad—and you can make him happy.”

Yeah. That’s what she starts with. What the fuck.

She holds out a homemade card with two hands, thumb and index pinching both sides until it wrinkles. From what you can see, there’s a pink glittering heart on the cover, with the names Miss Y/N and Papa above in crayon and stilted handwriting. This is a form of guilt tripping you’re severely unfamiliar with.

You take the card—because fuck, are you supposed to just make her stand there?—and open it because you can. Curiosity killed the cat.

THEESE WEKEND

PAPAS HOWSS FOR SPAHGETI

You snort. It takes you way too long to understand ‘howss’ is house.

“Mimiko,” you sigh, because, out of the two sisters, “you know I can’t. Your Papa has to choose his buddy, remember?”

She lets out an exhale, curling a lip of frustration, and wow, Mimiko, the fuck. “Yes, but—he’s not choosing one.”

“And, that’s okay,” you smile, pocketing the card before kneeling to her level. This is totally going on your fridge, your feelings surrounding the situation be damned. “Maybe, he doesn’t want a buddy right now.”

“Then—Then, he doesn’t get to cry about it!” She stomps a foot, and you want to say who’s crying about what, but keep it to yourself. “He won’t even see Uncle Gojō anymore. Just—come this weekend. Please.”

You sigh. You won’t, but, “I’ll think about it, Mimiko.”

“Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think—”

“Yes.”

“Did you know your daughters invited me to your house, this weekend?”

“I did not,” Mr. Getō huffs with levity, and you join him in watching the girls climb the monkey bars. It’s a few hours since school ended, and the afterschool program is in full effect. Luckily (unluckily), you’re in charge of that, too. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

You pull the card out from your apron, and wave the cover design in his face before opening it, and trying your best to stay true to the spelling. “Theese wekend…papa’s howss…for spahgeti.”

“Wow.” Mr. Getō runs a hand over his lower face, chucking before he asks, “May I see that?”

Gladly, you hand it over.

“This is what they were doing last night,” he realizes aloud. “I was wondering why there was glitter all over the floor.”

“Ah yes, she’s elusive,” you nod solemnly, remembering how many times that godforsaken powder followed you out the class and into the home. Mr. Getō lifts an eyebrow. “Glitter, I mean.”

He snorts, nods, and passes the card back like he knew you wanted to keep it. The twins finally notice their Dad waiting, and come bounding over, covered in a level of sweat and grime that only a child could tolerate.

It’s immediate—the way Mr. Getō lights up.

He kneels down with open arms, each girl taking one, squeezing and pulling with no care for his pristine black suit. He doesn’t seem to care, either, as he cradles both of their heads and leaves twin kisses in his wake.

“How was school?”

“It was great! Did you know bears sleep for so long?!”

“Miss Y/N is coming to our house this weekend.”

You gawk, and look at Mimiko with absolute betrayal, because that’s not what you said. “I said, I’d think about it!”

Mr. Getō looks at you over his daughters head with a grin in his eyes.

“Is she, now?”

“Yep, I invited he—”

“We invited her!” Nanako adds loudly, lifting a hand in the air like she’s still in class. “But Mimiko delivered the letter because no one can say no to her!”

You knew it. You knew it, that wretch.

Mr. Getō laughs and stands, patting his daughters on the head on the way. You sigh but keep a good natured smile, knowing you will be screaming about this into a pillow later.

“You two are scary,” he says with a smile, then redirects it to you, and you’re…

“Sorry, about that,” you breathe, because this is embarrassing. Beyond, actually, because it’s like his girls have a radar for your exact type—their dad.

“No, I should be the one apologizing,” Mr. Getō steps forward. Mimiko forces a conversation out of Nanako, a sidebar, away enough to give you two privacy. Both of their eyes drift, though. “I told you—they have a fixation. They’ll get over it.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” you wave his words away with both hands. “I get it. Plus, it’s endearing, when it’s not…”

“Embarrassing.”

“Yeah,” your fingers curl into the bottom of your apron. “But um, you should, like, totally put yourself out there more—not that, um, only if you want, but y’know, you could have anyone! So, uh, go for it!”

Mr. Getō snorts, and the sunset dances in his eyes and turns them molten. He’s staring at you too much. You should probably put the anxiously supportive thumbs up away. “And, that was supposed to be…encouraging.”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, it was an attempt. I—”

“What’s your answer?”

What.

“What?”

“Or,” Mr. Getō tilts his head, edits the sentence. “What would be your answer. If I, um, asked you. For…spahgeti.”

You snort at the pronunciation, too focused on the way he smells to notice the fact that Mimiko and Nanako’s conversation has come to a lull. Now, they’re watching in rapt attention.

“Uh, sure—yes,” you blink, pinch your arm just to make sure this isn’t a dream, and—nope. It’s still Thursday. You’re still at school. Covered in washable paint. “Yes, I would, um, I like spahgeti.”

He laughs a little, and you scrunch away a smile. You want to hear that, again.

“Six on Saturday?”

“Yeah,” you nod, you keep nodding, you need to stop nodding. “Yeah, sounds great.”

“No, you cannot cook the spaghetti yourselves.”

“But—”

“Absolutely not—Mimiko, how’d you learn how to turn on the stove?!”

“…Watching you.”

Maybe, you shouldn’t be going to a random man’s house. But, that random man is Mr. Getō, and he has daughters—so it’s not like he’s going to murder you, right?

Though, you’re more worried about accidentally murdering yourself on the way. You don’t notice the bright orange hand until after you’re honked at, a third of the way through the crosswalk.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Well. Fuck you, too.

The bottle of wine feels weird in your hands—too heavy and too cold, and the closer you get to your destination, the closer you get to the expensive side of town, the lump in your throat swells to a softball. You get comfortable with regret when you knock on his door thrice, hurting your knuckles in the process.

Christ, Mr. Getō lives here?

It doesn’t take long for him to open the door…ostensibly, not in a suit.

It’s strange seeing him outside of school. The issue is, outside of school, you dress the same. Apparently, Mr. Getō doesn’t wear suits all day, in the comfort of his own home, and that’s…weird.

(Not that you thought he would—but also, he totally seems like the type of guy who would.)

“Ah, hello! Thank you for coming.”

Today, he dons jeans and a button down shirt, both oversized enough to be comfortable, but nice enough to be…nice. His hair isn’t as neat as it typically is, but half-up nonetheless, with a stray hair working its way out the hair tie. There’s a streak of green marker on his chin, and you giggle at it, gesturing to your own.

“You’ve got…um…”

Mr. Getō slams a hand over his chin with a groan. “Marker?”

He steps out of the doorway to let you in, and you take the opportunity with a smile. “Looks like it—”

“Miss Y/N!”

Nanako and Mimiko come screaming down the hall and around the corner. You take them to the chest—well, the waist—as Mr. Getō disappears to, presumably, wash the green off his face.

“You came!” Nanako beams. You give her a small smile, because the little girl has no idea what you went through, internally, to drag yourself out of your apartment this evening.

“I did,” you nod, and give a very happy Mimiko a soft glare. She doesn’t even waver. They both guide you to a pleasantly placed table in the dining room, decorated with the works—roses and candles and actual porcelain plates. You don’t even think you own actual porcelain plates. Certainly not due to your own volition. The lighting is warm, and cozy, and could easily put you to sleep.

They sit you at the head, fussing over your hair, your outfit, and apparently, the way you sit.

“Papa has been working all day,” Mimiko says as Nanako tries to push your chair in, but can’t, because she’s five and you’re four times her size. “He wouldn’t let us help. Be nice to him.”

That or else hangs heavy in the air, and you gulp. This isn’t intimidating at all.

Before you start to regret your decision for the third time, Mr. Getō comes out of the kitchen while patting his hands dry with a reusable towel. Immediately, the girls scatter—sprinting down a seemingly endless hallway, and duck into the third room on the left. The door slams shut. Then, a series of giggles.

“…I’ve never seen them move so quickly,” Mr. Getō mutters, and you laugh quietly in agreement.

But, now, without Nanako or Mimiko to fill the void with insanity, you don’t know what to say. Silence lulls, and it’s loud.

“Me neither.”

This…is awkward.

Mr. Getō seems to feel it too, because immediately, he gets the ball rolling, and points to the kitchen. “So, dinner is ready but, um, I don’t know if you want me to make your plate, or if you want to make your own, or…”

“I can make it,” you insist, standing to your feet and grabbing the very nice, probably very expensive plate. You pray that you won’t drop it, somehow. “I wanna see what your kitchen looks like, anyway.”

Mr. Getō chuckles, light and good-natured. And, if you sway, it’s not your fault. “Why?”

You shrug, following him into through a doorway. “Tells you a lot about a person.”

Mr. Getō makes a sound, a hum of contemplative agreement. And, the kitchen is…aggressively domestic. This is about to be the worst first date of your life, you already know—not because it’s going to end poorly, but because you kind of want this man. And, you can’t tell yourself the last time you’ve been on a second date.

Two bowls fill the island—one with spaghetti (spahgeti), one with salad—and a plate of garlic bread. It smells heavenly and your mouth waters, completely forgetting your mission to judge this man into unattractiveness.

(Though, there’s nothing to judge. All it says is that he’s quite organized, and loves his daughters.)

You notice a familiar drawing pinned to the fridge—it’s a simple one, with three stick figures holding hands, the two on the ends much shorter than the one in the middle. They stand on a poorly crayoned field, and the names mimi, nana, and papa are written above their respective figures in black crayon, along with a date in the corner.

“They drew that the first day of class,” Mr. Getō reminisces, coming around the counter to get a better look. The date lines up—as does the fact that you struggled to place it. “Came home ranting about how they wanted Miss Y/N to be their mama.”

You snort, and ignore every feeling in your being—including the weight of the plate in your hands. It doesn’t drop, though. “Kids have no shame.”

“None. Especially mine.” Mr. Getō adds, moving past you to rummage through a cupboard. Then, offering, “Water? Also—help yourself.”

As your eyes follow his arm when he gestures to the counter, your stomach grumbles on cue. It’s not your fault you don’t know how to cook. You nod, grabbing the giant plastic spoon, and try your best to not seem greedy.

“Yes, please! This looks so good, Mr. Getō, I—”

“Suguru,” he corrects, and you nearly jump. He’s behind you, now, reaching for something, you don’t know, you’re not paying attention. Suguru, your brain goes. Suguru, Suguru, Suguru—

“Y’know, I don’t think I ever knew your first name,” you realize aloud, taking the last spoonful you’ll allow yourself. He drifts away to fill the glasses with water, and you exhale, finally being able to breathe. You move onto the salad.

“That’s it?” He asks and hands you a glass, eyeing your plate. You gulp. Did you fuck up, already?”

“Have some more.” And then, he’s grabbing another spoonful of spaghetti—one much fuller than any of the three you gave yourself. “Please—I made so much food.”

“Well, yeah,” you defend. “But, y’know, Nanako and Mimiko are gonna eat some, so—”

“And, they’re five. They eat this much,” Suguru takes the plate from you (you’ve lost your privileges, clearly) and fills the spoon again, lifting it in the air like it represents ‘this much.’ “It’s okay if you don’t finish it, I just—I want to make sure you get enough.”

He hands the plate back to you, not before adding two pieces of garlic bread, much heavier than you found it. It’s accompanied by a sheepish smile, one that makes it seem like he’s digging a grave for himself deeper than necessary. Your heart swells nonetheless. Then, you stomp on it, chanting stupid, stupid, stupid, because, if you think he isn’t doing this just to humor his daughters, you’d be just that. Stupid.

“Oh!” You remember, “I also brought wine—I don’t know if you’re, like, a wine guy, or not, but—”

“Sure,” Suguru shrugs as he starts to fill his own plate. You waver with your own by the threshold, because you don’t know what to do otherwise. “There are wine glasses on the table. Let’s pop it open.”

“Yes, now kiss! K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Shhhh—they’re going to hear us!”

“Opa!”

You love opening a wine bottle. You love the pop of the cork, the resistance from the air—but, you let Suguru open it this time. Because, God forbid your elbow goes flying, or the cork, and you knock over one of his lovely candles, and set his very nice place on fire. Suguru scrunches his nose with a smile at your exclamation. You remember where you are, again.

“Sorry,” you recant, and Suguru just shakes his head, slowly filling your glass.

“No—I like it when you’re comfortable.”

With that, he passes the glass back and smiles, and you…ignore what he just said, actually. Because, you’re already a hop, skip, and a jump from falling for this man, and there is absolutely no point in doing that.

“What do you do for work?” You ask instead, because anything other than small talk would turn garbled. Suguru eyes lift from his own filling glass, to you, like it was a question he wasn’t expecting.

“Oh, um, I’m a Lit professor, actually.”

“Lit as in…literature, or as in lit-lit, like turnt lit?” You’re reaching, you doubt the word lit is anywhere in Suguru’s vocabulary unless he means literature, but you just need to double-check.

“As in literature,” he chuckles, swirling wine around the glass like a professional. “I, unfortunately, doubt any of my students would refer to me as lit.”

“You never know,” you shrug, taking a bite. After a swallow and a hum, you nod. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” he grins, and takes a sip of the wine. His eyes widen, like he wasn’t expecting it, but, “so is this.”

You thank him in return, and silence comes back screaming. You hate to say it’s because you’re stuffing your face, and you try to do so as politely as possible, but you are, and it’s not your fault—the food is good, and you haven’t found time in between grading obscure drawings and letter identification tests to eat today.

Suguru props a chin on his hand and watches you eat, swirling his glass again—you start to wonder if that’s just something he does with his hands. It isn’t until you realize his fork is clean, food untouched, that you finally falter. With food in your cheeks, no less.

“…Are you not hungry?”

Suguru blinks himself to the present, and whatever look he wore dissipates into his usual. He picks the fork up, after that.

“Yes, sorry,” he huffs a laugh at himself, seemingly self-deprecating. “You’re cute, is all.”

You start choking—partially, because you had the bright idea to swallow when he opened his mouth. You try to wash it down with wine, but when it only prickles the itch, you choose water instead.

“Sorry, was that too forward?” He asks, with a smirk, which makes you think he doesn’t mean it. Not in the genuine way, at least. You wave it off, recovering and trying to breathe through the embarrassment of choking on a noodle like a child.

“No,” you croak, though you want to say yes, but not in a bad way. “No, I’m just…”

You’re just what? Floored? Flabbergasted? Fucking sweating beyond repair?

“Flattered,” you finish. You should probably slow down on the food before you give yourself a stomach ache, but most of it is already gone. Suguru smiles as he chews behind a hand.

“Good.”

You are going to scream. What the fuck is this.

Because, you’re quickly beginning to learn, Mr. Getō and Suguru are two very different people. And, while Mr. Getō is hot, yes, Suguru is…

“What do you think they’re doing, right now?” Suguru’s eyes dart to the hallway, and you snicker.

“Probably eavesdropping!” You yell the last word, only to hear tiny feet scatter. Shaking your head, you mutter, “nosy.”

Suguru snorts. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, I will,” you nod, unfortunately getting comfortable enough to yap. Well. There it goes—the second date. There it goes, sprinting out the door and on a flight to a different country, until the concept of a second date is no longer feasible. “Those two in class? Little rascals. Sometimes, I have to separate them.”

“Lucky,” Suguru laments with a chuckle. “Wish I could do that at home.”

You shrug, and take a sip of wine. “I’m complaining, but. They’re good kids. They’re smart, and they liven up the place. Even help other kids if they finish their work early—though, that’s mainly Mimiko…Nanako always finds something to do. You did good.”

“Thanks,” Suguru says, and suddenly, the burning candlelight is much more interesting than your face. “I get…worried, you know? That they don’t have a mom.”

“Sure, but,” and you look into the hallway again, wondering if the girls came back, how much of the conversation they can actually hear. “They’ve got you. And, from what I hear, you fill both roles spectacularly.”

Suguru shrugs. “I try.”

Suguru shrugs, and you overstep. Possibly. Maybe. “Am I allowed to ask what happened?”

“Oh,” he laughs, tight and bordering on bitter, with eyes trained tight on the plate before him. “I’m, um, technically not their dad. We’re related—cousins, but I’ve been taking care of them since they were babies. Their parents, uh, weren’t exactly up to the task.”

He keeps it vague but answers anyway. You take the hint, and don’t pry anymore. There’s a part of you that relaxes at that fact, the fact that there isn’t another woman, but you berate yourself for it immediately. It doesn’t seem like a good thought to have.

“Well—I think you’re the best dad they could ask for. This spahgeti? Fire.”

Suguru laughs, for what you realize, is technically the very first time—not around words or to hide behind, but an actual laugh, that rumbles from his belly outward with a smile that crowds his eyes. You want to hear it again, and again, and again, until you’re too dizzy, and have to get off the ride, or else.

He’s still smiling upon recovery. “You’re sweet.”

You frown, “but, I mean it!”

Suguru snorts, and looks back down to his plate. That smile doesn’t fade.

“I know.”

Dinner goes by faster than you want it to.

To stall, you offer to help with the dishes. Suguru doesn’t let you—but he does let you stay.

“—and then, she said God fucking shit.”

“No,” you gasp from your seat by the kitchen island. Suguru nods wisely.

“Oh, yes,” he hisses. You ignore the way his back works as he dries the last dish, opting to fiddle with a ring on your finger instead of drool, but, occasionally, lift to partake in the sinfully domestic sight. “I wish the walls weren’t so thin when I stub my toe, but.”

“But, they’re always listening,” you finish with a giggle, because, been there, done that. Suguru huffs in agreement.

“Yes,” Suguru laments, and after placing the dry dish into a cupboard, turns to you. “Top five most horrifying moments of my life when I heard her say it.”

“I can imagine. I…also stubbed my toe a while ago, said dammit, and we had a kid that wouldn’t stop saying it for weeks. Had to explain it to his parents and everything,” you sigh. The embarrassment from the whole situation comes back in full force as you tuck a head into your hands. He chuckles, placing the towel over the sink.

“Sounds like you have it worse than me.”

“Meh, only from 8-5,” you shrug, but he shakes his head.

“Exactly,” Suguru insists while resting a forearm on the island across from you. “And I have mine from 5-8—but only two kids, not twenty.”

“They wrangle each other, half the time,” you wave. “Quiet Coyote works wonders.”

“I’m sure it does,” Suguru chuckles, and stands up, pushing away from the counter. “Let me walk you out.”

Ah, yes. It’s that time, now, isn’t it?

Suguru walks you the few steps to the door, it not being too far from the kitchen. You’re about to say goodbye, maybe shake his hand or something else equally awkward—whatever people do after first dates when they don’t go horribly. But, the second you reach the foyer, little feet come bounding around the corner.

“You’re leaving already?”

“No, stay! We can have a sleepover!”

You giggle when Suguru sighs, getting down on a knee to turn to his daughters. “Girls—We’ve taken up enough of her time. Miss Y/N has a life outside of class, you know.”

Which, is false, but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. They whine and pout but Suguru has the last word, and after you hug them goodbye, he sends them to their rooms. Knowing them, they’re still lingering in the hallway, hiding behind a wall.

“Good to know they had fun, too,” you snort, and Suguru stands, fighting a smile and failing.

“Nosy little brats,” he mutters under his breath. Then, hollering over his shoulder, “Go to bed, you two!”

More shuffling feet, and you sigh. “They’re not going to bed.”

“Nope,” Suguru shakes his head in agreement. “Not at all.”

“Well, um, that’s my cue,” you say, stilted, and tightening the grip on your purse. “I should probably go before the trains stop running.”

“Oh! Yes,” Suguru says, like he forgot, and like he expected to linger with you in his doorway forever. “I had fun.”

“I did, too.”

Suguru makes no move to let you out—and you make no move to leave, because you don’t know how his front door works, whether you have to unlock before you exit, and would prefer to avoid embarrassing yourself after an genuinely decent night. Suguru scratches the back of his head.

“I was wondering, actually, if you’d like to go on a proper date,” he says it around a breath, one he was holding. “One without my daughters right around the corner.”

“We’re not listening!”

“…Like that,” he mutters, but you’re too busy trying to make sure your feet are firmly planted on his lovely wooden flooring, not floating in the air on cloud nine.

“Oh, as in,” you breathe, and promptly black out. Hopefully, you say something that makes enough sense. “Uh, yeah. Yep. Definitely down for that.”

“Okay, great,” he smiles, and it’s that smile again, the one you want to bottle and keep forever. “When are you available?”

“Oh, whenever,” you say, before you realize you should dial it back, dial it way back. “I mean—uh, preferably not school days, but I’m pretty free on the weekends.”

“How about a week from now? Next Saturday.”

Next Saturda—do you even have time to purge your closet by next Saturday?

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Ice cream, Papa!”

“No.”

“Pleaaaaase?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“…Fine.”

“Really?!”

Monday comes, and you’re fucking terrified.

Because, Suguru is a guy straight out of a YA novel—and you don’t know whether he asked you out again to humor his kids, again (you’re in denial), or if a guy that you actually find physically and emotionally attractive wants to go on a date with you. Again.

But, you’re about to find out, because—

“Good Morning, Miss Y/N!”

You put on a brave face, the bravest face you can muster. Also, just your luck, you’re running out of laundry, and instead of doing it Saturday night like you usually do, you went to Suguru’s. Sunday, you were too busy panicking to be useful. So, yes, maybe you have on the ugliest cat sweater you own—but it was either that, or a cacti shirt.

“Good Morning, girls, how was your weekend?” You ask, before quickly realizing playing dumb was not the way to go.

“It was good! You made Papa so happy he took us to get ice cream the next day, and he never does that!” Nanako tries to whisper, but she’s a child with little control over her vocal chords, and you flinch.

“Oh, really?”

Mimiko nods in agreement—but, before she can respond, Suguru is quick in ushering them deeper into the room and, more importantly, away from you.

“They need to stop telling on me,” Suguru chuckles as he returns to usual perch by the doorway. “Like, now.”

You giggle. “That’s all kids ever do, Sug—I mean, Mr. Getō.”

You’re sweating. That was a close one.

“Suguru,” he corrects, looking at you with eyes bordering on a beg. “Please.”

“Well, Suguru,” you say, swallowing panic when another parent gives you an appalled look. “Uh, how was your weekend?”

“It was nice,” he nods, watching the room. “My daughters harassed this woman into going on a date with me. Luckily, I already had my eye on her.”

Oh, you think, and try to wrack your brain for who it could be. Definitely not you.

Your stuck, actually, literally frozen, despite the sweat forming at the small of your back. Suguru keeps talking. “Six, again? I’ll pick you up.”

And, because your brain is stupid, and, you don’t know, maybe he wants to go on a hike or something—

“Wait—am or pm?”

Suguru snorts. “Pm.”

Oh. That’s like, date-date time. Though, you suppose it was last time, but this is an actual date, not a ‘my daughters won’t quit unless we do this’ date.

“Sure, yeah. Totally—six is great.”

Suguru squeezes your hand before he leaves for the day. His harem of single moms glare like you killed the child support they get from their divorcees. And you…

You almost forget to put Nanako and Mimiko’s lunch boxes in the fridge. Almost.