#ragehits1000

"Eren? You home?" You drop your keys unceremoniously on the counter, looking eagerly around for your boyfriend.

You've been gone for the last week to a literary conference in a city three hours away, too long to commute every morning so you ended up with a hotel room. Six days for most couples isn't too long, but for you and Eren? You don't think you've gone twenty-four hours without him inside of you since you became official.

"Baby? That you?" Eren appears around the corner, bare-chested and low-hanging sweatpants hugging his hips.

You don't think you'll ever get used to how gorgeous he is, tall, dark, and mean-looking, but with the sweetest heart you've ever had the privilege of knowing. A slow grin spreads across your face that mirrors the one he's sporting, and you leap into his arms without a second thought.

"Missed you so much," Eren smiles into the wet kiss you plant on him.

"Missed you more," you giggle against his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist, "thought about you every day."

"I could tell," Eren hums, a little groan escaping him as you kiss down his neck, "all those nasty texts you were sending me?"

"Hey," you pout, pulling back to face him as he carries you over to the couch, "you sent them right back."

"Of course I did," Eren concedes, mouthing at the sensitive spot below your ear, "couldn't stop thinking about the day you'd get back and I could taste that sweet little pussy again."

A broken whimper slips past your lips, and you grind down into his lap, realizing just how needy you've been for him over the last week. The sexting was hardly more than a tease of the real thing; Eren's more than just "good" in bed, he's a menace, never stopping until you're practically shoving and kicking him off you. Then again, sometimes even that doesn't work.

You rock your hips steadily against his clothed, already-hard cock, moaning far too easily as he holds you to him, kissing you with so much force you swear your lips may already be bruising.

"Feels so fucking good," Eren growls against your mouth, "take what you want, baby, I'm all yours."

"Eren," you sigh, rolling your hips faster, "missed you so much."

Hardly two minutes have ticked by, Eren's hands pawing at your body, you panting into his mouth desperately, before he grabs your hips hard and stills you, a broken moan leaking out into your mouth.

"Fuck," Eren looks down at his crotch, face turning a deep shade of red. You follow his gaze to find a wet patch on his sweatpants, and your eyes flick back up to him, jaw slightly ajar in shock.

"You came?" You can't help but giggle at him, at how flustered he gets.

"Of course I came, it's you and it's been a fucking week," Eren chuckles despite his embarrassment, nipping at your jaw, "I'm sorry, baby, I couldn't help it. Just missed you so much."

"That's not very gentlemanly of you," you chastise him, an airy laugh leaving your lips as Eren smacks your ass.

"Not too tight, is it, baby?" Jean tugs the ropes digging into your skin into what has to be the final knot after nearly twenty minutes of positioning, repositioning, and admittedly, a rope burn around your ankle.

"Mm-mmm," you try to assure him around the gag in your mouth, shaking your head no. Jean smiles, places a laughably chaste kiss on your forehead.

"Such a good girl for us, aren't you? He's going to love it."

The ropes were Jean's idea; ever since he'd joined your relationship with Eren, almost everything was Jean's idea, having come so far from the timid, reluctant lover you'd made of him a few months ago. These days, Jean's nearly bouncing out of bed in the morning with a new idea to bring to the bedroom, and neither you nor Eren have the wherewithal to complain about it.

Eren's had a rough few weeks at work, and over coffee this morning, Jean had talked you into a "surprise" for your mutual boyfriend. This surprise had involved a trip to a sex shop, a hardware store, and an hour-long Youtube tutorial on knot-tying, but you'd figured it out together, and it's paid off.

Jean's got your arms above your head, secured to either side of the headboard, and your legs spread wide enough to incite a slight ache in your hips, ankles tied to your thighs and putting your already-dripping cunt on display. A black lace gag is holding your voice back behind your teeth, and the collar Eren and Jean had surprised you with last weekend jingles around your neck when you wiggle experimentally, testing the bonds that Jean's wrapped you up in.

"Can't get out, can you?"

"Mm-mm," you affirm, tugging on the ropes at your wrists to prove your point. Jean grins again, wicked and dark.

"Eren's not the only one getting a surprise today," he muses, knocking around in the nightstand drawer on your side of his bed.

What he pulls out makes your eyes widen.

"I didn't tell you, but I left a little pocket riiight..." Jean trails off, working the vibrator under a little slip in the rope, "here."

He angles it perfectly against your clit, not yet turning it on, but watching your reaction lecherously. You're already running hot with your movements restrained, already starting to feel the hum of lust buzzing through your body.

Before Jean can make another move, you meet eyes meaningfully at the sound of the front door opening, Eren's voice calling out into the empty apartment.

"You guys home?"

"Be right back, don't move." Jean snickers at his own joke, leaving you there bare and unattended.

Unable to move, your other senses hone in on every little bit of stimulus around you. The muffled sounds of conversation between Eren and Jean outside; you can hear Eren's disgruntled grumble, Jean's soothing timbre, but not what they're saying. The annoying, understimulating nudge of the vibrator against your center. The texture of the lace gag against your tongue, the way it's making you drool ever so slightly. And then the door clicks open.

"Fuck..." Eren trails off, eyes going wide. If you look close enough, you can see the front of his pants already beginning to tent. You're not sure what to do, so on display; you can't smile through the gag, can't even move in greeting, really. Jean's turned you into their little fuckdoll in the most literal sense of the word. Jean smirks proudly.

"Isn't she so-"

"So pretty," Eren breathes out, rounding the bed to caress your cheek, brush a thumb over your nipple, "you look so pretty like this, baby."

Jean comes behind Eren, wrapping muscled arms around his waist, palming slightly at the erection forming behind Eren's zipper. "She's all yours, we both are. Whatever you want tonight."

"Whatever I want, huh?" Eren's eyes darken. He turns his head over his shoulder to Jean, catching the other man's mouth in a slow, languid kiss. Watching them pulls a whimper from you, muffled by the gag, but insistent.

Jean breaks the kiss to frown down at you, reach over and flick the vibrator on, ripping a tinny whine out of your throat.

"Behave yourself, you're supposed to be his little surprise, remember?"

Your first thought is that the hotel Nanami has led you to is obscenely luxurious. Chandeliers glistening with crystals, signature scented air freshener hissing into the lobby every three minutes, and porters and valets tracking your every move, taking your luggage away and sliding a glass of champagne into your hand as soon as you've stepped through the door.

Your shock at the opulence must show all over your face, because Kento simply shakes his head and sighs.

"Gojo made the reservation."

"Ah," you nod. That explains it.

"Hello, welcome to the Nikko Style Nagoya!" The woman behind the counter smiles pleasantly. "Are you checking in, or out?"

"In," Kento answers, pulling his wallet out, "the reservation is under Gojo Satoru."

"Alright, let me just confirm..." the woman clicks away at her computer, leaving you and Kento in a state of silent limbo as you wait.

You wouldn't call what stretches between you and your coworker tension, per se, but it's definitely not the normal working relationship that you hold with other sorcerers. You've caught him looking at you before, curious and appraising, only to have him flit his gaze away, maybe make a hurried remark about a piece of lint on your clothing. Kento's gorgeous, it's an accepted fact around the school, but you'd never cross that line- well, maybe you would, but Kento's as straight-laced as they come, and any passing thoughts of how he might taste, what his strong hands might feel like on your body are chased away by the sobering realization that he would never stoop to such unprofessionalism.

"Okay, I've got you all squared away!" The woman chirps, smiling and handing over a set of two room cards. "The porters have already brought your things to the room, so please don't worry about trying to track down your bags. You'll be on the top floor, in suite on the right."

"Suite?" You crinkle your nose in confusion, looking to Kento, who sighs again, rolls his eyes.

"Gojo."

"Right," you sip your champagne, thinking fondly of the white-haired sorcerer who Kento can't stand.

"Enjoy your stay, and congratulations," the woman behind the counter winks at you.

As you wander into the elevator, glued to Kento's side through the busy lobby, you look up at him curiously.

"Why did she congratulate us?"

"I thought that was strange too," Kento rubs his chin thoughtfully, frowning as he mulls it over, "maybe she has us confused with a different reservation?"

"If it got us the top-floor suite, I'm fine with that," you shrug, sipping your champagne again and enjoying the little rush the bubbles are giving you on an empty stomach, "I've never been in a hotel this nice."

"Really?" Kento looks at you in surprise. "It's very well-managed, but there are far nicer hotels in Japan than this one."

"Do you make a habit of staying in luxury hotels?" You cock an eyebrow at him.

"We can expense our rooms," Kento simply shrugs, "for the next assignment we're given together, I'll choose the hotel. I have one in mind that I think you'd enjoy."

You nod and tuck back into your champagne, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the thought of Kento choosing a hotel specifically for you to enjoy, the thought of Kento knowing you well enough that he knows your taste.

You let Kento open the door upon reaching the room, but when you enter, your jaw drops.

Sure, it's an excessive and opulent suite, but that's not what catches your eye. There's a trail of rose petals leading from the door to the singular king-sized bed, also littered with red petals and a box of chocolates, a bottle of champagne on ice, and a little card beside the wine bucket that reads "Welcome, Honeymooners!"

"Um, Kento?"

"They must have made a mistake," Kento, the most unshakeable man you've ever met, flushes bright pink, whipping out his cell phone to call the front desk. As he works through the obvious fact that you two must be in the wrong room on the phone, you wander over and pick up the little card.

Congratulations, newlyweds! Please accept these chocolates and wine as a special treat from both the Nikko Style family, and your friend, Gojo Satoru! Enjoy your honeymoon, and congratulations again.

"Kento..." your voice trails off, the card trembling in your anxious hands. It never fails to embarrass you how you can stare down a special-grade curse without an ounce of fear, but Nanami Kento has your fingers shaking.

"It's not a mistake," Kento says what you're thinking before you can get the words out, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "I'm going to kill that idiot."

"Do they have any other rooms?" Your heart sinks a little at how frustrated Kento clearly is at the prospect of having to share a bed, but you understand. You're coworkers, nothing more.

"Fully booked," Kento shakes his head.

Hours later, after a sufficiently tense dinner together and going over your notes for tomorrow's assignment, you've wound back up in your garishly decorated room, standing across the bed from one another in your nightclothes.

You rarely get to see Nanami like this, and it's always a treat when you do: lacking his goggles or even glasses, chiseled chest on display in the tight white t-shirt he always wears to bed, pajama pants that sit low on his hips, hair deliciously disheveled. The thought of those pajama pants sliding lower has you tugging uncomfortably at the hem of your sleep shorts, fiddling with anything to take your mind off of your coworker only a few feet away.

"I found an extra blanket in the closet."

"Hm?" You tilt your head, both startled at his sudden words and confused by his meaning.

"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to take one of the pillows."

"Did you...find a different room?"

"I'm going to sleep on the floor," Kento says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You frown at him.

"No, Kento, I- that's not fair."

"I don't mind, really-"

"I know you have a bad shoulder," you incline your head slightly towards his left side in indication, "you won't be in fighting shape tomorrow if you sleep on the floor. This bed is massive, we can share without invading each other's personal space if that's what you're concerned about."

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," Kento mumbles, scratching at the back of his head.

"I don't," you say, too quickly, "I mean, we're friends, right? How weird can it be?"

Kento's mouth flattens into a thin line of agreement and he gingerly peels back the soft sheets, tucks himself into the bed and pulls your side of the sheets back for you, patting the mattress meaningfully. You grant him a soft smile, switching off the lamp and wishing him a quiet goodnight, somehow managing to fall asleep even with the pounding of your heart, the way you can feel his every little movement.

"Shit, you feel so good around me, baby," Geto pants, licking into your mouth to emphasize his point.

He's got you on your back, crushed under him, his favorite way to take you. He loves watching your eyes roll back into your head, loves watching how your jaw drops when you cum around him.

"Feels- it's, it's too much Geto," you whine, tightening the already-iron grip your thighs have around his hips, entirely disproving your point.

"No, you can take it, can't you?" Geto purrs, thumbing at your mouth. He forces it open, spitting into it, smiling appreciatively when you swallow. "There's my good girl."

"Need you to cum, I- please," you hate the begging tone in your voice, but Geto just does that to you, can turn you into a desperate, whining little thing with only a few well-placed strokes. After nearly an hour under him, on top of him, bent over for him, you're at your breaking point.

"You're going to get it," Geto promises, planting a wet kiss on your forehead, "gonna fill you up, just the way you like it, yeah?"

"Please," you whine, feeling yourself tighten around him, "please."

"Fuck- so good for me," Geto's thrusts grow more erratic, impossibly faster, harder, "such a perfect little cunt. You're so fucking good to me, love you so much."

Even through the haze of your dizzy mind, your eyes fly open at that, but before you can respond, Geto's clutching you to him, cumming deep inside you with a loud, long groan. He slides into you a few more times, riding out his orgasm, before finally slipping out, ripping a wounded whimper from you.

It hits you that Geto must know what he said, must realize that you heard him, because instead of the usual cuddle session, he promptly rolls onto his side and starts picking a half-finished blunt out of the ashtray by his bed. You wait patiently, watch the flame from the lighter illuminate his sharp features, biting into the grin that's trying to force its way across your face.

After a hit or two, Geto's gaze slides back to you, and his eyes narrow.

"Don't even start-"

"You looove me?" You tease, letting that smile break wide and bright across your face.

You've known about his feelings for awhile; he's not vocal, but he's not exactly subtle either. All of the little gifts he's picked up for you (each costing more than the last), the way his eyes never leave you when you're out together, the way he holds you close to him through the night. You've said it to him, but he's always brushed you off, grumbling a "you too" under his breath. Feelings don't exactly come easily to him.

"Shut up," Geto groans, tossing an arm over his face, "you knew that already, don't have to get all smug about it."

"Of course I do," you smirk, leaning down to pepper little kisses across his face, "love you right back, baby."

Geto's faux-frustration is sliced right in two by a chuckle, loose and airy out of his lips.

"What do I have to do to shut you up?"

"Say it just one more time. Please?"

-

You're going to kill him. You can't see the love you hold for him, the attraction, anything through the haze of this pure, homicidal rage. You're going to kill Jean.

It really wasn't his fault; while you can attest to the godlike skills of his mouth, his fingers, his cock, Jean's no deity, and he can't exactly control the weather. But you had tried to warn him that today wasn't the day for a trail ride, the angry, dark clouds in the sky were evidence enough.

When you had balked at his idea, Jean had resorted to his tried and true trick of making you cum on his face, warming you up to the idea, and then he had fucked you into the mattress, whispering dirty nothings in your ear about how badly he wanted to take you out in the fields, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the trees and your bare skin around.

That's how you've ended up here, pressed up against a tree in your bra with the zipper to your jean shorts undone, and soaking wet after the sky decided to open up on both of you unexpectedly.

"I told you!" You shout over the downpour, scowling at Jean as your mascara runs.

"Told me what?" Jean teases, making a move to lean in and capture your lips, but you pull back, frowning deeper.

"I told you it was going to rain and now look at us," you gesture to your now see-through bralette and your stiff, wet shorts, "we're soaked."

"Aw, sugar," Jean coos, thumbing at your lip and smiling in that slow, dangerous way that makes you lose it, makes you unable to resist, "don't be so mean, come on. It's just a little rain. Let me kiss you, make it better."

His smooth talking cuts right through your irritation, slices it in half. But you want to make your point known, so you cross your arms over your chest and pout up at him.

"Jean, right now, I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a cliff."

Jean grins, all cocky and boyish. "Can I pick for you?"

"You're so annoying," you push at him lightly, feeling the willpower drain from your body as he boxes you in against the tree.

"Can't help it," he noses at your jaw, peppers little kisses around your neck, "look so pretty like this, all wet and pouty. Y'know I love it when you get bratty."

"I'm not bratty!"

"Yeah you are," Jean says with a note of finality, pressing his lips full flush against yours. His hands come to cradle your hips, roll them into his own, and the movement pulls a little whimper from you. "I love it."

"Jean," you whine, opening your mouth to let him lick into it.

"There she is," Jean says, something proud flickering in his tone, "there's my girl."

You whimper again against his mouth, sliding your shorts down your legs. Jean makes impressively quick work of your bralette, tearing the sticky, wet fabric above your head.

"What do you need? Hm?" Jean takes your chin in his hand, tilts you up towards him.

"You," you simper, fumbling at his belt buckle.

"I'm right here baby," Jean smirks, cruel and taunting, "gotta give me more than that. Want to hear you say it."

"I need you to fuck me," you cave instantly, you always do with him. Jean smiles, pleased.

"That's a good girl, using your words," Jean turns you around, pinning you to the tree with your ass shoved out towards him, "love hearing you admit it, how filthy you are. Begging me to fuck you right here in the open."