✮ ⎨Game(s): DBD, LNM, FNAF GAMES, COD GAMES, ROBLOX, SONIC GAMES, UNDERTAIL, SPIDER-MAN, FINDING FRANKIE, THAT REALLY OLD GAME WITH THE CRYING WITCH THAT LIKES TO ACT ALL INNOCENT BEFORE ATTACKING YOU💔(if you know what I'm talking..I forgot the name of that game..)
✮ ⎨ Musicals: HAMILTON, EPIC: THE MUSICAL, WICKED, HEATHERS, SIX THE MUSICAL, HADESTOWN, PROBABLY MORE I CAN'T THINK OF ON TOP OF MY HEAD RN!
✮ ⎨Show(s)/anime(s): HXH, HAIKYUU, FRUIT BASKET, TBHK, NARUTO, JJK, MHA, DEATH NOTE, GREY'S ANATOMY, YOU
✮ ⎨Movie(s): ANY HORROR FILMS, 9, CORPSE BRIDE, ELF, SCARY MOVIE, GROWN UPS, SONIC MOVIES, FNAF 1/2
✮ ⎨Animals!: BEARS, HORSES, WOLVES.
THINGS I HATE!
✮ ⎨Hates!: tomatoes and needles and smoking🍃(tried it three times and I was GONE😭 never again.), Weird ass shit, relationships but yearns for it sometimes.
LIKES!
✮ ⎨Loves/likes!: READING, MY NATIVE CULTURE❤️, MUSIC, DRAWING, WATCHING HORROR MOVIES, TRUE CRIME, GHOST HUNTING, ROBLOX, GREEK MYTHOLOGY, DOGS, CREEPYPASTA, SALLY FACE, SONIC GAMES, SUB!CHARACTERS—I MEAN WHAT???, CLASSIC MUSIC, DINOSAURS, PLAYING THE VIOLIN.
—------------------------------------- ✉︎ ✢✦
Anyways, don't mind me. I js be on here to have fun! Whatever happens, happens. Don't blame me if my reposts are different from different fandoms🥀
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
REGISTERED DRIVER: the gojo brothers! fratjo and nerdjo!
INSPECTION REPORT: university is an interesting experience. normally, you wouldn’t allow yourself to find yourself in a position of a threesome— let alone with two men, and god forbid a pair of brothers. but you do find yourself in that same scenario… with the gojo brothers!
ⓘ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 SYSTEM OVERVIEW: 18+ CONTENT, fem! university! reader, threesomes, no incest involved, dirty talk, vaginal sex, anal sex, double penetration, ass slapping, praise kink, unprotected sex, gentle kissing, MALE WHIMPERING, hair pulling (reader and fratjo! receiving), spit, rough sex, a shit ton of bickering, one mention of birth control, size kinks, nerdjo and fratjo go by different names (fratjo goes by sato, nerdjo goes by ryu. it makes satoryu! its close enough okay?)
ⓘ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 BLUEPRINT USED: MOCHIKUYO on ig!
“you know you can go faster, ryu… she’s not gonna break, she’s a big girl.”
you didn’t know what type of thing you were getting into when it came to the gojo brothers, twins at that but polar opposites when it comes to everything else besides their dna structures.
sato gojo; the frat bro. the older twin (by five minutes) who did sports and had so many girls in his dms that he simply didn’t answer— or if he did, he treated them like royalty but of course, he couldn’t pick and choose which girls he liked best. the brother who’s smarts came in the form of shotgunning beer, playing darts like a pro, and studying in the backseat of his twin brother’s car on the way to his exams. he always passed. he’s really smart— smarter than most of the frat bros in the fraternity, it’s just not on display like ryu’s intellectual capacity is.
ryu gojo was the younger brother, born five minutes after sato, he was the nerdier of the two. he didn’t do romance, not because he didn’t have girls on his dick, but mainly because he was busy being nose deep into textbooks and reviews, spending more time at the university’s library and the arcade after school rather than sato’s frat house. he was the quieter one of the two, smarter in every sense but still was always teased by his older brother.
you got entangled with them… because honest to god; you had nothing else better to do.
you were passing university, doing your daily trails and errors, hanging out with friends and occasionally having some fun at some of the sorority parties you found yourself in with friends because one friend said “one of my other friends is having this party” and it was a late friday night that sounded nice on paper until you realized… you did that ten times the last eleven fridays.
so after one too many drinks, you gave your number to the one person you probably shouldn't have... but he accepted it with no issue whatsoever: ryu gojo. the nerdier younger brother of sato who was at the frat house upstairs.
bumping into each other, you found him so alluring, his blue eyes too sexy to pull away behind his metal framed glasses, his hoodie hiding the sleeper build he acquired from having a brother who played sports and made him his gym partner, the smell of his woody cologne buried deep in your ruined senses, and in your drunken haze— because the bastard didn't let you bone him there and then, he accepted your number.
you went on one date with the motherfucker. one.
that was all it took for you to slip into bed with him.
the worst part about all of this? or possibly the best part? his older brother accidentally walked in on you two. while ryu was mid thrust in your sobbing cunt, sato walked in announced, screaming like a little girl before closing the door to a crack... but he never left.
he never left you two alone, and ryu was absolutely not the type to be watched, so you did what you thought was the best thing to do in this situation; invite sato in obviously.
and he did not wait another god damn second to get undressed. sato and ryu didn't find it weird to look at each other, they were brothers, brothers saw each other naked all the time, they've shared a room before, even if ryu didn't want his brother near him, he could still withstand the idea of having sex with the same girl as his brother.
because pussy is pussy— even if he hated the idea of sato knowing exactly what you felt like, what you sounded like, and what you tasted like, and vice versa.
brotherly rivalry, y’know?
that's how you ended up here; ryu on the bed, knees pressed into the soft pillow feeling of the mattress, tongue between his teeth as he lined up with your aching, squeezing around nothing folds, and sato was right next to him, jerking himself as he waited for his younger twin to hurry it up.
you laid on your right ribcage, your legs spread with your left one on sato's shoulder, your right one around ryu's waist as you were at the mercy to these two white haired horny bastards. your mouth was raw from moaning as they took turns licking your cunt and hole, prepping you for them, and even before that, you were moaning at ryu's fingers and cock.
"listen asshole." ryu grunts, feeling you clench around him and let him push his cock into you, already accommodated to his size. "you're the one who walked in on us so if you complain about me going slow one more fuckin' time— "
sato could only chuckle at his twin's impatience, reaching down to cup your face with his right hand, purposely slapping his tip against your left ass check. "okay man, don't blow a damn gasket, only saying that a girl's pussy doesn't take that long to get into."
"i'm not a virgin dumbass, i know that." ryu responds, watching with love as you take all eight of his inches, groaning deeply as your walls clench around him.
it's so filling to you even after you've taken him already, huffing as each inch filled you more and more, the slight bulge in your abdomen showing at specific angles you twisted your body. your toes curled respectively, your whole body becoming too heated for your own good. "r-ryu... oh fuck... fuck handsome."
ryu grins proudly as you squeeze around him, leaning his body a little to the left to get a good angle on you— and to give himself enough room to ruin you, especially because his big ass 6’3 frat counterpart is right next to him.
“oh yeah?” he whispers, leaning down and kissing your lips, feeling sato’s wrist hit his cheek as he kisses your lips, which you reciprocate, despite moans falling from your lips. “so good f’me baby… taking my cock so good.” he whispers, looking at your cunt with you. “such a good pussy.”
he lowers his right hand, rubbing tight circles on your filled cunt, his wrist feeling the bulge against his skin. “now, sato’s gonna fill you up too… let’s see if this hole can take him.”
nodding, you reach your left hand out, being able to hook onto sato’s lower back as he presses forward, his bulbous tip aching against your hole as he slowly pushes into you.
the stretch is fucking immense, burning sensations flowing through you but sato’s gentle pushing and ryu’s kisses on your lips and cheeks are able to make the burn manageable, but you still feel the stretch no matter what.
“sato… s-sato… oh fuck.”
“holy fuck baby.” sato groans, jaw clenching as he feels your hole immediately clench around him. it’s hard to push in, but he does it anyway, letting a drop of spit drop from his mouth as each inch slowly works into you, driving deeper. "you haven't been fucked in this hole yet?" he asks. “look at my big cock fuckin’ ruining you…”
you shake your head as ryu's lips find a place on your jaw, sucking hard on the bone as you grip onto the nerd's shoulder with your right hand, your left hand shooting from the lower back to instead dig deep into the jock's hand. "n-no— fuck. just never got into it..." you moan out as response.
that turns sato on more than it should've.
"ohhhhh, so you're telling me..." he begins, licking his lips and contuing to push into your hole, even as you clench around him, your walls tight. "you're letting me fuck you anally for the first time? doll, i'm honored."
ryu rolls his eyes at his brother's faux sense of honor. he's always been like this. "oh shut it, sato, just hurry up."
"someone's jealous." sato coos, a smirk on his lips as both hands dig into the mattress, leaning forward a little to look at his twin closer. "what? you mad that you ain't the first to fuck her here?" he asks, thrusting the last inches into you and making you cry out, from both the feeling of him deep and how good it feels despite the burn. "you mad that i was able to get to home plate while you were still stuck at third?"
"you were just the one complaining about me going to slow." ryu argues back, looking at his brother dead on.
sato shrugs, moving his right hand to grip your left ass cheek. "a pussy and a hole are two very different things... you can't just ram into a hole the same way you can ram into a pussy."
hearing them talk like that, it shouldn't turn you on. really, it shouldn't, but your mind was mush by this point, overfilled with both of their cocks in you to even care. your mind was scrambled, configuring it back together as they argued, getting used to the filled sensation of both of them, their large hands all over your body.
"okay, dude, whatever you say." ryu says, trying to move on from the argument because god, the way your pussy is squeezing around him? it feels too damn good.
"yeah, because whatever I say is right."
"no it ain't."
you groan loader than you mean to, completely ruined by both of their cocks stretching you out, the burning sensation of both of them being in you at once slowly eased away. “guys— if you argue one m-more fucking time… i’m gonna cum, without you two helping.”
that makes the brothers stop arguing for a second, both of them tilting their head towards you like a pair of fucking owls, almost cute in a way.
“oh baby, you wouldn’t do that.” sato murmurs, leaning down and kissing your cheek, feeling you clench around him.
you furrow your brows though, shaking your head and bringing your left hand up to wrap into his hair, pulling on the white strands as you look at him dead in the eyes, seeing the blue polar color they obtain. “you wanna bet?” you whisper, hiding the fact that your voice is completely wrecked by their matching eight inch, curvature on the right side, cocks.
sato squeaks as you yank on his hair, shaking his head almost as quickly as he tilted it, his chain swaying with it. “n-no… ‘m sorry.”
you smile. “good… now fuck me already.”
“yes ma’am.” ryu speaks up, leaning forward and looking down for a second, to watch his cock pull out until the tip is only remaining inside you.
and before you could say anything else; ryu slides his cock inside you, forcing open your pussy as heat strikes through you. sato smiles, seeing your reaction, and with his right hand in the bedsheets and his left hand on your jutted out left hip, he also pulls out, and in a slight delay from his brother, he thrusts in quicker than he did.
the pleasure rocks you instantly, it’s overwhelming but it’s not like you’d fight it. it fills you full, your leg on sato’s shoulder shaking as both sets of toes curl.
“o-oh fuck!” you let out, beginning to feel sato and ryu slowly gain a consistent pace with one another.
sato, despite being in your hole— a much tighter place than your cunt, goes faster than his brother, taking the route of fast to the point pleasure overflows your body. unthought, he takes the route of harder thrusts, movements to take the breath out of you.
ryu moans low, feeling you clench around him as he slowly but surely fucks you— your folds taking him so good. “oh my god, hun… such a good pussy f’me, taking me so good.” he whispers.
both of your hands move, one hand wrapped around ryu’s right forearm and the other digging into the top of sato’s hands as your body gets worked by them. “ngh- ngh! fuck! ry-ryu! s-sat— aahhh!”
your moans are cut off when a crack fills the room, and a jolt in your ass is registered, the reddening of your left ass cheek covering your skin as ryu lifts his right hand and slaps your ass.
“r-ryu, o-oh godddd…” you whisper, moans cutting between your words. “s’so biggggg…”
“damn right we’re big for you, but you’re taking it like a champ, so don’t get too worried…” sato mutters, slapping your ass again, which makes you jolt and moan out in response.
ryu smiles, his left hand knuckles tightening in the bedsheets as his right hand gripped your ass, his forearm hitting his brother’s left forearm, where his hand sat on your hip. “oh c’mon baby, you really think with a pretty ass like yours isn’t going to get slapped?”
sato chuckles under his breath, his right thumb stroking the lower half of your back. “he has a point, pretty baby.” he whimpers, trying to hide the fact that he’s whimpering more than he’s grunting— a far cry from what people would think he sounds like.
hair sticks to your forehead, completely lost in the pleasure as each cock thrusts in and out of you, the wetness of your cunt and sato’s spit as well as the stretching of your holes make them able to go faster.
sato whimpers quietly as your fingers dig deep into his hand, eyebrows pinching together as your hole tightens around him, your heel digging deeper into his broad shoulder.
“sato! ryu! ohhhh fuck.” you heave you, eyes glimmering with pleading nature as your words jumble together in a needy mess. “f-faster please— ahh! s-so close, oh fuck!”
with a smirk wearing on both of their lips, both of them follow your words, pulling out until their tips are inside your needy holes and thrusting quickly back into you; both at the same fucking time, at the same pace. the slapping sounds continue back up again, the tender flesh of all three of you connecting as their balls slap against your body, the bed creaking under you and the legs of the bed shaking as well as both brothers try to get you over the edge— surprisingly, the frat counter part faltering his speed only a little while the nerd holds his pace consistent.
“clo-close already?” sato moans in surprise, squeezing your ass almost to have something to grab onto. “f-fuckkkkk, baby. we’re just getting started and you wanna cum al-already?”
ryu, on the other hand, leans down and presses a soft kiss to your agape lips, feeling your moans against his lips, licking up the drool that escapes the corner of your lip. “maybe you’re not built for us, sato.” he says towards his brother as he looks at him in the corner of his eye, kissing your cheek in the process. “that’s how much you love our cocks, cumming already and we’ve been inside of you only for a few minutes, lovely.”
you couldn’t feel anything besides their thick inches thrusting in and out of you, your leg shaking on his shoulder as you were forced closer and closer to your orgasm.
sato whimpers as your nails dig down his forearm, your other hand reaching up to ryu’s messy hair and yanking on his strands. “baby- baby, c’mon, cum for us… please, c-cum baby.” he begs, eyebrows pinched together as sweat beads down the right side of his face.
ryu smiles, kissing your lips as he nods. “you heard him sweetheart, cum for us, ruin our shit with that pretty cum of yours.”
you don’t need to be told twice at all as your orgasm practically slams into you, hitting you harder than you expect as the twins continue to thrust, even through your orgasm. your nails dig deep into their respective pockets, marking sato’s forearm and yanking on ryu’s hair.
rolling your eyes back, your cunt flutters around ryu’s thick cock as your hole clenches sato’s.
ryu grins, watching you as you hit your high. “good baby… good girl for us…” he whispers, slowing down his speed only a little as both hands implant on the mattress at each side of your head.
sato continues to thrust until he feels his balls clenching harder than before, his cock straining with each movement. “baby… god… you on birth control, hun? cause ‘m about to break here…”
his words mix into your mind, your vision coming back to you as your dazed gaze looked at him, nodding absentmindedly. “y-yeah…” you mutter, whimpering as ryu kisses your lips. “on t-the pill… ‘m on the’pill…”
sato grins, lifting his hand and smacking your ass again. “good girl, ‘cause i think this hole needs a filling or two…” he mutters, rutting faster as his twin brother goes slower.
“shhhh, just let us take care of you, sweet girl.” he mutters, his right hand cupping your cheek as the left hand of the twin twists into the mattress. “now let’s see how long this body can last…”
and when the twins are challenged by each other, neither of them wanted to lose, and you were taking it with no issue whatsoever— ‘cause it felt too damn good to try to lie to yourself!
click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃
AUTHOR'S NOTE: the gojo brothersssss, dear god. i love making the jock/dickhead in the fics the one who whimpers because yeah bitch, whimper for this pussy. this was sitting in my drafts for such a long time until i finished it; idk, threesomes are hard sometimes. anyway, if people like this fic/this dynamic, i'll maybe make a few oneshots with fratjo or nerdjo. i have other au’s for different characters as well, but the twins were irresistible! chemistry professor! kuna/frat! sukuna and law professor! higuruma are cooking in the drafts rn… :)
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
doctor!damian helping you with your fear of needles.
for weeks now, you'd been dreading your appointment. it's not that you didn't trust your friend to give you your annual flu shot. you'd gone to med school with her, watched her give her first injection, for heavens sake!
you were just nervous. so much so that you complained about your impending doom every single day for the past week to damian in the locker room as he heads out from his night shift.
"it's not that bad, amar," he murmurs to you, tossing his lunchbox into his bag.
"you don't get it, dami," you whine, unzipping your coat. "it's metal disappearing into your skin."
"tt. dramatic." silently laughing to himself, he zips up his coat. "you told me your friend was assisting you. are you still on edge, even when someone you trust is administering your dose?
pausing in your tracks, you turn to glare at him. "well it's not like anyone else can do it, they've all got-"
"i can."
registering his words, you frown, checking the calendar before turning back to him, huffing, "no, you can't, you liar. you've got a shift tomorrow when my appointment is scheduled."
"I don't have a shift now though," damian murmurs. "we can get it over with, then I won't have to deal with your whining any more than I already do."
you pale hearing his words before shaking your head rapidly. "no. nonono-"
backing up, you take your badge, only to be stopped as a warm hand closes around your arm, dragging you back to him.
"habibiti. calm down. you are aware you don't have to do anything you don't want to. i'm merely suggesting i help you get it out of the way." meeting his gaze, you fall silent as you take in his quiet tone.
taking a slow breath in and out, you think about it for a second before nodding once, shortly.
"okay. i can do this," you try firmly as you march to an empty exam room, damian following behind.
before you can even boost yourself onto the exam table, you're hit with a wave of anxiety that rolls over you, stealing your breath away. you take one look at damian-who's leaning against the exam room door-and shake your head.
"i can't do it."
damian frowns at your words, taking a step forward as he observes your hunched posture and dilated eyes, watching you stare at the ground
"that's okay. go through your shift. i have to come back tonight to drop off some paperwork. we can do it when you get off."
steeling yourself, you look up and nod at him once, trying to smile as he cups your cheek, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
"stop stressing, amar. we'll get it done so your friend doesn't have to."
"okay. thank you, dami."
-
your phone pings just as you step into the locker room to pack up your belongings, eyes drooping after a long shift. swiping it open, you're greeted with a text message from damian.
'Meet me in room 315. I have your vaccine ready.'
groaning, you sluggishly empty your locker before tugging your jacket on and heading over to the room. on the way, you stop by every nurses station, asking them if they need anything and wishing them an excessively long 'good night' before finally pushing open the door of your exam room to find damian waiting, absent-mindedly doodling on some old notes as he waits.
as soon as the sound of the door clicking open hits his ears, he glances up, straightening up before relaxing when his eyes meet yours.
"hi, beloved. come sit on the exam table and i'll have us out of here as fast as possible." damian greets you with a peaceful tone.
you haven't heard a word he's said, feet planted firmly in the ground as you try and fail to register his words. what almost feels like a brick is weighing down on your chest and you can feel your whole body tense, almost anticipating the prick of the needle already. so many things could go wrong, you think to yourself as tears prick at the corner of your eyes, your throat burning as you try not to-
"amar. look at me," damian's voice commands focus as his hand turns your chin up towards him. "nothing bad is going to happen. it's going to be a little pinch. you do it to patients all the time, you know exactly what the drill is."
wrapping one arm firmly around your waist, he walks over to the exam bed before lifting you up and settling you down on top, paper crinkling as he rubs circles into your waist with his thumbs.
"you've got this. take a slow breath and have some water. there should be a bottle in my bag, habibiti."
humming once, you reach out for said bag, shaky hands closing around the ice cold water bottle before unscrewing the lid and beginning to take small sips, feeling the burning sensation in your throat dissipate.
"good." damian nods, releasing his hold on your waist and turning to the sink, the gentle whoosh of the water bringing you back to him. "do you want the injection in your thigh or your arm, hayati?"
"um, thigh, please," you murmur between sips of water, already reaching to roll up your loose scrubs, revealing your thigh to the cold hospital air. slowly taking another dreg of water, you glance up at damian to see him scrubbing his hands dutifully.
"I'm scared, dami," you grumble, looking back down at the sparkling checkered floor as you hear the latex of medical grade gloves stretching around skin.
"it will only hurt for a second, and we can go home right after. there's no need to stress, amar. keep sipping water," his response is calm as he brings over the tray containing your injection.
you take one look at it before whining and trying to hop off the table to escape the needle as the familiar pit in your stomach returns. blocking you with his body, damian shushes you before scooting the tray over and sitting on the exam table next to you.
"beloved, breathe. this is normal, being scared. you're in a private exam room," he soothes you, opening his arms, "come here. nothing is going to happen to you. it's the smallest pinch and then you're done."
"it's so awful, the anticipation," you cry, a tear running down your cheek as you climb into his lap, voice wavering. settling sideways as you wrap your arms around him, your feet dangle off the edge of the exam table.
"we're getting it done right now so you don't have to stress anymore, okay?" damian's thick brows furrow as he presses a kiss to your temple, hands reaching for the tray. "tug your pant leg a little higher."
a low groan escapes your mouth as you expose more skin, hissing as you feel the cold alcohol wipe rubbing against your outer thigh in slow circular motions, followed up by the soft gauze drying the injection site.
"no, dami, i don't want to do this-" protests bubble up in your throat, getting increasingly louder as his cheek presses against your head, watching him reach and uncap the needle, flicking at it to release the bubbles.
"shh, habibiti, i know," damian cuts you off as you watch his movements halt. you feel the rough beginnings of a five o'clock shadow brush against your cheek as he presses a kiss there. "look away, and take a deep breath for me. the more you tense, the worse it feels."
trying to control your anxiety, you bury your face into his neck as your hands fist the edge of his jumper, blabbing the whole time about how unnecessary this is.
"3... 2... 1..."
feeling the sharp jab of the needle, you yelp, grip tightening around the fabric before you exhale as you feel a bandaid stuck against your thigh and a kiss pressed to your temple.
"you did so good, hayati, you're all done," damian murmurs into your ear, tugging your pant leg back over your skin before placing his hand over the injection site, his other nudging the water bottle up to your lips for you to sip at. "are you good to stand up?"
"yes," nodding stiffly, you slide off of his lap as you look up at him with red eyes. "i'm sorry about the fuss."
"you don't ever have to apologize, beloved," damian smiles softly, cleaning up the room with rapid speed and rinsing his hands.
you smile back at him before picking up both of your bags, extending his out to him, and taking his now freezing hand, talking quietly as you walk out to the parking lot, arms swinging.
previous
a/n: this is the longest one i've written... oh well! gotta keep churning them out before I get back to school. i'm lowk running out of ideas already tho so I might ask if anybody has anyyy... ANYWAY ENJOY <3
Loving Yūji comes with a package deal you don't necessarily know how to deal with. Granted, you've loved him first before this whole ordeal even happened — it still is a matter of when and never an if, per se, when it comes to his special situation.
"So tight, baby," Yūji says between sucking his breath. He's not quite sure whether to ram and go at a harsher pace or let you adjust to his girth first. His control is being tested too much right now. "Even after all that."
You moan his name in praise before you lock your legs around his waist and pull yourself closer to him, effectively shutting him up from keeping things slow. You've always wanted things rougher, something that Yūji loves about you (but even then, he still wishes to take his time).
"Oh s-shit, baby!" Yūji would've let his eyes roll back if he wasn't focused on keeping his entire weight off of you. "F-Fuck!"
"H-Harder, Yūji," you beg him, "please."
Yūji doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs hold of your thighs roughly and pounds into you like an animal in heat. You arch your back further for more, and he gives in.
"So good, baby," Yūji drools, "so, so good. Oh my — fuck!"
Just as you are coming down with your first orgasm, another voice pierces through the solidity of the air and breaks it easily as if he had done this countless times before.
"Enchain."
Suddenly you are flipped on your hands and knees. Your hair has been forcibly fisted and yanked until your head is pulled back enough to see your lover covered in tattoos, and a vitriol laugh teases your ears.
"Y-Yū —"
"Brat's not here," Sukuna's voice deeply rumbles against your skin.
This is the first time he's ever made his presence known to you. You've heard stories of how Sukuna would pop on Yūji's cheek or his hands whenever he's got something to say (especially towards your sensei and Megumi), but not once has he ever manifested and broken through Yūji's control — and right in the middle of fucking, too.
"Heh," he yanks you further until you can see his eyes gazing heatedly at yours, "pussy so good, my own vessel lost control. Let's see if you do live up to that expectation."
Then he slams your head against the pillow and fucks you senseless. It's wrong . . . to even feel how fucking good it is to be brutally pounded.
Yet, here you are in the mercy of a sadistic curse, cackling like a bastard that he is.
Sukuna had you spread out for him, as he continues to ram his cock up inside of you. One of his hands kneads your ass mockingly before he slaps each cheek hard.
Your teeth bite into the soft fabric of the pillow, muffling your screams lest you want Megumi to hear you from the other side of the room. At this point, Sukuna slapping you might've really been a dead giveaway.
"Y-Yūji —"
"My name, brat —"
"—Y-Yūji, Y-Yū—"
"— I said my name." He slaps your sloppily wet clit.
You arch your back unknowingly to the sensation, and before you could have thought twice about it, your body yields and your mouth muddles the name, "S-Sukuna!"
"Good." He mutters darkly, "Good girl."
He fondles your breasts next. Then his tongue laps to the outline of your spine and back up to your neck, where he marks you. His canines have sunk into your skin so deeply, he can taste your blood, and that further fuels him into a mess of moans and praise as if he's drunk on an aphrodisiac.
"Again." He orders you. "My name. Only."
"Sukuna," you say. "Sukuna! Sukuna! Sukuna! F-Fuck, I —"
"That's it."
The first of your orgasms comes to you like a torrent. It's harsh and unforgiving, much like how Sukuna doesn't even stop fucking you even as you try your best to squirm away.
When you feel that he's finally slowed down, when his hands have released the hold against your body, and you allow yourself to breathe a little better, there's a sudden shift between you and the King of Curses. You realize that it's because you've been flipped back and your legs are locked around his waist again.
"S-Sukuna?"
"No," Yūji breathlessly says. He leans his face closer until his lips brush yours. "I-It's me, baby. It's me. I'm sorry. I-I lost control. Are you hurt?"
You shake your head with a smile. "N-No, I'm fine. I'm more than fine."
"Yeah?" Yūji perks up. You notice that his cock has hardened once more and he's repositioning himself to your abused cunt.
"Yeah, baby." You laugh dumbly. "That was . . . quite exhilarating."
Yūji bumps his nose against yours. The heat in his eyes is visible, but it is nowhere near as intense as the other pair you were forced to look at prior.
"That was hot," Yūji admits. "Watching you . . . like that."
"It was," you breathe out.
When you peer below Yūji's eyes, you swear you've seen the glints of red and black squinting back at you as if to tell you that he's heard about your little honesty.
Well, it really can't be helped sometimes. After all, loving Yūji does come with a deal.
꩜ – FRAT PRESIDENT SATORU GOJO (and the shy girl he's obsessed with!)
(18+) HEADCANONS :: – frat!gojo x innocent!reader, college au, smut, dom!gojo, handjobs, praise, corruption kink, manipulative behavior, slight dub-con
frat president!satoru, who’s used to every type of girl at his party except you, all big eyes, wandering around his house like you didn’t know what to do. he’s asked suguru to offer you everything under the sun in the last thirty or so minutes — a drink, a smoke, a joint. you just politely decline, shaking your head so prettily.
frat president!satoru, who swears he’s just got an ego when he decides he’ll be the one to show you all of that and more. he could do it if suguru couldn’t, if no one else could.
he starts off all nice, walking you to all your classes, offering his sweaters in the lectures you had together (which he only started attending for you), buying you lunch and listening to your cute little rants about your worst profs.
frat president!satoru learns that you like being held when he’s the first one to find you after an exam you swear you’d failed. he doesn’t get it ‘til he’d realized your eyes are all glassy, so shiny as you peered up at him with wobbling lips, trying not to cry in front of him.
frat president!satoru loves the way you’d just melted into his arms after that. he calls you easy to his friends for it, but something inside him never wants to let go whenever you’re willing to press yourself into his chest, wherever you’re willing to do it.
frat president!satoru, who asks you what you’re wearing all the time and sends even prettier things to wear to your dorm when he thinks you can do better.
frat president!satoru, who’s spiraling at night, jerking off to your contact photo, wrapping his large hand around his dick and pretending like it’s that sweet mouth of yours engulfing his length. he imagines how shy you’d be, lips parted wide, smearing pre-cum and replacing your candy lip balm. he wants you tasting like him, those soft cheeks drenched in his cum, eyes screwed shut until he’s all you can think about.
frat president!satoru likes making you need him, doting on you and driving you around like a princess, spoiling you until you frown whenever his hand isn’t on your hip, or whenever he dodges your calls for fraternity meetings. he likes the idea that you might become obsessed with him (like he is with you).
frat president!satoru, who’s grinning cruelly the minute you finally tell him, “you know, you do so much for me, I feel like I’m not doing enough for you.” in that nervous voice of yours one day, while you’re tucked into his side at your apartment.
frat president!satoru, who’s never missed a meeting or a call until that day, when he’s finally got you whimpering shyly in his lap while he gently mouths at your neck, tasting that perfume he’s been searching online for for weeks, whispering about how he’s so grateful you wanna help him out, how sweet you are for making it up to him too even when you didn't have to.
but he’s been waiting for weeks, you’re all soft and impressionable on him, and he’s not letting a moment of your kindness go to waste.
frat president!satoru guides you with a husky voice when he teaches you to spit in your own palm and wrap your hand around his cock, nearly shivering at the contact — “make me feel good, pretty girl, it’s the least you can do.”
frat president!satoru, who just chuckles at the fact that you’re all nervous, looking up at him as if asking what to do next, just for him to wrap his palm around yours, engulfing it entirely. he groans lowly as he moves your palm up and down on his already-hard length, bottom lip catching between his teeth at how warm your hand feels against his dick.
“shit, just keep it like that, baby, up and down…”
frat president!satoru, who kisses you slow when you gasp at how he bucks up into your hand, keeping his own wrapped around it while desperately attempting not to just use you, jerk himself off with your tiny little fingers, maneuver you down and slam himself deep into your tight cunt. “hah — fuck, gorgeous, y— you’re good at this, huh? so good for me, so fucking cute…”
“i’ve never done this before,” you admit into frat president!satoru’s mouth, hushed and breathy like it’s a secret. he wants to fucking laugh, but he’s cut short by a low hiss as you thumb at his slit without him having to teach you, making him lose his mind piece by piece. shit, you’re just perfect, aren’t you?
“am — am I doing okay, satoru?”
frat president!satoru has nearly had enough of patience when you say that. shit, he bites down into your lip without even realizing, hand tightening around yours when you whimper. and it’s barely enough to notice at first, but he pumps your hand around him faster, growling into your mouth at the way your fingertips flex around his length, making a slick! sound that echoes across the room.
“you’re — shit, just like that — doing perfect, baby. so perfect.” frat president!satoru groans into your throat, even though he’s using your hand like a fuck toy now, smearing his own pre-cum mixed with your saliva all over his huge dick, bucking his hips up into your plush skin like a glorified fleshlight.
the only one he’s dreamed of in the past few weeks, at least.
frat president!satoru gets off on how eager you are to match his pace, his other hand cupping your cheeks to purse your pretty mouth open for him as he spits down your throat and relishes in your confused little whine. he doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s gripping your hand now, forcing you to jerk his cock faster.
“that’s it,” he pants into your lips, “just let me have you, okay? hah— so good, shit, you’ve been wanting this too, haven’t you?”
“satoru—” your voice is a wet dream, how it feathers off around the edges and breaks like you’re not sure.
frat president!satoru groans at the sound of your confusion. “been, fuck, thinking about this, baby. want you creaming on my cock next, yeah? or maybe it’s — haah! — too big for your first time. gotta — shit — prep you first.”
frat president!satoru spills into your hand with one last rough stroke of both your hands around his length, gasping low with his tongue down your throat as he finally lets your hand go. he watches the way your palm shakes, eyes dark, lifting your cum-covered fingertips to your mouth without thinking. and he thinks you won’t do it, until—
your sweet fucking tongue darts out to lick experimentally at your own fingers, and satoru thinks he’s gone to heaven.
frat president!satoru, who can’t help himself when he’s grabbing you by the waist now, laying you flat on your back and coming up to slot his knee between your thighs, committing the way your face scrunches up in both confusion and pleasure to memory. he thinks you’re the cutest fucking thing in the world, and he wants you broken in every way possible until you can’t fuck any other guy without imagining his dick.
“thank you, baby,” he grins against your neck. “can i make you feel good now?”
frat president!satoru, who decided he’d never let you fuck anyone else anyways the moment you'd nodded.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
ও sum : ( goiyz read part one instead tyty )
Separating from your boyfriend after witnessing him being bitten by a zombie, only to see him back with the consciousness of a human months later.
ও warning :
zombie apocalypse ; biting ; slightly gory ; zombie!jo , mention of blood ; weapons ; suggestive ; reader with survival skills because yes ; satoru with hunger restraint ; kinda obsessive mindset of Zombie!jo ; reverse cowgirl ; groping.
Ꮺ a/n :
I have a very specific warning where the reader is cool with Satoru eating peeps here, so be warned ! And pls, don't judge my smut writing 😞 I'm new to this shi 💔
By the time you woke up, the driver seat beside you was empty and the van was parked just right outside the gas station. Likely enough, Satoru could be getting more necessities and gas, so you patiently waited.
When he returned, he opened the trunk to stuff all the things inside before moving to the front. Then when he noticed you, sitting up properly this time, he smiled and settled in. "How's sleep?"
"It's fi—"
"Sure it was fine, because you left your poor boyfriend to do all the work. Driving you, and bringing these necessities–..” Satoru yammered on while he started the car while you blinked annoyingly at him. You just woke up and the first thing you received was early ragebaiting Satoru once again. Just like every other day before things went wrong in this apocalyptic world.
"I demand compensation, my love!"
"... Could you give me a moment to refresh at least?"
"Oh yeah, sure sure." He reached for a snack and a bottle of water for you anyway despite his earlier ramblings. He wasn't seriously angry anyways, just wanting to poke fun until you burst.
As you snacked silently, Satoru shot an occasional glance at you from time to time while he drove. Almost as if he wants to ask something, as each look became slightly comical on purpose.
It went on until you sighed and finally faced Satoru, "Satoru. What?"
"Just wondering if you're cool with a zombie boyfriend."
"I mean, as long as you don't bite me, it's fine. But it doesn't mean I don't have my guard up around you though." You paused for a moment, choosing your words carefully to not offend him. "Just a tinsy bit, because you're still a zombie at the end of the day."
Satoru nodded with understanding as he continued to drive. Somewhat, he was glad that you were still on guard, even if he promised to never ever bite you. After all, he was still a zombie with zombie needs.
Like right now, his stomach grumbled for flesh. "Damn it, I should've gotten that raw meat in the store..." Satoru murmured, his head twitched while he drove ahead and obviously, you didn't leave it unnoticed.
Despite having your guard up, you still felt a little worried for him. He was a zombie now; there is still no antidote to reverse that and he will forever crave human flesh. But technically, this is an apocalyptic world. Life and death were the only options here.
"You know, Satoru, you can eat if you want."
Satoru paused. Not the driving, but his train of thoughts on how will he eat at all? ".. What do you mean by that?"
"You know.. If there's a human nearby, just.. Eat them?"
Satoru immediately stopped driving. Looking over at you with a bit of hesitation and.. Worried in a way. "But... I don't want you to see me like that. You might think I'll easily give into my hunger and possibly think I'll eat you too."
You sighed, "Well, Satoru, think of this as a food chain. We really don't have any other choice here. If people get eaten, they will either way. This... World is far off from saving, so might as well treat everything for survival, Satoru."
Processing your words, he got to thinking. Whether or not if you were fine with him eating someone, a person, he still felt hesitant. Almost scared to lose your trust in him, not when you two just got together again after months of separation.
Then, he began to drive. His eyes beginning to look out for any unsuspecting food walking by. Maybe more on resisting the urge to gaze at you. No, he had and will keep his promise to keep you safe. From everyone, from him.
By the time he finally found someone, unaware of being watched as they tried to look for help. But either way, Satoru took the pistol from you while you slept again. He lowered his window and simply made it quick.
"SHOOT!"
The body dropped and Satoru completely lost control. Fumbling to open the door quickly and rush out to feed himself. Biting, tearing, chewing. Kinda crunchy. Splatter of crimson splashed on his clothes, his cheeks smeared with them, and a crazed look in his eyes as he focused to eat till the bone.
By the time he finished, he dropped the bone back on the floor as he got up with a full stomach. Finally replenished and ready to drive again. He turned over his shoulder to glance at you, who once again, slept through the ride again. He felt relief for a brief moment, before taking off his shirt to wipe off the remnants of the blood and place it over the bones on the ground before returning to the car with his upper body now bare.
Eventually, you both eventually came to a stop at an abandoned convenience store. Well, not entirely abandoned actually. From the outside, the electricity was still on, operating normally. Just no one inside.
"Baby," He gently shook you, causing you to stir and rub your eyes before looking at him. Then the convenience store. "Is it safe?" You asked.
"I haven't checked it out yet, but I'll wipe out anyone inside if you want." He suggested, then you simply shook your head.
"No no, I'll do it. I've been sleeping the entire time anyways." Then you prepared your gun.
Satoru was about to protest, it was fine with him to do all the work. But then again, you have set your mind and he simply behaved with a nod. "Alright, just call me." He said as he gave you a light kiss on the cheek.
You felt warm at the sudden affection. It's been a while since you both shared affection with each other, and with things changed, like him being a zombie, it didn't seem to bother you at all.
───✧₊∘
After spending the entire day cleaning, rearranging the entire store, used all the materials that you and Satoru packed into the car before leaving the zombie-infested city behind, creating a large comfortable inflatable bed at the center of the store.
After finally freshening up with a quick shower, already clothed in pajamas you packed, you patiently waited for Satoru to finish up pasting newspapers all around the windows for privacy, leaving a tiny gap for them to glance at occasionally if there's an intruder or a zombie right outside the store (now turned into a temporary home).
"Done yet?"
"Yep, all done."
He plopped down beside you in bed, his hand reaching out to bring you over onto him. Maybe to cuddle, sure, you obliged anyway. Draping yourself over his body to chill while absentmindedly playing with his white strands as he instinctively leaned in with a hum while he looked down at you. Warm.
Maybe a bit too warm apparently.
After a few moments, you eventually glanced at Satoru, who was smirking all of the sudden. Yep, this isn't good.
"What is it?"
He didn't reply, just waiting for you to realize it yourself. And to be fair, something did feel different. Something gently protruding you by the hips. Curious you were, you pressed your hips against it. Accidentally eliciting a soft groan from Satoru. Oh. Shit.
You immediately sat up from his arms, your body settled on his hips while he smirked up at you. His hands now holding your hips to keep you still. "Noticed something, pretty?" His gaze held a mix of mischief and mock innocence.
"Really, Satoru? In the midst of chaos?"
"Pfft, midst of chaos my ass. We're safe here, princess." He winked, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek, coaxing you closer to his face. Lips just inches away from each other.
"Safe.. And sound..." Then he closed the distance between you two. Your soft lips melding with his, it felt cold at first—since he was basically the undead—but eventually warmed up after longer contact with your warm lips.
He took his time to relish you, to enjoy you after months of separation. He'll never let it go, honestly. "Mm, still sweet as ever." He lightly chuckled against your lips, then his hands gently pressed themselves against your hips. Silently hinting you to move, to which you obliged and began to grind against him.
With your delicate flower over his painfully hard bulge, gently applying pressure onto it as the friction got to him, he groaned once more as his hips instinctively responding to yours, synchronized. The heat of the friction began to dampen each other's lower wear, and it definitely made Satoru impatient and needy.
"Fuck, baby, I need you.." A husky whisper escaped his lips, the ache between your legs demanded his cock so badly. To enjoy and let loose after being on guard all the time.
Ah, fuck it.
You immediately discarded your clothes and his, throwing them away somewhere you can worry about later as you eventually returned back on top of him. Your bare back and rear facing him as you reached for his cock, stroking it to spread his leaking pre-cum to smoothen the penetration.
In the back of your mind, a little voice tried to remind you to wear him a condom. But both of you could care less about it right now when you're already in position. After a few strokes, you angled his dick to your rear hole until you felt his crown kissing the rim.
"Ah—don't tease me, baby... I really need this."
"Be patient, Satoru. It's just.. It's been a while, and I want to relish this as much as you do." And that shut Satoru up and let you do it by your pace.
Then, you sunk down onto him. Your back arching as you whimpered at the burn from his big cock stretching your poor little hole before Satoru stopped you by the base level of his length. His hands firmly holding your hips.
"Hey hey, slow down, I won't go anywhere, pretty girl." He cooed, running down his hand down from your waist to your hips in a comforting way. To silently say, 'take your time to adjust'. The thing is, really, you were just impatient.
Following his words, you eventually took your time to slowly sink down. His dick stretching you, as your walls melded to his length, molding to fit him and him only as it remained snug around him. "Fuuck.. So... Tight... Are you sure you can take this, baby?"
You only nodded mindlessly, giving yourself a moment to adjust and get used to his size again after months of no contact.
Then, you began to move. Groans, moans, and the wet plap-plap-plap! filled the room, the atmosphere turning heated despite the A.C was on full blast, causing you both to sweat. All you could focus on was his dick disappearing within each thrust, how deep it went, and how he slowly reached his hands to tease your nipples. His thumbs circling around them at the same time as it elicited a pleasurable whimper. Then moaning with a mix of whimpers when he flicked it.
"S..So sensitive..." Satoru laughed, finally sitting up as his hand on your hip slowly guided you to a faster pace while his other reached for your breast to knead it. "Even more responsive... I.. I wanna.."
Satoru winced at the sudden ringing sound in his ears, his hips still moving despite it as his eyes fixate itself on your bare shoulder. Smooth, plump, and had a bit of sweat over it. Satoru could feel how his teeth ache to bite you, feeling this connection below your hips and his wasn't enough.
You looked just... So... Delicious.
He's getting addicted. Both from how you moved with his dick, how tight your walls were that felt like it wanted to keep his cock still inside, and how your flesh looks delicious.
You knew it was risky. Yet you're here, riding a zombie's cock. Maybe you from the past months wouldn't believe you if you told them.
As you felt close to cumming, Satoru immediately sensed it. Snapping him out of his hunger for your flesh as he refocused his pace. More faster. His hand on your breast now moving to your sensitive clit as he began to rub it. "You cumming, pretty girl?"
"Y—Yes...!" You whimpered out desperately, making his lips smirk and simply press a kiss on your shoulder.
Yes, a kiss despite wanting to chew a chunk out of you. Then eventually, you both came altogether. His cum spurting through and mixing with your release as the two of you shared a long groan and moan until your bodies gave out.
With Satoru laying on the bed, while you laid on top of him. Incredibly exhausted and sore, adding up to her sore muscles from cleaning and arranging the convenience store that nearly would've faded if they didn't decide to fuck all of the sudden.
Satoru reached up to your head, gently running his fingers down your strands as he pressed kisses all over your face. A gentle apology after the intense session.
"There, there, pretty girl.. Just rest, I'll deal with the rest."
───✧₊∘
As you wake up from a long sleep, your body stiff against the mattress like you woke up from your coma recently. Your hands reaching to rub your eyes as you smelled a smoke that trailed towards the good Satoru was cooking. Surprisingly, he can cook.
"... Satoru?"
"Morning, baby," he spoke, plating your food and preparing a glass of water before walking to the inflatable bed. "Sleep well? I made you some breakfast."
You looked down at the plate he prepared, delicious. Then you looked up at him, still delicious.
Just kidding. Or not.
"What about you?" You asked, bringing a spoonful to your mouth and chewing as you listened.
"I'm good." He waved off. "Just be careful to not open a wound, okay? I don't want to make myself hungry for you again." He laughed lightly.
"... Again?"
Satoru paused to look at you. "Uh... Mis...spoke?"
"Misspoke! yes, totally that." He nodded, his gaze ignoring yours. Almost as if he was guilty.
You simply sighed anyway, it's not like that isn't normal. He was a zombie after all. "Either way, I'm quite grateful that you didn't try to bite me." You reassured him.
You lectured on and on that you understood his feelings. How he couldn't bring himself to stop being hungry for you, because he was a zombie after all. It was his nature.
Which eventually led him to sleep anyways. Just sleeping on the couch until you realized and stopped talking.
Getting up to wash the dishes, you leaned in to press a kiss on his temple before leaving shortly.
Synopsis: Cases where the jjk men are absolutely pussy drunk over you.
Pairings: Kento Nanami x fem!reader | Choso Kamo x fem!reader | Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader | Megumi Fushiguro x fem!reader | Hiromi Higuruma x fem!reader | Satoru Gojo x fem!reader | Suguru Geto x fem!reader |
Word Count: 6.5k (WOWZERS)
Warnings: NSFW, smut, piv, oral sex, thumb in booty (toji's part), cum eating, cunnlingus, lots of sex, pussy drunk men, whimpering, use of mommy (choso's part), megumi is 18+, if anything in this makes you uncomfortable, please move on or scroll past, somnophilia, choking knks, mentions of slapping, that should be it.
A/N: This idea came to me based on the photo used in this idea. Saw it on Pinterest and the idea just sprung to life. MNDI THIS IS 18+!!! also, sorry if there might be mis-interpretations of the characters they might be oc and their personality's... potentially proofread
Case file #1: Victim- Choso Kamo.
Choso was a simple man. The first time he ever had sex, he cried like a baby. The sensations, the feelings, his emotions flying all over the place. The overstimulation killed him.
But what made him officially reach rock bottom… was the warmth of your pussy.
Everything about you was warm. Your hands, your mouth, your pussy, EVERYTHING.
Choso physically could NOT handle allat.
You were like a vacuum. Sucking him up until he couldn’t breathe anymore. You were a succubus, had to be. Those devilish creatures that have a lust for cock. Who suck the living souls out of people.
You just had to be, because when Choso wanted to simply make love to you, somehow you still found a way to put a spell on him.
“Hah- mmph, why must you always feel so good.” He whimpers.
You were currently riding Choso. He absolutely loved it when you were on top, using him for your own satisfaction, slapping him and choking him, having your fun with him.
“Eyes on me Choso, does that feel good hun?” You were the definition of a fever dream. You clearly weren’t real, and if you were then damn, Choso was lucky as hell.
“Mhmm yes m-mommy.” The word makes you freeze, stunned by Choso’s sudden pet name for you.
He never called you ‘mommy.’ It was always “good job baby,” or “right- fuck- right there pretty.”
Never mommy. It made your cunt clench, but you came to a realization.
The dazed look in his lidded eyes, the abnormal amount of sweat he’s emitting, the grip his hands have on your waist.
Was Choso-?
“Pussydrunk? How could I possibly b-be.You’re just so right and w-warm, and you feel so nice around me and fuck can we have a baby? I wanna have a baby with you. P-please? Fuck! Am I pussydrunk? I-I don’t know? Am I still talking? I can’t feel my lips. Kiss me please mommy?”
He was going crazy. Rambling on and on about how good and warm you felt, and did you hear that right? A baby? Choso never once talked about having children.
“I wanna breed this pretty pussy. This s-super pretty pussy. It needs me, needs my attention, needs my cum, please mommy, let me give it to you.” He was so whiny and so desperate.
It was pathetic but also kind of cute. Seeing Choso all riled up like this, it made you feel things, things you never felt before.
“Keep calling me that Choso, fuck I’m so close- hic.”
“M-mommy, cum for me please, I’m so close. Wanna feel her grip so tightly on me. Wanna feel her clench around me. She’s such a good girl for me.”
You giggle at that, he truly is pussy drunk, “don’t you mean I’m such a good girl for you?”
“No, I said what I said. She’s such a good girl, gripping me so tight, she must want a baby, she must wanna be so full of me. Isn’t that right, pretty girl?” As if on cue, your pussy clenches around him and he chuckles, “See? The hips don’t lie mommy.”
Your stomach flutters with butterflies. You're not going to last if he keeps doing that.
“Mmph fuck! Please Choso! Please! Fill me up, I need it! I need it so badly.” Choso’s eyes widen and before you can even think, Choso flips you over on the bed.
Your head and back hit the bed with a light ‘thud’ as he loses control.
His thrusts grow animalistic and his whimpers grow louder. “I-I love you! Fuck I do, let’s get married, please. This pussy is too good to let go, you are too good to let go. I need this mommy, please!”
You cry out and grip his hair, your pussy gripping him like a vice, he moans and whimpers loudly, his hands roaming down your body, his lips leaving hickeys along your neck.
“Gonna cum, gonna cum mommy! Fuck!” He whines and you urge him on, your sweet sultry voice whimpering in his ear, “mmph- cum for -hah- cum for mommy, be a good boy Cho, I love you so fucking much.” His cock shoots ropes of cum inside you, filling you to the brim. His cheeks flush at the nickname.
You're absolutely stuffed as he continues to rock inside you, the tingly feeling of overstimulation edges towards you. Your body jolts and writhes, shock waves of electricity flow through you as his cock hits your sweet spot over and over again.
“Hah- can’t stop mommy, I can’t stop. One more please just one more.”
To say that Choso was pussydrunk was a complete joke. But now, he might actually be drunk off your pussy. And that was perfectly fine with you.
Hours later, he finally relents after stuffing you full of his load 6 times… yes 6.
“Choso, baby. You have officially gotten drunk off of my pussy.”
He blushes, his face, neck and ears are completely covered with a cute shade of pink. The same shade as his tip.
“Okay, maybe I did get a bit carried away.” You giggle at his now shy and flustered state, “yeah, sure. A bit.”
He whines and hides his face in your neck before you both drift into sleep.
Case File #2: Victim- Hiromi Higuruma
Hiromi was one of those subtle simps. He keeps his composure. Always.
Hiromi Higuruma was in fact a very stoic person and held himself very maturely.
So, of course no one could ever say that Hiromi Higuruma could get pussy whipped. No one believed he could get drunk off pussy so easily.
Not stoic, mature, and intelligent defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma?
And it was true, until he met you.
“Fuck Higuruma! Please, fuck it feels so good.”
Higuruma’s nose was hitting your clit jusssssst right as he slurps, licks, and sucks on your pussy.
Higuruma gave the best head. His nose played a role in it but that was really all his tongue.
The long and wet muscle making your legs shake; making you cream on his tongue. He loved eating you, you were his favorite meal.
“Yeah? Feels good huh? She’s squeezing me so tight. So fucking needy, such a needy girl for me aren’t you?” You assumed he was talking to you so of course you're going to respond.
“Yes, I’m such a needy girl.” You hear chuckling. Your eyebrows contort into one of confusion, “what’s funny?”
“Aww my sweet baby, you thought I was talking to you? No no, I’m talking to my other girl. This pussy is amazing, the best. So right, so warm, so sweet. She tastes amazing. I could stay down here forever.” This was your first clue.
The first clue to getting your answer: was Higuruma getting pussydrunk?
A couple weeks after this, you both were getting spicy in bed again. His hands gliding down your waist, his lips sucking on your neck and collarbone, his cock roughly thrusting into you.
Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, threatening to fall over. His eyes stared down at you, lovingly holding your cheek as he wiped away the tears that fell through the cracks.
“This pussy, fuck, it’s so good. Gonna knock you up, I swear.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Oh sweetheart, you wish it was a threat, but trust me baby, it’s a promise.” He smiled at you so innocently, but it was all a facade as his cock thrusted a bit harder inside you.
His hands fall on your stomach, applying pressure, such glorious and euphoric pressure, causing you to see stars.
“Yeah, feel that? That’s me so deep inside you, you take me and squeeze me so well. Fuck I love this pussy. She’s so good to me, so good for me, fuck- she was just made for me.”
“And you're pussydrunk.”
That halts his movements and you whine. “Who? Who’s pussydrunk?”
“I only have one husband, so who do you think I’m talking about? Gojo?” That makes his hips thrust roughly into you again.
“Don’t say another man’s name while I’m inside you, that’s just cruel.”
You whine as he slowly builds back up your orgasm. His thrusts get rougher, his pants faster, his pupils wider.
Higuruma had completely lost himself. Lost himself in the warmth of your pussy, lost himself in the stretch your pussy provides, lost himself in the grip your pussy gives him. Sucking him in like he’ll leave you.
He could never leave you. You're his one and only, his forever. And this pussy will be his forever as well. All he needed.
“Gonna cum baby, fuck gonna cum in this pretty pussy, fuck! Cumming!” His cock releases thick ropes of cum inside you, it didn’t stop, it just kept going. Kept filling you up over and over again, until he was content.
You passed out at least once, but you enjoyed every bit of it. Every bit of getting to watch Higuruma lose control over himself because of you.
“You're doing okay love? Did I go rough tonight?”
With your eyes hazy and words slurred together, you still managed to speak, “it was perfect, I got to see how pussywhipped my husband is for me.”
Higuruma blushes, his face softening as he watches you smile lazily.
“We are to never speak of this, ever.”
“Oh I’m so telling Shimizu!” He groans as you laugh at him. You pull him in closer leaving peppered kisses along his face.
Case file #3: Victim- Satoru Gojo
Satoru is the complete opposite of Higuruma. Satoru Gojo is what you would describe as the biggest, loser and simp of all. Especially since you both are friends with benefits.
Gojo had absolutely no filter, he was always horny, always needy, always desperate. This was nothing new to anyone. Everyone knew Gojo was a loser, but just how much of a loser he could get is what everyone still was surprised by.
“Mmmmm, shit, mama, your pussy tastes amazing.” he moans. Your fingers run through his white hair, his icy blue eyes boring into yours, his pupils blown wider than the moon, he looks a mess. A hot and sexy mess.
“Gojo, pleaseeee, stop teasing.”
Since Gojo has no filter, it’s easy for Gojo to show pure emotion, it’s easy for him to lose his composure in an instant. Gojo would happily state that he’s pussy drunk, but for some reason (no reason at all) Gojo decided to be stubborn; he’s always stubborn.
“Are you gonna keep arguing with me, love?”
You whimper at his cockiness, “no. I just want you to admit it. Instead you tease me like I’m in the wrong.”
You and Gojo had an argument prior to this, and of course, Gojo being Gojo wanted to prove that he wasn’t pussydrunk for some odd reason. He fought and fought and fought with you, but you were just as stubborn as well. You wouldn’t relent.
“You are so pussydrunk Satoru!” You yelled at him. At first it was all fun and games but then Gojo got really upset that you wouldn’t stop teasing him about it so then it sparked this huge argument.
“No I’m not and I told you not to call me Satoru, it’s Gojo or daddy to you love!” He would whine and whine in your face and you just sat there and laughed.
You loved when Gojo got like this. All whiny and desperate and pathetic; it was cute.
“Yes yes, so sorry Gojo.” He’d pout and cross his arms. “I hate when you fight with me and don’t listen.”
“And I hate when you act stubborn and can’t admit the fact that you’re pussydrunk." And after those words left your mouth, Gojo was on you in seconds, leading to now.
“Fine sweetheart, I’m pussydrunk. Fuck- I’m so drunk off this pussy. She’s so good to me, she tastes so good, when I tell her to cum she listens. She’s such a good-hah- girl.” His cock drives into you slowly.
You clench around him and Gojo loses it. “Mhmm fuck! Don’t squeeze me like that pretty girl, gonna cum in this pussy if you do.”
His words are a promise but you can’t help it. Your cunt clenched around his girthy, meaty cock and he bites your shoulder to ground himself.
He physically has to restrain from cumming inside of you. “Do it Gojo! Please cum in my pussy, I’m all yours, she’s all yours. Please daddy!”
His thrusts become faster, the brute force of his pelvis is harder. He whines and huffs, his cock molding your pussy to his forever.
“That’s right, gonna be mine forever. Nobody else can have this pussy. All mine, gonna knock you up so you can stay mine forever.”
His confession surprised you. You both were just fuck buddies, friends with benefits, you assumed you meant nothing else to Gojo but a good fuck from time to time.
“Yes and before you say anything- hah- I have feelings for you- fuck!- and I’m also extremely drunk off your vibe, drunk off your smile, drunk off your pussy, everything. I need you so badly.” His lips connect with yours in a passionate and loving kiss.
His confession swells your heart. You kiss him back passionately and wrap your arms around his neck.
“Hah-fuck! Can I cum inside pretty? Please?” His voice whinier than last time, every plea needier than the last.
You nod your head, your nose bumping against his as he moans. His cock splurts out cum in rapid ropes.
Satoru had a LOT of cum and I truly mean a lot. It was so much that it oozed and leaked out of you in gallons.
You were stuffed to the brim with Gojo’s seed. Moaning as your orgasm floods your senses.
You both stay wrapped in each other as your breathing matches and even out.
“So you admit it?” You say lightly.
“Yes love, I am pussydrunk. I love you and I need you.”
You giggle and he picks his head up to give you an incredulous look, “hello? Are you going to say it back?”
“Nope! Not until you apologize to me for arguing with me and hurting a princess's feelings.” He groans and rolls his eyes before flopping back on top of you.
“No way.” You huff and push him off you, “fine, then I’m not saying it back.” You roll over and face the opposite away from him and he whines.
“Fine! I’m sorry princess. I was wrong, can you please tell me you love me? I’ll die without hearing you say it.” You turn to face him and his eyes are shimmering and he’s pouting, a sight you can never deny.
“I love you Gojo. Thank you, you are forgiven.” He smiles that big stupid, dopey smile and pulls you closer to him, kissing you one more time.
“I could get used to this.” He smiles and the warmth of Satoru's body lulls you to sleep.
Case File #4: Victim- Megumi Fushiguro
Megumi wasn’t one to indulge you in your stupidity. Your pranks, jokes, and stupid TikTok dances. So, as he expected, you came up to him as per usual saying, “Megsss” in that sing-songy voice you have, “what?”
“You’re pussydrunk, right? Is that why you always act that way when we fuck?” His hand halts from scrolling mindlessly on his phone.
He looks up at you, squints his eyes, and scoffs. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You always talk to yourself when you eat me out, and then when I ask you about it after, you always shut it down. Are you keeping some sort of secret? If you’re pussydrunk you can tell me.” The grin on your face is so stupid he wants to tear it off your face.
And he does… in a way?
“Ah! Fuck! Hah- hah- yes Megs please, faster, fuck that feels so good.” His fingers stuff you fully. The delicious stretch of your cunt, pain and pleasure blurring together.
You scream and cry out his name as he continues to pump his fingers in your soaking cunt. The only thoughts running through his head was to make you completely forget about your comment an hour ago.
“Yeah? I bet you feel so good right now don’t you?” You moan and shake your head, “I need words baby, words.” your voice comes out meekly, "I feel sooo good Megs!"
The nickname you gave him always gave him goosebumps, he was obsessed with it, not that he'd ever tell you of course. Megumi’s head drops down to your legs in that quiet but assertive manner he has.
He spreads your legs wider with one hand while the other continues its journey in and out of you. His fingers spread apart to scissor you. Your moans fade out as you writhe against the sheets at the sheer pressure of it all.
His calloused fingertips brushing your g-spot just right, making your toes curl in pleasure. Your tongue hanging out your mouth as your eyes roll to the back of my head.
His tongue comes in contact with your pussy lips. Soft kitten licks bring you to a different dimension. “Fuck! Gumi, please, I can’t take anymore.” your orgasm was inching closer and closer with every stroke of his fingers.
He lifts his head up from in between your legs and smiles, “sure you can baby, you're doing so well already.” he cocks his head to the side to rest it on your thigh before looking down at your spread out pussy.
“Look at you making such a big mess, baby. You're so pretty like this. Gushing all over my fingers, making me go crazy. Maybe I am obsessed. Completely obsessed with this pretty pussy, all so wet for me.” His quiet ramble brings you closer to the edge and he can tell.
His head dips back down and he groans into your pussy, the warm taste of you and your sweet essence on his tongue makes his mind go blank. His hand pins one of your thighs down as he continues to finger you to your release.
He loves the way your pussy clenches around his finger, he knows you inside and out --literally. His lips clasp onto your clit and you're immediately seeing stars, the warmth of his tongue, the gentle strokes of his long and slender fingers, everything was making you crazy.
Maybe he wasn’t the drunk one.
“I can’t get enough of you, I could stay down here forever, making my baby feel so so good. I want to stay here forever. Wrapped in the warmth of your legs, my fingers trapped in the tightness of your pussy, all of it. I can’t believe your mine --fuckkk.”
You stand corrected, he was definitely the drunk one.
Your orgasm comes in shock waves, your body jolting and convulsing like crazy. He ripped that orgasm out of you, out of sheer desperation. You chased your high and in the end he let you ride it out on his fingers and his tongue. His lips still wrapped around your clit, sucking and slurping up all your juices.
He pries himself away from you and goes to grab a warm washcloth. While he’s in there he jerks one out then returns back to you to find you already asleep. He smiles softly, and cleans you up and takes care of you in that quiet way he knows how to.
The little things are what matter to Megumi, and if making sure you're pleased to your heart's content, then that's what he’ll do. If that means indulging himself in your stupid questions and laughing at your even stupider jokes, he’ll do just that. Because Megumi loves you, even if it's that quiet way, he’s easily vulnerable around you.
He hates it sometimes, but he knows you mean no harm. He’s safe with you, and he’s glad you're even safer with him. Even if that means having to admit, he’s completely pussydrunk and obsessed with you.
“Goodnight baby.” He whispers as he kisses your forehead before cuddling up next to you and laying under the covers.
Case File #5: Victim- Nanami Kento
Nanami was no stranger to being obsessed. He was obsessed with his work, with his reputation, and with his damn ties.
“Love, you have to tell me which one to wear, please? The red one or the blue one? Or should I wear the pink one with his face on it?” Your husband's cute face was to die for.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t obsessed with him either. “Nanami, I don’t care which one, they all look good, just pick one! We have to go or we’ll be late for Yuji’s graduation.”
“And that’s why I need you to pick, this is Yuji we're talking about, I can’t look like a mess! Help me!” The desperation in his voice was music to your ears, so you chose to help him.
It didn’t exactly go as planned. The moment Nanami got a whiff of your perfume as you sat him down, he became feral. What made it worse you ask? Well, your breast looked so nice in your blouse and he just couldn’t resist, some of the buttons undone revealing your skin. Your nice, plump skin. So soft and just screaming for him to leave hickeys on you.
Like I said, Nanami wasn’t a stranger to being obsessed. When Nanami had an obsession, he’d make sure he would be satisfied with his obsession. And in this case, he was satisfied with making you scream and cry as he drove his cock so deep inside you.
His thoughts always screwed him up. Because now he was bricked up when you're supposed to be leaving, for god’s sake you were just fixing his damn tie.
“Okay love, all done. Are you ready to go now?” His big puppy eyes stare up at you as he pouts. He shakes his head softly and you pout back, “what’s wrong honey?” Nanami drops his head down and you use his tie to lightly tug his head back up to you, “talk to me honey.”
His eyes drop down to your lips and he thickly swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “Can we do a quickie? I need you badly.” Nanami wasn't pathetic, just obsessed. Which I guess in its own way is pathetic depending on how you read the situation.
In this case, Nanami seemed very pathetic, but this is how it always started. It started with him being a baby and then becoming a horny, cocky bastard. But since he was making you about to miss Yuji’s graduation, you were going to punish him.
You smile at him, not that gentle smile you have, no, that slow smile that means trouble. “Sure baby, just this once.” You rip the tie off of him and unravel it, “but since you're making me miss my sweet Yuji’s graduation, you have to be punished.” You push him down on the bed and tie his hands over his head.
You crawl on top of him after you’ve finished and slide down his body. Your hands take hold of his pecs, resting atop his chest. “You couldn’t wait 2 hours honey? You always get like this when we have to go somewhere. I’d say you're obsessed with me don’t ya think?” Your voice is so condescending and teasing. It could make a grown man cry, and Nanami just might.
“Please baby, I-I couldn’t wait, I can’t wait. Just let me make it up to you, I’ll make you feel so sooo good.” His whining does everything to your body. The betrayal you feel from your body as it grinds against him giving him what he wants. He groans and bites his lip, his glossy eyes looking up in yours.
The sight could stop a war. The sight could stop the planet's evolution. Everything about Nanami was stoic, glorious and professional. His behaviour was in fact not professional. Your hips grind down against him and he loses his mind, Nanami grits his teeth as a moan threatens to spill out.
“This is what you wanted isn’t it? Let me hear you, please?” You pout at him and he falls instantly. So lost in you he obeys, when you grind on him again he moans, loudly.
‘There you go, that made me happy.”
“Anything for you. Fuck! Please keep going.” His hips thrust up against yours causing you to moan out, eyes rolling back and tongue darting out to lick your lips.
Your hips grind against him faster in your tiny ass skirt, your thigh highs brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. “Nanami! Fuckkkk, doesn’t this feel good?”
“Mhmm, need more please!” Nanami could easily break out of these ties and flip you over, but he’s allowing you to do this to him, allowing himself to suffer all for your satisfaction. That’s Nanami's way of being obsessed with you.
You quickly reach for his belt buckle, unbuckling it and throwing it somewhere around your shared bedroom. You unzip his fly, tugging his pants down gently and agonizingly slow. Fortunately for you, Nanami has very little patience, so watching him buck his hips up impatiently is fuelling your energy.
He just about loses it when you kiss his tip, pink and leaking precum. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips stained with his essence. “Mhmm you taste so good babe”, your moans make his cock twitch in your hands and you giggle.
“So sensitive here, no? It’s kinda cute how reactive you are.” Nanami doesn't even realize when you pull your panties to the side, but he feels the slick wetness of your pussy and he just about faints. Soft moans slipping from his lips as you rock against him back and forth.
“You’re gonna kill me my love, absolutely kill me.” His voice cracks. You moan at the feeling of his tip hitting your clit, his voice turning you on even more, “oh yeah? I can’t have my husband dying on me now can I?” You smile at him and he just about melts.
Nanami was known for being composed and calculated, but when it came to you, Nanami couldn’t focus. You were his greatest obsession and his greatest distraction.
“I can’t wait any longer honey, please? I need to be inside you. Please love, your all I need, this pussy is all i need–nghh, fuck!” His words kept your ego growing, you loved when he needed you, craved you, wanted you so badly he could stop wars with his obsession.
You grant him his wish and sink down agonizingly slow on his cock. His eyes roll to the back of his head and your teeth sink into your lips. “Fuck! Shit! I needed this, needed you, this pussy, your lips, your walls so tight around me, it’s all I need.”
Nanami was in fact gone. All his senses, blocked. He was pussy drunk. Maybe it’s more than that, honestly. He was your everything, his posture, his stoic expression that always faltered when he was around you, his broad stature, his large hands. It’s the reason you married him.
“I love you Nanami, fuck!”
“I love you more princess, gosh I think I’m going to cum.” Your hips rock against him faster and faster, his pants increasing as well as his moans. The louder they got, the more turned on you became.
Was he always this hot? Yes, yes he was.
“Cumming, cumming!” He chants your name over and over as his cock shoots long, thick, white strips of cum into your cunt. The sticky and full feeling of him pushes your own orgasm to the front lines.
Nanami looks up at you and smiles, “my pretty girl, I love it when you take control of me.” You turn your head away from him and roll your eyes, heat crawling up your neck and towards your cheeks.
“Shut up. Fix your hair, it looks a mess.” He chuckles and grabs your waist, the tie around his wrist long gone. “Anything for you, my love.”
He slowly slides you off his cock and moans as he watches his cum spill out of you in chunks, “That’s hot asf.” You push at him and walk to the bathroom, “I told you to fix your hair. We leave in 5.”
He smirks boyishly at your demanding voice, “Yes Ma’am.” He grabs the tie and wraps it back around his neck, fixes his hair, and tucks himself back into his pants.
Oh if only you knew how down bad Kento Nanami truly was for you.
Case File #6: Victim- Toji Fushiguro
Toji was one of a kind. The type of man who thrived off lust. Yes, there are moments when Toji can treat you like the only girl in the world with what he’s got, but lust was what drove Toji into a spiral every time he saw you.
“Mamas, why are you sitting so far away?” Tonight, you were very upset at Toji, he had ditched you for gambling with Shiu and didn’t even call you or let you know. You had cooked a nice meal 3 hours ago that eventually got cold and you ate it all by yourself.
After, he comes knocking on your door with flowers and chocolate apologizing for leaving you all alone, but you refused his apology and tried to slam the door on him. Toji, being the strong and insistent man that he is, blocked the door with his foot and slowly forced his way inside.
You walked away from him mid sappy ass speech and sat down on the couch. He stopped trying after a while and silently set your flowers in a vase, put your chocolates in the fridge, and then came to sit next to you.
Of course you made things difficult for him and scooted all the way to the other end of the couch from him, which now leads you to this moment.
“You know why I’m sitting away from you.” He blinks at you, low hooded eyes tracing over your body, that body he wishes was curled up next to him as he fingered that attitude out of you.
“Ah, so she speaks huh? You're still mad at me, doll?” You sit there and cross your arms before turning to face towards him, a small pout on your lips that makes Toji’s cock jump at the sight of it.
“What do you think, Toji? Of course I’m still mad at you! You ditched me, couldn’t even owe me an explanation, then you show up at my doorstep with flowers and chocolate like that’s supposed to make everything okay!? You hurt my feelings tonight Toji, I honestly just want you to leave.” You turn back around and put your attention back on the tv.
The screen is starting to blur as you fight to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill out. You sniffle slightly and that draws Toji’s attention on you, not that his eyes ever left you. “Are you cryin’ doll?”
Sniffle~ “No, I'm not.”
His big frame dips on the couch as he scoots closer to you, “No… don’t come near me.” He keeps scooting, ignoring your requests, “Toji! I said leave me alo-” His hands grab your jaw and squish your cheeks together causing you to halt your complaining.
“Mama, I’m trying to be nice. Stop giving me attitude before I give you something to really cry about.” Your glossy eyes stare him down and his eyes drift down to your lips.
“Now, are you willing to let me take care of you or are you going to do this the hard way?” You shake your head yes and he sucks his teeth.
“Nuh uh, you know how to answer, speak up doll.”
“Yes daddy, I’ll stop giving you attitude.” His smirk widens and the slit on his lip looks more menacing.
“That’s my good girl, just let daddy take care of ya, yeah?” He grabs your waist and scoots you down onto the couch, his body weight hovers over you, his arms pinning you down. You turn your face away from him, his eyes bore into yours.
“Look at me doll, look at me while I ruin you- I mean take care of you.” He smirks as his hands trail up and down your body. His fingers dip into your shirt to caress your breasts. You moan softly and his head dips down to leave marks along your neck.
“T-Toji… please~ngh”
“What is it, doll? You want me to stop?” He cocks his head to the side as he undoes his belt on his pants, sliding his pants down juuust enough to give you a view of his pre-cum stained boxers and the imprint of his meaty cock.
“No! No… please. I need you inside me.” You whisper his name in his ear and Toji loses his composure, he rips your shorts off and tears your panties in half. You gasp, shocked and ready to tear him a new one but he covers your mouth with his hand and slides his cock over your pussy lips.
“Shhh, that's my good girl. It’s okay, just ease into it.” He slides his cock into your warm, wet hole and you bite his hand. The moans spilling out of your mouth are muffled by the sound of his hand, “mhmmm this pussy is so warm, so tight, and alllll mine baby. Come on, say it, who’s pussy is this?”
He removes his hand from you so you can answer, “yours Toj, it’s all yours, only yours~nghh~fuck!” He grunts as his pace picks up, his cock driving in and out of you faster and faster.
You could have sworn he was getting bigger inside you by the second. His thrusts became animalistic, his heart pounding loudly in your ears, or was that your heart? You couldn’t tell.
Pleasure overwhelmed your body, all you wanted to do was hold Toji, punch Toji, and just tell him, “I love you Toji! Please cum inside me, I'm gonna cum! -Nghh~Hah! I’m gonna cum!”
“That’s my good girl, such a sweet girl, pussy gripping me so tight. God I love you too mamas, so much, this pussy is amazing, all mine ~fuck! All mine. So warm and wet for me. Only me, right? Fuck, I’m gonna cum, your gonna make me cum in this pretty pussy, since you want it so bad. Shit!” His cock shoots out thick ropes of cum, he cums inside you with a prolonged groan.
His breath is hot against your cheeks; he collapses on top of you. You cum with him, body shaking and curling into him as he holds your legs open, helping you ride out your high.
“Good girl. There you go, feels so good right?” You gaze at Toji in his post cum glow. His neck and chest are shiny from sweat, his lips pink and bleeding from biting them and kissing you.
He leans down and you smush his face against yours in an eager kiss.
“Am I forgiven by my favourite girl now?”
“Don’t you mean your only girl?” You counter, eyebrows raised in suspicion.
“Trust me, I’m too locked in; I could never cheat on you. I love you. I’m sorry I hurt you tonight. Won’t happen again doll.”
You smile at him and give him one last peck on the lips before drifting into a deep sleep.
Case File #7: Victim- Suguru Geto
Suguru is someone you’d call many things. An angel, a gentleman, a sight for sore eyes, all of the above.
What you would call Suguru is an absolute pain in the ass. Not in many aspects, just in the way he treats you in bed.
You hated how he teased you so well, it worked every time. Always gently putting you in your place.
Having this calm dominance about himself, his cockiness was very humble somehow if that even makes sense cause it didn’t to you.
Everytime he got a chance, he always put you in your place.
“Love, that’s not how we talk to people we love, hmm? That’s not right, is it now?” His condescending voice takes you over the edge as he slowly thrusts into you.
You're seeing stars as his cock drives into you at such a slow yet sturdy and rough pace. His hands around your neck as your legs dangle off his shoulders.
“Mhmm n-no Sugu, I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out meekly as he hums leaning down to bite your neck causing you to whimper. Suguru was a subtle freak, always the quiet one you had to look out for.
“Gosh, your amazing love, so tight. Gripping me like you can’t get enough? You want more of me, hmm love?”
You can’t even form a coherent sentence. His cock drives deeper inside you and you swear he’s in your lungs.
“Sugu, I’m so close!” “Not yet sweetheart, gotta hold it for me. Be a good girl, yeah?” His hands fondle with your breasts, nipping and biting your neck and leaving hickeys.
“Your-hah- pussy is amazing my love. She’s all I need, you're all I need. I could be inside you all day everyday if I could. I’ll never let this go, let you go.” His words and whines fill your ears, you can help but clench around him. He moans into your ear again as he squeezes your breasts harder.
“Please Sugu, can you cum with me please? I love you.” His eyes meet yours in an intense, fiery passion. His pupils are dilated and his breath is warm against your lips as he pants heavily.
His cock still delicately brings you to your orgasm. You cry out as you kiss him, his lips soft and wet from his saliva and now your own.
He moans into the kiss as his cock buries into you, filling you up to the hilt with ropes of his thick, sticky cum. Geto was completely drunk off the feeling of you. He loved touching you. Whether it was your waist, your thighs, your ass, even your breasts.
He loved you and he showed it. “I love you too my love, god you're so good for me, so amazing, all mine and I can’t believe it. This pussy is amazing. Squeezing me dry of all my cum, all I'm able to give her.” He was very poetic when he had sex with you.
Always whispering praise and sweet affirmations in your ear while he rutted into you like a delicate yet vicious animal that teases its prey.
He slowly pulls out of you but you stop him. “Can we just stay like this, connected together? You're warm.” He chuckles at this but indulges you anyway. “Okay sweetheart, that’s fine.” He pushes back into you, keeping his cum inside of you.
You moan softly and he kisses you once more, shushing you as he eases back into you. “Gosh, this pussy was made for me.” He whispers before you both drift off into a slumber so good, you’ll definitely be sore tomorrow.
®kyotodiaries | All works belong to me, no stealing.
warnings. mdni. fem reader. cowgirl (except ur lazy to do the work so gojo has to guide u down himself) unproofread :/
You loathe physical labor in all its forms. It makes no difference if it's the work that sustains the world and society or the private exertion of pleasing yourself and your boyfriend. The moment you’re expected to take charge, you lose interest—mainly because you don't possess the stamina to stay on top.
Your inner thighs are soaked. Slick with shiny arousal and already cramping. Your muscles are shuddering under the strain of pinning him down, and your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. Beneath you, Gojo’s got white hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. He’s looking up at you with eyes that’d probably drop shards of crystal’s if ever brought to tears.
“Ok, I can’t.” You huff, deciding your spent and slumping forward until your forehead hits his bare chest. He’s still buried deep inside you, the thick head of his cock almost kissing your cervix. You feel for him, you really do, but the energy tank is empty. You don't have it in you to keep bouncing.
His fingers trail down your spine, tracing the vertebrae before digging into your ass. He lets out a whiny groan. “C’monnn, baby, giving up so soon? You did like barely five minutes of work. Don't leave me hanging.”
"Shut up," you breathe, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The scent of him swarms your every sense. "I’m too tired. My thighs burn when I go up ‘n down like that. You do it.”
“Awee, my sweet sweet baby can’t do it herself?” He coos. Mock pity dripping from every syllable. Stupid prick. “Need me to fuck her good? Help you grind that pretty pussy against my dick? Hm?”
He shifts. Slides his weight up against the headboard, spine going straight and large hands locking onto your hips like iron clamps. He doesn’t move, instead he stares down at you, eyes wide and tracking every twitch of your face with a knowing, tilted smile. You refuse to meet his eyes, mortified by the way he so crudely puts it and increasingly irritated that, despite your complaints, he still hasn’t done anything about it.
"Satoru, seriously. Shut up and just—"
"Just what?"
He drives upward. Crushing your hips down flat against his pelvis—an agonizingly deep press that buries him into you even further (if possible.) The invasion coaxes a gasp straight out of your throat.
He’s locked, amused by the way your pussy is gripping so tightly around him all while your supposed lack of energy. "Gotta ask me real nicely. Tell me you need me to do all the work and maybe I’ll do it. I like hearing it, y’know?”
❀˖°❀˖° Pairings: Ex-husband!Gojo x American Photographer!Reader
❀˖°❀˖° Rating: Mature (MDNI) 18+
❀˖°❀˖° Content Warnings: f!reader, dadjo, fluff, fluff, fluff, then more angst, Ender being cute, Suguru being a G, Satoru being completely smitten, domestic life, discussions of sexual content
❀˖°❀˖° WC: 7.9k
Chapter Five // Masterlist // Chapter Seven
art credits to the lovely @/3-aem // playlist
Chapter Six: Shrike To Your Thorn
(Your POV)
You wake up in the morning to an empty bed. The sheets are cool to the touch, which means Satoru left when you had asked him to. Part of you feels gratified that he did as you asked, another part feels … not so gratified. It’s not that you wanted to throw him out per se, but more so you didn’t want to give Ender false hope that his parents might get back together. That’s not something you’re even ready to think about yet, let alone involve Ender in.
But that ache between your legs? That well-used sensation that only Satoru has ever been able to make you feel? Fuck, you didn’t realize how much you missed that. You’ve had sex since the two of you divorced, but it pales in comparison. What happened last night was what has haunted your wet dreams for the past six years.
Memories flood your mind. The way fucked you up against the shower wall, strong arms wrapped around you, worshipping your skin like you were something holy. The sound of his heartbeat still pounds in your ears. The slick feeling of his skin pressed against yours. The way he slotted into you like some piece of you that you’d misplaced and found again. So vivid, flowing seamlessly one into the next, and looping all over again.
Sex with Satoru has always been … intense. But this time was different. Not because it had been so long since you had touched each other, nor even the mountain of history between you. It’s never just been sex with him, more like two stars colliding. But Satoru was more desperate, downright reverent with you last night. Make no mistake, you have no complaint, none at all. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve been fucked so thoroughly, and he certainly did exactly that.
Slowly, you sit up, stretching your arms and legs out before rolling out of bed. Throwing on a robe over your naked body, you tie the soft belt around your waist and pad out into the hall. You pause by Ender’s door and crack it open to peer inside. Both he and Suguru are still curled up together, deep in sleep. For now, you just let them sleep. It’ll give you a head start on breakfast and time to decide how you want to tell Ender the truth anyway.
Leaving the door cracked, you shuffle into the kitchen and put the kettle on for some tea. Later, you’ll have to get coffee. After last night, you’ll be too exhausted to face the day on just tea. While you wait for the water to boil, you take a seat on the couch, only to find the neatly folded blanket and pillow you told Satoru to take with him last night. So, he did end up sleeping on the couch. You weren’t sure if he was going to take you up on that offer, but you figured since Suguru passed out in Ender’s room, it wouldn’t really be right to make Satoru go back to an empty apartment. He’s nowhere to be seen now. Dragging your hand over the blanket, you smooth it out and let out a sigh.
That’s when you hear the click of the lock and the sound of the front door being shoved open. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder and spot Satoru slipping inside. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, though they’re a bit rumpled. There’s a pissed-off expression on his face—silvery brows drawn together, mouth pressed into a thin line. He pauses when he sees you sitting on the couch. Immediately, his neck and the tops of his ears color pink, and his expression crumples into something achingly soft.
“Hi,” he says.
But at the same time, the words “Good morning” are coming from your lips.
Both of you look a little embarrassed, and silence lapses between you for a moment. Then, Satoru walks into the living room and plops down beside you. He lets out a long, deep sigh and says, “I was going to surprise you with coffee and a pastry this morning, but, uh, all my cards are turned off.”
Wow. That was fucking quick. His parents certainly wasted no time. “Oh,” you say softly, but you don’t want him to feel any worse about it, so you’re quick to add, “ Well, we knew that was coming. I appreciate you going out of your way to try.” You’re just glad he’s not trying to talk about what happened last night.
He lets out a huff of air and says, “Yeah, but I wasn’t able to do it.” A muscle in his jaw flexes and he continues, “I don’t know how I’m gonna live, let alone help you and Ender.” The expression on his face is lost and confused, and you know this bothers him.
Back when you were in college, he was known for being a selfish, self-important bastard. Sure, maybe he’s obnoxious, maybe he doesn’t like to be told what to do, maybe he’s irreverent, crass, oblivious, and carefree. But selfish? You couldn’t call Satoru Gojo selfish. He’s the kind of guy who’d give the shirt off his back but complain and whine about it the whole time or act like he was the embodiment of charity in an unserious way. It’s how you fell in love with him. You saw the heart buried beneath his stupid jokes and arrogance.
“Satoru, Ender and I don’t need your money,” you say, reaching out to take his hand. His skin is warm, his hand larger than yours. “I am doing more than okay for myself. Celebrity weddings come with a pretty hefty paycheck for photographers, and so do guest magazine shoots. Financially? Ender and I are in tip-top shape. I own a three-bedroom row home in upstate New York. Ender goes to a private Montessori school. You don’t have to worry about providing for us or whatever.” Squeezing his hand, you lean over and bump shoulders with him, a smile on your lips. “Besides, that’s an outdated concept anyway.”
But he still looks bothered. His jaw works for a moment before he says, “It’s not really about providing for you.” Hand closing over yours, he slumps back against the couch and lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know. I guess there’s just a part of me that thinks I’m sort of useless when it comes to him. You do such a good job on your own. It’s like, what do you even need me for?”
You squeeze his hand again, sweeping your thumb over the top of it. “Satoru, look at me.” When his blue eyes meet yours, you tilt your head and say quietly, “I know it’s hard to believe what with your parents and everything. But your value is not contingent on what you can do for us. That might be how your parents treated you, but Ender and I …” You trail off. With a small shake of your head, you continue, “It doesn’t work like that with us. This isn’t transactional. It’s communal. You give what you can, and we meet you where you are and vice versa.”
He inhales sharply, his expression crumpling. “If you don’t shut up, you’re going to make me fucking cry.” He huffs out a breath and blinks at you, his expression so soft that it hurts in your chest. Sitting up, he slowly leans forward, eyes dipping down to your mouth. “It’s too early for that,” he breathes.
“You’re such an idiot,” you reply, your voice equally quiet. You don’t pull away, you can’t. You’re like a moon held in the gravity of his planet.
He leans forward a little more, and just as he’s about to fully close the gap, you hear the door down the hall open, and you practically leap away from him. There’s a little pitter-patter of small feet running down the hall, then Ender appears, lids heavy with sleep still, white hair all tousled. His onesie, decorated with stars, planets, and rocket ships, is a little unzipped at the top, and he’s got a red impression on his face from where his cheek was pressed against something.
“Mommy, the man with the long hair is in my bed,” he mumbles all out as he stumbles into the living room. Crawling up into your lap, he curls up in your arms, clinging to you.
You laugh softly and say, “Yeah? Your uncle Suguru crashed in there with you last night.”
“Uncle? I have an uncle?” He sounds so shocked that it’s almost comical.
Yeah, you also have a dad. You just don’t know it. “Well, kind of,” you reply, running your fingers through his hair. You should just rip the Band-Aid off and tell him. The sooner the better; that way it’s done and over with. Except, since Satoru appeared back in your life, you’ve been trying to figure out what to say once this day inevitably arrived. The right words have never seemed to come.
The kettle goes off, the sharp whistle cutting through the apartment. Satoru rises before you can even shift Ender to put him down. The whistling stops sharply, the space falling into silence again. Stroking your hand over the back of Ender’s head, you try to figure out how you’re going to tell him.
What perfect words exist to explain that you’ve been lying to him since he was old enough to understand what a father is? Maybe there are none.
“I’m hungry,” he complains, his lower lip jutting out, looking so much like Satoru when he does that that it hurts your heart.
He deserves to know. Satoru deserves for him to know. You just don’t want Ender to hate you for your lie, for the anger you and pain you’ve harbored in your heart these past six years. Realistically, he probably won’t, but that nagging fear is still there. That’s probably why you can never find the right thing to say; the fear kills them off until your mind goes blank.
“I’ll make breakfast in a little bit,” you reply absently, more focused on figuring out how to tell him right now.
A few minutes later, Satoru reappears, mug in hand. The liquid inside is a creamy brown, just the right color, exactly the same shade as when you make it for yourself. Leaning over, he sets the mug on a coaster on the coffee table and takes a seat in one of the chairs opposite the couch. He must remember how you take your tea, a fact that stuns you. It’s those little things, those small details that hit you in your solar plexus.
Looking down at Ender, you take a deep breath, then another. One more and again. Finally, your voice is very small and soft when you say, “Ender, baby, Mommy has something very important she needs to talk to you about.” Inside your chest, your heart is starting to race.
He looks up at you, those big blue eyes that match Satoru’s exactly. You swallow, just looking down at them, then up at Satoru, who has gone completely and entirely still. Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you look back down at your son. Your fingers run gently through his silky-soft, fluffy hair again. “What Mommy?” He asks. The question is so innocent that it makes you want to squeeze him.
It takes you a long time to speak again, but finally you say, “A long time ago, when you were very small, Mommy told you a lie, and it was a pretty big one.” Your hands are shaking, your chest is becoming tight, and your heart is slamming hard against your ribs. I can do this, you tell yourself. Tucking Ender closer to you, you continue, “Sweetheart, your dad didn’t die.” There, the Band-Aid is ripped off.
“I don’t get it,” Ender says, his silver brows drawing together as his little face scrunches up in confusion. “Where is he then? Has he been hiding from us?”
The innocent questions break your heart, but you can only blame yourself, at least for this part. If you had told Ender that things just didn’t work out between you and his dad, if you had told him that his dad just didn’t know he existed, then this might be easier, but you didn’t, and now you have to face it. “No, sweetheart,” you say quietly, shaking your head, “He wasn’t hiding from us.” If anything, you were hiding from him. “Your dad didn’t know you existed, baby. If he did, he would have come to find you.” Satoru’s never explicitly said that, but you know it’s the truth regardless. Letting out a long breath, you say, “He knows about you now, though, and he wants to really be your dad. Is that something that would make you happy?”
Your son nods eagerly, locks of silky, snowy hair bouncing. “Yeah! We can go camping! And he can play with Legos with me! And we can go ride bikes. Or go to the arcade!” With every imagined outing, he gets more and more excited, but you’re fixated on the fact that he’s not upset at you for lying, at least he hasn’t said so. “Where is he? When can I see him? Will he take me out to do that stuff?”
A small sound, almost laughter but not quite, leaves your lips. Slowly, you turn your son around until he’s facing Satoru, who is staring at the two of you with his hands clamped around the arms of the chair. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. There’s something in his expression like fear, mixed in with the happiness and longing. “Well, why don’t you go ask your dad yourself? He’s right there.”
His head jerks up, and he looks at you like you might be playing a joke on him. “My dad is Satoru?” He asks back slowly and quietly, his little mind trying to wrap around everything at once. Not only does he have a dad, but his dad has been getting to know him for some time. They’ve even done some of the things Ender has always dreamed about doing with a father. He swallows, those big eyes welling with tears as he looks between you and Satoru. His lower lip trembles and he whispers, “Do you mean it, Mommy? I have a dad?”
Satoru shoots to his feet and strides across the room to kneel in front of you and your son. He doesn’t reach out yet, but says quietly, “Ender, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you and your mom when you were a baby. I made a big mistake that made your mom think I didn’t care about her anymore, and she didn’t feel like it would be safe for her to tell me about you. I really regret it because it’s all my fault.” In one fell swoop, Satoru has shifted any blame Ender might have had squarely onto his shoulders. It makes your heart skip a beat. He pauses, his blue eyes meeting Ender’s, looking a little bit misty themselves. “If you want me to, I’d really like to be your dad now, though. More than anything in the world.”
Ender blinks at Satoru, then looks up to you, naturally turning to you in his confusion. You just give your son a little nod of encouragement. So he looks back at Satoru and nods, “I want you to be my dad.” His little voice is a bit wobbly, tears starting to spill down his cheeks. They’re not sad tears, though. You know your son well enough to be able to tell that. They’re happy tears. “Will y-you take me to-to the m-movies? A-and the pa-park? And sch-school? And-and build bl-blanket forts with me?”
“Yes, I’ll do all those things with you,” Satoru gets out, tears running down his cheeks too now. Reaching up to wipe them away, he looks at Ender like the boy is his personal gift from god. And, considering the state Satoru was in a month ago, he probably is. “Whatever you want, kid. You want the sky, and I’ll peel it down. You want the stars, I’ll put you on my shoulders, and we can pull them down one by one.”
That makes Ender give a wet little giggle. He reaches up with his tiny fists and wipes away his tears. You run your hand down his arm soothingly, but Satoru can’t seem to restrain himself anymore. He surges forward and wraps his arms around both of you, still kneeling. The strength in his arms is something you can feel as they wrap around you, his hands splayed across your back as he holds you and his son.
If you could freeze this moment in time, you would. Especially when Ender throws his arms around Satoru and the man lets out the smallest, most broken little sob. He looks up at you through his long, sweeping white lashes, and you can feel in his gaze just how deeply he’s affected by all this. Your heart swells at the expression on his face. From the very beginning, from the moment he found out about Ender, all you wanted was to know your son was going to be put first, that he was going to be loved, and now you have no doubt in your heart about either of those things.
Satoru truly loves Ender and has shown up for him at every given opportunity since he found out about his existence. Although it was never really about whether Satoru would love him, but whether he could love him more than he craved his parents’ love. Since he’s finally broken those shackles, you no longer need to worry about that.
After all the pain, the sweetness of this moment is multiplied tenfold. Suddenly, you understand something your grandmother had told you when you were small. “The sugar of life can only be fully appreciated if you’ve tasted the bitterness of it too.” Before now, you’d only understood those words in concept, but here and now, you understand them on a visceral, soul level. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around Satoru, trapping Ender between you in a big, warm group hug.
“Can I—can I call you m-my dad?” Ender whispers, nervousness lacing his tone.
“Of course you can,” Satoru chokes out, his whole body shuddering. “You can call me whatever you’d like.” His arms tighten around you both, fingers curling into the soft flesh of your back like he’s terrified the two of you will disappear.
Ender shifts between you, sniffling. “I have a mom and a dad,” he says quietly, that wobbling in his voice thickening. It’s like he can scarcely believe it.
“And we both love you very, very much, baby,” you breathe, bending your head to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “You are so loved, Ender. Do you understand me? You are so, so loved.” Satoru repeats the gesture, pressing a kiss to Ender’s head just like you did.
The three of you stay like that for some time. It’s been a long while since your heart felt so full. You’ve always agonized about Ender’s feelings regarding not having a father, but now you don’t have to worry as much. For the first time in so long, you fully relax; years of stress, anxiety, and pain drain away from you all at once. A few tears roll down your cheeks, and you’re in no hurry to wipe them away, not when Satoru and your son are also crying.
Eventually, Ender wriggles in your lap again, “But what about when we go back home?”
Right. You and he will return to America. The two of you have lives there; plus, the only way you could get Japanese citizenship is to sacrifice your American citizenship, and there’s not a shot in hell that’s happening. No, your American citizenship is your biggest shield against Satoru’s parents with their endless wealth and power. There’s no way you could give that up; it would be stupid to. “Baby, we'll cross that—“
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you …” Satoru cuts you off, straightening up enough to look you in the eyes again. “I’m going to try to move to America. To be with you guys.”
You go completely still, your mouth opening and closing again because all the words have been sucked out of you. This man. How the hell are you supposed to remain aloof or maintain any kind of emotional distance when he’s saying and doing all the right things? You can’t breathe, you can hardly think straight, your head is spinning, your heart thundering. How does he always manage to do this? Make your heart feel like it’s made of putty and turn your mind into a mess. Since the moment you two met, he’s had that effect on you, just this way of making you fucking dumb.
And you’re not dumb.
It reminds you of when your relationship was new, except different. Both of you are older and wiser. The six years apart have changed you into different people than you were back then, or maybe that’s just how time works, whittling away at your personhood, carving you into something new every decade. And somehow, you have this strange sense that instead of fitting together worse than you did back then, the people you are now fit together better. How uncanny.
“Seriously?” You breathe at last, looking for any hint on his face that he’s joking or that he’s begrudging it, but you find none. On the contrary, he seems almost excited.
“Yeah, I’ve been researching what it takes to get a visa. Turns out it’s a lot, especially since I’m kind of broke now,” he answers wryly. “So, it might be a while yet, but my goal is to move overseas. Suguru too. He’s coming with. I’ve only ever been to Hawaii, so I’m excited to see what the rest of America is like.” He pauses, his eyes roving over your face. “I should have done this a long time ago,” he says softly, a thread of apology and regret running through his tone. He means back then, back when you were still married. Your heart stumbles again, eyes welling back up with tears. Something in Satoru’s face crumples, like he can’t bear the sight of you crying. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please. You’ve shed enough tears over me.”
“Does that mean Dad is coming to live with us?” Ender cuts in excitedly, reminding you both he’s in the room.
Christ. How the hell are you supposed to answer that? You’re not ready to give the kid any kind of lasting hope while everything is still so new, so you answer quietly, “Well, he’ll be a lot closer for sure, but as he said, it might take him a while.”
“Or, you guys could just get married again. Green card marriages make everything fast and easy.” Suguru’s mild voice behind you nearly makes you jump. Whipping your head around to face him, you see he’s leaning up against the doorway into the hall, his long raven hair loose. There’s a faint smile on his lips like he planned this whole thing and it’s all going exactly the way he wanted it to.
Then, his words actually register, and you almost fucking choke on your spit. Instantly, your face flushes scarlet. Your brows pull together in a glare, and you say, “That’s not funny.” You can’t believe he’d say something like that in front of your son. When you look back at Satoru, you see him staring at Suguru with a look that says he’s totally on board with the suggestion. Fucking tweedledee and tweedledum, so you just shake your head.
Suguru just shrugs and says casually, as if he didn’t just suggest you remarry your ex-husband, “Hey, it was an idea.” Reaching up, he pushes his hair back and tilts his head to add, “Oh, by the way, you’re not exactly broke, buddy.” His smile widens, and something about it reminds you of a child who knows they’re up to no good.
♡
(Satoru’s POV)
When Ender calls him dad for the first time, Satoru nearly sobs on the spot. His heart swells ten times over, and everything feels like a dream. It has been a long, long time since he felt so happy. His heart aches with joy. So, he can’t stop himself from admitting then that he’s been looking for a way to follow you guys, that he wants to be close to you. Your reaction is almost enough to have him pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless, but he restrains himself. Not in front of the kid. After last night, it’s extremely difficult to keep his hands to himself.
But then Suguru makes his little suggestion, and your face is so cute when you’re blushing like that. With every second, that urge gets stronger and stronger. Suguru’s other comment, the one about him not being exactly broke, though, makes his face screw up in confusion. “What does that mean?” He finally manages to release you and Ender, slowly standing up.
“Buddy, I’ve been managing your finances for years. I’m not dumb enough to leave everything in your parents’ names. You have some investments, a hefty high-yield savings account, and a few CDs,” Suguru replies as he shoves off the doorframe to join everyone fully in the living room. He drops into one of the sitting chairs and adds, “Trust me. You’re not broke. Sure, you won’t be able to blow money like you still have your trust fund, but you don’t have to worry either.” He pauses, his expression softening as he takes in the disbelief on Satoru’s face. “Look, man, I know you. This was always inevitable. You and your parents were always going to reach a breaking point, it was just a matter of when. So, I got prepared,” he finishes.
What did he ever do to deserve such a good friend? He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, so he can only appreciate it. “Suguru, I don’t know what to say,” Satoru chokes out, his face brightening with the realization that he’s not destitute without his parents’ support. “I can’t thank you enough,” he adds quietly, his gaze dropping down to the boy in your lap.
“Just be good to my nephew and future once-again-sister-in-law,” his best friend replies. “And be good to yourself too.”
Before Satoru has a chance to reply, you’re pushing yourself to your feet and hefting Ender onto your hip. “Suguru, if you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna toss you out on your ass.” If looks could kill, Suguru would be a dead man.
“Mommy said a bad word,” Ender says with a laugh, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. He looks up at you, a smile that’s pure mischief on his face. There’s so much love and adoration in that look that Satoru has to clear his throat and look away. It’s clear you’re the center of the kid’s world, in the way that all good mothers are.
Ender has what he always dreamed of. A mother who puts him above the whole world, who cares about his son’s wellbeing and happiness. Satoru knows you’re a good mother because you’re pretty much the opposite of his own, and that speaks for itself. He’s never been more grateful for anything than how you chose to carry his child, that even though you believed he didn’t love you anymore, you kept his baby and brought a beautiful, intelligent, kind child into the world.
“Yeah, she did,” Satoru replies, something soft and warm in his voice, and he reaches out to ruffle the kid’s hair. It’s so soft under his fingertips, like powdery, freshly lain snow. The shape of his smile is all you, but the cheekiness—that’s Satoru down to the core. “Best not repeat that one kid. Mom might be a little upset if you do,” he adds conspiratorially.
With a stern look, you tack on, “Yeah.”
“But you said it, Mommy!” Ender protests, looking at you with big innocent eyes, but even he can tell his son is hamming it up. His lower lip juts out in a pout like he’s been grievously insulted. So dramatic, and just like Satoru.
Kid really does take after him. It must have been painful in some ways, raising his child when you were convinced that he didn’t love you, that he no longer thought you beautiful, that he didn’t want you. It would have been painful for him if the situation were reversed. To have a child that looks exactly like you, acts like you, and not have you, would have crushed him. He doesn’t know how you did it.
Shaking your head, you reply, “Yeah, but you shouldn’t repeat everything Mommy says.” Then you attack him with wriggling fingers. Ender falls into a fit of laughter, squirming and flopping around in your arms, squealing. It’s like the sun parting the clouds, warming the entire room. Satoru has never heard such a beautiful sound before in his life.
When you finally ease off, Ender says, like he’s making some big concession, “Fine. I won’t say it.” Then he sticks his tongue out at you, wiggling it in the air. The scene is so heartwarming that he feels like he’ll die of sweetness overload.
You make a silly face back at your son and say in an equally silly voice, “Put that away.”
It launches Ender into another fit of giggles, his arms thrown around you as he laughs into your body. Eventually, though, he settles down and looks up at you to say again, “I’m hungry.”
“Hi, hungry, I’m Dad,” Satoru replies before you can even open your mouth, excited to fire off his first-ever dad joke. He’s practically grinning from ear to ear as he delivers it, barely managing to restrain his own laughter.
“Daaaaaaaad,” Ender whines with a laugh, but he’s giggling at the same time, undercutting the complaint.
You just roll your eyes and shake your head at him. Looking down at your son, you say, “Why don’t you work on your Death Star with your dad and uncle Suguru while I make you guys some food?” Ender nods eagerly, and you bend down to set the kid on the ground. Your head tilts back up to look at Suguru, and you say, “You want in on this?”
The smile on his best friend’s face is warm, and he says with a scoff, “Tch. Do you even need to ask? Of course, I’m in.”
So, you set Ender down and bend over to run your fingers through his hair. Satoru can’t help but stare at the curve of your ass, remembering how he sank his fingers into the soft flesh last night. Fuck, he can’t be thinking of that right now, so he forces himself to look away. “Alright,” you say, a tender smile tugging at your lips. “Go play for a bit while I take care of breakfast.”
“Yay! I get to play Legos with my dad!” He lets out excitedly, jumping from foot to foot and clapping without rhythm.
Everything this kid does makes him want to cry like a baby. The excitement on his face helps settle that restless feeling of being unnecessary, of being unwanted. Ender wants him to be here, wants him to be his father, and that’s all he really needs right now. “I’ll play Legos with you any time you want,” Satoru says gently, reaching down to gently brush his fingers against his son’s cheek. With that, he goes to retrieve the half-pieced-together model from Ender’s bedroom.
When he comes back, Suguru is crawling around on the floor with the kid on his back. He’s got quite the grip on the man’s long, raven hair, tugging on locks of it like they’re horse’s reins. Satoru was gone for less than two minutes; how did this chaos break out in that short time? He chuckles at Ender’s sweet, high-pitched laugh when Suguru rolls him onto the floor and pins him down to tickle him. Glancing over at you, he doesn’t miss the small, contented smile on your lips as you bustle around in the kitchen.
You look happy. Good. Because he’s happy and he wants both of you to be happy, preferably together.
He carefully sets the model on the floor, and Ender quickly squirms his way out from under Suguru’s merciless grip to scamper over and join him. Carefully spreading out the diagram to where they left off, he sits criss-cross on the floor beside Ender, only for the kid to sneak his way into his lap. Suguru follows not too far behind, and soon the three of them are lost in a world of bricks.
The larger pieces Ender can place himself, but he struggles with the smaller ones, or pieces that need to be connected in more fragile areas. When he needs help, he’ll look up at Satoru with those wide blue eyes and say so politely, “Help, please, Dad.” It just about melts his heart. Satoru wraps his larger hand around his son’s small one and helps him place the piece. And after, the way Ender looks back up at him and says so sweetly, “Thanks, Dad.” Every time he does it, Satoru comes a little closer to crying.
Every so often, he steals glances up at you, watching as you quietly whip up breakfast for them all. He can’t help it. His eyes are drawn to you like a hummingbird to the sweet flavor of honeysuckle. One of the times, you happen to look up from what you’re doing, catching him in the act of staring. A pretty flush spreads along your cheeks, and you quickly look away, but god does that make him want to just eat you up.
Letting out a breath, he looks away because if he looks at you any longer, he’s liable to drag you away somewhere for him to do just that. He looks back down at the Lego model and forces himself to focus on that. But Suguru catches his eye, a sly smile on his face from having witnessed the interaction.
“Shut up,” Satoru mutters, glaring as he guides Ender’s hand to press in a small, round circular piece.
The smile on his best friend’s face only widens, and he says, “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”
Of course, Ender feels the need to innocently chime in, not understanding the subtleties of the situation, “Yeah, Dad, he didn’t say anything.” He’s still so little that he can’t really read the room yet, so to speak.
“He said it with his eyes,” Satoru mutters, throwing Suguru a dirty look. He probably already freaked you out earlier with the whole green card marriage thing. The last thing Satoru wants is to freak you out and cause you to pull away completely. No, this needs to be handled at your pace.
It doesn’t take you long to finish breakfast. Soon, there’s a steaming pile of pancakes on a big plate at the center of the table. They smell so good that Satory is practically floating. He missed your cooking a lot, too. As a child, his mother never cooked. When he had your cooking for the first time back in college, it was the first home-cooked meal he’d ever had that wasn’t made by the family’s cook, which he doesn’t think really counts. Kaori doesn’t cook either, but then again, she’s pretty much a clone of his mother, so that’s not really surprising. There’s something so sweetly domestic about this—sitting down to share a homemade meal, fixed by the mother of his child, sharing it with you, Ender, and Suguru.
His family. For a long time, he was scared of losing his parents because, in his mind, they were his only family. He hadn’t considered that family didn’t have to be forged in blood, but could be carefully chosen from the people who put you first, something his parents never did. Suddenly, he remembers a conversation the two of you had, back when you guys were in college.
You were teaching him English idioms. The two of you were cuddled up in his apartment, a place he rented near campus. His hand stroked up and down the bare skin of your back as he just enjoyed the feeling of having you in his arms naked, pliant, and completely, utterly his. “A lot of the idioms that get passed around in America are only half of the original, which changes the meaning. Take blood is thicker than water, for example.”
“What does that one mean?” He asked, hand pausing on your back.
“It’s a fancy way of saying the bonds of blood, of family, can never be broken,” you replied, your finger tracing gentle circles over his chest. “But the original phrase was blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb.” You paused again before breathing, “The full phrase has the complete opposite meaning. It says you get to choose the bonds that are the strongest.” Shrugging, you finished, “I don’t know. I just like the idea of getting to choose your own family.”
The memory hits him square in the gut. He’d forgotten about that conversation, held somewhere in the wee hours of the morning after hours of fucking like rabbits. Even then, it was like something in you knew just how desperate and starved his parents had made him for love. Maybe the conversation was a coincidence, maybe it was just idle talk that you were making, but his younger self had listened a little more carefully to them and taken them to heart. Maybe even then, you were trying to look out for him in your own way. You hadn’t met his parents yet, but you had listened in on a few phone calls where they did nothing but belittle and berate him.
“If the green card marriage is out, you could open a business in America and give yourself a work visa.” Suguru’s voice draws him out of his thoughts. “You have the capital to. If I were you, I’d open a tech company. You were the driving force behind Gojo Inc.’s tech division, which became their biggest revenue stream after you took over.”
“Mommy, what’s a green card marriage?” Ender asks, looking up from his pancakes.
You choke on your own bite of food, leading to a small coughing fit, then you guzzle down a glass of water. All around his little mouth is smeared sticky golden brown syrup. Ender’s little tongue darts out to try and clean it up, but to no avail. Satoru’s not sure how he even managed to get so much syrup on his face. The kid looks between you and Satoru, completely unaware of the kind of question he just asked.
Looking up from your food, you shoot them both a glare and grouse, “You guys can explain that one to him since you guys thought that was a concept he needed to know about.” Your irritation has Satoru throwing a glare at Suguru, too.
“A green card marriage is when two people get married so they can move to a new country together,” Satoru explains as simply as he can. It’s not exactly right, but it’s the best way he knows how to put it without going into a definition that really wouldn’t be appropriate.
“Oh, then I think Uncle Suguru is right,” Ender says brightly, making you choke again on your sip of water. “You should have a green card marriage, Mommy.”
Your glass of water hits the table with a thunk, your shaking from how hard you’re coughing. On the one hand, Ender is being incredibly cute, but on the other, Satoru thinks you might just have a heart attack if he says one more word. Reaching over, he pats your back to help dislodge the water in your lungs. Once you’re no longer coughing up a storm, you look up at your son and say, “Ender, you can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not, Mommy?”
“Because it’s not appropriate,” you reply through gritted teeth, giving Suguru a look like you might fucking strangle him. The man just smiles and shrugs like he isn’t saying outrageous things and putting ideas into his son’s head. Shaking your head, you look over at your son and say, “Marriage isn’t something you should treat like a game, baby. It’s a promise between two people to always love each other and always put each other first. That’s not the kind of thing you just do willy-nilly.”
“Yeah, promises are serious stuff,” Ender says, nodding solemnly. “It’s important to keep them because it means others can trust you.” He recites the words so perfectly, Satoru is sure that this is something you taught him,
That thought’s confirmed when you nod and say with a hint of pride, “That’s right, baby. Good job. So, you should be careful who you make your promises to and be careful in what you make promises about.” Your fork taps lightly against the rim of your plate, the faint clink catching Satoru’s ears. “Do you understand?” You ask, tilting your head as you look at him.
The kid nods, his silky white locks bouncing, “I think so, Mommy.”
After breakfast, Satoru and Suguru work together to clean up the kitchen while you give Ender a bath to clean the syrup from him. Suguru gathers up all the dirty plates while Satoru takes care of any trash and puts away any stray ingredients in the kitchen. Then, they work on the dishes together, Satoru washing, Suguru drying, shoulder to shoulder.
“This is good,” Suguru says contentedly. “This is the life I wanted for you. Your kid is … he’s a good kid. She did good.”
Satoru lets out a breath and says, “I know. I don’t deserve this gift. Not even a little bit.” He means it. Down to his bones, he knows he doesn’t deserve this second chance, this chance to make things right. His throat tightens just thinking about it.
“The funny thing about thinking you don’t deserve things is that when you believe that, you cherish them closer to your heart,” Suguru replies, his hand turning a plate around and around in a dishcloth. When he’s done, he holds the piece the plate up and inspects it. “The world would benefit from fewer people believing they deserve the things they have,” he says, something in his tone solemn. After a second, he lowers the plate and adds, “Like your parents.”
“Yeah,” Satoru can only nod in agreement, momentarily pausing his scrubbing. He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. He can’t say that Suguru is wrong.
They wrap up the dishes neatly and, afterward, Suguru goes to hang out in the living room while Satoru wipes down the counter. From the kitchen, he can hear the phone ring, and Suguru answers. The conversation is too low for him to quite make out, but a minute later, he hears the TV flip on. Then, “Hey, Satoru, you might want to see this.”
A bad feeling settles in the pit of Satoru’s stomach. Slowly, he sets down the rag and the spray bottle he was using. Everything feels so distant and far away, his footsteps and heartbeat strangely loud in his ears. He looks at Suguru first, then at the TV. As his head starts to swivel back to Suguru, he pauses when he realizes who he was seeing on the screen.
His parents. It’s a media frenzy. It looks like they’ve gathered every major news source based in Tokyo that they could. His mother looks cold, but flawless, her face not yet set with lines despite her age. His father looks every bit the noble man he imagines himself to be. When he sees Kaori behind them, looking fragile and grief-stricken, he scoffs in disgust. What is this fucking circus his parents are running now? The reports circle like vultures, cameras flashing, questions being shouted from all sides.
Eventually, though, his father raises both hands like he’s the messiah. Only when the room is silent does he lower them and finally speak, “It is to our greatest shame and sorrow to announce that we have stripped our son, Satoru Gojo, of his position as CEO of Gojo Inc. effective immediately. Our disappointment is immeasurable. We had thought we raised a man of honor and integrity, but his actions have shown that his character is not as unassailable as we had thought. Our son has engaged in extramarital affairs after being seduced by a foreign woman and has even fathered a bastard child. Not only has he deeply hurt his loving, loyal fiancée, but he has damaged the reputation of our family and company. Furthermore, it is our greatest sadness to announce that the Gojo family has cut ties with him due to this incident. Thank you for your attention. We appreciate your respect for our privacy at this time.”
Satoru is fucking speechless. Somehow, his parents have managed to twist the entire narrative all over again to make Kaori and themselves look like the victims on national television. His heart is racing, slamming against his ribs so hard he swears he’s going to be sick. This time, his parents had truly outdone themselves—making you out to be some kind of succubus, referring to Ender as a bastard, making it seem like Kaori was there first, like Kaori ever held a place in his heart at all. At his hands, his hands ball up into white-knuckled fists, shaking at his sides. He’s so angry that he quite literally sees red for a moment, a wash of crimson over his sight before disappearing.
Instead of ‘respecting their privacy,’ the reporters act like a bunch of sharks when there’s blood in the water. They swarm his parents. Just then, you come out of the bathroom with a damp Ender in your arms. He’s in another onesie, this one, though, is like a little bear suit, complete with a hood sewn with fluffy round ears. It’s so cute that all the anger drains from his body at once.
“What’s going on?” You ask, sensing something off in the atmosphere.
Letting out a sigh, Satoru says, “We need to talk.” The heavy words settle over the room, and your gaze slides to the TV, then back to Satoru. After all, this doesn’t just affect Satoru anymore; his parents have successfully dragged you into the epicenter of a media shitstorm. And that is just fucking unacceptable to him.
The old him would have remained silent, would have taken it lying down, forcing you to choose between worsening their relationship or standing up for yourself. He would have done nothing, just hoped his parents would move on and try not to piss them off any further. That’s not how things are going to work anymore. No. If his parents want to talk shit, if they want to sic the media on you, then he’ll pry every fucking skeleton out of the Gojo family’s closet, and he’ll whistle a jaunty tune while doing it.
When you realize that something must have happened with his parents after scrutinizing the television, you just nod. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”
A/N: Whew, thank you so much for your patience y’all. I appreciate you all for that. I hope you guys are enjoying the break from the angst hehe. Thank you to everyone for reading. Reblogs and comments are especially appreciated.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
If words of reassurance alone can’t cure your boyfriend’s jealousy, maybe throwing in a makeout session can help.
solivan brugmansia x gn!reader | MDNI, 1.5k wc, kissing, jealousy, brief mention of him kissing reader while they're drugged so non-consensual touching, mentions of masturbation, he ends up cumming in his pants, let there be no typos
note: hi so i’m kind of obsessed with him </3 comments and reblogs are always appreciated! title is from the song ‘snakelike (the stars collide)’
masterlist read on ao3 requests open
“You’ve been quieter than usual.”
No response. You knew your boyfriend wasn’t rowdy, but the walk to your house after leaving campus was always filled with enjoyable chit chats at the very least. Tugging on his sleeve, your feet came to a pause as you turned to him.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, please?”
God knew he couldn’t deny his sweetheart’s plea, not in a million years.
“Ichabod.” Okay, so there was some venom in his voice. Just a little. He had to hold back from not seething the name out like it was a slur.
You knew they didn’t exactly get along. Crowe was friendly towards everyone, but Sol seemed reluctant to be polite to him. Every time they were in the same space, you kinda wanted to die to avoid the awkwardness of the tension.
“Crowe? What about him?”
“He obviously likes you.” And he knew you liked him back at one point, he’d been watching you for a long time. And though you've been a couple for three weeks now, the uncertainty of it all still hadn’t left.
He trusted you. Your best friend on the other hand…well, not so much. If only you knew how extreme his jealousy could be—you were lucky Crowe wasn’t six feet under already. It would only take one mistake for you to be attending a funeral. It’s fine, he’d be there to console you. Nonono, bad Sol, don’t even think about it.
“What?! No he doesn’t!” Maybe you shouldn’t be raising your voice, he seemed upset enough as is. You sighed, muttering an apology before continuing. “We’ve been friends for years, I seriously don’t think he sees me like that. And even if he did…you’re my boyfriend. So he’d just have to deal with it, I guess.”
Oh. He liked that answer. Ichabod suffering emotionally because his dream lover was out of reach? It was a wet dream come true.
Taking a peek at him, you noticed the upturn of his lips. “That certainly made you cheer up.”
“You always make me happy, pumpkin. I just don’t like him.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t.”
“That’s not a good reason. He’s my friend and he’s important to me, so can you at least try to act civil around him? He always tries to talk to you and you just…glare at him.”
Now he was a little scared. Biting down on his lip, he mulled over your request. The last thing he wanted was for you to break up with him after he had finally won you over against all odds. “Fine, I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” you held onto his hand and gave it a squeeze, one that he returned as you both started walking again.
Three blocks and a flight of stairs later, the comfort of your apartment lured you both to the couch, backpacks discarded onto the floor without care. He sat right next to you, and you curled up against him, pulling your phone out your pocket.
“We always come to my house, I wanna see what yours looks like too.”
“I like your house more but…sure, just let me know what day.” Yeah, so he had time to hide everything he’d stolen from you.
Ding.
His eyes flicked to the notification with a certain someone’s profile picture. His expression soured, and he looked away with a petulant huff. Clearly, he wasn’t over it. Not that he’d ever be, but you thought it was just a phase that would go away with some reassurance. How naive of you.
“Sol…”
He wasn’t budging, nose in the air as he waited for you to read the message. Or well, that’s what he was expecting anyway.
“You’re so stubborn.” With a sigh, you toss your phone aside and instead move to straddle his lap to get his attention.
His shoulders stiffened immediately, and a certain area under his pants sprung to life like clockwork. He gulped, the tips of his ears turning red. He loved being under you, but that usually only happened in his fantasies late at night when he stroked himself with your undergarments.
“What am I gonna do with you?” Cupping his face with one hand, you let your thumb glide over his bottom lip. “I can’t have you getting jealous every other minute.”
“I can’t help it.” He murmured, arms finally relaxing and wrapping around your waist to tug you closer. Having you close wasn’t anything new, he was clingy to the core. It always felt different when you initiated it, though.
“I know…I just don’t want you feeling bad or insecure. I like you, I want to be with you.”
He grinned. “You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Godyou’resosweetandbeautifulandfuckIwantyoutofuckme. From 0 to 100. His mind was already running rampant. You were sitting on him so prettily, how did he get this lucky? His eyes were drawn to your lips, his stomach felt warm now.
“Tell me I’m yours and that you’re mine.”
You really shouldn’t encourage his possessive behavior, but it was kinda…hot? You’d play along.
You leaned down, lips nearly brushing against his. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
His dick twitched. Before he had the chance to sigh dreamily, you kissed him. He whimpered pitifully and kissed back, already attempting to deepen it.
He had thought about getting a tongue piercing, but he wouldn’t be able to go weeks without kissing you now that he’d gotten a taste of what it was like. Though, maybe that torture would be worth it if it meant being able to make you feel good in the future.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Then, a bombardment of kisses a day must keep the psychologist away, it felt like all your problems had been washed away the minute your tongue met his.
His hands roamed your sides, squeezing whenever you tugged on his hair or bit down on his lip. In only five minutes, it went from slow and sensual to fast and needy.
Your living room was only ever filled with TV noises and conversations. Now, it was nothing but heavy breathing, shaky whines, and the sound of clothes rubbing against each other.
And shit—no, no, no—he was close to making a mess in his pants. “Waitwaitwait, slow down,” he pleaded, voice a pitch higher as he held onto your hips. How embarrassing would it be if he came so quickly from simply kissing? Maybe you’d think he’d only last two fucking seconds in bed (he probably would the first time, and he knew that).
“What’s wrong?” You ask breathlessly, eyes fluttering open to look at your boyfriend.
“Nothing, just…” He sat up straighter so he could dip his head down and press his lips against your neck. It felt infinitely better than doing so when you were limp like a ragdoll.
“Oh,” your eyes rolled back, your hand instinctively went to the back of his head to keep him in place. His cool piercings sent a shiver down your hot skin. Maybe if your mind wasn’t so busy spinning and seeing stars, you’d notice the ever so prominent bulge begging for attention against the side of your inner thigh.
“Does this feel good?” He asked before starting to gently suck on you. If he was lucky, he’d mark you up. For once, he was eager to see Crowe tomorrow. He’d be sure to wrap his arm around your shoulder and then lean down to press a kiss against the hickey you’d have after all this just to spite him.
“Uh huh…” Your sweet moans fanned against his ear.
He thought this would save him from cumming, but your reactions were just making it worse. There was no way out of it. His stomach was tensing, and his eyes were getting teary—this always happened. “Haa….haaa…”
For someone who usually had little to say, he was so loud. But you didn’t know what was happening in his body, not until it was too late.
“Oh fuck…” His forehead rested against your shoulder as his body shook, black nails digging into you like he needed you close to handle the waves of pleasure. Luckily for him, his words were unintelligible because of how fast he gritted it out. “Iloveyouiloveyoufuckiloveyou.”
You snapped out of your pleasure-induced dazed, hearing him pant heavily and slump against you. You stayed frozen, and moments later, he tipped his head back instead to get air.
“Did you just…”
Pressing your hands against his chest, you leaned back to get a better look. He did. Fuck he was pretty. Cheeks flushed. Lips swollen. Drool trickling down his chin. Brows furrowed. Eyelashes wet from tears.
You’d never been more turned on in your life. You hadn’t even touched him down there!
He opened his eyes, hiding his face with his shaky hand the second he saw you. “Fuck…I didn’t mean to. I was trying not to.”
You took his hand to pull it away, smiling at him. Geez, it was like you were proud of yourself, and he found it endearing rather than annoying.
“Um…I don’t think I have any spare pants for you. Or uh, you know.”
“…”
“I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“No, don’t leave yet.”
“I’m not leaving! The kitchen is literally right there.”
“Stay here.” He held you close, burying his head against your shoulder again and letting his temperature return to normal.
virgin!valko finds a new scent! ...right between your legs?!
wc: 1475
content: smut, pussy eating, pussy sniffing, sniffing everywhere, biting, valko dry humps the bed n cums all over himself, mentions predator/prey dynamic, mentions marking and abo, not proofread
“mmh. did you go somewhere new today?” valko mumbles against the skin of your shoulder, rubbing his cheek against the scar of his mark there, scenting you.
you lazily flip the page of the book you’re reading, not paying him much attention. “nope. just to the post office, why?”
valko presses his nose to your neck and sniffs the area heavily, lifting your arm and smelling down it as well. “you have a new smell.”
“hmm. well, let me know what it is when you find it.” you say, brushing it off.
valko was always saying you smelled different, thanks to his hypersensitive sense of smell. normally it was just a spice you’d used to cook, or a new skin product. he’d sniff you all over for half an hour, maybe longer, until he found it, then he’d be satisfied.
over the next fifteen minutes, valko sniffed your entire upper body over heavily, occasionally stopping to lap at your skin affectionately.
it wasn’t until he had his nose pressed against your crotch that his tail finally gave a wag. he popped his head up and tapped your inner thigh.
“i found the new smell.” he announces, proud of himself.
you glanced down at him and stifled a laugh. “what, my pussy? have you never smelled it before?”
as if realizing what he’d been doing for the first time, valko sat up, his cheeks flushed. “uh- sorry, i didn’t mean to invade your privacy like that.”
“it’s fine, valko, really. we’re dating, anyway. i’ve honestly been waiting for you to work up the courage to get down there.”
you bookmark your page and set the book down, wiggling down to get comfy against your mattress and spread your legs just slightly.
valko’s expression softens slightly, his eyes still full of curiosity. “really?”
“mhmm.” you nod and stretch your arms out, bored. “i can tell you wanna investigate..” you reach down and pull the crotch part of your loose shorts to the side, exposing the dampened fabric of your panties.
the scent hits valko stronger than before and his previous hesitation vanishes. his pupils dilate and drool pools im his mouth, threatening to spill out the corners.
he plops himself back between your thighs and noses your shorts to the side. his nose presses directly against your clit, inhaling deeply and exhaling with loud whines.
you expect him to move your panties to the side and start licking or sucking or something, but he just keeps sniffing you through them like the scent was giving him a high. you let him be for another minute before clearing your throat.
“ko, my love, do you not know how to eat someone out?” you try to ask as nicely as possible, but your voice has a hint of teasing.
he peeks up at you, yellow eyes wide with embarrassment. “no, of course i do, i’m just trying to figure out what the smell is.”
you sigh and press against his forehead, pushing his head out from between your legs. he pouts and is about to start whining again until you peel your shorts and panties off, tossing them somewhere to the side.
you take his hand and run his pointer and middle fingers through your slit, shivering at the stimulation. you guide his fingers to his nose for him to sniff, which he obviously does with vigor.
“it’s arousal. i’m aroused, valko.”
valko sniffs his own fingers heavily, giving you a distracted little. “hmm?”
you groan and grab his jaw, pull it open, and shove his wet fingers into his mouth. “do i need to hols your hand for every little thing? im horny eat me out, finger me, fuck me- do literally anything or i’m using my toys while you watch.”
“you’re horny? like, you want to reproduce?” valko asks, pieces coming together in his head. unfortunately for you, the taste and smell of you has valko’s brain thinking more werewolf than human.
you nod and lay back down, relieved that he seems to suddenly understand. “exactly- well, not quite the reproduction part, but yes to the horny part.”
his tongue was lapping at the liquid drooling from your pussy in an instant, the rough texture a new feeling for you.
it only took a minute or so for you to realize that valko… wasn’t good at this. his tongue was clunky and he was avoiding all the spots he shouldn't avoid.
you cleared your throat and scratched at his fluffy ear. “are you a virgin?”
valko continued delivering slobbery kisses to your hole. “mmhmmmm.” he answered happily, droopy eyes opening up to meet yours. “my mate..”
you raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “you’re telling me you have never slept with anyone else? you??”
he pulled back slightly, biting on your inner thigh. “never. we mate for life, and you’re my mate, aren’t you?”
“well not technically-” you counter, only for him to interrupt you with a growl.
“not yet. this counts as mating. you’re..” he goes right back to sniffing you, whining at the heady scent. his hips roll against the mattress, desperate for stimulation. “you’re in heat, i’ll fix it.”
valko slurped and prodded at your entrance, his tongue sinking in and out experimentally. slowly hur surely, he found a rhythm that made moans bubble out of you and your back arch.
you gripped his plum colored hair and pulled. a tail with the matching plum color popped up behind him and swished back and forth agressively.
your whines and pleas encouraged valko, spurring him on as he doubled his efforts. the more he went, the more wet you got, which increased the scent just millimeters from his nose. he took in big gulps of air through his nose, sniffing you while his mouth was preoccupied.
“valk- mmhhhh, fuck!” your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him still as you ground against his face.
he pushed another finger in beside the first and curled it upwards, tongue swirling around your puffy clit at the same time.
valko humped the bed, his clothed dick hard and leaky as he savored your taste.
you whined his name again and he looked up at you, his yellow eyes glowing and piercing yours in the dark room.
you knew valko was sweet and you knew he would never in a million years hurt you, but when he looked at you like that with his eyes dilated… it felt like he was hunting you.
you didn’t have time to process how helpless that made you feel and how much you liked it before you came. you think you screamed, but you’re not entirely sure. the only thing you know is that when you sat up, your body felt like lead, your head was fuzzy, and valko’s face, hair, and fluffy ears were coated in your cum.
you’d squirted on him- the poor guy had never eaten someone out before, and you’d soaked him.
“shit, i’m so sorry, i didn’t know that would-” you try to apologize, but are cut off by valko continuing yo eat you out, far more ravenous this time.
you squeak and dig your nails into the thick muscle of his shoulder. “what are you doing?! i already came- mmh!”
he hums against you, talking with his mouth full. “i know, it’s all over me- fuck, more, i need more. give me more.” he growled, feral.
your scent was too much for him to handle when it was contained in your pants, but now that it was physically on his skin and seeping into his hair and fur? it was impossible to act with decorum.
valko didn’t relent until you’d came five more times, only stopping once he realized you were crying from overstimulation.
he’d also cum numerous times in his pants, whimpering and whining in both pain and pleasure at how his knot swelled against nothing, throbbing uselessly as he wasted his cum.
valko cuddled you after, laying you on top of him and nuzzling his face (still coated in your cum) against yours. you’d chastized him for that, trying to convince him to wash it off, but he looked at you like you’d asked him to shave his tail. “you marked me, don’t you realize? i’m never cleaning my face.”
you scoff and gnaw at the spot between his shoukder and neck. “i could actually mark you if you want.”
valko’s tail thumped against the bed beside you, wagging happily. “please? please, pleaseee mark me, i’m ready.”
“mmmh. fine. but that makes me the alpha, doesn’t it?” you tease him with a smirk.
valko huffed and raised his lip, showing his fangs. “you don’t have these, do you?”
you laugh and shush him. “quiet down and let me mark you, like a good omega.”
valko growled, but whined happily when you bit at his skin.
a/n: they were supposed to fuck but i got lost im the sauce like valko
You decide you’re going to be IGNORING THEM. Here’s how they’d react! I can’t lie, I’m kind of proud of these ones! Also, I’d be so happy if you guys could send requests for what you’d like my next headcanons or regular writing to be about! Don’t be afraid to interact with a reblog or comment!
Main Masterlist
Anakin Skywalker - “My Angel, I’m sensing something is troubling you,” Anakin states. He already knows there’s a problem—whether it’s because of a disturbance in the force or a lover’s intuition—he knows. You, of course, do not respond to it. You remain looking out of your window at the Coruscant sky. “No. No,” he mumbles, coming up behind you and enveloping his body around yours, “We’re not going to shut each other out. I would like for you to talk to me about what is troubling you. I need to fix it, my love.” Usually, you’d comply by now, but when you don’t, he resorts to secretly using a Jedi mind trick to get it out of you. He feels a tad guilty but he needs to know what’s got you like this.
Clayton Beresford - He’s been in his home office for hours with not a single word to you. Naturally, you think you should give payback. You’re in the kitchen when Clayton walks in for a glass of water. He smiles in your direction. “Hi, baby. You look nice.” There’s no answer from you, but he doesn’t overthink it. Maybe you flashed him a smile and he missed it whilst getting the glass. He catches on when he speaks to you the second time. “How was your day?” Ever the detective, Clay knows what’s going on. He goes to you and wraps his arms around your neck from behind, your head between his biceps. Normally this would be Heaven on Earth for you, but you can’t let him know that. “Sweetheart, you’re upset?” Your lack of response gives him the right answer. “It’s because I’ve been working?” He asks with a pinch to your cheek. “Answer me.” You’re stubborn, but not immune to his tricks—you nod your head: yes. “Ah, I see. Then, it’s a good thing I was already planning on spending the rest of my day with you.” he says, telling just the whitest of lies. He was not planning on that, but he knows it’s what you need right now. When you simply hit him with a second nod of your head, he’s unsatisfied. He needs to get you talking. “What do you think of that idea, darling? Excited?”
James Kelly - You’ve got your back turned, arms crossed, pretty much full on pouting. “Why’re ya being a brat? Huh?” He spins you to face him. “Huh?! Tell me. What’s your problem?! You’re so difficult all of the time! Definition of a little brat, that’s what you are,” you still refuse to talk, and he’s already regretting using anything but gentle language. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. You’re not a brat. Talk to me. Talk to me, okay?” He pulls you into a tight hug. He’s reminded of the people who he thought cared for him, but did him so wrong. He doesn’t wanna be that. He doesn’t wanna hurt you. He stands there caressing your cheek, trying to coax it out of you until finally, you cave. “ There. We made it all better. Talk to me next time. It gets things done, ya see?”
Luke Ryder - You decide to ignore him mid argument. You just completely shut down and try to distance yourself, but he stops you. “Hey. None of that,” the shake of his head is accompanied by an equally as frustrated sigh. “Look, take a second. Think about what you wanna say instead of saying nothing at all. Come to me when you’re ready to talk.” With that, he leaves, giving you space. He hates to do it—leave—every second spent with you is precious to him. He also loves you enough to make sure you’re still level headed and can articulate yourself properly through all this.
Stephen Glass - Within seconds of realizing you’re ignoring him, tears are welling up in his eyes. “What’s going on? I don’t understand why you’re mad at me,” he whines, “I had the worst day at work ever! Chuck has been really pressuring us for a deadline! Please don’t hate me. I’m so stressed. I didn’t mean to cause this!” The story with the tears ultimately makes you feel guilty and you finally acknowledge him. He ends up crying in your lap, getting his hair played with while you explain why you were upset. It doesn’t really amount to anything, though. It ends with the general consensus being that you just need to be more patient with Stephen and give him more love and affection. What do you get out of it? Never finding out that there never really was a deadline.
Scott Barringer - He really tries his best to help gently. That’s saying a lot because he struggles so much with regulating his own emotions and attitude. He puts his hands just above your elbows, holding your arms. “Baby, c’mon. You don’t gotta be a dick about it. I wanna talk about this. All that communication shit the counselors talk about, ya know? We should try that.” Before he even gives his words a chance to work, he’s tickling you. You squeal and burst into giggles at the pure shock and feel of it. You try so hard to be mad around him, but he somehow, always has a counter for it. “Oh, yeah. There she is. Now, tell me what’s up,” he directs, pulling away from the attack with a smirk.
✮ all rights to this writing are reserved to me (@jkellyauto) on tumblr. i do not consent to my work being translated, copied, rewritten, fed to ai, or anything of the sort. if you are inspired by my work, please send me a message and we will talk about it. do NOT violate the above guidelines without my own consent.
summary: when you struck the arrangement with damian wayne to act as your fake boyfriend for a party hosted by your ex and ex-best friend—you thought your choice made perfect sense. choosing damian wayne, the most logical, unattainable person you knew, removes the complication of feelings being involved. till of course, damian stops pretending.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: flufff, damian wayne is a yearner and takes his role of being your pretend boyfriend very seriously.
"You are suggesting I partake in a fake relationship—" Damian Wayne stares down at you, still dressed in his lab coat, with what may be the closest to genuine concern you've ever seen on him, all cramped into the crease of his brows. "To help with your dilemma?"
"Exactly." Your grin is the only positive staple throughout this entire exchange, after your successful cornering of only the most unattainable medical student of Gotham University. "It's like a fancy title for an assignment partner but removing the word 'assignment', right?"
"Assuming that your ambitious plan would even work." Crossing his arms, Damian looks more unimpressed over your carefully planned spreadsheet titled 'Fake-Dating Operation' than the earlier assigned pairings by Dr. Lake. "Do humour me on your astounding confidence that I would even offer my assistance."
"We're already assigned together for the semester." You shrug. "What's one reunion party, and an hour spent pretending you don't hate my guts like you do with everyone else?"
He stares at you for a long beat, before his lips twitch into the smallest smirk. "I appreciate your attempts at lowering my expectations further on how idlers are able to accomplish wasting hours in a day. I expect your section of the report to be done by Sunday."
"Wait!" Your hand reaches out to grab at the ends of his sleeve as he moves past you. "I am an amazing fake partner. I provide free dog walks, cookies, amazing work ethic—it's practically a free service just for a little acting on your part!"
"I appreciate the desperation, and the answer is still a no."
"Wayne!" You call out as his sleeve slips out of your fingers, stopping in your tracks right in front of him—blocking the exit. "Damian, please."
His head tilts to cast you a disapproving expression. "My word of advice, is to gain enough respect for yourself to not be bothered by what others think."
Your lips pull together into a frown, but you refuse to be dissuaded, not when you've already laid all your cards on the table. You didn't expect it to be easy, and you had already prepared yourself for his vicious tongue.
"My self-respect has already been trampled on when they decided to send me the invitation." You state honestly. "It's scheduled for its revival in five weeks, after the party. I'll be a changed person by then, scout's honour."
His brow pulls higher, as if silently questioning if you had even part of the Gotham Scouts, but you're not done.
"But before then, I plan on being the pettiest, deranged person in all of Gotham University." You declare. "And that includes you in my plans, because you, Damian Wayne, are the only person who checks all my requirements of a fake boyfriend."
"I'm honoured." He mocks, gaze flickering past towards the hallway.
"You are Walter's role-model, he would kiss the test tubes you lay your fingers on. Paige has a Pinterest folder labelled with your name, and it has all your news sightings saved by colour coordination."
"Sounds like your issues derive more from the company you keep." He mutters, expression pulled together in disgust.
"Point besides, I want it to be you, Damian Wayne." You confess.
It sounds ridiculous, but this was fully concerning your pride and something you've forgotten in your years of working yourself away for your dreams, which was the taste for controlled chaos. He blinks once, staring at you incredulously as if deciding where to place you in his ranking of newly discovered lunatics.
"You're the only person who will drive them as insane as they've made me." Your voice chokes, filled with determination or buried rage, the difference didn’t seem to matter. "You could walk in there for just an hour to save my life, and I know that you won't have the slightest chance of complicating things, or falling in love with me—and that's what makes this perfect. This may sound crazy to you, but you're the only person that's made sense to me ever since my life was turned upside-down."
Your chest heaves, and your arms are still outstretched to stop him from leaving the lab. You're nothing like this—impulsive, frantic, verging on insanity—but you're also done being complacent. Of letting things go just because it's the right thing to do.
After what feels like eternity, Damian's expression flickers. Implicit and almost undetectable, but his gaze is on you as if he's finally registering your existence and trying to catalogue you into a different box than the one he's placed you in.
"Send the spreadsheet to my email." He answers apprehensively, as if he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "I will review through the calendar on its... feasibility. Expect a response by eight p.m.."
You let out a held breath, a smile finally breaking through. "Thank you, really—"
"On the condition that I expect you to finish your section by tonight."
Your expression freezes. "Tonight?"
"To prove your desperation's worth considering." He tosses you a mocking smile, all sharp edge and nothing considerable of warmth. "You have ten more hours before my interest wanes."
Your smile weakens, blinking rapidly as you calculate your remaining time to draft something of substance. "Okay, sure— that's not going to be a problem."
It's worth it. Dealing with Damian Wayne is going to be worth it.
I have reviewed through your spreadsheet in detail. Do answer my enquiries on my comments below.
- I believe watching romance comedy as 'theory practice' is highly inefficient and prone to fantastical expectations. Do amend this.
- As for my 'meeting' availabilities, I am free on Thursdays and Fridays at noon to two, on the condition that at least an hour be reserved for actual assignment discussions. You are required to provide evidence of actual progress for the assignment, or this arrangement will be considered void.
- Provide me a list summary on details for answers regarding possible interrogation questions during the party. It will be more efficient as compared to you providing me the details in person.
As for the assignment, your section draft is acceptable, and I expect our lab findings to be updated into your table by the following lab session next week.
Regards,
Damian.
You can barely contain your grin, kicking into the sheets despite the exhaustion that plagues your bones from grueling non-stop over the section and multiple tabs later. He had looked through your multi-coloured spreadsheet calendar, and actually considered it with his own enquiries. Typing out your own response, you give serious thought into his enquiries.
To: [email protected]
Subject: Reply: 'Fake-Dating Operation' Spreadsheet Review
Thank you for your detailed consideration of my spreadsheet. Your efforts are acknowledged and appreciated.
- I believe we are required to watch at least one rom-com that involves fake-dating. Neither of us have had previous experience in this department (unless you'd like to share valuable information), and it will boost our success rate.
- Perfect! I'm available on Fridays, and scout's honour, I promise to have my progress brought for each meeting session.
- As for the list, I will provide you possible answers, but some may require in-person explanations. I'll explain more this Friday!
Can't even express my thanks on how grateful I am, you're the best Wayne in history!
Signing off your name, you close your laptop with the giddiest smile you've had since—at the reminder, your grin falters. Your chest thuds faintly, as if reminding you that the fun you've just experienced can still be dampened by reality. No, you refuse to let it ruin your enjoyment.
This is the most alive you've felt in weeks, and you're going to make the most of it. If your life feels like it's finally picking up through colourful spreadsheet rows and columns, and waiting on an email reply from the most terrifying student in Gotham University—so be it.
Damian slides your extremely lengthy list across the lunch table, and you can barely hide your shock that he actually printed it out—before you catch sight of many red circles marked neatly around your points.
"Your least favourite vigilante is Robin?" He interrogates.
You blink in surprise, not expecting him to start there. "Well, he's not exactly original—I mean, c’mon, they’re multiple versions of him."
His lips part, aghast in a half-caught scoff. "He's one of the most prominent vigilante figures in Gotham."
You shrug. "Spoiler's cooler."
He clicks at his tongue. "You have horrible taste."
"You are not telling me that you, Damian Wayne, have a favourite and that is Robin?"
He doesn't blink. "There are several other questionable details in your list."
"Yes, I can see that." Peering back at your list, your brows furrow. "What's wrong with liking Gotham's Pizza?"
"Only that you're clearly fond of days-old grease and artificial cheese."
"Hey, that's where it gets its flavour."
He shakes his head, disgusted. "I refuse to be associated with someone who has non-functioning taste buds."
"Fine—we'll say we often have dates at Romeo's instead." You shrug. "Not like I'll be caught there after our agreement's expired."
He raises a brow. "Expired?"
Pointing at your open tab, you reference a newly added row. "Our break-up, scheduled for Monday after the party."
He stares at the date, before his gaze roams over you with a questioning look. "Despite my lack of experience, should you not consider the likely suspicions if you were to end a relationship three days after the party?"
Your lips part into an 'oh'. "I thought you would want to get it over and done with as quickly as possible."
His expression closes in, gaze narrowing. "I will not put my reputation at stake by agreeing to this facade, if it means having our efforts go down the drain because of an obvious flaw.”
Your grin slips out uncontrollably. “You just said ‘our’ efforts. Look at us, the perfect team.”
His expression remains impassive, before he raises a slow brow. “Switch to the assignment tab.”
“Yes, sir.”
Resting below a willow tree, your third Friday with Damian is spent resting below the shade on your picnic cloth—one you used to share with Paige. The sight of its red plaid, stuffed behind your piles of clothes in your wardrobe, was getting sad—even for you.
Damian’s back is resting against the tree bark, shoulders nearly taking up the width—brows impossibly furrowed as his gaze narrows on your laptop displaying ‘To All The Boys I Loved Before’.”
“This movie is non-sensical.”
“I think it’s romantic.” You shrug.
He tosses you a judgmental glance. “Having your own blood betray you by revealing your own personal letters, is your idea of romance?”
“I mean Lara Jean and Peter, Damian.” You snort. “That’s our main source of inspiration.”
“He’s hardly appealing.” He scoffs, arms crossing over the other. “Is this the standards you expect from our arrangement?”
“If this is mediocre—” You respond, aghast. “You have no idea how dire love can be nowadays.”
His frown deepens. “You are not expecting me to perform in this manner?”
“What—falling in love with me?” You grin. “No, I do not expect you to be Peter Lavinsky.”
He stares at you with barely concealed frustration. Before you can tease him further, something purple is tossed into your face.
A yelp escapes your mouth, the light weight of an object falling into your lap.
“That’s—the discontinued, limited edition Spoiler cap!” You gasp, eyes widening in realisation. “How did you get this?”
He shrugs begrudgingly. “My sister used to be a collector. She doesn’t mind giving it away.”
“Giving it away?” You mutter incredulously. “This is actual gold. Your sister is my favourite person on Earth.”
His brow twitches. “I bargained for that cap.”
You snort. “What did you exchange it for, your dignity?”
“You have no clue on my sacrifice." He grimaces.
“Your sacrifice is acknowledged." You tease, before letting out another huff of amazement. “This is the best day of my life.”
When your gaze falls back to the cap, tracing your fingers over the logo—you miss the twitch of his lips into a semblance of a smile.
You missed today’s meeting without prior notice. Not that your absence has affected my ability to resume our assignment, but after your frequent reminders to not miss on our mandatory meetings—it leaves me with doubt that you intentionally missed our sessions on your end. Do update me as soon as possible on your status.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent yesterday, 1.20 p.m.)
Subject: Reply: Reminder on Friday Meetings
I feel I must reinstate that my previous email regarding your absence, as well as this reply, should not be twisted in its meaning as more than a mere enquiry. Given previous evidence of the average speed of your responses, a full 24 hours with a lack of response prompts me to send another email. Do respond when you are able.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent today, 1.32 p.m.)
Three respectable knocks resound against your dormitory’s door. A groan escapes your lips, your head pounding from the cold you’ve caught from a late night running through pouring rain. You had missed the bus and had to make it back before curfew, and now your body is reminding you of its frail mortality, chills shaking throughout your limbs and rendering you heavily immobile.
The knocks echo again when you shift your head deeper into the pillows. You muffle curses into the cotton, gripping at your sheets to steady yourself as you force your body upright. The world sways on its axis as you make your way—shifting pathetically with every step, towards the door.
Missing your lock a few times, you finally grab a hold of the chain and slide it off, clicking the door open. You’re immediately faced with a broad chest, donning a familiar black sweater. Shifting your gaze up, you’re met with Damian Wayne’s narrowed gaze, sweat trailing down his temple.
“Damian?” Your voice croaks, and even the attempt of speaking hurts. “What are you doing here?”
He takes one glance, and immediately, his expression contorts in… concern? You barely have time to explain about the cold, or an apology for missing the meeting, when you feel the warmth of his palm press against your forehead.
You blink, stunned as he measures your temperature. He shakes his head slightly in a disapproving manner. “Your temperature is too high.” His tongue clicks with his observation.
You suppose he was right. You did feel one wrong step from keening over and lying on your welcome mat.
“I got caught in the rain.” You explain, trying your best to pull together a more reassuring expression, one less filled with nausea-induced tension. “I’ll be fine—just need rest.”
His frown creases deeper. “Have you taken medicine?”
You try shaking your head, but that loses whatever balance you had left. The world actually tilts, or maybe you are the one who's obeying gravity—but strong arms catch you before you collapse.
“Look at your state.” Damian grits, pulling you back upright but closer. There's barely any space left between the two of you. “This fever, has it worsened considerably?”
“Yeah—but I didn’t have anyone to call.” You mutter in truth, cheek still smushed against his chest as support. “I ran out of medicine a while ago, and by the time I woke up—I couldn’t get out of bed.”
You feel his arms tense around you. Above the crown of your head, you feel a soft sigh. “You have me.” He mutters, almost reprimanding.
Your brows furrow in confusion. “You would get me medicine?”
“That would be a start.” He states, his grip shifting with his words.
The world shifts again when his hands wrap around the under of your thighs, lifting you into his arms gently to not worsen your state. If your mind wasn’t completely swarmed by the symptoms of your cold, you’d stop to think of how strangely sweet it was that Damian had come all the way to your dormitory, and that he was carrying you bridal-style towards your bed.
”It’s not usually this messy.” You feel the need to point out, words muffled against his sweater. “You just have impeccable timing.”
His lip twitches involuntarily as he sets you down against the thrashed sheets. “Organised according to your system?”
You smile weakly at the thought of your colour-coded spreadsheet. “Exactly.”
He places his palm against your forehead again, and you subconsciously find yourself leaning into his touch. “You’re like—really warm.” You murmur. “Do you always run hot?”
He swallows, touch lingering on your skin. “Your temperature is dysregulated. I’ll return soon with medicine. Rest. I won’t be gone long.”
“Okay.” Your lids fall shut, the pounding lessening with your head burrowed into the pillows, and his touch a gentle anchor. “You know—you’d be a great boyfriend for someone one day.”
You don’t hear a response, and your honest thoughts continue to tumble out from your skull like a cracked jar. “You’re really nice, Dami.” The shortening of his name feels like cotton candy stuffed in your mouth, and you barely register the stiffening of his fingers. “Fierce, but I like that about you. I like you a lot, actually. Not in a swooning way, but in a—I’m really glad I met you kind of way.”
He doesn’t pull away when your lips finally clamp shut, but the silence is almost deafening. You peek open with one eye, catching his expression. He’s staring at you… as if no one’s ever said that to his face—ever.
“Don’t make it weird.” You tease softly, voice tethered with exhaustion. “I’m just giving you your deserved five stars.”
You hear the soft echo of his scoff, withheld from its usual bite, but you don’t hear much else after. Only that the lingering touch of his fingers over your skin stays put till sleep catches up on you, and the world falls silent under the weight of Damian’s gaze. Okay, maybe you were lying a little about the swooning.
Fevers fade, but the warmth that lingers seems to seep past the well-defined borders of a spreadsheet, or the predictable order of a list—like the one currently in your hand.
"Favourite vigilante?" You quiz, red pen bitten between your lips as you laid stretched on the wooden bench.
"Spoiler." He answers, tossing you an expression as if to convey that he couldn't believe you even bothered with such a question.
"Good job." You tease, fiddling with the cap of your pen, attached at the end. "Favourite date spot?"
"Gotham's Pizza." He huffs.
You blink. "Hey, it's supposed to be Romeo's."
"You prefer Gotham's." He mutters.
"But you don't." You remind him.
Averting his gaze to your lips, his fingers loop around the red pen, dragging it gently out from your teeth's grip, and adjusting the answer with a cross. "That's irrelevant. I'm merely pointing out an inconsistency."
Your lips quirk up into a smile. "You don't even need this list anymore. Why bother keeping it?"
Tension pulls briefly at his jaw, but it relaxes before you can trace it to an emotion. "You haven't tested me on all the questions."
You lean in, the crinkled paper resting below your fingers as you gaze into his eyes. "Alright? Something off the books." You hum. "What do I think of Damian Wayne?"
He blinks, surprised. You wait patiently, the warmth of summer carrying the scent of grass blades past the picnic table, the world narrowing into the space between the two of you.
His lips part after a moment. "Fierce." He answers. "Though you're one of the few who doesn't run from it."
"What's there to run from?" You hum. "I think he's nice, you should give him some credit for that."
His brow raises, amusement flickering in his gaze. "That's not a common perception."
"Yeah, but no one else gets to experience him being their partner." You tease. "He even offers to rearrange your dormitory to a better system if you're lucky."
He scoffs lightly. "That's only considering if the existing system barely works."
"Just say you hate colour-coding, Dami." You snort. "I know you're itching to fix our spreadsheet."
His expression flickers for a moment. "Not exactly."
You tilt your head, questioning. His gaze averts to the open spreadsheet, something familiar after the weeks spent together. "It's grown on me."
Grown on him—despite it being everything he initially found horrendous, from the many details pasted in long paragraphs into the comments, and the bright colours for the special shared Fridays between you two. Something warm pools in your chest, and you find your gaze trailing to the red pen held between his fingers instead.
"You're more prepared for this party than I am." You admit softly.
You feel his attention switch onto you, trained on the nervous tick you have where you hyper-focus on something brightly coloured. He twirls the pen once, considering.
"You don't have to go through with this." He says. "Just say the word. I'll honour whatever decision you make."
His reassurance makes you consider it, you really do. With the dreaded anticipation finally reaching its peak, with the party being tonight—you have stopped to think if it was worth it. To show up in a room where the story's long gone sour, and your presence is more likely to be a blight than a welcomed gift.
Then again, you hadn't prepared this all for nothing. You hadn't gotten to know Damian—for nothing.
"No, it'll be fun." You smile, meeting his gaze. "We'll be just like Lara Jean and Peter, but with better standards."
Damian's mouth twitches, almost imperceptible. "Agreed."
Your fingers catch onto the silk-like fabric of your dress. Once bought as a birthday present, you never had the chance to wear something like this. Walter had called it overkill, and you convinced yourself that you’d eventually find a day to wear the gorgeous shade without feeling inadequate for it. Nothing required overkill more than tonight.
Damian's promised to pick you up, even when you had reassured him that meeting at the venue was fine. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and something quivers in your gut.
You don't feel as brave as you'd like, not even in your favourite dress. The thought of the two people you once trusted most being together, exchanging normal niceties with you as if nothing had ever happened—you're seriously beginning to overthink just how horribly awkward this situation was going to be.
What if it wasn't like the movies? What if Damian saw too—just how horribly small you felt—and decided you weren't worth the spreadsheets and lists and medicine kit he over-splurged on when you caught that cold?
The party was going to be over in an hour, you had promised Damian the both of you would be present for no more than that duration—and now, you feel ridiculous in your own skin. You're tempted to text him if he wanted to ditch and just head to Romeo's instead—when you hear the signature three knocks of his against your door.
You swallow your fear-induced nausea back into your gut, and force yourself to open the door with something akin to a smile. Your expression freezes in place at the sight... of Damian tidied up.
You knew he was handsome, you obviously had eyes, but to see him in that white collared shirt that made his green eyes pop, loosened at the buttons, with his hair pulled back and just—wow. Damian Wayne, you were seriously going to the party with this guy? As your fake boyfriend?
You don't notice the way his own expression completely falters at the sight of you. Nor the way his fingers tightened into a fist, digging into his palms.
You only notice how the silence stretched out between the two of you lingers long enough to matter.
"Hey, handsome." You start, trying to regain your composure. "You cleaned up nice."
He blinks, as if stunned. His response comes out delayed, brows pinching together into something honest. "You are beautiful."
Not you look—as if he's only noticed. No, he emphasised the 'are', as if he's always seen it. Your heart doesn't quite know what to do with that information, or how to catalogue the way he's looking at you as if he's—not pretending.
"Thank you." Your voice comes out weaker than you intended, because for all his intensity, Damian being soft is what renders you stunned. "I still don't know if I should do this."
His gaze clears, something steady offered to you when you return it. "You don't need to be sure." He answers, offering his hand. "That's what I'm here for—so you will not be alone."
He's right. Despite your doubts, seeing him in front of you reminds you of the steady presence he's offered from the very beginning. Through your nonsensical email threads, the Friday lunches, the rom-com binging, rushing to the store to buy you cold medicine—your fears always quieted when Damian was near. Your smile brightens, taking his hand in yours. "Let's get this operation over with."
Walter catches sight of you first. His vision is perfectly facing the entrance, your ex's gaze meeting yours as soon as you step through the doorway—and he immediately taps on Paige’s shoulder. An insincere smile arrives on his expression, but it freezes in place the moment Damian enters with you.
He isn't the only one to notice. You knew the effect Damian had on others, standing out without even meaning to, much less in an environment like this. Damian doesn't seem bothered at all, because you feel his attention acutely trained on you instead. His hand rubs a soothing notion over your lower back, as if you're the only person he's aware that exists in the room.
Walter's gaze drifts, from the dress he hated to Damian’s hand wrapping around your waist. He puts the facts together, faster than you had when he and Paige had approached you with the news. The warmth leaves his welcoming expression, and he whispers something into Paige's ear.
Damian registers this entire exchange in under a second, and his hand tightens briefly on your waist, as if reassuring you that he was right beside you.
The distance closes in between you and the two people your life once revolved around, and you train your gaze on Walter, because you can tell immediately that Paige is struck by Damian's appearance, more so by his hand on your waist.
"It's been a while." Walter starts off, though his gaze barely lingers on you before switching to Damian. "Wayne, I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"There hasn't been a need." Damian shuts him down.
The atmosphere turns icy the moment Walter registers the tone of Damian's voice. He laughs, astonished—and embarrassed. Paige finally recovers in an attempt to salvage the situation, pulling together her best smile.
"Well, it's lovely to have you both here." Paige starts, and her voice is distant—nothing like the girl you used to know, hidden under the blankets of your beaten IKEA sofa when watching Scream for the tenth time. "You look amazing, and—sorry, I'm just curious on how the two of you know each other?"
Her question is directed towards you, but Damian takes the lead. "She's my partner."
"Partner?" Walter chokes on his breath. "As in—"
You finally find your voice to speak. "We are seeing each other." It comes out levelled, matching Damian's.
Their shock registers in different levels. Walter's nears disbelief, while Paige—looks at you, betrayed.
"I didn't know about this." Paige stammers.
"Yes, you didn't." You answer shortly.
She stares at you as if she's seeing a stranger. "Right. I guess it's been a long time since we've caught up."
You're tempted to laugh. A long time is an understatement. You can feel Damian's low scoff against your shoulder, and the absurdity of the situation feels less gut-wrenching with him by your side.
"You know she's a real mess." Walter speaks involuntarily. "Like her apartment's an actual hazard. Isn't that right, Paige?"
Paige freezes, lips parting into a gap, but Damian's faster.
"I am aware—that she has her own unique system." Damian states, gaze narrowing in discontent. "It didn't take long for me to understand it, or to appreciate it."
"Appreciate it?" Walter sneers. "Are you sure you're talking about the right person?"
"Yes." Damian doesn't hesitate, eyes steady, fixing yours. As if he was conveying it you instead of the audience, he answers. "I'm sure."
You swallow dryly, unable to hide the softened smile you usually reserved for him only when it was the two of you. Both of them catch sight of it, and you can sense the question becoming less of whether it was real, and more of the how.
It's easy to act in love when Damian's this close, muttering words like that, with his familiar warmth grounding you through the stagnant conversation. So instinctive, that you think it's easier than breathing.
You sense Paige shifting closer and you force yourself to focus, and casting her another glance, only to finally catch a glimpse of the girl who used to be your closest person.
“Hey, can we talk?” Her expression is vulnerable, tentative in her offer. "Y'know, catch up in private."
Damian immediately shifts you back slightly with his weight, but you place a hand tentatively on his arm. His gaze locks onto you, reading into your expression. His brow raises as if to ask, 'You're sure?'. You give him a nod.
"Fine by me." You murmur, because despite everything—maybe a part of you still wanted to hear the honest truth. For her decision, for when she decided that you should be cut out of the picture then forcefully glued back into what they envisioned to be the perfect way to continue their lives. Maybe you just wanted to see if the Paige you knew still existed.
The moment you enter an unoccupied bathroom, Paige presses the door shut and immediately turns to you. "You have to spill."
Your brows furrow. "On?"
"Damian Wayne." She points out as if it's obvious. "You don't even know him."
You blink once then twice, and something colder settles in the cavity of your chest. "Things change, Paige."
“I’m just worried. It's all just so sudden.” Her hand reaches out to grasp yours, and you resist the instinctive flinch. “You’ve always been sensitive, and a guy like him is just bad news. I mean—Damian Wayne? I get that it feels exciting, but he barely knew of your existence before and now, he's suddenly dating you? I just want us to be on the same page here, that it doesn't really make sense."
A scoff rises up your throat, barely constrained as she continues on, her softened voice a perfect replica of how she had been when you first made your decision to break up with Walter.
“You know I’ll always support you if you need me.” She reassures. “You can tell me anything.”
The anger bubbles so violently, and it hits you. That despite everything, you had came into this party hoping that maybe a fraction of the girl you knew—who cried with you on bathroom floors when you experienced homesickness, who celebrated when you managed to pass your first year of medical school, who was there for your entire life in Gotham—would still exist. That something would give way, and her leaving would make sense, to have a reason. You realise now, that you've only been giving her excuses on the basis of what she used to mean to you.
Your wrath gives way to something cold, absent of grief—only the need to rip your hand out of hers. You do just that, and her shock barely registers before you open your mouth. “No.” Your voice carries a finality, strength you’ve been trying to garner since the day you lost her. “You don’t get to define my relationship with Damian, when you never addressed ours.”
She blinks, affronted. “Is this about Walter? We've already explained—we only felt what we did after the two of you broke up—”
“No, this isn’t about Walter. This is about us.” The coldness in your tone finally strikes something honest in her expression. “You broke my trust, Paige, and then you invite me to this party cause you thought it would help make amends? I thought you brought me in here, to at least explain to me on what happened to us."
"You should've told me." She says, a frown stretched at her lips. "If you weren't comfortable being around me and Walter, we wouldn't have forced you to come."
We—the word runs through your mind like a tire screech.
“Yes, I wasn't comfortable—I nearly died inside when it happened." You raise your head. "I lost my best friend, who drove me to karaoke night whenever I needed to forget about home. I lost the girl who swore to re-watch all rom-coms that ever existed in the 90s before we both turned fifty. I lost the only person I trusted since I moved into this city, over what—a man? Was it worth it, was our friendship worth it?”
She swallows thickly, and you see a fracture of the girl you recognise under the glitter, and the tears collecting at her lower lashes. “I thought you understood—that I love him differently than you did.”
Your gaze doesn’t flinch at the admission. “You were by my side when he broke up with me, when I told you that he called my dresses ugly, when he said my attitude was too much, when he made me smaller because it was more convenient for him when I was quieter, and you still got together with him. Maybe I thought you loved me enough too, to understand why I wasn't comfortable with it.”
Her expression shatters, and tears drip down her cheeks before she harshly wipes at them, smearing her eyeshadow. “You don’t get to say that.” She spits out. “Making it seem like I chose Walter over you, when you brought in Damian Wayne.”
Your brows contort. “What are you talking about?”
“You decided to come to the party to—prove you suddenly became better than us just by being with a Wayne?” She snaps. “You're acting like this because you think he's going to stay—but you don’t seriously believe it’ll actually last when Walter could barely stand you?”
That anger, buried deep, comes alive with a roar. You take a step forward, causing her to inch backward as you close in. “That's all your taking from this?" Your scoff resounds coldly. "Damian was the one who was there for me when you left—so yeah, I have more trust in him to treat me like an actual person."
She flinches, her lips parting in the same way she had done earlier when Walter tried to make you small. Silent, and unable to do anything but lay there in her guilt of absorbing an idea of who you are in Walter's head, and erasing what made you human in her eyes.
"Rest assured. You will never gain my trust again to even know what’s going on in my life and the people in it, and you never will.”
Taking a step back, you look at her one last time. Of the mess of her makeup, the same puffy eyes whenever she cries that you used to immediately follow up with the instinct to comfort her. You feel none of that now. “Goodbye, Paige.”
She doesn’t call out your name when you turn your back on her, and she doesn’t come after you. You needed that, more than you needed her to be the person you thought she was. To be blunt, and truthful to yourself—even if no one but you believed in it.
The euphoric lightness of your body from finally severing the bond doesn’t last long, when a rough hand grabs at your wrist. Being twisted around, you’re faced with Walter’s accusing expression.
“What did you say to her?”
“What I discussed with Paige stays between us.” You answer coldly, tugging at your wrist.
His hand tightens more, almost bruising. “You’re bringing in that attitude of yours, when we were kind enough to think of you? To let you stick around our lives?"
You’re sick of this narrative, of acting like you should’ve been grateful they thought to include you into this sick little group from your past life as if they hadn’t completely burnt it into flames.
“Walter, get your hands off before I shove—“
A fist slams into the side of Walter’s face before you even have a chance to finish your sentence. Screams erupt from the crowd, or cheers—you can barely tell because your eyes are locked onto Damian, who’s grabbing Walter by the collar with chafed knuckles.
Multiple eyes are on them, but your own gaze is fixed on Damian’s expression, who has gone completely cold. Nearly murderous, and filled with uncontained wrath. His glare, almost deadly, is trained on his target in a way you’ve never seen him before. The composed, distant Damian—is nowhere to be found.
"You stay away from her." Damian growls.
"What the hell, man!" Walter spits, blood sprayed over his nose. "Do you seriously think she's worth—"
Damian drags him closer by the collar, and something inhuman flashes past his concentrated gaze. "She's worth more than you ever will dream of trying to be. You are nothing, and even daring to lay a hand on her is something you will pay for."
“Damian!” You shout.
That finally reaches him, past the simultaneous gawking and murmurs. It’s as if he’s reentered his own body, and Damian immediately drops Walter to the ground with a loud thud. Walter lands embarrassingly on his bottom, and his entire face has gone red with shame.
His gaze switches to you, and his wrath fades immediately into concern. His eyes fall onto your bruising skin, and his emotions fall apart into something colder. You have a feeling if you don’t get him out of this room, this fight may escalate into something much worse.
Pushing through the forming crowd, you reach out. “Let’s get out of here.” You plead, holding out your hand.
His gaze drops to your fingers, then back to the forming outline of a hand gripped around your wrist, and you see his calculating assessment. Damian leans lower, muttering something low into Walter’s ear. It is quick, but you see the way Walter completely freezes in place—his struggle evading from his body like a statue. When Damian’s eyes meet your frightened ones once more, he doesn’t hesitate a second longer before grabbing your hand.
Damian doesn't waste time in leading you through the crowd, towards the exit and away from the escalating noise—and into the night breeze. When the cold wind finally hits your skin, his hand remains firmly intertwined with yours as he guides you somewhere far away—the fact still lingers that Damian, perfect track record and Wayne prodigy, just punched someone for you.
“You punched him.” You mutter faintly, seated at a bench you’ve both found, crisp leaves surrounding you with the faint singing of crickets.
“He was hurting you.”
“Damian, the whole school’s going to talk about this.” You stress. “You’re going to get in trouble, possibly a suspension.”
His jaw clenches. “I am your partner.”
Damian’s agitated. Over the situation, despite there no longer being any witnesses to his supposed protection. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched and his gaze—you recall how he had looked at Walter when he landed that first hit, the pure anger that seized him.
“Not a real one.”
He flinches, as if struck, and you knew immediately that your words landed wrongly. His emotions topple over the other, and you’re unable to name any that arises before it all falls apart like his body’s regained consciousness. Concealed, and distant.
“My mistake.” He mutters. “I’ve forgotten my standing.”
“Damian—”
“I do not wish to inconvenience you.” He states, words leaving in a bitter rush. “I have overstepped, I realise that.”
“Damian.” You call out for the second time, fingers reaching for his—and he finally breathes when your warmth seeps through his skin. You’re relieved he doesn’t pull away. “That came out wrong. I’m not mad you punched the jerk, I would’ve done it myself. I am glad you stood up for me, but I’m just confused on why you did it, because there's nothing at stake for you, only something to lose.”
His expression stiffens at the verbal admission of his visible frustration. This conversation sounds much too real, and the lines that have been carefully drawn are erasing themselves, leaving behind uncharted territory. One you weren’t sure how to navigate.
“You do matter to me, as more than a role.” You plead. “I don’t want you to think you’re someone I chose out of convenience. Please don’t believe that.”
His breath exhales low, controlled. His gaze flickers with the briefest uncertainty, and you realise how selfish you’ve been. This arrangement had been perfect for you, that you simply assumed it was the same for him.
“No, you are not at fault.” He mutters after a moment. “It is not your responsibility to handle the consequence of my actions. We had agreed on no complications, and I have done exactly that.”
His jaw tightens, before he finally spits it out. “I punched him because the boundaries of what was was real or imagined between us has never made a difference to me. He had hurt you, not only physically—“ His gaze shifts to your reddened wrist, and it darkens completely. “—but he is a culprit to your existing pain. I was angry, because I couldn’t comprehend that I was finally faced with the two morons who thought losing you was even a consideration, and to see them hold no remorse for it made me forget my place.”
“I’ve always excelled in being what others expected of me.” He mutters. “When you approached me, it was the first time I had not wanted to be confined to a role. I did not want to partake in a façade, because—I had wanted your request to be for something real. Then, you mentioned that you picked me because I had not the slightest chance of falling for you. It was ironic, and I knew then that I should've rejected your request."
"But I started to earnestly believe—that I could separate emotion and duty. I could be in your presence, and not feel the consequences if the arrangement ended—because nothing would be real.”
“Till I realised—how much it affected me to not have you truly at all.” He confesses. “I should’ve been honest, that this arrangement had become the opposite of what we’ve agreed upon. But I was afraid, of admitting that I wasn’t capable of control, of driving you away."
“Damian." Your frown deepens. "You’re not going to lose me.”
“I don’t know.” He blurts honestly. “I do not know how to handle want. I am built of structure, of worth to prove why I deserve to keep my position, that has always been what I’ve provided. I do not know how to want without providing substance to covet a person.”
“But I want you.” He exhales. “Not once has it been pretend for me, not when it had already existed before our arrangement. Every moment I reached for your hand, every time I checked that horrendous shaded calendar of yours. I rushed over the moment you went missing when you were sick, because I had wanted to look for you. I have never once hesitated in calling myself your partner, even knowing the role was temporary. I want you, in the real, complicated way—that I've failed in being what you needed me to be."
"That's not true." You break. "That's not what I need you to be at all, Damian."
He finally looks at you, a little less restrained—and almost startled at your words.
"If you had been real about this the entire time, Damian, then so have I." You admit. "I chose you because I thought you wouldn't have fallen for me, that is true—but that is because I also thought it was safe because I knew I was going to fall for you."
"I wasn't kidding when I said I like you." You confess. "In all of the complicated, real sense of the word, and you were always going be the one I was going to choose. Even if you had said no, I wouldn't have asked anyone else. I wanted you from the start, Damian, and that hasn't changed. I was going to ask you to freaking Romeo's after this, if you wanted this to be real too."
The moment those words leave your lips, Damian closes in. His fingers tug you by your waist, his hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, and his lips are on yours. Damian Wayne, who still has forming bruises at his knuckles from a fight he landed in to defend you, is kissing you on a park bench in the middle of the night—and you're not dreaming.
It's clearly his first, but there's something so tenderly sweet about it that your heart trembles uncontrollably—enough to render something wet at your lashes by the time he's pulled back.
He pulls apart just to meet your gaze, and you've never seen him this relieved. "This is real." He restates, as if he can't quite truly believe it.
“We did just have our first official fight.” You murmur, cheek pressed to his chest.
"Official." He hums in acknowledgement. "I like that."
Your smile teethers into something soft when you feel the soft press of his mouth against the shell of your ear. "Yeah, guess our operation tonight ended in a success."
IN WHICH you broke off your engagement with Damian because you didn’t want to raise children with a half-absent father and Damian couldn’t leave Gotham behind for you. A year after and a change of heart, he’s desperate to get you back home.
or Cinderella, better get your ass home.
WC: 8.2k
WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, ex-catgirl!reader, breakups, cheating (not from damian or reader), depression, alcoholism, canon deaths, suggestive/mentions of sex, reader is shorter than Damian, mentions of having children, stalking.
Loneliness greets Damian as he steps foot in the Bat Cave. The chilling kind that makes his bones grind together in discomfort, and carries a silence that Damian should’ve been used to by now. But he isn’t, and the only greeting he receives when entering the cave is the resounding patter of his dress shoes hitting the pavement.
The exhaustion of the double life begins to catch up to him faster than he’s imagined. The type of tiredness that seeps deep into his bones and cries out every time he slips on the cowl. In the instances when his fists are bloody and the charcoal beneath his eyes bleed further down the cowl, Damian Wayne grieves your soothing hands.
He reminisces of the soft palms that used to tend his aching muscles after long nights. It's an array of painful memories that grip him by the horns late after midnight, and sometimes when he's busy cuffing up a thief whose hair color resembles yours, his mind rushes back to the first time you’d kissed him. He'd worn the Robin emblem with so much pride back then, and his love ran so deep that he would have let you sink your claws right through his chest if you’d wanted to.
The Batcomputer casts a dim light upon Damian’s frowning face, monitors turning to life upon the clock of a button. When he’s done, he stays sitting before the screens a little longer with the hope that someone is going to worry for him. The time at the bottom corner of the computer screens 03:40 when Damian ultimately shuts it down. There was no one left but him in the manor to worry about anyway.
Alfred's long gone and Damian bears the scar like a fresh wound, he's yet to even accept his late father. It’s always hard to accept falling down from the summit. The blood son, a true Wayne, the young prince heir to the infamous League of Assassins and Wayne Enterprise. And despite all the titles that Damian had borne in his life, he still believes there was no better title than being yours.
Your nemesis, your friend, your boyfriend, your fiance. Damian's existence orbits around you, It's fun to belong when everything already belongs to you.
When you'd first met Damian, it hadn't exactly been love at first sight. Disdain ran mutual between the both of you. He was that bratty, arrogant, snobby boy who thought everyone had to play by his rules. And you were that annoying, over-the-top girl who did nothing but stand in his way. Rivalry quickly grew into friendship, despite how much Damian always denied it.
Then one random day, between the changes in the pitch of his voice and awkwardly growing limbs, Damian made the mistake of glancing at you. It was as if years of denial and restraint had suddenly slipped away, and there, standing in the middle of his door frame he would once grumbled about, he thought you to be the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid his eyes on.
No more of that childish girl who’d try to better him at everything, no more of that bratty boy who lived to prove that he was better than you. Then when you’d finally gathered the courage to kiss him because you knew he’d never have the balls, one clawed hand holding a death grip around the collar of his Robin suit, he’d practically melted against you.
His arms were laying stiff against his body and it took all of your restraint not to laugh into his mouth. You were only 17 then, but you’d already known that Damian was it for you. He wasn’t the best boyfriend, had never been and would probably never be, but he tried and he did it for you, and you loved him through and through.
Unfortunately, all good dreams have an end.
For years of your life, you were brought to believe that you’d been good for nothing but living off of scraps and that goddamn cat suit. Selina had taught you that Gotham didn’t need you as much as you needed it, so what’s a kid must do to survive? At 15, much to your disdain, Damian started teaching you there was more to life than just surviving.
You didn’t need to live off of scraps, you could thrive alongside Gotham. And so you did, for the next 15 years as you stayed by his side. Protecting Gotham like he himself once couldn’t have even imagined the thought of. You’d been there with him through everything. Through his siblings leaving, through his father, through Alfred.
You’d both been playing dress-up in costumes that carried responsibilities far too heavy for children of your age to bear. In the end, you’d grown tired of playing the same, tiresome game of heroes, and your priorities started shifting. Now, you wanted to play house.
Sometimes when Damian lies awake late at night in the manor’s master bedroom, which he’d moved in shortly after Bruce’s passing, he imagines the feeling of your palms rubbing warmth back into his shoulders. He’d been sitting on the edge of Bruce’s king sized bed, staring vacantly into the wall like it would erase all the misfortune that had occurred in Damian’s life. He could still remember the heart aching sensation of your arms snaking around his neck, feeling the weight of your knees sinking into the mattress right behind him as you held him in your embrace. If he prays hard enough, he can still recall the temperature of your body against his as you pressed your chest against his back in silence.
He’d only sighed then, but you’d known, like you always did when it came to him, that this grief was eating at him. You couldn’t undo the past, couldn’t go back and save Alfred and Bruce or even bring back Titus, couldn’t change his upbringing or his lineage, but you’d be there for him through it all. As the sobs wracked his body in a violent heap, you’d simply embraced him tighter. He could still recall the feeling of your lips against his tear-stained cheek.
The grandfather clock chimes behind him as the door slams shut, a once-unusual silence falls heavy upon the manor. The walk from the study to Bruce's room is filled with ghosts in the form of picture frames, Damian keeps his head down during the entire walk to the bedroom to avoid meeting the familiar faces nailed onto the wall.
He walks a little faster when he knows he’s nearing that picture that Alfred had hung of you kneeled down, embracing Titus.
That night like many others, sleep eludes Damian. And like all other nights, he finds comfort in bloody fists and charcoal coated eyelids. When he finally sheds his clothes for the night, he does his best to ignore your ring that you left on his bedside table, and he feeds his soul with that spicy tang of bourbon to knock himself out into a dreamless slumber.
—
Damian crowds your every thought as you lay on the sofa in your apartment. Below, Gotham bustles alive with noise. You can hear your neighbor yell at her husband through the thin walls, and for the fifth time this week, it slowly drives you crazy. You try to distract your mind to stop yourself from drifting back to Damian and the argument you last shared.
But no matter how hard you try, the TV slowly drifts into static noise in the back of your head, and serves the sole purpose of illuminating the room in a faint cast. The kettle brewing in the kitchen drowns to the furthest part of your mind, and soon that damned scarf you'd been trying to complete for the past month slips past your fingers and onto your lap.
Your phone buzzes on the sofa beside you, and you have to fight yourself not to hope too hard. Damian’s most definitely not coming back, he said it himself. He'd chosen Gotham over you and your future, and yet, you couldn't rid yourself of the love you held for him. It burns as strong as it did since you were nothing but children.
Your neighbors are getting louder now, a baby whines and then all you can hear is the infant's wailing. Your phone buzzes again.
It’s 7 notifications in when you finally decide to pick up the phone. You find that they’re all texts from the same guy. Carter Brooks, the rising Hollywood star that started hitting you up after reading the scoop about yours and Damian’s split.
He’s a pretty handsome dude, sure he’s got nothing on Damian, but he’s got those silky blonde strands that could entice just about anyone to run their hands through. Oh, and you’d definitely not seen those abs in the trailer of his upcoming movie.
It’s a painful minute that passes by as you stalk his socials and compare his pictures to your memories of Damian. You reread the messages from your notifications center without opening his chat yet. You end up concluding that he seems like a sweet dude, and moreover, he seems like he really wants to know you. You’re not sure you’re thinking straight when your thumbs press onto the notification and onto his chat.
By the time your eyelids start to flicker shut and your thumbs can’t seem to keep up with your words, you find the apartment complex to have been slumbered into a quiet silence. What was supposed to be a quick text turned into a 3 hour conversation and a promise to let him take you on a date.
When you finally drop your phone onto the coffee table and pull up the blanket to your nose, you notice that the noise from the other side of your wall has drowned out, and that it’s been 3 hours since you’ve last had a heart aching thought about Damian and your apparently wasted years.
If Damian wouldn’t pick you, then you’d find someone who would.
—
Damian can physically feel his heart halt to a stop as he reads the newspaper that morning. Time passes in a fury, and it had already been 7 months since you’d ended things between the two of you and that Damian had chosen this city above you and your dreams. 7 months of fighting this urge to contact you, despite this persistent ache, Damian believes that you’re better off without him. You deserve far better than a man who has dragged you on a hell ride for years only to give precedence to the very thing that’s destroying him night after night.
Damian knows he’ll crumble to his knees and beg for forgiveness in a pitiful act the second he sees you again. It is selfish and it is all the most pathetic but it’s everything that makes him your Damian.
His fingers clench onto the newspaper so hard that he’s crumbling the paper all the way to the middle of the page. The sound of his dress shoes resound around the big office room in a continuous tap. He's carpeted the floor, and yet, anxiety bounces all around him.
Emerald iris retraces the headline over and over again to find a flaw, a mistake, and yet all he finds is the sting of the truth.
“Ex Mrs.Wayne reveals new relationship with star Carter Brooks with a passionate entrance!”
The picture on the front page rubs him in all the wrong ways when he realizes that the smile you wear on your face is meant for another man. You look as ravishing as the day you walked out on him, even got your hair done and a new pretty black dress he knows you nagged your new boyfriend for. The thought makes him want to throw up. You’d never never have to beg a day in your life with him for such trivial things, he’d buy you everything you’d ever desire.
It’s selfish, but the muscles in Damian’s neck tenses when he shifts his focus to him. He’s got his grimy right hand clad in your ringless left hand, and he’s sports the smile of an all victorious man.
At some point, Damian’s office door opens without his knowledge. His assistant tells him something about a meeting and an hour that his brain shuts out as his eyes trail on your hand in that Carter Brook guy’s one. Damian doesn’t hear the door shutting behind her, and doesn’t notice the effort she’s put in her appearance today. He definitely doesn’t notice the way her smile falls when he doesn’t pay an ounce of attention to her.
Instead, he’s got his brain stuck on how the entirety of the article flaunts your maiden name like you hadn’t been Mrs.Wayne to the entirety of Gotham for years now. Sure, with the way things had gone by, Damian hadn’t really had the time to make it official, but to the eyes of the Gothamite, you’d been Mrs.Wayne long before he even kneeled before you.
That evening, Damian didn't even wait until dinner to pour himself a drink.
—
The relationship doesn't last very long. It takes you all your might not to scratch up his face as you find him with another woman in your home. It's nothing scandalous, you don't catch him fucking her in your own bed while you're meant to be at work. You don't find underwear that's clearly not yours in the washing machine while doing laundry. No, instead you find Carter cooking her a meal in your kitchen while she cozies herself in your spot, on your own goddamn sofa. She's got her eyes fixed on your TV while she watches some comedy Carter has been talking your ear off about.
You're not surprised to find out how little it affects you to see her on your couch making herself at home. Sure, she's got that perfect voluminous blowout and a figure you'd have killed yourself for when you were 17, but the thought of Carter betraying you doesn't hurt as much as it should have. You don't have a hard time figuring out you've never really loved the man, and there's no need to assume that he's always felt the same way.
The only reason you feel yourself getting wound up is the thought that for weeks, if not months, he'd been fucking that 2-dollar-whore on your furniture without your knowledge. You shudder thinking about all the times you've sat up in their mess, and it suddenly makes you even more mad knowing that he'd probably fucked you right after doing her in your own home.
Nevertheless, Carter doesn't hear the sound of your heels clicking against the floorboard as you walk up to him. His little girlfriend surely does, but that frightened look on her face tells you she's not going to ruin your surprise entrance anytime soon. Carters too busy with his face shoved into the rosemary scented fumes above the stovetop to notice that the woman standing beside him isn't who he thinks it is, and when he turns to you with that bright smile, ready to sling an arm around who he thinks isn't you, you can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body.
“W-wow there darlin’, someone came home early.” He's stuttering up his words as he's talking to you, sweating in a way that tells you it has more to do than with the heat of his cooking. There's a paleness to his face that wasn't there when he was cooking for two, now, he's got to plate the table for an extra guest he clearly wasn't expecting to see this early on tonight.
“Jaimie here was helping me do inventory, y’know they've been making me do a lot of overtime lately.” You can feel the woman's eyes trailing you fixedly as you round up to Carter, he's got the audacity to lean in to kiss you as if he wasn't using your own apartment to play house behind your back with another woman. You waste no time dodging his stupid advances at calming you, pushing two palms against his chest to send him back. It's not enough force to send him toppling onto the kitchen island, but it's enough to have him trip over his own feet, back landing against the countertop softly.
He looks shocked that you haven't killed him yet, and a part of him worries when his gaze catches against your array of kitchen knives, and most importantly that you haven't yet brought up the elephant in the room.
The woman, who you've learned to know goes by Jaimie, ogles you like you've grown three heads as you walk through the kitchen and into the living room to sit on the sofa beside her. She notices the way you promptly ignore her and mistakes it for shock and heartbreak. Denial.
Instead, you grab the remote from beside her and change the channel mundanely like you hadn't just caught your boyfriend and his apparently coworker “doing inventory”, as he says. You wonder if they've done it in your store room, and the thought makes you want to dump all of your produce in the trash. You can feel her stare burning holes into the side of your face, and for a second, you wonder if she feels guilt. Or shame.
Probably shame.
Jaimie opens her mouth to say something, but the look you cast at her is enough to shut her off. You don't need a half-assed excuse or an apology. You knew that she knew. Your relationship with Carter was all over the news when you decided to make things public only 1 month after you’d both started dating. Foremost, you doubt she's even an ounce sorry. If you hadn't caught them in your house, you doubt she'd have even a pretence of respect or shame in your regard.
A minute of awkwardly tense silence passes by before you hear Carter sigh loudly in the kitchen, his work shoes clacking against the floorboards before you inevitably hear the door shutting behind him with a loud boom. Jaimie, who's probably trying not to kill herself with the embarrassment of being abandoned by Carter in his girlfriend's home, clasps her fingers together in an attempt at soothing her nerves.
The sight makes you huff as you turn your head to look at her, prompting her to raise her own back at you. “Need help finding the door, sweetheart?” Sarcasm rolls off your tongue as she stares you in the eye, and she doesn't even give you a second before she's shuffling off your apartment in her dainty heels, muttering apologies under her breath you're not really sure are even meant for you.
The door shuts close for the third time tonight and you allow yourself for the first time since you've entered your home to breathe. Even though you're not sad about Carter himself, there's this feeling that tugs at your chest as you think of everything that just went down. Your own boyfriend has been seeing this woman behind your back. They've been in your home and God knows where else. Has he been seeing her since you guys started dating? Since he's been texting you? Were you not good enough for him to be loyal to you? Were you not enough?
Your inner turmoil lasts for a good 45 minutes as you stare into the now black screen of the TV, and you come to the conclusion that no, maybe, you aren't enough. Because if you were, you'd never have gotten cheated on, and more importantly, if you were, Damian would have never chosen a city that’s inevitably going to kill him too over the woman who has cherished him since before she even knew she did.
The night ends with you writing down a list of things you'd spend your weekend doing. Deep cleaning, the food bank, and probably crying yourself to sleep. You end up booking a hotel room that night. You're not sure you want to sleep in your bed ever again.
—
It doesn’t take long for your name to feature in the hottest scoop yet again, and the press wastes no time profiting from the scandal. Just a week from then, yours and Carter's face are plastered onto thousands of magazine copies that sell out by evening. You can't even turn on the TV without finding your names all over the news. There's this humiliating feeling burning at you through your gut the longer you think about it, now that your breakup went public, everyone knew that you weren't good enough of a woman to keep.
You're not sure what to do besides wallow in your pity and drown yourself in the endless articles written about the scandal, because one day you're sure you'll kill yourself worrying about what they're saying about you.
For the first time in an entire year, Damian Wayne feels something other than nothingness. Instead, he feels that youthful anger rise in his veins as he reads the daily scoop. The same anger he used to harbour at only 10 years old while other kids his age were busy scraping their knees falling down from swinging up too high and living up their childhood.
Damian doesn't drink that night, the sight of your face on the headlines intoxicates him much faster than the bottle of whiskey sitting on his desk. How could anyone deceive a creature as dazzling as yourself? He would've never done this to you, Damian thinks to himself. He couldn't even bare the thought of betraying the same girl who had remained by his side even when times got rough and his tongue got loose. Back when he couldn't quite grasp the concept of friends and made sure to keep you at arms length, you were the only one who hadn't given up on him.
And when he'd grown confused between who he was and who he wasn't anymore, you helped him understand without ever making him feel weak for being vulnerable. You were the only person in this damned world that understood Damian further than he understood himself, and he'd ruined it. Just a year and a half ago, he’d gotten down on one knee and slid a ring on your finger, and then you’d grown tired of playing dress up. Tired of fighting crime in dark alleys, tired of patching up Damian after making him promise that he'd be careful tonight, tired of that dead look in his eyes after he'd pushed himself past his limit again.
He could still remember the feeling of your palm against his knee, stabling and soothing, as you bore your heart out to him. Your new dreams, a family, a home. A real, stable home. Children. He could tell it was all genuine as you spoke to him. The unusual furrow of your brows, the way your lips trembled as you spoke to him. It was selfish, something you'd both avoided speaking of in the past because it was still a scar that hadn't healed properly.
And yet, as you sat before him, you'd chosen him to be part of this dream. You'd chosen him to better the wrongs of the people who'd walked this path before the both of you. Because you weren't your parents, and you'd be damned if you'd ever be like them.
But he couldn't. He'd never repeat the same mistakes as his father had. Would never drag a child into the same path he'd been forced to take. And you being you, had never asked him to choose between Gotham and you, you wanted him to. You wanted to matter enough to him that it didn't come as an option but as a decision. But he didn't, and in the end Damian had lost the thing that mattered the most to him.
Somewhere along the line, the dreamless sleep began shifting into images of you playing in the sand with two toddlers that shared your features. And every single time he’d wake up, a part of him would grieve the life he never even had. He’s tried blaming it on his guilt, but deep down, he knew it was because he’d warmed up to the idea.
No longer did the thought of having children into this fucked, twisted world repulsed Damian like it once had. No longer did the thought of beholding a family with you feel unattainable. No, because he'd grown and warmed up to an idea that once wasn't his. Now when he pictured the future, it came with a dream and the faces of two children plagueing his very thought. Damian no longer had anything to live by but his dreams, and you were in every single one of them.
And yet, how do you ask the woman whose heart you've shattered and aspirations you've dismissed to start over? Damian's not exactly sure how, but that night as he tosses the newspaper into the hearth, he places the unopened bottle back into the cabinet. The car keys of the mobile that once belonged to his father burn in his pockets, but he's got a place to be, and a dream to save.
—
Humiliation still picks at you until morning. You haven’t been taking care of your hair, which now sits messy on your head, and you haven’t gone out to breathe in some fresh air besides your balcony’s in 4 days now. At first, it was because you hadn't needed to, now it was because you were too embarrassed to face the people. You’ve been ordering takeout ever since Carter left your home a disgusting reminder of his betrayal, and even facing the delivery guy felt shameful.
You’re scared to turn on the TV or glance at your phone because you know they’re still talking about you. You know that your face is still on the cover page of all magazines and it makes you hate yourself that you’re known as the woman who's not enough, it eats you up until you make yourself throw up.
On the other side of the city, Damian’s in the comfort of his father’s black Porsche. He’s got no worry beside your own because he knows that the media love him, son of the late billionaire playboy, the media craved him. He spent enough time last night reading the articles to know that you’re not as lucky.
He’s already got his assistant dealing with the press to take them down, but he knows you well enough to assume that you’ve already read them all.
On the passenger seat, he’s got a bouquet of your favorite flowers he hopes will be enough of a peace offering for him randomly showing after a year of no contact. He’s a fool, but he’s got dreams and a drive and he still remembers the way to your apartment like the back of his hand. He’s wearing that cologne you’d always jump on him for, maybe, because he’s a little delusional that it’ll make you want to kill him a little less.
The sports car sticks out like a sore thumb in your neighborhood, and in seconds, the photographers crowding the entrance of your apartment notice him. One of them steps so close to him that Damian’s urging to knock that camera out of his hands. Flashing lights blind him in a way he knows will end up as yet another scoop by tomorrow morning.
Damian pushes past them with a huff, grumbling under his breath as he ignores their questions about you and him. In the crowd, a news reporter that’s been camping by your apartment complex for a day now asks something about you two getting back together and his heart starts thumping a little faster. The glass doors shut behind him with the click of a lock and the security officer shoots him an exasperated look.
Because it wasn’t enough that he had to stop these borderline maniacal reporters from entering the complex, now the one and only Damian Wayne just had to show up at the door and shake up some more attention.
He ignores the man and shoves a healthy amount of cash in his hand as he heads for the stairway. Damian’s learned since young that money ruled everything and everyone in Gotham, and he’d be doomed, because he was blessed with it.
Carefully polished dress shoes drag him up onto your floor, he decides he’s too anxious to wait in the elevator. He’s impassive, but his act starts to unravel the second his feet draw closer to your door. Number 76, he remembers. He’ll never forget, never you.
His hand moves faster than his brain, and before he’s realized, there’s two knocks resounding against your door. Inside the room, you’re at war with yourself by the time the sound reaches you. Perched against the glass, you feel the past year catch up to you in a flash. Downstairs, the money hungry, fame-hunting reporters are out to get you. You’ve lost the love of your life just a year ago over your own selfishness and yet, you can’t seem to be able to keep a man for the sake of it.
There’s that heart-clenching sorrow that grips you so hard you can almost physically feel your chest caving in. Just a year ago, you would’ve never imagined that you’d have ever fallen this low. You feel like you’re constantly drowning in this black hole that’s pulling you back in no matter how hard you try to swim away. It’s something you don’t know the name of, or won’t name, because acknowledging that you’re not okay just makes everything so much worse.
Another knock shakes you up from your spiraling as you finally turn your gaze away from the mass of people waiting impatiently for you below. You’re not sure who’s waiting for you at the door, but as long as it’s not Carter or that damned side piece, you think you’ll be fine.
On the other side of the door, Damian’s hand tightens upon the bouquet as he hears the locks turning from inside. He thinks about how unsafe it is that you’re being guarded by a simple lock, and how safer you’d be at home with him, at the manor. Finally, the door pushes open, and Damian gets to witness the exact moment you realise that he’s anyone but who you could’ve expected to be knocking on your door.
“Damian” your words fall short on your lips as you stare at the man before you. He still towers over you in that way that makes you go weak in the knees. He looks so put together, hair gelled back in those spiky little strands of hair you’ve always loved and his suit clinging to his muscular form. But amongst everything, you don’t miss the dark circles that cup the lower part of his eyes, or that almost exhausted look in his eyes. There’s a break in his normally perfect stance, and your heart races when you notice the slight hunch of his shoulders.
Along your inner monologue, you notice the way Damian’s eyes stay fixed on you in all of his silence, and you unfortunately remember how dishevelled you look. Your hairs a real, unwashed mess on your head that’s got flyaways sticking up in all positions. The hoodie and sweatpants you’re wearing aren’t the most flattering piece of clothing as they swallow your figure whole. You revel in the fact that you’ve at least taken the time of day to shower and brush your teeth amongst your little self-depreciating ritual you had going on for the past days.
“I’ve seen the articles,” You bring up a hand to brush your hair into place but his words stop you short in your movement. The pit in your stomach nearly triples in size and you’re sure that with a little more shame, it’ll burst out your body and swallow you whole. Embarrassment boils in your gut because you know that he’s seen the things that people are saying about you, and besides, the scandal in itself is nothing really to pride yourself in.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you Damian. You show up at my door a year after we split and now you’re here to make fun of me?” the words take him aback, and if you didn’t know Damian well enough, you would have missed the imperceptible way his eyes widened.
“You don’t think I'm embarrassed enough already?” Damian opens his mouth to retaliate but he backs down with a pained expression, like what you’ve said was really the nail in the coffin. That gloomy look on your face invokes a feeling in Damian’s chest that he’s been used to feeling this past year. He can tell that you haven’t been taking care of yourself like you once prided yourself in, and it’s not hard to see how quickly the past year seems to be catching up to you.
“I am not here for any of that” the worsts come out of his mouth with a coldness you didn’t know he could ever even mutter at you, and it makes me you feel even impossiblely more horrible than you already do. Damian can tell he’s losing this war but he doesn’t relent. “You’re aware that I would never ridicule you, no matter what the circumstances are.”
There’s a flash of shame that washes over your features as Damian realizes he’s sinking himself further into the hole he dug himself in. This time, instead, he takes a minute to breath and thinks thrice before speaking.
“I apologize.” it comes out weak, but you don’t break eye contact or interrupt him. You’ve always been so good to him, even when he didn’t deserve it.
“I apologize for not choosing you when all you have ever done was put me first. I’ve never meant to make you feel undervalued, or second to anything.” Damian’s eyes never leave yours as he bears his heart out to you. You realize, with the way his hands hold a distant tremble around the bouquet, that he’s laid bare and vulnerable to you in a way he’s never been before. It’s new and different, and Damian Wayne hates different, but he pushes through because that’s his way of telling you that you’re far more important to him than his own discomfort.
If it came to it, he’d change himself a hundred times just to have a chance at being yours again.
“You’re my everything,” the way he whispers your name nearly brings you to your knees, but you manage to catch yourself before you can even move, and Damian still flinches all the same, ready to catch you. “And I never imagined how hurtful it would be to lose you until I did.
You can see his lips parting as-if to start apologizing again, but this time you beat him to it.
“No, it was selfish of me to ask that of you,” you’re wrong and you both know it, because you’ve never really asked anything of him, but Damian doesn’t interject because hearing your voice speak to him so softly after a year of radio silence soothes him. And deep down in his mind, the one that only sees rights in your wrongs, he knows that you have been selfish. But you weren’t perfect, and Damian would always love you like you were.
“I know how much it means to you Damian, I would never ask you to abandon Gotham for me” you know you’ve been selfish before, you’d never asked, but you had deep down expected him to stop along you. To allow himself to settle down with you without having to wonder if he’d come back to you injured or worse. You wouldn’t raise your children with a half-absent father, and Damian wouldn’t leave Gotham behind because at some point of his life, that was all he’d known.
Normalcy as such had become so foreign to Damian that he’d alienated it from his future. How could he ever raise children and be Batman all at once? He couldn’t bear the thought of ever becoming like his father. He had to be better, and ‘better’ to Damian had once meant giving up on such dreams.
“But I would, I would in a heartbeat for you, Hayati.” his voice drops an octave as he whispers that word he’d always call you by. Devotion swims in his pupils as the bouquet now hangs upside down in his grip, half forgotten.
“But it’s not what I want, you need Gotham just as much as it needs you. I was upset because I couldn't look past my own selfish dreams to see your fears, but I see it now, I see you.” Damian knows he doesn’t deserve you, it’s something he’s thought about multiple times in the past, but to have you stand in front of him and say that you’d renounce on something you had hoped so hard for in a distant future ruins him. It almost makes him want to retrace his steps back home because you are so much more deserving of what Damian has ever offered you.
“I’m not scared anymore, not when I think about doing it with you. There hasn’t been a night since you left that I have imagined a future without you and felt anything but agony” the apartment complex falls silent under his words. Behind you, the herd of reporters or photographers drown under the weight of his confession. Your eyes droop down to the floor because you can’t handle looking him in the eyes as he bares his soul to you.
Silently, you allow yourself to bask in the words you’d spent hours praying to hear just about a year ago. Your victory comes with no dramatics or surprise party, but the warm words of a man you thought was going to haunt you for the rest of your life. There was no future for you if it wasn’t with Damian. So now, as he stands before you and confesses this change of heart, your words log in your throat, unable to escape.
“So if it’s still something you dream of, I’d love to be a part of your future.” Damian whispers, and there’s a ball forming in your throat the more the seconds go back. The irrational part of you fears that somewhere along the line, he’ll change his mind again or regret ever agreeing to doing this with you. Damian doesn’t give you a minute more to spiral, he’s a man on a mission, and tonight, he’s bringing you back home. “Tell me what you want, I'll give you everything, Habibiti.”
You don’t think about it very long, or very hard. The reasonable part of you hollers at the back of your mind, but it’s ultimately shut down by irrationality. Sure, he’s hurt you before, but you were no saint either. The thoughts of you and Damian happy, together again, completely overshadow the images of you crying alone in your apartment a week after the split. You think that for once, you’re allowed to be irrational to let yourself be happy.
You've done a whole year of thinking and Damian’s done a whole year of drinking on your account, you’re not sure you can last another moment as the man you’ve pictured the rest of your life with stands in front of you, at your doorframe.
Your resolve comes crashing alongside your heart, it feels like for the first time in forever, you can finally breathe without that suffocating feeling crushing your lungs. You choke down on a sob before you can even stop it, and Damian wastes no time catching you before you fall.
Your arms lock around his neck with no hesitation, face stuffed in the crook of his neck like you’ve done a thousand times before. His arms wrap around your waist and the back of your shoulder, the bouquet falls from his hand with little to no care, and the petals scatter into your apartment. It’s the last thing on his mind as he relishes in the smell of you. For, he’d buy you a whole garden if you asked.
Tears drip from your eyes and onto his skin, dripping down to the collar of his shirt. Damian’s lost in the feeling of you when he feels you muttering something incoherent against his neck. The hand resting your shoulder moves up to cup the back of your neck, gently pulling you off his neck. He tilts your head up to meet his insistent gaze, filled with a love you were once so used to seeing.
“I just want my ring back,” the whisper sails across his skin and melts his tougher exterior like warm butter. You don’t miss the way the corners of his mouth tilt slightly upwards, and the hand on your waist tightens its hold on you. Damian doesn’t say anything and he stares you in the eyes, like he’s reading all the way through your soul, and you let him because for the first time in a year, you’re staring at more than just the memories of him in the form of photos you couldn’t get yourself to erase.
—
The second you tell him you have no intentions in sleeping in your apartment that night, Damian’s quick to pack you a duffel bag of essentials. It feels so intimate being back in your space, things that are so mundane but feel so special that you’re allowing him back into this part of your life, like grabbing a handful of underwear from your drawer to provide for your stay with him.
It makes him feel bashful like he’s 17 all over again.
Once he’s done, he meets you in the living room using the entry mirror to fix yourself the best you can. You both use the fire exit at the back of the building to evade the curious crowd blocking the main exit. You barely make it to the car without being noticed, and the sound of your laughter as you run to the car to take cover from their evasive cameras nearly makes Damian trip in his steps.
The ride back to the mansion is spent in silence, and for the first time in a year, silence doesn’t feel like a punishment for his wrongdoings. Damian can feel the burn of your eyes of the side of his face as you stare at him, he doesn’t comment on it or admit that he’s noticed you staring, but deep down, he relishes in the feeling. He hopes that soon enough, you’ll feel comfortable enough to connect your phone to the carplay again and blast your favorite songs Damian always pretended he hated.
Once you arrive, Damian opens your door and walks in front of you to unlock the door, but his steps come to a halt when he feels your hand snaking in his empty one. He’s got your duffel bag on his other shoulder and you can almost repaint the picture of him carrying your stuff into the mansion when you’d first agreed to move in with him. It already felt like that was a lifetime ago.
The door unlocks with a twist of his key and his hand tightens around yours as he pulls you inside. The Wayne Mansion has lost all of its soul without you, there’s an almost eerie silence that falls onto the both of you as you step in. The house is dark and full of ghosts that haunt Damian’s every move. But with your hand in his, the voices finally quiet down before falling silent.
All he hears is the sound of your breathing and his heart pounding against his ribcage.
He drags you up to the bedroom and breathes a sigh of relief when he finally places your duffel bag on the bed. Emerald eyes follow you carefully as you sit down on your side of the bed like you’ve never left, familiarity picking at his chest. His eyes quickly shift from you and to the ring on his bedside table. Before Damian can even make a move, you’re sat up before him, asking him if he can bring you something to drink.
He’s back just as quick as he left with a glass of water for you, and by the time he makes it back to the room, the sound of the shower resounds all the way until the hallway.
The door’s closed and your clothes are still carefully folded in the bag, now at the foot of the bed. He’s not sure how far he’s allowed to push the limits with you, how much he’s allowed to see and touch now that you’re his again. He also notes that he didn’t even get the time to give you a clean towel of your own from the wardrobe before you rushed in, he guesses that you’ve already taken one, because you know where they are.
This was your house.
This Is your home.
Damian’s not sure how long he’s spent standing up, staring at the bathroom door, but he quickly get answers to his questions as the door opens with a twist of the knob. His feet remain glued to the carpeted floor as he watches you emerge from the room. Your hair’s wet and clinging down to you, finally clean. Your skin is shining under the ceiling light and most importantly, you’ve got his towel wrapped around you.
It’s nothing but a towel, but the sight of you wrapped up in his things nearly brings him down to his knees. A drop of water drips down your hair and down your cleavage and suddenly he's fighting a war with himself. You’re approaching him like a predator chasing its prey and he lets you, he needs you all up in his space before he loses his mind.
In the corner of his eyes, Damian doesn’t miss the absent shine of the ring on his table. Before he can fully turn his head and investigate, your palm settles on the side of his face. You’re perched on your toes to reach him, and the sight of you smiling up at him does it for Damian.
The cold metal of your engagement ring cools his cheek and his resolve completely slips. You feel his lips on yours before you can even comprehend that he’s leaning down, and his hands are all up on you. Gone is that restraint he was trying so desperately to keep up since you’d embraced him at the apartment, Damian doesn’t care to be chivalrous when his top lip encases your bottom one.
Your hand slides up to tangle in his brown tuffs of hair, earning you a brief huff. The movement causes the towel to unravel at the top and slide off your body unceremoniously onto the floor. Damian makes no move to help. The sudden chilliness makes you gasp in surprise as you throw an arm down to try and rescue your - his - fallen towel. Damian wastes no time shoving his tongue down your mouth, and suddenly you need both arms gripping his arms in order to keep yourself up.
There’s nothing romantic in the way Damian’s tongue lapped against yours. Nothing sweet to a desperate man’s kiss. It makes you weak in a way that you almost forget that you’re bare in his arms, but the thought does little to bother you. Damian, on the other hand, is completely aware. His hands draw you in and explore your body like he hasn’t already mapped the area hundreds of times before.
The clock ticks 00:00 by the time his suit joins his towel on the floor. Your legs bracket his hips and he’s completely lost in the feeling of you, it’s carnal, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You know by the strain in your lower stomach that you’ll wake up tomorrow morning with no regrets and a limp to your walk. Nothing matters anymore when you feel Damian’s fingers intertwine with your ring-clad ones, warm breath tickling your neck.
In the end, the sheets are all crumbled and you’ve managed to push off the entire wall of decorative pillows to the floor. You end up on your back somewhere along the way, the bed groans, the frame bumps against the wall and Damian finishes with a deep groan that has your nails scratching at the expense of his back.
The satin sheets welcome you back into its embrace when your arms fall limp back to your side. It's warm and it's soft and it’s the type of intimacy you grieved so hard when you were in the arms of another man, but now you’re back and Damian’s buried so deep you’re sure you’ll feel the ghost of him until tomorrow morning.
By 00:47, you’re tempted to glance outside to make sure the Porsche hasn’t transformed into a pumpkin. It feels almost too good laying in his arms that you’re convinced you're living a fantasy. Damian’s chest heaves up and down under your palm, and for the first time in a year, you sleep tight in the arms of your lover.
-
A/N: guys if the plot is mixed up and makes no sense it’s because i genuinely be writing parts of different scenes all at once bye…
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
cinnamon lingers in the air, the pale wall blurs your vision, and your ears are swallowed by the low hum of the AC — well, that and the sounds of his lips against your neck.
"you nervous?" he questions, although he already knows the answer.
since stepping into katsuki's apartment, you've barely spared him a glance — a quiet aura of hesitation clinging to your every move.
it's not that you and katsuki haven't kissed before — pecks on the lips do count — it was that you'd yet to kiss him like this. with your legs on either side of his lap, your bra the only thing left between you, and your breath dancing in the small space between your lips.
katsuki's warm, very warm — almost overwhelmingly so. his chest sticking to the lace of your bra and his body pressed so close it makes it hard to think.
his hands are like a heated weight over the small of your back, coasting over ridges and curves on your skin as he tries to soothe your obvious tension — keyword: tries.
because as his lips trail from the dip in your collarbone to the shell of your ear — you feel all sanity getting lost underneath his fingertips.
"you in there?"
honestly, you're not quite sure. "mhm, yeah i'm here"
you nod as if you're trying to convince yourself, too — ignore how the sudden closeness of his lips makes your cheeks heat and your heartbeat sound in your ears. flurries of panic only burrowing their way to your throat when his hands suddenly cup your face.
"no, you're fuckin' not"
katsuki's always had this knack — a silent understanding of the way your brain works. your quietness was never something he pushed against, only something he wished to ease.
even as his thumb drags slowly over your cheeks, you know he's only trying to steady you.
you whisper a small breath of his name, circling your hands around his wrists as your foreheads press together — that's all it takes.
and maybe, that's when something in you finally gives — when all that hesitation breaks the moment his eyes stare patiently into yours, and why you're the one pressing your lips together before you can even think twice.
he tastes like caramel, a warmth that settles onto your tongue slowly, like the sunlight peeking through an open window.
surprisingly tense under your touch, his hands pause against your back — his mind insistent on following your guidance.
he presses his lips gently against yours, slow and tentative, like if he rushes this moment it may end too soon. groaning breathlessly into your mouth when your hands card through his hair, and give the strands a gentle tug before they're back on his face.
it's not long before your confidence wavers, his muscles tightening subtly underneath your palms as you pull your lips away, breathlessly.
katsuki's cheeks are red, hair stuck to his forehead and a faint shine coating his chest. his lips are flushed a bright pink, spit-soaked — breathing unsteadily as he looks at you like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking.
"again," you murmur, chest heaving against his, "please?"
a toothy grin spreads across his face when your eyes dart over his features — as if they're in search of something — some kind of reassurance.
which katsuki is glad to give when he presses a teasing peck to your cheek, adjusting himself underneath you so your body's pulled even closer and whispering, "you drive me crazy, you know that?"
you can't help but smile.
lips skimming his for the last time tonight — this time with no intentions of pulling away. guiding his hands to your lower back as you press into his palms.
your hips move against his thigh at a steady pace, soft sounds of your lips meeting blending with the hum of the AC.
"katsuki?"
there's an annoyed sigh that tumbles from his mouth when your lips detach, "hm?"
a/n: kali loves intimacy! i like writing this more than smut let's be so fr. i tagged it as smut cuz i don't want people yelling at me so just to be safe! -> masterlist. | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋
Batfamily x Vampire!Reader
2.7k words, graphic description of violence and aftermath, use of [y/n]
November 12th.
Winter starts early in Gotham.
It’s cold, but not as cold as it should be. Your friend stands beside you shivering.
“You sure you don’t want my jacket?” You ask, eyebrows raised in concern as you eye her.
“I’m fffine.” She says, teeth chattering. “Aren’t you freezing?”
You shrug and move to peel off your coat anyway. Jen doesn’t protest when you drape it over her shoulders, but she doesn’t move to actually put it on. Her subtle way of declaring she’s against the idea, you suppose.
“You’re gonna get sick.” She mutters as you fix your scarf over your nose.
“I think if anyone should be worried about getting sick it’s you.” You mumble. “Is that your mom’s car?”
Her head snaps up eagerly, and you chuckle to yourself as she darts over to the passenger door.
“Wait!” She yips, turning quickly. “Let me give you a ride!”
“I’m okay!” You call back, “Alfred’s coming for me!”
She hesitates for a moment before climbing into her seat. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
You smile and nod, her mom waves and you wave back. “Call me when you get home okay?”
“Okay!!!”
You watch her drive away for a few seconds before checking your watch. 3:50. The manor’s pretty far from your school, but not 50 minute drive far. You know Alfred, if he hasn’t gotten here yet, it’s more than likely he forgot. Plus, the sun will be setting in an hour or so, if you wait any longer before giving up, you won’t get home before dark. With that in mind, you start the walk home.
It’s pretty rare for Alfred to forget you like this, but with all the chaos going on at home, you can’t really blame him. Especially when you are the direct cause of the entire mess. It’d been a tough year. Senior classes were much harder than you’d anticipated, and you were just a teenager. Stress and anxiety was bound to mess things up once in a while.
Your teachers had all upped their workload at the same time in preparation for the half-way point exams. You’d dedicated all your free time to studying and cramming for the pop quizzes and class competitions. So much so that you’d forgotten your feeding schedule. Unfortunately, it was easy to miss hunger pangs and dismiss them as stress-related stomach cramps. You hadn’t realized you were hungry until it was far too late, and a disoriented walk home from the movies found you face to face with a mugger.
When you’re deep in bloodlust, it's hard to tell what’s what. The entire week before that had been like a plotless nightmare. Filled with migraines and dizziness and nausea. When you came eye to eye with that man, adrenaline in his veins, blood pumping, his heartbeat in your lungs as he demanded your belongings, you blacked out. You woke up three hours later, curled up under a cardboard box in a dumpster. A dumpster that you noted, was nowhere near the alley you last remember being in.
You were pleasantly warm, sleepy, and no longer in any pain, which was all very nice, but the sticky-dry feeling of matted blood drying to your skin and clothes was enough to rouse you. You pulled yourself out, sharp nails retracting into your fingertips as you did.
You kept yourself to the shadows when you transformed, disappearing into a puff of grey smoke and reappearing as an ugly little vampire bat. The first issue was getting back home and getting clean before anyone saw you. The second, perhaps bigger, issue was what the hell happened to the mugger.
Sneaking in was easy. You could practically see their heat signatures through the walls, smell Bruce’s cologne, hear Damian’s pacing. If your senses were right, and they almost always were, there were four people inside the manor. Bruce, Alfred, Damian, and Tim. You flew into the open window of the restroom on the third floor, nearby your bedroom.
You looked even worse than you expected. Your entire body was red, like you’d been dunked in paint, it dried in patches and flaked off into dust when you moved. Despite the clarity of mind and ease of movement that came with fresh blood, you felt sick. There was something thick and fibrous under your nails, pieces of thin pink membrane that clung to your body like a second skin. The sickness was mental, of course, remnants of being human. Your mouth tasted warm in a lovely way and you were a little perturbed at how normal this all was. Your reflection looked monsterous, hair matted with blood, body red, eyes glowing faintly.
You heard the news in the morning. A murder in Newtown, a body ripped to shreds, Gotham News declaring it an animal attack. The damage was done though, the Bats had heard what had happened.
Two years ago, when you first became a vampire, a similar thing happened. You didn’t know what you were then, you thought you could tough out the hunger pains. Wayne Manor was distracted, everyone in a frenzy, no one noticed when you got sick, or when you disappeared. You wandered the slums of Gotham for three days. Pale, sweating, vision so sharp it made you nauseous. No one went up to you, no one asked if you were okay. Your new senses overwhelmed you, your new body screamed in pain. Eventually, a man found you. Ushered you into a warehouse, practically dragged you while your body betrayed itself. Hands tugged at your wrist, your hair, your clothes. It was when that hand grabbed your face, squished your cheeks together painfully, that something snapped.
You came to your senses an hour later. An ocean of blood and bodies staining the ground. You ran.
You woke up stronger the next day. The blood was exactly what your body needed to nourish your new form. To finish adapting to this new life. Your vision was clear, the colors you saw were brighter, the darkness didn’t blind you, you could even see heat signatures if you tried. Your muscles fibers were denser, tightly packed, your bones were stronger, your skin was clear and soft, old scars lightened, injuries faded in hours.
All at the cost of thirty four lives. Not innocent lives, but human lives. Lives you hadn’t even realized you were taking. It perplexed the world, scared it. But eventually it was brushed under the rug the way stuff always is in Gotham. Dark Seid took the blame, and you got better at this new life. Better at hiding, covering up, getting blood without killing. You broke into bloodbanks, used animals, even drugged criminals to poach their blood on occasion. You didn’t kill, you didn’t leave bodies or witnesses. Still, people whispered. You were an urban legend deep in Gotham. The creature in the shadows. Some called you Karma, some called you Fate, some called you The Beast.
The Bats never forgot what happened, it didn’t make sense, it didn’t fit the apparent answers. But it never happened again, so they had no cause to pursue the issue, no reason to spend time pondering a mystery when they had real issues to worry about.
But now it had happened again in Newtown, and you knew Bruce wouldn’t let it go.
And now here you are, walking home. It’s cold, but temperatures don’t really bother you anymore.
4:20. You have half an hour to get home before the sun sets and you’re not even halfway there. You made good time, nearly two miles in thirty minutes, but you live over twenty miles from school. You could run, if you kept yourself at a human pace you could get home in a little over two hours, but sprinting in Gotham while wearing clothes clearly not made for exercise is usually a bad sign. People might think you were running from someone. You decide, instead of running or walking, to catch a train.
At 4:38, you exit Gotham Train Station and hail a cab. Cabs are risky, you never know who’s behind the wheel till you get in, but it’s miles of bridge and forest from here, and there's no way in hell you'll be caught alone in the forest in the dark. You’re lucky, because the person in the driver's seat today is an older gentlewoman who seems as relieved to have you as a passenger as you are to have her as a driver. You get home at 4:49.
The manor is empty, but you can hear the sounds of footsteps and voices in the basement. You stop by the kitchen to get something to chew on. Contrary to popular beliefs, vampires could eat human food. They didn't need to, but it was nice to be human, even if it was only pretend.
You bump into Alfred on the way out.
“Oh! Miss [Y/n]!” He says, a polite smile on his face.
“Hi Alfred.” You smile and nod. Expecting him to sidestep you and move on. He seems like he’s about to, until a thoughtful expression crosses his face.
“When did you get home?” He asks.
“Just now.” You answer, he frowns.
“I was supposed to pick you up tonight.” He says, his words almost sound like a question.
“It’s fine.” You say.
“How did you get back?”
“I took the train and hailed a cab.”
“Ah.” He nods. “I’m terribly sorry miss, I must’ve gotten caught up cleaning.”
“It’s fine, Alfred.” You say and step to the side. You nod at him, and walk away before he can say something else. You can’t really be mad. It’s your fault they’re all so stressed, even if they don’t know that. You try to ignore how he looks at you as you leave.
When you were bitten, you distanced yourself from him, from all of them. Originally it was to give you time to pull yourself together, but as time went on, you never really got back to normal. Sure, you were used to being tucked away, you weren’t a vigilante, nor did you have any interest in being one. You weren’t a part of the family business, and sometimes that meant you weren't at the forefront of their minds. They still cared about you, but they were busy, they had responsibilities, lives of their own, complexes and complexities you could hardly understand. It didn’t mean they cared about you less, it just meant that you weren’t always a part of their world.
Sometimes you wonder about that though. It’s easy to tell yourself you're part of the family, it’s easy for them to say you are, but when it comes down to it, when the answer is more than yes or no, could you really say you were?
You could go days without seeing any of them, they were always so busy, you knew that. Even when one of them could finally be convinced to take a break, it would be selfish of you to demand that that precious time be spent with you, especially when you were so boring, so uninteresting. You couldn’t demand their time, especially when you didn’t need it. Not like how the others need it, not like how Damian needed their love, like how Tim needed their patience, like how Dick needed their time, like how Cass needed their care. You didn’t have issues like Jason, you didn’t need somewhere to stay like Duke. You were just there. You were simple, easy.
But none of that was really true anymore, was it? You did have an issue, you did need time, care, patience. You needed someone to look at you and tell you you weren’t a monster. That it was okay to cry over your kills, that you weren’t bad for doing what you needed to to survive. But you never had any of that before, so how could you ask for it now? When it requires coming clean, putting a bigger burden on them, explaining that you’ve been lying for two years. How could you ask for that?
You learned on your own, did everything on your own. You learned to be okay, be content, to find love in your friends, to find patience in yourself. And you’re okay now, sometimes. It never solved the original issue, but you could ignore it until you felt better. You could cry at night and feel pretty in the morning, you could wrap your arms around your head to drown out the pounding and wrap your arms around yourself to love what no one else will. What you’ve convinced yourself no one else will.
You’re okay being here, even if there are nights you wish you weren’t sometimes. Even if some nights you wish you weren’t anywhere.
Breathe out. Don’t give control to your pain. Look at the walls when you walk to your room, appreciate the architecture, think of something bigger than yourself. Look at the paintings on the walls, think of your ancestors and the lives they lived. Bump into your father on the third floor.
“[Y/n]?”
His hands land on your arms to steady you. It’s instinctive on his part, you didn’t stumble at all. Too balanced with your inhumane body.
“You’re cold.” He murmurs, eyebrows furrowed when he makes eye contact. His voice is deep, you haven’t heard it in a while.
“Just came in.” You say. He stares at you for a while. You can almost see the cogs turning in his brain, remembering who you are maybe, or realizing he hasn’t seen you in awhile, or something else you can’t figure out.
“Where’s your coat?” He asks, his palms rubbing up and down your arms. It’s a gesture meant to be fatherly, you think. You don’t see him much anymore so the gesture is just awkward, but the rare attention gives you pause. You don’t know how to talk to him, you realize. Besides the one-off family dinner once a month, you almost never see him, even at those dinners, if he tries to talk to you, it's awkward. He hesitates when he asks how your day was. Asks about friends like he's questioning if you even have them. Asks about grades like it actually matters to him. You realize this might be the first time he’s talked to you without a reason in over a year.
“Gave it to a friend.” You murmur, torn between making eye contact and avoiding it. “She was cold.”
“Oh.” He breathes, then takes a step back like he just realized he may be crowding you. “..thats.. nice.” He hesitates. “But you could’ve gotten sick. You shouldn’t do that next time.” He straightens. Like he’s remembered he’s your father and can be authoritative. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, you realize. He doesn’t know you. You stare at him for a moment. For no reason at all, your eyes start burning.
“Okay.” You say, voice weak. “I won’t do it again.”
Looking at him like this is overwhelming. He’s just a few feet in front of you, tall and elegant and imposing. You think he’s as lost as you are. You think you might be scared of him.
“Did you eat dinner?” He asks after a moment.
You stare at him, mouth open like you’re going to say something, but you hesitate. Does he care? Is he going to ask you to eat with him? Did you eat?
“Yes.” You mumble.
He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but he nods anyway.
“Alright.” He says slowly.
“I.. I think I’m gonna go to bed.” You mutter, he nods.
“Right.. good night [Y/n]” He says.
“Night, Bruce.” You say quietly and pad off.
He turns around when he realizes what you’ve said, but you’ve already disappeared into your room.
