KP9 🌷 !

The days passed by in a blurr.

One day you were sneaking out into the town with Enjin, dressed as commoners. He claimed it was something called a "bachelorette party". Your last night of freedom before being chained to two men.

You had your first taste of cheap alcohol. You danced on a table with a woman who had the biggest breast you've ever seen! You sang (slurred) songs at the top of your lungs, you didn't even get scolded once for being off key.

The next morning had your head spinning. Emotions swirled, not only the castle but the entire kingdom woke in a panic.

And not from the events that would be taking place later.

Word of an overnight attack buzzed through the whole castle. An attack from them..

The land you and your people walked on was protected from another world. The world that was no more. One that your ancestors ruined and over polluted with their greed.

The remains of that world was said to be one of poison. Air so dirty that it would melt your insides the second it entered your lungs. Once real green and beautiful land now lays burnt and in ashes. The majestic animals now beast you would see in nightmares.

And what of the people who never made it to safety? Cannibals... Undead creatures with razors for teeth, eyes that glow, blood that burns through your skin if it touches you.

Those monsters hated you and your kind. And they had just declared war the night before your wedding.

A quick breath left your throat. Your back was straightened and your boobs lifted into your neck as one of your maid tightened your courset. They weren't as gentle as Enjin usually was.

But he was called away from you by your father early this morning. And you have yet to see him all day..

You really hoped everything was alright.

"Come now Princess. Sit."

The oldest maid dragged you away from your standing mirror. She shoved you down in front of your vanity.

More chatting maids flooded in.. Each one of them began to paint your nails, line your lips, brushed and pulled at your hair. They treated you like a doll.. One that a child painted with their markers.

Glitter blurred your vision as they brushed pigmented eyeshadow across your lids.

"No. No. No. She's a princess! Not a whore."

One began to clean off your eyelids as another painted a different color onto them. They bickered and groaned at one another. God.. these women were something else! Is this how your mother's maids treated her? It would explain the heavy makeup she was always in.

"God damn.. Did a unicorn jack it all over your face or what?.."

Oh thank the gods.. You could breathe as Enjin walked into the room. His normal uniform long gone and replaced with something more formal? This was one you've never seen on him before.

But that wasn't the only thing you noticed. Once he sent everyone out, he refused to look you in the eyes.

"Lets put the rest of your dress on, yeah? They have you prancing around half naked. Just for any pervert to see.."

You forced a smile. "You're the only pervert allowed in here."

He snorted as he threw the pounds of fabric over your head. So much tulle and lace. Silk and glittered mesh. There were so many jewels that sparkles when you moved. Enjin had to squint when you accidentally  stepped into the setting sun rays that found their way through your curtains.

"What's wrong? Is my makeup ugly?.."

Was he staring? He didn't notice.. He forced a smile and turned you around before walking you back to your mirror. "Have you seen how beautiful you look?"

He was lying.. Not about the beautiful part. He tells you that constantly. But something was bothering him and he was hiding it.

You took a guess as he fluffed up your dress. "Have you heard anything about what's happening out there? About the shadows attacking the kingdom gates?"

Enjin smiled. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Worry about getting hitched.. They're already here you know.. Your husbands."

His smile twitched, like he was forcing it. Usually, if  juicy gossip spread through the castle, Enjin would be the first to tell you. But you heard bits and pieces from the maids and cooks while he was gone all day.

He was your knight. Only for you.. What kept him away?

You hummed. "Keep your secrets then.. But what about my husbands? Have you seen them?"

Enjin nodded as he got on his knees in front of you. Lifting up the skirt of your dress to help you slip your shoes on. "Yepp! They don't look bad. Not as hot as me but--" He rolled out and huffed. "No one in the world can compare to perfection. They're close though!"

Well that was good you guessed?

"I mean, did you talk to any of them? Do they seem nice?"

Enjin stood up and shrugged. "I only talked to August. And his grandma was right.. That mother-- is loud! But he seems chill. The other has been in his dressing room since he got here." Enjin rolled his eyes. "Momma's with him, of course."

You snorted. "If he keeps his momma in the bedroom with us during the honeymoon stage.. I'm keeping you too."

Enjin laughed and waved you off..

That was strange? No come back? Not even a dirty joke?

He stood behind you with a melancholy smile. A glittering veil was placed over your head as Enjin turned you to face him.

"I really wish I was the one marrying you. I wouldn't even care if I had to share you. Just.. Having a piece of you is good enough for me to die happy."

That wasn't like him at all.. these words didn't belong to the Enjin you knew. What was he hiding?

You chest tightened as you choked out the words. "You do have me.. You know that, no matter what the rules say."

He shrugged. "I know. But I just want you to know how much I truly care about you. How much I love you."

You looked up at your ceiling. Your tears built up at your waterline and threatened to ruin the make up you had on. What if you both just ran away?-- Where the hell would you go? And when you were eventually found.. Enjin would be killed for stealing you away from your prison. (Home)

"Ready? We need to get you to the church."

No.. yes.. no. You didn't want to do this. There had to be more out there than shitting out babies. Were you made to act like your mother? Quiet and obedient.. Small under your kings shadows? That was peace for her. But it didn't look like that to you.. You don't remember the last time you saw your mother smile.. Fully smile from ear to ear and not a forced tight lipped one.

But everyone one has done this.. All your sisters. You were the spoiled one and had more than they ever would dream! And here you were.. Ungrateful.

You shook your head and forced a practiced smile. "Lets get hitched.. I guess!"

-------------------

Enjin grunted and whistled as he looked out the window. Your dress was so big that you couldn't take a normal carriage. One was customly made by The Slitza's. It was pretty, white and gold decor on the outside. The seats and interior were covered in your favorite colored silk and velvet-like material.

"That's one big ass Church.."

You looked out the window and nodded. "It took them 10 years to finish printing it.. All that work and hardly anyone uses it.."

Religion had long been forgotten.. People usually get married in a courthouse before a judge and small audience these days. But your wedding was more for show.. The aesthetic of an old royal marriage would be talked about for ages.

Enjin pushed off the heavy fabric that he was half buried under. "Your dad is a sucker for the vintage stuff.. But at least it all looks nice."

It did.. The church was beautiful but scary at the same time. The material it was made from was a beautiful matte black. So many towers, covered in gorgeous crosses and saints. The windows were meant to imitate stained glass of Flowers and Angels.. Gardens that supposedly surrounded the heavens..

Your eyes traveled to the top, you had to hold onto Enjin's arms just so you wouldn't fall back.

"I feel sick.."

Enjin chuckled And patted your hand. "You're just nervous." He began to walk you into the church. "Smile and take deep breaths. Say I do.. Kiss your husbands.. And get so fucking wasted! Enough to forget everything..

You nodded.. Everything would be alright! You'd find a way to have a happy marriage. Besides.. If neither of them actually end up liking you, at least you still have Enjin.

The Church doors echoed like thunder as your father's guards opened them wide open. So many faces you didn't recognize turned to look at you, to judge you..

Enjin took a breath and smiled. He hesitantly walked you up to your father who held out his hands..You hesitantly let Enjin's arm go and took them with a smile.

Old wedding music began to play from somewhere in the church. People stood and watched your every move. You really wished you could admire all the decorations in the church. So many white and gold candles, beautiful blood red roses mixed with snow white ones. A small girl who you remembered was one of your sisters youngest, dropping red rose petals to lead your way.

They were here?! Why haven't they come to visit you?! Why couldn't you find your sisters faces in the crowd?!

You father leaned in. "Breathe my girl.. breath. Your hands are trembling."

There was no air in this church. Even if you could feel the filtered air through your veil. Maybe you should have asked for the Church to mix something calming into it?--

You hardly calmed yourself as your father stopped his movements.. You stood between two strangers, who also were covered by thick veils. So thick that you couldn't see them the way they could see you.

The King bowed to you and kissed the back of your hand. This was a symbol of letting you go.. Kicking you out of the nest in a way. You almost cried for him to come back as he walked off and sat next to your mother.

"Before we begin. The bride will unveil her grooms.."

You forgot about this part. Your father did this with your mother and his other wives. You were reminded of the story your mother used to like to tell. She was so nervous and puked into her flowers when your father pulled her veil back. Hopefully you didn't puke on these poor men..

You turned to the closest one to you. His head bowed low, too low, the same bow everyone in the kingdom used to greet your father. This was how you would be greeted as well now. You didn't like it--

With a shaking hand your fingers ghosted over the fabric before pinching it. The soft fabric folded over easily as you finally could see your husbands face.. Well, one of them.

This one was who you presumed as August.. Only because he had on his orange tinted shades.. He smiled but kept quiet? Enjin said he was loud,-- But his smile was nice, Wide and pretty. You could tell he was a happy playful person.

You turned as he stood up and waited. Your next husband was already in position and bowed low.

Tamsy Caines... You didn't know much about him. Just that his land supplied yours water, and his mother was definitely going to be a Monster In Law.--

You could see why.. Maybe Enjin was right and his mom was actually romantically in love with him. The face of an angel softly smiled at you. But his pierced smile didn't reach his eyes like August.

One thing was for sure.. Your husbands were the complete opposite.. Personality wise. The only thing they had in common was they were both handsome in their own way. And they both had long blond hair. So much hair.. If they actually slept with you during the honeymoon week, you were going to find blond hair in your buttcrack if they shed a lot..

You held in your snort at the thought as the old priest cleared his throat. His voice echoed off the walls.

"We are gathered here today to witness the binding of three souls."

You winced as you swallowed the ice like bump in your throat.

"Tamsy Caines. Recite your vows as you place the ring on her majesties finger."

You turned to Tamsy as he held out his hand. It was cold and calm compared to your trembling and clammy one.

His voice flowed like honey, warm, sweet, and slow..  "I Tamsy, commit myself to her Majestie. As a husband to learn and grow with. To explore and adventure with. To respect you in everything as a equal partner. In foreknowledge of joy and pain, strength and weariness, direction and doubt. I will cherish you with all the rising and settings of the sun. I give you this ring to symbolize our connection to one another. It represents our trust in each other and cour combined strength together. May this ring be a sign of my never ending love."

You didn't look up as you watched the dainty ring slip onto your finger. Small blue jewels shined like the fake stars in the candle light.

You turned to August as you noticed he began to fidget in his spot. You swore you heard his grandmother in the crowd-- Warning him? Or you?

The priest gave a look. "August Stilza. Please recite your vows to her Majestie as you place your ring on her finger--"

Oh Lord...

"FINALLY! I AUGUST---"

Your ears wanted to run off the side of your head and hide. Holy mother of--

Tamsy had his shoulders tense as he winced at August. His calm face slightly slipped while he gritted his teeth.

But you? Yes, he was loud but-- It was so refreshing. Everyone you've ever known (besides Enjin) has always been serious. No life..

But August?

"MAY THIS RING BE A SIGN OF MY NEVER ENDING LOVE. I GOT YOU BABE!"

You giggled as he slipped on your ring. What was August Stilza? Every doubt, every fear, suddenly melted the second he started yelling. (Talking)

When you repeated your own vows to these men. It flowed just like Tamsy.. As if you practiced this to perfection. When you honestly just learned everything this morning..

"You may now kiss Your Queen."

Until those words made everything flow back..

Tamsy brought you to him and leaned in first. August let out a muffled "stingy.." as he did so.

You expected it to be a quick peck. It's how your mother and father kissed-- But he didn't pull away the second your lips touched his. His piercing was cold but his skin warm. His lips were soft and when his tongue danced against yours, it was sweet. Your hands held onto the fabric of his suit, your thighs automatically squeezed--

August cleared his throat.. Tamsy rolled his eyes as he pulled away.---

Everyone, including yourself let out a gasp as he grabbed your body away from Tamsy and dipped you. Your eyes wide while his mouth literally covered yours. The kiss was sloppy and erotic. The fight you had to endure to not moan in a church was brutal!

You could hear Alice laughing in the quiet crowd. Followed by A small groan and August's name being embarrassingly mumbled..

When he finally let you go-- The world was spinning and your knees weak. Your lipstick was completely cleaned off-- You even stumbled a bit while both men quickly reached out to hold you steady.

Oh, your husbands were going to be your end.. Would you even survive your honeymoon?!

The priest let out a nervous chuckle and shook his head. "I now pronounce you, Husbands and wife. May life grant unending happiness, love, and healthy offspring."

Oof..

But you smiled at the older man either way. Both your husbands turned you around and everyone slowly began to clap. Some yelled their congratulations and some screamed for you to live a long life. Your mother was crying while your father forced a bright smile.

But your eyes scanned every race for one. But you couldn't find him?--

Your husbands grabbed your hand and began to walk you out of the church.

But where was your other blond? Where was your knight?

___________

"AHHAHAHA!"

You jumped in your seat as August told a joke. It seemed like it was a good one.. You really wished you paid attention. This weird feeling kept gnawing at your chest-- You tried asking your father about any updates about the chaise at the main gates but he just sent you off. Telling you to enjoy your day with your new husband's.

And it didn't help that you still couldn't find Enjin..

Your home was full of people. Some you could finally recognize and some you still couldn't. They laughed, danced, and fed their faces of your chefs best jellied foods and drinks.

Your plate that held so many of the same colored jelly cubes was pushed closer to you. Tamsy smiled. "Are you feeling alright? You haven't touched your food.."

Yes..

You should really pay attention to your new husband's. They were trying their hardest to hold a conversation with you. It was probably a good idea to at least try to get to know them before you had to consummate the union at least..

Would he be upset about your worries for Enjin?-- He'd have to get used to it.. Enjin was probably already drunk somewhere. Or already in someone's bed.. You don't blame him.

You looked down and poked at the pink and white swirled square. It was your wedding cake.. Strawberries and sweet cream. "Sorry. I was just looking for my Knight. He's usually by my side at all times. I just hope he isn't drunk and making a fool of himself."

Tamsy's face twisted a bit as he looked to his side. An empty spot where his own personal Knight, Delmon would usually be standing? Huh?.. How could he not notice the man was missing? Delmon took up so much damn space..

August perked up. "Haven't seen mine either.. It's my sister!"

"What?!"

He snorted at your and Tamsy's reaction. "Well, shes not really my Knight, I guess! I'm never in any real danger since I stay inside at all times. But! She's great with medical work. I do tend to hurt myself here and there when I'm in the zone with a project!"

Oh.. Well that was good to know. You'd have to keep an eye on August more than Tamsy.. Who seemed more put together. Poor guy, he'll have to deal with both of you..

Tamsy hummed as he chewed on a chicken jelly. "I'm sure they're all fine. This reception is a bit dull but they need to be. They're probably having their own little party somewhere."

Could be..

August nodded. His hair bouncing as he did so. "Yeah! Besides.. We'll be together for a whole week! They know we'll be alright!"

You really hoped they didn't notice the way you went a little stiff. But you quickly learned they were both really observant-

August actually let out a little quiet "oh.." while Tamsy cleared his throat. "This is probably an inappropriate place to ask but.. You were taught about what has to happen tonight?"

Duh.. But you expected this question to be asked. Most parents keep their daughters in the dark when it comes to the topic of sex. Royal or not..

You pushed your food around and nodded. "I know what has to happen."

August threw himself back onto the chair and let out a sigh. "Oh good! I wasn't sure how to demonstrate it with a bunch of damn cubes!"

Tamsy felt the same relief. He was just going to use his hands to explain. He thanked your father or mother for teaching you...

Tamsy smiled. "We could lie if you aren't ready. I-- we don't expect you to be ready after just meeting us."

August nodded. "But if you're down.." He slumped. "Ya gotta give me an hour to lay down and a bathroom break. I'm freaking stuffed!"

He patted his stomach while you looked at his plate. It was literally licked clean! Of your cooks were going to love him.

Tamsy actually chuckled as he stood up and cleaned his already clean face. "You work on digesting your food." He then held his hand out to you. "Wanna dance while you think?"

---------------------

Dancing helped.. Eventually August joined and you quickly learned that any parties in the near future would be exhausting. Both liked to dance and you needed to dance with one after another. (You tried dancing together but ended up stepping on toes.)

Neither of them liked alcohol too much and you didn't drink it much either. So when the Champaign cubes were brought out half way through the reception, only half of the cubes were finished before the three of you stumbled down the halls to your new bedroom. One that would be shared by the three of you.

Tamsy held onto your clumsy self as August fell forward and crawled. What was in the cube? Did you all indulge in the wrong one? Was it your father's vintage whiskey cubes?

August used the wall to slowly stand up. "There's the room! I found it!"

Oh, right.. There it was! How could you get so lost? This was your home but even you forgot where it was.

Oh the room was beautiful..

The same colored candles flickered and shined against the golden furniture. The large bed was covered in red silk sheets, white and pink rose petals spread out everywhere. The room smelled of warm vanilla and calming lavender.

"Woah! Your staff really went all out!"

They really did.

It was like magic how fast you all sobered up.

Tamsy stood in front of you while you could feel August at your back.

"Are you sure about this?"

You've made up your mind.. And decided to go through with making this marriage official. You were going to help your father run this Kingdom in a matter of days. Until he believed you were ready to do everything on your own. You need to stop being so afraid of your future.

You nodded. "I promise, I'm ready. Just-- Don't expect me to know what I'm doing just yet."

Tamsy gave you a sweet smile. "We have our lifetime to learn what makes one another happy. There is no rush."

August hummed. "We'll take our time! But for now--"

Like fresh crisp air was blown into your lungs.. Your uncomfortable wedding dress was suddenly on the ground. How--? Your eyes widened as you looked back at August. Who just shrugged and smiled. "Surprised?"

You nodded. "How did you take it all off so fast?! It took my maids nearly an hour just to get half of it on!"

August made a sound of excitement. "I know this dress like the back of my hand, baby! I'm the one who made it!"

He what?!--

Tamsy clicked his tongue. "Don't forget I helped. Where do you think the glitter in the fabric came from? It's made of white angelfish scales."

It was?...

Tamsy shook his head. "You know what? None of that matters right now-- What does is this--"

Suddenly you felt.. Naked. Yes, you nearly were but-- It was as if they were looking at something past your skin and bones, they were looking at your soul.

August let out a dreamy-like sigh. "I have the prettiest muse! Er.. We have the prettiest muse. Perfect in every way.."

Tamsy's hands softly cupped your face. "Beyond perfect.."

-----------------

*Enjin*

He watched the flickering glow fade in and out from the room he was just in. You're room-- Your new room you'd share with your husbands. Not a room that was shared by him and you. Not anymore..

He hoped you liked the way he rearranged the room for you. All that sappy stuff with the flower petals and candles weren't his style.. Not even close.

But for you? It was his secret way of giving you everything he wanted. His way of making sure this night was something you'd remember. Annnd maybe it was a way for him to take part in this night even if he wasn't participating..

"Eyes forward men! Gates are opening in 10!"

He wanted to tell you.. But he was asked by your father to keep it a secret. For this would ruin your entire day. And Enjin could only imagine the fit you'd throw when you found out.

His spoiled princess..

You'd probably try to hide him and curse at your father if you knew. You'd think of his safety and not your people.

A heavy hand brought his attention away. "You alright? Just stick with me Enjin. I got you."

Gris.. Always the Knight in shining armor. Literally.. Kinda? At least their gear wasn't one of the medieval times.

Enjin shook off his hand from his shoulder. "I've had the same training as you. I know what I'm doing."

Gris chuckled. "I don't doubt that. It's just-- You've never been on the outside before. You've only protected the princess since I've known you."

Enjin snorted. "And? It's a dangerous gig. "

Gris playfully huffed rolled his eyes. "Sure.-- I'll still keep an eye on you. The things out there.. They aren't human. That's how the damn evil that they are got in."

Enjin swallowed the slight fear. He was doing this to protect the kingdom, to protect you. Too many of his friends have already died in the span of one night.

The King was desperate and scraped together what men he could. This is why he was suddenly pulled into battle. Their small numbers would join the other two kingdoms in battle and take back their peace. The horrid monsters of the old outside world would know better than to attack their people again.

A low bell sounded the main gates opening. The tone rang and echoed eerily throughout the entire kingdom.

Enjin pull down his oxygen mask and gave the room one last look as the soldiers at the front began to march. Hopefully your husbands were keeping you busy enough to not hear what was going on outside.

' Goodbye. And if I don't return.. I love you...'

-----------------------------

The automatic sun slowly rolled over, turning the ceiling a warm orange and pink. It felt like you were dreaming.. Everything that happened last night felt like an intimate dream.

The way your husband's hands roamed over your body. Tamsy had a rough touch that made you feel wanted, needed.. August's touch was so soft and warm. It made you feel adored and safe.

They praised your body and made you feel beautiful. Each littered your skin with marks of their admiration. Bites and small bruises from their tight grips decorate your chest and thighs.

You could feel a smile creeping its way up to your lips as your body began to wake. You fought a giggle from escaping your lips as you felt a weight on your side move. The sounds that they made had your heart skipping beats and a warm feeling spreading through your thighs.

When you finally opened your eyes to the speakers playing soft chirping you had to bite your lip. Tamsy laid on your stomach, blond and blue hair spread out behind him like Angel wings.

A shift beside you made you quietly gasp as August brought an arm over your chest and moved you closer to his waking body. His glasses were off and his hair was a mess.. But he was so handsome. His face is calm and at peace.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?"

Tamsy's gruff voice surprised you as your attention was brought away from August.

He stared at you with concern as he waited for you to answer. For you to show any signs of discomfort.

You smiled at him. "Good morning. I feel just fine."

He seemed to relax before he crawled up to your lips. The kiss wasn't as soft as the ones before. It was heavy with lust and need.

You tried to keep quiet as his kisses started traveling lower. Open mouthed and slight scraping of teeth traveled from your jaw to your collar bone.

His hands cupped your breast together while he licked and sucked on your nipples. Soothing the soreness from them with his tongue and fingers.

His knees kept your legs apart. A whine left your mouth as you tried to squeeze them together for some type of friction.

"That's a pretty sound to wake up to. Not a bad sight either."

August's voice was deeper than usual as he woke as well. Scratchy and low..

"Come here pretty baby."

His lips met yours, tongues quickly tangling together while you felt Tamsy's own kisses travel lower. His body disappeared into the blankets while August's hand began to knead at your tits.

Your back arched off the bed and you moaned into August's mouth when Tamsy licked at your cunt. Your clit was swollen and sore from the night before, but Tamsy took his time. He gave your abused bud little kitten licks and lighty sucked before curling his fingers into your tight hole.

He angled them just right, making you cry out in pleasure while tugging on August's hair.

"Right there Tamsy. You found her spot."

Tamsy responded with a moan against your clit as his fingers fuck you slow. The pads of his index and pointer  rubbed against your sweet spot. Making your legs shake and thighs close around his head.

August held your hips down as you tried to run from your pleasure. Your brain and body overwhelm with lust and want..

"I can't wait anymore! Tamsy get on your back--"

Tamsy didn't fight August as he pulled away from between your thighs. Only chuckling as he laid beside you on his back.

"Get on top of him for me Baby! But face me--"

He was already moving you the way he wanted. This was a new position from last night.. They filled both your holes but--

Tamsy held his cock up. "Sit down slowly on it. Don't hurt yourself."

Who knew the member of a man could look so pretty. Different shades of pink and angry red..

A pleasurable shock ran up your back as August helped you put Tamsy inside of your pussy. His big hands held your thighs apart as he lined himself up to your cunt.

You quickly shot your hand onto his chest. This is what they wanted to do to you?!

"Wait! You both can't fit--"

August gave you a devilish smile. He leaned in to kiss your cheek and bit at your earlobe. "Trust us. We'll fit just fine."

Tamsy's chest was now at you back. He brushed your hair over one shoulder while he kissed the other. "Just take a deep breath. Come on-- One, two, "

You gasped as August's fat cock head squeezed against Tamsy shaft. You were dripping wet but it was still a struggle to stuff your hole with two.

Your eyes rolled back and your head fell to Tamsy's shoulder. You weren't sure who but one was cupping your tits and the other was kissing your neck.

Your brain was already going blank and neither of them were moving just yet. You head rolled to the side while Tamsy and August began to share a sloppy kiss with one another. A choked moan left your lips as they both rolled their hips into you at the same time. Your pussy tightened around them as you watched their tongues dance with one another.

you've been taking care of him for days now—feeding him, tending to the scratches you swore were nothing, making sure he's warm, letting him lean against you while he recovers. each small gesture, each quiet moment together, has built a tension you hadn't fully recognized until now. the way he waits for your attention, the way he studies you in silence—it's becoming impossible to ignore.

you inch away from the couch and he leans against the armrest, eyes never leaving you, voice low and smooth. "don't wander too far. i like having you in my sight."

that's when it hits—you feel it in your chest, in the small hairs on your arms. the way he watches, every glance, every flicker of muscle, like he's memorizing you piece by piece. the heat radiating off him, quiet but insistent, makes your skin hum and pulse in a way you didn't expect.

your movements feel deliberate now, almost instinctive, every shift of your weight pulling him closer. every brush of your fingers along the couch, every tremble in your breath, makes him lean in, pressing his heat against you. the tip of his nose brushes your shoulder. his hands roam—gripping, kneading, dragging along the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw, the swell of your chest. you shiver under his touch, back arching, hips tilting into him without thought.

he murmurs your name over and over, low and wet against your ear, calling you his human as his lips trace shallow kisses down your neck, then biting just hard enough to make you gasp. his hands wander to your thighs, pressing, squeezing, moving you against him until every inch of you aches for more. you grind against him, chest flush, nipples brushing the fabric of his shirt, desperate for friction, for contact, for the way he dominates without words.

when he tips you back, presses you fully into the couch, skin sliding against skin, you're caught entirely but you don't pull away. you let him have you, let him teach you, let him mark you as something beyond just a human who cared for a lost stranger in an alley.

his mouth moves lower. his teeth graze your lower stomach, trailing kisses as his hands hold you steady. you gasp, hips tilting instinctively as his tongue brushes against your slit, teasing over your wetness, tasting you. your back arches as he moans softly, lips sucking, tongue pressing, fingers dragging along your thighs. you clutch his hair, tug him closer, moans slipping past your lips.

"so sweet," he growls, voice low and controlled. "you taste incredible, my human."

you're trembling, thighs quivering as he licks, sucks, teases. fingers curl into your hips, pressing you into him as your body reacts, every flick of his tongue sending shivers, every press of his lips drawing gasps from your throat.

he alternates between sucking and teasing, fingers brushing, tongue curling, every motion deliberate. you moan openly, hips rocking, hands gripping his shoulders.

he pulls back just long enough to line himself up, hips pressing against you, hard, teasing. your body writhes, desperate for more. he pushes inside slowly, letting you feel every inch before moving fully.

"there you are," he growls. "so perfect."

your back arches, chest pressed to his, every nerve on fire. his hands clutch your hips, controlling the rhythm. your moans grow louder, head tipped back, nails raking down his back.

he leans down, mouth brushing yours in a heated kiss, groaning over your lips, jaw, neck. you're trembling, completely lost.

"cum for me," he murmurs.

you do, almost immediately as if he was in complete control now. clenching, shivering, crying out into his neck as he presses, thrusts, holds you tight, milking every sound, every quiver. lips on your shoulder, voice harsh, needy, praising.

he's still inside you, thick and impossibly hot, every thrust slow and dragging out the tension until your body shakes. his hands grip your hips, thumb circling your clit.

"you feel exquisite, so warm…don't make me stop," he says, teasing and commanding.

"yes… don't stop…" you whisper.

he chuckles, thrusting deeper. "that's it… my good human. so perfect, trembling for me."

you moan, hips lifting instinctively, trying to ride him, and he presses you flat.

"you belong to me," he growls. "every sound, every shiver… i feel it all."

his hand cups your ass, pulling you flush against him. "don't fight it. scream if you need to… no one else hears it."

"please— keep going…" you gasp.

he smirks, teeth grazing lightly. "i'm far from done."

you arch, legs trembling, body wracked with pleasure. he presses harder, rolling his hips slowly. you cry out, hips jerking, every nerve on fire as he drags you up the edge again and again, whispering filthy praise into your ear.

"look at you, squeezing me… mine… all mine," he hisses. "cum for me… human, all over me."

and when you cum, it's not gentle. thighs clamp around him, body convulsing, chest heaving, voice raw. he doesn't pull away, grinding slow, deep, circling your clit as he whispers, "good girl… not done yet."

your vision flickers but he stays, moving again, dragging you into the next wave. moan after moan, gasp after gasp, breaking apart in multiple staggered climaxes. he hovers, lips brushing your jaw, murmuring, nipping, reminding you how tight and wet you are.

"don't fight it," he hisses. "finish again… i know you love it."

you cry out, arching, shaking, writhing under him, cumming again, muscles clenching, shivering, and he keeps going, hands pressing, lips claiming, voice low and steady.

finally, your body trembles uncontrollably, mind swimming, vision flickering—but he's still there. still inside. still moving. still claiming. whispering your name, "so good… so perfect…"

your body goes limp, shivers fading… and you feel him continuing, deliberate, a low hum vibrating against your skin, keeping you tethered as consciousness slips.

when you wake, your body is warm. heavy. sore in the best way. your chest rises sharply as awareness comes back in pieces, he's still there, still inside. eyes glowing faintly, gaze fixed on you with possessive hunger. not moving fast. not rough. just slow. steady thrusts, like he never stopped. when your gaze finally focuses on him, his mouth curves.

"there you are," he says quietly.

his hips roll once, deeper, just enough to make you gasp.

"i was wondering how long you'd last."

his fingers slide along your jaw, down your throat, over your collarbone—possessive.

"did i exhaust you," he asks softly, "or do you want me to keep going?"

and the way he says it makes it clear—he absolutely will.

You were sitting up in bed with a book resting on your exposed thighs. You knew Follo would be coming to visit you soon, you just werent exactly sure when.

As you continued reading, you heard two gentle knocks.

Already aware of who it is, you close the book and quickly get up to go and open the door.

“Follo!”

You pull him into a hug, and he smiles softly before placing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Mm... Today’s mission was a pain. Just wanna stay with you for the rest of the night..." Follo pulls away and looks down at you, his gaze soft and loving.

Right after he finished that sentence, you grabbed his hand and dragged him to bed excitedly.

“I missed you the whole time you were gone.. I’m glad you’re back.” Your voice is both sweet and soft as you speak. If it was possible, he’d be having hearts for eyes right now.

When the two of you are finally in bed, you try to start a conversation, but before you can say anything, he’s already snuck under the covers, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze as if to make sure he isn't dreaming, then face-plants between them.

“I'm guessing you're just gonna.. Stay under there..?”

“Mhm..” Is all you hear from Follo before it goes quiet again. You blink once, twice, and then reopen your book to continue reading.

You place the book on top of his head, making him groan.

“Ouch!”

“I didn't even place it down that hard!”

You flip the covers over, revealing Follo’s head placed snugly between your thighs. He brings his head up just enough to make eye contact with you, his eyes droopy and on the verge of falling asleep.

“Follo—” You barely even begin your sentence before he's already face-first between your thighs again. You roll your eyes and shut your book, running your hand through his hair.

A couple of minutes pass, and you hear a soft snore from him. You gently pull him up and place his head against the pillow. Finally, you fall asleep as well.

Your soul left your body, grabbed a suitcase, and booked a train to anywhere else. Your heart plummeted straight into your ass but your face stayed painfully neutral out of pure pride.

August burst through the doorway like a grenade with legs, voice echoing off every wall in HQ. Before you could blink, he launched himself onto the couch, half on you, half on gravity’s mercy, draping across your thighs with zero dignity and even less stability. You made a noise of protest that he absolutely ignored.

His hand shot out, snatching your claw clip mid-air like he was catching prey. “Gotcha,” he crooned, already clicking it open and closed obnoxiously near your face like a deranged baby bird demanding worms. Click. Click. Click.

You narrowed your eyes. “August—”

He clipped it into your hair. Not even nicely. Not even functionally. Just somewhere on your face. You exhaled through your nose so hard your soul might’ve re-entered your body for a moment.

He wasn’t done. He plucked the clip back out, inspected it like treasure, then clipped it proudly to the strap of his dungarees—right next to the other three he’d stolen this week alone.

“I. missed. you.” Each word punctuated with another smug little click of the clip. His grin was so stupidly wide you felt your annoyance crack at the edges.

You tried to go back to tying your hair—failing, because he was basically sprawled across your lap like a cat that had never been denied anything in its life. You pushed lightly at his shoulder and he responded by melting deeper into you, head landing against your thigh like he’d died dramatically for attention.

Then he noticed your chapstick. “—oooh. shiny…” he murmured, pupils dilating like a crow discovering a loose coin.

“No,” you said immediately, lifting your chin in fake authority. Your mouth was already fighting a smile.

He ignored the refusal, as always and leaned in, really close, practically nose-to-nose with you, like he was trying to inhale the cherry scent without admitting he liked it. He watched your lips with embarrassing focus. “This one’s new,” he murmured, voice dropping half an octave like he was studying an artifact. “It’s got—what’s that—glitter? Is it edible? If I lick it, will I die? Can I try it? Let me try it.”

You grabbed his face with both hands before he did something stupid, your palms warm on his cheeks, thumbs brushing over felted charcoal smudges he’d never washed off. August froze, muscles going quiet like you’d hit an off-switch he didn’t know he had.

Then you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. A little tint left behind. A little shimmer. A little claim he absolutely felt.

He made a sound. Not a normal human sound. A delighted, smug, dying-bird coo that vibrated straight into your kneecaps.

“—awwwww sick,” he said, touching the stained spot like he’d been knighted. “I will wear it with honor.” He puffed out his chest like a rooster. “People are gonna think I fought a sparkly ghost and lost.”

“You would lose,” you said, and he gasped as if wounded.

“You wound me every day,” he declared, rolling dramatically across your lap until he ended up upside-down, head hanging off the couch, hair brushing the floor. He peered up at you from this cursed angle. “Do it again.”

“No.”

“One more.”

“No.”

“Half a one.”

“There’s no such—”

He sat up so fast your mirror almost fell from your hand. He caught it, flipped it open, and angled it toward your face in a ridiculous imitation of your earlier pose. “Look,” he said, tapping the glass he had drawn tiny smeared flowers over, “you can see the cherry color better in my mirror. It’s got charm. It’s got artistic integrity. It’s got me.”

“You literally vandalized it.”

“You kept it,” he sang, leaning his entire weight onto your shoulder again, heavy and warm and absolutely starved for touch in a way he pretended was casual. “Which means you love my art. And me.”

“Definitely not you.”

“Ohhh she lies,” he said, nuzzling his forehead against yours like an affectionate gremlin. “Tiny, tiny lies from a tiny, tiny heart.”

You flicked his forehead. “My heart is not tiny.”

He gasped. “Violence.”

You didn’t answer, only smoothed a hand through his hair—because he was already in your lap, and honestly, resistance at this point felt fictional. He melted instantly, like he’d been waiting all day for someone to pet him. His eyes fluttered, his breath went embarrassingly soft, his shoulders slumped. A stray strand of your hair fell into your face, he pushed it back behind your ear, solemn for two seconds before he ruined it.

“I’m keeping this clip,” he whispered proudly.

“You’re not.”

“It’s already clipped. Nothing can stop me now.”

“August.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Give it back.”

He tightened his arms around your waist. “Come take it.”

You swatted him. He laughed so loudly half the HQ probably assumed someone was being murdered. You couldn’t help it and grinned.

He buried his face in your shoulder, voice muffled and smug. “Mmm. Cherry flavor. Maybe tomorrow you should do… peach. Or mint. Or something that tastes like danger. I’ll find it. I’ll judge it. I’ll steal it.”

“You’re not tasting my chapstick.”

“We’ll see,” he whispered, sounding unbearably pleased with himself.

August’s obsession didn’t calm down after that couch incident—if anything it escalated into a lifestyle choice. He was suddenly everywhere, bursting through hallways, dropping onto couches, hanging off doorframes like a problematic chandelier. Every time you walked past him, he had at least four of your hair ties banded around one wrist, a scrunchie puffing up the other like some ridiculous statement piece, and a claw clip proudly clipped to his dungaree strap like war decoration.

You pretended to glare every time. You said things like “Give it back.” You rolled your eyes. You scolded. You acted bothered.

But every time you caught sight of your stuff on him—bright little pieces of you sitting against his denim, dangling from his wrist, hugging his hair—your chest warmed in a way that made you want to strangle him lovingly.

He, of course, noticed every flicker of softness you tried to suffocate. And he fed on it.

He visited your room constantly. Not to see you—no, of course not. That would be too normal. Too honest. He came to “borrow” things, which meant entering silently like a raccoon, scanning the shelves, and stealing whatever glimmered. One morning you realized a whole small bowl of your clips had vanished. Another day, your ribbon was gone. Another—your mirror. The one he decorated. He claimed he was “updating the art.”

If you tried to scold him, he would cup your chin between his fingers dramatically, kiss your forehead without warning, and say, “Shhhh. Art in progress.”

You shoved him. He cackled.

So when you heard him in the hallway the next morning—howling—like actual guttural, animalistic, deeply unwell howling—it didn’t shock you. It only made you sigh and march toward it.

His door was half open, the inside already radiating the unmistakable aura of August: chaos, loudness, and the faint scent of metal and sweat. You slid the door the rest of the way open.

“You good?” you asked, voice flat, as your eyes slowly adjusted to the war crime that was his room.

August spun toward you with wild eyes—hair sticking up like he fought a wind god, one of your scrunchies barely hanging on by a thread. “You—YOU—cannot just—YOU GOTTA WARN ME WHEN YOU COME IN I’M BUSY—”

You stepped inside. Took two more steps. Then gasped.

Because in the corner of his shelves, crowded together like rare artifacts—were your things. Your clips. Your ties. Your mirror. Your old broken bangle. A ribbon you lost three days ago. A folded piece of paper you’d doodled on. Everything arranged in an absurd little shrine. “August…” you breathed. “That’s my—my—my stuff!”

He puffed up like a pigeon protecting its eggs. “That’s my you altar!” he declared proudly.

“Your—WHAT—” you sputtered, pointing at it. “That’s my shit!”

“Nuh uh,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.

Your eye twitched. “Fuck you mean nuh uh?!”

He leaned forward defiantly. “Nuh UH.”

You stared at him, full offense activated. “You did not just ‘nuh uh’ me.”

He nodded slowly. “Nuh.” Then again. “Uh.”

You threw your hands in the air. “August that doesn’t MEAN anything!”

“It means,” he said, pacing in a circle like a lawyer preparing a case he absolutely should not be allowed to deliver, “that you left these items unattended. And I—kind, gentle, generous—rescued them. For art. Meaning they’re mine now.”

“That is not how property works.”

“That is EXACTLY how property works,” he argued, grabbing one of your ribbons and twirling it around his finger like it was a rosary. “If I love it enough, it’s mine.”

“That’s not a rule!”

“It is NOW,” he shouted triumphantly.

You scrubbed a hand over your face. “Oh my god I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he said instantly, pointing at you with the same ribbon. “You kissed me. You love me actually.”

“That was your cheek!”

“Still counts!”

“No it doesn’t—”

He marched up to you, shoved the ribbon into your hand, then grabbed your wrist in return. You nearly jumped at the contact because he was warm, too warm for someone who complained about literally everything else being warm. His hand clamped around yours like he was anchoring himself, eyes squinting at you with that ridiculous too-happy expression he got whenever he felt seen.

“You came into my room,” he announced, voice dipping into a theatrical whisper. “Which makes you obsessed with me.”

“I came in because you were SCREAMING.”

“That’s attraction.”

“That’s concern.”

“For ME,” he added, leaning in so close your noses almost brushed. “Obsessive. Dangerous. Passionate concern.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, but you didn’t pull away.

He noticed. Oh, he noticed. August’s grin spread across his face like a sunrise if the sun was unhinged and needed therapy. “What chapstick is it today?” he asked, switching topics like a feral magpie, eyes dropping to your mouth immediately.

“Cherry. Again.”

“Ohhh,” he hummed, licking his lips exaggeratedly. “The shrine approves.”

“It’s not a shrine—”

“My YOU altar,” he corrected, reaching past you and adjusting one of your claw clips like he was arranging flowers. “Gonna grow it. Gonna expand it. Gonna steal more.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can’t stop me. I’m fast.” He wiggled his hands like spirit fingers. “Fast and motivated.”

You bit your cheek to hide a smile. He caught it immediately and lit up like a lantern.

“Awwwww,” he cooed, leaning all of his weight against your shoulder until you staggered. “She likes it.”

“I DON’T.”

“She wants to kiss me again.”

“NO I do not—”

“Then why you standing so close, hm?” he whispered, eyes sparkling with feral triumph.

You pushed him away and he stumbled dramatically, fell onto the floor, and yelled loudly enough to alert everyone in a three-room radius. Then he sat up, ribbon still tied between his fingers, and grinned up at you.

“You’re lucky I’m in love with you,” he said casually.

You froze. He blinked. You blinked. Then he shot finger guns. “—with your STUFF. In love with your STUFF. Your items. Your belongings. Your… things.” He coughed violently. “Deeply romantic feelings only for accessories.”

You took one single step toward the altar when something slammed into your waist from behind. August launched off the floor like a missile made of denim and chaos, arms hooking around you as if you were a prize he had been training for his entire life. Your balance vanished. The world tilted. You landed right in his lap with a graceless thud as he dragged you backward.

“YOU absolute asshole!” you yelled, palms smacking against his chest as he only held you tighter, legs bracketing your hips like he was trying to glue you to him permanently.

He gasped dramatically, clutching you harder and swaying like the two of you were in some romantic spinning ballroom instead of on a filthy HQ floor. “Babygiiiirl, that’s my stuff, my stand, my altar, MY ART,” he declared at full August volume, breath hot against your ear as you tried to pry his fingers off. “You leave your little gremlin fingers away from it! I curated that with love! With soul! With passion!”

He wriggled his own fingers right in front of your face like he thought jazz hands could win arguments. They were long, lanky and the sheer arrogance of them made you lean forward and bite one.

“OW—OHMYGOD—SHE’S BITING ME!” he shrieked, yanking his hand back while shaking it, eyes wide with betrayal and delight all at once. “Nobody appreciates artists anymore! I suffer! I bleed for my craft!”

“You stole my shit,” you hissed, trying to twist off his lap, but he tightened his grip around your waist like a vice, dragging you even closer. His laugh erupted out of him—loud, full-bodied, unhinged—the kind that shot straight through your ribs and made you want to slam him into the nearest wall and kiss him just to shut him up.

“You love when I steal your shit,” he said with a voice so smug it practically shimmered.

“No, I—”

“Yes, you do,” he sing-songed, nose brushing your cheek as he tried to peek at your expression. “Every time I clip your claw clip on my strap I see your little smiiiileee—”

“I do NOT smile!”

“Mm-hm. Sure, sweetheart. You frown in happiness. It’s adorable.”

You elbowed him. Hard. He groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back and his arms fall even lower on your waist like you had just mortally wounded him in a very sexy Shakespeare play.

“Why are you like this,” you groaned.

“Because you make me like this,” he shot back immediately, tightening his arms again like he expected you to run. “Now stop trying to steal my altar offerings or I’ll have to—ah—hey—HEY—stop leaning—STOP—”

Because you had leaned forward again—this time trying to grab the scrunchie he had yanked from your hair earlier. He used his entire torso to drag you backward, limbs flailing, both of you yelling over each other. You were so loud neither of you heard the footsteps outside.

Enjin slid the door open. The silence that hit the room was violent.

He stared at the scene with the blank, exhausted face of a man who was absolutely done with both of you. Your hair was a mess, your shirt slightly wrinkled from being wrestled. August had one arm around your waist, the other planted on your hip like he was posing for a very inappropriate portrait. His glasses were hanging crooked off one ear, hair sticking up in every possible direction, claw clip still attached proudly to his strap, and he looked entirely too happy for someone caught in such a compromising position.

“…What the hell are you two doing?” Enjin asked in a low, tired voice, like he already regretted opening his mouth.

You froze. August froze. Even the dust motes in the air froze. The only thing moving was August’s chest against your back as he inhaled sharply, then—he laughed. Loud. Obnoxious. The kind of laugh that shook his whole body and made his arm squeeze you accidentally tighter. His grin split across his face like a demon waking up.

“Ohhh~~ ENJINNNN,” he purred, flipping his hair back with a single obscene motion that did absolutely nothing to fix how deranged he looked. His grin widened even further. “Didn’t know you were into performance art.”

“Performance—” you sputtered, trying to get off his lap, but August locked his arms around you like a koala that refused to acknowledge breakups. “August, let go—”

“No,” he whispered, eyes gleaming as he looked up at Enjin like this was the best morning of his entire life. “She tried to steal from my altar. I defended my faith.”

“That is NOT—”

“RELIGION,” August declared, looking at you again with gleeful intensity. “Love is religion. I am devout.”

Enjin stared for a long, painful second. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m leaving,” he muttered, sliding the door shut so forcefully dust drifted from the ceiling.

You sat frozen in August’s lap until the footsteps faded. Then you twisted around and smacked his shoulder. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he shot back, voice still bright with that reckless heat that made your stomach twist. He leaned forward, glasses sliding even lower, eyes flicking to your lips again. “Is that cherry chapstick still on? Lemme see.”

“You’re not getting a taste.”

He grinned, pulling you closer by the waist again. “We’ll see about that.”

You shoved him, laughing despite yourself, and August lit up like you’d handed him the sun. “Round two?” he asked, already bracing to tackle you again.

“Try it,” you warned, “and I’ll bite harder.”

He grinned like you’d just proposed marriage and only leaned back for a second, not to release you, no, never that—but just far enough to look at you like he’d already won whatever game he thought you were playing. One arm stayed locked around your waist, palm warm on your hip, fingers flexing like he was making sure you wouldn’t escape even if you tried.

“No chance, girlypop,” he purred, voice hot and smug and way too pleased with himself. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You narrowed your eyes and grabbed him by the collar—fisting the fabric, yanking him toward you so fast his glasses slid halfway off his face. His breath hitched, barely noticeable but there, and your lips quirked because you felt the shift in him. The moment where his bravado cracked just enough to show the burn beneath it. “You are obnoxious,” you hissed, pulling him closer until your noses were almost touching. “An obnoxious thief.”

He gasped dramatically—one hand flying to his chest. “Me?” he exclaimed, eyes wide with fake betrayal. “Moi? A thief? A criminal? An innocent, humble artist accused of—”

You tugged the collar even harder. His rant cut off with a small stunned noise that he’d deny until death.

He slid his glasses up into his hair with one slow push, revealing those sharper, unfiltered eyes beneath. They flicked down at your mouth, then back up—something hungry, playful, and absolutely dangerous sparking behind them.

“You shouldn’t hold me like that,” he said, voice dropping a tone too deep. “I’ll do something stupid.”

Before you could answer, he hooked his free hand behind your back and pulled you straight into him—chest to chest, breath to breath, heat to heat. It wasn’t dramatic this time. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even playful. It was deliberate.

He tilted his head, lips brushing yours, barely a breath away but close enough that you felt the shape of his smile curve against your skin. “Say it again,” he whispered like it was a dare. “Call me obnoxious.”

“You are.”

“And a thief?”

“That too.”

He grinned. It was fast, reckless, almost clumsy with how badly he wanted it, his mouth crashing into yours with all the pent-up chaos he had been vibrating with since the second you stepped into his room. His hand tightened on your waist, fingers digging just enough to pull you down fully into his lap, and you felt his whole body melt and ignite at the same time.

He tasted the cherry chapstick. You felt him react instantly, his breath shuddering through his nose, a low satisfied noise caught somewhere in his chest as he deepened the kiss like he’d been waiting weeks for it. His thumb stroked your hip, his other hand slid up your back, holding you like if he let go you’d disappear entirely.

You pushed back. Hard. He made a noise—half surprised, half starving—and kissed you even harder, laughing breathlessly against your mouth because of course he did. Of course August Stilza would laugh during a kiss. When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. Just a few centimeters. Just enough to look at you with his lips swollen and tinted red from your chapstick.

“Ohhhhhh,” he breathed, voice cracked with delight. “I’m gonna be intolerable now.”

“You already are.”

He cupped your jaw with both hands like you were something breakable. “Babygirl…that was criminal. That was theft. YOU stole my soul. I should arrest you. Or kiss you again. Maybe both.”

You shoved his face lightly. He just laughed, loud and obnoxious and so happy.

You didn’t even give him time to finish that smug little inhale he was taking—your hands slid up, cupping his face firmly between your palms, thumbs brushing the high points of his cheeks, and you pulled him back in for another kiss.

This time you kissed him first and August made a sound so helplessly startled, so soft, so needy, so unlike the loud feral gremlin he pretended to be, that it shot straight through your spine.

A tiny whimper. Barely a breath.

His fingers tightened on your waist instantly, the grip nearly bruising as he tried to anchor himself from melting straight into the floor. His whole body jolted like he hadn’t prepared for affection to come in such a direct strike. He kissed back messily, desperately, chasing your mouth when you pulled a tiny bit away just to breathe.

God.

He made you want to strangle him. He made you want to laugh. He made you want to bite him just to hear that sound again.

“That was sweet,” you said against his lips.

He blinked up at you like you’d personally unplugged his brain. His lips were tinted cherry from your gloss; his glasses were still shoved up in his messy hair; his pupils blown wide like he was in danger of confessing something he wasn’t ready for.

“Girl—” he whispered, voice wrecked, breath shaky, “you are going to kill me…”

But even as he said it, his hand slid behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he pulled you back down into him again like he couldn’t live a full second without your mouth on his.

This kiss was hotter and hungrier, his lips parting under yours as he chased every movement, every shift of your breath. His thigh tensed beneath you, his shoulders shaking with how hard he tried not to groan. He laughed into your mouth once, that bright chaotic laugh that made your teeth vibrate, then kissed you deeper as if to make up for it.

“God,” he managed when he surfaced for a heartbeat, nose brushing yours. “Do that again. Do that again or I’m gonna lose my whole mind—”

“You don’t have a mind,” you shot back, breathless.

“EXACTLY,” he replied, dragging you forward by the waist until you collapsed fully against him. “YOU TOOK IT—you—that was theft—criminal intent—premeditated—kiss me again—”

You grabbed him by the collar again and he practically moaned. The noise was choked, cut off immediately like he didn’t mean to make it, but it was there. Oh, it was there.

You pulled back—barely. Not even a full hand’s width, just enough for air to cool between your lips and for August to feel the loss like a punch to the solar plexus.

His breath hitched. His hands froze on your waist. His pupils stayed blown-out and heavy, fixed on your mouth like he could drag it back to his with sheer willpower. And then the realization hit him.

You were teasing him. You were doing this on purpose.

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, something between a gasp and a wounded animal yelp. He followed you forward instinctively, almost chasing your mouth, but your hand flattened on his chest to hold him back. That tiny barrier, your palm against him, your weight still settled across his lap, made his whole body tense.

“Ohhh you—” he managed, voice cracking embarrassingly as he tried to keep the volume down and completely failed, “you EVIL woman—don’t pull away, why did you pull away—come back—what are you DOING—”

You raised one brow, slow and deliberate. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked at you like you’d just shot him point-blank. “What’s—WHAT’S—girl, PLEASE—”

His voice broke on the last word. Broke. And you had never seen him lose his swagger so completely, so fast. You shifted on his lap just a little, only a shift of weight and he sucked in a breath so sharp it could’ve cut glass.

“Don’t—move—like that—” he choked out, voice gone thin with tension, and then immediately clapped a hand over his own mouth as if he hadn’t meant to say it.

You smiled. Slowly. Sweetly. Wickedly. He looked like he might die on the spot.

“Oh my god,” he whispered through his fingers. “You’re TRYING to kill me. This is murder. Premeditated. You’re sitting here—on ME—and doing THIS—on purpose—”

“Hmm,” you hummed, leaning in close enough for your breath to brush his cheek but not touching, not giving him what he wanted. “Maybe.”

He practically bucked under you.

“STOP,” he squeaked, voice going high with panic and need, “you can’t just—say it like that—girl—PLEASE—kiss me again, I’m begging. I’ll bark. I’ll scream. I’ll confess to crimes I didn’t do—just—COME BACK—”

You tilted your head, letting your lips hover a hair above his. “Why? You seemed fine.”

He grabbed your waist with both hands, fingers digging in—not rough, just desperate. His glasses slid further back in his hair as he stared up at you with the most chaotic, flustered expression imaginable.

“I’m NOT fine,” he blurted. “I’m the opposite of fine. I’m—look at me—I’m malfunctioning—my brain is soup—I can’t even form threats—I just want your mouth—PLEASE.”

You stifled a laugh behind your fingertips. His ears went red.

“Are you… embarrassed?” you teased softly.

August slapped a palm against the floor behind him and practically howled, “I AM AROUSED AND OFFENDED, ACTUALLY—”

You snorted and finally leaned in again, brushing your lips over the corner of his mouth without fully kissing him.

He shuddered. Entirely. Visibly.

“PLEASE,” he whispered, all the volume knocked clean out of him. “Don’t tease. Don’t be nice and mean at the same time. You’re gonna break me in half.”

You kissed him then—savoring the way he melted instantly, hands gripping your waist like he needed you steady on him. His whole body went hot under your touch, every breath shaky, every movement chasing yours with an urgency he couldn’t hide anymore. When you pulled away again, just a breath, he followed helplessly. “You good?” you asked, smiling against his mouth.

“No,” he said immediately, voice wrecked and honest. “I need—more—god, girl, PLEASE—don’t stop sitting on me—don’t stop kissing me—don’t stop anything—”

His forehead dropped to your shoulder. His fingers curled tight at your hips. “If you pull away again,” he whispered, loud and dramatic even while breathless, “I will scream so loud Enjin will file a noise complaint.”

You laughed, sliding your fingers into his messy hair.

“I hate how much I like you,” he muttered into your neck, and then—mumbled even softer—“and how good you smell. And taste. And sit.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face. Cherry tint smeared on his lips. Glasses crooked. Hair ruined. Eyes hungry and undone.

God, he was a mess.

After that day, peace became a mythical creature. A rumor. A bedtime story. Because August had discovered that kissing you didn’t kill him. It only made him worse.

He was obsessed with you, loudly, dramatically, shamelessly and you let him. You let him hover, cling, nip at your calm like a caffeinated mosquito. But he still scared the absolute shit out of you at least once a day. You’d be minding your business, tying your hair back, drinking water, existing—and suddenly—

“HEY GIRL—” And your soul would leave your body through the roof.

Your hair ties? Gone within hours. They escaped, according to him. They “chose their new home.” Your scrunchies migrated to his wrists in packs, like wild animals. And every time you smacked his arm for stealing another, he just went soft-eyed and happy, like you’d complimented him.

If you kissed his cheek—just a tiny smooch—he almost detonated. He’d stomp in a circle, hands in the air, yelling incoherent things like, “SHE DID IT AGAIN—THIS IS NOT FAIR—I’M A VICTIM—”

If he stole a kiss in the hallway—quick, messy, his hand grabbing your waist like he was claiming stolen treasure—he acted normal for three seconds, then practically levitated with smugness.

He whispered the filthiest, stupidest things in your ear during meetings too, words that made you choke on your breath and nearly throw a shoe at him.

“Sit on my lap and pretend I’m a chair. It’ll improve morale.”

He was unbearable with others but with you? He was all of that plus something warmer, something softer, something that made your stomach curl in a way you absolutely refused to talk about.

And now, weeks later, you found him lying flat on his back on the HQ floor like a corpse. Again. Nothing new. He did that like it was a hobby.

So you simply stepped over him and sat right on his stomach.

He made a startled “OOF—” as the air punched out of him, eyes going wide before melting into total devotion. His hands immediately came up to hold your hips like gravity had finally given him a gift.

You leaned forward, tapped his nose with one finger and he blinked up at you, glasses crooked and hair in total disarray. “What’s going on in that little brain of yours, babe?” you asked, your tone warm, teasing, a little smug.

August stared up at you like you had just descended from the heavens to ruin him personally. He placed a hand over his chest, dramatically. “Babe,” he said softly—too softly for someone like him—then pitched his voice up, flustered and loud. “BABY. GIRL. PLEASE. You can’t just SIT on me like I’m a—like I’m a FLOOR DECORATION—”

“You were already on the floor,” you pointed out calmly, tucking your legs more securely around his hips. “I just joined you.”

“YOU JOINED—YOU—SAT—ON ME—oh my god—she sat—on me—” he rambled, voice cracking, eyes darting everywhere like someone had short-circuited his entire brain. “And then she BOOPED ME. Do you know what that does? To a man? A REAL man? A ME man???”

You grinned and leaned closer. “So what’re you thinking?”

He slapped both hands onto your thighs, not hard—just firm, warm, grounding himself so he wouldn’t float off the floor. His breath stuttered. His eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes, as if trying to decide whether to confess or combust.

“I am thinking—” he said in one long exhale, “that if you don’t stop being cute on purpose, I’m gonna pass out from emotional overheating.”

“Emotional overheating?” you repeated, laughing.

“Yes.” He nodded aggressively. “My brain is a toaster right now. It’s BURNT. You FRIED IT. With your ASS sitting on my SOLAR PLEXUS.”

You slid your hands up his chest slowly, deliberately. He trembled. Full-body. Like someone turned the gravity up inside him. “And you like that?” you asked quietly.

“LIKE??” he exploded, throwing his head back against the floor. “Girl, I am in LOVE with suffering if it’s from YOU—sit harder—no, wait, I didn’t mean it like that—I MEANT—WAIT—”

You laughed so hard he covered his face with both hands, groaning into them like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Then he peeked through his fingers at you, smile creeping back in, hot and flustered and adoring. “…Boop my nose again,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll kiss you after.” He paused. “Like, violently.”

You leaned down. Slow. Teasing. Deliciously cruel. He arched up into you like a live wire. When your finger reached his nose he made a tiny whimper you would absolutely tease him about later.

And true to his word, August surged up, grabbed your face in both hands, and kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

He became a constant orbit around you—messy, obsessed, clingy, dramatic—and you let him. You teased him back. Kissed him back. Sat on him whenever he sprawled on the floor. Let him explode in noise every time you touched him. And he only got worse. Softer. Needier.

One night—deep night, the kind where HQ hallways were quiet and lights dimmed—you were already in your bed, half-asleep, wrapped in your blanket. Finally. Silence.

Then: knock-knock-knock-KNOCK-KNOCK—

Your soul left your body.

You dragged yourself up, opened the door and August teleported inside. Literally. He moved with the speed of a feral raccoon that smelled food.

“I want you so bad I’m shaking,” he announced, way too hyped, way too loud, voice echoing down the hallway like he was confessing a murder.

Your eyes went wide. You slapped your hand over his mouth on instinct. “SHUT UP—” you hissed, half whisper, half strangled growl, “it is the middle of the night, oh my GOD, use your indoor voice for once in your goddamn LIFE—”

He blinked at you. Innocent. Wide-eyed. Already inhaling for another shout. You saw it coming.

He sucked in air—You slapped your hand back over his mouth instantly. “NO. Absolutely not. That’s your yelling breath. STOP IT.”

He whined loudly into your palm—deep, dramatic, and vibrating with pent-up chaos. His hands grabbed your waist, squeezing like he might burst if he didn’t touch you. Then he grabbed your shoulder with both hands and shook you a little like a dog shaking a toy.

“August—” you whispered, mortified, “please—stop—shaking me—”

He didn’t. He was vibrating. He was happy. He was turned on. And he was completely, utterly unhinged.

You pulled your hand away to scold him properly and he grabbed both your wrists.

Not rough. Just firm. Playful. And so full of want it made your knees weak. His grin was feral. “Okay. Listen. I’m being so respectful right now,” he whispered in a tone completely incompatible with the way he was breathing. “But I’m gonna do something stupid if you don’t stop me.”

“You are doing something stupid—”

“GOOD,” he said, far too proud.

He kicked the door shut behind you—loudly—locked it, then walked you backwards with a determined, chaotic energy that made your stomach flip. The moment your legs hit the bed—

He pushed you down. Not violently. Not forceful. Just needy with want glowing through every movement. He practically jumped onto you, arms braced on either side of your shoulders, hair falling into his eyes, glasses askew, before crashing his mouth onto yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cautious. A shocked laugh escaped you against his lips as he kissed you like he’d been holding it in for weeks. His hands grabbed yours, pinning them against the blanket, not hard—just to keep you there, keep you close.

“You’re gonna wake everyone—” you whispered into his mouth.

“I don’t care,” he whispered back, voice cracking, kissing you again. “I’ve wanted you all day. All week. Forever.”

He kissed you harder, his body weight sinking onto you, legs tangled with yours. His breath came fast against your cheek—warm, shaky, desperate. His fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer into the kiss until his whole body trembled with it.

“You’re shaking,” you murmured, nipping his bottom lip.

He whined softly, an embarrassing, beautiful sound and buried his face in your neck. “I TOLD YOU,” he practically sobbed into your skin. “I want you so bad—my legs are vibrating—my SOUL is vibrating—my everything is vibrating—kiss me again before I start SCREAMING.”

You clamped a hand over his mouth again. “Indoor voice.”

He nodded violently. Then kissed your palm. Then kissed you again.

Clothes? Gone.

How? Couldn’t say. Must’ve been the wind. Or gravity. Or maybe August’s hands had gotten so fast even physics gave up trying to track them.

One second you were just making out, the next you were both bare and tangled, him worshipping your skin with a desperation that was almost religious. The way he touched you—kissed you—like your whole body was a cathedral and he was a very unhinged, very loud pilgrim on a mission.

He was a menace. A very horny menace.

He spread your legs reverent and unhinged all at once. “So bendy—” he marvelled, like you were a new toy he’d just figured out, not a human with joints. Then—of course—he slapped his hard length right against your pubic bone, like it was some kind of ritual greeting, and bit his lip. “Mhm.” It was, somehow, both the most annoying and hottest thing he’d ever done.

The real problem? Even now—even while inside you, with you squirming under him and your hands all over his chest, he wouldn’t shut up.

August Stilza, self-declared saint of Not Knowing When to Be Quiet, kept talking. Dirty talk. Play-by-play. Running commentary like a sports announcer. Telling you how hot you were, how good you felt, how “fucking bendy” you were, how he was “definitely gonna see stars—wait, are those freckles? Adorable—oh god, do that again—”

But god you had enough.

You twisted, hips grinding, using his own momentum against him, and pushed him flat onto his back. You sat on him, one hand pinning his wrists above his head, the other planted firmly over his mouth. He looked up at you—eyes huge, wild, hair in full disarray, utterly, completely yours.

“Mhh—god—” he mumbled, eyes rolling a little with bliss.

You just stared at him. Deadpan. He tried to talk again. You pressed your hand harder.

“Indoor. Voice,” you said, dry as sand, watching him go a little cross-eyed from the mix of arousal and indignation.

His chest heaved beneath you, completely unable to stay still—so you tightened your thighs around his waist for good measure. He whined into your palm, that loud, strangled sound that was both complaint and praise.

You didn’t move your hand. Not yet. Not until he earned it. His hips bucked, he tried to talk, he tried to kiss your palm, he tried every trick in the book—nothing worked.

Finally, you arched your brow, unimpressed. “You done?”

He shook his head violently, eyes pleading.

You sighed, shifted your weight, and leaned in until your mouth was just at his ear. “If I take my hand away, are you going to be good?”

He nodded—immediately, enthusiastically, and you already knew it was a lie. You waited one more second. He wiggled under you, desperate, a little pathetic, a lot obsessed.

You grinned. Finally, you let go. And, as expected, the first thing out of his mouth, loud as ever, full volume, absolutely delighted—

“I’M NEVER GONNA BE GOOD, BABY—DO THAT AGAIN—”

You clamped your hand back down before he could finish. And he moaned, all muffled and filthy, like it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Honestly, for all his chaos, he made it worth it.

August’s hands shot up to your hips, fingers digging in, and suddenly all that pent-up, twitchy energy channeled straight into a rhythm so desperate it actually knocked the air out of you. He fucked up into you with all the subtlety of a man who’d spent weeks fantasizing about this exact scenario—messy, frantic, absolutely obsessed.

You gasped, whole body jolting, trying to keep your balance as he drove into you over and over, but then he started moaning.

Moaning, groaning, talking, praising, making every sound in the catalogue. No filter. No volume control. Just a relentless stream of filthy, shameless noise.

You slapped both hands over his mouth, pressing his cheeks together, trying to muffle the madness. It barely helped. His noises just changed shape, turning into low, breathy, muffled cries that vibrated straight into your palms. His eyes rolled up, lashes fluttering, hair splayed wild beneath him as he kept fucking up into you with a kind of needy worship that was equal parts reverent and ridiculous.

“Shut up, August,” you managed, breathless, half laughing, half overwhelmed.

He only fucked harder, as if the act of being silenced did something to his brain, his hands tight on your hips, dragging you down onto him, his whole body straining for more, for closer, for everything.

You pressed your hands even harder over his mouth, and he groaned, loud, desperate, and completely unashamed—eyes squeezing shut as his hips stuttered, his whole body shuddering with how much he needed you.

Every sound, every gasp, every bit of his wild devotion, all trapped under your palms until you felt your name, muffled and frantic, against your skin.

He wasn’t quiet. He would never be quiet. But god, the way he moved beneath you, the way he bucked up, the way he felt—You couldn’t complain.

And you wouldn’t. Not when his hands tightened, not when he pleaded into your palms, not when he looked up at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him shut up and the only thing that ever could. You leaned down, eyes meeting, hand still over his mouth, and whispered, “If you want to make noise, you better earn it.”

The way his hips jerked—yeah, he got the message.

And he tried even harder. Of course he did.

The sun was barely crawling through the window when you finally surfaced, blinking, sore in that delicious, bone-deep way that only ever meant one thing: August had, once again, made good on his promise to ruin your night’s sleep. In every sense.

You shifted under the blanket and immediately felt him and his whole body pressed up behind you, big and sprawling and clinging like he’d grown roots in the mattress. One long, warm arm was tucked under your head, cradling you. The other snaked around your waist, palm splayed possessively across your stomach, his thumb curled just under your breast.

He was nuzzling into your shoulder, breath warm against your skin, his face half-buried in the mess of your hair. Every now and then he mumbled something incoherent, probably a compliment, probably a brag, probably just “mine, mine, mine” in that half-conscious, half-feral way of his. His legs were tangled hopelessly with yours, one knee slotted between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You didn’t dare move. He was heavy, yes. And clingy, definitely. But he was also perfect. The perfect weight, the perfect heat, the perfect mess of limbs and possessive hands and wild morning hair and the tiniest smile brushing your shoulder as he sighed in his sleep.

You lay there for a long moment, letting yourself enjoy it—the ache in your thighs, the warmth of his chest at your back, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. The utter stillness after weeks of noise.

Then he tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, humming drowsily as his hand slid up your ribs just enough to make your breath hitch. He pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, then grinned against your skin.

“Mornin’, princess trouble,” he mumbled, voice hoarse, eyes still closed, mouth slurring the words with a satisfaction that was all August. “You sleep good? ‘Cause I didn’t. Wonder why.”

You snorted, too exhausted to scold him. You just leaned back into him, tangled and claimed and completely, absolutely his. He squeezed you a little tighter. “I’m not done cuddling. Or gloating.”

You smiled, shutting your eyes, letting him hold you. Yeah. Perfect.

You both drifted in and out of sleep, tangled in warmth, the morning creeping by slow and hazy. You weren’t sure when you started to doze off again, but the next thing you heard wasn’t a gentle whisper or a sleepy kiss—it was a voice echoing through the entire HQ like the wrath of God.

“AUGUST—!”

Enjin’s yell rattled the walls. You barely had a second to process it before August jolted upright, nearly launching you off the bed. He gasped, wild-eyed, hair in every possible direction. “Oh fuck—I forgot my deadline—oh god, that was due two days ago—” he half-yelled, already tumbling out of the sheets.

You watched, half-delirious, as he scrambled to find his pants. He yanked them on at a speed that defied the laws of physics, buttoning them crooked, shoving a leg through backwards, then shoving his shirt over his head so fast it landed inside out. He didn’t care. He looked at you with one last, frantic, lovesick grin. You just laughed, buried yourself under the blanket, and listened to him half-trip over his own feet as he charged toward the door.

“COMING!” he hollered back, voice cracking, slamming the door behind him. You cackled, muffled and gleeful, alone in the soft echo of his chaos.

A few minutes passed before you stretched and tried to gather yourself, bracing for the day. You reached over the side of the bed, fishing for your underwear—fingers sweeping along the floorboards, searching for that familiar fabric.

Nothing. You frowned. You looked. Nothing under the bed, nothing on the nightstand, nothing caught on the sheets or the back of the chair.

You sat up, blanket still around your shoulders, and scanned the room.

Nowhere.

And then, like a curse, the realization hit you:

That bastard had taken your goddamn panties with him. As a trophy. Or a security blanket. Or just because he was a menace with no boundaries and too much affection for your suffering.

Of course he did. Of course.

You let your head flop back on the pillow, half laughing, half groaning at the ceiling. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, grinning despite yourself.

Somewhere down the hall, you could already picture him smirking, flushed, grinning to himself as he tucked your underwear into his pocket like it was a prize. Probably bragging to nobody. Definitely thinking about you.

You pulled the blanket tighter and resolved to get him back for it.

Eventually.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.

© ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛɢʜᴏᴜʟ

Your soul left your body, grabbed a suitcase, and booked a train to anywhere else. Your heart plummeted straight into your ass but your face stayed painfully neutral out of pure pride.

August burst through the doorway like a grenade with legs, voice echoing off every wall in HQ. Before you could blink, he launched himself onto the couch, half on you, half on gravity’s mercy, draping across your thighs with zero dignity and even less stability. You made a noise of protest that he absolutely ignored.

His hand shot out, snatching your claw clip mid-air like he was catching prey. “Gotcha,” he crooned, already clicking it open and closed obnoxiously near your face like a deranged baby bird demanding worms. Click. Click. Click.

You narrowed your eyes. “August—”

He clipped it into your hair. Not even nicely. Not even functionally. Just somewhere on your face. You exhaled through your nose so hard your soul might’ve re-entered your body for a moment.

He wasn’t done. He plucked the clip back out, inspected it like treasure, then clipped it proudly to the strap of his dungarees—right next to the other three he’d stolen this week alone.

“I. missed. you.” Each word punctuated with another smug little click of the clip. His grin was so stupidly wide you felt your annoyance crack at the edges.

You tried to go back to tying your hair—failing, because he was basically sprawled across your lap like a cat that had never been denied anything in its life. You pushed lightly at his shoulder and he responded by melting deeper into you, head landing against your thigh like he’d died dramatically for attention.

Then he noticed your chapstick. “—oooh. shiny…” he murmured, pupils dilating like a crow discovering a loose coin.

“No,” you said immediately, lifting your chin in fake authority. Your mouth was already fighting a smile.

He ignored the refusal, as always and leaned in, really close, practically nose-to-nose with you, like he was trying to inhale the cherry scent without admitting he liked it. He watched your lips with embarrassing focus. “This one’s new,” he murmured, voice dropping half an octave like he was studying an artifact. “It’s got—what’s that—glitter? Is it edible? If I lick it, will I die? Can I try it? Let me try it.”

You grabbed his face with both hands before he did something stupid, your palms warm on his cheeks, thumbs brushing over felted charcoal smudges he’d never washed off. August froze, muscles going quiet like you’d hit an off-switch he didn’t know he had.

Then you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. A little tint left behind. A little shimmer. A little claim he absolutely felt.

He made a sound. Not a normal human sound. A delighted, smug, dying-bird coo that vibrated straight into your kneecaps.

“—awwwww sick,” he said, touching the stained spot like he’d been knighted. “I will wear it with honor.” He puffed out his chest like a rooster. “People are gonna think I fought a sparkly ghost and lost.”

“You would lose,” you said, and he gasped as if wounded.

“You wound me every day,” he declared, rolling dramatically across your lap until he ended up upside-down, head hanging off the couch, hair brushing the floor. He peered up at you from this cursed angle. “Do it again.”

“No.”

“One more.”

“No.”

“Half a one.”

“There’s no such—”

He sat up so fast your mirror almost fell from your hand. He caught it, flipped it open, and angled it toward your face in a ridiculous imitation of your earlier pose. “Look,” he said, tapping the glass he had drawn tiny smeared flowers over, “you can see the cherry color better in my mirror. It’s got charm. It’s got artistic integrity. It’s got me.”

“You literally vandalized it.”

“You kept it,” he sang, leaning his entire weight onto your shoulder again, heavy and warm and absolutely starved for touch in a way he pretended was casual. “Which means you love my art. And me.”

“Definitely not you.”

“Ohhh she lies,” he said, nuzzling his forehead against yours like an affectionate gremlin. “Tiny, tiny lies from a tiny, tiny heart.”

You flicked his forehead. “My heart is not tiny.”

He gasped. “Violence.”

You didn’t answer, only smoothed a hand through his hair—because he was already in your lap, and honestly, resistance at this point felt fictional. He melted instantly, like he’d been waiting all day for someone to pet him. His eyes fluttered, his breath went embarrassingly soft, his shoulders slumped. A stray strand of your hair fell into your face, he pushed it back behind your ear, solemn for two seconds before he ruined it.

“I’m keeping this clip,” he whispered proudly.

“You’re not.”

“It’s already clipped. Nothing can stop me now.”

“August.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Give it back.”

He tightened his arms around your waist. “Come take it.”

You swatted him. He laughed so loudly half the HQ probably assumed someone was being murdered. You couldn’t help it and grinned.

He buried his face in your shoulder, voice muffled and smug. “Mmm. Cherry flavor. Maybe tomorrow you should do… peach. Or mint. Or something that tastes like danger. I’ll find it. I’ll judge it. I’ll steal it.”

“You’re not tasting my chapstick.”

“We’ll see,” he whispered, sounding unbearably pleased with himself.

August’s obsession didn’t calm down after that couch incident—if anything it escalated into a lifestyle choice. He was suddenly everywhere, bursting through hallways, dropping onto couches, hanging off doorframes like a problematic chandelier. Every time you walked past him, he had at least four of your hair ties banded around one wrist, a scrunchie puffing up the other like some ridiculous statement piece, and a claw clip proudly clipped to his dungaree strap like war decoration.

You pretended to glare every time. You said things like “Give it back.” You rolled your eyes. You scolded. You acted bothered.

But every time you caught sight of your stuff on him—bright little pieces of you sitting against his denim, dangling from his wrist, hugging his hair—your chest warmed in a way that made you want to strangle him lovingly.

He, of course, noticed every flicker of softness you tried to suffocate. And he fed on it.

He visited your room constantly. Not to see you—no, of course not. That would be too normal. Too honest. He came to “borrow” things, which meant entering silently like a raccoon, scanning the shelves, and stealing whatever glimmered. One morning you realized a whole small bowl of your clips had vanished. Another day, your ribbon was gone. Another—your mirror. The one he decorated. He claimed he was “updating the art.”

If you tried to scold him, he would cup your chin between his fingers dramatically, kiss your forehead without warning, and say, “Shhhh. Art in progress.”

You shoved him. He cackled.

So when you heard him in the hallway the next morning—howling—like actual guttural, animalistic, deeply unwell howling—it didn’t shock you. It only made you sigh and march toward it.

His door was half open, the inside already radiating the unmistakable aura of August: chaos, loudness, and the faint scent of metal and sweat. You slid the door the rest of the way open.

“You good?” you asked, voice flat, as your eyes slowly adjusted to the war crime that was his room.

August spun toward you with wild eyes—hair sticking up like he fought a wind god, one of your scrunchies barely hanging on by a thread. “You—YOU—cannot just—YOU GOTTA WARN ME WHEN YOU COME IN I’M BUSY—”

You stepped inside. Took two more steps. Then gasped.

Because in the corner of his shelves, crowded together like rare artifacts—were your things. Your clips. Your ties. Your mirror. Your old broken bangle. A ribbon you lost three days ago. A folded piece of paper you’d doodled on. Everything arranged in an absurd little shrine. “August…” you breathed. “That’s my—my—my stuff!”

He puffed up like a pigeon protecting its eggs. “That’s my you altar!” he declared proudly.

“Your—WHAT—” you sputtered, pointing at it. “That’s my shit!”

“Nuh uh,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.

Your eye twitched. “Fuck you mean nuh uh?!”

He leaned forward defiantly. “Nuh UH.”

You stared at him, full offense activated. “You did not just ‘nuh uh’ me.”

He nodded slowly. “Nuh.” Then again. “Uh.”

You threw your hands in the air. “August that doesn’t MEAN anything!”

“It means,” he said, pacing in a circle like a lawyer preparing a case he absolutely should not be allowed to deliver, “that you left these items unattended. And I—kind, gentle, generous—rescued them. For art. Meaning they’re mine now.”

“That is not how property works.”

“That is EXACTLY how property works,” he argued, grabbing one of your ribbons and twirling it around his finger like it was a rosary. “If I love it enough, it’s mine.”

“That’s not a rule!”

“It is NOW,” he shouted triumphantly.

You scrubbed a hand over your face. “Oh my god I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he said instantly, pointing at you with the same ribbon. “You kissed me. You love me actually.”

“That was your cheek!”

“Still counts!”

“No it doesn’t—”

He marched up to you, shoved the ribbon into your hand, then grabbed your wrist in return. You nearly jumped at the contact because he was warm, too warm for someone who complained about literally everything else being warm. His hand clamped around yours like he was anchoring himself, eyes squinting at you with that ridiculous too-happy expression he got whenever he felt seen.

“You came into my room,” he announced, voice dipping into a theatrical whisper. “Which makes you obsessed with me.”

“I came in because you were SCREAMING.”

“That’s attraction.”

“That’s concern.”

“For ME,” he added, leaning in so close your noses almost brushed. “Obsessive. Dangerous. Passionate concern.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, but you didn’t pull away.

He noticed. Oh, he noticed. August’s grin spread across his face like a sunrise if the sun was unhinged and needed therapy. “What chapstick is it today?” he asked, switching topics like a feral magpie, eyes dropping to your mouth immediately.

“Cherry. Again.”

“Ohhh,” he hummed, licking his lips exaggeratedly. “The shrine approves.”

“It’s not a shrine—”

“My YOU altar,” he corrected, reaching past you and adjusting one of your claw clips like he was arranging flowers. “Gonna grow it. Gonna expand it. Gonna steal more.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can’t stop me. I’m fast.” He wiggled his hands like spirit fingers. “Fast and motivated.”

You bit your cheek to hide a smile. He caught it immediately and lit up like a lantern.

“Awwwww,” he cooed, leaning all of his weight against your shoulder until you staggered. “She likes it.”

“I DON’T.”

“She wants to kiss me again.”

“NO I do not—”

“Then why you standing so close, hm?” he whispered, eyes sparkling with feral triumph.

You pushed him away and he stumbled dramatically, fell onto the floor, and yelled loudly enough to alert everyone in a three-room radius. Then he sat up, ribbon still tied between his fingers, and grinned up at you.

“You’re lucky I’m in love with you,” he said casually.

You froze. He blinked. You blinked. Then he shot finger guns. “—with your STUFF. In love with your STUFF. Your items. Your belongings. Your… things.” He coughed violently. “Deeply romantic feelings only for accessories.”

You took one single step toward the altar when something slammed into your waist from behind. August launched off the floor like a missile made of denim and chaos, arms hooking around you as if you were a prize he had been training for his entire life. Your balance vanished. The world tilted. You landed right in his lap with a graceless thud as he dragged you backward.

“YOU absolute asshole!” you yelled, palms smacking against his chest as he only held you tighter, legs bracketing your hips like he was trying to glue you to him permanently.

He gasped dramatically, clutching you harder and swaying like the two of you were in some romantic spinning ballroom instead of on a filthy HQ floor. “Babygiiiirl, that’s my stuff, my stand, my altar, MY ART,” he declared at full August volume, breath hot against your ear as you tried to pry his fingers off. “You leave your little gremlin fingers away from it! I curated that with love! With soul! With passion!”

He wriggled his own fingers right in front of your face like he thought jazz hands could win arguments. They were long, lanky and the sheer arrogance of them made you lean forward and bite one.

“OW—OHMYGOD—SHE’S BITING ME!” he shrieked, yanking his hand back while shaking it, eyes wide with betrayal and delight all at once. “Nobody appreciates artists anymore! I suffer! I bleed for my craft!”

“You stole my shit,” you hissed, trying to twist off his lap, but he tightened his grip around your waist like a vice, dragging you even closer. His laugh erupted out of him—loud, full-bodied, unhinged—the kind that shot straight through your ribs and made you want to slam him into the nearest wall and kiss him just to shut him up.

“You love when I steal your shit,” he said with a voice so smug it practically shimmered.

“No, I—”

“Yes, you do,” he sing-songed, nose brushing your cheek as he tried to peek at your expression. “Every time I clip your claw clip on my strap I see your little smiiiileee—”

“I do NOT smile!”

“Mm-hm. Sure, sweetheart. You frown in happiness. It’s adorable.”

You elbowed him. Hard. He groaned dramatically, letting his head fall back and his arms fall even lower on your waist like you had just mortally wounded him in a very sexy Shakespeare play.

“Why are you like this,” you groaned.

“Because you make me like this,” he shot back immediately, tightening his arms again like he expected you to run. “Now stop trying to steal my altar offerings or I’ll have to—ah—hey—HEY—stop leaning—STOP—”

Because you had leaned forward again—this time trying to grab the scrunchie he had yanked from your hair earlier. He used his entire torso to drag you backward, limbs flailing, both of you yelling over each other. You were so loud neither of you heard the footsteps outside.

Enjin slid the door open. The silence that hit the room was violent.

He stared at the scene with the blank, exhausted face of a man who was absolutely done with both of you. Your hair was a mess, your shirt slightly wrinkled from being wrestled. August had one arm around your waist, the other planted on your hip like he was posing for a very inappropriate portrait. His glasses were hanging crooked off one ear, hair sticking up in every possible direction, claw clip still attached proudly to his strap, and he looked entirely too happy for someone caught in such a compromising position.

“…What the hell are you two doing?” Enjin asked in a low, tired voice, like he already regretted opening his mouth.

You froze. August froze. Even the dust motes in the air froze. The only thing moving was August’s chest against your back as he inhaled sharply, then—he laughed. Loud. Obnoxious. The kind of laugh that shook his whole body and made his arm squeeze you accidentally tighter. His grin split across his face like a demon waking up.

“Ohhh~~ ENJINNNN,” he purred, flipping his hair back with a single obscene motion that did absolutely nothing to fix how deranged he looked. His grin widened even further. “Didn’t know you were into performance art.”

“Performance—” you sputtered, trying to get off his lap, but August locked his arms around you like a koala that refused to acknowledge breakups. “August, let go—”

“No,” he whispered, eyes gleaming as he looked up at Enjin like this was the best morning of his entire life. “She tried to steal from my altar. I defended my faith.”

“That is NOT—”

“RELIGION,” August declared, looking at you again with gleeful intensity. “Love is religion. I am devout.”

Enjin stared for a long, painful second. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m leaving,” he muttered, sliding the door shut so forcefully dust drifted from the ceiling.

You sat frozen in August’s lap until the footsteps faded. Then you twisted around and smacked his shoulder. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he shot back, voice still bright with that reckless heat that made your stomach twist. He leaned forward, glasses sliding even lower, eyes flicking to your lips again. “Is that cherry chapstick still on? Lemme see.”

“You’re not getting a taste.”

He grinned, pulling you closer by the waist again. “We’ll see about that.”

You shoved him, laughing despite yourself, and August lit up like you’d handed him the sun. “Round two?” he asked, already bracing to tackle you again.

“Try it,” you warned, “and I’ll bite harder.”

He grinned like you’d just proposed marriage and only leaned back for a second, not to release you, no, never that—but just far enough to look at you like he’d already won whatever game he thought you were playing. One arm stayed locked around your waist, palm warm on your hip, fingers flexing like he was making sure you wouldn’t escape even if you tried.

“No chance, girlypop,” he purred, voice hot and smug and way too pleased with himself. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You narrowed your eyes and grabbed him by the collar—fisting the fabric, yanking him toward you so fast his glasses slid halfway off his face. His breath hitched, barely noticeable but there, and your lips quirked because you felt the shift in him. The moment where his bravado cracked just enough to show the burn beneath it. “You are obnoxious,” you hissed, pulling him closer until your noses were almost touching. “An obnoxious thief.”

He gasped dramatically—one hand flying to his chest. “Me?” he exclaimed, eyes wide with fake betrayal. “Moi? A thief? A criminal? An innocent, humble artist accused of—”

You tugged the collar even harder. His rant cut off with a small stunned noise that he’d deny until death.

He slid his glasses up into his hair with one slow push, revealing those sharper, unfiltered eyes beneath. They flicked down at your mouth, then back up—something hungry, playful, and absolutely dangerous sparking behind them.

“You shouldn’t hold me like that,” he said, voice dropping a tone too deep. “I’ll do something stupid.”

Before you could answer, he hooked his free hand behind your back and pulled you straight into him—chest to chest, breath to breath, heat to heat. It wasn’t dramatic this time. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even playful. It was deliberate.

He tilted his head, lips brushing yours, barely a breath away but close enough that you felt the shape of his smile curve against your skin. “Say it again,” he whispered like it was a dare. “Call me obnoxious.”

“You are.”

“And a thief?”

“That too.”

He grinned. It was fast, reckless, almost clumsy with how badly he wanted it, his mouth crashing into yours with all the pent-up chaos he had been vibrating with since the second you stepped into his room. His hand tightened on your waist, fingers digging just enough to pull you down fully into his lap, and you felt his whole body melt and ignite at the same time.

He tasted the cherry chapstick. You felt him react instantly, his breath shuddering through his nose, a low satisfied noise caught somewhere in his chest as he deepened the kiss like he’d been waiting weeks for it. His thumb stroked your hip, his other hand slid up your back, holding you like if he let go you’d disappear entirely.

You pushed back. Hard. He made a noise—half surprised, half starving—and kissed you even harder, laughing breathlessly against your mouth because of course he did. Of course August Stilza would laugh during a kiss. When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. Just a few centimeters. Just enough to look at you with his lips swollen and tinted red from your chapstick.

“Ohhhhhh,” he breathed, voice cracked with delight. “I’m gonna be intolerable now.”

“You already are.”

He cupped your jaw with both hands like you were something breakable. “Babygirl…that was criminal. That was theft. YOU stole my soul. I should arrest you. Or kiss you again. Maybe both.”

You shoved his face lightly. He just laughed, loud and obnoxious and so happy.

You didn’t even give him time to finish that smug little inhale he was taking—your hands slid up, cupping his face firmly between your palms, thumbs brushing the high points of his cheeks, and you pulled him back in for another kiss.

This time you kissed him first and August made a sound so helplessly startled, so soft, so needy, so unlike the loud feral gremlin he pretended to be, that it shot straight through your spine.

A tiny whimper. Barely a breath.

His fingers tightened on your waist instantly, the grip nearly bruising as he tried to anchor himself from melting straight into the floor. His whole body jolted like he hadn’t prepared for affection to come in such a direct strike. He kissed back messily, desperately, chasing your mouth when you pulled a tiny bit away just to breathe.

God.

He made you want to strangle him. He made you want to laugh. He made you want to bite him just to hear that sound again.

“That was sweet,” you said against his lips.

He blinked up at you like you’d personally unplugged his brain. His lips were tinted cherry from your gloss; his glasses were still shoved up in his messy hair; his pupils blown wide like he was in danger of confessing something he wasn’t ready for.

“Girl—” he whispered, voice wrecked, breath shaky, “you are going to kill me…”

But even as he said it, his hand slid behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he pulled you back down into him again like he couldn’t live a full second without your mouth on his.

This kiss was hotter and hungrier, his lips parting under yours as he chased every movement, every shift of your breath. His thigh tensed beneath you, his shoulders shaking with how hard he tried not to groan. He laughed into your mouth once, that bright chaotic laugh that made your teeth vibrate, then kissed you deeper as if to make up for it.

“God,” he managed when he surfaced for a heartbeat, nose brushing yours. “Do that again. Do that again or I’m gonna lose my whole mind—”

“You don’t have a mind,” you shot back, breathless.

“EXACTLY,” he replied, dragging you forward by the waist until you collapsed fully against him. “YOU TOOK IT—you—that was theft—criminal intent—premeditated—kiss me again—”

You grabbed him by the collar again and he practically moaned. The noise was choked, cut off immediately like he didn’t mean to make it, but it was there. Oh, it was there.

You pulled back—barely. Not even a full hand’s width, just enough for air to cool between your lips and for August to feel the loss like a punch to the solar plexus.

His breath hitched. His hands froze on your waist. His pupils stayed blown-out and heavy, fixed on your mouth like he could drag it back to his with sheer willpower. And then the realization hit him.

You were teasing him. You were doing this on purpose.

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, something between a gasp and a wounded animal yelp. He followed you forward instinctively, almost chasing your mouth, but your hand flattened on his chest to hold him back. That tiny barrier, your palm against him, your weight still settled across his lap, made his whole body tense.

“Ohhh you—” he managed, voice cracking embarrassingly as he tried to keep the volume down and completely failed, “you EVIL woman—don’t pull away, why did you pull away—come back—what are you DOING—”

You raised one brow, slow and deliberate. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked at you like you’d just shot him point-blank. “What’s—WHAT’S—girl, PLEASE—”

His voice broke on the last word. Broke. And you had never seen him lose his swagger so completely, so fast. You shifted on his lap just a little, only a shift of weight and he sucked in a breath so sharp it could’ve cut glass.

“Don’t—move—like that—” he choked out, voice gone thin with tension, and then immediately clapped a hand over his own mouth as if he hadn’t meant to say it.

You smiled. Slowly. Sweetly. Wickedly. He looked like he might die on the spot.

“Oh my god,” he whispered through his fingers. “You’re TRYING to kill me. This is murder. Premeditated. You’re sitting here—on ME—and doing THIS—on purpose—”

“Hmm,” you hummed, leaning in close enough for your breath to brush his cheek but not touching, not giving him what he wanted. “Maybe.”

He practically bucked under you.

“STOP,” he squeaked, voice going high with panic and need, “you can’t just—say it like that—girl—PLEASE—kiss me again, I’m begging. I’ll bark. I’ll scream. I’ll confess to crimes I didn’t do—just—COME BACK—”

You tilted your head, letting your lips hover a hair above his. “Why? You seemed fine.”

He grabbed your waist with both hands, fingers digging in—not rough, just desperate. His glasses slid further back in his hair as he stared up at you with the most chaotic, flustered expression imaginable.

“I’m NOT fine,” he blurted. “I’m the opposite of fine. I’m—look at me—I’m malfunctioning—my brain is soup—I can’t even form threats—I just want your mouth—PLEASE.”

You stifled a laugh behind your fingertips. His ears went red.

“Are you… embarrassed?” you teased softly.

August slapped a palm against the floor behind him and practically howled, “I AM AROUSED AND OFFENDED, ACTUALLY—”

You snorted and finally leaned in again, brushing your lips over the corner of his mouth without fully kissing him.

He shuddered. Entirely. Visibly.

“PLEASE,” he whispered, all the volume knocked clean out of him. “Don’t tease. Don’t be nice and mean at the same time. You’re gonna break me in half.”

You kissed him then—savoring the way he melted instantly, hands gripping your waist like he needed you steady on him. His whole body went hot under your touch, every breath shaky, every movement chasing yours with an urgency he couldn’t hide anymore. When you pulled away again, just a breath, he followed helplessly. “You good?” you asked, smiling against his mouth.

“No,” he said immediately, voice wrecked and honest. “I need—more—god, girl, PLEASE—don’t stop sitting on me—don’t stop kissing me—don’t stop anything—”

His forehead dropped to your shoulder. His fingers curled tight at your hips. “If you pull away again,” he whispered, loud and dramatic even while breathless, “I will scream so loud Enjin will file a noise complaint.”

You laughed, sliding your fingers into his messy hair.

“I hate how much I like you,” he muttered into your neck, and then—mumbled even softer—“and how good you smell. And taste. And sit.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face. Cherry tint smeared on his lips. Glasses crooked. Hair ruined. Eyes hungry and undone.

God, he was a mess.

After that day, peace became a mythical creature. A rumor. A bedtime story. Because August had discovered that kissing you didn’t kill him. It only made him worse.

He was obsessed with you, loudly, dramatically, shamelessly and you let him. You let him hover, cling, nip at your calm like a caffeinated mosquito. But he still scared the absolute shit out of you at least once a day. You’d be minding your business, tying your hair back, drinking water, existing—and suddenly—

“HEY GIRL—” And your soul would leave your body through the roof.

Your hair ties? Gone within hours. They escaped, according to him. They “chose their new home.” Your scrunchies migrated to his wrists in packs, like wild animals. And every time you smacked his arm for stealing another, he just went soft-eyed and happy, like you’d complimented him.

If you kissed his cheek—just a tiny smooch—he almost detonated. He’d stomp in a circle, hands in the air, yelling incoherent things like, “SHE DID IT AGAIN—THIS IS NOT FAIR—I’M A VICTIM—”

If he stole a kiss in the hallway—quick, messy, his hand grabbing your waist like he was claiming stolen treasure—he acted normal for three seconds, then practically levitated with smugness.

He whispered the filthiest, stupidest things in your ear during meetings too, words that made you choke on your breath and nearly throw a shoe at him.

“Sit on my lap and pretend I’m a chair. It’ll improve morale.”

He was unbearable with others but with you? He was all of that plus something warmer, something softer, something that made your stomach curl in a way you absolutely refused to talk about.

And now, weeks later, you found him lying flat on his back on the HQ floor like a corpse. Again. Nothing new. He did that like it was a hobby.

So you simply stepped over him and sat right on his stomach.

He made a startled “OOF—” as the air punched out of him, eyes going wide before melting into total devotion. His hands immediately came up to hold your hips like gravity had finally given him a gift.

You leaned forward, tapped his nose with one finger and he blinked up at you, glasses crooked and hair in total disarray. “What’s going on in that little brain of yours, babe?” you asked, your tone warm, teasing, a little smug.

August stared up at you like you had just descended from the heavens to ruin him personally. He placed a hand over his chest, dramatically. “Babe,” he said softly—too softly for someone like him—then pitched his voice up, flustered and loud. “BABY. GIRL. PLEASE. You can’t just SIT on me like I’m a—like I’m a FLOOR DECORATION—”

“You were already on the floor,” you pointed out calmly, tucking your legs more securely around his hips. “I just joined you.”

“YOU JOINED—YOU—SAT—ON ME—oh my god—she sat—on me—” he rambled, voice cracking, eyes darting everywhere like someone had short-circuited his entire brain. “And then she BOOPED ME. Do you know what that does? To a man? A REAL man? A ME man???”

You grinned and leaned closer. “So what’re you thinking?”

He slapped both hands onto your thighs, not hard—just firm, warm, grounding himself so he wouldn’t float off the floor. His breath stuttered. His eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes, as if trying to decide whether to confess or combust.

“I am thinking—” he said in one long exhale, “that if you don’t stop being cute on purpose, I’m gonna pass out from emotional overheating.”

“Emotional overheating?” you repeated, laughing.

“Yes.” He nodded aggressively. “My brain is a toaster right now. It’s BURNT. You FRIED IT. With your ASS sitting on my SOLAR PLEXUS.”

You slid your hands up his chest slowly, deliberately. He trembled. Full-body. Like someone turned the gravity up inside him. “And you like that?” you asked quietly.

“LIKE??” he exploded, throwing his head back against the floor. “Girl, I am in LOVE with suffering if it’s from YOU—sit harder—no, wait, I didn’t mean it like that—I MEANT—WAIT—”

You laughed so hard he covered his face with both hands, groaning into them like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Then he peeked through his fingers at you, smile creeping back in, hot and flustered and adoring. “…Boop my nose again,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll kiss you after.” He paused. “Like, violently.”

You leaned down. Slow. Teasing. Deliciously cruel. He arched up into you like a live wire. When your finger reached his nose he made a tiny whimper you would absolutely tease him about later.

And true to his word, August surged up, grabbed your face in both hands, and kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

He became a constant orbit around you—messy, obsessed, clingy, dramatic—and you let him. You teased him back. Kissed him back. Sat on him whenever he sprawled on the floor. Let him explode in noise every time you touched him. And he only got worse. Softer. Needier.

One night—deep night, the kind where HQ hallways were quiet and lights dimmed—you were already in your bed, half-asleep, wrapped in your blanket. Finally. Silence.

Then: knock-knock-knock-KNOCK-KNOCK—

Your soul left your body.

You dragged yourself up, opened the door and August teleported inside. Literally. He moved with the speed of a feral raccoon that smelled food.

“I want you so bad I’m shaking,” he announced, way too hyped, way too loud, voice echoing down the hallway like he was confessing a murder.

Your eyes went wide. You slapped your hand over his mouth on instinct. “SHUT UP—” you hissed, half whisper, half strangled growl, “it is the middle of the night, oh my GOD, use your indoor voice for once in your goddamn LIFE—”

He blinked at you. Innocent. Wide-eyed. Already inhaling for another shout. You saw it coming.

He sucked in air—You slapped your hand back over his mouth instantly. “NO. Absolutely not. That’s your yelling breath. STOP IT.”

He whined loudly into your palm—deep, dramatic, and vibrating with pent-up chaos. His hands grabbed your waist, squeezing like he might burst if he didn’t touch you. Then he grabbed your shoulder with both hands and shook you a little like a dog shaking a toy.

“August—” you whispered, mortified, “please—stop—shaking me—”

He didn’t. He was vibrating. He was happy. He was turned on. And he was completely, utterly unhinged.

You pulled your hand away to scold him properly and he grabbed both your wrists.

Not rough. Just firm. Playful. And so full of want it made your knees weak. His grin was feral. “Okay. Listen. I’m being so respectful right now,” he whispered in a tone completely incompatible with the way he was breathing. “But I’m gonna do something stupid if you don’t stop me.”

“You are doing something stupid—”

“GOOD,” he said, far too proud.

He kicked the door shut behind you—loudly—locked it, then walked you backwards with a determined, chaotic energy that made your stomach flip. The moment your legs hit the bed—

He pushed you down. Not violently. Not forceful. Just needy with want glowing through every movement. He practically jumped onto you, arms braced on either side of your shoulders, hair falling into his eyes, glasses askew, before crashing his mouth onto yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cautious. A shocked laugh escaped you against his lips as he kissed you like he’d been holding it in for weeks. His hands grabbed yours, pinning them against the blanket, not hard—just to keep you there, keep you close.

“You’re gonna wake everyone—” you whispered into his mouth.

“I don’t care,” he whispered back, voice cracking, kissing you again. “I’ve wanted you all day. All week. Forever.”

He kissed you harder, his body weight sinking onto you, legs tangled with yours. His breath came fast against your cheek—warm, shaky, desperate. His fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you closer into the kiss until his whole body trembled with it.

“You’re shaking,” you murmured, nipping his bottom lip.

He whined softly, an embarrassing, beautiful sound and buried his face in your neck. “I TOLD YOU,” he practically sobbed into your skin. “I want you so bad—my legs are vibrating—my SOUL is vibrating—my everything is vibrating—kiss me again before I start SCREAMING.”

You clamped a hand over his mouth again. “Indoor voice.”

He nodded violently. Then kissed your palm. Then kissed you again.

Clothes? Gone.

How? Couldn’t say. Must’ve been the wind. Or gravity. Or maybe August’s hands had gotten so fast even physics gave up trying to track them.

One second you were just making out, the next you were both bare and tangled, him worshipping your skin with a desperation that was almost religious. The way he touched you—kissed you—like your whole body was a cathedral and he was a very unhinged, very loud pilgrim on a mission.

He was a menace. A very horny menace.

He spread your legs reverent and unhinged all at once. “So bendy—” he marvelled, like you were a new toy he’d just figured out, not a human with joints. Then—of course—he slapped his hard length right against your pubic bone, like it was some kind of ritual greeting, and bit his lip. “Mhm.” It was, somehow, both the most annoying and hottest thing he’d ever done.

The real problem? Even now—even while inside you, with you squirming under him and your hands all over his chest, he wouldn’t shut up.

August Stilza, self-declared saint of Not Knowing When to Be Quiet, kept talking. Dirty talk. Play-by-play. Running commentary like a sports announcer. Telling you how hot you were, how good you felt, how “fucking bendy” you were, how he was “definitely gonna see stars—wait, are those freckles? Adorable—oh god, do that again—”

But god you had enough.

You twisted, hips grinding, using his own momentum against him, and pushed him flat onto his back. You sat on him, one hand pinning his wrists above his head, the other planted firmly over his mouth. He looked up at you—eyes huge, wild, hair in full disarray, utterly, completely yours.

“Mhh—god—” he mumbled, eyes rolling a little with bliss.

You just stared at him. Deadpan. He tried to talk again. You pressed your hand harder.

“Indoor. Voice,” you said, dry as sand, watching him go a little cross-eyed from the mix of arousal and indignation.

His chest heaved beneath you, completely unable to stay still—so you tightened your thighs around his waist for good measure. He whined into your palm, that loud, strangled sound that was both complaint and praise.

You didn’t move your hand. Not yet. Not until he earned it. His hips bucked, he tried to talk, he tried to kiss your palm, he tried every trick in the book—nothing worked.

Finally, you arched your brow, unimpressed. “You done?”

He shook his head violently, eyes pleading.

You sighed, shifted your weight, and leaned in until your mouth was just at his ear. “If I take my hand away, are you going to be good?”

He nodded—immediately, enthusiastically, and you already knew it was a lie. You waited one more second. He wiggled under you, desperate, a little pathetic, a lot obsessed.

You grinned. Finally, you let go. And, as expected, the first thing out of his mouth, loud as ever, full volume, absolutely delighted—

“I’M NEVER GONNA BE GOOD, BABY—DO THAT AGAIN—”

You clamped your hand back down before he could finish. And he moaned, all muffled and filthy, like it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Honestly, for all his chaos, he made it worth it.

August’s hands shot up to your hips, fingers digging in, and suddenly all that pent-up, twitchy energy channeled straight into a rhythm so desperate it actually knocked the air out of you. He fucked up into you with all the subtlety of a man who’d spent weeks fantasizing about this exact scenario—messy, frantic, absolutely obsessed.

You gasped, whole body jolting, trying to keep your balance as he drove into you over and over, but then he started moaning.

Moaning, groaning, talking, praising, making every sound in the catalogue. No filter. No volume control. Just a relentless stream of filthy, shameless noise.

You slapped both hands over his mouth, pressing his cheeks together, trying to muffle the madness. It barely helped. His noises just changed shape, turning into low, breathy, muffled cries that vibrated straight into your palms. His eyes rolled up, lashes fluttering, hair splayed wild beneath him as he kept fucking up into you with a kind of needy worship that was equal parts reverent and ridiculous.

“Shut up, August,” you managed, breathless, half laughing, half overwhelmed.

He only fucked harder, as if the act of being silenced did something to his brain, his hands tight on your hips, dragging you down onto him, his whole body straining for more, for closer, for everything.

You pressed your hands even harder over his mouth, and he groaned, loud, desperate, and completely unashamed—eyes squeezing shut as his hips stuttered, his whole body shuddering with how much he needed you.

Every sound, every gasp, every bit of his wild devotion, all trapped under your palms until you felt your name, muffled and frantic, against your skin.

He wasn’t quiet. He would never be quiet. But god, the way he moved beneath you, the way he bucked up, the way he felt—You couldn’t complain.

And you wouldn’t. Not when his hands tightened, not when he pleaded into your palms, not when he looked up at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him shut up and the only thing that ever could. You leaned down, eyes meeting, hand still over his mouth, and whispered, “If you want to make noise, you better earn it.”

The way his hips jerked—yeah, he got the message.

And he tried even harder. Of course he did.

The sun was barely crawling through the window when you finally surfaced, blinking, sore in that delicious, bone-deep way that only ever meant one thing: August had, once again, made good on his promise to ruin your night’s sleep. In every sense.

You shifted under the blanket and immediately felt him and his whole body pressed up behind you, big and sprawling and clinging like he’d grown roots in the mattress. One long, warm arm was tucked under your head, cradling you. The other snaked around your waist, palm splayed possessively across your stomach, his thumb curled just under your breast.

He was nuzzling into your shoulder, breath warm against your skin, his face half-buried in the mess of your hair. Every now and then he mumbled something incoherent, probably a compliment, probably a brag, probably just “mine, mine, mine” in that half-conscious, half-feral way of his. His legs were tangled hopelessly with yours, one knee slotted between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You didn’t dare move. He was heavy, yes. And clingy, definitely. But he was also perfect. The perfect weight, the perfect heat, the perfect mess of limbs and possessive hands and wild morning hair and the tiniest smile brushing your shoulder as he sighed in his sleep.

You lay there for a long moment, letting yourself enjoy it—the ache in your thighs, the warmth of his chest at your back, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. The utter stillness after weeks of noise.

Then he tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, humming drowsily as his hand slid up your ribs just enough to make your breath hitch. He pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, then grinned against your skin.

“Mornin’, princess trouble,” he mumbled, voice hoarse, eyes still closed, mouth slurring the words with a satisfaction that was all August. “You sleep good? ‘Cause I didn’t. Wonder why.”

You snorted, too exhausted to scold him. You just leaned back into him, tangled and claimed and completely, absolutely his. He squeezed you a little tighter. “I’m not done cuddling. Or gloating.”

You smiled, shutting your eyes, letting him hold you. Yeah. Perfect.

You both drifted in and out of sleep, tangled in warmth, the morning creeping by slow and hazy. You weren’t sure when you started to doze off again, but the next thing you heard wasn’t a gentle whisper or a sleepy kiss—it was a voice echoing through the entire HQ like the wrath of God.

“AUGUST—!”

Enjin’s yell rattled the walls. You barely had a second to process it before August jolted upright, nearly launching you off the bed. He gasped, wild-eyed, hair in every possible direction. “Oh fuck—I forgot my deadline—oh god, that was due two days ago—” he half-yelled, already tumbling out of the sheets.

You watched, half-delirious, as he scrambled to find his pants. He yanked them on at a speed that defied the laws of physics, buttoning them crooked, shoving a leg through backwards, then shoving his shirt over his head so fast it landed inside out. He didn’t care. He looked at you with one last, frantic, lovesick grin. You just laughed, buried yourself under the blanket, and listened to him half-trip over his own feet as he charged toward the door.

“COMING!” he hollered back, voice cracking, slamming the door behind him. You cackled, muffled and gleeful, alone in the soft echo of his chaos.

A few minutes passed before you stretched and tried to gather yourself, bracing for the day. You reached over the side of the bed, fishing for your underwear—fingers sweeping along the floorboards, searching for that familiar fabric.

Nothing. You frowned. You looked. Nothing under the bed, nothing on the nightstand, nothing caught on the sheets or the back of the chair.

You sat up, blanket still around your shoulders, and scanned the room.

Nowhere.

And then, like a curse, the realization hit you:

That bastard had taken your goddamn panties with him. As a trophy. Or a security blanket. Or just because he was a menace with no boundaries and too much affection for your suffering.

Of course he did. Of course.

You let your head flop back on the pillow, half laughing, half groaning at the ceiling. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, grinning despite yourself.

Somewhere down the hall, you could already picture him smirking, flushed, grinning to himself as he tucked your underwear into his pocket like it was a prize. Probably bragging to nobody. Definitely thinking about you.

You pulled the blanket tighter and resolved to get him back for it.

Eventually.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.

© ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛɢʜᴏᴜʟ

Hastily smoothing down your white apron, you peer over the counter - it wasn’t very common for a customer to arrive on a motorbike (let alone what sounded like a small army of them taking over the humble parking space outside). You could count on one hand the number of them that didn’t arrive in a beaten-down car or a truck that coughed down the road.

As most people in your little town did.

Which meant only two things: this certainly wasn’t one of your regulars, this was someone from outside town.

And so you’re squinting through the glare of the diner windows, catching just the briefest flash of pretty pink before-

“Hello? Hellooo—?” An annoying, graaaating voice forcefully weasels its way into your consciousness and drags your attention away from the window. “Should I beg to get some service ‘round here or should I come over there and fuckin’ service myself?”

Now this noise you knew almost too well, unfortunately.

“Why hello, Naoya Zenin.” You didn’t even have to look into his frowning face to know who it was - or the fact that he was frowning.

And yet, diner policy dictated that you be on your most polite behaviour towards any and every customer that walked through those swinging doors - no matter how rude they were, no matter how many times you’ve had to kick them out in the past.

You supposed it helped that his father was the town mayor that ‘suggested’ those policies, too.

And so with a stifled sigh, you’re picking up your notepad and pen to not stare at Naoya’s bad bleach job, if anything. Maybe then he won’t try to ask you out for the fifth time this week. “What can we do for you at Sweetheart’s Diner today?”

He sniffs, “No tip.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Anyways- my egg’s too runny and my toast tastes burnt.” Roughly, Naoya shoves his tray of breakfast over the counter at you. The mostly-eaten scraps of food shuffling around sadly as he does so. And perhaps you could try to empathize with the man…if he hadn’t eaten all the food he was complaining about in the first place.

You narrow your eyes at him, “You ordered…a sunny side up?”

“Yeah, and it was too fuckin’ runny!” He bites back, leaning over the counter to leer at you. You take a subtle step back. “Not only that- my orange pulp juice was too pulpy and there were too many damn blueberries in my pancake. You call this a fine dining experience or what?”

You take another step back. “I apologize-”

“The least you could do is fuckin’ apologize.” The mayor’s son roars, catching the attention of the other diners. He scoffs, banging a fist down on your thoroughly-polished countertops. “I’ve never had a dining experience so shitty in my entire life-”

In the corner of your vision, you see Yaga starting to stand up- and quickly signal at him to sit back. You didn’t want this to escalate any further. 

You put your palms face-up in front of you and placate, “Sir, if you could please just calm down-”

“Calm down? And now you want me to calm down?” He seethes, stabbing an accusing finger your way. “You and this establishment should be thankful I don’t call my father, the mayor, and get you shut down this very instant-”

“How can I correct our mistake?” You’re whispering, you could handle rude customers but it’s the rude customers with power that you could never get used to. Especially him. Especially not when this diner had been your dream for so long. And it’s with every ounce of your will that you manage to keep your voice even - you will not let Naoya Zenin hear you hurt. “Would you perhaps like a refund? Or perhaps an alternative? Or-”

“How about…” A sleazy smirk spreads across his lips, and you already dread what will be next to leave them. “-a kiss—”

But before you can open your mouth to answer, Naoya’s grinning face is being slung away as if catapulted by some invisible force. 

Feet struggling to find purchase. Arms flailing. Ears flushing. Mouth sputtering out profanities as he tries and fails to catch his footing. Ultimately toppling backwards until he’s thrown directly over an elderly couple’s breakfast.

You can only watch slack-jawed as Naoya - now with a particularly runny yolk dripping down the side of his face, matching his hair (you had to remember to comp that sweet couple) - scrambles to stand up. His mouth quivers with rage once he rights himself, and you’re grimacing as you wonder just what it might unleash next on your poor diner now- until…until he catches sight of the ‘invisible force’ that had thrown him.

And you do, too.

First your gaze is tilting up, up, up—

Fuck, he was just so tall. And you could tell that it wasn’t with some breezy strength that Naoya had been thrown. Towering. Back so broad that you couldn’t look past it from here. It almost seems to go on for an age before you finally lock eyes with the hulking man that’d saved you. Crimson irises. Smoking gaze.

One that narrows in interest as they meet your line of vision, one of his pink brows raising- and ah, you’re realizing that it’d been none other than his hair that you’d noticed before. Those cotton-candy pink locks seemed to slick back effortlessly, presumably by his helmet. It was so at odds with the ruggedly handsome rest of him.

Classically handsome features. Smirking lips. Studded ears. Tattoos.

Despite his jet-black biker jacket, you could see the way they crept all over his muscular body. There were inky lines slashed underneath his eyes, his chin, the back of his neck, and down those broad shoulders that stretched his outer jacket tight. Encircling his strong wrists before ultimately slithering down to heavens-knows-where.

You gulp as your mind wanders.

And the dangerous-looking man before you snickers like he knew exactly what you were thinking about, “So are you the ‘sweetheart’ that makes this ‘Sweetheart’s Diner’?”

“I uh…” You’re left momentarily speechless, forgetting any and every default conversation that’d been drilled into you after years of waiting. It takes this customer tilting his head to the side and gazing down at you in a half-lidded way that makes you shiver for you to actually collect your wits- “I mean- welcome to Sweetheart’s Diner, what can we do for you today?”

The words are out of your mouth before you realize that you hadn’t even acknowledged his previous question—could it have been made any more obvious that you were staring?

“Heh…” His lips tilt up in a way that makes him look devastatingly handsome- you have to dart your eyes away for your own sake. “Cute.”

Fuck.

“The name’s Sukuna, sweetheart.” His name drips from his lips like sex, a slight purr in his baritone.  “Ryomen Sukuna. But you can call me whatever’s easiest…”

There seems to be a hidden end to that sentence that you can’t quite discern. But somehow you manage to sputter out your own name-

“I know.” As Sukuna ploughs on with confidence, you can only look up at him in shock. What did he mean he knows…?

At your palpable confusion, one of his hard pink brows raise. And Sukuna raises one of his hands to tap a roughened finger over the side of his chest and—oh. It’s only then that you’re looking down at your uniform and realizing that your name tag was gleaming front and center, polished just this morning.

Your heart races- fuck. “A-ah, of course!” Your voice threatens to crack. And the only thing you can do is follow your script with the hope that perhaps you’ll wake up from this nightmare (or daydream?) soon. “And may I ask whether that will be seated or to-go?”

“Trynna get rid of me so soon, huh, sweetheart?” Sukuna chuckles, before glancing over his shoulder at the barrage of men - ones that you hadn’t even noticed entering your diner. Honestly, what was with them not setting your bells off? 

They were all rough n’ tough bikers seemingly just like the one before you: matching leather jackets, hard eyes, looming figures that seemed to fill the space entirely. And despite their intimidating looks, you think that the strangest thing about them was the fact that they were all lined up perfectly obediently behind Sukuna. Hands behind their backs and almost waiting for command. “Let’s say ah- a booth to seat fourteen, and menus for each.”

“Oh- oh yes, of course!” You startle, before grabbing some menus and hastily rounding the counter to squeeze past the bikers. “I know the perfect booth. Follow me this way, please!”

And never in your entire life did you think you’d have an entire troupe of bikers following you through your humble diner like a line of lost ducklings (quite intimidating ducklings). You pass slightly apologetic smiles at the other customers for the commotion that’d occurred, delicately giving a wide berth to the yolk-covered Naoya-

He seethes, “Don’t you fuckin’ think that this is-”

“Whoops.” It takes a mere moment for Sukuna’s strong shoulder to bump against the mayor’s son and send him sprawling onto the tiled ground. And you could almost believe that it had been an innocent accident - almost - until the biker slightly lowers himself and mutters to the man.

Eyes blown wide. Tone dangerous.

“I’d spit on you but I don’t want to dirty her diner.”

Naoya cowers but still turns his sour face up at him, “Y-you don’t know who my father is-”

“Your father?” Sukuna moves as if he was about to step over the man like he was nothing but something nasty on the pavement outside—before actually swinging his foot down and kicking the other man. Hard. “You don’t know who I am.”

And with that, the pink-haired man walks right up to where you’d stalled - staring at you expectantly as if to ask what the hold-up was.

“Right…l-let’s keep moving then.” You swallow. 

As you keep walking, you could see the rest of his gang continue to follow in the same route - each one giving a good kick at the source of your troubles all these years. Naoya Zenin’s running out of the diner by the time you’re seating the group.

You look after his disappearing figure through the window - never have you managed to get him to leave so soon…

“Something the matter, sweetheart?”

Jumping slightly, you meet the crimson eyes of Ryomen Sukuna. The rest of the table was nose-deep in your menu now, flipping excitedly through laminated pages of items that you’d put together yourself. Though—he only had eyes for you.

He repeats, head cocked. “Something the matter, sweetheart?”

You’re shaking your head, “Not at all!” And you wonder just how a man that’d been so ruthless earlier had so much patience with you. You place a hand thoughtfully at your lips, “It’s just- that man has been giving me so much trouble over the years. It’s just amazing how you managed to get rid of him so quickly.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens, and you wonder whether you’ve said something wrong. “Oh yeah? Little fucker’s been at it for a while now, huh?”

“O-oh, but it really hasn’t been anything too bad!” You hurry to explain, “But still- really- I’m so thankful to y’all for the help.”

“S’nothing, honey.” He throws an arm over the back of his chair—a new nickname? “M’just wondering why you didn’t go into that diner kitchen of yours and bring out the knives earlier.”

Surprising yourself with a giggle - you don’t see the way that Sukuna’s grin grows at the sound. “Oh I wish- it doesn’t help that his father’s the mayor of this town and could take away those knives just as soon as I pull ‘em out.”

His brow raises, “So ol’ daddy’s the mayor, huh?”

You’re nodding, but Sukuna seems to be deep in thought himself. Leaning back against the cushion, he starts finally taking off his jacket and fuck.

You might just be fucked.

You’re doing your very best not to gawk at the thick, chiselled arms that make an appearance then (and you fail). Sun-kissed skin. Muscles for daaaaays. He was wearing a sleeveless denim jacket and a thin white t-shirt underneath that did nothing to hide the rest of his tattoos. 

There were two colored-in circles on each of his prominent deltoids, and then a band around his biceps. From where the neckline of Sukuna’s t-shirt dipped when he threw his jacket over his chair, you see the inky glimpses of even more decorating his pectorals-

“Are there any motels ‘round these parts, sweetheart?” Sukuna hums as he laces his ringed fingers on top of the table.

You have to rip your eyes away from how looooong and thick they were, “There’s one just a little ways downtown- but lately it’s been closed for renovation, mister-”

“Sukuna.”

“Sukuna.” You repeat on autopilot, before registering just how sweet his name tasted in your mouth - it started with the curl of your tastebuds, and ended with a little flick. Almost teasing. 

The edge of his lip quirks upwards, “And you’re saying that there’s no place for a guy like me to stay here?”

“Well…no motels unless you don’t mind skipping to the next town over. Folks don’t come around here often, see?” You’re fiddling with a fistful of your apron, wondering whether or not you should really say the words already in your mouth…fuck it. He did save you from the headache that was Naoya Zenin. “But I do have a spare bedroom upstairs if you would like.”

Sukuna stares at you in silence.

And you suddenly feel the embarrassment hit you at once- “O-only if you would like, however! I’m afraid I have only one room for you and I’m sure the motel in the next town would be much more comfortable but-”

“I’ll take it.” Sukuna reclines with an almost-feline smirk, before digging into his jacket pocket and pulling out a wad of hundreds that make your jaw drop. The sheer thickness of it…you didn’t even want to imagine how much the total amount was.

Attempting to push it back into his hands, “Please, you really don’t have to pay- let alone this much! Especially not after you’ve helped me-”

“Then consider it a tip.” He gruffly forces the money into your hands. “I expect my banana split to come with four scoops of ice cream.”

You almost want to laugh. Helpless to do anything but drop it into the pocket of your apron and pull out your notepad, “And what will the rest of the table be having?”

.

.

.

Your legs ache stepping up the stairs. 

Miwa, the part-timer, had just clocked in for her shift - which left you free to finally freshen yourself up before heading back into the rush. Lunch hour was one of your busiest, it always had the diner packed with the workers around town who’d gotten off in time for your well-served specials.

You’d grown a great clientele for yourself, and you’d never complain about the hard work—though you did have a thing or two to say about your poor ankles…

But you had to get back soon, you knew that the blue-haired girl easily got overwhelmed by the sheer amount of orders yelled at her. You wouldn’t want another mix-up!

And so you hasten to stride up the rest of the short distance to your apartment upstairs - one of the reasons you loved this place was because of the close quarters. Your home was just on the covert second floor of the diner, allowing you to flit in and out as seamlessly as you pleased. It wasn’t anything too grand or fancy, though it did have a bedroom, a bathroom, and all other things that your humble heart may desire. It really was the perfect place.

Home sweet home…you think, your hand reaching for the door knob. 

And just before your fingertips could touch the burnished wood, just before you could actually move to open the door—it swings open from the inside.

And you’re bumping into a firm chest

Firmer arms falling to your waist to steady you.

You look up- filling the entirety of your door frame was the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Pink hair decorated with a few droplets of water that shined like diamonds. Ruggedly handsome face still glowing with the remnants of a shower. Dressed in nothing but a fluffy white towel that dangled precariously around his toned hips.

It exposed the entirety of his toned chest, riiipped with his prominent pecs, his abs, his obliques. How was he so damn sculpted? His tannish skin ripples in unison as he leans from his towering height to look down at you. And you couldn’t even meet his eyes because you were too busy reeling in the fact that you were right…there were black tattoos snaking down his chest as well. 

Like two inky tendrils down the middle that pointed to his sculptured v-line. To the tufts of pink leading in an unruly line down, down, down…

You’re realizing that the towel he was wearing was one from your own closet (of course it was) and it barely reached past his knees. Below that, you could see his strong legs flex, still drip-drip-dripping with a few dewdrops of water that fall onto your welcome mat.

You’re seeing more of Ryomen Sukuna than you ever thought you’d see. 

And right after you’ve seen him you don’t think you can ever rip your eyes away-

“You’re wet.” It blurts out from your mouth faster than you can stop it, and your gaze strays on the single glittering droplet of water that dips from the curve of Sukuna’s deltoid and down to his tattooed bicep.

And he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t make a single noise.

Looking deep into your eyes, he slowly - slooooowly - lifts his arm up and licks away the dewdrop on his bicep. Right where that tattooed band was, you watch the tip of his tongue lap it away like the sweetest sap.

A thrill zaps down your spine.

“Like what you see?” An amused baritone rumbles from within Sukuna’s chest, sending vibrations humming through your body. He cocks his head to the side and shoots you a sleazy grin, tuggin’ your body to his water-cooled chest. “Ya should take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

You could feel every one of his muscles shift underneath you, and your veins start to bubble. “You’re corny! I just came here to freshen up but—” You sniff at his skin. “You used my body wash!”

He raises a bicep up to his nostrils, and you try not to ogle the way his muscles flex. “Candies…heh.” Sukuna bores right into your eyes, “Don’tcha know that I love everything sweet?”

“I can tell.” 

The biker leans even closer, his tattoos seeming to expand and flare. “And by that, I mean eeeeverything sweet.”

“I can tell.” You grumble, unsure why he was repeating it but you can’t keep the smile off of your face. You wouldn’t have taken the hulking man to have a sweet tooth, but you guessed you couldn’t judge books by their cover. “That thing was expensive.”

He titters, “Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do about it then?”

“It’s alright, I don’t really mind.” You shake your head sweetly, still in his arms and growing dangerously used to it. “You know you’re free to use anything in the house, right? What’s mine is yours.”

And an agonized expression crosses his face as if you’ve entirely missed some point—“Yeah, but what’re you going to do about it?”

Your brows furrow, “What do you m-”

Footsteps. A call of your name.

It takes you a singular split-second to catch sight of Miwa’s figure running up the stairs, and then two more split-seconds to break apart from Sukuna as if his body burned- you push his (highly attractive) chest away from you, you let his hands untangle from your waist.

They fall limply to his sides, and you’re missing the feeling of their heat on your skin already.

Though you moved on pure instinct, as fast as your body allowed you to, Miwa still catches a glimpse of you before her interruption and freezes. And pales. And lets her jaw drop, eyes widen—“S-sorry!” With a voice that was nothing more than a whimper, she’s sprinting down the stairs faster than you’ve ever seen her move, even during rush hours.

“N-no, wait-” The two of you are startling into action - or, well, you are. 

Sukuna merely raises a pink brow and scoffs, as if your part-timer had just disturbed something extremely important. And the last thing you’re seeing is the crimson roll of his eyes as you follow Miwa down the stairs, with nothing but an apologetic smile thrown over your shoulder at the man staying in your apartment.

By the time you’re politely smiling and nodding at the customers downstairs, you find Miwa cowering behind the counter - as expected.

You rap on the marble and kindly hum, “Anyone in here?”

“I didn’t see anything- I didn’t!” She exclaims from her position on the checkered floor, looking up at you with an agonized face. She pleads, “I swear I didn’t see you sneaking off during hours to do the naughty with a half-naked man, who also happens to be the leader of a biker gang, and who also happens to be fucking hot—eep!” Clapping both hands over her mouth.

“First of all, I didn’t sneak off to do the naughty.” You gasp out, looking around to make sure that none of your customers were overhearing this nonsense. “He just…happens to be staying over-”

“To do the naughty.” Miwa solemnly says.

“Because I owe him a favor.” You’re firmly finishing off your own sentence, and she didn’t look like she believed you a single bit. “And the motel downtown is closed for now- so it’s merely a transactional relationship, you see.”

She points out, “But he was embracing you in nothing but a towel…”

“I know—” You sigh, before you quickly realize that you weren’t helping your case. Shaking your head to rid your mind of any thought of Ryomen Sukuna and his…nakedness. “Either way- what was that you said about him being the…leader of some biker gang?”

“You’re saying you don’t know?” She looks up at you with wide eyes, immediately shooting to her feet. If there was anything that excited Miwa more than lunch hour (and not in a good way), it was a fresh bit of gossip (and that was in a good way).

She leans over the counter, hand cupped to her mouth in a conspiratorial way. “Ryomen Sukuna. King of Curses. He’s been the leader of the Curses biker gang since, like, forever.” Shivers run up your spine. “They say no one knows whether to respect him or to fear him, even those in his own gang. They say he’s the only reason they’ve grown to be so widespread, travelling so many distances and waging chaos wherever they go. They say that if he feels like it…they won’t even find the pieces of your body.”

You look towards the staircase, almost as if expecting Sukuna to be standing there listening. “He’s really…that Ryomen Sukuna?”

She nods, “You don’t want to get on his bad side.”

And you’ve heard about him.

Who hasn’t?

The Curses were the most infamous biker gang in the nation, with their unabashed ways and their almost more unabashed Harleys. They weren’t too much trouble through their days-long cruises…for the most part, but there were whispers…other whispers…

Ones that spoke of what the Curses did to those they didn’t take kindly to.

And yet, you couldn’t help but think of just how kindly they’d taken to you. Sukuna most of all - but even the closest of his troupe that had arrived for breakfast today (only a fraction of his gang, you’re learning) were well-mannered and tipped well. With the sweetest smiles and goodbyes as they left their leader here to drive off to the motel in the other town. “But you know- just today Sukuna scared off that nasty Naoya Zenin from the diner for me?”

“Ryomen Sukuna?”

“Ryomen Sukuna!”

Miwa hums thoughtfully, “Well, it makes sense. They say that if there’s anything biker gangs hate- then it’s people who can’t keep their paws and mouths to themselves.” 

“I see.” You ponder thoughtfully, looking over as a fresh new batch of customers enter. You grab a few menus, “Do you think it’s possible he’s not too bad then?”

She shivers.

“You know, anyone in town with half a brain would tell you to stay away from them? Most of all Ryomen Sukuna?”

You look over at her curiously, “I know.” 

“But I won’t- go for it, girl.”

.

.

.

The rush of customers always died down around nine.

It was the slight dip before the wave of night shift workers were released, along with the college students pulling all-nighters in the local universities. It was only now that you could take it easy.

The kitchen hummed quietly behind you, only a few customers inside as you wiped down the counter. The parlor might have been a bit lonely, but your diner’s sign stood loud and neon outside: Sweetheart’s Diner. Hot-pink with a heart at the end. It coated each chair along the bar in a dusky glow, making those cherry gumdrops look pleasantly radioactive.

It was a fuzzy silence.

Not even a peep upstairs - you could almost forget that it wasn’t just you, your part-timers, and your customers in this building. Sukuna was there, too. 

He’d gone out only a few times on his bike since taking residence in the spare room in your apartment, and had come back just this evening with a heavy bag of something and a tall order of waffles (to which you’d happily obliged, of course). And now…now you weren’t quite sure what he was—

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Sukuna’s gruff tone carries across the diner and makes your customers look over- hell, it makes Miwa pop her head out of the kitchen and shoot you a meaningful look.

You’re shaking your head subtly at her and turning to the tall man that easily steps down the stairs, two at a time. You smile, “How can I help you, Suku—oh.”

Before you know it, he’s thrown a helmet into your hands.

Shiny coating. Red like your diner seats. Decorated with accents of gold that caught the artificial lighting from above and bent it into odd shapes.

You’re blinking down in awe at the heavy weight in your hands, “This is…”

“A helmet that’s what.” He says, as if the answer wasn’t obvious. He stands before you with his beefy arms crossed, and you notice that he’s changed into a slim black t-shirt and black denim. “Bought it brand-new. Accidentally threw out the receipt but don’t be afraid to tell me if it’s ass, I’ll go beat up the clerk right now.”

“You bought this…for me?” So that was what was in his bag earlier today - did he go out just to buy this for you? But why…

“Isn’t that obvious, honey?”

You’re distinctly aware of Miwa who was listening in on this conversation like a hawk. “And because you want me to…”

“Ride me- I mean with me, of course.” He coughs, looking slightly off to the side. Not giving you the time to say anything more before turning on his heel and opening the diner door as if he was about to leave. “So?” He cocks his head at you, “You coming?”

“B-but the diner-”

“She’s coming!” Miwa’s shrill voice sounds beside your ear, before her voice drops down to a whisper. “I can take care of the diner right now- so don’t worry about a thing and just go.” She gives you a gentle nudge, “Go!”

Well…you supposed that this time was more or less manageable for just Miwa.

And it’s in a slightly dazed state that you’re walking towards Sukuna, who was still stalking at your doorway. He raises a pink brow as you finally halt before him and look up—only to grab onto both sides of your apron and puuuuull you against his firm chest. 

You yelp as you’re pushed against his developed pectorals, thinking for just a second that he was embracing you- before you feel a slight looseness around your waist and realize that his nimble fingers had actually gotten to work untying your apron.

“There.” Sukuna hums out cockily, looking back to admire his work. You were in nothing but your short, cutesy dress and your name tag. “Can’t have that thing flying away when you’re riding me- I mean, the bike, right?”

“We’re going to…” You still can’t quite believe it.

Not even as you’re led into the chilly air outside and Sukuna’s producing two jackets from his bike’s top-box. One was much smaller than the other, and before putting on his own- he’s roughly manhandling you to him and gently putting the brand-new jacket over your shoulders, threading your hands through the sleeves. And you don’t know whether you should be flattered or insulted! “I know how to wear a jacket myself, Kuna!”

“I know.” He snickers anyway.

The next was the helmet that Sukuna takes the time easing it down your head and fastening it properly. You can’t help but feel that it’s so…intimate.

In no time, he’s worn his own jacket and slung a leg to mount the bike. Looking over his shoulder, “So? You coming, sweetheart?”

You scramble to throw your own legs over the bike and situate yourself—on the plush cushion, feeling it hum, you just didn’t expect it to be such a massive contraption-

“Harley-Davidson Forty-Eight.” Sukuna proudly announces, slightly muffled by his helmet. “Rides like a dream, purrs like a…” He looks over at you, “-pussy.”

You squirm where you sit behind him.

Sukuna’s ensuring the bike was in neutral before turning the ignition on. He fiddles about with the engine kill switch and handlebars for a few seconds, then pressing on the starter button. Once it slowly releases, he gently revs the engine and it roars—

You yelp at the sudden vibrations flitting through the engine and into your core. 

“Hold on tight.” He slides down his helmet visor and revs it a little more. And you genuinely don’t think you’ve seen a sight more attractive. “And by that I mean tight. We’re going for a ride ‘round town, sweetheart.”

You hasten to loop your arms around his waist, interlocking your fingers tightly as the bike starts to ride. It starts to zoom off under a star-lit sky.

“Mmm, good girl.”

You’ve never been wetter.

.

.

.

“Rev it up- reeeeev it up now, honey.” Ryomen Sukuna’s gruff grumbles speak into your ear from behind, a volume just above the thundering engine of his bike. Both so raspy. Both so greedy. Both sending pure carnal electricity through your half-naked puffy.

Your panties just tugged to the side. Utterly soakin’ over where the bike’s engine was.

By the time you’d gotten back from your little ride with Sukuna it was after midnight. He’d taken you to every hidden corner and secret spot in your town, before riding to the next town over and then finally parking it against a wall of your diner’s empty parking lot. Where things had…escalated.

Where he’d stared you down as he put his rings on one by one. Where he’d been teasing you like this for aaaages now. 

“Please—” You’re attempting to situate yourself more comfortably where you sat, reaching behind to tug on the hem of your dress with a mewl. “P-please Kuna, someone’s gonna see-”

“See me teachin’ you how to- heh, ride a bike?” Questioning innocently, though his right hand was clasped over yours on the handlebar and revving the engine even louder to send vibrations up your pussy. The other pushing up your dress and gliding his fingers between the sweet sopping crevice of your cunt, “Or see me drivin’ this pretty pussy absolutely wiiiiiiild-”

“Both-” You gasp, feeling the tips of his middle and ring finger smearing aside your wet panties to enter. Both of his digits were just so girthy, such an incredible circumference that was only made bigger by the chunky metal rings you could feel grazing frigidly across your outer pussy. “Both- fuck, they’re gonna hear us, too-”

“Then just be quiet, hm?” 

Before you know it, Sukuna’s stuffin’ just his rounded fingertips inside—and you’re forced to clap your free hand over your mouth just so you don’t scream.

Just so you’re not cumming already on the sensation of his fingers pushing gluttonously inside- just using the edge of his thumb to pry aside your swollen folds, just swirlin’ around your hole with a wet slurp! 

Sukuna’s pink brows furrow, a line of sweat trickling between them as he watches your cunt gulp up just the first tips of his fingers. Juuuuust the first tips that wriggle and bash all ‘round your walls before he feels the slight resistance- “Fuck.” He whispers parchedly against the back of your neck, “Fuck, now watch yerself—yer really gonna have to try hard to be quiet right now, honey.”

“What are you-” You’re just barely managing to bawl out, before Sukuna pries his fingers back out with slimy strings of your slick lacquering them. Connecting him to you still.

You’re missing the stretch of him at your entrance for a mere few seconds- before Sukuna’s craning his head down and spitting—splatter! Straight onto the lips of your pussy.

And you should know that Ryomen Sukuna has perfect aim. 

You should know that he could shoot an arrow through an apple seed a considerable distance away.

But for now, he’s letting all his gluey wads smear so messily against the inner part of your thighs to leave a wet splotch on his seats. Letting you slip n’ slide back and forth as he revs the engine even harder. “Oh p-please—”

“Shush, girl- tch, so messy. Leave a stain and this pussy’s the one who’s gonna pay for it.” He grumbles, “What? D’you need me to teach ya how to be quiet?”

“But you’re the one that’s making me- fuck!” Immediately clicking your mouth shut at the feeling of the engine’s vibrations shooting through you - they itch a primal part of you that you didn’t even know you had before. 

Your head throws back with a moan and he tuts, “Quiet, sugar. Quiet—fuck, rule number one: focus on me. And only me.”

“You’re th-the only thing that I can focus on- ngh.” You hiccup stubbornly. Instead, all you can do is blink your teary eyes back down at the way that Sukuna had claimed your cunt and was bangin’ his fingertips in and in and iiiiiin against your entrance. They were just so vicious. They were just so greedy to go insiiiiide and swab into your cutest orifices. “Kuna, are you even sure they can fit?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” He hums, and you can almost hear the roll of his eyes in his words. “You just turn the engine up reeeeeal loud…”

“O-oh—” Shrilling out maddeningly as he hitches up the engine until it was roaring. Until the brr-brr-brrrrr— of it vibrated against your treacly cunt.

His nostrils flare with a huff of laughter as he watches you squirm, “And then you just tease this lil’ hole out like this- see how she tries to suck me in?” Scissoring your entrance wide open with his roverin’ tips, you could feel the pattern of his fingerprint against your soft insides. Shivering at the way he manages to sink in with a sluuuuurp- “And then while she’s suckin’ me in, lemme teach you about rule number two: just turn the engine up a little louder-”

“Fuuuuuck—” Bucking wildly back and forth against him at the sudden rev. This might just be the toughest rule thus far, and it’s only the second…

But no matter how much you move - no matter how much you squirm - Sukuna’s pinning his left hand against your front and crushing you against his washboard abs. You could feel each defined ridge glissading against your back as he leans in and feeds your cunt just a bit more of his thick fingers, “And then like this-” Hitting near the back of your pussy with a thump! He was lifting his heavy rings up to the tops of his fingers, making those hard edges push back and forth against your gooey walls. “-just a few more times before I-”

“Sh-shit, that’s unfair.” You’re babbling out, eyes nearly bulging out of your skull as his rugged tips swipe near the bottom of your pussy. 

Hooking at your elastic hole. Curving in just right. 

Your loose limbs start shaking the moment that Sukuna’s fingers are so long and laaaarge- “Kuna, I think m’gonna—” Large enough that his ringed joints end up pushing against your sweetest place - that lil’ g-spot of yours. And Sukuna gives a hard thrust accompanied by a few more revs of his engine, before you can feel yourself falling apart. “-gonna-”

“Rule number three-” He spits- “I control when you cum.”

It’s the only thing you’re hearing as you’re taken over by your high. White-hot pleasure behind your eyes. The tension curling your toes.

You’re rutting like an animal in his arms- as he holds you mercilessly down to his body and fingers you speechless. “Cum f’me-” He gasps out, those frigid fingers of his probin’ open every hidden spot of yours. Battering your poor walls. Squeezing a third finger inside your tight channel- “Cum f’me cum f’me cum—”

“Oh- fuck!” Hitting your g-spot until you felt all raw with pleasure. He’s fucking you through your high at an incredible pace, making the bike buckle with how fast he was going. 

Again and again and again.

Each glide of his thickened fingertips activates the nerves inside you, setting your entire body on edge with his motions. He somehow pinpoints the exact peaks of your high and hammers in with vigor at each one, elongating them until it felt like your mind was melting into nothing but mush with the sensation of your orgasms.

Pushing into every slick-filled orifice and he still isn’t stopping as he hears you start to sob out with wettened gasps, “And know that if yer making a mess then I’m gonna hafta be the one cleaning it up.” 

“Well, you’re the one that made me make this mess in the first place.” You huff out.

“Fiesty.” Before he’s digging his pearly white canines into the side of your neck, making you yelp at the sudden indents being forced into your clammy skin. Your mouth opens with a sudden scream- before Sukuna’s instantly shoving it right back into your throat.

Along with his slithering, slick-glazed fingers.

Your eyes snap open, shocked at the sudden intrusion between your lips. It’s managing to shut your simpering sounds up, and Sukuna chuckles as he scissors his digits up and down on your tongue—veering for the veeeery back of your throat. The most lecherous slurps and gulps escape between your shaky legs with every fuck through your electric high. “Quiet, honey, yer leaking too fuckin’ much.” He gapes down in awe at the sight below of his knobbly fingertips spreadin’ apart your puffy folds. “I wanna taste it.”

And by now, your high is just barely starting to peter out into nothing but powerful twinges of pleasure that shake you from your very insides. “What do you mean you wanna taste it, Kuna…?”

“Remember when I told you I like everything sweet?”

Gasping, “Yes?”

And Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t answer that particular question. 

Not before he’s keeping the engine of his bike on a rumbling vrrrrrr—! that jostles you on top - that leaves your pussylips twitching and crying out in even more sensitive slick. He unlatches himself from your sweaty body and swings a leg over to get off of the bike, “Sit with both legs facing me.” He crouches down beside the bike, knees hitting the ground, hands pushing aside the sheeny inner parts of your thighs.

You flinch at the feeling of his roughened palms, his even rougher hot breath against your pussy. “What are you gonna do, Kuna?”

“Mmm…” And Sukuna’s only pulling up the hem of your dress and shoving his head nose-deep between your cunt. Letting his lavish tastebuds come out to slurp up your pussy’s slit. 

Just one lick.

Just one single lick.

Before you realize that Ryomen Sukuna might just have a tongue piercing—

He sticks it out properly, “M’having dessert.”

“F-fuuuuck—!” Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head as Sukuna’s flexible tongue immediately darts out and squeezes between your swollen folds. Kissing aside your panties. Plunging his tongue in like he’s gone mad. 

He isn’t wasting any time. He’s squeezing his lengthy tongue in as far as it could go before fucking n’ fucking you wildly with it.

“Mmmm, rule number four: m’gonna overstimulate you until you can’t scream- heh.”

In and out, in and out, in and out.

Hot, slick drills of his muscle. The ridged textures of his tastebuds drag along your tender walls, and smack! the front of your cunt. Making you twitch with pleasure any time he’s hitting a spot you like. And you can feel the orbed piercing at the end of his tongue slash into spots you didn’t even know you had. Thrashing. “Now, rule number one. Feel this- hngh?” You feel it head straight inside your walls and bang-bang-bang! from side to side.

“I can I can—!” You’re whining out, before the volume registers in your hazy brain and you slap a hand over your mouth- was the rule working or not? You were too gone to think.

“Mmm, good girl.” He peers up at you with a chuckle, “Though I wouldn’t mind if anyone actually heard…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” The pink-haired man croons out, his rosy locks grazing the front of your core. And you could feel the exact moment that his frigid piercing slugs in and presses right on top of your throbbing g-spot, “And can you feel this?”

“I c-can—”  Blubbering through your tears. “Fuck, it just feels too good, Kuna.”

“And what about….this.” The next thing you’re feeling isn’t a result of his mouth, it’s his hand that’s veering upwards and pressing a thumb down above where your womb would be situated. 

Incredibly sending shivers down your spine, “Y-you haven’t reached there, Kuna!”

“Mmm, not with my tongue…not yet.” He’s grumbling out into your pussy. Before blurting, “Then what about- hah- this?”

Staying on that specific spot of your bundle of nerves and press-press-pressing doooooooooown. So hard that you buck with a slew of profanities. “Too good- too good too good-” Sukuna might have had his rings earlier, but now his tongue piercing was just as sloppy. 

“You’re welcome~” The sheer audacity. And you’re being given a proper sight of him with his tongue stuck out, the metallic circle of his piercing drippin’ all wet with slick and sap. “S’nothing much. S’just’how I eat the sweetest fuckin’ thing on the menu.”

“Sweetest fucking…” You breathe.

He smugly hums as he slithers in his tongue back between your folds and starts thrusting once more, faster now, harder now. Now purposefully moving over so that the tip of his nose was rubbin’ over your pulsating nub.

“The sloppiest dessert.” Almost humping his face against your pussy, “The sweetest. But fuck, you’re so messy. I’ve gotta clean up after this pussy now. Fuckin’ ruined my seats, y’know that?” Massaging your clit. Massaging the crevices of your walls. “I’ve gotta drink up every sweet drop yer givin’ me. I’ve gotta fuck her so that any time you’re walking you can still feel my mouth between your legs. I’ve gotta fuck you with my mouth while this pretty pussy’s bein’ so wet on my tongue now-”

“Oh- please—” Your dilated pupils are swirling around maddeningly within the whites of your eyes, and Sukuna only increases his pace. As fast as it would go. As rough as it would go. Jerking, just too sensitive by now as you try to focus on the first rule. “Please please-”

“Ah ah- hold still unless you wanna fall.”

And any time you’re trying to run back from his gaped maw- you find that you don’t have anywhere else to go. The seat of his bike was just so thick, and yet you couldn’t move anywhere further - the biker had one hand on your ass cheek as he eats you out on his bike. Pulling you back against his mouth every time you lurched away. Tuggin’ you right onto his tongue. “B-bikes shouldn’t- oh, fuck.”

As much of a pinkish blur that shovels between your tender pussylips - he’s somehow managing to mold every twist n’ turn of his tongue against the sides of your walls. Every knob of his tastebuds. And by this point you weren’t sure whether Sukuna was more lethal with his fingers or with his tongue—so thick and long lashing aside your velvety channel. “Mmm, what’s that? Can’t hear you over this pussy.”

“B-bikes shouldn’t be used this way.” You’re whining with each wrigglin’ movement inside of you - so sensitive after your first high. And the constant rhythm of his engine only makes your body tremor even further. “You’re just plain filthy, Kuna.”

“And you’re too fucking loud—”

As if to stop you from being so loud, his nearest hand reaches over and revs the bike up even louder. And you gasp through your tears at the sudden vibrations, jolting- “Fuck, if you do that-”

“N’ what’s gonna stop me from doing that? Rule number two, remember?” He’s proving his point by repeating the motion with his hands and letting the engine tremor all throughout your puffy core. Sensitive. Still overstimulated with your high, “Huh? What’s gonna stop me?”

“I-it just feels too goooood—!”

“Shush, honey.”

The engine thunders once more and you think you’re losing your mind. His lips were practically glued against your pussy’s and spreading you open with his tongue. His tongue was flicking inwards and using his piercing as a little spotlight to poke n’ prod at your sweetest spots. His face was shoving even deeper between your legs and pressing such hot open-mouthed kisses against your hole, “Shhh shhh sh shhh…someone’s gonna hear.” Grumbling as he drills the length of his muscle in until you feel dizzy, “What’s that you were sayin’ about my precious bike? Whatever- shut up and take it, sweetheart.” Drowning out your shrill noises with his revving engine, his slurping kisses. “Shut up and take it shut up and—”

“Fuck, Kuna m’gonna cum again!” You cry out in overstimulation.

He leans in with narrowed crimson eyes, “Oh? Then don’t shut up. Then fucking cum.” He’s pushing on the handlebar to rev it as hard as it would go, keeping it at a constant high whilst he trickles his tongue into any spot that he could reach. Whilst he swabs his nose down your puffy clit. Whilst he’s pushing and pushing you into your second high of the night-

“So close-” You gasp, the pit of your stomach churning with pleasure as he continues. You grab onto the pinkish locks of his sweaty scalp, “Just a little longer m’gonna fucking, mmm, cum-”

“And for the second time on my bike.” Sukuna titters out, his velvety tongue slickly moving against your g-spot. You could feel the metallic feeling of his piercing at a frenzy now - and so were you. “What’re you waiting for, girl? Ruin my bike again.” He rolls his eyes, “Make a mess all over the seat. Fucking leave the mark of your sweet, sweet pussy-”

“Fuck-” With your nails almost painfully digging into his scalp, you’re hunching your body over as your veins start to tremor. “M’c-cumming—”

“Mmm, delicious.” The last thing you’re seeing before your white-hot high is the edges of Sukuna’s lips curling up into a smile, your juices splashing down either side of his mouth.

And then your head throws back with a broken whine, tears falling down your cheeks.

As your soppy dreneched legs fall open, he’s bullying himself even closer and fucking you right through your high. Letting the mushy tip of his tastebuds burrow into your sweetest spots, your g-spot feels pounded raw with his vulgar strokes, “Should put this p-pretty pussy on the dessert menu.” He gurgles out, lavishing your snug channel with his kisses. With his mouth. “Oh- but I’d wanna be the only one gettin’ this dessert.”

“Shit, you’re talking crazy.” 

“M’talking pussydrunk, know the difference.” He looks up at you with a narrowed gaze, pupils dilated until those red irises looked almost black entirely. “And don’t think m’fucking done with you.”

You’re pushed straight through wave upon wave of your bliss.

Again and again.

It seems to be stronger than even last time, zapping through your body even faster. Sobs escaping you. Back arching. Your entire body finches primally any time he’s caressing your sweet clit.

You’re holding onto Sukuna for dear life as he zig-zags his tongue all over, finally draggin’ his sloppy tongue away once you were shivering so hard it was as if you were a leaf in the wind. “Overstimulated till yer dumb, yet?” He asks, “No? Then we’ve got a long way to go…”

“O-oh, I don’t think…” Your mouth waters, bleary eyes blinking back your vision once your high finally peters out. Once you’re watching Sukuna wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and get up, “-I don’t think m’gonna make it out of this alive, Kuna.”

“Damn right.” He snickers, towering over you once more. 

You catch the stains of dirty and friction on the knees of his trousers, and you’re reaching out to return the favor when- 

“Ah ah- s’alright, honey.” Grabbing your hand in midair to stop you, “Wouldn’t want you to get on this ground and get dirty. How about we do something more fun?”

“Like what?” Your eyes widen cutely.

“Well-” Sukuna cocks his hips and starts counting on with his ringed fingers, “-I’ve fucked you with these fingers, I’ve fucked you with this mouth- what else is left then?” Three fingers raised.

Eyes dropping down to the thickened erection throbbing in his pants, “Your cock…”

“Atta girl—”

Those three fingers are stuffed between your pussylips once more and given a thorough few pumps, making sure that you were all soft n’ wet for him still (and why wouldn’t you be? Sukuna’s merely teasing you by now). Before he sweeps a look around the empty surroundings and starts unbuckling his belt with metallic clinks.

“I’ve been so fuckin’ ready to fuck you- fuck, ever since I fucking walked into this diner-” Lugging his heavy pants down, boxers right along with it. “-I knew the sweetest thing in there would be you—and that pussy.”

Your eyes drop down immediately to the massive length of his cock.

Standing upright between his legs.

His large bulbous red tip. His drippin’ lacquer of slick. His veins that throbbed and ached the closer he got to the heat of your cunt.

And not only was he loooooooooong- but he was so thick that it made your thighs squeeze to imagine what he’d feel like inside of you. His girthy tip. His flared base, decorated with a few tufts of pink. If you thought that taking his fingers was an incredible feat, then you surely weren’t ready for this…

Ryomen Sukuna was rock-fucking-hard. All because of you. 

So hard that it almost looked painful for him to be anywhere but inside your cunt- and the man himself hisses as a droplet of precum oozes out of his tip. Dribblin’. 

Reaching down to smear it with his thumb, he then plops! that wettened digits straight into your mouth. Using the leverage to tug your chin down and make you look up at him through your lashes, “Now- yer gonna sit on my cock and ride me crazy, understood? And yer gonna be quiet about it so we don’t get caught, understood?”

You don’t know whether you’re nodding so readily because he’s using his strength to make you nod- or because you simply wanted him just as badly. “Mhm—” You moan around his thick finger.

“Heh…” He watches you with pussydrunk, loving eyes. “Well ya can fuckin’ try.”

And before you know it, you’re moving aside - leaving such a large puddle of slick where you were seated - to let Sukuna mount the bike facing you. To let him beckon you over and straddle his hips—him straddling the bike, you straddling his toned waist.

You’re shivering as you feel his wettened tip scrape-scrape-scrape between your pussylips, in disbelief that you were just about to fuck the leader of a biker gang in the parking lot of your diner.

“And make sure ya get it in until here.” Sukuna’s looking down between you two, and you follow his line of sight. To where he was holding onto his swollen cock and showing off the ringed tattoo around his base, just a line of black marking the end of his length. They matched the ones on his wrists and biceps. “Riiight here, the ring marks the spot, sweetheart.”

Shuddering in a deep breath, you clasp onto his muscular shoulders and start lowering yourself down. Feeling just the curved edge of his cock kiss your orifice, back arching at the primal stretch that shoots up your cunt already. “F-fuck—” You’re hollowing out before closing your mouth and looking around you, “You’re just so big, Kuna- I d-don’t know if I can-”

“Of course, you can.”

And the next thing you’re feeling is his big hand glued to the side of your hips, tuggin’ you down like a ragdoll without even trying. He’s hauling you down. He’s eeeeeasing your cunt onto his cock.

Flared tip snagging against your elastic hole. Makin’ the most lecherous wet slurps emanate as he fits in.

And he’s got such a firm grip on you that you can’t even run if you wanted to, you can’t even squirm, you can’t even lurch away. He’s embedding the crescents of his nails against the flesh of your ass cheeks, and letting his biceps bulge with strength as he holds you still—“New rule. Rule number five: you’re gonna take it aaaaaall, honey.”

“Wh-what does that even have to do with me being quiet?” You’re sobbing out, feeling his globular cockhead maze it way in. Thick enough that he was wringing out all your soft crevices.

“Hmmm…” And Sukuna himself didn’t seem to be quite sure - or maybe he was too pussydrunk to actually remember. Simply giving into his most animal instincts when fucking and fucking up into your hot cavern with his honed tip, red-hot with need. “Maybe if m’stuffing you all the way up till here-”

His free hand draws an invisible line down the middle of your neck.

Ending right where your throat bobbed, “-then you won’t be able to speak anyway. Maybe you won’t be able to- ngh, feel anything but my cock inside- h-heh…”

“Oh—” And it’s with your head thrown back that you’re slipping n’ stumbling down his pulsing cock.

Every ba-dump! of his ruddied cockhead you could feel all the way at your lungs, and you truly wonder whether he was right about the rule he’d set earlier…“Ahhh, I can see that cute lil’- ngh, drunk look coming over you.” Sukuna breaks through your hazy reverie  with his words, “Not overstimulated till you’re speechless yet, are ya? Speak f’me. Speak—”

To make your mouth gape with some pretty noise, he’s ignoring the resistance ‘round your entrance and whacking his bulbous tip into you meanly. Making your jaw drop with a loud, “K-Kunaaaa—!”

And something in his predatory gaze flickers, “Hey…that’s not too bad.”

“Wh-what the fuck do you mean-” It’s a sheer miracle that you manage to grit out the words, hell- it’s a sheer miracle tha you can even form a coherent thought in the first place. What with Sukuna’s animalistic thrusts trying to fit inside of you, “-Kuna, we’re gonna get caught if you keep up with this-”

“Then you better remember all the rules, huh, sweetheart?” He asks you innocently, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and he was simply reminding his forgetful girl.

And without a moment’s warning, Sukuna has one hand clawed to your hips- Sukuna has his inhuman strength pulling you down to sit against his hilt with a wettened plop! Finally bottoming you out through his own needy efforts.

“Oh look…” Sukuna rasps, grinning down at you both. “She’s right there where my tattoo is.”

He has your cunt circlin’ the ink at his rugged base, and your legs squirming around his waist.

You can feel his tip painting the end of your pussy with precum, and his veins massaging each battered spot on your walls. Just so shattered by this point that you swear you’re tasting his caramel-salted flavor on your very tastebuds.

No matter how hard your restless body tries to accommodate him, he only seems to push against your velvety walls and grow even bigger—“Recite them.”

You blink your teary eyes open, “Wh-what?”

And before he answers, the biker pumps out a thorough few thrusts. Hitting the very back of your spongy womb and letting his tip sink in, “I saaaaaaid—” As he drawls out his words, he drawls out his cock in the most sloppy drag. Making your body shiver at the zig-zagging patterns of veins that seem to be molded perfectly to the map of sweet spots inside you, “Recite. Them.”

The strike he leaves on your womb is enough to make you see stars.

“O-ohhhh-” Your breath hitches, salty tears clogging up your throat. “Oh my god- fuck, oh my god, Kuna-”

And his way of shutting you up is gripping you by the throat and spitting straight into your mouth, squeezing at your poor unhinged chin until the only thing you can do is fucking swallow.

He looks positively dangerous from this angle, “That’s not the first rule.”

And your punishment? Yes, you do get a punishment - you didn’t think that Ryomen Sukuna became the leader of one of the most infamous biker gangs in the land by being nice, did you?

The hand at your throat comes down to spank! your sopping pussylips, rings and all. “F-fuuuuck-” Just as the words are leaving your lips, you’re hastening to retract them. “I-I mean, that wasn’t the first rule- fuck, that wasn’t the first tule, that was just-”

“Shit, s’like you want us to be caught. Quiet the fuck down-” Though he was only funneling you with his sinful inches even harder. He looks between your two connected bodies and plants a great slap on your folds once more, “-and that goes for you, too.”

“Th-the first rule is to focus on you, and only you.” You’re saying, still slightly dizzy with the impact of his slamming fingertips. 

Your cunt was still all tender- and Sukuna’s pink brows raise in surprise at the way your folds quiver once he snakes his hand closer once more. Merely to roll over your clit as some reward for getting it right, “Mhmmm—cute. Now what about the second?”

And for that, you have to think a little bit.

Which was so fucking hard to do when he was drilling into you like an animal - as if he’d run out of breath every second he wasn’t shoved to the brim between your legs. As if it physically pained him to pull out, even if it was to hammer back in.

As it was his simple instinct to balance you on top of his attractive bike and bounce and bounce and bounce you on his lengthy cock, the end of his tip probin’ at your every spot inside.

It left your eyes racing to the back of your skulls, the front of your chin glazing thickly with your saliva.

Something that Sukuna’s ravenous tongue dips out to clean off of your face- “Ahhh- how can I resist you, sweetheart?” For your whimpering silence, you’re getting two more rough spanks on top of your folds. “Let me give you a little hint…”

He lifts his right hand off of your drenched core then, reaching out to grip at his bike’s handlebar.

And then revving—

“Turn the engine up l-louder!” You gasp out, the realization hitting you all at one with the pushes of his cock into your sweetest spots. “The second rule is t-to turn the engine up.”

“Good girl.”

With a hand pushing on the handlebar, Sukuna controls a ruthless staccato of revving up the engine just when he could feel your cunt diving down to his hilt. Just when you were closest to the engine and could feel the vibrations at their strongest. Just when it let his entire shaft bask in the gummy hot embrace of your cunt squeeeezing around him at the sparks of pleasure.

This just felt too good, and you shake as Sukuna lets go of the clean handlebar to drag a thumb between your slit. Pressing the fatness of it down on your clit, “And the- hah-” You cry out, “-and the third one-”

“Impatient, huh?” He grins, “Go on then. What’s Ryomen Sukuna’s third rule to be- mmm, quiet?”

“Third one is that you control…”

Cooking his head smugly, “Control what?”

A particularly hard thrash at your deepest depths, and the slit of his cockhead manages to curve against yours walls. Perfectly in the same spot. Again and again. Until you were sure that he’d created a little indent there that only he could reach so well- “Control how- ngh! how loud I am?”

“Wrong.” Sukuna seemed way too content with himself to announce this—smack! Smack! Smack! 

Without pausing, he was pressing in three consecutive slams against the most tender parts of your cunt, ending off with that poor clit of yours that was just cryin’ out at the abuse it was facing. And he doesn’t seem to regret it just one bit, “Try again.”

“Control my tears?”

Smack!

“Again.

“My pace?””

Smack!

“Again.

“M-my—” And the only thing that your body can even coherently do is wrap your arms around Sukuna’s bulky shoulders, lifting his t-shirt and taking in all the sensual tattoos that you just wanted to lick off of his skin. “-my orgasms?”

“Mhmmm—” Just so proud, he’s finally able to roll the crown edge of his thumb over your clit like you deserve.

But what you didn’t account for was just how sensitive you’d be after multiple highs and your pussy being constantly under the threat of his rugged fingers. Toyin’ with your pussy to seemingly no end again and again and again until—

Until you’re crash-landing into your third high of the night, and even Sukuna wasn’t able to predict it.

It takes you over by surprise, just a sudden thunder of your heartbeat in your eyes - your eyes wrenching open, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy kissin’ his prolonged shaft until it felt like your were trying to mold the lightning patterns of his veins to your walls.

And Sukuna’s hunching his own body forwards with a low- “Fuck-” Gnawing down on the insides of his cheek. Entire forehead perspiring into something sheeny.

It takes every shred of will in his body to stop himself from creaming right then and there- and instead focus on fucking you through the peaks of your high. He’s counting the pulse of your pussy underneath his breath, using it to perfectly time the direct thwacks! onto your g-spot. “Fuck, you didn’t.” Sukuna whispers, more to himself than anything. “Fuck you didn’t…you are.”

“C-cumming—” You’re announcing belatedly, fucking back into his toned v-line.

“And who said you could?”

“Wh-what-” Your eyes snap open - with great effort, considering how you were still in the throes of your high.

And without warning, Sukuna grasps the side of your waist with one hand. The other one of his smacking and smacking and smacking over your cunt- “Says it right here- fuck, rule number three s’that I control when you cum.” There was something blazing in his eyes, looking at you through his rosy bangs as if he was going to devour you. “And who said you could cum without me sayin’ so, honey? You want everyone in here to hear you- you want this entire fucking town to hear you?”

He stops slamming his rude fingertips down on your clit to instead hone in on your clit and drag. And pinch.

You moan loudly- “Fuh-fuuuuuck-”

“Because I can make this entire- fucking- town hear you.” And it didn’t sound like a threat - it sounded more like a promise. A challenge. “So unless you want this town and the next two town over to know who fucks you right-”

“Oh, please—!” You gasp. Your ears pop at the sheer amount of pleasure that was coursing through your veins, and every deep plunge of Sukuna’s cock felt like he was stimulating every tiny orifice inside of you.

Increasing the force of his hips going upwards as if he wanted to stimulate them even more- to mark his name out on every tiny nook and cranny. “-unless you want that- hah, then you better cum again.” Sukuna’s snarling out, his sharp canines peaking out at you. “You’re gonna cum when you’re done r-reciting all my rules, aren’t you? Gonna cum for me then-”

“Y-yeeeees—” Even though your previous orgasm had settled over your body, until it felt like your skin was on fire with each passing second. Until your slick channel seemed to be caressed and massaged raw and Sukuna still wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. You think a few cars whizz by on the road, but you can’t pay attention to that right now. “The fourth rule s’th-that you’re gonna make me sensitive until I can’t scream-”

“Overstimlate you.” He corrects you, though for that you get a loving few rolls over your clit. A correct answer. He assesses you, “Mmm, almost there with that…heh.”

“And the fifth rule-” Your hips start to tremble weakly, “-the fifth rule is that I have to take it…”

He nods eagerly, mouthing the words over each sultry squelch and slurp as the rounded end of his cockhead pushin’ into your cervix. Again and again. “Mhm, you have to take iiiiiit—”

And you imitate the silent movements of Sukuna’s lips, “-a-all.” You gasp, feeling his fingers start to work up a frenzy on that cute lil’ nub between your folds once more. “The fifth rule is that I have to take it all.”

“Perfect. Now this pretty pussy better cum all over my cock- at least, she would.” He hums, ebbing you somehow closer and closer to your…you honestly forgot what number of your high it was by this point.

And Sukuna only seems too happy with numbers- “But that was only five rules, sweetheart. And Ryomen Sukuna has six rules.”

Your brows furrow, “B-but I swear you only told me five-”

“Oh? Don’t you know? He’s just added in a n-new rule right now—” You shiver to think just what that might be, and Sukuna only seems all the more ravenous to tell you. He bucks his hips up into you like an animal, just pistoning his cock inside until the feeling of your cushy cunt was the only thing he could feel, the only thing he wanted to feel, the only thing he thinks he ever will- “Rule number six: beg to take every single drop of my cum.”

And you don’t even need it to be a rule for it to be your true carnal feelings, “Please-” You gasp out, embracing Sukuna fiercely. “Cum inside me- g-give it all t’me, Kuna.”

“Mmm, rules are rules.”

The both of you are reaching your euphoric peaks at the same time - you having lost count with the number that you were on, Sukuna reaching his first and his strongest.

Powerful muscles shivering. His voicebox cracking with a lecherous groan.

He’s scrunching his blushing brows as he spurts out seed deeeeep and hotly into your womb, letting the ivory mess trickle down the sides of your channel and end up glazing his tattooed base. Wad after wad. Stream after stream. It ended up hot and heavy inside of you—so much of it that you swear you could feel the warm volume of it seeping out. “F-fuck-” He gasps out, sounding more ruined than you ever would have thought him to be. “Say it- say it say it say it—” Cracking one crimson eye open at you to peer at your orgasmic expression, “What’s the sixth rule, sweetheart?”

“Beg to take every single drop-” Your own high had left you in tears, body twitching so delicately between each buzz of bliss - not even waves at this point, you were simply too far gone. “R-rule number six is to beg to take e-every single drop of cum-”

“And are you begging?”

“I’m begging.”

He holds you tight and pushes every white gluey wad deeeeeeeep into your womb, you can feel the rotund edge of his tip swirling around the mess inside you. Slick filing every orifice. His bodyheat turning into something feverish because of his high and transferring into yours.

Meanwhile your high had you absolutely gone, and perhaps this was your limit - perhaps this was Sukuna actually succeeding in fucking you dumb.

Because the most intense arcs of your high are passing, and you’re barely even making any noise save for a few whispers and whines. Tucking your head into the crook of Sukuna’s neck, you shake with the electricity. Another car passes. Sobbing, “K-Kuna…it feels so wet.”

“What do you mean we- oh.” It’s only then that the biker looks down - only to find out that you’d squirted all over his prized bike. His seat. 

Your cunt almost numb with pleasure, your hole expands with pure gushes of liquid arousal. Over and over. Again and again. It takes so much out of you to let out the glossy messy, one that ends up slathering down Sukuna’s abs, creating a gleaming sheen that shines even in the night. 

Sukuna’s shocked by the primal urge in him to not even wash it off-

“Fuck- maybe we should make a seventh rule about this…”

“You think?” You huff.

.

.

.

Breakfast hour was always the loudest. The most boisterous. The most lively.

Especially with fourteen members of a biker gang occupying the booth at the very end of your diner as if they lived here. Well…you supposed that one of them technically did - and you could see his gruff expression right now, eyes narrowing at the chaos that his group was causing.

Their loud cackles and crude jokes drew chuckles from every other regular there, still in awe at these avid new customers that were anything but regular. Their imposing bikes lined outside. Their conversations rattling the tables.

They’d quickly become the heart of the diner (and your town) in the last few weeks.

For starters, Naoya Zenin never weaseled his way through those swinging doors ever again. His father ‘mysteriously’ resigned from his post as mayor. They’d ‘mysteriously’ left town. And then you’d come to discover that word of mouth travels fast within biker gangs, and soon enough your lil’ town had bikes cruising joyfully through them every few seconds - with your diner turned into a hotspot above all! You’d been forced to hire more part-timers, and promote Miwa into working full-time (she’d positively squealed the roof off in excitement, and you still weren’t quite sure whether that was mostly because of the promotion or because you’d announced your relationship…)

Ah yes. And then there was Sukuna…your core and legs were still sore from the night before, and every night that preceded that.

He was an animal.

And he was here to stay.

You watch as the members of the Curses try to include everyone in their conversation, but only end up talking over everyone- which was likely to end up in a fist fight had it not been for the look your boyfriend gave them. Just one look. 

And they were settling back down into their seats and only somewhat noisy debates.

Sukuna catches your gaze from beyond the counter and raises a pink brow—do you need me to shut them up properly? You knew that was what he was asking without words.

But you only shake your head with a smile.

Picking up your large pot of coffee, you’re weaving through the tables giving everyone who wanted a complimentary refill. It’s only once you manage your way up to Sukuna’s gang’s booth that a smile finally graces the pink-haired man’s face, “Finally! I was about to leave no tip.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I know how good you are at leaving tips.” You wink, making the table erupt in rambunctious wolf howls.

Why wouldn’t they? Especially not when their ever-tough leader’s face was just so red—“Yeah yeah, wait and see what tip you get tonight-”

It’s then that you hear the doors of your diner swing wide open.

And with a playful glare thrown at Ryomen Sukuna, you’re turning to greet the newcomer who could be…his brother if anything. 

The same towering stature.

The same narrowed gaze.

The same tattoos on his face.

The same leather jacket that denoted him to be one of the bikers.

You could even argue that some of their handsome features were similar, except for the long, snow-white hair that this man had. Not to mention perhaps the most eye-catching feature of all - the looooong line of small hoops that decorated his slightly elongated earlobes, heavy with piercings. 

“This fucker- he should know better than to set foot on my fuckin’ turf.” Sukuna’s slightly tense voice echoes behind you, sounding as if he was a distance away. He tilts his head with cockiness, staring down the man even when seated- “Leader of the Simurian biker gang.”

By the time you’re turning back, Dabura has strode up to you silently.

His fiery eyes sweep between you and Sukuna.

Between the bite marks on your necks. Between the slight radiance around you.

Between the way you could barely even stand-

Sukuna stands up and stands head-to-head with the man, a silent battle between the two bikers.

“Ryomen Sukuna” The other man’s deep voice echoes.

“Dabura Karaba.”

“I didn’t expect you to be in some small diner- then again, I don’t expect much from you.”

“Is it because you don’t expect me that you never see the punches coming?”

Dabura seethes, “You-”

“Thaaaaat’s enough for today!” Somehow, you found yourself wedged between the two men, being squeezed from both sides by their incredibly chiselled fronts. You could feel their prominent pecs. You could feel their abs. You look up at them with a nervous smile, unsure how long this would last before all hell breaks loose and your diner ends up in shambles and debris. “How about we ah- we just get something to eat together, hm? Enough of that ah- biker rivalry and beating each other up. Let’s just have breakfast- on the house! Our specialty today is this French-”

Dabura raises a brow, looking at the rather…intimate position the three of you were squeezed into. “Eiffel tower?”

Sukuna breaks out into a grin.

You gulp.

A/N. Can y’all believe that (in some time zones) the next time I’d be posting is in 2026?!