need a bedtime story?

Another man at the passenger side, dirty blonde, with a scar running from his lip to his brow. A boy to your right, his face covered in bandages.

He greets you excitedly, tittering. “Hey, y-you’re out here pretty l-late, huh?” His stutter restarted his words like a scratched record, and you smiled politely. “Yeah, I was supposed to see this guy, but y’know.”

He grinned at that, wide, sharp. “They’ll do that to you- Toby, by the way.” His hand extended out, and you met him there. His palm felt heavily calloused, matching the scars littering his knuckles.

You told him your name, and he hummed. He said he liked it, that it ‘suits you’. It’s almost flirty, but you couldn’t tell. The seat leather sticks to your thighs in the summer heat, street lights flashing by quickly.

As the ride drags on, every time you thought that you had a read on Toby, he’d say something that throws you off. Yet he appears nice enough. Brian, as you’d come to find out, chimed in five minutes later.

“Where ya’ headed?”

Right.

“I’m not too far from here. Barter Drive- Just a little into town.” You responded, fidgeting with your thumbs. The air in the truck is a little stale- dingy, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Hunters came and went all the time, and they looked like the type.

Toby scooted closer and closer with each passing minute. Your legs were nearly touching when you finally looked up.

He was barely a couple of inches from your face, and the backseat suddenly felt cramped. “I like your s-shirt.” His raspy murmur warmed your cheeks. “Thank you, I like your, uh, sweater.”

You swallowed while he snickered. “Thanks,” Throwing his arm over the headrest, Toby cocked his head to the side, glancing at the dashboard.

“The GPS says you’re a whole t-thirty minutes away. It’s already almost one in the m-morning.”

He spoke lazily, like he knew something you didn’t. As if a decision had already been made long before you opened your mouth. “Well, if it’s too much trouble, you guys could leave me on the edge of town. I can walk the rest of the way.”

He tensed his jaw slightly, shrugging. “Mm. We’re staying at a cabin near t-the lake. It’s closer. Why don’t you spend the night? Tim can drop you off early.” A jarring offer that had you simpering nervously. “Oh, I couldn’t. It’s your space, and you don’t really know me-” However, you were cut short by a grunt from the driver's seat.

“It’s no problem. ‘Sides, we’re right up ahead, and we got a spare bedroom. You’ll be fine.” He didn’t even give you the time to respond, the truck turning off the main road and onto a path between the shrubbery.

The wheels ground against the gravel, the vehicle jolting until it slowed to a stop. Through the window, you could spot a sign in front of the car. “Dead End Road.”

The trail went past their cabin slightly, cutting off abruptly at the trees' border. The house itself sat in the middle of the small clearing. Built from scuffed wood, with a single porch light hanging above the door. Something about the seclusion, the sign that stood out amongst the vast oak, had your gut uneasy.

A warning.

You inhaled shallowly, then Toby hooked an arm around your neck. “Let’s go, c’mon.” Too cheery, he tugged you out of the backseat, dragging you to the porch while your feet scrambled to catch up. The other two followed suit, and you were standing in the foyer in less than five minutes.

“It’s nice in here.” Trying your best to be cordial, you set your shoes on the mat as they did the same. “Well, it ain’t much, but it does what it’s supposed to,” Tim said, nodding at you. Toby then ushered you to walk, and you made your way down the hall. Upon entering the living room, you met eyes with Brian, the man already settled on a lounge chair.

The fireplace crackled, and you waved at him, unsure of how to proceed. “Hi.” His lips twitched up at that, an almost smile when you locked eyes. “Hey.” Toby rested his palm on your lower back, intimate in a way you didn’t expect. His hand pushed you deeper into the room, and he brought you over to the couch, dropping down next to you.

Tim had slumped into a recliner to your left, your seats circling the hearth. His lighter sparked once, twice, before he inhaled, the cigarette burning faintly. “You want somethin’ to drink?” You shook your head, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Where’s the spare room? I think I’m gonna’ turn in-” Brian piped up, interrupting you.

“The night's young, ain’t it?”

Even without looking around, you could feel their eyes boring into you. Like starved wolves waiting for prey to take the bait. “You’re s-so tense,” Toby’s hand was too warm on your thigh, and he closed the proximity by a fraction, nose almost brushing yours when you faced him. “Breathe, jeez.” He sniggered, his pupils flicking down to your lips.

Your heart beat loudly in your ears, body frozen by the atmosphere. Borderline claustrophobic. “Sorry.” You mumbled, having his grin stretch. In that moment, your dead phone came to mind, the evident lack of outside communication enveloping you. “Don’t apologize. We’re just t-talking, nothing s-serious.” His voice had muted to a whisper, then he leaned forward.

Your mouths slotted together, and you scrambled to grip his shoulders. The force of the kiss knocked you onto your back, his frame effectively pinning you down. He wasted no time, with his hips beginning to grind as you struggled for air.

Saliva breached in strings between your lips when he withdrew. “You’re so pretty, y’know that? It makes it h-hard to hold back.” Your eyes were wide, breath coming in short puffs. “I- I thought-” You stuttered, and Tim shoved off his chair, coming into view while you swallowed dryly. His cigarette had been stubbed out into an ashtray, and he crouched.

“I know you’re pent up, s’alright. You jus’ need a little push.” He grasped your chin, forcing your head to the side. His tongue invaded your mouth in a blink, exploring the cavern hungrily. Messy, as your teeth clicked, and you felt Toby start to nibble down your throat. Drifting lower until he slinked off the sofa, his knees thudding against the carpet.

Your jeans were unbuckled, his fingers moving fast- you jerked, making Tim recline. He ran his tongue over his canines. “Relax. It’ll feel good, promise.” Dread, fear and a violating excitement licked up your spine. These were not good men, disgustingly scummy at best, and dangerous at worst. Yet your thighs twitched at the base of his words anyway.

The shorts were towed down your legs, getting tossed onto the floor before Toby mouthed at your clothed cunt. The heat of his tongue had you gasping, and Tim hooked a finger at your shirt’s edge. It was yanked up, exposing your chest. “No bra? I’m startin’ to think you were planning for this.” He snickered, groping the plush.

With Toby humming against your core, Tim began to leave hickeys across your breasts- you arched involuntarily. “Wait, please.” The pleasure came crashing through your body, principal and self-preservation clashing with the wetness building inside your panties. Toby was lapping at you through the cotton, his tongue prodding between your folds, nose nudging your clit.

Your hips started moving on their own, bucking against his face as you whined. He parted from you, licking his lips. “Masky- s-she’s soaked, man. I didn’t even do anything yet.” He chuckled. Yanking you towards him while Tim swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud. Mouth on one, his hand toying with the other.

“Sensitive, ain’t you?” He drawled, giving you one last nip, then rising to his feet. You trembled, Toby devouring you whole when your eyes finally focused on Tim. His buckle clinked, belt hanging loose. You watched him tug at his zipper before his boxer band was pulled down. Hefty, pre-cum beading at the tip of his cock, with a vein along the underside.

He propped a knee behind your head, guiding himself to your lips. “Open up, girl.” He rasped, and your jaw fell slack, salt coating your palate. He rocked inside slowly, lids drooping as he groaned. The sound had you clenching on nothing, and Toby pushed your ruined underwear to the side.

His mouth was so wet. Licking up your spillage, the slick dribbling down his chin. Your eyes rolled up, moaning lewdly around Tim’s length, and he buried his fingers in your hair. Sinking deeper, with the tip grazing the back of your throat. You scratched at the cushions, hands balled by your sides. “Look at you- just fuckin’ askin’ for it.” He scoffed, a cruel smirk spreading across his face.

His grip became harsh, and he hauled you flush against his pelvis. Thrusting his cock balls deep while you gagged. “Chokin’ on me like I’m your man. Where’s yer’ shame, yeah?” He huffed, watching the tears stream down your cheeks. “You ain’t too bad on the eyes, though. Prettiest whore I ever seen.” You writhed in his hold.

The coil in your gut curled taut, building and building- your thighs clamped around Toby’s ears. Your cunt was pulsing wildly, overwhelmed by his tongue. “Mm- fuck.” He groaned into your mound, gulping like it’d kill him if he let your cum go to waste. His fingers dug into your hips, grinding you onto his mouth.

Your legs were shaking when Tim grunted, spilling down your throat hotly. He slid himself past your lips with a low whistle, satisfied. Toby wiped his chin clumsily, crawling onto you as the other man stepped back. However, he was halted by Tim calling out to him. “Rogers, the hell I tell you?” He pouted at that, begrudgingly pushing away from you.

“But I prepped h-her-” He was silenced by Tim’s cold glare, gritting his teeth while he slouched into the armrest. “Can I use her mouth then?” He said, glancing at you, and Tim gave him a curt nod.

Shifting your limp body upright, then hoisting you onto his lap. His cock nudged between the folds of your pussy, lining up the tip with your entrance.

Your head was spinning. Their hands felt wrong on you, but your body was betraying you. Your thighs were sticky, and the mewl that left you when he sank you down on his girth didn’t help your case. You were being stretched beyond your limits, skin dewy with sweat. His cock had fit snug inside you, and it curved to press on your sweet spot hard enough to make your eyes cross. “Ah-”

Toby had shuffled in front of you, jeans already shoved below his ass as he pumped his cock. “Y-you want it, right?” He loomed over you, petting your cheek with an unsteady hand. “Say it. You w-want me-” His careful nature seemed to wane the longer it took for you to respond- ignoring the fact that he was talking a mile a minute.

His once-gentle touch turned abrasive, and he yanked your head back, his grip tangled in your hair. “Say you f-fucking want me.” He snarled, his eyes swimming with a violent desperation. When you nodded frantically, his grasp softened a bit, Toby laughing as if he was drunk. Pupils blown wide. “Yeah- yeah, okay. ‘Cause y-you’re really special, and I don’t wanna’ make you s-sad.”

His pre-cum smeared against your lips while he angled his cock head, filling your throat in one thrust. You hiccuped pathetically at the intrusion, and he cradled your face, rolling his hips forward. “Oh, shit. Ngh- you’re so perfect. Feels s’good- fuck.” You didn’t even have the time to adjust, because Tim started bouncing you a second later.

His cock was thumping up into your cervix, arms hooked under your knees as leverage. Stuffed from both ends, with Toby fucking your mouth, and Tim slamming into your cunt. Your brain was melting.

You could barely keep your eyes open, vision blurry while you blinked. Your gaze drifted past Toby, and the sight had you whining. Brian was slumped against the loveseat, boxers towed off just enough for him to stroke himself. At first glance, he appeared unaffected, but if you looked closer, you’d see it.

The flush in his cheeks, the heave of his chest. His brows were fighting to knot together as he stared, with his eyes half-lidded. Something about being watched with such fervour made you shiver, and Tim’s head pitched back.

You were squeezing down on him like a vice, your little noises having him twitch inside you. He reached up, dragging his hand over your chest and kneading the fat of your tits.

“Fuckin’ made for this, yeah? Gettin’ off to being used by motherfuckers you ain’t know-” He rolled his neck to the left before burying his nose into your shoulder.

“You wanted to act like you hated it, huh? Cry like you ain’t beggin’ for it- fuckin’ slut.” Mocking, his hips drove into you harder, pounding into you with abandon.

You clenched around him, and he cooed, licking a stripe up your neck. “I know, baby. I’ll fill you up- hah- real good.” The squelch of your pussy was embarrassingly loud, your arousal drenching his thighs.

Toby collapsed into you, catching himself with a palm against the couch’s headrest. He held your head firmly in place, his length pumping in and out of your throat. He was panting, drooling like a dog. You felt so fucking good, he couldn’t think. “Ah- shit, please.” His base smacked against your chin, slobber mixing with semi-opaque white.

He came with a breathy grunt, hips jolting- before he quickly tugged himself free. Jacking off onto your face, painting your skin with thick ropes. The gluey substance dripped down your features, milk pooling on your tongue as you presented your mouth. Too far gone, and he giggled, manic. “You’re s-such a good girl, y’know that?” Mashing his lips to yours, cum swirling with his own spit while the other man flooded your tunnel.

“Shit. You’re makin’ me wanna’ keep you.” Tim drawled, taking a moment to catch his breath. he pulled you off of him, letting you slump into the sofa, boneless. Once his words actually registered, the alarm in your gaze made him chuckle.

“Oh, honey- don’t tell me you thought you were still goin’ home.”

Your blood ran cold when he nodded at Brian. “Have at ‘er.” The man stood after the quick acknowledgment, padding over to you, half-tucked back into his boxers. If you’d been more observant, more cautious or weary, you would’ve noticed the holster attached to the back of his belt.

The distinct click of a pistol's safety rang out as Toby sat down to your right, and he kneeled in front of you.

Holding up the weapon, he cocked his head to the side. “You know what this is?” Panic spread from the end of your legs up to your skull. Your mouth faltered, gaping at him until he hummed, monotone. “You scared?” Your body refused to respond, and he lowered the gun, tapping your bare stomach twice with the barrel. “You should be.”

The hairs on your nape rose while he got to his feet. He trailed the cold steel along your collar, stopping at your lips. The harshness of the barrel left goose bumps in its wake, lethal, unhallowed. “Suck.” You swallowed thickly, tears collecting at your lashline. You leaned forward, quivering when you took the metal into your mouth.

The taste coated your tongue bitterly, like grit and unsanctioned barbarity. Adrenaline kept you upright, the only thing holding you back from hyperventilating.

You wish you ran. You wish you had toughed it out till morning, finding a payphone to call a friend. But you didn’t, and you hadn’t.

You bobbed your head slightly, gurgling around the pistol when he forced it deeper. In your periphery, you saw the blur of his hand, and you flinched—

A pet.

He was petting your hair. Smoothing down the strays, his thumb rubbing back and forth. The shock made you freeze, but he was swift to remind you. “Go on.” Not yelling. Not barking demands. Because he didn’t need to.

His calm demeanour was terrifying, too calculating- like he could snap at any moment. As if your fate could be altered at a second's notice, your life sitting in the palm of his hand.

Brian’s inhales grew heavy, dragging his tongue across his teeth. His touch descended from the top of your head to your nape, resting the gun’s grip where his buckle would be as he began rocking his hips. “See? That ain’t so bad.” He murmured, grunting under his breath. He was grinding his bulge against the pistol, the muted pleasure rolling up his frame.

You were scared, fearing your end, your sanity hanging by a thread. Every muscle in your body was screaming, winding tight- before a debased want sparked at your core. Small flickers of ember, matches being struck onto the brick. They scraped and scraped until a flame burst into the dark.

The repetition of the gun thumping into the back of your throat had your mind hazy. Lulling you achingly slow, your shoulders drooped, and you let out a faint whine. But it was enough.

Tim took a drag of the freshly lit cigarette, peering at you. “Well, I’ll be damned, she likes it.” He sniggered, and Brian clicked his tongue. “Course she does. Bet she’s been dreamin’ ‘bout this for years.” Mean as he removed the metal from your mouth, he threw the weapon onto the couch haphazardly. “Jesus, you’re a fucking whore.” His lip curled up into a sneer like he was disappointed.

“On your feet.” He said, eyes cold- you urged your legs to move. Yet your reaction came too late, and his arm shot out, fingers clamping around your windpipe.

He hauled you upwards, your limbs flailing to steady yourself. “When I speak, you listen, and you listen good. Understand?” You clawed at his wrist weakly, whimpering like a hit animal. Your lungs were burning.

He scoffed at your pitiful strength and released you after a beat, spinning you to face the sofa. Your legs buckled when he shoved you forward, wrestling your body to arch. Your knees were spread on the cushion, with your hands finding purchase on the couch top. Quiet rustling, then a calloused palm at your waist-

Brian speared you onto his cock to the hilt, and you wailed.

He didn’t ease you into it; there was no buildup or warning. With his length bullying in and out of your over-sensitive cunt, he fucked you fast and rough. “I can’t- too much, please- please.” He grunted at that, spitting onto your pussy from the back. “Dogs don’t talk.” His hips snapped against you even harder, cruel—

You didn’t mean to.

It wasn’t your fault. Your thighs were barely able to hold your weight, but in the heat of it, your foot jerked. Kicking him with enough power to make the man stagger a tad. He paused instantly, and your heart sank at his next words. “Bad girl.”

You were yanked to his chest, his bicep locking around your neck. He started pounding into your walls, bruising your poor insides as punishment. “Mm- haah- p-please. Didn’t mean it- didn’t-” Your pleas fell on deaf ears, and slick poured down your trembling legs. From the angle he had you in, his tip kept knocking into a spot that had your pupils rolling up.

It felt like you were being ripped in half, bred like a toy with no other purpose. The lack of air was making your vision dot with black, and Toby grinned, watching while he pumped himself. His hand extended, pressing down on the bulge that protruded every time Hoodie would thrust. “You’re s-suh-so pretty like this.” You think your skull was going to explode.

Drool was leaking from the corners of your mouth, jaw slack. Moans punching up your throat by force, “Ah- ah- oh-” You scratched at his bicep, squirming pathetically. He huffed and loosened his hold. Barring an arm around your chest instead, condensing your breasts, his fingers digging into your skin. His breath was feverish against your ear.

“At least pretend you hate me.” He panted, taunting you while driving deeper into your pussy. “Lettin’ us spread your legs, didn’t even have to ask.” The fabric of his sweater was tacky on your back, coarse as he chuckled. “Shit, yer’ makin’ a fucking mess on me- you gonna’ cum?” Your moans scratched your throat raw, and you bucked into him.

Tim clenched his jaw in thought, then he laughed, snatching the pistol. “Don’t worry, hun. We’ll take care of you real nice.” The barrel was pressed to your clit, making you jerk. “No- ngh.” The contrast in temperatures was euphoric, cool metal against your sweltering cunt.

You were toeing the ledge, on the brink, when your shoulders bowed— before Brian stilled behind you.

You squirmed on him, twitching, and he reclined. Stopping you from falling with a fistful of your hair, as he gave your ass a stinging spank. “If you wanna’ cum, you’re gonna’ work for it-”

Rasping, he set his palm on the curve of your spine, pushing you to arch. “Grind.” His voice had dropped an octave, and the baritone had you dripping.

It was mortifying, but you couldn’t help the sway of your hips. With each rut, the steel slid between your folds, pussy split open on his cock. Embarrassment flooded you, your face aflame while your whines heightened in pitch.

Back and forth, back and forth, your orgasm simmering while you shook. Too much and too little all at once.“Please- please, wanna’ cum- please.” You begged, the woven fabric of the sofa sullied beneath you.

Brian gritted his teeth. You were throbbing around him, cunt pulsing. He could fucking hear how wet you are, the sticky squelching echoing through the room every time your ass pressed onto him. He dug his grasp firmer into your waist, the dull pain fuelling your pleasure. Wires had crossed in your head, and you moaned, wanton and needy.

He was staving off his own peak, biting down on his lip to stifle his groan. His patience had withered to nothing, and he sharply hauled your hips back. Cockhead forced against your cervix, stuffing you to the brink. Not fucking you, with the only stimulation being from the stretch and the tainted metal of the weapon. You were too full, so full it hurt— the ecstasy crashed into you mercilessly. “Brian.”

Your head spun, and your view phased in and out, white at the edges. He acted before he could think it through. Perhaps it was your blatant desperation, the way you breathed his name like a prayer. Either way, you felt a stern hand on your jaw.

Jerking your face to the side, his lips molding over yours. His tongue invaded your mouth, sweeping your teeth, consuming you entirely.

He was corrupting your mind, his touch both desecrating and reverent. You whined, and he drank in the sound. Spurting inside you, then releasing you with a messy smack. “Christ.” He exhaled, his length slipping out of your pussy. Brian’s spend leaked from your sopping hole, and his thumb pried you wide when he hummed in approval.

Tim gave your clit a final tap. Tugging the pistol out of the way just in time, your body crumbling onto the chair, beyond exhausted. The surface stuck to your sweat-slicked skin, and you were uncomfortably sticky from head to toe. Yet, just as your lids began to close, a flash went off behind you. It made the last of your adrenaline surge to the front. “W-wait-” Arms like lead, you peeked over your shoulder.

His unfeeling smirk told you everything, camera in hand, and the scent of smoke wafted into the air before Tim spoke. “We ain’t the type to keep souvenirs. You should be honoured.”

Toby snickered at the man's praise. “Told you, y-you were s-special.” He peeled you off the sofa, propping you against his chest, with your thighs straddling his own.

“It’s my turn, pretty. You can’t p-pass out yet, okay?” You didn’t have the energy to reply if you wanted to, limbs useless by now. All you could do was moan quietly as he sank you down onto his cock. “Fuck, you’re s-so warm.” He groaned into your ear, anchoring his palms under your ass to bounce you. Your arms hung limp by your sides, Toby fucking up into your puffy cunt.

Your clit kept bumping into his base, and the sparse hair of his happy trail ground against your sensitive skin. Even through Toby’s sweater, you could feel the ridges of roped muscle. Strength nurtured by gruelling labour and nothing else.

The perspiration had dampened his face, his bandages lifting at the corners. Another thrust, another jerk of his head- and the patch peeled off.

A gnarled, ragged scar tugged at the skin on his cheek, revealing his gums. It looked like it had healed and reopened over and over again, his teeth exposed at the deepest part of the gouge. You think there’s something wrong with you. A festering infection that you’d ignored, only revealing itself now.

You pulled yourself from his shoulder and leaned in as he eased his rhythm, confused. “What-?” Then your tongue ran over his unconcealed teeth. You were licking his fucking scar. He screeched a laugh, yanking you back by the hair.

“You’re f-fucking sick.” Toby smashed your lips together no more than a second after, pelvis slapping against your mound.

Tim chuckled in disbelief, nodding at Brian. “Look at that- we should’ve grabbed her sooner.” He extended the gun loosely, and the other man agreed with a grunt, snagging the grip from his hand. “I’m surprised she made it this far with a head that empty.” He stepped to you, trailing the barrel up your spine while you rode Toby’s cock.

It felt too good- you couldn’t stop. The veins on his girth dragged in and out of your tunnel, catching on the ridges and making you drool. Fucked dumb on it and high off the friction. Brian huffed, sneering.

“Humpin’ him like an addict. I bet you can’t even fuckin’ hear me.” He said, using the top of the pistol to lug your head back, the metal pressed against your throat. “Open.” An order that you obeyed swiftly, tongue stuck out. He spat onto your palette, clamping a palm over your mouth, and watching you swallow without a fight. He scoffed.

Swapping the weapon with his hand, your windpipe was snug in his grip before he raised the gun to your temple. “You got five minutes to finish him off, or I’m pullin’ the trigger.” The gun was rammed so hard against your skull that it burned, aching from the shooting pain. You slammed your hips down fervently and hiccuped.

Your nervous system was at war with itself, your mind sending out alerts. Blaring sirens, and going comatose from fear, while your body struggled to keep up with the agonizing pleasure. You sobbed, panting as Toby threw his head back, eyes scrunched shut. “Shit- fuck- fuckfuck—” He arched, writhing under you, and Tim whistled to your side, jeering. “I’m startin’ to like you, baby. You ain’t wanna’ break my heart, do ya’?”

Your cunt felt raw, the nonstop usage having hot tears stream down your cheeks. They’d been so rough, and your inner thighs hurt, bruises already forming. Your orgasm seized you painfully, your arousal squirting onto Toby’s stomach as he keened, brows knotted up. He tensed completely, then sagged into the cushions, chest heaving.

The pistol slid off your neck when you collapsed into him.

Spittle mixed with snot and salt had your face a mess, and you snivelled, nearly hyperventilating. You were sore all over, head heavier than cement, your muscles screaming from overexertion. You were so tired.

Your ears were stuffed with cotton, but you could still make out Tim’s voice, the faint shuffling as he moved closer. His hand brushed the hair out of your eyes, and you sniffled, hiccuping loudly.

Yet even through your bleary vision, his worry was laid bare.

“Come back to me, sugar- c’mon.”

Toby adjusted you carefully while Brian rushed to grab water and hot towels. “You’re okay. We g-got you.” He muttered, smoothing his palm down your back. Tim pressed a kiss to your damp forehead. “It’s done, you did so well. So, so good, you hear me?”

Softly, he cradled your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth. “You’re alright, just breathe for me, hun.” Your inhales finally began to slow, and Brian rounded the couch.

Walking to the front of the chair, he stood with one knee settled between you and Tim to steady his weight. “Heya,’ dolly.” He whispered, cautious not to shock your system further. The bottle was brought to your lips, and you gulped down the water. The liquid cooled you swiftly, making you nuzzle into Toby’s arms once you were satisfied.

Brian’s hands rested on your arms when he pitched forward, littering your features in feather-light pecks.

He withdrew after a minute and towed the coffee table towards himself. Taking a seat, then supplying Toby with the clean rags as Tim laced his fingers with yours. Your tremors still hadn’t ceased, and he frowned.

“Can you tell me where you are?” Tim mumbled, holding your knuckles to his chest. The warmth of his hand, along with Toby's body, had you fighting sleep, slurring. “At home…” He hummed at that, sighing in relief.

They’d been wary when you’d initially brought it up, but you said you were sure. It’s not like you hadn’t done roleplay in the past- it’s just that this was going the extra mile. You wished to go all in, setting up a whole scenario for it. You had debated storylines the night prior and decided on the hitchhiker trope.

You would be stranded, alone and vulnerable- picked up by three strangers in a truck. They would take you back to an “unfamiliar cabin” to have their way with you.

Cliche’, yet you’d been excited. And one very, very long conversation about safewords later, you took a bus to a decently far gas station. Walking back for authenticity, according to you. You didn’t talk to them for the full twenty-four hours leading up to it and everything.

Still, the concern remained present. The last thing they wanted was to actually scare you, and this would be a heavy role to partake in. The fear of pushing you too far, being too rough or hurting you had been circling their minds the entire night. Always waiting an extra second after an act, just in case you needed a break or to stop the scene entirely.

Tim kissed your bare shoulder. “You know who we are?” Some would say it was dumb, but he didn’t care. Facts would ground you- reminders would ensure your comedown was stable. He needed you to know you were safe.

You swallowed, blinking at him lazily. “My boys.” He smiled, nodding, pupils dilated while he gave your palm a squeeze. “Mhm.” Toby finished wiping the grime from your back, pecking your crown. “How are you feeling, angel?” He cast the towel aside and snatched a fresh one from a bowl filled with warm water. “Sleepy.” Brian chuckled at your dazed expression, hushed.

“S’been a long night, hm?” He rose, redoing his buckle halfway. “Let’s get you cleaned up, darlin’. Yer’ gonna’ catch a cold like this.” Tim followed suit, and Toby shuffled to stand, hoisting you upwards. With your legs wrapped around his waist, the four of you made your way upstairs.

The bath was heavenly for your sore joints, and you breathed out, content. Tim and Toby had taken the standing shower, with you and Brian cuddled in the tub after a quick rinse.

You scooped the sudds in your hands, reclining into his chest. “You are a very convincing actor, Bri Bri.” He laughed, one arm resting at your hip, the other thrown over the porcelain ledge.

“Mm- nearly broke character when you flinched. I felt like a fuckin’ bastard.”

“Yeah, but that’s the point! You were all ‘grrr, obey me or else- you whore.’ It was crazy.”

He cringed at the memory. “Lord, that sounds awful out loud. You sure you liked it?” The water sloshed a bit, your feet wiggling, and you giggled. Peering at him. “Yes. And I thought you were very sexy. What if you wore your masks next time?” He shot you a look, squinting at you. “Dolly, I think you have a thing, and we should talk about it.” You jutted out your bottom lip. “But you could chase me through the woods—”

“Absolutely not.”

Tim had shoved his head out from the shower door, the glass fogged with steam. “The forest is dangerous. You could trip- what if you hurt yourself, huh? And there are animals and bugs, and I’m not defiling you on the dirt while you cry. It ain’t right.”

His hair was foamed with soap, and Toby swiped at the condensation, creating a little window to look through. “It’s t-too risky, muffin. You could fall or s-something.” You huffed, defensive. “I’m not even that clumsy.”

“It ain’t about bein’ clumsy, it’s principle.”

“Tim.”

“Uh uh. It’s in the house where it’s safe, or it’s not happenin’. Yer’ lucky we even agreed to that lil’ gun thing.”

You groaned, sagging against Brian as you pouted. “It was empty!” He snickered from behind you, and Tim narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t start with me, girl.” He closed the door, the attitude radiating off him when Toby snorted.

“I know you wanna’, but it’s dangerous out there- and what if EJ s-sees? He’s super strict about that s-stuff. He’d kill all of us before we could explain.” His explanation had you raising a brow, and you leaned your cheek onto Brian’s bicep.

“Really?”

“Yeah- Jack’s moral compass is s-strong. Like. Strong.”

“I thought he just ate people?”

“Angel, if I told him I called you a whore with no context, he’d punch m-me into a wall—”

— ^ ^ —

But everything in this lousy mansion is out of your hands anyway.

The bottle spun on the coffee table, wobbling through the leftover alcohol and cigarette ash stains before it slowed and finally stopped.

It landed on—

You looked up.

Tim.

Before the room could go completely silent, Jeff let out a loud, ugly laugh.

“Well shit,” he crowed, leaning back on the couch and covering his face with his hands. “Looks like Timmy gets the consolation prize. Try not to bore her to death in there, old man.”

Tim didn’t snap back. He just stared Jeff down from across the circle, his eyes dark and narrowed. There was something almost smug in the way he tilted his head, like he already knew exactly how much this was eating Jeff alive, how he could practically see right through his asshole demeanor. 

He stared at Jeff long enough for the boy to sink back into himself a little, but not without rolling his eyes and crossing his arms as he broke the stare down to glare out the window.

But then Tim turned and walked straight past you, his boots thumping on the floorboards as he headed down the short hallway toward the closet like he had all the time in the world.

You stayed seated for a beat, your heart suddenly kicking harder than it should.

Nina wasn’t having it. She popped up behind you with a bright, mischievous laugh and hooked her arms under yours, hauling you to your feet.

“Nope! Don’t be a baby, babe. Go on!”

She gave you a firm shove toward the direction Tim just went. A couple of the others whistled and clapped as you stumbled forward, but as you looked back one final time in anxiousness, all you saw was Jeff’s wide eyes watching you fade around the corner. In amongst the distraction, Brian had moved from his spot and was now leaning against the wall nearest the hall towards the closet. As you approached, he rummaged into his jacket pocket and fished out a silver flip lighter, pushing it into your hands before you could pass.

You looked down at it, feeling the cold weight in your hand, before looking at him—only for the blond to give you a very confusing nod before he let you go. You shoved it into your back pocket.

Tim was already at the closet door. He yanked it open, reached up, and pulled the chain for the single bare bulb dangling inside. Weak yellow light spilled out over the hanging coats and junk boxes, flumes of dust floated out, and you had to wave the air in front of your face to keep from coughing. He stepped aside, one hand still holding the door, and tilted his head toward the inside.

You hesitated. “Tim, I can just—”

“Get over yourself,” he cut you off, keeping his face flat and unreadable. Before you could retort again, he stepped in close, using his body to herd you forward until you were inside the cramped space. The door pulled shut behind him with a final click.

The muffled music and laughter from the living room dulled instantly, only the floorboard thumps under your shoes to keep you company.

Tim reached down and fiddled with the dials on his wristwatch, setting the timer with a few soft clicks. Seven minutes. The little hands began ticking immediately.

You both stood awkwardly about a foot and a half apart, your backs pressed against opposite walls of the cramped closet. You kept your eyes glued to the floor, occasionally fiddling with the hem of your shirt or picking at your fingernails. Tim, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was watching you. His gaze was steadily honed on you, occasionally flicking toward the closed door like he was listening for footsteps or somebody snooping outside. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, digging around until he found his trusty pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and slid it between his lips like he always did.

Then he started patting his other pockets.

“Shit,” he grunted under his breath. “Left my lighter with Brian.”

“Oh, wait.”

You hesitated for a second before reaching into your back pocket and pulling out the worn silver lighter Brian had given you moments ago. You held it out to him without a word.

Tim’s eyes flicked down to the lighter, then back up to your face. A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he took it from your fingers, his hand brushing yours.

He flicked it open, lit the cigarette, and took a long, deep drag. The tip glowed bright orange in the dim light. He exhaled a thick plume of smoke toward the ceiling, watching it curl and drift in the stale air, pockets of smog dancing like little ghosts around the lightbulb.

You raised an eyebrow. “You really think it’s smart to smoke in a closet this small?”

Tim shrugged one shoulder, completely unbothered. He took another drag, then lowered the cigarette, smoke pooling from between his lips as he spoke.

“Probably not.” His voice was gravelly. “But I've already decided to be in here with you. Might as well add this to the list of bad choices tonight.”

You laughed.

He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes never really leaving you. The smoke continued to drift lazily between the two of you, filling the small space with the sharp scent of tobacco.

You shifted your weight against the wall under the intensity of his stare, your arms loosely crossed. The smoke was already starting to make the small space feel even stuffier.

“Do you think Jeff’s gonna retaliate at all?” you asked one-offedly, reaching for anything to conversate about.

Tim took another slow drag, then exhaled through his nose. “No.”

He sounded sure. Almost bored.

“Jeff’s emotional and jealous and got a nasty fucking temper,” he continued, flicking ash onto the floor. “But if he’s actually mad, he’ll turn that shit on somebody else. He’s too scared to come at me.”

You let out a laugh, nodding. “Yeah… that sounds about right.”

Tim tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Why’re you concerned?”

“No reason,” you said quickly, shrugging. “Just… you two seem like you’re in some kind of secret competition. It’s weird.”

Tim went quiet for a long moment. He brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking two slow puffs while he thought. Smoke curled up between you like a hazy curtain.

“Maybe we are,” he finally admitted.

You shook your head. “You’re not the type to do childish shit like that.”

Tim let out a short, rough laugh, almost like he was surprised by your response.

“For the right person?” he said, “I might.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than moments before. The muffled noise from the living room seemed to fade even further away, only the cadence of the speakers thumping enough to let you know the party was still happening. You were both just… looking at each other. 

Then Tim pulled the cigarette from his mouth and held it out to you, offering it between two fingers.

You took it carefully. When you brought it to your lips, you could still feel the warmth from his mouth on the filter. You took a puff, the smoke filling your lungs with that familiar burn.

Tim’s gaze stayed locked on your mouth, watching the way your lips wrapped around the same spot his had just been. His head tilted slightly, something unreadable shifting in his face as he tracked the motion.

When you lowered the cigarette and exhaled, he was still staring. So you stared right back at him, no longer pretending to study the floor.

Tim looked… different tonight, even if only slightly. His clothes were his usual thick jacket and jeans, but they were cleaner than normal, no random gunpowder smudges, no dirt or dried blood. His hair was a little more put together, and that ever-present stern, gruff expression sat heavy on his face like it always did. 

It was nice seeing him without his mask amongst so many people, but that also meant that he couldn’t hide behind it, that he had to face you and everyone else with his whole self—no Masky there to save him.

“You’re being tense,” he said bluntly, breaking the silence.

“Well, yeah,” you answered, letting out a short breath.

Tim shrugged one shoulder, reaching out to take the cigarette from you and promptly taking two deep drags. “We’ve been alone together plenty of times before. This isn’t any different.”

“It is different,” you countered. “This isn't a mission or some supply run or something. This is… this.” You gestured vaguely at the cramped space left between you.

“I didn’t know context mattered that much to our relationship.”

You let out an awkward little laugh, shifting against the wall. “It’s funny you’re even calling it a relationship.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

You just shook your head, laughing again under your breath, unsure how to answer. He was being so blunt tonight, more direct than usual, like the straightforwardness was a shield. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw kept flexing, but he wouldn’t relax. It was like he was ready to punch you and run at any moment, if he wasn’t going to yell at you first.

“…Are you nervous?” you asked quietly.

Tim didn’t answer right away. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, studying the little ticking hands.

“Six minutes left,” he said instead, completely sidestepping the question.

You let out an awkward laugh and shook your head.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous, you know,” you told him. “This is weird, but it’s just a stupid game to embarrass everyone. It’s not serious.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “I know that.”

He passed the cigarette back. You brought it to your lips and inhaled, mostly just to give your hands something to do. The smoke filled your lungs, but it did nothing to ease the thick tension sitting between you, even if it did make you a little lightheaded.

The two of you kept staring at each other.

You finally spoke again. “Are you only playing because Jeff egged you on?”

Tim let out a dry laugh and looked down at his boots for a second before his gaze returned to yours.

“No,” he said simply. “I’m playing because I wanted to.”

“Why would you want to play something like this?”

“Why would you?” he asked, turning the question right back on you.

The air felt heavier. You swallowed. “I’m… not sure.”

Tim’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Really?” It seemed like he was almost teasing you.

You held his gaze for a long second, then let out a breath. 

“No.”

He took the cigarette back when you offered it, but he didn’t bring it to his lips right away. He just kept watching you, smoke curling slowly from the tip.

The timer on his watch continued its quiet ticking. Five minutes left.

Tim finally spoke again. “Good. At least we’re being honest now.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You think I’m not being honest?”

Tim shook his head slowly. “Not with yourself.”

You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not being honest with what you want.”

“Oh, so you know what I want now?” you shot back, irritation rising fast. “You know what’s best for me?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

That irritated you more than it should have. You pushed off the wall slightly, glaring up at him.

“You’re just being rude now, man.”

“You’ve never had a problem with my rudeness before.”

“Context,” you muttered, reiterating the idea he couldn’t seem to grasp.

“Ah, yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Context.” He took one last drag before dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot. “Like the context of Jeff pretending he’s got some kind of claim over you… and you going along with it.”

Your stomach twisted. “Jeff does not have a claim over me.”

The words had barely left your mouth before Tim took a single, big step forward.

The already cramped closet shrank instantly. He loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the weak light from the bulb overhead. The smell of smoke and pine and that familiar warm scent that always clung to him filled the air between you, almost overwhelming you. You pressed your back against the wall once again.

He stared down at you, almost looming.

“Then who does?”

His face was close now, close enough that you could see the thick stubble on his jaw and the tired lines at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t touching you, but the sheer presence of him made your back press harder against the wall.

You glared up at him, your heart kicking against your ribs as the silence stretched, but after a long moment, you finally answered.

“Nobody.”

You caught it.

For just a split second, Tim’s dark eyes flicked down to your mouth as you said the word, watching the shape of it on your lips. He snapped them back up to yours almost immediately, probably hoping you didn’t catch it. But you did.

You swallowed, then added, “Not even Slenderman.”

Tim let out a short, rough laugh.

“He wouldn’t like hearing you say that too much.”

“Well…” you tilted your head slightly, still staring up at him, “he’s not here, is he?”

This time, Tim didn’t even try to hide it. His gaze dropped to your mouth again and stayed there longer. You watched his jaw flex, the muscle ticking under the skin as his eyes traced the curve of your lips. 

It felt like it was getting harder to breathe.

When his eyes finally dragged back up to yours, they seemed darker than before.

“No,” he murmured. “He’s not.”

Before you could say anything more, Tim reached into his jacket pocket again, pulling out the same pack of cigarettes.

You huffed. “Seriously? It’s been, what, two minutes since your last one. Can you really not take a break?”

He didn’t answer. He just shook another cigarette out, lit it with the same silver lighter you’d handed him earlier, and took two puffs. The tip burned bright orange, and exhaled the smoke through his nose. 

Then his hand moved.

He reached out and clasped your jaw firmly, his thick fingers pressing into your cheeks and smooshing them together until your lips puckered. Your hand flew up on instinct, grabbing his wrist and tugging down, but he didn’t budge an inch. His grip was strong.

“Tim—” your voice was a little muffled against the strain of his grip. For a second you wondered if you’d actually pissed him off.

“Open.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Open your mouth.”

You searched his face, looking for any sign that he was joking, but there was nothing playful there. You didn’t know if you could laugh out of caution of making him more mad, so… you did what you were told.

When he was satisfied, Tim leaned in and placed the lit cigarette between your puckered lips, then used his thumb to close your mouth around it.

“You know what to do,” he murmured.

He didn’t let go of your jaw.

You had no choice but to inhale. You took a normal, comfortable drag, the smoke filling your lungs before you exhaled it through your nose. You stared up at him, confused, waiting for some kind of explanation. Was this supposed to be degrading? Some weird power move? Or some weird one-off joke that you’ve never known him to make?

But his grip stayed firm on your cheeks, and his expression didn’t change. He didn’t look satisfied.

You started to squirm, pawing at his arm. “Tim—”

“More,” he said.

You tried to speak around the cigarette, fumbling the filter between your teeth. “What’s happening right now—”

He stepped even closer, one of his boots planting between your feet so your legs were forced to part slightly. His other hand came up to tilt your chin higher, making you look straight up into his face. The overhead light cast harsh shadows over his stern features.

“Keep going,” he grunted.

You furrowed your brows, but obeyed, taking another drag. Then another. He watched every inhale with utmost interest.

“C’mon,” he said quietly, almost coaxing you. “Don’t stop.”

You inhaled again, deeper this time, pulling harder on the cigarette. The smoke burned hotter going down. Your head started to feel light.

“Again,” he continued. “As much as you can.”

You kept going, breath after breath, the nicotine hitting harder with every pull. Your vision began to swim. A heavy, dizzy fog rolled over your mind as the rush flooded your system. Your knees felt weak. The hand you had on his arm tightened, trying to steady yourself as the world tilted slightly.

Tim’s grip on your jaw stayed iron-still, holding you in place while he watched your face closely, seeing every detail of your flushed cheeks and drooping eyes and your steadily relaxing muscles.

“That’s it,” he muttered, soothing, almost. “One more. Big one.”

You whimpered softly around the cigarette, head spinning badly now, but you did it anyway. You pulled long and deep until your lungs were burning and the dizziness crashed over you like a wave. The nicotine buzz was overwhelming and sharp and heady, and making everything feel floaty and too warm.

Tim finally pulled the cigarette from between your lips.

You immediately exhaled hard, right into his face—a thick cloud of smoke rushing out as you tried to empty your burning lungs. The motion triggered a coughing fit. Your eyes watered, your vision became blurry, and you felt completely dizzy and messy, probably looking a little disheveled.

But Tim kept his hand firmly on your jaw, holding your face in place. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched you struggle, not out of malice but he was clearly satisfied now.

Your head was still swimming badly. You tried to steady yourself, taking shaky, deep breaths of the thick, smoggy air in the tiny closet. The nicotine buzz was intense, making everything feel too floaty and too warm and too out of your body.

“Tim… I feel really dizzy,” you managed, a little breathless.

You heard him chuckle, “I know.”

His thumb slowly dragged across your bottom lip, wiping away the spit that had gathered there from coughing and your heavy breathing. His eyes followed the motion.

Then, without warning, he brought the cigarette back to his own mouth, took one long, final drag, and dropped it to the floor. He crushed it under his boot right next to the first one.

Before you could even catch your breath, Tim leaned down and kissed you.

He grabbed both sides of your face with his rough hands, holding you firmly as he brought your faces together. Your hands shot up and pressed against his chest, bracing yourself against the embarrassment that was breaking through your mental haze. This was ridiculous. It was some weird, controlling kink thing… but your brain wasn’t working well enough to care.

All you could focus on was how warm his hands felt against your cheeks and how good his mouth felt on yours.

Then his tongue pushed past your lips, and he breathed the smoke from his lungs into your mouth.

The sudden rush made your head spin all over again. You let out a muffled groan and gripped the front of his jacket tighter, your fingers twisting into the thick fabric. Tim responded by dropping his hands to your waist and yanking your body flush against his.

Oh.

He was hard. You could feel him clearly through his jeans, pressed against your lower stomach. For a split second, nervousness flared in your chest.

Should you be nervous? Probably.

But the thought dissolved almost as quickly as it came.

Fuck it.

You kissed him back harder, desperate to feel something solid amongst all of your dizziness. Tim groaned in his throat and tilted your head, kissing you like he was starving for it, like this was all he’d ever wanted.

It became too much.

The smoke, the nicotine, the heat of his body—you couldn’t breathe. You pushed against his chest with both hands. Tim pulled back just enough for you both to gasp for air.

Thick smoke wafted out of both of your mouths, curling between your faces and up into the muggy air. You noted how Tim’s face looked, how the smoke parted around his jaw and up above the dark hair in his head. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. His hands stayed locked on your waist, but his chest rose and fell rhythmically under your palms.

It was getting hard to tell if Tim had always looked this good, or if the overwhelming amount of nicotine in your bloodstream was making your brain go numb.

But after a minute of panting, you felt your senses returning—most notably, the loud pulse of the music from the living room vibrating through the walls and into your shaky bones. You slowly started regaining your steadiness, the dizzy fog beginning to lift. Tim slid a flat palm up your back.

“Deep breaths,” he hums.

You obeyed without thinking, too deep in whatever headspace he’d pushed you into to pretend it didn’t feel ridiculously good. Each inhale felt almost euphoric, your chest rising and falling as you breathed in the thick, smoky air. You gripped the shoulders of his jacket, and after a moment you noticed he was breathing in time with you, drinking down fresh air as you did.

You glanced up at his face. The usual stern mask he wears had fallen into something lazier, almost hazy. He looked a little lost just staring at you with his half-lidded eyes.

When you blinked long enough to reset your vision, you met his eyes again, and he began to lean in toward your lips, his eyes dropping to your mouth in time with his movement. You let him come to you, tilting your chin up to meet him—

His watch started beeping sharply under his sleeve, knocking the moment right off kilter.

You both jerked back, staring at each other like you’d completely forgotten why you were even in the closet in the first place. Whatever obnoxious spell you both were under vanished. From outside, the music in the living room suddenly cut off. You could hear laughter and the sound of people scrambling down the hallway toward you.

Tim stepped back, putting space between you again. He adjusted his jeans, and tried his best to smooth his jacket out. By the time the door flew open, you were both standing roughly where you started with your backs against opposite walls, trying (and failing) to look casual.

The closet door swung open and you were immediately hit with fresh air and very nosy faces.

Toby’s was the only one you registered, though. The thick cloud of smoke rolled out past them into the hallway. He wrinkled his nose dramatically, grimacing at you two.

“J-Jesus, man,” he laughed. “You’re really smm-smoking in h-here? In a fucking clo-closet?”

Tim just blew air through his nose, clearly unimpressed. He shoved Toby’s head to the side and stepped out, brushing past the group without another word. He didn’t even glance back at you before heading down the hall.

You tried to follow, but Toby’s eyes locked onto you and he let out a shrill laugh.

“Ho-ly shit. You don’t loo-look too hah-hot right now.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, brushing past him as he started firing off questions.

“What’d h-he do? D-Did he make yo-you cry? Why do you smell like an ahh-ashtray? Wait—did you guys actually do an-anything or—”

You ignored him and made a beeline for the kitchen, desperate for something cold to drink. Your head was still swimmy and light, the nicotine making everything feel slightly tilted as you stumbled through the still-trashed house.

You passed Tim on the way. He had already found his usual spot right next to Brian, the two of them leaning against the wall like they were physically incapable of being more than three feet apart for more than ten minutes. Tim’s eyes flicked to you as you walked by, but he didn’t say anything. Brian, however, didn’t take his eyes off of you as you passed, gathering all the information he needed just from the state of you.

You yanked open the fridge, grabbed the first beer you saw, and popped it open. You drank nearly half of it in one go, the cold yeasty liquid soothing your raw throat and helping ground you a little.

Unfortunately, you weren’t alone for long.

Toby wandered in after you, Natalie right beside him and EJ trailing quietly behind them. The three of them formed a little triangle, watching you like a very nosy, very abrasive little troupe of bastards.

Most of the party in the living room had devolved into loud chugging contests and some money-gambling version of Go Fish that involved way too many rules and even more yelling. You were grateful almost everyone else was too distracted to notice how obviously rattled you were—except for these dipshits.

Toby leaned on the island counter, grinning wide enough to make your blood boil a bit. “So… you guh-gonna tell us what hah-happened in there or do w-we have to guess?”

Natalie tilted her head. “You look like you just got punched in the face… but, like, not in a bad way.”

You opened your mouth, ready to snap something mean and defensive, but before you could get it out, Brian walked into the kitchen.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he waved a hand at the trio. “Move along. Go have your little orgy somewhere else and leave people alone.”

Jack let out a raspy little laugh, which was rare enough that it surprised you into laughing too. Toby whined dramatically but let Natalie tug him away. The three of them shuffled out, Toby still throwing questions over his shoulder until they disappeared back toward the living room and out of your field of vision.

Once they were gone, Brian opened the fridge, rummaged through the junk and pulled out a beer for himself, then popped the tab. He leaned against the counter across from you and took a sip as he studied your face, which you were trying very hard to make seem normal.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, sipping at your beer if only to give your hands something to do. “Yeah… just a little… shaken up.”

Brian gave an understanding nod. “Tim can be a little intense sometimes. He’s either completely honed in or not interested at all. Sometimes he forgets that not everybody is like that, too.”

Your face burned with embarrassment, but if there was anyone you could talk to about this, it was Brian. He knew Tim better than anyone.

You tapped the cold glass of the bottle in your hands for a second, then asked, “Do you think he only did it because he was pissed about Jeff?”

Brian shook his head immediately.

“Nah. Tim doesn’t work like that. Jeff’s just an annoying, loud mouth kid to him. He doesn’t lose his head over shit like that.”

You stared down at your beer, chewing on your lip. “Then… why?”

Brian took another sip, then jerked his chin toward the back door.

“He’s out on the porch right now. And—he’s not smoking.” Brian raised his eyebrows. “When Tim’s not smoking, it means he’s thinking. Thinking real hard.”

He pushed off the counter, nodding toward the fridge.

“Go take him a beer. That’ll ease him up.”

You watched Brian disappear back into the living room, then immediately pressed the cold beer bottle against your forehead and closed your eyes. The chill helped a little, but your stomach was still doing nervous flips. Not scared-of-Tim flips. Just stupid, schoolgirl-crush, heart-in-your-throat flips. Barf. It was embarrassing as hell.

“Get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

You popped open the fridge again, grabbed the last beer, and started heading for the back porch. 

But the second you reached the kitchen doorway, you froze.

Jeff was standing there, leaning against the frame, and blocking your path. He didn’t say a word. Just stared at you. And it was so… unreadable. His eyes flicked over your face, your slightly messy hair, the flush still lingering on your cheeks.

You stared right back.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. For a moment it felt like neither of you would move, but for as much ruckus as Jeff had caused tonight, you were more-than-willing to be rid of him right now. You had bigger things on your plate. 

You squared your shoulders and shoved past him, knocking his arm out of the way with your shoulder.

He didn’t try to stop you.

You moved quickly through the hallway, the noise of the party fading behind you as you pushed through the back door and stepped out onto the wrap-around back porch.

The night air was cooler out here compared to the thick mug of coffee alcohol and smoke inside, trading the damp smells for fresh pines and wet dirt. Most of the party had moved or stayed inside, so the porch was vacant for the most part. But at the far end, where the railing curved into shadows and no one could see if they didn’t come outside, stood Tim.

He was leaning forward on the railing, staring out into the dark tree line like he was looking for something. He didn’t turn when he heard the door open. He didn’t glance over as your shoes creaked across the wooden planks. But you knew that he knew it was you.

You walked up and stopped beside him, setting the unopened beer on the railing near his hand, little beads of condensation dripping onto the wood.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of crickets and the low hum from inside. You looked out into the treeline too, seeing how the dark shadows gave way to a black void beyond where the porch lights could reach. There were so many creatures and monsters out there, but none of them even came close to shaking your nerves like the man standing right next to you.

“Hey.”

Tim finally turned his head, his eyes sliding over to meet yours. 

Tim’s stare had always been like iron, so sharp and guarded and prickling with intensity that kept almost everyone at arm’s length. But right now it looked… weary? Tired in a way that seemed deeper than just the late hour and the shitty beer. 

Then his gaze dropped to the bottle in your hand. 

“What’s this?”

“Peace offering,” you said, pushing it toward him a little further. “You looked like you could use one.”

Tim looked at you again, then at the bottle, before taking it. He twisted the cap off and took a long pull. Almost immediately his face twisted and he huffed through his nose.

“Jesus Christ, that’s awful.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you took another drink from your own. For a while, the two of you just leaned against the railing side by side, listening to the crickets and the distant rustle of the woods. The party noises inside felt miles away.

Eventually Tim huffed again, almost like he was annoyed with himself.

“I’m sorry for overstepping in there,” he said quietly. “I got lost in the theatrics of it all.”

You shook your head. “I would’ve told you to stop if I didn’t like it.”

…

You both caught it at the same time—the admission, the way it lingered. Your eyes met again.

Tim turned his head fully toward you, that weary look sharpening into something more focused.

“Did you like it?” he asked, and it’s like the words turned to static as they reached your ears.

You looked down at your shoes for a minute.

It had thrown you off, sure. The tightness of the space, the weird dynamic between you two, even the sheer amount of embarrassment from having to play this game at all made your brain feel like mush. But you couldn’t deny it.

It felt good.

The dizziness. The way your head went fuzzy and floaty. The way he took control of you completely and didn’t let you hide from it. The way every thought in your brain is stamped out the moment oxygen is absent from you.

Yeah… it felt good. A lot better than you were ever going to admit.

You took a big drink to buy yourself time for something witty to say, only to realize you’d already finished the entire bottle and there were only droplets left. You sighed and met his stare again.

“It’s a weird question,” you grimaced with an awkward little laugh.

Tim didn’t laugh with you.

He pushed off of the railing and stepped closer, close enough that you were suddenly the same distance apart as you’d been in that stupid closet. And who would’ve thought, but the fresh air out here suddenly became thicker in your lungs too.

His free hand lifted slowly. You watched it rise, your heart kicking off its rapid thumps like shoes in a washing machine once again. His fingers brushed the side of your neck first, and he was sure to feel the goosebumps that were rising there, before they slid from their position to lace around either side of your throat. His palm rested just under your chin.

You stalled completely. Went stock-still.

Heat flooded your face so fast you were sure you looked ridiculous. That familiar, stupid nervousness rushed back over you like a wave, making your breath catch and the tips of your fingers feel numb.

“Do you know your answer now?” he grumbled.

You stared up at him, completely dumbfounded. The words wouldn’t come. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Before you could find your voice, Tim reached down with his free hand and pried the empty beer bottle you’d forgotten about from your fingers. He set it on the railing beside his own, then closed the last bit of distance between you until your noses almost bumped.

His fingers flexed against the sides of your neck, applying the easiest amount of pressure to your airway.

You gasped sharply and your hands flew up on instinct, grabbing his wrist tightly.

“Is this okay?” he murmured.

You didn’t answer right away. The pressure made your breath go shallow, a warm, heavy feeling blooming in your head. It wasn’t painful—just intense. Overwhelming. Your pulse hammered against his palm.

After a second, you gave him a small nod.

That was all he needed.

Tim leaned in and kissed you, his beer-tasting lips sliding to meet yours, while his hand squeezed a little harder around your throat. It pinpointed your senses onto him—onto how labored he was making your breaths, how fuzzy he was making you feel, how warm and mushy and light all at once. 

You whimpered against his mouth, the sound embarrassingly whiny and needy as you squeezed your eyes shut. Your fingers tightened around his wrist, doing little to keep yourself afloat as your knees weakened.

Tim’s other hand slid down and grabbed your hip firmly, fingers digging in as he pulled you tighter against him.

You tilted your head up further, sliding your hands from his wrist all the way up to the collar of his jacket. You tugged at him, yanking his chest flush against yours. Tim grunted, growling into the kiss and pushing his tongue between your lips, invading your senses.

Things started to get muggy really quick.

His hand around your throat tightened just enough to make your airway feel suddenly shallow. Every breath came out smaller, sweeter, turning your little gasps and whines into something embarrassingly needy between kisses. The more you whimpered, the more Tim chuckled warmly against your mouth.

He finally pulled back just enough for you to gasp in a proper breath, but his hand stayed glued around your throat firmly. Spit glistened on your swollen lips. You were the picture of bliss right now with your hazy eyes and flushed cheeks and lightheaded demeanor. Tim studied your face for a second, then shook his head slightly, like he wasn’t satisfied.

“You’re still too coherent,” he grumbled.

His hand left your hip and rose to your mouth. His thumb traced slowly around your wet lips, smearing the spit across them until they shone. Then he pushed his thumb between your parted lips, sliding it over your tongue.

You tasted the salt of his skin and sighed.

He gently bobbed his thumb in and out of your mouth, teasing, his eyes locked on the sight. You wrapped your lips around it instinctively and started licking, swirling your tongue under the pad of his thumb like it wasn’t completely desperate and embarrassing.

The effect on Tim was immediate, though.

“Fuck…” He pressed his thumb deeper for a moment, then pulled it out slowly, dragging it across your bottom lip. His hand around your throat flexed again, applying that perfect amount of pressure that made your head swim even more and your blinking grow more rapid.

“You have no idea what you look like right now.” His hips pressed forward against you, letting you feel exactly how hard he was. “How good you look.”

Tim dipped his thumb back into your mouth, sliding it slowly over your tongue. Without thinking, you started bobbing your head, sucking on it with gently eager pulls.

“Good job,” his voice dripped with approval.

The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder. Your stomach flipped, heat flooding low in your belly.

He pulled his thumb out, dragging it across your bottom lip and leaving your mouth open and wet. Then he latched his mouth back into yours, kissing you deeply while his hand squeezed tighter.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound snagged as your air began to dissipate.

The kiss turned heated, your tongues sliding hot and messy, teeth nipping each other's lips, both of you breathing hard through it. Tim growled against you, devouring every little sound you gave him.

He pulled back just enough to speak. “If you wanted this the whole time, you could’ve just asked, sweetheart.”

Then his grip on your throat tightened hard.

Your eyes widened. A sharp, shrill sound escaped you as your airflow suddenly cut off completely. Your hands flew back to his wrist, gripping tight. Your eyes fluttered with tears and rolled slightly as the pressure built fast in your head.

“That’s it,” he kept his voice steady. “Don’t be too loud now, can’t have anybody seeing what a mess you are, now can we?”

In your haze, everything felt overwhelming. The rush of blood making your face burn hot. The tight, rigid tension in your body. The floating sensation in your head. It was turning you on so badly you could barely think, could barely keep tabs on the rest of your body.

So, you gave in.

Your body went a little limp in his hold, trusting him, melting against his chest. Failed little breaths turned into choked, whimpering moans that rumbled against his palm. Your thighs pressed together as heat throbbed between them horribly. Tim groaned in time with your sounds, pressing his hard cock against your hip and grinding away, letting you feel how much this was affecting him too.

“Does it feel good?” his lips brushed your cheek as he kissed you almost tenderly. “You can let go. I’ve got you, doll.”

You were clawing at his wrist now, not to pull him off, but because the pressure in your head kept building at a staggering rate, a bright white heat spreading through your senses, numbing everything else. It felt so fucking good. So freeing. Like every nerve in your body was lit up and floating at the same time.

You felt warm lines of tears roll down your cheeks.

“Awh… poor thing,” he breathed. “Don’t you know anybody could walk around this porch right now and see you? Anyone can see what a… fuck… what a mess you are.”

He stilled up after he said that, like he realized something, like he just had the air punched out of him.

Then he finally let go.

The rush of air back into your lungs hit you like a truck. You coughed violently, your chest doing great swoops as you gasped and choked, desperately trying to pull oxygen back in and getting interrupted by your own coughs. Your legs buckled, but Tim caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you upright against his chest.

He grumbled his support through it, “There you go. Take it easy.”

When you finally felt steady enough, you lifted your head from its position of staring blearily down at your shoes. Your cheeks were wet with tears, and you could still feel the mess of spit on your swollen lips. The embarrassment tries to wash over you, but is ultimately overpowered by the thumping ache in your stomach and head.

Tim tilted your chin up with his thumb, studying your face carefully.

“You alright?” he asked, glancing from one eye to the other, registering how much wider your pupils had become.

You took a shaky second, then nodded. “…Yeah.”

It was silent for a moment, before you both spoke again:

“You satisfi—?”

“Can you do it again?”

Tim groaned. “Fuck.”

He grabbed your arm and tugged you backward along the porch, moving you both around the corner of the house where the wrap-around deck tucked against the wall. It was much more private here—someone would have to step fully outside and round the corner to see you.

The second you were hidden from view, Tim’s hands landed on your shoulders and pushed you down.

Your knees hit the wooden planks without any resistance. The dizziness was back full tilt, so you swayed a little as you settled, fighting the fog in your head to look up at him. Tim towered over you, broad and dark against the night sky, the porch light casting sharp shadows across his burly face.

Jesus Christ, he’s hot as fuck.

He stared down at you for a moment, breathing harder now, his chest rising and falling in big pulses. He brought both hands to either side of your face, cupping your cheeks and curling his fingers under your jaw. His thumbs brushed over your tear-streaked skin, wiping some of it away.

You broke eye contact and looked straight ahead, right at your eye level.

Fuck.

Tim’s bulge was obvious, straining hard against the front of his jeans, the thick outline pulsing slightly with his heartbeat. Your lips parted on a shaky gasp. Even with your vision still a little blurry from the lack of oxygen, it was so evident, you couldn’t look away. Your mouth watered.

You wanted it. Horribly. 

Tim slid one hand to the back of your head, cupping it to keep your limp, oxygen-deprived body from tipping over. Your skin felt prickly all over, your nerves buzzing and firing off in little shivers.

You dragged your gaze back up to his face, swallowing hard.

“I want it,” you whispered, your voice so small you barely even heard it.

Tim’s lips curved into a grin, his eyebrows raising in mock question. The sight of it made your stomach flip.

“Yeah?” he murmured, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You want it so bad… then you’re gonna have to take it for yourself.”

Your eyes dropped back down in front of you, then up to his belt. Your hands felt weak, but you raised them anyway and you worked at his belt buckle, the metal clinking as you pulled the leather through the clasps, fighting to get it open.

Tim didn’t help you. He just stood there, letting you struggle with the button and zipper, punctuating every step of the way with little sighs or grunts of approval.

“That’s it,” he said when you finally got the zipper down. “Go on, then. Show me what you want.”

Tim leaned his shoulders back against the side of the house, the wood creaking under his weight as he rolled his hips forward just slightly, like he was offering himself to you—or asking you to hurry up—you weren’t sure.

He was wearing dark navy boxers, and right at the tip of the very prominent bulge there was a small, damp spot where the fabric clung to him. Heart hammering, you shifted higher on your knees. Your hands were still shaky from the lack of oxygen earlier, but you reached up anyway, curling your fingers into the waistband of his boxers. His skin was warm, almost hot, under your fingertips. You noticed the dark trail of hair starting just below his navel, leading down and disappearing beneath the fabric.

You swallowed hard and tugged his boxers down.

The second you pulled them past his hips, his cock sprang free, so heavy, bobbing once right in front of your face.

Oh my god.

He was big. Not porn-star scumbag long, but thick like the rest of his body, girthy in a way that made your stomach tighten with nervous excitement. The flushed head was already glistening with pre-cum, a shiny bead forming at the slit and threatening to drip right there in front of your lips. He was thickest in the middle, the length curving a bit where a prominent vein snaked the underside, throbbing every few moments. You could see it twitch slightly in time with his pulse. All to lead to a dark, messy patch of hair at his pelvis.

Everything felt hazy. You were a little awestruck and more than a little intimidated.

Tim let out a relieved huff when his cock finally fell free, almost like he’d been holding his breath. You could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the musk of his skin and the air from the night. Your thighs pressed together instinctively as another wave of dizzy heat washed through you.

Tim’s voice groveled from above you, “You gonna just stare at it all night?”

There was a punch of amusement in his tone, but mostly it was strained, like he was trying very hard to stay patient while you knelt before him, wide-eyed and visibly overwhelmed.

His cock gave another twitch right in front of you, another bead of pre-cum forming at the tip.

“I… I’ve never… I mean—”

Tim chuckled. “Use your words.”

You swallowed over the lump in your throat, your cheeks burning hotter. “I’m nervous,” you mumbled. “I’ve never done… this before.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, tilting his head so he was looking down the bridge of his nose at you. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Nobody’s used this mouth before?” he asked, almost disbelieving.

He slid his hand from the back of your head to cup under your chin, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip before tugging it down and parting your lips for him. His brows furrowed as he stared at your open mouth.

You licked your lips nervously. “Will you… be easy?”

Tim let out a chuckle, the sound warm in his chest.

“As much as I can be,” he grinned.

Then both of his hands moved to either side of your head, cupping your jaw and cheeks. You placed your hands over his, clutching his fingers tightly as he guided your head forward. Your heartbeat was so violent in your chest you thought he’d be able to hear it.

“Open up.”

You parted your lips wider, your eyes fixed on his tip as it disappeared under your nose and he eased the head past them. The tip bumped your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum spreading across your mouth. You let out a shaky breath through your nose, squeezing his hands harder.

The thick head of his cock slid over your tongue as he pushed in slowly. You opened your mouth wider on instinct, trying to make room for him. He tasted warm and a little gritty, exactly like how he always smelled naturally. Your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to relax your jaw, breathing quickly through your nose.

Tim let out a groan above you, “Fuck… so wet,” his voice tight with restraint.

He angled your head a little more with both hands and pushed forward again. The tip bumped against the roof of your mouth, making you jerk slightly. Tim hissed through his teeth.

“Watch your teeth, sweetheart.”

He adjusted the angle and pushed a little deeper. You felt your lips stretch around him as roughly the first third of his length filled your mouth. It was a lot and heavy on your tongue, stretching your jaw in a way that made your head spin even more.

You ran your tongue slowly along the sensitive underside of the head, licking at the leaking slit.

“Shit—” Tim cursed sharply, his hips twitching forward on their own.

He shifted his weight, steadying himself against the wall, then tugged your head back and forth, bobbing you along the first few inches of his cock. The motion was slow, letting you get used to the size and weight of him.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that. Relax your jaw… good. Suck a little harder when I pull you forward—mmh—yeah, fuck, just like that.”

He guided your head forward and back, daring to pull you a little deeper on his length every time.

“Easy now,” he instructed, stroking your cheek. “Don’t try to take too much yet. Just focus on relaxing—good. Yeah. You’re doing good.”

You could feel his hesitance in how he grabbed you, how he was holding himself stiff to not jar you too roughly. But you asked for this, so he shouldn’t hold back for your sake.

So when he pulled your head back, you scrunched your brows and pushed forward instead, taking more of him into your mouth. Tim groaned, his thumbs pressing harder into your cheeks as you stretched your lips wider around his size. Nearly halfway now.

You coughed around him, your eyes watering as he filled your mouth so completely. The stretch burned pleasantly at the corners of your lips and your jaw ached from the awkward stretch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let go of his wrists. One hand braced against his pelvis, feeling the tense muscle straining there, while the other wrapped around the thick base of his cock and gave a tentative squeeze.

Tim cursed sharply under his breath, his thumbs digging harder into your cheeks. “There you go,” he grunted.

You leaned in and took him deeper, sucking on the first half of his length as best you could. The hand wrapped around his base made it easier to angle him, letting you slide your lips further down his shaft. You bobbed your head slowly, trying to find a rhythm, your tongue pressing and sliding along the underside as you worked him. 

Tim's hips tried to buck forward before he caught himself.

“Shit… you sure you’ve never done this before?” he breathed, staring down at you. “You’re a fucking natural.”

He slid one hand into your hair, gripping just tight enough to guide you, and started pulling your head back and forth rhythmically. You let him set it, relaxing your jaw as much as you could while your hand continued stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. Your spit was already coating him, making everything slick and messy, dripping down his shaft as your tongue ran over every inch you could reach.

Tim’s breathing grew ragged, broken up by low grunts and curses every time you sucked harder or swirled your tongue around the sensitive head.

“That’s it… ahh—fuck,” he murmured when you choked a little. “Who would’ve thought you’d be this good.”

He rocked his hips in time with the movement of your head, fucking shallowly into your mouth while his fingers stayed tangled in your hair. The obscene wet sounds coming from your mouth were the only noise rivaling the crickets and bugs in the woods, besides Tim’s heavy breathing and the mumbled jump of music from inside. Please let it be loud enough so nobody can hear, you thought.

You tried to take more of him, pushing forward eagerly, but the thick head of his cock nudged against the entrance of your throat and you immediately choked, coughing hard around him. You had to pull back, gasping with watery eyes.

Frustration burned in your chest. You wanted this—wanted him—so you tried again, forcing yourself deeper. Same result. Your throat closed up, and you gagged, pulling back with a wet, embarrassing sound.

One more try. You opened wider, shoved your face forward, and immediately choked again. Lewd, messy noises spilled from your throat as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

Tim’s hands tightened on the sides of your head.

“Easy,” he cooed. “Slow down, doll. You’re pushing too hard.”

He guided you back until just the swollen tip rested on your tongue. You sucked on it obediently, apologetically, swirling your tongue over the leaking slit, tasting the salty pre-cum that kept dribbling out. Tim let out a moan, gritting his teeth as he watched.

You tried again anyway, your jaw aching in protest as you shoved forward, furrowing your brows in concentration. The wet sounds that came out of you were filthy. Tim groaned again, but this time he pulled you off completely, his cock slipping from your lips with a slick pop.

You gasped for air, spit and tears smeared across your chin and cheeks as you recollected your senses. Tim wiped at your face with his thumb, smearing the mess even more as he looked down at you.

“You’re doing perfectly,” he strained. “What’s the matter?”

You swallowed, still catching your breath, staring at his throbbing, spit-slick cock hovering in front of you—which you wanted so desperately.

“I want you to go harder,” you choked over a hoarse voice.

“You’ve barely started. You need to get comfortable first—”

“I don’t care,” you cut in, looking up at him with watery eyes. “I want you to use me. Like how you choked me earlier… I want to feel that. I want you to make me feel that way.”

Tim stalled, staring down at you. His cock gave a big twitch right in front of your face, drooling another thick bead of pre-cum that slowly dripped down the shaft. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the careful, controlled part of him warring with raw want.

Then something in his expression shifted.

He reached down and planted his hand firmly on the crown of your head, his fingers curling tight into your hair. He jerked your head back so you were looking straight up at him. His face was dark now, eyes laden with lust.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” he gripped. “But you listen to me. You fight me and you’ll hurt yourself. Understand?”

You nodded quickly, your heart racing.

Tim gripped the base of his cock with his other hand and pulled your head forward. He tapped the glistening tip against your bottom lip a few times, teasing the spit that gleamed there.

“Open.”

You parted your lips obediently, slipping your tongue out to meet him. He slid the head into your mouth, letting you close your lips around it. Then his hand moved to the back of your head, planting a base there.

“Relax,” he ordered. “Don’t fight it.”

Before you could even nod, he pushed forward, sliding deep in one smooth thrust until the head bumped the back of your mouth and pressed against the entrance of your throat. You gagged instantly, but he pulled back just as fast, only to push in again, setting a relentless rhythm.

“Oh, there we go,” he grumbled through his pleasure. “Good fucking girl. Just let me use this pretty mouth.”

Tim didn’t hold back anymore.

He tightened his grip in your hair and started fucking your mouth with punctuated thrusts, his hips snapping forward to push deeper into the wet heat of your mouth with deep grunts and growls. You grabbed onto his jean-clad thighs for balance, digging your fingers into the rough fabric as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying your best not to fight the constant intrusion despite how your body wanted to.

Every forward snap of his hips made his belt buckle jingle beside your ear. Lewd gags and choked little noises escaping you with every thrust as the thick head of his cock battered the back of your mouth.

“Fuck…” Tim hissed through gritted teeth, tugging your hair. “That’s it—just take it. Christ, your mouth feels so goddamn good.”

He moaned when you gagged harder around him, his hips stuttering for a second before he pushed in again, a little deeper this time.

“Shit—easy, sweetheart, easy,” he panted, even as he kept thrusting. “I know it’s a lot—mmh—but your choking is so pretty. C’mon, try again.”

You grunted around him with every deep push, spit dripping down your chin as your throat convulsed. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now, but you didn’t pull away. You held onto his thighs tighter, trying to take deep breaths of air through your nose whenever he pulled back.

Tim cursed under his breath, half at you, half at himself.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this to you… not like this—ah, shit—” He groaned loudly as you swallowed around him. “But you feel too fucking good. This greedy little mouth… sucking me like you were made for it.”

Tim slowed his hips, easing you forward until just the thick middle of his cock rested between your lips. He let you suck him slowly, dragging your wrapped lips from the middle of his shaft all the way up to the swollen, leaking tip.

“Relax,” he sighed. “Don’t fight it. You’re gonna take all of me.”

A sharp jolt of nervousness shot through you like electricity, but it only made the heat between your legs throb harder. You blinked slowly with glassy eyes, and nodded around him.

He cupped the back of your head firmer. “Lean your head back a little… yeah, just like that. Open wider for me, doll. Relax your throat. Let me give you what you want.”

You did as he said, tilting your head back and opening your mouth as wide as you could, sucking gently on the tip while your tongue swirled around it.

Tim started pushing in again. This time he didn’t stop where he had before.

You felt the prominent vein along his shaft slide over your tongue as he fed more of his thick cock into your mouth. Your jaw ached from the stretch, especially when he reached the widest part of him. You coughed around his length as the head pressed firmly against the tight entrance of your throat.

“Easy… easy,” Tim breathed, holding you still. “Just breathe through your nose.”

He abused that spot, shallowly fucking the head of his cock against the beginning of your throat with small, insistent nudges that made you gag and choke wetly around him. Spit dripped down your chin in messy strings.

“Relax your throat,” he grit out. “Let me in. Come on, sweetheart, open up for me. I know you can take it.”

You whimpered around his cock, tears slipping down your cheeks again, but you tried—focusing on his voice, on relaxing your throat even as your body instinctively fought the intrusion, on every buzzing nerve in your head.

He pushed forward again, feeding more of his thick cock past the uncooperative ring of muscle at the back of your throat. The stretch burned, and you choked around him, again and again, but Tim didn’t pull back.

“C’mon,” he growled. “Let it happen.”

You tried. God, you tried. But the deeper he went, the harder it became. It was like he was pushing into your brain. You couldn’t tell if you were more frustrated that you weren’t being choked on his cock, or that him choking you like this wasn’t working.

“Look at me.”

You forced your watery eyes to peel open and up to his. The intensity in his stare was almost too much—you had nowhere else to look. Only his tan skin, dark hair, and everything you never knew you wanted so badly.

“Just focus here,” he muttered. “Keep lookin’ at me.”

He kept pushing, inch by inch, until the widest part of his cock forced its way past that tight ring. Your throat spasmed violently around him. You coughed and gagged, your body jerking and trying to pull away, but Tim held your head firmly in place, refusing to let you pull away.

“Shh. Relax… just relax,” he growled, trying to be soothing even as his own breathing grew ragged. “You’re doin’… so good. Takin’ me so deep. Fuck, I can feel your throat squeezin’ me…”

Finally, with one last slow push, he bottomed out.

Your nose pressed flush against his pelvis, buried in the coarse patch of dark hair. His length throbbed deep down your throat, completely cutting off your air. The fullness was overwhelming to an alarming rate. 

Tim let out a long groan, his hips jerking and settling as he held you there.

“Jesus Christ… all the way. You got every fuckin’ inch.” His voice was hoarse, something you’d never really heard before. “Good. Such a good fucking job for me.”

You were getting lightheaded fast.

The world blurred at the edges, a warm, floaty haze settling over everything. Your throat fluttered and squeezed around the thick length of Tim’s cock, every tiny twitch and throb pulling another noise from him. But underneath the strain, the ache, the burning stretch… you felt nothing but bliss.

He’d bottomed out completely. The heavy head of his cock nestled deep in your throat like it belonged there. It felt like a bell had rung somewhere inside your skull—a deep, resonant thrum. The pressure, the fullness, the way your body fought and then haphazardly surrendered… it was overwhelming in the best way. You couldn’t breathe. You were gagging softly around him, tears streaming down your face, but none of it mattered. It felt too good. Like being choked from the inside out. Like something filthy touching a part of you no one else had ever reached.

Tim’s hand slid tenderly over your wet cheek, his thumb brushing away some of the tears as he looked down at you.

“So pretty,” he rasped. “So warm.”

His hand drifted lower, cupping under your jaw for a moment, petting you almost sweetly. Then it kept going.

You felt his palm settle over the front of your throat.

Your dazed eyes blinked into focus.

Tim’s fingers curled around your neck, squeezing with a good amount of pressure while his cock stayed buried. Your hand flew up and gripped his forearm where you felt it. A muffled whine vibrated around his length as your vision began to tunnel, black creeping in at the edges. Your head felt like it was floating, pulsing with white-hot heat, but the lack of air made everything sharper and softer at the same time. Everything was contradictory.

“Settle down… I’ve got you,” Tim murmured. “Look at you. You’re doing great.”

He kept the pressure steady, not crushing, but firm enough that every shallow, failed attempt at breath turned into a weak, pathetic gag that made your head strain further. Your body trembled. You felt like you were burning alive—every nerve lit up, body aching, head spinning so badly you thought you might actually pass out.

And you didn’t care.

It felt too good. The numbness, the heat, the overwhelming fullness, how Tim was looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world… it was addictive.

Tim’s thumb stroked over the front of your throat, feeling the way his own cock bulged there as he held you pinned.

You gazed up at him through puffy, tear-blurred eyes, barely separating where his face began and the porch lights ended. But what you could see was flushed raw, his stern mask cracked open to leave nothing but visceral need.

He gave one involuntary bump of his hips, nudging just a little deeper, and cursed sharply under his breath.

“Shit… I’m not gonna last like this,” he growled.

Then something shifted in him. Anxious, restless energy took over, and his hands moved to either side of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he carefully dragged his cock back. You felt every thick inch sliding out of your throat—the sudden rush of air, the wet, obscene pull, the way your throat shuttered and clenched around nothing once he was almost all the way out.

You barely had time to breathe before he thrust back in.

Fuck.

The stretch burned as he pushed deep again and bottomed out. Then he did it again. And again.

Tim started fucking your throat in earnest.

He was growly now, almost animalistic with deep, frustrated grunts escaping him with every rough snap of his hips. He’d pull back halfway, just enough for you to feel the head drag across your tongue, before slamming back in, forcing himself past that tight ring and burying his cock to the hilt.

“Fuck—that’s it,” he rasped, voice breaking. “Take it. Just fuckin’ take it all.”

Your jaw had gone completely slack, your lips stretched wide around the base of him as he used your mouth. Every thrust punched a wet, choked gag out of you. Spit poured down your chin in messy strings, dripping onto your chest and the wooden porch below. Your hands stayed clenched tight on his thighs, holding on for dear life while he fucked your throat with growing urgency. Your body fought desperately for air that never came, but your brain couldn’t be more happy.

Tim’s hand slid from your hair to your cheek, his rough palm surprisingly gentle as he brushed away some of the tears still rolling down your skin. Then his thumb slipped into the corner of your mouth, hooking inside and pulling your lips open even wider, exposing your tongue for him buried under the weight of his length.

You blinked slowly and let your head go completely lax in his hold. You wanted him to use you exactly how he needed.

“I’m close,” he rasped, groaning as his thrusts turned sharp and frantic. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum.”

You looked up at him through wet lashes. His usually neat hair had fallen forward, dark strands messy and sticking to his forehead, hanging into his eyes. He looked completely undone.

“Shit—fuck,” Tim cursed sharply.

He pulled his cock out of your throat in one smooth motion. You gasped in wet, raw breaths, your chest heaving as fresh air finally rushed back into your lungs. Before you could even steady yourself, his thumb tugged your bottom lip down, holding your mouth wide open for him.

He pressed the swollen, leaking tip of his cock right against your tongue and started stroking himself in fast, frantic strokes. His body shook with how close he was.

You whined loudly around him, the desperate sound vibrating against his tip as you looked up at him with teary, needy eyes, silently begging the best you could.

That did it.

Tim practically growled when he came.

Thick, hot ropes of cum spilled across your tongue and flooded your open mouth. He kept stroking himself through it, gritting his teeth hard to stay quiet, his shoulders shaking as pulse after heavy pulse poured over your tongue. You moaned, the taste so satisfying and evidence of your hard work.

“Ah, God… swallow it all,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Swallow what I give you.”

Even as he came, he kept his thumb hooked in the bottom of your mouth, holding you open so he could watch every rope land on your tongue. His whole body trembled with the force of it, his hips twitching as the last few weak spurts dribbled onto your lips.

“Christ.”

When the last of his release had spilled across your tongue, you closed your lips around the sensitive head of his cock and gently sucked.

Tim’s hips twitching at the overstimulation. “Mmnh… you’re gonna kill me.”

You pulled off, then swallowed, feeling the warmth of him slide down your throat. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, so salty and warm.

Exhausted, you slumped down, your chest heaving as you dragged in deep, full breaths. Your head was still spinning, and you could feel the mess of yourself, all the spit and tears drying on your face. You lifted a hand to wipe at your chin, but Tim caught your wrist and swatted it away.

“I got it,” he muttered.

He slid down the wall, his back pressed to the wood as he tucked himself back into his boxers and jeans, quickly fixing his belt. Then he leaned forward, using his rough hands to haphazardly clean the mess from your cheeks and chin. When he was satisfied, he wrapped his hand around your arm and tugged you forward to turn your back against the wall too, your shoulders leaned against the other’s. The warmth of his body grounded you amongst all the haze.

For the first time you could hear it over the rush in your head, the party was still kicking inside, random yelling and loud music still evident against the quiet out here now.

“You okay?”

You looked over at Tim, whose face was the picture of exhaustion, mental and physical. You nodded, bumping your shoulder against his playfully.

He watched you for another second, then turned his head to stare out through the porch rails into the dark woods. The crickets kept chirping like nothing had happened.

“I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he muttered. “Not out here.”

You let out a tired laugh, leaning your head back against the wall.

“You’re dumb if you couldn’t tell how badly I wanted it,” you said, your voice a lot more hoarse than it had started. “I’m more disappointed you didn’t pull something like that sooner. You clearly wanted it, too.”

Tim quietly chuckled, a bit of light breaking through that dark stormcloud that always hovered above his head. For a moment the two of you just sat there, catching your breath and relaxing again. Then you both turned at the same time, your eyes meeting together. You leaned in slowly, and he did the same, faces drawing closer until your lips were barely a breath apart—

“Whoops.”

You both snapped your heads toward the voice.

Brian stood a few feet away, looking mildly awkward but mostly amused, three open beers clutched between his fingers. He was trying and failing to hide the smirk on his face.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, tone far too innocent.

Tim let out a long, exhausted sigh and dragged a hand down his face. “C’mon, man.”

Brian stepped closer anyway and handed over two of the beers. Tim took them, passing one straight to you without a word. You accepted it gratefully and took a big, long drink. The cold, bitter liquid felt like heaven on your raw throat.

“Toby had a whole stash under his bed,” Brian explained, leaning against the railing across from you. “Party’s kinda revived itself since you two disappeared. People are doing chugging contests again.”

He took a sip of his own beer, eyes flicking between the two of you with barely-hidden amusement.

“So… had a good time mingling?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tim shot him a flat look. “How much did you hear?”

Brian shrugged, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just guarding the door like a responsible friend looking out for his pals.”

You nearly choked on your beer. Tim just shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he took a long drink from his own bottle.

The three of you sat there for a moment in surprisingly comfortable silence, the distant chaos of the party drifting through the walls while the cool night air brushed over your heated skin and wore off the strain. Brian’s smirk never quite went away, but he didn’t push it.

Tim’s shoulder, however, stayed pressed right against yours.

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ prologue

๑ back to my masterlists

Another man at the passenger side, dirty blonde, with a scar running from his lip to his brow. A boy to your right, his face covered in bandages.

He greets you excitedly, tittering. “Hey, y-you’re out here pretty l-late, huh?” His stutter restarted his words like a scratched record, and you smiled politely. “Yeah, I was supposed to see this guy, but y’know.”

He grinned at that, wide, sharp. “They’ll do that to you- Toby, by the way.” His hand extended out, and you met him there. His palm felt heavily calloused, matching the scars littering his knuckles.

You told him your name, and he hummed. He said he liked it, that it ‘suits you’. It’s almost flirty, but you couldn’t tell. The seat leather sticks to your thighs in the summer heat, street lights flashing by quickly.

As the ride drags on, every time you thought that you had a read on Toby, he’d say something that throws you off. Yet he appears nice enough. Brian, as you’d come to find out, chimed in five minutes later.

“Where ya’ headed?”

Right.

“I’m not too far from here. Barter Drive- Just a little into town.” You responded, fidgeting with your thumbs. The air in the truck is a little stale- dingy, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Hunters came and went all the time, and they looked like the type.

Toby scooted closer and closer with each passing minute. Your legs were nearly touching when you finally looked up.

He was barely a couple of inches from your face, and the backseat suddenly felt cramped. “I like your s-shirt.” His raspy murmur warmed your cheeks. “Thank you, I like your, uh, sweater.”

You swallowed while he snickered. “Thanks,” Throwing his arm over the headrest, Toby cocked his head to the side, glancing at the dashboard.

“The GPS says you’re a whole t-thirty minutes away. It’s already almost one in the m-morning.”

He spoke lazily, like he knew something you didn’t. As if a decision had already been made long before you opened your mouth. “Well, if it’s too much trouble, you guys could leave me on the edge of town. I can walk the rest of the way.”

He tensed his jaw slightly, shrugging. “Mm. We’re staying at a cabin near t-the lake. It’s closer. Why don’t you spend the night? Tim can drop you off early.” A jarring offer that had you simpering nervously. “Oh, I couldn’t. It’s your space, and you don’t really know me-” However, you were cut short by a grunt from the driver's seat.

“It’s no problem. ‘Sides, we’re right up ahead, and we got a spare bedroom. You’ll be fine.” He didn’t even give you the time to respond, the truck turning off the main road and onto a path between the shrubbery.

The wheels ground against the gravel, the vehicle jolting until it slowed to a stop. Through the window, you could spot a sign in front of the car. “Dead End Road.”

The trail went past their cabin slightly, cutting off abruptly at the trees' border. The house itself sat in the middle of the small clearing. Built from scuffed wood, with a single porch light hanging above the door. Something about the seclusion, the sign that stood out amongst the vast oak, had your gut uneasy.

A warning.

You inhaled shallowly, then Toby hooked an arm around your neck. “Let’s go, c’mon.” Too cheery, he tugged you out of the backseat, dragging you to the porch while your feet scrambled to catch up. The other two followed suit, and you were standing in the foyer in less than five minutes.

“It’s nice in here.” Trying your best to be cordial, you set your shoes on the mat as they did the same. “Well, it ain’t much, but it does what it’s supposed to,” Tim said, nodding at you. Toby then ushered you to walk, and you made your way down the hall. Upon entering the living room, you met eyes with Brian, the man already settled on a lounge chair.

The fireplace crackled, and you waved at him, unsure of how to proceed. “Hi.” His lips twitched up at that, an almost smile when you locked eyes. “Hey.” Toby rested his palm on your lower back, intimate in a way you didn’t expect. His hand pushed you deeper into the room, and he brought you over to the couch, dropping down next to you.

Tim had slumped into a recliner to your left, your seats circling the hearth. His lighter sparked once, twice, before he inhaled, the cigarette burning faintly. “You want somethin’ to drink?” You shook your head, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Where’s the spare room? I think I’m gonna’ turn in-” Brian piped up, interrupting you.

“The night's young, ain’t it?”

Even without looking around, you could feel their eyes boring into you. Like starved wolves waiting for prey to take the bait. “You’re s-so tense,” Toby’s hand was too warm on your thigh, and he closed the proximity by a fraction, nose almost brushing yours when you faced him. “Breathe, jeez.” He sniggered, his pupils flicking down to your lips.

Your heart beat loudly in your ears, body frozen by the atmosphere. Borderline claustrophobic. “Sorry.” You mumbled, having his grin stretch. In that moment, your dead phone came to mind, the evident lack of outside communication enveloping you. “Don’t apologize. We’re just t-talking, nothing s-serious.” His voice had muted to a whisper, then he leaned forward.

Your mouths slotted together, and you scrambled to grip his shoulders. The force of the kiss knocked you onto your back, his frame effectively pinning you down. He wasted no time, with his hips beginning to grind as you struggled for air.

Saliva breached in strings between your lips when he withdrew. “You’re so pretty, y’know that? It makes it h-hard to hold back.” Your eyes were wide, breath coming in short puffs. “I- I thought-” You stuttered, and Tim shoved off his chair, coming into view while you swallowed dryly. His cigarette had been stubbed out into an ashtray, and he crouched.

“I know you’re pent up, s’alright. You jus’ need a little push.” He grasped your chin, forcing your head to the side. His tongue invaded your mouth in a blink, exploring the cavern hungrily. Messy, as your teeth clicked, and you felt Toby start to nibble down your throat. Drifting lower until he slinked off the sofa, his knees thudding against the carpet.

Your jeans were unbuckled, his fingers moving fast- you jerked, making Tim recline. He ran his tongue over his canines. “Relax. It’ll feel good, promise.” Dread, fear and a violating excitement licked up your spine. These were not good men, disgustingly scummy at best, and dangerous at worst. Yet your thighs twitched at the base of his words anyway.

The shorts were towed down your legs, getting tossed onto the floor before Toby mouthed at your clothed cunt. The heat of his tongue had you gasping, and Tim hooked a finger at your shirt’s edge. It was yanked up, exposing your chest. “No bra? I’m startin’ to think you were planning for this.” He snickered, groping the plush.

With Toby humming against your core, Tim began to leave hickeys across your breasts- you arched involuntarily. “Wait, please.” The pleasure came crashing through your body, principal and self-preservation clashing with the wetness building inside your panties. Toby was lapping at you through the cotton, his tongue prodding between your folds, nose nudging your clit.

Your hips started moving on their own, bucking against his face as you whined. He parted from you, licking his lips. “Masky- s-she’s soaked, man. I didn’t even do anything yet.” He chuckled. Yanking you towards him while Tim swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud. Mouth on one, his hand toying with the other.

“Sensitive, ain’t you?” He drawled, giving you one last nip, then rising to his feet. You trembled, Toby devouring you whole when your eyes finally focused on Tim. His buckle clinked, belt hanging loose. You watched him tug at his zipper before his boxer band was pulled down. Hefty, pre-cum beading at the tip of his cock, with a vein along the underside.

He propped a knee behind your head, guiding himself to your lips. “Open up, girl.” He rasped, and your jaw fell slack, salt coating your palate. He rocked inside slowly, lids drooping as he groaned. The sound had you clenching on nothing, and Toby pushed your ruined underwear to the side.

His mouth was so wet. Licking up your spillage, the slick dribbling down his chin. Your eyes rolled up, moaning lewdly around Tim’s length, and he buried his fingers in your hair. Sinking deeper, with the tip grazing the back of your throat. You scratched at the cushions, hands balled by your sides. “Look at you- just fuckin’ askin’ for it.” He scoffed, a cruel smirk spreading across his face.

His grip became harsh, and he hauled you flush against his pelvis. Thrusting his cock balls deep while you gagged. “Chokin’ on me like I’m your man. Where’s yer’ shame, yeah?” He huffed, watching the tears stream down your cheeks. “You ain’t too bad on the eyes, though. Prettiest whore I ever seen.” You writhed in his hold.

The coil in your gut curled taut, building and building- your thighs clamped around Toby’s ears. Your cunt was pulsing wildly, overwhelmed by his tongue. “Mm- fuck.” He groaned into your mound, gulping like it’d kill him if he let your cum go to waste. His fingers dug into your hips, grinding you onto his mouth.

Your legs were shaking when Tim grunted, spilling down your throat hotly. He slid himself past your lips with a low whistle, satisfied. Toby wiped his chin clumsily, crawling onto you as the other man stepped back. However, he was halted by Tim calling out to him. “Rogers, the hell I tell you?” He pouted at that, begrudgingly pushing away from you.

“But I prepped h-her-” He was silenced by Tim’s cold glare, gritting his teeth while he slouched into the armrest. “Can I use her mouth then?” He said, glancing at you, and Tim gave him a curt nod.

Shifting your limp body upright, then hoisting you onto his lap. His cock nudged between the folds of your pussy, lining up the tip with your entrance.

Your head was spinning. Their hands felt wrong on you, but your body was betraying you. Your thighs were sticky, and the mewl that left you when he sank you down on his girth didn’t help your case. You were being stretched beyond your limits, skin dewy with sweat. His cock had fit snug inside you, and it curved to press on your sweet spot hard enough to make your eyes cross. “Ah-”

Toby had shuffled in front of you, jeans already shoved below his ass as he pumped his cock. “Y-you want it, right?” He loomed over you, petting your cheek with an unsteady hand. “Say it. You w-want me-” His careful nature seemed to wane the longer it took for you to respond- ignoring the fact that he was talking a mile a minute.

His once-gentle touch turned abrasive, and he yanked your head back, his grip tangled in your hair. “Say you f-fucking want me.” He snarled, his eyes swimming with a violent desperation. When you nodded frantically, his grasp softened a bit, Toby laughing as if he was drunk. Pupils blown wide. “Yeah- yeah, okay. ‘Cause y-you’re really special, and I don’t wanna’ make you s-sad.”

His pre-cum smeared against your lips while he angled his cock head, filling your throat in one thrust. You hiccuped pathetically at the intrusion, and he cradled your face, rolling his hips forward. “Oh, shit. Ngh- you’re so perfect. Feels s’good- fuck.” You didn’t even have the time to adjust, because Tim started bouncing you a second later.

His cock was thumping up into your cervix, arms hooked under your knees as leverage. Stuffed from both ends, with Toby fucking your mouth, and Tim slamming into your cunt. Your brain was melting.

You could barely keep your eyes open, vision blurry while you blinked. Your gaze drifted past Toby, and the sight had you whining. Brian was slumped against the loveseat, boxers towed off just enough for him to stroke himself. At first glance, he appeared unaffected, but if you looked closer, you’d see it.

The flush in his cheeks, the heave of his chest. His brows were fighting to knot together as he stared, with his eyes half-lidded. Something about being watched with such fervour made you shiver, and Tim’s head pitched back.

You were squeezing down on him like a vice, your little noises having him twitch inside you. He reached up, dragging his hand over your chest and kneading the fat of your tits.

“Fuckin’ made for this, yeah? Gettin’ off to being used by motherfuckers you ain’t know-” He rolled his neck to the left before burying his nose into your shoulder.

“You wanted to act like you hated it, huh? Cry like you ain’t beggin’ for it- fuckin’ slut.” Mocking, his hips drove into you harder, pounding into you with abandon.

You clenched around him, and he cooed, licking a stripe up your neck. “I know, baby. I’ll fill you up- hah- real good.” The squelch of your pussy was embarrassingly loud, your arousal drenching his thighs.

Toby collapsed into you, catching himself with a palm against the couch’s headrest. He held your head firmly in place, his length pumping in and out of your throat. He was panting, drooling like a dog. You felt so fucking good, he couldn’t think. “Ah- shit, please.” His base smacked against your chin, slobber mixing with semi-opaque white.

He came with a breathy grunt, hips jolting- before he quickly tugged himself free. Jacking off onto your face, painting your skin with thick ropes. The gluey substance dripped down your features, milk pooling on your tongue as you presented your mouth. Too far gone, and he giggled, manic. “You’re s-such a good girl, y’know that?” Mashing his lips to yours, cum swirling with his own spit while the other man flooded your tunnel.

“Shit. You’re makin’ me wanna’ keep you.” Tim drawled, taking a moment to catch his breath. he pulled you off of him, letting you slump into the sofa, boneless. Once his words actually registered, the alarm in your gaze made him chuckle.

“Oh, honey- don’t tell me you thought you were still goin’ home.”

Your blood ran cold when he nodded at Brian. “Have at ‘er.” The man stood after the quick acknowledgment, padding over to you, half-tucked back into his boxers. If you’d been more observant, more cautious or weary, you would’ve noticed the holster attached to the back of his belt.

The distinct click of a pistol's safety rang out as Toby sat down to your right, and he kneeled in front of you.

Holding up the weapon, he cocked his head to the side. “You know what this is?” Panic spread from the end of your legs up to your skull. Your mouth faltered, gaping at him until he hummed, monotone. “You scared?” Your body refused to respond, and he lowered the gun, tapping your bare stomach twice with the barrel. “You should be.”

The hairs on your nape rose while he got to his feet. He trailed the cold steel along your collar, stopping at your lips. The harshness of the barrel left goose bumps in its wake, lethal, unhallowed. “Suck.” You swallowed thickly, tears collecting at your lashline. You leaned forward, quivering when you took the metal into your mouth.

The taste coated your tongue bitterly, like grit and unsanctioned barbarity. Adrenaline kept you upright, the only thing holding you back from hyperventilating.

You wish you ran. You wish you had toughed it out till morning, finding a payphone to call a friend. But you didn’t, and you hadn’t.

You bobbed your head slightly, gurgling around the pistol when he forced it deeper. In your periphery, you saw the blur of his hand, and you flinched—

A pet.

He was petting your hair. Smoothing down the strays, his thumb rubbing back and forth. The shock made you freeze, but he was swift to remind you. “Go on.” Not yelling. Not barking demands. Because he didn’t need to.

His calm demeanour was terrifying, too calculating- like he could snap at any moment. As if your fate could be altered at a second's notice, your life sitting in the palm of his hand.

Brian’s inhales grew heavy, dragging his tongue across his teeth. His touch descended from the top of your head to your nape, resting the gun’s grip where his buckle would be as he began rocking his hips. “See? That ain’t so bad.” He murmured, grunting under his breath. He was grinding his bulge against the pistol, the muted pleasure rolling up his frame.

You were scared, fearing your end, your sanity hanging by a thread. Every muscle in your body was screaming, winding tight- before a debased want sparked at your core. Small flickers of ember, matches being struck onto the brick. They scraped and scraped until a flame burst into the dark.

The repetition of the gun thumping into the back of your throat had your mind hazy. Lulling you achingly slow, your shoulders drooped, and you let out a faint whine. But it was enough.

Tim took a drag of the freshly lit cigarette, peering at you. “Well, I’ll be damned, she likes it.” He sniggered, and Brian clicked his tongue. “Course she does. Bet she’s been dreamin’ ‘bout this for years.” Mean as he removed the metal from your mouth, he threw the weapon onto the couch haphazardly. “Jesus, you’re a fucking whore.” His lip curled up into a sneer like he was disappointed.

“On your feet.” He said, eyes cold- you urged your legs to move. Yet your reaction came too late, and his arm shot out, fingers clamping around your windpipe.

He hauled you upwards, your limbs flailing to steady yourself. “When I speak, you listen, and you listen good. Understand?” You clawed at his wrist weakly, whimpering like a hit animal. Your lungs were burning.

He scoffed at your pitiful strength and released you after a beat, spinning you to face the sofa. Your legs buckled when he shoved you forward, wrestling your body to arch. Your knees were spread on the cushion, with your hands finding purchase on the couch top. Quiet rustling, then a calloused palm at your waist-

Brian speared you onto his cock to the hilt, and you wailed.

He didn’t ease you into it; there was no buildup or warning. With his length bullying in and out of your over-sensitive cunt, he fucked you fast and rough. “I can’t- too much, please- please.” He grunted at that, spitting onto your pussy from the back. “Dogs don’t talk.” His hips snapped against you even harder, cruel—

You didn’t mean to.

It wasn’t your fault. Your thighs were barely able to hold your weight, but in the heat of it, your foot jerked. Kicking him with enough power to make the man stagger a tad. He paused instantly, and your heart sank at his next words. “Bad girl.”

You were yanked to his chest, his bicep locking around your neck. He started pounding into your walls, bruising your poor insides as punishment. “Mm- haah- p-please. Didn’t mean it- didn’t-” Your pleas fell on deaf ears, and slick poured down your trembling legs. From the angle he had you in, his tip kept knocking into a spot that had your pupils rolling up.

It felt like you were being ripped in half, bred like a toy with no other purpose. The lack of air was making your vision dot with black, and Toby grinned, watching while he pumped himself. His hand extended, pressing down on the bulge that protruded every time Hoodie would thrust. “You’re s-suh-so pretty like this.” You think your skull was going to explode.

Drool was leaking from the corners of your mouth, jaw slack. Moans punching up your throat by force, “Ah- ah- oh-” You scratched at his bicep, squirming pathetically. He huffed and loosened his hold. Barring an arm around your chest instead, condensing your breasts, his fingers digging into your skin. His breath was feverish against your ear.

“At least pretend you hate me.” He panted, taunting you while driving deeper into your pussy. “Lettin’ us spread your legs, didn’t even have to ask.” The fabric of his sweater was tacky on your back, coarse as he chuckled. “Shit, yer’ makin’ a fucking mess on me- you gonna’ cum?” Your moans scratched your throat raw, and you bucked into him.

Tim clenched his jaw in thought, then he laughed, snatching the pistol. “Don’t worry, hun. We’ll take care of you real nice.” The barrel was pressed to your clit, making you jerk. “No- ngh.” The contrast in temperatures was euphoric, cool metal against your sweltering cunt.

You were toeing the ledge, on the brink, when your shoulders bowed— before Brian stilled behind you.

You squirmed on him, twitching, and he reclined. Stopping you from falling with a fistful of your hair, as he gave your ass a stinging spank. “If you wanna’ cum, you’re gonna’ work for it-”

Rasping, he set his palm on the curve of your spine, pushing you to arch. “Grind.” His voice had dropped an octave, and the baritone had you dripping.

It was mortifying, but you couldn’t help the sway of your hips. With each rut, the steel slid between your folds, pussy split open on his cock. Embarrassment flooded you, your face aflame while your whines heightened in pitch.

Back and forth, back and forth, your orgasm simmering while you shook. Too much and too little all at once.“Please- please, wanna’ cum- please.” You begged, the woven fabric of the sofa sullied beneath you.

Brian gritted his teeth. You were throbbing around him, cunt pulsing. He could fucking hear how wet you are, the sticky squelching echoing through the room every time your ass pressed onto him. He dug his grasp firmer into your waist, the dull pain fuelling your pleasure. Wires had crossed in your head, and you moaned, wanton and needy.

He was staving off his own peak, biting down on his lip to stifle his groan. His patience had withered to nothing, and he sharply hauled your hips back. Cockhead forced against your cervix, stuffing you to the brink. Not fucking you, with the only stimulation being from the stretch and the tainted metal of the weapon. You were too full, so full it hurt— the ecstasy crashed into you mercilessly. “Brian.”

Your head spun, and your view phased in and out, white at the edges. He acted before he could think it through. Perhaps it was your blatant desperation, the way you breathed his name like a prayer. Either way, you felt a stern hand on your jaw.

Jerking your face to the side, his lips molding over yours. His tongue invaded your mouth, sweeping your teeth, consuming you entirely.

He was corrupting your mind, his touch both desecrating and reverent. You whined, and he drank in the sound. Spurting inside you, then releasing you with a messy smack. “Christ.” He exhaled, his length slipping out of your pussy. Brian’s spend leaked from your sopping hole, and his thumb pried you wide when he hummed in approval.

Tim gave your clit a final tap. Tugging the pistol out of the way just in time, your body crumbling onto the chair, beyond exhausted. The surface stuck to your sweat-slicked skin, and you were uncomfortably sticky from head to toe. Yet, just as your lids began to close, a flash went off behind you. It made the last of your adrenaline surge to the front. “W-wait-” Arms like lead, you peeked over your shoulder.

His unfeeling smirk told you everything, camera in hand, and the scent of smoke wafted into the air before Tim spoke. “We ain’t the type to keep souvenirs. You should be honoured.”

Toby snickered at the man's praise. “Told you, y-you were s-special.” He peeled you off the sofa, propping you against his chest, with your thighs straddling his own.

“It’s my turn, pretty. You can’t p-pass out yet, okay?” You didn’t have the energy to reply if you wanted to, limbs useless by now. All you could do was moan quietly as he sank you down onto his cock. “Fuck, you’re s-so warm.” He groaned into your ear, anchoring his palms under your ass to bounce you. Your arms hung limp by your sides, Toby fucking up into your puffy cunt.

Your clit kept bumping into his base, and the sparse hair of his happy trail ground against your sensitive skin. Even through Toby’s sweater, you could feel the ridges of roped muscle. Strength nurtured by gruelling labour and nothing else.

The perspiration had dampened his face, his bandages lifting at the corners. Another thrust, another jerk of his head- and the patch peeled off.

A gnarled, ragged scar tugged at the skin on his cheek, revealing his gums. It looked like it had healed and reopened over and over again, his teeth exposed at the deepest part of the gouge. You think there’s something wrong with you. A festering infection that you’d ignored, only revealing itself now.

You pulled yourself from his shoulder and leaned in as he eased his rhythm, confused. “What-?” Then your tongue ran over his unconcealed teeth. You were licking his fucking scar. He screeched a laugh, yanking you back by the hair.

“You’re f-fucking sick.” Toby smashed your lips together no more than a second after, pelvis slapping against your mound.

Tim chuckled in disbelief, nodding at Brian. “Look at that- we should’ve grabbed her sooner.” He extended the gun loosely, and the other man agreed with a grunt, snagging the grip from his hand. “I’m surprised she made it this far with a head that empty.” He stepped to you, trailing the barrel up your spine while you rode Toby’s cock.

It felt too good- you couldn’t stop. The veins on his girth dragged in and out of your tunnel, catching on the ridges and making you drool. Fucked dumb on it and high off the friction. Brian huffed, sneering.

“Humpin’ him like an addict. I bet you can’t even fuckin’ hear me.” He said, using the top of the pistol to lug your head back, the metal pressed against your throat. “Open.” An order that you obeyed swiftly, tongue stuck out. He spat onto your palette, clamping a palm over your mouth, and watching you swallow without a fight. He scoffed.

Swapping the weapon with his hand, your windpipe was snug in his grip before he raised the gun to your temple. “You got five minutes to finish him off, or I’m pullin’ the trigger.” The gun was rammed so hard against your skull that it burned, aching from the shooting pain. You slammed your hips down fervently and hiccuped.

Your nervous system was at war with itself, your mind sending out alerts. Blaring sirens, and going comatose from fear, while your body struggled to keep up with the agonizing pleasure. You sobbed, panting as Toby threw his head back, eyes scrunched shut. “Shit- fuck- fuckfuck—” He arched, writhing under you, and Tim whistled to your side, jeering. “I’m startin’ to like you, baby. You ain’t wanna’ break my heart, do ya’?”

Your cunt felt raw, the nonstop usage having hot tears stream down your cheeks. They’d been so rough, and your inner thighs hurt, bruises already forming. Your orgasm seized you painfully, your arousal squirting onto Toby’s stomach as he keened, brows knotted up. He tensed completely, then sagged into the cushions, chest heaving.

The pistol slid off your neck when you collapsed into him.

Spittle mixed with snot and salt had your face a mess, and you snivelled, nearly hyperventilating. You were sore all over, head heavier than cement, your muscles screaming from overexertion. You were so tired.

Your ears were stuffed with cotton, but you could still make out Tim’s voice, the faint shuffling as he moved closer. His hand brushed the hair out of your eyes, and you sniffled, hiccuping loudly.

Yet even through your bleary vision, his worry was laid bare.

“Come back to me, sugar- c’mon.”

Toby adjusted you carefully while Brian rushed to grab water and hot towels. “You’re okay. We g-got you.” He muttered, smoothing his palm down your back. Tim pressed a kiss to your damp forehead. “It’s done, you did so well. So, so good, you hear me?”

Softly, he cradled your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth. “You’re alright, just breathe for me, hun.” Your inhales finally began to slow, and Brian rounded the couch.

Walking to the front of the chair, he stood with one knee settled between you and Tim to steady his weight. “Heya,’ dolly.” He whispered, cautious not to shock your system further. The bottle was brought to your lips, and you gulped down the water. The liquid cooled you swiftly, making you nuzzle into Toby’s arms once you were satisfied.

Brian’s hands rested on your arms when he pitched forward, littering your features in feather-light pecks.

He withdrew after a minute and towed the coffee table towards himself. Taking a seat, then supplying Toby with the clean rags as Tim laced his fingers with yours. Your tremors still hadn’t ceased, and he frowned.

“Can you tell me where you are?” Tim mumbled, holding your knuckles to his chest. The warmth of his hand, along with Toby's body, had you fighting sleep, slurring. “At home…” He hummed at that, sighing in relief.

They’d been wary when you’d initially brought it up, but you said you were sure. It’s not like you hadn’t done roleplay in the past- it’s just that this was going the extra mile. You wished to go all in, setting up a whole scenario for it. You had debated storylines the night prior and decided on the hitchhiker trope.

You would be stranded, alone and vulnerable- picked up by three strangers in a truck. They would take you back to an “unfamiliar cabin” to have their way with you.

Cliche’, yet you’d been excited. And one very, very long conversation about safewords later, you took a bus to a decently far gas station. Walking back for authenticity, according to you. You didn’t talk to them for the full twenty-four hours leading up to it and everything.

Still, the concern remained present. The last thing they wanted was to actually scare you, and this would be a heavy role to partake in. The fear of pushing you too far, being too rough or hurting you had been circling their minds the entire night. Always waiting an extra second after an act, just in case you needed a break or to stop the scene entirely.

Tim kissed your bare shoulder. “You know who we are?” Some would say it was dumb, but he didn’t care. Facts would ground you- reminders would ensure your comedown was stable. He needed you to know you were safe.

You swallowed, blinking at him lazily. “My boys.” He smiled, nodding, pupils dilated while he gave your palm a squeeze. “Mhm.” Toby finished wiping the grime from your back, pecking your crown. “How are you feeling, angel?” He cast the towel aside and snatched a fresh one from a bowl filled with warm water. “Sleepy.” Brian chuckled at your dazed expression, hushed.

“S’been a long night, hm?” He rose, redoing his buckle halfway. “Let’s get you cleaned up, darlin’. Yer’ gonna’ catch a cold like this.” Tim followed suit, and Toby shuffled to stand, hoisting you upwards. With your legs wrapped around his waist, the four of you made your way upstairs.

The bath was heavenly for your sore joints, and you breathed out, content. Tim and Toby had taken the standing shower, with you and Brian cuddled in the tub after a quick rinse.

You scooped the sudds in your hands, reclining into his chest. “You are a very convincing actor, Bri Bri.” He laughed, one arm resting at your hip, the other thrown over the porcelain ledge.

“Mm- nearly broke character when you flinched. I felt like a fuckin’ bastard.”

“Yeah, but that’s the point! You were all ‘grrr, obey me or else- you whore.’ It was crazy.”

He cringed at the memory. “Lord, that sounds awful out loud. You sure you liked it?” The water sloshed a bit, your feet wiggling, and you giggled. Peering at him. “Yes. And I thought you were very sexy. What if you wore your masks next time?” He shot you a look, squinting at you. “Dolly, I think you have a thing, and we should talk about it.” You jutted out your bottom lip. “But you could chase me through the woods—”

“Absolutely not.”

Tim had shoved his head out from the shower door, the glass fogged with steam. “The forest is dangerous. You could trip- what if you hurt yourself, huh? And there are animals and bugs, and I’m not defiling you on the dirt while you cry. It ain’t right.”

His hair was foamed with soap, and Toby swiped at the condensation, creating a little window to look through. “It’s t-too risky, muffin. You could fall or s-something.” You huffed, defensive. “I’m not even that clumsy.”

“It ain’t about bein’ clumsy, it’s principle.”

“Tim.”

“Uh uh. It’s in the house where it’s safe, or it’s not happenin’. Yer’ lucky we even agreed to that lil’ gun thing.”

You groaned, sagging against Brian as you pouted. “It was empty!” He snickered from behind you, and Tim narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t start with me, girl.” He closed the door, the attitude radiating off him when Toby snorted.

“I know you wanna’, but it’s dangerous out there- and what if EJ s-sees? He’s super strict about that s-stuff. He’d kill all of us before we could explain.” His explanation had you raising a brow, and you leaned your cheek onto Brian’s bicep.

“Really?”

“Yeah- Jack’s moral compass is s-strong. Like. Strong.”

“I thought he just ate people?”

“Angel, if I told him I called you a whore with no context, he’d punch m-me into a wall—”

— ^ ^ —

Soon enough, you’re rovering your heel ambly up and down the plane of his thighs, up and down, up and down—in nothing but a mere graze. 

The tips of his ears scorch red as he feels his smart, smoothened trousers getting tighter n’ tighter by the second. Nanami fights not to let his gaze dart downwards, he fights—but the slightest sensation of your heel inching closer, and he cracks.

Soon enough, your stare follows.

And you’re letting out a curious hum as you take in the bulge he was embarrassingly sporting. 

“Oh? What’s this?” He damn-near flinches at the tone of your voice - so mockingly innocent. Nanami knew better- he knew so much better. “My portfolio never said you were such a pervert, Agent 7:3.”

He spits out, “No-”

“Yes.”

And he’s always loved those jet-black, barrel-black, heels of yours- honestly! 

They sat collecting dust in a corner of your half of the closet, and he always did think they contrasted perfectly with his pale-green suits. 

Though, he did often wonder when you’d bring them out.

He just never could’ve expected this…

Nanami lets out a pained hiss- letting his head drop backwards ever-so-slightly as you’re stepping down even harder. “Hard?” Your smile widens, feeling him throb and twitch beneath your heel. “Getting even harder? How did we ever get here, hubby—?”

How did you two ever get here, indeed.

.

.

.

Nanami remembers the pre-mission briefing perfectly- he always was told he had a photographic memory. However, the details of this particular day stand out so crystal clear in his brain that it was almost too sharp; like a rusty nail, or the point of your heel.

It’d been a sunny Thursday, even though daylight never pierced the headquarters of JISE (Japanese Intelligence Services’ Eastern-focused division). Nanami - though he wasn’t Nanami Kento, here, he was Agent 7:3 - had done this same song and dance, song and dance, song and dance over a hundred times already. It was routine as he flipped through the thick file that’d been slid over to him.

Agent Corpse [CONFIDENTIAL—Yaga Masamichi] sat with his arms crossed and a grim expression upon him that he wore nearly as much as his sunglasses. He waited patiently as Nanami finished reading through the miniscule blocked typing and looked up at him.

“So…” He started, neatly closing the file. “The mission seems standard, I don’t see why I would have any trouble with it.”

Yaga sighed and pushed his shades up, “It’s not the intelligence-gathering I see you having trouble with, rather it’s the…social aspects.”

Nanami raised a blond brow, “Social?”

“This mission-” Yaga sternly tapped the top of the file, “This isn’t one of your lone wolf operations, 7:3. To get close to the head of the Zenin family, you need to take on more roles than one. A family man. A father. A husband.”

The blond man steeped in his silence as his higher-up continued. 

“You need to really live in this role, Kento—” He was startled - Yaga almost never called him that. Through his dark sunglasses, the older man’s eyes twinkled. “You need to believe it.” 

“I…”

Without waiting for the rest of his sentence, he flicked open the file to a comprehensive list of potential orphanages and single women around his age in Tokyo: the building blocks to his faux-family. “Two people here will be counting on you to believe in your role.” Yaga spoke low, “And whatever that means for them after this mission is over…” This was always the hardest part. “From now onwards, consider yourself a husband and father before a spy. First and foremost.”

Nanami had never carried out a mission that involved other people.

And there was silence that stretched taut and nearly snapped- before Nanami answered in the only way he knew he could. 

He looked at nanami with steely brown eyes, “Respectfully, I am the best spy in all of Japan’s Eastern Division for a reason, sir.”

Yaga slammed the file shut. It resounds louder than it should’ve - and there was the slightest smile twitching at his lips. “Good.”

For the good of the nation. 

The days thereafter weren’t what Nanami would consider a blur—rather a list of procedures pertinent to his mission, of which he went through them all step by step, strictly and methodically. An exercise so tried and tired by him that he could do them in his sleep (he always slept with one eye open).

First, he rented out a nice home in suburban Shibuya, a spy’s-distance away from the Zenin ancestral home. It was a cosy cookie-cutter home for the cosy cookie-cutter life that he supposes normal civilians have the privilege to live, with cookie-cutter welcome mats and a patch of green garden from which sprouted a spare sprig that one could never be too sure wasn’t plastic. It had a dog home, too. Not because of any request or seeking from Nanami’s side, but because most families that lived in such a place owned one.

So he went out and adopted a shelter dog to keep up with appearances. 

And how to explain the mysterious funds to the nosy neighbors? Well, his cover story of living in Denmark because of his grandfather’s side could only hold up for so long - Nanami got a cover job as a psychiatrist at the nearest affluent hospital. And then…

Then came the slightly difficult part.

Nanami Kento had done research on twenty-one different orphanages in Tokyo and several more outside before he’d finally landed in Sendai. And that was where he met Itadori Yuji.

Name: Itadori Yuji.

Age: 6 [March 20th]

Family: None alive. His parents died shortly after his birth [cause unknown], and he was taken care of by his paternal grandfather - his only living family - until he, too, passed from illness [lung cancer].

Other: Has been rehomed four times in the four-month span that he’s been living at the institution. Gets along well with others, cheerful disposition—is generally a good kid, though he seems to have trouble finding a guardian that can handle his energy. No matter how much they tease and taunt him - in the cruel, unknowingly callous way of children - Itadori still attempts to engage with them day after day, particularly with his tiger toy. He just needs some love. 

Nanami’s stern eyes lingered on that last word. 

He looked up from the sheet that the caregiver had handed to him. It was the first one that he’d been given- and by the sheer speed at which they had, he assumed that they’d been more than eager to get rid of the pink-haired little boy. Nanami glanced around the cream-colored room; small and cardboard-strong. This was a shady place.

He makes note of its location and organization to pass over to Yaga later. 

Under the rim of the paper, he could see two small shoes getting scuffed on the carpet.

And as he puts it down to stare at Itadori, the boy raises his tiger toy upwards. An offering.

Wide chocolate eyes and trembling lips.

He looked as if he was about to cry.

Nanami doesn’t take the offering—though he did crouch down and reach his hand out to clasp one chubby, cotton-stuffed hand, he mimicked shaking hands. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Tiger.” Albeit a little stiffly - Nanami somewhat awkwardly attempted to smooth his features down to something warm as he looked at the boy then. “And who might you be?”

He’s never seen a smile wider.

And thus, everything was going according to plan.

There was the slightest hiccup when it turned out that Itadori Yuji needed tutoring - a lot of tutoring - that Nanami pored and labored over until he was seeing fractions in his nightmares, before he could complete the entrance exam for Jujutsu Academy. But he got in—by some cosmic miracle, Itadori Yuji got in. 

He’s never been prouder- as a fake father, of course. 

Everything really was going to plan. First came the baby, then came the prestigious school acceptance to get Itadori to form an acquaintance with Fushiguro Megumi, then came the marriage. 

A little out of order, he knows.

And then after bumping into you at the local bakery he often frequented, he knew he’d found his future wife.

Not in a romantic way—he swears! 

He swears.

“Oh…you dropped this.” You’d caught his attention in that gentle tone of yours. 

Dropping down, you’d handed him an embroidered handkerchief he’d dropped during the collision - his favorite item to carry, in addition to the fact that it had a slip of poison stuffed between the folds. One he’d been planning to use on one of the Zenin elders just today…

What would he have done without you?

Similarly crouching before you straightened yourself, Nanami had met your eyes tenderly as he took the poisoned handkerchief from you. “Thank you…and your name?”

You’d looked down shyly as you answered. Venom at your fingertips.

He killed a man that evening and could only think about you the entire time- in the best way.

Name: Well, he’d turned it over and over in his mind until it was practically emblazoned.

Age: You never ask a lady her age.

Occupation: Clerk at Tokyo City Hall.

Family/ friends: None of note.

Looks: Perfect.

And Nanami was never a romantic type of man to begin with - it was always work, work, work, espionage. And after a long, hard day of his duties (spying was surprisingly not as thrilling as the movies made it seem) he rarely had the time to think about anything more than that. Something…beyond just his responsibilities.

Something in the future. 

He knew he wanted to retire, some day, but that was in a future he didn’t care to set a date on. Setting a date on it made it seem more real.

A picket-fence. A garden. A dog running around that he pretended to grumble at. The pitter-patter of small feet and the laughing of the one that followed it—all while he watched from the front porch. Flashes of such nonsense have run through his mind; but only in the dead of night when he could pass those off as fever dreams. And pretend to forget them in the morning. 

And so Nanami Kento got married.

It was a hasty affair - about a week after he met you. Three dates and one introduction to Itadori later (it was important he liked you…because how else would the ruse of a happy family be believable?) and you were submitting a form of marriage registration to the very City Hall you worked at. New to the neighborhood, you didn’t have a lot of friends nor family to invite, which just made Nanami’s just so much easier.

To your coworkers, however, it had garnered the most amusing reaction.

Nanami had been present for a work function of yours, when you’d mustered up your courage and commented to one of your associates that he wasn’t just your boyfriend, and then you’d showed them the ring. He’s never seen more smug jaws dropped.

It’s then that he’d decided you were actually rather humorous. Humorous enough that perhaps this mission, despite its unknowing collaborators, won’t be too hellish after all…

Perhaps he’d even have a decent time playing pretend.

Before he has to leave it all - the home, the doghouse, the dog and the kid who’d be rehomed with a loving family he handpicks, and you.

.

.

.

One week before the marriage. 

“You understand that he will be the most difficult target you’ve yet to encounter?”

“I understand.”

“You understand that he is highly-trained, highly-experienced, and dangerous?”

“I understand.”

The masked higher-up straightens and snarls at your assertiveness, “You understand that your mission is not over until you’ve succeeded in assassinating Nanami Kento?”

“I understand.” But no matter how much they attempt to deter you - you’re keeping your head held as high as ever. Hands behind your back. Dagger cutting through the dim lighting with its malicious glints. After so many years in this profession, you can only grow as miserable and nerve-wracked to an extent before every target simply becomes a job.

More than that; you fume silently as those damn higher-ups at the Garden underestimate you.

The Garden was a group of specially-trained assassins operating predominantly within inner-Tokyo, though you did branch off to other wards when required. And of them all, you were their #1: the best of the best, a kill count that you’d stopped measuring, the one they sent on only the most hazardous missions. 

There was a reason you’d been nicknamed The Phantom.

Playboys. Politicians. Athletes and singers—you’ve seen it all. The good and the bad. The deserving and perhaps the undeserving- though you never pondered upon it.

They were all the same faceless, breathless targets to you. And your dagger always hit bullseye.

Sometimes, however…sometimes you did wonder what the bigger ripples of your jobs were. Would anyone search for them? Would anyone notice? Would anyone cry nor care? Was this, perhaps, what stopped you from finally leaving this damn place - were you deserving of such leniency?

Sometimes you did wonder whether you withheld from the simple pleasures in life because you were punishing yourself, in a way. A family. A hearth. A home. But a guilty assassin was no better than one of their own targets - there are more ways to die than just in the physical. 

And so you didn’t think about it.

You didn’t do anything but glare at the higher-up that sat behind his desk, his papers, and his smooth white mask. Who were they to undermine you? “I have never failed a mission before, and I will never fail a mission ahead. I will take this job and complete it before you even know what’s happened.”

He lets out a wheezing chuckle- it was abnormal for them to be so flippant about your success rate when it comes to a job. “That’s the spirit.” He throws over a paper-thin file, “You’ll need it.”

You’ve taken down spies before- hell, you’ve even taken down other assassins. To have him act so dubious about this job? Jolting a step towards him, it really made you wonder about the nature of this particular target…

And so you’re flipping through the single page of information the Garden had on him.

Case 143

Codename: Agent 7:3 [rumored to be linked to the target’s impeccable ability to find the weakest points when attacking any building, vault, or person.]

Name: Nanami Kento.

Age: 27

Height: 6’1 - 6’2

Looks: Blond hair. Hazel eyes. Fine features. Broad-shouldered and fairly toned, he is known to be partial to suits and other clean-cut clothes above anything else. 

Profession: Secret agent.

Family: Unknown.

Residence: Unknown.

Current mission: Unknown.

Status: Currently active and HIGHLY DANGEROUS.

Those last two words had been underlined twice.

But you were determined. 

In the time assigned to you by the higher-ups, you deduced that you’d have about three attempts. 

What’s that saying about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer? You wondered whether there was anything in there about marrying them.

.

.

.

First attempt.

Long-distance sniping wasn’t exactly the most comfortable technique. 

Then again, perhaps you were just experienced enough to worry about such a thing. You’d be lucky.

You’re laid low on your front; against the slightly-damp rooftop of a building between SHIBUYA SKY and Shibuya Hikarie. The cold, hard floor pushed against your body and lifted you meters overlooking the scramble below—humans, animals, cars, all in a symbiotic collision of which contact never happened. 

You’ve been married to Nanami Kento for about a week now.

And in that week you’ve taken note of his routine, his work hours, his favorite stops along the route…home. All under the guise - the guise - of being his considerate wife. 

And it’d turned out to be a worthy sacrifice in the end once you’d discovered that the stoic, sensible Agent 7:3 had what you’d never have expected of him: a sweet tooth. Everyday after work, no matter how tired he is, he’d stop by the bakery he met you in—picking out a few treats to bring home to you and Itadori. 

It was a cosy establishment squatted on a corner of Shibuya Crossing and next to the apothecary; vines creeping down the sides, wide-open wooden doors, and decorated with luscious baked goods in the window. The only reason you yourself had gone there was to manufacture a meeting with Nanami. But here he was right now, seated in a window booth with a book in his hands. Gold-rimmed glasses on his nosebridge. Legs stretched out beneath the table. Blond brows furrowed just a little as his eyes scanned the page.

He looked almost like something out of a movie. Perhaps he couldn’t have looked more unassuming if he tried. 

You’re letting your gaze linger on him through the rifle scope for a few seconds. 

And it’s in this brief pocket of time that Nanami sets his book down, takes off his glasses, and looks through the window straight in your direction. Yours. 

You startle.

You take perfect aim at his head and shoot.

BANG!

Meanwhile, Nanami Kento is having a quiet relaxation - a rare moment. His ‘job’ as a psychiatrist kept him more busy than he would have expected, on top of using the position to spy on the vast Zenin members that flitted in and out of the hospital sometimes. He was about halfway through the last story of The King in Yellow, marking down notes on the Zenins in its margins, when he straightens up and glances down at his watch.

Humming to himself at the time, Nanami gathers his things and looks up at the sunny sky above. It was a beautiful day.

Thus, in prim, precise movements, he’s getting up - not too fast - and making his way to the counter to tip the serving staff extra.

CRASH!

Nanami’s taken just a single step away from where the bullet surely would have struck him—a honed head of metal that shatters the Tokyo atmosphere at over 1200 meters per second. With a deafening cracking sound, it makes the bakery window burst beneath its pressure, sending shards of glass flickering in his direction; Nanami steadily puts his open book down and lets the fragments hit the leather cover instead of him. 

There’s a scream.

And then there’s chaos.

People running. Children crying. Cars stopping on the road. No one was hurt in the least - if anything, it was just that poor book he’d have to replace with a new cover. 

But he understands that this line of work meant he was more used to such things than civilians- perhaps more than he should be. And he was a Wanted man - not by the law but by those who think they’re above it. And so he’s calmly walking over to the counter as the rest of the customers inside the bakery evacuate. Placing a large wad of cash on its wooden plane, he’s just about to leave before he looks more suspicious—before turning right back around and plucking out something from the lavish sweet display - your favorite. And then one more loaf of milk bread for Itadori.

Plopping them down in a bag, he makes his way out. 

This morning, he’d told Itadori to meet him on the other side of Shibuya Crossing- he steps onto the zebra-patterned road right now and can see the little boy waving frantically from the other side. A ball of sunshine energy and a coat of orange far too big for him, but it’s one that he’d grow into - or at least, that’s the excuse Nanami had made when it’d turned out that he’d picked the wrong size. Damn, he needs to fix that.

For the mission, of course. Nanami shakes his head back into rationality. 

Quickly crossing the road, the boy throws his arms around the blond man’s legs.

“Papa—!” He squeals, chubby hands grabbing at his three-piece suit. Itadori’s Spider-Man backpack jostles just a little as he jumps up and down, “What took you so long? It was so scawy waiting here…people are running about.”

“My apologies, Yuji.” Nanami responds, looking behind his small figure. “But I see you brought your friends along for moral support.”

Pink brows frown, “What’s mowal support?”

Behind him, the frames of Kugisaki Nobara and Fushiguro Megumi shuffle about - his (temporary) son’s best friends from school, and it was just as convenient that the black-haired boy was exactly their ticket into siphoning more information about the Zenin family - and Nanami nods at them graciously. “Thank you for walking my son here.”

“Hah, no problem.” Kugisaki crosses her arms smugly, “He was scared so of course we had to-”

“Was not—!”

Fushiguro, meanwhile, just squints at the sky. “There was a strange noise. It sounded like thunder.”

“There was, wasn’t there?” Nanami responds, looking around. The chaos had largely calmed down by now, and as police surrounded the bakery, little by little Shibuya seemed to be getting back to its usual sort of commotion—he looks down at the oblivious starry-eyed boy. “Perhaps that was your mother on her way, I always do say she fell from heaven.”

Itadori frowns, “That sounds like it would hurt.”

Fushiguro scoffs, “That sounds illogical.”

“What’s illogicwal mean?”

Kugisaki squeals, “That sounds romantic-”

“Ewwwww.”

“That’s right.” Nanami tilts his head up and looks in the direction between SHIBUYA SKY and Shibuya Hikarie. Where the shot had come from, he does not need to wonder why. “That is romantic, isn’t it?”

Again, right at you.

And from on top of that rooftop, the long-range rifle drops from your hands.

You hadn’t known that he’d be meeting the three kids afterwards. And perhaps if you’d had an inkling then…

No.

Even as you watched the miniscule shape of Nanami Kento - Agent 7:3 - throw Itadori over his shoulders and clasp both Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s hands as he carefully crossed the bustling road with them, heading in the direction of the sweets’ shop down the road (his second-favorite stop to spoil Itadori), you knew you had a job to do.

And you had to do it, even if it killed you in the process.

That evening, you’re home when he comes back.

“I’m home, darling.” Setting his heavy bags down, as usual. Letting Itadori in before gently clicking the door shut, as usual. Asking you how your day at ‘work’ was before wrapping you in a hug, as usual.

If he suspected you had anything to do with that stray gunshot at the bakery, then he’s made no indication since- you’d seen nothing on the news, either. And by now you’ve convinced yourself that the intensity of his gaze upon you on Shibuya Crossing was a mere fluke. A mere coincidence. Perhaps he was just looking at a strangely-shaped cloud above—

And then he produces the paper bag in his hands.

Looking inside, you gulp.

He’d memorized your order perfectly.

“I got the last one, can you believe it? It seems that the bakery will be undergoing some construction in the following weeks.” Nanami spoke as he shrugs off his coat, looking at you with a slight twinkle in his eyes. “It’s your luck, my love.”

“R-really…?” You didn’t know what to say. Merely holding the bag limply in your hands, as if it would detonate any second now. Just your luck, indeed…

Unsure where to even look- you’re staring after the pink-haired boy that’d rampaged inside, pretending he was Spider-Man. 

“Mhm.” Nanami mutters to himself as he walks inside. “I’ll have to learn to make it at home, however…”

.

.

.

Second attempt.

Perhaps you needed some collaborators, too.

It’d been a beautiful summer-drenched Friday when Nanami had suggested taking Itadori and his two best friends out to the aquarium. 

It was one of his few days off- which in and of itself was shocking. It seems that Nanami had been working himself to the bone recently, and the office had taken initiative to force the blond man into taking a holiday. You’d perked up in your love seat, a novel in your hands—but between the pages was a leaflet on poison concoctions that you’d been reading through. 

“The aquarium?” You’re smiling sweetly up at your handsome husband, running about a hundred different ways you could kill him there. “Why, that sounds wonderful, Kento. I’ll get Yuji from the garden-”

“You just get yourself ready, darling.” Nanami’s voice was deep and warm - it felt like the spread of heat after drinking hot cocoa, the way it starts from the pit of your stomach before eventually ebbing into every one of your fingertips. “I’ll worry about wrangling Yuji into the bath. Take your time.”

Oh—all the assassination plans you could concoct in that time! 

Attempting to keep the smile off of your face, you’re leaping up onto your feet and heading in the direction of your shared bedroom to get ready. Making just about one step- two- three…before halting in your tracks and swivelling right back around. Nanami’s keen ears catch onto the difference in the determined cadence of your footsteps and he looks back at you.

Questions ready on his tongue, “What’s wro-”

And for perhaps the first time, the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento is rendered speechless. 

Because you’re placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning him towards you with a single tug- pressing your lips against his svelte cheek. 

Nanami’s skin is warm against yours - and you know it only makes logical sense, but some part of you had perhaps wondered whether his body was just as cold as his professional demeanor. Despite being married you hadn’t quite…consummated the marriage yet—and he understood, he could wait. He didn’t need something if it wasn’t related to his mission, of course

And you’re trying to convince yourself that this is part of yours- to gain trust, you rationalize. 

The kiss lasts less than two seconds, and your heart thump-thump-thumps against your chest as you pull away. Refusing to meet his eyes, his raised brows, his speechlessness, you’re turning heel and speed-walking to the bedroom.

All for the mission.

All for the mission.

All for the mission.

Little did you know that someone else in the house was thinking the same thing.

Nanami stands there unsteadily for a few seconds before heading to the garden to gather Itadori. 

Before high noon, you were all ready and had picked up Kugisaki and Fushiguro to go to the aquarium - during which Nanami had been glad to snoop around the Zenin family home as he took the little boy off his guardian’s hands. 

The aquarium was an entire ecosystem itself.

The entire world was seeped in blue, and sunlight dazzled from above the largest attractions to create patterns of gold that looked almost unearthly. Parents tugged by children, teenagers tugged by parents; friends and couples that flitted from tank to colorful tank in a near-aqueous way. Laughs and excited gasps—melding in symphony with the honking of clown horns, with the occasional burst of a balloon. It seems that many families - and you use the term because there was none better - had the same idea as yours, and the smell of sticky, sweet strawberry ice cream hits your nose as soon as you enter the area for water exhibits.

Passing by the lively tanks, hand-in-hand with Itadori, your gaze catches on something that sparks an idea in your mind. “Yuji…” You’re dropping down to be eye-level with the pink-haired little boy, “Why don’t you and your friends go and check out the touch tank over there?”

“The touch tank?” He nervously looks over to the lowly-fenced exhibit surrounded by children and a few handlers. It was a well-managed tank, widespread with nooks and crannies and rock masses along the sides, a hand-washing station before it; squeals emerged occasionally where a participant happened to touch something particularly slimy. He kicks the ground, “Hmm.”

Kugisaki wraps her arms around one of his, “Oh- c’mon, idiot.”

“Hey-”

And then she leans in and whispers in something that wasn’t a whisper at all - but what would a six-year-old know about secrets? Adults knew far too much. “Your momma obviously wants to spend some romantic time with your papa, don’t you have common sense?”

You have to bite back a laugh- sure, you wanted to be alone with him. 

Though not for any reason they could conjure up.

He sputters, “I-I…” Looking over at Fushiguro for help.

Fushiguro, notably, doesn’t help.

Instead he walks over to an exhibit of sea urchins.

“I want momma and papa to be happy.” Itadori fiddles with his orange overcoat. And your heart clenches—when this is all over you don’t know how you’re going to explain this to him. But you’d be damned if you weren’t allowed to take him for yourself- wait.

You’re shaking your head.

You were thinking nonsense.

And you’re composing yourself just in time for Itadori to look up at Nanami and receive a gentle nod in reassurance - whatever he does, the older man would be content with.

Itadori lets himself be dragged away by the ginger-haired girl- only if that meant he could drag the human version of a disgruntled little sea urchin with him, too. And as the kids have their fun, you’re promising that the two of you won’t be too far away and to definitely call one of you if they need you—before you’re wrapping both arms around one of Nanami’s.

Hugging him to you, you peer into his gold-flecked eyes softly. “I’d really like to see the blue-ringed octopus exhibit, Kento.”

He slightly coughs out his answer, “A-and so we shall, my love.”

And so here was the plan: the venomous creatures were the least-visited. So you’d drag the spy away where one couldn’t see, get him distracted by them, and knock him unconscious with the chloroform-soaked handkerchief you had carefully packaged in one pocket. Dagger in your other pocket. Then you’d finish the job, of course.

Then, outside, was a Discretion Team from the Garden that would discard the evidence, and let you take the kids back home- perhaps even concoct some excuse about ‘a work thing’ coming up at the hospital and causing him to leave.

It was perfect.

It was perfect.

 Next to the squid exhibition and the camouflage section, Nanami Kento was completely and utterly entranced by the octopus exhibit. His face paints in a blue light as he watches the alien-like movements of the creatures, so much so that he doesn’t even notice you slipping behind him—digging through your pockets before plastering his face with the damp handkerchief. 

Nanami’s hand comes up to touch your wrist, though you’re unmoveable. 

He breathes the chloroform in deep.

And then he wavers.

You got him.

Your heart rate spikes, thinking it’s time- fuck, you’ve finally gotten him. Keeping one hand with the chloroform pressed up against him, you’re just about to reach for the dagger snuck into your pocket. He was on the verge of being completely knocked out.

But someone on the verge of being completely knocked out wouldn’t tighten his grip on your wrist, would he? 

Your heart runs cold. 

Preventing you from grabbing your weapon, you feel Nanami smile beneath the thin fabric. Before imitating a sneeze into the handkerchief- “A—choo! Thank you, my love. How did you know I was allergic to the smell of squid ink?”

“You-” And you’re tugging your hand - and the venomous handkerchief - away from him as though his skin burned. 

“Yes?”

But he keeps his fingers intertwined with yours even as you pull away, letting them dangle between you two when you’re stepping into his line of sight once more and assessing every inch of him. His eyes? Clear. His gait? Steady. His expression? Normal (handsome).

No signs of dizziness, fatigue, or the signs of your plan working in motion.

But the chloroform—

Eventually, he lets your hands fall limply to your sides, and you’re looking down at the fabric in shock. Nanami Kento was still standing- and he hums as he turns back to the blue-ringed octopuses; slithering underneath an arch of coral as they, too, went into hiding. 

He clasps his hands behind his back and speaks to no one in particular, “Odd, isn’t it? I’m immune to 562 poisons and over a thousand toxic substances, but it’s squid ink that makes my system flare up.” 

Your jaw drops. Silently, solemnly, you find yourself standing beside him. “You’re…immune…”

He merely nods, staring through the tank. Gaze on something far away.

“I bet that was difficult.” There was a Poisons Division in the Garden as well, and you’d heard of the sheer torture they had to go through to make themselves immune to such things: one could make the body a scab to all things toxic, but underneath that was still a wound. You yourself knew that all too well. Ultimately, you say. “Must have to do with your work as a psychiatrist.”

Nanami nods, “Must have.”

There’s a shriek then the pitter-patter of small footsteps. 

You’re so wound-up and taut that it makes you jump slightly closer to Nanami- and he’s readily steadying you against his side. Arms on your shoulders.

“See, I told you they were being all romantic—!”

Nanami holds back a chuckle, “We should get going.” And unbeknownst to you, his eyes follow…follow…follow a man with dark hair streaked with grey, one that could only ever belong to the Zenin family. Zenin Naobito was lurking in the corners of the aquarium, the most unassuming place for one to conduct secret meetings with contractors that pretended they weren’t here for the same reason.

Because why else would Nanami go on a family outing, right?

Right? 

.

.

.

Third (and final) attempt.

“—and don’t forget your second change of clothes.” The only thing preventing Itadori from darting out of the house and into any oncoming cars was your single hand hooked around the handle of his Spider-Man backpack.

The only thing keeping him in one place.

Somewhat.

With the other, you’re attempting to shove down the spare t-shirt and shorts you’d picked out for him. Knowing your son, there wasn’t any sort of trouble, puddle, or cake batter that he wouldn’t somehow find and get into. And you don’t know what sort of house the Zenins ran, but you were determined to be on their good side.

And so you’re huffing and puffing, beads of sweat forming at your forehead, as you attempt to push it down the humble space- honestly, you didn’t understand why they didn’t just make these things a bit bigger. Just the slightest bit.

At this rate, he’s never going to…

“Itadori Yuji.” Your voice comes out deadpan, and the pink-haired boy turns to you with wide, innocent eyes.

Sweetly, “Yes, momma?”

“Why have you packed your entire Hot Wheels collection for a sleepover?”

Whatever he spouts about wanting to show Fushiguro and Kugisaki, whatever explanations he’s giving about moral support (honestly, where did he even learn such a thing?), goes in one ear and out the other.

Because yes—Fushiguro had invited Itadori and Kugisaki over for a sleepover at their home. It was convenient given that the two boys were practically next-door neighbors, and after the success of their aquarium visit you were hesitant to part the trio. Thus, it seems that Fushiguro had all but thrown a tantrum and attempted to run away from home in order to convince his guardian to agree to a sleepover. Which was sweet, of course.

But this was Itadori’s first, and any mother would be nervous about that sort of thing- wait.

But you weren’t a mother…technically. This was all a ruse for your mission, and so you’re shaking your head and pushing the bundled-up clothes deeper into his backpack, perhaps in order to drive that point home.

You’re interrupted by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Let me take over, my love.”

You’re shifting aside to let Nanami handle the little issue swiftly—with a firm hand - thick fingers, prominent veins, that wedding ring on his left hand - he tugs Itadori back inside the house. “Now now, sunshine. What have we said about taking our toys out of the house?”

He tilts his head up n’ juts his little bottom lip out, “To take only one.”

Nanami lifts the bag just slightly to the side and takes a glance, “And does this look like only one?”

“No…” Itadori sighs.

Soon, you’re finding just about half the Hot Wheels production line laid out, side-by-side and color-coordinated, on the threshold to your home. It looked like a miniature parking lot of which Itadori grumbled as he pushed the clothes into the newly-presented space inside the bag and zipped it shut. Pouting.

Nanami chuckles gently, crouching down so that he was eye-level with the boy. ”You know momma and papa love you, right, sunshine?”

“I know…”

“And you understand why it would be difficult to take all the cars?”

Itadori takes a second to think, before giving you both a determined nod. “I do.” And you’re feeling something within you soar- but you’re forgoing wondering just what it means to feel so proud for the boy. 

“Good.” Your blond husband stands with heave, taking one of Itadori’s arms and turning around to look at you. “Say bye-bye to momma, Yuji.”

He turns with a beaming smile and a chubby arm raised in goodbye. “Bye-bye, momma.”

“I’ll see you in a bit, my love.” Nanami leans in and—presses a sweet, sweet peck to your cheek. Heat seems to sear from where his lips touched, spreading across your chest and all the way down to your toes. You feel your heat batter against your ribcage- fuck.

Was this what he’d felt the other day?

Two seconds; it’s as far as your intimacy as a married couple goes. And in that time Itadori brings his hands up to cover his eyes with a giggled, “Ewwwww—!” 

With an amused shake of his head, the father-son duo set off. Since the Zenin household was in the same neighborhood, about a street away, it was only about a five-minute walk to get there. 

Which is why you had to act fast.

Nanami Kento would be home in less than ten minutes - he wouldn’t have Itadori to slow down his long strides on the way back. And you’re standing there with the front door ajar as they leave, waving…waving…waving-

The very moment their backs disappear, you’re slamming the door shut and racing to the kitchen.

There, you’re reaching up to the very topmost cabinet: grabbing the new liquorice-flavored cereal you knew that no one in the house would touch. Of course, you’d emptied out the cereal this very morning.

And all that remained in the cardboard box inside was a slim vial you’d bought from the apothecary. 

It wasn’t exactly what one would consider menacing, but it was exactly what you needed for your Hail Mary attempt at completing your mission. It was made of a crystal-clear glass, fashioned into a reticello design, with a label containing some information and a stopper of gold that made the contents within seem far more elegant than they were in reality.

Dark brown powder that looked like ground up dirt.

An unassuming little substance you’d rippled with excitement over at the apothecary’s. So much so that you’d damn-near didn’t hear half the things she said- but it’s fine. You were an assassin, right?

And what was an assassin that didn’t know how to use the most powerful poison in the nation? 

Material XXX.

You’ve never seen it with your own two eyes. Nanami might have been immune to chloroform, but there was no living person on Earth that could resist this. 

Oh—it was beautiful…And it mixed so perfectly with the ground-up coffee you were adding to your coffee maker. One steaming hot cup of coffee had already been made and upon the kitchen counter beside you, it let out hot swirls of heat as you tampered with the other one. Sweetly fragrant. 

You smile- he’ll be dead in one sip. And, sure, you might have some explaining to do to Itadori - but doesn’t all good coffee spark conversation?

You’re still running through the list of excuses in your mind once the brewing comes to a stop.

And just in time, the front door clicks! open.

“He was so excited he tripped five times.” Nanami’s deep sigh echoes into the kitchen. You hear the shuffling sounds of him taking his shoes off, shrugging his coat onto the rack, stepping inside. “Though the other two were just the same- could you please make us some coffee, darling, while I get started on dinner?”

“You’ll ruin your dinner, Kento.” You call out to him, “And I already have.”

His handsome head pops out from the door, golden strands slightly tousled from the walk. Nanami breathes in the unmistakable scent of coffee piercing the kitchen air, and smiles. “You’re the best.”

“In many ways.” Leaning back against the counter, you’re handing his freshly-made cup - poured into a large mug that said #1 Papa - to him. 

Nanami’s large hands pluck it from yours and he whispers, “Thank you.” Looking down at the scalding concoction that still swirled within, “I really mean it, you know.”

“What?” You’re looking up at him in surprise.

“You’re the best.”

Your fingers grow tighter around your own mug: World’s Best Momma.

“Drink your coffee before it gets cold, Kento.”

He hums through a smile, before blowing on the similarly-fragrant steam. It smelled of jasmine and spring and something like love; but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? It’s almost a tease—watching Nanami swirl the coffee around a bit, watching him affirm his grip, watching him leeeean his stern lips in before-

“Aren’t you going to drink up, my love?” You almost startle - Nanami was staring at you through his blond tresses, brows furrowed in slight concern. “Are you alright? You look a little…tense.”

“I-I’m perfectly alright—” You hasten to explain- if Nanami got suspicious now and refused to drink his coffee, then there was no way you’re completing this mission. Without wasting anymore time, you’re bringing your coffee up to your own lips - though you don’t take a sip just yet. “Just thinking about work, you know how it is…”

He nods. “We’ve both been really busy lately, haven’t we? I apologize if I’ve made you feel a little lonely these days-”

“Not at all-”

“But still.” Nanami was determined. Those molten brown eyes of his seemed to be pinning you down to the tiled kitchen floor, and the heat of your body contrasted with its frigidness. “I apologize. Tonight, let’s just take some time for the two of us—we can watch a show, we can do some puzzles, tell me about your favorite book and we can read it together.”

You’re refusing to meet his eyes- you can’t. “That…that would be lovely.”

“To us.” Your husband - the spy, you have to remind yourself - outreaches his arm and clinks! your two mugs together in a toast.

“To us.” You weakly whisper. 

And then you take a sip and watch him do the same.

Immediately, you know something’s wrong.

From the slightly sour- slightly sweet- taste coating your tongue—to the way that Nanami takes a long, deep swig and sighs out in satisfaction. He doesn’t drop dead. He doesn’t grab his throat in agony. He doesn’t even stagger where he’s standing as he loses consciousness- 

Nanami sets his coffee mug down and grins.

“Poison working for you, darling?” And your own drops from your hand and shatters. “Oh dear, let me take care of that-”

“Stop.”

In the middle of reaching for the sweeping pan, Nanami halts and looks at you with slightly unfocused, glazed eyes. Heat rising to his cheeks. Breaths coming out in murked pants. Ones that you were sure mirrored your own. 

You felt as if you had a fever five times over and someone had still set you on fire—

Your temperature was soaring through the roof and searing through your skin, making your clothes feel clammy and clinging onto your form. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your temple. But even more than that was the way that- fuck, it was the heat between your damn legs. It was aching. Something deep and primal—something clawing at you from your insides and making you shudder as you lock eyes with Nanami once again.

Before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist to help steady you. And nothing more- did you want something more?!

You’re boring into his eyes and finding out that he wasn’t any better. Not in the least.

In fact, he’d drunk more of the potioned coffee than you.

Your wettened lips part and out comes the only thing you know how to say right now, “Kento.”

He jolts at the sound of his first name wrapped around your tongue. So sexual.

And his own words come out a gravelly croon, “Didn’t read the label, assassin?” That smile of his looked almost feral in the light you were looking at him right now. “Because I did.”

He attempts to pull away to show the label to you- the vial of powder he’d found. 

The plans he’d ruined.

The secrets he’d discovered.

The temperature in the kitchen was near-sizzling.

But the only thing you can think to do is claw your hands outwards and clutch his white shirt with an unfounded ferocity. One of his buttons pop! off and end up on the kitchen floor.

Chuckling, he gives up letting you see the label for yourself. If you won’t let him go, then…without a single warning, Nanami’s leaning in so that his pretty lips graze your ear. The front of his toned chest pushes up against you- and perhaps the only thing that helps you focus is the rapid, ravenous ba-dump! Ba-dump! Ba-dump! of his heart. Pummeling. “Because if you did, then perhaps you’d have seen that Material XXX isn’t supposed to come into contact with caffeine, my love…”

You gasp, hands twisting even deeper into his button-up.

“Because then, it doesn’t become a poison at all.” The long line of his nose glides down your throat, sending shivers skittering across wherever he was in contact with. He stops against a spot you knew was sensitive and softly blooooooows—cold air against hot skin. 

You shiver.

And he merely continues in a rasp, “Because then, it becomes a substance that draws out your deepest desires. Amplifying pre-existing needs that the host contains, those that might be hidden due to…other reasons. So consider it an experiment of sorts. Can you recognize what this concoction is for you, darling?”

“A-an aphrodisiac.” Your eyes threaten to flutter shut- the mere breeze of his breath makes your thighs clench. 

He nods. “An aphrodisiac.”

“How long have you known?” More honest than ever; the question blurts out of your lips.

Nanami takes the time to think, “Since the sniping in Shibuya is when I knew.” With lewd, lethargic eyes he looks you up and down- up and down…“But to be honest, I’ve always suspected.”

You growl—“So then you know I’m here to kill you-” 

“So try me.”

You lunge.

.

.

.

And perhaps that was how he got here.

Nanami feels the very pointed tip of your heel graze his bulging erection- and he bucks. Not enough to finally free himself, but enough that it makes the chair cricket—and you’re looking down at him through your lashes.

He’s forced to stop his head from throwing backwards, bearing his sensitive throat. Maybe it was the pressure, maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was the fact that he’s wanted you for so fucking long now- but he feels zaps of white-hot pleasure course through his body.

All the way from the in-betweens of his meaty thighs, riveting like snakes into every one of his limbs. Eventually up to his poor brain.

Slow and steady; you’re watching the fabric of Nanami’s trousers darken. Seeping and spreading the more he tried to press his legs together to hide it.

And once you’re roverin’ your foot over his cock- he moans. 

Grin spreading, the further you step down on him, the louder those squelches from his puddle of cum were. “Awww, already, Kento? They didn’t have that in your file.”

Somehow through it all, he manages out such a ravenously handsome grin. Blond hairs disarrayed. Tie askew. Shirt unbuttoned down until you could see golden hairs peeking out. “Th-they probably didn’t have a lot of things.”

“True.” You respond, stepping down harder and he gasps- “But remember who’s in charge now.”

Nanami looks at you through unfocused, half-lidded eyes. “Always was you, darling.”

“Flatterer.” Harder. 

“Fuh-fuuuuck…” He spits. Head dropping forwards, a thin line of drivel escapes from his parted mouth and adds onto the mess below. You’re watching it glisten underneath the dim lighting of the bedroom - one you’d somehow manage to drag the blond spy into. “Do that again and I’m going to cream my pants once more, my love.”

Your jaw slightly drops at the matter-of-fact way he was phrasing it. The Nanami Kento you’d been married to never uttered a word like this- “Well…”

“Is that what you’d like?” And, suddenly, his eyes are sharper than before. You had your leg raised so that you could step on his most sensitive bits, but you failed to realize that also meant he had access to your own…to rub his cheek against your inner thigh like a cat yearning for the cream. “Is that what you want your husband to do in repentance?”

“W-we’re not even really married-” Taken aback. Heat flaring where his pants fanned you- your dagger trembles where you held it against his throat. Close enough to cut.

And yet he was still craning his face - his mouth - as near as he could get to your cunt. Mouth watering. A crimson bead where your blade was rested-

“But we could be.” And you’re lost for words. Nanami just looked so pathetic beneath you in ways you never could’ve even imagined: eyes blown wide and dazed, mouth permanently unhinged as he inched towards your soaked underwear, breaths getting more n’ more labored the longer you kept pinning his clothed cock down with your heel. 

He had his hands cuffed behind him and was aching to get between those legs - and you’re unsure whether you should blame just the aphrodisiac. Desperation seeps into his words, “But we could consummate this marriage.”

Your lips part.

He doesn’t waste a second.

“Seven times over just to make up for the time we’ve lost.” And then he’s tipping his head back and bearing you with a grin, “Fuck my cock raw, my wife.”

And how could you ever say no to that?

You don’t—instead, what you’re doing is taking advantage of the needy way his jaw was unhinged in a soundless prayer. One that you’re answering with a direct spit- lips pursed, you’re letting a glittering glob of saliva paste against his lips.

Purposefully missing the precise target, the lewd translucent liquid splatters against the side of his lips before ultimately trickling inwards. And you’re watching with your jaw dropped as his Adam’s apple bobs- as he swallows.

Perhaps that was the last straw.

The tip of your glinting blade draws a perfect line down Nanami’s middle - just enough pressure to scrape a harmless line of white down his exposed skin. And then you’re slashing those ropes that bound him to the chair. 

Metal restraints, you watch him semi-free himself.

And you’re turning around and walking to the bed.

Sitting at the very edge.

Resting your palms behind you.

Your legs spread-spread-spreeeeeead wide enough that he gets a view good enough to make his slightly-teary eyes bulge. Lips parting. Cock twitching. You’re tilting your head casually to the side and beckoning him—“If you want it, come and get it, Nanami Kento.”

Handcuffed and hands behind his back, the famous agent has no other choice than to get on his knees and crawl over to you.

Fucking crawling.

The carpet chafes beneath his knees, the sound echoes as he inches and inches- torturously slow. Body bowed. Chest heaving. 

Whilst you don’t move a single degree.

It might have been hours- it might have been fucking eons that are passing by before Nanami reaches the foot of the bed; burning up far more from the fever of wanting you than any aphrodisiac in existence. He honed senses raise into the air - and he’s getting a whiff of that honeyed fragrance from your pussy. Almost singing to him, surely it wasn’t just because of that powder that he thinks it’s the most delicious-smelling thing on Earth.

His stomach nearly growls. 

And then Nanami’s between your parted legs and famished. 

All good spies deserve a treat, right?

Before you know it, Nanami’s leaned in and having his lips glued to your clothed cunt. Fucking glued. They were puckered and pert—both pairs of lips, and the vibrations of his moan make your back arch as he tastes you for the very first time.

Just the most innocent kiss. 

The first time that he’s getting everything he’s fucking dreamed of.

Because whenever you left the house dressed so prettily, whenever you hummed at the taste of your favorite baked good, whenever you bent over to pick up something- you didn’t know it, but…Nanami stared.

Oh, how he stared n’ licked his hungry lips. 

Wondering just how sweet your pretty, pretty cunt would taste - just how fucking sooooft and tender your pussylips would feel once he’s finally giving them that nice French kiss they deserved. All up on his tongue.

Despite being such a gentleman to everyone around him—who’d have guessed that Nanami Kento would have the dirtiest thoughts of them all? That whenever he gazed upon you with that ‘ruse’ of affection, he was actually hiding something far…far darker. 

The dirtiest thoughts that he was acting upon right now. 

With his honed tastebuds swipin’ down your wet slit, Nanami counts every bead of slick that you’re leaking through your panties. Sugary sweet. He’s boring his smoldering gaze into yours as he—with a slurp! lets those pearly translucent droplets collect on the tip of his tongue, and then glide, glide, gliiiiiide deep down to the back of his throat.

Blond lashes flickering his eyes shut at the flavorful taste, Nanami groans. 

“C-can I prove it now…?”

You almost don’t recognize his voice.

The tone of it sends fire shooting straight between your legs- and without thinking twice, you lean your weight on your hands and edge even closer. Whining, “Prove what, Kento?”

And he seems almost embarrassed to answer.

Almost shy now—

Though the heat of the aphrodisiac and the globules of slick stuck to his chin were making him more of an honest man by the second. “I need to prove that m’worthy of being your husband, pussy.”

Was he talking to you or…?

Fuck.

Sense coming back to him in bursts and stutters, Nanami shakes his head briefly- “I mean-” A blush rises to the tips of his ears, though his eyes remain as starved as ever—“I need to prove that m’worthy of being a good husband to both you and-” His biceps bulge as he struggles against the handscuffs briefly, pathetically and lovingly nuzzling the hot in-betweens of your folds. “-this girl right here.”

The way he says it…fuck.

He gives off the impression of a man that’s been starved for ages- for eons. There was something almost wolfish imprinted onto his expression, and the whites of his teeth feature an appearance between your legs as Nanami leans in; with knitted brows and a ragged emphasis, he’s asking - begging - once more. “Please-” Mahogany eyes just so earnest, “Marry me?”

Marry him?

Your jaw drops.

Was he so pussydrunk already that he’s genuinely proposing? 

Or was it just the aphrodisiac—you’re not waiting to find out.

Readily, Nanami only needs to feel a single shove of your glistenin’ wet pussy against his mouth - before he’s letting his eyes roll to the back of his skull. Farther and farther. Almost blindly, he uses his pointed chin to dig himself even deeper. And he couldn’t spread your pretty thighs apart with his arms, so he’s resorting to fitting his burly body - shoving your legs apart with his broad shoulders - until he gets closer to your core. Your dripping wet core,

Simply soaked.

Just a single strand of blond sticks to his forehead—usually-slicked hair coming out of its neat style now. And Nanami isn’t shy to sliiiide apart your drenched panties with his tongue, then start pressing kiss after open-mouthed kiss. 

Wide-mouthed. Gaping. 

Just the most teasing, faintish whispers of his tongue. Feverish in speed.

The sopping, smooth edge of his tastebuds lodge inside and slathers itself in all of your syrupy juices. Jaggedly probin’ in and out. “Is this how my wife wants it? Does this, mmm- feel good, my love?”

And you hadn’t even realized that your eyes were closed until you’re fluttering them open—looking through tear-filled lashes at the handsome man between your legs. “Y-yessss…deeper, Kento.”

His eyes suddenly clear in urgency.

Mind befogged with lust - but he’s alert enough to recognize your pretty pleas. And without a single second wasted, the slashes of his tongue scour even deeper inwards. With all his slick inches he’s tunneling into your pussy- and your toes curl at the sensation of him driving into spots unknown. “A-and?” He spits, “Is this good?”

He’s just so eager to please. “Nghhh, yes.” Blabbering out, “Just a bit more to the side now, honey.”

Obediently, he cocks his head and angles his kisses. The layers of his lips smush with your delicate pussy, until it was as if he’s stuck there by adhesive - you don’t think he’s pulling away enough to even breathe…and he wouldn’t mind forgoing his own comfort to make sure you’re feeling your best. “Is this good?” The big, bad spy that has all of Tokyo’s underbelly trembling pleads.

“Yes-”

“And what else?”

“Wh-what…?” Stare widening in surprise. 

That cute expression of yours - the way your cunt seems to splash! another wad of your slick onto his ready tastebuds - makes him rattle at his chains. As though to break through. As though to ravish you whole. 

But the only thing he’s succeeding in doing is letting gravity stoop his face even lower onto your pulsating pussy. Every throb was just so delicous—and Nanami swears he’s feeling his own heartbeat synchronize with the rapid cadence of it. “What else do you need from your husband? Do you need more tongue?” 

Just then, you’re feeling the ridged texture of his tastebuds start drilling even deeper. That cutely pink tip of his tongue starts bludgeoning inside as though reaching for your very cervix.

And he’s hatching out something- something almost delirious. “Do you need it sloppier? Because I can- mmm, do sloppier.” The cacophonous noise from beneath your swollen folds starts growing in both pitch and volume as he increases his speed, thick, ribbony strings of slick coating the edges of his mouth - “I can make it faster. Slower. Sexier.”

You’re straining your hamstrings to push off the springy mattress, “P-please—”

“I can eat you out like a husband should.” 

Munch-munching away at everything your pussy had to offer. Everything and anything.

He’s jostling his body so painfully close to yours- skin against skin. Lips against lips. Without the gesticulation of his hands to balance himself, it was rare that he’d find a moment to push up and part from your pussy - and whenever he did, it just meant he wasn’t doing his job well enough.

Nanami chases after even the slightest movements of your restless hips. And there’s a slight crack emanating from his metal handcuffs when the straight top of his nose taps your throbbing clit. 

“Tell me, my wife—tell me what you want.”

It feels like you’re being struck by shards of lighting itself, “J-just like that, Kento-”

“Just like that? Or even more- hah.” He pants out in a raspy wheeze. Nanami’s voice was low- lower than you can ever recall it being. “Don’t hafta lie to me, darling. Your husband can give you aaaaanything and everything.”

A shallow moan cracks at the back of your throat by the way he’s emphasizing his words- notably by reeling his thick tongue out and drag-drag-draaaagging it all across the forefront of your cunt. “Th-then…ngh, I want whatever it is that you want, Kento.”

His golden brows shoot up to his hairline, “What’s- hck! that, my love?”

And in a split-second - perhaps it’s your assassin side coming out, perhaps it’s the aphrodisiac that’s dialing every emotion up to the max - you’re grabbing a searing hold of Nanami’s pale tresses. A proper fistful that lets you jerk the strong man off of your cunt and gazing his glistening peripherals up at you.

He’s drawing his mouth away with a wet plop! The jutted-out edge of his lower lip trembles at the thought of not being in contact with your tasty cunt, and you have to tap the side of Nanami’s face to  get him to fully focus his attention on you.

It takes a little while for his lava-like eyes to peer up at you. “Y-yes, my wife…?”

Chuckling just a bit at the way he’s lost his train of thought - perhaps every thought he’s ever conjured up once he’s tasting your cunt. “What do you want, Kento? Tell me what you’d like…tha’s gonna please me the most.”

“But I beg to-”

“I know you want it.” And he didn’t forget about those ruthless heels of yours, did he? The broad frame of Nanami Kento shudders at the pointed sensation of your heels gliding up his open thighs. Trouser-covered and cum-drenched, you’re feeling for the bumpy area where his fat cock throbbed- and crushing down on it with the flats of your shoe. “This thing doesn’t lie to me, honey. Just tell me what the little spy wants.”

“I…fuck, this is embarrasing- this is so ungentlemanly-” But that was a ship long sailed. And he finds himself drooping even further into the heavenly in-betweens of your legs.

And you’re witnessing the veins on his beefy forearms pop out, the skin of his forehead perspiring- and it almost feels to you as if the blond man was holding himself back at this very moment. A shiver runs through you as you wonder just what him giving his all would mean for you…

And his swollen mouth cracks open, “Please…” And it’s not you that’s starting to beg…it’s Nanami himself. Deep and guttural wrenched out from his voicebox, he sends rumbles across your body like thunder. “Please push me even d-deeper into your cunt.” Nuzzlin’ your clit with his nose, he murmurs. “Push me so far deep- ride my tongue- use me until my mouth’s raw and I can’t even breathe.”

And you know you’re the one that asked him…but you can’t help but let your jaw hang speechlessly.

“I need you to make you c-cum on my tongue five times before I can call myself your husband.”

The answer takes some time to choke out, and when it finally does you’re feeling embarrassed at the slightly pitchy tone it takes. “Then do it.” With his sweaty strands plastered to your palm, and your heel being used to steady yourself—and push down on his convulsing cock. You give him no warning before pushing him down deeper. 

He sputters-

“I’m going to ride your face now, Kento.” And you’re shocked by your ability to keep your words from slurrin’ together now. “Do it- do everything it is that you want to do. But no pulling back to breathe. No cumming until I do.”

And he’s peering up at you with the most loving half-lidded eyes, “Yes, my wife.”

That man was a goner for his wife—you. 

“Hngh—mmm- K-Kento!” It’s just about the only thing your spit-drivelled lips can echo right now. The sound travels across the room before bouncin’ into Nanami’s eardrums, and he swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s heard. Because in a sultry split-second, he’s loosening his body up and letting you pin his face between your legs.

Then veering your hips upwards and upwards.

Frenzied, squelching movements of your hips. Your body was just crashing into his in the most sinful collision, and it was making the skin of his high cheekbones start to redden and sting- Nanami barely has the time to part his lips and take in an inhale—

Before your sopping pussylips are plastering to his mouth once more. And he’s lappin’ his tongue away wilding onto every inch he could reach - all around the hidden crevices of your cunt, before entering through your tight hole.

Nanami’s muscle was just so thick that he made you keen with the intrusion of his tastebuds. Feeling up the hugging walls of your channel, before you’re swearing he’s reaching for that one spot that made your eyes roll.

“Shit-” You’re babbling out, hands shaking where you held him down. “Sh-shiiiiiit, just like that. Does that feel good for you too, baby?”

He’s feeling the flaps of his lips start to swell and his lungs ache for breath- “Yes.” He’s never answered anything truer in his life - and it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac, though it did only seem to be getting stronger by the second. “Fuck—yes, and d-don’t keep doing that with your heel or m’gonna cum.”

“What?” You ask innocently - fully knowing the ministrations you were carrying out beneath your line of sight and his. Your heel was flattened over his massive bulge and smoothing up and down, up and down, up and down—practically jerking Nanami off though more with the pressure you were pitting against him.

The nib of your heel grazes his mushroomy tip and he bucks- “M’gonna cum, my love…”

Almost in agony. 

You smile as you reply, “Me too.” Before leaning down just the slightest inch in proximity of him - as though sharing a secret between just the two of you in this world. “But that’s only one of five.”

He grunts.

Fuck- he didn’t want to disappoint his beautiful wife. He can’t. He couldn’t.

And as though crazed, Nanami’s flickering the inches of his tongue through and through that dripping entrance of yours. In and out. Stirrin’ around his lengthy muscle in juuuust the way he knew would hit those pretty orifices that made you cry out so loud, Nanami’s focusing on your g-spot for a few seconds at a time to make sure you’re experiencing as much pleasure as possible with every thrust.

Through it all, his nose remains pressed up against your throbbing clit. “One down, four to go.”

“What do you…” Your toes curl then—because Nanami had predicted it before you had. With a sudden flash behind your eyes, you’re crashing into one wave of pleasure after the other - starting up from the pleasure-riddled area between your legs and climbing up into every cranny of your body afterwards.

Your arms go limp. Your back arches perfectly.

“Sh-shiiiiiit- that feels so good.” Your head tilts backwards as the sudden euphoria overtakes you, and your heartbeat only seems to accelerate by twofold after you take a look down at Nanami himself.

His eyes were rolling to the depths of his skull, until only the whites of them were visible. His mouth was agape and his body was almost moving on autopilot—pure carnal instinct simply lappin’ and lappin’ away at your cunt - sending sparks roaring through your body every time his dexterous nose struck your clit. His cock was twitching away furiously beneath your long heels.

And you’re quite sure that Nanami himself was on the verge of an orgasm- “Don’t cum.” You’re pressing down on his cock.

He jolts ever-so-slightly - though his movements don’t falter for a single second. And he was slightly muffled from his…position, though you do manage to make out a scoff. “Who did you think I was?” Nanami responds in a gravelly tone, “M’your husband, darling. And a husband is always supposed to keep his vows.”

You don’t mention that you technically didn’t have a ceremony with vows and everything.

Because in the next mere moments, Nanami has his tongue thrusted back inside and his chin glued to the bottom of your wet slit. No matter how much you’re bucking and moaning, he’s determined to accomplish that little wish you—he had had.

And with the textured swabs of his tongue, he’s pulling out one more orgasm. Two more. Three more-

You think you’ve lost count by the time you’re all sprawled out and spent on the bed. Throwing your head back, letting your heels hook onto his shoulders and tug him even closer - you’re all but begging for mercy as dopamine leaves stars bursting behind your eyelids. 

Your cunt was just so heated and raw at this point - though the aphrodisiac kept your slippery slick coming until it was drenchin’ Nanami all the way down to his collarbones.

His invisible dusting of blond on top of his upper lip glistens with the sap that clings onto it, and Nanami peers up at you with hollow, drunken eyes finally. “How many was that, my love?”

Would he believe it if you said you didn’t fucking know—

Apparently you didn’t have to remain wondering, because those words are leaving your lips mindlessly. They take a few seconds to penetrate Nanami’s own foggy mind- but with something akin to a crooked grin, he raises his head. “S’that so?” 

You’re shivering once he pulls his tongue out and presses a loud peck on top of your cunt.

“My poor, poor wife—did your husband go too hard?” And you’re not sure what’s in his intense gaze that makes you gesture out a single nod - an embarrassing nod. But you’re doing so anyway, and you hiss when he presses a final kiss and raises himself up onto his haunches. “But I have kept my end of the deal, darling. Didn’t your husband make you proud?”

“Y-yes—” 

“Didn’t your husband make you cum?”

“Yes-”

“Not five times, yet.” And through sheer will and the use of his incredible core strength, the trained spy stands up without breaking a sweat. “There’s one more to go…”

“Oh- let me.” Using whatever strength hasn’t been wrung out of you from the marathon of your highs - barely worrying about your refractory period - you’re surging upwards and reaching behind him. Those handcuffs you’d put him in were professional-grade and used on the job sometimes, nothing like the kinky toys that one might normally prefer.

Though this wasn’t initially supposed to be play at all.

And perhaps it’s the aphrodisiac that’s clouding your judgement- you know you can’t keep blaming it any longer when…But you’re soon looking around the room for the key that you’d dropped.

You think you had a spare in the bedside cabinet but you couldn’t be too sure- but then again, the original must have fallen somewhere on the carpet during the height of your nervous excitement—

“Looking for the key, mm?” Nanami’s deep croon jolts you out of your single-minded mission. And you somewhat jolt as you look up at his impressive height; his handsome face. 

Your cunt had pooled slick right down to his clothes- the collar of it noticeably darker than the rest of the fabric, with his buttons shining as though polished a thousand times over. And his trousers were just as ruined.

Blond hair completely unruly now. Pupils blown-out through his glasses.

His lips were all reddened n’ puffy with the prolonged contact with the sweetest dessert he’s ever tasted: you. And he’s wearing your slathered layers of slick like a medal of honor, glistening proudly across his mouth and jawline—evidence of his desperation. He husks, “No need to worry yourself, my sweet wife.” Just then, he’s straining his forearms to pull at the handcuffs with brute force - one vein on his forehead popping, skin flushing an even deeper red.

You don’t think he’s going to do it - no one’s ever escaped you when you used those.

But suddenly there’s a screech of metal and a clink! 

Before Nanami Kento’s rubbing at the slight bite of metal upon either of his wrists. His free wrists. His unrestrained wrists.

His unrestrained hunger as he then looms his chiselled body above yours- as you push yourself further and further up to the headboard, Nanami follows. He follows. He follows. He follows until your back hits the wooden panel connected to the wall, and those half-lidded eyes bore down upon you deliciously.

“Can we consummate our marriage now, my love?”

Your words could not be more sheerly needy- “Yes.”

And soon enough you’re helping Nanami out of his button-up, his vest, his trousers. Only his boxers stand in the way now and you’re just impatiently tugging them down—finding your jaw dropping at the sight of him.

Because Nanami was big as far as you’d felt.

But this was…what was that saying about it always being the quiet ones? Nanami’s length laid thick and throbbing between his milky legs; the tip of his shaft flushed an angry red, he’s leaking hot precum in lines down your inner thighs.

Dribbling out from the heavy volumes of his ballsack, and ending up coating his cherry tip in a cute white. 

In the saturated air, his cock twitches upwards a few times. Makin’ stray beads gliiiiide along the vein-covered length of his shaft- down and doooooown to soak into his burnt golden curls at the very base. The entire image was just so sexy that you can’t help but let out a moan—

And Nanami chuckles before he turns his tender lovin’ eyes towards you. “Don’t worry. You’re next, darling.”

Your clothes are shed at an even faster rate.

Soon enough, it’s just him sandwichin’ his bulbous tip between your folds. Too big to immediately slide into your cunt, too covered in so many wads of your slick - slippery with your own sap - that he occasionally eases inside and makes you yelp at the stretch. “It just feels so- fuck, I just know s’gonna feel so good.” Your hands claw down Nanami’s broad back, “I need you, Kento. Badly.”

“How badly?” He crouches over you, lips centimeters from yours. “I need to make sure you’re not jus’ talking out of your pussy, my wife.”

“I’m not—” You promise. “I need you- fuck, I need you.”

“Need me to what, however?” Nanami cocks his head and almost meanly asks- he never knew he could make you sputter so much. It was just so fun watching your pretty mouth fall slightly apart as you registered his teasing—it almost made him want to spit between your lips.

He does.

And Nanami continues shoving his expanding erection just between your thighs, “Do you need me to take this pretty pussy like it’s our wedding night? Do you need me to m-make love to this pretty pussy like we’ve been married for years? What is it…?”

You’re mouthing something that his popped eardrums don’t hear.

Leaning in, “What’s that, darling?”

And so you’re repeating - just a little louder than before. “I n-need you to fuck me like you’re trying to prove you’re my husband.”

Just like before.

And that seems to flip a switch in the stern, stoic Nanami Kento.

Just a little.

Because the next time you’re blinking your teary eyes open- it’s to see the harrowed furrow between his brows as Nanami reels his hips back n’ positions his largely flared tip between your legs. Right where he needs to be.

And then he push-pushes inside—

“Fuck-” He spits- strong hand darting out to grip the headboard. You hear it splinter—“Fuck.”

“Please…” Looking up, you’re letting out a soft gasp at the way the muscles on his arm bulge and make themselves clear next to you. The sheer strength. The sheer pressure. The sheer streeeetch between your legs that you’re being fed inch by solid inch.

It’s almost too much - so much more than you ever thought possible to take in one go. Your throat feels clogged with saliva and Nanami’s sheer size as his cockhead thoroughly pierces your channel.

Smearin’ your gluey walls to either side of him, he enters you slowly yet mercilessly. More and more. 

Your head falls back against the plush pillow directly beneath you-

“Now now- stay with me, darling.” Nanami’s strict sentence was less of a command and more of a sweet willing for you to open your eyes once more—to let him see those pretty, heart-shaped peripherals as he fucked you long and sweet. 

He was burrowed just about halfway in at this point and starting to thrust.

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t completely drenched in your sweetest caverns yet, as long as your thighs were quivering with the utmost pleasure. 

And Nanami collapses his rock-hard, chiselled front on top of your body - almost crushing you under the weight of him. Though you admit that the pressure was one so pleasurable that it sends zaps of electricity shooting to your toes—oh, did you mention that he’d kept your heels on, still?

And right now he was hooking his right set of fingers underneath your thigh, pressing your capped knees all the way up to your tits. 

You’re mooooaning at the burning stretch of your hamstrings.

And he’s letting you ease into it for a few more moments before throwing both legs over each side of his shoulders. Wet with perspiration, you’re letting your heeled feet slide down his hard muscles before finally managing to loop them around your neck.

“This is a mating press- yeah.” He whispers, “D’you like this, my wife?”

Nodding fervently. 

Leaning down to lick off the salty-sweet tears that were streaming down your cheeks, “Good girl.” The nickname slips between Nanami’s pussydrunken mouth before he can stop himself. And when he feels the huggin’ entrance of your cunt grow even wetter at the sound of it…oh.

The tips of his digits damn-near tremble with excitement as the blond-haired man plucks a pillow from one of the many you were laying against. Fluffing it up. Promptly placing it underneath the base of your spine, just where that curve was supposed to start, and raising your hips just a little.

That change of angle made the thump-thump-thumping tip of his cock just slightly press against the roof of your cunt, and you whine. “Sh-shit…”

“D’you know what that’s for, my love?”

“Huh?” You respond hazily, and he gestures towards the pillow. Just so gone- on his cock, on the aphrodisiac, on the primal instincts on the verge of screaming at him to shove even deeper. “Um…”

Nanami leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, “That’s alright. I’ll teach you later, my love. For now…”

For now, what was that you’d begged for earlier?

Ah…

For now, he was going to fuck you like a loving husband fucks his beloved, beloved wife.

And he was going to prove it to this pussy that he was your husband—is. There were no two ways of going about it- Nanami’s leaning his toned torso backwards and suddenly rammin’ into you with all his strength.

He doesn’t stop until he’s sure he can hear the damn thwack! of his mazin’ tip reaching for your deepest depths. The sensation of your cervix was just so smoooooth and spongy, and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that the notorious man had just bottomed out on your tight, tight pussy. 

You’re keening at the way your folds can do nothing but quiver n’ take and take. Gulping down those greedy inches that he was funneling over and over again into you—the scruff of his tawny happy trail scrapes your sensitive pussylips and you buck-

“And don’t think that you can run away.” He was amused.

For every millimeter that you were arching off of the mattress due to oversensitivity, Nanami was making up for it with yet another two rugged slams of his hips. He just loved that surprised expression upon your face when you found yourself being dragged right back, being manhandled, with a mere tug of his trained physique.

One hand on the right side of your waist.

One hand bracing his gluttonous base.

He furrows his brows and tightens his jaw as he haaaaauls you right back down- and soon enough, you’re finding that perhaps - perhaps - you’re shifting yourself away just to have him do it all over again.

And he indulges you, of course. Spearing between your glossed-up pussylips from tip to bottom end.

Fat inches that were making themselves at home.

Eventually, Nanami’s hungry gaze pins you down- first. Before the rest of his Herculean sculptured body chooses to rest further on top of you n’ glue your skin, your hips, to his own—preventing you from moving just a centimeter further than he wanted you to. Preventing you from shifting his determined cock around. He’s practically melding your bodies into one—he almost wishes he could.

Before Nanami had finally scoured ‘round your insides and located your g-spot. And he couldn’t have you moving around when his entire mission was to make you numb with pleasure, could he?

The heat between you two crackles in the air, and Nanami fucks you slow and shallow with his flared red tip. Rovering over that one spot-

“O-oh my god, oh my god, Kento—” Words slurring into one. Nearly indiscernible. 

And through your tears, you’re making out Nanami’s lips pursing into something gentle. “Shhhhh…” The breeze of his scorching pants waft over you, dialing your own body temperature up into something insatiable. Aphrodisiac or…no, just the two of you. “You’ve got this, my love- fuck, you’ve got this.”

“I…” Eyes scrunching shut. “N-never felt anything like this before, honey.”

“You can take it.”

“I am- I am-”

The way his thrusts were probin’ into you was just indescribable- though Nanami Kento might have been a gentleman to everyone that ever encountered him - and yes, you suppose that even included the targets for his missions - you were briefed and trained to see him as the complete opposite. 

Unlike most, you knew Nanami Kento as the agent…the danger…the target for your own mission.

But his cock was drilling into you over and over in sharp, rapid thrusts and you’re thinking that perhaps you hadn’t been so correct about him after all…

Calculated thrusts.

Nanami was making sure that you were wringing out the maximum amount of pleasure from each one of them. Not wasting time between smooching the door to your womb—thud-thud-thud. And between reeling his hips all the way back until your cunt was wet and gaping around where the circumference of his tip was the fattest. The neediest. Red-hot.

And then he’d be sliiiiiiding one of his most prominent veins down the middle along the most tender of your nerves. Kissing it.

Making white-hot bliss burst through your body as he’s managing to hit eeeevery single fucking orifice that made you swoon. Those large arms of his cage you safely, and Nanami already knows by now that you’re drunk on his hips. “Feels good, yeah?” He asks you-

And you almost have the heart to respond with something feisty—well, obviously. But the sincerity in his eyes makes you prattle out, “Feels s-soooo good. Didn’t even know that it could feel this good…”

He smiles proudly, “Yeah? Oh yeah—” Patting your sensitive clit with his abdomen, “And how’s the- haaaaaah, fuuuck, keep squeezing me like that- How’s the speed, my love?”

“P-perfect…” Cockdrunken. Bed creaking.

But Nanami merely nods and licks at the walloping amounts of saliva pouring from one end of your mouth and onto the silken covers of the pillows. “Mhmmmmm…and what else? How’s the angle?”

Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull. “The- angle—oh.” Just then, he’s adjusting his hips just the slightest few degrees so that his bludgeoning cock would hit a fresh new target tilted slightly upwards to the roof of your cut. And you’re practically yowling out, “That one- ngh, that’s the one.” Nails possessively claiming his back with countless scratches and indentations of your nails, “P-pleeeeease keep that one, Kento.”

“Like it that much, huh?” He hums to himself, “But of course, m’not gonna change it when s’my wife’s favorite.”

In a small thank-you, you’re craning your head up and attempting to kiss him. 

He meets your lips halfway, but don’t think that that’s the only thing his vicious hips could do.

“Now now, don’t tap out…” Nanami grunts n’ shudders to himself—he has to gnaw down on the plushness of his bottom lip to compose himself at least somewhat. “And how about the feeling of my balls- hah- feel how biiiiiig and heavy they are, just for you?”

Struck and feeling his cadence accelerating, you can only nod and nod.

“Feel how rock-hard I am for you?”

Nodding.

“Feel the way I- fuck, the way m’only getting harder?”

Nodding.

“Feel the way your g-spot just throbs whenever I’m near?” His crowned and hungry tip pauses just to prove his point, and you’re dragging your nails down his biceps with a disappointed whine. A call to continue if there was any.

To which he does.

Harder than before- pap-pap-papping—! the front of his hips against yours.

“And feel the way m’pumping out so much- fuck- precum?” Just then - as if on fucking cue - you’re feeling a wet draaaaag of his pre being pushed deeper inside you. Pooling on layers on top of your cervix n’ swirling around every time you’re being moved, “Shit, m’gonna make a mess again. See what you do to me?”

“I do-”

Nanami scoffs, “You know I’d do anything to make you feel good, my love.” Boring those golden eyes into yours- yes, they looked damn golden in this lighting and in the hazy state of your mind. “Anything-”

One of his thick hands scrape down your front- they were the hands of someone that’s trained and worked and fought to get to where he is today. And you’re shivering at the slight callouses that massage you—

Your husband continues, “Never think that you’re- hah, any less loveable- desirable, because of anyone or anything before.” And despite the fact that you two were connected on levels, physical ones, that were the farthest they could go…it still feels the most intimate once he rests his clammy forehead onto yours and whispers. “Because I’m here- fuck.”

Toes curling atop his shoulders - doesn’t matter how much you’re thrashing them out of sheer pleasure at the stretch, he’s taking every bruise head-on. “Yes, yes, yes—mmm, yes…fuck, it shouldn’t feel this good- ngh, legally it shouldn’t feel this good.”

“When have we ever cared about the legal labels?”

Those pearly whites of his gnaw down on your lips n’ drag you into a kiss. 

He utters, “Because your Kento’s here.”

Whimpering up at him when all the constant kissin’ at your g-spot almost gets too much to bear. So overstimulated. “A-and why do you say that, Kento?”

He could coo at the cute way you’re asking that question.

With your legs shakily squeezing around his neck, with your lips trembling and threatening to escape a sob. The way your cunt swallowed him up and dragged him to the very depths of your cunt was almost dizzying for him to feel—and he knows his balls were thwacking so hot and headily against the forefront of your cunt. He knows he’s close.

He knows the patterns of his zig-zagging veins were outlining themselves upon either side of your walls- he could feel it.

He knows that these were the pearly gates of heaven themselves. Opened right with your legs.

And Nanami has to force himself to not fucking throw his head back with a thunderous groan—more to hear your sweet, sweet noises than anything. And instead, he nuzzles his sweaty face into the crook of your neck and lets out looooow, trundling whispers. “You’re s-seriously asking me that, my love? Don’t mock me-”

“I’m not-”

“Because the answer should be obvious.” And this is the first and only time that the Nanami Kento would interrupt you on any matter. “S’because I’m fucking made for you, aren’t I?”

And with that being said, it seems his cadence is only growing faster. Harder. Hittin’ your lower half at what, to you, almost feels like the speed of light - his blushin’ tip only grows bigger and concrete-hard as he keeps jutting into the crevices of your cervix.

Running the lines of his veiny shaft down your channel all the while—

Soon enough: your pulsing clit finds home between Nanami’s thumb and index finger. 

On his left hand.

Which meant the stark frigidness of his wedding ring was making your body thrust itself into the throes of pleasure - not quite cumming, though considering just how overstimulated you were, you wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up shattering all over him without any warning. Instead, you’re finding your mouth babbling away whatever stupid concoction of words was entering your mind- “A-and how can you say that-”

“That’s because I’m your husband.” He kisses your forehead softly once more, “Forget all those other boys and whoever that came- hah, before me, darling. They’ve never yearned—ached, prayed for this pussy like I have…”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles up at your throat, “Y-yearned—? K-Kento, you can’t be serious.”

His dazed eyes widen, mouth stupidly agape. “Dead fucking serious.”

What’s the word to describe him…enamored? In…love? Pussy-whipped? But in all the best ways.

And he himself didn’t sound like he could compute the words that were falling from his mouth. Escaping, more like. He tut-tuts, “My wife…I fear I don’t even- haaaah, know who I am without this pussy. She’s all I’ve been thinking about these past few days. She’s all I’ve been…hungry for. She’s all I’ve been- fuck, needing to make myself run to the b-bathroom and jerk myself off until I see stars—”

“S-stars-” Repeating breathlessly to yourself. Such words from him of all people…especially when it pertained to you…you just couldn’t believe it.

“Making you feel good as your husband is my only goal, my love.” And he means it so earnestly- from anyone else you would have scoffed and rolled your eyes. But Nanami’s staring into your widely-blown peripherals as though he was exposing every shred and fissure in his soul.

He rolls his thumb over the nub of your clit.

Your voicebox raggedly wrenches out, “All this time you’ve…”

And fuck- he’s so far gone that he can’t hold back the fucking lewd grin as he admits—

“All this time-” Planting one chaste peck on your forehead while he fucks you, “-your husband has been-” Then another one on your right cheek, “-a damn pervert waiting for you to catch him.” In more ways than one. And then a final one on your left cheek.

He pulls away and admires you.

“And how does that make you feel, my wife?”

“It m-makes me feel…” Spit drivels from the leaky orifice of your mouth along with a few whining pleas here and there. And before Nanami’s lust-hazed brain can begin to compute it, you’re reaching outwards and grabbing ahold of yet another fistful of his hair.

Dragging him towards you with a persistent few tugs.

Surprise and arousal flash across his face and steep into his already-agonized expression once you pull him close enough.

You enunciate up at him, “It makes me feel like m’gonna cum, soon…” Eyes flapping shut, chest arching up into his firmly-toned one. You hiccup, “-my husband.”

His hips stutter sloppily.

But you weren’t done just yet—“A-and I know you’re close, too.” Gaze flickering down to the briefest flash of his bulbous, red tip as he pulls out- only to be shoved between your pussylips once more. Again and again. “I want you to not hold back, Kento. No matter how hard it is- ngh, don’t hold back on me.”

He repeats, breathlessly. “Don’t hold back…don’t…” Nodding and nodding. 

And then you’re watching the line of his vision sharply stray to something above your head-

To the discarded fabric of his favorite tie.

And do you know how many times spies have been trained to get out of and create restraints? You don’t think it takes Nanami even two heartbeats to swipe the tie somewhere from the headboard and reach behind you to loop around your wrists.

Pinning them together.

Tying them blindly.

Tugging you to him with a flex of his muscles.

You’re being manhandled like so through a few slammin’ stripes down on the innermost layer of your pussy- he seemed to be reaching even deeper with this slight change in position.

“Please-” You can’t catch your breath fast enough—and the sheer sensation of Nanami throwin’ you around like a ragdoll whilst he fucked you like an absolute gentleman was enough to make you stutter out in just a few more moments- “P-please…Kento, m’gonna cum-”

Smack! The skin of his pelvis practically glues against yours. “Cum on your husband’s cock, my dear.”

And with the most sinful, squelching sound of your thighs tightening around his waist- you’re cumming. The fifth time tonight; it sears through every vessel in your body stronger and faster than you remember any previous orgasm being.

A buzzing electricity- turned zapping.

Curdling at the pit of your stomach and making you arch up into Nanami as many times as your limbs could weakly carry you…

Your heels claw ravaged marks down his shoulders, “C-cumming-” Babbling out as stars of pleasure formulate and burst behind your eyes, “Kento—fuck. Fuck, Kento, it feels so good—” 

“Fuck.” He grunts himself.

Entire body shaking as the wave of euphoria roars over you.

Flashing and overstimulated.

Then you’re peering up at him with tear-filled eyes, “Kento, I want you to cum, too-”

And that’s when it hits him.

Almost as if his body had been waiting for permission from you this entire time, as though he’d react to you above anything or anyone else. Orders. Though they were ones that his brain would gladly follow- Nanami throws his head back just a little and stammers his hips.

The round curve of his tip plasterin’ against your sweet, spongy cervix and holding there for a few seconds—before he, too, ends up giving into his pleasure.

Making you cum five times and this was the first time he’s cumming inside.

Brows knitting, his strong jaw drops ever-so-slightly ajar as he feels a sensation like never before. No matter how much of his creamy white cum he’s emptying out- your cushy walls were sucking him up for more, more, more…“Sh-shit—you don’t know what you do to me.” And with that said, he’s raising his knee up and setting it where the pillow underneath your hips was, “I think you a-already know what this pillow is for, hm?”

Nodding, “I do I do-” You could’ve guessed either way.

Especially by the way the spurs of his cum were barreling inside- being fucked deep inside. Deep inside. And because of the positioning of your hips, no matter how much you jostle or buck, his hot wads remain webbin’ up every orifice inside.

Glued to your cervix like adhesive.

The pillow only helped if you wanted to…expand the family.

Another toe-curling burst of pleasure runs through him at the mere thought of it, and Nanami turns his head to kiss the pretty side of your calf. Legs still limply wrapped around his head.

He hums, “And does this go against your mission, my assassin?”

You’re shaking your head.

Quite frankly, the only other thing you can think to do is to tug him closer with your lower half. 

Nanami’s shaft was thick and throbbing—burnished red at the top and polished with so many layers of cum. Hot puddles of it. He was making sure not to waste a single - not even a single - drop of it as he emptied out inside, though the sheer force of his thrusts did end up frothing some of his powdery-white cum between your trembling legs. So full that you were leaking from your hole.

He spits down on your stuffed pussy, fingers twiddling on your clit. “Then how about trying to kill me by milking me dry next?”

His heavy balls clench.

Your jaw drops.

And it really wasn’t just the aphrodisiac. 

You are the one that won’t be making it out of this alive.

.

.

.

“—no…no, it’s not for a lack of resources. No- no one’s threatening me.” Speaking sharply into the receiver of the payphone, the crackle of your elders echoes in your ears. You’re sure that you’re sending the Garden headquarters into an uproar by this point—you’re sure that everyone’s gotten the word.

The Phantom is quitting her line of work.

And though you suppose it wasn’t necessarily against policy to finally quit being an assassin, you just don’t think anyone would have bet that you’d be the next.

And in the booth next to you was Nanami Kento, on the phone with his own higher-ups.

You’re eyeing the handsome man through the translucent screen of plastic in-between, and he’s catching your eyes and shooting you a reassuring smile. He seemed to be having a much easier time with whoever was on his end, meanwhile you…Scoffing at the next accusation they throw out, “No, I’m not drugged or coerced or going to trade secrets with anyone-”

Another higher-up bellows something.

“Look, I’m going to post you my resignation letter and that is that. I just wanted to tell you all personally- think of it as my last duty to you.”  And with a sigh you’re beginning to push away from the receiver, “Don’t contact me again, kindly. Or you can—send assassins after me for all you care, we both know how that’s going to go down.”

The phone gets sternly put back in its place.

And you know that they won’t try to mess with you.

You know that.

They didn’t call you The Phantom for nothing - your presence still haunted the Garden when you weren’t there. As you’re making your way out of the booth, you’re realizing that your husband had wrapped up his call and was waiting for you outside.

Hands in his coat pockets. Fingers inching automatically towards yours once you’re outside.

He’d been nagging at you on getting a warmer covering layer recently, and Nanami doesn’t hesitate to shrug off his own jacket and insist upon you wearing it. Though he wasn’t a very loud man, his affection was practically palpable.

And you’re almost feeling shy walking down the street in what was obviously his coat, whilst he stuffed your joined hands into the pocket of your coat - one that he was now wearing. 

Eventually, you ask. “I assume your call went well, Kento?”

He sighs something half-fond, “Yeah…” And though it was true that both of you had been wanting out from these careers for some time now, it was still a wistful affair. 

It was just last week that Nanami had filed in his report on the Zenin family; revealing some corrupt ties and nonsensical numbers in their business that’d been blown across every news station, magazine, and forum you could think of in the past few days. Zenin Naobito had been arrested, of course, transferring the title of heir to none other than Fushiguro Megumi, your son’s best friend. And though the two of you weren’t working for your organizations anymore, you’d both promised to keep a firm eye on the boy to make sure that he wasn’t being pressured or made to live older than his age anytime soon.

You’re squeezing Nanami’s hand softly, and he looks at you with a smile. Continuing where he’d left off, “They were hesitant, but I think they understood. I think they saw - even before I did - that this was a long time coming.”

“They let you go that easily?”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, “I’m free.”

And you’re doing the same.

You’re both free.

Once you’re opening your eyes, it’s to look at the other side of Shibuya Crossing - where Itadori and his two familiar best friends were standing and waving at the two of you. Furiously. They laughed and bickered about who was waving the hardest. “So romantic—!” You think you hear Kugisaki squeal even from here.

You chuckle as you wait for the light to turn green.

Looking up at the blue, blue sky. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

A/N. No idea how this got so long erm- also Happy Avurudu to anyone that celebrates!!

@cursed(your)wombz huh?

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

I know what you want…

- C.

And beneath that was a link.

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

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

0 Following.

581k Followers.

Now that makes you blink.

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

Now that was a little strange.

And so you’re scrolling down.

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

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

The first picture you’re seeing- pinned.

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

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

The photo is almost vampiric in nature.

Somehow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank goodness your dorm had thick walls. 

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

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

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

And you click on it.

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

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

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

Ah- you’d guessed right.

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

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

This time, it was a stream.

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

0 Subscribed.

820k Subscribers.

455k Currently watching.

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

Perfectly angled. 

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

Again and again.

Getting faster by the second before he arches-

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

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

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

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

Pearly white droplets of cum. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@vampzo333: me too ME TOO

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

@CCpervnextdoor: AWWWW I’m begging~

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

@Curse’swifey donated 500 cherries.

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

Curse…that’s what his name was, huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The first time?”

Fuck.

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

@Ietsmakeamovie: Yeah.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Fuck, you’re so hot.

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

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

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

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

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

@Ietsmakeamovie donated 1000 cherries.

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

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

@CCpervnextdoor: Needy Curse I like it~

@bewbsRlife: KEEP GOING OP KEEP GOING!!

You giggle to yourself.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Enough to make you cum, Curse?

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

The chat explodes in agreement.

He cocks his head, “Movie?”

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

@Ietsmakeamovie: Mhm.

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

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

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

Hard and fast.

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

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

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

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

He mouths, “Movie—”

Part of your username.

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

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

Your lashes flutter shut as the orgasm overtakes you. 

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

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

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

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

@CCpervnextdoor: So dirty~

@daddytoeknee: Must thank Movie for the show though…

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

@Ietsmakeamovie subscribed to @cursed(your)wombz. 

@Ietsmakeamovie donated 2500 cherries.

@Ietsmakeamovie: It’d never be too much.

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

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

“Heh- bye, sluts.”

And he covers the camera, the stream cuts off. 

Yet your heart still thunders.

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

.

.

.

It was your fault that you kept dozing off.

Honestly. 

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

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

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

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

Why was the Sun coming up?

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

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

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

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

At the very forgotten corner.

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

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

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

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

Knitted vest. Hair in two messy space buns. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But if he did, he shows no indication.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t answer but nods in shy acknowledgement.

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

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

Heavy.

Heavier. 

Tap-tap-tap.

A shake.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

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

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

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

You’d seriously slept through all that?

And Yaga had left you alive?!

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait—!”

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

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

That makes you pause.

Was he…

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

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

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

Probing him gently, “But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

And you rise upwards in silence.

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

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

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

And you can’t help but follow.

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

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

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

He smiles.

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@vampzo333: YES PLEASE.

@likezmenpregnant: How about you be the brat…?

@Ietsmakeamovie: I would like that. 

@sixeyesorsixh0les: ^^

@0003h0lesforCurse: ^

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

@likezmenpregnant: You’re pregnant.

@Ietsmakeamovie: I’m the father-

@Curse’swifey: NO MEEEEEEEEEEE!!

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

@bipplruletheworld: so down.

@Cursenoticeme44: Omg yeeeeeeeeees!!

@daddytoeknee: YESYESYES.

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

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

You jolt—at being called out.

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

But you stall as your fingers reach for the keyboard. 

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

@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t mind!!

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

He moves onto something else and his expression was indiscernible. 

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

.

.

.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-oh, of course—!”

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

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

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

And you jump-

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

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

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

Body just resting on the plush comforter before-

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

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

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

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck this was real.

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

Heavy.

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

“Ah, so you’ve realized.”

And then his voice permeates the room.

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

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

One by one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You step a little closer. 

“Only if I get to match wardrobes.”

He chuckles and picks you up to spin you around-

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

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

It was. It fit perfectly.

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

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

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

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

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

@bewbsRlife: ARE WE GETTING A SURPRISEEEEEEE??

@likezmenpregnant: Pls be pregnant, Curse <3

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

@bipplruletheworld: omg this can’t be…

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

@bipplruletheworld: yessssssss

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

@bewbsRlife: WOOOOOO-

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

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

You’re sheepishly walking into their view. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@bewbsRlife: I MEANNNN

@theh0rniestsoldier: i’m feeling mean today…

@daddytoeknee: Give her your mouth!!

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

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

“Please-”

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

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

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

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

Right down your sopping wet slit. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your only warning.

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

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

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

Oh, shit.

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

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

“I—oh, I um.” 

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

You admit, “M-maybe…”

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

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

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

Your thighs squeeze around his head at the notion-

And your fingertips touch the short hemline of your skirt.

@Cursenoticeme44: Holy shit.

@theh0rniestsoldier: i’ve been waiting for thisssssssssss-

@daddytoeknee: WOW.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: bby’s so needy!!

@R€4leater: munch Curse #canon

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

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

Like a man starved.

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

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

More, more, and more.

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

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

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

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

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

@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah.

@0003h0lesforCurse: duhhhhhhhhh

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU’RE THE BEST CURSE

@Fishygurodad: Fuck, her pussy’s divine.

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

@vampzo333: 3

@bbynohuuuuzz: 14

@Ilikepr1menumbers: 29

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

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

@Fishygurodad: Until she cries.

Oh.

Your blood runs cold.

Your cunt grows heated.

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

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

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

@girrrrrrrrrrth: movie would’ve loved this-

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

Tentacles flared out.

“Shit, not that damn ring again.”

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

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

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

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

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

@bewbsRlife: HOLY SHIT CURSE-

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

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

In and out.

In and out.

Probin’ into slippery sweet spots.

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

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

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

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

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

@bipplruletheworld: they’re so HOT!!

@NERDSAREMYBABYGIRLZ: OHHHH WHAT A MUNCH

@daddytoeknee: Me next <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect on camera.

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

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

The gooey addition startles you- and you rut.

Only straight down onto his awaiting fingers.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: oh, shit is he…

@legsopenforcurses: With the rings on, too!!

@likezmenpregnant: My show is onnnnn

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

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

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

And his rings- oh, fuck, his rings.

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

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

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

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

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

@olderandR4w: nooooooooooo

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: NEVER.

@Fishygurodad: Go even harder.

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

One. 

Two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

C floods your vision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@theh0rniestsoldier: woah he’s PUSSYDRUNK

@Fishygurodad: Show me his POV.

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

@daddytoeknee: Movie-core- wya ml??

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gulp.

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

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

@vampzo333: ^^

@girrrrrrrrrrth: ^^

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He trails off.

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

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

And he doesn’t even seem to notice.

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

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

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

Fingers trembling. Muscles rippling.

@likezmenpregnant: Woah…make him do that again…

@sixeyesorsixh0les: SUBBY CURSE HELLO??

@whimperwhiteboywhimper: oh I am SO here for this

@Fishygurodad: Whatever…

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

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

And suddenly you’re understanding.

Oh—he was toying with you.

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

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

Big and thick.

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

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

@Curse’swifey: HE sounds SO NGH.

@daddytoeknee: Daddy likey…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuh-fuuuck-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do—I do-” 

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

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

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

@Curse’snewestharem: Awwwww poor bby </33

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

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

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

@Curseswombmommy: ^^girl shut up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-never—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in the l-least…”

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

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

A thrust even harder than the ones before it.

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

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

He gasps dramatically-

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

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

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

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

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

@bewbsRlife: CUM CUM CUM CUM CUM

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

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

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

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

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

And that proved it.

That proved it.

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

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

His eyes genuinely glazed and blinking longingly.

His hair drenched in sweat.

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

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

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

“Curse, baby…” You hum.

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

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

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

@Fishygurodad: Yes.

@Curse’swifey: YES.

@likezmenpregnant: Yesssss~

@girrrrrrrrrrth: yesyesyes.

@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah-

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

Luckily for you, they liked you.

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

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

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

“Mhmmmm.”

Unable to even find the words.

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

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

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

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

Wave upon wave.

Toes curling. Eyes scrunching shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So um- coffee after this?”

“It better be dinner.”

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

Your eyes widen.

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

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

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

@girrrrrrrrrrth: holy fuck??

@Curse’swifey: WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT NO WAY-

@bewbsRlife: HOLD ON-

@CCpervnextdoor: SAY SIKE RN?

@bipplruletheworld: oh my god that’s amazing.

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

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU TWO LOOKING FOR A THIRD??

@Fishygurodad: Damn.

@Fishygurodad: Hmu when he messes up.

@daddytoeknee: Stfu he won’t.

@daddytoeknee: Also I totally called it <3

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

A servant, dignified and aloof, came. They, with their white hair stained with crimson, took one look at you before making a silent decision. 

Carried by goblin-looking creatures inside the mountain, which parted as though unhinging its jaw, you could do nothing but accept that you were going to be eaten up by the very monsters that children were warned about.

Navigating the carved out hallways of the mountain, they threw you in the throne room. Jagged stone walls surrounded you. Glowing red rocks were embedded in the rocks and lit torches illuminated the grand space. You were laying on the rolled out red carpet, staring up at a giant of a being. 

There he was.

Sukuna Ryomen.

He was resting his head on one of his four arms, legs crossed, with all four eyes gazing down at you. He looked bored. 

“What is this?” he drawled.

The same servant you first met stepped up, head bowed humbly. They said, “Entertainment, my Lord.”

“Entertainment?” the king repeated, tasting the word. “Not a snack? Interesting. How, pray tell, will this woman entertain me, if not with the taste of her flesh, Uraume?”

It was an absurd situation — they were discussing you as if you weren’t there, as if you didn’t have ears, as if you were a pet the servant had picked up as a gift. Although, it was at least a small blessing that you hadn’t been killed on the spot, you supposed. The thought, however, didn’t permit much relief when unimaginable torture could have awaited you.

‘Uraume’ answered, “The humans intended for her to be your wife, my Lord. Perhaps you could humour them with brief belief that they have been spared from their inevitable fate.”

At that, Sukuna hummed.

His eyes met your own then. They inspected you through your very soul. You felt their branding touch rifling through your essence. Something passed in them, something to which you could not put words. 

Finally, he waved a lazy hand, and said, “Very well.”

The servants rushed to take you away, afraid to waste a single second. 

You’ve been living in a room somewhere in the heart of the mountain since. 

It’s been about a week. 

Meals on a tray are served to you three times a day. Porridge, fruits, bread, the sorts. You do your best not to eat much; they might have poisoned it. 

Every day, every hour, is spent anticipating the wooden doors being kicked down, waiting for the Curse King to forgo delaying your fate and slicing your head off your shoulders with one, clean cut. So far, nothing yet. 

In fact, you have not seen another soul since. 

The first night, you couldn’t sleep, afraid that he would take the villagers up on the offer to make you his real bride, by plunging his cock into you and stealing your maidenhead. It didn’t, and hasn’t, happened. But ‘yet’ looms over you perpetually. 

Your one consolation is that sleep comes to you easily now.

It’s all you can do — the room is barren of books, of people, of art. Only a bed, a table, and a chamber pot with a bucket of water decorate it. There are no windows with which you can view the outside world, can tell what time of day it is, can escape through, or jump off. Only your body’s natural instincts inform you when morning and time to slumber has arrived. 

Though…

With the days blurring, and perpetual and dim light of the glowing rocks remaining unchanged, it’s beginning to grow more and more difficult to tell left from right. 

The doors are unlocked. 

That was the first thing you tested when you were placed here. 

Of course you’ve considered walking out of the room, if only to have a change of scenery. You’ve also considered escaping. But your thoughts would always end up at ‘escaping to where?’

You’ve been abandoned by your village, by your family. They would not accept you. They would see your return as a sign that the Curse King had rejected their sacrifice and would be coming to collect the debt. In other words, you’d be seen as a bad omen. 

It was your destiny to die, whether by the hands of your family or by the hands of the beast they were afraid of.

So if death is a certainty, why would you fear it?

That’s the final thought that pushes you out of bed and to the door. Your hand hesitated for a second. Then it was sure. You opened it, body tense. 

No one’s outside. No guard, no goblins, no king.

You pad out, feet bare and wearing only a nightgown. How deep inside the mountain are you, you wonder. There’s a draught blowing past, but no sound of the forest to fill the space. No voices. No footsteps. No life.

“Where is everyone?” you mutter, padding forward.

Who can say how long you wander through the tunnels? 

It feels like it’s been hours, though with the way time seems to pass differently, it could also have only been mere minutes. 

Eventually, you spot light coming from a hollow in the walls. Carefully and with bated breath, you peer inside.

Steam wafts over your face.

It’s warm — startlingly so against the chill that seems to cling to every corridor of the mountain. You hesitate again, also only a moment before stepping inside. 

The ceiling arches high above, rough stone glistening with condensation, droplets forming and falling in slow, steady rhythms that echo softly in the space. The air is thick, humid, curling around your skin. It tickles.

At the centre of the chamber lies a pool.

It’s set into a wide, uneven basin in the ground. The water glows faintly from beneath, lit by the same red-veined stones embedded along the walls, but here their light is softened, diffused through the steam until it casts everything in a hazy, molten glow.

The surface of the water ripples lazily, disturbed by unseen currents, by the quiet bubbling from somewhere deep below. Heat rises from it in waves, beckoning, almost inviting.

Who knew something like this existed inside a mountain?

Carefully, you approach the edge of the pool, crouching slightly as you extend a hand. Your fingers hover for a second before dipping into the water.

Hot.

But not scalding.

“A bath,” you mumble, smiling.

Here, of all places.

The servants had given you a bed to sleep on, a table to eat at, and a pot to do your business in that seemed to be cleaned out magically without you ever seeing anyone. What they hadn’t granted, however, is the luxury of a bath. Only a bucket to and a rag to clean yourself with. 

You glance back toward the tunnel, as if half-expecting someone, something, to be watching. But there’s nothing and no one. Only the distant drip of water and the low hum of the mountain breathing around you.

Your reflection stares back at you from the shifting surface, blurred by steam and movement. The quiet stretches.

If you’ll be killed for stepping outside your room, at least you’ll die clean and fresh. 

Shrugging off your nightgown, you dip your toe in the water, then your leg and the other, and soon you’re fully emerged. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you moan, letting the water soothe the aches in your bones. You sink deeper. The heat swallows you whole, up to your shoulders, then your chin. Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head back, strands of your hair clinging damply to your skin.

For a moment, just a moment, you forget. Forget the mountain, the monsters, the fate waiting patiently for you somewhere in its depths. The tension bleeds out of your limbs, your breathing slowing, evening out as the warmth seeps into you.

You drift, arms floating lazily at your sides.

A soft sigh escapes you. This is just like swimming in the lake near the village, except it’s warm and lovely and soothing. 

It’s…peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Your eyes open.

Something feels…off suddenly. The water, once gently lapping, stills in a way that isn’t natural. The faint bubbling from below seems to deepen, shift. Like something moving far beneath the surface.

Your body goes rigid.

Slowly, you glance down. The water is dark there. Deeper than it should be. The glow from the stones doesn’t quite reach the bottom — it falls away into shadow, into something that looks less like a pool and more like a pit.

A pit that could swallow you whole.

Your breath catches. 

“…Hello?” you call softly, though you don’t know why.

The surface trembles.

Something moves.

Your heart lurches into your throat. Instinct kicks in before thought does. You turn sharply, water sloshing as you begin to move, arms cutting through the surface, making for the edge.

Too slow.

Something clasps your ankle.

A gasp tears right through you, kicking hard, panic surging white-hot through your veins. “No!”

It coils.

Grabs.

Your leg is yanked downward with terrifying force.

The world flips. Water crashes over your head as you’re dragged under, your scream swallowed instantly. You thrash, clawing at nothing, lungs burning whilst bubbles tear from your mouth. Your hands grasp blindly, trying to find purchase, to find anything.

A shape.

A body.

You strike it. Push against it. Kick, struggle, fight with everything in you, nails scraping against something solid, unyielding. 

Then it lets go.

You don’t wait.

You surge upward, breaking through the surface with a ragged gasp, coughing, choking on water as you scramble for the edge. Your hands slap against the stone, slipping once before catching, dragging yourself up just enough to cling to it. Your whole body trembles violently.

Air. You need air. 

You suck it in greedily, chest heaving, water dripping from your lashes as your eyes dart wildly across the pool. “W-what…” you choke out, voice shaking. 

A sound answers you. A low, amused exhale.

Your blood runs cold. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head.

He’s here.

The King of Curses.

Sukuna lounges against the inner ledge of the pool as though he’s always been there. One arm is slung lazily over the stone behind him, another resting loosely at his side, droplets sliding down the planes of his skin. And the remaining two are folded under the water.

He’s watching you. 

No, observing you. 

That smirk curls at his lips, sharp and satisfied, eyes glinting with something dark and entertained. “Well,” he drawls, voice echoing low against the stone walls, “your floundering was amusing.”

“W-why,” you begin, gulping air and frantically shoving the wet hair clinging away from your face, “why did you do that?”

A hum floats through the air, carried by the steam. It sweeps your skin. Sukuna says, “Because I could.” Then he barks a laugh. “When I came here to wash the stink of my latest massacre, I did not expect to find a human bathing in my onsen. How brazen of you.”

When he snaps his fingers together, you flinch. 

Uraume appears. 

Their head is downcast. They don’t look at your body, which you suddenly remember is bare and visible through the clear water. You throw your arms over your private parts. 

“Who is this woman and why have you not killed her upon her first step of trespass?” he asks his servant. Sukuna doesn’t sound mad. Only curious. 

“Because she is your bride, my Lord.”

You flinch at the term. 

Sukuna barks a laugh again. “My bride? My bride! How comical that I would forget I have one.” He turns to you, eyes narrowing in with interest. “Why have you only now appeared before me?”

Gulping, you tentatively answer, “I did not think you would want to see me. And I’m sorry I intruded—”

“Wise,” he says, one of his massive arms running through his wet hair. “I am not usually fond of seeing humans; you are all so hideous and constantly quivering in my presence.”

There’s no possible way to reply to that, not without getting your blood spilled for insolence. 

He stands upon the ledge and exits the pool. 

He’s completely naked, as you are. His broad back, the impressive muscles that make it up, the perfectly symmetrical tattoos. He turns. His cocks swings with the movement. You quickly avert your eyes, cheeks warm. 

If Sukuna notices that you noticed, he doesn’t say. Only, “Try not to drown — my pet swims beneath but he has already had his fill. Do not fatten him with your flesh.”

When you hurriedly climb out, squealing, his laughter echoes, filling the space even once his body, and his servant’s, have left. 

You kneel on the smooth ground, panting, soaked and dripping, and thinking one thing:

The Curse King has a sense of humour.

And two giant cocks.

.

.

.

The next day, you find yourself back at the pool. 

You tell yourself it’s simply because you want to bathe, but perhaps if you were more honest with yourself, you’d accept that maybe you were curious to see if he’d be there. 

And he is.

Sukuna leans against the very same ledge he had been yesterday. He watches your every move, from when you first step in, to when you shyly shrug off your nightgown, and when you submerge yourself in the warm water.

Something has brought you here. 

A pull you could not deny.

Thinking too much about it gives you a headache, so you let your body move on its own, unhindered by logic, by your mind’s concerns. You want to bathe, to be clean. He hadn’t killed you yesterday, and that counts for something. 

Of course, you know the smart thing to do would be to not push it, to understand that two run-ins with him that didn’t lead to immediate death doesn’t mean a third would end the same, to count your blessings. 

But…

Bath.

He says nothing, only runs a finger across the seam of his lips as his eyes drink up every shift of your body.

Boldly, albeit shakily, you ask, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

Sukuna’s eyes glint. 

“I wonder the same thing myself.”

That’s not an answer, you note. But you don’t poke, scared if you do, if you push your limits more than you already have, he’ll snap your head as easily as he had snapped his fingers. 

The way his eyes pin you down on the ledge opposite him has you squirming in your seat. It’s too intense. Too strong. Too dizzying. So you try to pretend it’s not cascading down the skin visible to him; you push forward, wading in the water. You stare at the ceiling, at the distance, at the darkness of the depths, at anything but him. 

“My village offered me as sacrifice,” you remind him. “Will you spare them?”

Somewhere, he lazily replies, “I have yet to decide.”

Humming, as though you thought as much, you wonder aloud, “What will you do with me? I cannot imagine that the King of Curses would find much use in a human wife.”

“No, neither can I,” Sukuna drawls.

On and on, you swim. Arms cut through the water in slow, steady strokes, legs kicking behind you in a rhythm that’s begun to feel automatic. There’s no sense of direction, no shore to aim for, just the endless stretch of water surrounding you, thick and quiet, swallowing any sound you might make. Time slips, dissolves, until all that remains is movement for the sake of movement.

Then, as you turn, your hand meets something solid. 

The impact is soft but jarring, your palm flattening instinctively against it. A wall. Smooth, unmoving, impossibly present where there had only ever been open water.

You gasp. 

Sukuna stands behind you. 

The bottom of the pool had risen. You still cannot reach it, but you’re aware that if you tried to, the water’s surface would be just above your head. The pool is under his command, bending to his will. How incredible.

Bare, wet skin meets bare, wet skin. 

The heat of his body is hotter than that of the water. 

He doesn’t step away despite how the water seems to be pushing you to him. 

How did he get to you so fast? Last you saw, he was still sitting on the ledge. No, perhaps the better question is, why had he moved closer to you at all?

Hands grab your ribs. You gasp. They’re firm, callused. Burning.

“Wife?” he repeats, wide smirk revealing rows of flesh-tearing teeth. “You are not my wife. You are my bride. I am sure even a puny, little thing like you understand that there is a process to be followed, yes?”

A nail flicks your nipple under the water. 

You let out a shuddery breath. 

The other two hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting them till they’re wrapping around his hips. The top half of your body has emerged from the water, water dripping down. You throw your arms around his neck, a reflex to grab onto something before you fall. 

Breasts presses to his chest. He must feel how hard your nipples are. You’re flushed with embarrassment, and an acute awareness of how much bigger his own body is to yours — if he wanted to, he could crush you with his bare hands.

Sukuna’s sharp fangs glint at the very peaks as he runs his tongue over them. “For you to be my wife, we would have to observe tradition. Do you understand what I refer to, little human?”

Breathless, you answer with your own question: “Do you refer to the wedding night, my Lord?”

One of his cocks pokes your entrance. You tense up. 

You’ve seen their size; they are inhumanly big. They could not fit inside you, not without the preparation that the women in your village had giggled about, perhaps not even with.

But he doesn’t shove it inside you all in one go. 

He doesn’t shove it inside at all.

The king merely slides you down his body, just a little, until that cock is sandwiched between your bodies. 

It bumps a good spot on your cunt. You gasp.

“I do,” Sukuna says, huffing in amusement at your reaction. “I admit I have not been married before myself, but it is one aspect I am curious about.”

His strong hands are moving you up and down, testing every little sound that leaves your lips. And you’re letting him.

Is there something in the water? Some elixir that’s making you susceptible to his whims? An aphrodisiac stimulating wetness out of your pussy?

He must feel it, must feel how it drips down his length. Just like how you can feel the prominent veins of a cock that’s grown fully erect without you noticing. How long has he been like this? Since you walked in? Before?

Your nipples are scraping his chest. The sensation has you arching closer to him, grip around his body tightening. “M-my Lord!”

Sukuna tuts, moving you up and down like you’re a mere toy for his pleasure. He scolds, “That is not my name.”

“Sukuna?” you experimentally mutter the words. His cock throbs. You both groan. “S-something’s happening.”

Hips moving on their own, you feel as though you’ve been possessed. Your body is no longer your own — some invisible thing is urging you to grind down on his cock, on that burning heat between you, rubbing your clit on his flushed cockhead, on the veins that run up and down his length.

Humming, he says, quite distracted, “Yes. Something is. Allow it to happen. Do not fight it.”

This is pleasure you’ve never felt before. Pleasure you didn’t know truly existed. The women in your village always spoke of sexual pleasure as something only for men, joy a girl would be lucky to experience even once, if their partner was generous and not selfish, which was apparently rare. 

Yet, here is, grinding your clit on the veins of his cock.

He licks his lips. “Go on, little human. Give it to me.”

With a loud moan, you throw your head back. Spasms wrack your body. A heady explosion warms your belly. Spurts of something even warmer paint your chest and stomach. 

Sukuna grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your ass. 

“Fuck.”

Your head falls back on his chest, slumping with sudden languishness. You pant. His chest rises with his own heavier breaths. 

Coming back into your own senses, you tense. Then push away. He lets you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say, in near tears from shame. “Please forgive me, my Lord.”

You wade back, further and further away from him. Blood has pooled in your cheeks. What have you done? If he wasn’t going to kill you before, he certainly will now that you’ve defiled his body.

He pays you no mind. The water around his still body ripples. Sukuna grunts. Sucks in a harsh breath. Water laps at his contracting abdomen. Furious. Violent. You cannot tear your eyes away from the sight. 

Oh god…he’s tugging furiously at his other cock whilst the other floats. His own spend is drying on his chest. 

Mouth watering, you almost step forward to offer a hand.

But you don’t.

Instead, you turn around and make a run back to your room.

.

.

.

You haven’t returned to the pool. Not once in the week that passed.

He might not have killed you but one thing’s certain: you do not want to run into him again. 

Especially now that you’ve caught his attention. Reminded him of your existence. Which is as one would expect: worse than being forgotten. So, so, so much worse. 

For, every day since the meeting at the pool, he’s taken to dropping off severed limbs at your door. Still warm. Still bleeding. Often twitching. First it was a big toe. Then a whole foot. A finger. A hand. An arm. 

And today, a head.

A scream shook the walls once your eyes landed on the thing.

Your scream.

Perhaps it’s adrenaline that urges every stomp your feet make. Perhaps anger or indignation. Whatever it is, it has you near-running through the halls, searching in every hollow for him. 

An almost full circle has been carved at the very end of one tunnel you stumble down. Vines creep out of it. You step inside, heaving, and with fists balled at your side. 

A garden.

It stretches farther than your eyes can follow, lush and sprawling, like the earth itself had been coaxed open and persuaded to bloom in defiance of everything you thought you knew about this place. The ceiling arches high above, fractured in places where thin shafts of pale light filter through, catching on drifting pollen and casting the entire space in a soft, dreamlike haze.

The air is warm here. Heavy with scent.

Sweet. Overripe. Almost intoxicating.

It’s not a human garden, you can tell immediately; the grass is black, as is the soil, and the roots which emerge from the ground are red. Things that couldn’t exist in the same place do, cohabiting quite well. 

Flowers you’ve never seen before crowd the ground in wild abundance — petals like silk and flame, some translucent, others so dark they seem to drink in the light. Vines coil and twist up natural pillars of stone, heavy with blossoms. Leaves skim against your legs as you step forward, wide and waxy, or delicate as lace, each one foreign.

“How…?” you whisper, though there is no answer. It shouldn’t have been possible to have a whole forest inside a mountain. But then again, a great many things shouldn’t have been possible, yet they are.

The path, if it can even be called that, winds forward through the growth, barely visible beneath the encroaching green. It feels endless. Like you could spend your entire life sprinting down the path and never make it to the end.

There, some distance ahead, partially obscured by the curtain of hanging vines, a figure moves.

You freeze.

Bare feet press against the dark soil, soundless. A loose robe hangs from his shoulders, open just enough to reveal the breadth of his chest and the markings etched into his skin stark against the softness of the garden around him. One hand drags idly along the leaves as he walks.

“Hello, little bride.”

It still surprises you that he can utter the word so casually. You don’t flinch this time however. You only glower and maintain the distance. “Why have you been giving me body parts?” you interrogate, grateful that your voice is as firm as when you had rehearsed.

Sukuna lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Why have you not stepped foot outside your room since?”

He resumes walking.

Toward you.

Each step is unhurried, deliberate, crushing petals beneath his feet without a second thought. The garden seems to part for him, bending subtly to his presence, vines shifting, leaves snaking aside in quiet submission.

You don’t move.

You tell yourself you won’t.

Your pulse stutters anyway.

“You fear me,” Sukuna observes, like he’s stating something obvious. His eyes drag over you, taking in every inch, every subtle shift in your breathing, the way your fingers curl tighter at your sides. “And yet you came looking.”

“Because I want to know why you’ve been giving me body parts,” you snap.

“Mm.”

He’s closer now.

Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, even in the thick, perfumed air of the garden. Close enough that you can see the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the loose fall of his robe.

Another step.

Instinct finally kicks in; you shift back, just one pace.

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I was curious.”

Your brows knit. “About what?”

“How long it would take,” he says lightly, “for you to stop hiding.” A finger traces the curve of your cheek. You hold your breath, staring up at him, waiting for his next move. Sukuna mutters, “How odd that your scent would be so much sweeter than the flowers that grow here. It makes me wonder.”

Why is heat travelling down your body? Why aren’t you running away, revolted by his touch or the gravel in his voice? Were you still thinking about the feel of his body against yours, both naked, in the pool? Of the cocks whose soft lengths had been engrained in your mind?

His nostrils flare. 

A flash in his eyes.

“There it is,” he rasps. “A scent I could not escape, so much more potent now.”

In a blink of an eye, you’re flipped over, dangling in the air. He has you by the ankle, lifted high up. 

You grab onto his robe, which has parted. Right in front of you is his cock. Both of them. Neither soft now. Definitely not soft. One smacks you right against the face. It leaves a wet mark. 

The musk of a refined monster hits you. It’s…it’s addictive. Your mouth waters again, stronger this time than the time at the pool now that they’re so much closer to you. Irresistible. 

Sukuna presses a nose to the apex of your thighs. Skin on skin. You jolt.

Your dress had fallen down your body, ballooning around your face. You hold the material away — he can see everything. That fact has you aware that you can see him too. The thickness of his cocks, the lengths rivalling your forearm, the weight of the balls beneath. Everything about him is massive. Intended to subjugate. Designed to dominate. 

“You are already wet. Soaked,” he muses, thoroughly humoured. He rubs his nose on your clit, nuzzling the little bud. You dig your nails into his thighs. “Filthy, little human.”

That’s all he says before he licks a stripe through your slit.

“Sukuna!”

“Mm. Dessert. Just in time.”

The beast licks and laps and sucks. It isn’t anything like the women at the village described — men are supposed to be reluctant, they’re supposed to be frightened. Sukuna isn’t. He’s consuming your juices as though starved, needing nourishment. 

In front of you, something emerges from his skin.

A wolfish grin.

There’s a mouth on his stomach, lips curled up and teeth gleaming. You scream, fighting to get out of his tight hold.

SMACK!

Sukuna slapped your ass. A dull heat blossoms on the flesh. He commands, “Stay still. I cannot dine when you worm like so.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Cruelly, he lays short slaps right on your clit, sending juices splashing onto your skin. The way his palm sticks, the sloppy noises, it's all so degrading. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s revelling in your clear desire for him.

You’re almost too distracted by the sight of a second, bigger mouth. Almost. But nothing can truly, wholly tear your attention away from the sucking of your clit and the way a fire is being lit in your very core. Soon, a thick tongue finds your entrance and buries itself inside. Your eyes roll back.

A hot, wet thing slides up the valley of your breasts. Slithering. Testing. Tasting.

The mouth, you realise. It’s sticking its fat tongue out, licking your breasts the way Sukuna’s face mouth is licking the inside of your cunt, stretching your walls, teasing the pleats there. 

“Delicious,” one of them says. You can’t tell which. So much is happening at once. Too many to process. 

At your lips, one of his cockheads smears its seed. You lick your lips. It’s salty. Eyes fixed on the frighteningly red thing, you open your mouth to suckle at it. That familiar possession has returned. You’re being controlled by an invisible force — your jaw has to widen to take the bulbous head. Your tongue runs over the tip, where there’s a slit. 

Sukuna groans, pleased. Then he growls, “Do not neglect the other.”

Slightly afraid, you do as he says. The other cock is just as hard, just as big and long as the one you’re sucking on. It throbs approvingly when you tug on it. 

“Good,” he groans out. “Very good, little bride.”

Obscene squelches are coming from above. It’s a reminder of how wet you are for him. Of how delirious the pleasure is. Of how you aren’t disgusted by the magical tongue flicking your tits, playing with the mounds, running the tip of it over your nipples. You’re not disgusted by the salty taste of him, of how he seems to be constantly leaking.

He’s lapping up at your pussy so furiously that he makes frustrated, wrathful sounds; he’s mad that you’re not producing enough wetness to match the pace in which he’s drinking it up.

“More,” he commands. “Give me more. Now.”

Sukuna pushes his face closer, uncaring of the fact that you’re making a mess all over his cheeks. He only has one thing on his mind. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, mouth full and words garbled. The unfamiliar word leaves your lips so naturally you think you’d been warning him all your life of your impending orgasm.

Unfortunately, the warning is wasted. You don’t think he even hears the words with your thighs muffling his ears.

“Sukuna!”

The very same feeling, the same sensations, as the time in the pool rushes through you. Bolts of lightning thrum beneath the surface of your skin. You shudder, moaning lewdly. 

He doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s only emboldened by the juices overflowing out of you. Slurrrrrping! so animatedly. So viciously. So animalistically. 

A feral beast sucking your sensitive clit into another orgasm only minutes later. 

It’s too much. It almost hurts. You slap at his meaty thigh. That seems to snap him out of his mania.

In a flash, you’re flipped back upright. Blood descends down your body. Lightheaded, your knees weaken. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms all while he’s collecting as much of your juices off his skin he can reach with his tongue.

Thud…thud…thud…

Sukuna strolls through the garden and back out into the rocky halls, robe discarded. Your dress is soaked with a mix of your juices, sweat, and his saliva. You’re filthy. He doesn’t complain.

Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallways to witness the remnants, of the proof, of your mutual debauchery.

“I have never considered myself as having a sweet tooth,” Sukuna begins, musing to himself, “but now I believe I would very much like to have dessert after every meal. What do you say, little human?”

“Hmm,” you sleepily hum.

“Then we are in agreement,” Sukuna concludes, pleased.

Your eyes flutter shut, too tired to keep them open. Before you fall into slumber, you feel a bed much softer than you remember cushion your body. 

A hardness flanks you.

You dream of many hands brushing your hair, patting your hip, rubbing your belly, and tracing your cheek.

.

.

.

Since you’ve come to accept your odd relationship with the King of Curses, you’ve been spending an awful amount of time with him lately. 

It started off with him keeping you in his room. 

It’s a much nicer room than yours. Infinitely so. Almost triple the size and more lavishly decorated — a huge bed with silk sheets and a canopy with deep velvet curtains, a plush rug, dark red orchids in intricate and complex positions upon a table, paintings of different moments in time of human suffering that concerningly do not bother you.

You always find yourself back in here. 

Whenever you wander through the halls, the walls seem to shift. They lead you back to his room. At first you were hesitant to enter, and you’d try to go a different way, but the caves insisted.

He isn’t here ever. 

So you’ve started to think of it as your own. 

During meal times, that’s when you’d see Sukuna. 

Uraume would often escort you out of the room and into the dining hall. Another enormous space. You’d dine with him, and only him. There’d be curses posted inside, but they always step out, to give you privacy you assume. Naturally, these mealtimes were awkward for you in the beginning. 

Sukuna didn’t speak. Not at first. He would just watch you eat, which only made you feel more awkward. 

You were the one who broke the silence. “Are you… are you not going to eat, my Lord?” you asked tentatively.

A devious grin came upon his face. Happy he won a competition you didn’t know you signed up for. He replied, “I will. I am simply fattening up my pig before I devour her.”

Heat flushed through you. Cutlery clinking against the fine china, you gulped. There was a dangerous awareness of the darkness of his eyes feasting upon your flesh — you felt its weight sliding down the plumpness of your cheeks, the length of your neck, your collarbones, and your breasts which threatened to spill out from the confines of your dress. 

Perhaps fear should have overtaken you at that moment.

Only relief and desire did. 

What set you on edge most was not knowing what he wanted from you, why he had Uraume collect you, why he was wasting his time here when he could be doing kingly duties. 

Now that he had made clear what he was seeking, you could allow yourself to rest easy and actually taste the food you were shovelling into your mouth. 

“I am the pig in question?” 

“Yes,” he replied immediately. A hand shoved a plate of pancakes towards you, encouraging. “You certainly squeal like one.”

Frowning, and pushing the plate away because you have too much to eat already, you argued, “I do not.”

“Do too,” he said, pushing the plate back towards you.

“Do not!”

An arm wrapped around your waist faster than you could see. Another swiped the food off the table. Everything fell with cacophonous clangs and bangs and splats! 

Sukuna placed you on the table, which was now bereft of food. Your back met the hard wood. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders. Dress hiked up your waist. You were bared to him. Two of his callused hands yanked you closer to his face. Those four eyes, all scarlet and glinting up at you, didn’t look away. 

He wanted you to watch him take a long whiff of your cunt.

His grip tightened on you once your scent hit him with full force. His eyes rolled back. Sukuna snarled, “Let’s see which of us is right.”

There were no soft kisses upon your sensitive skin, no caresses. Only unrestrained feasting. He immediately latched onto your clit, sucking on the thing with a fury. You cried out. 

The king was frightening in his aggression. 

He was gulping down every drop your pussy produced to please him, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Terrifying growls shook the table. 

Sukuna seemed addicted to making your cunt let out vulgar squelchessss!

They came in quick succession. One after the other. Loud and clear. Displaying how well he was playing with your clit. 

“Look at how your cunt flutters, searching for my cocks,” he mused, thumbing the entrance but not pushing in. “And look how your petals have grown swollen with blood. Oh, I bet your blood tastes as good as your pussy. We’ll test that too, another day.”

Stammering, you pleaded, “Don’t look!” 

He stared too intently. Saw too much. It was more intimate than being tasted. 

“Nonsense,” Sukuna said, waving you off. “I will look as I please, and I very much do.”

In response to his renewed lapping of your juices, you could only writhe and run your nails down the wood for anything to ground you.

“Do not waste your claws on the table,” he spat, spare hands snatching your ups and offering his wrists for you to dig into. You hesitated, chest heaving and vision swimming. Then he asked, “You do not find my flesh good enough to mark? You wish to offend your groom when he is at the altar of your legs?”

You didn’t want to know what he was like when he was offended so you clung to his thick wrists. You made a mental note not to actually scratch him — that seemed a more criminal act than offending him – but the pleasure born from his ravishing of your pussy bordered on pain and you could not help yourself.

The very moment your nails caught on his skin and broke through, one of the hands that was keeping your shaking legs apart darted out. It landed on your chest. With brutish finesse, it ripped your bodice. Cool air grazed over your breasts. That hand latched onto a tit. 

“W-what– Oh God!” you screamed. 

Something…

Something on his palm was suckling your nipple, like a babe. 

Sukuna’s amused huff vibrated through your pussy, sending shivers up your spine. “No, not God, little bride. It is me. My mouth is making you feel good. But,” he adds after a little thought, “I do not mind being worshipped as a deity, heh.”

How could he be so nonchalant when two sets of mouths were eating you up, when your eyes were at risk of being permanently lodged at the back of your head? How could he make conversation so easily when his tongue, which felt so impossibly long, was wriggling through your walls and teasing the entrance to your womb? When the mouth at his palm was suctioning your nipple into that impossible space?

“Delicious,” he snarled, positively starved of your taste. “So fucking sweet. How can a human be so…so…divine? It defies nature.”

He wasn’t talking to you anymore. He was manically muttering to himself, reasoning with his own understanding of the balance of life. It baffled him. Bewildered him. Excited him. Sukuna could not get enough of you.

Whining, you called out his name, “S-Sukuna! It’s too -hngh!- much. I can’t.”

“Cum,” he said. 

Your head shook, thrashed. “No, I -hah- can’t!”

“Cum,” he repeated. No, commanded. Ordered. Demanded. 

And you could not deny a king. 

You fell apart on the dining table with a scream. Wetness rushed out of you as though a dam had broken. He drank it all up. Slurrrrrpeddd! every single drop until you were writhing again. And when he growled, “More,” and, “Again,” you could not deny him then either.

It might have been hours later before he decided he’d had his fill.

Aside from meal times, you don’t see him during the day. He’s always gone. No one will tell you why, and you don’t feel brave enough to ask. You merely assume he’s doing kingly duties — keeping the curses of the Underworld and of the forests in line, maintaining balance between humans and monsters, and protecting his people. 

In the meantime, you read in his room, which is now your room. There are plenty of books here. More than you could ever read in a lifetime, and certainly more than there ever were in your village. It’s hard to imagine he read any of the books in the collection but there are signs of use: folded pages, cracked spines, yellowing. 

He read each one you had opened. 

Poems. 

Novellas. 

Journals of travels beyond. 

You don’t mind the hours spent on your own; the goblins walking along still scare you so you avoid running into them. Of course, there’s always the option to ask during your mealtimes, in between him eating you out and actually consuming food, if you could visit the village (for you know returning was too much). Not that you especially wanted to go home. 

The villagers had sold you. 

Abandoned you.

They would not welcome you home. 

So you must consider the heart of the mountain your new home.

It’s simply about asking, about knowing the answer, about having the option.

But each time you considered bringing up your village to him, you backed out at the last second. He was not your husband. Not really. Not yet. He’s not even really your groom. That just seems like an excuse to do the salacious things you’ve been doing. At most, he’s your friend, and you cannot burden your friend more than you already have. 

Truthfully, it hardly matters what exactly he is to you. He’s nice. Attentive. Generous. He hasn’t killed you, he hasn’t hurt you, hasn’t massacred your village and your family, and hasn’t thrown back in your face any of those facts. 

That’s why every morning, when you know Uraume will escort you, you make sure never to be late.

You obediently, possibly excitedly, wait in front of the door for the knock. 

You slide a hand down your new dress; it appeared in the closet, and is your size. It certainly isn’t Sukuna’s. Red lace, soft silk, dainty bows, easy to move in and breathe — it’s a beautiful dress. Far more expensive and luxurious than anything you’d ever owned. The chest area’s a little tight; it pushes your breasts up more than you’re used to, and somehow you’re sure that was on purpose. 

When the door opens, Uraume’s patient self leads you out. They’re quiet. Respectful. They have been since the very first night. 

“Thank you.”

Cold eyes flit to you. “What ever for, my lady?”

“For saving me,” you say, fiddling with the lace on your dress. “If you hadn’t suggested that he humour me, Sukuna would have—”

“The king,” Uraume cuts in, spine straight and gaze fixed ahead now, “does only as he pleases. It is his right. He grows bored of his new toys very quickly, and it is my duty to keep him entertained. I saw an opportunity to fulfil my responsibility. That is all.”

You have no response to that. You only blink, surprised and berating yourself for being so. Sukuna may be your friend, in your eyes at least, but Uraume is not. Sukuna may not mind the fact that you are human, but others may not share the same sentiment. Maybe Uraume thinks you are a plague. A rat. That’s often the story humans spread about curses and their philosophies.

Soon, you reach the double doors leading to the garden. Before the doors are opened, they add, “It is also my duty to throw old toys away.”

When you turn to look at them, they’re already gone.

“Finally,” Sukuna says, exasperated. “I resent being kept waiting. Walk here with haste, little bride.”

Uraume’s words linger in your mind; Sukuna’s sharp rows of teeth flash washes them away. 

He’s in his loose robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the wide sleeves. A hand beckons you over, and the moment you are within reach, he snatches you up. You’re carried up in his arms, high enough to come face to face with him and see all four of his eyes watching you. 

Sukuna nuzzles the crook of your neck. He starts walking down the path. Branches tickle the top of your head. “Did you sleep well?” he wonders. His voice vibrates against your skin. It tickles.

Gripping his hair for purchase, you murmur, “Yes.” Then, shuddering once his lips explores the length of your neck, you ask, “Did you?”

“I do not sleep,” he casually replies. 

Within minutes, he’s managed to walk so deep into the garden that the surroundings have changed from exotic flowers full of vibrant colours and shapes to a forest of cherry blossoms. Petals whirl around you, swirling with the gentle wind. 

Above you, the cave walls have shifted into the blue and vast open sky. 

You gasp. “Are we…are we outside?”

The brightness almost sting your eyes; you have to narrow them with a wince to avoid being blinded. The smell of fresh air too nearly burns your nostrils. The chatter of live animals and insects are near deafening at first. Everything’s so different, so new, yet so familiar, so ordinary that it becomes magical to your senses. 

He parts from your neck to eye your reaction. The smile on your face makes his grip on you tighten. Sukuna says, “Yes. Your complexion looked rather dull without sunlight, and my bride must be at her very best at all times. So here we are.”

That doesn’t sound quite true upon his lips but you don’t question him on it. 

Instead, you beam at him and gush, “Thank you! Oh, it’s wonderful out.”

It’s easy to forget what the world above is like when you’ve spent countless nights under the mountain with rocks for company. 

Sukuna sets you down. You waste no time running around, laughing at the green grass that tickles your bare feet. 

The grass inside the mountain’s garden is black, with roots being red, for reasons you could not fathom. It’s coarser too. The softness of this green, human grass, in comparison, sets your heart racing.

There’s no wind inside the mountain, only a draught. This calm air is fresher, warmer, soothing on the body and doesn’t settle. 

And the warmth of the sun…

Beams of distant fire soaks into your skin. You sigh, a small smile on your lips. 

When you turn back, he’s sitting under a tree, all arms crossed and watching you. Always watching. Always aware of your every move, every position, every shift. 

Somewhat shy with the realisation that he’d seen the entire display, you stroll back to his side. 

“It is a lovely day out, yes?” he says. 

You nod, grinning. “It’s perfect. Just perfect.”

About to sit beside him, you let out a squeal when he snatches you up again and sits you down on his lap. All of his arms cage you. Sukuna rests his chin on the top of your head. 

“Now it is,” he mumbles, chest rumbling against your back. 

You smile again, more coy this time, and grateful he can’t see it.

The grass is untouched. No footprints mar it. No broken twigs, no distant rustling of hidden creatures. It is a forest, yes, but stripped of all the unease that forests usually carry.

It is only you and him. 

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve as another petal lands on your lap. You pick it up, studying it like it might vanish if you blink too long. Glancing back at him, you tilt your head slightly. “Did you…make this place like this?”

His chin presses a little more firmly into your hair, a quiet, possessive weight. “It exists on its own,” he says. “I allow it to remain.”

Another petal skims your lips. Without thinking, you laugh — light, bright, unguarded — as you try to catch it, only for it to slip away again, carried by a breeze that barely stirs the trees.

“You’re noisy,” he mutters.

Yet he does not tell you to stop.

You lean back into him instead, comfortable now, warm from the sun and from him both. One of his hands idly flicks a petal from your shoulder, the motion almost absent-minded, as though he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Or perhaps he does. And simply doesn’t care.

Your gaze drifts across the clearing again, softer this time. Slower. Relaxed, you ask, “You said you don’t sleep. What do you do at night?”

Sukuna hums, fingers drumming on your stomach. “I take care of my business.”

That’s vague, you think, but you don’t push. Instead, you ask another question: “Why do you not return to the chambers?”

He chuckles, teasing. “How forward of you, little bride. We have not yet been wed and you’re already asking to share the marital bed. Is this how you humans do it in this day and age?”

Heat flushes your cheeks. You smack one of his wandering hands, which has crept up to cradle a breast, and huff, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just mean, everyone needs sleep. Surely even you, the King of Curses. I wonder how you rest is all.”

A moment of contemplation passes.

Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far?

Did he hate that you smacked him? 

“You are right,” he eventually says, head coming down to nudge you. His lips gently touches your cheek. “I do need rest. So allow me.”

His strong hands easily lift you off his lap, placing you down on the grass. Sukuna unfolds his large body and comes to lie perpendicular to you. His head weighs your thighs down. 

With a wave of his hand, a book appears in your left hand at the same time he takes your right and cradles it to his chest. “Read,” he instructs. “Read to me. And after my nap, I will eat your little cunt and slap your clit thrice to punish you for smacking my hand even just once.”

A flutter at your core has his eyes peering up at you, glinting. He must have sensed it. Somehow. Whether by feeling or by smell. How mortifying. 

“Or,” he starts, “I can eat you out now. I am fine with whatever order you prefer.”

“No, I’ll read,” you hurriedly say. You flick to the first page, reading the words out loud and only sighing in relief when his eyes flutter shut at the sound of your voice. 

Sukuna’s lips curl up in the corner.

And so a new tradition is born.

.

.

.

“My Lord,” Uraume repeats outside the door, “they wait for you.”

Sukuna growls out, “Let them. I am preoccupied.”

You’re pressed to the door, the cold wood warming up to the flush of your cheek. Bottom lip bitten in a desperate attempt to keep quiet, you can do nothing else but let him rut his scalding length between your thighs. 

This evening, he’d woken you up with his tongue buried inside your cunt. It seems after another whole day out in the garden, reading and strolling with him and tasting each other beneath trees before or after his naps, you fell asleep and were carried back into your chambers. 

Has it been days or weeks since you’ve built up this routine of spending the days together and spending evenings apart?

Time seems to pass so quickly and yet so slowly. It’s begun to lose all meaning to you. It’s not a fact you lament.

You jolted with a shriek at the hulking figure under your covers. “About time,” he said, throwing the heavy thing off and baring how his skin glistened with your spend to you. “I thought I might have to fuck you with both my cocks at once to wake you.”

He was joking, you were sure. Or hoped…

“Wake me?” you repeated, back arching. “W-why?”

Sukuna replied, a fang rubbing your clit and being especially careful not to cut you, “Because I must leave again, but I did not want to without hearing my name upon your lips.”

A whine tore through you. “Why couldn’t you just wake me up the normal way?”

Red eyes flashed mischievously from below. He licked a strike up your inner thigh all while not breaking eye contact. “Because normal does not taste as good.”

Uraume’s voice called out soon after, reminding him of the evening meeting. You stiffened. Could they hear you? Do they know what he was doing with you on the bed? 

Feeling embarrassed, you kicked Sukuna off and tried to push him to the door. You hissed, “You need to go. They need you.”

A hand slid inside your dress and groped your breast, cursed mouth appearing to nurse on your nipple. Another lifted your skirt up so that a third can coat its fingers in your cunt’s essence with the intention of easing the entry inside. 

“So does your cunt,” he said. “And I know which I would rather attend to first.”

Oh, he was filthy. So, so filthy.

And so persuasive. 

With you continuing, and struggling, to shake him off — legs quivering from the number his mouths had done to you today — you eventually made it to the door and was about to open it when something hot and heavy rested upon the curve of your ass and a second parted your puffy pussy lips. 

It was almost like he planned this. 

“Do not make a noise,” Sukuna rakishly rasped to your ear. Two rough hands gripped your bare hips, dressed hiked up over your ass. “Lest you’d like for Uraume to know what we’re doing.”

You definitely did not — they don’t like you very much. This wouldn’t help your case. 

But…

His cocks are rubbing you up and down and back and forth. His fat cockhead keeps catching on your pulsing clit, bumping the thing over and over again until your cunt’s drooling on his veiny length. 

“Press your thighs together. Tighter,” he commands, and groaning once you do. “Every part of you feels so good. It’s maddening.”

The pleasure building up in your core from a few thrusts is maddening. Truly. Irrevocably. You can’t tell him that, however. You can’t speak; if you do, a loud moan might slip out. 

Sukuna’s grunting in your ear. The sounds are driving you wild. As is the fact that your tits are out and are being squeezed relentlessly by two hands. Mouths take over his palms. They don’t hesitate to latch onto your nipples. You gasp, head thrown back into his chest. “Sukuna!”

“Mm, I know,” he huskily says. “Me too. Be good, pretty human. Just allow me to use your thighs for now.”

He’s so tall your hips have to be lifted up to reach his cocks. Your toes dangle over the ground. You hang precariously but you never worry for a second that he might drop you. 

Shlick! Shlickkk! 

The sounds are obscene and they’re all you can hear. Uraume must hear them too. Yet, they’re still out there, saying, “My Lord, please. The council grows restless.”

Sukuna’s livid growl shakes the door. “They. Will. Wait. Do not interrupt me again.”

His rutting speeds up. The sucking of his cursed mouths intensifies. The tip of the cock behind you is smearing pre-cum on your back, and the sensation has you clenching around nothing. 

“I’m cumming,” you whisper, eyes shut tight. “Nghhh!”

“Good,” he breathes out. “Good girl.”

You bring a hand down to your cunt, cupping the cockhead appearing and disappearing with every shallow thrust through your lips. It nudges your palm, squelching! and leaving wet sploodges of his cum and yours. Sukuna snarls.

And just like that, he cums too. His hot cum explodes into your hand, spilling through the cracks of your fingers and splatting onto the floor. More cum bursts on your back, dirtying your dress.

It’s so hot. Scalding. 

He keeps ploughing between your soft thighs, wringing out every last drop until he shudders with a growl and you slump completely in his grasp. 

When he pivots you around to check on you, specifically the cheek that had been pressed up against the door, you see his loose robe had fallen open. Some of his cum has ended up dripping down his skin. He’s tattooed and chiselled and hard everywhere. A true killing machine. You run your fingers down his chest, smearing his cum around, all the way to his stomach where a massive mouth manifests in time to clamp onto your wrist with a grin. 

His teeth don’t break skin. They don’t even hurt. They merely keep your hand inside, huge tongue slithering to lick every finger and every inch. Curiously, you grip the appendage. It really does feel like a real tongue. You stroke it.

Sukuna grips the back of your neck. He glares down at you. “You are trying to bring me to my knees, aren’t you?”

You blink. “No! Forgive me.” You try to pull your hand out on your own but his sudden grasp on your wrist stops you. 

“I did not say I did not like it.” He steps closer, licking his lips. 

“My Lord…” Uraume grits out through the door. 

Sukuna groans. “Yes! Alright!”

The door opens with a wave of his hand. 

“I should massacre the whole council, then I will have all the time in the world to bury my tongue inside your cunt. One day…” he mutters under his breath, seemingly actually considering the idea. You swat his back, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. 

Your dress falls back into place just in time for you to shield yourself from anyone else’s eyes but Sukuna’s. Not that it’s enough. 

Uraume’s chilling eyes see all — the sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the quivering of your legs, and the droplets of cum on the floor. They do not look disgusted by it. They look disgusted by you. 

“Be good for me, little bride,” Sukuna says, already stomping away. “I will look for you as soon as I am done with these fools.”

You take a step forward to Uraume, an apology on your tongue. 

They step back, straightening up. “These meetings are important,” they begin. “They ensure the other lords feel seen and heard. It maintains peace in our domain, and in yours. You mustn’t keep him from doing his duties. Not only is it impolite, it is also dangerous.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Do not apologise to me. Apologise to the king for wounding him,” they snap. You frown, confused. “The marks you left on his wrists that he refuses to heal himself? He leaves them open and bleeding. He openly plays with the cuts in front of the council, in front of his audience, smiling. Whispers are making echoes of a weakness in our king. If you do not care about your safety, then you must care about his.”

Thoroughly scolded, you stay rooted in place, watching Uraume follow after Sukuna. 

.

.

.

You take a walk through the garden this evening to clear your head. 

What Uraume said forced you to contemplate your relationship with the king. With Sukuna. They reminded you why you were spared in the first place — you’re a toy. A thing for entertainment. 

He is entertained by you now, by the pleasures your body provides. That, however, is not something unique to you; any woman can spread their legs, which is a crass thing to say, you know. But it’s true. To save their village, their people, to earn another day of life, or to even have the honour of serving a king, many women would offer their body up. 

And you are no special woman. You are quite average, all things considered. Never the most beautiful woman in the room, the most intelligent, or most pure of heart. 

The fact of the matter is, Sukuna will soon grow bored of you. 

What is left to be considered now is, will he spare you once he finds a new toy or will you be ‘gotten rid’ of by Uraume?

Will you be sad? 

The pang in your chest at the thought seems to suggest so.

Without realising it, you end up back in the cherry blossom grove. 

It looks different at night. Just as beautiful as during the day, of course, but different. Fireflies light up the air, mingling with the stars above you. If not for them, you wouldn’t know where you are, wouldn’t know that the tree whose bark you’re grazing with your fingertips now is the very same tree you sit under with Sukuna.

You were always under the impression that being a king meant you could do whatever you wanted. Uraume’s warning proved otherwise — Sukuna had people to please. And you’re who pleases him. 

For how long will you be enough?

With a sigh, you wonder if Sukuna really will come to find you after his meeting. He’s always busy in the evenings, and though you spent the hours of the night sleeping anyway, it’d still be nice to talk to him. His thoughts on books you’ve read are quite funny. 

He hates silly heroines who make bad decisions and always fall for the gloomy, morally grey men, yet hates the morally grey men more for their cheesy lines. “‘I control shadows and I have wings,’” he’d mimic, lowering his voice to a deeper rumble than his own. Then he’d say in his own voice, “Yes, so do about a thousand other fictional men. You are not special.”

Sukuna’s brows would furrow and he’d scoff whenever you’d get flustered by the erotic passages you’d be forced to read aloud to him as you sit in his lap, but he never suggests changing books. You theorise he really just likes complaining. 

“Pretty girl?”

You jolt. 

That voice…

“Suguru?”

Behind a tree, a silhouette hobbles over to you. “You’re alive! Oh, thank the heavens!”

The man falls into your arms. He’s really here. Your bestest friend. But he isn’t how you remember him — long raven hair have turned matted and dull, clothes torn and dirtied, and skin scratched up. You can hardly recognise him.

He grips your face, dirt rubbing into your skin. Scanning for any harm that might have befallen you, he smiles with relief upon seeing you’re perfectly well. “I’ve spent so many weeks wondering what had happened to you. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

His words are going in one ear and out the other; you can only question, with terror and trepidation, why his hands tremble, why he’s jumping at every little sound, and pulling you away inch by inch. 

“What happened?” 

Suguru’s eyes harden. His grip falls on your shoulder. Tight. Insistent. You wince. He says, “Listen to me carefully. We need to leave. We need to leave now. We’re too deep in the Curse King’s territory. There are beasts about. We must run now. Come!”

Bewildered, you’re yanked forward, stumbling over your feet. 

“Wait, no, I have to stay!” 

He’s not listening. 

Deeper into the forest, you’re pulled. The cherry blossoms morph into scraggly trees, leafless and with jagged branches like teeth reaching for you. The fireflies are gone now. You have to force your eyes to adjust as you trip over rocks and logs, and as your bare feet are caked in mud and moss. 

Looking back towards the light, you start to heave. “Sukuna…Sukuna’ll be mad. I have to go back.” You try to tear his hand off your wrist, digging your nails, but he can hardly feel it. “Suguru!” you yell, in near tears.

The man whirls on you, eyes wide and red. The bags under his eyes are darker than even the dark. They startle you. “What’re you doing? Why’re you fighting me? I’m trying to save you, like I should have done when your family decided to sacrifice you to the mountain.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not mad at you, so if you’re doing this out of guilt, then you don’t need to. Just go, alright? Go before someone notices you’re here. I don’t know what the goblins, Uraume, o-or Sukuna will do if they find you here.”

Suguru recoils. “Sukuna? You call the monster of the mountain by his first name?” 

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Something seems to dawn on him. His eyes properly take you in from head to toe — your clean skin, fresh hair, the plump in your cheeks, the expensive dress you wear, the lace, the silk, the jewels. 

He releases you, like you’d burnt him. 

“The king spared you…” he whispers in horror. “He spared you. And you’ve been living a life of luxury, as our village burned to the ground. You call him by his first name when his name was the last thing my family had screamed in their final moments. You wish to go back, to that thing, when I’m here and I’m taking you away…”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brows knitting together. “What happened to our village?”

It’s an impossible thing to imagine. Yet it shouldn’t have been. Many villages have suffered the same fate, or worse, over the many years since the rise of the curses. But your village was spared because of you, because of their offering, right?

A scathing laugh slaps you on the cheek. “You don’t know? You’ve been cozying up to that monster and you don’t know he wiped our village out from the map? That he massacred our people in one night? Are you just stupid or did he poison your mind?”

You fall back, shaking your head. “No, no, he wouldn’t.”

“He’s a killer!” Suguru roars. “He’s killed so many. Every single night. The very few of us that had survived have fled from village to village, trying to fight against him and his army of curses, but they always win. I’ve watched my friends, my allies, fall again and again. And yet, I thought of you every day. I fought for you, so I can return and save you from his torture.”

He scoffs. 

“But he hasn’t been torturing you, has he?” Suguru grips your face suddenly, bruising your cheeks as he spits out, “No, he hasn’t had to use force to get you to spread your legs!”

Tears stream down your face. “Stop it,” you cry out. “Stop it!”

Suguru presses his forehead to yours, lips trembling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Let’s just go, alright? We need to go. You’re not safe even if you’ve earned his favour for now. He’s proven he isn’t a man of his word, and it’s only a matter of time before he tears you limb from limb like he had done to your mother and to your father, and to mine.”

Images of your home ablaze, of the night sky filling with the screams of the dying, of blood turning the ground crimson flash in your eyes. 

You’re a fool. You’d actually convinced yourself that he isn’t the King of Curses, that creatures from the Underworld don’t bow to him, that he hasn’t been keeping you to laugh behind your back. 

You’d allow yourself to believe you’re Sukuna’s bride. 

That you’re something special to him, even momentarily, even just for now. 

He’s looking at you impatiently, bouncing on his feet and listening out for any signs of hostile life in the forest. 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “Yes, yes. Let’s go. He’s in a meeting right now, he’ll be busy.”

And off you two go, running in the dark, hand in hand. 

Branches whip at your arms as you run.

The forest is different at night.

Where it had been soft, warm, almost dreamlike beneath drifting blossoms, it’s now a maze of shadows and silver light, the moon caught in the petals overhead. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, lungs burning, feet barely finding the ground as you stumble over roots and fallen bark.

Beside you, Suguru’s grip is firm. Unyielding.

“Don’t stop,” he says, low, urgent, pulling you forward when your pace falters. “We’re almost past the boundary—”

A roar splits the night.

It shakes the air. Rips through the trees. Sends petals scattering like frightened birds. The ground trembles beneath your feet, a deep, violent pulse that travels straight up your spine. It rattles your bones, grips your very soul and squeezes. It’s in equal parts wrathful and tortured. 

You freeze.

Suguru doesn’t.

“Move,” he snaps, tightening his hold on your hand, dragging you forward again. “He knows.”

Of course he knows.

This is his domain.

Every inch of it.

You run faster.

Faster than you ever have before, lungs screaming, vision blurring, your hand clutched in Suguru’s like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. The trees thin for a moment, moonlight spilling across a clearing—

THUD!

The earth cracks beneath the impact. You both skid to a halt.

He stands there, between you and whatever hope you thought you had.

Sukuna.

Tall. Unmoving. Waiting.

That deranged smile curls slowly across his lips, too wide, too pleased, too knowing. His eyes gleam in the dark, sharp and bright and utterly unhinged, drinking in the sight of you: your dishevelled state, your trembling form, your hand still clasped in another’s.

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, “You are leaving me?” His voice is almost light. Almost amused. “For some pathetic human?”

The words hit harder than the roar. Your chest tightens, a hot and jagged thing rising up your throat, drowning out the fear, the instinct to shrink, to hide, to obey. “No,” you snap, breath shaking. “I’m leaving because you slaughtered my village. You killed my family. You lied to me.”

He laughs. Low. Disbelieving. Growing. Sukuna tilts his head, as though genuinely intrigued by your accusation, by the audacity of it. “You mean the village,” he begins, voice slow, deliberate, “that threw you, bound and gagged, at the foot of my domain to be sacrificed?”

Each word lands like a blade, cutting deeper and deeper, and twisting to remind you of your lowest moment, of the humiliation, of the powerlessness you felt.

“The family that readily offered you up? That never looked back even once?”

Your grip on Suguru tightens.

Sukuna’s smile widens. 

“Yes,” he hums, almost fondly. Inspecting his hands, as though he can see the blood that still stains his unmarred skin. “Yes, I did. And very gladly.”

Something in your chest cracks.

“But I never lied to you,” he continues, eyes narrowing just slightly, the air around him growing heavier, sharper. “You just assumed that I would negotiate with lesser creatures. A fault that I have overlooked.”

Suguru steps forward, just enough to place himself between you and him. “You’re done,” he says, voice steady, though there’s tension coiled tight beneath it. “Whatever hold you think you have over her—”

Sukuna’s gaze flicks to him.

The shift is instant.

The amusement drains, not completely, but enough to reveal something colder beneath. Something ancient. Something violent.

“Careful,” Sukuna murmurs. “I do not take kindly to interruptions in my conversations with my bride.”

The air distorts.

Pressure builds, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin, your lungs, your bones. Suguru doesn’t move, but you feel the way his hand tightens around yours, grounding you even as the world threatens to tilt. 

Why hasn’t Sukuna killed you both? Why hasn’t he tore you two apart? Why is he standing under the moonlight, humoured and talking so leisurely? 

Even till now, he’s not staring down at you with deadly intent. He’s conversing with you as if he’s asking how your breakfast is or what book you’d picked up to read to him today. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and that’s more dangerous than if you knew he was going to rip you into pieces.

“She’s not your bride,” he spits, tugging you behind him.

Sukuna laughs again. Four eyes settle back on you. “Not mine?” he repeats, almost thoughtfully. “After everything I have given you?”

A step forward.

“After I took you in,” he continues, voice dropping, curling around the words, “fed you, dressed you, kept you alive when the rest of your kind would have happily watched you die?”

Another step.

Trying to steel your resolve, you retort, “You must feel betrayed, right? Imagine how I feel, Sukuna!”

“You think I feel betrayed?” he asks, head tilting again, that awful smile returning, sharper now. “No, little bride.” His gaze flicks briefly to your joined hands. Then back to your face. “This is not betrayal,” he says. “This is ingratitude. It seems I have spoiled you. Given you too much, too fast. I did not train insolence out of you. You have insulted me. And you will be punished.”

Suguru pulls you back a fraction.

“Run,” Suguru whispers.

His last words, before Sukuna flicks his wrist and his body is cut into thin ribbons of flesh, blood, muscle and bone. They fall into a neat pile by your feet, soaking the ground you stand on until your soles are caked in the remains of your only friend.

It happens so quickly, so suddenly, you couldn’t blink fast enough to protect your mind from the grotesque display. You saw it all. A man, a whole life, memories, a future, diminished to mush. 

Sukuna smiles wider.

“Yes,” he says, almost eagerly. “Run, little bride.”

You do. 

Feet slam against the forest floor. Bare soles strike damp earth. Sharp pebbles and stray twigs that snap beneath your weight. It hurts. 

God, it hurts. 

But you don’t stop. You can’t. The pain barely registers past the ringing in your ears, past the image burned into your mind, replaying over and over again. 

Suguru’s gone. Your village. Your family. Everything familiar. 

Your stomach twists violently, bile clawing up your throat, but there’s no time to be sick, no time to grieve, no time for anything except run.

Branches lash at you as you tear through the undergrowth, snagging against your dress, catching in the fabric and ripping it in jagged lines. The hem tears first, then higher, threads snapping with every desperate step until the once-soft material hangs in shredded strips around your legs. Chilling air kisses the exposed skin, quickly replaced by the sting of scratches, of thin lines of blood blooming where thorns and bark have caught you.

“So panicked. So scared.”

His voice.

Right there.

Warm. 

Amused.

Mocking.

You choke on a gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet as you lurch forward, heart slamming so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. He’s not behind you, or in front of you, and yet it sounded as though he was. 

“I have not even begun,” Sukuna murmurs somewhere, almost thoughtful. “And already you look like this. Adorable.”

The forest stretches endlessly before you, trees blurring together, shadows twisting into shapes that don’t exist. The petals that once felt soft now cling to your damp skin, sticking to the sweat, to the blood, to the places where your dress has torn open. Your lungs burn, each inhale sharp and shallow, your chest tightening with every second that passes. 

You trip.

A root catches your foot, sending you pitching forward. Your hands barely catch you before your face meets the ground, palms scraping harshly against rough earth. Dirt grinds into your skin, mixing with the blood already there.

“Oh dear,” he muses. “Such a clumsy thing, you are. That’s why I keep you locked up with all the pretty things in my domain. Do you see now, why you must stay with me?”

Getting back to your feet, you stumble forward. “I’m never going back with you!”

You ignore the way your hands tremble, the way your legs and your unused muscles scream in protest as you force them to move again.

Run.

Run.

Run.

“You know,” Sukuna continues, his voice drifting lazily through the air, “I expected more from you.”

There’s a rustle above.

A shadow moving faster than you can track.

Where is he? Why isn’t he snatching you up? Why is he drawing this out? 

He’s like a cat toying with a mouse, playing with his food, heightening your fear so you’ll taste even better. 

“I gave you everything,” he says, less conversational now, more accusing. “And this is how you repay me? Running off into the woods like a frightened little animal, with some other man, a man I should have slaughtered along with the other rats?”

Your breath hitches.

“Have I not been good to you? Have I not been enough? Enough to stay for. For even a goodbye.” 

A tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the grime. Devastatingly, a part of you notices the subtle crack of vulnerability. He masks it with amusement, with the undercurrent of anger, but you hear it all the same.

Still running, you yell, “You’re going to kill me, like you killed everyone. I’m just a toy to you!”

“And a very bad one at that,” he retorts without missing a beat. “Fear not — I will fix you once I catch you.”

“You’re not going to catch me,” you choke out, though it sounds weak, even to your own ears. 

Sukuna tuts and it sounds like it’s right by your ear. “Ah, but I already have.”

Wind flips your hair around, making it hard to see, so when you whip your head side to side, looking for hope, you don’t see the barrier ahead until it’s too late. 

Your body meets a hard wall. Two arms cage you in, unyielding. 

A scream pierces through the forest. It’s so far removed from you, you think for a second that someone else is facing the same fate you are, and your heart breaks for her. When reality sets in, you cease to stop feeling sorry at all. You just weren’t fast enough. No one could be against the Curse King. 

“Got you, little bride.”

In a blink of an eye, he has you carried up by your hips. 

“Mark my words,” he says, “you will never leave me again.”

His lips slam onto yours. 

Sukuna wastes no time shoving his tongue inside your mouth. A shocked moan escapes you. This is your first kiss, and with him. It’s not romantic like the stories described kisses to be. It’s not soft, tentative, gentle. It’s a kiss full of anger, of a need for vengeance, to dominate. 

Sukuna’s channeling every ounce of his feeling of betrayal, try as he might to deny it, down your throat. With the nipping of his teeth hard enough to draw blood, the suckling of his lips to taste the iron on his tongue, and said tongue exploring the crevices. 

“Just as delicious as your cunt,” he snarls, pleased.

You should fight him off, you know. But you can’t. He’s too strong, too all-consuming, too engrained in your body. It recognises his heat, his scent, his voice, and it wants more. So you don’t part from him; you clamp your teeth down on his bottom lip too, tasting his blood. 

It’s sweet. 

Sickly sweet in a way that rushes straight to your head.

He barks a laugh, a hand yanking your head back by your hair. “A biter…adorable.” He runs his tongue up the length of your neck before biting the curve. You moan. It doesn’t break skin, but the threat is there, and it has you clenching around nothing.

Sukuna takes a deep inhale of the air. 

His eyes flash red. 

“I killed your friend, decimated your village, and your cunt is still craving pleasure from me?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound very much like a question at all. “Your soul calls for me, do you realise it, little wife?”

“I’m not your wife,” you spit out. 

“Not yet, but in just a moment, you will be,” he promises. At whatever expression you wear on your face, another laugh cuts through you. “You do not realise the trap you have run into, do you?”

Blinking, you finally look around, processing your surroundings. 

They glisten with something under the moonlight — too thick, too dark to be dew. 

Blood?

Behind you, a litter of scarlet petals trails right up to where you stand, as though marking every step that led you here, every foolish attempt at escape laid out like a procession. Rows of benches stretch out on either side, carved from twisted wood and bone, thorns curling along their edges, skulls embedded into the structure.

The forest has gone still.

No insects. No birds. No wind.

Only him.

Only you.

And this…

This altar.

“A fitting setting, no?” Sukuna murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, richer, laced with something disturbingly joyful. His grip on your hips tightens, grounding you in place even as your mind threatens to spiral. “For a union long overdue.”

Dress hiked up around your waist, a long, slithering thing worms up your thighs. You writhe, trying to run away from it, but he won’t let you. Teeth hook into your underwear. It riiiiiiiiiips it off.

His curse tongue licks your cunt with a vengeance, as though punishing you for withholding your pussy and its juices from it. Shlick! Shlick! So vulgar. So indecent. So unrestrained. 

Your pulse spikes. “This isn’t—”

“It is,” he cuts in smoothly.

The word lands like a final verdict.

Back arching, you’re powerless against the tongue prodding your entrance. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. You don’t mention how it’s far too big to enter you and yet it does, stretching your walls out with ancient powers you will never understand. 

Inside, it licks every inch, every pleat. Maybe your hips work down, trying to suck it deeper inside. Maybe it doesn’t. 

You’re far too focused on the fact that you’re finally at your wedding. A wedding you never wanted in the first place. A wedding he didn’t want either. He was just amused by the gall of the humans.

The domain itself is bearing witness.

There’s no need for friends, for family, for a priest. 

He only needs himself and you.

Sukuna turns you with absolute certainty, positioning you to face the altar. It’s carved from dark marble, veined with something that glows faintly beneath the surface, like embers trapped beneath ash. Symbols you don’t understand are etched into it, curling and jagged. 

“I chased you,” he muses, almost idly, though his hands never leave you, never loosen.  They feel your body. Squeezing. Groping. Grip pulsing. Drawing out gasps and moans. “I let you run. Let you tear yourself apart on branches and roots like a frightened little thing.”

His fingers drag over one of the scratches on your arm, smearing the thin line of blood.

“And still,” he continues, voice dropping, “you came exactly where I wanted you.”

Your throat tightens.

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he says, almost gently now, and that softness is far more terrifying than anything else. “Every path you chose. Every step you took. It all led here.”

The petals shift under your feet as he guides you forward.

One step.

And another.

“To me.”

Your thighs are soaked with his saliva. The entrance to your womb is being tickled. Clit rubbed by a wide, flat tongue. You’re face to face with him, panting, eyes unable to tear away with the undeniable allure of his. He’s tasting you, consuming you, devouring. He just can’t help himself. Even when he should be rough, when he should punish you, should teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, he cannot. 

“Ngh! S-Sukuna,” you cry out as an orgasm tears through you. “Too much!”

For a moment, his gaze softens. “I know, I know. But you need to be stretched to take both of my cocks. Be patient.”

Blood drains from your face. 

That’s when you start thrashing in his hold, fear taking over you. “No, no! I can’t take both of them.” They’re too big. You’ve seen them up close; no one could take them. No human. One would already be asking too much. 

Both? 

It’d be a death sentence.

Sukuna slowly lays you down on top of the altar. 

Immediately, dark powers curl around your body. Wisps of shadow and smoke threading around your limbs, twirling your hair, brushing your cheek, unravelling your dress and slipping it off your body. They keep you in place.

You feel his energy touching you everywhere — stroking your lips, entering through your nose, sliding down your throat and filling your belly, flicking your nipples before wrapping around the hard bud and tugging, creeping down your stomach to stroke your throbbing clit. 

They distract you, shushing the cries of protest. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers as his eyes consume you whole. “So beautiful. And all mine.”

He touches your cunt, coating his fingers with your essence. Sukuna brings it up in the light between you. It’s red. 

Automatically, your legs move to close. The shadows stop you. They yank your legs further apart so he can slot himself between them. His robes have fallen off. A cockhead pokes your clit, smearing its pre-cum onto the pulsing thing. You gasp. 

When he licks your monthly blood off his fingers, you groan. “Stop! It’s filthy.”

“No, little bride. Nothing about you is filthy. Not in a way I don’t cherish, at least.”

Sukuna brings his wrist up to your lips. 

“Bite me. Hard. Hard enough to bleed. Take your anger out on me. All your hate. Your melancholy. Your grief. Let it all out,” he demands, growling. “I want it. All of it. Every part of you. Give it to me!”

The shadows pry your jaw open. That’s it. It’s them that makes your teeth take hold of his thick wrist and bite down with every force you have in you. It’s them that make your teeth sink in through all layers. 

Iron soaks into your tongue, trickling down your throat and warming your chest, like alcohol. 

He throws his head back, chest heaving. 

The forest rustles, cheering, trembling with pleasure. Meanwhile, the shadows are vibrating. Thrumming as it plays with your clit incessantly. As it pushes in the little holes of your nipples, pleasuring the fats from inside. You whine. 

“Fuck!” he bellows

Sukuna snatches his wrist from you. His hands grip the marble, veins popping and threatening to burst. He’s gulping down air and rolling tension off his shoulders. 

“You almost came, didn’t you?” you ask, smiling in victory. 

Those red eyes dart up to you. He licks his lips. “Yes. Yes, I did.” Sukuna tilts his head, hand wandering up your torso before groping your breast. Like you already know to expect, his curse mouth disappears from his stomach and appears on his palm. It suckles on your nipple, obsessed with trying to find milk where there is none. 

You moan, back arching. 

Two hands hold your hips. They tug you down, closer to his hips. 

“You expected me to be ashamed of your effect on me?” he wonders aloud, huffing in amusement. “I want you. I crave you. I own you. In the same way you want me, crave me, own me. The only difference is, I embrace it.”

He’s stroking his top cock leisurely, wringing out droplets you can’t tear your eyes from. Lips parting, your mouth begins to long to be filled. Your hips chase after the fat thing. His shadows keep you still. 

Sukuna continues, rubbing the wrist you’d bitten on your stomach, “I am offering everything I have, everything I am, was and will be. You need only take it. Take me. Use me.” He draws a symbol, a sigil, you don’t recognise. With his other hand, he collects the blood between your legs. The bloodied fingers hovers above the mark. “Claim me.”

There’s sincerity in his eyes, which seem to plead with you. 

Inside, a pull reaches for him. Desperate. Intent. Hysterical. It calls for him, pained. He calls back, even more so. 

You can tell, whatever you feel for him, he feels it tenfold. No, infinitely more intense. It must drive him mad. The fraction of what you feel has you wanting to keel over, to rip your skin off and wear his. How he can function, can keep his head on straight, baffles you.

He’s commendable. A true leader. An unholy king.

That’s why, when he utters a final syllable, you cannot resist the pull any longer:

“Please.”

“Yes!” you wail. “I do! I do! I claim you. All of you.”

Arms flailing, you scramble towards him. Like a leech, you attach yourself to him, to his lips. You sloppily kiss him, smearing the blood and dirt on your body all over his. Fire burns beneath your skin. You’re set ablaze. Your soul. Your heart. Your skin. Every part is touched by him. Caressed. Treasured.

Sukuna releases a relieved breath, as though he’d been put out of his misery. 

He holds you to him. He won’t drop you. You know it. You know it so deeply, it is like knowing your name. 

The forest roars. Branches thrash. Leaves fall in spirals around you, a wall shielding you from the rest of the world. There’s no going back anymore. You’ve given in. You’ve surrendered. 

Two hot things begin pushing inside. 

For a moment, you tense, anticipating pain. None come. Only delirious bliss. Drool drips down your chin. Your eyes roll back. 

The shadows haven’t stopped stimulating you outside and inside. You’ve been cumming over and over again. Little orgasms that make your limbs shaky. But the orgasm that hits you the moment both of his cock stretch your gummy walls?

World ending. 

Tantalizing.

Immense. 

Boundless.

The most glorious gift.

You scream. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he coaxes. “Perfect. So perfect. My wife. Mine now and forevermore.”

Soon, he bottoms out. Hips flushed. Torsos pressed together tightly. Not a single thing could get in between you. You feel every inch of him. Every ridge. Every vein. Every nudge of his fat cockheads competing to draw out your pleasure most. 

You thought it’d feel overwhelming. Too much too soon. Now, you can’t get enough. You think, if only one cock had entered you, you would have mewled and whined for the other to join.  

“See?” Sukuna whispers into your ear, teeth scraping the shell. “You took me so well. Such a well-behaved girl. You were -hah- made for me.”

In spite of his teasing words, his whole body is trembling with the fight not to cum too soon. Your constant clenching, fluttering around both of his cocks, the way you choke him right to the base, has him at the very edge of sanity, which you doubt he had to begin with. 

He’s ploughing his cocks inside you. 

Thrusting with vigour that you feel at your fingertips. Your toes curl, back arching and head thrown back. Sukuna sucks at your neck, obsessed with the intensity of your scent there. 

He’s like an animal let loose. He’s rutting into you so fiercely you fear he’d break your bones. But your king would never hurt you. Not in a way you wouldn’t like.

A crazed laugh echoes in the night. 

You rake your fingers through his hair. Then you yank his head back, as he had done to you. “More, Sukuna. Fuck me more. I want to cum on your cocks over and over again. I command it, husband.”

Both lengths throb inside you. 

Sukuna’s eyes cross. They’re glazed over. “Yes,” he mumbles without even realising it, thoroughly enthralled in your very being, “whatever you want, my beautiful, precious wife.”

Hours must pass. 

Hours of fucking you in the air, on the altar, on the ground, against a tree. 

His hands explore your body till he’s memorised the curves and the planes. You do the same. 

The squelching of your cunt, the slapping of skin, the mingling of blood with cum, the reverberating of groans and moans envelopes you in a hellish cocoon. The bullying of his cocks through your sore, sensitive walls, the sucking of his curse mouth on your tits, the devouring of his mouth to yours, the fwop fwop fwop! of his balls on your poor clit — all of it sends you over the edge again and again and again and again, even once you think you will never feel better than the last.

You cannot get enough of him.

And he cannot get enough of you. 

Sukuna whimpers your name out before and after every peak he reaches. He fills your belly up with his cum. It perpetually drips out of you. You can taste the salt on your tongue. It coats you from head to toe. 

“My wife,” he exhales, like announcing to the world. “My life…my love.”

Where he ends and you begin blur.

Time ceases to exist. The rest of the world vanishes. 

In this moment, in his arms, bouncing on his cock as he gazes upon every flicker of pain and pleasure on your face, only you two matter. 

.

.

.

The sun has started to rise. 

You watch it climbing over the hill, head laid out on Sukuna’s chest. He plays with your hair, twirling it absentmindedly. You’re both naked. Limbs thrown over each other. Tangled.

Juices and blood have dried over your skin. Some of it your own. Some of it his. 

A deep satisfaction courses through your veins. 

Sukuna’s chest rises and falls beneath your cheek.

There is something almost surreal about it — this stillness, this calm. The same body that had hunted you through the dark now lies beneath you like an anchor, solid and unyielding in a different way. The heat of him seeps into your skin, bleeding into your bones.

His fingers continue their idle path through your hair.

A strand slips loose, caught and wound around his clawed fingertips before being released again. 

Your body bears the marks of the night: faint bruises bloom beneath your skin, teeth marks darkening where they had once stung, thin scratches tracing your limbs from your flight through the forest. Sukuna’s hands soothe any marks he left on you, not regretful at all. His actions can be likened to basking proudly in the art he made. 

All the while, you’re tracing the marks you left on him too — the scratches, the bite marks, the bruises he allowed you to give him. You run your fingers down his tattoos, avoiding the mouth on his tongue, which keeps licking you or trying to capture your hand. A very naughty thing indeed.

“Sukuna,” you murmur. He grunts. “I’m hungry. Let’s go back home.”

“How you have any room left in your small belly after drinking so much of my cum, I cannot fathom,” he voices out, curious and concerned. You smack his chest. “Yes, dear. I hear you. Let us take a bath in the pool and I will have a servant bring us food. Perhaps a goblin.”

As he stands up, you frown. “A goblin? Why not Uraume?”

Uraume’s his favourite. His right hand. His shadow. The goblins, on the other hand, he barely tolerates. You’ve seen him kick the poor things out of the way too often. Once or twice, you’ve reflexively tried to help them up, but they growl at you. You think they quite like being kicked about. It seems to be an honour to them.  

Under his breath, as Sukuna stretches his body with a lazy yawn, he says, “Uraume is on time out.”

Using his outstretched hand to bring you to your feet, you ask, “Why? What happened?”

Petulantly, he grumbles, “The insolent brat took it upon themself to lead that waste of space human I tore to shreds to you. It seems they thought you were a bad influence on me.”

To punctuate his last sentence and emphasise the absurdity of the idea, he grins wolfishly down at you, more specifically at his cum dripping down your thighs. Cheeks heated, you press them together. 

It’s hard to believe this evening had been orchestrated by Uraume, but also it’s not a huge leap in logic. They’ve made their point of view abundantly clear — you just didn’t think they would have tried to have you face imminent death crossing through the forest where creatures of the Underworld lurked. 

“Are you…are you going to hurt them?”

Sukuna cocks a brow. “Would you like me too?”

“No,” you say immediately and sincerely. “Blood’s already been spilled tonight. I don’t want to be the reason someone gets hurt again.”

“Very well. Let me know if you change your mind. They sure do get upset if I let someone else cook my meals.”

You giggle.

Then, all the humour dies out of you. 

Exhaustion has set in your limbs. 

Whatever energy had overtaken you earlier is gone now. 

His breath grazes your cheeks, warm against the cold air. One of his thumbs collects a tear right from your lashes. You didn’t even know you’re tearing up. He brings the droplet to his lips and licks it away. You hold your breath as he mutters, “Watching you run from me, hand in hand with some other man, hurts less than seeing you cry for him. It makes me wish I had made him suffer more before his end.”

“I’m not crying for him.”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes flit to you. 

“Oh?”

Sudden sobs escape your lips. Your knees give out beneath you. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms. He always does. You bury your face in his neck. Sukuna rubs soothing circles on your back, cooing. “My ferocious, little wife…what is wrong? Did I hurt you too much? Do you…do you regret marrying me?”

The insecurity in his voice, the hesitation to ask, to hear a truth he would be distraught to hear, make you cry harder. 

“Please don’t ever throw me away. I know I shouldn’t have left last night, but I really thought you were going to kill me. And maybe you will later. But please don’t,” you plead through your tears. “I want to be with you forever and ever.”

Silence passes. 

A pregnant pause.

He laughs. 

He actually laughs. 

It’s full bodied. His stomach mouth joins in. “Hilarious! You never fail to entertain me with your constant overthinking. Always so afraid. So on guard. Too precious! You are just too adorable. You will rot my teeth.”

Weakly, you lay a barrage of punches on his chest. “Don’t laugh at me, you brute. I’m your wife. Respect me.”

Sukuna nods patronisingly, but he does shift his laughter into light chuckles, “Alright, alright. Forgive me, little wife. You are simply so delightful, so naive, and pitiful, I cannot help myself.” 

“Put me down.”

“Never.” Sukuna presses a kiss to your cheek. He nudges your face away from his neck so you will meet his gaze. Seriously now, voice with his sacred vow, “I have no intention of throwing you away. Not since I laid eyes on you and felt a thing I did not know existed beat in my chest.”

Holding your breath, you listen to his confession. 

“There is no world,” he continues, quieter now, though the weight of it presses heavier, “in which I allow you to slip from my grasp. Not heaven, not earth, not whatever fragile afterlife your kind clings to. If you are taken from me, I will unmake it. If you are hidden, I will find you. If you are reborn, I will recognise you.”

Shyly, you ask, “Even if I have a different face?”

Sukuna nods. “In whatever form, whatever shape, whatever state, you are. Wherever, whenever, you find yourself in. I will recognise you by your soul. For yours make up my own.”

He leaves a kiss to your forehead, to each of your eyes, to the tip of your nose. You giggle.

Then, huffing in amusement, he adds, “It certainly helps that we are bound by curse marriage. Not by your flimsy, human paper. But by blood. We curses take blood bonds very seriously. If we are to part, for whatever reason, we would both die, so it is in your best interest not to throw me away.”

That should startle you. Should scare you beyond belief. Instead, you think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard. 

“I’m holding you to that,” you mutter against his lips.

Sukuna nuzzles your nose with his, a smile mirroring yours. 

“Yes, please do.”